The rhythm of the rain was different from that of the sea. The sea beat out a commanding monotone, a declaration of power and supremacy. Rain instead grew from a symphony of small sounds. Drops tapping glossy magnolia leaves before sliding off and splashing onto the boulevard they shaded. Metallic tinkles as bounced off the small tin roofs covering the gas lamp posts. And, unusually for a city, the soft patter of water on bone.
It was intermittent, only coming when the leaves grew too heavy and shed their load in a sudden rush. The skeleton waiting beneath them had a cloak but did not put up the oiled hood, instead letting the rain soak its skull like the streets around. After three days of summer downpour, the gutters were full. They added their own notes to the rain-song, a low gurgle underpinning the lighter sounds. In the tree above, wind shook the branches. Broken limbs and ruined blossoms lined the street along with countless leaves torn down. The storm had been unkind. Another gust came, stronger this time. A tiny scream cut the air as a nest, no bigger than a birds, was tipped off its perch.
Nest and contents tumbled into the gutter by the skeleton’s feet. The gurgle stopped, held back by the accidental dam. The skeleton peered through the rain at a distant clock tower. Just two minutes longer. Water had reached the top of the dam and was spilling over now. It should be left, death allowed to take its course. Yet something about the sodden form hidden under the waves tugged at the skeleton’s conscience when it thought it had no pity left to give. Thin fingers sliced through the water as it crouched and pulled out the small body. Doing so was a breach of protocol, but in a minute it wouldn’t matter anymore.
Fey lived short, harsh lives and she had clearly been no exception to the rule. Scars twisted her thin brown skin and a crooked leg betrayed a past fracture. Black hair was matted and uneven and clothes nothing more than a scrap of cloth. Her heart was still beating, for now, though her eyes were closed. After one break of the rules what was another? The skeleton ran a bony fingertip along her back, easing the pain. She would have peace in her last thirty seconds.
She did not seem to want it. The instant his magic took hold, her eyes shot open. The skeleton saw a desperate flash of blue before she leaped for its chest. Resigned, it let her. Peace could only be offered; it was her choice how she spent the last sliver of her life. Her feet raced up its ribs and it nodded to itself. Neck was a common choice, an obvious weak point. Unfortunately also a useless one. Skulls worked equally well attached or not. At the last second she surprised it though, ignoring the neck and vaulting over its sternum to drop into the cavern below. Her heart slowed as she fell. Hopefully she would continue through after dying and it would not have to fish her out.
The sudden impact drove the skeleton to its knees. It gasped for air to feed nonexistent lungs. Its ribs vibrated with a deep bass thump, echoed a moment later by a quieter boom. Fireworks exploding in its chest. Moments passed before the sensations resolved into sense. Its own heart, dry and stiff from years motionless, started again by the hit. And her own, guided by his, fed life once more.
Her fingers were digging into the sides. With each beat they shifted, maintaining their grip as dead cells sloughed off the newly living surface. The skeleton stood shakily, feeling the weight of the unwanted passenger less on its body and more on its mind. She had succeeded. She had cheated it, made it fail at its only job. It could not speak but it pulled a notebook from a cloak pocket with trembling hands. The letters were legible, barely. Let go.
Her voice was weak but determined. “Shan’t. I don’t want to die.”
The skeleton put the notebook away. Her tone made it clear she would not listen to argument. Even with use of its heart, she would die eventually. There were many other bits of a living body that could fail, and it had long since given those away. The heart had been sentimental idiocy really, and now it paid the price both for keeping it and for betraying the rules. No one must know. Business as usual, and she would soon leave. Resolved, it pulled the cloak closer and slipped into the night.
****
A week passed in silence. She clung to her perch but said not a word. Despite the skeleton’s fervent hopes, both hearts beat stronger. It began to fear others hearing it as it passed on the street. Surely this sound must be audible to all as it banged inside the cage of ribs. The days passed as normal though. None but its prey noted its passing.
