When the figure came, it came swiftly, forming very close to her, and it seemed to pause as if in expectation of something she would do, as if it were responsive to her thoughts—as if it expected her to reach farther; but she could not. Breathlessly, before she could lose her nerve, she tried to form a question. Her voice came dry and hollow, “The box,” she whispered, shuddering. “Show me the box. Tell me what it means.” There was a surge of response, a surge of coming toward her— and the shape warped. She was dizzy, dizzy—the shape was gone, the room gone; she was in blackness, dizzy and breathless. Somewhere the wind was blowing, she could see nothing, only hear the wind. She could feel nothing but dizziness. Tiny lights were flickering far away from her, and someone was calling, speaking rhythmic words that seemed to pull at her. The lights came closer; now she could see they were candles; she should know what they meant, she should know where she was, but she was too dizzy to think. A girl stood before the table, a girl—her wrists turned to ice. A girl dressed in a black robe, the cowl hanging around her shoulders, her hair ruby in the candlelight: It was herself she saw, standing silently before the candles. It was herself. The room spun, she was sick with dizziness —her own face shimmered before her, and she slumped to the floor.
Chapter 8
“Is she all right?”
“She’s only fainted I think, bring the light closer.”
“What was she doing in here, how could she—?” That was Aunt Bett.
Bethany tried to sit up, saw the candles set on the floor beside her, felt dizzy again, and lay back. A flashlight shone across the floor, then the lights went on, glaring, and she was staring up at Aunt Bett. Justin blew out the candles, and Reid came out from the back carrying the flashlight.
“I think—try to sit up,” Justin said, kneeling down and putting her hand behind Bethany’s shoulders. “Did you faint? You didn’t hit your head?”
“No, I—” she was so cold, shivering uncontrollably.
“Your coat, Reid,” Justin said, taking off her sweater and tucking it around Bethany’s legs. “And something hot to drink, hot water will do.”
Reid wrapped his jacket around her, and she thought desperately, I’m not going to tell what happened, not to Aunt Bett.
They bundled her into the car at last, and she huddled down into Reid’s coat with her face turned away. She didn’t want to talk. And in the house—the house seemed strange, where was she?—Justin undressed her like a child while the tub water ran, steaming. She was still shivering, and the tub felt wonderful when Justin helped her in. Like a child she was tucked into bed, and it was lovely to be treated so. Justin didn’t try to talk to her, but when she lay warm in bed, and Justin stood poking up the fire, she felt somehow compelled to talk. “I wanted—” she began, needing so much to make Justin see. “I wanted to find out. Selma said she looked like me, the girl looked like me and— Oh, she did, Justin! Not just looked alike, but—” She began to shiver again.
Justin pulled another blanket over her, and sat down beside her. “Don’t talk, don’t talk now, it’s all right now—”
When she woke, sunlight was washing across high rafters and across the yellow walls, a brilliant cascade of sunlight. But she did not know where she was; she was not in a room she knew at all. Then she came fully awake, and the blackness of last night crushed her so she went heavy as lead, remembering. Her head throbbed, and she felt sick. She turned over and tried to escape into sleep again, but the horror of seeing her own face in the candlelight held her frozen. She heard Justin come into the room; she didn’t want to talk; she lay as if she were sleeping for a long time, but at last she turned over reluctantly and stared out at the room. Why did it seem so familiar? Yellow— yellow tapestries— Then she remembered this room flashing across the other visions as she stood facing the old black lady; and she remembered last night, with the firelight and the warmth; this room had sheltered her last night when she was frightened and cold. It was a room full of brightness, the tall stone fireplace catching the sunlight through the three bay windows. Justin was sitting at her desk with her back to Bethany. She did not turn around, and she appeared to be working at something.
Why had they brought her here instead of home to Aunt Bett’s? Maybe Aunt Bett didn’t want her any more, after last night. And how had they found her? It was all so hazy in her mind, pictures coming and going. She lay trying to make sense of it, trying to remember what she had told Justin, what she had told Aunt Bett. She had a strong feeling that Aunt Bett knew everything, though she could not remember telling her. The more she puzzled over it, the more she thought she had told Justin, late in the night before the dying fire. She thought she had awakened, and Justin had come—with hot cocoa and sandwiches, yes! She could remember sitting up in bed, weak and shaken still. She could remember hoping she could keep the sandwiches down.
Yes, she had told Justin all of it, she remembered now. She covered her face with her arm as if she were still asleep, and lay thinking about it.
Justin had made no comment, but had simply listened, nodding, asking an occasional question. She had remained silent, unanswering, when Bethany asked her, distraught, what it was. Then at last, “I don’t know. I can’t answer you, Bethany, when I don’t know. Don’t try to make it easier for yourself by asking for easy answers.”
She had stared crossly at Justin, but still she knew Justin was right. She had touched something in that dark room, and there was no easy answer to what it was. It had not been a simple thing, either, for besides the figure there had been a feeling of something else, something huge, as huge as the night sky, but darker and without that breath of space. Something that, she thought, had nothing to do with the figure. The figure itself—herself, seeing her own self—the terror of that was quite apart from the huge darkness, in some way she could not understand.
Maybe there was no figure, she thought suddenly. Maybe what she saw was simply a trick of the dark— as a hand shadow is really only the absence of light in a certain pattern, and is part of a larger, permanent darkness. She shook her head. Could the shadows seen by one’s mind form themselves into the familiar, into the shapes you most expected? Into yourself? But why would she expect that shape? Had she really been more influenced by the idea of the Zagdesha than she thought?
And what about the box? That was the last thing in the world she would have expected. That there could actually be a Zagdesha she had discarded long ago, and yet—she rolled over, her face in the pillow—there was something else, something else that nagged at her, but she could make nothing of it. She only knew she had seen herself in that dark room, standing by the candles. She shuddered in a long sigh and wished she had never gone, wished it were yesterday again.
“You’re lying there worrying yourself,” Justin said softly. “Here, sit up and take this.” Bethany smelled cocoa suddenly, as Justin put the tray down on the night table. She had not even heard Justin go out of the room. “I’ll have eggs in a minute, and some ham. Start on the cereal.”
She sat up, pushing the pillows behind her, and took the tray. She was famished suddenly.
But it was more than hunger that made her weak, and after breakfast she settled into a vague, not-wanting-to-face-the-day feeling; she had no desire at all to get up, no desire to do anything. Justin poured more cocoa for her, took the tray away, and went back to her desk.
“Does Aunt Bett know?” Bethany blurted suddenly. “I told you everything last night, didn’t I?”
“I guess it was everything,” Justin said wryly. “Yes, Bethany, I told Bett. You and I agreed last night that she had a right to know. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I guess I do. Yes. Everything’s so mixed-up. What did she say? Is that why I’m here? She doesn’t want me home.”