Widdershins (57 page)

He asked me to bring him to you
, she says inside my head,
but we got separated.

I sit down on the top riser. When she comes near, I do the thing Joe said I should never do with her because she’s not a dog, a pet, she’s a person, just wearing a different shape. But I lay my hand on her head all the same and brush her fur with my fingers, trying to get the blood off, but getting comfort from touching her, knowing that she’s real and here to help me, not hurt me.

She doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans in closer to me and then I start to cry. I burrow my face against her bloody fur, sobbing.

I don’t notice Lizzie until I feel a small hand on my shoulder. I look up, then away from the smooth expanse of skin where her mouth should be.

Like everything else that’s gone wrong, what happened to her is my fault. It doesn’t hurt me like the black hole in my chest where the pain over Geordie’s death is lodged, but it’s there all the same. Another ache of sorrow. Of anger at myself that I let all of this happen.

But I’m done crying now. I’m not done with the pain—I don’t think I ever will be—but the tears have stopped.

I sit up straighter, wipe my eyes with my sleeve, then blow my nose on the piece of cloth that Lizzie hands me. I’m not sure what it is. A piece of some old T-shirt. A rag. It doesn’t matter. It does the job.

It’s okay
, the dog says.
It’s over. You’re safe
—
at least for now.

“Safe?” I say. “What does it matter? Geordie’s dead and look at Lizzie. Nothing’s ever going to be okay again.”

Geordie’s . . . dead . . . ?
Lizzie says.

I can feel the weight of sorrow swelling inside me again and can only manage to give a slow nod. But then something occurs to me.

“Unless . . . “ I say. “This is all happening somewhere in my head, right?”

The dog nods.
So it appears.

“So maybe it’s not real. Maybe we’ll just wake up and Geordie will be fine and Lizzie gets her mouth back and we’ll be free of Del . . .”

My voice trails off as she shakes her head.

It’s not that easy
, she says.
Not as long as you leave the memory of your brother sitting in some dark, hidden place of your mind.

“But what am I supposed to do? How can I stop that?”

My hearing’s coming back because my words are now louder than that weird sound like bells ringing in my cars.

I don’t know.

I make myself look at Lizzie.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.

She shakes her head.
You didn’t bring me here.

I suppose I should be surprised that she’s got the talking-in-your-head thing down, too, but I don’t think anything can really surprise me anymore. But the fact that she can still communicate, even without a mouth, makes me feel a little hopeful until I realize that she still can’t eat. What’s she going to do if we ever manage to get back? Spend the rest of her life on an IV just to get nourishment?

This is the bogans’ fault
, she says.
If it wasn’t for you and Honey, who knows what that monster would be doing to me now.

So that’s the dog’s name. Honey.

My arm is still around her and she stays close to me, making no sign that she wants me to remove it.

I look down the stairs to where Del still lies in a pool of blood.

“I keep expecting him to get up again,” I say.

He probably will
, Honey says.
Unless . . .

Her voice trails off, and I think of all the well-meaning advice about forgiveness, usually delivered by someone who’s never had my kind of life, who only sees the world through rose-coloured glasses.

“Unless what?” I ask. “This isn’t going to turn into some bullshit after school special, is it? You know, where I’m just supposed to forgive him and everything’ll be fine.”

No
, she replies.
You’re supposed to forgive yourself for thinking you were to blame for what he did to you. For thinking you deserved it.

“Oh, man. You don’t think I feel like that, do you?”

The dog turns her head so that she’s looking right at me.

I don’t know
, she says.
What do you feel?

Lost. Hurt. Broken. Brokenhearted. Scared, but not of Del or anyone like him. I’m scared of having to face the rest of my life without Geordie in it.

But I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t think I
can
talk about it. But I feel I need to talk about something or the black hole of Geordie’s loss is going to rise up again and swallow me whole. So I change the subject.

“How come Del didn’t have any power over you?” I ask the dog.

I will not let anyone have power over me
, she replies.
Not ever again. I refuse to believe it.

“So it’s a matter of willpower.”

Belief certainly plays a part.

“I have willpower. Ask my friends and they’ll describe me as willful.”

I feel a smile in my mind that comes from her.

“So why didn’t it work for me?” I ask.

She looks away. I wait, but she doesn’t answer. I guess she’s already told me once and sees no reason to repeat it.

It’s because I think I deserve it.

“Then what about Lizzie?” I ask. “And . . . “ It’s so hard to say his name. “And Geordie?”

They believe this place is true.

That can’t be true
, Lizzie says.
I don’t believe. I didn’t believe in any of this.

This what?
Honey asks.

All this weird stuff that’s been happening to me. Not at first. Not even when I got here inside . . . inside Jilly’s head.

“It’s totally weird to me, too,” I assure her.

Lizzie looks back down at the bottom of the stairs to where Del is lying. Her hand reaches up to touch the smooth expanse of skin between her chin and nose.

But then . . . ,
she says.
Then, when he turned us into kids and did
this
to me
. . .

It’s difficult
, Honey agrees.
And confusing. I can feel the wooden stairs under me. I can smell the world around me. The dust, your bodies, the blood. And if Jilly hadn’t thrown off his aim, I would have felt the impact of that shotgun blast. I would have been hurt. I’d probably be dead.

“So it’s only you yourself that he couldn’t touch,” I say. “He couldn’t
manipulate
you the way he did us.”

Honey gives me a slow nod.

“This is all so sick and weird. I can’t believe it’s coming from inside me.”
It’s not coming from you
, Honey tells me.
It comes from the piece of your brother that’s still inside you.

I give a slow nod. “But I don’t know how to get rid of it. I know it’s not my fault, what he did to me, but still . . . I don’t know. All my memories of that time are so messed up and confusing . . .”

