––––––––
William gets ready to open the door, the pan gripped firmly in his hand. But just then someone pushes from the other side, and the door hits him in the head, and the pan falls with a great crash right on his foot. It’s only then that I realize it’s cast iron. At last his stick-face shows a little feeling—I can tell how much it hurts.
“Holmes, finally, I found you!” cries the new arrival.
At first glance I don’t understand why William and Beatrice were so afraid. It’s just a girl.
“It’s true about Romeo...”
William gets up, grumbling about his injuries. The girl goes quiet when she sees Beatrice and me. She’s young, and almost as tall as William, with a great mass of dark hair. She’s been running; you can tell from the excitement in her voice. She turns to face me. Suddenly I understand why my companions were afraid. I know that if the girl had eyes she could pierce me with her gaze, could strike me down in an instant. I’ve never felt anything like the force of those empty sockets looking at me. We don’t like each other. The feeling is instantaneous, mutual, and visceral.
“You’re not alone.” The girl doesn’t bother to conceal how unwelcome my presence is.
“Of course he’s not alone,” replies Beatrice in a thunderous voice. “It is to be expected, don’t you think? I mean, he is in my house.”
This is the first time I’ve seen Beatrice lose her gentleness, which confirms my feeling that I shouldn’t trust the girl. Maybe I shouldn’t trust Beatrice, either, but there’s my internal voice again, insisting that she’ll be able to help me somehow.
William takes the girl by the arm and marches her out of the kitchen, whispering something into her ear. She jerks herself free and whirls around to face him with no sign of fear, like a wild animal. It feels like a fight could break out at any moment.
“Enough, Morgan!” says Beatrice, raising her voice. “I repeat: you are in my house. I expect you to have the courtesy to behave properly.” The girl responds with a loud snort. “Since you’ve already stormed in, would you at least be so kind as to explain what it is about Romeo that is true?” Morgan and William huddle together and whisper, then turn their empty sockets toward me. “There is nothing you cannot say in front of her. She is my friend,” says Beatrice firmly.
“She just got published,” points out Morgan.
“But she has my absolute trust,” answers Beatrice.
A few minutes pass. A very brief interval that feels like an eternity. No one speaks; no one moves; even my thoughts seem to have stopped.
“My dearest Beatrice,” says William, clearing his throat. “What I am about to say pains me, but it seems that for the first time your judgment is not entirely correct. We don’t know her. We don’t even know what role she has.”
“Thanks for everything, Beatrice,” I say, moving hesitantly toward the door.
“No—stay!” she urges me.
Beatrice—so sweet, so much smaller than the rest of us—faces off against William and Morgan.
“Eurydice is the answer to my prayers. That’s all we need to know. I have begged for help to come, and she has been sent by the Creator.”
“Here we go with the Creator again!” exclaims Morgan scornfully. “How can you be so superstitious and ignorant? And you really think that’s the answer?”
She comes over to me and inspects me as if I were a thing, not a person. My fists are balled up and my arms hang stiffly at my sides. I can’t speak. I’d like to come up with something intelligent, a single sharp remark I could hurl right at this smug girl and her ill-mannered friend. Pride leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. All I can do is stand perfectly still.
“I am supposed to guide you to the Empyrean, am I not? Is that not my role? Morgan, tell me. Is that my role or not?”
Morgan mutters something through her teeth.
“My dear lady, we are not discussing your role right now; rather the advisability of the presence of this...”
“But she knows. She knows about the disappearances,” insists Beatrice. “That’s the proof that Eurydice has come to help us.”
“I...”
I was about to say that I’ve got no idea why I’m stuck in this world full of lunatics. There’s no way I’m the answer to anything. Morgan and William stand there stiffly as Beatrice tries to make them give in.
“Why can’t she hear what you have to say?”
There’s so much tension in the room. The tiniest spark would be enough to set us all at each other’s throats.
“Goodbye. Thank you for everything,” I say, looking at Beatrice.
“Thank you,” says Morgan sarcastically.
We stare at each other for a few seconds. She’s nobody: I’d like to make sure she knows it. I’d like to make it perfectly clear that I’m the one who decides when I go and when I stay, but instead I turn silently, and go out.
