Monochrome (24 page)

Her heart felt light with hope, but she didn’t want to tell Ishmael she felt like Bart made it. He would call her naive. So she kept the spark of hope to herself and asked, “Is it really that tough to find the border on your own? I mean, from here?”

Ishmael thought for a while. “It can be. But that’s not what makes it difficult for people to get out of here. To make it to the border, a person has to have faith they can make it out. People lose self-worth so easily. Gaining it, though, is close to impossible in Reality, let alone this place.”

Abigail nodded in agreement. Already, her soul felt burdened, her body tired, her head a jumble of incomplete memories. She still held most of her most treasured memories, but those taken from her took their toll. Her life seemed less significant. She felt unaccomplished and broken, and was unable to remember feeling differently. But she still clung to the most beautiful memories. She closed her eyes to enjoy her daughter’s tiny crooked smile, and hear her bell laugh. She pictured the curve of Jason’s shoulders and the feeling of his always warm body against hers. She had so many memories left, and she wanted to keep them. She lived a blessed life. How many people came in so much worse off from the start, only to lose their few good memories early on?

Ishmael cut into her reverie. “Also, you have to know the way to the border, and one can only do that by having lived here long enough to know their way around, or by being guided. Both options will cost you memories, and, as you know, the more memories you lose, the more time you spend here, stripped of your happiness and drive, the less likely it is you’ll leave.”

Abigail frowned. Ishmael talked about staying as an inevitability. His own circumstance wasn’t far from his mind. She wondered for the thousandth time why he stayed, what he gave up and who missed him at home.

“Anyway, I think John’s trustworthy. I got him a position and didn’t ask too much in return. Just help with food and shelter. But, people change quickly around here. It’ll still be a gamble.”

Abigail rubbed warmth into her arms. “I think it might be the best option. I agree an Inn or Hotel is a bad idea. As long as you don’t think Eric will connect the Lead to you.”

Ishmael punted a few black pebbles, scattering them into the stagnant, blue-tinted landscape. “I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive Eric does not know of my relationship with John. John didn’t want to leave, and he was happy with my help. He would’ve been a hard sell as a Snake, anyway. Not enough anger. I do think it’s a good option, probably the best one.”

She sighed, relieved the decision was made, but worried for the outcome. “Okay. That’s settled. Where is this place?”

He seemed to be opening a map in his mind, and reading it out to her. “East side of town. A few blocks from the main square. Two miles from the edge of town, approximately. We should leave first thing in the morning, when the fog clears. We don’t want to stick around if we don’t have to. The border isn’t very far from Steamtown, so we should make good time after we leave.”

Abigail felt hope settle under her skin, and flow through her veins. She wasn’t far now. They just needed to make it through tonight. “Should we head in?”

Ishmael scanned the sky. “Yes. Soon. But, first, we have to discuss what you should do if we get split up.”

Abigail shifted nervously, but he continued as if he didn’t notice. “If, for any reason, I have to leave you or you have to leave me, we meet at John’s shop. It’s called Steamtown Storehouse. It’s a two-story brick building with green shutters. Like I said, it’s off the main square, which is right in the middle of town.”

She nodded and tucked the information into her head. He ran a hand through his long, red-tinted hair. “If I’m taken or delayed any longer than a day I want you to promise me something.” She frowned and said nothing, not liking the way the conversation was going.

“Promise me you’ll head straight out of town. You will walk north. There’s a river a few miles north of here. If you follow the river, it will take you within a mile of the border. Walk a little northwest and you’ll reach the border. You’ll cross the border without me, if we’re separated for longer than a day. Promise me.” He leaned towards her with a no-nonsense set to his face. Abigail gritted her teeth, and said nothing for a while.

Ishmael made to speak again, but Abigail held up her hand. “I’ll promise only if you promise to cross with me if we do not get separated, or after me if we do. You cross or I don’t promise.”

