“I can’t believe I’m actually home,” I whispered softly.
“Good thing I kept your room for you,” Mom said.
I looked at her. “Really? Why?”
She shrugged, but it was the kind she did when she only pretended not to know something. “I’m your mom. You’re my daughter. No matter how far away you are, I’ll always keep a light on, hoping you’ll come home.”
I put my arm around her waist and hugged her. “Is it okay if I keep Max?”
Mom laughed, scratching his head. “How can I say no to that little face.”
“Whose? His or mine?”
Mom just laughed.
***
The distant ring of the old town clock solemnly chimed three. In the morning. It was only then that I finally wiped my cheeks, my fingertips freezing around my stale hot chocolate, Mom frozen around the terrible truths I’d shared. I expected her to know what to say—to smile and tell me it wasn’t that bad. So when she burst suddenly into tears, I did too.
“Mom?”
She didn’t say anything. She just reached across the table and pulled me into an awkwardly positioned hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
“I should have been there. I should have—”
“Mom,” I said in a rolling tone. “Don’t do that. Don’t torture yourself. I’m fine. I’m strong—”
“But what if you weren’t? What if—”
“Please.” I shook my head. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” She wiped her cheeks with two graceful hands and forced a smile. “I don’t mean to make you feel incapable, but I’m your mom. I just… I’ll never stop feeling the need to protect you.”
I thought about Max and how Luther had hurt him, and for the first time, I completely understood where Mom was coming from. “It’s okay. I actually do get it.”
She smiled at me, taking in every inch of my face. “I’m so proud of you, April.”
“Proud?”
“Yes, and for what it’s worth, I’m glad you met Luther.”
“Why?”
“You’re a wolf now.” Her hands gathered in to her chest. “When I saw you that night by the river, and for the first time on the rock, I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. And if it weren’t for Luther, we would never have known you were capable of the shift.”
I smiled too. “I know. And I’ll always be grateful to him for that, but...”
“I know,” she whispered, reaching over then to thumb the sore spot on my lip. “You’ll have a bruise by tomorrow.”
I touched it with my hand. “I didn’t even know I got hit.”
Her face crumpled again but she controlled it, staying strong for me. “So he was never a god, huh?”
“Nope.” I made the ‘p’ pop as I said it. “Just a scared little boy that wanted to keep himself alive forever.”
“Lot of good that did him. Guess he never counted on you.” She snorted. “Maybe he should’ve written a return policy into the contract.”
I laughed hard. Harder than I probably meant to.
“Well done, April.” She cupped my hand, meaning that. “I said it before and I have to say it again: I’m so proud of you.”
“Proud of me for killing someone?”
Her lips pressed in tight, and I could see her fighting through the deep waters of exhaustion for something insightful to say. “We’ll need to talk about that—at length. But, in that moment, for what happened and was going to happen, you did the right thing fighting for your life.”
I nodded. She was right. I could sleep tonight with that nugget of truth.
Mom took a deep breath and sighed it out. “We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah. I’m kinda looking forward to being in my old bed again.”
“Well, not tonight.” She stood up and pushed in her chair. “You’ve been gone, and I thought I’d lost you forever.” She tried hard to control her voice. “So tonight we’re going to pretend you’re five again and scared of the dark.”
I smiled, going back in time to when I’d snuggle in between Mom and Dad in their big, cozy bed, where none of my troubles ever seemed so bad. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her smile pushed back for a serious face. “But the dog stays down here.”
Max lifted his head from where he slept by the hearth, and whimpered once, as if to say that was fine by him. Mom and I laughed, the exhaustion making the sound weak.
***
After we talked until dawn, I slept off the stress and the adrenaline until the following night, so it wasn’t until Monday morning that I finally got a chance to go see Alex, except I had to wait even longer, because I knew he’d be at school. Mom was at school, too—making arrangements for me to go back tomorrow and hopefully get some catch-up work—but she was gone before I got up, leaving only a note to say she’d be back after work tonight.
On my first night home, Mom and I decided that, as far as the humans in town were concerned, I’d gone to live with family for a while after suffering a breakdown from losing my dad, and now I was back. I knew the teachers would be compassionate when I came to school, and allow me time to catch up. My friends, old friends, however, would shun me. I was the cast-off that the new alpha didn’t want. I could never tell them I killed Luther and gave my new empire to Theo so I could come home. They’d only know I’d never consummated my marriage vows, which they’d all attribute to the alpha finding me repulsive. And you know what? For some reason, I just didn’t really care.
Amazingly, nothing around here had really changed that much. The snow had never fallen as heavily in town as it did on the hill, so if anything it seemed warmer and not so icy, as if spring were closer here. The snow didn’t pile up into mounds like it did around the mansion, and when I looked out my window this morning—in a room that also hadn’t changed at all while I was gone, even down to my Edgar Allan Poe poster on the wall—the rope swing in the tree was still hanging from its strong leafless branch. There was a small layer of snow over the seat, freshly fallen as I slept, but it didn’t look so muddy in the clearing that I’d stay inside today. So, right after breakfast, I put on some jeans—glorious jeans—a sweater, plenty of thermal layers, and my old blue coat, and headed outside, leaving Max by his new friend, The Hearth.