With every step I take I feel more slighted, more insignificant. I keep walking, irate. My head is held high but I can’t stop wringing my hands. The more I think about it, the more furious I am. With them, with the world, with myself, with this ridiculous situation that I’ve somehow ended up in. My blood is boiling, and so I forget that just a few hours ago I was afraid of going home and finding it gone. I’ve been walking along on autopilot. Only when I reach the river do I realize I’m on the way to my house. What I see is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head: the street stops just beyond the river. Something extremely strange is going on. Last night there was a street after the bridge. My house wasn’t there, but there was at least a stretch of road. Today it’s nowhere to be seen. I stare at the field in front of me. There are a few gray stalks of wheat bent over by the wind. I’m not confused like I was last night. There’s no doubt—St Andrews ends here, plain and simple. Like it or not, my family’s summer house has vanished.
How did I end up in this world without rules? I don’t think the accident could have been enough to land me in this bad copy of St Andrews. I absolutely refuse to accept that a car crash could get me trapped in a world drawn in charcoal. It’s been hours and I haven’t seen anyone familiar, there are no cars in the streets, and I haven’t met a single person who isn’t made of wood, with empty eye sockets. This is and is not St Andrews. In a way it’s almost like I’ve gone back in time. Everything is so old in Beatrice’s house—there isn’t even a faucet in the kitchen!...
I have to find a way out of this nightmare. I have to wake up, or get back to my own world, or whatever. The point is, I have to find a way to get back to normal. I know, I know—I’m not very normal. Everything and everybody has made sure to point that out, ever since I was a little girl. But I want to go back to my normal. The question is: how?
I walk back the way I came. At East Sands the ocean is cresting in tall waves that break on the deserted beach. I go slowly down the hill that the twins run down every morning. It’s odd, I feel an impulse to think they went down. It’s hard to imagine them in the present tense. Where can Benvolio and Mercutio be? Little twerps, I miss them in spite of everything. I remember the blood gushing everywhere, but it seems like a thousand years ago. I remember how calmly Axel assured me that soon everything would be all right. I look over to the right: there are the rocks we were sitting on. It seems like it just happened yesterday, but now the rocks are covered in a thick layer of seaweed, buzzing with dense clouds of flies. The seagulls dive down, jam their beaks into the seaweed, and fly off again. I don’t dare go any closer.
There’s no one on the beach—why would there be? The absence of people is the norm in this colorless world. I feel strangely hollow inside. It’s not fear—unease, maybe, but not fear. I’m confused. It makes me unreasonably angry that I don’t know how to get back to my life.
I sit down on the sand and hug my knees to my chest. I pick up a twig and start drawing with it, smoothing out the sand with my hand and then drawing with slow, continuous strokes. Waves, straight lines, this has always helped chase away my worries. I love drawing; it’s the only thing that gives me a space that’s all my own, where I know the rules, and I’m in charge, with no one to judge or watch me. My drawings are my world. It’s the only place where I don’t have to try and fit in. I feel myself relax; my breath slows down. My mind lets go of its burdens, and the hole I feel in my chest begins to disappear. I can see Axel smiling at me, asking:
“What’s that?”
I think that’s when I began to hate him. Or maybe not. Yes, right then—that’s when my love/confusion relationship with him started. No matter how much time passes, I’ll never understand him. Axel. He never knew how to keep still, even when we were just getting to know each other. I put my bag on the table at the bar and of course my notebook had to fall out. It only took him two seconds to pick it up, open it, and see my drawings. I felt naked. I hated him instantaneously for barging into my world like that.
“Give that back!” I said, snatching it away. He didn’t bat an eye.
“Are they yours? They’re very good, from what I saw. Let me see, come on.”
He tickled me so I’d let go of the notebook, then he nibbled at my neck and I didn’t know whether to smack him in the head with the notebook or just run right out of there. It felt like everyone was watching us. Never, no matter how much he asked, would I put up with public displays of affection. He was so much more uninhibited and outgoing than any boy I could ever imagine being with. As time went on, my friends couldn’t understand how I kept going out with him, either.
“Axel is nice, don’t get me wrong,” Marion said once, “and he’s good-looking...”
“Shit—good-looking is right!” interrupts Laura, not mincing words. She never minded a bit telling me just how attractive she thought Axel was.
“Hush! What I’m trying to say is that Axel's nothing like the guys you usually go for.”
