Chapter 36

36.
         
         In her dreams, a black suited man dissolved until he was between the walls of her home, his eyes the color of wood, always watching them, always aware of what they were doing. For some reason, he was always sad, although he never shouted.
         In the hallway, a ghost was crying.
         The tears were real, but Elini couldn’t be sure.
         She was in the corner of her room, where the man used to sit. He wasn’t there, had been missing for over a day now. It was strange without him there. Elini had almost gotten used to him. Sometimes she thought he was trying to talk to her, but didn’t know what words to use. He scared her, honestly. Most of the time all he did was stare, or talk to himself, or pretend to sleep. When he first came, Elini had fervently wished for him to go, mostly because he was sleeping in her bed. Now he was gone and somehow he had taken something invisible from her room with him. She couldn’t explain it. Maybe her mother knew the word for it. Elini didn’t have it.
         The ghost had come back only a few minutes ago, twisting the air like one of those weird candy flavored things the troupes used to have when they came around. Then came a thump, like the ghost had fallen from nowhere. It was strange. Elini hadn’t expected the ghost to have weight. And why the hallway? It barely made sense. But then, ghosts didn’t make sense.
         Elini could see her shadow from the corner, could see it sketched on the hall floor, a dark and misshapen thing. A monster’s shadow. It didn’t move, except it quivered at the edges, like it was about to come apart. The ghost kept making the same soft noise, over and over again. The sound was familiar. It took Elini a while to realize that it was crying. The ghost was crying.
         Curious and cautious, Elini slipped away from the corner and moved closer to her bedroom door. The shadow never budged. It didn’t make Elini any bolder. The ghost had to see her. Couldn’t they look through walls? It seemed like an ability that ghosts should have. After all, if they walked through walls, they had to be able to see where they were going.
         Still, Elini was able to get close enough to hear.
         It was hard to make out the words at first. Half of them were words she didn’t recognize. The other half didn’t give her any clues.
         “. . . bastard, he . . . he knew and . . . halall lilfio, ah I shouldn’t . . . halall, I won’t let . . . bastard, he has to know . . . he, poiliq hu qutol, aerij qutol . . . I’ll kill him, that uliu, I’ll . . . just tell me, please . . . frutil seuij happened . . . ah, please . . . yuilie, yiulie, I’m so sorry . . .”
         Who was she talking to? Elini didn’t see anyone else there. There was only one shadow. Maybe that was the other person. Did ghosts cast shadows? Elini couldn’t remember. She was amazed at how sad the ghost sounded. Had someone died? That’s how it sounded. When her grandmother had died, her mother’s voice had been just like that, all hollow and broken, none of her sentences having anything to do with each other. For a while, her mother had become a ghost, with someone else running her body. Nothing about her seemed the same. The ghost was like that now. Elini almost felt sorry for her. Almost. It occurred to Elini that the ghost had rarely been a nice person. Mean people often deserved what they got. That’s what her parents had taught her. If the ghost wanted her sympathy, frankly, she would simply have to earn it.
         “. . . so sorry, that bastard, why couldn’t he . . . ah, I didn’t realize, I didn’t know . . . why . . . I didn’t know, I didn’t-“
         The ghost abruptly broke off with a sharp intake of breath. Distantly, downstairs, Elini thought she heard voices shouting. It sounded like her parents. What was going on? Were they fighting? Elini tensed, resisting the urge to peak around the doorway. What was going on? The voices were louder now, a cluster of burst noise that she couldn’t resolve. Why was everyone shouting? Everything felt so strange, so compressed, like the summer when it was too hot and your clothes stuck to you and it was impossible to breath. What happened to her life? Why wasn’t it normal anymore?
         On the other side of the wall, the ghost inhaled with a slow hiss and said, quite distinctly, in a small voice, “Oh no.”
         Far away, there was the sound of wood breaking as someone kicked in the door.

* * * * *

         He’s coming back.
         The vibration of the rattling dishes spoke his name. Still in the sink, they hadn’t been touched in hours. Just the right frequency could shatter them all.
         He’s coming.
         Through the halls, in the house, from one end to the other, there was no sound. Silence is an infestation you fumigate with noise. But no matter what you do, it always come back.
         He’s coming.
         In the bedroom, on the bed, Jula sat on the edge, feet close together, hands in her lap, eyes focused on her hands. The door was closed. The doorknob was jiggling slightly. There was no one around.
         He’s coming.
         In her hands was a knife. Just an hour before she had used it to carve a word into the sheets of the bed, a word that she wanted very much to mean a great deal to her. It didn’t. She suspected it was her name.
         He’s coming.
