Monochrome (18 page)

He plopped his hat on his head and flashed his dimples her way. “Problem solved.”

Some of the apprehension left her as he joked. What was she doing being so cautious of Ishmael? She couldn’t let a stupid dream get to her, make her mistrust a man who saved her life on more than one occasion. She scooted closer to him, met his eyes and whispered, “
You
attacked me. In my dream, I mean.”

Ishmael frowned, opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He grabbed her hands. “I will never hurt you again. I know I can’t change what I did. But I can do better from here on.”

Abigail held his stare and read in his eyes an earnest plea. She squeezed his hands. “I know. That’s why I decided to tell you. I want to trust you. I won’t let my crazy dreams make my decisions for me.”

He pursed his lips, wounded, his thumb absently stroking the back of Abigail’s hand. “I’d give my remaining memories to keep you safe now.” Her stomach tightened and her pulse raced in her ears. His calloused fingers left a numb warmth in their wake. Her mouth opened of its own accord, as if it were connected to her fiercely pumping heart.

He leaned towards her, his eyes soft and serious. His hand moved up her arm, raising goosebumps as it went. He ran it down her back, and pulled her to him. His mouth was inches from hers, his warm breath tickling her lips, when she moved her face to the right and rested her cheek against his lips. She treasured his quickened breath and the thump of his heart against her arm. He kissed her cheek once, twice and again, and then rested his stubble shadow against her soft skin.

“I can’t,” she whispered. His beard tickled her face as he nodded and released a heavy breath.

“Okay.” But he held her tightly against him. Abigail didn’t move right away. She told herself she didn’t want to offend him, but she also knew it’d been a long time since someone held her like this, like it was the first and last time he would ever feel her against him. And it must be the last. No matter how nice it felt.

She and Jason had been growing apart because of her depression and all the added stress in their lives. She tried to remember the last time he even laid eyes on her without sad disappointment carving lines into his face. Being held like this again made her chest ache and her limbs tingle. For the first time since having Ruby, she felt beautiful and desirable.

She sat huddled against Ishmael for longer than she should have, enjoying the mingled warmth and sound of his quick heartbeat. They said nothing. He hugged her close and ran his fingers through her hair, combing out tangles from her rough sleep. After a few minutes, he sighed and, kissing the top of her head, released his hold on her.

Abigail moved away from him and began absently rolling her sleeping bag. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes right away, or ever again, and she wanted something to distract from the loud tension of the room. She heard him behind her going through the same methodical motions. Then she heard him stand. He crossed to her and picked up her bundled bag, touching her fingertips on purpose. He placed both bags on top of the bench where they’d found them.

Abigail stood and stretched her arms and back. Her body felt heavy and awkward, like just after an intense workout. Ishmael checked the fireplace to make sure there were no embers left, not that they ever emitted warmth enough to be a danger to the cabin. She examined her dirty workout outfit and grimaced. She was very happy not to have a mirror to confirm she was a standing disaster.

She closed her eyes to imagine an outfit, but her mind had its own agenda. A picture of Ishmael’s serious, eager eyes filled her mind, but was replaced by hurt reproach from Jason’s beautiful raven ones. She opened her own eyes and was dismayed to find her outfit stayed the same. She closed them more firmly and forced her mind to concentrate on the task at hand.

Comfortable. Breathable. Think, Abigail.
This time, she felt fabric shift and settle around her body. She opened her eyes, and was pleased with her choice. She was wearing her favorite jeans, torn from long wear at the knees and patched with colorful, weird patches over rips not as appropriately placed. They fit again after six months of dieting and exercise. She’d almost cried when she pulled them on a few weeks ago and they, finally, hugged her curves. Her body was now forever imperfect. No more youthful skin tight across her frame. That was gone with Ruby. She remembered mourning that body. Now, she touched her stomach, imagining the white trails writing her mother story, and her arms ached to hold her newborn.

