by Lee Hayton
In the end, she’d gathered her courage up like petticoats and rushed back into the seething tide of humanity. Five years of freedom, living like a normal person, growing accustomed to the speed with which everything moved. And then what? Stuffed back into her box like she was a plaything whose owner had been put down for a nap.
None of that was any use to her. Except for the skill at peaceful containment that she’d already practiced for too long.
If her assessment was right, the concrete sealant around the home would be infused with immosium. Even if she’d had mad skills at magic, that would suppress its power down to uselessness. The youngest child at school knew that chemistry off by heart.
For a split second, the faint outline of the drain in her pristine washroom flashed in her head. If light could gain entry, maybe magic could work there too. Grainne shook the thought away. What use was that? To read minds of people she didn’t even know were out there? To heal the pain that she didn’t even have?
You could heal your hunger.
The thought flashed for longer this time. Hanging like a sign pointing to a coming attraction. Not complete with bells and whistles, but bright enough to get Grainne’s attention.
Was hunger pain? Even if she could use her magic skills through the long-distance gap of a single drainpipe, was emptiness something she could heal?
Maybe. Maybe not. Was the constant low hunger Grainne already had gnawing through her intestines enough pain to count? If she stepped into the washroom, would she strain and fight for a power that couldn’t change her situation?
Coward.
Grainne closed her eyes as though the accusation had been shouted at her, rather than a whisper emerging from her own brain. If anyone were in this situation, they’d be afraid. The name calling didn’t fit.
If you were brave, you’d try.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grainne whispered. Arguing with herself, instead of someone else to shout at. “I can’t live on nothing forever.”
No. She couldn’t. The ability to heal hunger pains for a day or two wouldn’t help her if she couldn’t get out. A point to keep in mind, maybe a skill worth the practice. If she were going to make a break for freedom, she’d need something solid. Something more.
Jane’s transportation skills. They would have been something worth having. If she’d operated those, even just for a second, then she’d be in that washroom straining as hard as she could go.
What else could magic do? Grainne turned back to the laptop. The technology hadn’t existed simultaneously with magic powers being in the world. Everything on the internet would be supposition and rumor. Half-remembered stories of an urban myth that someone once told.
Still, it beat sitting here and doing nothing. Or, sitting here and reading through garbage and hatred directed against Grainne.
There were pages and pages of stuff to wade through. She saw her grandfather’s name more than once. Maybe if he’d lived long enough to bounce her on his knee, she would have absorbed some of this information by osmosis. Surely, you had to know something well to kill it dead. All those people dying over all those years. The power of magic must be great indeed to warrant all that bloodshed.
Odd, then, that she didn’t feel its power. Even out in the great wide world. The new sensations just felt right, as though reading another person’s thoughts was something she should always have been doing.
If there was power in magic, then why hadn’t she felt powerful? Why had she only felt fear and loss?
Grainne shook herself. Maudlin thoughts wouldn’t advance her cause any further. The pages on the internet didn’t seem to be aiding her much either.
Some of them, even from her short experience, she knew to be utterly wrong. When reading minds, the others hadn’t known she was doing it. Here, it said that the recipient could feel fingers riffling through their brains. That wasn’t Grainne’s experience. Finding that one point invalid, she moved on.
Another page detailed how the light would knit wounds together, and remove their painful sting after days. For Grainne, the pain in her wound had been taken from her almost as soon as she felt it. If it hadn’t been for the distinctive sting of burning registering in her brain, there was a chance she wouldn’t even have noticed she was injured. There, gone. Not instantaneous, but so close as to make little difference.
Was every piece of information tainted in the same way? For each scrap of knowledge, around it a building of supposition and guesswork. If so, then she wouldn’t find the answers online. Her time would be better spent trying to talk in the chat rooms. Try to forge a connection again, even while some punters screamed for her to die.
The thought she was a coward, reoccurred to her. Rather than keep searching through the records, hunting for the truth, she would just change the subject. Like she was back home watching the news on television, and changing the channel when it broadcast something she’d rather not see.
The world was full of pain, but if you had Grainne’s station in life, her inheritance, her money, then you didn’t need to notice that. After spending half her life locked away, ignoring the facts of life you’d rather not see was second nature to her.
Understand the whole problem.
Where had that come from? An echo of her father, maybe. Or her granddad walking her to the park, holding her tightly by one hand.
To understand the whole problem, you had to concentrate on the things that you didn’t want to see. To walk in another’s shoes, you had to slip your feet into their grubby castoffs. Force yourself to take one step after another, even though the leather rubbed in strange places, the heels were worn through, so the stones felt as sharp as walking in bare feet.
It was something that her religious training had taught but, like a house of hypocrisy, they’d never practiced. They’d preach love and acceptance of your fellow man, but then they locked themselves away. They taught the importance of sharing problems and joys, celebrating the glory of God, and then they took a vow of silence.
There were three generations, four even, since the power she was now meant to possess had been wiped out of the world.
Forcing herself back to the computer, this time Grainne made herself read every single word.
