Remove The Mask?
Echo.
Waking up is strange… my body hurts more than usual and I’m laying on my back. Odd. The ache is a layered thing, bruises flowering over older bruises, a deep, furnace-tired throb in my arms and shoulders, the faint sting along my wrists where gold used to bite. The world smells like old carpet cleaner and dust, a hint of cheap floral room spray failing to cover whatever came before. Blinking my eyes I feel something move underneath me.
“Echo?” I hear Farrah, and my eyesight adjusts to the dim, jaundiced lamp to see I’m laying in her lap, with her face looking down at me. Her hair is a dark halo against the lumpy motel pillow, and relief shines in her eyes so bright it almost hurts to look at.
“Oh my God. Don’t scare me like that”. I sign to her.
She laughs, thin at first, then real. “You should have seen your bad ass moves last night, you did it , Echo, we’re free!”
Oh, that’s right. It’s coming back to me now, the wolves, that man, the fire. Oh! My powers! I used my powers! The memory lands like a bell-strike in my chest, ringing outward: heat, light, the clean, terrible silence after. I sit up straight and look down at my wrists, they’re free! Pale skin ridged where the cuffs used to sit. I wiggle my fingers and watch as little flames dance from my finger tips, skittering like foxfire. The tiny flames sputter and curl, warm and obedient for once, like cubs nuzzling their mother’s palm. Smiling on the inside I bring my hands to my face and recognize the cold metal that still sits there. It smells like old blood and witch-oil, and the edges are always a fraction too cold, as if the mask knows what it steals.
“Why didn’t they take off the mask?” I ask Farrah.
“I’m not sure sweet girl. We walked all night until we had to retreat from the sunlight. The sun is just going down now so I assume we will be on the move again soon but they haven’t told me anything.” Her voice softens at the end, apology without power; she tucks a stray hair behind my ear like she can tuck comfort into place, too. Like their ears were burning I hear footsteps, measured, confident, coming down the stained hallway. I take a second to look around the room we’re in. Looks like a shitty hotel, but I couldn’t be happier. I’m free! Peeling wallpaper in a faded vine print. A cracked mirror with a fly trapped between glass and backing. Heavy blackout curtains leaking a thin bruise of evening along the edges. A table with one good leg and one saved by a folded menu. Freedom wears ugly clothes sometimes, but it fits.
Knock knock
Farrah gets up to open the door and the two men from last night walk in, but my attention is only drawn to one of them. He’s tall, maybe 6.7 to 7 foot. Shaggy blond hair, lean but muscular. The suit he wears screams wealth and importance and he carries himself with an air of danger. The room shrinks around him; even the humming mini-fridge seems to quiet, listening.
“Good. You’re awake. We need to leave.” He says bluntly not even looking at me properly. His voice is winter-cold: efficient, unsparing, as if words are simply tools and he hates to use more than necessary.
“Food?” I sign to Farrah. The hunger hits sharp enough to prickle my vision.
“She asks if there is food? You know, considering she eats.” Farrah’s tone goes sweet at the edges, which is to say it’s not sweet at all.
“Wait! Ask him to remove the mask!” I sign, tugging on her arm.
“She would also like to ask you to please remove the mask."
“How come she has it to begin with? Clearly she was restrained for a reason and what we witnessed last night is proof that she’s dangerous.” He speaks pointedly. The words land like thrown coins, hard and polished, and his gaze slices through me and then away, never lingering long enough to be called looking.
I just look at Farrah and she looks at me with something akin to pity. Her fingers tighten around mine, a quiet anchor.
“She’s not dangerous, my King. Not to you.”
“I don’t believe that. Get ready, we’re leaving now.” He turns to walk away but the other guy stays. The tension he leaves behind hangs like fog; it tastes metallic through the slits of the mask.
“Uh, hi, I’m Jeremy.” He says scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably and waving at us. He is the opposite of edges, open, earnest, a bit too big for the space but trying to make himself smaller. There’s dried blood along his sleeve and contrition in his smile.
“Farrah, and this is Echo.”
“You’re a vampire? How did you wind up there?”
“I got unlucky one day looking for my little sister who was taken by those dogs.” The words go blunt on her tongue, grief filed down to something she can carry without bleeding.
“and her?” he looks at me. “what’s her story?” His curiosity is soft, not prying, like he’s putting a question on a saucer and sliding it toward me without touching the cup.
“Tell him to take my mask off if his smug ass wants to know.” I sign quickly.
“Uh... She says she will happily tell you when the mask is removed.”
He shrugs. “Fair enough.” Jeremy’s glance flicks to the door, the hallway, the window, then back to me, soldier’s eyes mapping exits even while he’s being kind.
knock knock
“Ah room service. There should be something you can eat.” His voice floats; he doesn’t bother to look as the cart rattles over the threshold, a weak little bell chiming like it’s trying to apologize for its own cheer. The cart wheels in and on it is a steak, mash potatoes and vegetables. The meat is glossy and perfect, butter cooling on its back; steam curls from the mash in ghost-fingers. I just stare at it and then back at the idiot. My mouth is drooling and there’s nothing I can do about it. The mask traps the saliva, makes it collect in humiliating, hungry swallows that taste like metal and want.
“Fucking dick” I sign. Before getting up off the bed and heading out the door. The carpet grabs at my bare feet; the hallway smells like disuse and old smoke. I move because if I stay I will either beg or burn something, and I will do neither for him.
I hear Jeremy before the door swings shut. “What did she say?”
The door clicks, cutting his voice to a thin thread. I press my palm to the cool wallpaper and breathe. Behind my ribs, the remembrance of last night’s fire unfurls like a cat stretching in sunlight. Freedom aches, but it is mine. The mask still cages my jaw, but the chain is gone. For now, that is enough.