by Maguire, Ily
Pike moves to the window and presses something on the wall. Solar-paneled awnings extend on the outside of the windows with a loud creak, and sharp squeak. They stop mid-extension, but at least it blocks some of the sun. Heavy drapes have been pulled off of their tracks and lie in heaps on the floor.
Streaks in the bamboo floor show where the sun has permanently burned it. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that surround the room are out of direct sunlight and contain e-readers in alphabetical order, titles etched into the metal bindings.
As mold spores and fungus have begun to colonize the rest of the house, this room has retained the integrity of the hypo-allergenic rugs and paint designed to repel and resist anything that would cause a reaction. Cost irrelevant, the furnishings are in the 1800’s Victorian style with embellished fabric and ornate woodwork. They remind me of stories I read like Northanger Abbey, The Turn of the Screw, and Jane Eyre. Even though they were manufactured hundreds of years later with synthetic materials that will never decompose, the couches, chairs, and tables are new, but look old. It’s what my father liked, despite what he was himself – old looking new.
“Someone’s clearly already been here,” Pike observes from my father’s faux-mahogany desk. “And I doubt very much that it was your sister.”
The room is a mess. Papers are strewn everywhere and my father’s desk has been cleared off. It sizzles in the direct sunlight, but doesn’t change color like other pieces in the room. I move around beside Pike. The drawers have been pried open, exposing metal covered with wood. The state of this room is different from the rest of the house. Instead of massive, large-scale destruction, this is focused. Whoever was in here was careful enough in looking for something specific. The desk is the epicenter of the demolition.
“Everything’s gone,” Pike says, throwing flat, empty cases on the desk. There are no e-cards or e-discs anywhere. I walk over to the window and crack the blinds a bit, allowing light to stream onto the pile.
I reach over and pick one up. Evelyn Campbell scrolls across the solar case. I pick up another one: Rosamund Campbell. And another one: Dory Campbell.
“They’re all empty.” He tosses a final slipcase on the desk. Imperial Hospital blinks and then fades. There isn’t enough sun in the room to sustain the encoded information, despite the amount of light that had saturated the room before we got here.
“Pike, wait!” Something comes to me, but it takes a second to process the racing thought into words. “Has everything been wiped clean?”
“What do you mean?” He looks at me, confused. His brow is furrowed and his lips are in a straight line.
I reach down and pick up a piece of undegradable paper that was thrown around the room.
“The papers in here are blank,” I state. I rush over to the bookshelves and take a random e-reader from somewhere in the middle. The Picture of Dorian Grey turns on when I tip it up, but when I open it, nothing is there. I take another and another. They’re all blank.
Pike follows my lead. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head.
“What if your father stored the information somewhere else, knowing it would be compromised? It would be too obvious to keep important information here, so maybe he wiped everything clean at once.”
“But he must know that it wouldn’t be safe with him,” I state.
Pike pulls another book down. It’s blank. “He definitely wanted to keep the information about you and your family away from anyone else. But why didn’t he just chip it all and implant it somewhere safe-”
I stop and look at Pike.
“He wouldn’t have.” My thoughts wash over me like a flood.
“Anything’s possible,” Pike answers.
I turn to stare at Pike and then at the same time we both say, “Evie.”
Pike speaks first. “She wasn’t going in for a routine replacement. She was going to be implanted with the information.”
“But that’s so ridiculous.” I can’t believe what we’re both thinking or the possibility that we’re right.
“But it makes sense.” Pike looks down and around at the mess once more as if he’s looking for some other clue. Something that would prove this all wrong. “It would be the perfect way to keep it all safe.”
“It isn’t right,” I say.
“Are there any other rooms we could check that might help us figure out where he’s gone?” Pike asks.
“His bedroom,” I offer. The rooms beyond where we stand have been untouched. The pocket doors are wide open and we can see into them. Nothing is amiss. We leave the office and go back down the small stairs, through the hallway, and past the foyer. Up the center stairs, clouds loom overhead. Another storm possibly? I wish there was some way to cover up the open hole in the top of the house.
