The Sphere (38 page)

“What I did was also for love,” she says, gazing steadily at me.

“For Heathcliff?” I ask.

I hope changing the subject will pull me away from the voice I thought I heard. Beatrice nods. Now I’m seeing her from another perspective, with a different understanding. I know how it is. You can’t just order your heart around.

“I hope it was worth it,” says Beatrice. “I hope he appreciates it at least a little. Deep down I know you all are right, but I can’t help what I feel. If he could he would change the way he is. I know about the problems that give Heathcliff his character, and the... the
consequences
.” Beatrice pronounces the final word with a sense of doom. “I guess at this point his destiny is inevitable.”

“Consequences?”

“Ever since I first sensed the dark presence in the Sphere I’ve known Heathcliff was in danger. And every day, with every disappearance, I was more and more convinced. It was just a matter of time before he disappeared, too. I don’t have the same capacity for deduction as the rest of you; the Creator has made me more limited in that sense—but I do know what all the missing people have in common.”

My mouth literally hangs open. We couldn’t find a single common thread in all the missing people and now it turns out that Beatrice...

“They all have a moral failing,” says Beatrice.

I let out the breath I was holding and my muscles relax. I can’t help smiling a little.

“A moral failing?” I ask.

“Yes. The Creator is cleansing his work.”

Beatrice thinks the Creator is removing everything that isn’t in accordance with the highest perfection. A sort of divine cataclysm. Evidently Heathcliff would have to disappear sooner or later, by her reasoning. My attempts to make her see reason are useless. I explain to her in great detail the clues we’re following, and why her theory doesn’t hold up.

“Tell me what moral failing the Little Prince could possibly have,” I say.

Beatrice goes blank for a few moments. She seems to have stopped breathing.

“The Creator must know what his majesty’s failing is. In the others it is all too evident. They are corrupt inside.”

“All right, let’s say they all have some kind of flaw. But you were the one who told me that the Creator gave life to dark creatures so they could better show the light! Don’t you remember? What did you call it?... The
chiaroscuro
of creation.”

“I admit that I’m guilty of not believing in it, which only makes our Creator angrier. Ever since I noticed the shadow in the Sphere, and Romeo and Juliet disappeared, my terror has grown and grown. Every day I became more afraid that the Creator would decide to get rid of Heathcliff, and... I sinned.” The last word is barely audible. “I took advantage of the privileges afforded to me by the Creator—do you understand?”

“No. I don’t understand at all.”

“I went to the river.”

“What river?”

“The River of Ink. That’s where the new publications come in. They say that if you cross that river in the opposite direction, you’ll disappear from the Sphere. You’ll be lost in the void.” Beatrice’s face is the embodiment of terror. “Your story will be erased... as if you’ve never existed.”

I’m stunned. “But you don’t believe in that, right? Not you.”

Beatrice hangs her head in shame.

“But then why did it bother you so much to hear Morgan and Merlin’s theories? You believe in permanent death, too. Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it’s wrong—that’s wrong! Can you not understand? Believing in permanent death not only goes against the Creator,
for me
it is the worst contempt I could ever show for His work. I have to believe in Him. It is my role.”

I can’t believe it—Beatrice doubting creation. The worlds have mixed together for sure. But what if this river really exists? Maybe crossing it could carry me back to my world.

“Where is the River of Ink?”

“Beyond Count Dracula’s mansion,” Beatrice answers through tears, looking at me in terror.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” I ask.

“You’ll hate me. You’ll hate me forever for what I did.”

“Wait! You saw it? You went to the other side?”

My heart starts to race. Suddenly I understand. Her guilt, her weakness ever since we mentioned that the Sphere’s membrane might be broken. Beatrice made the hole!

“I’m sorry...”

“You have to tell me how to do it,” I demand. Beatrice shakes her head and presses her mouth shut, refusing to speak. “Please! Beatrice, I’m begging you. This isn’t my world and you know it. If you still feel responsible for bringing me here, you’ve got to help me go back. Bice—please!”

“It’s not possible. Charon would never take you.”

“Who?”

“Charon, the boatman. He would never take anyone to the wrong side of the river.”

