Zip up the travel bag. Have a little trouble getting the zip around the corpse hair leaking out. Eva shoves the strands in and hopes her curious action goes unnoticed. A quick check over the shoulder reveals Christina watching her carefully.
Welp. Screwed in the first paragraph. We can only go downhill from here. What you think it’s uphill when you’re at your nadir? Silly reader. There is much, much further into the fundament, into the bedrock of reality, you can dig before true despair can be mined for trace elements and 21st century rare minerals.
“Come along, Eva.”
Christina doesn’t press further. Unusual. Welcome. Has Eva on careful edge. After an unusually swift recovery, complete with a lack of scars or discernible organ damage, Eva has been given discharge permission. She certainly won’t miss this hospital. But it was one of the better ones. Eva takes her mother’s hands and says goodbye, hopefully finally, no back-sees, to the private room she has stayed in for nearly a week. This hospital wasn’t the worst she has ever been to. Only twice has something driven her to mental collapse. Her two-month stay in an old psychiatric ward is still the winner for likeliest place for hell to come bursting out from a parallel dimension and consume all in its path in an orgy of psychosis and anarchy. Rip and Tear!
Mother and daughter walked down the halls, various medical staff giving polite waves or smiles. Christina returns the kind gestures. Eva is keeping her eyes fixed forward. She has no desire to see into any of the rooms. See the other occupants of the hospital, both long-term and very recent departures.
Christina nearly has her arm yanked off. Eva has frozen in an intersection. Eyes staring down an empty hallway. Mum knows her child well. These moments when Eva is disconnected from reality. A single wheelchair parked against a wall. Eva gives a low bow. Then is pulling her mother forward. Whatever happened, whatever her daughter’s fractured mind conjured up, it seems satisfied.
Faint squeak. Rubber on lino.
Christina only has a moment to glance back before they are past the intersection. The wheelchair now in the middle of the hallway.
Discharge is more paperwork. Declarations. Payment. Sign off for medications prescribed and follow-up appointments in the next week. Eva leaves her mother alone. Let the veteran strut her stuff. Even gives advice on some areas that need refining and clarification. You can always polish a document. Administration staff take notes. Another chapter completed. Another footnote in an otherwise listless life. Back to the caravan park. Back to a few days’ worth of medical tests. Then back to the road again. To another unseen destination. To a grand panacea that does not exist. The Foxe’s continue the search for what might save their daughter from whatever ails her.
Spoilers. It has anaemic orange eyes and an excellent taste in cloaks. Also likes spooking children.
Speaking of which.
“Hey. Eva.”
The distracted girl dragged out of her stupor. He melts out of the crowd. Hospitals are always busy. Pell-mell of activity, smelling of fear, hope, death and desperation. Standing in an odd little sea of calm is Josh. Complete with awkward smile. Raises one hand half-heartedly.
“You’re all dressed to leave.”
He of the incalculably potent observation skills. Though to be fair he’s only seen her in hospital garb. Back to her regular animal print t-shirt, hoodie, jeans and sneakers.
“Mmm.”
“What are you doing tomorrow? Are you free to go out?”
No mono-syllable response this time. Genuine raised eyebrows. Confusion. Confuzzlement even. Eva doesn’t have a response to that. She’s never really looked to the future. Each day is just inertia dragging her forward. The only pegs in the calendar of life are medical appointments. How is anybody supposed to respond when someone asks the entirely unreasonable question ‘what are you doing tomorrow?’
Eva looks down at her shoes. Starts doing her best to grind the toe of one through the lino. Then up at her mom. Christina is still processing paperwork.
“I. Uh. Well.”
Nervous trill. Confused cross-firing of neurons. Eva knots her fingers together and looks up at her mom again.
“I don’t know if I’d be allowed.”
Now what are the odds of several discreet elements crashing into each other in perfect confluence? What is the statistical likelihood of very interesting variables connecting in just the right way to achieve an otherwise impossible outcome?
Ask the one in the rafters with their tentacles moving the puppets around the stage.
“Hello, Ms Foxe.”
Both children turn to see Dr Schwarzschild in casual clothes. Out of her hospital scrubs she looks almost normal. Still careworn but more human. Everyday clothes. Hair worn loose. Wearing glasses too.
Eva gave a small bow.
“Thank you for placing me in your care, Dr Schwarzschild.”
The good doctor almost clasps hands in front and returns the bow.
Almost.
Okay it’s mostly nervous but you cannot blame her. She’s started to get a peek behind the veil and see what the writhing, fleshy tissue of reality really looks like. Also, it should be pointed out that Eva did not address the good doctor in English. Ruth adjusts her thinking, switches gear and responds in Japanese.
“It was my privilege. I am glad for your swift recovery.”
“Thank you.”
The doctor’s attention glides to Josh. Likely she knows him well through Harry. Switch to English.
“You are not causing trouble, Joshua?”
“No ma’am. I was asking Eva if she wanted to play.”
“Oh?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday so I thought Eva might want to go out and have some fun. She has been in hospital for a week.”
“And Eva is still recovering from very serious injuries.”
“Well. Yes. But. You know. She is pretty tough too.”
Roll Will save not to snort with laughter. Natural 20!!! Can’t blame the doctor. Nothing about this girl is normal. Normal cannot be found in the same room, house, street, suburb, city, nation, continent, planet, solar system and onwards. Maybe a nearby galactic cluster. Will get back to you on that one. Describing Eva as tough is like describing the ocean as mildly damp.
This does get the dice rolling in Dr Schwarzschild’s head. A very distinct possibility. An important one too.
Ruth kneels and looks the two children in the eye. Contemplative expression.
“I think it would be unreasonable for Eva to go wandering about so soon after discharge. With someone she has only just met. Doubly so as we have an active kidnapping investigation case.”
It’s a sly look. Josh is too oblivious. Eva however can read it. Something just about the corners of the eyes and touching the furrow between eyebrows.
“However. With an escort there might be a possibility. I believe your idea of fresh air, some light exercise and a change of scenery holds genuine merit.”
Ruth stands up and rolls her shoulders. Eva remembers this body language too. When they had first met. Ruth calling out her parents and demonstrating just how far she would go for her patients. 24 hours to digest 5 years. That same aura is evident. A woman committed to an ideal and unflinching.
Should we feel sorry for Christina? Surprise flank attack from a doctor with both interest in her patient and morbid curiosity regarding the world that Eva is revealing to her.
Nah. She deserves it.
Something unseen watched the curious exchange between two adults and two children. I did say ‘speaking of which.’
----------------------------------------
Sunday dawns. It was cool enough to justify wearing a scarf, jacket and toque. Eva laced up her shoes and took a deep breath. This was untrammelled possibility. An impossibility not conjured up by the feverish delusions only a month prior.