“I don’t know if I can after all this time, Abby.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then I don’t promise.”

He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable before answering. “I promise to
try
to cross with you or after you.”

She let her hands drop to her side. “I promise to
try
to reach the border if you’re delayed.”

“Okay then. Are you ready for Steamtown?”

She was certain she was not ready for Steamtown, but she said only, “Lead on.”

STEAMTOWN HAD
GUARDS
stationed at the main entrance, and all other entrances. Groups of people were walking through the entrance, both in and out of the city. The guards scanned the people carefully, but didn’t seem to be detaining anyone. This was the only policing they’d run into, and Abigail was nervous the guards were summoned on their account.

Ishmael was nervous, too. He rubbed the ring below his lip and frowned. He walked closer to her and whispered, “Guards aren’t necessarily unusual, but there’s often only one, and only when the crowds going in or out of Monochrome are thick, for whatever reason, or if they’re after someone.”

His eyes scanned Abigail. “We have to act casual. We’re coming to Steamtown for work, got it?” She nodded and put her shaking hands in her tight costume pockets.

As they got closer, it was clear the man and woman at the gate weren’t usually guards. Both were skinny and sick-looking. Their eyes were set far back into their heads, and their hands and legs were constantly moving, as if they had their own free will.

These guards were users. She didn’t use drugs, but it was obvious they were on something, and were probably having temporary withdraws. The strangest thing about the sickly couple was their complexion.

When the fading silver light hit them, the skin around their noses seemed to shine like brushed nickel. Indeed, their entire skin held a sheen when seen in a certain light, but the silver was most prominent around their noses.

Suffering as they were, their black eyes scanned the crowd, as focused as withdrawn drug addicts can be. Ishmael walked in front of Abigail, head down, eyes on his feet. She followed suit, and nearly bumped into him when the male guard stopped him by putting a shaking hand on his chest. Ishmael brushed the guard’s hand off.

“What, man?” Ishmael swung his long hair back in irritation.

The man stepped in front of Ishmael and put his hands up in a defensive posture. “Just need to know your business here. It’s what I’m getting paid for, see.”

Ishmael lit a cigarette. “Why you stopping us when you haven’t stopped anyone else? Far as I can see, you aren’t very thorough.”

The man gestured to the woman who was already making her way over. She crinkled up her eyes and lips, revealing missing teeth. She focused her attention on Abigail who glared in a manner she hoped was intimidating or at least fitting of her new look.

The man held out a hand to Ishmael. “Can I bum a smoke?”

Ishmael shrugged. “Depends. You gonna let us through so we can find some work?”

The man kept his hand extended. “We’re supposed to stop men and women who seem to be together. Lookin’ for a different type, though, right Shell?”

The woman with few teeth spit. “That’s right.”

She scrutinized Abigail. “What kind of work you after?”

Abigail shrugged and refused to answer. The woman spit again and addressed her anew. “There’s a whore house on Red Street. Classy kind. Clean.”

Abigail kept her anger in check and answered, “Thanks, but I have other skills.” The lady looked incredulous but shrugged.

Ishmael dug two cigarettes out of his pack and handed them to the male guard. “One for the lady.”

The woman flashed her toothless smile, and held out her hand towards her partner. “Thanks, handsome.”

Ishmael nodded and moved forward. The male guard moved to the side and let them pass, eying her intently as she followed Ishmael through. Abigail kept herself from exhaling in relief as they walked past the guards.

They walked into a drab city of brick and cobblestone. The noise of people shuffling carts with wares and food, weakly calling out to uninterested pedestrians, and the slow footsteps of hundreds of plodding people could only be defined as lackluster. The street before her was crowded, but it was filled with listless people, many of whom walked around muttering to themselves. The only voices were the monotone drones of the vendors who called out to the shuffling crowds.

