The Sphere (29 page)

“I’ll do it,” says Morgan.

I know that nothing in the Sphere has any odor, I’ve established that, but I can’t get the idea out of my head that I detected something human in Ambrosio’s cell. It was blood like mine, or at least like I used to have. That’s the sort of thing that overwhelms me, that makes me feel like I’ll never completely belong to this world, no matter how I try. When things happen that are so far from... from
life
, I can’t help being filled with sorrow. I remember everything that was mine, the other world of light and shadow that—even if it was cruel to me in certain ways—was still my world. When things happen there everything changes, and nothing ever goes back to the beginning again.

“I need a little air,” I say. I feel like I’m suffocating. “Do you mind if I step out for a moment?”

“I’ll go with you,” says Beatrice, “it’s clear you’re not feeling well. Poor girl, how can you look so unwell all of a sudden!”

“I’d rather go alone, Bice. I need to think.”

“Are you ill? You worry me,” says Sherlock.

“I’m fine. I just need to be alone.”

“All right, then,” he answers, walking with me to the door. “Be careful. What would we do without Eurydice?”

Great. A phrase sadly like something out of the opera that people used to sing to me when I was alive. A knot forms in my throat. Thousands of things rush through my mind—so many, so fast. Images of myself, my life in Edinburgh, my family—everything I used to complain about when I was alive. Everything was going to be so wonderful. My life was just about to start! Why didn’t I ever realize how much I liked living? That really was living. A choice in that world changed everything for good—and I should know! And now it’s all been cut short before it could even get started. College, St Andrews, where I was going to be without my family, where I could finally be myself. Axel, yes, he would be at St Andrews, too, and deep down I was glad about it. Maybe I should’ve told him. I would have been able to be with him without anybody interfering, without the twins reporting back to my parents that they’d seen us kissing in the cemetery. It isn’t fair.

I go on walking aimlessly until I find myself in the cemetery of the cathedral.

“Of course! Why would it be the same as St Andrews?” I say aloud, without hiding my bitterness. “Couldn’t one single thing have stayed the same?” I shout. “Just one. At least you could have respected the cemetery! You, whoever you are, whoever makes all this happen...”

I yell up at the sky even though I don’t know what to believe in, or who to complain to. I’ve been trapped here, and even I don’t think I deserve it.

“I didn’t deserve it!” I shriek, out of control, not caring if some Spherean can hear me. “I didn’t deserve it,” I whisper, my hands gripping the bars of the main gate. Tears roll down my face.

In front of me is an imposing Gothic cathedral. In St Andrews there were only ruins, a few walls and moss-covered stones all that remained to hint at what it must have been like once. And here I am asking for respect! In life, time doesn’t respect the world of the dead; so why should the Sphere respect the world of the living?

I walk unsteadily up to the enormous door and go inside the cathedral. The coolness of the stone is broken up by little specks of warmth from all the candles burning in the different chapels. The central nave is illuminated by thousands of rays of sun filtering in through the stained glass. Suddenly I start to see it all in color. It’s not just hints of color, the muted colors I’ve seen a few times in some parts of the Sphere, or in some of my companions. These colors are gorgeous. I watch them, overjoyed, reveling in one more thing that I took for granted when I was alive: the beauty of a world in color.

The dust-motes flash like fireflies, just like the fireflies I saw with Axel one night at these ruins this summer. How much time has passed since then? Real time, my time, the time I used to know—how much has passed? The twins weren’t lying; Axel and I were kissing here. Here is where it all changed. I started to see Axel differently, started to feel the hope that he did understand me, and that maybe my loveless curse could be broken. He was the one who brought me here, the most romantic place I could have ever imagined. We walked among headstones engraved with inscriptions of love that defied time, that refused to vanish despite the elements, the rain, the snow, the merciless wind.

Axel had done it again, he’d said I love you, but that night I didn’t mind. The words didn’t tear into my heart and open up the pit of fear like they usually did. He was happy because starting that summer we would be spending more time together. Now I know that I was happy that night, too. Axel was sincere. It’s a shame that it took all
this
for me to see it clearly.

