The Maze: Three tales of the future (6 page)
“You’re smarter than I am,” she said. “I don’t even have your wig, and now we can’t—”
Amie pressed a finger against Lexia’s lips.
“I talk too much, don’t I?”
Amie simply drew her to the console. There, she scrolled through the fashion channels until the display landed on turbans.
“Oh, but those are for old ladies.” Lexia wrinkled her nose. “Like my mother.”
Amie opened her mouth in a silent laugh. Then she pointed to Lexia’s collection of nail polish.
“Oh!” Lexia jumped up, fingers tingling like they always did before a new project. “I could make it pretty.” She spun around. “I could start a trend.”
She tore a strip from the bottom of her bed sheet. Around Amie’s fragile head it went, then Lexia sprinkled on glitter and sparkles, and dotted the material with lime green nail polish. Lexia turned her friend toward the mirror.
“Look at you! You’re gorgeous.”
Amie’s eyes glowed, her fingertips touching the dots that matched her nails.
Lexia clapped her hands. “Let’s go have some fun.”
* * *
Only in showing Amie the spa did the oddities strike Lexia. Why, with the sun so brilliant, was the glass perpetually fogged? Why was everything so self-contained? At the last spa, she’d gone on excursions nearly every day, took lessons in the local language, and even visited the planet’s tiny moon.
Here, there was one short day trip to an island resort owned by the spa—and nothing else. The information panel talked up the splendors of the planet, the town of New Eden, the sustainable lifestyle of the local populace, and the fresh produce brought in daily to the spa.
Then she thought of Amie’s lean-to and all the plans she somehow hoped to give the girl. She thought of the disease that had stolen her friend’s voice as a baby. Why hide these things? The only thing on the other side of the glass was reality.
“Is it bad outside?” she asked Amie. They’d discovered the kitchens, now deserted after the formal dinner, and were working their way through a tub of berries and cream. Here was the food of New Eden. For once, Lexia was hungry. For once, things tasted sweet, and her fingers grabbed one berry after another, as if she’d never get enough.
Amie shook her head.
“But it isn’t easy.”
Amie shrugged and dipped a palm-sized strawberry into the cream.
“Why were you trying to get inside, then?”
Amie froze, mid-bite. Her gaze darted toward Lexia, a pleading look in the girl’s eyes.
“For the same reason I was trying to get out? Just to see what was on the other side?”
Amie swallowed the strawberry and threw her head back in silent laughter.
* * *
Maybe it was the berry-stained fingerprints left in their wake. Maybe it was the pilfered sparkling quenchers from the walk-in refrigerator. Or maybe the guards had simply tracked their every move since they had left Lexia’s quarters.
No matter. The first guard caught Lexia unaware, thick fingers around her wrist and upper arm. Amie, though quicker, fared no better. She kicked, tried to scratch, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Lexia screamed for her. Her cries brought officers and old, respected guests, and too many witnesses.
“They’re hurting her,” someone said, voice ringing with indignation.
An old woman hobbled into the center of the gathering. “Let the child go,” she said to the guards.
The man holding Lexia released his grip on her. She rubbed his sweat from her skin and tried to wipe away the ache.
“Now the other,” the old woman added.
The guards released Amie as if her skin burned them. The second her feet touched ground, she scampered off. No one chased after her, and Lexia let out a sigh that shook her whole body. She turned to thank the old woman, but froze. Yes! It was the same woman, the one in the spa, with the book and the secret smile. And now that smile bloomed again on the old woman’s face. Before Lexia could say a word, a barking voice cut through the silence.
“Lexia! What have you done!”
Her mother parted the crowd with her voice and a hand—the same hand that, seconds later, cracked against Lexia’s cheek.
Lexia stumbled into the guard behind her. His hands gripped her waist for longer than strictly necessary. She didn’t care. Her cheek stung, her eyes watered, her heart squeezed tight in her chest.
“Mind that she is still a child,” the old woman said.
“Mind your own business,” her mother snapped.
“You could say I am. Is she not my granddaughter?”
Her mother paled. Lexia felt all the air leave her lungs. She focused on the old woman, her soft face, and eyes that looked both sad and kind.
“Technically, no,” her mother said. “She is not.”
“But as long as you’re married to my son ...”
Her mother’s mouth went grim. The old woman hobbled over to Lexia.
“We have not met, my dear, and I suspect we won’t again. A piece of advice from an old woman, then?”
Numb, Lexia nodded.
“Don’t let yourself get trapped. I did. So did your mother. That’s not a sufficient reason to end up trapped yourself.”
The woman kissed the bruise forming on Lexia’s cheek and turned down the hall. The crowd, the guards, silent and staring, parted for her. No one spoke. At last, her mother gave a frustrated sigh, collared Lexia, and dragged her through the corridors by the spa wrap.
* * *
When her mother engaged the override lock, Lexia pressed her hands against the smooth door. Her first impulse was to pound, to kick—just like a child. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the cool surface and shut her eyes. In her mind, Amie ran through the hallways, into the pool area, and crawled through the vent to freedom.
