Monochrome (22 page)

She knew it would make life hard later. It wouldn’t make up for what she most wanted, to feel desirable, sane, wanted by the man who was pulling away from her with every step she took off the edge. She fell asleep fighting her own feelings of anger, guilt, and worthlessness. At first, her dreams were all a guilty replay of Ishmael’s touch, his body, and her own frailty. But, mostly, her dreams were of her husband crying, alone, in their room, wanting the woman he thought she was, the woman she knew she was not.

ABIGAIL WOKE
to pounding on the door adjoining her room to Ishmael’s. She sat up, panicked, her muscles screaming with the movement. She walked to the door and flung it open. She was met with a very unwelcome sight. A sandy-haired man was on the floor of Ishmael’s room, blood pouring from a wound in his lungs.

Ishmael pushed her into her room and locked the adjoining door. She opened her mouth to question him, but he put a shaking finger to her mouth. “Don’t ask. Get dressed. We have to go.”

She peeked out of the window and realized it was still very dark. “But…it’s still night. What about,” she swallowed, “the Nightmares?”

“I know. I know. But there’s nothing we can do. We have to go. I’ll explain later. It’s almost light out. Please, Abby. I don’t know if there’s anyone waiting for him, but I’d bet money that there is.”

Abigail still felt drained and tired, but she knew he was right. They were in very real danger. She closed her eyes and thought of the cold awaiting them. The towel she fell asleep in dropped off her body, onto the floor, and revealed dark skinny jeans, a green V-neck shirt, a short, tan leather jacket and grey wool knee-high boots. She grabbed her scarf off a wooden-legged chair in the corner of her room. She opened her eyes and nodded at the nervous, pacing Ishmael. “Ready. Let’s go.”

He grabbed her hand and rushed towards the door, glancing left and right of the frame. Contented to find no one else in the hall, he told her to stay close behind him. “We’re headed to Steamtown today. I don’t know if we can make it all the way there, but the early start will help. When we get out of town and I feel we’re safe, I’ll explain everything, but, until then, I think we shouldn’t talk much. I want to be able to hear if anyone or anything is approaching us.”

She was frightened and worried, so she just nodded and followed him into the night.

Ishmael scanned the streets. His hands shook and his eyes were distant. The darkness was becoming a little less oppressive, but the cold was penetrating the light leather of her jacket.

She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. But before long, the fast pace he pushed warmed her, and she loosened it. She kept seeing blurry beings in the distance, behind buildings and in alleys, both people and animals, all of them ghostly apparitions, floating soundlessly everywhere around them. She jarred her head from side-to-side trying to get a better look.

Ishmael grabbed her by the arm and hurried her alongside him. “Don’t watch after the Nightmares. We’re lucky to not be near them, and you don’t want to draw their attention. They look like ghosts, but they’re much more.” He surveyed the foggy gloom. “Darkness is leaving us. The Nightmares will be gone soon. We need to make it out of town where there are less people to dream them into being.”

She felt a cold fear settle into her chest. She grabbed Ishmael’s hand nervously. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly and made his way through confusing side streets, empty of human life. They were just at the edge of town when, suddenly, an apparition of a woman stepped into their path. Abigail jumped, and gasped at the Nightmare.

It was
her
. Only, the Nightmare Abigail was suffering from a gruesome condition. She had a knife in her chest and blood spilled out of her mouth. A note was trapped under the knife. She leaned into Ishmael in order to better read the note, but he shielded her with his body and walked backwards, pushing her back with him.

“No, Abby, don’t look. You don’t want to know. Come on.” She fought against him, but he was stronger. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around the Nightmare. It made no move to follow them. It just held out her hand, as if imploring them to turn back.

Ishmael faced it and shouted, “Morning has come. You have no right to be here now!”

The Nightmare burst into a dewy cloud, silver light tipping the edges of the lingering fog-like form. Abigail was speechless over what she witnessed, and Ishmael wasn’t in the mood for answering questions.

By the time they reached the city’s limits, a faint glow illuminated the entire terrain. Ishmael slowed his pace and released his hold on Abigail’s arm.

