A Courtroom of Ashes

by C. S. Wilde

  There’s the John I know. I couldn’t hate him if I wanted to, and I couldn’t hate the other John either, not really.

  The thought of being that close to him is so irresistible…plus, he said he’s sorry. I walk shyly until I’m glued against his side. He wraps his arms around me and I snuggle against him, forgetting all about our fight. His heart beats at a fast rate, but it slowly calms down. I feel his warmth as if he were alive, and that’s so unfair. It brings to life so many void hopes.

  His muscles relax. “This feels good, Santy.”

  I smile and nod.

  “Glad you two made up.” Irving rolls his eyes. “Should I go away for a while?”

  John chuckles. “Well, actually―” A bush nearby twitches, and John jumps to his feet, guarding me and Irving like an alpha wolf. Spritebreaker is ready at his hand.

  We wait but nothing emerges from the bush. It doesn’t twitch again.

  I think of James, Tommy’s little pet. Maybe it’s an injured bunny or a squirrel. “We should help it.”

  “No,” John orders.

  This is silly. The thing behind the bush can’t be that big or dangerous. I race past John and pull the bush branches aside. There’s a corpse lying behind the bush, and I scream, stumbling back.

  “Do you ever listen?” he grumbles.

  He takes a piece of wood and pokes the corpse. It doesn’t move. Gathering all my courage, I pull the branches wide again to get a better look. It’s a blue woman. Her throat has been deeply cut; her slashed arteries bend slightly out of the gap. Her dark blue skin outlines her bones and the color in her eyes is reversed: eye whites pitch black and irises white. She’s almost bald, barely a tuft of blond hair left.

  She looks familiar in a very distant way, like a déjà vu.

  Irving approaches carefully, dragging her so that half of her body is out of the bush. “With a cut like this, she should’ve crossed to oblivion long ago.”

  John waves us back. “You two step away. She might wake up any minute.”

  “Or she might really die—the damage is too big,” Irving counters. “We’ve got to help her.”

  “Help a Shade? Are you mad?”

  “She did nothing to us.” Irving points at her. “She was brutally attacked, mate.”

  I know this woman, but from where? Her eyes, button nose, and her slit throat, I’ve seen them before. A little girl with pink-laced bikini flashes in my mind. She runs across my backyard as she says “Catch me, Banana!”

  “Barbie?”

  As if brought back to life by the name, the corpse twitches, her white irises locked on the sky.

  “Santana get away from her!” John points Spritebreaker straight at Barbie’s chest.

  Before I can push the blade away, Irving jumps in and does it for me.

  “She won’t hurt us. Just look at her,” he says.

  I wonder if Irving genuinely wants to help Barbie or if he’s simply curious about her, much like he’d be curious about a two-hearted frog. Taking advantage of his intrusion, I grasp her shoulders and drag her toward the fire. I try to support her head over my forearms but it swings to the side, and I think her head might fall off.

  It doesn’t.

  “What are you doing?” John says. “Leave her, she’s a Shade.”

  Shade. I recall Bowman, his brown teeth and gaping maw, ready to gulp Tommy down. My instincts tells me to drop Barbie and run, but this is my best friend. I can’t leave her.

  “I have to keep her warm.” I double check with Irving. “Right?”

  He takes her by the legs, helping me. “It can’t hurt.”

  John lets out an annoyed sigh. “How do you know for certain this is your friend?”

  “It’s her.”

  “Maybe you want it to be her.”

  I ignore his comment. We lay her down and cover her with a blanket from my backpack. She has thick, sickening veins all over her skin.

  Irving grabs a small jar filled with the mysterious green paste that healed my ribs. He gently applies it over her wound. The blood around the incision is dry, but deep in the cut the tissue is still moist.

  “Irving, what happened to her?”

  “I’m not sure. If you’ve been a Shade for a while, your fingers grow long and thin. Hers haven’t, which means she hasn’t been a Shade for long.” Irving peers at her and mutters, “She must have been beautiful before she transformed into this…thing.”

  “Barbie?” I shake her gently. “It’s Santana Banana, do you remember?”