Marion was right. I didn’t need her to tell me; I was well aware. Reserved and mysterious, that was the type I always fell for—even though those sorts of guys never even noticed me. Why Axel? A dare, a stupid dare. I can’t control myself when someone puts me up to something. A dare, and there I was drinking coffee with Axel for the millionth time. All because of that night. I was just out having fun with my friends, like always—how did it all go off the rails? Laura noticed the group of boys playing darts in the other corner of the pub. They were all smoking hot, according to her, but that was normal. Laura and her out-of-control hormones. It should’ve just been a regular night, and not the beginning of all my bad luck.
“That one won’t stop looking at you,” said Marion. I remember it perfectly.
I turned my head and found myself looking straight into Axel’s steady eyes. From there everything happened very quickly. There was an outburst of laughter, all of us elbowing one other, bets on who would go talk to them. It wasn’t easy, since they looked older. All of us grinning at each other, Laura keeping her hormones on lockdown, swearing that she would die of embarrassment before she would say a single word to those boys, Marion blushing like she was seven years old. It was just that—my friends’ reactions—that spurred me on. I hadn’t even had anything to drink. We had only gotten to the bar a few minutes earlier. I got up and strutted over to the bar, right past the boys. Even now I can’t believe it was me. Just thinking about it still embarrasses me, but it was worth it to see the looks on Laura’s and Marion’s faces—their jaws dropped, literally. As I walked I wondered what lie I was going to tell the bartender, how I was going to convince him that I was legal, that I’d just left my license at home. I leaned on the bar with all the confidence I could muster. The bartender looked at me once or twice and then flat-out ignored me. Then I felt a nudge—it was Axel standing next to me. He winked. He moved his hands beneath the bar, first close together, then far apart. I understood right away that he was asking if I wanted a pint or a half-pint. And something possessed me—I was possessed, I’m sure of it, since never in my wildest dreams could I have been so smooth. I took his hands and paused, without letting go of them or taking my eyes off of his, and then moved his hands apart, still looking right at him. Axel smiled. I think it was the first time I saw that smile. His hand moved toward my head. For a second I thought he was going to stroke my hair and I stood there paralyzed, but he didn’t. He just picked up a lock of my dark hair. He thought he was so clever. I shook my head. Then I did stroke his hair: golden blond. We didn’t say a word. I didn’t even care that his eyes were lingering on me, the only thing that mattered to me was scoring a point on my friends. I turned around and went back to the girls. They were hysterical. I looked over at the bar; I knew he was still watching me. I held up three fingers and sat back down at the table. A little later we had three pints of pale ale—golden blond—and we had Axel and his friends. Marion couldn’t stop giggling, and Laura, who in private always bragged about what a man-eater she was, was as serious and still as a statue. I don’t know if it was seeing her that way, or just because it was time to turn back into myself, but all at once my confidence vanished. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I heard Axel’s friends telling jokes, but I wasn’t really listening. All that mattered to me was trying to scoot over another millimeter every time Axel leaned closer to me. I kept on sliding over until I was practically on top of Marion. Then she exploded into giggles again and I was so startled I nearly slammed into the ceiling. I couldn’t even blink. I picked up my beer and drained it.
“Breathe!” said Axel.
I set the empty glass down on the table. With a bang, like in the movies. I’d downed the whole pint and now whatever happened, happened. I looked at the empty space Axel had left on the seat as he crept closer to me.
“Room for an elephant,” I said solemnly, pointing at the gap. I could feel my cheeks burning.
“Only a little one,” answered Axel.
That was the first time my smile appeared without my permission. Axel said my eyes sparkled.
“That intense sparkling green, like wet leaves after it rains.”
All I could say to that was ‘hic!’ I gave a little jump just as the whole table went quiet. I slapped my hand over my mouth and my hair fell across my face so all I could see was the tangle of black in front of my eyes. A few seconds passed and the whole group erupted into laughter. Even Laura emerged from her terrified silence and relaxed and began to laugh. My hiccups didn’t go away for the rest of the night. I tried holding my breath, drinking water without stopping. Someone shouted at me when I came back from the bathroom to try and scare me, but nothing would stop them. When it was time to go, the boys insisted that they had to behave like medieval knights, and although they had no noble steeds to carry us home on, they would at least walk with us. We sang our way through the streets of Old Town, at the top of our lungs, as if there were a prize at the end for the most off-key. We tried, without much success, not to stumble over the worn cobblestones. And the entire time Axel persevered, with that dogged stubbornness that is just so like him.