We run up a final set of stairs to my parent’s bedrooms in the penthouse. The hallway up here is wider than the one between my room and Dory’s. My mother’s room is the first door on the right and my father’s is at the end of the hall on the left.
“Something isn’t right.” I slow down. I’m dizzy and my legs tremble.
“I feel it, too,” Pike states. “Must be the air.”
Breathing is hard and I clutch my chest. The air isn’t right. It’s almost too heavy to swallow. Pike moves around me in slow-motion and throws the door to my mother’s room wide open. The air that blows out is warm. Fetid. I don’t think Dory has been up here. I don’t think anybody has been up here. The room is in pristine condition. From a quick glance, not an item seems out of place.
I drag my legs after Pike. His mouth is wide open, taking in deep breaths. I imitate him and it helps. My lungs fill up and I hold onto the air before exhaling. My head doesn’t spin, but it’s so light, I may float away.
He stops at my father’s door. The window at the end of the hall isn’t covered with drapes. They’ve been pulled down. Pike shakes his head and looks at me. He’s got some sort of a rainbow halo around his head, no, his whole body. I’m delirious. I laugh. I hear it in my own head and can’t tell if he hears it, too. It’s a slow laugh. Almost a drugged laugh. I need to sit down.
In that same slow-motion as a few seconds ago, he moves over to the window and wraps his hand in the gold drapes that lie on the ground. He balls his hand into a fist and smashes it into the window. A crack spiders throughout the glass. He hits it again and it groans as wind whips outside. The glass shattering onto the floor. Air whooshes into the hallway.
A rush of air on my face and within an instant, my head clears. I gasp.
The lock panel is still in place on the door to my father’s room, but it isn’t locked and Pike pushes it. It opens. Then stops. It hits something.
My stomach lurches.
The smell that escapes the room in that instant has me doubled over, my hands and knees in contact with the floor. I focus on the smooth sensation beneath my palms as saliva drips from my lips. I have nothing to throw up.
Pike covers his nose and mouth. His face turns a light shade of green.
The floor is damp, but not wet and I can’t tell if it’s from my spit or the water that has plagued the rest of the house. There is still more green and black growing around the floorboards. The walls close to my face are stained yellowish-brown with black speckles.
And then I notice it. On the floor, about five feet from my face. A small rivulet of blood has puddled and congealed on the other side of the door. And a thin, yellow thread bisects it.
The spider silk hair of my mother.
4
Webs of hair are obvious from this position close to the ground. I just can’t see under the door. Pike pushes the door a second time. It doesn’t budge.
“No! No, wait!” I spurt out. He can’t see what I can. I swipe my arm across my mouth, wiping spit away, and scramble to my feet. I grab the doorknob from Pike and block him from moving it another inch.
“Wait, what?” He steps back.
“My mother! It’s my mother’s hair! Sh
e’s on the other side. Mom! Mom!” I pull the door closed enough so it isn’t making contact with anything on the other side, and I slip into the room. My eyes burn so much from the stench that I can’t see beyond the tears that spring from them. It is so pungent and acrid that I have to run to open a window before doing anything else. It’s dark in the room that I can’t see my mother, blocking the door. I’m scared to look.
The air outside the room flushes away some of the toxicity and I suck in a quick, deep breath. This room has been destroyed, too. I trip my way over to the drapes and throw them over. Even the backup light hasn’t activated. The sun streaks in and I squint. I turn back to my dead mother lying in the doorway.
I exhale. It’s not my mother. It’s just her hair. I start to cry.
“What’s in the way?” Pike asks from the doorway. “Move it out and I’ll come in.”
I shake my head and rush over to the door. An old steamer trunk blocks the door from being able to open all the way. I push it away and the smell is more powerful, more sickening here. Pike opens the door all the way and picks up a tuft of hair.
