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Celestial Souls, Book I: Christine
Chapter Eleven: Not That Important

Oh, God. How could I have missed it before? It was so blindingly obvious – hadn’t I been worried about the huge gaps in my memories? Hadn’t I had to be told how I supposedly disappeared? Hadn’t I struggled to recall even the tiniest details even when I hung on to a bit of evidence? How could something so monumental have slipped my mind?

“I...never left the house,” I said, half to myself, half to Ruth, as if she could somehow confirm it. “It was Mr. Dessler...he knocked me out and stunned Eric.”

Ruth didn’t say anything for a good long moment. “Then what?” she said quietly.

“Then...I woke up in the basement. Hours later. He told me I’d passed out, but that wasn’t right.”

“How did you wind up there?”

“He used a gun,” I said. “A weird gun. Carmen called it a phaser ‘cause it was kinda like that.”

Ruth was very white now; she looked sickly.

“You said it was Mr. Dessler,” she said slowly. “His grandfather?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You’re ab-so-lutely sure?”

“Yeah,” I repeated.

Ruth looked very upset now, her muscles tense as she played aimlessly with the thermos lid; it seemed to be a nervous habit, much in the same way Eric fiddled with his necklace chain.

“Are you all right?” I said to her. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” she said, striding over to the door and putting up the ‘closed’ sign. She gestured to me. “C’mon, hon. We’re gonna go upstairs for lunch.”

As we headed upstairs, I wondered why Ruth felt so upset upon hearing the revelation. She hadn’t been kidnapped and lied to, I had. Eric had, for God’s sake, lied to by his own grandfather! How could he have done such a thing? Everything seemed to have come crashing back, alien and painful, and I wondered how exactly I could have forgotten. His tall tales of aliens, of murdered royalty – how could I have forgotten that?

“Theo!” Ruth said, knocking on a door. “Lunch! Now!”

“Just a minute,” I heard him say.

“Not ‘just a minute’,” Ruth said, “Now.”

He looked puzzled, to say the least, as he stepped out and was shoved into the kitchen. Dressed far more casually than I usually saw him, he rolled up the sleeves of his sweater as he sat at the table, giving me a baffled look.

“What were you doin’ in there anyway?” Ruth fretted, “I thought you said the manuscript wasn’t due till January.”

“It has to get written,” Theophanes said. Ruth went to the counter to make something, and she seemed to calm down a little bit upon hearing small talk. I decided to run with it.

“You write books?” I said.

“Yes, but mostly non-fiction. Very dry stuff.”

“Is this one non-fiction?”

“No, this one’s a little genre piece. Science-fiction. I don’t know if that’s your cup of tea.”

“So what d’you do on the weekdays?”

“Teach,” he said. “At the university. It’s a little program called ‘Writer-in-Residence’ and they asked me to do it this year. Good Lord Ruth, what’s the matter?”

“We were wrong!” she hissed, slamming her fist down on the countertop. “Wrong as wrong could be!”

“Ruth,” he said, immediately switching to the sing-song tongue and talking to her in what sounded like soothing tones.

“Speak English, Theo. She figured it out. Just now.”

“What did you say?” Theophanes demanded of me.

“I said I remember what happened. It was – is – Mr. Dessler behind all the kidnappings.”

“That school friend of yours?”

“What?” I gave him an odd look; where had he reached that conclusion? “No, Eric’s grandfather.”

A look of astonishment crossed Theophanes’ face, and he said something in the sing-song language that I guessed was a swear. Suddenly I seemed to guess exactly why they were so cruel to Eric. It sounded ridiculous on first glance – how could a seventeen-year-old pull something like that off without someone noticing? – but they seemed to believe it was possible.

“You don’t think...Eric was the one behind all these, did you?”

“Exactly that,” Theophanes said.

“That’s – stupid,” I said. “How could a seventeen-year-old pull that off?”

Theophanes laughed bitterly. “Oh, you poor dear. Are you that naïve? A determined-enough teenager can do some fantastically awful things without his parents noticing. When my one brother was sixteen, he grew a marijuana plant in his closet without anyone noticing.”

“Let’s not talk ‘bout your brother,” Ruth groaned. “We just made a kid’s life hell on a wrong assumption.”

“He hasn’t come here in a good few weeks by this point,” Theophanes said. “I don’t think we inflicted that much mental trauma.”

“You thought wrong, Theo. Why else would his granddaddy come here and chew me out?”

“All right, so we might have been too harsh that one day,” he conceded. “But if he had known who it was we would’ve done the exact same thing.”

“But an adult can handle it, Theo – this one’s just a kid!”

“All right, let’s try and calm down,” Theophanes said, trying to reason with her, “We know who it is now – you’re willing to swear by it?”

“Er...” I said. “Yeah.”

“But?” Theophanes prompted.

“But it’d hurt Eric if he figured it out. It’d be just him and his grandma if Mr. Dessler was arrested.”

“Perhaps they’re better off that way,” Theophanes said.

“I know, I know – he used his phaser to mess up Eric’s mind too and I can understand why even if I know it’s wrong, but still...”

“Are you thinking of the situation at large or only with this boy?” Theophanes said. “Because if it’s the latter, I ought to remind you this man is a criminal. If anything, I’d have thought you would have wanted to help us.”