“Just one number,” he kept saying.
I gave up the digits of my cell phone number, one by one, over the course of the walk. When we reached my house the group moved away a little and left me alone with Axel. He kissed me on the cheek. I wrinkled up my nose and stuck the key in the lock with a furrowed brow.
I look at the sand. I’ve finished the drawing without even realizing it. Maybe Axel was right—I always draw solitary female figures, always with long hair. According to him they’re all a reflection of me. The sound of the waves has become softer, a gentle murmur in my ears, a low whispering broken here and there by the angry cries of the gulls. I wipe away the drawing with my hand. I feel lonely, but the rocking of the sea and the movement of my hand on the sand are comforting. Then I jump at the sudden sound of great wings flapping. I look up. The seagulls are too far off. The sound can’t be from their wings, but from some infinitely larger wings. I feel a presence behind me so clearly that I don’t dare move. I can feel someone’s gaze on the back of my neck. Then something hits me in the head, hard, and I collapse onto the sand.
When I open my eyes again I have no idea how much time has passed. I look for the gulls up in the sky. I hope to see whatever it was that hit me, but up above are only gray clouds. Clouds and absolute silence. I sit up, still aching, and look around. There’s a ball nestled in the sand quite close to me. I want to say it looks like a planet, but I’d better not even think that—that would really mean I had lost my mind. The object is only a few feet away, so I crawl over to it. It really does look like a planet... It’s official: I’ve gone completely nuts. I reach out and touch it. It’s a sort of round rock with a strange flower attached to it, and it’s full of craters. I have to use both hands to pick it up. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.
I stand up, cradling the object carefully to keep from squashing the flower. It’s so lovely, so strange, and it seems so fragile. I can’t look away from its petals. I bring my nose right up to it but I don’t smell anything. From touching it I would swear it’s natural; it couldn’t possibly be made of plastic. I hesitate, trying to decide whether to bring it home or leave it here. Leaving it here, at the mercy of whoever threw it at me, doesn’t seem sensible. It’s so beautiful and so fragile. Of course, to take it home with me... Well, I’d have to have a home to take it to, and besides, I already have enough problems of my own. I decide to take it to Beatrice. She’ll know how to protect it.
When I reach the gardens at St Mary’s I’m on the verge of turning around and leaving. I shouldn’t go back to that bunch of crazies, Beatrice included. Wooden people! Please. My arms ache; the thing is a lot heavier than it seemed at first. I look at the flower... Fine, I’ll just leave it at the door and go. I stop in front of Beatrice’s door. Dissie, when will you change? I don’t know whether to knock or to set the thing down on the ground. William and that imbecile Morgan are still there; I can hear their voices from out here. My temper is beginning to flare. Little by little. All at once. That’s just the thing to make me decide: they said they didn’t want to see me? Guess what—they’re gonna see me! As I climb the stairs I begin to reconsider. I hate the way I always chicken out! All right. Go in, leave the thing, and walk out—that’s the plan. Go in, leave it, walk out, don’t listen to a word. Anything they say will trip me up.
“I found this,” I say without preamble, shoving the living room door open with my foot.
“His majesty!” Beatrice goes pale and William touches her on the arm to quiet her.
Beatrice stood up when she saw me come in, but now she slumps back down into the armchair and buries her face in her hands. I think she’s crying.
“No, not his majesty, please. All-powerful Creator, why have you permitted this?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” I feel like I’m to blame for her pain. “I just thought you’d know how to take care of it.” I lift the object and offer it to Beatrice.
William comes over and takes it from my hands with remarkable gentleness. I shake out my stiff arms and watch as he sets the rock down on a table with the utmost care. Now Beatrice is really sobbing. The wild-haired girl and William look at one another.
“Have a seat, please...” William’s tone and the way he pauses tell me he doesn’t remember my name.
“Eurydice, my name is Eurydice.”
“Have a seat, Eurydice. Where did you take this from?”
“What have you done with his majesty?” bursts out Morgan.
“Just a second. I didn’t take it from anywhere, and I have no idea who you’re calling his majesty. I brought it to Beatrice, that’s all. I don’t have anything else to say.”