Even out here, not much had changed. Everyone’s gardens were a bit dead and lonely, and with spring not too far away the snow had lost its magical appeal—making everything wet and muddy instead. I could see the ground through the white patches now, and my boots squished into slushy ice in places too, especially under the swing.
Just off to the side, Alex’s house was exactly the same as it was before. Unruly greens still hugged the walls and had even spread to the roof now, like a disease. But from here, with its cheery but chipped blue paint and the shiny tower window that reflected sun, it still looked magical. Unbroken. No one would know how much grief had visited there only recently, and to look at it, to be here on this swing with the fresh air of home igniting my memories, I found it just so hard to believe George wasn’t there anymore.
I looked away. I didn’t want to feel such emptiness in a world that was once so dear to me.
After a while longer on the swing, reliving the past few months and coming to terms with it all, I decided that if I couldn’t see Alex until the afternoon I should at least check in on Plain. He’d probably be in his library, strapped into a chair on the ceiling, an empty plate beside him and no idea who ate his sandwich when he wasn’t looking. It warmed my heart to remember him that way, and before I’d made the decision to go see him, my feet were moving toward the gate.
But it was locked. It was never locked.
I gave it a shake and put my hand to my brow to block out the sun, staring up at the tower and the other windows to see if anyone was home. I wasn’t about to jump the gate. Maybe a few months ago I would. I’d even have walked in without knocking. It was just that way with Alex and Plain, and George. But to
o much time had passed and I didn’t feel right doing it now. So I walked around the front. I had to go back through my house and out my front door into the street to get around there, and as I trudged down the slushy drive I thought about the night Theo dropped me home. I wondered how he was doing now as the Big Bad Alpha. I hadn’t heard any chatter, but then, I hadn’t really been anywhere to hear anything, other than what Mom told me. People were wary, that’s all I knew, but changes had already been made. I only knew about some of them because Mom said a bunch of people had moved into town that had no idea what the internet was or how to use bank cards. I knew then that the slaves had been freed.
All the way to Plain’s I thought about Katy, and Anne. I thought about little Red and if she’d become a raven, or if she turned back after. I even thought about Luther, and how maybe, if he had’ve been given modern knowledge about things, he might have been a better person. I knew there was some good in him, but it was too late now. He’d done too much wrong, and yet I still knew I’d regret playing judge and juror for the rest of my days, wondering if it truly was my decision to make. Of course I knew it wasn’t, but then I also felt like I’d done the right thing removing him. He was dangerous.
When I arrived around the other side of the block at Plain’s front door, a giant collection of scattered newspapers and an overstuffed mailbox greeted me. I stopped in front of it, heart sinking. This couldn’t be good. Had they moved? With no forwarding address, would Alex ever know I came back?
Part Four: Chapter Two
In the Absence of All Light
Being careful not to trip or slip up the steps, I climbed over all the papers and rapped on the door. No one answered.
I called out. No one came.
I tried the handle. It was unlocked.
When the door opened it creaked loudly, making me cringe in case Plain might be sleeping. Then again, it was obvious no one had left through this front door in a while, or the back—at least not this morning, because the webs across it would’ve broken. So either they weren’t home, or they’d been sleeping since George died, which meant it was more than acceptable to wake them with a creaky door.
The daylight from outside showed a world lost in gray, illuminating the sadness here, as though it was a thing that could be touched. The air was thick and wrathful, and smelled like cold snow and wet newspaper.
I shut the door and felt oddly relieved that the light was gone, standing still for a moment to take it all in. No clocks ticked in the house. The refrigerator didn’t buzz and there was no news playing on George’s TV. It was empty, and I wondered for a moment if maybe they all died when George did. If maybe the heartbreak was just too much. It didn’t make sense—any of it. Where were they? And if they were here, then why did everything look so bad? How could a light in a world so bright just go out like that? How could it all be gone?
“Plain?” I called softly. Maybe he was just sleeping. Maybe they’d taken some time to grieve and would get up today and life would go on as normal.
I waited, hoping he’d call back in a cheery voice from the library, or anywhere in the house, but the total absence of any sound moved through me like smoke and hurt my heart.
I wandered through the old house, pushing doors open, the creaks and groans further proving no one had moved around in here for ages. There was nothing left here now but ghosts, it seemed.
I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, then the library, stopping at that dark room for a moment. But the only life in here were a few mice gnawing at the remains of a chicken leg, which had clearly fallen from Plain’s plate up there on his desk. Books were strewn all over the floors, as if he’d either been in a hasty search for something or in a fit of rage; I couldn’t tell. But without the lighting to create the mood, and without his mad mind talking of magical things, the room had no life.
I closed the door on the musty smell of stale books, swallowing my broken heart as it inched up my throat.
At the end of the corridor George’s door was ajar, floods of thick darkness leaking out from behind it. No light came through the windows in there. There was no TV on. No life. As I walked slowly toward it, even the photographs down the hallway held no clues, no one watching on to see how this ends.
