IGMS Issue 5 Read online

  "The instrument you saw me with," Eloy said in a rush, "you called it a recorder. It is a tool I use to assist me with the game. It is what allowed me to allay your father's illness. Would you like me to teach you how to use it?"

  "How long have I been here?"

  "Do not be upset," he pleaded. "Time is different here --"

  "How long?" I screamed.

  He flinched. "Three years."

  My knees buckled, and I floated to the floor. "Three. Years?" The floating was courtesy Eloy, who had caught me when my legs folded.

  "Annabel, are you hurt?"

  "I've been gone for three years?"

  He propped me against the wall and kneeled beside me. "Do not hate me. Please do not hate me. Your father knows you are well. It was a small thing, to give him that reassurance. But I could not ease your sister. She didn't understand or believe him when he talked of me and this place. She worried that your father continued to suffer from delusion. He wonders that too sometimes, but then he looks upon the dress I gave you and is comforted."

  "What about Luella? Can you make her better?"

  "Do not ask this of me."

  "Can you?"

  There was such desolation in his eyes. "If I left to tend her, time would steal you away. You would be stranded here, and for each handful of moments I spent there, a decade would pass for you."

  "That doesn't make sense. If time goes slower here, then --"

  "It is very complicated, and I don't have your words to explain it. It comes to this: though my years are endless, yours are not. I would be gone longer than your life."

  My head hurt. "You said you could teach me how to use the recorder. Can you show me how to heal Luella?"

  "It is a simple matter --"

  "Then let me go to her; let me heal her. I'll come back. The time doesn't matter to you."

  "That I have infinite time does not make the passage of it easier," he said bleakly.

  "Please, Eloy. Let me go."

  "I do not think I can bear being alone again." He cupped my cheek with his hand. "But I cannot bear to be the cause of your unhappiness either." His hand slid to take mine, lying limp in my lap. He wrapped my fingers around the smooth barrel of the recorder, summoned magically from the air.

  He lifted me in his arms, and the walls melted. When he put me down, we were in a forest grove. Before us was the tree trunk painted with graffiti. The painting was indeed a window, or rather a portal, and it opened onto the alley between the donut shop and the all-night laundromat.

  Eloy nuzzled his chin on my cheek. "Take what you have learned in the rooms of my house. You are a creature of empathy and compassion, my Annabel. You should be with those you love, not a captive to my seclusion. Go to your sister and play for her. Be patient, for minds heal slowly, but she will mend."

  "Eloy --" I tried to turn, but his hands on my shoulders wouldn't let me.

  "Peace, sweet Annabel. My will is not so strong. Go now. Be with those you love. And if you should think of me, try to remember me fondly."

  He gave me a gentle shove. I stepped forward, and I was in the alley. At my back, there was only the graffitied brick wall. I clutched the recorder in both hands and ran home.

  My key was in my pocket where I had put it, days or years ago. It slid as easily into the apartment's lock as it ever had.

  "Daddy! Daddy, I'm home!"

  Father hurried in, open ledger in hand. "Annabel?" Papers fluttered to the floor. We came together in a crash of arms and laughter and tears.

  "What happened? How did you get here? And what is that?"

  "I don't have time to explain. I need to see Luella."

  "She's in the hospital," Father said. "They have her in the psychiatric ward."

  "I know. Eloy told me."

  Father's forehead creased. "The doctor in that sanitarium you found me in, his name was Eloy." His eyes hardened. "But he wasn't a doctor, was he? He stole you away."

  "He also helped you. Do you remember that?"

  Father nodded, slowly. "Sometimes, when I'm about to fall asleep, or before I wake up, I remember music, a melody without words."

  "It's from this recorder. I have to play it for Luella. Please, Daddy, can you take me to her?"

  He was brimming with questions, but he reigned in his curiosity and called a taxi. At the hospital, we bypassed the elevators -- leaving me inexplicably relieved -- and tramped up the stairs. The psychiatric floor was dark, and it smelled of despair. The nurse at the reception desk raised her eyebrow at the hour, but then escorted us through a secured door.

