Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor) (5 page)

“I
think it went out!” Adele twittered.  “Come on!”

Adele
had darted back into the hallway before Wren could raise her voice in protest. 
Didn’t the girl know that they had to be careful of the orderlies and night
nurses?  And to be dealing with a mimic…  That was not to be taken lightly.

Wren
took the time to peer beyond the door briefly before moving out herself.  Adele
was already near the end of the corridor, moving at a full run to round the
corner.

“Adele,
wait
!”  Her call fell on deaf ears.

Her
panic increasing, Wren quickly closed the door of Witherspoon’s office to give
the illusion that it was undisturbed.  Adele had vanished before Wren had
picked up her feet to follow.  Her heart was pounding against her chest with
heavy punches, knocking the breath from her lungs.  Her thoughts were meshed
together in a sick scramble as she rounded the corner–

There
was a shriek.  A groan.  A resounding thud and then a sigh of silence.  Wren
slowed her footsteps, listening to the sounds of her own fear.  She wanted to
call out for Adele but could not find her voice.

You
should turn around.  Turn around, go back to your cell and lock yourself in!

Instead,
she crept forward.  Wren made it to the corner to peer carefully beyond, and
gasped when she saw the heap in the middle of the hallway.  The folds of
Adele’s gown were swimming in the dim firelight, but her body was still.

“Adele?”
Wren had heard nothing; she’d seen even less, yet here was her companion
crumpled on the floor, unmoving.

What
happened!

Wren
ran to her, pulse pounding in her ears.  She stooped low to pull the girl up,
but Adele was dead weight in her arms.  Wren gave her a shake, but did not even
notice the warm red substance spreading over her fingers.

“Adele,
wake up!” Wren urged, fearing the consequences – always those – but she didn’t
get a chance to search for wounds before a sudden chill locked her muscles.

Someone
is behind me…

She
could feel a heavy presence looming over her shoulder, staring her down, coming
closer –

Wren
whipped her head around to face her stalker as a flood of lamplight spilled
around the corner, illuminating her where she was crouched.

“There
they are,” she heard a voice say.  “They didn’t get far.”

Beyond
the light were several shadowy figures, but she did not fear that these were
additional mimics come to aid their brother.  No, these figures were her
salvation and her condemnation.

“Wait,”
came a hesitant voice from within the group.  “Is that
blood
?”

“Stay
back, Janette.  Let’s have a look at what’s happened…”

Wren
looked down at the situation she was in.  She imagined the faces behind the
lamps, looking at her like she had finally revealed her true nature – unleashed
the twisted monster within that she had been covering with a melancholy face. 
Adele had been hurt – somehow – and Wren was the only one around.

They
will blame me for this.  They already have.

There
was no way to correct this – no way out.  Wren sat docilely on the floor as the
orderlies came to collect her.  Surrounding her in the hall, their shadows laughed.

1

Witherspoon
was pacing – pacing like a lion at the forefront of its cage, anxious and
frustrated because, very much like a wildcat in a circus, he was caught.  Wren
had told him what had happened – the truth and not a lie – though doubtless he
thought differently about the ordeal.  She could tell that he was not pleased,
but he had not said much to her through it all, now stuck in his own mind as he
considered her tale.

Wren
sat meekly in front of his desk, fearing what sort of judgment he might pass
down on her until she could no longer bear the silence.

“Is
Adele – I mean, is she alright?”

The
sound of her voice seemed to startle him.  He met her eyes as if surprised to
find her in the room.

“She
has a few cuts, but yes, she will be fine.”  He considered her a moment before
continuing.  “Wren, are you
certain
that it happened as you said?  Try
to think clearly, now.”

She
had told him everything exactly as it had happened – of how Adele had stolen
the key and they had gone seeking a shadow that was not attached to anyone; and
of how Adele had been mysteriously attacked.  Wren had told him how it had
happened and yet he was waiting for her to tell him something different.  She
felt discouraged, though not out of guilt for lying, but for the burden of the
truth.

“I
told you everything,” she confirmed.  The words were thick in her mouth, like
old porridge.

Once
again, Witherspoon went back to his pacing until finally he’d suffered enough. 
He turned to her, eyes full of new vigor – or a last desperate hope.

“Wren,
can we talk frankly a moment?” he asked, crossing his arms.  He didn’t wait for
her to answer before he began.  “When I first chose you and kept you from being
sent away, it was because I saw something in you – a potential for improvement
– but as many times as we've spoken, you still refuse to realize the truth. 
You seem so lucid, very unlike the others, and yet you refuse to see what I've
been trying to show you.  I'm going to try another tactic this time, Wren.  I'm
going to tell you the truth very bluntly.”

She
looked at him steadily, awaiting his diagnosis.

“Nevermor
is not
real
, Wren,” he said gently.  “The Rifter and those boys are not
real!  Nothing that you have described to me actually
happened
.  It is
impossible that shadows are alive and that people can fly.  It defies all
logic, and I am quite accomplished as far as logic, let me tell you.”

Wren
stared at him blankly.  She heard what he was saying, but she wasn't willing to
respond.  She had told her story many times and no one ever believed her.  Of
course he would try to translate the impossible into something that he could
understand.

“You
had an unfortunate life, abandoned as you were, forced to grow up too quickly,”
he said.  She thought she heard a bit of sympathy.  “You’re not to be blamed
for that.  Your mind was overwhelmed and it created a new world for itself.”

His
voice sounded so convincing, there was no wonder he believed it himself.