Her shirt was a long yellow cotton empire tank, with spaghetti straps and a ruffle on the bust. She held out her arms and was happy to see her most comfortable olive green cardigan resting on them. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” She heard Ishmael say behind her. Embarrassed, she looked over her shoulder and was surprised to see longing in his gaze.

She dipped her head. “Ishmael, I’m…”

He cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. You look great, is all.”

Abigail beamed and, for the first time, noticed she wasn’t the only one who changed. “Wow. You, too.”

He was wearing dark blue, worn jeans, black Chucks, a fitted black-striped button-up dress shirt over a white t-shirt, and a loose black tie with purple flowers on it. His felt hat was the one thing that remained the same. She stared a little. The shirt sat below his narrow waist and tight around his biceps.

Her voice came out hushed. “When did you do that?”

Ishmael blushed a little and stared at his feet. “It just happened when we were…uh…I guess it made me think of a nice time, a long time ago. This is what I was wearing then. I put a lot of thought into it. It was a first date, after all.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

He winked. “Not exactly the side effect one expects.”

“You’re awful. At least you’re dressed.”

He chuckled. “Exactly. I guess it’s time to head out.”

He scanned the room twisting his hands at his sides as though searching for something to hold onto, and then reluctantly walked to the door. When he opened it, she noticed the silver light of day in Monochrome had returned. Her headache informed her they’d rested very little. But they should make progress today, so long as they didn’t stop too often.

Neither Ishmael nor Abigail wanted to exchange words after their intimate morning. She followed him, shutting out her surroundings and replaying the morning’s events in her head. Among images of Ishmael’s hungry gaze and ardent touch were thoughts of her baby, worrying about whether or Jason had come home. He probably imagined the worst—she had left them.

And, of course, thinking of Jason brought up a mixture of confusing emotions—love, anger, worry, and, now, guilt. She wondered if he missed her or if he was happy not to have her moping around the house. Ishmael had said time moved more slowly in Monochrome, but with three days in Monochrome having passed, surely a significant amount of time had passed back home.

She wondered how it was possible for her to miss Jason so much it hurt, while at the same time feeling regret for not allowing Ishmael the kiss she so desperately wanted this morning. She was a bad person.

Jason deserved much better, but she didn’t want him to get better. Why did she want Ishmael to bring her back home? What good would it do her family to have a flighty mother and wife around? Tears stung her throat as she followed dejectedly behind Ishmael.

Ishmael, too, was silent. Though he was never particularly chatty on their walks, he walked ahead of Abigail numbly but with purpose. He thought of a lot of things, among them the rejection from this morning. He knew she didn’t mean to hurt him, and she was doing right by her family, but it hurt nonetheless.

He’ always wanted a trustworthy woman. Really, he respected her loyalty, but was disappointed with it since it kept her from him. It was a strange and confusing feeling. He knew she desired his touch, and there was nothing more he wanted than to give it to her, but she was married and vulnerable.

Ishmael thought about Abigail’s offer to come back with her. She might not make it again. She’d probably be afraid to suggest anything he might take the wrong way. He knew she wanted him. He saw it in the way she watched him, felt it in the brush of her hand, but what did it matter? He was going to get her home to her baby and husband, and he knew there was no place for him in a picture with her happy little family.

He would get her to the border. He would say goodbye to her and he would, immediately, use her memories for currency. No reason to torture himself with memories of someone who’d never be his. He didn’t want to admit to himself getting rid of good memories of her might not be easy. He
would
do it. He’d forget her and she’d forget him, probably more easily. Once resolved, he walked more quickly. No need to postpone the inevitable.

IT TOOK
THEM
an hour, at least, to get back to the path, and then three more to get to the next town, though it was a stretch to call it a town. It consisted of a very small general store selling mostly alcohol and cigarettes, the latter of which Ishmael spent his remaining currency on. There were also five dwellings and a little two-story wood building.