  This place was familiar and unfamiliar. The stark whiteness and the doors I knew, but the sounds of people, their movement and smells, that was alien. My disorientation intensified when I saw the room they had given Luella: 417.

  My sister wasn't asleep. Her eyes were wide and darting as she lay in four-point restraints. She didn't react to us. The nurse left with a curt directive to press the buzzer when we wanted to go.

  I crept to my sister. "Luella, honey, it's Annabel. I'm back."

  Her eyes chased after shadows or visions I couldn't see.

  "How long has she been like this?"

  Father shook his head. "It's hard to say. She never truly recovered from having to move downtown, and there's a time in there that's all jumbled in my head. But she got to be in a pretty bad way, hearing things, convinced people were watching her through the cracks in the walls." He rubbed his eyes. "I tried to take care of her. She seemed almost lucid sometimes. I don't know how she got the knife. She attacked Ian, cut him before we could wrestle it away from her. She kept shrieking he was going to kidnap you."

  "Who's Ian?"

  "Sorry, Pumpkin. I forgot how long it's been. Ian is our landlady's son, the woman with purple hair, you remember? He'd taken to helping Luella when I was sick -- errands, the occasional fix-it job, that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure he wanted to ask her out."

  "Is he okay?"

  "He needed stitches, but he's fine now. He stopped coming around after that, of course."

  I rubbed the recorder's satin finish. "When Luella's better, you'll see she gets out and meets people, won't you? Maybe even see if Ian will consider giving her another chance?"

  "You say that like you won't be here."

  I lifted the recorder to my mouth so I wouldn't have to answer. But then I didn't know what to do. How did I start? What if I did it wrong? I inhaled and thought of Eloy in the elevator, delighted by my glee. He'd called me a creature of empathy and compassion.

  A steady note filled the room, my breath transformed into sound. A melody began, grave and thoughtful. It reminded me of Luella as a little girl, always serious and so afraid of getting into trouble. But as her sister, I had also been privy to her mischievous side. The tune turned lilting and joyous. When we were little, the world had not been a place of demons and sorrow, but one of wonder, to explore unshackled by phantom terrors. They were such absurd things, her fears, monsters out of proportion to any reality. Wouldn't it be better if they could be put aside like ill-fitting garments she had outgrown?

  When the music was done -- I knew when, somehow -- I set the recorder aside. Luella slept. It was a tranquil slumber, without dreams, without grief. Eloy had said minds heal slowly, but swiftness didn't matter. That she would get better was the important thing. And she would, for I'd given her the clarity and serenity she needed to find her way.

  Slumped in a chair, Father slept too, a smile curving his lips.

  I should buzz for the nurse and go. Eloy was waiting for me. How much time had passed for him, alone in that place of endless rooms? My heart ached, thinking of him drifting among the scenes of his people, reminded of the comfort of family and the camaraderie of friends, and never able to be part of it. But I was so tired. After all, I hadn't slept in three years.

  I dreamed. I had the certainty sleepers get when they're trapped in the landscapes of slumber. In my dream, I ran along a white corridor, calling for Eloy and crying.
He was in room 417, but I couldn't find it. I threw open doors, and inside each room, a blanket of dust covered solitary chairs -- bar stools, futons, hammocks, benches.

  When I came to the last door in the long hall, it was clearly numbered, 417. Inside, Eloy curled around the recliner from Father's den. His beautiful eyes were closed, and he was still as death.

  "Annabel?" Father jostled my shoulder. "Annabel, wake up." The concern in his voice swept away the haze of sleep.

  "What is it?" I mumbled.

  "You were crying in your sleep."

  I jolted awake. "What time is it? How long did I sleep?"

  Father checked his watch. "It's a little after five a.m. What's the matter?"

  I jammed my finger on the call buzzer and held it down.

  "I fell asleep!" I wailed. "And he's waiting for me all alone! It's years and years for him. Oh, God, why did I let myself sleep?"

  Father pulled me from the buzzer. "Pumpkin, this Eloy makes you happy?"

  I stared, wild-eyed. "Yes."

  "Then run to him. As fast as you can." He took out his wallet and dumped bills into my hand. "For the taxi."