She wanted to believe the pictures in her head. An icy fist in the pit of her stomach told her it was better not to.
What had gone wrong? Why was
she
always wrong? She never sneaked out to slams, like the other girls, never even flirted with the spa workers. All she wanted was a friend. Lexia had never known that that hole inside her existed until Amie had filled the space. Now, nothing but an ache remained, that hole larger and darker than ever.
Her gaze lighted on the bed, or rather, what it sat on, its hollow platform. She crawled, wrists aching, and eased back the panel. Could she fit? She wasn’t as small as Amie. Inside the space smelled old, like layer upon layer of dust and memories. Lexia eased her feet to the farthest corner, settled her hipbone near the center, and at last pressed her cheek against the floor. The bruise throbbed, but it was a handy reminder. If she was truly going to do what she planned to, she’d need that.
Lexia packed, weighing each item for its potential worth and inevitable weight. In went all the plans and designs she’d made with Amie. Although it was frivolous, she added the lime-green nail polish. From her bed, Lexia tugged the smallest blanket and rolled it tight. Then she curled into the hollow space again, belongings at her feet, blanket beneath her sore cheek.
It took a very long time to fall asleep.
* * *
In the morning, her mother’s shrieks woke her.
“Where is she?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Mortarri, but there’s no record at all of anyone entering or leaving her quarters.”
“But she’s not here.”
Lexia held her breath. Would they search for her? Could anyone detect the panel, in place, but slightly off-kilter? Would anyone use an infrared detector, or for that matter, common sense?
“I suppose someone could have hacked the system,” a guard ventured.
“That boy from the gift shop. What’s his name?” Her mother snapped her fingers. “I don’t know, but find him. Find her!”
Poor Paulo, Lexia thought. He didn’t deserve this. The stomp of boots filled the room before footfalls echoed down the corridor. She squirmed, peered through the small sliver where the front panel didn’t quite meet the corner of the headboard. Her mother wore a spa wrap and a wash of tears across her face. The urge to shove the panel out of the way nearly overwhelmed Lexia. In her mind, she saw the scene play out. She’d burst from her hiding spot.
Here I am
, she would say. Her mother would embrace her, kiss the bruise on her cheek, and cry even after Lexia forgave her.
She braced her feet against the wall, ready to push back the panel, but froze when the intercom buzzed.
“Mrs. Mortarri, will you be keeping your massage appointment this morning?”
“Excuse me?” her mother said. “My what?”
“Massage appointment. Under the circumstances, we can reschedule.”
Lexia’s chest grew tight. Her head buzzed, and the sound of it was so loud, she was afraid she’d miss her mother’s next words.
“Yes, of course I’ll keep my appointment,” her mother said. “It’s been a stressful morning.”
And now Lexia couldn’t breathe.
Her mother turned, the spa wrap fluttering across Lexia’s field of vision before vanishing completely.
Where had her mother gone? Her real mother, not the one who had so recently swept from the room, intent on keeping a massage appointment. Where had that woman run to? Because certainly she’d gone somewhere and left Lexia behind, alone with an imposter.
She slipped from under the bed and replaced its panel, then she tore a few more strips from the bottom of her sheet. These she used to tie the blanket to her pack.
At the door, she hesitated, rocking on the balls of her feet. Would it open for her? She had shed the spa wrap, and what she guessed was the tracking device that went with it. She wore old clothes, from Earth—out of fashion, of course—but they were nondescript and sturdy. Lexia shut her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and placed her hand on the console.
The door opened.
She grinned—couldn’t help it. In a way, it made sense. Why engage an override lock on an empty room?
In the corridor, a guard passed her, the same one who had gripped her wrists and left his sweat all over her. The man stared as though he didn’t recognize her. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that was part of the problem with these spas. Everyone was either a guest or a worker—no one was an actual person.
In the pool area, she rushed past the mud baths, the mineral pools, running her fingers along the fogged glass without leaving any streaks. Lexia paused near the cabana where her mother booked all her massages.
The flaps were closed.
She clamped a hand over her mouth and wished she could cry silently like Amie did. Then, she turned toward the vent.
She crawled through the structure’s innards, spilled onto the pebbles outside, and scrambled to her feet. The spa sat behind her, a white blob, its own self-contained bubble in a brilliant green reality. Hills stretched for miles. Lexia ran, haphazardly at first, then with purpose toward the largest tree on the first hill.
On one of the branches, something white flapped in the wind. When she was ten feet away, she recognized it.
A strip from Amie’s turban.
Lexia stood beneath the branch and peered at the path ahead of her. Another glimmer of white, there, in the distance? She slid down the hill, never losing sight of the bit of white. When she reached the second tree, she tugged the strip from the branch and tied it around her wrist. Then she ran toward the next hint of white in the distance, leaving the world of fogged glass behind.
Also by Charity
Tahmaseb
If you want an email when Charity’s next novel, short story/collection or online read is released,
sign up here
. Your email will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
If you enjoyed these stories, please consider leaving a review, no matter how short. All reviews are very much appreciated.
More by Charity Tahmaseb:
