American Elsewhere (70 page)

“I… I what?”

“I do wish we could have talked longer, little sister,” says Kelly sadly. “I am sure we have so much to discuss. And I wish I could prepare you for what’s about to happen. But don’t fret. It’s my experience that it’s best to sit back and allow the tides of fortune and fairness to take you where they wish. Though it can be a little confusing, sometimes.” He winces a little. “You may especially want to relax
now
, considering what I’m about to do to you.”

“Wait. Stop. You’re going to do what now? To me?”

“You do love the word
what
, don’t you?” asks Kelly. “It is a good word. It can mean so many things. You remember when I said that, to beings such as myself, physical existence is mere construction paper and pipe cleaners?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” says Kelly, “I am about to break you down into paper and glue, and put you back together again somewhere much safer. So hold on.”

“Wait. Wait!” says Mona. “You’re going to do
what
to me?”

“There’s that word again!” says Kelly. “Relax, Miss Mona. Back in the old days, some found this experience very enlightening. It’s just a matter of…”

Things slow down. Then they stop.

Then Mona’s body begins to report many disparate sensations.

First her eyes freeze in her skull, which makes it impossible to confirm any of the other sensations: her skin begins to crackle, as if waves of static electricity are crawling along her arms and legs; her hair curls like slashed harp strings; her fingernails, like switchblades, recede into her flesh; some bones lengthen, others twirl into corkscrews,
while still others dissolve into powder; her brain turns to water, which washes down the back of her throat, drips down her spine, and puddles on the floor; her teeth turn to fire in her head, and wither into ash; and so on, and so on, and so on, and she cannot even find the voice to scream.

But one thing stays constant: that wry, smug grin on the shimmering screen, and those dark, crinkled eyes…

Somewhere a voice says: “…
place
.”

Then everything is lost.

Mona’s only been gone for what feels like five minutes when Gracie hears the footsteps from the canyon behind her. This should surprise her: since the beginning of their relationship (which was so long ago Gracie can’t even remember it now), this canyon was utterly secluded, unreachable for everyone except her and Mr. First. But then came Joseph, and Mr. Macey, and then Mona, until finally it started to seem as if this place were some kind of bizarre town square, with everyone showing up and bumping into one another and sharing the price of vegetables.

But what Gracie does find troubling is that Mr. First never mentioned anything about a second visitor
tonight
. So Gracie, remembering the flashes of gunfire and old Parson on his knees, drops to the ground and crawls away to find cover behind a long, flat rock. She is not sure what is coming, but she knows it could be dangerous.

What comes strolling down the canyon completely flummoxes her: it is Velma Rancy, a sophomore at Gracie’s school. Gracie has no idea what she could possibly be doing here, especially dressed so strangely in a powder-blue suit and a white panama hat. And she appears to be bearing a blood-covered cigar box like a holy relic, and her hand is
horribly
injured…

As Velma approaches the thick white fog at the end of the canyon, there’s a sound like a whip crack; then the fog begins to swirl around
one point, and then it begins to draw back, like dirty water circling down the sink drain, until it reveals…

Nothing. No Mona, no figures, no nothing. Just the empty end of the canyon, which is about sixty feet across in all directions… but there is, just maybe, the soft sound of fluting.

This does not dissuade Velma, who just keeps walking straight ahead with the bloody cigar box held out. Finally, at a point that seems fairly random to the naked eye, she stops.

There is a silence. Then the canyon fills with a low, soft hum, a hum that is so deep Gracie’s ears can hardly register it: it is like thousands of yogis softly murmuring the
om
mantra, building and leveling off until the tissues just behind her eyes begin to vibrate.

Gracie knows this sound: it is the sound Mr. First makes when he wishes to communicate. It is not, she knows, the sound
of
him communicating: it is simply a noise that is produced, perhaps by accident, when First speaks.

“Stop that,” says Velma in a voice totally unlike hers: the words are mealy-mouthed and ill-formed, like a deaf person’s. “If I am stuck in this vessel and I speak this way, you should have to do the same.”

The bass hum swells slightly. Tears well up in Gracie’s eyes.

“No,” says Velma. “I won’t listen. Speak. Speak like I do. It’s only fair.”

The hum tapers off. Something invisible moves in the canyon: the gravel on the ground shifts in huge piles, as if, perhaps, two enormous, invisible feet have risen slightly, and fallen.