         On the bed in the room in the house of the husband who loved her more than anything in the world, Jula clutched the knife with both hands. The blade was shaking, the edges blurred. It wasn’t because of her hands. This morning, she believed herself to be pregnant. When the belief struck her she had dropped the dish she was washing and watched it tumble in slow motion to the floor, where it shattered into ten pieces that were nearly all the same size. It had been broken before. By someone else. Jula didn’t know what was going to happen next.
         He’s coming back.
         Eyes closed, knife in hand, she bit her lip and stopped herself from crying out.

* * * * *

         With an effort Ranos pushed himself away from the wall, determined to stand under his own power, at least for a little while. Using an old trick, he instructed his body to direct the pain impulses elsewhere. Immediately there was a ringing in his ears. But most of the sharper pains faded to dull aches, and the aches went away entirely. It was all illusion, of course, but that’s all it ever was. And weren’t the best illusions the ones that masqueraded as reality? Still, real or not, it was welcome relief.
         For the first time he realized he was in a study of sorts. A window directly across from him on the other side of the room allowed just enough light in through gauzy curtains to give the room a warm ambiance. A small table in one corner held a small but ornate sculpture and some papers. In the other corner was a large desk, made of fine wood and also covered in papers, along with some scattered examples of writing implements. It was all very cozy.
         Ranos had eyes for none of it.
         His attention was instead focused on the small man with the expansive grin sitting at the desk, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, one arm leaning casually on the desk. Since his first words to Ranos, he hadn’t spoken again.
         It took him a moment to remember the name. When he did, it was like it had always been there.
         “Rathas,” he said, keeping his voice utterly neutral, “just what are you doing here?”
         “Well,” the man replied, the grin never wavering, “it’s a bit of a funny story, really.” He slid off the chair, taking a second to smooth the wrinkles in his fine coat, a deep burgundy lined by what appeared to be satin trim. His tastes in clothing had changed over the years, although his height hadn’t. “But for the most part it’s utterly boring . . .” his large eyes twinkled as they regarded Ranos. “Ranos old fellow, I’ve been here . . . I think the proper question is what are you doing here?”
         “I’m simply passing through,” Ranos said quickly, stepping over to the door. Even before he reached it, he knew it was sealed shut for the moment. The weave was complex, but common and completely familiar. He could undo it, but he would need time.
         “It won’t open,” Rathas confirmed, though he added a second later, “Not because of me, though, it’s the Wrinkly One’s doing, I imagine. It’ll probably set off all kinds of alarms when you do get it open and they’ll just stuff you back in here, so you might as well stay put.”
         “You could help me,” Ranos noted dryly, running his hands along the old wood, feeling the energy embedded deep within the grain. If he ignited the door, it might be enough to overwhelm whatever defenses were placed on it.
         “And incur her wrath? Please. You can’t have forgotten that much . . . I find trouble easily enough as it is, I have no need to go looking for it.” The chair squeaked as Rathas settled back onto it. “Might as well take the opportunity to catch up, you know? You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
         “Research,” Ranos replied tersely, his finger halting where he detected a weakness in the wood. Yes. A spark right there would destroy the door, perhaps bring the entire house down. His cage would shatter then, unable to hold him if it didn’t exist anymore. Brown and Kara wouldn’t be hurt in the conflagration either, at least not permanently. It was an idea.
         Behind him, Rathas emitted a soft sigh. “You’re making me regret all those times I defended you from all those people who said you were aloof and anti-social.”
         “You never did that.” Start low, bring it up slowly, it will last longer that way.
         “Quite right,” Rathas said brightly. “Mostly because those people were correct.” He fell silent, and Ranos could feel the man’s eyes on his back. He sighed again. “Okay. I see how this is going to go. Not that I’m surprised. Very well. How about you tell me how you and the kid wound up with the Time Patrol?”
         Ranos spun around, eyes narrowed. Rathas stared back at him with the same cheery grin as before. The man had barely changed in the intervening years. And he had always been incredibly astute. “What are you-“
         ”The kid has your fingerprints all over her.” The small man laughed and shook his head. “Come on, Ranos, if you’ve got one thing it’s distinctive technique. And in that sense, she might as well be your clone. She’s got half your skill but twice your power, when she gets her act together I feel bad for anyone stupid enough to try and pick a fight with her.” His smile was laced with admiration. “And the Time Patrol has her. And you. Funny world, this is.”
         “The Time Patrol has nothing to do with her, or me,” Ranos protested, the door now forgotten. “You are assuming based on-“
         ”Based on the fact that we found her walking around with a bunch of Time Patrol soldiers,” Rathas shot back, his expression never changing. “Based on the fact that one of my colleagues not only rammed a rather large piece of wood through her, but managed to swat her around a bit as well . . . and yet she’s completely and miraculously healed.” His grin finally faded, and his face turned pensive, giving him more of a bird-like appearance. “I placed ahead of even you in the logic classes, Ranos, and it doesn’t take a genius to put the facts together in the right order. The fact that I’m the only one who has figured this all out speaks more to how dense my companions are than how brilliant I am.” The maddening smile returned briefly, fleetingly. “Now, are you going to foolishly continue to deny the obvious or admit that I might just be on the right track?”