I look at Honey, look into her eyes, and see a clarity that I wish I could have. I know she had it just as bad as I did—Joe told me about it, how it made a connection between us. Two Children of the Secret. It was what let her find me the last time, when no one else could. But she’s dealt with it.

We should go
, she says. She gives Del’s body a meaningful look.
Before he comes back.

I know she’s right. Del
will
come back. He’ll get up and be just the same as he was. Or maybe he’ll come back all bloody, his head dangling from a broken neck like some zombie in a horror flick.

“Go where?” I ask.

This world was closed until he . . . died. It’s open now. I don’t know how long it will last, but right now, we can leave.

“And then what? Nothing will have changed.”

I don’t know. Maybe Joe will be able to figure something out. But we need to leave.

“I can’t,” I say, even as I’m nodding in agreement.

I know she’s right. But I can’t leave the pieces of what had once been Geordie scattered across the room where he’d died.

“Not without Geordie,” I add.

You want to bring his body?
Lizzie asks.

“I can’t leave it here. If we—” No, that’s not right. I amend it to:
“When
we find a way to put everything back to normal, we’ll need it.”

Because that’s the little thread of hope that I’m hanging on to. Without it, I’ve got nothing. Without it, Geordie’s dead and gone forever. But there’s magic in the world.

Once upon a time . . .

We just need help.

If we can find someone to give Lizzie back her mouth and return us both to our proper ages, then they’ll be able to bring Geordie back, too.

It
has
to work that way.

Once upon a time . . .

Is he a little kid, too?
Lizzie asks.

I shake my head. “Not exactly.”

I take hold of the banister and pull myself to my feet. I give Del’s body a last glance—still dead—and lead the way into the bedroom. Lizzie and Honey follow me, Honey’s nails clicking on the wooden floor.

I know what they see when we step inside. An empty room except for the old bed with the mattress on it. And the mess of dirt and leaves and twigs that is all that’s left of Geordie.

Where . . . where is he?
Lizzie asks.

I point to the debris.

But . . .

“Del turned him into this thing made of leaves and dirt and then kicked him apart.”

Lizzie just stands in the doorway, staring. Honey pads slowly into the room, her gaze taking in the mess that Del left on the floor.

This is impossible
, she says.
We can never gather it all up.

“We can,” I tell her. “We have to.”

Once upon a time . . .

They try to talk me out of it, but in the end I go down to the kitchen, sidling past Del’s body, expecting him to sit up and grab me as I go by. The blood is congealing, and there are flies all over him. I find a pail, a dustpan, and a hand broom and take them back up the stairs, where I spend the next fifteen minutes sweeping up the debris that was once my Geordie and transferring it into the pail.

When every speck of dirt, every bit of leaf, that I can find is removed from the floor and put into the bucket, I work at the bristles of the broom, making sure everything’s in there. The whole time I’m working, Lizzie kneeling on the floor beside me to help, I’m trying not to think of what the debris represents. I try not to think of Geordie, but how can I not?

Every time I start to despair, I repeat the words in my head—

Once upon a time . . .

—and keep on working.

Now I lay the broom down. I lay the rag that Lizzie gave me earlier across the dirt and leaves to keep them from coming out and pick up the pail. I turn to Honey.

“I’m ready,” I say. “Can we still get out?”

She nods.
Put your hands on my shoulders. Keep contact with me.

Lizzie had stepped out into the hall. She rejoins us, lays her hand on the honey-coloured fur beside mine. Two tiny hands. Children’s hands.

He’s still dead
, she says.

I think she means Geordie, but then realize she’s talking about Del.

Get ready
, Honey tells us.

I tighten my grip—one hand in her short fur, the other around the handle of the pail. I see—feel—the world dissolve around us.

Just before it’s gone, I hear a voice.

An awful, familiar voice.

Del.

Shouting.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but then it’s gone, the old farmhouse and world it was in, are all gone. We stand blinking in bright sunlight. We’re on some kind of plateau, looking out over mile after endless mile of red rock and badlands. I let go my grip of Honey’s fur and step away, my legs a little wobbly. I look at my free hand—still child size. When I turn, I see Lizzie’s still a little girl, too. She still has no mouth.

Where are we?
she asks.

In some part of the otherworld
, Honey replies.
I don’t know if it has a name. It’s where I was when I crossed over to the world I found you in.

She looks around, nose lifting to smell the air.

I thought Joe would still be here
, she adds.

“Joe was with you?” I ask.

She nods.
But something happened just before I got into your world, and I lost hold of him.

“But he’s okay?”

I can’t imagine losing anybody else.

It’s Joe
—
what could happen to
him?
But I thought he’d be waiting . . .

She’s still looking around, still trying to get some scent from the air.

“What is it?” I ask. “What are you looking for?”

I’m not sure. It felt like something crossed over with us, but it’s gone now. I can’t sense it anymore.

I swallow nervously, remembering what I’d heard just as we were leaving.

“Did it feel like . . . my brother?” I ask.

No. It was more . . . gentle.

She gives herself a shake, as though to wake herself up.

We should get down from this mesa
, she adds,
and see if we can find out what happened to Joe. Once we get to the bottom, I can take us more quickly to where you can rest and have a drink.

Why can’t you do it right away?
Lizzie asks.

I want to check for signs of Joe on the path first.

She starts to trot down what appears to be a faint trail of some kind, coming back when she realizes that we aren’t keeping up.

Are you all right?
she asks.
Were either of you injured in that other world?

We shake our heads.

“We’re just little kids,” I say. “Physically, I mean. We can’t go as fast as you in this heat.”

The pail with Geordie’s remains is totally weighing me down as well, but I don’t want to bring that up and have another discussion about how I should just leave it behind.