It was also completely and utterly petrifying. Eva managed to keep her heart from exploding out her chest, rolling on the bedroom floor, crawling aorta over aorta into the cupboard and hiding for the rest of the day. She flopped onto her bed and took a deep breath. Then another. Breathing exercises, she had learnt long ago.
Oxygen was not enough.
Eva was at her very not emotionally mature 11-year-old shining best. She swallowed down the rising fears and mined her memories for how to settle nerves. Chest heaving in and out. Oxygen. Need more oxygen. Fabric rustling against flesh.
Eyes open.
Crazy. No. Not crazy. Crazier than most crazy thoughts. But also, rationally proactive and reasonable. Eva was staring at her hands. She hadn’t tried anything since that wonderful night long ago. It actually hadn’t been that long ago. A week and change. Which was all the more frightening.
Distracted. Eva and we are getting distracted. Mostly me distracting you. Eva stares at her hand and tries to recall what was said. Perhaps mortal eyes are a distraction. Lids close over weak flesh and blind ocular nerves. See the world in reverse. Feel the pulse behind it all. The heartbeat of noisome darkness that slips through the cracks in the fundament. In that indescribable, undefined umbra Eva brings will to bear. An image is a collection of consensual concepts and identifying markings agreed upon by the collective. By obscuring the observation of the collective you can redefine the image. A strange piping tune filled Eva’s ears. Shogo was the key and the lock. Eva was beginning to understand that such an appellation applied not only to the curious entity. Reedy piping and heartbeat competed with one another for attention as Eva grasped the key and twisted it. Reality shifted about the tumblers of the lock.
Eyes open.
Eva was lying on her back on the bed. Lifted hands to admire her hands. Small feminine black leather gloves. A curious little smile. Eva was quick off her bed and into the communal kitchen/lounge. Her parents were seated at the kitchen table. Dark circles under their eyes. Looks like neither of them were blessed with a good night’s sleep. Stress, worry and trepidation regarding the unknown make for very restless bedfellows. They probably spent half the night lying next to each other and discussing all the possibilities that today brings. All the dangers and fragments of reality that lie outside their slippery control. 5 years. All that time policing Eva’s every move. Every meeting. Every moment of study. Every brief reprieve when she does something fun or entertaining for herself. Every TV show. Every book. Every medication.
Cry havoc and let loose the divergent anarchy of possibility!
“How are you feeling?” Luther asks.
Eva rubbed her biceps and gave a weak smile. She cannot lie to her parents.
“Nervous.”
Neither of them notices the unfamiliar gloves. Their minds are fixed on the future. Not the present. Luther is the first up and kneeling before Eva. He places reassuring hands on her shoulders. Who they are reassuring… now that is up for debate. He hands her a simple mobile phone in a leather cover, money stored inside for today’s use…
A first of her entire life. They have never trusted Eva with a mobile device. The one time she handled her father’s, it started speaking to her in tongues nobody with a single trachea could manage. That was a week spent under the covers in her room, pillow clamped tight over her head, not leaving even for dinner. Dry meals and fruit that isn’t messy to eat. Avoided the mistake in future.
“You will stay by Ruth’s side the entire time. Promise me that. If you feel uncomfortable at any time insist that you go home. If for whatever reason you are separated ring me straight away. I’ve locked the phone to ring myself, your mother and emergency services.”
This isn’t reassuring. This isn’t helping prop up your daughter. Also skipped adding Ruth Schwarzschild to that list of numbers. Smart? Round 2. Let us see how Christina fares. She nudges Luther back, crouches and embraces Eva. Familial intimacy is rare. This close physical contact is not forced. Or tokenistic. No obligation to give support. A mother genuine. Feeling for herself. Her family. Her daughter. Pull back enough to look Eva in the eye. Warmth. Fear. Quivering confidence. But enough. Just enough in those dark eyes.
“You’ve been brave for so long. Be brave today. Enjoy yourself.”
For Shub-niggurath’s sake, she is going out with her friends for the day.
Everyone’s fear is justified.
Eva wriggles out of the hug. Turns to the front door. A knock. A voice calling out her name. Prescience. Not bad. The adults in the room don’t miss that little fragment. Give each other a look. Look back to Eva. Glance down. The morning sun filters through the windows. Haloes the young girl. Motes of dust dance in the beams of light unusually yellow. Dust that coalesces into unknown words in a script never written by human hands.
The girl cautiously takes a step forward. Then another. Fledgling leaving the nest. She sucks in a breath. Enough oxygen this time. Walks to the door and opens it. Dr Schwarzschild is standing on the porch, rugged up for the morning chill, the cold air warmed by her smile. It touches eyes and aura. Genuine. Earnest. There is caution in her shoulders. Tempered with curiosity and the impression of an aunt wanting to dote on her niece.
“Good morning, Eva.”
“Good morning, Dr Schwarzschild.”
A single shake of the head.
“We are outside the hospital. Today I am Ruth. No Ms or doctor.”
“Yes… Ruth.”
Swallow that word like a cephalopod refusing to be squeezed down a narrow oesophagus.
Doctor and child look to the Foxes by the kitchen table.
“I am certain this excursion will yield positive benefits regarding Eva’s physical and mental health. As her treating physician I have her best interests at heart. If there are any complications, I will contact you promptly.”
Luther inclines his head. Christina looks close to tears. Luther addresses the pair.
“Have fun, the pair of you. Remember our agreement, Dr Schwarzschild.”
Oooo. What did Ruth say to him yesterday? An agreement of sorts perhaps. A pact. Promise. Something else. Maybe blackmail even. Negotiations we the reader are not privy to. Use your imagination. Weigh up what you think of Mr and Mrs Foxe. That can be the guide for the conversation between the three.
Waiting outside is Ruth’s car. Nice little hatchback. You decide the badging. I don’t know enough about cars to describe the finer details with any semblance of accuracy. Ruth opens the passenger side door. Eva accepts the polite courtesy and hops inside. Clicks her safety belt on. Looks out the side mirror and takes everything in. Cool day. Crisp air. Slightly cloudy skies. Perfect day for play and exploration. Ruth gets in the driver’s side and starts the car up. They leave the trailer park and get onto the main road leading into town. Ruth doesn’t say anything. Lets Eva settle into her own skin. The girl watches the scenery wander by. Remember Chapter 1? Eva has never cared for what is outside the vehicle window. Now she is soaking everything in. Each of the buildings. Each of alleyways with the nameless things moving within. Each of the pedestrians. Each of the nameless things moving through the crowd. Each of the businesses patroned by the people of the town on this bright morning. Each of the businesses empty of people and patroned by nameless things.
