Monochrome (27 page)

The boss sniggered. “Now, Kent, is that any way to treat a lady?”

Kent spit. “Supposing she’s lady, boss. Anyway, that’s how I like to treat ‘em.” The boss laughed high and loud. Kent simpered, pleased with himself for pleasing the boss.

“True, Kent, true, but there is no need for more violence. Abigail will behave herself. She won’t hurt me, though she desperately wants to. Do you know why she won’t, Kent?” Kent didn’t answer, but snickered.

The boss addressed her, “How about you? Do you know why?”

Her shoulders fell. “Because of Ishmael.”

The boss clapped sarcastically. “Yes. Very good. For some unfathomable reason, you care about what happens to our disobedient ward, and if you attempt, in any way, to hurt me or my men and women, or escape before I’m done with you, Ishmael will die. Is that clear?”

Abigail felt her hands shake more vigorously, but she kept her tone even. “Yes.”

The boss rubbed his hands. “Good. Good. Now, down to business. You will be taken downstairs. You will not try to escape. You will be obedient to the demands of your cell keeper. Once you give him what I’ve requested he take from you as payment for your stay in Monochrome, you and Ishmael are free to go.” He spread his hands out before him in a liberating gesture, and then put them on his lap. He leaned forward and stared her down.

Abigail was immediately dizzy and nauseous. “You see, Abigail, it is Ishmael’s duty to take payment from you, as much and as often as he can. He has failed to fulfill the requirements of his position, as he promised to do in his contract. I won’t say it’s the first time he has failed to do so, but it was clearly flagrant in this circumstance.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “Furthermore, it is my understanding he has been aiding you and giving you the idea you can just leave. Of course, that is
an
option, but it’s not one we encourage at the Manor. Reality does not need you, and you make the world a worse place for good, honest people. We don’t care for good, honest people here, however, and would love to welcome you to stay. I am sorry Ishmael led you to believe you’re wanted back home, which is a fallacy.”

The boss shook his head as if he were aggrieved. “Either way, I’ve not received the payments due to me, for inhabiting
my
world. This is stealing. You and Ishmael have been acting as thieves in my kingdom. Very ungracious, if I do say so. But I’m fair.”

He stood. “I will allow your transgressions to be repaid, with interest, you understand. Once you have both paid for your crimes, I will release you. Though, I hope you will consider staying. I’m not biased against strong women. You have the ferocity we look for in our guards. Rhonda can even show you the ropes.”

She said nothing, but glared at him in a way that said his hopes were unfounded. She didn’t want to end up like Rhonda, having to run errands like a pet, having to allow this man’s touch even though it disgusted her. He sneered and motioned for Kent to pick her up. Kent leaned down and hoisted her roughly by the arm.

Once standing, Abigail noticed something she’d failed to notice before. Upon entering the throne room, she recognized it was extremely bright, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized why. Behind the boss’ chair were shelves upon shelves of glowing gold jars, each with a label underneath.

She moved her eyes around the room and she realized, with amazement, the walls were made of these shelves. Her mouth dropped open when the meaning behind the gold glow hit her—the jars were full of memories, but not just any memories. They were the most precious memories of thousands of people.

The boss noticed her gaze. “Ah, you have become aware of my collection. Strange you didn’t notice it before, but I suppose your mind was otherwise occupied. Come.” He motioned for Kent to bring her closer to the wall behind his chair.

“As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, as clever as you are, these are memories. These specific memories were payment for the employment I gave my closest associates. Alphabetical, by last name. Ah! See here.” He pointed to a jar with a bold label reading “Blazer, Eric” underneath. Abigail’s surprise was apparent.

The boss rubbed his hands together again, an annoying tic. “You know Eric, I believe. He’s a special favorite of mine. It’s much easier, you see, when life in Reality treats my wards so unfairly. It makes my world much easier to populate. Eric is one of my best recruits, and he’s like a son to me. He willingly gave these memories, unlike so many of my reluctant staff. He’s a true Monochromian. He doesn’t miss life back in Reality. I give him entertaining work. The things that made him repugnant in the limited little world you come from make him very successful here.”

