Part 8 (1/2)

”Don't you want to beat the machine?” Lola said.

Oliver came next. His walk was both belligerent and apprehensive, like a man swaggering to the gallows. He spoke to Peter, his eyes flickering only occasionally over to Lola, who regarded him silently, squatting with hunched shoulders, her mouth in a hard line.

”Come on, Pete,” Oliver began, in the cajoling tones he had once used to wake him from his dreams. ”I know what you're trying to do; know what you're trying to do; I I understand. Okay, you've proven that you can be strong and ... do things on your own. But don't you remember how much fun it was when we did things together?” understand. Okay, you've proven that you can be strong and ... do things on your own. But don't you remember how much fun it was when we did things together?”

Lola fought her desire to stop him, trying to appear indifferent but really watching Peter nervously. And Peter, hearing that warm, familiar voice so close to him, the voice that had been the only thing comforting enough to bring him back from his other world, felt his breath catch in his throat and his resolution begin to give way. He looked down, avoiding Oliver's eyes, feeling the terrifying vast s.p.a.ces pressing down on him, feeling the gnawing hunger and his loneliness, thinking of Jasper-Oliver. And it would be so easy to make everything comfortable again. All he had to do was stand up and let Oliver lead him back; back to depending on Oliver for everything, back to his magic room. And if he went, Lola would come too, and they could eat. She had said he was essential, she had said she couldn't do it on her own.

”Come on, Pete. What do you think you're doing up here anyway? Starving ourselves won't make things any better. Don't you know that?”

But strangely enough, it was the fact that he was essential that kept Peter from giving in. When Lola had first said she needed him it had been terrifying; but now he couldn't bear to think of what would happen, and how she would feel, if he deserted her. Still unable to look at Oliver directly, he said, in a near whisper, ”No, Oliver, I ... I think it would be better if I stayed here.”

”But, but Peter,” Oliver said brokenly, as though something very precious was being torn away from him, ”Peter, we need need you down there.” you down there.”

Peter pressed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head.

That was when Oliver turned on Lola. ”What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l have you done to him?” He spat at her, his voice suddenly high-pitched in fury. ”Are you trying to kill us all, is that what you're trying to do? What are you trying to prove, you stupid b.i.t.c.h? What are you trying to have you done to him?” He spat at her, his voice suddenly high-pitched in fury. ”Are you trying to kill us all, is that what you're trying to do? What are you trying to prove, you stupid b.i.t.c.h? What are you trying to prove? prove?” And all at once he was violently shaking her, snarling like an animal.

Peter had never seen such an open expression of terror and helplessness cross Lola's face. Oliver was much stronger, he could easily pitch her over the edge. ”Oh, Oliver, go away!” he cried out. ”Go away, go away!”

And finally Blossom came, plodding laboriously toward them, her cheeks sagging and her mouth pinched, her filthy dress hanging on her like a shroud. ”Really, Lola,” she began, turning slightly from side to side, her hands behind her back. ”Honestly, Lola, I didn't really really mean those things I said about ruining everything you did; I just wanted to see if saying something like that would make the machine work. To see if you were right. And you mean those things I said about ruining everything you did; I just wanted to see if saying something like that would make the machine work. To see if you were right. And you were were right.” The oddly persuasive quality her voice had once had, though she was obviously trying to make use of it now, was all but lost under a feeble, ingratiating whine. ”And I told the others the truth, I told them I changed what you said, and I promise I won't do anything like that ever again, Lola, if you'll please just come back. Please?” right.” The oddly persuasive quality her voice had once had, though she was obviously trying to make use of it now, was all but lost under a feeble, ingratiating whine. ”And I told the others the truth, I told them I changed what you said, and I promise I won't do anything like that ever again, Lola, if you'll please just come back. Please?”

”Then how the h.e.l.l do you expect to get the machine to work, if you're not going to do anything like that again?” Lola asked her. ”You know that's what it wants; you just admitted I was right about it.”

”Uh ... well, uh, yes, I know.” Blossom bit her lips in concentration. ”But, you know, Lola,” she continued quickly, after a pause, ”that doesn't mean I have to do it against you you. We could do things to the others. Not to you, Peter, of course.” She flashed him a quick, frightened smile. ”But to the others, to Abigail and Oliver. Especially to Oliver, Lola, you know he deserves it. I know you don't like it that the machine wants us to do mean things to each other, but if it's to somebody like Oliver.... Do you know what he said, after he came back from talking to you? He said you-”

”Look,” Lola interrupted. ”There's no point in going on. I'm not going to fall for your c.r.a.p, and we're not going to come down. You might as well stop wasting your breath.”