Eva takes it all in. Eyes unblinking. Heart pounding. Missed your chance to make a break for the cupboard. Now it is a prisoner within cruel ribs and a diaphragm with no key. Eva turns back to watch the driver. Ruth’s eyes are on the road. They have arrived in suburbia proper. Shops all around. Busy streets. Intersections with traffic lights. Crosswalks. People. The press of people. The hive of activity. Families bustling about. What’s the collective noun for teenagers in small groups? An exasperation of teenagers. Plenty of those about the place.
Keen eyes spot a sign indicating parking lots. Ruth pulled down a side street and found them a quiet little space snuggled at the rear of several modest sized buildings. Collected piles of rubbish and dumpsters sit against walls. One last free bay. They park up. Eva stares at the door handle. She can’t even reach out to grasp it. Gloved hands are frozen on her lap. Gaze held prisoner by that plastic handle.
The door opens. A hand proffered. Eva swallows and takes it. Doesn’t let go once outside. The car locks with a soft beep and flash of lights. Ruth strides around from the back of the car. Raises an eyebrow. Eva drops hands by her sides and clenches into tight fists. Walks over to the adult. There isn’t a question. No chance of an answer either. Eva’s eyes dart about. Feel the buildings around her. Maybe a cage. Maybe a safe haven.
Check back with me at the end of chapter.
It is Ruth’s turn to take Eva’s hand. You can feel bones beneath the flesh of this appendage. Eva flinches. Stock still. Catatonia. The doctor waits patiently by her side. Eventually she relaxes her gloved fingers. Takes a single step. Ruth matches pace.
One. Two.
One. Two.
One. Two.
One. Two.
Step by unsure step. A pace begins. They exit the carpark and breach the bubbling roil of civilisation. Eva cannot help steel taught tendons. Short, shallow breaths. There is so much noise. So much motion. So much to smell. Synaesthetic overload. The turbulence of humanity whirring about. Across the street is a park. Their meeting place. Eva is guided to a crosswalk and flinches as every rumbling vehicle passes by. A break in traffic gives her the opportunity to cross. Ruth perfectly matches pace. Each tiny step mirrored.
Okay so author’s bias. Almost all trouble on the road is caused by some individual with tiny genitalia driving a sedan they have installed a large exhaust upon and possibly a spoiler on the back. Both superfluous and indicative of the planck length genitalia. So one useless, pathetic, spineless, noisy, prokaryotic pieces of shit, obviously driving faster than the speed limit, roars up to the crosswalk, breaks at only the last second and leans on the horn harder than they lean on alcohol to help blur the memories of every time they fail to make a deep and meaningful connection with another human being. Eva shrieks. Hands clamped against ears and knees giving out. Eyes pressed right shut. All she can do is kneel on the ground and try to drive away the cacophony assaulting her.
Remember that there more terrible things than the impossible that lurk in the shadows cast by the insanity of reality.
Us.
Another author bias. People put up with most things. Let the pathetic maggots of life get away with so much. Give them so much rope they really ought to do the species a favour and hang themselves. Except when it comes to children. Primal. Base instinct. Pick on children. Cause them harm. All but the vilest will rise. Hard. Fast. Caveman protective. You want to see an angry sight? Strike a child in front of a group of men. Never seen someone get fucked up so fast.
So guess what happens when everyone sees the nervous child drop to the ground, hands against hears, shrieking, tears blurring her face? A great many people take interest. Multiple men in caveman mode walk up to cave. No more horn. Now the worm is afraid. People shouting at them. Very coarse words. Warnings to leave the child alone. To get out the car and face some swift justice. Drumming around the campfire before animals were domesticated. When the things lurking in the darkness still had meaning. When the campfire was the only bane to horrors.
Ruth makes a swift decision. Disregard personal boundaries. Scoops Eva into her arms and covers the final metres of the crosswalk. Quick steps have her in the large park. Tall trees ring the perimeter and muffle the sounds of civilisation. Here dogs bark and children let out squeals of laughter. The thump of various sports balls kicked or caught. Friends lazing about engaged in low conversation about favourite topics or all things salacious.
Okay excuse the crudity but have you ever walked through a park and listened in on the conversations? Seriously. SO much is about human reproduction. No shame. None at all.
Segue. Back on track.
In the shadow of a maple is respite found. Ruth is on her knees, slowly easing Eva down. Hands don’t leave the girl’s. The grip is an anchor on reality. A place to let Eva hold on to and know it is real. Or as real as her often fragmented mind is willing to believe. She isn’t laughing so there is only so much faith you can place.
Ruth lets the child squeeze out tears. Steady her breathing. Tremors turn to faint twitches. Oxygen. Just enough. Something bumps her legs. One eyelid peels open. Vision filmy. A black and white object. Eva is not Ms Marple. Though as an aside she really likes that series. It’s very easy to determine that culprit. The soccer ball is nudged away. Two blurs flank the tall figure of Ruth. The other eyelid. Glassy vision comes into focus.
Josh in warm clothes. Jacket and jeans. Unknown girl next to her. Wildest red hair Eva could imagine barely held in check with a ribbon at the neck. Strands that want to break free and consume everything in the Black Woods. Intense green eyes. She’s tall. Tall as the doctor and the same age as Eva. In a jumper, skirt, thick stockings and boots. The fingerless gloves are a curious touch to the ensemble.
Eva finishes clearing her eyes. Something like this doesn’t leave her too embarrassed. Accustomed to having meltdowns in public. Doesn’t make them any less unpleasant. Usually her parents shepherd her off. Now it’s up to her.
Josh crouches and raises an eyebrow.
“Everything okay?”
How can one boy be so capable of observation? Truly it is a gift. Expression change. Card flip.
“No. No it isn’t,” he mutters. “Can I help at all?”
Head shakes. Resigned. It’s up to the one wading through the swamp to climb their way out. Don’t be a horse. That’s all Eva can focus on. Ruth is still holding her hands. Grip them tight. Focus on the warmth. The reassurance. Confidence. Empathy. This is your day out going at your pace.
Lean against the tree. It’s too tall, the crown hidden above the clouds, branches thick with sparkling green leaves. A shadow claws amidst the branches. An inky rodent with too many eyes and suckers where claws should be. Has curious little titbits of knowledge that fall amidst the sigh of the wind through the leaves.
Eyes return to Midgard. Eva smiles to the doctor and takes slow, deep breaths. She glances to Josh.
“Thank you but I will be fine.”
Gaze shifts to the new girl watching Eva like a meal. A cat. Denizen of Ulthar thinking about how to eat all those rats in the walls.
“Eva Foxe,” she introduces herself.
The girl blinks. And utters not a syllable in return. Imogen chews a lip. Looks Eva up and down. Still meal territory. Actually, might have upgraded from rat to salmon. Very yummy crazy girl to devour.
“Did we want to get going?”
Eva’s voice is uncertain. The shock from minutes ago is bleeding away. The doctor carefully stood, drawing Eva to her feet and helping pat the dirt and leaves from her back. Their grip loosened enough for Eva to step back and curl gloved hands together behind her back. Look intently at the ground. She doesn’t breach the mantle this time. A polite cough. Josh gives an awkward smile and gestures around the park.