         Ranos said nothing for a full minute, merely stared at the other man as if trying to will him out of existence.
         Then, blinking and looking away, he ran his hand over the top of his head and said in a quiet voice, “What else have you figured out?”
         “That’s more like it,” Rathas said, hopping off the chair again, his soft boots making no sound on the hardwood floor. “One hears all these rumors, but it’s nice to get some confirmation all the same.” Crossing his arms, he tapped his chin with one finger and looked askance at Ranos. “What else? Gods, where do I even start? Do you still do the mercenary stuff on the side, then?”
         “Sometimes,” Ranos said tersely, moving away from the door to explore the walls, looking for some kind of flaw he could take advantage of. Destroying the house was still a plan with some charm, although he suspected the house held more than just the old woman and his friends. There might be innocents caught in the conflagration. Given the situation, Ranos wondered how guilty he truly would feel. Tristian would never approve, came the sudden thought even as Ranos decided against the action. How much did it sway his decision? He couldn’t know. There were some things that made guessing useless. “I keep busy.”
         “That’s good to hear,” Rathas said, his voice maddeningly conversational. Turning his head slightly, Ranos caught a glimpse of the man standing almost at attention, feet forming a right angle, both hands in his coat pockets, watching Ranos with that piercing gaze of his. In other circumstances it might have been disconcerting but Ranos honestly couldn’t bring himself to be bothered. “Part of me feared you had gone over to teaching. Which in itself would be gloriously ironic since I always thought the one thing you hated most was people.”
         “I’m teaching the child as a favor to a friend,” Ranos said suddenly, spinning around and facing the other man, finding himself irritated with this line of questioning. “That is all. There is no more to it than that.”
         “Ah, I see,” was all Rathas said, jauntily pacing away from Ranos’ gaze. “Fair enough, then, I guess,” he added with an offhand shrug. He stopped moving and looked down, glancing at Ranos through the corner of one eye, a smile drawn in a thin line on one half of his face. “But this friend . . . it wouldn’t happen to be the man you were once partners with, eh? Because that would just be too-“
         ”Enough,” Ranos hissed and Rathas flinched away violently, touching one hand to his face and finding his fingers coming away wet with bright blood. There was no mark on him. “I will not stand idly by while you attempt to interrogate me under the pretense of a former friendship.” The small man’s eyes were unreadable, the streak of blood a scarred frown carved into his face. “If you have a question you wish to ask me, then ask it, and if I wish to tell you, then I shall.” Ranos was unable to suppress a small grim smile. “And if I don’t tell you, then you are welcome to try and get it.”
         Rathas’ expression was blank for a moment and then slowly a sly smile emerged, a gesture that could have been either friendly or absolutely sinister. “You said it first,” he responded, almost a whisper. Beyond the room there was no sound at all, not even the brisk rattle of the wind against the house.
         Then, with a sudden burst of motion, he clasped his hands behind his back and proceeded to step lightly around the room, forming a jagged half-circle around Ranos. “Very well, then. Direct it is. But only because you asked so nicely.” Ducking his head, he danced forward two more steps before stopping. Still staring down, he said, “She’s the child, isn’t she? The one we were all supposed to be waiting for.”
         “She is only a child,” Ranos stated flatly. “Nothing more.”
         “Ranos, dear boy, if you’re going to lie then please just don’t answer the question,” Rathas chastised gently. “But don’t insult my intelligence.” Bowing his head again, he tapped his upper lip and said, “Okay, so you don’t like this line of questioning. Fair enough, you’re supposed to be the guest here. We’ll talk about something else.”
         “Perhaps we can talk about how you came to be here, in this place, with these people?” Ranos demanded evenly. “It seems to me that it would be a very interesting story.” Do not make me rip it out of you, Rathas. You know very well I can. He and Rathas had been students at the College during the same period. Rathas had not been his friend, but he had known the man and had spoken to him and those few memories were all that were keeping him from tearing every single thought the man ever had out of his head, tattered and bleeding and without concern for the damage they did on the way out. Maybe once he wouldn’t have done that. Maybe the man deserved that kindness now. Ranos suspected he did not. But something stayed his hand, something he didn’t have words for. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he obeyed it.