“But he took you.”

“I’m ashamed of what I did. The Creator made everyone in the Sphere trust me, and I took advantage of that privilege. I deceived Charon so that he would leave his boat.” Beatrice’s jaw quivers. “I rowed myself over. I just wanted to ask for help—I wanted to keep Heathcliff from disappearing! I made it to the other bank, and there I found two identical beings. They looked like you. Then the tide pulled me back.”

A sudden abyss opens up in my chest. The twins! I know Beatrice must be talking about Mercutio and Benvolio. Why didn’t my brothers tell me anything? Maybe I could have avoided the accident. I could have taken it as a warning, and everything would have been different! No, not really. I know better. I would never have listened to them. I guess this is my punishment.

“What did you think you could do on the other side?” I ask angrily.

I’m so frustrated. I feel furious with Beatrice. Right now I can’t tell whether the devout woman sitting before me is to blame for me being trapped in the Sphere or not. I just know that she knows how to get out, and she won’t help me.

“Tell me! What were you trying to do in my world?” I shake her by the shoulders.

“I don’t know!” She starts crying again. “I don’t know what I expected—I just did it.”

“You have to take me to this boatman.” My tone is threatening.

“Charon has forbidden me from coming near the river.”

“I don’t care! I have to get back to my world, and you’re not going to stop me.”

I squeeze Beatrice’s arm, sinking my fingernails into her flesh. Beatrice stands up and starts to back away, horrified, never taking her eyes off me. I’m so angry I can’t breathe. I start walking, very slowly. Every step is a massive effort. As I pass by Beatrice she stretches out a trembling hand.

“Leave me alone!” I shout. “I hate you. I hate you all! I hate this whole damn world!”

I run down the stairs and outside, making my way across the gardens through the haze of my tears. I can hear someone calling me again, more and more loudly.

Dissie!

I can feel a growing warmth in my chest. Where is the voice coming from? From the ocean? Up from the cobblestones? I try to listen, but I can’t tell where the source is. I go on walking aimlessly, finally stopping just before I reach the harbor. The beating of my heart has begun to ache, and the warmth in my chest is growing stronger.

Dissie, come back!

The pain won’t let me think. Right behind me I sense the same presence that’s been following us around, but now I don’t care at all. I only want to find a way back. To go back before it’s too late. Dracula said it, and I know it myself—my time is limited.

I look up to the sky. The clouds are starting to lose their color and turn gray, as if they were drawn in pencil—just like when I first came to the Sphere. I touch my legs and my fingers come away covered with pencil lead. I move my hands across my body and the stuff I’m drawn in just crumbles into pieces.

“No! No way! This isn’t going to happen. It isn’t going to happen. I WILL NOT STAY HERE!”

My shout echoes like the shot of a cannon. All at once everything in the Sphere turns back to color. I’ve never felt so determined in my life. The voice calling me might be coming from the heavens or from the hill behind me. It doesn’t matter where it’s coming from—I’m going to find it. I’m going to take Charon’s boat. There is no question: I will find my way back.

––––––––

I
yank over and over again on the cord in front of the Count’s gate. The bell rings nonstop, sending the tiny butler running down the leaf-covered path, looking harried.

“Are you mad?” he says, baring his pointed teeth. “How dare you come calling like this? Are you not afraid of troubling the master? Do you not know who he is?”

The figure of the Count appears in the doorway and expands to a colossal size. His outstretched arms cover the entire mansion. He pins his gaze on me and it pulls me to him like a magnet. I watch, helpless, as my feet refuse to obey me. I float over the garden, up above the rotting leaves and insects, until I slam right into the Count, unable to stop myself. He takes me in his arms and carries me into the large foyer. I can’t feel my muscles; I’ve completely lost control of my body. With a superhuman effort I manage to move my eyes to look at the Count, who still has me in his arms. He’s totally unlike the man I’ve seen on other visits. He’s young, and irresistibly attractive. His long black hair shines, moving like an animal as it breathes—an animal with
heart.

The Count sets me down on the same armchair where I once saw him collapse in tears. Then he turns his back to me. The velvet of his cape brushes against the rug with a sigh. He’s back to a normal human size again, but he’s still quite tall, with wide, straight shoulders.

