Page 33 of The Red Rider
“And it’s still a huge fucking issue. Dice is doing it by focusing on specific topics. That’s what we’re going to do now.”
“What exactly are we doing, Aeron?”
“Some of the Harbingers do this to try to get visions. Like we said, that’s all they do. See and witness. It’s their entire purpose. Maybe the techniques will help you remember.”
“I thought you said I couldn’t force a vision.”
“Oh, you totally can’t. The Harbingers all know that, but they still do this.”
“Do what, Aeron?”
He still hadn’t told me what we were actually doing. As soon as we stepped into the stairwell, Aeron grabbed me.
“I’m so not doing those stairs.”
I didn’t want to do the stairs either, but I still wasn’t wild about it when they disappeared me places without asking me first. I would have said yes if he asked, but it still irritated me he didn’t.
“Can you ask before you just do that?”
“Did you want to take the stairs?”
“No, but you shouldn’t disappear and reappear people places without asking them first.”
“Sorry. I won’t do it again. Let me find Dice’s hippy shit. Can you go sit on the bed in Dice’s room?”
What the hell. I could just go with this. I didn’t need to question everything, and who knew? Maybe this would work. I’d go attempt a handstand naked on the picnic table covered in honey if someone told me it might make me remember something. This wasn’t just about feeling whole anymore. If I gave him some crumb that meant we lost, I needed to fucking remember because if we lost, the entire world was going to end. No fucking pressure there, Ariel.
I could hear Aeron destroying things while he hunted down what he needed. I loved Aeron to death, but he could be a bull in a china shop if it meant helping me. Fuck, he’d probably destroy the world himself if it meant keeping me safe.
Aeron came stomping back in with a box and a look on his face like he just won the lottery.
“I’m glad I can always count to Dice to have this shit, even during the fucking apocalypse. He chose this hotel on purpose. Out of all the themed hotels in Disneyworld, this is where Dice feels the most at home. It’s fitting for what I’m going to have you do.”
“What exactly are you going to have me do?” I asked.
Aeron started setting candles around the room and produced some incense. He sniffed the sticks and scowled.
“I wish Dice didn’t like patchouli so much, but it’s all we have. It’s not like everyone grabbed the incense when they were raiding for supplies, so he actually picked this on purpose. I don’t know why he can’t go for a nice sandalwood like sane people. We’re going to do some guided meditation and see if we can get you remembering if you drew anything.”
Okay, that was actually sane and a good idea. So far, Aeron had been more the type to crack my skull open and scoop the portion of my brain out that had the memory if it didn’t mean hurting me. Guided meditation with the Horseman of Death. It wasn’t the most fucked up thing that had happened to me.
I didn’t share his opinion about patchouli, but I noted not to wear it around him if I could even find patchouli oil anymore. At least I knew I could be stinky around Dice, and he’d love it. Most of the candles weren’t scented, but that was okay. They all looked handmade, like someone here was making them for Dice.
Once Aeron had the candles lit, he hit the lights and lit the incense. He climbed into bed and pulled me into his lap. There was just something about being in Aeron’s arms where I felt like I could do anything. I sighed and instantly relaxed.
“Close your eyes, Speedy. Focus on your breathing. There’s nothing but you and me in this room. Nothing can hurt you here. Memories can’t hurt you. No matter what you see, I’m here to keep you safe. I want you to focus on that padded room.”
Easy for him to say. That room was a place of terror for me. I never wanted to go back there, but I found myself slipping into what I could remember. He’d lock me in there and come in every night before he went to bed. Isaiah would demand to see everything I drew that day.
He’d shuffle through them and either throw them on the floor or rip them up because they weren’t what he wanted. I never knew what he did want me to draw. I just knew whatever it was, I desperately want to do it because he got angry and hit me sometimes if I didn’t somehow produce it.
Sometimes, he wouldn’t throw a drawing on the floor or rip it up. He wouldn’t hit me that time or scream at me. He’d fold the piece of paper and put it in his pocket, but he wouldn’t let me out the padded room because it still wasn’t right. There was something about the drawing he wanted to keep instead of destroying, but it wasn’t the drawing he wanted from me.
I started slipping into a memory. I was close to the age I ran away. I was back in the padded room, and I had a vision. I drew it like always, but when I saw what I drew, I didn’t want to give it to him. There were no garbage cans or scissors in the room. There was no place to hide the drawing. I just knew he couldn’t see this drawing. I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was bad.
There was no place to hide it, so I was going to have to eat it. I’d only torn off one corner of the drawing and was trying to get it down when he barged into the room. I’d forgotten about the cameras in there.
Isaiah ripped the drawing from me, and I cowered. I had no idea why I’d drawn him in the Oval Office with a scary looking angel and four dead angels, but I knew deep down that was what he had wanted me to draw.