         “Oh there’ll be plenty of time for it later,” Rathas said airily, waving a hand as if scattering butterflies. “It’s frighteningly straightforward, and not nearly as exciting as your life, I imagine.” A pitcher of water and some glasses were sitting on an end table tucked into the corner. A glass rose into the air while the pitcher tipped forward, spilling liquid into the glass, which then floated to Rathas’ waiting hand. “I mean, if even half the stories I’ve heard are true . . . how’s the old school, I must ask. There was talk you were back working for them for a while.”
         “We shared similar purposes for a brief time, but, no, we were not working together. I have no more association with them.”
         “Good for you. I always thought they treated you shoddily, myself. I think it was the Tribunal behind most of it, actually. I heard they were behind some strange things. Are they as shadowy as ever?”
         “In a sense,” Ranos replied. “They’re dead.”
         “Dead?” Rathas lifted his eyebrows. “Do tell. Your doing?”
         “No. By all reports, it was Belmodeus, but I wasn’t there.”
         “Hm.” Rathas tried not to show any reaction at the mention of the name, but he was unable to avoid turning slightly pale nonetheless. “That maniac gets around, it seems. I thought he wasn’t real, honestly. A story parents made up to scare the kids and all that. Ever met him?”
         “Once or twice,” was all Ranos said. You don’t know how close you came.
         “I’m starting to think it’s all true,” Rathas muttered, not looking directly at Ranos. “All the rumors, all the stories. You ever get that feeling, Ranos? That every tale you heard in a bar, every story your parents told you, every legend you were taught, that it’s all true, that it’s all out there, waiting for you to run into it.” There was a strange, desperate tone in the man’s voice, not quite fear but not too distant from it either.
         “It’s a massive Universe,” Ranos responded calmly. “There is space for truth with some room to spare.”
         “It’s not just that,” Rathas countered. “Not just that. It’s like . . . these times we’re living in, all the legends are coming back to roost, just swirling around us. Even here, I mean,” and his smile was a jittery thing, ready to fall apart at any moment, “. . . you’re almost a legend yourself, Ranos, the things you’ve done . . . everyone will be talking about them, a thousand years from now. How’s it feel? What’s it like?” Ranos answered neither question. He wasn’t sure what to say. Rathas slid a few steps to the door, taking a sip from his glass in an almost robotic fashion, automatic and rigid. His other arm wrapped around his stomach, as if trying to keep himself warm. “All the rumors and tales . . . my colleague ran into a man yesterday with a glowing red sword and a storm in his head that nearly tore him to shreds. Nobody knew who he was. I think I know. He was your partner.” He paused, as if waiting for confirmation. It never came. Rathas closed his eyes briefly and swallowed tightly, then opened them and continued. “But not just your partner. He was something more. And that’s not all.” He took a longer swig from the glass, then let it go, allowing it to float at about eye level. “There’s a Time Patrol officer upstairs, with a mind that shouldn’t exist, a kid who might be the Child of Destiny wandering around the house, and . . .” his voice dropped, became strangely quiet, “and I think I saw an alien that nobody has seen for a million years.”
         He pivoted, staring at Ranos through the half-empty glass, his face elongated and distorted, his eyes larger than ever, his entire expression stretched and wavy, about to dissipate at any second. “I didn’t know you that well back at the College, Ranos, but now I don’t know you at all. You’re here with the myths, does that make you a myth . . . or does that make the legends real?” He gave a shallow laugh from deep in his throat, a dry, scratchy sound.
         Nobody said anything for a long moment.
         Finally, Ranos looked down briefly, cleared his throat and asked, “Rathas, tell me, why are you here?”
         “Why else?” the man replied simply, a little ragged. “To escape, of course. Why does anyone go anywhere?”
         “From Mandras’ camp?”
         “Yeah, yeah, that’s where,” Rathas said, his voice scattered and abrupt. “We had to leave. Things weren’t right anymore.” A casual laugh infused his voice. “Though I imagine those nuts have gone and proved us wrong since then. Mandras certainly had ambition. I can’t even picture what they’re doing now.”
         “They’re not,” said Ranos darkly.
         Rathas’ gaze shot up to regard Ranos with stark surprise. Speech had to fight to regain dominance in his throat. “What do you mean . . . what are you talking about . . . were they captured by the-“
         ”Not captured,” Ranos said, with a flatness to his voice that he hadn’t heard in years. “Killed. By Belmodeus. He slaughtered them all, about two months ago.”
         “All of them?” Rathas asked in a voice smaller than he was.
         “Every last one,” Ranos said, his voice a contained echo. This was torture. He didn’t dare stop. “I was there. I saw.”
         “All of them,” Rathas repeated, slowly turning away. The glass, still hovering near his head, dipped slightly before letting go of the air completely and dropping to the floor. It didn’t shatter, and its contents remained tucked securely inside. “All . . .” he said, covering his face with one hand, the other either making a fist or a gesture Ranos simply didn’t understand. “It . . .”
