Mystery Lake

[40] Who's the Ross?

I've been under so many thumbs in my life. This is just one more in a long series. Bring it on.

Despite that sentiment, I was still there. With restraints. Bitch. Who are you? What are you?

Don't tell me you're a friend. I bet you're just some low-level spirit entity who hung out around that lake and wanted to act like you cared about me. Friendship is meaningless. It's just an empty word, a crafted platitude. Get out of me!

Are you sure you want that?

Why wouldn't I?

It doesn't seem like your life is particularly glorious. You've wanted to throw it away so many times. You don't value it. Do you know how precious you are?

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

Imagine something happens to you, you lose everything you are. Death or something like it. True oblivion, a void, past the Veil, with turbulence and monsters and horrors you can't even begin to contemplate. You have no idea of the privilege you should be checking right now, as you sometimes say, just by existing as a human being. You are made of stars beyond imagination.

What are you talking about?

You can't imagine how special every moment of your life actually is. This place is amazing. Every human life. I'm not saying this is true, but I imagine that for every human soul born, a thousand stars had to die. Try to comprehend that literally, a baby breathes their first breath, and within them, as an impossibly compressed pinprick of light, are the lives, possibilities, future, and past of vast star systems. All housed in the seemingly frail, fragile, and unknowing shape of pink human flesh. Every human life. And none of them know what treasures, what possibilities, are contained within. Moping in pointless moments of frivolity. Wasting so much. There is an infinity inside every moment of life. How could you ever dare to squander it or think it's not the most amazing thing that has ever existed?

... Why does the most weirdly motivational thing have to come from some crazy spirit wannabe friend stuck inside my head?

Hindsight...

Whatever. Give me back my life!

You still don't get it. Maybe you never will. Oh well. Fine. You can have the driver's seat, even though you don't really want it. You would rather be led; you would rather be told and pushed into what you do than make your own choices. Then all the responsibility falls away, and you can blame everyone else for all the problems in your life. 'Ohhh, it's not because I failed; it's because they did this to me, and it's not fair. I never had a chance to be my real self, to make the real choices, to have a real life.'

Fuck you.

Oh yeah? What else are you gonna do? You yell at me; get pissy. Annoyed. But what after that? What are you actually going to do? Do you actually want to beat me? Do you actually want to get rid of me? If you do, then the responsibility is all yours.

Don't hurt them. Don't hurt…

Your friends? You don't treat them as your friends. You don't have any friends, and you don't want any friends. Don't worry; the people around you would actually be happier with me instead of you. Your life matters to me, even if it doesn't to you.

No. Don't you dare. I am a good person.

Prove it; I'm watching.

Whatever that was fell away again, like losing a kickstand on a bicycle. I had to support myself. Dammit.

Where was I...? That bastard. That gross trucker fucker. No matter what beef or feelings I may have with Joel, that thing was an insult to all women.

I could easily imagine doing the worst. But that would only call sympathy to it. Running it over, at least in my imagination, was a very satisfying thought to indulge in.

It occurred to me that we should've probably gassed up, and I wanted to say something to Barry… She's earned Chiara... but it slipped my mind like so many things that had been dripping out lately.

The topic of fairies eventually came up, and I had a lot to say, but it felt like my mouth kept getting clamped shut. I even released a cough in Layla's direction. What didn't want to be known? I was fighting, even though it didn't feel like a battle. I either had no choice or no competition.

What if I was really crazy? Multiple personalities? It wasn't like in the movies. But I really did feel like some strong-arm censor was pushing and pulling me in certain directions. And time slipped away from me.

We were at the rest stop. So much between. I was there, but not. Me, but a marionette like Layla could lightly puppet. A lot appeared to be on… Roxy's mind. Roxy. I wanted to say the other name, but it really did feel like this Roxy was a different person than Joel had ever been. And unfortunately, I was learning a thing or two about different people within. Maybe we had the same problem. The way that Joel felt now definitely suggested the same sunny sentiment projected by a new host.