“My mother’s hair,” I say, trying not to retch. “She must’ve tried to get away.”
“Is there another way out?” Pike looks around. I can’t follow his gaze, the stench is becoming overwhelming.
He throws up the half-opened lid of the trunk, like a coffin. The smell knocks him back and he braces himself with his hands on the floor behind him.
“What-” I cover my mouth and look inside. Crows. Or what remains of them. Recently deceased, they haven’t desiccated yet. Large, wriggly maggots crawl in and out and all over the inside of the trunk. Flies buzz around everywhere.
“I. Need. To. Get. Out.” I run into the hallway. I can’t go back in. It takes Pike a moment to come back out, which is good. He doesn’t need to see me dry-heave in the hallway.
“I opened a window. It should get better,” he tells me and kneels in front of me. He brushes my hair away from my face. Without much strength, I reach up and put my hands over his. I look straight into his eyes.
“Pike, I-.” I love you. I’m afraid.
The energy surges through my body and it gains strength from his proximity. I won’t let him go. His face is so close to mine and he isn’t backing away. I could just lean up and-
“Let’s get back downstairs.” Pike gets up and closes the door to the room. “I don’t think there’s anything up here.” He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me up. I stand up, too, still close to him. I just want to press myself to him, to feel the heat from his body. It’s gotten so cold and there’s no electricity between us.
“But we have to be sure. We have to check that room and be sure,” I mutter. I sound like Dory.
“I’ll go. I’ll be quick.” Pike opens the door and I wait in the hall. The air has begun to circulate and it’s cold. Frigid. I blink. My eyelashes feel frozen. My eyes are frozen. Frozen open. I’m paralyzed. I’m in The Hollow.
“Help!” I scream.
“What?” Pike calls from behind the door. “Rose? What’s wrong?”
I’m up and running now. Running down the hall, down the stairs, down another hall. Down more stairs and rain drizzles from the sky. My feet slip on the steps and it’s dark. I’m in the dark. In a tunnel. The tunnels.
And I hear wheels, the squeak, squeak, squeak of rusty wheels on linoleum. It’s coming from behind me. A gurney. My gurney.
“Rose, wait! Stop!” Someone calls, but I don’t know who. I don’t care. It’s an attendant. How does he know my name? No, it’s one of the doctors. I won’t wait. I won’t get caught again.
I slip on the floor. Wet. Water. Blood.
I try to get up and slip again. The stone floor is slippery with moss. And my blood.
“Rose, stop!” The voice is right behind me now. I can’t get up. I keep slipping. Don’t turn around. Which way do I go? Where am I?
I get back to my feet only to be knocked back down again. I smell the disinfectant. My real arm throbs and there’s a slight tingling sensation farther down from my shoulder of my bionic arm. I’ve cut my knees, too.
“Don’t put me back in!” I shake my head from side to side as someone takes my real arm. The person grabs my other arm from the back and wraps them around my waist. I’m straightjacketed. “Let me go! Let me go!”
“Rose, knock it off! It’s me, Pike!”
Pike. I hear his name from some far-off place. I fight to get free. To get to Pike. The electric current running through my body is reminiscent. Pike. My eyes are closed and then open. I think I can smell him. I let the tension go. I can’t go anywhere. I close my eyes and open them again. My house. I’m inside my house, not The Hollow. And I’m being held, not restrained. By Pike, not an attendant.
He releases me and turns me to him. His hands on the sides of my face, pushes wisps of hair away from my face, wipes the tears. He wraps his arms around me this time, not my own. He holds my head to his chest. He smells of the earth, but sweet, like right after the rain.
He lets me go again and I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him. My new arm is still clumsy and it smashes into the side of his face. His eyes widen and he looks scared. He pulls my arms down from around his neck. The electricity has returned. He leans down and presses his lips to mine. My mouth gropes for his in desperation as I kiss him back. I can feel his breath as he exhales through his nose and his warmth only makes me want it more. He releases me and I slide down. His arms wrap around my waist, still holding me up somewhat.