  Her hollow stare stays trapped in the sky. I shake her more fiercely.

  “Barbie, if you die in here you cease to exist, so don’t you dare!”

  I notice her arteries aren’t bending up anymore —they’re connected. Her trachea isn’t deeply torn; in fact, there’s a barely visible scar over it, amidst the connecting tendrils and muscles and skin. The gap is closing, and the veins over her skin are retreating.

  “Ssss,” Barbie hisses and I lean my head over her lips to hear her better.

  “Ssantana,” says her coarse voice.

  I smile, “Barbie!”

  She stares directly at me. I’m suddenly aware of how close my face is to her mouth, and the look in her eyes tells me she’s about to bite my nose off. My stomach drops to my feet as she leaps, but John pulls me back. Barbie dives into the air, rolls twice on the ground, and comes to a halt.

  “Barbie, I’m your friend!”

  She crouches, leering at us. She looks like a malnourished animal. It hurts knowing this thing was once my best friend, but I’ll get her back. I owe this to her.

  Freeing myself from John, I take one step forward. “Barbie, you won’t hurt me, I know it.”

  John pulls me back and wields Spritebreaker at Barbie. “Let her go, Santana.”

  “Sssssssanty,” she hisses.

  I lower John’s blade. “Yes Barbie, we’re best friends, remember?”

  She glares at John and Irving. I can tell she doesn’t trust them. I wouldn’t either, especially if one of them pointed a sword at me.

  “Barbie, trust me, please.” But she doesn’t. This is it. This might be my only chance to tell her everything that’s been struck in my throat. “I’m so sorry for everything, I shouldn’t have shut you off.” A tear flows down my cheek. “I forgive you for sleeping with Ted, but I need you to forgive me as well; you were my best friend!”

  She stops crouching and stands, looking at me with curiosity. It’s remarkable how standing up changes a Shade. Barbie vaguely resembles a civilized being now. I spot a fading line around her neck, a faint memory of the cut that almost beheaded her.

  “Fffffff.” She closes her eyes in frustration. “Fffoorgive?” She puts her hand over her bony chest. “Mmme?”

  “Irving! What’s wrong with her?”

  “I think she’s lost the ability to speak,” he says. “Give her time.”

  Barbie walks toward me, slipping in slow, unsure steps, her right arm stretched, pleading, but Spritebreaker stands in the way again. I guess John won’t let me come close to her without a safety exit.

  “Sssso sssorry, Ssssanty.”

  “I know.” Tears begin to pour down my face. This is an ugly cry and I don’t care. I stretch a hand to her, my fingers inches ahead of Spritebreaker’s tip. But instead of taking my hand, Barbie shifts back and forth on her haunches and disappears into the woods. I start to run after her, but John traps me in his arms.

  “Let me go!” I’m kicking and thrashing, but can’t break free. John’s too strong.

  “We have other priorities,” he says in a soothing manner.

  “I have to go after her!” I take back what I said about hating him! He needs to let me go, now! I stomp over his foot, but he doesn’t release me.

  “Barbie come back!” I yell.

  John only lets me go when Barbie is long gone and there’s no point in going after her. I fall on the ground and stare into the dark for a while, knees and hands pressed into dirt, hoping she
will magically show up. But Barbie is gone.

  Again.

  16

  The desert below stretches like a withered skin, ruined by time. The closer we get to it, the warmer the air becomes, and the harder it is to breathe. Dark thoughts wrap my mind as we climb down the mountain. Suddenly I’m a child again, getting ready for school. Maybe I should stay with Mommy, because she looks more upset than usual, but I go anyway. Just as I’m about to leave, I turn back and see Mommy slicing her left wrist with a kitchen knife. Blood cascades down her forearm.

  This memory isn’t mine; it never happened. I wasn’t there when she did it.

  “The Wastelands have a dark influence on spirits,” Irving says on cue.

  “So a desert can play tricks in our minds?” Which considering what the forests can do, kind of makes sense.

  “No,” he says. “It makes your mind play tricks on itself.”

  Hmm…I won’t try to figure that one out.

