Lay Me Down, Part 1

By Elyse Draper

The year started as any other, with rebellions rising and falling, governments collapsing, terrorists committing acts of terror, and everyone else just praying not to be caught in the middle. For, in one place or another, this is how all years begin… I do not need to live among the people to know this for a fact.

The largest governments in the world had succumbed to commercial industries long before I was born, sixty years ago. Now, the citizens in the middle vote for their leaders by choosing which type of syrup to purchase for their pancakes or which caffeinated beverages they thirst for at any given moment. Sadly, most leaders are selected by how many website hits their zombie-fied constituents make in a day. Those unable to play are nothing more than rats feasting on garbage, fighting each other for scraps. And, with any hope, they’ll eat the competition and eliminate the filth.

There are many threats to this time in history, such as those outside the cities, those who have become self-sufficient, and those without traceable electronics of any sort. I was born in such a home, endowed with independence and strength, becoming a rebel by simply thriving without forced influence. However, the industry has a way of dealing with us renegades; the rats do love easy prey.

I have withdrawn entirely from the world, frightened by rats and men in business suits. I have stolen time with blissful ignorance. I should have never ventured out, not even to save a life. I should have remembered that, of all the threats to this moment in history, the sloth that is time is not one of them. However, Time has its weapons nonetheless–memory being the most vicious in its arsenal.

When I was little, I remember waking from a dream to find my mother and father around me. My heart raced, my head felt as if it was splitting with pain, tears salted my face, and a high-pitched screeching rang in my ears. My mother pressed a cool washcloth to my forehead and whispered obscure words of comfort; while my father held me in his arms, and with a wretched, forlorn sigh passing through his clenched teeth, he was muttering, “It should have been me. Why couldn’t it have been me?”

The ringing brought me back to that night so long ago… Sweaty and shaking, life seemingly passing into the dimness, terror ravaging my every lucid moment. And pain; we had become very close, an intimate relationship that told me I was alive.

There is a significant difference between being alive and living, though. Now, I am a meager shadow in a world of erect dimensions. I am nothing in the eyes of society, a poor blemish to be ignored. I earned my worth today, though, in saving the life of another. One breathtaking girl, Alice, will live to see her children, as I was never meant to see mine.

As I felt hands picking me up, I had the strangest suspicion that my life was a dream, and my dreams were reality. The passion and profound ache intermingled in my mind; behind closed eyes, I could blindly live through thoughts, through my imagination. I lived a life where I could pretend to be Alice’s mother. A life where I could live.

I knew I was screaming as pain seared every point where the hands made contact. I could not see the owner of those hands; I could not hear comforting words. I hadn’t felt the touch of another human in so long; the pressure was almost completely alien. Pain washed me further into the arms of murky silence, and the embrace was sweet.

*****

Floating safely to my dreamscape, I opened my eyes and recognized the attic where I hide, the attic I call home. It is quite impressive how infrequently people go into such areas of their dwellings. I cannot say how long I’ve lived here, unknown to the inhabitants below. But the ghosts? They know I’m here. They followed me from my childhood.

Over the years, I have scraped out small holes in the ceilings of the rooms below; and I watched the young family sharing my home growing under my scrutiny. My favorite sight has always been Alice. I observed the young couple bringing her home from the hospital, wrapped up tightly, still wearing her newborn stocking cap. She smelled like springtime, awash in fresh dew. Laying my eyes on her allowed me to smile for the first time in many years … and I knew she was mine.

This morning, I peeked through the hole over the room that used to be a nursery but now held a young woman, my baby, all grown up. As I had done for too long, I lay on my stomach and looked at the girl as she slept. Something strange about the shadows falling across her long limbs and slender neck: it seemed as if the blankets that covered her body had a life of their own, shifting and moving along her motionless frame.

Suddenly my heart caught in my throat, and I screamed down into her room, “You get away from her! She’s not yours! She’s mine!”

Deep as the shadows in a graveyard at night, soft laughter was the only answer offered in return for my cry.

I could feel the foreboding force as it lifted off Alice and rose into the ceiling. Passing through sheetrock and insulation, it found me and wrapped its tentacles around my torso, neck, and mouth, forcing itself inside. I could taste the apparition’s venom as it slid down my throat. As the shadow pressed against my ears, the world became quiet, except for the clock ticking, beating out a steady pulse with the whirring of turning gears.

I began gagging and sputtering while the pulse’s throbbing bled into my thoughts. Rolling onto my back, I gave in to the foreign images that came flooding into my mind. Alice was torn apart; an explosion was going to make her unrecognizable, was going to take her from my world. I could feel the warmth of her blood… So much blood; I didn’t know that she had so much blood. It isn’t supposed to be warm if she’s dead.

But wait, this hasn’t happened yet. I still have time to save Alice.

*****

“Did I save her? Did I save Alice?” I thought that I was whispering to my expected audience of spiders working busily on their webs in the attic, so the voice that answered me came as a shock.

“The young woman that you pushed out into the street? Yes; you saved her from entering the building just before it exploded… But, you failed to save yourself, Charlie.”

“Charlie?” I hadn’t heard that name since I was a child. I had almost forgotten that I had a name once upon a time. The name seemed to open a gateway to a different lifetime, but the opening only allowed a glimpse rather than a flood of memories. Just a peek at a past life where my name was Charlotte, and my father lovingly called me Charlie. “Do you know me? You can see me?”

“Silly girl, do you think you’re invisible?” Girl? I haven’t been a child for quite some time. Perhaps it was a joke, as the voice held humor without condescension.

As I slowly opened my eyes, a furry face with deep brown eyes came into view, panting with its tongue flopping around. I felt its tail thump against my side, obviously happy that I was awake. I tried to push it away but wasn’t strong enough to keep it from licking my face. The voice still held humor, even kindness, as a hand pulled the dog away. “Guard, leave Charlie alone.”

A weathered face with deep wrinkles and sad eyes took the place of Guard’s. Thin lips pulled back to something that looked more like a sneer than a smile, which exposed rotting teeth and a tongue that slid across gums where the teeth were missing entirely. Her breath smelled rancid as she spoke again. “You’re safe here, Charlie. I’m afraid there is nothing private about living under an overpass, but we’re invisible in status, for the most part, and thus safe at least. I’d take you to a hospital for your injuries if I thought they could do anything for you.” Chuckling at her thoughts as she formed them into words, she saw herself as the queen of ironic technique. “Your affliction is a bit more serious than not having health insurance, isn’t it?”

Grunting as she stood, she held her back and shuffled out of my line of sight. Guard quickly returned to my side in her absence. “Who are you? Where are we?”

Her voice echoed off the cement walls as she answered, “Who am I? I am many things, Charlie… But mostly, I am old. And we are neither here nor there. Where have you been hiding, Charlie? You have been lost for such a long time. We’ve been looking for you. Imagine our surprise to find you all grown up. We shall have to undo that revelation and take you back to where and when you belong. And, I’m afraid it won’t be a pleasant trip. Quite agonizing, I should think.”

Still unable to see her, I tried to sit up. Pain, unlike anything I’ve ever known, sliced through my abdomen, and I couldn’t move my legs. I couldn’t feel them at all. While lying on my back, I gently touched my stomach to find a gaping hole where the explosion tore away the soft flesh. Trying to lift my head off of the ground, holding the back of my head with my hand, I found a shard of shrapnel lodged in my skull above my right ear. With my discoveries, consciousness seemed to turn fluid as it slipped through my fingers. Slurred words slipped from my mouth, “Alice’s attic. I watched her grow up and protected her from the phantoms.”