“I do,” I said. “But I want to know what’s going on first!”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“This!” I said. “All this! The weird languages, the – the weird looks, the things locked up – he told me you were aliens, you know. Personally I don’t care where you’re from, I’m just sick of being ignored!”

“And I’m sick of tip-toein’ ‘round it, so we’re even,” Ruth said. “We can tell you some things but others are strictly – how d’you people say it? Verboten.”

(I winced a touch at her pronounciation). “Then tell me everything you can.”

“And where would we start?” Theophanes said.

“The language,” I said. “That sing-songy one you keep speaking when you think I can’t hear. What is it?”

“Our – my – native tongue. I feel more comfortable speaking it than English,” Theophanes said.

“It’s not that we don’t think you can hear, it’s that sometimes we want a private conversation and that’s the best way to do it,” Ruth said.

“I’m the only one who doesn’t speak it here – I feel isolated.”

“That ain’t my problem,” Ruth said. “Some things you don’t need to know.”

“All right, fine,” I said, feeling a little irked, but deciding to go with it, “What’s this language called?”

Theophanes said something in the sing-song language, followed immediately by “...which translates, very roughly, to ‘divine language’. It has a large number of speakers. I think only beaten by Geresprich?”

“Don’t look at me,” Ruth said, “I ain’t good with languages.”

“Nonsense; you speak it just fine.”

This information wasn’t very useful, but it was something: “Okay, so where’s this...dri...dree...”

He had pronounced the name somewhat like ‘dree-pola-ma’, but with a weird roll to the ‘r’ that I couldn’t quite match; it felt more like I was gargling my own spit than rolling the r like it should.

“It can be very difficult for non-speakers to learn,” Theophanes said.

“You’re telling me. So where’s it spoken?”

“Where is it spoken, or where am I from?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No, much like English, it is spoken in places – former colonies, usually – where I’m certainly not from, or have even visited. Where I am from...well, it’s a well-off country whose English name we decided to call ‘Erebe’. I could give you the name we call it, but as you cannot speak divine-tongue, I doubt you would find it easy to remember.”

“‘English’ name?”

Theophanes looked a little uncomfortable at this statement. “Yes, well, my country isn’t exactly known to yours. Years ago there were talks of introducing ourselves, and we got the idea that it would be best if we could come up with English names that you could pronounce – like how the Germans call it Deutschland and the English say Germany. I believe all of them had a mythological bent, as you people seem to have that theme with regards to celestial objects.”

“So where’re you from?” I asked Ruth.

“Louisiana,” she said, calming down enough to make some sandwiches. “My ma came over here from Erebe.”

“And where exactly is Erebe?”

There was a long pause before either of them said anything. “On ‘nother planet, hon. Didn’t Dessler tell you that?”

“He did,” I said. “Didn’t linger too much on that. Seemed more interested in the Nisekem.”

“Huh,” Ruth said, slicing a tomato.

“The Nisekem are very close to here,” Theophanes admitted, “though why he’d be interested in them, I...couldn’t say. Their culture is quite different from mine or his.”

“Like what?”

He frowned. “That’s the thing – there’s no clear parallel between the Nisekem and anything you would know of. Think if, say, the ancient Egyptians were matriarchal, and even that comes nowhere close to reality.”

“Is it...an important place?”

“Yes, but only for its’ closeness to here. What exactly did he say?”

I tried to remember what he’d told me, sitting there on the edge of the futon as he rambled on and on about royalty and coups, and generals and it all sort of floated about, disconnected fragments in my mind.

“Something about some soldier. Tried to throw over the king or queen or whatever and killed, like, five different princesses while at it.”

“Ah,” Theophanes said. “I think I know what you’re referring to – but I still don’t understand why he’d be fixated upon it.”

“Said he wanted to find the princesses ‘cause they were reincarnated. I’m guessing the Nisekem are Hindu?”

“No, not even close. He wanted to find the reincarnated heirs?” Theophanes said, frowning.

“Yeah. Don’t ask me why; he didn’t tell me why. I figure he wants money.”

Theophanes frowned. “Hm. Maybe. But the royals in question gave up their searches decades ago – two of them aren’t even monarchies anymore; one had a massive coup of their own as a response to the deaths, which led to a civil war, and in the end their system is more akin to England’s Parliament. And the other country elected their kings to begin with, and the system just evolved into electing a president and cabinet.”

“And what about Nisekem?”

“Still monarchical,” he said. “I can’t say I know how the locals feel about it, but everyone else I know says the monarchy is long since dead.”

Ruth snorted. “Like the pot callin’ the kettle black – Erebe’s a monarchy too.”

“It is more accurately referred to as an empire,” Theophanes said, “And there are plenty of checks and balances to ensure it doesn’t turn into that. Would you rather we do things the Hadean way?”

“Oh, don’t bring that up again,” Ruth said. “I’m sick of hearin’ ‘bout them.”

“And I’m sick of hearing from them,” he said.

There was a lull as Ruth finished the sandwiches, plunking them down on a plate in front of us.

“Konnie! Lunch!”

That seemed to jog something in my mind. “Is Konstancja from Erebe too?”

I jumped as Konstancja laughed, very bitterly. Turning around entirely too fast, feeling a spasm in my neck, I saw Konstancja at the doorway, shuffling her way in. She didn’t look happy, but then again, she never looked happy, especially not now. She sat herself in the nearest chair with difficulty, one hand resting on her stomach.

“I am not from that hell-hole,” she said curtly. “I would rather die than be from there.”

