Recorded April 19, 2017, 12:49 a.m.
The spires and domes of Ys rise, coral obscuring the precision of their architecture with tumorous bulges of reds and blues and pinks. Sara and Becca stand, fingers laced, locked in silent, urgent conversation.
ANTHONY: I don’t know why I’m recording this, but . . . I don’t know. Something’s not right.
His voice is so soft the microphone almost fails to pick it up.
ANTHONY: When we found Sara in the dark . . . Something was wrong. Something is wrong.
Suddenly, Sara wrenches her hands free from Becca’s. She collapses to her knees, hands over her face, a sound between a scream and a moan trapped behind her lips.
ANTHONY: What’s wrong?
Anthony runs toward them, dropping the phone into his pocket. The picture is half-obscured, but the sound is clear.
BECCA: I don’t know. We were just talking, and then—
SARA: No no no she’s in here she’s drowning me I can’t get her out.
Sara looks up between splayed fingers, her eyes red-shot and frantic.
SARA: You have to leave me here. Get out. Run, now.
ANTHONY: What? No. What are you talking about?
BECCA: It’s her.
Anthony looks at her, bewildered. Becca retreats a step, clutching herself with both arms.
BECCA: Lucy. It’s Lucy. I can hear her, in Sara’s voice. I don’t know how, but it’s her.
SARA: Not Lucy.
Her voice is different. Still strained, but calmer. Her hands drop into her lap. She draws a deep breath.
SARA: But close enough. I chose wrong.
ANTHONY: Is Sara—is it like Vanessa?
SARA: Not like Vanessa, Anthony, no. Vanessa was unmade and a poor facsimile constructed of her. I’ve merely slipped inside Sara’s skin, but she’s fighting me more than I thought she could. And you’re not going to stop, are you?
Her eyes unfocus slightly as Dahut addresses the last words to Sara. Then they snap back into focus, and Sara bursts to her feet, frantic.
SARA: Just get out of here! She wants to escape. She wants to start over. She’ll find a way to let that thing out into the world. If you leave me here, she can’t—
Her voice cuts off abruptly. Her whole body shakes, then stills, and she draws heavy breaths through clenched teeth.
SARA: You won’t stop fighting as long as you can feel me in here, will you? Fine, then. Easier to fix your memories and find a more hospitable home.
She steps toward Becca.
ANTHONY: What are you doing?
He moves to interpose himself.
SARA: It’s all right. Isn’t it, Becca? Come here.
Becca, mute, her lips slightly parted, steps forward before Anthony can stop her. She takes Sara’s hand. The gesture is delicate, like dancers coming together as the music begins.
There is a flicker in the air beside the girls. A figure appears. A girl. Lucy Callow, her dress white and crisp. Her hair flutters in a wind that touches nothing else. And then she isn’t Lucy at all, but a woman with sharp, high cheekbones and a regal pose, her hair adorned with gems. Then Lucy again, delicate and sweet.
Just as swiftly as she appeared, the girl is gone. Anthony grabs both sisters and pulls them apart; they offer no resistance. The angle of the phone in his pocket makes the picture nearly incomprehensible as he says the girls’ names in turn, frightened and confused.
BECCA: Anthony. There’s no point in panicking. This is what you wanted. They both live. For a while longer, at least. You stay here. It doesn’t really change anything.
She steps close to him, only a portion of her torso visible.
ANTHONY: Just let her go.
BECCA: No.
The video barely catches the glint of the knife in her hand—the knife Becca used to carve the walls of the endless halls, not long but sharp and gleaming. Anthony doesn’t even have time to react or defend himself. Her arm jabs forward three times, driving the knife somewhere below his ribs, the poor angle of the camera obscuring the exact location. He staggers back. The camera angle changes abruptly, as if he’s fallen to his knees, and the phone falls, clattering to the ground. The camera faces straight up, recording Anthony from below. He gasps, his breath wheezing.
SARA: No. No . . .
She stumbles toward Anthony and sinks down in front of him. Her hands move to cover his, to stop the blood.
BECCA: It’s all right. It might not even kill him. But it should keep him from interfering any more than he already has. And you won’t remember it. Your memories are still scabbing over. You don’t have to remember any of this. It will be peaceful.
Sara’s arms go around Anthony’s neck. She holds him tight, her shaking evident even with the contorted angle that barely reveals a sliver of her side.
Anthony’s voice is a whisper.*
ANTHONY: My phone. Take my phone. Don’t let her see. Remember—remember that. I gave you my phone.
The phone scrapes as Anthony awkwardly lifts it and tucks it into Sara’s bag, their positions hiding the motion from Becca/Dahut.
ANTHONY: Remember.
SARA: I will. I’ll remember. I promise.
Another moment’s fumbling as Anthony finds the button to stop the recording, and then the video ends.