Participants:
| Scene Title | Eurydice's Song |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Don't look back. |
| Date | February 26, 2021 |
???
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A good night’s rest means no grogginess in the morning. The sunshine greets her through the space between slats in the partially closed blinds. The lady at the home improvement store had confided that they’d be hard to keep clean, but there hasn’t been a speck of dust on them so far.
Kaydence sits up and smiles at the sleeping form of her husband. Things have been different since he quit the force. Spencer can do things like sleep in without guilt. Tugging down on the hem of her light grey Cornell sweatshirt, it’s almost a longer length than the gym shorts she sleeps in.
In the kitchen, she pours pancake batter onto the griddle, flipping each silver dollar perfectly every time. The plate stacked with them is readily devoured by her husband and their young daughter, Coleen, who’s hung up a drawing up on the fridge. As she does this, she explains that the purple stick figure is Mommy, Daddy is in blue because he’s a cop, and she’s this shade of goldenrod. The sun shines in the sky above them, just as there isn’t a cloud outside the kitchen window.
The ball sails through the air across the park. Kay and Spence watch dog and daughter alike chase after it. The air is warm and the chardonnay is chilled. Other people pass with their indistinct chatter and their smiling faces.
Another beautiful day in New York City. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a care in the world.
After dinner, movie night calls for couch togetherness. Spencer brings the popcorn, Kay brings out a tray of cherry colas with a glass to please each of the three bears, and Xanadu is the cinematic masterpiece of the evening. For all that she’s had to watch the same movie about princesses eleven-hundred-and-eight times, her family can endure a little bit of wooden acting on the part of the male lead in exchange for the dancing and the music.
What I wanted was to fall asleep
Close my eyes and disappear
Like a petal on a stream, a feather on the air
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A good night’s rest means no grogginess in the morning. The sunshine greets her through the sheer curtains. The lady at the home improvement store had confided that they’d be hard to keep from showing wrinkles, but there hasn’t been a single crease in the violet fabric so far.
Kaydence sits up and smiles at the sleeping form of her husband. Things have been different since she quit the force. She can do things like sleep in without guilt. Tugging down on the hem of her light grey Cornell sweatshirt, it’s almost a longer length than the yoga shorts she sleeps in.
In the kitchen, she pours batter into the waffle maker. It never seems to matter if she gets distracted pouring glasses of juice or making sure their behemoth of a wolfhound is fed, they always come out perfect. The plate stacked with them is readily devoured by her husband and their young daughter, Coleen. She hangs a drawing up on the fridge, explaining that the purple scribbles are Mommy, Daddy is blue ones, the grey scribbles are Towser, and she’s this shade of goldenrod. The sun shines in the sky above them, just as the rain patters against the kitchen window.
The ball sails through the air across the park. Kay and Spence watch their dog chase after it while young Coleen squeals encouragement from between them on the picnic blanket. The air is warm and the pinot grigio is chilled. Other people pass with their indistinct chatter and their smiling faces.
Another beautiful day in New York City. Lingering raindrops kiss the grass. Not a care in the world.
After dinner, dishes glub their way quietly into the soapy water so that Kay can scrub them clean with a soft dishcloth. Whatever her mother knitted it from, it really does the trick. There’s never any real effort required to clean her pots and pans. Even after Spencer’s nearly set the kitchen ablaze. Down the hall, father has read himself to sleep along with daughter hours ago. Kay glances up at the clock. Not quite an hour until midnight. Still fifty-two minutes to spare. She hums along with Olivia Newton-John.
Lily white and poppy red
I trembled when he laid me out
You won’t feel a thing, he said, when you go down
Nothing gonna wake you now
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A good night’s rest means no grogginess in the morning. The sunshine greets her through the gap in the semi-opaque curtains that frame either side of the window. The lady at the home improvement store had confided that they wouldn’t do much to block the light, but she’s enjoyed the sun’s gentle rousing so far.
Kaydence sits up and smiles at the sleeping form of her husband. Things have been different since he left federal service. He can do things like sleep in without guilt. Tugging down on the hem of her light grey Cornell sweatshirt, it’s almost long enough to cover the swell of her pregnant belly.