  I hugged him. "I love you, Daddy."

  "I love you too, Pumpkin."

  At last, the nurse came, grumpy and cross. She unlocked the gate, and I bolted down the stairs and out into the emergency admittance bay. There was a cab in the circle drive, depositing an old man in a wheelchair and his fretful wife. I all but shoved them aside.

  I rattled off the address and waved my handful of cash at the driver. "You can have it all if you hurry."

  He stomped the gas pedal, and we careened away. Thankfully, because of the hour, traffic was light. The driver, my wonderful, reckless cabbie, ran stoplights and took corners at full speed. When he turned the wrong way down a one-way street, I sank my fingernails into the upholstery, but I never considered telling him to slow down. I chanted under my breath for him to hurry, please, please hurry.

  He braked so hard I was hurled against the back of his seat. Bruised and stunned, I recognized the donut shop out the window, and beside it, the brightly lit, all-night laundromat. I shoved money at the cabbie and scrambled out. Stumbling like a drunk, I ran to the graffiti-portal.

  I lunged for it.

  Pain stabbed through my arm and shoulder, and the world went twisty and sick. I lay on my back in the alley, head throbbing, pain filling my temples and rolling down my skull. Had I broken something? I groaned and levered myself to my knees. With my good arm, I reached for the portal. Except it wasn't a portal; it was hard bricks and paint.

  "Eloy!" I pounded my fist on the wall. "Eloy, I can't get in!"

  Far away, someone shouted at me to shut up.

  Pain coursed through my arm, and I cradled it. "Think, Annabel. Calm down and think!" The antique ring on my finger gleamed in the grey predawn, and I knew what I needed.

  I rushed to the apartment, each footstep like a hammer to my skull. Out of breath and with a stitch like a searing needle, I burst in. I ricocheted off the wall -- had I concussed myself? -- on the way to the bedroom and wrenched open the closet. I flung aside blouses, skirts, and pants until my fingers closed over the sleek coolness of silk, the rose-colored evening gown Eloy had given me.

  Getting out of my clothes and into the dress was an exercise in frustration and agony. I couldn't make my hurt arm go through the sleeve, and I tore several buttons trying to do up the back. I gave up on the buttons and gathered the awful train -- yards and yards of silk -- under my arm. The straps slipped off my good shoulder, but I kept the dress on, mostly by willpower.

  No doubt I looked like a refugee from a lunatic debutante's ball as I reeled back to the alley, cursing my head, my arm, and the godawful dress. I was sure I would be sick before I reached the graffiti-strewn wall. Somehow, I managed to keep head, dress, and stomach under control.

  I clenched my eyes shut, reached my hand out -- my train tumbled free -- and marched forward. When I didn't bash into anything, I opened my eyes.

  The sun was a pink glow on the horizon, obscured by spreading branches and tree trunks. I cried out in relief and swore as it set off a flare of explosions in my head.

  Sunlight piercing through the canopy blinded me. I cursed it too. When I could see again, I was in the hospital's foyer. I leaped for the elevator and pushed the button.

  It didn't light.

  Then I got mad.

  I kicked the closed doors and stabbed the button again. I howled at the unfairness, not caring anymore when the pounding in my skull doubled.

  I stomped to the escalators in the foyer. They were shiny, pristine, and unmoving. I plodded up them, fuming. By the time I reached the fourth floor, my legs felt like lead, my vision had narrowed to a blurry tunnel, and the hem of my dress was tattered from catching on the escalator jags.

  "Eloy!" I shouted. "Eloy, I'm here!"

  He didn't reply, of course. In my dream, he had been at the end of the corridor, behind the very last door.

  I hurried to it, hating the tangle of silk that slowed me. My fingers slipped on the knob. I screamed at the door, wrenching and tugging at it until I wrestled it open.

  The tableau was the same as in my dream. Eloy lay curled around the recliner, motionless.

  "Oh, no." After all that rushing and fury, I went reluctantly to his side. I kneeled, afraid to touch him, afraid he would be cold.

