done?”
He stared at me, but not for effect. He really could not understand why I was even asking. “I could have held his hand,” he said.
“You think your young son could hold that against you?”
“No, but I could. And that’s enough to keep him here.”
“You can’t know any of this!” I said, shaking my head, looking around at the impossible buildings with the occasional impossible shape floating, striding or crawling by. “You might think you do, but you’ve been—”
“Misled?” He said it mockingly, as if anyone could draw a sane idea from this place.
“No,” I said. “Not misled. Maybe just a little mad.”
“Do you see all this?” he asked.
“I don’t know
what
I see. It’s madness. My eyes are playing tricks, I’m drunk, I’m dreaming, I’m drugged. All this is madness and—”
“
You see the City of the Dead
!” He grabbed my lapels and propelled me back against a wall, dust puffing out around me in an uneven halo. His shout tried to echo between the buildings, but it was soon swallowed or absorbed, and it did not return. He did not shout again.
“Scott, please…” I felt a little madness closing in myself. Some vague insulating layer of disbelief still hung around me, blurring the sharp edges and dangerous points of what I saw and what I could not believe. But beyond that layer lay something far more dangerous. I wondered if Scott was there already.
“Don’t ‘please’ me!” he said. “Matthew is here,
trapped
here, because of
me
! He could be there!” He pointed along the street at a large domed building, ran there, peered in through one of several triangular openings. I followed after him and looked inside. There were shadows moving about, writhing across the floor like the dark echoes of snakes, passing through the blue light and somehow negating it with themselves.
“There’s only—”
“He could be there!” Scott said, running away from me again, dodging around a gray shape that stood wringing its hands. He passed by a row of squat-fronted buildings and ducked into a gap in the block, disappearing from view. I followed quickly and found him leaning over a low wall, looking down into the huge basement rooms that it skirted. “Down there, see?” Scott said. “He could so easily be down there!” I saw several shapes sitting on rough circular seats, each of them gesticulating and issuing silent shouts and pleas.
“Is he?” I asked.
“No,” Scott said, “not there. But there! He could be there!” Yet again he ran, heading between two buildings. The lonely pad of his footsteps sounded like a riot in that silent place.
I ran after him, terrified that he would lose me in a maze of alleys and streets, parks and squares. “Matthew!” he called, still running, calling again. His voice came back to me and guided me on.
I did not want to be lost. I’d spent my whole life being lost and found, lost and found again, sometimes the same day, emotionally tumbled and torn down by the doubt and fear that time was running away from me. My mind could not cope with the complexity of life, I had often thought, and while others found their escape in imagination and wonder, I wallowed, lost in a miserable self-pity. Now, in this place, lost was the last place I wanted to be.
I spun around a corner and straight into the figure of a lady of the night standing against a wall, smiling at me, making some silent offer as I ducked by. Her fingers snagged my sleeves and brushed against my skin, and in that brief instant I saw abuse more terrible than I could have imagined. I gasped, fell to my knees and crawled forward, desperate to escape this dead woman’s cursed touch. I turned and glanced back at her. She was laughing, pointing at me as if that could touch and show me again. I stood and ran, wondering just how mad a dead person could become.
Scott’s shouts drew me on. I was darting around corners blindly, not knowing what would be revealed beyond. A long alley
He stared at me, but not for effect. He really could not understand why I was even asking. “I could have held his hand,” he said.
“You think your young son could hold that against you?”
“No, but I could. And that’s enough to keep him here.”
“You can’t know any of this!” I said, shaking my head, looking around at the impossible buildings with the occasional impossible shape floating, striding or crawling by. “You might think you do, but you’ve been—”
“Misled?” He said it mockingly, as if anyone could draw a sane idea from this place.
“No,” I said. “Not misled. Maybe just a little mad.”
“Do you see all this?” he asked.
“I don’t know
what
I see. It’s madness. My eyes are playing tricks, I’m drunk, I’m dreaming, I’m drugged. All this is madness and—”
“
You see the City of the Dead
!” He grabbed my lapels and propelled me back against a wall, dust puffing out around me in an uneven halo. His shout tried to echo between the buildings, but it was soon swallowed or absorbed, and it did not return. He did not shout again.
“Scott, please…” I felt a little madness closing in myself. Some vague insulating layer of disbelief still hung around me, blurring the sharp edges and dangerous points of what I saw and what I could not believe. But beyond that layer lay something far more dangerous. I wondered if Scott was there already.
“Don’t ‘please’ me!” he said. “Matthew is here,
trapped
here, because of
me
! He could be there!” He pointed along the street at a large domed building, ran there, peered in through one of several triangular openings. I followed after him and looked inside. There were shadows moving about, writhing across the floor like the dark echoes of snakes, passing through the blue light and somehow negating it with themselves.
“There’s only—”
“He could be there!” Scott said, running away from me again, dodging around a gray shape that stood wringing its hands. He passed by a row of squat-fronted buildings and ducked into a gap in the block, disappearing from view. I followed quickly and found him leaning over a low wall, looking down into the huge basement rooms that it skirted. “Down there, see?” Scott said. “He could so easily be down there!” I saw several shapes sitting on rough circular seats, each of them gesticulating and issuing silent shouts and pleas.
“Is he?” I asked.
“No,” Scott said, “not there. But there! He could be there!” Yet again he ran, heading between two buildings. The lonely pad of his footsteps sounded like a riot in that silent place.
I ran after him, terrified that he would lose me in a maze of alleys and streets, parks and squares. “Matthew!” he called, still running, calling again. His voice came back to me and guided me on.
I did not want to be lost. I’d spent my whole life being lost and found, lost and found again, sometimes the same day, emotionally tumbled and torn down by the doubt and fear that time was running away from me. My mind could not cope with the complexity of life, I had often thought, and while others found their escape in imagination and wonder, I wallowed, lost in a miserable self-pity. Now, in this place, lost was the last place I wanted to be.
I spun around a corner and straight into the figure of a lady of the night standing against a wall, smiling at me, making some silent offer as I ducked by. Her fingers snagged my sleeves and brushed against my skin, and in that brief instant I saw abuse more terrible than I could have imagined. I gasped, fell to my knees and crawled forward, desperate to escape this dead woman’s cursed touch. I turned and glanced back at her. She was laughing, pointing at me as if that could touch and show me again. I stood and ran, wondering just how mad a dead person could become.
Scott’s shouts drew me on. I was darting around corners blindly, not knowing what would be revealed beyond. A long alley
Similar Books