“Miss Eurydice, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he says, turning to me with a smile that makes me melt.

“I’m sorry to have come by like this...” My voice trembles.

“
Au contraire
. It indicates your strength of character. Never apologize for being yourself. Tell me, what can I offer you? A little of the liqueur from the other day, perhaps?”

I shake my head, saddened by the thought of the memories I saw that first day with the liqueur.

“I see,” the Count goes on. “Too painful. What about something to make you forget?”

“No! I wouldn’t want to... I couldn’t forget.”

The Count comes closer. He sniffs me gently. I close my eyes and allow myself to be lulled by the satiny sound of his breathing. I feel so guilty for losing myself in the pleasure I feel when he’s near me that I open my eyes at once and cling to the arms of the chair, fighting off the sudden heat I feel building inside me. The little butler appears with another armchair, so big he can barely hold it. He places it next to mine and the Count sits down. His appearance hasn’t changed at all. His beauty is so perfect that I can hardly breathe.

“All right. You do not wish to remember. You do not wish to forget. Tell me, then, how I can help you.”

“I want to go back to my world.”

“We’ve already talked about that, miss.”

The Count’s voice is so seductive that a single word is enough to make me feel shy. When he speaks it feels like a caress. I try to focus. I won’t forget why I’ve come. I’m going to find a way back home.

“I’ve heard about a river,” I say, avoiding the Count’s gaze.

“You mustn’t believe those rumors. They are nothing but superstition.”

“I want to go back to my world.” I gather my courage and speak with determination. “Now.”

The Count gets up suddenly. He looks old again. I know he’s angry, and I can tell a single false move might leave me trapped forever in this world—maybe even trapped in this mansion. A tiny tear rolls down from the corner of my eye.

“Oh!” says the Count, resting the palm of his hand on my cheek. He lifts a finger to catch the tear. “So that’s the way you feel, eh?” He looks at the tear, which is resting intact on the tip of his finger. “...It’s beautiful. Simply perfect. We have tears in the Sphere—I imagine you’ve seen them—but they’re empty tears. They never contain a world like this one does. Allow me.” He lays one long hand over my eyes and cradles the back of my head with the other.

I see Axel sitting on the grass in front of me.

“What difference does it make?” I say.

“What difference! Don’t you want to be important to someone?” Axel says.

“That’s weakness, Axel.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s life, it’s the way life works. To love someone, to know they love you. It can’t be that you don’t want someone to love you. We all need someone. We’re not islands, Dissie.”

“ENOUGH!” I shout, shaking myself and getting up from the chair. “Stop spying on my memories—all of you!”

I have my right hand lifted. My index finger trembles but I keep pointing it in warning.

“It is my life and I am going to get it back.”

“Your time is running out,” says the Count sadly. “I saw two flames shining in that boy’s eyes, and a mantle of sadness falling over you, hardening into a shell.”

“Leave me alone,” I beg, letting myself fall back into the armchair.

“You are so lucky...” Dracula’s voice has lost its seductiveness. Now it’s hoarse, full of sorrow. “That intensity. Do you really feel like that? How do you have that kind of force?”

“I don’t know what force you’re talking about,” I say, disoriented.

“That boy... you... You should find a way to go back,” says the Count. “But first find Mina—that’s all I ask.”

Dracula looks at me with pleading eyes. His eyelids are nearly transparent, like rice paper. When he closes them I can still see his sorrowful eyes through them.

“So may I cross through your garden? I have to get to the river.”

“The river won’t help you.”

“But...”

“The river won’t return you to your world. Your only hope is to find a way back using the same path that brought you here.”

“But I don’t know how I got to the Sphere!” I say, losing patience. “Help me, please.”

The Count grows slenderer and smaller very quickly. His clothing, now too large, puddles on the floor.

“I promise you I’ll find Mina, I’ll bring her back to the mansion, but help me get back home. Tell me how to do it.”

“I suppose you could follow that light you have in your chest.” I look down but I don’t see anything. “Here,” says the Count, pointing at my heart.