Neverchangeable | Chapter 7

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Lindsay doesn’t bother with modesty as she falls all over Laine. Her robe slips and exposes a long slice of splotchy pink flesh, a flash of matted, tight curls. Lindsay’s face is wet and snot-covered. She stares at her daughter, brushing the hair out of Laine’s face over and over. She asks, “What happened?”

After a moment of composure, Lindsay bursts into tears again. She asks Officer Logan, “Why is she blue?”

Laine’s lips are the color of salvia. Laine rubs the sleep from her eyes. Lindsay wraps the blanket around her daughter tighter.

Officer Logan explains, “An ambulance is on its way. It’s frost bite. She fell asleep under a tree. Says a voice in the forest told her to go towards it.”

Mrs. Developer tells us, “I called my sister. She’ll know what happened.”

Officer Logan doesn’t ask about Mrs. Developer’s sister. He nods, “Yeah, Madame Liliana’s good. Lili’s the real thing.”

He pulls out his walkie talkie. Officer Logan says to Mrs. Developer, “I’ll get clearance for her. She hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

Farley goes back into our room and shuts the door.

Farley hates all that woo-woo shit. Hell, that’s why he refused to come to that final bonfire that night in the Summer of Becca. Even though Becca’d thrown it, planned it all herself. Farley refused. He said Becca and Annie were tempting the Devil, as if he ever knew the Devil himself; as if the Devil needed an excuse or tempting to ever come around in the first place.

Madame Liliana arrived at the same time as the ambulance. Her bracelets and poncho shaking with decorative coins, jangled, loud as the sirens. Madame Liliana’s bleached blond hair stuck up at odds and ends, her kohl eyeliner more smudged than usual. Her breath was stale as she leaned into ask me, “Where’s good Farley?”

My back stiffens. I tell her in the bedroom. She nods. Officer Logan comes over and shakes Liliana’s hand. He thanks her for some distant case. Madame Liliana doesn’t blink. She walks over to Lindsay and Laine, surrounded by paramedics. There is no panic other than Lindsay’s in the hallway. Laine will be fine. Her lips are blue but she laughs in delight at her mother’s worry. She asks her Mama, “Were you really scared?”

A flash of Mama coming home from the hospital, black and white blurry photos of an ultrasound in her hand. Her pregnant belly swinging back and forth as I watched her search for me from under the bed. The relief on her face when she found me, the ultrasound photos dropped and forgotten on the hardwood floor.

Lindsay nods and nods and nods. She puts her head in her little girl’s chest. A paramedic wraps a wool blanket around Lindsay’s shoulders, covering what the bathrobe fails to.

Prince Charming has thrown on a hoodie and sweats. He comes over and crouches down to Laine’s eye level. She hides behind her mother’s shoulder and smiles. Prince Charming, even out of costume, dazzles the little girl with his bright blue eyes, dark, wavy hair, and pearly teeth. He asks, “Are you OK, Miss Lainey? Are you a big, strong girl like your Mama?”

Laine nods her head up and down, yes.

Prince Charming stands up and smiles. He asks Officer Logan if he’s free to leave now. Officer Logan looks at Laine, then Lindsay, then Madame Liliana. Madame Liliana answers for Officer Logan. She tells him, “You may.”

Officer Logan tells Prince Charming, “We have your phone number. We’ll call if we need anything. Stay close.”

Mama's hand clutching mine, stay close.

Prince Charming leaves. The outline of his back makes my stomach churn.

Mrs. Developer comes over to join Madame Liliana, Officer Logan, two paramedics and I all crowded around little Laine. She beams up at the attention. The paramedics tell her she’s doing a great job. They turn to Lindsay and assure her Laine will be fine. Madame Liliana crouches down to Laine’s eye level, just like Prince Charming did. She coos, “Oh you poor, sweet thing. Oh, you were so brave, little one. So brave. Can you tell Mama Lili what happened?”

Mama clutching Daddy in the kitchen howling into the sky. Mama asking Daddy, "But where did she go?"

Laine takes a deep breath. She goes, “Well, Mummy was busy so I started practicing my counting like Miss Martin tells us to do when we’re bored. I was counting the pretty fairy... light… bulbs…”

Mama swearing she could still feel kicks.

Laine stops to make a clawed motion with her hands to emphasize the fairy lights’ bulbous shape. She grimaces and says in a kiddish growl, “But… then… I got… lost.”

Madame Liliana strokes Laine’s hair, distracting her from the phantom fairy lights in her hands. Madame Liliana says, “Oh, that’s so frightening! It’s so easy to get lost in this place. I’ve done it plenty of times myself. One time I even got lost walking to my bedroom. How silly of me, right? How did you get lost, Laine?”

Laine’s smile opens up. She giggles, “That is silly. What’s your name again?”

Mama putting the baby blanket embroidered, Lydia in a trunk and never pulling it out again.

Madame Liliana smiles back patiently. She says, “You can call me Mama Lili.”