“O...kay,” I said. “So where are you from?”

She sniffed, picking up a sandwich and regarding it with disdain. “Silver Islands,” she said. “Land of my ancestors.”

“That’s what the name translates to,” Theophanes said. “And no, it’s not on the same planet as Erebe.”

“From what I hear it’s not a very nice place,” Ruth said.

“Yes,” Konstancja said, “Pretender-queen on throne make it hard for the real people to rule over themselves.”

“Let’s not get into that over lunch.”

Lunch was quiet. I tried to absorb what little I’d learned – they were still being evasive, but at least I had names to attach to places now. Even if knowing Theophanes was...Erebian? Was that how it was said? Well, whatever it was, knowing where he was from was only a tiny bit of help. I would have liked to know exactly why they were being so secretive, but what could I do? I couldn’t know everything, no matter how badly I wanted to.

“What does Mr. Dessler have to do with all of this?” I said after we’d finished eating, Konstancja excusing herself to go lie down.

“Nothing,” Theophanes said; I got the idea he wasn’t being entirely truthful but decided not questioning it would be a good way to go. They seemed to like it that way. “He’s only involved in the sense that he knows about these things where most people aren’t quite so lucky. We’re more concerned about seeing him brought to justice.”

“But why him, and why so much? When you thought it was Eric doing it you threatened to have him arrested. Would you have done that to anyone else?”

“We have...personal reasons for wanting him turned in. Knowing why he’s doing it is a bit of help. Maybe we can predict his movements.”

“...does it have anything to do with being in exile?”

“Yes, and that is all I will say.”

“We have to be careful,” Ruth said. “He’s armed, for God’s sake, with a damned expensive gun!”

I felt my heart sink. Oh yes, that. The gun I’d helped him steal because his old one had died. Ruth glanced at my expression, arching an eyebrow in a silent question.

“I...kinda...helped him,” I mumbled.

“I don’t blame you, hon. You were bein’ held captive,” she said. “He was stupid ‘nough to leave his old clunker behind; maybe the cops can get some prints off it like they do on T.V.”

“I doubt it,” Theophanes said. “There’s too much of a risk of exposure.”

“So we can’t show them a weapon that looks like a radar gun but havin’ Konnie at the front counter’s okay?” Ruth said. “If all else fails, lie. Say you found it ‘long the side of the road or somethin’.”

“They’d find out and then where would we be?”

“If I had my way, the richest people that ever lived.”

Theophanes snorted with laughter. “Rich off of that?”

“You never know, Theo. The army’d pay top dollar if they knew what it did.”

“What...does it do?” I said. “He shot at me and then I woke up hours later.”

“It’s more a defensive than an offensive weapon,” Theophanes said. “Used to induce unconsciousness of varying degrees. I can’t say exactly how it works, not being a neurologist, but I’ve been told that it’s akin to putting someone under varying degrees of anaesthesia.”

“And are they...common?”

“Among certain military units, yes. They’re viewed as a non-lethal way of subduing an enemy, which is useful if they want to keep them alive for questioning.”

“Oh, so it’s not lethal?”

“Er...purposefully so? Yes, it can be on a certain setting, but the results are...gruesome. I wouldn’t want to disturb you with details.”

And he shuddered just thinking about it.

“What d’you mean purposefully?”

“If you knock ‘em out long enough they’ll eventually die,” Ruth said, with a shudder of her own. 

“The brain can control involuntary muscles, like breathing or heartbeat while unconscious, but overload it enough and the system is overwhelmed – involuntary muscles shut down. From what I hear, they usually stop breathing first and then the brain...shuts down.”

“Fried like an egg, more like,” Ruth muttered. I felt a wave of revulsion at the idea. I had been out a long time; had I been at risk of dying?

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Yeah, I am too,” Ruth said. “Let’s go downstairs. The store should open again, don’tcha think?”

It was hard to focus downstairs. I was now reeling in my mind, knowing exactly what it was Mr. Dessler was carrying around. I called it a phaser, but it sounded far more deadly than that. And I had helped him steal a new one; one accidental button-press later and someone could be dead...

The bells jangled. Ruth and I glanced up. It was Carmen, bundled up in a thick jacket, her short hair not visible at all underneath her hat; Serena, a thick scarf wrapped around her throat; and, in contrast, two black men who I didn’t know, looking stone-faced.

“Oh good,” Serena said first, “You’re open again. We stopped by about ten minutes ago and it was closed.”

“We were havin’ lunch,” Ruth said. “What d’you need?”

“We’re here to talk with Christine,” Carmen said.

“Well don’t keep starin’ at me; she’s over there,” Ruth said, lazily gesturing to me.

Carmen and Serena wasted no time heading over to the counter, crowding out my line of vision, while the two men and Ruth talked quietly in their sing-song language. (It was mentally easier to call it that than by its’ proper name.)

“Christine,” Carmen said slowly, taking her gloves off. “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember everything now.”

“About the aliens and the phasers too?” she urged.

“Yeah. It...came to me just before lunch. They were explaining some stuff to me.”

“You...believe it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Carmen laughed, though it didn’t sound amused. It sounded bitter. “You should believe them.”

“I thought you were going on and on about how it was shit?”

Her face became serious. “That was then. Now...”

“We need your help,” Serena said quietly. “As far as the Desslers are concerned, your memory is still wiped—”

“If you think Eric had anything to do with this you’re dead wrong,” I said sharply. “It was all Mr. Dessler.”

