"You struck me."
"I'm not going to stand still and let you kill me, if that's what you're thinking. Better than you have tried." Far from being the damsel in distress, Naomie knew how to handle an attack. Her firm paid for self-defense classes for each of its employees down to the lowest secretary just in case they're ever in need of a helping hand. Naomie retook the classes every other quarter to keep her skills sharp. No way of telling if she would ever need them, but right now, they were keeping her from panicking while a harpy with scissors tried to cut out her heart.
Seeing an advantage, Naomie pressed the attack, throwing a feint at the Princess's midsection before smashing her fist into her face. The Princess recoiled and brought the shears up between them, all wicked metal and sharp edges. She thrust the scissors forward and tried to catch them on Naomie's torso, but Naomie moved faster to get out of the way. The two separated and Naomie brushed loose hair out of her eyes.
The room shifted and Naomie was thrown off her feet. She crashed into the divan, but thankfully didn't tangle up in the curtains. However, the Princess used her momentary advantage to close the distance and she was on Naomie like a burr, trying to drive the shears into Naomie's chest. With her arms crossed over her chest, Naomie pushed up against the weight of the Princess who squeezed Naomie's midsection with her knees and bore down with her arms.
Grunting, Naomie pushed up harder, refusing with everything she had to allow this woman to drive those shears into her throat or chest or wherever she was aiming them.
With a scream, the Princess threw her weight into her arms. Yet she could get no closer.
Pushing the shears off target, Naomie suddenly let the weight drop onto her chest. The shears hit the floor just to the side of her throat and Naomie wrapped the Princess in a bear hug to throw her off. They rolled once putting Naomie on top. She grabbed the Princess's hands, dropping them over their heads to the floor where she tried her best to get the shears out of them. Except it was as if they were welded to the Princess's hands. They refused to be separated. So Naomie settled for trapping her hands there and hitting her in the nose. Blood painted the lower half of the Princess's face and she smiled with fangs at Naomie.
"I will kill you. Just as your lover swore to kill me."
"If Ray threatened to kill you, you deserve it," said Naomie. "Go to sleep." Naomie hit her in the face again and something splintered. It was the Princess's right cheek. It cracked clean as glass, a thunderbolt of black as if the woman's face was no more than a mask. Distracted by this new development, Naomie lost her grip on the Princess's hands and had to scramble away when the shears came at her again.
Standing up, her breath puffing before her, Naomie watched as the Princess also got to her feet. Her movement was wrong. Where there had been elegance, now was something more raw and powerful.
"You hurt me," the Princess said. Her mouth shifted awkwardly around her new wound. "I will repay you for that."
When she struck, it was at speed, though there was little room for a running start. It drove the air from Naomie's lungs and threw her backward into the wall where she landed cradled by the black velvet. Dazed Naomie tried to get to her feet only to have the shears driven into her shoulder. She screamed and grabbed the Princess's wrists. Her right arm seemed to go numb from the shoulder down making it hard to keep her hold, but she held on. The scissors hung up in her flesh when the Princess tried to wrench them back out. Dragged to her feet, Naomie stumbled toward the vanity. The Princess's nails scraped down her back and along her neck. Blood ran freely from her wound. Spinning, Naomie back fisted her opponent widening the crack in the Princess's cheek. The strike caused the Princess to fall back and Naomie landed, hard, in the chair before the vanity. She could see the Princess coming as the woman rose and approached. However, when she caught sight of her face in the mirror, she howled.
"NO."
So much of the room was covered in velvet that it was easy to forget the room was made of mirrors. Now the Princess saw herself for the first time since her mask cracked and she cried out against it. Naomie moved out of the way, leaving her a large gaze at herself.
The Princess, enraptured by the mirror, saw nothing but her cracked mask. She tried to repair it with her fingers and something from one of the pots on the vanity. Naomie stared as she mumbled over and over again about how she couldn't be seen this way. Meanwhile, Naomie worked slowly to get the shears to let go of her shoulder. Pulling them loose, she felt her arm start to come back to itself though it was stiff, slow, and burned with pain.