Abigail didn’t say anything about Ishmael spending the last of his money on cigarettes. She knew she was the cause of his distress today, and it pained her. He smoked more the more frustrated he became, she noticed. He suggested they get something to eat and drink, and she agreed. Her mouth was cotton dry and her stomach growled.

They stopped in at a dive bar with no name, on the edge of the town. He informed her in a few sullen words it was the place they were going to stay last night. Apparently, there were two rooms available above it. From the looks of the grime and gloom of the bar, even at this time in the morning, she was happy they’d stayed in the cabin.

If she were being honest, she knew the cabin would always be one of her fondest moments, if she weren’t forced to give it up beforehand. If she decided to keep it. It couldn’t help her at home and it might hurt her
and
her family.

It was a strange feeling knowing she was able to erase the person next to her if she wanted to. At least the good memories of him, and she hadn’t known him long enough to have many bad memories. Except when she’d found out the testing. If she got rid of everything thing else, that would be most of what she’d have left of him, if he chose not to come back with her.
I won’t give him an option. He
has
to come.

They sat at the bar, and waited for the very muscular, handsome bartender to wait on them. He walked over, nodded to Ishmael as if he recognized him, and raised his eyebrows, waiting for their order. Ishmael lit a cigarette and mumbled he wanted a whiskey and coke and chicken soup. Abigail asked for water, soup and a dark beer.

The man nodded, got their drinks and went through a double door to get the soup. Ishmael put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. She watched him from the corner of her eyes and felt a tightening in her chest and stomach. He’d insist on paying for himself, and, in the process, lose more memories. She wondered if he had much left to lose, but felt bad for wanting to know what he might give. It was none of her business. She cleared her throat and was surprised to feel herself swallowing back tears.
What is wrong with me?

Their bartender returned with water and two soups. “You good?” he asked Ishmael. He shrugged. The bartender nodded at Abigail. “What ‘bout you?”

She shrugged also. “Fine. Thanks. Just a long trip for us both, so far.”

The bartender nodded knowingly. “The soup is mostly vegetable, but it’s all I got. I grow them myself, but the ground here is too rocky and mineral-rich. They don’t get real big.”

“It’s great. Thanks.”

The bartender surprised her by patting Ishmael’s shoulder and turning to her. “This is a good man. You treat him nice.”

She was afraid to speak, for fear the tears may resound in her voice. She managed a choked, “I’ll try.”

Ishmael lifted his head. “Thanks, Terence. Abigail is great. No worries there.”

Terence nodded and walked to the end of the bar where a pretty red-haired lady absently stirred her drink. She motioned for him to pour her more vodka, and Terence complied. Ishmael didn’t seem to notice the woman, though she was stunning. That, alone, told her he was in a bad way.

He took a patient sip of his drink. “Terence has been here a long time. It doesn’t look like it, I know, but he’s been here at least five years longer than me.”

Abigail scrutinized the bartender. She felt something
was
different about him, but she couldn’t place it.

He was tall, clean and fit, which wasn’t necessarily strange. Then she knew what the difference was. Terence stood as if his surroundings could not affect him, and when he lifted his eyes to them they were dark, but not black and lifeless, like so many others here. They were a deep, healthy brown. “How are his eyes still brown? How is he still here?”

Ishmael waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t know. All I know is he told me he’s only ever given up two memories his whole time here, only one of them significant. Don’t ask me how. I asked him why he didn’t go back, try to at least. He just said it was all the same to him—here, there, it doesn’t seem to matter to him. You can see a mark around his neck, if you look closely.” Ishmael shook his head. “I can’t believe he survived trying to hang himself.”

Abigail shuddered at the thought. But Terence was physically imposing. He probably miscalculated his own strength. More surprising to her was his emotional wellbeing, after being here for so long. She touched her face next to her own eyes, knowing the green-hazel merged with black spots. She felt weak compared to the tower of a man behind the bar, who acted as if the world they were thrust into was nothing out of the ordinary.