“Yes, that’s what Carmen said,” she said, seemingly ignoring my tone, “But your boyfriend needs to be found too.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He still needs to be found,” she said, “That’s where I want your help. We know where the Dessler house is; that’s no problem. What I need is someone willing to help me get in contact with them. Neither Carmen nor any of the other girls knew them, but you did. Even if it’s something as simple as dropping by for a visit and letting me tag along.”

“And why is it so important? You know where his house is; why do I need to be involved?”

“We can’t just barge in,” Serena said, as though this was obvious, “we need to be introduced first – make nice, you know. It makes things go smoother.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I said. “Eric’s upset about this whole thing as it is; he’s not talking to me.”

“So just tell him what happened,” Carmen said, “You bringing it up should bring it back to mind.”

“No!” Serena said. “That’s the worst thing she could do. You don’t understand how memory-suppression works; if she brings it up he won’t want to believe her and he’ll just subconsciously suppress it more. He needs to work it out on his own.”

“You told me,” she said.

“We got you out before anything happened. So how about it, Christine?”

“No,” I said. “Why do you want to find him yourself rather than tipping off the cops?”

Her face seemed to sombre up about then. “Because, Christine, it is my duty.”

“Good for you,” I said. “I’m still not going to help if I don’t know what I’m getting into.”

“She’s got a point,” Carmen said. “Don’t you think she should—”

“We try not to integrate if we can help it,” one of the men said, flipping a dreadlock over his shoulder; he didn’t look that much older than me.

“And why not? She knows enough as it is,” Carmen said, sounding angered by the thought.

“Unless she’s an orphan, she’s got family somewhere,” the second said, “And they usually want to take them with them, and how do you explain a whole family up and gone?”

“You’ve done it before, why not now?”

“It’s not our decision to make,” the first one said, trying to keep his tone patient. “We’re just the grunts, okay? I can put a word in with the higher-ups—”

“You’re not putting a word in with anyone, Marcus,” the second said to him, sounding disdainful. “Not with your rank.”

“Gee, Dakarai, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Marcus drawled. “It ain’t my fault how I was born.”

Dakarai grumbled something in a language I didn’t understand, and Marcus snapped right back at him. For a moment they verbally went at it, but then stopped, gesturing to Serena that they should be leaving. Neither of them looked happy; Carmen patted my hand – hers was very cold.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll see if I can talk to them.”

And so, bidding us goodbye, they left.

“What was that about?” I said.

“Complicated things, hon, complicated things.”

The rest of the day passed by like a dream; I was more caught up in my own thoughts than I was with reality. I knew some names and places, and I knew something was going on with Eric. Why was still a big unknown. I couldn’t even guess why. I just knew something big was up, something I probably couldn’t even imagine, and somehow Eric and his grandfather were at the centre of it all. How was I to tell him? It didn’t seem fair that I had everything come back to me while he still struggled to remember. If he wanted to remember, even.

Thanatos came in closer to closing time, and I was warned mostly by the involuntary shudder just before the bells on the door rang. He was radiant, eye-catching as always, his white hair – it had to be white – curling round his face. He was under-dressed, though; he just had on a thick sweater and jeans. I had on a thick sweater and I wouldn’t have dreamed about stepping outside wearing just that.

“Hello Christine,” he said.

“Hello,” I squeaked out.

“Did you think about what we talked about?”

“Don’t have to,” I said, the words spilling out without thinking, “It came back to mind earlier today.”

“Ah,” he said. “I see the mind-suppression did not take. Occasionally it does that, if the will is strong enough.”

“Yeah, great,” I said.

“I came across dear Serena earlier – she talked with you?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to help her...”

“...unless you know the situation; she told me that. It is understandable. Where is Ruth?”

“Organising the books,” I said.

He slipped into the book room, and I could hear the two of them talking, very quietly, while I retained my post at the counter. Upstairs, the floorboards creaked as either Konstancja or Theophanes walked about. Eventually, Thanatos came back, something dark tucked under his arm.

“I would tell you myself, Christine...but that is not my story to tell,” Thanatos said, seemingly picking up the old conversation. “At least, not yet. There are an irritating number of unnecessary rules and regulations in the way of truth. But Ruth and Theophanes should be talking to you – I just hope they will find a better venue for it than on work time. Well, I do not have much time to spare...good day, Christine.”

The bells jangled as he left; Ruth stepped out from the other room.

“Did he have a book tucked under his arm?”

“Is that what that was?”

“Yeah,” Ruth growled, “It was. Goddamnit.”

“Do you want me to”—

“Nah, hon, don’t you worry ‘bout it. This is my business.”

My mother, for once, was the one who picked me up, not looking cold at all even though by then it was dark and I was freezing. In the relative warmth of the car, weaving through the streets, we were quiet, though I saw her glance in my direction once or twice. It was only when we reached a particularly backed-up stoplight did she glance over again, and not look away.

“You look upset.”

“Do I? I’m not.”

She gave a little snort of disbelief. “You’re not usually this quiet. Be honest – is something bothering you?”

“No.”

“Don’t snap at me for trying to help,” she snapped right back. “You’ve been acting funny ever since you came back; is it a crime for your own mother to be concerned?”