She dropped the bloody shears on the floor with a clang. The tone brought the Princess back to herself. Goop from one of the pots covered the lower half of her face, but did nothing to hide the damage already done. To be honest, the attempt had the effect of putting makeup on a pig. It failed to enhance the pig and made everyone uncomfortable.
As the Princess snarled, her cheek crack extended even further.
"You're ugly," Naomie said.
"How dare you." The Princess lashed out, her arms becoming longer as she did. Naomie skipped backward and felt the wind of the hands passing before dashing forward to chin check the Princess with her elbow. One arm hung useless against her side, but that didn't stop her. Her elbow slammed into the Princess's chin and the mask splintered enough to make the jaw drop to the floor. Behind the mask, the Princess had green skin wrinkled and warted. Shocked, she brought her hands up to hide her chin. Naomie smirked and smacked her palm into the Princess's forehead. The damaged mask split down the center. The Princess tried to keep it on her face, but it slid and threatened to fall.
"How dare you!"
"I dare." Naomie turned until she was standing in front of the only wall without a curtain, daring the Princess to follow her. With her hands covering her face, only her eyes were visible and they burned with hatred. Naomie didn't care. "Look at yourself."
The Princess cowered refusing to face herself in the mirror.
"I said, look at you." Naomie kicked her in the stomach.
The parts of the mask hit the floor and shattered. The Princess saw herself in the mirror and screamed. The eyes were the same, but her face looked as if she had been splattered with acid. Parts of it were green and bubbly, the rest splotchy and diseased. Pale hands sought to cover it all up once again. She dropped to her knees and wept.
"Let me out of here," Naomie said but it was as if the Princess could not hear her. She shrank down further, collapsing toward the floor until the only thing left behind was the dress. The woman who had worn it had disappeared. Naomie stood alone in the room with her back to the mirror.
"Let me out of here," she repeated to no one. With her toes, she nudged the dress. It slithered over her skin but remained empty. The door stood open. Naomie went out into the hallway, but that lead nowhere. Going back into the cell, she went to the vanity. Her right arm was still useless, so she rummaged with her left hand. There were hair pins and brushes, but nothing worthwhile in the vanity drawer. Her mind returned to the strange safe. Mentioning had gotten the Princess to come into the cell, maybe it could offer her something.
She picked the dress up off the floor where it had fallen over the safe. The black square sat perfectly in the center of the round room. Naomie brushed her fingers over the top of it where the floor was uneven, but she couldn't touch it directly. Her fingers got within a breath and stopped. Frustrated, she rolled her eyes upward.
The safe peered down at her from the ceiling.
Waving her hand over it, Naomie attempted to disturb the reflection. Her hand did nothing. It made sense. She had been able to unlock the cell by interacting with a replica of the door. Perhaps the safe worked the same way. Dragging the vanity chair over to the center of the room, Naomie climbed it. Standing on the chair, her height wasn't enough. Her fingers barely brushed the ceiling.
She jumped. Her hand sunk into the ceiling and her fingers ran into something hard and metal. She landed off balance and only just managed not to
topple over.
"Woah."
After a moment of settling, she jumped once more. This time she prepared for contacting something up there. Her hand grasped and she drew a key down from the ceiling. Feathers and scrollwork decorated the glowing brass key. It sat heavy in her palm. Dropping off the chair, she knelt down beside the square in the floor and tried to fit the key into the hole presented. It sank in the final length and landed in the lock. When she turned it, the lid sprung open and a drumbeat traveled through the room, wavering the mirrors. The drum became a heartbeat. Nestled in a hollow of gems, a ruby heart with a black center sat. It was decorated with gold filigree that seemed to hold it together. The center pulsed with every beat.
Naomie slid her hands under the gem and drew it out. As she cupped it in her hands, it began to glitter with golden sparks. The golden sparks consumed it until it was nothing but light and darkness in her hands. Finally they moved up her arms to gather at the center of her chest. The heart became imprinted there on her pale brown skin.
The pain in her shoulder disappeared. Naomie rubbed it experimentally.
