I wonder.
I put my hands in the middle of the doors and gave a small tug and the doors moved. Just like the windows in my prison had. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I leaned in and gave a harder tug and one of the planks pulled free. I couldn’t help but feel proud of myself as I stepped into the darkness of the cold factory and placed the board back in place.
Once it was securely fastened I glanced around me.
There were large sewing machines around me; larger than the ones London used. There were also web like pieces of yarn and cotton that looked like they had been abandoned in the middle of what they were meant to create.
Just like I had been.
I saw dolls standing around; dolls with no faces. Some were broken some were missing pieces. I crossed the room to the nearest doll and ran my fingers down its face then I reached up and felt my patch that the boy had given me.
This wasn’t a place of death; it didn’ t have that smell that would sometimes creep out of any one of London’ s workrooms. These dolls felt different than I did. They had a damp smell to them, but it wasn’t something that struck fear in me.
Looking down at one of the large tables, I noticed pins and needles, tattered design books, and shredded pieces of cloth lying all over. There was a thin layer of dust covering almost every inch of it so I knew that this place had been abandoned for some time, but why?
To me these were discarded treasures.
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding,
I’m home.
Four
I slept soundly that night. I had no fear of anything for the first time in what felt like an eternity. I had found my way up to the third floor where there small cots and laid there staring out the window until my insides slowed to a dull whir. I didn’ t dream that night either which to me was a blessing.
When I awoke that dawn I felt a little different. The consistency of the parts inside of me weren’t as prominent as they had been so many times before but they were more than enough to allow me to become alert again.
I push myself up to a seated position and stretch my arms over my head. I felt a couple of small readjustments in my shoulders that for some reason made me feel slightly better. I swung my legs over the side of the cot and got to my feet. I felt something soft underneath my foot which I bent down to pick up. It was my hooded jacket; I hadn’ t even realized I had taken it off. Tossing it onto the cot I glanced around in the dim light of the newborn day.
I jumped. I couldn’ t help it; I didn’ t realize there was a mirror in this room. I looked away from it for a moment, but my eyes kept moving back toward it. Now was the time for my first act of bravery and I knew it.
If I had enough courage to run from London, I had enough courage to do what needed to be done. I turned back toward the mirror and began to make my way to it. I wanted to be able to face myself and know that even though I wasn’ t finished and never would be that this would no longer be something that could taunt me and make me feel insignificant.
The closer I got to it the more I realized that this was a full sized mirror, not like the one’s she had hung around my room. Not broken pieces mended together in odd shapes and angles to make me look like a sideshow freak. I didn’t look as distorted as she had allowed me to believe.
Once I was within ten feet of it, I took myself in.
The hair that she had harvested for me was golden brown, soft looking, and wild. It stood up at certain angles but I think that was because I hadn’t had the time to care for it properly. I looked into my face. My eyes or the one I had was large, round, and black. I could see the fear in it that she had inflicted in me starting to slowly fade. Now I was able to look at the patch that Jared had won for me, it was the same color as my eye with a small spider web etched into it and he was right about one thing; it did cover most of the scarring on my face. Only a small wisp of where I had been stitched showed at the bottom.
My nose made me smile. It wasn’t large and it wasn’ t small. It seemed to fit the frame of my face which to me said that she had harvested my head from one person. At least one part of me was more whole than any other. My jaw seemed strong, but not too square. I leaned into the mirror a little closer and saw that my lips had slight scarring on them but nothing too drastic. They were slightly full but not painfully so.
Stepping back I realized that I looked like a young man with fair skin. I noticed that I stood with an almost imperceptible hunch in my shoulders which I promptly tried to straighten out. After a couple of attempts I was able to stand up straight. I made a mental note to myself and my borrowed mind to keep my shoulders back and my head held high.
Once that was accomplished I looked at the rest of myself. When I had removed the hooded jacket, I had also removed the shirt I wore underneath it. My body looked like it had been ravaged by an army of angry centipedes. London had made no attempt to hide the scars that were crudely wound from the top of my chest around and scattered about my torso. My mind was screaming at me to tear my eyes away but I refused. This was one thought I wouldn’t take into consideration. I had to look at myself. I had to take in all the scars and careless stitching she had done to me to remind myself that escaping was the right thing to do. But it also started to form a new emotion inside of me. It wasn’t the pain she had made sure I was in a constant state of and it wasn’t the fear that I had allowed myself to feel every time I heard her voice, saw her face, or listened to her working. My body started to shake and my fists clenched. I knew what this emotion was. It was the same one that had taken over her whenever I asked her too many questions.
It was anger and it was powerful.
I pulled at the drawstring on the pants I had been wearing and let them drop to the ground, standing in front of the mirror naked. While powerful and defined, my legs too were covered with malicious, cruel scars. There was one patch on the left side of my leg that looked like it had been stretched too far as if she didn’t have enough skin to work with, which slightly exposed what I looked like on the inside. I turned slightly and got closer to the mirror again to take a better look. Since the sun had been steadily rising I was able to do a better inspection.