“It seems to me that you do.” William puts his arm around my shoulders in a friendly way and leads me over to an armchair, urging me to sit down. Morgan watches me with a blank and disapproving stare. “Some tea?” He picks up the teapot and pours me a cup, even though I didn’t say I wanted any. “We would love to know where you found this object.”
“Someone threw it at my head.”
Beatrice looks up. The grain of the wood shines through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Do excuse me,” says William with great formality.
He goes over to Morgan and they whisper to each other, even arguing in hushed tones. I sit upright in my chair. I’m uncomfortable, but I won’t pretend that I’m not intrigued by how politely this snooty man is treating me all of a sudden.
“Miss Eurydice, may we call you that?” I nod. “Would you be so kind as to explain to us more about what happened? You say that someone hit you in the head with this object.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you see who hit you?”
Morgan’s tone has none of the friendliness, fake as it may be, of William’s voice. For a moment I’m tempted to get up and walk out with the thing—I found it, after all. That’s what I should do, leave and take it with me. I’m about to do it when I look over at Beatrice’s face. Her pleading expression changes my mind.
“Bice...” I murmur. “I can’t help.”
“Don’t you see? Did you hear what she called me?” Beatrice stands up urgently, desperate to convince the others. “She must be sent by the Creator, for only he calls me that—Bice.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know why I called you that. I just want to go home. I can’t help you.”
I feel like I can’t help anyone. I’ve always admired people who can—but me? And in a world I don’t even understand, on top of everything.
“Of course you can help us, miss.”
William seems so certain that I have to stop and think. For a second I can almost believe I could do something to help these people. I look at Morgan. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak to me, for her I’m just another extra piece of furniture in the room. Anyway what I should really do is help myself—my problem is big enough already. I need to find a way to get back to normal.
“You’re the only one who has seen whoever it is that is disrupting the balance of the Sphere,” says William.
“I didn’t see anything. The thing hit me from behind. I was just sitting there thinking about some things when it hit me. Really, I should go home now, I have to leave... I...” I meet Beatrice’s worried gaze. “Okay, all right. I don’t think I can help you, but if you want to know, I did feel a presence. Eyes looking at me. I didn’t see anything, but I heard its wings.”
“The shadow!” exclaims Beatrice.
“A winged being!” whispers Morgan.
“The sound of the wings was very loud, it was definitely much bigger than a normal bird.”
“A being or beings,” says William. “Could it have been more than one pair of wings?”
I nod without conviction. The three of them are watching me as if I’d suddenly turned into an authority, into someone worthy of respect. Well, the three of them are watching me with interest, anyway. In Morgan’s case it’s mixed with scorn.
“I told you she was the answer to my prayers.”
“Leave your Creator out of this, Beatrice,” advises Morgan.
“But I’ve prayed so much...”
“Surely this young lady can give us the answers we’re looking for.”
Great. They hated me, I didn’t belong, they didn’t want to know anything about me but now, savior or not, answer to a prayer or not, it turns out I’m important. William is doing his best not to make me uncomfortable, but he can’t keep from bombarding me with questions. I can sense his anxiety. I think he’s afraid I’ll leave before I give up every last drop of information. Morgan walks to the other end of the room and turns her back on us. Something really messed up must be going on in this particular St Andrews for an incident as minor as what happened at the beach to be so important.
“No one knows anything,” says Morgan from the other side of the room.
“And that’s how it must stay,” adds William.
“What happened to you must not leave this room, for the good of the Sphereans,” says Beatrice, her kind voice filled with apprehension.
“Indeed,” says William, taking his pipe from his pocket. “You must give us your word that you will not speak of the incident, or of anything that we tell you now.”
I don’t say anything. I look at Morgan and she turns her face away. Then I look behind me. William and Beatrice want me to stay—they need me. It’s all so strange. The secrecy, the sudden interest. I look intently at these creatures, their wood, their nearly human feelings. I’m trying to decide whether I should stay with them for longer or not, but images of my life keep flashing before my eyes, blotting out my thoughts. I still feel like Beatrice is the only one who can help me get back to my reality. Only she can guide me, no one else. I can hardly help it when my ego, still wounded from everything that happened at the party, swells up a little. They need me.