by Matthew Fish
“You’re not happy to see me?” Alexis says as she lays her head against the cushioned armrest. “I’m happy to see you.”
“It’s not that at all,” Emma objects. “I just didn’t expect to see you.”
“I won’t be staying,” Alexis says as she looks to the window. “I have a few things to take care of. I’ll probably see you sooner or later…I’m sure of it.”
“Is there any way I can avoid this…end?”
“Do you believe in fate, or free will?”
“I’m not sure,” Emma says as she thinks about it for a moment. She then concludes, she has never really thought about it. “I would hope life is like a little of both?”
“That’s such a wonderfully bullshit Forrest Gump answer,” Alexis says as she closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.
“If I say free will,” Emma says as she attempts to gain more of an answer. “Can I escape it?”
“No.”
“Then if it is fate?”
“Nope,” Alexis says as she shakes her head.
“Then why do you ask?” Emma asks, frustrated, as she furrows her eyebrows and balls her fists. “What is the point?”
“Take it easy,” Alexis says as she places her hands defensively out in front of her in a mocking manner. “We’re all… family here. You keep getting stuck on this whole idea that there is a point to this.”
“There has to be though right?”
“You’re guess is as good as mine,” Alexis says as she raises her hands up to the window and warms her palms against the hot glass. “…Maybe even better.”
Realizing that Emma will not gain any insight from this new Alexis, she thinks of someone other than herself and asks something else. “Where do you go? When you’re not here?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Elizabeth says it hurts—she wants to know.”
“Elizabeth is weak,” Alexis says quietly. “Did you know she can’t even leave the house?”
“She’s not weak,” Emma says as she feels herself growing annoyed with Alexis. Was she really just like this a few days ago?
“I guess that’s subjective to your definition of weakness,” Alexis says as she raps her fingers against the glass. “Anyway…I’m out.”
“What are you going to do?”
“My part,” Alexis says shortly.
“Do you have any…?” Emma begins. She does not want to ask for any further for help from Alexis because she finds her rude and flippant. However, as Elizabeth had stated, these other versions of her are messengers. “…Instructions for me?”
“I do,” Alexis says as she feigns a yawn. “Then again, you should probably ask yourself—if you really want to stop the end from coming, why are you playing the game?”
“I just want answers…” Emma whispers, she has not given this idea any thought at all. “Can I…just stop all of this by no longer searching for answers?”
“Not really,” Alexis says as she shakes her head and purses her lips into a thin smile. “I was just curious.”
“Do you have anything for me or not?”
“You do have a little bite to you,” Alexis says as she gets up to her feet and approaches Emma.
Emma stands her ground. She has had enough of being toyed with. To Emma’s surprise, Alexis places her arms around her and holds her body tightly against Emma’s.
“There’s a lockbox in your mother’s room. Look for the cat’s eyes. No rush though, I know you have a busy day.” Alexis whispers.
“Cat’s eyes…?” Emma asks, but before her question can be answered Alexis disappears. She does not burn away like the others. Instead, she simply vanishes into the morning air.
*
“Your eggs are getting cold,” Elizabeth says as Emma enters the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Emma says as she sits down upon the table. She spots the jewelry box that she brought in the night before and reaches over for it. She pulls out the brilliant yellow sun-shaped glass necklace.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth says as she eyes the glass that shines brightly in the sun that refracts from the kitchen window. “I thought you only bought the depressing painting…”
“It’s a gift,” Emma says as she holds out the necklace.
“For who…?”
“For you,” Emma says as she gets up from the table and pushes the necklace into Elizabeth’s hands. “It’s got a magnetic clasp; just pull the ends apart there.”
“I don’t understand…”
“You make me breakfast…and last night you made me a wonderful lasagna,” Emma says as she smiles and sits back down at the table and begins to dig into her breakfast. “It just seemed like the right thing to do would be to get you something in return.”
“Thank…” Elizabeth mutters as she places the clasps around her neck. The brilliant glass sun falls just above her chest. “…Thank you… I really didn’t. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
“I thought I understood you,” Elizabeth says softly as her eyes refuse to leave the gift shining against her chest. “I was wrong.”
“There’s another one of us,” Emma says as she changes the subject. “That’s why I am late—I figured you would have known.”
“Where is she?” Elizabeth says as she looks curiously to Emma. “Who is she?”
“Alexis,” Emma mutters as though the name annoys her in some manner. “She’s just like I used to be—and she just took off. She just disappeared. I didn’t know that you guys could do that.”
“I can’t,” Elizabeth says as she sits down at the table. “Did she have anything to add?”
“Something about my mother’s room and cat’s eyes, she wasn’t very clear—at least not like you are,” Emma says as she finishes of a piece of toast. “She seemed like she was toying with me. That is all the info she would give me—I asked her about what happens to her when the sun isn’t here but she just ignored me. She wasn’t much help at all actually.”
“Why would you ask her that?”
“I thought it would help you,” Emma says as she picks up her empty plate and places it into the sink. “At least give you an answer.”
“Why do you want to help me—don’t you get that you should hate me?”