“What did you want to do first? We can kick the ball around. Go for a walk. Look in the shops. Eat breakfast.”
The last one. The last one. That last one! Eva has never gone to a café. Ever. Her world was limited to evening restaurants where every move and action was carefully curated and policed. Managed by parents that knew the moment their daughter dipped too deeply into the dark whorls of unseen and unbidden delusion. This was an opportunity like no other.
“I’d. I’d. Like pancakes.”
Bite your lips hard enough to draw white blood. Such a simple request and such unsure words. Nobody is blind to this. Stranger still is the unbound joy that glistens on those eyes as they rise up to look over the assembled group. She isn’t asking for a house. For a car. For a dream job. For a pretty dress or fancy shoes. Not even for a pony. The awkward and equally excited girl is borderline euphoric at the idea of eating pancakes.
Joshua’s laugh is what breaks the ice. Ruth smiles gently next. It’s only Imogen that remains poker faced. Okay so does she have resting bitch face or is something else at play? I guess we are forced to read the proceeding paragraphs until a definitive answer is given. Assuming this story is kind enough to give a definitive answer.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“Follow me,” Josh announces.
The leader apparent snatches up his ball and heads off in one direction. Everyone is close behind. A triangle formation for one singular purpose. Josh the spearhead. Ruth to one side. Imogen the other. Eva in the middle. Unspoken agreement deciding their course of action. The timid girl is not accustomed to people. Certainly not crowds. Someone leaning on their horn is enough to breach her walls. Right now, she needs all the support she can get.
And fortunately, the captain of all that is obvious comes through in the moments that count. A quaint little café sits opposite the park. This early in the morning there are only a few regular seated. Some brave the brisk air. The rest hide inside around and bask in a wall fireplace’s generosity. Josh leads the group over to a table for four. Even pulls out the seat for Eva. Okay so he cannot read the room and speaks the obvious. But it seems he’s found his manners. And they aren’t half bad. I might warm to this boy.
Eva picks up a menu and studies it furiously. Her eyes don’t leave it. Just ignore the distractions and search the contents. Everyone else glances over their menu. Josh fishes out a wallet and starts counting up how much he has saved. Eva notices and pulls out her phone. She pops it open the case and takes out a note. Hands it to Ruth.
“Will this be enough, Ms Schwarzschild?”
Robert Borden winks up at the doctor. Whether the doctor sees it or not is up for debate. She is too busy swallowing her surprise.
“This is more than—"
“I’m paying for everyone.”
It’s Eva’s first genuine smile for the day. Her face warms enough to melt the nervous expression from earlier.
“I’ve always wanted to have a meal with my friends.”
“If… you insist.”
Josh puts his wallet away. Imogen is still blank as off-white wallpaper. Everyone picks their meals. A waitress is flagged over. Eva cannot look the woman in the eye. Her eyes roam to either shoulder as she struggles out the order.
That’s the easy part done. The next bit is a little trickier. Just what the hell is everyone going to talk about? Josh isn’t sure where exactly he stands. Imogen is silent at the grave. And Eva is clearly distracted. Outsiders would assume she is overwhelmed with stimulation. You and I both know it’s something else. Several somethings.
“What else would you like to do today, Eva?”
The doctor breaks the ice. Eva studies her gloved hands. Her eyes have an awkward film to them.
“Could we go shopping? I’ve never been into a shop before. And maybe an ice cream. Also, could I kick a ball? Just anything that friends would do on a day out.”
Josh chuckles.
“That sounds like fun.”
Eva’s glance flicks sideway. Imogen hasn’t said anything. She’s just watching Eva intently.
“Are… we friends?”
Josh shrugs.
“I don’t think there is a list we have to tick before we decide to be friends. I’d like to be yours. Imogen too. I think Dr Schwarzschild is already.”
There’s a curiosity in that paragraph. Perhaps a lie. Let’s tease that out and see what truths we can pry free. Eva is the first to go. She looks to Imogen.
“Do you want to be my friend?”
Imogen took a slow deep breath. Josh was the one to save the situation.
“Badly. Imogen couldn’t stop talking about you last night over chat. It’s just she’s super shy around new people. Completely freezes up.”
Our red-head now has a red face to perfectly match those lustrous curls. Imogen pressed cool hands against her cheeks in an attempt to freeze away the blush. It was so cute that even Eva, tense as coiled memory metal, had to smile a little. It wasn’t just her that was nervous. She reached out a gloved hand and very slowly, very carefully rested it on Imogen hand. Tapped the bare fingers unconsciously. Imogen flipped her hand over, palm now up and curled her fingers to grip Eva’s own. Her voice was… so deep and raspy you thought someone had dripped caramel topping over rum and raisin ice cream whilst the bowl smoked a cigar. Think Kate Mulgrew and you’re pretty close.
“Sorry.”
Eva giggled. The girl next to her was just as bad as she was. The giggle was bitten off when food arrived. Eva stared at the table. The plate of hot pancakes, genuine maple syrup, butter, blueberries and cream. Let me confirm that this is not maple flavoured syrup. The real deal. Something most people have never consumed, let alone Eva. She picks up her cutlery and readies for the feast. Except that she’s armed with a spoon. Chalk it up to general ignorance. Cake you can eat with a spoon. Ice cream obviously. Pancakes have a little more density. Knife and fork are essential. Ruth leans over ready to say something. Shuts up very quickly. Eva is angling the back of the polished spoon. A warped mirror reflecting what lies behind. Watching the waitress go to grab the next order from the kitchen. She’s fine. All human. It’s the indescribably shape clinging to her back. Indistinct shadow. Bubbling tendrils like ink falling through water, but defying gravity as they ascend towards the ceiling. The thing. The head possibly. Or maybe an extra section of body that has grown outward like a cancerous growth, turns back to look at the spoon. Eyes. Beyond the necessary two. Deeply sunken. Maybe centimetres. Maybe thousands of parsecs. Lost deep in the face. More than one globe a blackness. Eyelids that never open.
Eva shudders and puts her spoon down. Ruth clamps a hand over her mouth. A boon she hasn’t eaten yet herself. Josh doesn’t miss the exchange between the two. But in these moments that survival reflex kicks in. He knew not to say anything about Shogo when she stalked his garden. He knows now not to press. Imogen. Well, she’s said one word so far. We needn’t worry about her.
Pancakes. Back to pancakes. Fluffy. Soft. Not soggy. Perfect texture. Perfect thickness. This is paradise. Careful drips of maple syrup. Top with berries and consume. Side dish of ice cream. Or plain butter. Oh, shoot I forgot to mention that the butter is from an actual cow. It hasn’t been tampered in any way, shape or form. An almost manic grin is plastered on Eva’s face. Nothing can wipe this away. The others have chosen bacon and eggs. Their food is going cold. The entertainment at the table courtesy of Eva is beyond par. The look of joy that bubbles away. Shifting expressions of bliss as the tongue crosses the elysian fields. She is rapturous and those at the tabled are enraptured by the performance.
