by Rob Heinze
They were by the elevators, waiting for one to come up, and The Mesha stood close to them, casting her iridescent charm over them. She smiled. Charley smiled back, and so did Eve. They were like goggling fans. Charley’s eyes fell on the woman’s cleavage, which was all too simply impossible to notice. Had he been without Sarah, Charley would have desperately wanted this woman. He already desperately wanted her. He couldn’t help it. Besides the beauty with which she had been blessed (cursed?), there was a certain swagger she had that made her that much more desirable.
The elevator was there, and they stepped inside. The Mesha reached out with a long finger and depressed a button. She had noticed Charley looking at her. She wasn’t blind. She thought that, yeah, she might be able to convince them to stay longer than one day.
In fact, she knew it.
The elevator went down.
15
The Mesha showed them two rooms adjacent to each other. She told them to come up to the roof whenever they wanted. She told them that they were free to explore the hospital. And then she left them alone.
Charley sat on the hard, wooden chair in the room. The room was windowless and the only light was a candle burning on the floor. Eve sat down on the bed. Now she looked over at Charley.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What do you think? About her…about this place?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. Then he shook his head, as if struggling with some inner thought. “At least not for certain. Something’s not right with this place, with her.”
“Like what?”
“Her sneakers,” Charley said.
“I noticed that,” Eve replied. “They’re probably just comfortable.”
“No,” Charley shook his head. “There’s more.”
They were quiet for a long time. Being out of the woman’s presence was like awaking from a trouble sleep. The room, the hospital: they suddenly didn’t want to be there.
It’s only one night, Charley told himself.
There was something else that bothered Charley. Why would anyone want to stay here? Even without aging or illness? Why? Wouldn’t life—real life—have more for them? The Mesha—clearly she was someone who had had a fun life, based on the story that she had told, and certainly she had a good life with looks like that. It was disconcerting. Charley only knew that he wouldn’t want to stay here. Sarah. She wasn’t the sole reason, but she made up at least 95% of the pie-chart. Probably more. But even if he didn’t have Sarah, he suspected he wouldn’t want to stay here.
Charley looked over to Eve, who was looking hard at the floor. Something was bothering her. Charley put his hand on her back, comforting, and she looked up. Her face was drawn and haggard, the face of a prisoner.
Prisoner? His mind questioned.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“I have a bad feeling about this place.”
“Me too.”
“I feel like they wouldn’t let us leave, if we wanted to.”
Charley didn’t answer. The notion was frightening—terrifying, in fact. What if they really wouldn’t let them leave?
No, he told himself. Not her, not The Mesha. She would let us leave.
Eve wasn’t so sure about that.
16
The Mesha had gathered with her people on the roof. Sam was there, others were there, people to whom she most readily told her thoughts, her plans. This was no different than what they had done before, having these two here. No, it was nothing new. There was a light wind now, growing steadily stronger out of the east, near that hollowed-out section of trees to which they had gone countless times.
“They’re getting impatient,” a man said.
The man who had spoken was an older man with a pudgy belly and a double-chin.
“I know,” The Mesha said, sighing. She hadn’t wanted it to be so soon. “We’ll take them tomorrow.”
The boy Sam looked sad. He had been told that this was part of their continuing success here, that it was the only way they could survive here. He had been told that dozens of times. But he still felt sorry each time. He felt as if he had deceived them purposely. Still, he supposed that it was good they were two people whom he barely knew; thank God it wasn’t anyone who had been here for a long time, someone to whom he had become close.
“Sam.” It was The Mesha’s voice.
He glanced up at her.
I won’t cry, he thought. I won’t! I won’t! I WON’T CRY!
“Sam,” she said, “Come here.”
Sam was one of the fortunate few who had yet to reach sexual development. Consequentially, he was not affected by The Mesha’s physicality.
Sam went to her. She kneeled down. Her face was close to his, loving, warm. Her arm, light but persistent, held his arm. He looked into her cool brown eyes and felt tears spilling from his eyes.
When The Mesha didn’t say anything, when she just held his arm and looked at him for a long time, Sam felt even worse. He felt as if he were letting her down. Tears started to flow more forcefully.
I’m sorry, he tried and failed to say.
“Sam, you know that this has to be done. You’re not the first person to question this. I don’t like it either.”
Sam nodded.
The Mesha smiled motherly and a part of her, that deep-seated part where maternal instinct lay hidden, wished that she had had a child of her own. In reality, some part of her reproductive organs had been permanently damage. It might have been that first jumble of pills from Mr. Tartano…but it didn’t matter now. That was her old life, a life over which she kept a board that read keep out.
“What we have here is closer to a utopian society than any place the old life could even dream about. The one fault, the one problem, is that which we must face together. It’s okay to be sad. I’m sad. It’s okay to cry. But accepting it and moving on, saying, yes, I’m sad, and then moving on is the most important part of it. Okay, Sam?”
Sam nodded slowly. His tears had stopped and his sniffling had slowed. The Mesha always had a way of making him feel better about this.
“Go rest, Sam. You don’t have to come tomorrow if you don’t want to. Okay?”
