The Golden Spiral (4 page)

I realized I was crouching, my arms wrapped around my knees, my back curved like a half shell. I drew in a deep breath, the taste of a scream filling my mouth—

And that was when I knew.

This was a dream—one of nightmarish proportions, certainly, but still it was just a dream. Or almost. I’d had one of these kinds of dreams before, when I’d stood on the near side of the dream landscape, eavesdropping on Dante and Zo as I peeked in on the bank without actually traveling there. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the difference. There was less pressure, less sense of otherworldliness. I could breathe freely, without a kiss from anyone to protect me. My eyes didn’t hurt as much from the severe lack of landscape or from the false light that hovered eternally somewhere between dusk and dawn.

This was a dream. And I had nothing to fear from dreams.

I stood up, straight and tall—

And space bent around me like I was the event horizon of a black hole.

The sudden curvature almost drove me to my knees again. The light snuffed out—my ears rang with sound, a note that was less a shivering chime and more a knelling bell—and the gray was stripped away into black.

I hadn’t thought the bank could get any worse. Standing on shaking legs, looking up into the dead black void that used to be the sky, I knew that not only could things get worse—they already had.

Wakeupwakeupwakeup,
I ordered myself in one long command. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my breath and counted to ten.
Wake. Up. Now!

I opened my eyes, but nothing had changed. At least not that I could see. But now there were voices drifting on a nonexistent wind. Wild, indecipherable sounds. Strings of vowels and guttural consonants that made the hair on my arms stand up with animalistic adrenaline.

 . . . here . . . she’s here . . .

I turned in a tight circle, trying to follow the thread of sound in the emptiness around me. Useless—the words were everywhere, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout, like a horde of night-flying moths blinded by light.

 . . . not . . . go . . . stay . . . never . . .

 . . . save . . . go . . . She’s here! . . .

I didn’t want to be here. The voices wanted me to go and I wanted nothing more than to obey. But where could I go? How? I looked around desperately, but all I saw was more of the same—emptiness. Sheer, vast emptiness.

 . . . too late . . . always too late . . .

I imagined myself back in my own bed, safe under the covers. Then I pinched my arm hard enough to raise a welt. I dug my fingernails deep into my sweaty palms. Why wouldn’t I wake up?

The voices increased in volume, layering and overlapping in intensity. I couldn’t tell how many there were—two, three? More? I tried to listen, tried to pick apart the individual voices, but they were too interwoven, shuffled like playing cards in a deck.

I closed my eyes so I could concentrate. I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to strain the noise through my fingers. I felt the air warp, almost like it was bending around me,
enclosing me in a column. In the shelter of the curve, I heard one voice clear and sharp.

Don’t move.

I knew that voice. I heard it in my dreams and longed to hear it in person once again. Velvet, warmed with the unmistakable tones of Italy. Dante’s voice.

I opened my eyes, sure that I would see him standing next to me, his lips curving in a small smile and his gray eyes swallowing me whole. I could almost smell the musky sweet fragrance of his skin. I turned my head, but the voice spoke again, low and insistent.

No. Don’t move.
Dante’s plea came to me tied on a thread of a whisper.
Don’t go. Not yet.

“Dante?” I called out, hoping against hope that he was somehow close, could somehow talk to me. “Are you there?”

I’m here.

I felt his voice resonate in my body; I could almost feel his hands pressed against mine.

“Where are you? Why can’t I see you?” I risked a glance around, but all I saw was the black sky above me and the black bank at my feet.

Things are . . . different—

“I noticed.” I clung to the sound of his voice, hungry for more. But all I had were fragments, crumbs and sips instead of the feast I wanted.

 . . . he’s unpredictable . . .

“Who? Zo? What’s going on?” I shifted, and the protected pocket of air shimmered. Dante’s voice stuttered and skipped like a lost radio signal.

I didn’t expect . . . dead . . . death . . . gone . . .

Quickly, I moved back to my original position, searching for that sweet spot of sound. “I need answers, Dante. Can you hear me?”

I felt him draw in a deep, shuddering breath.
I can hear you. But I can’t see you. I can’t see anything. It’s dark. And cold.

“What happened? Did you make it through the door?”

I . . . don’t know. I don’t think so.

“What about the others? Did you catch up to Zo?” My breath tasted like hope.

No. He’s gone. They’re both gone.

“Both?”

V and Zo. I don’t know where they are. Wherever I am, Tony is with me.

Hope transformed into surprise.

Though he’s not well. I don’t know how long he will last—

A scream ripped through the air. A dark, throaty roar that sounded as black as the ruined sky above me. The sound tapered off, only to resume a jagged breath later with another scream.

“Dante!”

I’m here, Abby,
he said.
I’m here. I’m all right. It’s not me. It’s Tony. He’s not . . . I don’t know what’s happening to him.

I clenched my hands into fists, helpless in the face of the frustration I heard in his voice. I couldn’t see him; I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t do anything.

I can’t touch him. He just . . . slides through my fingers. It’s like he’s disappearing.
Dante’s voice held a complex mix of confusion, fear, and awe.

“Where are you?” I asked again.

I don’t know. It feels confined, though. I don’t dare leave Tony to explore too much.

I wanted to reach through to wherever he was and pull him to safety. But I feared he was beyond where I could go.

Where are you?
Dante asked.

