I'm not ready to talk about I don't want to. – He began, but Louise steamrolled over him, pretending not to hear.
I think mom really did Deep down. Remember her dress? He answered mechanically: Yeah… the blue With the hydrangea print. That's the It was her favorite. She wore it every time we visited grandma or Aunt Dorothy. I always thought she didn't want to replace it — even when I begged her to get a new one. I think we all attach meaning to stuff.
Erich folded into himself, arms wrapped around his ribs, forehead pressed against the cold window. Watching the pretty scenery. Saying nothing. Louise, of course, kept going.
When dad disappeared… and mom died not long after, I didn't think about the You know what came to mind? Those freaky masks at Francesca's place. I was convinced they were cursed. Like, actually cursed. That they made people sick.
I remember
I think the problem was their The parents. They spent too much time in dead, ancient ruins. Either roasting on the surface or coughing through tomb dust underground. That stuff messes with your head. I think we became hostages to their world. There was no room left — not for love, not for respect, not even for basic -hey, you're my kid- affection. Alright, that'll be $500. Your therapy session is – She ended with a dumb joke, but it landed. Erich flinched… then eased up a little.
It was working. She could keep going.
I just meant… none of this is our fault. We're not the cause. We're the leftovers. Roadkill on the highway of And maybe it sounds like I'm shifting the blame, but I'm just trying to lift it off us. What were we supposed to do? Just two kids left alone in the world, without a map or even a halfway sober adult?
Erich tapped his knuckles against the window. Not hard, but with meaning. A silent Morse code that said: stop talking or say more, but don't lie. The topic had clearly gotten to him. Which was, of course, the plan.
You didn't have to make me look — He finally whispered.
Louise's hands clenched the steering wheel so hard it squeaked. Bingo. He took the bait. Now she could reel him in.
What was I supposed to do? You were already doing a fine job of that yourself. Tell me, who would've believed you? You built hallucinations and tried to move us both in. Sorry I didn't follow you into the illusion then — and I'm still not buying a ticket now. What did your doctor say?
That it was all a manifestation of my
Exactly! — She cried, triumphant — piloting both the car and now, finally, her — You worked with a professional. For years. And he brought you back to reality. No pills now. No
supervision. You're free-range, baby.
You know how that doctor ended up? Is that really the kind of -professional- you want to quote? That was your line once, remember? — Erich's voice went cold and heavy. Doesn't matter. He helped you. That means the method The road matters more than the driver. That sounds like one of your Maiji Kuiper's bumper sticker
Louise smirked. Relaxed her shoulders. Game, set, match. He was caught. Now she could switch tracks — from therapeutic confrontation to marketing pitch.
So… will you take his offer? You clearly impressed a very powerful One who can make things happen. I think you should give it serious thought. Don't say no just to prove a point.
Erich gave a slow nod. It wasn't clear if he agreed — or just acknowledged the noise around him. The rest of the drive stretched out in familiar silence.
A prison for her. A sanctuary for him.
***
Louise was bustling around the house, chatting with her girlfriend, while I dragged a chair outside
just to avoid hearing any of Their talk didn't interest me.
I used to have a girlfriend, too. For a while I'd visit her in the city and we went to all sorts of odd little places — open-air cinemas, museums, even once made it to the base of Mount Fuji and took a
bunch of photos. Then she died. Not the mountain — the girl. Her weak heart gave in to some congenital illness, and I was alone again. Just like now, despite the guest in my house.
Fog was walking the shoreline, and some invisible hand was laying it down like a woven cloth — starting from the water and drifting, further and further inland...
I gave in and took a few shots, even though I was never into surface photography. I liked the depths, and the secrets they hid — places that lived by laws very different from those of the noisy world above. I opened the gallery and scrolled through the photos showing my recent contact with a creature from an unknown underwater civilization. Or maybe he was the only one of his kind.
Here — a tail. And here — fins, beside which hung long, hook-like arms, thin and muscleless. My heart was racing. Even if I didn't capture the whole creature in one frame, I still had undeniable evidence of its existence. That was something. The existence of these photos meant I—
—I'm not insane. I'm not like that. — I muttered under my breath, echoing the words from earlier.
You're wrong, You always were.
Maybe I should've jumped up and run inside, proved my truth to her and to the whole world. But I stayed still, sitting in that chair, just watching the fog.
When I was a kid, I used to watch a cartoon called Life with Louie, and the father, Andy, once said something that stuck with me. A giant fish had bitten their canoe and left behind a massive tooth. His son wanted to show it to all the bullies, so they'd stop mocking his dad's stories. But Andy just said, -You know. I know. That's enough.-