Laine breathes, as if relieved it isn’t as complicated a name as the adults are making it out to sound. She continues, “Mama Lili, I heard the maiden. The one from the story. The bridge lady. But I kind of forgot the story… I don’t remember if she’s good or bad…”

She leans back into her mother’s breast, comfortable with her audience now. She sighs, “So I followed where she told me to go and waited there for someone to come get me. You guys took so long, I fell asleep!”

Laine bursts out laughing and Lindsay tickles her ribs. Madame Liliana smiles, “Well, Miss Laine. Usually, the maiden gets her victims quite lost. She must have liked you, though, little Laineybug because she told you just where to go so that we could find you again.”

From behind Officer Logan, I see Mrs. Developer wink in Lindsay’s direction. Madame Liliana turns to Lindsay, “And as I understand, my sister helped you with her own sage advice. I’m glad she could help you find… closure in these circumstances. Do be sure to follow up with her by the end of this week. These things are… delicate, if you will.”

Madame Liliana smiles. She tells Lindsay, “They have to be precise.”

Lindsay pulls her robe closer to her skin for the first time. She nods. She kisses Laine’s head. Laine’s lips aren’t the color of hallucinogenic plants anymore. The paramedics tell Lindsay they’re OK to relax for the night, but to make sure to keep an eye on Laine. Mrs. Developer and Madame Liliana disappear to the kitchen downstairs to cook a late-night dinner for their guests. Lindsay collects Laine and they disappear into the honeymoon suite. Winnie the Pooh blares from the other side of their door. Farley’s snores blare through ours.

Officer Logan lingers. He checks his watch. He tells me he’s going to tell the guys about dinner, finalize the last bits of work for the night. As if he has any obligation to tell me anything. He dips out the door that leads to the balcony outside and its birchwood staircase down to the bank of the lagoon. Alone at last, I dip into my pixelated reverie.

Unsurprisingly, nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes since I cemented up the windows. Not in the cabin, at least. I could switch to one of my other channels. One camera faces the swatch of land outside the front door with the carrion of a fire pit; another watches over a small clearing that wanders off from the red-lined trail on Mrs. Developer’s tourist attraction map; a third camera guards the port-a-potties; a camera by the actors’ lodgings (those that chose to live in the village, anyway.) Daddy's wooden markers, too.

Those markers aren’t on any trails. They are the trail. The one my Daddy left for us to find the cabin with whether in the dark, disfigured, drunk, or damned. Dummy-proof. Each one, with a bug-sized camera now attached to it, waiting for dummies. That addition, Daddy never got to see.

None of those channels enticed me like the scene that never changed, though. Just dark abyss and the origami foldings of the final trespasser, crumpled and splayed at all angles in the corner of the cabin kitchenette. I stare at my pixelated reverie in one hand. I flit my gaze between the infinite scene on my phone screen and out the window facing the dark lagoon. I look out at the dark waters, all the machinery turned off for the night, still and endless. I smile at the split between the night outside my window and the ghost of my reflection in the glass. My cock is in my other hand. Eeyore groans from the honeymoon suite. I stop myself. I control myself. I breathe. I challenge the ghost man staring back at me from the window.

Officer Logan and his buddies re-emerge from the tree line of willows. They march towards the front door, the only mechanical decoration still flicked on. Their boots fill the marble foyer. The men stomp to the banquet hall. They help themselves to the bar. I hear a whoop of congratulations. A vocal pat on the back and a passing around of, “Good job, boys!”

In the honeymoon suite, I hear Lindsay softly say to Laine, “You’ll never know how much I love you.”

I go down to the kitchen. Madame Liliana prepares 17 plates for her 17 guests while Mrs. Developer grills 17 burgers, slipping them on to a large pan for Liliana to dress as each row finishes cooking. Madame Liliana floats around Mrs. Developer to sashay a baking tray of garlic-brushed brioche buns around the plates, each piece of ceramic already adorned with a leaf of crisp iceberg lettuce. She floats away to check on the boys. A bowl of sliced tomatoes, sprinkled with salt and cracked pepper, kissed with balsamic vinegar waits to the side with a clawed serving spoon. Mrs. Developer smiles from behind the smoke of her grill. She says, “You know to serve yourself.”

When I bring her my plate she leans in and winks. She whispers, “Little piggy.”

I feel the rush of my pixelated reverie jolt up my thighs. I thank her. I slather my hamburger in mustard and mayo. I dump a clawed hand of tomato salad next to it. I feel the slop drip down my face and I tell her, Thank You.

Mrs. Developer ruffles my head. She smacks my hand as I reach for seconds. She knows I’m testing her. She calls her sister back into the kitchen. They bring out the first round of plates and Mrs. Developer’s eyes don’t leave mine until she is gone, through the kitchen door, into the banquet hall to serve her boys in blue.

Alone in the kitchen, I walk into the fridge.

I relieve myself into the tuna salad reserved for the live-in actors' lunches the next day. I close the fridge door when I leave as if nothing happened at all.