"So I'm no longer hurt, but I'm still trapped here."
She got up off the floor and paced the edge of the world, skirting the edges of the velvet curtains. When she got to the door, she stopped before going out into the hallway. Things had not changed. The reflection of the door standing open looked at her from across the foyer. She walked up to the far door and put her hand against it. Her fingers disappeared into the wall without making contact with anything. Her arm went in past the wrist and where her arm entered the golden sparkles surrounded her skin.
The reflection distorted then settled to blackness. Naomie snatched her arm back. The door returned. She tapped the glass with her fingers. The hollow darkness opened. Looking back, the door to the cell still stood open.
"Here goes nothing."
Naomie plunged into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The orange jumpsuit sagged and itched. Kevin wondered if they had washed it before slapping it on him like a coat of old paint. The bars were filthy where hands would go. He could imagine someone like him standing at the bars holding onto them as if their sanity depended on connection with the real. Could be true. He shuffled from his cot to the bars and grabbed them. His attempt to shake them only rattled his teeth. If he angled his head just right, he could see down the hallway a piece to the door leading out into other areas of the jail. Above and to his right, someone whistled out of tune. He couldn't identify the song, but he would have plenty of time to think about it. He couldn't be arraigned until Monday. Which meant he stayed as an unwilling guest of the jail for 48 hours.
Reflecting on his meeting with Naomie, he tried to think of what he should have said. One thing he had plenty of was time. However, he couldn't come up with a better answer to her question. He didn't remember the night before. Just the dream. The dream consumed his thoughts. The theater he remembered in snatches. The box growing enormous before him and daring him to come inside. He tried again to shake the bars. He could practically feel his fillings coming loose.
Across the hall, another man laid on his cot staring up at the ceiling. They had not been introduced, but Kevin had no interest in making friends. All he wanted was to go home to his wife. Certainly he would on Monday when they realized they had nothing and he had done nothing, right? He needed to believe that. Otherwise, the walls would close in and things would be far worse.
Retiring back to his cot, he sat there with his head hanging between his knees. Fatigue settled on his shoulders. He hadn't slept more than maybe a half hour. Now that he had time to calm down and acclimate to his surroundings, his tiredness came back. He kicked his slippered feet up onto the cot and closed his eyes.
The box surrounded him.
He opened his eyes.
The cot above him was gray, not black. The small dome light in the ceiling cast a yellowish glow over everything. He pressed his hand against his chest. His heart thudded. The first suggestion of pain glimmered on the edge of his consciousness, but he pushed it away. Reason said he was not in the box. He was in a six by eight cell with two cots and a toilet.
Reason said...
Reason might not be right.
Kevin closed his eyes again.
A door slammed.
He tumbled into the aisle, squelching red carpet under his hands. Ahead of him, the stage stood ready and waiting. Red stains ran down his hands and his knees as he got to his feet. The audience turned to look at him with Sylvia's eyes. His heart shrank. He took one step then another, tiny steps toward the stage which looked like an open maw. The spaces for the lights looked like tiny teeth and the curtains for the wings like the edges of a stretched mouth. In the shadows above, he imagined more tiny teeth just waiting to come smashing down on him.
As he moved, the audience peered at him.
Once upon a time, he told Sylvia how beautiful her eyes were. With so many pairs of them staring at him, he couldn't help feeling frightened by them. Yet he concentrated on the eyes, looking at the faces made things worse. Rotten teeth, torn skin, exposed bone, and stringy muscle made them appear dead. All except the eyes. The eyes were alive, angry, and hungry. He made it to the edge of the orchestra pit and edged around it to the staircase which lead onto the stage itself.
Above his head, another tuneless whistle. His mind supplied the name of the tune now.
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. The spotlight hadn't come on yet. Shouldn't it have? In the dream...
The dream he remembered brought the spotlight on before he reached the stage. Yet in the dream of the night before, there had been screaming and crying. It came back to him in a putrid rush, tears of smoke and howls of agony. All wrapped up in the scent of caramel just starting to burn.