Then there is a voice like enormous stones being ground against one another:

HMM.

Gracie is shocked. She never knew he could
talk
, if he wanted to…

“It’s not so pleasant,” says Velma, “having to talk in such a manner.”

The gravel shifts again.
I DO NOT HAVE MUCH EXPERIENCE WITH IT
, says the huge voice contemplatively,
BUT I HAVE NOT YET FOUND ANYTHING TERRIBLY OBJECTIONABLE ABOUT IT
.

“And you wouldn’t, would you,” says Velma. “You never find anything to be terrible. You’ve never had to struggle.”

There is a silence.

“Do you know who I am?” asks Velma.

I KNOW
, says the voice,
THAT YOU ARE MY KIN
.

“Then what’s my name?”

Silence.

“You don’t know,” says Velma. “There are so few things that are unknown to you. Yet I am one of them.”

I AM SURE YOU KNOW MANY THINGS THAT I DO NOT
, says the voice.

“Stop it!” says Velma. “Stop being so…”

REASONABLE?

“Be quiet! Don’t… don’t you understand how shameful this is for you?”

WHY SHOULD IT BE SHAMEFUL?

“Because you’re going to die here today. And you won’t even die knowing the name of the person who killed you. None of them did. They never even knew I was there.”

THEY?

“Yes. I killed Weringer. I killed Macey. I figured out how.” Her words are gleefully, hatefully mad. “Because Mother wanted me to. That’s what She wanted me to do. There was another way. One you didn’t know about, one you ignored. You aren’t so perfect. I don’t know why She loved you so much.”

The voice sighs.
I AM AFRAID I MUST TELL YOU THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT THERE.

“Shut up!” snarls Velma. “You always pulled Her away from me! She was always leaving me! Any time we were together, when I brought Her beauties and delicacies and wonders for Her amusement, you always came in and ruined it! You never let Her love me!”

DELICACIES?
the voice says.
AH… I THINK I REMEMBER YOU. YOU WERE THE LITTLE ONE… HER SERVANT?

“I was more than just a servant!” screams Velma. “She loved me! She would have loved me more if you hadn’t been there! And you
don’t deserve Her love! You’re not even… not even First! Do you know that? She didn’t make you first at all! There was one before you, one that went wrong, one bigger and stronger and meaner than you! Did you know that?”

The voice sighs.
YES, I KNOW THAT.

Velma appears taken aback. “You… you do?”

YES. I FOUND THAT OUT LONG AGO. AND I MADE MY PEACE WITH IT.

“How… how can you… how can you know and not care!” cries Velma.

THEY HAVE A VERY GOOD SAYING HERE
, says the voice.
IT GOES—FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT
.

“What does that have to do with anything!” says Velma. Her voice is almost a screech.

IT MEANS, ONCE YOU COME TO KNOW A THING—ANY THING—YOU TEND TO DESIRE IT LESS. AND IF YOU WANTED MOTHER’S LOVE, BROTHER, I WOULD HAVE FREELY PASSED IT ON TO YOU. BECAUSE, TO BE FRANK, I HAD HAD ENOUGH OF IT.

“What!” says Velma. She almost chokes. “How… how
dare
you! How dare you say such a… a
blasphemous
thing! How could you be willing to throw such a blessing away!” Velma sputters for a moment, incensed beyond words. “You don’t deserve to live! And it gets to be me who does it, me who kills you! It’s
here
, did you know that? The wildling’s in Wink! Why don’t… why don’t I just show it to you?”

Velma flips the top of the cigar box open, then swoops the box up.

Something small, round, and white flies toward the center of the canyon.

Then it stops, frozen, hanging in space as if it’s been grasped by an invisible hand.

Everyone is still. Velma leans forward a little, greedily waiting for… something.

Yet nothing happens. The little round thing—which appears to be a skull—slowly rises up as if it is being brought closer to a set of invisible eyes.

THE TRICKY THING ABOUT THESE TOTEMS
, says the voice,
IS THAT THEY CAN REALLY ONLY BE USED ONCE
.

“W-what?” says Velma.

ONCE THEY’VE TAKEN SOMEONE WHEREVER THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO—IN THIS CASE, TO THE WILDLING, I PRESUME—NO ONE ELSE CAN USE IT AGAIN. IT’S A BIT LIKE A ONE-WAY TICKET. BUT YOU WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT THOSE ARE.

