White Space

“I think she was never here, as a girl, for us,” Emma said, “but she put you here. She made this place out of her idea of a Peculiar, and then she bound you. She was bleeding, and you need that, don’t you? It’s the actual blood that matters. It’s why McDermott cut himself. It wasn’t only to activate the Mirror. It was to give you a way in that would stick.” But it must not work all at once unless there’s enough time. What was it that McDermott had said? A cumulative exposure, something he had to do over and over again. He must’ve thought that if he cut himself just every so often, took in only a little of its energy, he could use it without it having enough of a hold to use him.

So was that what London had been about? McDermott taking in too much? But there had been something wrong with Meredith McDermott, too. Scars. I remember scars on her arms. Her memory was faulty; there were holes, things she couldn’t recall. Hadn’t McDermott said that Meredith and Lizzie went away? To where?

“YOU KNOW, YOU’RE VERY SMART, A REAL CHIP OFF THE OLD LIZZIE-BLOCK.” The whisper-man gave a sly, ghastly wink. “I CAN SEE WHERE ERIC GETS IT.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Eric asked.

Emma kept her eyes screwed to the whisper-man. “We’re not talking about that.”

“OH, BUT WE ARE. YOU ALL NEED TO UNDERSTAND THE STAKES HERE,” the whisper-man said.

“What’s to understand?” Casey said. “You’re an asshole.”

“SO ELOQUENT. EMMA’S GUESSED MOST OF IT, I’LL BET. IT’S REALLY VERY SIMPLE. AFTER THE CRASH, I GOT INTO THAT LIZZIE AND, OH BOY, WAS THAT A MISTAKE. SHE WAS MUCH STRONGER THAN EVEN I REALIZED AND SUCH A BRIGHT, CREATIVE LITTLE GIRL! YOUNGER MINDS AREN’T BOUND BY LOGIC; NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO CONFORM TO RULES. WHO KNEW SHE’D PAID SUCH CLOSE ATTENTION TO HER MOTHER AND THOSE PECULIARS? OH, I KNEW THE RISKS. SHE WASN’T A PUSHOVER LIKE DEAR OLD FRANK, WHO HAD THE KNACK BUT JUST DIDN’T KNOW WHEN TO STOP. BUT I COULDN’T RESIST. REALLY, AFTER I SAW HOW SHE COULD PULL THINGS BACK INTO HER REALITY—THAT STORM, FOR EXAMPLE; HECK OF A THING—AND WITHOUT DESTROYING THAT PARTICULAR NOW, WELL, I KNEW I JUST HAD TO GET ME MORE OF THAT.”

“Where is she?” Eric said. “Is she dead? Did you kill her?”

“SON, LIZZIE WAS GONE FROM HERE A LONG TIME AGO,” the whisper-man said. “WITHIN MINUTES OF THAT SWOOSH. OH, SHE’S ALIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, AN INFINITE NUMBER OF VERSIONS IN ALL THOSE MULTIVERSES YOU TALKED ABOUT, ALTHOUGH THAT’S TOO NEW AGE FOR ME. CALL IT A REALM, OR A NOW. EVEN A BOOK-WORLD, WITH ITS SECRET COMPARTMENTS. IT’S ALL THE SAME IN A WAY, BECAUSE THE WORLD OF A BOOK IS SO REAL TO ITS CHARACTERS, AND THOSE WHO READ IT, TRIP INTO IT, GET LOST.”

“Where you can’t stay long,” Emma said. “Now or book-world, it doesn’t matter, because you’re bound to Lizzie’s story and she’s bound you here. You can be what you want here but nowhere else.”

“WELL, IT’S NOT AS LIMITING AS THAT. BINDING WORKS BOTH WAYS. GIVE A LITTLE, GET A LITTLE. YOU’RE RIGHT; LIZZIE AND I ARE TANGLED, THE SAME WAY THAT FRANK’S IN HERE AND, OF COURSE, ALL … WELL …” It threw Emma another wink, so eerily similar to the one McDermott had given her in that Madison-blink, she felt a swift, sharp frisson race up her neck. “MOST OF YOUR STORIES, THE ONES STORED IN THE PECULIARS.”

“What do you mean, most?” Eric said. “There are others? Ones that aren’t finished, like …” Emma felt Eric move a little closer, as if to shield her, too. “Like Emma’s?”

In reply, the thing only hunched Rima’s left shoulder, but when it did, Emma heard a distinctive riiip that made her flash to Sal tearing up old sheets for rags. “SO I CAN BREACH THE PECULIAR FOR SHORT PERIODS OF TIME, BECAUSE LIZZIE HAD THAT KNACK; JUST LONG ENOUGH TO GRAB ONE OF YOU, WHICH ONLY MEANS THAT I GRAB THAT PIECE OF HER IN YOU. I CAN VISIT ANY NOW AND PLAY WITH THE VERSION OF YOU—IN YOU—THAT EXISTS IN THAT NOW FOR A LITTLE WHILE. TRUE, EXCEPT FOR EMMA, YOU’RE ASLEEP AND YOU MISS ALL THE FUN; WELL … MOST OF YOU DO.”

All my blackouts. All those blinks. She felt the cold, keen blade of this new horror slice into her heart. They haven’t been fugues or seizures. It’s been using me, wearing me to visit versions of me in different timelines. And it could use her while she was awake. Why? Because I’m my own person: real, not set in a story with an inevitable end?