“The
Rifter and his actions toward you are a reflection of your father.  He was your
savior but he betrayed you.  The Rifter’s ability to fly and his strength to
battle the nightmares indicate what you wish you could do for yourself, and
that is why you were drawn to him.

“The
boys of the Wolf Pack represent your fears about your brothers and the
possibilities of what they might have become if they’d lived an ungoverned
life.

“This
Scourge
is a dark and evil man – an enemy.  Didn't you say that the
Rifter cut off his hand?  No, what you're thinking of is something else.  I
believe this man is a mixture of your own father and another man that you were
afraid of.  Do you remember that day at the factory?”

Of
course Wren remembered it.  They had been young workers at the cotton mill to
bring in money for Miss Nora, and they were supervised there by a wicked,
balding hawk named Reynald Worthy.  They’d called him the Devil behind his
back.  On her last day there, Wren had pushed him into the machine to save her
brother Henry from being beaten to death.  Because of her actions, the machine
had torn off several of the man's fingers.  His blood had fed the fibers.  Wren
was not sorry for that, but yet there was something else that she was in agony
for.

Henry
…  Even after
four years, the pain of what had happened to him still lingered.  She had been
alone with it for so long.  Wren frowned.  Her lips quivered, but she did not
cry.

“That
fairy wisp
called Whisper is your own jealousy.  She is all your old
memories that you put away from yourself,” Witherspoon continued.  “You have
thrown the blame off on a creature of fantasy, but Wren, it is you!”

She
almost pitied him for his theories, but she had never told him so.  She knew
what had happened.  There was one thing, however, that he could not explain
away.  Perhaps he had forgotten it, but Wren knew what it was.

“If
what you say is true,” Wren said quietly, “then what of
this
?”

She
brushed back her hair alongside her temple, revealing a white scar in the shape
of a tiny handprint.  The outline of it was so perfect that it could hardly be
disputed – unless of course one did not believe in fairies, as clearly he did
not.

 “You
were born with that scar, Wren,” Witherspoon said after a pause.  “That's the
only explanation.”

He
claimed it was a birthmark, and while there was no one to verify that or
otherwise, Wren knew that she had gotten it when Whisper had burned Rifter’s
lost memories across her mind.  Wren could not remember what those had been,
but she knew that they were horrible.  She never wanted to see them again.

Briefly,
Wren weighed her options.  If she gave him what he wanted to hear, she might
avoid those
extreme measures
he had mentioned in the journal, but yet
she would be revealing herself to be false.  The decision quickly made her head
hurt, and she refused to dwell on it.  In this moment, she only wanted to be
honest with herself.

“You're
wrong, doctor,” she said calmly, meeting his eyes again, her own filled with
shimmering sadness, “and I can't give up now.  I've waited so long.  If my time
in Nevermor taught me anything, it’s that it’s important to fight, and whether
one does it with swords or words or strength of mind, I have to stand up for
myself.  I can't stop believing that he'll come for me.  If I do, then what do
I have left?”

Witherspoon
stared at her as if a new woman had suddenly come out to sit before him.  Wren
was not willing to turn away from her truth.  It was the only thing she had to
cling to.  She had done nothing wrong, except perhaps been too young for a dark
world and yet too old for a boy who hadn’t been able to love her like she’d
needed.

“Wren,”
the doctor said gently, looking into her eyes, “somewhere inside, you must not
believe it yourself–”

She
didn’t let him get further than that.

“I
haven't been sleeping again,” she confessed abruptly.  “Could you please give
me something so that I can sleep?”

Wren
didn’t look at him as she made her request.  She was not normally hurt by the
things he said, or anyone else for that matter, but this time felt different.
This time, perhaps she had begun to truly feel that first hint of hopelessness.

She
knew that Witherspoon was watching her, but she was done talking.  Eventually,
he had to give up on her response.

“Of
course, Wren,” he relented.  He lifted his eyes above her toward Mary, who was
waiting at the door, giving her a short nod.  “I’ll send something for you
later.”

Wren
felt a light touch on her arm, and she rose obediently to go.  Though her mouth
was silent, her thoughts were reeling once again with the circumstances that
might have kept Rifter from her.  She knew the simple answer.  Of course he
must’ve forgotten, but he was her only hope of being delivered, and she could
not cease to look for him.

Wren
had always wanted to believe in hope, and she could not afford to abandon it
now.

2

Wren
felt fortunate that she was only taken back to her cell, yet uncertainties
plagued her mind.  She had escaped consequences for the time, but that did not
mean there would be none.  She could not say what ill-fated things might befall
her because of the night’s events, but knew there were bigger things to
consider now.

What
of that shadow she had seen – Adele’s fairy?  She had not been able to look at
it directly, but she was certain of its existence.  Had it come from Nevermor? 
She knew that Rifter had often sent Whisper to find dreamers in the real world
before he would come to retrieve them.  He and the fairy were the only ones who
could cross the rifts between the two realms – that was how Rifter had gotten
his name, in fact – and so Wren could not help thinking that this had something
to do with Whisper.

The
shadow mimic was meant to finish the job that she started two years ago
.  Wren was
almost certain of that.  Most importantly, where was it now?  In what corner
was it hiding, waiting for her to close her eyes?

Wren
felt that she had only begun to ponder these things before Mary came to her
with the sleeping draught that Witherspoon had sent.  Perhaps it was a welcome
intrusion.  At least she was no longer alone.  The nurse, however, was more
distant than usual.

Wren
had taken the draught before, though not often, and she was never convinced
that it made her sleep at all.  If it did, the sleep was dreamless, and she
felt just as tired when she awoke, so she did not opt to take it often.  She
had only asked for it in order to escape the doctor’s accusations.