October 3, 2009; New York - The Open Door (continued)
This can't be real.
I must be dreaming. Or drunk maybe, though I don't remember drinking anything... I close my eyes and tell myself it isn't real. That when I open them again, all of this will be gone. I wait.
But when I open them again it's all the same, as though I've walked right back into a memory.
The room is lined with beds filled with rose bushes. Not new - they've had time to grow and to bloom. At the far end of the room is a circle hidden from view by a circle of potted trees. My stomach turns just looking at it and thinking of what might be inside.
"You alright?"
Simon's voice startles me. How long have I been standing here? Hours? Days? Did I call him? I can feel my mind searching for the answers but all I can seem to find is the fog of my confusion and the sound of her laughter.
He heads straight for the trees.
There's a table inside the circle. Its heavy wood is stained with blood and covered with nicks and scars. Behind it, a cross leaning on the wall, of smiliar make. Both are fitted with heavy shackles. Nearby are two smaller tables covered with tools. Knives, whips... other things I can't identify.
Simon is dead calm as he starts asking questions: when, who, how. I'm torn between finding his temperance comforting and infuriating. It would be naive to expect sympathy, but his reaction is too difficult to discern: is it concern? Accusation? Something else? The last thing I need right now is another unanswered question and the blank slate he presents itches at me like spiders crawling on my skin. I can't sit here re-hashing the last year to him. I need answers.
Cole mentioned the cross. That's a good place to start. Simon's still talking as I lay my hand on the wood and concentrate... and the answers come.
I can feel the storm rising inside me as the wood gives up its memories. My vision goes red and Simon's voice is drowned beneath the screaming inside me. My nails dig into the wood. I want to kill her, to carve her eyes out all over again, to hear her beg for mercy. Instead I hear her mock me, knowing that she is untouchable.
So I do the only thing that I can.
The potted trees hit the wall with satisfying crashes and the metal tools clang and clatter loud enough to almost shut her out. I rip the bushes from their beds, thorns cutting at my hands and face. The noise, the blood, the shredding soil... it's enough for a while.
I'll only rebuild, you realize. You can't stop me. And you can't kill me.
•••
Quiet now. The tide is rolling back away from the shore; the storm has passed. Simon offers me a flask. Victor is with him this time. The questions begin again, and I answer.
"I think that the mind has an incredible ability to forget the horrible things that have happened to it."
"And?"
"And maybe this was one too many murders for you. Or maybe she's using her Acolyte gifts to haunt you from the Twilight. Or maybe there's something else going on here. That's what we're trying to find out."
"One too many? How many people do you think I've killed? I could count them on one hand."
"We're not all built to be monsters. Maybe you're not one of them. And maybe this is why."
"Yeah, I guess. Lucky me."
Funny thing, time. It's wasn't so long ago I was chasing after him, trying to offer a hand, only to have him push me away. Looking at him now I can't help but wonder if our roles have been reversed. I wonder why he's still here - Simon used to reserve a particular flavor of disdain for me. He found my wide-eyed idealism foolish and eventually came to find my cynicism contemptible. But he seems so concerned now... maybe he's just a sucker for lost causes.
He looks to Victor. "Any thoughts on the moment at hand?"
"Yeah, leave her alone. This is who she is and it is how she is coping with things. I don't think its a good idea to mess with the healing process."
"You call this healing?"
"You did something that I would never do. You murdered someone in cold blood that had no means of defending themselves. That has to have some cost to it on the ole psyche, so yes, I think this is how you are healing."
"Yeah well, she had it coming. And anyway, she's getting her payback now. She thinks this is hilarious."
"No, it isn't her, it is you. Just a part of you that is capable of killing someone that can't defend themselves. You probably think that you would never do that, could never do that, but you did. So it's better to blame her for it all instead of facing it."
"No. I've done worse. Just last time I had the sense to go to sleep for a few decades afterward."
"Worse how?"
I curse myself as soon as I hear Simon's question. I wasn't thinking, and I don't feel like getting into all of that now. Luckily Victor intervenes.
"Well, put on your big girl panties because you can't just run and hide from this. It's going to be in your face until it works itself out. Going to sleep will just make it worse."
I know he's right. It's always been my instinct to run, but it won't work this time.
•••
"Destroy it." Simon's voice is quiet - Victor has gone, having said his piece, and Simon's formal mask has slipped away.
"She'll just rebuild. That's all she keeps saying. Over and over and over."
"Do it anyway."
"More than I have? Look at this mess. I think the damn bushes actually fed off of me."
"Just... try." He lets out a sigh. He's not accustomed to comforting people. Sword arms are rarely soft. "It'll be alright."
"You seem actually worried about this."
"I am."
"...why?"