Ishmael noticed Abigail touch the edge of her eyes, and frowned. “He told his Guide he didn’t need her help getting out, for one, so he wasn’t stuck with testing or with paying for her.” He paused, took a ragged drag from his cigarette and continued. “He told me he never tried leaving. He was staying here overnight when the previous bartender vacated the position.” His voice suggested death, and Abigail cringed. “Terence had experience bartending. He took over for a week before a Career even knew the other bartender was dead.”

Ishmael answered the confusion on Abigail’s face. “A Career comes from Steamtown. The boss hires them to make sure the various outposts, towns and cities here are running smoothly. They also make sure all positions are covered, and collect memories from new and old employees. They can be brutes.

We have to give memories at the beginning of our job, and, if we don’t make this or that quota, which is different depending on the job, then we have to give more memories in return for not fulfilling our job requirements. Terence has yet to fail in his requirements. Every year, he looks the same because, every year, no matter what, he makes sure the boss gets what he needs from this post.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, you’re supposed to apply with a Career to get a position, but Terence didn’t know. He left his Guide right away and just kinda settled. The Careers thought he was doing a fine job, so they let him have the job for a gold memory, the only other memory he gave, as far as I know, though I’m sure it was priceless.”

Ishmael took a drag before continuing. “He was smarter than me. I let my Guide take me for everything. I was too down to care.”

Abigail was listening intently. “I guess I didn’t even think about you having a Guide. I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t.”

He laugh was bitter. “Oh yeah, I was assigned one. And he was not as,” his eyes filled with anger, “reluctant to do his job as I am.”

She sipped her soup and listened.

“His name was Jake.” Ishmael said the name like it tasted rotten in his mouth. “He made nice when I got here. He cleaned and bandaged my wrist. I succeeded in cutting one before I passed out. As you now know, I never could stomach blood. Guess I should’ve tried pills. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

Abigail’s eyes darted to his wrists and noticed an ugly scar on his left. Her stomach churned. A quick stab of pain shot through her chest when she realized Ishmael not only wanted to die, but should have. She was immediately in love with his blood aversion. It had saved him. She wondered what pushed him over the edge, and felt stupid for not noticing the scar until now.

He noticed her stare and shrugged. “Don’t worry. Didn’t do much but make me dizzy from loss of blood and, of course, it’s the reason I ended up here.”

Ishmael ate a spoonful of soup, and continued, “Anyway, he acted concerned about me trying to take my life. He bought my room and food the first night I stayed here, and told me some sob story about how he got here. I still don’t know if it was true. I think he’d have told me anything to get me to trust him.”

He glowered. “Hell, he even got me to admit what sent me over the edge. I can’t believe I did that.” Abigail made to ask him, but he stopped her. “Don’t ask me. I haven’t told anyone since, and I don’t want to think about it.”

She nodded in consent. “What happened after your first night, then?”

Ishmael took a drink and didn’t talk for a while. After a few more minutes he continued, anger in his voice. “I told him I wanted to go back. I wanted to try, anyway. He acted sympathetic, said we were to travel for at least two weeks.” She raised her eyebrows in shock.

He noticed. “Yeah, and how was I to know any differently? The asshole led me around in circles. He never paid for me again after the first night. He told me it was the last of his currency and made me feel badly about his loss of memories. He told me he had so few left, and I felt bad, so I paid for him. I was sucked of most of my best memories after only five days. He still has blue eyes, but he’s black on the inside. I guess I chose to become a Guide to keep people from ending up with someone like him. It didn’t pan out that way. Nothing goes the way you plan in this place.”

Ishmael paused and ate more soup, but Abigail was shocked to see tears in his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, so she just held her drink and waited. Finally, he started again, his voice softer.

“I can’t tell you now which memories I gave up, but I can tell you I have bad memories of a dog that was put down, a first girlfriend who decided I was too weird to date and memories of a father who was rarely home and yelled when he was. I don’t know if he did anything good and I don’t know, now, why I chose to give him up among my first memories. I don’t remember the dog’s name, though it nags at me. And the girl had curly blonde hair and saucer eyes.”