Sometimes it could feel a pinching tug. Her nimble fingers were sewing rips together, patching holes with a needle so small it could not even see it. It wondered at the lengths to which creatures would go to preserve their lives. To so desperately fight against the inevitable… it was like a raindrop determined to defy gravity and return to the clouds. There would be no success.
On the seventh day she spoke. “The next one. I need some parts.” The skeleton tilted its skull down to regard her. She glared defiantly up from her prison. “I’ll grab them. You just have to let me. If you don’t, I’ll stab you.”
It looked down the street. A dog this time. He had lived well past his prime. A happy life, even though it played out entirely on the street. Food had been scraps from the trash, companionship had been barefoot children happy to play with a mongrel. The skeleton approached. Dogs never showed fear at the end, just acceptance that their time had come. This one even wagged his tail, a pair of quiet taps against the cobbles. The skeleton crouched to massage his ears gently as life slipped out of his body. For a brief moment the ghost of a dog hovered in the air. The silver form was young again and chased his tail in delight before fading into mist.
Hooded skull tilted down from the last silver flickers to a weight on the skeleton’s arm. She was hanging from its hand, hacking at the fur with a small knife. As it watched, she cut a small slit into the skin and vanished inside. It debated leaving her there but something stayed its motion. Not the threats; despite her residence on its heart it still had no fear of her. Curiosity perhaps? The dog’s sides heaved as she moved inside it. The skeleton marveled at her ability to hold her breath. Finally her head popped out, slick with red blood. She braced her feet against either side of the hole and pulled forth a mess of tangled and unidentifiable gore. Appearing satisfied, she drug it onto the skeleton’s hand. It hastily lifted her back to its ribcage, hoping to avoid more of the blood spilling onto its arm. Instead it leaked down its spine and onto its hips. It pulled the cloak tighter and looked up to the sunny blue sky, wishing for rain. Perhaps luck would be on its side and one of the next tasks would take it by a river. It continued on its duty.
She hummed as she worked. The rhythm threaded in and out of the steady background of their hearts, sometimes trilling above and others diving down into the bass. Her prize was sorted, muscles and tubes and cords all tied in neat bunches like herbs hung up to dry. Feet pattered along the ladder of ribs as she climbed up and down. Strand by strand she was stringing things into its neck, beneath its field of view. Vocal chords? It wondered to what end. Did she not realize how much else was required to work them? Like an organ with no bellows or a piano with no hammer, they would do nothing at all. It debated getting out its notebook to tell her this but elected not to. This life was hers to spend as she would. When she failed, she would learn.
Her song reminded it of something, long ago. Maybe someone. It was not in the habit of dwelling on the past yet still felt its thoughts tugged back. A house on a hill, grass dropping down into the valley and the sea. Waves far below, beating out their notes against the rocks while someone sang in tune.
It shook its head. Jawbone rattling brought its mind to the present. Suddenly it found her presence grating, repulsive even. With a snap as the wrist bones clicked together, it brought its hand down towards her. She shot into its ribcage but the bony fingers slid through easily, grasping, straining as she yelled, “Hey! Stop that!” Rage swelled in it at the idea that such a small creature would dare command it. It refused to obey.
A tug and a prick and then shooting pain. It fell to its knees. “I said quit! I don’t want to hurt you, but I ain’t leaving yet either! I’m not ready! So get your grubby fingers out of my house!”
Her knife must be in its heart. She couldn’t kill it; the heart did nothing at all. The head said one thing but emotions another. It was going to die. Fingers slid from the ribs and dropped to the ground. They splayed onto the cobbles, arm locking to help hold it up. The pain eased. A dull ache radiated from its heart, weighing down its bones. A gentle plucking. She was sewing it up.
It slowly raised to its feet. The heart must go, and her with it. It would give it away to the next person who could use it. Broken as it was, perhaps it would give them another few years. The skeleton reached into its cloak pocket and withdrew the book. She paused suspiciously but then kept going after its hand was full. It flicked through the pages. There. Only a few days from now. The fey was already back to clambering around its neck. It let her. Soon she would be gone and it would have peace once more.