“What just happened? What time is it?” I take a step back, trying to act calm.
“It’s almost three,” he says. He leans back, pushing his hands into his pockets. His cheeks are pink. Mine must be flushed, too. They feel so warm. “We left your sister hours ago, we should get back.”
The clock on the wall gets brighter with the sun and as clouds pass overhead, it dims. I never noticed that before. How have we been gone for so long?
“I think you were hallucinating,” he says and I don’t answer. I know.
“The weather is changing,” I offer. I’m sure I didn’t hallucinate his kiss.
“Yeah, it is. We should get downstairs. Are you going to be okay?” His look is wary, like he doesn’t trust that I’m going to be alright. I don’t know if I will.
“I am right now.” I follow him down the stairs to the quarantine cellar.
“You know, Rose-” Pike stops at the containment room door. “This isn’t The Hollow. You’re not going back to The Hollow, you know that right?”
I nod my head, but not very emphatically. As long as I have him, I’m okay with that.
“Right,” I say. I know I’m not in The Hollow, but I can’t stop these lapses in sanity.
He takes my hand. There it is. Another quick surge of electricity. He looks at our hands and then up at me. He feels it, too. Is he going to kiss me again?
“She must’ve left us this.” Pike bends down and picks up a small, round chip. He waves it in front of the door and they open. First the outer, then the inner.
“I told you she would,” I say, feeling proud of being right about Dory. Maybe when we sit down, he’ll hold me close. I follow him into the cellar and Dory is still lying on the couch under the blanket I covered her with. The only difference is that instead of a warm, pink color, the blanket is a cold, frosty blue.
I rush over to the couch and fall to the ground. Dory’s face is pale and her lips are blue.
“Rose, what’s wrong? What’s happened to her?” Pike is beside me. My heart races as I look around. Foam at the corners of her mouth.
“It’s the pill she took. Before we left. Dory, wake up!” I touch her cheek. It’s freezing cold. I hold open an eyelid to expose an eye, unseeing.
“What pill? What did she take?” Pike is beside me. He has the blanket off of my sister and he’s holding her up, propping her chest against her arm while he puts his ear to her back.
“She’s got to be
alive,” I say. The sick feeling is back.
“It’s shallow, but she’s breathing. And there’s a faint heartbeat.” He lies her down on her side instead of her back. “Do you think you’d have any expulsion pills down here? To make her throw up whatever it is she’s taken.”
“I-I don’t know. I can check.” I get up, but spin in a circle. In the bathroom. I’ll check there first.
I rush toward the back of the cellar and fumble in the darkness. The light goes on and in the brightening bathroom, I find little pink pills to induce vomiting. I take the vial and run it back to Pike. He holds out his hand.
“How many?” I ask.
“One,” he answers.
I place one in his palm. With one hand, he opens Dory’s mouth and with the other, he places his palm up to her mouth. He closes it for her and rubs her throat. The pill goes down because in less than two seconds, she’s leaning over the side of the couch, throwing up. A few minutes seem like hours, but she stops getting sick and color returns to her face.
“Dory, what did you do?” I wipe her face with a corner of the blanket. The part that touches her body goes from blue to pink with her rising temperature.
“I-I-” she tries to answer. Her eyes are slow to open and she holds her hands to her head. Her wrists are limp and they don’t stay still, trembling as she tries to steady them. She puts her hands down into her lap and looks up at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and tears streak from them. She turns and her eyes narrow. “What did you do? Why don’t you just leave me alone!”
“You tried to kill yourself! I saw you take something before we left. What were you thinking, Dory?” My voice is shrill and I know I shouldn’t yell. Not at her. I only saw her take one pill. She must’ve gotten more once we were gone. Pike gets up and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with something that he sprinkles on the carpet. The vomit disintegrates. Just like in The Hollow. I shiver and try not to gag at the memory.