Ishmael took another drink, and Abigail continued eating her soup. After a few minutes she asked, “When did you leave Jake?”

“Around day five. It was because of Kora I caught onto what Jake was doing. Her eyes were dark brown then. She was beautiful and so kind to me. Genuinely kind, but she was also really mean to Jake, barely even looked at him. When he went to the restroom, Kora walked over to me and told me not to trust him and, I don’t know why, I just felt like she was telling the truth. She asked me how long we’d traveled and I told her five days. I still remember the pity in her eyes.”

Ishmael shook his head. “And how I felt like a complete sucker. I had my suspicions by then, anyway.”

Abigail waited for him to say more, but after several silent minutes, it clear he was done talking. They finished eating and drinking in silence. “That’s why Kora was so angry with you, then.” It’d been a while since Ishmael finished his story, but he knew what she meant.

“Yes. She was mad when I first took the post of Guide, but, until I brought you, she was never really angry with me. I mean, she’s realistic. She makes her own living and she knew I had good intentions. Intentions matter very little, in the end. I had quotas to fill, too, and the more memories I lost because I failed, the less eager I was to be helpful.”

Abigail finished the last of her beer and then asked, “Why was she so mad about
me
?”

He shook his head. “Because you’re you, Abby. Like I said, you’re alive. It’s just something you give off. Plus, your eyes. They’re such a pretty green, even now.”

She blushed but pretended to ignore his flirting. She finished her soup, and felt her stomach settle. It wasn’t half bad, though it did have a metallic aftertaste.

Ishmael motioned to Terence for another drink. She felt nervous his bill was getting too expensive. He saw her concern and waved it away. “Also, I’ve never kept a Lead around very long. By the time I reached Kora, my Leads chose to stay or, well, chose to die. I was pretty honest with them about my job, how long it takes to travel through Monochrome, but most of them had very little life left back home, I guess. It wasn’t until I met you that I saw someone who had the strength to make it out of here. Kora felt the same, I’m sure.”

Abigail did want to make it home. She had demons to combat still, but she must be with her baby and Jason, if he’d have her.

Ishmael fidgeted. “I’ve still conducted my job in many ways, as you know, but, as Geoff said, I was more careful with you. I’ve hoped to help you from the moment you threatened to kill me.” He laughed. “I still do.”

And for the first time since their strange morning encounter, Ishmael caught her gaze. She couldn’t help herself. She met his eyes for what seemed like minutes, though it was only few seconds. Leaving him to suffer was too cruel an option.

“Come back with me. Don’t force yourself to make these kinds of decisions. I can’t stand it, thinking you’ll be here.”

Ishmael didn’t say anything. He just finished his drink and asked, once again, for a refill. Abigail watched as a handful of emotions passed over his features. Terence refilled his glass with a reluctant shake of his head. After he finished it, he motioned for Terence to come over, and asked for their bills. Terence tallied their order in a small leather notebook. “You got moons?” Ishmael shook his head no. Terence seemed disappointed. “You had a few too many, then. A blue memory, please.”

Ishmael nodded and closed his eyes. Terence brought a blue jar out from under the counter. Abigail made to stop him, but Ishmael saw her move and held up his hand. “It’s fine, Abby.”

She tried facing away, but found she was glued to the scene. She watched as Ishmael’s clenched lids flashed open and he held out his hand. Terence slid the jar towards him, and raised his eyes in surprise at Ishmael’s choice. It was Abigail and she was sitting, naked, on a dirty bathroom floor.

Abigail scrutinized the floating memory surrounded by a cloud of blue, suspended between Ishmael’s hand and the bottle Terence gripped. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t mistaken because the woman on the floor didn’t look at all like she saw herself. The woman from Ishmael’s memory was radiant, angelic, even with blood on her chest and her hair a tangled mess.