In the kitchen, she plants a kiss atop Cole’s head as she sets bowls of cereal with entirely too many marshmallows in front of her and her older sister both. Kay gets to drop into her seat between them and wait for a plate of eggs and turkey bacon, while admiring her daughter’s artwork. There’s smiling faces drawn in crayons — purple, black, pink, and yellow — to represent mother, father, sister, and herself. There’s the addition of a cyan colored arrow pointing to the purple figure’s stomach with two exclamation points and a… sideways eight? Cole’s enthusiasm is always wonderful, but sometimes equally indecipherable. The sun shines in the sky above them, highlighting the silver linings of clouds and the arc of a rainbow, where the older girl’s attention is focused past the kitchen window.
The ball sails through the air across the park. The sisters take turns throwing for the dog to fetch while their parents hold hands on the picnic blanket, discussing colors to paint the nursery, and whether Danger or Trouble is the better middle name. The air is warm, and the apple cider is chilled. Other people pass with their indistinct chatter and their smiling faces.
Another beautiful day in New York City. The clouds have gone wispy and silver. Not a care in the world.
After dinner, a trip to the ice cream parlour is in order. While they dig into their sundaes and chat about their day and their upcoming plans, the song on the overhead system changes. Kay lifts her head in immediate recognition, a huge smile on her face. Here she goes again…
Dreams are sweet until they’re not
Men are kind until they aren’t
Flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A good night’s rest means no grogginess in the morning. The sunshine greets her through a sliver in the curtains where they didn’t quite get closed. The lady at the interior design store had confided that they would attract every stray hair or bit of schmutz in the room, but there hasn’t been a speck of dust on them so far.
Kaydence sits up and smiles at the sleeping form of her husband. Things have been different since she finally found herself a good-paying job. They can both stop losing sleep over money. Tugging down on the hem of her new, red-logoed Yamagato Industries sweatshirt, it nearly covers the boxer-style briefs she sleeps in.
In the kitchen, there’s a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal waiting for her on the counter. Her daughter looks up from her homework for a moment so brief it could be missed, and smiles knowingly at her mother. Sometimes she can be the caretaker. There’s a new photo in the digital frame that sits out on the counter behind the sink, taken just last week by the selfie queen extraordinaire. Kaydence caught in mid-laughing eye roll, ‘Ella flashing the peace sign, and Spence looking at his girls, rather than the camera, with obvious adoration. The midsummer sun and moon can both be seen in the sky as snow falls, gently accumulating along the edges of the kitchen window.
The ball sails through the air across the park. ‘Ella is working on pop fly catches with Spencer’s assistance. Kay sits on the blanket and watches the pair with a fond smile. Almost twenty years ago, this is the life she and her husband dreamed of having together. While the three of them are wonderful together as they are, she sometimes feels the regret for not making time to have the second child they always wanted when ‘Ella was younger. But she put career before family. She won’t make that mistake anymore. The air is warm, and the pilsner is chilled. Other people pass with their indistinct chatter and their smiling faces.
Another beautiful day in New York City. The sun’s in the sky. Not a care in the world. They melt away like snow on the grass.
After dinner, ‘Ella sits in the driver’s seat while her father calmly and patiently provides guidance when necessary. She stews in the back seat, the ball of one foot pressed into the floor of the SUV, her heel bouncing up and down anxiously while her daughter fiddles with the radio. How many times has she told her not to touch that while she’s driving? She’s already accidentally changed the time on the clock three times now. It is definitely not 11:08. Spencer throws a look to his wife over his shoulder, an infuriating little smirk when her favorite song starts to play. Kay rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. Chuckling to herself. That child.
Is anybody listening?
I open my mouth and nothing comes out
Nothing
Nothing gonna wake me now
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A good night’s rest means no grogginess in the morning. There isn’t a single sliver of sunlight that penetrates the blackout curtains over the window. The lady at the interior design store had confided that the pattern might be too busy for the small space, but the fleur-de-lis pattern hasn’t grated on her so far.