Surprise almost over took me for a moment when I realized that she had used bone in my construction which shown slightly through the side of worn skin. I scoffed. Maybe London wasn’t as adept at perfection as she thought she was. Leaning down I touched the open wound and felt a small wheel that kept clicking back then forward almost as if in a panic and the bone. More parts to remind me constantly of my falsehood. Standing up to my full height I gathered myself to be around six feet tall. The body she had constructed for me was strong, even though it bore the labors of her work.
I turned my body away from the mirror and looked over my shoulder. My back was the same. The twisted scarring from the front of me lead all the way to the back down my body and stopped below my calves.
London knew what she was doing by making sure that I kept myself clothed all the time. She knew and rightfully so, that I would never have ventured out into the world looking as I did.
I grabbed my pants from the floor and pulled them up, tying the string as tightly as I could. I walked back to the cot where I had left the hooded jacket and pulled it angrily over my head.
Soon I would have to find a lighter material than this because the warmth from the morning sun was starting to drift in through the broken windows.
Go downstairs and string something together, the voice inside my head said. That wasn’t such a bad idea since the night that I had awoken screaming in agony as London tore pieces of me apart and put me back together, I had watched the motions of her hands so I had some kind of idea how the binding should go. It was also a good thing I taught myself how to do this in case I started falling apart, I’ d be able to sew the viable pieces back on.
The sound of my footsteps echoed as I went down the first flight of stairs. I was delighted in that simple thing that I’m sure most ta
ke for granted because I was used to the sounds of drills and tools and manic screams echoing. As I made my way across the second floor to the next set of stairs, I realized that I hadn’t stopped the night before to look around and at this moment I wasn’ t particularly interested in doing so but I made a mental note to stop here on the way back up tonight and take a look around.
I quickened my pace as much as I could with the shuffle I had started using to ease the pain on my legs and practically hopped down the last flight of stairs. The room was much brighter now since the sunlight started pouring in. It didn’t really seem much different than it was when I saw it last night but I just noticed extra little things. Like the cracks in the walls, pieces of bricks on the floor, actual cobwebs from some of the dolls to the tables. It was desolate and lonely but that also made it mine and I identified with my new home and that made me a little happy.
Scanning the tables I selected the largest one which harbored the most materials. Scraps of cloth, actual cloth, looked to have been tossed carelessly across it as well as an array of needles and pins. I selected two different colored scraps, a white one and a dark green one, and then sat at the end of the table that housed the sewing machine. I stared at it for a moment not remembering if I had seen London ever use one before. It looked simple enough; place the cloths together and run them under the needle. I cleared my throat and with a glance made sure there was thread in the machine before I started. I slid the materials under the machine and waited. For some reason nothing happened.
“Try using the pedal,” a voice said.
I got to my feet and looked around but saw no one.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
The voice stayed quite but I heard the sound of feet shuffling. It seemed to be coming from the door that was directly across the room from me. Squinting I could see a figure standing in the little bit of shadow that was in the factory but I couldn’t tell what species it was or if it was male or female and the sound of the voice was no help in distinguishing either.
“Who’s there?” I repeated a little sterner this time.
“I’m not going to harm you, but until I’m sure you won’t harm me, I’ll answer nothing,” the voice replied defiantly.
“Fine, just stay in the shadows and away from me then,” I instructed as I sat back down and turned my attention again to the machine. This time, I used my fit to locate the pedal that the shadow had mentioned and found it almost instantly. Again, I slid the materials under the needle this time pressing down on the pedal and the machine sprang to life.
I let out a small shout of glee as the two pieces started to become one. For a brief moment I forgot about the intruder and continued to maneuver the pieces until I was satisfied that I had made something suitable enough to cover most of my scars in the warmer weather. I held it up and inspected it. It wasn’t as perfect as I had seen worn by everyone outside but it was just enough and I was proud of my first try.
“May I make a suggestion?” the shadow asked.
I glanced in its direction for a moment. I wasn’t particularly interested in what it had to say, but it seemed to want to be helpful and that was something that I had been receiving a lot of lately so why not listen?
“I will listen to you only if you step out of the darkness,” I replied.
I thought that was a fair request to make and apparently so did she because when she stepped hesitantly out of the shadows I was finally able to see who had invaded my home. She kept her eyes on my cautiously as she approached slowly at first and she was radiant. She was older than London I could see it in her steel blue eyes.
They were serious and almond shaped and framed by a heart shaped and flawless face. Her wide, thin lips were covered in some kind of deep red colored paint that I had seen London wear at points, only hers was skillfully applied, whereas London would sometimes have it smeared all over her face and teeth. Her bright red hair was pulled neatly back into something resembled a horse’s tail. I liked the way her body looked for some reason. She wasn’ t exactly thin like I had seen in the movies London would sometimes watch with me, she looked like one of the slightly larger dolls I had seen when I first came in here.