He nodded meekly. He went slowly across the roof, shuffling more than walking, and the Mesha stood watching him go with her hair stirred up in the wind. When he was gone, she turned back to her conclave.
They all told her what a good job she had done, and she thought, yes, I did do a pretty good job, didn’t I? Maybe it was all the pent-up mothering instinct that would never be released. She looked off into the distance, into the thick growth of trees. She stared hard, searching out that open space in the woods where no trees grew. They would bring the two there tomorrow. They had seen them coming from a distance, and the people who knew about her symbiotic relationship had felt relief at the sight of unknown people.
Tomorrow, she thought.
17
They walked around the place together. The inside—the parts to which they had access—was no different than any other hospital they had been in before. Now they were on the roof and it was empty. The gathering of people had dispersed, preparing themselves mentally for what they had to do and see tomorrow.
The wind in the air had grown stronger, and Eve clutched at her hair.
“I could almost get used to this place,” Charley said to her, looking off into the distance.
“I know,” Eve said.
It wasn’t the place, precisely, but the people who populated it. They were all so goddamn friendly. Everyone they had passed while strolling about had introduced themselves and welcomed them. These were the people who didn’t truly know about what went on, about what was planned for tomorrow.
The wind whipped around them, making them stagger. Eve, shivering, said she was cold. She was going back to the room.
“Do you know how to get back?” Charley asked, feeling guilty. “I-I need to think for a bit.”
She nodded, understanding. �
�Yeah, I think I do.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“Can you come check on me when you come back?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
She smiled in return and then turned and staggered along the roof. He watched her go until she had gone into the stairwell. Then he turned back to the distance and looked out over the no-world landscape. He thought about Sarah. It was almost surreal that he might be able to get back to her tomorrow. And if he got back, he wondered, would he remember this? Would he remember all this shit he had gone through? Would Eve be with him?
They were questions for another time. The cold wind had gotten to his heat-reserve. He staggered back towards the stairwell door.
18
The Mesha was waiting in Eve’s room when she got back. Eve came in and nearly screamed. The Mesha smiled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” Eve said, holding her chest.
There was a strange, uncomfortable silence that fell between them. The Mesha broke that silence by moving towards the bed, on which she sat and crossed her legs. Eve found herself staring at the woman’s sneakers, that piece of attire that made her appearance odd and insane. There was something about this woman, though—her presence. It was almost cosmically powerful, and Eve found herself staring at the woman’s face, which now wore a light smirk.
“Come sit down, Eve,” she said, tapping the bed.
Eve went. She sat down next to the woman, feeling that radiance hover off of her. Eve felt absurd, the way a girl named Jane had once felt around her prematurely blooming friend.
“Do you like it here so far?”
“Sure,” Eve said, feeling both foolish and ashamed.
“Tell me about yourself?” The Mesha asked.
Eve hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment—then, for some reason, she went off on a tangent. She told The Mesha about her life, her parents, about how she thought she was in a car accident, about how she had awoken here, alone, until she had met John—and she even told The Mesha about John, about his insanity, about how she had given her virginity to him. She told her more about how John had treated her—that awful experience in Charley’s house—about how her and Charley had beaten him until he was practically dead.
When she was finished, she wasn’t too surprised to find that The Mesha’s hand had found her back. Its weight felt comfortable and reassuring. Eve looked up at the woman who might have been a goddess. Surprisingly, Eve was not crying.
“Tell me more about John,” The Mesha asked, intrigued on this subject.
Eve did. She told her about how she had thought that maybe, maybe, the man might have been able to actually love her, give her affection, care for her, and how that hope had slowly dwindled away. She told her that she hated him. And she hated herself. She had given him her virginity, let him complicate her. The Mesha told Eve it wasn’t her fault, that she had done only what any other woman would have done. Eve loved her at that moment, the way a patient might love a psychiatrist.
“What about Charley?” The Mesha asked.
“What about him?”
“Did you ever have feelings for him?”
“I did, when I first met him. I think it was just because I was needy, especially after John. I love Charley, don’t get me wrong; he saved me. But I don’t want anything else but friendship from him. He has a girl, Sarah, that he really loves.”
The Mesha seemed intrigued by that too.
“It’s not supposed to be bad, Eve,” The Mesha said. She leaned back and used her arms as bipods on the bed. Her breasts rose with the motion.
Mr. Tartano, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault.
“I know,” Eve said.
The Mesha leaned into her. Eve looked up. The woman’s face was smooth and seamless, and how was it possible that someone could have such a perfect face? It wasn’t possible! Eve was convinced: the woman wasn’t real. Now her hand on Eve’s back began massaging in small circles. The Mesha’s light eyes, brown quagmires, relaxed her somehow. She was gentle, Eve could tell; she was someone to whom you could go with your problems after a hard day.
