Chapter 5

In comparison to the whole Boistrom fiasco of yesterday, the morning plays out pretty uneventfully. Ian and I talk over our morning Deap about the prior night's events and how strong my reaction to Boistrom was. Ian believes it has to do with our body differences. He sounds like a broken record in his way of apologizing, "It really is my bad. I tested it on me, and out-of-shape 49-year-old man and you are the exact opposite of all of those things." Ian stares down at his Deap as he sincerely speaks. "It really was a significant reaction. Some of the things you were saying… didn't make much sense." He stares at me in silence. I feel a hole at the center of my chest, I don't remember everything about last night, but I do remember telling him about not hearing the voices while on Boistrom.

I smile trying to shrug off the fact that I know what he is referring to. Ian is kind, he won't say anything about it unless I do. And I am not talking about it, even though the voices are louder than ever and growing in volume with every second that the Boistrum wears off. We both silently sip on our Deap with awkward air hanging ominously between us. And as silence always does, it brings out the worst in me. I can't stop picturing the end of my last light. The noise of it, how it felt to hit the ground, the moment I bent my legs and just let go. I shudder, closing my eyes hard and trying to focus on the moment. I have to calm down.

Upon opening my eyes I see Ian staring at me silently. I can almost see his brain churning in thought, with his brow furled and lips pursed. His bright blue eyes land on the gold pendant around my neck. And almost as a reflex he immediately stands and walks toward the sink. Suspicion curls up in me. I sit in silence for a moment, confused at what just happened. I decide that he is just not used to having people around, that he just doesn't remember how to behave. I reassure myself silently that I need him. He knows this place, I need to learn everything he will teach me about it. I will deal with the rest later.

"Do you think you could show me around more today? I want to see what Stix looks like beyond our house." I walk to the sink and begin helping him wash the dishes. Judging by the fact that there is no well near and we always seem to have water, I know Ian journeys beyond our little clearing regularly. He smiles as I pass him a wooden cup to dry. "Of course. We are running low on some of the plants that I get from the forest and I can show you where I get water." I move faster then, motivated by the possibility of leaving the walls I have been dependent on for the last few days. "I have been working on making you some more weather-appropriate clothing, you will probably want to wear it from now on." He awkwardly points to a pile of brown, neatly folded on the side table in the living space. I walk over to inspect, Ian talks as I do. "I didn't know what length to make them. So I made a few to give you the option. I also made a couple of different styles. I'm no fashion designer, I just figured it would be more comfortable than the sub-zero gear you are currently sporting." I pick them up and decide to save him from the excruciating pressure of looking them over in front of him. "Thank you Old Spice. For everything."

I walk back to my room and lay the clothes out over the bed. There are 2 dresses, one that I can tell would go to my knees and another just a little shorter than that. There are also 2 pairs of shorts, each in similar lengths as the dresses. I opt for the shorter shorts and pull them on. I am surprised at how well they fit as I tie them onto my waist. I walk to the corner of the room and grab my tank top from the pile of clothing there. I slide my boots on to finish the ensemble and grab a piece of brown fabric to function as a hair tie. I fold my long hair into a messy fishtail braid and tie it off with the fabric.

By the time I exit the room Ian is outside waiting. I walk out into the blistering heat and we set off down a path that is off to the right of the house. The path has been cleared so well that I don't even have to worry about small scratches from the undergrowth. I follow the back of Ian's shoulders for what feels like about 3 miles. The entire time I think about the summer I hiked the Grand Canyon with my dad. It took us 2 weeks, not because we couldn't have gone faster but because my dad was so fascinated by everything we saw. He would stop every few feet to marvel at something new, but I didn't mind. To my 9-year-old mind, my dad was the smartest person alive and it was a privilege to hear him tell me about rock formations. Not much changed in my adulthood. My dad really did teach me to take life slowly, to enjoy it. I admired that about him so much, I still do.

My heart breaks a little every time I think about my origin family. They are the reason I refer to my lights as lights and not lives. The brutality of death is that it rips you from those you love. Afterward, you can never be whole again. I kick a fallen stick with my boot and stumble forward slightly. The reality, I think, is that life without those you love is not life at all. It is just existence. Ian glances back, "watch your step!" I nod. Refocusing with what feels like a wad of cotton choking me.

We walk toward a clearing that swirls with powerful gusts of wind. The fabric securing my braid whips around and tickles my face as I climb over a fallen tree and take a seat next to Ian. He breathes heavily next to me, extending his hand toward me, offering me a small brown sack that resembles the one hanging in the shower. I take it, pressing the small opening to my lips. The water is slightly cooler than the hot air that whirls around us, tangling my hair. I swallow several gulps down before offering the bag back to Ian. "I am going to go back through those trees," Ian points as he speaks, "We need the Air Weed that grows back there." I stare at him, "Air Weed?" He laughs, "I should say that I need it." He looks down somewhat shamefully, "please don't judge me okay?" I nod, forcing a laugh to make him more comfortable. "It is really similar to marijuana. It just sort of makes you feel like you are floating or flying. I.. well I.. I just.." I cut him off. "Ian, I don't care if you smoke Air Weed. I might join you if I am in the right mood." We both laugh as Ian shuffles to his feet. "I would have you come with me but it's a pretty small space and is surrounded by Terroroot Barbs. Will you be okay here alone?" I nod. Truth be told, I might not be, given that the ghosts of my family seem to be lurking anywhere I am alone. But I know for sure that I do not want to be anywhere near Terroroot ever again. "I will be fine." I smile as Ian nods and turns to walk away. "I will be no more than 15 minutes, it is not too far. Just yell my name if you need me!"