Kaydence sits up and smiles at the sleeping form of her husband. Things have been better since she got that promotion. It means she keeps odd hours, but it’s no worse than things were when they were both on the force. And in this, there is significantly less chance of receiving the phone call either of them dreaded most. Tugging down on the hem of her secondhand Saints sweatshirt, she finds she has to re-tie the drawstring of the joggers she sleeps in.
In the kitchen, there's a plate of toast and mayhaw and plum jam set out for her already. Spencer smiles a little ruefully when she doesn’t even stop to sit down at the table, instead eating as she gathers up her things for the day. Phone, keys, purse, jacket… She pauses at the sink to set her saucer down there. It’s long enough for her husband to capture her with his arms around her waist and his lips against her jaw. She has to get to work. There isn’t much time now. The sun is nearly eclipsed by the moon beyond the kitchen window.
The ball sails through the air across the park. They still do this together for old times’ sake, or so she tells herself. He says they have to keep it up, because ‘Ella will need the practice when she’s home during the summers. Pointing out that she won her last game 11-8 does no good. Whatever the reason, she finally convinces him to let her take a break. The air is warm, and the Guinness is chilled. It churns in the glass like clouds against a tempestuous sky. Other people pass with their smiling faces. Kay turns her head sharply at the sound of a familiar accent. Fashionably shaggy blonde hair. A smile that could make the devil’s red hide turn green with envy. The softball hits her square in the chest., snapping her attention back to her husband with a startled chuckle and a faux-affronted shout.
Another beautiful day in New York City. The sun is an angry ring of red in the sky. The feu follet dance between the trees.
After dinner, they sit on opposite ends of the couch. The title of the book in his hands is Cauchemar, and he reads while she goes over the week’s paperwork, unable to just leave work at the office. The radio plays in the background. Something is gnawing at her, and it isn’t just how to classify this line on her expense report.
“I swear nobody comes up with new music anymore,” she comments, setting down her tablet. If she’s going to be distracted, she may as well be all the way distracted.
Spencer looks up from his book after only a moment required to locate where he left the marker on the sofa seat next to him. “How do you mean?”
“Well, I mean… This is a Top 40 station, right?”
He nods his head.
“When was the last thing you heard something new play?”
Spencer Damaris looks at his wife with a tilt of his head and a squint of his eyes. “Every week. That’s what Top 40 is about.” Before she can pick up from there, he lifts a hand to concede, “Okay, so, it’s not all new music. Part of the charm is it can be anything from whenever. Like when they brought Top Gun back to the theater for a short run last month? Danger Zone was everywhere again, like it had just hit the charts for the first time. Is that what’s gotten under your skin, Della?”
Della.
Kay sucks in a sharp breath. When was the last time anyone called her that? “You haven’t called me Della in a long time,” she observes, unsure of why that seems to leave her feeling unsettled in some way.
At this point, she hasn’t been Kaydence Lee November Delacroix for…
A quarter of a century? Regardless of how fuzzy her grasp on the concept of time seems to be right now, even Spencer eventually shifted just to Kay in order to avoid having to explain her nickname every time someone expressed confusion. It faded from their lexicon of endearment. Became memory.
“No… No, I suppose I haven't.” He shakes his head. He doesn't understand. “What's gotten into you tonight?”
An arm sweeps out toward the wall for lack of a physical radio to point to. “That!” How can she possibly explain it? “All I've heard is music I already know, and know well. Songs I know ev. er. y. word. to! That's not supposed to happen. I heard Tiffany yesterday, and I don't mean that I think we're alone now stuff! I mean the deep cuts. Stuff from the second album that never made singles.”
As she carries on, her accent gets thicker and Spencer's brows creep ever closer to his dark hairline. He leans back and away from her, one hand coming up to rest against his chin. “You're really serious about this.”
“You bet your ass I'm serious. That was one of my favorite songs as a kid, and I've never met another soul that's even heard it before, much less a radio station that will play it. And sure as shit not alongside Lorde and Nine Inch goddamned Nails! I can believe Madonna, okay? But do you know what I heard on both my commutes and on my lunch?”
Spencer just shakes his head, helpless in the face of his own growing agitation.