Roxy disappeared and then returned, and that bastard came with her. I didn't need to be commanded to do a smaller version of what I did to Joel with that piece of crap. It was still a command, though. What did that make me? A soldier, a puppet, or a servant to this supposed princess? Figures, all my life I wanted to be found and elevated as a discovered princess in the rough, but it's actually the one furthest from those thoughts and that reality that winds up magically transfigured into the pretty pretty, perfect princess.

When all that was over, I got my body back and all the questions that still remained inside. I should've told someone what I was feeling and what was happening. Something was clearly, actually, also occurring with Joel. And if that was true, then it was equally possible that the madness stirring inside me was being guided by a hand dipped in my soul. I should've said something. I had to say something. So clearly, I didn't say something. That's just the way I am.

What if everyone had this? That would make me laugh. Six people transformed so utterly and totally that they didn't even have the same minds afterward. Not likely, though. Jess and Jake had a strong and solid continuity between them. Of course, the girl I had a silly little crush on was the one who would weather all this chaos the best. Layla could be anyone, and it would never bother her. Miranda seemed like she had plenty of quaint and cozy secrets with respect to her interior thoughts. Barry probably didn't have anyone commanding her in a certain direction, because that would've been the easiest conquest of all. No offense, but a girl's voice inside of that shy guy would've been so easily acquiesced to in fear.

Roxy… She needed a blanket. Not a command from some spirit within. Not a recompense for being such a bitch over this entire trip. Not meant to be anything. Just what it is. It's too late anyway. We have our established roles, with me playing some hardened, black-hearted cunt against a joyous, playful, resilient, happy, strong, thoughtful, and beautiful princess. I am the creature that gets stepped on; I am the wicked thing that confronts the hero. No escaping that. No alternatives. I'm just along for the ride now. But it was nice to make sure she had the blanket. Even if it didn't really mean anything.

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Thank crap that we finally managed to get to something resembling a town rather than an endless array of trees. Not that I hated trees, but I definitely had my fill of them. Human spaces are both tainted and have a reenergizing strength to them. Nature is nice, but nature is also endless and imaginatively cruel. I made a note to check out the pet shop later, although it seemed like they were already closing up. I hoped I would see it later. We would have to get somewhere around here to stay, probably between a crappy motel and a crackhead hotel. Although the area didn't seem that bad, I just didn't trust small towns, even though I trusted big towns and cities even less.

It still wasn't clear to me why this location, half-mentioned by Miss Clifton, was so vital for Miranda to get information from, but considering all the other directions had led us into dark and twisted horrors, I both had hope and anticipated disappointment for this new one. The history and artifacts contained in the shop were deeply problematic… In that I had a problem with them automatically. But I'd just have to deal.

Otherwise, I was losing my patience, if I ever had it to begin with. But then, I met Miss Maggie Triton. She reminded me of a nice old lady who practically considered herself my aunt, even though she was just one of the actually decent friends my mom made. If only I actually had her as a relative, it would've been good to escape and survive in her presence instead of the world I had to deal with.

This old lady was perceptive, so I had to nip her intuition in the bud before she said anything about me. A sentiment shared by me and my supposed friend. I didn't need to hear that my dying name, Alyssa Eckhart, represented chaos, suffering, and darkness. What good could she possibly say about who I was and who I was supposed to be? Feisty, determined, and withdrawn. Wasn't that the basic format she was divining? Little snippets of positive twists with advice on how to be better. If I wanted those platitudes, I already had a source for them.

We learned a lot after that, possibly far too much. It was disgusting, it was horrifying, and it made absolute sense that such a ruined, watery grave of emotion and perversion would contain such a nasty spirit clinging to me.