We walked together between the tombs. That night I let myself go—maybe it was the magic of the fireflies sparkling like little flecks over the ruins—but I left everything that tormented me on the other side of the gate, and let life carry me away. Without the weight of my fears, the accumulated pain, the hours I spent screaming silently inside, begging for someone to pay attention to me, I felt light. I felt the blood running through my veins, warm and full of life. That night my blood burned inside my body. Axel kissed me and I stopped thinking, I bit his lips in my desperation. It was the only time that I leaned in close to his ear and whispered the words that were trying to explode out of me. What had been bubbling inside of me since that very morning, since he had said those same words to me in his dorm room. It showed me that Axel knew me inside and out, and it made me see how small I was, really, how insignificant my stay in the world would be if I never got to feel something like he felt.

“I love you...”

Axel was flooded with joy, I could tell from the way his eyes were shining. And I felt free. Finally I had let my heart speak. We brought our hands together and felt the electricity, the sparks leaping back and forth, carrying parts of each of us over to the other.

And now there is nothing. Or rather, there’s everything. Everything here is too complete, too perfect. There’s plenty of what the world I left behind lacked. The intact cathedral feels like a slap in the face. The naves and the domes are too much, the stained glass, the altar. This feeling—no, this
certainty
—that I won’t ever leave the Sphere is too much. It weighs me down, and it hurts like nothing else could.

“Axel, where are you? Didn’t you say you’d come save me from death itself?” My voice is broken with sobs.

I leave the cathedral. I want to go back and walk on the grass I once walked on with Axel. It’s not the same, I know, but it’s the only way I can think to be closer to him.

“Look, there are fewer tombs than in our cemetery.”

Of course, the inscriptions are different, and the few gravestones here are in perfect condition. There are no wildflowers, no mildew, no stones knocked down by time still struggling to stand upright. I fall to my knees. I stroke the wet grass gently, the only link left to that life I never knew how to appreciate.

Now I can almost think it without any fear:

Dead
.

I can almost let the word pass through my mind without trembling.

I should just assume it. It’s really for the best... This is it. I’ll never be able to leave here. I suppose this world is more forgiving than the last one, after all. It erases your memory so your pain disappears. It must be that way, otherwise my friends and all the other Sphereans would remember their lives, and they wouldn’t just give in to this senseless repetition.

Maybe the Count was right after all. Maybe I do feel something for Sherlock, or I could come to feel it. What if this world is giving me a second chance? I can learn to feel what Axel felt for me. I was never very good at recognizing my feelings; I spent my life being dragged back and forth by sensations that I could never figure out. Kneeling on the grass in the cemetery I think of Axel and my heart aches, my body nearly bursts with rage. For the first time I know exactly what I feel.
I know what I felt.
I see Axel’s essence; it was always right there in front of me. Now I know I could see inside him just as he could see me.

Sherlock. A second chance. He’s interesting, intelligent... attractive. Dark-haired, just what I liked when I was alive. Now that I think about it, he has all the physical characteristics I find attractive. It’s like someone made him based on my ideal, down to every last detail.

Finally I grow calmer and the tears stop coming. I’m willing to take advantage of this second chance. I’ve got
all eternity
to give it a shot. I get up, feeling resigned. I’m going to learn all the details of this new life, I’m going to conquer it, and this time I’m not going to screw it up.

––––––––

I
wrap my arms around myself, shivering a little from the cold as I pull the cord in front of the Count’s elaborate gate. I look around. This world is simply beautiful. In this closed forest alone I can distinguish a nearly infinite number of shades of green. My eyes notice the flesh and the texture of the leaves, the iridescence from the faint rays of sun playing in the fog.

Dracula’s butler trots down the path over the dry leaves. Now I can appreciate all sorts of different browns and oranges and golds. The little man’s pointed shoes shine like they’ve been lacquered. His jacket is indigo, with golden buttons and a collar of deep red. I adore the colors! He looks at me with those restless eyes that look like they were carved from onyx.

“I would like to see your master. I was here the other day with Sherlock Holmes.”

The butler looks at me and gives me the same grunt he gave us on our first visit. This time, though, he doesn’t have to think about it for too long. He opens the gate and asks me to follow him to the rear part of the mansion.