Kay lets out a heavy breath of air, laden with a note of incredulity. “Xana—”
"There is a house in New Orleans…"
From the coffee table, Kay's phone lights up and begins to sing. A haunting woman’s voice drifts through the air, and it’s like all other noise in the room has stopped for a moment. Even her breath has caught in her throat.
It’s her husband — nearly forgotten in such a short moment — that breaks the preternatural silence first. “Is that Coleen?” he asks, starting to lean forward in his seat with the intent of picking up the phone from the table.
"They call the Rising Sun…"
Kay can already tell from the lack of golden light at the edges of the facedown phone that the call isn't coming from 'Ella. Even if she had changed her ringtone… She rockets forward to snatch the mobile up before her husband can get to it.
"And it’s been the ruin of many a poor girl…"
There's no picture on the screen, but the caller's initials have been programmed into the phone. Kay, squinting down at it, is just as nonplussed by the display as she was the ghostly voice communicating through ringtone. “Kay Zee?”
Who the heck is K Z?
Her head lifts just in time to see the lunge of movement from the other side of the couch. “Spence?!” Alarm colors her voice, fills the space of their home. “Spence, no!”
He roars at her with such a ferocity she's never seen from him, the gentlest man she ever knew. He never raised his voice with her. With their child. Even with suspects, he was known for how mild he was. Mild, but never weak. She feels his weight come down on top of her, pinning her against the couch even as she attempts a game of keepaway with her phone.
“Stop it!” she screams. He wrenches her arm away from her chest, but her hold on the phone remains tight. Spencer brings her wrist down against the hard frame of the sofa arm, and reflexes nearly have her losing her grip.
“Give that to m—”
“Sto—”
"And god, I know I’m one…"
Flowers, I remember fields
Of flowers, soft beneath my heels
Walking in the sun
I remember someone
Someone by my side
Turned his face to mine
And then I turned away
Into the shade
Brown eyes open and blink up at the ceiling. A poor night’s rest means no chance of feeling refreshed in the morning. The windows stand bare without treatment, but no sun streams through the double hung panes. The sky is blue, unnaturally so, without a sign of clouds so far.
Kaydence sits up and stares at either side of her empty bed. Things have been different since… How long have they been different? What’s changed? How is any of this different? She tugs down on the hem of her nightgown. It reminds her of the one she got when she was in the hospital after having ‘Ella.
In the kitchen, no one waits for her to start breakfast. There’s no footsteps in the hall behind her. There was no telltale spray of the shower to indicate anyone else was up and stirring. The open doors showed there was no one here. Not just empty beds, but empty rooms. The cupboards, the refrigerator, the pantry… All are as bare as the windows. But that can’t be right, can it? The sun must be shining in the sky above, otherwise how is the sky so damn blue outside that kitchen window?
{Good morning, Kay.}
The blonde looks up sharply from her slow amble through the middle of her barren living room. One moment she’s in the house she and her husband shared. Then, by the time she’s danced back a step on her bare feet, she’s in her suite at the Cresting Wave. Her right hand comes up to rest over her chest. Only the blue light beyond the window has stayed the same. “Jiba?”
The ball of light sails through the air across the empty park. Kay watches in awe and confusion. “This isn’t where I— Why am I here?” She shakes her head. Is that even the right question? “How am I here?”
{I don’t have an answer for that question.}
“But you’re— You—” Kay flounders for words, gesticulating toward the AI — or her closest approximation of the disembodied presence. “You’re the one who found me. We were just in my living room and now we are not. How did you do that?”
{I didn’t.}
“Then who did?” The question is met with silence. “Jiba, who did?”
{I can’t tell you that.}
Brown eyes with flecks of honey gold close heavily, her chest feels like it caves in from the force of her defeated exhale. It aches. “What is happening to me?” More silence. “Jiba!”
Again, nothing.
“I don’t know where I am.” Her voice comes out as a whisper, fear tightening its grip on her throat. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s anybody?”
There’s no indistinct chatter. No smiling faces.
{I’m sorry, Kay.}
“You’re sorry?” It’s hard to implore someone when there aren’t any eyes to meet, but that doesn’t stop Kay from trying, looking toward that winking blue light in the sky. That feu follet. Maybe this one’s more benevolent than the ones where she comes from. “Am I dead?”