****
She was done working. Her reserves of materials were gone, the last of them tied and sewn into place. Her feet raced up its ribs one last time as she maneuvered up onto the skeleton’s shoulder blade. “Finished! So, what is your name?”
It tilted its skull in disappointment. Her knowledge of anatomy was indeed lacking then. Surprisingly so given as far as it could tell, she had put everything together correctly. She was simply missing parts.
Her eyes were bright and expectant. It sighed. Then jumped. Sound? It tried a hum. Vocal chords vibrated on a non-existent breeze. Her shining eyes met its confused sockets. It tried words. “How…” Its voice startled it. Deep, mellow tones, warm and gentle like honey. A voice built for singing and laughter.
She bounced to her feet, face splitting in a wide grin. “It worked! I knew it would work! Come on, try it try it!”
The skeleton hesitated, scared of using up this precious gift with the wrong words. They should be meaningful, only the best and most necessary. It paused. Any words would be meaningful to her. Hesitation was set to the side and it returned her question with it’s own, “What is yours?”
She danced with delight. “Mika! I’m Mika! Who are you?”
It answered quickly, unexpected eagerness filling it at the sight of her joy, “I have none. We give our names away first.”
She frowned and tossed herself to sitting. “Well that is stupid. How are you supposed to wander around your whole life… death? Whatever. How are you supposed to not have a name?” Its shrug bounced her into the air. “Well if you gave it away, then I guess I just have to give you a new one. Hmm…”
The skeleton found it could not look away from her eyes. Their blue was deeper than any human’s, almost sapphire. They sparkled like gems when she thought, as if the electrical firing of the neurons was lighting striking through a midnight sky. She shot to her feet and threw a hand out to point at it. “I am going to call you Oliver. Your name is Oliver now. Do you like it?”
He – for it felt strange to think of himself as an ‘it’ with a name like Oliver – tilted his head. A moment ago he would have felt no particular attachment to the name, seen it as no other than the hundreds and thousands held by people around the world. Now though… he nodded, and then remembered her joy and said, “Yes.”
Her smile could bleach out the sun with its light. He looked away.
“Good! Then I picked well. Now then. I need a nap. Wake me for the next big one okay? I am going to need some more parts.” She dropped into his ribs again, impacting with his heart with a gentle thud. He could feel her hands as she curled like a cat on top of it before falling still. Perhaps one day she would make him a face so he could smile.
****
The ninth day had no souls to free. It never did. It was counting day.
Oliver hated it on the best of days. Seeing the many lives reduced to numbers and quotas wore on his patience. With Mika’s existence, counting day presented additional issues. If anyone saw the new voice she had woven him, difficult questions would be asked – ones he was not sure of the right answer to, or even his answer. If it got out he had a name now, it would be even worse. Not going was of course not an option. That would be the most suspicious of all.
There was also the logistical challenge. Living were under no circumstances to enter the counting chambers. Doing so was an instant death. The marble hounds guarding the door would spring to from their podiums, ripping the offending being to shreds. He had seen it happen once. Even years later the blood still lingered in the cracks between the flagstones, darker stains on the mortar that here and there indicated some unwise soul had met its end.
Mika was still asleep. He was loath to wake her but the sun was rising quickly and he did not know how easy she would be to convince. Ribs clattered as he knocked on them with bony knuckles. Her voice was sleepy and irritated as she looked up to snap, “Would you quit that ruckus? I was sleeping!”
Words still came hard to him. He plonked them down with the deliberate air of a scrabble player, “We need to talk.”
She groaned and pushed herself to sitting, muttering under her breath. The past week had given him familiarity with the reluctant slowness with which she rejoined the conscious. He gave her time, lowering his hand as he walked aimlessly along the street.
Finally she spoke again, “So, you want to talk? I knew giving you a voice was a smart first step! What are we talking about?”
Oliver tried to decide how to explain but quickly gave up and instead simply said, “It’s counting day. You cannot come.”
She scampered up onto his shoulder before asking, “What is counting day? Why can’t I come?
He looked down at her small form. Her wings vibrated with all the excitement in her voice, gossamer flickering through the air like a caged rainbow. This was serious, but she did not realize. “They will kill you if you come. You have to wait outside. Okay?”
