Ariel by Steven R. Boyett Page B

for me to find it?
    (Pete.)
    Whoa. Where did that come from? I didn't say it. Did I?
    (Pete.)
    No, I didn't say that. Wonder who—
    (Pete, I'm trying to help you. You have to want me to.)
    I tried to talk. Mouth wouldn't work. Full of cotton. I turned the mental volume all the way up and shouted GO AWAY! I LIKE IT HERE. IT'S COMFORTABLE. If only I could feel something  .  .  .  .
    Instantly I regretted the thought. I could feel again, all right, and what I felt was pain, pain and nothing else, not even any room for relief at being able to feel pain. The pain was a white spearpoint of light, a hot poker rammed into my back and spreading as though gunpowder laced my veins, and everywhere the light touched it set the gunpowder off. It hurt and I cried. What had I done?
    The light burned through the fuse of my veins until it had seared through my entire body, reaching my head last. The points of sewing needles were jammed against my upper bicuspid molars and I was forced to bite down hard. White heat tried to melt all the bone of my skull, and everywhere the burning white touched it left a space, an empty spot, where the blackness used to be.
    (Good, Pete. Help me.)
    Vise grips clamped onto my lower back and stomach. They tightened and tightened and tightened. Internal organs were pushed together, a wet, rubbery, sliding feeling, and something gave like an overfilled water balloon: poosh ! I vomited. It fell away into that blackness without a splash.
    (Closer, Pete. We're getting closer.)
    Closer to what? Fuck you, anyway, I liked the dark better. It didn't hurt. That's what I get for listening to voices in the dark. Who cares if I can see the light? Who cares if I can feel it? It hurts! I need more than that. I need  .  .  .  .
    (Tell me.)
    I can't! I don't know what it is. I need something  .  .  .  . A child's thing  .  .  .  .
    (Tell me what you need, Pete.)
    A  .  .  . teddy bear? No, but close. Something—something I can hold on to in the dark, something  .  .  . silken. I need a guide  .  .  .  . Something only I can touch because I am special. But there's no such thing; magical companions don't exist.
    (Pete, listen. Please listen, Pete.)
    From far away, like an old gramophone recording (those don't work anymore, I thought), came a voice, the voice of a lost child:
    (For the sword outwears its sheath,
    And the soul wears out the breast.)
    Somewhere something stirred. A forgotten memory pricked up its soft ears. Silver.
    (And the heart must pause to breathe,
    And love itself must rest.)
    Yes  .  .  . hooves, and—sparks, streams of sparks, falling like glowing red snowflakes onto asphalt. And a name—
    Ariel ! The name was cast to me and I seized it before I could be pulled back under. Ariel. Help me, bring me back!
    (Always remember that I love you, Pete.)
    I was picked up and thrown into the middle of the blackness, and it shattered. The dark fragments fell away, and beyond them was light, not painful light, but the pure light from an ivory horn.
    I reached out to touch it and pitched forward. Darkness reigned again.
     
    * * *
     
    The wait in the darkness was not as long this time, and when I woke up it was six years earlier.
    Seven
     
    May you live in interesting times.
    —Ancient Chinese curse
     
    As I swallowed the last bite of of Spaghetti-o's the phone rang and a car horn blared outside. I dashed to the door, stuck my head out, and yelled, "Be there in a second, Grace!" Behind the wheel of her Falcon—on its last legs, poor thing, but we still called it the Millennium Falcon with affection—Grace smiled and nodded. I ran back to the phone and lifted the receiver in mid-ring. "Hello?"
    "Hey there."
    "Hi, Mom. I hate to cut you short, but—"
    "What time is your debate tournament?"
    "Four, and it's three-thirty already. Grace just pulled up."
    "Things would be a lot easier for you if you'd go to work and earn enough money to get yourself a car."
    "Mom—"
    "All right." Her voice