Later that night in bed, between Farley’s snores, I hear Mrs. Developer knock on the honeymoon suite door. Lindsay answers and thanks her for preparing such a nice dinner for her and Laine. She explains Laine is asleep. That she’ll put it in the fridge for her tomorrow. Mrs. Developer’s voice brushes Lindsay off. Mrs. Developer says, “No need for small talk. Enjoy what you can of the burger and don’t worry about the rest. Only tell me you remember your next steps.”

Lindsay sighs. She laughs, “Yes. Yes, I do. I will be back here in a day or two.”

Mrs. Developer pushes on, “And…”

Lindsay’s voice holds a firm resolve. She answers, “Don’t hold him back.”

Mrs. Developer says, “And don’t be late.”

The door clicks shut. I wait two breaths before I walk into the hallway. Mrs. Developer is gone. The hallway lights are off. I can see her silhouette whisk up the stairs. I watch her hesitate when she gets to the top, as if turning to catch my shadowy eye back. I wait for her to take those few steps to the penthouse suite. I listen to the regal pluck of her heels against the ceiling above me. I wait to hear the call. One tap, two taps… a pause; a third.

Below me in the banquet hall, the party rages on. The boys in blue enjoy their victory, their official time off the clock, drunk with the forest’s enchantment. They shout stories of hearing the maiden themselves, of almost getting lost in the woods too like little Laine. They cheer the miracle of finding her at all, of finding her before she fell too deeply asleep in the dropping temperatures with the coyote and the martens hungry and cold, lurking in the shadows around and above her.

Outside the window, strings of young actors trickle in through the trees. No longer in their costumes of fae, witches, maidens, and merfolk, the young, beautiful creatures stumble through the long grass in tight jeans and knit sweaters. Nervous laughter twinkles in the air as they go to party with the police officers who were just questioning them as suspects not a few hours before. Some of them know the younger officers from when they went to high school together, lost comrades from another life. Others are just looking for a good time. Most are just looking for a good time.

The live-in actors were Mrs. Developer’s idea, of course. Hot twenty-year-olds who were looking for a summer gig between acting classes at university or college. Hopeful stars from all over the country were lured in by the mystical sights, the various roles, the beautiful accommodations, and of course, Mrs. Developer’s fat paycheque for only the best, most reliable young actors in Canada. Applicants flooded the front desk. Mrs. Developer spent the hours she wasn’t schmoozing with tourists deleting prospective resumes from her e-mail pile. Everyone wanted to be a Faeland Woods creature. No one was safe from Mrs. Developer’s generosity. Unless you failed to uphold company standards, that was.

That had only happened once so far. A fairy named Leah, back when Mrs. Developer first opened the gates to Faeland Woods.

A fourth tap on the ceiling. A fifth.

I’m running late now.

I scurry up the palace lodge’s steps to the penthouse. I get on my knees and knock on the door. Mrs. Developer doesn’t answer. I knock again. I whisper, please. I knock one more time. She doesn’t come. I crawl down the stairs. I know she’s watching me through the peephole. I know if I’m a good little piggy, she might just let me in, let me in; might pretend I’m not the big bad wolf for a few hours.

I limp to the bottom of the stairs. My palms are raw with the rough brush of carpet. My knees ache with every movement forward.

I am at mine and Farley’s door. Farley’s snoring has taken pause. The television in the honeymoon suite has gone silent. Crickets and the soft lap of waves are the only sounds left in the hallway.

The door clicks open. Madame Liliana beckons, “She says you may approach.”

I crawl back to the bottom of the stairs, faster now. I stare up at Madame Liliana. She fills the doorway at the top of the stairs. The soft pink light of the penthouse suite beckons. Incense fills the steps. I start to stand. Liliana tells me, No. She says, Mama is watching.

My pride swells in my chest. I swallow it. I crawl. I obey.

At the top of the stairs, a long mural stretches the length of the penthouse suite, facing the balcony over the curving seashell staircase down to the foyer. Painted along the wall is a scene of the lagoon under a starlit midnight sky, the moon smiling in the water’s reflection. Along the bank, mermaids hang off the grassy shores; they laugh and play with Victorian men and women who never lived here, who might have never even existed at all. In the distance, there’s a painting of the beer tent that waits outside the lodge, embellished with floating candles. Twirling skirts of lavender, blue, and pink Victorian ladies fill the tent as scantily-clad fae dance between them.

On each side of the double-French doors to the penthouse suite is a pillar, wrapped with ivy and crushed pieces of mirror. They reflect the glassy chandelier that hangs over the foyer, across from the suite’s entrance, creating a glittering sea of refracted pink light from beyond Mrs. Developer’s doors. Once, I told Mrs. Developer the light that bounced off those mirrors down onto all those guests must be as cursed as whoever broke them and scraped them together to drag them here to her doorstep. That was when she started making me crawl. It wasn’t the first time she made me beg. That night, I’d only had to work harder to win back her approval. I look up into her suite and wonder if I’ve done anything wrong tonight. Saliva pools at the corners of my mouth. I crawl forward. Her voice invites me in, “Mutt, honey… will you be a dear, and kick the door closed?”

I do.

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