She frowned but the energy trilling through her body did not calm. Where had it come from? So much life to be in one who so recently was at death’s door. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she set her hands on her hip, “Is this a ploy to get rid of me? If so I refuse. And I’ll stab you. Again.”
He shook his head. The thought had not crossed his mind. Not that it mattered, she would die soon anyway. No point in plotting. Considering her death made him perplexingly sad. He paused for a moment to stare at the emotion and then set it aside. Emotions were silly things, best ignored. Like names? muttered a treacherous corner of his mind. He ignored it as well.
She was staring at him. Her long hair fell to one side as she tilted her head in consideration. “You promise?” He nodded. She crossed her arms stubbornly, “I want you to say it.”
He did not bother protest, simply said, “I promise.”
She stayed on his shoulder for the rest of the walk to the Door. It looked like any other government building, except that nobody went in or out. The living did not register its existence. The dead could, but his city was small. He was the only skeleton to walk through this one of the Hall’s many Doors.
At the top of the marble stairs he held out his hand. Mika jumped onto it. Nervousness creased her forehead. Without thinking, he reached out a finger and smoothed the wrinkles. She stared at him. Embarrassment was just another emotion, but a powerful one. He hastily set her down beside one of the fluted pillars and rushed to the Door. It was overlarge, made of heavy oak bound with iron belts. A lack of muscles meant his strength was limitless though, and he pulled it open easily.
His footsteps slowed as he entered. The Hall beyond was far larger than the building in the city, a huge tower that stretched into the sky above and the earth below. Each level was a ring of Doors leading out onto a circular balcony bordered by an elaborate golden rail. Spiral staircases of the same golden metal connected the floors. Every tenth was a counting room. His usual was three up.
Marble floors echoed as his heels slid reluctantly towards the stairs. Skeletons bustled about him. Most were completely bare of flesh and skin, but here and there a newer one walked nervously through the mix. A patch of skin or the edge of an organ were briefly visible as their cloaks billowed about them. He pulled his own cloak closer, glad he had not discarded it as many did once they lost the trappings of their former lives.
The nearest staircase was packed so he went one further before ascending. Here and there a skeleton nodded politely to him, and he back. They had never spoken, or even written to each other, but after sharing a floor for years they were at least a friendly face to acknowledge. More familiar faces crowded the two-story cathedral of the counting room. He peered over the sea of heads, glad for the edge his few extra inches of height lent him. The lines were moving quickly. Soon he would be in the room. Nervously he glanced at the hounds flanking the entrance archway. Their white heads drifted as burning eyes roamed the crowd. He had nothing to worry about; she was not here and he was hardly any more alive than the new ones. Still, he could not suppress a shiver that sent his bones rattling.
Time crawled by, each second stretched to an eternity by his nerves. One of the hound’s eyes settled on him. He tensed. It drifted onward. The press of people pulled him further and further in. Finally he reached a clerk. The skeletons staffing the desks along either side of the room were ancient. They were the few who had continued long enough to retire from the world. Instead of streets and life, they passed their days among mahogany and green leather, sitting on cushioned chairs unnecessarily soft for their bony bottoms, writing away lives in endless ledgers. This one was particularly old, bones brittle and yellow. The accountants always gave him the feeling of being a schoolboy pulled up in front of the class by the teacher. This time, when he knew he had done something wrong, was far worse.
Oliver held out his hand. The clerk tapped a pen to the bone, drawing forth a curl of silver which wrapped around the shaft. It began to write. Words flowed onto the page. Names. As each appeared, the clerk consulted a second ledger, placing red ‘x’ marks as it cross-referenced.
The flow of words stopped. It looked between the ledgers. It looked up at him. Back down. A finger tapped a name, no red x next to it. His heart thumped in his chest. The clerk spun the book for him to read but he had already guessed at the name written in neat black cursive. Mikalana Nasu Tobishi. It was watching him. He hastily pulled out his own book, making a show of checking through the pages and then nodding. It nodded back and waved for him to go.