I stare at the area Ian disappears into for a few minutes, pulling my knees toward my chest to alleviate the anxiety building there. I breathe out and adjust so that I can see the entirety of the small alcove I am in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her. My heart sinks. She stares at me through pure black orbs. I feel tears run down my face but don't remember feeling like crying. I stare back at her, remembering every inch of her sweet features. Even among the trees which tower over us, Yomi looks small. Her short figure is frozen in its place, an eerie ghost standing on the edge of my reality. I try to speak to her but the words trip over the cotton in my throat. I step back slowly confused by how she is here in Stix, how she became lightless, and why she hasn't said a single word to me. I step backward slowly, caught somewhere between a scream. My foot hits something firm and I fall backward, colliding with the dirt-covered ground. I scramble to my feet, desperately looking for the lightless Yomi among the trees. She is nowhere to be found. I reach up and wipe my tears away, catching my breath. I hear the crunch of sticks behind me and jump around ready to run.

Ian jumps away from me startled, throwing the armful of Air Weed he was carrying into the air. "Woah! Woah! It is just me!" I react slower than I should have and determine instantly to not tell Ian what I saw. Between him viewing me as crazy or a liar, I would choose a liar every time. "I am so sorry!" I say breathlessly. I bend down and begin picking up the Air Weed that has scattered in the wind. "Are you okay?" He grabs my hand to stop me from frantically picking up the scattered Air Weed. We stare at each other for a few tense minutes, his bright blue eyes begging for the truth. I breathe out breaking eye contact, "I'm fine, just.. tripped." Ian goes on to forgive me, saying something about how the woods can really make you dizzy if you let them. I zone out, my eyes bolting all around looking for the nightmare I narrowly escaped.

By the time we get the Air Weed picked up and repacked in the small tote Ian has brought along with us, my head hurts and the whispers have somehow become screams again. Ian leads the way once again as I try to refocus on getting water and learning about Stix. I ask Ian questions that sound like hums even in my own head, still, he answers, too focused on leading the way and teaching me about Stix to notice that I am entirely zoned out. My mind gives in to the whispers, and at the thought of my loved ones, my heart drops. I try to ignore the feeling that the lightless Yomi is following closely behind me and pretend that I don't see my mom in my head talking to me. I blame the apparition on stress and push the muscles in my legs to speed up, hopeful I can outrun the past. Hopeful that somehow, hearing voices and seeing apparitions is completely normal. I traipse alongside Ian who at some point went silent.

The quiet crunch of our footsteps is not nearly strong enough to down out the haunting happening in my head. I force myself into conversation with Ian, swallowing the bile that has built up in my chest and doing my best to hide the tears puddling in the corners of my eyes.

"So you died with a case in your hand?" The question just plops out, I stare at it standing awkwardly between Ian and me. I do my best to correct it but it is no use. "I just… I saw that you had it and you said you had died with it in your hand. I mean, not that I don't believe you… But I just.. I mean.." I cough. "You're curious," Ian smiles as he interrupts my awkward attempts at justifying the accusatory question. I smile, "it just has to be a really good story." Ian looks at me as he pulls a branch back and out of the way for me to pass through to the other side of the path. "No more interesting than the millions of death stories I am certain you have heard by now." I laugh as I pass by him without looking up at him. "So how exactly does one die with a medical case in their hand?"

"Well simply put, one practice as a doctor and carries said case around as a condition of employment." I nod, still shaking off nerves but more intrigued now than anything. Every time I hear Yomi's invisible footsteps behind us I edge a bit closer to Ian, hoping he takes it as a curiosity in his story, not fear of ghosts. Ian continues, "I worked as a doctor in my last light. I studied light cycles, how they work and if there is a way to stop them from occurring." I pin my eyes on Ian in disbelief. "You were trying to stop light cycles?"

"You say that so shocked." He laughs as he responds. I respond quickly, "you just seem so happy. I never thought you would be interested in ending them."

"Not ending them," he corrects, "avoiding them altogether, or at least cutting the death part out." Ian trails off as if we have hit a rather sensitive part of his past light. I break the tension, "So what did you find out?" He steps in front of me slightly to lead the way through a particularly narrow part of the path, he speaks as he does so. "Nothing you probably don't already know." I step past him in silence, insisting that he continue to explain. He sighs but obliges, "As you know, nobody is really sure how Light Cycles work or if they are something that ails everybody. For a lot of reasons I hope that they are, I hope that my family members all lived long happy origin lives and have gone on to live many more. But I think a bigger part of me hopes their lights burned out at the end of their origin. I would not wish the agony of living again and again on anyone, especially those I love." I stare at the back of Ian's gray head, shocked by the direction he has taken this conversation.