As they moved their way through the slow crowds, she saw a woman with short mousy hair arguing with herself and kicking the brick of the trading post in front of her. “No, Cheryl! No. It didn’t happen that way. They were blue eyes. Yes, blue eyes. And she left you because…because…because…” The woman punched the wall in frustration. Unaware of the blood running down her knuckles, she went back to arguing with herself.

Ishmael tugged at Abigail’s arm. She hadn’t realized she stopped walking to stare at the woman. She continued walking and he whispered, “That’s what happens when you lose too many memories. There are a lot of those types in Steamtown. It’s so close to the border. Too many people stop here, telling themselves they’ll move on, and lose their mind feeding their addictions. There’s so much to lose memories on in a big city like this.”

She felt like crying, but swallowed her tears. “What street is this shop on, anyway?

Ishmael looked highly amused. “You already know. The woman by the gate mentioned it.”

She bristled. “You have got to be kidding me! John’s shop is a brothel?”

“No. John’s shop is
below
a brothel. Red Street Brothel, to be specific. The female guard was right; they’d take you in a heartbeat.”

Abigail punched Ishmael in the arm, which didn’t remove his smile, but did, she noticed with satisfaction, cause him to rub the spot vigorously. “It’s not funny, Ishmael! It’s horrible it’s so common here.”

“We all choose some sort of soul-draining pursuit here.”

She just shook her head, deciding not to get into an argument just now. She didn’t want to have to explain to him it was different for women. When women were desperate they were expected to debase themselves, and so many of them did. Men weren’t expected to give their bodies to strangers in order to feed, clothe and house themselves. They weren’t seen as walking sexual prey. He’d never understand, so she held her tongue, thinking if he’d ever been attacked, his body treated as a steak needing tenderizing, or lived his life on the tips of his toes, poised to flee from a smile that could turn to a sneer, he’d think before joking so casually about the women of Red Street Brothel.

*

They walked down a few winding streets before Red Street was upon them. It wasn’t the best of places, though it was tough to discern what a “good” place was in Monochrome. There wasn’t as much garbage here as there was in the merchant center by the gates, but it was middling grimy and housed more brothels than other parts.

She looked down the road and noticed a shop with a wood sign above the door, “Steamtown Supplies.” Above the sign were six open windows, each with scantily-clad women of varying ages sitting or standing at the sill.

She lifted her eyes from them and noticed a small plaque above the middle window. It read “Red Street Brothel: Good Memories are Made Here.” She grimaced.
So are bad memories, I’m sure. And what about the good memories
lost
here?

Ishmael nudged her. “Let’s go see John.” Abigail noticed he saw the women above the shop, but, to his credit, averted his eyes. She knew he did so for her benefit, and she appreciated he was trying, at least, to be more respectful of women, even if it was just to appease her.

A small bell above the door sounded a dull clang when they walked into the supply shop. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she hadn’t been prepared for the massive quantity of supplies greeting them as they stepped into the store. The building was long, tall and crowded with floor to wall shelves. The shelves all sported signs hanging between each aisle, to indicate which supplies they contained.

She read signs for baking goods, bedding, alcohol, candles and matches, pots and pans, cooking supplies, and much more. She realized this shop must be the center for goods in Monochrome, and it was so packed they were forced to walk single file to a small desk at the back of the store. Each shelf was shuttered with sturdy wood shutters and locked, in order to bar theft.

Sitting behind a small stack of manila folders and a large leather bound book was a tall, balding man of about forty years. He didn’t look up as he said, “Buying in bulk today?”

Ishmael raised his voice, “Hello, John.”

The man stood, abandoning his paperwork. “I’m sorry. I get a lot of customers. I musta’ forgot your name.”

Ishmael appeared bemused. “I may look different than the last time you saw me.”

Abigail followed him to the small desk, but stayed behind him in order to better study John without being studied herself. The man took off a pair of silver framed reading glasses and studied Ishmael.

A frown crossed his eyes before the man’s eyes widened. “Ishmael?”

“The one and only.”