As he left, he cursed his stupidity. Of all his worries, he did not even consider she would be noticed in counting? Idiotic. Nine days to do something about it then or… what? He did not know. Never had he failed before, even when he was new. Would he be punished? Would they send someone else? His thoughts swirled. The return trip barely registered in his mind. It was not until the bright sunlight warmed his face that he came back to himself.
She was running across the flagstones. He wondered why she did not fly. Were her wings broken? Guilt filled him as he realized he had never thought to check, to care. He shoved the feeling away, irritation replacing it and then rage as he registered the irritation. Calm was a fleeting deer hidden in the woods but he hunted it the same. Hands grasped at his fibula as she began to climb. He bent and offered a hand. She took it with a smile and let him raise her to his shoulder.
“You know, I didn’t think you would come back. I was getting ready to leave.” Her voice was shaky and he could feel her tremble vibrating through his bones. He did not want those wet eyes to overflow, could not handle it right now. With a simple shrug he looked away and let himself vanish into the crowds.
****
The next day was busy. The backlog from the previous day needed cleared, as well as the new day’s tasks. Mika was busy as well, sliding up and down his arm as he worked. She was choosy, only plucking one or two items from each corpse they visited. Here an eyeball, there a patch of scalp. Her collection hung heavily in his chest.
At midday, it was a cat. He recognized this one, a stray with as many names as patches in its calico coat. A few of its past lives had lodged in his memory as well, visits where he shaved off just a fraction of its soul before returning the rest to its battered body. This had been the ninth, lost to a speeding cart. The ghost was as miffish as all cats, glaring at him irritably while twitching its tail. When he left it be instead of shearing off the customary slice, it tilted its head in confusion. Its nose poked its body hopefully but to no avail. It would not be returning again.
Mika was already by its head, unaware of the ghost hovering above. It turned to watch as she carefully carved out a second eye for her stash. Cats often hunted fey. Most had lost a life or two when they discovered these birds were a bit different and had the tools to fight back. Oliver could not remember if one of this cat’s nine had gone that way, but it at least had the sense not to try pouncing on her. Instead it looked away angrily and jumped onto Oliver’s shoulders.
He turned to look at it. To his surprise, she did too, hands on her hips, oblivious or uncaring of the blood dripping down her thigh. “Hey! Furball! That is my spot!”
It peered down at her to hiss disapproval. Oliver ignored it and asked curiously, “You can see it?”
She nodded angrily. “Course. Get it off my spot.”
He gently lifted the cat into his arms instead. Spectral fur stood on end and its tail snapped side to side, but it stayed in place. “How long have you been able to see them?”
She shrugged and began clambering up his legs, “I dunno. Since you tried to kill me? Seems about right.”
If Oliver had believed in a higher power, he would have thanked them now. A perfect solution had presented itself. He waited until Mika reached his shoulder and then asked carefully, “What do you think of what I do?”
She busied herself untangling the nerve endings of the eye as she answered, “Eh? Someone has to do it right? And it ain’t like you are the one who kills them. Even though I was just yelling about myself. Sorry. That was unfair.”
His words danced through his mind like a ballerina through a minefield before he strung them together into his offer, “You could join if you wanted. It would keep you safe from dying, and let you keep doing what you do. It would even make it easier since you wouldn’t be stuck going at my pace.”
It had been too much to hope that she would pounce on the offer, but he had wished for more than an indifferent twitch of the shoulders. “I’m already safe. Got the only one of you who works here under my thumb. Metaphorically. You don’t share territory, right?”
Oliver hesitated, trying to decide what to tell her. No, they didn’t. In big cities they would keep separate areas, roads and rivers as the dividing lines. But that did not necessarily mean she was safe. If they realized he was failing his duty, intentionally or not, surely they would send someone else to… fix it. To fix her.