  "Here I am," I whispered. "I'm back." I blinked, and tears coursed down my face. "You told me I should be with those I loved, so I came back. I love you."

  My throat closed, but I'd said what I needed to say, so it didn't matter. I slumped forward, giving myself over to the heaving, ripping sobs of grief.

  "You are hurt," he rumbled.

  I gulped and sat up, scrubbing the wetness from my face with my sleeve.

  His eyes were open, their beautiful blackness gazing at me. "What have you done to yourself? Is that the dress I gave you?"

  I laughed. It didn't come out right and turned into a hiccup. At least my head felt better, although that probably meant I was going into shock.

  "Th-the wall w-wouldn't let me in," I hiccupped. "I r-ran into it."

  "I see. You do have a knack for making things difficult."

  "Th-that's gratitude f-for you."

  "Where is the recorder?"

  I groped at the folds and layers of silk. "I left it with Luella," I wailed. "I w-woke up so scared, I forgot it."

  He pushed himself up and tugged me into the cradle of his arms. "That is unfortunate, but there is no great harm. Don't cry."

  Cuddled against him, the knot in my chest eased, and all the pain from my assorted injuries diminished. "I'm sorry."

  "I meant that it is unfortunate because if you had taken it with you, it would have opened the portal, and you would not have had to resort to, err --" He plucked at my dress.

  I gawped. "Isn't that what you meant the dress for? Like the ring?"

  "Not as such. The ring, yes, but it had only the one use, as you discovered. The dress was merely silk and thread, a pretty thing I thought you would like."

  "Then how did I get in?"

  He burble-rumbled. "This place is a sort of dimension, a prison and a school made for me by my people."

  "You're a criminal?"

  "I'm a prince, actually. But also something of an aberration. I suppose you might call me a sociopath."

  "Did you murder someone?"

  "No!" He sounded affronted. "I never acted upon my disdain. But while my affliction was deemed curable with time, I was judged too dangerous to leave free. They were afraid I would bore of an existence of peaceful contemplation. Seeing the sense of it, I agreed to exile and rehabilitation until such time as I could overcome my disease."

  "That's what the rooms are for?"

  "Yes. And by a quirk of their design, a fissure can open from here to elsewhere, which is how I came to be where you first found me. They form during storms of emotional turmoil -- mostly madness that I have obser
ved. Unfortunately, the complexity of different time flows and the varying atmospheres is hard on me. My excursions had to be limited."

  "I'm pretty sure I understand your words, but they're not coming together into any sort of sense."

  "The load of your family's dementia opened the way for me, sweetness. All of your family are touched by it, even you."

  "You're saying that's how I got through the portal?" I took in the torn, half-on/half-off dress, remembered how I had staggered and ranted in the alley. "You're saying I had to be unhinged to get in."

  Eloy roared. He was laughing, the way he'd laughed only once before. I lifted my hands to cover my ears, but it turned out I didn't need to. His laughter didn't overpower me.

  "I think I missed the joke again."

  "Marry me, my darling, lunatic Annabel."

  "Of course I will."

  "Do you love me?"

  I scowled. "I said I did. We're going to be one of those couples that bicker a lot, aren't we?"

  He hefted me into his arms as though I weighed nothing and stood. "It is time for me to return to my people. I am no longer an exile, and this is no longer my prison. You have set me free."

  I was suddenly shy. "What will your people think of me? I'm different from them."

  "My love, you are indeed different. I hope you will not mind too much." He faced us to the wall, and it became a sheer, reflective surface, the biggest full-length mirror I'd ever seen.

  Eloy held a woman in his arms, but not a human woman. She had dusky-indigo skin and hair as blue as the evening sky. Her face was pointed like a fox's, and her eyes were pools of black. She wore an ugly, pink dress that didn't suit her, but even so, she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

  As I gaped, Eloy set her on her feet. I tottered forward, and only when my hands touched the wall, fingertip to fingertip, did I believe it.

  "How --"

  "It is complicated. May we just call it magic and let it go at that?"

  I burble-rumbled.

  "You don't mind?"

  I laughed. It was a roar. "Mind? I love me!" I threw my arms around him.