The Well Of Lost Plots Part 36

'Lola, fetch a spoon,' said Gingham Woman. 'Randolph, take Thursday to the bathroom.'

'Why?' I asked as I collapsed in a heap. 'I can walk.'

The next thing I saw was the view down the back of Randolph's legs and the living-room floor, then the stairs as I was carried up over his shoulder. I started to giggle but the rest was a bit blurry. I remember choking and throwing up in the loo, then being deposited in bed, then starting to cry.

'She died. Burned.'

'I know, darling,' said the old woman. 'I'm your grandmother, do you remember?'

'Gran?' I sobbed, realising who she was all of a sudden. 'I'm sorry I called you Gingham Woman!'

It's okay. Perhaps being drunk is for the best. You're going to sleep now, and dream and in that dream you'll do battle to win back your memories. Do you understand?'

'No.'

She sighed and wiped my forehead with her small pink hand. It felt rea.s.suring and I stopped crying.

'Be vigilant, my dear. Keep your wits about you and be stronger than you have ever been. We'll see you on the other side, come the morning.'

But she was starting to fade as slumber swept over me, her voice ringing in my ears as my mind relaxed and transported me deep into my subconscious.

27.

The lighthouse at the edge of my mind 'The Hades family when I knew them comprised, in order of age: Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, Cocytus, Lethe, and the only girl, Aornis. Their father died many years previously, leaving their mother in charge of the youthful and diabolical family all on her own. Described once by Vlad the Impaler as 'unspeakably repellent', the Hades family drew strength from deviancy and committing every sort of horror that they could. Some with panache, some with half-hearted seriousness, others with a sort of relaxed insouciance about the whole thing. Lethe, the 'white sheep' of the family, was hardly cruel at all but the others more than made up for him. In time, I was to defeat three of them.'

THURSDAY NEXT Hades. Family from h.e.l.l Hades. Family from h.e.l.l A wave burst on the rocks behind me, showering me with cold water and flecks of foam. I shivered. I was on a rocky outcrop in the darkest gale-torn night, and before me stood a lighthouse. The wind whistled and moaned around the tower and a flash of lightning struck the apex. The bolt coursed down the earthing cable and trailed a shower of sparks, leaving behind the acrid stench of brimstone. The lighthouse was as black as obsidian and, as I looked up, it seemed as though the arc lamp rotating within the vast lenses was floating in midair. The light swept through the inky blackness illuminating nothing but a heaving, angry sea. I looked backwards in my mind but could see nothing I was without memory or past experiences.

This was the loneliest outpost of my subconscious, a memoryless island where nothing existed other than that which I could feel and see and smell at this moment in time. But I still had emotions, and I was aware of a sense of danger, and purpose. Somehow I understood I was here to vanquish or be vanquished.

Another wave burst behind me and with beating heart I pulled on the locking lever of the steel front door and was soon inside, safe from the gale. The door securely fastened, I looked around. There was a central spiral staircase but nothing else not a stick of furniture, a book, a packing case; nothing.

I shivered again and pulled out my gun.

'A lighthouse,' I murmured, 'a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere.'

I walked slowly up the concrete steps, keeping a careful watch as they curved away out of sight. The first floor was empty and I moved on up, each circular room I reached devoid of any signs of habitation. In this way I slowly climbed the tower, gun arm outstretched and trembling with a dread of impending loss that I could not control, nor understand. On the top floor the spiral staircase ended; a steel ladder was the only means by which to climb any higher. I could hear the electric motors that drove the rotating lamp whine above me, the bright white light shining through the open roof hatch as the beam swept slowly about. But this room was not empty. Sitting in an armchair was a young woman in the process of powdering her nose with the help of a small hand mirror.

'Who are you?' I asked, pointing my gun at her.

She lowered the mirror, smiled and looked at the pistol.

'Dear me!' she exclaimed. 'Always the woman of action, aren't you?'

'What am I doing here?'

'You really don't know, do you?'

'No,' I replied, lowering the gun. I couldn't remember any facts but I could feel love, and loss, and frustration, and fear. The woman was linked to one of these but I didn't know which.

'My name,' said the young woman, 'is-'

She stopped, and smiled again.

'No, I think even that is too much.'

She rose and walked towards me.

'All you need to know is that you killed my brother.'

'I'm a murderer?' I whispered, searching in my heart for guilt of such a crime and finding none. 'I ... I don't believe you.'

'Oh, it's true,' she said, 'and I will have my revenge. Let me show you something.'

She took me to the window and pointed. There was another flash of lightning and the view outside was illuminated. We were on the edge of a ma.s.sive waterfall which curved away from us into the darkness.