“No, it’s not,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “But nothing happened, okay? I’m fine, perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“What kind of mother d’you think I am? Of course I’m going to worry whether you like it or not. God forbid I try and help you.”

“I don’t want your...I don’t need help.”

“No, go on and say what you were going to – you don’t want your own mother’s help,” she said, her temper starting to flare just as mine was, “Do I embarrass you?”

“No! This has nothing to do with you, okay?! Ab-so-lute-ly nothing! I can barely wrap my head around it let alone you, and the less people that get involved the better!”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” she snapped, confusion ebbing into her voice. “Wrap your head around what?”

“Around something you don’t need to get involved with.”

This made it worse, as we drove through during the green, she glanced away, if only to focus on her driving. But that didn’t stop her from tensing up, gripping the wheel tighter as she made a left to go down our road.

“I should think that by now, you’d have realised if it involves you, it involves me,” she said, calming down, “You are my child, and it is my duty to protect you.”

Her words brought back to mind Serena’s comment, of her vague and unspecified ‘duty’ to find the Desslers, and my mother was looking very much like her at that moment, her face set into a serious mask. But unlike with Serena, I wanted to help her. I wanted to say everything, to let her knew what I knew, if only to get it out of my head—

But she wouldn’t believe me, that I also knew. She would snort, probably make a sarcastic comment, and demand the real reason I was acting that way. She meant well, of course – but it was frustrating. I had already promised Ruth I wouldn’t say anything to anyone, and she was anyone...

“I know you think you can take on the world right now, but by God you’re only seventeen. You have to accept there are some things you just can’t handle, and if a kidnapping isn’t one of them, nothing is. I want to help you, Chris.”

I didn’t say anything.

“All right, fine,” she conceded as we pulled into the driveway. “Keep it to yourself if you like. I’m not a monster, Chris. You can talk to me.”

“...I never thought you were a monster.”

That night, while I was in my room, staring down several handwritten sheets – an essay; I was on autopilot for most of it – I heard Mama and Sylvia talking in the kitchen. One of the benefits – or drawbacks – of a single-storey house with paper-thin walls: nothing is private.

“...don’t know what happened to her,” Sylvia said; her German sounded different from my mother’s, and I found it difficult to understand, “Sure, the doctors said she was physically fine, but who knows what he did to her mind?”

“I don’t know,” Mama fretted, “I really don’t. She was acting a little oddly just before it too – I thought it might’ve been stress at work, but not like this...”

“Maybe you should consider a psychiatrist,” Sylvia said.

“We can’t afford that,” she said. “Unless she gave up her singing lessons but she’d never do that.”

“Wouldn’t that be covered by the army?”

I scowled. I knew I wasn’t crazy, even if they seemed to think so. Jerking the knob on my CD player, the volume steadily increased until I could no longer hear them comfortably, reducing their talk into a vague murmur in the walls.

While trying to fall asleep that night, I felt odd. Anxious. I couldn’t describe why, but it brought back memories of being on an empty street, at night, feeling like I was being trailed. When I finally drifted off to sleep, my dreams were very odd – an Egyptian princess, clad in sheer white linen, was killed by a phaser blast to the head that left blood splattering gruesomely over the walls, forming jagged letters in bold red ink; Thanatos was flipping through a book intently; I was knocked unconscious, watching my dream body go limp and turn blue—

I awoke with a jolt as I ‘died’. It was just a dream. A nonsensical dream. I was just worried, that was all; stress did that. My clock read it was half-past five in the morning. I tried to lay down again, to fall asleep, and when I finally did, my dreams were much more peaceful.

Monday morning brought Shelby, looking very excited.

“Shawn finally got off his ass and asked me to the dance!” she said at the locker.

I smiled. “Great! What’re you doing that night?”

“Well, there’s gonna be a dinner there, so we’re gonna go to that, and oh, I’ve got this great dress!”

“Already?”

“Yeah, I saw it lying around a few weeks ago – I was thinking I’d get it for prom just so I could get it out of the way early – okay, not really; I just bought it ‘cause I liked it. It’s green, and it’s down to here”— she gestured to somewhere mid-calf; cocktail length, “—and it’s got a v-shaped neckline. I can’t really describe it, but it’s really simple. A pretty simple, though. I should take a picture of it for you; it came with a little jacket, too...”

Religion was excruciating, given that we were told to work on our essays. Mine, as I just now seemed to notice, was about reincarnation. Wasn’t that lovely? I skimmed my scrawls, and was relieved to note nothing about aliens or reincarnation onto other planets had snuck its’ way into the essay.

“Hey Eric,” I said later on as I caught up with him on the way to the portable.

“Hey, Christine,” he said.

“How’s it going?”

I tried not to think of what was surrounding him, what he didn’t even know about. Hadn’t Serena said telling him would have been worse?

“S’okay,” he said. “And you?”

Maybe I could subtly hint at it. That was what everyone else had seemed to do, and maybe it would work for him. “I’ve been better. Work stuff, you know.”

“You’re still going there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been put on the payroll now.”

“Huh. And they...treat you nicely?”

“They’ve...opened up more now. Still kind of odd but they’ve let me in on their weird talks a little more.”

“Anything interesting?”

“You have no idea. I wish I could explain it properly, but there’s so much to explain...”

Out there, in the far edge of the parking lot, was a person, standing there and observing the flow of students. I squinted. Was that Serena? Oh, no. Was she that serious about this whole thing? I mean – duty or not, this was taking it way over the line, but she was just off the edge of the property, standing on a little walkway between houses that led out to the street.