{No,} Jiba’s voice offers matter-of-factly, {I don’t believe so.}
She nods her head numbly. “But I could be.”
{I find it very unlikely.}
“Great! Well, if it’s statistically unlikely that I’m dead, then… Where’s ‘Ella? Is she safe?”
{That’s what we’ve been told.}
“We?” Taking a deep breath, Kay gets her impending tears back under control. “Where are you?”
{Here. With you.}
“Where else?”
{Here. With you.}
One corner of her mouth hooks upward. “You’re an artificial intelligence. You aren’t bound by the laws of nature and physics and physical goddamned bodies like someone like me. You can be anywhere you want to be at any time. You’re wired into the whole—” The rest of that thought dies in the back of her throat. Instead, her face lights up. “But you’re here. With me. And you can’t leave the Park.”
{That is correct, Kay.}
“So, either I haven’t left Yamagato…”
{Unlikely.}
“But that doesn’t make sense.” Another beautiful day in New York City. “You can’t be tethered to me.” Not a cloud in the sky. “And I’m not in the Park.” Kay squeezes her eyes shut. “I need to not be in a different park every time I say that. I need to be—”
Not a care in the world.
When she opens her eyes again, she’s back in her— kitchens? It’s like someone stuck the 70s wallpaper and cabinets of her old house into the same room at the Cresting Wave, making for such a jarring clash of styles. The woman at the interior design store would’ve had a field day with this one.
“Did I just—”
{Yes.}
“How?”
{I can’t answer that question for you.}
“But you knew the question without me having to ask it! You know!” Kay reaches for something, anything to throw across the room, but the only thing she can find is a yellow and green scouring sponge, and that gives her approximately zero satisfaction when it bounces off the cupboard’s face and back softly to the chipped laminate countertop below.
{And so do you.}
Kay’s brows knit together in confusion. “No, I don’t! I don’t know anything! I can’t— None of this makes any sense! If you’re here, then I have to be there. But if I’m here, you have to be there!”
{You may need a few more nouns in order for that to make better sense, Kay.}
“You sassy goddamn— Wait.” Kay rests a hand against the lip of the counter and leans her weight against it. “You’re not like this.”
{Aren’t I?}
“No. You started out okay, and sometimes in the middle there, you sounded right, but that there… That there…”
{Go on.}
Kay looks down at the floor. It’s an old linoleum flooring with irregular shaped tiles in shades of orange, green, and yellow. They look like rocks and were perfect for little feet to hop from stone to stone in games of The Floor is Lava. When she looks up, she’s in that house again. “Asi?”
{Gu—}
“No. No, not Asi. ON1 would have hit me over the head with a clue-by-four by now.” Kay laughs, it’s a hollow sound. “Besides, she wouldn’t know to send me here. But I’m on to you now. I know exactly who you are.”
{Then why don’t you enlighten us, Kay?}
“You aren’t Jiba.” The sky outside the windows abruptly shifts in color, but it doesn’t feel discordant. It feels right. Now it’s darker, a nighttime shade of purple. “And you aren’t ON1.” A smile slowly curls her lips. “The only one who’s going to help me out of this shit is me.”
{Now you see.}
This time, the AI speaks back to her with her own accented voice.
“Yeah,” Kay breathes out. One by one, the lights go out in the house. They start in the bedrooms, moving down the hallway and switching off. The rooms close off, lost. There’s only an opening to the void around her where previously there were walls and a roof to shelter. Snow falls just beyond the boundaries of the living room, like the night she made the decision that changed the course of her life forever. The kitchen is the next to go. Soon, she’s left standing beneath only a single recessed light in front of the entrance to the house, where the number above the doorpost reads 1108. Her exit. “I see.”
There’s a knock from the other side of the door. From the impossible nowhere.
“Gotta go, sugar. My ride’s here.” Leaning forward, Kay opens the door and smiles for a familiar face she hasn’t seen in a long time. “Hi.”
You, the one I left behind
If you ever walk this way
Come and find me lying in the bed I made
Her own.