Fork skewers pancake and points in Josh’s direction.
“You have to try this!”
Eva is a gentle and polite girl. But she is also woefully ignorant of certain social mores and norms. Which makes her all the cuter. Naive is adorable. Captain obvious demonstrates his good manners yet again by not saying anything. Just leans forward and accepts the offered food. Chews and swallows. His expression is appreciative.
“They’re as good as ever.”
No response from Eva. Fork has been reloaded and pointed at Imogen. The redhead is a deer caught in headlights. Looks between Josh and Ruth. Josh shrugs. Ruth has an incredibly unsympathetic smirk. Tentatively lean forward and accepts the offered food. Chew. Rolling around mouth. Savour the syrup before swallowing. Licks her lips.
“Wow. They are good.”
The timbre of her voice is the perfect gap moe. Extra greasy bacon is twirled around her fork and offered back.
“Here.”
Eva accepts without thought. Chews on the bacon. We have yet another face for the album of delight. Really should take photos and put them online. Would win all manner of prize. There’s an award for most adorable not-chipmunk, right? Ruth doesn’t escape the maple and pancake justice. Forewarning lets her composure be retained. She pulls her hair over one ear, leans forward and accepts the offering. Clear enjoyment. An appreciative nod.
“Josh is correct. Good as always.”
“You know this place?”
Eva has a tinge of surprise in her voice. Boy and woman nod back.
“It has a well-deserved reputation. Everyone comes here. Everyday man and women, families, retirees and millionaires.”
Head gestures towards the front counter. Set up like a bar but serving the non-alcoholic kind. All manner of fancy tea or coffee. People sit there hard at work on a laptop. Perhaps reading text book or novel. Perched shoulder to shoulder with patrons is a man so thin he could fit through the tines in a fork. Eva tenses a little. Right now she wants a cloak of dark tentacles more than ever. Of course, he felt the gaze. The bald man with his sallow skin and eyes far too dark looks over his shoulder. A smile that is all tip and no iceberg. Leaves his half-finished espresso and casually walked over.
“Good morning, Ms Foxe.”
Eva inclined her head.
“Good morning, Mr Penderghast.”
Ruth is the one to raise an eyebrow. Josh and Imogen can only gawk. How does someone as… well she’s an outsider and it’s unlikely they would have… but surely it…
Nyalothotep doesn’t weave plans this complex. Who else would know the richest man in town if not the country? Nobody is quite sure of his net wealth. Enough to make oil barons wince. With the influence to prove it. He gestures with a finger and politicians come scuttling over. Never in public. Never seen in the light. An umbral presence much as he demonstrates now. A body so malnourished of attention it warps flesh and sinew into emaciated concepts.
The two children settle on taking it in stride. Who else but Eva would know this man?
“Did you enjoy your books?”
“Yes, Mr Penderghast. I was in hospital for a few days so my parents returned them. I’m hoping to go to the Library this afternoon to see if I can to get some more out.”
“We have a broad selection of languages if you find yourself lacking a challenge.”
The furrows in her brow spell ‘what do you mean?’ Ruth doesn’t clear her throat. That would be far too rude. More like discovers a Nameless Mist and softly exhales it. Just enough. Barely.
“Good morning, Mr Penderghast. I wanted to thank you after the fact for the donations you have made towards the newly renovated and upgraded children’s wing and private rooms. It has made a significant improvement on the quality of life and recovery of our critical patients.”
Mr Penderghast gave the softest of bows. It looked enough to snap him in two.
“I am a very privileged man. Giving back to the community that has done so much for me is the least I can do.”
Eyes never leave Eva. Polychromatic. Oil slick on black.
“Courtesy and manners. I have always believed in them. One should always treat their guests with courtesy and manners.”
We can all see what he’s says. The double entendre. That’s smooth. Very smooth. Sliding off the oily sweat of Shub-niggurath. Pinpricks run over Eva. Anything could try to break into her mind. An open pit to of writhing chaos. Only a fool would try to step into that abyss knowing they could never leave. Instead the eyes slide down to her sternum. The chakram of passion and life-force. Indescribable force presses against her, compressing sternum, gripping ribs in jaws that devour stars. But can the stars fight against the nameless moons? Gloves are gone. Fingernails devour flesh and mark eight gibbering half-moons in palms. Moons turned pale with blood. Vitae follows the palmistry life-lines and writes runes in scripts older than humanity into the crook of the palm.
Penderghast feels the full rebuke. A stumble back. No surprise in his eyes. Genuine respect. Acknowledgement of a battle fought and lost. He loves it. Revels in the moment. The scene is broken when Josh takes Eva’s hand. He cannot fathom the illimitable confrontation. But he can read body language. Penderghast is a blank slate. Eva is pure terror.
This would be so cute, a boy holding the hand of a girl and looking to defend her, if he didn’t soak his hand in bleached plasma. Josh gripping Eva’s twitching hand. Felt the too oily fluid ooze between digits. In that moment he could see the waitress and what haunted her. Mr Penderghast he could not fully see. Amygdala responded appropriatly and sent orders to the adrenal glands. Flushed ready for fight or flight.
Respect for the boy. He deserves some. Fight wins over. Stares down the most important and easily scariest man in the town. In the county. Probably the country. The world is a big place so I wouldn’t rank him that high. But certainly influential. Inverse is where his temporal power holds true sway. The waitress his mind processes. The same animal response as Ruth has experienced. Holds his nerve.
“Has everyone finished their breakfast?”
Josh doesn’t skip a beat. Eyes fixed on Mr Penderghast. Now he’s challenging the man. The courage only a child can summon when staring beyond the mountains of madness at what horrors lurk.
“I’m done.”
Two words from Imogen. More than enough. Ruth pushes her plate back. Eva says nothing. Just stands up with Josh still holding her hand tight.
“It was a pleasure to see you again, Mr Penderghast.”
All manners from the shaken girl. He is equally calm and controlled in his response.
“The pleasure was all mine. I hope to see you soon Ms Foxe. With company too.”
“Shogo has been busy. I’m sure she would find the time since you asked.”
Nobody had asked. A knife in the dark. Paring back the skin. Mr Penderghast let a smile touch his gaunt cheeks. Nothing more said. Just turning back to his coffee.
Ruth moves to pay the bill. The rest escape the café. They don’t flee. That would be admitting too much. Outside Eva finally withdraws her hand. The eight moon have already set beneath the horizon of the palm. Pale fluid stains the skin. Joshua too. Imogen notices the injury and pulls out a handkerchief from a pocket. Then notes the unblemished skin. Doesn’t say anything further.