We reached the edge of the portable; I winced as I accidentally walked into the wooden hand railing for the stairs.

“...maybe you can explain it at lunch,” he was saying, “because I sure as hell want to know what they’re saying.”

“Well,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Serena, “It’s kind of weird, and they asked me not to tell...”

“I won’t say a word,” he said, a hint of a grin on his face. I was pleased by that; it seemed like he hadn’t really smiled at me since I’d been found.

“Good, because, if this gets out...”

My nails scraped along the wood as I trailed them up the stairs. A little conspicuous, sure, but it was easy enough to pull off. The hint of a grin faded; he looked puzzled. Almost automatically I saw his hand going for the chain again, reaching underneath the slightly open collar to twist it around his finger.

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, er – nothing...”

I purposefully dragged my nails across the wood again, louder – I winced as I felt a splinter lodge itself in my fingertip. “Do you remember this? Because I do,” I said.

I chanced a glance backwards, feeling tense. Serena was still watching me, and she appeared to be getting closer—

“I don’t know where you’dve heard that.”

“Your basement!” I said. “Scratching noises, all over! You said you thought there were rats down there, but it’s not rats—”

“I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“That’s ‘cause there’s no one down there right now,” I said. “Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but I was having a hard time remembering and then it came back, okay? I can remember exactly what happened and I want you to as well. Please, Eric, just think about this for a bit: you remember we were in the basement, right?”

“Yeah, but I think we should head inside—”

“And then do you remember we heard scratching noises at the walls? Really loud ones!”

There was a sharp whistle behind me, some distance off. It had to be Serena, but I wasn’t going to turn around and look at her.

“And then you don’t remember anything after that? Besides maybe being in your room? You never did anything to me, okay, because we never l—”

Shit! The door had opened suddenly, slamming into the side of the portable with a loud bang, and Carly stood on the other end, her wavy hair spilling over her shoulders and catching the light.

“Oh, Eric,” she said, “There you are! And Christine! You should come inside; I wouldn’t want either of you getting sick. You might miss school, and I don’t think you can afford that, Christine.”

I wanted badly to strangle her for interrupting my moment, but Eric took the opportunity to go inside to warmth – I followed only so I could get away from Serena, slamming the door shut behind me.

By the time we got out, she seemed to be gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for strict visitor policy; she would likely be asked to leave the grounds if she’d lingered too long and someone had noticed. Eric passed by me without a word, looking upset. Damn. All right, maybe I’d just made it worse. A lot worse. But I was trying to help – he deserved to know what happened, even if the truth was upsetting. I couldn’t help that.

I passed by him on the way to the cafeteria, leaning against a wall near the washroom, talking in a cell phone. Shelby glanced at him, confused, but I glanced at the floor and tried not to make eye contact. I screwed up enough for one day.

“Is he okay?”

“Dunno,” I lied.

It was while we were eating lunch – Shelby was still talking about the dance, looking at me with sympathy – that a surprise came up: Carly, looking very pissed off. At least that was what I noticed when I got a look at her face; her too-small red sweater was the first thing in my line of vision. Shelby looked pissed off herself.

“Oh, there you are, Christine,” she said sweetly. For some reason her sweet, ‘everything’s fine’ tone seemed to make her anger that much worse – but frankly she was nothing compared to Mama.

“Yes?” I said, just as sweetly. “Were you looking for me?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. Eric seems...upset about something, and I couldn’t help but notice he seems to get upset every time he talks to you. Now of course I’m not saying he can’t talk to you, but I think it would be a good idea if you don’t, don’t you agree?”

“Nope, not one bit,” I said calmly. “I don’t wanna make him upset any more than you do – but sometimes that has to happen.”

Her look faltered for a moment, replaced with genuine confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” I said, “that I’m talking ‘bout my kidnapping. I’m getting the idea he’s beating himself up over it.”

“He is,” she said, a sweetly disapproving look on her face, “that’s why I don’t think you should talk to him too much. He gets upset, and I’m sure it can’t be pleasant for you, either.”

“The only thing ‘unpleasant’ is seeing him beat himself up,” I said, “I’ve come to terms with it, and I’m trying to help him to do the same thing, okay? I don’t wanna see him upset, but if it happens, it happens.”

She laughed; it sounded artificial, forced. “Eric’s old enough to deal with his own problems, Christine,” she said, as though I were silly, “And I want to help him as much as you do. I know it must be painful, but I just think it would be better off for him if you two didn’t talk for a bit.”

“If he tells me that, then I’ll do it,” I said. “I’m not gonna stop talking to him because you don’t like it.”

Shelby’s sense of self-control finally snapped: “Shut your face, Carly. The only thing you wanna help him do is get laid.”

The change in Carly was instantaneous: “Says the girl who’s dating the biggest playboy in the school? Like you should be calling me out on that.”

Shelby was all ready to verbally rip her a new hole, but I decided to step in before things got too heated: “Okay, we can both agree we’re concerned for him, but I’m not doing anything until he tells me.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” she said, recomposing her sweet mask in an instant, “These are just the sorts of things you should pick up on.”

“I don’t like misunderstandings,” I said, “If that’s all you came to say, I think it’d be best if you left. Right now.”

“Maybe I should,” she said, glaring at Shelby, and then excusing herself to go ‘comfort’ Eric by the washrooms. Shelby seethed.