Chapter Thirteen
The scuttling sound was back.
Grainne woke to find she’d fallen asleep in front of the computer. In her dream, a many-legged insect army had been advancing on her. The thought of a cow reduced to bones in seconds by an advancing line of ants made her flesh crawl. She woke, expecting the dream to dissipate in an instant. Instead, the sound of scuttling grew even clearer than in her unconscious imagination.
Vaguely, Grainne recalled she’d heard something similar when the lights were out. She’d heard many things then, though, few of them proving to be real.
She sat as still as possible, her head tilted to one side. After a few minutes, her ears strained so much from listening without the reward of sound, that the whole house seemed to hum.
There!
Quick as a flash, Grainne vaulted the back of the sofa and landed on her hands and knees. Too late, she realized that the constant eyes upon her would be wondering what the hell she was doing. Never mind them. They’d still be waiting for her later. Now, she needed to track down that sound. The only tangible thing she’d experienced that might relate back to another living creature.
Ear close to the ground, she waited, poised to spring. Another minute ticked by, another. Long enough for her to begin to second guess herself. The faulty faculties of being left alone too long.
The mild scratch of a leg hardened with insect armor against a stiff wing sounded from just under the couch. Grainne scooted forward a half foot, her head so low now that fibers from the carpet tickled her nose.
A cockroach wriggled its fat body forward. Its long legs splayed out on either side as though it were wearing snowshoes. As she watched, peering closer and closer, the bug turned its head. Antennae waved in the air, sensing for troubl
e, alert for danger. Grainne’s breath caught in her throat as her own hairs stood on end.
It was alive.
After six weeks of solo captivity, she’d finally found something alive.
All the revulsion that was her standard reaction to beetles and bugs fell away in the delight of another living thing. Like children forced to mingle in a playground, proximity had her comparing their similarities. If she got started on their differences, they’d never bridge the gap.
“Hello, there,” she whispered, fielding a shiver of joy as the creature turned its alien head in her direction. “Hey there, little one. My name’s Grainne.”
The cockroach lost interest in her, setting off once again on its long trek underneath the furniture. Grainne lay down on the floor, the easier to keep track of its progress.
The way it halted on occasion, checking out the air before advancing forward again, reminded her of crossing guards looking out for trouble. Or teachers with a flock of students following blindly along behind, being extra vigilant in compensation for their charge’s lack.
When it reached the outer edge of the sofa, the change in light and shadow increased its hesitancy. The antennae twirled in rapid circles, then swooped up and down again. Finally, it began to progress again. One scaly foot after the other.
It was only as it neared the edge of the kitchen that Grainne realized if she didn’t move quickly, the insect might scuttle out of her life forever. She leaped to her feet, her muscles protesting after being locked into position so long on the ground.
The ceramic mug littered with the burned-out husks of melted sporks was on the edge of the bench. Grainne grabbed it and slammed it down on top of the cockroach before it could retreat to safety under the lip of the cabinets.
For a second, she stared down at the cup in horror. Terrified that she’d misjudged her lunge, and had caught the poor creature across its middle. The fear was assuaged as she stared longer. What she’d taken to be the insect’s upper body, was just a pattern on the tiles. Her own shadow, moving forward, gave it the appearance of motion that it didn’t actually possess.
The vigorous scrambling from inside the mug convinced her that the bug was safe and well. No insect, decapitated or cut in half would be capable of such an eager fight for freedom.
She sat back on her heels, touching a warm hand to the top of the upturned mug. The ceramic took her heat and reflected it back to her. As time passed, the insect's frantic motions slowed down into an occasional tap against the wall.
Her body started to yield to the long weeks of rationing, spiraling down like an Energizer bunny who’d been run ragged all day long. Now it lay on its side, panting, in desperate need of a long nap.
Grainne closed her eyes in a blink and opened them hours later. The cup that her hand had been leaning upon had tipped onto its side.
Fear propelled her heart into her throat, beating as fast as a busking drummer tapping on an upturned bucket. She levered herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes tried to hunt for her little friend in all directions at once.
The cockroach hadn’t gone far. It was trapped in the corner near the sink. Not that anything was holding it there, but it kept trying to climb up the edge of the linoleum tiles and then would slide back down. It could have turned and been on its way, but the idea didn’t seem to have occurred to its tiny brain.
She moved closer, stretching out her arm to cup her hand around the insect. The cockroach didn’t notice her, too intent on its Sisyphean task. With her chin resting on the kitchen floor, Grainne stared at the hard shell angles of its body. Almost without thinking, she relaxed into its mind.
The world was alien shapes, dark shadows, constant movement. Even the cells of air were whistling projectiles, spinning past its head. Food. Shelter. Food. Shelter. If only it could move forward, clamber up the mountain peak that rose majestically above its head, there’d be something to eat. Something to drink. Something to store in its belly to ease its immediate need.
Cold. The house was cold. Outside was colder still. If it got any worse, its need for food would grow. Upward was warm. The air currents shimmered in front of its strange eyes. Climb the mountain, and everything would be better.