“What now?”
Imogen’s clipped question fills all their minds. After the brief encounter with Mr Penderghast their thoughts are occupied by other things. It is Imogen who leads them again.
“Shops. Clothing.”
Eva brightens. Again the three form an arrow and protect her. Some members of the public don’t appreciate having to move out the way. Accustomed to being rude and barging through whatever they want. Josh doesn’t care and runs straight into them. Harsh word or rude gesture. He stares them down. After what he has seen this morning, a petty mortal won’t freeze nerves.
A large department store dominates a street. Everything within from pots, pans, electrical goods, cleaning products, household needs, pillows and more. Eva takes one look and shudders. The last thing she wants. Next to it on the corner is a cosy little shop. Specialised in the quirky, quaint and unusual. Chique in its own defiant way. It calls to Eva. The mannequins of woman in antiquated outfits. Jewellery that belongs in another century. And those shoes. Oh those shoes.
Josh smirks and points at the front door.
“Head inside. I’ll go looking for a place that sells ice-cream.”
Ruth offers to escort Josh. Or the desperate and tactical chance to escape standing around whilst women look at clothes. Hmm. Shouldn’t she stay with Eva? Flustered by the breakfast. Critical error
Oops.
Eva is a different person. Flitting between dresses and skirts. Comparing waistcoats, single and double breasted. Cuffs long and short. Dark stockings and more about those shoes. The boots that lace up the front. The generous would call it anachronistic. The unkind would say it belongs in a trunk covered in cobwebs before it is thrown into a refuse pile.
There is at least one girl in love. Dark eyes sparkle. Genuine gemstone shards of light twirling in too wide pupils. Hungry. Searching. Half the mannequins are… well they do seem to be staying in place. The other half point at Eva accusingly. Other’s rude gestures. Some make motions for the girl to hang herself.
You wonder why Eva has her parents do her clothes shopping. Why she endures wearing the cute animal prints and other ghastly clothes. This is why. What has changed? The shadows around Eva push back. The mannequin makes a threatened gesture. The shadow it casts. Feel sorry for it. Eva is a storm. Inky cyclone. Shadow reaching out and rending. Just as Shogo had. Nurses chewed and swallowed. Doctor ripped asunder. Has the shop always been this bright? Did someone turn off the dimmer? No probably not. The shop assistants are certainly surprised.
That’s what you get for threatening her.
Eva trails fingers over fabric that shudder in fear. The predator has been let loose. They know. The mannequins that did not behave are now all dead. The clothes behave much better. They know their place. To be worn by their betters. The screams of flayed cotton a gentle susurrus in the background. Finally. Eva stops at a particular outfit. Long brown skirt. It looks right. Would go well with her white top. Eva just has to remember how to shift the camisole. Tease apart the gaps in reality, turn the key and make reality bend. Add a waist-coat. Delicious. This is something different. The fabric sings. Whispers decadent secrets. Ones that make Eva’s face feel hot, though she cannot show a blush.
“You. Like this?” Imogen. Good with the monosyllables. We are progressing.
The mannequins kindly bend down and hand over their wears. Eva accepts and thanks them politely. A few odd looks from the other humans. The inhuman appreciate the predator is behaving.
Imogen. Nothing. The rock is patient.
Now it’s time to try everything out. Small catch. Change rooms. Back of the shop. That’s where predator meets another. You can feel it. Dozing. Languid. Ready to swallow whole. A thing sticky with years of discarded garments, disappointed looks in the mirror and the shock when fantasy does not meet reality. I’m not fat. It’s the clothes. I’m not anaemic. It’s the clothes. I’m not dying of cancer. It’s the clothes.
Changing booth mirrors remember. There are the real repositories. Remembers every wicked expression it has ever born witness to.
Two stalls for a small shop like this. One occupied. It’s a little duckling not sure how to swim. Staring at the pond, wondering about the Rusalka beneath the waves. Shogo is a safe tickle. This thing will latch on and drag you down into the black depths. The last thing you will want to do is laugh as bitter water fills your lungs. Wait it out. Leave the empty stall for other people to go ahead of the predator now cowed.
Beside her is Imogen, watching the stalls patiently and tapping one foot. Finally, the first stall opens and a customer exits. Both girls walk in. Eva does a quick circle and then begins to strip. She will be semi-naked before a total stranger in moments. Then again this is a veteran we are talking about. So much time spent in hospitals, nurses checking her for possible self-inflicted wounds, which never existed thank-you very much, doctors wanting to assess her physical health, that she gave up all pretence of shame years ago. Imogen finds this surprising but makes not comment. Her mind is on other things. As Eva undresses she asks the burning question.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Imogen replies
“Why wait? We could have gone into the other stall. Normally people would have…”
“Forced you to do something uncomfortable.”
“But it’s not real. You can’t see it. It’s...”
Swallow. Take stock. Speak an untruth.
“It isn’t real. Just my imagination.”
“So what?”
That stills Eva’s hands. She slowly turns to look Imogen in the eye. It is the first serious Imogen has expressed. The first genuine reaction. Our duckling is even less certain now.
“I don’t care if it’s real or not, Eva. And it’s not my job to force you to believe that either. What matters is you. If you are more comfortable, more settled, waiting for another booth then I’ll wait. Your health matters. Me humouring you costs nothing and makes you a little happier. Right?”
Whoa. She’s… really emotionally mature. Smart too. Josh wasn’t lying. Imogen can talk when she’s ready to.
Eva pulled on the russet brown skirt. Did up the zip on the side. Next was the high-collared shirt and grey neck scarf looped under the collar. The coffee and caramel check corset followed, brass button flashing brightly. Imogen helped slip the sleeves of Eva’s long tan coat. Both girls looked in the mirror. Looked at an age and style that had long since faded from the fashion zeitgeist. Eva bubbled in it. Twirled once. Twice. Three times. Her gloves perfectly matched.
“You have a strange taste in fashion.”
Eva gave no response. Her eyes were fixed on that reflection. On the reflection of how she felt. How she saw herself. Clothes are do not just keep the elements off you. They are a statement. They are armour. They gird you against the horrors of the world. They are threads of willpower and confidence interwoven. Ragyō was right.
“It’s certainly a look. Not complete. You need some dark stocking and knee-high boots. Vintage style.”
Good advice from Imogen. She’s really warming to this more than three word sentence thing. Must be catching.
It came unbidden. Hypnosis. Imogen intonation. Cadence. Low volume. The timbre of her voice sent a chord through Eva. Not the girl’s intent but the outcome. Waiting with a stranger. Given guidance. Taken into an unfamiliar room and ordered to undress. These were all routines Eva knew. They were ingrained in her mind as mnemonics. Muscle and grey matter moved as directed.
She could not help it.