“Controlling bitch,” she forced out.

Eric was not at school the next day. That was my first warning sign; had he figured it out? Had he confronted his grandfather? Had his grandfather panicked and tried to hush him up? The next one was Serena in the parking lot again, accompanied by a man that I was willing to bet was the same one she’d brought to the store on Saturday. I couldn’t tell from the distance, but they appeared to be talking to each other.

The third one was Thanatos showing up at lunch. Shelby had gone to get her food, having stopped beforehand to talk to Shawn about dance plans, and I had promised I would wait for her in our ‘usual’ spot outside the cafeteria. I didn’t know how he had gotten in without notice, especially since this was a large school with a lot of people walking about; he had to have come across someone, and wouldn’t they have been creeped out as I was?

“Hello, Christine,” he said quietly, still audible even over the chaos of the cafeteria. I jumped, slopping my drink onto my sweater.

“Holy sh—”

“I apologise,” he said, “I thought you heard me come up.”

“What do you want?”

“Only to ask if you have seen a certain book in my possession. I seemed to have dropped it on the way home, and was hoping you had come across it.”

“No,” I said. “Couldn’t this have waited until later – at the store?”

An odd, dreamy look crossed his face. “No, I do not think that would be a good time. Serena is quite upset, and you will have enough to deal with as it is without my petty questioning.”

“About what?”

“About your failed attempt at recovering Mr. Dessler’s memories for him. It had caused a significant setback in her plans.”

“I don’t care about her plans. I don’t care about her.”

“Oh, do not be so cruel to her. She is merely trying to help you even if she cannot say why.”

“Help me with what?”

“Things you cannot imagine, Christine. But I should be taking my leave now – Shelby shall show up soon, and I daresay I would frighten her. Good day”—

Sure enough, Shelby showed up not half a minute later, carrying a plate of food. I glanced over to where Thanatos had been, and saw absolutely nothing – not even his figure walking away.

And, exactly like he’d predicted, Serena was at the store when I got there, looking downright angry.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” were the first words out of her mouth.

“What, no ‘hello’?”

“I told you not to tell him!”

“You think I could just stand there and watch him beat himself up?”

“Better that than what happened!”

“And what happened?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he didn’t leave the house this morning, and neither did the grandfather, and that’s enough to put us on alert.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“Marcus and I,” she said, “You really messed up, Christine!”

“You know what? Good!”

“No, hon, not good—” Ruth attempted.

“I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I know you’re doing something pretty damn illegal and I’ve got half a mind to report you to the cops.”

“Are you still upset over the fact that I am legally obliged not to tell you? Really, if I could give you full disclosure I’d give it in a heartbeat, but the fact of the matter is I can’t, and the least you could give me is a little trust.”

“And why the hell should I trust you? You’ve done nothing for me!”

Ruth whistled sharply to get our attention, and it worked; I winced.

“Oy, hon, what’d I say ‘bout things we wanna keep private? We told you what we could and no more.”

“I’m not asking you to give military crap or anything, I want to know why Eric? I thought you agreed that it wasn’t him behind it.”

“Use your head, won’t you?” Serena snapped. “You don’t think, if or when he figures it out, his grandfather won’t try and get him to help? Now that we know who it is, we realise he’s probably been waiting for this moment for years, and the last thing we need is two people out there kidnapping women at random!”

“Then what do you want? Do you want me to talk to Mr. Dessler?”

“No, Christine, you’ve done more than enough,” she scowled. I scowled.

Serena left in a huff, claiming she needed to meet up with Marcus and whatever-his-name-was, leaving Ruth and I alone.

“Good God, hon,” Ruth fretted, “You don’t trust her, but don’t you trust us?”

“You don’t trust me,” I pointed out.

“You’re right, I don’t,” she said, “I dunno whose side you’re on.”

“Why does there have to be sides? Why can’t I still hang out with Eric whenever I like?”

“Because you’d be too close to the man who kidnapped you, hon. We don’t need that happening again.”

“I can play dumb and he’d never even know. He said he wouldn’t mind if I dropped by more often,” I said, still seething.

“That wouldn’t work out, hon. It’s too risky.”

The evening passed by quietly, though my mother seemed to be wising up to something.

“Are you depressed?” she asked me randomly. We were waiting at a stoplight.

“No,” I said. “Just pissed off.”

“About what?”

“About people hiding crap from me,” I grumbled.

“At school?”

“Nah. At...work and stuff.”

“D’you...want to talk about it?” she said – slowly, as if she was tip-toeing around the idea.

“No,” I said automatically. “I just need to sort through it myself.”

She didn’t really push much further than that, which was a relief.

School passed by in a disorienting haze; classes were held, assignments given, and there was an ever-growing excitement in the air. December was a month of good things: Christmas dinner, the talent show, and Christmas break. But people were still buzzing about the semi-formal. I sort of went about on autopilot, stuck more in my own mind than in reality.

On Thursday evening, the radio announced sixteen-year-old Julie Béliveau had gone missing; she had been in the area to see family, the announced informed me. No one really said much that day; I got the lingering impression Ruth and Theophanes were still angry about their plans being set back, and I was still mad at them for reasons I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t asking for top of the line military secrets, but a little disclosure about why would have been nice. Did they seriously expect me to just go with their plans without even knowing what those plans were?