“No,” says Velma. “No! I… I can’t believe it! Who could have used it already?”

THE GIRL
, says the voice.
WHO ELSE?

“So… it killed her instead of you?” asks Velma, perplexed.

OH NO. IT LET HER LIVE. SHE IS QUITE SPECIAL.

Velma drops the box. “It’s not fair. It’s not
fair
. Why do you always get away with everything?”

I AM SORRY. I DID NOT KNOW IT HURT YOU SO MUCH.

“You did. Don’t say that. You did.” There is something brittle and pained in Velma’s face: there is nothing worse than an opponent who is suddenly revealed to be understanding and compassionate.

YOU KNOW SHE WILL NEVER WORK AS A HOST. YOU CANNOT USE HER TO BRING BACK MOTHER.

Velma grows eerily calm. “You think so, do you,” she says softly.

I KNOW.

“That’s nothing special. I found that out long ago. I tried to show her Mother—tried to open her eyes to where She lay sleeping. But she resisted. She is quite strong. But there are other ways.” She turns and starts to walk back down the canyon.

WHAT WILL YOU DO?
asks the voice.
I TOLD YOU SHE WOULD NEVER WORK FOR YOU.

“
She
won’t,” says Velma. “But she was once a mother in her own right. Or she
could
have been. I know. I saw it, when I touched her.”

EVEN IF YOU WERE TO TRY… I WOULD STOP YOU. SHE CANNOT COME BACK. SHE CANNOT.

“You would fight? They think you a monster here, you know. And what you have done here is pathetic and wrong.”

I KNOW. BUT DO YOU NOT SEE… THAT IS WHY I AM WILLING TO FIGHT?

“No.”

I HAVE DONE WRONG, SIBLING. I WILL NOT DO MORE.

“How sad you’ve become. Maybe, when She comes, She’ll spare you out of pity.” Velma reaches into her coat pocket and takes out something dark. As she maneuvers it in her hands, Gracie sees it is a snub-nosed .38. Velma looks toward the end of the canyon, and attempts a smile—a crooked, awkward, mangled version of a smile—and, with a, “See you around, Brother,” she holds the pistol to her head.

Oh my God
, thinks Gracie, but before she can move there is a small (really just
amazingly
small) pop.

Something dark burbles up from Velma’s head. It pools in the brim of her white hat for a moment. Then she tips forward, toward the end of the canyon, and blood begins to course out of her skull to soak into the gravel. Then she is still.

Gracie covers her eyes with her hands. The air fills with that low, low hum, and she hears a quiet, soft voice in her ear:

I’m sorry you had to see that.

Gracie lowers her hands, but keeps her eyes shut. She thinks,
You never told me you could talk out loud
.

It’s very uncomfortable for me. And this is more intimate. More private.

Where’s Mona? Is she safe?

She is… away
, says the voice in her ear.
But I do not think she is safe, no. Not… after that. I tried to protect her, but it seems I underestimated the resolve of my opponents.

How could Velma… do something like that? Why?

It wasn’t the girl you knew. Not inside. I think whatever was inside her has found a loophole in the way things work here. Probably a lot of loopholes. Perhaps ones that were intentionally put there.

What was it trying to do to you?
thinks Gracie.
What’s the wildling?

Another one of the loopholes. The wildling is… my big brother.

Gracie sits in shock for a moment.
I thought you didn’t have anyone older than you?

I do. I thought it was lost, or dead. Mother abandoned it when it was very young. But it appears it has survived, and even followed us here. But because Mother did not help it come here, did not deliver it as She did all of us, its transport was… marred. It is here, but it is trapped. Yet it seems someone has figured out how to give it entry to our lives. And since it never promised Her anything…

It can do what it likes
, thinks Gracie.

Yes. And it is… incredibly powerful. The older we are, the more we’re like Her.

So what will you do?

A pause.

Gracie says, out loud, “Anything?”

The quiet voice says,
I will do what I must. I never raised a hand to Her. No one did. But maybe I should have.

Gracie thinks,
What do you mean?

Come here. Down the canyon. To me. Do you see me?

No
, thinks Gracie. There is a fluting sound again, like a pipe organ, and something appears to form in the air.
Yes. Now I do.