He chortled proudly, as if Eric were a favorite son. Then his face shifted and became pensive. “If you search a few rows down, you’ll come across another familiar name. D is for DuBois. D is for dreamer. D is for disappointment. Ishmael has such anger inside of him, so much lust, so much potential, but he’s lazy and soft. D is for distracted, which is what he has become since he has met you, Abigail.”

Abigail’s eyes grew wide. She had to get that jar. She knew, deep down, she was being rash and stupid, but she also knew these men meant to hurt her regardless. If she returned Ishmael’s memories, he could have his life back.

With all her might she stamped down on Kent’s foot for a second time, but this time she heard an unpleasant crunch. She moved her wrist towards his weak thumb muscle and pushed it out of his grasp.

She grabbed Eric’s jar from in front of her and held it over her head. Both Kent, limping, and the boss, furious, moved towards her, eyes wide.

“Stop or I’ll smash it!” she warned.

As she assumed, they both stopped in their tracks, but the boss crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Put the jar down, Abigail. This is the kind of behavior I forbid. I thought we had an understanding. You act out, Ishmael dies.”

She moved backward and scanned the rows of Ds, stopping near the end. “Sure, but if I smash these, Eric might not be such a willing little puppy, isn’t that right? Maybe his loyalties will shift, when he’s reminded of who he was. Ishmael will have no reason to stay at all, once I reach him. And I will.” She noticed the boss’ amusement fade.

“You pay them off for doing your dirtiest jobs. You promise them their own memories if they go out of the way to please you, but does anyone actually ever get their memories back? Is anything they do ever enough? Does Eric even have any of his own memories left? Has he done anything that will merit a retrieval of his previous life? Or do you just pay him in your worthless rocks?”

The boss’ face told her that she was right to assume Eric knew very little of his original life, other than pain. He motioned to Kent and he inched forward.

She needed to be quick.
There! DuBois.
Abigail grabbed the jar off the shelf as Kent sprang towards her. She backed up and almost knocked a few gold jars off of the wall. The boss yelled. “Careful, you dolt, you’ll cause her to ruin my wall!”

Arms out, Kent backed her towards the far corner of the chamber. The solid doors were just within reach, with the extra challenge of a hulk attendant blocking her way. He was alarmingly quick, but she was faster, and he was hurt.

Tucking her arms around the jars, she raced straight at Kent, catching him off guard. He brought his arms in to grab her, and she veered off towards the doors at the last minute. She heard the boss curse and order Kent to follow her.

Unfortunately, opening the doors with two jars tucked under her arms was more difficult than she anticipated. She fumbled out of the small space she managed to push open, tripped on a slick spot on the marble floor in her rush to escape, and went flying towards the cool, black ground.

She fumbled to keep the jars from falling out of her hold, but she felt them give way as she tripped. Seconds later, she felt the jars break underneath her, and the instant pain of broken glass cutting into her arms and side. Kent was only a few feet away from her when it happened.

The released memories, with nowhere to go, seeped into the nearest body. They soaked into her pores like liquid fire, burning as they made their way into her veins, pulsing painfully until they poured into her mind. She lay paralyzed as they raced through her. She stared with her mind’s eye at a flurry of images playing through her head:

Ishmael was young; his low lights reflected the sun high in the sky. They were in a small yard, which was directly in the middle of the building complex where his mother stayed. He held her hand, smiling so wide his dimples dented his cheeks. She was brown-haired, average height. She stared down at him with the fondness and pure love of a mother. Her eyes were the same brown-green as his, and, for the first time in months, they were clear.

He beamed at her. “Mom, how long do you get to visit this time?”

His mother squeezed his hand. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her voice was light and happy; he seldom heard her sound so happy. On the phone she was always so sad. She always missed him so much, and was so unhappy to be where she was. “I’m getting out soon. I’ve been doing really well, and the doctors think I’m ready to go home. What do you think of me coming home?”

He felt his heart swell. “Really? Like, for good?”

