Wonderful, Moira thought. A forgotten place. A dead end.
They started across an ornate bridge, its upper chords were all filigreed metal, its roadway cobblestone. Two thirds of the way across, what she took to be a pile of rags shifted and sat up. It was a beggar with a tattered cloak wrapped around him or her—Moira couldn’t tell the sex of the poor creature. It seemed to press closer against the railing as they came abreast of it.
“Cancer victim,” Jack said, as they passed the figure. “Nothing left to live for, so she came here.”
Moira shivered. “Can’t you—can’t we do anything for her?”
“Nothing to be done for her,” Jack replied.
The dusty tones of his voice made it impossible for her to decide if that was true, or if he just didn’t care.
“But—”
“She wouldn’t be here if there was,” he said.
Wood underfoot now—a primitive bridge of rough timbers. The way Jack led her was a twisting path that seemed to take them back the way they’d come as much as forward. As they crossed an arched stone walkway, Moira heard a whimper. She paused and saw a child huddled up against a doorway below.
Jack stopped, waiting for her to catch up.
“There’s a child,” she began.
“You’ll have to understand,” Jack said, “that there’s nothing you can do for anyone here. They’ve long since given up Hope. They belong to Despair now.”
“Surely—”
“It’s an abused child,” Jack said. He glanced at his wrist watch. “I’ve time. Go help it.”
“God, you’re a cold fish.”
Jack tapped his watch. “Time’s slipping away.”
Moira was trapped between just wanting to tell him to shove off and her fear of being stuck in this place by herself. Jack wasn’t much, but at least he seemed to know his way around.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
She hurried back down the arched path and crossed a rickety wooden bridge to the doorway of the building. The child looked up at her approach, his whimpers muting as he pushed his face against his shoulder.
“There, there,” Moira said. “You’re going to be okay.”
She moved forward, pausing when the child leapt to his feet, back against the wall. He held his hands out before him, warding her away.
“No one’s going to hurt you.”
She took another step, and he started to scream.
“Don’t cry!” she said, continuing to move forward. “I’m here to help you.”
The child bolted before she could reach him. He slipped under her arm and was off and away, leaving a wailing cry in his wake. Moira stared after him.
“You’ll never catch him now,” Jack called down from above. She looked up at him. He was sitting on the edge of the arched walkway, legs dangling, heels tapping against the stonework. “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” she said.
“He doesn’t know that. I told you, the people here have long since given up hope. You can’t help them— nobody can. They can’t even help themselves anymore.”
“What are they doing here?”
Jack shrugged. “They’ve got to go somewhere, don’t they?” Moira made her back to where he was waiting for her, anger clouding her features.
“Don’t you even
His only reply was to start walking again. She hesitated for a long moment, then hurried to catch up.
She walked with her arms wrapped around herself, but the chill she felt came from inside and it wouldn’t go away.
They crossed bridges beyond her ability to count as they made their way into the central part of the city. From time to time they passed the odd streetlight, its dim glow making a feeble attempt to push back the shadows; in other places, the ghosts of flickering neon signs crackled and hissed more than they gave offlight. In some ways the lighting made things worse for it revealed the city’s general state of decay—cracked walls, nibbled streets, refuse wherever one turned.
Under one lamp post, she got a better look at her companion. His features were strong rather than handsome; none of the callousness she sensed in his voice was reflected in them. He caught her gaze and gave her a thin smile, but the humor in his eyes was more mocking than companionable.
They continued to pass by dejected and lost figures that hunched in the shadows, huddled against buildings, or bolted at their approach. Jack listed their despairs for her—AIDS victim, rape victim, abused wife, paraplegic— until Moira begged him to stop.
“I can’t take anymore,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to know.”
They went the rest of the way in silence, the bridges taking them higher and higher until they finally stood on the top of an enormous building that appeared to be the largest and most centrally placed of the city’s structures. From its heights, the city was spread out around them on all sides.
It made for an eerie sight. Moira stepped back from the edge of the roof, away from the pull of vertigo that came creeping up the small of her back to whisper in her ear. She had only to step out, into the night sky, it told her. Step out and all her troubles would be forever eased.
At the sound of a footstep, she turned gratefully away from the disturbing view. A woman was walking towards them, pausing when she was a few paces away. Unlike the other inhabitants of the city, she gave the impression of being selfassured, of being in control of her destiny.
She had pale skin, and short spiky red hair. A half dozen silver earrings hung from one ear; the other had a small silver stud in the shape of a star. Like Jack, she was dressed casually: black jeans, black boots, white tanktop, a black leather jacket draped over one shoulder. And like Jack, her eyes, too, seemed like a reservoir for the moonlight.
“You’re not alone,” she said to Jack.
“I never am,” Jack replied. “You know that. My sister, Diane,” he added to Moira, then introduced her to Diane.
The woman remained silent, studying Moira with her moonbright eyes until Moira couldn’t help but fidget. The dreamlike quality of her situation was beginning to filter away. Once again a panicked feeling was making itself felt in the pit of her stomach.
“Why are you here?” Diane asked her finally.
Her voice had a different quality from her brother’s. It was a warm, rounded sound that carried in it a sweet scent like that of cherry blossoms or rose buds. It took away Moira’s panic, returning her once more to that sense of it all just being a dream.
“I ... I don’t know,” she said. “I was just crossing a bridge on my way home and the next thing I knew I was ... here. Wherever here is. I—look. I just want to go home. I don’t want any of this to be real.”
“It’s very real,” Diane said.
“Wonderful.”
“She wants to help the unhappy,” Jack offered, “but they just run away from her.”
Moira shot him a dirty look.
“Do be still,” Diane told him, frowning as she spoke. She returned her attention to Moira. “Why don’t you go home?”
“I—I don’t know
Diane nodded. “What has my brother told you?”
Nothing that made sense, Moira wanted to say, but she related what she remembered of her conversations with Jack.
“And do you despair?” Diane asked.
Moira hesitated. She thought of the hopeless, dejected people she’d passed on the way to this rooftop.