John rose from his chair, the nervous smile stuck to his face. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been at least a year.”

Ishmael walked to the desk and shook his hand. “You seem alright. The position treating you well?”

“I do better than most. Thanks to you. I get a lot of traffic, and get paid well for it. You look good. Except the weird hair.” An astonished look came over John’s face. “Your eyes…they’re almost normal.”

Ishmael pulled at his torn shirt. “Laying low.”

“And you need a place to stay.”

Ishmael ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. We need to stay the night, but I’m going to be honest with you. Some people are after us, the boss’ people. He wouldn’t take to you helping us.”

“The boss? Shit, Ishmael, that’s serious. Were you followed?”

Ishmael shook his head. “No, but they know we’re coming this way. We’re headed to the border and there’s no way around.”

John nodded grimly. “I see. This one,” he acknowledged Abigail for the first time “wants to try to get home?”

Ishmael stared at her with a gleam in his eyes. “She
will
make it home.”

John’s eyes were full of doubt, and, Abigail was interested to see, guilt. It reminded her, very much, of how Ishmael looked before and after testing her. Her senses stood to attention. Ishmael didn’t seem to notice, but John saw her studying him, and turned his face away.

“It’s good to see you again. I mean, as good as it is to see anyone in this place. We’ll pay you for your trouble, John. I know you’ll be fair.”

The large man forced a congenial expression on his face. “You done me a solid with this job. There’s no charge. You two can stay in the back. There’s a couple cots back there. It’s none too warm, but I have access to blankets.”

Ishmael inclined his head. “You have access to about everything. That’s why I figured this should be our stop. And I remember you being more stable than most people I led.”

John flushed at the compliment. “I don’t know as anyone is real stable who lives
here
.”

Ishmael shrugged the comment away and John motioned for the two of them to follow him. “What’s your friend’s name?”

She answered for herself. “Abigail. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to this. We won’t be around long. Just long enough to stay out of the dark.”

He waved her comment away. “Stay as long as you need. The night of Monochrome is passable only by the Roamers. Even Nightmares don’t bother with the soulless.” She shivered at the thought of losing all her good memories, left to drift alone, forever, in this awful place.

John showed them to the back room, which, he explained, was also a guest room he rented to Merchants waiting out the night before taking their supplies back to wherever they were headed. It was small and sparse; a side table, a washstand and two cots were all that occupied the dimly-lit room.

“You two are hungry, I suppose?” John asked.

Ishmael answered. “We’re both hungry and thirsty. I mean it when I say I’ll pay, John. I know you have to pay for the food and drinks you get, and I don’t like charity.”

John shook his head. “It ain’t charity. Like I said, you done me a solid.”

Ishmael shrugged. “I don’t like my job, as you know. I was happy to help, since I don’t often get a chance to do so.”

John seemed to be miles away when he answered, “We all gotta do what we gotta do. I’ll go get you some leftovers and beer.” He shut the door and left the room.

Abigail couldn’t put her finger on why, but John’s demeanor bothered her. She waited until his footsteps faded until voicing her concern. “I don’t like this, Ishmael. He’s acting strange.”

Ishmael ran his hands through his hair. “He’s a man of few words.”

“That’s not it. He seems antsy.”

Ishmael sighed in defeat. “I agree, but think of it from his position. If he’s caught helping us, he can lose a very comfortable job. He knows the boss is searching for me. I wanted to make sure he knew it because it’s something I wouldn’t feel right about lying about. He might lose everything. I’d be nervous too.”

“But why won’t he take payment? I mean, giving us free food, lodging, and drinks? Seems off to me. Am I wrong?”

“We don’t have much choice. I don’t know where else to go. Steamtown could be crawling with spies. This is as good as it’s going to get, and I have to trust John is who he was when I led him—a genuinely nice guy.”

She dropped the subject, even though she wanted to point out it seemed genuinely nice people became selfish very quickly in Monochrome, but, of course, he already knew that.