Ishmael’s mother nodded enthusiastically. “I’m all better. They say if I keep doing well, I can have you back for good. No more foster care.”

Ishmael didn’t know what to say. He never told his mother
his foster parents were neglectful. They weren’t mean. They just didn’t care about him. They didn’t pay attention to him. They didn’t love him like his mom did. He saw how they loved their own kids, and he knew they’d never love him like that.

“When? When do you get to come home?” The excitement in his body radiated in his voice.

She laughed with her whole body and kissed him on the head. “How does three weeks sound?”

Ishmael could barely contain the tears threatening to fall. He threw himself into his mother, and smelled her jasmine perfume. He hugged her and cried huge, happy tears onto her shoulder. His mother ran her fingers through his hair and cried along with him. After a year of treatment, his mom was finally coming home.

The memory switched, the boy became a young man, a different man. Something in Abigail’s head reminded her that the man she became in her memory was Eric:

Eric was a teenager. He was walking in the halls of a crowded high school. He wore a black t-shirt, too-tight, too-short jeans and second-hand off-brand shoes. His hair fell over his dark green eyes and into his tan face. He was making his way to his locker when a familiar sound rang out from behind him.

“Dipshit! It’s 11:00. You know what that means.”

He braced himself for the smack to the back of the head, and wasn’t surprised it rang his ears when it happened. Zach Filgree was two grades ahead of him, an athlete, and far larger than Eric. His daily abuse made Eric loath school. He was picked on by other people, but words didn’t bother him.

His mother beat any berating any bully ever gave him. But Zach regularly cornered him in the locker room and beat him so badly he limped the rest of the day. Not today. Today was different. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and felt the cool, heavy metal of his dad’s switch blade. Today was much different.

Zach pushed Eric against the metal lockers behind him. Eric felt a lock dig into his back, but this time he didn’t slink away from Zach. Instead, he mustered all his strength and pushed Zach backwards.

Caught off guard, Zach fell to the floor and glared up at Eric with hatred in his eyes. “You’re gonna pay, faggot!”

Eric pulled the switchblade from his pocket and held it in front of him.

Zach stood and backed away from him. “Those are illegal, man. I’m telling the principal.”

Eric sneered. “Not before you have something to tell him.”

In the way his father taught him, Eric deftly switched the blade open and brushed it quickly and lightly upon Zach’s raised hand. A light swipe is all it takes. It was a very sharp knife. Zach cried out in pain as blood fell down his hand. The wound was fairly long, but not deep.

Eric laughed as he watched Zach run down the hall crying and was still grinning when the police led him from the high school in handcuffs.

But he reserved his biggest smile for his father who, without complaint, bailed him out and gave him a tight shoulder hug. “I’m proud of you, son. We’ll find a new school. Don’t worry about that shit. You gotta stick up for yourself, or assholes will run your life, boy. You did good. How about pizza?”

He nodded. In the car, his father handed the once-confiscated knife back to Eric. “They gave this back to me. I want you to have it. It was my first knife, too.” He felt tears in his eyes, but didn’t let them fall. His dad would think him weak.

He managed to muster a quiet, “Thanks, Dad.”

His dad ruffled his brown hair in fond amusement. “I knew you had it in you, boy. You have the fire like your mom. She don’t have much that’s good, but that’s a good thing to have.”

Memories continued to play before Abigail’s eyelids. Ishmael’s were often a sad kind of happy, but powerful happy, nonetheless. Except for the sexual ones. Those were always genuinely happy, and mostly with the same girl, the girl with auburn hair and large eyes. She was delicate and tender, and her love for him was apparent. Eric’s were all as disturbing as the first, but she felt them as he did, and they were happy to him. She was filled with a secondary happiness. It relaxed her tired body and overwhelmed her mind.

When all the memories found their natural home, in a human form, her mind settled, and she recognized the sensation of being lifted. Somewhere in her conscious body, she heard the boss order Rhonda to take her downstairs. She thought, too, she heard Kent scream, gurgle, and go silent.