we came home, i don’t know from where. we were both tired. bone tired, tired like ready to lay down and die. my grandmother was there. she had fallen alseep in the chair. you fell upon the sofa, arm over your eye, face to the back, immediately passed out, asleep. i flopped alongside you. curling in toward, you seeking comfort. head on your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heart. immediate passing into sleep. escape. relief.
only we both knew better.
we were there again. i could hear the skittering along the cobblestones. the air was thick and damp. chill. the smell of moss and roots. fecundity. you were already running. i could see your shadow outlined in the moonlight, as you entered the arch of the overpass. i could see your breath turning fog, rising from you as you panted, sprinted, raced for your life.
and i could feel the shades. they were close. my heart stuttered and i was running, too. behind you, closing fast. not as fast as they were behind me. crying and trying not to cry. crying took breath. i needed to conserve. and i needed to reach you. you were always faster. weeping behind you and so glad you were faster. it meant they would get me first. and maybe you would get away.
one caught me by the ankle, hauled me out from under myself. i hit the ground and my head bounced, but all i saw was black.
i woke up in the cell. their leering shapeless faces. i know this place. water seeps from the walls and rolls in thick, corrupted rivulets to the floor. pooling with oily patches as it rolls and meets itself and heaves slowly to the grime-encrusted drain in the middle. it doesn’t sluice, it drops. slowly. thick, black, oily plops that are audible. i know what is under that drain. i am pressed into the back corner, instinct and fear drive me. i huddle there and keep watch. they always get excited when its time. that’s how i’ll know.
we’re yanked from sleep by my grandmother. she’s angry. yelling. swatting at both of us and yelling about daring to sleep right there, together, on her sofa. right under her nose. i look at you and am so relieved we’re both there that i can’t help it, i laugh. giddily, crazily, bordering on hysteria. we’re both there. you’re still alive.
grandmother doesn’t take it well. she purples with anger and orders us out of the house. we lean on one another wearily and obey. it’s raining outside. i’ve never felt so blessed in all my lives.
we walk slowly. no talking. conserving breath. you’ve been sleepless for two months. me, only three weeks. bodies being what they are, we’re both running the risk of full passing. i laugh. running the risk. i can feel the hysteria rising again, and i hold you a little tighter. you know without asking, and stop. we stand there for a moment, trembling like kittens, looking into one another’s eyes. you whisper to me, almost no breath at all, ‘remember the river?’ i nod, crying again. you wipe the slow tear away. kiss the place where it last set.
they found us like that. the police. grubby and broke and vagrant to their eyes. of course no identification. i tried to tell them about grandmother, they wouldn’t listen and i couldn’t spare the breath to say it more than once. we leaned into one another as they drove us to the station house. i didn’t fight when they led him to the men’s wing. he whispered as they pulled him away, ‘see you in my dreams.’ i shuddered. who would keep him awake? who would keep me?
the blast of warm air as we entered the women’s wing almost broke me down. they handed me the uniform, after the search, and i tossed it on without care or word. they put me in the middle cell. i sat on the edge of the bunk and stared at the walls. already the warmth of the cell was weighing down my eyes like they were on filler wire.
breathing faster, wasting air trying to stay awake. focused my attention on him. imagined i could see him in his cell, setting his cheeks against the colder stone, trying to retain consciousness. i followed his imaginary lead, knowing i wasn’t imagining it.
i lasted maybe three hours.
the shades by the door were jittery, slithering around and almost through one another. had i been away that long, or did they decide to go as soon as i returned? did it matter? they were coming. they were coming and i had no way to wake up. neither did he.
oh stars. help him. neither did he.
shades do not speak. they… emanate. somehow, i know what they’re ‘saying’. it’s hard to explain. one joined the two at my cell and told me it was time to go. i’ve learned the futility of fighting them. trudging toward the door, i hurled myself at the bars, hoping to knock myself out, awake.
they expected it, of course. swirls of thick presence, cushioning me from the bars, their laughter at my attempt laced with mockery. i walked as slowly as possible down the corridor. they never try to hurry you. they know when you arrive. and they know how long you’ll stay, barring unexpected interruptions.
we finally reach the room. entering, i see he is there. oh my heart. relief for his presence is sharp, painful, and all the more hopeless. ten shades in this room. more squirming and gathering in the rafters. i can feel them. i know he can, too.
they feed on pain, misery, hopelessness, and despair. they’re excited to the point of violence. i can feel them lashing out at one another as they jockey for positions close enough to catch the faint nuances of what pours out of us as we stand there. popcorn before the main event, i suppose.
the warden is here. you might call him renfroe. i do. he serves them. it’s why they let him live almost unmolested. i figure he’s comatose in some hospital ward. no telling how long he’s been here. i hate him. but i can’t blame him. he is the only one here capable of carrying out their physical desires and i guess being able here is the only thing saving him at all.
both of us are trembling. i look over to him but only briefly. it’s still long enough to send a ripple of delight through the inky crowd. damn them. i palsy with disgust and shame for my own care for him, and how it feeds them. i try not to just dissolve into panic and fear. i’m not as good at it as he is. he’s had more practice.
the thought aches. wishes for wakefulness and clear skies, where he can sleep peacefully, his head in my lap and no shades, no terrors in the under-deep. no torments where there should only be rest and restoration. the weight of it is tugging at me. i gasp and sob and it shakes me from the revery, the immediate sighing sounds of their moans of enjoyment.
damn them. damn them. i empty my mind the way he taught me. find the still and quiet place and center myself in it. build the sky walls and watch them fill in, sealing out everything. the room. him. me. renfroe. all of it. stars. let it last. let it last long enough for us to wake.
from outside the safe place, i can hear the softest sounds of screaming. i do not know if it is him… or me. it doesn’t matter. i add to the walls, increasing their presence, until all sound fades and even the ecstacy of the shades cannot be felt. and i pray. i pray so hard. something. please. something. a fire. a tornado. a phone call. a knock at the door. something. anything. wake me. please. before it’s too late.
the weight of my cat bouncing off my stomache and ricocheting into the living room. i bolt upright, the suddenness of it leaving psychic imprints, images i never wanted to see… his hands, cut between the digits, to the wrist. his body marked and mutilated, his beautiful blue eyes… gone.
i did not see what they did to me. and i no longer feel it. i escaped. i sit in my bed and rock… weeping quietly. my cats come to investigate, to comfort me. i pick up zen and hold her tightly. whispering thanks into her coal black fur. 11:45pm and i am awake.
my grandmother has been dead for almost ten years. cancer. and i never knew him in those days. but the shades… i’ve known the shades as long as i can remember. i remember the shock of reading something he’d written talking about ‘shadows’. and i remember he had a female character in his story who believed that dreams were real.
i remembering thinking he would never believe me if i told him. and i have a moment of double entendre and humorless laughter. no, he never did believe me. but these similarities were the least of the things he never believed.
sighing at the clock. i have to be up in less than six hours. conjure one, ‘endless dream’ is playing from the night list. appropo. it’s ‘our song’, for all we never were.
back to bed with me.