Carefully, over piles of broken inventions and shredded papers, past nests of mice that smelled like dead flesh, my boots crunched broken glass and metal. It was like a storm had broken loose in here, tearing everything apart. At the end of the hall I peeked in through the narrow gap of open door and took in the room. George’s chair was still there, and for a moment my heart skipped a beat seeing a head and shoulders in it. And when the smell hit me, I froze on the spot. As much as my mind wanted to tell me I was imagining a person in that chair—seeing George where he no longer was—my eyes knew better. It wasn’t moving. Whatever it was. Whoever. And judging by the unmoved pile of junk all around, whoever was in that chair hadn’t moved for some time.
I was about to cry. My chest and stomach contracted rapidly, a million thoughts planning out what I would do, how I would act in the minutes to come. Call 911? Check for a pulse? Stand and stare at whoever it was and try to see them as they were?
But the person moved then, sat up a bit and turned his shoulders.
“Hello?” he said.
“Plain?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice lilting on the end. “That is me. What do you want?”
“It’s me.” I pushed the door and a pile of junk moved back with it. “It’s Red.”
“Red?” He said it like he didn’t know who I was. “Oh, Red. Alex’s little friend.”
“Yes.” I offered a smile, but I wasn’t sure he could see it. All I could see was the shadowy outline of broken things.
“It’s nearly morning,” he said, turning away in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay and chat. A lot to do, you know. The funeral is today.”
But I knew the funeral had happened months ago, when my mum ran into Alex at the church. I wasn’t sure what to do or say to that. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for this.
My eyes went to the birdcage where Plain kept Mom, half expecting to find a dead bird, but it was empty from what I could tell. It was pretty hard to see in the dark.
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s time to get up and get ready then. Would you like me to turn on the light?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not completely mad, little Red. I know what’s there when the light comes on.”
“What’s there?” I asked.
He sighed, the whole top half of his body lifting as he did. “I know he’s gone.”
“Who?” For a moment, I wondered if the funeral he was talking about was Alex’s. It was the only way any of this chaos would make sense. Where was Alex? If he was here, if he was okay, he’d be taking care of Plain, wouldn’t he?
“Go on then,” Plain said. “Turn on the light. See it for yourself.”
My hand shook as I reached for the switch on the wall and flicked it. Plain shielded his eyes in the crook of his elbow, while yellow light smashed down on the defeat around him. It showed it all. I saw every inch of agony he’d lived through: the empty bottles all around him, glasses abandoned long ago without any decorum. Stale food, weeks old, half eaten until, at last, he’d obviously given up eating completely. I knew this because he was so thin I could see the outline of his bones through his dressing gown. His hair had fallen out in patches at the back of his head, or maybe it had been pulled out. He’d obviously been in the same clothes for a very long time, and even his beard was an indication that things had gone terribly wrong.
“Plain.” I pushed the mess forward with my feet to move over to him. It didn’t matter now who had died. If Alex was gone, it was irrelevant to the fact that Plain needed help. Now. “It’s time to get up.”
“I know.” He sat back in his chair, his hands flopping lazily on the arms as his eyes adjusted to the light. As I got around the piles of a broken life and took a better lo
ok at Plain, a wash of relief emptied my chest. He wasn’t so bad. He still had some meat on him. He smelled bad, and he needed a shave and a good soak in some laundry detergent, but I wouldn’t need to call an ambulance.
He cocked his head when he looked at my face, and even managed a smile. “Alex will be happy you’re home.”
“So Alex is okay?”
Plain nodded, his eyes glazing over as he looked down to the right, lost again in his dark world.
“What’s wrong?” I said, sitting against the desk where I once watched George solve a difficult puzzle. “Why have you given up?”
“What am I good for, little Red? I failed him,” he said. “What kind of a father, what kind of an inventor am I that I couldn’t do it?”
“Couldn’t do what?”
He looked at me, eyes misted. “I never finished the Worldinator.”
“How did that fail him?”
“We were going to imagine worlds together,” he said, looking around the room as though all those worlds would still be there. He lowered his head again and shut his eyes, unable to take the reality. “And now it’s too late.”
“It’s not too late.” I picked up his hand. It was cold and greasy. “George is still here. In your heart, influencing every world you imagine.”
“Then he’s lost in darkness, little Red, because I tried.” His voice broke and he cried. “I tried hard, but all I see now is sadness. Everywhere I look.”
“It hurts, I know.” I touched my heart, trying not to cry. Trying to think of anything useful to say, but all I could tell him was, “It really hurts.”
“Yes,” he said in a whisper.
“But you didn’t fail George just because you didn’t finish the Worldinator.” I remembered the bicycle helmet and the machine that was supposed to paint a room of your imagination, and smiled, thinking about the worlds I’d created when I was at the mansion—all that they gave me, and the one thing they didn’t. “Don’t you see?” I added. “You couldn’t bring his world out here for him, but you gave him something no story world ever could.”
Red: The Untold Story Page 24
