Part 22 (1/2)

Someone shouting now. ”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!”

The pretty boy.

The pretty boy pulled. He was London soap and pine. The pretty boy cracked and stretched and snapped. He was tawny flesh and lion's paw. His paw dug for my hand.

”Hold on!”

But it was the Hand holding on. It was the Hand squeezing.

”Hold on!”

Hold on to the pretty boy? I could hold on to him only with my thoughts. Pretty boy laugh! Pretty boy play.

The Hand squeezed. Love is object of desire. Those chiming words, hold on to them, hold on.

The Hand squeezed. Pretty girl love pretty boy. Hold on to those words, hold on.

But the Hand squeezed. It squeezed out my thoughts. It squeezed out my brain-light. I was disappearing. I saw my brain-light go drip-drip-dripping out my mind.

Out it went, drip-drip-drip, until I was snuffed out.

20.

Happily Ever After Dark and light, dark and light. That was the world. The world was like lace. Lace is dark and light. Stepmother wore lace. Leanne wore lace.

Leanne and Eldric, dark and light.

When we think of lace, we think of white, but without the dark, the in-between bits, there'd be nothing to look at.

Dark and light, dark and light.

Bones are hollow. Bones are webbed with lace.

Anesthesia, Dr. Rannigan!

Bones can hurt-how they can hurt!

Take a hand, crush it slo-o-o-o-w-ly, splinter the bones, crumble the lace, squish away the negative s.p.a.ce.

Anesthesia!

”Drink it down.” Eldric's voice pressed a spoon to my lips. ”There you go, every last drop!” Liquid trickled down my throat.

All those airy hollows, gone.

I swallowed. Swallowing tore my hand.

Anesthesia!

Dark and light, the world was dark and light.

Dark and light, mint and apple.

Go away!

But my voice was lost, and anyway, the Brownie never listened.

Mint and apple. Dark and light.

The smallest eye-twitch tore my hand-lace.

”Every last drop!” Eldric's voice was honey.

The honey voice sang.

I know where I'm going,

And I know who's going with me.

I know whom I love,

But the dear knows whom I'll marry.

Once I had been in the roar-time of my life. Now I was in the hush-time. The people who sat with me were in the hush-time. They made hush-time sounds: a mouse-squeak as they sit in the chair, a crumble of rockers on wood. Father singing, lullaby-soft.

O I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!

O I fear ye are poisoned, my bonny young man!