It reminds me of her. She’s got to be close.
I nudge open another door half-heartedly, then pull it shut before moving on to the next. So weird how they’re all shower stalls.
Then she came out of the darkness in the same overalls as always. Every time I see her, she’s wearing the exact same thing. I’m sure she had a few different looks in the waking world, but I guess I couldn’t tell them apart. She really loves her greys and browns, the duller the better.
—I’ve been looking for you.
She’s winded. What’s she all worked up for?
—Having a hard time on your own?
Not like I was blaming her or anything.
—I’m an introvert and introverts need companions.
Right. I forgot about that habit she had (yes, had) of stringing words together like they were actually comprehensible. More than that, there was something sharp lurking in what she said.
Look at her make-up. A throwback to another era. Blue eyelids and red lips leaping off her otherwise drab face. What a train wreck.
I think it was an ex of hers who said it: She’s got no style when it comes to clothes or make-up. And I’m pretty sure I shot back, ‘So what kind of style’s she got?’
Oh, right. I have something to tell her.
—Your man called this morning.
The second I deliver the message, she brightens up.
—What did he say?
Whoa, chill out. Nothing to get excited about.
—My mum picked up, so…
I feel sorry for her.
—He didn’t call back later?
—Nope.
I didn’t want to tell her that. I feel like there’s a snake inside me. I hate it. It wasn’t like this before the transfer. I used to be so empty inside, so pure.
—What are you trying to say?
Don’t ask me when you already know the answer. No, wait – it’s a scary thought, but maybe I’m the only one who knows.
—He probably wanted some… reassurance.
—What’s that supposed to mean?
I can see the defiance in her eyes. No, not defiance — hatred. She hates me. That’s why she keeps showing up like this. What’s that supposed to mean? God, the mileage she’s had out of that line.
—You know, he wanted to make sure you went under.
—What the fuck are you trying to say?
She squares her shoulders. Why can’t she just let it go? I only said what I said to put a little fear in her (if that’s even why I did it), but at this point she’s got zero pride left. And she’s the one always saying there’s nothing more important than pride.
—You really want me to say more? He’s scared you’re gonna come back, that you’re gonna stab him or something.
—Why would I do that?
Her voice is actually trembling.
—I get why he’s scared. I mean, when things started getting crazy, you were crying every time I saw you. I know it was pretty serious and all, but you only saw him once a week — five, six times total? But that didn’t stop you from unburdening your soul and confessing your undying love for him (which she actually did — he told me so). You really put your obsession out there for all to see.
Before him, nothing dramatic ever happened to her. So she had to dream things up. And now it’s become a complex of hers (apparently) — that nothing ever happened.
—I don’t wanna hear it.
There was a petulant bloodlust in her voice.
We just stood there, speechless.
A low rumble was coming from somewhere — an air conditioner or maybe a boiler.
Guess there isn’t anyone else around.
She always loved gossip. Celebrity stuff. Something’s up with those two, she’d say, unable to contain her giddy excitement. The way she idolized the girls was downright weird. Falling for the boys would have been a lot more normal, but she’d go on and on about the girls for hours — almost like she’d taken their place.
Life’s never satisfied her. No, that’s not exactly right. She half resents her past but can’t bring herself to let it go. She relives her regret, over and over. Nothing happened, I did nothing.
She leaves her physical self behind, entering some resplendent other. I guess it never occurred to her that she might be able to function in reality if she could just get over her self-effacing transference.
She’s always wanted to forget her own wretchedness, even if only for a second. She couldn’t have made it this far without constantly identifying with other people.
—Knock it off already. I swear, it’s like you were born an old maid.
The words just came out. I have even less self-control here than in the waking world.
She shot me a look. It was hardly homicidal, but the strength of her spite was obvious enough.
—Don’t you get it? You’ve had a huge influence on me.
—I had no idea, but I guess I can see it now.
I wish I hadn’t, but I said it, just like that.
—I used to be… obsessed. Seriously.
There was something sticky in her voice.
—News to me!
I really shouldn’t be so glib.
—And that’s why, we need to settle this.
—Settle what?
—My feelings. You’ve got to make this right.
My, my. What a scary thing to say. I can feel it again. Something hanging in the air.
—What do you think’s going on outside this building?
—How would I know? It’s your world.
—I bet we’re in a bomb shelter and most of the human race has died off.
She shuddered.
—Hey, what are you doing? I have the right to choose our environment, too.
I didn’t say anything. I just started walking and she followed. The corridors were a maze. First things first, we had to get away from the centre. It would be great if we had some string or maybe a piece of chalk.
I had no way of knowing if we were getting any closer to an exit, but I kept on walking. All I found were identical doors, floating amid the same unchanging light.
—Looks like your mind’s a real mess.
Is she taking the piss?
—Yeah, who knew I was such a labyrinth.
The walls changed colour. I got the feeling they were fragile, like they were made of packed earth. Maybe we were getting closer to the exit. Maybe this maze had been abandoned for centuries.
—Hey, I bet we can break through this.
I started kicking at the wall, but I was barefoot, so it didn’t do any good.
—Stop! What are you doing?
—What do you think I’m doing? Trying to get out. I thought you hated this place.
—But it’s dangerous.
—Yeesh, you’re afraid of everything, aren’t you?
When I threw myself into the wall, it came crumbling down. She shrieked.
On the other side of the wall we found an empty room made of mud. One window. Outside, I could see the blue of dawn. We’d made it to the outer wall.
In one corner, there was a huddle of people so dirty I couldn’t even tell if they were men or women. They were in rags, skinny and covered in grime. They had faces like rats and ate like rats. I guess they weren’t human after all.
She kept poking me in the side. I think she was trying to tell me to stay away, but I walked right over to talk to them. Their responses were obscure, but not indecipherable. I asked them question after question about the outside world, until eventually I learned that they’d lived through some kind of apocalypse. Far from here, there are human survivors, the rat people said to me. We know because we’re telepathic.
—We’d better go and check it out.
—Wait, we don’t even know what happened. What if there’s radiation out there? Or ammonia storms? We don’t even know for sure if we’re on Earth.