         “Do you want to tell me now?” Ranos asked, his voice pitiless. He had lived through this once already. It had touched him and he would not let it near again. He knew better. “Why you’re here? Don’t you think it’s time you explained?”
         “It’s . . . but it’s . . . you don’t . . .” his voice was a soft, broken thing and when he turned to face Ranos again, there was only a strange emptiness in his eyes.
         “Oh, don’t you understand?” he asked Ranos, or perhaps someone else entirely. “This changes everything.”

* * * * *

         I’m not your (wife)(lover)(mistress)(bitc-)
         That’s what I’ll tell him.
         I’ll (say)(scream)(shout)(whisper)(growl) it and he won’t be able to ignore it. He’ll have to listen.
         I’ll tell him. And he’ll listen.
         (No he won’t)(yes he will)(why?)(he has to)
         I’ll tell him that it’s all a (lie)(mirage)(fiction) and I’ll (ask)(tell)(demand) that he give (me)(Jula)(Fiona?) my life back.
         And he’ll listen.
         And he’ll do it.
         (no he won’t)
         And he’ll give it back.
         (will he?)(why?)(it’s the right thing to do)(says who?)
         And then I’ll (slit his throat)(stab his eyes)(slash his genitals)(cut off his head)
         And then I’ll
                                       (kill him)
         And then I’ll
         And then
         And then
         And then-
         A whirlwind slammed into the house, puncturing the air, punching holes into whatever fragile membrane still existed.
         Jula was staring at the knife when it happened, trying to see which angle best reflected her real face. Instantly her stomach began to churn. Oh. Oh. He’s back. Her hands were suddenly sweaty and there was an uncomfortable tightness lurking somewhere in her chest. Far away the door clattered open with a sound like bones dropping. Footsteps thundered in the hallway. A baby should have been crying. There was no baby. She remembered being pregnant, the agony of childbirth. None of this is real. But, oh dear, something has to be. Or there’s just nothing.
         The doorknob rattled, shuddered. Jula leapt from the bed, knife clutched tight enough in her hand that the hilt branded its design painfully into her palm. This was it. The start of her freedom. She could feel it. A storm swirled outside the door, taking all the atmosphere with it. Her ears weren’t right. The pressure was weird, uneven. She had a headache suddenly. Was this how it felt? Did freedom always feel like this? So confining, so enclosed? It had to be right. It had to be. It had to be right. Or else there was nothing.
         The door blew open.
         And then I’ll stab him.
         “Bastard,” Tolin snarled, sweeping into the room, clothes in disarray, one hand pressed to his shoulder. There were marks of blood between his fingers. His face was cut and dirty. He looked terrible. He looked angry. “Caught me by surprise, but dammit, I’ll show him, I’ll show him . . .”
         “Tolin, I want you to-“ but he was already past her, the covers of the bed floating up like satin tendrils. A sharp gesture with his hand and a tearing noise erupted in the room, setting her teeth on edge, a frequency turning her insides to liquid.
         Right in the stomach, I’ll get him where it hurts the most.
         “Not now, dear, I’m busy,” Tolin murmured, even as Jula took a step forward, the knife raised and out before her, an advance guard that was terribly unprepared. He has to. He has to. Her head was caught in a vice. Why wouldn’t her hand stop shaking. It was impossible to even think.
         Tolin was taking the torn sheets now and tying them together to make a bandage for his shoulder. “The two of them, working together or not, it doesn’t matter, they’re both dead. One, then the other. Or at the same time. I don’t even care.”
         And just when I get him to beg, I’ll make him beg some more and then, then I’ll kill-
         “You have to listen to me, dammit, I swear-“ she said, holding the knife aloft. This was the moment. He was wounded. At her mercy. But she couldn’t think. And she felt so sick. “Tolin, I’m not telling you again-“
         ”You should go out with the girls tonight,” he said without looking up. Abruptly something twisted in her guts and her hand trembled violently. Bastard! I’ll kill you. If you won’t give it back to me then I’ll just kill you. I don’t want it back then. You hear me? “I have to go away for a bit and there’s no reason for you to stay in this house all by yourself the whole time.” With no hands he tied and secured the bandage, wincing as the tourniquet tightened, already slowly darkening with blood. It made her sick to look at it. Everything made her sick. This was wrong. What was happening? This was wrong. It was all wrong.
         He’ll plead like a child. I know he will. I’ll have him right where I want him.