Conscious effort was hard. Eva could only work with simple, small things. What she had already been guided. Cognisant understanding would have been impossible. Beyond the wall of sleep, beyond the net of rationality with hooks biting bloody deep into conscious flesh lay possibility and impossibility rendered to wax. The key she inserted into the lock and twisted it. Only tarnished silver this one. By common agreement still permitted by the lurker to step up to the threshold and open the gate. A susurrus. Hounding whispers. Unintelligible. Imogen flinches. Wild, wide eyes search the booth. The gate obeyed. Remove the key and let light stream though the keyhole. Let it illuminate the fundament. That which might be shaped by perception. One who’s axis of reality is tipped changes parallel communally accepted cognisance.
Stockings the colour of fading autumn leaves. Boots up to the knee. Eva stumbled as her centre of gravity shifted up with the soles of the shoes. Flail and fall into Imogen. The taller girl kept Eva upright. Then slowly ease the girl back. Hands firm on her forearms, grip almost too tight. Imogen. Eyes not leaving Eva. Not a casual thing. That which bored into her. Questioned everything she knew and saw. Left her doubting consensual reality.
Eva cocked her head to one side. She lacked empathy to grasp what was wrong.
“It looks pretty good. The boots and stockings. Match just like you said. You really are good at fashion.”
“They. Just. Appeared. There was this whispering and they were just… there.”
“Oh. I get lost sometimes. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s real. It was this time? Shogo will be really pleased. I’ve gone from a shirt and gloves to stockings and boots.”
Imogen’s grip slipped. Eva pulled back and admired the boots. Ran her fingers down the leather. I always warn you not to ask what material these various trinkets are made from. And I never hold back. This is goat leather. Five legs give you plenty to work with. Eva looked up and let a soft smile settle on her lips. It matched the wider than normal eyes and slightly unhinged glint.
“I think I’ll take this.”
Just as quick Eva begins to undress. Neatly folds the clothing. She reaches for the boots before frowning.
“How do I undo this?”
Talk about most awkward thing to mutter. Eva dropped onto her rear and offered a boot up.
“Could you help take this off?”
The flip in dynamic was profound. The inversion of attitude. Imogen looked down at this little girl who had just… who had… who shaped… her mind could not find words. There were no words on any terrestrial language. Some might have called it by gross, simplistic or infantile terms magic. Eva certainly could do something and Shogo had agreed in a desire to ease the concept into a 3D, linear, mortal mind. But to someone who was for all intents and purposes sane this was beyond her ken.
So, she did the very rational thing, reached out, grabbed the boots and helped tug them off. That’s what friends do right? Put both beside the clothes. The mistake was putting her back to them. Because turning back revealed absence. Whipping head around and the stockings were gone. Eva was dressing herself in clothes and fibres of this dimension. Except that camisole. It had a pearlescence that made vision ache and stomach bubble.
Imogen is now focussed. Involved. Entranced.
“You. Are. You are real?”
Eva stops. Fully dressed bar sneakers.
“Pardon?”
“I’ve always wondered. Never seen it. But it just felt. You are real.”
“Yes. I am right here.”
Fingers in knots. Eva doesn’t follow. Two lane conversation. Imogen in the automatic pulling up beside Eva in manual. Still struggling to get out of second gear.
“No… you don’t understand.”
Imogen. Silent again. Very silent. Whips open the changing room curtain. Doesn’t storm. More like slink. Eva left alone to do her shoes. Alone again. Trudge. Counter. Pay for clothes. Not realise how much the notes she is handing over are worth. Take the changing. Jam in pocket withv wriggling darkness hungry for metal. It’s been eating plastic all day long. Metal tastes like blood. Loose change is meal for the clothing soul.
Redhead. Waiting outside the front door. Arms by sides. Then changes. Hand grips other bicep. What to do. What to do?
Lucky. Today is her lucky day. One daft but earnest boy. One logical Doctor. Both initiated into the secrets. Wear the pin and gather on Friday nights for Bingo and blood of the eternal mother. Intuition. Not a predator. A guide. Eva digs thumbnail in palm. Hard. Good at this by now. Bleeding herself. Haematological logic. Takes Imogen’s hands in her own. Palms pressed together. Black on white. White blood and white flesh.
Looks like we’re initiating another poor soul.
Imogen glances around. Sees the world. SEES the world. The mannequins flinching. The people walking down the street. Everyone else slinking down the street. Power lines hanging overhead. Silhouettes hanging form the cables, fibre nooses tight about umbral throats. People play in the park, kicking various ball sports around. It’s large. Has more than four legs. Double as many eyes. Not sure if that’s a tail, a stinger or perhaps another head. Chasing around the park. Leaping up to catch the frisbee of human bones tossed down from the heavens. A hand, cuffs and sleeves the whorls of purple, bruised flesh. No. Not the colour of flesh. Those cuffs are flesh. Reach down from the clouds to take the rattling bone frisbee. Mouthless shadows scream from in between femurs, skulls and ribcages.
Retch.
Correction. Vomit. Happens to everyone the first time. Right of initiation. Part of the safety induction. Food in your stomach is a luxury. Breakfast up and on the sidewalk. Imogen can’t stop. She’s coughing. Spluttering. Crouched and in a bad place.
Cool. Not warmth. Cool. Cool is good. Eva doesn’t rub her back. That would work if you were throwing up because it’s physical. Instead Eva places cool hands on either temple and does something. Does Eva run cooler than most? Imogen doesn’t care. Those fingers. They feel like diluted heaven. Put it in a can and sell the miracle cure for a small fortune. Then get hit by copyright from some mega-corp that never came up with anything. They just have high-priced lawyers. Silicon Valley much?
Even daemons fear that justice. Correction. Injustice.
Slow. Slower. Slowly. Breath. Feel bad. Imogen opens her eyes. Everyone’s eyes are on her. Human eyes. Two a piece. Some have four. We’ll still count them. And a few of the others. The hanging ones even comment on what café Imogen must have eaten at earlier. Cool fingers retract. A water bottle under Imogen’s nose. No fool here. Just takes the bottle.
“Wash your mouth out.”
Not request. Instruction. Imogen does so. Spits out the water. She’s heaved up public pancakes. This is small bile potatoes. Then up to her feet. Still wobbly. Cautious of taking that hand again. Eva feels heat on her face. Scrubs hands on jeans. Nervous. Mentally curls in on herself.
Initiative. Imogen takes Eva’s hand. The world doesn’t slant 90 degrees again. One dose is enough for her mind today. The pair walk the street in silence. Imogen wanted to see if it was all real. Confirmation. Tick box. Complete the coupon for one free tour of Ry’leh.
“Sorry,” Eva manages.
Imogen shakes her head. Still processing. Still understanding. Strange. Stranger. Strangest.
IS that reality? Perspective. Synaesthesia of senses that do not exist in any mortal frame.