I wonder about Ian's origin family. I figure this would be a fine time to ask. The words stumble out of my mouth clumsily, "so… Old Spice… you have a family?" His answer is an unexpected punch to the gut. "Oh ya. Tons." I almost stopped stepping. I am silent trying to wrap my mind around it. Ian decides to explain without me even asking. "In my origin, I had a wife, her name was Danny. And 2 kids, a girl, and a boy. The boy was Bryon and the girl was Kianna. Danny and I raised them to adulthood, I was a surgeon there. Kianna was pregnant when I passed so I never got to meet any of my grandchildren but I am sure that I have a few. Past that, I have many other families. You know reproduction does not happen in light cycles, but that does not prohibit marriage. And it certainly does not prohibit love. And so, over the years I have accumulated if you will, more children and more spouses. I figure, I have many lives to live and that is a huge portion of living in my opinion. I hope Danny and Bryon, Kianna, and all the others who have taken that part of my heart are doing the same. Living." I nod. Still not willing to argue my opinion about all of that. And I change the subject to prevent him from asking me, "How did you pass? You know, originally?"

We are coming up on a clearing as I ask him, he doesn't slow his pace. "Heart attack. Or at least I think so. I felt the pain in my chest and was lost to the light. So unless I was shot from behind or something…" He laughs. I never know how to act. 332 lights and there is still no way to bridge that awkward gap. I can't tell him I'm sorry, my origin death was way more bloody than his anyway. But I can't just stay silent. I panic and go with the former as I always do, "I'm sorry." I am thankful our arrival keeps him from responding to me. Instead, we both make for a shaded area in the clearing to relax. He hands me a bag of seeds to snack on as we both catch our breath and we sit silently for a few minutes.

Ian breaks it, "How about you Hope? You got a family?" I look down considering lying. Something inside me urges me to tell the truth, so much so that I cannot resist it. "Ya." I say nodding, "I do. Just the one. My parents and 3 sisters. I have a niece too and a couple of dogs." I notice how I address them naturally in present tense, yet another thing Ian and I don't agree on. He nods, sensing my emotion. They have always been hard to talk about, most days I think I miss them more than they could have possibly missed me. I have always felt slighted in that way. After my death, they had each other and they still had their lives. I got shallow existences that begin and end with even more death. I am quiet, that is as much information as my shattered heart is willing to give to this almost complete stranger.

Like the father Ian reminds me of however, he pushes for more. "You were close? I am sure your young death crushed them." I nod, sticking to my silent commitment. I'm also taken aback. Hearing someone say it out loud is weird. I am not crazy. I know that I died. It just doesn't feel like it. It just feels like I went numb like I was kidnapped like my story is still being written and my time since "death" has just been a really long run-on sentence, no periods, just commas. I guess death has a different meaning to me now after all this time, it's just a transitional period. I can't see it as an end. Clearly, Ian does. Either way, I can tell that Ian wants to ask--they always do.

For a moment I am mad at myself for egging this conversation on, although I know that it is almost obligatory at this point and my mind needed the distraction. It sucks that every road I take seems to lead back to the things that are bothering me the most right now. Thankfully, Ian doesn't ask. Instead, he smiles and says, "we've got a lot of ground to cover. We should probably get moving." My heart relaxes. Maybe it is not as obligatory as I believed. Or maybe Ian doesn't know how to have that conversation. I breathe out thankful for either reason.I haven't talked about it since my second light, hell I've even tried not to think about it. Those horrible last few minutes in my origin, they are like my scarlet letter, my identifying mark. And I can't give them up, or at least I haven't since the shores of Le Femme.

Ian and I walk for another hour or so in silence. Sweat dampens my face as we finally turn a corner and enter into an overly brown clearing. The ground here looks like it has been tilled. Piles of sticks consume the outer edges of the opening. 3 mounds of dirt stand in the center, as we near them I see the hole that the dirt was clearly removed from. A seemingly never-ending black hole engulfs the center of the dirt mound. I can hear water running below. "Is it a well?" Ian nods. "How far down does it go?" I am on my hands and knees staring into the abyss. A cool breeze flows against my face as I lean in closer. Ian pulls my shoulder back. "There is no way to be sure but the rope and bucket I made to fetch the water go down about 100 feet before it even scratches the surface. A fall from here would mean certain death." I correct him. "You mean a certain transfer." He looks at me for a moment, words taunting one another on his lips but ultimately too scared to jump out. Instead, he starts lowering a rusted orange bucket down into the water. I wonder for a moment where the avant-garde metal, by Stix standards, came from. The question goes answerless as I make myself comfortable on the mound of dirt. We don't say anything as Ian works. We hardly know each other and conversation topics are thin. He lowers the bucket a total of 5 times, emptying its contents into two large brown sacs. Ian helps me heave the bag onto my shoulder as he does the same with 2 others. Both recommitted to silence, we begin our long trek back to the house.