Who screamed? Kevin couldn't remember. It wasn't him. He had hollered to be let out, but his cries weren't painful. The screams he remembered were screams of pain.
Caught in-between wake and dream, he almost didn't notice when the spotlight clicked on. The flood of light dropped over the edge of the pit. The audience moved as one to orient on it. Kevin took a steadying breath and sang,
"Yankee doodle went to town riding on a pony."
A growl issued from the figure standing in the spotlight. The dark figure wavered like water.
"He stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni," Kevin sang louder.
"Stop!"
The word came down in mega announcer voice from everywhere at once. Kevin stopped, shocked, the words dying on his lips.
In the spotlight, the figure turned once and bowed low.
"You return," it said in a conversational tone.
"I do, but I don't know why."
Kevin ran up the stairs and then out onto the stage. He stood only feet from the figure when he asked,
"What is happening?"
"Things you neither need to understand nor have any say in go on around you."
"What do you mean?"
"You are here. That is all."
"What happened last night?"
"An unfortunate obstacle was removed."
"Who was screaming?"
"Surely you remember. She called your name."
"Who was it?" Kevin rushed forward and grabbed the figure by the shoulders. Inches apart, he still could hardly make out its features.
"Come, come now. Certainly you remember." Infuriated by the game, Kevin shook the figure which collapsed in his grip. All he had was a coat. The trousers sat next to his feet. Shoes peeked out from beneath them.
"Where are you?"
"Find me, Kevin." The spotlight cut off, plunging the room into darkness. The eyes of the audience glowed, throwing halos and shadows around the faces. Kevin turned in a circle. His feet slid across the floor in whispers.
"Where are you?"
A light flickered on, a tiny spark in the massive darkness. He rushed toward it. Halfway th
ere, he tripped and went sprawling. It drove the breath from his lungs and he lay there gasping. The splatter was now on his chest and chin. Ahead of him, the light continued to flicker. He got to his knees then threw himself toward it. He barreled toward it until something screamed at him to stop in Marie's voice. Tangling in his feet, he came to a tumbling halt a few feet from the light. Except he now sat on the edge of a cliff.
Mean-spirited laughter came from all around him. He swallowed and leaned over the chasm. A thin wind ruffled his hair. They couldn't be in the theater any longer. As if the realization caused day to dawn, the horizon began to lighten. The candle which led him to the edge was eclipsed by a rising sun. It bounced off of crystalline drifts of powder white snow. Underneath his slippered feet, a brown brick road grew winding between the snow drifts. Seeing his breath, Kevin shivered. Nearby a bridge went over the chasm and in the distance there appeared a palace dominated by a jester's head.
"The Jester's castle," Kevin said. He knew this place. He memorized Marie's books. He loved the flights of imagination she got up to. It made him want to be a better magician being married to a woman so talented. The road under his feet was the chocolate road. The drifts around him were the outer lands around the Jester's domain. He remembered when Timothy had to cross them.
Timothy had to cross them on the back of an ice wolf he stole from the witch who dominated the lands with her magic: the Jester's assistant.
Stamping his feet to get some feeling back in his toes, Kevin started toward the bridge. It was a thin chasm, more a crack in the land far deeper than it was wide. Were he blessed with wings, he could have crossed it easily in perhaps two leaps. However, he had no wings, so crossing the bridge would be the best that he could do.
"Find me, huh? Guess I know where I'm going."
He reached the chocolate and Pretzel Bridge a few minutes later and dropped his hand down on one large chunk of salt. Putting one foot down on the bridge, he tested it to see if it would hold him. As much as he trusted Marie's stories, he didn't somehow trust a bridge made out of chocolate to hold his weight. It stood solid. He stepped onto it fully and crossed. Halfway across the bridge swayed with each step. However the far side came closer with each movement, so he watched the far side instead of thinking about how far up the middle was from the ground. When he put his feet down on solid chocolate again, he resisted the urge to drop down and kiss the ground. It might have been yummy, but he hadn't dealt with anything yet. There were still obstacles to conquer. Not the least of which was the witch.
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