“Wow.”
Pretty good start. Hey! Don’t criticize Imogen. As far as responses go I reckon that’s pretty damn good. What else do you say to seeing that? Something witty. A smooth response. Calmly process the oil-smear universe that rots behind the shadows when you flense them from the pallet of proprioception. No. Bullshit. I wouldn’t. You certainly wouldn’t. Everyone would react the same. Shock. Barf. Clean up. Try to process. Realise you can’t. Then admit ‘wow.’ That is it. End of story.
“Mmmm.”
Best Eva can manage. Pretty good actually.
“So. Is that all…”
“Sort of. Sort of not. I think it is. But I’m also wrong. I can’t really tell.”
“So you treat it all as.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you get distracted?”
“Mmmm. Practice. Keep my eyes fixed elsewhere.”
“Ah.”
The pair arrive at the ice-cream store. Ruth is waiting outside. Checking her phone. Sees the two girls and waves them over. Vanilla ice-cream. Imogen paler that the frosted desserts. The Doc doesn’t say anything. It’s the look. That look. She knows it. Has worn it. Sympathetic flesh on the face morphs to mirror. The shadows at the corners of eyes deep as Noctis.
Three indoors. Josh is ordering. Bold. Assume you know everyone’s tastes.
Salted caramel.
Yeah. Good choice. I’m really warming to this guy. It’s his turn to pay. He walks over, hands full, cones laden with icy goodness. Sugar overload ready and weaponised. Tongues lap at the delight. Imogen a little slower. The cool down Imogen’s throat whisks away the sting of bile.
Outside and walking down the street. Maybe back to the park. Maybe some window shopping. Delta formation again. Imogen is now at the rear. Josh is not following. Glances to Ruth and then Imogen. Eva shakes her head. There’s enough body language to warn even Captain Clueless.
Glance. One. Two. Three. Eva enjoying her ice-cream. The sun on her skin. The brisk weather. Glance. One. Two. Three. Not good. The purple arm and best doggo have gone. Fled? Something else. An umbrella. A woman. With her umbrella popped open. Protecting her head. No precipitation. You cannot see above her neck. Disingenuous umbra shading blots it out. Neat clothes. Pumps. Handbag tucked under one arm. Umbrella. Things hanging from it. Wiggle. Twist. Dangle and drape over shoulder. Caress a head you cannot quite see. Viscous. Long tendrils of slime between the dangling appendages. Some of the translucency makes it past the umbrella’s shading protection. Sizzles in the light.
“Uhm…”
Eva. She needs an idea. Fast. To get away.
Wait.
No.
No more running. She did this before. And it brought trouble home. Gunsmoke and the tang of blood fills her nose. Different. Now it’s time to try something different.
Eyes dart about. Spot just the right place. Eva wraps an arm around Imogen’s. Flinches. Ready for another unenchanting chance to see just past the rotting veil. Doesn’t happen.
“Imogen. She was ill earlier. Maybe we should take her home?”
Ruth. Smart enough to start putting it together.
“Do you want to go home? If you are feeling unwell please do not feel obliged to stay out with us. I can drop you off now.”
Imogen just nods her head. Exactly what Eva wanted. Josh keeps quiet. He’s suspicious too. Follows the hint thought. All four. Heading back to the carpark. Traffic is suspicious. High beams now on, illuminating things crawling along walls, mockeries of shadows cast by the four bustling. Shadows that grab at the cracks and seams in brick wall buildings. Slowing their movement. They can feel their bodies being pulled back.
Snap. Eva exerting. Unconscious. Whimpering and the shadows are pooled around their feet. Strange considering the sudden nail yellow flickering of lights. Cars start turning corners and blocking their movements. Each one insistent on taking shortcuts to nowhere and blind alleys.
Pumps click on concrete. Pursued. Prey. Eva is prey. Everyone around her is soft, supple meat before the main meal. What does she do? Can she face it. Courage with friends by her side. Or a fate worse than-
-The world whirls by. Oblivious. Wavelengths do not align. They are out of step with it all.
Pumps clacking. Closer. Closer. Too close. Eva can feel the breathing down her neck. The slick slime vapourised and filling the air.
Breaks into a run. Cries from her friends. No. This is too much. It is real. It isn’t. Where’s the line between the two? Get a scalpel of horror and part virgin shadows on Plato’s wall. Hear the screams of from the hands behind the fire as they are bloodied, torn off at the knuckle.
Manholes rumble and shiver. All up the street. Eva doesn’t care. Dashing between people. Running into and barrelling on. Every metal cap bursts into the air. Geysers of mother earth blood, fouled black as midnight’s 3am bile after getting drunk on too many murders and bringing up their last wracked breaths and panicked screams.
Eva let’s out a shriek and skirts around the foul fountains bursting forth. Crosses the street without looking.
You know what comes next. It’s standard. Cliché even. Car hits running person. But this time gravity has been bribed and physics tied up in a corner, cleave gag to keep it from shouting Newton’s three laws. Eva rolls over the bonnet and continues running. Turns the corner into alley where the carpark is. Reaches the car and slumps over the door. Broken bones aren’t an issue. Torn tissue and crushed muscle are an inconvenience.
Pumps clacking.
That is our inconvenience.
Whip around. Face your fear. Eva cannot tear her eyes away. The horror dangles from the underside of the umbrella. Maybe eyes within that viscous darkness. Press yourself again the car. No. That’s stupid. Vehicle equals cover. Eva scrabbles around and hunches down. Watches her pursuer. Stutter. Stop. Stutter. Stop. Stutter. Movement is all frame-rate loss. Sorry but you have reality CPU issues. Might be time to upgrade. Get water cooling too. Use the black bile earlier.
Eva curls into a ball and begins to rock back and form.
Pumps clacking.
Wet slime dripping on her shoulder. It’s right there. Eva curls on herself even tighter. Going to form a singularity under the pressure. Hyperventilating. A hand grips her shoulder.
“GET AWAY FROM ME”
“Eva?”
Raspy voice. It takes an epoch. Eva opens her eyes. Everyone is clustered around. Looks of concern. Eva is mess. Her body is starting to ache. Face all tears and snot. Clothes torn where she hit the cat.
Eva pulls away from them. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.
“Eva,” Ruth begins with gentle movements. Smart enough not to approach. Everything open and visible. Just reassurance. “Eva we are here.”
Eva pulls out the phone. It’s survived everything. Well isn’t that good odds. Hits the a number her parents had left in it. Not even one ring and Christine has answered.
“Take me away.”
That’s all Eva can manage.
That’s all this chapter can manage.
Looks like Shogo’s plan didn’t work.
Ahh well there’s always next time.
Wabisabi. Right? Except if you’ve run out of gold.
And after testing Eva’s mettle how do we know there’s any metal left in her?