She rubbed her arm where he’d grabbed her, summoning blood to the surface. “You’re being very pushy. I don’t like being dragged around.” He put his finger to his lips to silence her, and she very seriously considered punching him in the face.

Instead, she pushed past him and walked towards the path revealed when he crossed the limits of the city. He walked in step beside her, tilting his face towards her to get her attention. She ignored his gesture and walked, seething, beside him.

They walked in grouchy silence for a few miles before Ishmael cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m sorry. It wasn’t trying to be pushy. I’ll tell you anything you want to know now.”

She crossed her arms and twisted towards him. “I’m
allowed
to talk, then?”

He pursed his lips, something she noticed he did when thinking, but didn’t answer. He sat down on a felled tree and lit a cigarette, sucking in smoke like it was life-saving oxygen. He blew smoke out and ran a hand through his hair.

He spoke again when it was clear she was still too angry to talk to him. “The man in my room was one of the men from the group who were so interested in us in the bar district. I learned, early this morning, he’s a Snake by trade and one of Eric’s first recruits. Eric came through this way and promised a reward for
your
capture. The man must’ve bribed the front desk attendant to get our room numbers. Thankfully, he chose the room I was sleeping in first. I guess their orders didn’t include me because he was just leaving my room, I assume, to go to yours, when he tripped on my shoes and woke me up.”

Abigail sat next to Ishmael and tried to calm her shaking hands. “He wanted
me.
Not you? Why?”

Ishmael rubbed his beard. “We struggled. I asked him who he was, when I got the better hand. He told me only what I just told you. He was sent for you, he wasn’t supposed to bring me. I guess they figured I’d follow. But he was supposed to bring you, alive, to Eric.”

She frowned. “What about Geoff?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I asked him if there was another man with Eric and the guy said no. I was going to ask him more, but he kicked me in the stomach and pulled a knife on me. We struggled for a hold on the knife and he tripped over my leg and fell onto the blade. He drowned in his blood.”

Ishmael shook the image of the dead man from him, paling, took another long drag and put his face in his hands. “I don’t know what Eric’s doing, but I think he’s in this without Geoff. He has an agenda against me, but I don’t think it’s personal. I feel like,” he shook his head, “like he’s working under orders. Like the guy in my room. Only his orders are higher up.”

His face was a Tragedy mask. “I had a nightmare last night. Only it wasn’t like a normal nightmare. It was like the dream I gave you—real, in a way. It didn’t seem to occur from within me, but outside of my power. We met the Nightmare this morning.”

He licked his lips, as if they were dry. “I dreamed about being pushed into a dark room. I didn’t see who was pushing me, but I knew it was Eric. You were lying in the middle of the floor of the room, stabbed in the chest. A note was stuck under his knife.” He spoke to his feet, his voice shaking. “Her death is on you.” He put his face in his hands, defeated.

Abigail knelt in front of Ishmael. “Hey, it wasn’t real. Okay?”

He shook his head, but kept it in his hands. His voice still trembled. “No. He warned me. He told me to do my job right. He said you will belong to him either way, with or without my help. But now…” He paused and looked up. “Now I know he’s bent on getting what he wants and punishing me in the process.”

She ran her hand over his back. “You mean you think your boss has ordered Eric to teach you a lesson through me?”

His eyes were red and his voice hoarse as he answered, “I know he has. He’s not one for empty threats. It’s the only reason I hesitated in helping you at first. I thought it meant losing my job or life. I didn’t realize it might be worse.”

She grabbed his hands in hers and stood, urging him to his feet.

He stood tiredly. “I’m sorry, Abby.”

She waved his apology away. “Don’t be. You saved my life this morning. Again. We just have to make it out of Monochrome. We have to be careful, but we can do it. How much longer until we reach the border?”

“It’s about a half-day journey from Steamtown.”

“Alright. And we can get to Steamtown tonight, yes?”

He nodded. “Probably, but it’s not easy. If Eric has recruited more men and women, I’m not sure how we’ll make it there without being caught. Or what we’ll do once we get there, since the place will be crawling with his spies.”

“Carefully and quickly.” She took his arm and led him back onto the path.