  Small fires spread throughout the desert below as dark figures wander about. Their anguished screams shoot through my bones and I fight the instinct to run. John was right about this place, much as I hate admitting it.

  The sky remains cloudy throughout the descent, hinting that a terrible storm is about to erupt, but it never does. When I step on the ashy ground, I feel as if invisible chains have shackled my feet, and the need to curl down and give up pushes the back of my brain.

  “Now I know why you can’t fly here,” I say to Irving, purposely ignoring John. “Seems like the whole place was built to bring you down.”

  “Takes a while to adapt,” John says, but I keep ignoring him. He scratches his brow and adds, “I was trying to protect you.”

  Yeah, he was, and it’s his fault Barbie is gone. I’m not sure if I can ever forgive him; all I know is that I can’t face him right now.

  His lips twist as if he tasted something bitter. “Remember to walk with your head down so they won’t catch the light in your eyes.”

  Whatever.

  He rests his hand on my shoulder tentatively, like I’m made of glass and he doesn’t want to break me. I immediately shake away his touch.

  “Santana, will you be mad at me for the rest of the journey?”

  Probably, but it does sound silly now that he’s said it out loud.

  He walks ahead and blocks my way, gently taking my face in his hands. Not a muscle in my body opposes. I’m dumbfounded—and so angry— by the effect this man has on me; all my defenses are shattered in seconds. His gaze drowns me and without permission, a million butterflies start fighting UFC in my stomach.

  Damn it.

  “Santana, I couldn’t risk her hurting you. I wouldn’t think twice before doing it again.”

  Oh John…

  “I know you were trying to protect me,” my voice quieter than usual. “I only wish I could’ve protected Barbie too.”

  He caresses my cheek softly, gazing at me with those sad blue eyes. A few stray hairs flutter over his face, dangling above his perfectly squared chin and light stubble. “I will find your friend and get her to the Home, but only after you’re back in your body. Do we have a deal?”

  I lean over his hand, feeling his rough skin against mine, lost in his touch.

  “Folks?” Irving clears his throat.

  We’re suddenly engulfed by a mix of beige-and-white memories of people, origami portraits that walk past our group, and when they bump into us, they maintain their mindless pilgrimage. A crowd of Hauntings.

  Just when I think of running, John takes my hand. “Don’t be scared.”

  Easier said than done.

  He takes the lead and pulls me into the crowd.

  We move slowly, and as we do, I spot a gray man shifting his weight from one foot to the other, exhilaration all over him. His skin is too tight around his bone. Cuts and bruises mar his face and his eyes are like Barbie’s Shade eyes.

  He smiles a toothless grin when he catches my stare. John stands by my side and lifts only half of Spritebreaker from the scabbard on his back. The Shade immediately lowers his head and disappears into the flow of Hauntings.

  We move on.

  Suddenly, a white woman is pulled to the ground, disappearing under the colorless sea of people. The sound of munching mingles with the shuffle of the Hauntings’ steps, but she doesn’t scream. Not even a peep. I move to help her, but John grabs my wrist and shakes his head.

  Someone is being hurt and it’s my fault. It’s always my fault. Maybe the munching gets louder, or maybe it’s me, focusing on it until I can’t hear anything else.

  All on me.

  Slamming both hands over my ears, I only remove them once we’ve passed the herd. The munching is still there. It’ll always be there, echoing in the back of my mind.

  At least we walk alone through the desert now.

  Sometimes we find other spirits. Most are Shades who stop and study us, but when they realize we’re no threat to them, they continue on their way. Others are Hauntings, walking endlessly, lost within themselves. A few are spirits similar to us, only they look famished and dirty, eyes bulging, tears running down their cheeks. They seem to be on the verge of becoming Shades.

  The boys move without giving them a second look.

  “Maybe they can help us,” I whisper to John. “Maybe we can help them.”

  “They should focus on helping themselves,” he says. “So should we.”

  My rational self agrees with John, but there’s this little annoying part of me that says this is wrong.

  John’s voice rings in my head, “Santana, it’s either them or you.”

  Point taken, Mr. Braver.

