Chapter 2
Sometimes there is fruit on the trees on the other side of the gate.
The longer you are here, the more you remember – not about you, specifically, because these are not memories that living in or exploring another person’s mind can return to you, but about commonalities between the mortal human being’s experience. You remember food and eating it. You remember water and drinking it. You remember clothes and how they can feel along your skin when they aren’t completely soaked and clinging to you as helplessly as seaweed once tied itself around your ankles. You remember that there is food and drink and clothes that you like and that there is food and drink and clothes that you dislike, but it has been long enough that you can’t begin to remember which is which.
Sometimes there is fruit on the trees on the other side of the gate, and sometimes, curious, you pick it for a taste.
Some of the fruit is so sweet that it makes your jaw ache like the abandonment that set you walking, and some of it is so bitter that its darkness stirs the rage that lies dormant in your chest, and some of it is neither but a word that you can’t quite remember because you haven’t used it in so long.
You hear it, sitting behind her eyes one day, and you relax, or try to, pretending that you remember what the word even means. You feel the slope of her shoulders losing their tension, you feel her taking deep breaths, you see her eyes close, and you wonder if doing any of that will do anything for you where you are.
Sometimes, on your side of the gate, back in the little cell where you were first contained, you find a bed that you knew once, many years ago, and you sit on it, and you force your shoulders to lose their tension, and you close your eyes, and you take deep breaths. The rage boils in your chest, but it no longer spreads ironclad to the tips of your fingers.
You do not know if this is good, but it is new.
You are not sure if you like new.
Dani winces again, fingers pressing lightly on the back of her skull, right at the place where it meets her neck, right between where the thick muscles connect the two, and the cool of her fingertips lends her the slightest bit of relief. She sighs and rolls her head to one side, lips parting ever so slightly.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
Her eyes flicker open and it takes a second – just a second, never more than a second – to remember where she is again. The television plays in front of her. It’s one of those cheesy sitcoms – Full House – which had started while she was at Bly and was waiting for her when she returned. It isn’t that she likes sitcoms, but there is something comforting in the minute changes and the knowledge that, no matter where it goes, she won’t ache for the resolution of a storyline that may never come. Drama feels a little too close to home, and they don’t watch horror. Movies or tv shows – if it contains supernatural elements, they don’t watch it. If drama hits close to home, those do more so, and Dani doesn’t want to be reminded of what will happen to her, eventually.
It hasn’t happened yet, as Jamie always reminds her, but she can’t shake the dread that fills her whenever the pressure – like now – hits that spot where her neck and skull connect, one that only grows when the lady of the lake begins to wander.
“Mmm.” Dani nods, swallowing, and licks her dry lips. She crosses her legs and turns to Jamie – the best friend she has ever had – more than a friend, although they haven’t been able to say much about that in public. Her mother still believes they are just friends, and she’s not certain she will ever break the news to Edmund’s mom. She can’t imagine that would go over well. In fact, she can hear her response now – “Just because Edmund died doesn’t mean there aren’t any other good men out there for you!” It isn’t worth the price Jamie would have to pay just for being hers.
Hiding is easier. Not running – if they ever guessed at the truth, she would tell them. But she sees little point in breaking contact with family so abruptly when she doesn’t know that she’ll be around long enough to see them grow out of their prejudices and move on. Not when the being inside of her aches for—
Dani blinks.
What does she ache for?
Where had that thought come from?
“Dani?” Jamie moves closer to her, wraps one arm around her shoulder, and kneads her fingers softly against her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dani shakes her head, fingers moving to rub her forehead, although the pressure of the creature hasn’t moved. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re not acting like nothing’s wrong.” Jamie’s eyes narrow, and she turns the television off.
Dani swats at her. “Hey! I was watching that!”
Jamie stares at her, and a little smile curves one corner of her lips. “Were you? What was just happening, then? Give me an overview, Ms. Clayton.”
Dani lets out a sigh. “You are not my student, and I am not your teacher, and no matter how much you want to play that game, we’re not going there right now. Besides, if you were paying more attention to the show and less attention to me, you wouldn’t need me to explain it.” She presses her lips together, but they form a little smile anyway.
“You’re more fun to watch.”
“Oh, am I?” Dani raises one brow, smile deepening as Jamie leans forward to kiss her. Her fingers move to brush through the hair at the nape of her girlfriend’s neck. Content.
The pressure at the back of her neck throbs once – vicious – and she winces, pulling away. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just—”
“Don’t apologize.” Jamie presses her fingers at that spot at the back of Dani’s neck. They have been together so long, and Dani has done this so often, especially recently, that she knows just where the pressure rests. Her fingertips are colder than Dani’s are – always have been – and they’re ice where she needs it most. “You’re warm again.”
“It’s her. It’s the rage. It must keep her warm. How else could she survive under that lake?”
You hear her. You blink. You were—
“—dead,” Jamie says, pressing a kiss to the edge of Dani’s temples. “I don’t think she can feel the cold.”
“Then why does it always feel so good?” Dani places her hand over Jamie’s, holding it against her neck. The pressure ebbs and flows and finally subsides. She breathes a sigh of relief before curling up against her girlfriend, leaning her head against her chest.
“You better, Poppins?” Jamie presses a hand against her forehead and nods once. “You feel better.”
Dani nods against Jamie’s chest. “I think she likes the cold,” she mutters. “The lake was cold. The dead are cold. Maybe it’s familiar to her. Maybe it’s soothing.” She presses her lips together. “Maybe this—” she raises one hand, flops it in the air so that her overly large sleep shirt flops with it, covering her hand, “—all seems strange. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t….” She shakes her head and swallows. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been good for this long. She doesn’t understand it. When she does….” Her voice fades into nothingness.
“We’ll think about that when it comes.” Jamie brushes a hand through her hair and doesn’t complain when Dani reaches for the remote, presses the button that turns the show back on. Full House has already ended, and something else – something far less interesting to either of them – has taken its place. She rubs Dani’s back gently. “Want me to turn it off?”
Dani shakes her head. “Princess Bride’s still in the player. Can we—?”
Jamie feigns a beleaguered sigh, but she presses play anyway. She always forgets to rewind the tapes, but Dani remembers. Mostly with Princess Bride. It’s one of the few movies they’ve seen recently that doesn’t make her cry.
Most of the time.