The Mesha leaned back and shrugged her gown/dress off with practiced ease. The material slipped down to her waist. Her breasts, now free, were immaculate. Eve stared at them with adulation and envy. She wasn’t shocked; she felt drugged, her mind lazy, as if seeing this woman’s breasts was no big deal, as if women showed their breasts to her all the time. Yes! Of course they did, silly! The Mesha leaned in close, her breasts mounting towards her chin. She took Eve’s hand and put it on one of them. Eve touched it wonderingly. They were malleable and soft and heavy. She glanced up to the woman’s face. She felt happy, confused, and…no, she couldn’t have been excited, could she?
Eve, oh, Eve what’s wrong with you! What are you doing!
But that voice was deep down in some hazed-over spot of brain tissue.
The Mesha pushed Eve’s hand on her breasts harder, moving them to her nipples. Eve rubbed them, liking the rebound of them, loving the way The Mesha—this god-like woman—closed her eyes in response to the sensation. The Mesha stood suddenly and shed the rest of her dress. She stood naked, her body so curvy that it looked as if her bones might suddenly break from the arc-tension placed upon them. She had a light collection of black pubic hair. She lifted Eve up and began to remove Eve’s clothes.
How could this be happening?
Eve didn’t know, didn’t care. In the nude, she was embarrassed before the woman. But The Mesha’s hand and fingers massaged her, caressed her body as if she were something truly valuable. It made her feel good, special, and her embarrassment was gone. The Mesha lay Eve back on the bed. The Mesha touched her down there, and the woman obviously knew where to touch. A tingle went through her body, electric and exciting. John had never touched her like that. Had he even known how? Eve felt an insane amount of moisture down there, and she fleetingly remembered herself trying to get wet with John. The Mesha smiled at her, and then lowered her head. Eve closed her eyes to black oblivion and focused on the pink ball of pleasure building in her loins.
She didn’t notice that the woman still wore her sneakers.
19
Charley lay in bed and looked up at the ceiling. He was suddenly bone-tired. He didn’t know why or how. He hadn’t gone right in to check on Eve; he had still wanted more time to be alone and think of Sarah. He closed his eyelids, which had become unduly heavy.
He dreamed.
It was the recurring dream, the one that had haunted him since he awoken in this no-world. He was in his parent’s house, on the landing, moving up towards the opened bedroom door that gave view onto the dimly lit bedroom. No voice called to him, but he heard some strange, quasi-sexual sounds coming from the bedroom. He didn’t go to the room slowly this time: this time he ran.
Sarah was on the bed. The Mesha, naked, crouched above her. A long knife protruded from Sarah’s stomach, and Charley watched in absolute horror as The Mesha dragged the long knife up Sarah’s belly. His gut rolled, his heart stopped, tears welled immediately in his eyes. There was blood everywhere—on the walls, bed, ceiling, Sarah, The Mesha. The woman continued dragging the knife up Sarah’s body.
That was when Sarah lifted her head and turned to him. Her eyes, imploring, shed small tears.
“Help me, Charley,” she said.
Then Sarah started to scream, the power of her voice rippling Charley’s ear-drum—
* * * * *
He awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up in the bed. Maybe he sat up too fast, or maybe the dream had just gotten to his stomach. He was going to be sick. He stumbled out of bed, the room unsteady. He staggered drunkenly to the door. He opened it up and stumbled out into the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know of any bathrooms around. Defeated, he stopped and put his hands on his knees.
The vomit came up in a warm, burning gush. Charley had never liked throwing
up, and he found that this time was no less pleasant. His vomit lay on the hall floor, smoldering, and he was able to raise his weary head. He saw it, felt sick again, and staggered back to his room and the bed.
God, that dream, he thought, holding his aching head.
He lay that way for a long time, letting the sickness pass and hoping that the dream would fade. Eventually, it did. Sleep never came for Charley Allen. He didn’t feel at ease. Something with The Mesha was not right, and if his subconscious and conscious both knew it, well, then it had to be true. The question was this: what was the problem?
This made him think about Eve. He had not seen her since the roof, and he had promised to check on her. Lost in thoughts of Sarah, he had forgotten. Now he felt guilty. He got up from the bed and, feeling a little better, left his room. He walked past his vomit, feeling foolish that he had left a puddle of puke on the hallway floor. Then again, he hadn’t seen too many people in the other rooms of this floor.
Eve’s room was a few doors down, and he approached it. He was about to knock when he caught sight of movement in the room. Pausing, he put his head to the porthole and glanced inside. The Mesha was standing, talking to Eve who was sitting on the bed. They were both naked. Eve looked harried and disheveled, but The Mesha looked impeccable.
Why’s Eve naked? He thought sanely.
It took a few more moments of staring before Charley realized that he was looking at Eve, the girl with whom he had been traveling, naked. Confusion soon turned to horror and embarrassment. Eve and The Mesha? What is this? He saw The Mesha move towards Eve, sitting on the bed. She opened her legs. She was talking to Eve, gesturing lightly, and Eve nodded. Eve bent towards—
Charley pulled away, wide-eyed.
I didn’t just see that!
He had to look again—to be sure. He had to!
He put his head to the porthole, his whole body quaking, and he peaked inside. He saw Eve’s head between—
He jerked away as if stung. He had seen it. Jesus, what was that all about? No, it couldn’t be.