         “No, Tolin, you don’t understand,” and it was said with gritted teeth, even as she lunged toward him, knife leading the way, already cutting a glittering arc in the air. Or it was her eyes. The air was too thick, she wasn’t moving. It was pushing her away, Tolin was receding. Moving toward her and going away. His voice a tunnel, echoes swirling like discarded spirits around her. It was impossible to stand. The doorway loomed overhead like a gateway to a life she didn’t have. But what did she have then, if anything? Nothing. It was all nothing. Just scattered dreams that didn’t exist.
         I can hear it biting into his skin now, scraping against bone.
         A far away clatter might have been the knife.
         “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea, darling?” Tolin said from inside the bedroom, staring into the mirror and straightening his tunic. He was so distant now. So far away. She was on the floor now. Outside the room. How did she get there? The pressure. It was even worse down here. On the floor. Where she was. Why? She was here? Why? On the floor. There was something alive in her intestines that wouldn’t stay still. Why couldn’t she stop coughing. “What do you think of that? Doesn’t it sound grand?”
         He’ll gurgle once, maybe twice, and that will be that.
         Face inches from the floor, Jula threw up what little food remained in her stomach, the stench filling her nostrils, splashing up to splatter her face with bits of meat and bile. She was trying to shout but her words kept coming up liquid. There was tears in her eyes. It was from the smell. No, it wasn’t. Please. Somebody make it stop. The knife wasn’t even in her hand anymore. The exit didn’t exist. Nothing did. Jula wasn’t her. And she wasn’t Jula. Her stomach was trying to twist into a shape that couldn’t possibly fit between her ribs.
         And he’ll be gone.
         In another world, in another life, someone closed a door. Jula coughed one more time and lay exhausted, her face sideways in a pool of vomit, feeling its uneven warmth against her skin, its odor blocking out everything else in the world. She was tired. This had to end. But she was too tired. But it had to end. Her eardrums were popping. It had to end. It had to. She was shaking. Why couldn’t she stop? When did she start?
         And I’ll be free.
         Jula closed her eyes and felt hot liquid claws scar her face.
         “Tolin,” she whispered, the taste of acid on her lips, the word a plea and a curse and a fact all at the same time. Nobody heard. There was nothing to hear, of course. No one was talking.
         And I’ll be free.
         “Jula, honey,” he called out from behind the door, across the glass membrane keeping them apart, “I think I hear the baby crying. Would you be a dear and go see what he wants?”

* * * * *

         “Mandras had everything planned perfectly. All the right elements were in place, all the different factions in the plan were lined up and ready to go. He had the child and it was only a matter of time before she made the decision and we were set for eternity. For once, we were on the winning side. For once, everything was going to go like it was supposed to.”
         Rathas blinked and opened his hand, allowing the glass of water to float from the floor into his palm. Not a drop had been spilled. He took a deep drink of the fluid, throat pulsing in time with his swallowing, a second heart lodged in his neck. The effort made him look strangely wan.
         “But for some reason, we thought it was going to fail. Not only fail, but fail badly.” Resting the glass on his shoulder, where it remained steady, he clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and rubbing them together nervously. “I don’t think anyone had realized just how big it was going to be. We thought it was a local occurrence, all this nonsense, just Mandras helping us carve out a slice of the Universe that would be ours. But the slice was the Universe and what he was talking about was a complete restructuring of reality . . . I mean, he wanted to change-“ Rathas broke off suddenly, glanced at Ranos. “But you know all this already, don’t you? You were there, part of the group that was chasing us. Hunting us down.”
         Ranos decided that this was no time for fabrications. He still had his doubts about how honest Rathas was being about his motivations but perhaps a sign on his part might shame the other man into some semblance of truthfulness. It was a long shot, but he would lose nothing in trying it. “I was there. A number of us were. Our goal was to get the child back. As I said, she was the daughter of a friend.”
         Rathas gave a laugh that felt utterly out of place, dry leaves scraping against desert sand. He looked unsteady on his feet. Perhaps it was an act. “Yeah, we used to look out and see your campfires and wonder who the hell was coming after us. It was a weird time, strange times were happening every day . . . one day I saw two identical men wandering around the camp, dressed in odd clothes. One kept trying to engage people in conversation, but nobody would speak to them or even look in their direction. The other never said a word. Eventually they went into a tent and never came out. I never saw them again. I never figured out who they were.” His gaze became piercing, almost accusing. “I bet you’d know. Don’t you?”
         “Perhaps,” Ranos said quietly. “But it’s not important now. So you left because things were not turning out the way you had envisioned them?”
         “We left because we knew it wasn’t going to work out at all. Mandras’ plan was too much, it had no hope of succeeding, we knew that and we knew that when it fell apart, it wasn’t going to be pretty. So we decided we had to go.” His voice became a shiver. “And it did. It did fall apart. But I never thought . . .” he stared down at the floor for a moment and then back at Ranos. “All of them?” he asked again.