”But,” said Blossom, her fists clenched at her sides and her face growing red and puffy, ”but you've got got to come back. Oh, please, please, I'm begging you to come back. How can you be so cruel? We've got to eat, Lola, please, we've got to eat, we've just” to come back. Oh, please, please, I'm begging you to come back. How can you be so cruel? We've got to eat, Lola, please, we've got to eat, we've just”

”Stop it!” Lola said shakily. ”Stop it and get away, just get out of here! Didn't you hear me? We're not coming, it's no good. We're not coming! not coming!”

Blossom gasped back a sob and stared blankly for a moment, tears clinging to her cheeks. And then strength seemed to return to her and she wiped her tears quickly away, glaring at Lola with her little sparkling eyes. ”All right,” she said hoa.r.s.ely. ”All right. I gave you your chance to come back. And now you've lost it, both of you! I know we'll get that machine to work without you. And when it does, don't think we'll give you a sc.r.a.p. We'll let you starve.” Her voice dropped menacingly. ”And that's not all we'll do. That's not all. You know what the machine wants, don't you? Well,” she stopped to take a deep breath, then went on very slowly, ”well, you're the ones who are going to get it.” And she turned and hurried away without looking back.

It was hardest when the whispers came, and the colored light, which, even as high as they were, flashed brilliantly on the s.h.i.+ning surfaces all around them. They would close their eyes and hold their ears and hum, trying to obliterate the precious signals, the infinitely compelling messages commanding them to dance, causing their muscles to twitch; and telling them: Food, food, the smell of it and the taste of it and the feel of it in their mouths and going down to their stomachs, the emptiness and the pain in their stomachs, the pain in their stomachs, the intolerable pain. Food, food, the smell of it and the taste of it and the feel of it in their mouths and going down to their stomachs, the emptiness and the pain in their stomachs, the pain in their stomachs, the intolerable pain.

It helped a bit to hide from the signals, but just knowing that they were going on around them was enough to create a wrenching agony in them both, a feeling that they were literally being torn apart. It was almost impossible not to move-as they both often found themselves doing-not to jump to their feet and start toward the light, their arms and legs moving helplessly in the familiar patterns of the dance. But they would scream at each other to stop; they would pull at each other, gasping and sobbing, back up to their high landing, back up to the landing to close their eyes and hold their ears and crouch, sweating and shaking, begging for the light and the voices to stop; and wondering if next time they would have the strength the resist them.

For they were growing weak. Lola never ran anymore, not only because she felt too listless and exhausted most of the time, but also because she was afraid of what might happen if she found herself alone, anywhere near the machine, when the light and the voices began. Nor did she want to leave Peter by himself, for without someone to cling to it would be too easy to give way.

And at first she was worried about Peter. True, he had shown great determination and strength by joining with her, by running from the machine and so far resisting its commands; by turning from Oliver. But he was even less accustomed to bearing such burdens than she was, and, along with everything else, his dream world pulled at him seductively. Going back to the machine meant going back to the magic room as well, and she was afraid that as their situation grew worse, the power of the room would grow stronger.

Lola could tell when he sank into his daze, his face loosening; and at first she had debated with herself whether or not to try to wake him up. For wouldn't it be easier for him to sit through the terrible relentless commands if he were unconscious of them? She soon learned, however, that it really made no difference. He was in the daze once when the signals started, and within a few seconds, he was struggling right along with her.

”But how come you never seemed to notice them before?” she asked him when it was over. ”How come it always took Oliver so long to wake you up?”

”It's ... hard to explain,” he said. ”I never really thought about it till now. But somehow, I do do know what's going on, even when I'm in the magic room, and now I just come right out. But....” He looked away from her, ”But when Oliver was there, I couldn't come out until he ... until he talked to me like that.” know what's going on, even when I'm in the magic room, and now I just come right out. But....” He looked away from her, ”But when Oliver was there, I couldn't come out until he ... until he talked to me like that.”

At first she had been angry, thinking of all the time that had been wasted while Oliver tried to wake him up, when all along Peter could perfectly well have come out of it on his own. But he kept trying to explain to her that it really wasn't that simple, that it hadn't been so easy, and in the end she had to forgive him. It was too tiring to stay angry.

Nevertheless, she was now all the more determined to keep him out of his trances. And so, whenever he started to slip away, she would shake him, even hit him when necessary. And this was partially successful, because she could always get him out.

But he kept going back. Obviously, the room provided him with pleasure and comfort that he could not resist. If only she could find something even more pleasurable that would entice him to stay out! Rewarding him, she realized, would be more effective than just punis.h.i.+ng him. But she had nothing to reward him with except herself. The only thing she could think of at first was the food from the machine that was constantly on their minds; but that, of course, was not available to her.

But she refused to give up. Her hatred of the machine and, to her surprise, her concern for Peter, were too strong. She began going over in her mind everything Peter had done; and she realized that some kind of intangible reward really did exist, if only she could find it. Whatever it was had already helped him do several remarkable things: walk up the stairs alone to find her, break out of the dance himself and push her out of it, and resist Oliver. But what was it?