Why did I say we weren't friends? Well, we weren't. It would be nice to say that we were, but that denied basic reality. I couldn't have friends, not really. I've done too many terrible things. Maybe if this spiritual sucker took over for me, but it wouldn't really be my friends. Layla could be friends with anyone, but I bristled too much around her. I genuinely consider myself close to Jess, but that made it much more difficult to find a true sense of friendship. Barry deserved someone stronger than me to hang around. And Miranda deserved to like a better soul. Funny thing was, I could easily see myself becoming friends with Joel or Roxy before anyone else. What madness...

Roxy needed a nap, and the old lady entertained us while I tried to wrestle up the courage to express myself to Miranda.

I just wanted a quiet evening, but soon monsters were coming. I wanted to be brave, just like Roxy, but that wasn't me. I was made for hiding, for pushing everything inside. It was too much to hold and too much to feel. When the monsters came, I didn't want to hold back anymore. I may be the worst monster, the nastiest contagion of blackness and rot, but at least I can use that river, that wellspring of disgusting for something. I sprayed everything—my whole business—all over that creature. I gave it everything I had, and it didn't have the strength to endure the ruins of my life. At least all that was good for something.

In the moments after, I wobbled like I was finally standing on my own two legs without my family pushing me in all directions. No other forces trying to pull, push, twist, or turn. It was gone. It was me. I felt clarity. I felt free.

Just me and Miranda down in the basement, with so many things I desperately wanted to say. I could finally say them; I should finally say them; I had to finally say them. Nothing else to it. It hit me like I needed to throw up again, but I held it down.

Miranda listened; she waited and hoped. Then a rush passed through me. My borrowed clothes dangled, practically falling off. The breasts were back, along with the rest. Not a power like Layla could wield to switch herself on and off. This was my punishment; this was my reminder that no matter how far I'd ventured, there was always going to be a rubber band to snap and trap me back in place. I couldn't take it. It was too much.

I dropped to my knees; the marionette clipped. No screams, not yet. But I was so tired, so exhausted by this. Why can't I have a fresh start? Was I doomed?

Looking over at Miranda, I expected a wide swath of all her thoughts, speculations, and curiosities about what happened to me. I went back to Alyssa; I reverted to my base state. I failed to change. Stay away from me; I am truly a pariah. I didn't say all that, but I knew it in my heart.

Miranda dropped with me, and she blasted the sweet, sonorous tone of a fervent hug. I didn't deserve it, but I had to take it. She was a special sort of pillow that could absorb everything, and I was just some bulimic sorceress who could just erupt my worst self to curse others. Pushing her away would've been the best thing and the safest thing for her, but she was resilient, and I was exhausted.

But did I have to be? The princess in the powdered dress. That's who and what I wanted to be all those years ago. I failed at becoming that, I failed at being myself, and I further failed at trying to become Ross Hanover.

I'm nothing and nowhere, but I am also the stuff of stars. I slew a monster in the only way that I could, by bitching at it with every dark thing I had inside. The others had their strengths, and this was what passed for mine. Echoes of aches stayed with me no matter what soft, warm cushion of Miranda pressed against me.

What also stayed with me was the faintest glimmer of optimism. I should not have had any of that. I lost, I failed, I was absolutely pathetic, and yet some rising trace of happiness and pride wrapped its tendrils around me and wanted me to be happy.

It wasn't worth fighting against that feeling anymore. I could be happy, I should be happy, and I won't let anything stand in the way of my happiness… Or the happiness of others. My battle and our war. I had to find Roxy, I had to apologize, and I had to make this right, even though I felt sadly confident that I might screw it up again with impatience, sharpness, or the wrong word in the wrong place.

Roxy deserved my best effort to tell her the true tunnel of my thoughts. I'd have to walk back through the gamut of all the others, all the questions, and all the disappointments weighing on me. Every step took away some of the armor I desperately wanted to hold close. But I needed to be strong. I needed to take responsibility. It needed to stop being just about me. Let the worst of my ego go and be better.

So I took the first step and climbed with Miranda at my side and my old life at its heaviest.