“I’m sort of on the bank—”

What? No, you shouldn’t be there. Go back. Go home.

“Wait, no, I’m not actually here. I fell asleep and I’m still dreaming. I think.”

I slowly lifted my hand, my ears attuned to the slightest sound around me. If I paid attention, I could hold on to the thin thread that connected us. I took that as a good sign. I touched the ripples in front of me with my fingertip. The air flexed, but it didn’t stop shimmering. I took that as a better sign. Pressing my palm flat against the curved wall of air, I dared to push out. The ripples converged, sliding over my hand like a glove.

“Dante,” I whispered. “Are you still there?”

Always.

I extended my arm fully, holding my breath, anticipating a pain that didn’t come.

What are you doing?

“I’m trying something. Is anything happening on your end? Can you see me? Feel me?”

No. It’s still dark and—wait, I think I see something. A light. Faint, but . . . Is that you?

I felt the touch of his hands on mine, though it felt like a ghost.

It is you!

I grinned and wiggled my fingers in Dante’s hand, delighted to hear his low chuckle in response.

If you’re dreaming, how are you doing this?

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve only dreamed my way here once before, remember? I’m figuring this out as I go.”

There was a pause, then,
I’m glad you’re here, Abby. Wherever here is. I almost don’t dare ask how it is possible in case this doesn’t happen again. In case this is the only time we have left.

I felt the pressure of his hand around mine increase in a tight squeeze.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said. “I’m here now; I can come again. And we’ll figure out where you are and how to get you home.” My fingers prickled with impending numbness. I withdrew my arm from the shimmering air and rubbed my hands together until they were warm again. A pang of longing went through me. Already I missed the feel of his hand in mine. “Tell me what happened. What’s the last thing you remember?”

The door closed behind me, and I started walking. I don’t know for how long. But all at once I saw a net of stars above me.

“Stars?”

That’s what they looked like. But almost as soon as they appeared, I heard a noise. A scream. I started to run.

I could hear the tension in Dante’s voice as he related the events.

I thought it was Zo, and if it was, then I wanted to be there.
I didn’t want to lose him—I couldn’t.
The tension fell into
frustration.
It was so dark, though. And I wasn’t fast enough. I saw something up ahead.

“What? What was it?”

Dante continued as though he hadn’t heard me; maybe he hadn’t.
A halo of white fire sped toward me out of the darkness. I thought at first that I had reached the other side, that what I was seeing was sunlight through the open door. But this light burned everything it touched—the walls, the ceiling, the entire machine—even me.

“It burned you?”

It burned everything.
Dante’s voice sounded strained, feathered with panic at the edges.
When it reached me . . . I didn’t have anywhere to go. I couldn’t escape it. The light—
he made a strangled noise like a growl.
I felt myself . . . fading, dissolving. Then the light passed over me—through me—and then . . . darkness.

A tremor shook me, so violent it made my teeth click together. I wrapped my arms around my chest. I could imagine Dante’s wall of light so clearly because I had seen it as well. But from the other side. I had the scars on my throat as a reminder of what had happened in that moment of destruction.

In my memory, I was on the desolate bank, alone except for the black hourglass door that had shut behind Dante. As I replayed that moment, I saw again the door disintegrating in a flare of white light.

“Dante,” I whispered, “do you know how long you have been—wherever you are?”

He paused, then said,
No. I can’t sense the river at all. There is just me and Tony and the darkness. All the stars are gone, too.

“It’s been almost three weeks.” I closed my eyes against the thought of Dante wrapped in unending darkness for so long. I took a deep breath and said the impossible. “You never made it out the door. I think you’re still there somehow.”

What? I’m still in the time machine?

“I think so.”

Dante was quiet for a long time. So long, I started to wonder if we had lost our tenuous connection.

But if the time machine is gone—if the door is destroyed—then how can I leave?

“I don’t know,” I said, hating how often I found myself saying those words. “But there’s got to be a way.”

Tony screamed again, a piercing howl that brought sudden tears to my eyes. The cry seemed to take a long time to fade away. Even still, I could hear a low moan bubbling continuously in my inner ear. What had happened to Tony to cause such agony? And—I almost didn’t dare think it—would it happen to Dante too?

He must have been thinking along the same lines because his next words were low and fierce.

Hurry, Abby. Please.

“I will,” I said. “I’ll figure something out. Promise me you’ll hold on, that you’ll be here when I come back.”

Silence.

“Dante? Answer me!”

And then I felt his presence next to me so powerfully that my body trembled in anticipation. He was clearly still somewhere else and I was still in my dream, but suddenly the barriers between us were as thin as smoke.

I felt the ghost of his hands slide up my arms, my shoulders, to the curve of my neck.

“Dante, do you promise?”

Yes.
The word rolled through me like thunder. I felt his lips touch mine in a kiss so lightning-fast it left the ends of my hair crackling.

Sound washed over me, the roar of a flood overrunning its banks—

And then he was gone.

I shivered with the loss, feeling a tingling numbness where he had touched me.

My thoughts felt equally numb, sluggish and leaden. These kinds of dreams were exhausting, but I knew I’d need to have more of them if I wanted any chance of solving the riddle of how to free someone from a prison that didn’t exist.

I wasn’t even sure how I had the dreams in the first place. Was it something I did before falling asleep? Something I ate? Maybe they couldn’t be controlled at all, and I was simply at the whim of an unknown power.