“I did not expect to see you so soon,” says the Count, his back to me.

“How did you know...?”

“Dear Eurydice, your aura is unmistakable.”

The Count turns toward me. Like Beatrice, he moves strangely, like he’s sliding through the air. It makes it look like he’s floating on a cloud. Curious, I can’t resist glancing down at the hem of his infinite cloak—it’s impossible to see his feet. Immediately the Count opens his cloak, revealing a pair of elegant shoes.

“Sorry,” I say, meaning it from the heart. “I forgot you could read my mind.”

The Count smiles. He has a pair of gardening shears in his hands. Only then do I realize we’re standing before a spectacular rose garden, with roses as far as the eye can see. Right next to us are a couple of bushes covered with roses of all different sizes and colors, and a little farther away is the entrance to a labyrinth made of rosebushes.

“Excuse me for asking, but... can you be in the sunlight?”

“Do you see sun here?”

“Not really, no. At least not direct sun.” I realize that he must be the one who generates the ever-present thick fog. “Your roses are magnificent.” 

“I know. Thank you. Though I do not believe you have come all this way to discuss my gardening abilities.”

“It’s true, I haven’t,” I say thoughtfully. “I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense to beat around the bush with you, does it?” The Count nods slowly. “I was trying to be polite—it doesn’t seem right to show up and bombard you with questions. But whatever, I don’t really have much in the way of social skills. I don’t know how to talk about other things to get to what’s actually on my mind, you know, the way other people do. A segue, I guess it’s called.”

“You’re doing it right now. Not terribly skillfully, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, but you are creating a segue. A rather long one, in my opinion.”

I drop my head, embarrassed by my own lack of skill.

“So you have come to find the Sphere fascinating after all, haven’t you? So much resistance, so much denial. Wasted energy. Careful, Miss Eurydice, or you might end up falling in love with all of us.” I look up with surprise. “Don’t worry. That won’t keep you from falling more deeply in love with one particular person if you’d like it to be so. You could always love us all but adore a single Spherean, one of your choosing. Every heart likes to have its favorite.”

The butler appears, carrying a tray with a jug and a single glass. He puts it down on a round wrought-iron table and disappears. The Count invites me to sit down.

“Don’t worry—there’s no liqueur this time.”

He pours water into the glass and hands it to me, then sits down across from me.

“For you?” I ask. The Count tilts his head to one side. “Ah, you don’t drink things like that. I understand.”

Then fear seizes me. The only information I have about vampires comes from horror movies for teenagers that my friends and I used to watch, though now, looking at Dracula, I don’t think it’s very reliable information.

“I only attack Sphereans. I tell you this only for your own peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a drink of water. Then a thought occurs to me and I start to choke. “You said you only attack Sphereans—you mean I’m not one?”

“Does it seem to you that you are?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” At first I felt quite clearly that I didn’t belong to this world. I couldn’t make head or tails of it. Then I started to understand its rules, and now I even enjoy the repetitions. Just like the Count says, in a certain way I have fallen in love with the Sphere. “Can I tell you something?”

“Go on.”

“It’s easier for me to understand you all now that you have eyes, and your world has color.”

“Ah, so that’s happened, has it?”

The Count seems amused. His tone makes me doubt myself. Before my eyes his face transforms, his skin grows young again, then old, the bags under his eyes appear and disappear. It makes me realize that for some time now, my fellow investigators haven’t looked like they were made of wood. Maybe I’ve just learned to see them properly...

“You have gone deep into our world, Miss Eurydice,” says the Count with a smile.

“I’m not one of you. That’s my answer.” Dracula stares at me, as if waiting for my next question. “So... so this isn’t the world of the dead... No, of course not,” I say, anticipating the Count’s words. I feel like I’m starting to see into other people’s minds, too. “You’re not dead, you couldn’t be. In your way, you all are as alive as I am. Maybe... maybe I was the one who didn’t have eyes to see. Now when I look at you all—at you, at all the Sphereans—it seems ridiculous that I ever could have thought you were made of wood... or of paper.”