  A loud scream breaks the distance as a man violently thrusts into a woman.

  Jebediah! It’s my fault he’s free, and now he’s raping another girl. Cold sweat sprouts from my pores and my fists clench. The man slaps the woman hard, again and again, and anger bursts like a geyser. Before I know it I’m walking toward them. I can’t let him get away with it, not again.

  John snaps, “Pay attention, Santana!”

  The man can’t be Jebediah, he wasn’t that plump. He and the woman are dark blue, and by all the moaning mixed with the screams, she’s in pain but she’s enjoying it. Not far from them, a young Shade, not more than fifteen, carves a hole on another’s belly and eats a handful of liver. The victim’s feet twitch as he goes.

  It’s too much: the munching, the memory of Jebediah, the blood. Before I know it I’m running away from this madness, holding the urge to vomit.

  John shouts my name before the ground caves and I fall onto my back. I didn’t even realize what happened until I hit the ground. Breath escapes me for a second, and my spine hurts a bit, but other than that, I’m fine.

  Physically, at least.

  The will to stand up doesn’t come. I want to stay here, lying on the ground, forever. This is the effect of the Wastelands, it has to be, but I’m not a quitter, never have been, so I force myself to stand up.

  I’m in a small crater onto the shore of a large pond. The surface is light green, peaceful, like an oasis hidden from the horrors above. This place feels different from the rest of the Wastelands, lighter and purer.

  “Are you all right?” John shouts as he and Irving jump down the sand-wall, meeting me by the pond’s edge.

  My clothes are peppered with sand and I try to brush most of it off. “Yeah, I’m okay.” I can’t go back up there, not yet, so I add, “Lunch break?”

  John doesn’t like the idea but Irving is on my side. “I’m tired, mate. The Wastelands pull is stronger than I imagined.”

  I’m not the only one affected by this place, and knowing this helps somehow.

  “So it’s decided,” I say, feeling a scratch at the back of my throat. “Do we have any water?”

  Irving opens his backpack and hands me a half-full bottle. I take a big swallow.

  “Hey, hey, easy on the water, lass!”

  “No worries, Irv, there’s plenty l
eft.” The pond water looks pretty clean; besides, I don’t think anyone can die of cholera in Death. Decapitation seems to be the modus operandi around here.

  I crouch over the bank to fill the bottle and almost drop it when the surface darkens and a scene starts playing in the water.

  It’s my room back on earth on the right side, and the Forest of a Thousand Tears on the left, both separated by my mirror. On the forest side there’s a woman banging her hands against the glass, shouting and crying as blood drops down her forehead. She’s me. On the room side, the woman’s twin stands tall, watching the other break down. I’m her as well, but there’s something unfamiliar about her sly grin. She’s not me….she’s Red Seth.

  Is this my future?

  The image shifts and now there’s an old lady in a wheelchair, surrounded by a pitch-black background. Withered and worn, she looks back at me with hollow eyes. She’s so old and thin she could be a living mummy. Suddenly someone pulls me away from the pond and I fall backward on the sandy ground.

  “You shouldn’t look at that,” John says, his body on top of mine. “The Wastelands make your mind play tricks on itself, remember?”

  His arm has softened the fall’s impact against my head, and I adore him for this. I never had many people care about me as much as he does. But I’m only briefly aware of what he says because holy shit, it was Red Seth, right there, under my skin. Just remembering the scene makes me want to peel off my skin!

  “Did you see it too?”

  “Yes.” He gets up and stops at the pond. He nods as if he wants to show me something, so I follow him.

  The water wavers, revealing the interior of a small plane with a few beige leather seats. John is seated in the aisle. A well-built black man in a dark suit sits to his left by the opposite window.

  “And then Mr. Braver, she said ‘Well Abraham James, we’re gonna need a bigger pan!’” The black man slaps his knee hard, crying with laughter while John guffaws, his arm wrapped around his belly.

  The stewardess walks in, holding a tray with two martini glasses. She’s gorgeous, straight blonde hair tied up in a low ponytail, perfect thin nose, and full red lips. She’s all smiles and pheromones as she bats her eyelashes at John.