XXII: The price of returning the money

《 ELIAN PHOENIX 》

“Oh no you don't.” I warned my stomach through gritted teeth when it let out a rumbling noise, even louder than the downpour battering the roof of the carriage. "Just forget it."

That morning I had brushed the back of my hand against my jaw and found it scrubby with stubble. So, I was thirsty, hungry and in need of a shaving. What next, do I need to take a piss in that downpour?

“I suppose you're not giving me food either.” I huffed, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. I was one misfortune away from crumbling to the floor and never getting back up again. Like, for instance, when I blinked and no food magically appeared in front of me. “You know, if you starve me to death, I won't be of any use to you.”

It was a gamble of whether the dreamscape needed me or not, but I had little to lose by trying. Apparently the answer was yes, since my next blink was rewarded with a tray of french fries and something the size of my head, presumably a hamburger, wrapped in foil. I picked it up first.

“Thank you.” I said out loud and added in my mind: you moody little shit. Then I unwrapped the hamburger like a child opening his presents on Christmas day, digging my fingers into the warm foil, afraid that any moment it could be taken away from me.

The hamburger would have been a fucking nightmare to my former vegan self, as it had two thick patties, bacon and tons of cheddar sauce. To my present self it was an absolute dream, and I demolished it. My hands and half of my face was covered in grease, ketchup and cheddar sauce by the time I was done.

I was already stuffed, but because my impulse control is non-existent and I didn't know when I would get food again, I finished the french fries as well. In retrospect, it was a mistake. I was full up to my throat, and one wrong move was going to make me throw up. And so, I lay down and waited for the feeling to pass.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have, since Levi was there. Well, not there as in the dreamscape, but in my parents front yard. Anyway, as it was a dream, the yard was basking in a Christmas glory brighter than the house of The Murrays. The car was totaled and Levi was laughing at me: “You're actually insane.”

I glanced down, and I was standing in uncle Tim’s garden. He was laying on his back and there was little left of his mangled face, but his tone was warm as he reassured me: “It will all make sense one day. The world is a terrible place, and there are only bad endings for the likes of you and me.”

When I woke up, my hair stuck to my sweaty skin and my arm, on which I had fallen asleep, was on pins and needles. Collywobbles. Goddammit. Either way, my stomach had settled slightly while I slept, so I dared to sit back up and picked up the notebook.

How many days had it been? A glance to the railing showed eight vertical lines, so more than an entire week on my own, then. I was taking it surprisingly well, as I hadn't yet thrown a tantrum or fallen into a state of complete madness. Of course I was one misfortune away from doing so, but still. Eight days.

On the first page stood the same old gobbledygook: Magic requires a sacrifice and after it a bunch of bla bla bla about emotions regulating the strength of magic. I skimmed to the end of the list. There, after the foreboding demand about the Phoenix bird needing to burn, stood the words: The Arsonist must sing her lullaby.

“Alright, I get it already.” I muttered to myself. “Tell me something new.”

I turned the page. It was blank except for a sentence, written in bold capital letters: NOW YOU KNOW HOW. On the next page, in a painstaking script read: are you ready to hear what it'll cost?

“Yes.” I huffed, rolling my eyes at the dramatics. Even though, admittedly, there was a pit in my stomach and a weight on my chest.

For a long while, nothing happened. Of course not, as the notebook was apparently a worse drama queen than even I have ever been. As I waited for the answer, I failed to act indifferent but instead gnawed at my thumbnail. I was certain that I would weep if there were more riddles, more clues for my overwhelmed brain to sort out.

The price of returning the money is..

I swear, I heard drum rolls.

..to use up all your magic.

“Well. Alright.” I articulated slowly, rubbing at the back of my neck.

At least it was straightforward, no more useless riddles. So, I wasn't going to be magical anymore? To get it all back, I only needed to give away my music-warbling, thunderbolt-casting magic? I guess I could live with that.

I would miss it, no doubt about that. I'd feel deflated without it, like I had found something I didn't know how to live without, only to have to live without it in the end. But still, I could live with that. It wasn't even that big of a price to pay for world peace.