“I don’t,” Emma says as she places a hand upon Elizabeth’s shoulder. “It’s just not in me to hate anyone. If anything I blame myself. If you all say that I’ve brought this upon all of human existence then, really, everyone should hate me.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Ignorance does not always equal innocence,” Emma says as bites her bottom lip. The saying reminds her of something she would say years ago—it was amazing, the change that Emma had gone through in such a short amount of time. Amazing, but, ultimately pointless—if only she had realized, become a different person earlier, then perhaps none of this would be happening now. Then again, Emma also knew well the familiar saying about hindsight. “So do you not have any connection with any of the others?”
“I think I do. It’s more of an after the fact kind of connection,” Elizabeth says as she folds her hands against the table in a ball as though she is attempting to concentrate. “I know parts—maybe like a puzzle? I know some of the things that you know, but others things are blocked off at times.”
“What do you know about me?”
“The hallway, from the nightmares—but different….? You found a hallway.”
“Beneath the spot that you had marked, yes,” Emma says as nods.
“A greenhouse, a room with a false door…”
“Is any of that important, do you know?” Emma asks as she attempts to piece together the information from Alexis with anything that Elizabeth might know.
“All of it I think,” Elizabeth says as she closes her eyes. “I think it is all important.”
“Do you know how?”
“Someone else knows more about the greenhouse—the younger one.”
“
Hope?” Emma asks.
“Probably,” Elizabeth says as she continues to concentrate on the topic. “False doors—if there is one…it’s possible, no…probable, that there are others?”
“I had not thought of that,” Emma admits as she sits back down against the chair and runs her hands over the smooth surface of the table.
“That’s a lot of leads…” Emma says as she attempts to figure out which mystery she should chase first. “Should I go to the beach and find Hope?”
“I think she’ll come for you.”
“You can’t go into the basement?”
“I prefer not to.”
“So I guess the first thing we should do is search for this box that Alexis spoke of?”
“Someone’s here.” Elizabeth says as she gestures toward the door.
Seconds later a knock resounds down the hallway. Emma approaches the door—she is not expecting anyone. At least, not until later—or that she can remember. Perhaps it is Hope. She hesitates as she apprehensively places her hand on the door. Another loud knock shakes the knob in her hand. Emma slowly opens the door and peeks out to the bright outdoors.
“I’m here to hook up the internet?” A man dressed in a grey jumpsuit says in a questioning tone as he carries a giant spool of black cable.
“Of course,” Emma says. She had completely forgotten. Emma looks back to the kitchen to see if Elizabeth is still there. To her confusion, she has disappeared.
“It shouldn’t take long, I’ll get you set up in less than an hour or so,” the man says as he looks past Emma. “No dogs or anything right? Is it okay if I come in?”
“Yes,” Emma says shortly, “I mean no… I don’t have any dogs and yes, you can come in.”
“Thanks,” the man says as he enters the cool house. “It’s only ten-thirty and it’s already ninety-eight degrees… can you believe it?”
“I can’t,” Emma says as she nods.
*
Emma tears open the box to her new computer. She discards the foam padding and the cardboard into a little pile on the floor.
“So where did you go then?” Emma asks as she looks up from the laptop to Elizabeth who sits across from her at the kitchen table.
“I was here,” Elizabeth says as she shakes her head. “He didn’t see me. I guess he couldn’t see me.”
“I couldn’t see you,” Emma adds.
“I have no response to that,” Elizabeth says as she stares blankly at Emma.
“Anyway,” Emma says as she navigates through the setup screen on her new laptop. That same familiarity, that sense of déjà vu, comes back to her. “Why did I need this?”
“You can track the weather,” Elizabeth says as she tosses that answer out there. However, she sounds uncertain. “It’s not just here—the heat. It’s everywhere.”
Emma Googles U.S. drought map, she brings up a page that shows how widespread the drought is. She goes through a few articles about wildfires in Colorado and the record breaking heat that has finally reached up north. “Yeah, it looks pretty shitty.”
“There are probably more reasons,” Elizabeth admits.
“I hope so,” Emma says as she clicks on another page showing photos of farmers that have already given up on their crops and have chopped them down to feed their livestock. “All this does is make me feel a whole lot worse.”
“I am sorry it pains you,” Elizabeth says as she looks away.
“Anyway,” Emma says as she shuts the laptop and pushes herself away from the table. “I believe I still have time to attend to a little business in my mother’s room before my appointment.”
This time, Emma leads the way up the stairs as Elizabeth follows closely behind. As the pair ascends the staircase Emma thinks back to what Alexis had said—that Elizabeth was weak. Out of all the others, she did seem to be the most confused lately. Maybe Alexis did not mean that she was a weak personality, but that as an entity—she was not as powerful as the others.
“Is it true you can’t leave the house?” Emma asks.
“Who said that I couldn’t?”
“Alexis,” Emma replies as she heads down the hallway and stands in front of her mother’s bedroom door.
“I suppose it’s true. I feel like it is anyway.”
“Haven’t gone in here in a while,” Emma says more to herself than Elizabeth as she places her hand upon the door and gives it a gentle push open.
