Shimmer

trying to tell me all along. “But if you press slowly and gently—”

“Then your fingers sink right in.” He nodded, his expression showing how pleased he was that I finally understood, even though he refused to grant me a smile. “So you must think of the bubble as this—”

“Oobleck.” I nodded.

“You must accept that your friends are inside, accept that Rebecca is very angry and will do all that she can to work against you, accept all of that as your current reality, and then once you’ve accepted what is, you are free to proceed without the need to force anything.” He paused, making sure I understood, and I’m happy to say that I did.

“There are many trapped inside, many others whom you’ve never met, but who are in need of your help nonetheless. I must tell you that I have dreamed that the glowing ones would arrive one day, and now that you are here, I am very much pleased.”

He continued to speak, but I was no longer listening. All I could focus on was the part about the glowing ones.

While my glow may not have been all that—while it may have only been a barely there green (as Bodhi was so quick to point out)—it was there nonetheless.

Radiant enough to where even Prince Kanta had seen it.

Radiant enough to where he thought I might be of some help.

“Once we are inside, in order to help them, in order to release them, we must learn the stories that keep them imprisoned in order to compassionately free them from their own pasts.”

I looked at him, acknowledging that while he was definitely weird, a bit of an oddball for sure, I was still glad to have him around, since I was pretty sure that, glow or no glow, I wasn’t really all that equipped to tackle the job on my own.

I watched as he pressed up against the bubble, moved himself so close his entire body, including his nose and his face, were pressed flush against it. Then, with a quick wave of his fingers, he motioned for me to follow suit.

And after positioning myself the same way as he had, we closed our eyes and melded with the surface, and not long after, we found ourselves inside.

13

It was different from before.

Last time it’d been more personal.

An exact replica of my kindergarten classroom.

A hell made exclusively for me.

And though the scenery had suffered some pretty dramatic changes, I was relieved to find it changed in a more general, less individual kind of way.

While it wasn’t exactly the hell of flames and pitchforks and devil horns one might expect when visiting such a place, it was still dark and dreary and hellish in its own right.

It was also so quiet and desolate and calm, I had the odd sensation of being plopped down in the middle of a still life or a landscape. Only instead of the glistening streams and sun-dappled gardens you often see in oil paintings, this one was a completely dry and barren scene. Created from a palette of varying shades of blacks, grays, and deep reddish browns—like a forest unable to overcome the lasting effects of a fire that raged a long time before. Leaving nothing but burned-out tree carcasses, dried up lake beds, and a never-ending deluge of thick squares of ash that rose and swirled and circled and swooped only to fall once again.

“Where are we?” I whispered. Even though I didn’t see Rebecca or anyone else, for some reason, I was afraid of being overheard.

“We are inside her world.” Prince Kanta turned till he was facing me, his mouth drawn, face serious, as he said, “Both Rebecca’s heart and soul have become so soiled with anger and hate, this is the result.”

I looked all around, curious to see what else there might be, how far it might go, and if it was actually possible to see the rounded, sloping smooth walls that separated us from everything else. But while I couldn’t see much of anything besides a whole lot of scorched earth, it’s not like I was curious enough to venture off on my own. I was far too reluctant to leave the prince’s side, and though I had no way of knowing just how bad it might get, I was pretty sure this was only the beginning of what that evil little ghost girl had in store.

Besides, it’s not like I had time for a tour. I needed to find Bodhi and Buttercup as quickly as possible, so we could get the heck out of there.

“Does she know we’re here?” I asked, sensing the answer well before I saw his nodding head.

“Oh, yes. This is her world. She is aware of everything that occurs here.”

“So what now?” I gazed up at the prince and bit down on my lip, hoping he’d have a good idea or two, since I hadn’t a clue. “Where do we find them? Where do we go? What do we do?”

But even though I was fully resolved to following his lead, Prince Kanta just looked at me and said, “The journey is mostly here.” He tapped the side of his head, the space between his temple and ear, before adding, “And less here.” He arced his arm out before him, motioning toward an expanse of scorched earth.

And seeing that, well, I have to admit it took pretty much all of my willpower not to groan and roll my eyes, but somehow I refrained. No matter how grateful I was to have him around, there was no doubt he was a bit of a nutcase. Still, he had been through an awful lot, experienced the kinds of things that would definitely end up testing the sanity of just about anybody, and so, with that in mind, I decided to do my best not to judge, which, I hate to admit, was really quite a stretch for me.

So instead I just said, “Um, care to translate?”

Watching as he moved until he was standing a few feet before me, taking a moment to survey the land with his hand pressed tightly against his brow, shielding his eyes from the deluge of ash that continued to fall. Then dropping his hand just as quickly, he snatched up an old, burned-out tree branch from the ground, using the pointy broken end to draw a small circle deep into a bed of ash as he said, “This circle represents you.” He glanced at me, making sure I understood, before he went on to draw a much bigger circle just outside of it. “And this is the bubble.”

I nodded. So far, so good, I was able to follow.

Then after drawing a zigzaggy line that filled up the entire area between the small and large circles, he added, “And somewhere in here are your friends.”

“Yeah, Bodhi and Buttercup,” I said, eager to get on with it, sure he was just about to get to the good part— the part that would tell me exactly where to find them.

“And so, knowing what you know about this Bodhi and … Buttercup.” My dog’s name sounding almost hilariously foreign on his tongue, he tapped the ground with his stick and asked, “Where would you begin looking for them? What would be the very last place they’d ever want to revisit? What would be the place that holds the most trauma—the most anger for them?”

My cheeks began to flush, and I quickly averted my gaze. I had no idea how to answer, and I couldn’t help but feel deeply embarrassed for that.

Sure, Bodhi’s untimely death by bone cancer seemed like the obvious choice, but when I remembered the casual way in which he told me, the way he just shrugged it off and said something like, “But that’s the way it goes sometimes, right?” well, I wasn’t so sure.

I mean, was that just a bit of bravado?

Some big, phony, tough-guy act he put on because he wanted me to respect him and make a good impression?

Had he really been so accepting of his early demise?

Or did that acceptance come only after the point when he could no longer change it—when he was already dead and couldn’t do a dang thing about it?

Because when it came down to my own untimely exit, I fully admit that even though I was learning my place and finding my way on the other side, I still had my moments when I couldn’t help but feel outraged that I’d never,