Human Spines

Trying So Hard Not to Forget-II

Hans

        I am having a hard time focusing. Wait, I always have a hard time focusing. Dumaine's having a hard time focusing. The mist at the top of the pit has latched onto him, constricting the connections in his brain. He's almost thinking like me now.

        "Sit," the Reaper-Mother asks. I didn't realize we'd moved. Have we moved? My dear can see his street, my sweet can see her room, the Mother sees a cliff overlooking the ocean, and I see... a million places. I only recognize two of them. One is my room from when I was young, about five years old, and the other is the dance studio. All the rest are living rooms, backyards, small islands, and strange rooftops. The locations overlay each other, clouding my vision. But they all have one thing in common. A beautiful set-up for a tea party. Magenta ribbons spill off table corners, fuchsia ruffles line edges, rose napkins sit swan-shaped.

        "But not upside down. And don't touch the underneath of your seats," the Reaper-Mother adds, instructing us on how to sit.

        Her words make Dumaine uneasy, yet he can't seem to look away from her. But we see two very different beings.

        "Krissy told on you, you know. Said you played a song and it poisoned her." Gold eyes that flash blue, then green, when looking into the light, flick to my dear as she speaks. Thin lips smile, pale freckled skin stretches across sharp cheeks. Limp orange hair falls off her shrugging shoulders. "Emmeline, what did you do with your father?"

        As Emmeline answers, I realize that I recognize this woman. But that's all. I simply know I've seen her before.

        She converses with my sweet but her words come with pictures she offers from her mind. I don't peer any further into her head, seeing her mind is like an open window into every JIBBOO's, so many emotions exposing themselves at once. But I've yet to spot any of her own emotions.

        Her words about the JIBBOO's origins confirm a theory we had. But they also mean these JIBBOO might be people we used to know. Think, think, think. What does this make the Opaque?

         "What does that make you?" A soaking Dumaine has his own questions.

         Her mind goes blank for a second but she recovers. "The Reaper-Mother. Well first I was just a Reaper and before that I was just... human. But that was sooooo long ago, wasn't it, Emmeline?" She's licking her teeth in an exaggerated smile, her attention focused only on Emmeline. I think I've found her weakness. "But that's far into your future. Look at how small you are! You'll always be that small, you know." But I wasn't always this big, her thoughts write out.

        "What's happening? Here, with the Opaque?" Emmeline demands.

        Not even the Reaper-Mother notices her own flinching at the mentioning of the Opaque. She's honest and brave as she reveals what she doesn't know, but a piece of her is separating itself from the rest. Like an after image, it's dragging itself under the table, curling into a ball. This other her contains all the emotions she was missing earlier.

        My dear jabs a question at the Mother, completely unaware of the fragile fetus of emotion below.

        "Because." The Reaper-Mother answers while the ghost twists a hand around my ankle and images flood my visual cortex. A baby, two pulses visible within her body, one natural, the other an imitation in her palm. Malinda. Now it's Dumaine, his eyes glued to his fingers as they dance around his accordion. I see myself, spinning in time with distant music, then another old man, tall and thin, viciously rattling a dark-haired infant. It switches to Lochlan, first, with tears in his eyes, then with stern worry as he pleads for me not to focus on something Emmeline had said. I see my parents and Marvin K. Mooney and my big green cup sitting on my counter filled with juice. But now I'm remembering something. Something so important I have to be completely sure of it first before I dare turn it into a thought.