“Okay, so.. what's the catch?” I asked, because yes, it was too easy. Losing my magic would hurt, but it still wasn't saving the world size of sacrifice.

Do you miss sleepless nights?

“I can't say I do.” I swallowed, already guessing where it was going but holding onto the hope of being wrong.

Do you miss fearing every good moment because of the inevitable crash that always follows?

“No, hey, wait a minute.” I breathed, lifting my hands, palms up.

The restlessness?

“I said —”

The moment you think you're cured and stop taking your medication?

“Okay, fine, I get it. No need to —”

Do you think he'll stay after he sees how bad it can get?

“—rub it in.” I clenched my fists as I glared down at the notebook. It said it wasn't mean, but that motherfucker was the meanest wiseass I had ever been unfortunate to meet.

Do you miss being actually insane?

I slammed the notebook shut, breathing hard. I had been stuck in the carriage all day, and now the idea of staying in the small space with the notebook was suffocating.

In my hurry to get as far from it as I possibly could, I didn't bother with the gate. I jumped right over the edge of the carriage, like Birdy had once done. The water soaked through my clothes in a matter of seconds, it sloshed in my shoes and matted my hair to my skin, but it was better than the alternative.

“Fuck!” I shouted up to the stormy sky, the rain mixing with my tears. I stomped my foot to the ground, throwing my hands in the air as I continued rampaging: “I'm done with this bullshit. I'm done. Now let me the fuck out of here.”

Nothing happened of course. The downpour kept battering the ground, covering it in puddles that continued growing in size. The sky didn't open, there were no bright lights or angels singing. And I, of course, didn't materialise back on the real side just because I was done.

“Aspen.” I croaked, falling onto my knees in a puddle with a slosh I barely registered. The anger fled from my body, turning to desperation: “Where are you? I need you, just.. fuck. Fuck. Can you hear me? If you can, haul your ass here ASAP.”

Nothing. Just the drop, drop, drop of the rain. I opened my mouth and screamed at the sky, and I screamed until my throat was raw and dry.

“I'm losing my mind here, and I'm not just being dramatic. So, please, please come back.” I pleaded with the sky, but it was either deaf or didn't care. I wondered if I truly was the only one alive, that no one was coming because there was no one left to save me.

He can't hear you, the rain seemed to say just to rub salt in the wound. I buried my face in my hands, wishing the rain would wash me away.

He can't hear you, I lifted my head, looking around. This time I was certain I had heard it, and not just imagined it. Because he doesn't exist.

Think about it..

Isn't he a little too perfect to be real?

“Shut up.” I breathed and covered my ears, but there was no escaping the voice. It only grew louder as the downpour pelted my face and back.

There was never any Aspen, he’s just in your head. You made it all up.

I whimpered, curling into myself. Something cracked in my chest as I thought about it. Magic didn't exist. I was never cured in the first place. There was never anyone after Levi's parting words: I was actually insane, and I had been all this time.

Think about it..

Can you really drive through a garage door without a single scratch?

In my last show of resilience, I told the rain: “You're lying.”

You can't wake up, because you're somewhere hooked on the machines, and they breathe for you.

“Stop it.” I pleaded, my voice so thick it didn't sound like mine at all. “Can’t you just be quiet? Just.. stop.”

Then stay, the rain hummed, promise you'll never leave. With each drop of the rain, stay, stay, stay, stay. And I opened my mouth to agree, because what else was there if I had made it all up in some fucked up coma dream?

“Phoenix.”

The hum of the rain faded, and I lifted my head from my knees. I let my hands drop from my ears and opened my eyes. The heaviness, which had pulled me down seconds ago, was gone from my shoulders.

“Phoenix. Can you hear me?”

I would have known that voice anywhere, and I knew I hadn't made it up. He was too good to be true, but somehow he still was. Aspen existed and magic was real, no matter what this hellhole tried to make me believe.

“We found food and water, and we are heading back as fast as we can. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

“I can hear you.” My voice was so raw, so desperate. This fucking place. It was driving me insane, and I do mean that in the most literal sense. There were a million things I wanted to say, but all I could manage was: “Thank you.”