"I'm always worried."
It's hard to blame him.
I must be dreaming. Or drunk maybe, though I don't remember drinking anything... I close my eyes and tell myself it isn't real. That when I open them again, all of this will be gone. I wait.
But when I open them again it's all the same, as though I've walked right back into a memory.
The room is lined with beds filled with rose bushes. Not new - they've had time to grow and to bloom. At the far end of the room is a circle hidden from view by a circle of potted trees. My stomach turns just looking at it and thinking of what might be inside.
"You alright?"
Simon's voice startles me. How long have I been standing here? Hours? Days? Did I call him? I can feel my mind searching for the answers but all I can seem to find is the fog of my confusion and the sound of her laughter.
He heads straight for the trees.
There's a table inside the circle. Its heavy wood is stained with blood and covered with nicks and scars. Behind it, a cross leaning on the wall, of smiliar make. Both are fitted with heavy shackles. Nearby are two smaller tables covered with tools. Knives, whips... other things I can't identify.
Simon is dead calm as he starts asking questions: when, who, how. I'm torn between finding his temperance comforting and infuriating. It would be naive to expect sympathy, but his reaction is too difficult to discern: is it concern? Accusation? Something else? The last thing I need right now is another unanswered question and the blank slate he presents itches at me like spiders crawling on my skin. I can't sit here re-hashing the last year to him. I need answers.
Cole mentioned the cross. That's a good place to start. Simon's still talking as I lay my hand on the wood and concentrate... and the answers come.
I can feel the storm rising inside me as the wood gives up its memories. My vision goes red and Simon's voice is drowned beneath the screaming inside me. My nails dig into the wood. I want to kill her, to carve her eyes out all over again, to hear her beg for mercy. Instead I hear her mock me, knowing that she is untouchable.
So I do the only thing that I can.
The potted trees hit the wall with satisfying crashes and the metal tools clang and clatter loud enough to almost shut her out. I rip the bushes from their beds, thorns cutting at my hands and face. The noise, the blood, the shredding soil... it's enough for a while.
I'll only rebuild, you realize. You can't stop me. And you can't kill me.
•••
Quiet now. The tide is rolling back away from the shore; the storm has passed. Simon offers me a flask. Victor is with him this time. The questions begin again, and I answer.
"I think that the mind has an incredible ability to forget the horrible things that have happened to it."
"And?"
"And maybe this was one too many murders for you. Or maybe she's using her Acolyte gifts to haunt you from the Twilight. Or maybe there's something else going on here. That's what we're trying to find out."
"One too many? How many people do you think I've killed? I could count them on one hand."
"We're not all built to be monsters. Maybe you're not one of them. And maybe this is why."
"Yeah, I guess. Lucky me."
Funny thing, time. It's wasn't so long ago I was chasing after him, trying to offer a hand, only to have him push me away. Looking at him now I can't help but wonder if our roles have been reversed. I wonder why he's still here - Simon used to reserve a particular flavor of disdain for me. He found my wide-eyed idealism foolish and eventually came to find my cynicism contemptible. But he seems so concerned now... maybe he's just a sucker for lost causes.
He looks to Victor. "Any thoughts on the moment at hand?"
"Yeah, leave her alone. This is who she is and it is how she is coping with things. I don't think its a good idea to mess with the healing process."
"You call this healing?"
"You did something that I would never do. You murdered someone in cold blood that had no means of defending themselves. That has to have some cost to it on the ole psyche, so yes, I think this is how you are healing."
"Yeah well, she had it coming. And anyway, she's getting her payback now. She thinks this is hilarious."
"No, it isn't her, it is you. Just a part of you that is capable of killing someone that can't defend themselves. You probably think that you would never do that, could never do that, but you did. So it's better to blame her for it all instead of facing it."
"No. I've done worse. Just last time I had the sense to go to sleep for a few decades afterward."
"Worse how?"
I curse myself as soon as I hear Simon's question. I wasn't thinking, and I don't feel like getting into all of that now. Luckily Victor intervenes.
"Well, put on your big girl panties because you can't just run and hide from this. It's going to be in your face until it works itself out. Going to sleep will just make it worse."
I know he's right. It's always been my instinct to run, but it won't work this time.
•••
"Destroy it." Simon's voice is quiet - Victor has gone, having said his piece, and Simon's formal mask has slipped away.
"She'll just rebuild. That's all she keeps saying. Over and over and over."
"Do it anyway."
"More than I have? Look at this mess. I think the damn bushes actually fed off of me."
"Just... try." He lets out a sigh. He's not accustomed to comforting people. Sword arms are rarely soft. "It'll be alright."
"You seem actually worried about this."
"I am."
"...why?"
"I'm always worried."
It's hard to blame him.