Doubt crept into his mind. Or would they? Perhaps he was worrying about nothing. After all, in his many years here, never had anyone else crossed through the door. Not when there was plague and bodies piled high in the streets and he forgot counting day in the daze of working too hard and seeing too much. Not when he had given his second eye to a child hunting scraps, her little hands pattering the ground desperately for the crumb right in front of her, rendering him unable to navigate until he learned the trick of seeing without eyes. Of course, every time he had fallen behind, he had caught up once more. But it had taken time, sometimes months.
She was watching him, waiting for his answer with uncharacteristic patience. He was glad he had no face to read for it would surely betray the debate whirlwinding through his thoughts. They had time. No sense worrying her yet. Oliver smiled in his mind to force it into his voice and answered her finally, “No, you are right, we do not. Come on, let’s get to the next.”
Mika smiled at him and then looked down to scowl contemptuously at the cat. “What are we doing with the stupid furball? I’m not sharing.”
Instead of answering, Oliver gently set the cat on the ground, running his hand thrice along its back before beginning to walk. Mika stared behind them and growled a tag nervously, “Oliver, it’s following us.”
He glanced back. Its tail swung back and forth like a pendulum as it traced his footsteps. He looked back forward. “Cats are stubborn and a bit entitled. It will leave once it realizes I have nothing more to give it. You can just ignore it; it won’t hurt you.” He carefully did not mention the ways in which she reminded him of a cat. It would only make her mad.
****
During her increasingly infrequent breaks, Mika had continued sitting on his shoulder instead of hiding by his heart. He wondered if it was because she had less fear of him trying to remove her these days. Alternately, it could just be that things were getting crowded in his chest. As she rested less and less, her work sped and his body developed quickly. Each day she added something new. Lungs that could feel the cool of the night air. Eyes to once again pick out the tall buildings and low bushes in far brighter color and contrast than his mental vision could. A stomach that gurgled for he had no way to feed it. And mixed through everything, strand upon strand of muscle and ligament and vein.
Two things were becoming clear. Firstly, wherever she had come from, she had worked extensively with bodies. A doctor maybe, or even a taxidermist. Once he tried to ask but she merely fixed him with a blank stare before continuing to stitch together veins like she had never heard his question. He got the message. Besides, the second was far more pressing and took up most of his thinking time: they would definitely notice next counting day.
Hounds would likely be no problem. Mismatched parts, missing parts, and all, he certainly was not alive or even physically capable of becoming alive. But the others would see that he had changed. That he had gone backwards. Skeletons never went backwards, at least none that he knew of. Whether it was explicitly banned, he did not know. He was unsure he wanted to find out.
Of course, he could just skip. How long until they came? There was no emergency. No excuse.
He looked down at the small figure threading ligaments along his arm. Her body was stained brown from blood and gore, but she did not seem to notice. On his trek through the city, he stopped frequently at fountains to splash clean the tracks she left on the ever dwindling number of exposed bones he had. Mika never joined, or even paused most times. Despite his silence, she acted like she knew time was short.
A pang of worry cut through him and he reached his other hand over to scoop her up. She spun, furious, hands instantly snapping to her hips. “Oliver! You made me drop it! Now I have to start all over!” Her fury burned brighter in the face of his hesitant silence. “What do you want! Stop just staring at me!”
Words fell from his mind, shot down by the daggers in her eyes. Try as he might, the only thing he could scrape together was a lame, “You need a bath.”
Rage puffed into smoke and she started laughing. Tears cut sparkling paths through the grime as she moved her hands from her hips to clutching her sides. Oliver brought his other hand to hover nervously nearby, watching her footing as she shuddered. He wasn’t sure anymore if she was laughing or crying. A bit of both it seemed. There was work to do but he stopped, sat in the middle of the street. People split to flow around him without realizing they were doing so, avoiding an invisible rock in the river of traffic.
Mika crumpled to her knees, still spasming as she choked out strangled noises. Pain closed his new throat. He slowly ran a finger along her crackly hair, flakes of blood chipping off and speckling the bone. It seemed to help. Sobs grew quieter, her thin frame grew still. Had she fallen asleep? He hoped so, for in her focus on working she had been sleeping seldom and little.