Grainne jerked back, gasping, her hand curled into a protective fist over her chest. Even with her eyes wide open, it was hard to focus. The world didn’t want to narrow down to a view from two forward-facing receptacles. Her brain craved three-hundred-and-sixty-degree vision. The long, slow exposure that would enable her to see in far greater detail, even in the low levels of light.
That can’t have happened.
The denial was stupid given the close memory she still had. Grainne had been in that thing, right in it. She’d just seen the world from inside its brain.
She stretched out her hand and scooped the cockroach up. With her fingers curled protectively, she brought it close up to her face. As she released her grip enough to allow a sneaky gap, Grainne reached out to the insect again with her mind.
The sensation was exalting and completely alienating. For a moment, Grainne saw the insect through her own human eyes while also looking back at herself through its insectoid ones. The way the light was filtered through the cockroach’s lenses twisted her face into a misshapen funhouse mirror reflection. Hideous, yet at the same time still strangely familiar.
A thrill of revulsion ran through the nerves in her back. Grainne’s hand spasmed closed around the vulnerable beetle. With her mind still living outside her body, she took care not to crush its shell within her pulsating hand.
Could she heal it, if she hurt it? Maybe. The power that should have stopped inside the immosium seal of the house was working. There was every chance that her powers would extend to healing a small insect just as easily as she’d healed herself.
Or, maybe not.
Grainne didn’t know enough about anything to be certain of what she could and couldn’t do. As gently as she could, she laid the cockroach down upon the floor. Using just a small reserve in her brain, she kept up the tenuous connection. As the beetle waved its antennae in the air, judged it safe and moved on, it took a small part of Grainne’s mind with it.
Exhaustion bit at her body. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Grainne pulled herself up to a standing position and filled a pot with water. After setting it to boil on the element, she pulled out a small packet of dried food. The cheerful plastic wrap covering the freeze-dried contents showed a bounty of fresh vegetables. What she ended up with had more in common with a thin soup.
Her stomach rumbled eagerly nonetheless. As the water heated, it began to shout more loudly. It ramped up its attempts to convince her to throw caution to the wind. Use another packet, or three or four. Fill her stomach up to the brim for a change. Grainne’s iron will managed to stifle the cries. It forced them into remission as she ladled out the small portion. She tried not to look at how little was left as she drank the meal in tiny spoonfuls. A forlorn attempt to make it seem more plentiful.
She was so focused on her meal and the awakening hunger, that she almost missed the cockroach’s exit. At the last second, she heard it scuttling to freedom, through her mind rather than her ears.
A lurch seized her whole body, then Grainne reached out with her every reserve of power that she had. She reached out and took control of the little beast, steering it back inside the house.
The drain. That was where it had come from. That was what it was trying to use as an exit. Even though the house was warmer, offered superior shelter, even a cockroach knew it would be better off outside.
Well, not her cockroach. Not when it was the only thing in the world that Grainne had left. She used her power and hauled it back inside—one resistant step after another.
She rinsed out the plastic bowl that she used for her meals, and tipped the cockroach into the center. After watching it for fifteen minutes, Grainne was certain that the edges were too slippery to allow it to walk up its sides.
She waved over the ed
ge, bending down to peer at her pet at eye level. “Hello, Monster,” she whispered. Giving it the same name she used for herself.
Chapter Fourteen
Chatrooms. Striptease. The carefully timed winsome glances from tear-filled eyes. Grainne quickly forced herself into a new routine, winning the struggle to maximize her assets. All the while, she exercised her mind by switching it into and out of her little friend.
The alien edges of the creature’s mind remained. Such a gulf existed between their frames of existence that no matter how many times Grainne dipped into its head, she never grew accustomed to the change.
Once she knew for sure that she could exert power over the cockroach’s movement, she began to give it freer range. While she kept her attention completely focused on its journey, she even let her new pet leave the house.
The world outside was different. How much of that was due to seeing it through the insect’s strange new eyes and how much was due to actual changes Grainne couldn’t be sure. The landscape around her house was odd, like something out of a B-movie. Science fiction or fantasy. Some houses stood near hers, perhaps the ones that the people who’d locked her up used to lock up poor dead Mary and sad fat Jane. The rest of the surrounding fenced-off properties were bare. Flat empty sections lined up along roads with no traffic moving upon them.
A drone. That was what seeing the outside world through the cockroach’s eyes reminded Grainne of. A drone set free to explore with a camera the parts of the world that were off-limits. An intrusion into a war-zone or a peek into a private neighbor’s land.
The first time she saw the area around her prison, Grainne thought they’d dumped her on a different world. A planet where an attempt at settlement had been abandoned after a promising start went sharply downhill.
It was the chatrooms that put her right on that point. A strident girl pointed out that Grainne was being held in some earthquake damaged land. Nothing super strange. Nothing ominous. Just the rumbles of the earth underfoot, too close for comfort to a cliff with boulders waiting to tumble down.