Friday evening brought its’ own set of challenges: the semi-formal was tomorrow evening, and I was standing in the piano room in the Salucci’s basement. The lesson was over; Carla was putting away her things while I hovered to chat.

“What’s the matter with you?” Carla asked me. “You’re more distracted than I’ve ever seen you.”

I like Carla. She’s tough but fair. But I couldn’t tell her any more than I could tell my mother, so I tried to gloss it over: “Stress, really. Personal stuff. Nothing big.”

“It must be big enough if it’s distracting you.”

I tried to mimic Ruth – she always had a little hand gesture that looked like she was sweeping away my troubles. It didn’t work. “Just...work stuff,” I said. “Dunno if I can really talk about it.”

Carla looked concerned. Very concerned. “How bad is it?”

“I wish I knew,” I admitted. “She’s – the boss – not telling me much about things I think I should know. That’s it. It’s just stressful.”

“Have you tried talking with her?”

“Yeah,” I said, “She just kind of...well, what she does isn’t important.”

“Obviously it must be important if you’re dwelling on it so much,” she said, leaning closer. “What is it?”

“Oh...” I said, trying to mentally take out all the parts everyone else wasn’t supposed to know about, “She wants me to help her out with something, something very important, but she won’t tell me what the something is. I don’t wanna do something big like that without knowing what I’m getting into, you know?”

“Of course not,” she said, “but if this woman – what’s her name?”

“Kendrick,” I said, “Ruth Kendrick.”

It could have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw something flash in her eyes just then. Did she know Ruth, somehow?

“Well, if this Ruth is giving you trouble just because you’re trying to be cautious, I’d tell her where to go,” she said firmly. “There’s no reason you should put up with that.”

Of course, that didn’t work out well at all on Saturday. Konstancja had made an appearance downstairs, looking more tired and cranky than I’d seen her yet.

“Any day now,” she said, patting her stomach and wincing. “Maybe even today.”

“I hope not,” Ruth said. “Looks like a storm’s coming.”

“Huh,” I said. I was at the counter still, Ruth putting up a few extra decorations she’d seen and liked.

“Is that ghost still here?” Konstancja said lazily.

“Her name is Serena,” Ruth said, “and no, she’s not here.”

“Good. She has been yelling lots lately. Very bothersome.”

“She’s upset,” Ruth said, giving a pointed glance at me. Konstancja followed her gaze, looking bemused. Our eyes met; she arched an eyebrow as if asking ‘what’s this all about?’

“How sad,” I said flatly.

“You could be a little more co-operative,” Ruth said. “She can’t say anything, but she’s a good kid. She’s tryin’ to help.”

“She never struck me that way,” I said.

“What part of she can’t tell you nothin’ ‘cause of the law don’t you get?”

“Whose law, exactly?”

“Our law, Erebian law, hon.”

“Should I ask what she’s doing with the Erebians?”

“Nah. It’s a long story.”

And that was that. Thankfully work was quiet, and nobody seemed to bother me much, but I was getting frustrated of being kept in the dark.

All throughout the day I saw girls passing by the store, on their way to get their hair and nails done for the dance that night, and I felt a twinge of envy. It would have been nice to go to a dance like that. I hadn’t gone to the last year’s one because of my own personal issues, but this year would have been nice...

“Are you all right?” my mother asked as I hopped into the car, “You look angry.”

“I am angry, that’s why. I hate being kept in the dark ‘bout stuff.”

“People aren’t obliged to tell you everything.”

“If they’re trying to involve me I think I have a right to know.”

“Are they harassing you?” she said, her tone sharp now.

“No,” I said. “We’re just all pissed at each other.”

“Have you tried talking—”

“I did,” I snapped at her; she glared, “It just made it worse. I’m sorry, okay? This is just really pissing me off.”

It was when I got home did I find a surprise: the book.

“I found this when I went to get the mail,” Sylvia said, looking baffled. “Just lying on the ground. I wiped most of the mud off, but I haven’t a clue what it is.”

I opened the front cover. There was the same jagged-line text as always, the same crude illustrations. They were a bit muddied, but still intact.

“It’s a book,” I said. “Ruth said it was stolen from the place last week.”

“Well, give her a call and tell her you’ve found it,” she said. “I’ll not have stolen goods in the house.”

She wrapped the book up in a dishtowel – bits of mud were still clinging to the thing, and the less mud tracked about, the better – and handed it to me. I took it; it felt strangely heavy now, and put it in my room.

“I’ll call after dinner,” I said.

Dinner came and went, and while I was squinting to find her name in the phone book, I absently thumbed through the pages some more. I had no idea what it was, but it was interesting to look at. Finally, I found it – Kendrick, T&R, 1380 Queen’s Avenue. I dialled the number slowly.

I received a busy signal. Hanging up, I took the time to thumb through the book more, trying not to think of Shelby and Shawn across town, probably having a great time. They were probably sitting down to dinner right about now – oooh, Shelby wouldn’t like that. She was just looking forward to the dancing and the music. I hoped she was having more fun than I was, talking to Shawn rather than thumbing through an old book.

Ten minutes later, it was still busy. And ten minutes after that, too. It would almost be easier just to call the next day; I didn’t think her phone line would be too busy on a Sunday.

Trying not to think about dances and parties, I focused my sights on the book again. What was so important about this that people outright fought over it? I didn’t know – and judging by the atmosphere at work, I might never know.