         “You know I’m not lying, Rathas,” Ranos said, with a gentleness that surprised him. He had watched his clan, his family, slaughtered. This was not much different. Families were not always borne of blood.
         “I know you’re not,” the other man said, his voice nearly inaudible, his eyes elsewhere. “But don’t you see, don’t you see what this . . .” he broke off again, reaching for the glass of water before realizing that it was empty. Without expression, he let it drop to the floor. “We had to leave . . . we all came to that conclusion separately. Valreck, he did his best to coordinate us. We didn’t just want to leave, we wanted to get completely off the planet, as far away from Mandras as possible. Alone, none of us could teleport away far enough. He coordinated and linked us, helped us make it possible to come here.”
         “But why only five?” Ranos asked. “Surely out of the entire camp there were more than that?”
         “There was. Maybe. I don’t know.” Rathas’ eyes were looking everywhere but at Ranos. “Valreck tried to explain it once, but I don’t think he could. A lot of them, they thought they had a choice but they didn’t . . . or something like that. Valreck never explained it very well. The subject always bothered him for some reason. And there was no time to figure out who would come and who wouldn’t. Just no time at all. Toward the end, some of us were nearly threatening him, trying to get him to let us go, Tolin especially. Then one day a friend of his disappeared. I think that’s what happened. He never said. But we left right after that.” His hands clenched into fists and his speech became agitated again. “But, dammit, now, you see . . . now . . .”
         He paced a few steps, moving in a near circle. “We weren’t anti-social, Ranos, none of us lived in little pocket vacuums, it wasn’t that neat and clean, when we left . . . when we . . .” his eyes narrowed and in a monotone whisper, he said, “We all left people behind. All of us. Family, friends, lovers, you can’t live in such close quarters for so long without finding yourself turning to someone else, almost against your will. Perhaps it was destiny after all.” His chuckle was deep and humorless, fragmenting even as it left his throat. “But I guess we’ll never know.” His lips twisted and with a curious, sideways glance at Ranos, he said, “She choose free will, didn’t she? When all was said and done, she made the easy choice.”
         “She made a choice,” Ranos said simply, “but I doubt it was easy.”
         Rathas laughed again, a sad noise. “Well, she’ll outlive us all, I imagine, so she’ll get to see what kind of Universe she’s created. I hope she can live with it.”
         “I have every reason to believe she will,” was all Ranos said.
         “Yeah, youth,” Rathas responded wryly. “Can’t teach those kids anything. They’ve all been brought up wrong, think they can change the world. But nothing changes. Ask the people out there how they felt the day after her decision was made. It doesn’t matter. They never noticed. They never will.”
         “But for those who do notice, it can make it all worth it,” Ranos replied quietly. He realized that neither of them had moved for a very long time now, rooted to their respective positions. How long had this conversation even been going on? Too long. It had to end. He had to end it. Too much could have happened while he wasted time here.
         “Sentimentality, Ranos?” Rathas said with gentle mockery. “From a man who upon hearing of someone getting sucked into his own dimensional tear, was said to have remarked, `That’s what he gets for standing too close’.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You never made sense to me, Ranos. You never will.”
         “I often find myself saying the same thing,” Ranos noted sardonically. He didn’t smile. “Rathas, it’s time to end this. It’s gone beyond simple kidnaping. I nearly killed one of your colleagues before, it shouldn’t have to come to this. Mandras’ plans are shattered, whatever alliance he pieced together is now scattered. Whatever kept you away is gone now. You can go back.”
         “But we can’t,” the small man almost shouted, leaning into his words. “Don’t you see? It’s what I’ve been trying to say, it’s . . .” he rubbed his face, looking oddly tired. “The plan, the plan was that we would come here, and we would make ourselves comfortable and eventually when it was over . . . eventually we’d go back.” A grin threatened to erupt on his face but somehow he fought it down. “Like I said, we . . . we thought Mandras’ plan would just fall apart and it would be shown to be this . . . just a sham and it would all disintegrate and everyone would go their separate ways. And we’d go back and bring people here or . . . just leave or, or something else.” His eyes were milky, shot though with a muted despair. “But it’s just us here now. They’re all gone now, and it’s just us.” His voice was soft and far away.
         “So stop this, then,” Ranos insisted. “There was little point before and now there is clearly no point at all. You only risk what little you have remaining if you pursue this.”
         “Ah, Ranos,” Rathas said, “how quickly you forget. Has it been so long for you? When you don’t have anything to lose anymore, you have everything to gain.” He walked forward until he was in front of the locked door. “Stop now? Why, Ranos, we’re just getting started, aren’t we?”