Sleep was just a dream though, quickly dispelled as she pushed herself to sitting. Her face was mostly washed clean now, though it still burned red. Blue eyes stared into his own, drawing him in deeper and deeper, drowning him in the sea. A smile cracked her lips. She nodded. “Fine, if you insist. But just a quick one.” Waves pleaded him to stay as he tore his gaze away. The roar of the ocean retreated, tall rocky cliffs faded to the ruined facade of an old townhouse. He blinked to clear his vision, for he could do that now. His city, surrounding him with its reassuring weight. And her, waiting expectantly.
Feet swung into motion without his true attention. Longing still tugged at his heart. A sense of needing to be somewhere, though he knew not where. Blue-streaked marble loomed before him. Ah. The city bathhouse. He looked to his feet and gave quick thanks before pushing open the door. If she was to only have a quick bath, it would be the best money could buy or death could steal.
****
The cat was still following them. Mika pretended to ignore it, but he could tell by her frequent sidelong glances that it secretly bothered her. Then again, so did much these days. The closer counting day got, the more on edge she was. Pieces flew into place, stitch after stitch holding them together. When he tried to talk, she simply muttered, “Shut up, I’m busy,” and refused to answer further. No longer did she rest, or hardly even pause for breath. Unsure what else to do, Oliver worried.
She was working on his face. A patchwork of pieces tacked in place with threads. Anger in the crinkles by her eyes. Frustration. Small hands ripped down the delicate structure and tossed it to the ground. Again. Again. Quiet mutters under her breath, audible only due to her proximity to his ears. Why isn’t it right. Why can’t I make you look right. It’s all wrong. Why can’t I do this.
Why can’t I save you.
The newest face was strewn on the cobbles. He crouched to pick it up before the cat started playing with it. She did not notice. The neat stack in his hand was growing but he was unsure what else to do with them. Maybe she would need them. Maybe it would help her when he did not know how to do so himself.
****
It was the day before counting. He was almost whole again, in a way. Like a vase shattered and glued together. Except the pieces accidentally came from many vases, and the result looked a bit like something a child had attempted after breaking its mother’s favorite decoration. Still, he loved it. The wind tickled fine hairs on his arms. Everything he touched had a texture to be rediscovered. Sounds were crisp and vivid. He felt almost alive again. Of course he was not, it was all just an illusion. Oliver did not care. He felt joy, and let himself feel it.
She was still working, patching a piece of his leg. He had no face yet, but the muscles that would one day control it were enough to smile. He smiled at her. “Mika. Mika, do you hear the birds?” She did not. Did not hear him either. Her mind was dark except for the narrow light of her task. “Mika, look, the flowers are blooming! How pink they are!” His excitement fell on deaf ears. The cat twitched its tail, ostensibly wondering why the skeleton that was no longer a skeleton had gone crazy. “Mika. Please. Listen to me.” She did not, could not. All that reached her mind was the litany of things which still needed done, and the constant mantra fighting against doubt. I can do it. I just have to try hard enough. I can save you. Just wait. Wait for me.
****
She was working on his face again. Evening had fallen but he stood patiently under a streetlamp to give her light. Not because she had asked; she never did. The first night she worked, she had fumbled in the dark and continued by feel until he finally paused under the gas flame. Now it was habit. The pause did him well. He only wished she would join.
The ocean eyes were hovering just inside his field of vision. They reminded him of a memory, buried so deep as to be almost lost if not for this x on the treasure map of his mind. A color of blue, matching the sea. From the top of the cliffs it stretched forever. The sky swung down to meet it, light and dark melding in a hazy gradient on the horizon. His legs had swung in the open air, far too high to feel the spray but plenty high to feel a faint trill of excitement at the thought of nothing beneath them except the wind and the waves. Heather had plucked at his pants, plain cotton like the shirt he wore, dyed blue to mimic the ocean but never quite matching the shade. He had been happy. Belonged.