The ocean was emptying over the edge; millions of gallons every second, falling into the abyss. But that wasn't all. In another flash of lightning I could see that the waterfall was rapidly eroding the small island on which the lighthouse was built as I watched, the first piece of the rocky outcrop fell away noiselessly and disappeared into s.p.a.ce.

'What's happening?' I demanded.

'You are forgetting everything,' she said simply, sweeping her hands in the direction of the room. 'These are a just a few of your memories I have cobbled together a last stand, if you like. The storm, the lighthouse, the waterfall, the night, the wind none of them is real.' She walked closer to me until I could smell her perfume. 'All this is merely a representation of your mind. The lighthouse is you; your consciousness. The sea around us your experience, your memories everything that makes you the person you are. They are all draining away like water from a bath. Soon the lighthouse will topple into the void and then-'

'And then?'

'And then I will have won. You will remember nothing not even this. You will relearn, of course in ten years you might be able to tie your own shoelaces. But for the first few years the only decision you will have to make is which side of your mouth to drool out of ...'

I turned to leave but she called out: 'You can't run. Where will you go? For you, there's nowhere else but here.'

I stopped at the door and turned back, raised my gun and fired a single shot. The bullet whistled through the young woman and impacted harmlessly on the wall behind.

'It will take more than that, Thursday.'

'Thursday?' I echoed. 'That's my name?'

'It doesn't matter,' said the young woman. 'There is no one you can remember who will help you.'

'Doesn't this make your victory a hollow one?' I demanded, lowering my gun and rubbing my temple, trying to recall even a single fact.

'Ridding your mind of that which you value most was the hard bit,' replied the woman. 'All I had to do then was to invoke your dread dread, the memory that you feared the most. After that, it was easy.'

'My greatest fear?'

She smiled again and showed me the hand mirror. There was no reflection, only images that flashed past anonymously. I took the mirror and peered at it, trying to make sense of what I saw.

'These are the images of your life,' she told me. 'Your memories, the people you love, everything you hold dear but also everything that you've ever feared. I can modify and change them at will or even delete them completely. But before I do, I'm going to make you view the worst once more. Gaze upon it, Thursday, gaze upon it and feel the loss of your brother one last time!'

The mirror showed me the image of a war long ago, the violent death of a soldier who seemed familiar, and I felt the pain of loss tearing through me. The woman laughed as the images repeated themselves, this time clearer, and more graphic. I shut my eyes to block the horror, but opened them again quickly in shock. I had seen something else, right at the edge of my mind, dark and menacing, waiting to engulf me.

I gasped, and the woman felt my fear.

'What is it?' she cried. 'There is something I have missed? Worse than the Crimea? Let me see!'

She tried to grasp the mirror but I let it drop. It shattered on the concrete floor and we heard a m.u.f.fled thump as something struck the steel door five storeys below.

'What was that?' she demanded.

I realised what I had seen. Its presence, unwelcome for so many years in the back of my mind, might be just what I needed to defeat her.

'My worst nightmare,' I told her, 'and now yours.'

'But it can't be! Your worst nightmare was the Crimea, your brother's death I know, I've searched your mind!'

'Then,' I replied slowly, my strength returning as the woman's confidence trickled away, 'you should have searched harder!'

'But it's still too late to help you,' she said, her voice quavering. 'It will not gain entry, I a.s.sure you of that!'

There was another loud crash; the steel door on the ground floor had been torn from its hinges.

'Wrong again,' I said quietly. 'You asked it to attend, and it came.'

She ran to the stairs and yelled: 'Who is there? Who are you? What What are you?' are you?'

But there was no reply; only a soft sigh and the sound of footfalls on the stairs as it climbed slowly upwards. I looked from the window as another section of the rocky island fell away. The lighthouse was now poised on top of the abyss and I could see straight down into the dizzying depths. There was a tremor as the foundations shifted; the lighthouse flexed and a section of plaster fell from the wall.

'Thursday!' she yelled out pitifully. 'You can control it! Make it stop!'

She slammed the door to the staircase, her hands shaking as she hurriedly threw the bolt.

'I could hide it if I chose,' I said staring at the terrified woman, 'but I choose not to. You asked me to gaze upon my fears now you may join me.'

The lighthouse shifted again and a crack opened in the wall, revealing the storm-tossed sea beyond; the arc light stopped rotating with a growl of twisted metal. There was a thump at the door.

'There are always bigger fish, Aornis,' I said slowly, suddenly realising who she was as my past began to reveal itself from the fog. 'Like all Hades, you were lazy. You thought Anton's demise was the worst thing you could dredge up. You never looked farther. Hardly looked into my subconscious at all. The old stuff, the terrifying stuff, the stuff that keeps us awake as children, the nightmares we can only half glimpse on waking, the fear we sweep to the back of our minds but which is always there, gloating from a distance.'