“If you go over the stitches again you should be able to make them a little bit stronger,” she advised as she stopped next to me. “Here, let me.”
I stared at for a moment, until she gestured that she would need to sit, then I moved out of the chair and stood next to her watching her as she went over the stitching I had just done again. Her hands moved more gracefully than London’s had when she sewed her dolls together and the determination in her face held no evil.
When she was done she held it up and examined it.
“Hm,” she said as she searched the table for something. She moved pieces of cloths and shoved some of the books away from her. “ Aha!” she said when she found what she had been looking for.
I didn’t mean to react the way I did but when I saw what she had wrapped her hand around, I panicked and grabbed the nearest thing I could and smashed it against the back of her head. The sound was sickening and her body slumped over almost immediately. I saw a trickle of blood dripping down the back of her head.
But what had frightened me most of all was what she had just reached for.
I looked down at her body in horror.
In the bright daylight I saw the seam ripper glistening in her hand.
Five
It was hours before she regained consciousness. I spent those agonizing moments sitting in corner hoping that I hadn’t killed her. I wanted to help her; see if she was breathing but I wouldn’t go near a seam ripper. It made me wonder how long it would be before I could get over my fear of those, would this be my reaction every time I saw someone holding one. Would I always go into violent reactions or would I one day be able to control this?
I heard her groan as she opened her eyes and felt giddy with relief; I hadn’ t taken her life after all. I watched as she rubbed her head where I had hit her with a rotary cutter and push herself to her knees. Her eyes squeezed tightly to combat the pain, a gesture I knew well; she gripped the seam ripper so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I reached down for my weapon which I had next to me on the floor ready to attack again if needed.
She groaned again as she got to a seated position then searched the room for me. “What the hell was that for?” she asked angrily after her eyes finally found me.
“I thought you meant to torture me.”
“By helping you with your shirt I was torturing you?” she asked incredulously.
Taking a deep breath, I pointed a trembling finger at her hand. She looked down at instrument in her hand not knowing that one similar to that had caused me many nights of unspeakable pain and horror, then back at me completely confused. I took a shaky breath, perhaps it was time to explain.
“The one who m—,” not like that, “My moth—,” she’s not your mother, “I was constructed, not born like you. And I was kept prisoner and tortured with tools like the one you’re holding. Especially with one similar to the one you’ re holding,” I said quietly.
“I knew you were different when I watched you sleep last night. I heard soft ticks and whirs and there haven’t been sounds like that in this factory for years,” she said thoughtfully. I watched her get to her feet, place the seam ripper on the table near her, and come over to where I sat. “I’d like to help you if I can. You seem to have been through a lot if something as simple as a fabric tool can cause such a reaction, so I won’ t hold a grudge against you for knocking me out as long as you promise you won’t do it again,” she said with a playful smile.
I nodded.
“I’m Morrison.” She extended her hand to me as Finnegan had done.
“Caelum,” I replied shaking her hand firmly.
As our hands parted I felt a tug on my other hand. I glanced down and saw that she was trying to get me to release the rotary cutter. I looked up into her eyes for a moment and saw kindness. I let it
go and she threw it across the factory.
“Thank you,” I said.
Smiling still, she reached down and helped me up from the cold, dusty floor. That was when I noticed she was almost a head shorter than me and something inside of me told me I needed to protect her. I don’ t know why or who I would protect her from, but I just had to make sure she would live her full life. Imagine what London would do to her if she found out about your new friendship, the voice in my head said.
“You watched me sleep?” I asked ignoring the voice.
She nodded, “I was here last night. I assumed you were a trespasser when I made my rounds through the floors. I was very close to calling the police until I heard the ticks. I don’t know why but I figured you were harmless and I watched you sleep for a couple of hours. When the ticking started to get faster, I knew you were going to wake up so I made my way back down here and hid in the shadow to watch you.”
“Trespasser?”
“I guess I should tell you. This factory has been in my family for generations. I was supposed to be the next owner when my father passed away, but the night before I was scheduled to take over a fire broke out and destroyed almost everything. All that I was able to salvage is what you see here and I just couldn’t find it in my heart to have this place demolished.”
Father.
That was a word I had never heard before. I assumed it was something close to what mother meant only in male form. I’d just have to draw my own conclusion on that and maybe one day I’ d have the courage to ask her if I was right.
“So, you saw my scars?” I asked quietly.
“Yes. I won’t ask you where they came from. That’s only something you will tell me when you feel the time is right, but I just want you to know that when you are ready, I will be here to listen. I also want you to know that what your body looks like, does not define the person you are. Wear those scars proudly, Caelum. They mean you are strong and a survivor,’ she said with conviction.
Unwound (The Symphony of Brass and Bone) Page 4