Her eyes dipped from sight as she moved down his cheek. A frown pulled his muscles. Then it had all changed. She had laid on their bed, still, cold. The sun had shone, he had screamed at it to go dark, hide behind the clouds, anything. Life couldn’t go on. How could the rest of the world have stayed the same when his corner of it had changed so irreversibly. Waves pounded the cliff. The rhythm she had loved had become a taunt. I am forever. I will outlive all. I will never change. Your pain is nothing. His voice had gone hoarse, fallen silent. Sea’s song battered his heart for it was right. The world cared not for his grief.
The sea had risen up to meet him like an old friend opening its arms. There must have been pain, but all he remembered was the cool embrace. Color swirled around him as the currents dragged him down, down. He was part of it, drifting with the waves. It whispered its secrets, giggling like a girl telling of her first love. Ears filled with the bubbling; he couldn’t make out the words. It was important though, a way to stay a part of this ocean. To be forever. He dissolved.
A voice snapped him back to the present. The wrong one. Mika. “Are you okay?” He blinked. It was the first willing words she had uttered for almost a week. “You’re crying.” She was leaning back, peering into his left eye with her own. He held out a hand and she dropped into it obediently. Again her arms were crossed. The muscles weren’t bunched as tightly as usual though. Looser, less defensive. Worried. “Oliver?” Finally he found it in himself to nod. She did not look convinced. Probed further. “What are you thinking about?”
Answers swirled through his mind. Explanations that would make sense. Excuses that he didn’t want to talk about it. Options upon options through which he dug until he finally found the truth.
“I want to go home.”
She was confused, that much was obvious. “Isn’t this your home?”
He shook his head. Since his death it was his city, but he had never lived here. Never been more than a shadow slipping unseen through its streets. It belong to him, yes, but not he to it.
“Alright then. Where are we going?”
Feet started walking. Mika settled cross-legged in his hand, bright eyes still watching. He couldn’t help but smile at how quickly the weight of worry had flipped from his heart into her own. His smile confused her further, and he laughed. “What! Why are you laughing?”
He shook his head. It was too hard to explain. For a few blocks she was silent before asking, clearly nervous to bring it up, “What about tomorrow? Is home close?” Calico tufts of hair bobbed as he shook his head again. She tiptoed further, “But… don’t we need to. You need to go to the building?”
Oliver smiled and answered, carefree, “No. They’ll come for us eventually. But we can deal with it then. Right?”
She stared at him and cast helplessly for words. “Your face is half done.”
His grin widened and he lifted her up. “Then finish it. I like where you are going with this one. It’ll be perfect.”
****
The sun circled across the sky many times. Truly the world is large. Forests bled into savanna before she tugged the last stitch into place. “Finished.”
He checked his face in a pool of water, crouching across from a drinking antelope. It was nothing like the face he once had, the one he only vaguely remembered in bits and pieces. By many standards it was hideous, a jagged patchwork of skin tones with two different eyes, one from a cat, peering out of it. Mika was watching nervously. The cat lapped uselessly at the water, tongue passing through the surface without rippling it at all.
His heart beat, his blood flowed. Warmth rose deep from his bones. On the other side of the muddy oasis, the antelope suddenly started and took flight. He laughed as he gave her the praise she desired, “It is perfect.”
She smiled, tension uncoiling as she slumped into his hand. “I did it.”
He nodded. “Yes, you did.”
Her eyes drifted slowly shut, smile still playing across her lips as she finally, finally, let go.
****
Waves pounded far below. The cat sat at his heels. Still following even now. He should be unable to see it with life flowing through his veins, but perhaps they were bound by its eye that he now carried. Its company was welcome.
Sea sang its song. I am forever, I am eternal. Endless pounding as it slowly wore down even the hard stone of the cliffs, year after year, far into the future. Now another voice trilled above, triumphant. An plea not meant for him, but which had ended in his life regardless. Stay, wait for me. I will save you. If it takes my own life, I will save you. You will live.
The sea called to him, whispering its secret that no man could hear even at the hour of his death. It demanded he return, yield to its unending presence. He turned. The house on the hill waited for him. Twin cherry trees sat over the graves where they lay. The sea took but the sky gave, spinning new life out of the worn threads of the dead. Years later, they bloomed.
K.M. Morris Books 