“Abby, I don’t know if I can go back with you, but I’ll get you to the border no matter what. I’ll get you back to your family.”

Abigail’s heart ached as the image of her husband from last night flooded her with guilt and longing to make things right. She wanted to talk Ishmael into coming back with her, but he and she both knew she was going back to her family. She touched his arm. “I won’t leave you here.”

He shrugged her off. “You will. For them you will.” He gathered his speed and tromped ahead. She followed close behind, feeling more conflicted than she’d ever been in her whole life.

*

Abigail was sick of Ishmael’s irritable attitude after about two hours. At the same time, she understood why he was irritable and silent, so she didn’t want to be too tough on him. She had to admit, too, she was frightened they were being followed, they might not make it to the border and she’d end up a “lesson” for Ishmael’s behavior, noble as it was.

She’d racked her brain for a long while to come up with a poem fitting for the occasion, something to bring back the smiling Ishmael from a day ago. But she didn’t seem to have the memory he did for exact words. She knew the poems she recited before because she’d recited them in place of monologues in college, when she tried out for plays. Besides, she’d read them hundreds of times. There were very few things she remembered by heart. But she walked long enough in silence that a couple of stanzas came to her.

Abigail picked up her pace and cleared her throat.

“There is a change—and I am poor;

Your love hath been, nor long ago,

A fountain at my fond heart’s door,

Whose only business was to flow;

And flow it did; not taking heed

Of its own bounty, or my need.”

She paused to think of the next stanza, and saw him shift his head. She thought she saw amusement in the way his body turned to her. She crossed to his side and took his arm in hers.

“What happy moments did I count!

Blest was I then all bliss above!

Now, for that consecrated fount

Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,

What have I? shall I dare to tell?

A comfortless and hidden well.”

She dripped distraught at the end of the stanza and laid her head dramatically on Ishmael’s shoulder. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes, and it was certain, now, he was smiling. His eyes sparkled as he shook his head at her. She thought she remembered the poem well enough to finish it, but she was lost in his sparkle.

“Uh…” She laughed. “I don’t remember…”

He stopped and threw her off guard by lifting his t-shirt over his abdomen and smiling wide. He took her hand, placed it on the skin above his belt line and grinned evilly. Her fingers met the rough denim of his jeans and the tension of his body.

She was too flustered to move or speak right away. He’d always been forward, but this seemed a strange time for advances. Her eyes grew wide and she muttered a nonsense sentence about how she was not hitting on him.

Ishmael’s face was all mischief. “Look under your hand.”

Abigail hadn’t realized she kept her hand where he’d placed it, the muscles on his abdomen a firm reminder she was only human. She bent down and lifted it. His lean torso was covered in a block of script-style writing. She breathed unevenly, her cheeks warming the closer she got to his skin, and noticed the very poem she was reciting. She scanned the first line of the stanza and remembered the rest of the words automatically.

“A well of love—it may be deep—

I trust it is,—and never dry:

What matter? if the waters sleep

In silence and obscurity.”

She stopped, coming up short again.

He chuckled. “I guess you’re going to have to unbutton me.” An image of his naked body leaning against the bathroom door tugged at her brain, but she swept it from her memory.

She stood tall and nudged him away. “Just tell me what it is, ass.”

He pulled his shirt down, and captured her eyes, his face no longer laughing.

“—Such change, and at the very door

Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.”

He said the words so quietly and with such ardor, she involuntarily leaned into him.

Abigail sulked at the desperate sadness in his eyes. “I was trying to cheer you up.”

Ishmael rubbed her arm. “I know. I do love that poem, but, you have to admit, it’s not a very cheerful one.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “I couldn’t remember the words to a happy poem, and I figured you’d know Wordsworth.”

“You were right, as usual. Sorry, I’m just tired and grumpy, you know, from being attacked this morning and rejected last night.” He bumped her with his elbow.

She put her hands in her pockets and lowered her head. “Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s not easy to reject you and if I weren’t married…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m both resilient and persistent.”

Abigail just shook her head, not wanting to put him in a worse mood by telling him any other efforts would be wasted. She loved her husband, despite their recent problems, and she knew how terrible she would feel if he betrayed her. She was not about to throw away his trust.