Spread out before her is the bed covered in papers. There was so much paperwork to go through after she passed. She remembered sitting here with Brian Metcalfe as he had her sign documents—he helped her with the funeral paperwork and the payments. With her help, she understood everything about what it meant to be the sole heir. It was a shock at first to find out how much money she had. However, ultimately, it did not really matter to her. Her depression and anxiety would not allow her to enjoy it. The only comfort it offered her was a roof over her head, the nice car, and the ability to have groceries delivered to her house—something her therapist was not particularly fond of. Other than that, she spent most of her time lost, doing nothing—sunbathing and sleeping all the time. If she could have all that time back, she could do so much. Instead, now—all she had was five more days after this one.
“Do you miss her?” Elizabeth asks, as she breaks the strange silence of Emma staring blankly at the bed.
“Of course I do,” Emma says sadly. She places a hand upon the edge of the bed and feels the soft fabric against her fingertips. “She was my mother.”
“Why would someone with so much money not own a TV?” Elizabeth asks as she places her hand upon a large row of books.
“She was different,” Emma says as she shrugs. “She was a minimalist—she insisted on living poor, even when my father was still here. He had computers and loved technology, he was well paid, something about a family business. He came from money, that’s what my mom always used to say. She did not have to work. I remember, vaguely, I think… they used to argue. She wanted to continue working. She said it had to do with her lifestyle of enjoying a poorer life.”
“Why would anyone want to live poor when so many do it without choice?”
“I don’t know,” Emma admits as she begins to walk about the room. She flips the switch on an old lamp. More papers are stacked on top of the dresser. Emma begins to thumb through the piles—it’s mostly just family history things. Mom was always a big fan of tracking her family tree down all the way back to when the Corbeaus’ immigrated to America back sometime in the 1800’s. “She was raised poor.”
“You’d think that’d be reason enough to change things up,” Elizabeth adds.
“Is there something you’re feeling about that?” Emma asks out of curiosity. There must be a reason that Elizabeth keeps bringing it up.
“Just a strange feeling,” Elizabeth says as she opens up the curtains to allow the sunlight in from the filtered yellow curtains. “To me, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Well she always knew that she wasn’t poor—“
“Sometimes people who pretend to be something they are not are hiding something?”
“Like the fact that they tried to kill themselves after the death of a boyfriend?” Emma asks sarcastically. “Then again, I suppose she is hiding something—or something is hiding here.”
“Cat’s eyes…”
Emma begins to thoroughly search the room. She pulls out drawers from the nightstand, finding only lip balm and nail clippers. She goes through drawers finding only clothing and more books. She even decides to look under the bed—to her dismay, it is clear and she can see straight through to the other side. Frustrated, Emma clears away a small spot on the bed and sits.
“I would have marked it better.”
“I know you would have,” Emma says as she places a hand over her eyes and attempts to think. She lowers the hand and stares off blankly. She begins to think like she used to. She stares at an old chest of drawers full of clothing that she has already ransacked twice. Near th
e center of the chest she can make out a pattern in the grain of the oak wood. First, they appear as nothing more than random lines and circles—then, she finally sees what she is looking for. In the wood, two circles of different shades of brown form the distinct form of a pair of cat’s eyes.
Emma jumps to her feet and places a hand against the wood. She feels silly for not realizing it earlier. She used to spend hours looking at the textures on her walls, naming them after the odd images her mind would make out in them. “I can see them.”
“Cat’s eyes,” Elizabeth says as she kneels down beside Emma.
Emma grabs a hold of the drawer and pulls on it until it is all the way out. She begins to tug at it but it will not come out.
“Try lifting up,” Elizabeth suggests.
Emma pulls up and outward and is knocked down to her butt as the drawer is released. In the empty recess where the drawer once sat, a long flat dull grey box sits against the wood. Emma reaches in and pulls the box out. A key is conveniently taped to the bottom of it.
“Well,” Emma says as she rips the key off the back and places it into the small silver lock. “Let’s see what we have here.”
As Emma lifts up on the sheet of metal a large stack of letters is revealed in the container. Emma fingers through a few of the letters, most of them seem to be addressed to her mother. Only instead of Sarah Corbeau, they are all addressed to a Sarah Langford. “Langford…”
“Is that name familiar?”
“I’m not sure,” Emma replies as she picks up one of the letters and begins to read it.
5/29/1999
My Dear Sarah Langford,
I know that I cannot give you the kind of lifestyle that you have grown accustomed to. I just want you to know that these last few years of stolen moments and fleeting hours together have been the happiest parts of my life. I wish only that we had met before you had married. I know you only want the best for Emma, and that her father has the means to make sure she has a bright future; while I have a family of my own that I must take care of. I just wish, so desperately, that we met under different circumstances. That we were both free of the lives that we thought were right. I hate that you have to live a fake life, but I know it is the only way we can be together in the day. I just want you to know that if you ever decide to leave him, that I will do the same. I will leave my wife and son behind to be with you. You only live once. I will wait as long as I have to.