         “Rathas,” Ranos warned, a dangerous edge to his voice, “I want you to know that you were never my friend, never anything more than a glorified passing acquaintance in a place full of such people. There is nothing keeping me from doing what I did to Junyul to you instead. Time has done nothing but improve my abilities.”
         “What exactly are you saying, Ranos?” Rathas asked innocently, a knife edged taunt to his voice.
         “I will go through you if I need to. Gladly and eagerly. If you choose to stand your ground, it will be no contest at all.”
         “Really?” Rathas grinned, and Ranos felt a flicker of activity from somewhere in the room. “And here I thought it was all about the game.”
         He started to laugh.
         Then the heavy glass on the floor leapt up, rocketing right for Ranos’ head.
         Ranos never bothered to move, summoned a thin shield to deflect the projectile, grasping it before it hit the ground and sending it flying across the room directly at Rathas. The man’s grin didn’t even have time to fade as the glass connected with his chest, ramming his back against the door with an sharp expulsion of air. His laughter barely broke its crazed rhythm. He hadn’t even begun sliding to the floor when Ranos brought the glass up again, crashing it into his face, hearing the glass crack as it met bone. He discarded the assault and tossed the glass across the room, where it finally shattered against the wall, instead picking the man up bodily and slamming him into the door, once, twice, hearing the old wood groan and warp.
         On the third attempt it gave and the small man went flying into the other room, surrounded by a nimbus of splinters and odd shaped shards of wood, his body hitting the floor limply and skidding further, limbs askew, finally coming to a rest nearly in the center of the room.
         Ranos swore he heard the laughter one more time.
         Stepping through the battered portal into the other room, he cautiously strode over to where Rathas lay.
         To his surprise, Rathas wasn’t there anymore.
         A woman was in his place, utterly unconscious, her face bruised and a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. It took him a moment to realize that she was still breathing, so faint was the motion.
         “Rathas?” he whispered, brushing his fingertips against the woman’s face. But, no, the size and build was all wrong. Who are you?
         Up above, suddenly, he heard a scattered burst of laughter.
         “Rathas!” he called out, standing up and spinning around in the sound’s direction. His voice ricocheted off the rafters, causing a distorted echo. In the shadows of the second floor, there was a flutter of movement and the clatter of footsteps. Summoning a small globe of light, he threw it up there, eyes squinting into the contrasts of brightness and deep shadows that it created, only to find that it illuminated nothing. There was no further movement. There was nothing there.
         He stared at the empty space for a few moments, then let the light slowly float back down to where he was standing, turning and watching as the shadows and highlights danced over the oblivious woman’s face.
         “What is going on?” Ranos mused quietly, the light at his shoulder.
         The woman, of course, had no answer.

* * * * *

         Elini had closed the door to her room some time ago. Downstairs the sound of things smashing and breaking had gone on for far longer than Elini had thought possible. At one point she heard her father’s voice screaming words she couldn’t make out. Her mother’s voice joined his shortly after, creating a flawed, cracked harmony. Then they went silent. She couldn’t remember how long ago that was. A little while later it sounded like her brother was sobbing, nearby, maybe in the hallway. But that might have been her imagination.
         Elini didn’t go out. She didn’t leave. She played with her dolls. One doll she never let speak. Nobody paid attention to it and it just sat off to the side, ignored by everyone. Once Elini would have thought that a bad thing. But now she realized, when nobody paid attention to you, you could do anything you wanted. There was nothing to stop you.
         It struck Elini suddenly that her house had gone completely silent. Nothing had broken in a while. Nobody was shouting anymore. Even the ghost had gone quiet. She wondered what was happening outside. In her room, in this near-darkness, seemingly sequestered from the rest of the world, Elini started to see why the ghost had done what she did, separated herself from the world. It was insulating. It was comforting. There was no time here. She could walk outside and it might still be daytime, or night might have fallen, or there might be no time at all. Nothing could have changed. Or it all could be different. It was impossible to say, like this.
         But nothing is forever. Change is not a beast that can be held at bay, but is integrated into our bloodstreams, there from the first breath we take, altering us from the inside, the way it’s always been. There is nothing to keep away. It’s already won. It always will.
         Elini barely heard the footsteps before someone flung open her door. The bang was a thunderclap in the still silence.
         A deep red light flooded the room.
         Elini put down her doll, smoothed its dress and arranged it so it looked like it was sleeping. It wasn’t, of course. It was only a doll. She squinted into the light, at the man standing beyond the glow. He was tall. He appeared to be bleeding. The light made his shadow seem strangely three-dimensional. She wondered if he was only real from a certain angle.
         Shading her eyes with one hand, Elini looked up and asked politely, “Are you a ghost, too?”
         His silhouette twisted like melted candy, the man smiled.
         “Oh no,” he said, sounding grimly amused, “not quite yet.”