The door collapsed inwards as the lighthouse swayed and part of the wall fell away. An icy gust blew in, the ceiling dropped two feet and electricity sparked from a severed cable. Aornis stared at the form lurking in the doorway, making quiet slavering noises to itself.

'No!' she whined. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, I-'

I watched as Aornis' hair turned snow white but no scream came from her dry throat. I lowered my eyes and turned to the door, seeing out of the corner of my eye only a vague shape advancing towards Aornis.

She had dropped to her knees and was sobbing uncontrollably. I walked past the shattered door and down the stairs two at a time. As I stepped outside, the outcrop shivered again and the conical roof of the lighthouse came wheeling down amid masonry and sc.r.a.ps of rusty iron. Aornis found her voice, finally, and screamed.

I didn't pause, nor break my pace. I could still hear her yelling for mercy as I climbed into the small jolly-boat she had kept for her escape and rowed away across the oily black water, her cries drowned out only as the lighthouse collapsed into the abyss, taking the malevolent spirit of Aornis with it.

I paused for a moment, then put my back into rowing, the oars rattling in the rowlocks.

'That was impressive,' said a quiet voice behind me. I turned and found Landen sitting in the bows. He was every bit as I remembered him. Tall and good looking with hair greying slightly at the temples. My memories, which had been blunted for so long, now made him more alive than he had been for weeks. I dropped the oars and nearly upset the small boat in my hurry to fling my arms around him, to feel his warmth. I hugged him until I could barely breathe, tears coursing down my cheeks.

'Is it you?' I cried. ' Really Really you, not one of Aornis' little games?' you, not one of Aornis' little games?'

'No, it's me all right,' he said, kissing me tenderly, 'or at least, your memory of me.'

'You'll be back for real,' I a.s.sured him, 'I promise!'

'Have I missed much?' he asked. 'It's not nice being forgotten by the one you love.'

'Well,' I began as we made ourselves more comfortable in the boat, lying down to look up at the stars, 'there's this upgrade called UltraWord, see, and-'

We stayed in each other's arms for a long time, the small rowing boat adrift in the museum of my mind, the sea calming before us as we headed towards the gathering dawn.

28.

Lola departs and Heights Heights again again Daphne Farquitt wrote her first book in 1936 and by 1988 had written three hundred others exactly like it. The Squire of High Potternews The Squire of High Potternews was arguably the least worst although the best you could say about it was that it was a 'different shade of terrible'. Astute readers have complained that was arguably the least worst although the best you could say about it was that it was a 'different shade of terrible'. Astute readers have complained that Potternews Potternews originally ended quite differently, an observation also made about originally ended quite differently, an observation also made about Jane Eyre Jane Eyre. It is all they have in common.'

My head felt as if there were a jackhammer in it the following morning. I lay awake in bed, the sun streaming through the porthole. I smiled as I remembered my dream of the night before and mouthed out loud: 'Landen Parke-Laine, Landen Parke-Laine!'

I sat up slowly and stretched. It was almost ten. I staggered to the bathroom and drank three gla.s.ses of water, brought it all up again and brushed my teeth, drank more water, sat with my head between my knees and then tiptoed back to bed to avoid waking Gran. She was fast asleep in the chair with a copy of Finnegans Wake Finnegans Wake on her lap. I knew I was going to have to apologise to Arnie and thank him for not taking advantage of the situation. I couldn't believe I had made such a fool of myself but felt that I could, at a pinch, lay most of the blame at Aornis' door. on her lap. I knew I was going to have to apologise to Arnie and thank him for not taking advantage of the situation. I couldn't believe I had made such a fool of myself but felt that I could, at a pinch, lay most of the blame at Aornis' door.

I got up half an hour later and went downstairs, where I found Randolph and Lola at the breakfast table.

They weren't talking to one another and I noticed Lola's small suitcase at the door.

'Thursday!' said Randolph, offering me a chair. 'Are you okay?'

'Groggy,' I replied as Lola placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, which I inhaled gratefully.

'Groggy but happy I got Landen back. Thanks for helping me out last night and I'm sorry if I made a complete idiot of myself. Arnie must think I'm the worst tease in the Well.'

'No, that's me,' said Lola innocently. 'Your gran explained to us all about Aornis and Landen. We had no idea what was going on. Arnie understood and he said he'd drop around later and see how you were.'

I looked at Lola's suitcase and then at the two of them; they were studiously ignoring one another.

'What's going on?'

'I'm leaving to start work on Girls Make all the Moves Girls Make all the Moves.'

'That's excellent news, Lola,' I said, genuinely impressed. 'Randolph?'