When she finally saw what it was she felt like a fool for not having known it all along. It was several things, all connected. It was the reward of winning over the machine, which he hated and feared; it was the reward of feeling strong and independent, of having his own ident.i.ty, a feeling he had never known; it was the reward of caring about her, of being essential to her plan and not letting her down; it was even the reward of her caring about him. In certain ways it was the same reward that moved her, but Peter, being weaker, needed to be reminded more. And so she began to remind him-but not all the time. For something inside her knew-though she was not really aware of it or of where the idea had come from-that the reward would only work if it was given at just the right time.

”Remember, Peter,” she would say, whenever he had remained out of a trance for a certain length of time. ”Remember fighting the machine. We're winning now, because of you. Remember how you felt after you climbed those steps, how strong you felt. You are strong, Peter. Remember it was you who got me to stop dancing. Without you it wouldn't have worked. I need you. I need your strength. And we're going to win, Peter. We're going to win; but only if you stay out of that room.”

Whenever he had just come out of a trance she would turn coldly away and not speak to him at all, even when he begged for the words. She would reward him, not for coming out, but for staying staying out. And instinctively, without really thinking about it, as time went on she gradually lengthened the period he had to stay out before she would speak. out. And instinctively, without really thinking about it, as time went on she gradually lengthened the period he had to stay out before she would speak.

When it began to work, when the trances began to grow fewer and farther apart, then she rejoiced, with the little strength she had for it. And as the trances grew less, Peter's eyes began to take on a new expression, as though they had never really been open before. And at last he came out of a trance by himself, so quickly that she didn't even have time to shake him, and, spontaneously, she embraced him. She had never embraced anyone before.

And so she rea.s.sured him at the right times, and rejoiced in his change. And gradually his mind grew stronger as his body weakened.

And hour by hour, the hunger grew more terrible.

And then, how long after Blossom had left them they could not tell, the worst part began.

They had expected the others to keep coming back. They had dreaded it, trying to prepare themselves for more pleading from Abigail, more violence from Oliver, and more groveling and threats from Blossom. They had expected them to come back together, they had expected fights, and they had expected to be dragged down the stairs.

”Go limp,” Lola said. ”Just go limp when they grab you, then they won't be able to get us down there, they're just as weak as we are.”

But strangely enough, no one came. As the endless hours, and then what seemed like days, dragged by, they began to long for the sight of one of the others on the stairs below. At first what they wanted was simply relief from the enervating boredom; but as more time went on, and still no one appeared, their minds filled with uneasy questions that soon began to torment them.

Why weren't they coming up? They couldn't have died of starvation so soon, and yet if they were hungry they certainly would be up here trying to get them to go back. Did it mean they had found some way to get food? Had the machine decided to work without Lola and Peter, or was there a new source other than the machine? Had Blossom and Oliver killed Abigail to eat her? Lola didn't doubt that, in the extremes of hunger, they would be capable of it. All they'd have to do would be to push her off the landing....

But there was another thought, the most likely possibility and the worst of all. Perhaps they weren't here anymore. Perhaps whoever had put them here had come and taken the three of them away, and Lola and Peter were alone among the stairs, starving needlessly.

And it was this thought that finally brought them back down. ”Just to look,” Lola insisted. ”Not to stay or give in. Just to see what those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are up to.” And Peter nodded miserably, wondering if this was the end of their plan, and they had failed.

It took much longer than they remembered, for they were weaker now, and their unsteady legs had lost the feel of the stairs. Lola's sense of direction too was stale from disuse, and they took many wrong flights. Nevertheless, as they drew nearer their progress became more direct, for something began to guide them. At first it was faint and they noticed it only subliminally; but gradually it grew stronger and more tantalizing until they were conscious of nothing else, and their feet followed it automatically.

”W-Wait,” Peter said when they were very near, grabbing Lola's shoulder. ”It's ... it's food, I smell food. Maybe we shouldn't, shouldn't get any closer.”

”We've got to,” Lola said. ”We've got to get closer and not touch the filthy stuff and find out what the h.e.l.l is going on.”

Finally they reached a stairway from which they could look down and see the whole landing: the colored screen that pulled at them even without flas.h.i.+ng, and the three familiar figures, each sitting on a different stairway.

And they were eating, but there was something different about it now. They were shoving the food down faster and more frantically than even Blossom ever had; and as they ate, each of them kept his eyes fastened so tensely on the other two that at first none of them even noticed Peter and Lola.

Lola's knees almost gave way and she swallowed dryly at the sight of those pellets, and the rich fragrance. She didn't trust herself to speak, and Peter was silent beside her; but the others caught sight of them as soon as they had finished eating.