Ilsa Bick: White Space

Or when you’re Dad, and you finally wake up and understand that not only have you been gone for six solid months you don’t remember, but something very, very bad has slipped from the Dark Passages—and it’s your fault. That all the terrible, awful things happening in that London are because of you, and there’s no thought-magic in that Now to fix it. When you realize that you have to save yourself and especially Mom and get out, fast, and use the Sign of Sure to swoosh from that London to a different Wisconsin.

The book’s in my blood , Dad says in his heavy doom-voice. The energy’s in my brain. I can’t unthink it, Meredith .

You can choose not to dwell on it. You can choose not to write it. Think about something else. Dream up anything else .

But what about this book? I’ve gone too far. The characters are already in motion. If I just stop, I don’t know what will happen .

So what?

Meredith, think. Even without the Mirror, I’ve still had enough juice to pull the characters onto White Space for years. Maybe you’re right, and it’s finally wearing off, but sweetheart, I feel them. The characters will find their way out, somehow. Either they’ll bleed into other stories or each other’s, or worse, but if I don’t reach the end and their stories aren’t resolved … if they really can make the jump on their own—

I don’t care, Frank . Mom shivers as if she just can’t get rid of the really bad dream clinging to her brain, but keeps seeing it happen again and again, no matter where she looks. Do what you have to, but kill them. Kill the book .

What do you think you just did, Meredith? You can destroy the manuscript or my notes, but it’s still here . Dad presses a fist to his chest. The book’s inside. You’d have to kill me.

Then use them in another story. Take the characters, change their names, and—

It doesn’t work that way, and you know it. They’re all infected. Their original stories would break any new book-world wide open. That’s why I send all my notes and ideas for new work away to London for safekeeping in the first place. Hell —Dad lets out a weird, high laugh that sounds a lot like the way the crazy lady looks— you might as well seal me into a Peculiar, if you really want to be sure .

What about the Mirror?

You mean, destroy it? Meredith , you were the one who said it would take a tremendous amount of energy. Simply breaking it wouldn’t work, right?

Yes, that’s right . A glassy red bead of blood swells and trembles on Mom’s lower lip, followed by another and then another. Maybe we should take it back to the island, where the barrier’s thinnest. Let the island swallow it up .

Meredith, no. Think. Honey … it’s a tool. You can’t go back, and I won’t lose you ag— Dad stops a second. I won’t let us lose each other and what we have, how much we’ve accomplished. If the Mirror and panops and Peculiars exist, there has to be something, somewhere, that will help us use them more safely. We just haven’t found it yet. Maybe that’s what we need to concentrate on .

That could take years, Frank .

So what? What’s time to us?

Plenty, if we end up dead in another …

No one is going to die, Meredith. I won’t let that happen .

Then what if … Mom’s nibbled her poor lip so bad her chin is smeary with blood. What if you stopped writing? I don’t mean forever. Just for now. Like with the Mirror. Take a break. You feel all that accumulated energy from them now, right? Your … your juice? So let the characters fade. Maybe they’ll die on their own. People have abandoned ideas and stories before .

It wouldn’t work. Every book is like a virus. Eventually, the stories find a way out, no matter what . Dad cups Mom’s face in his hands. Meredith, they live in my blood. They are as real to me as you and Lizzie. I’ve got to write. I can’t stop. I’ll go crazy .

Oh, Frank . Big, scared tears roll down Mom’s cheeks. She hooks her hands over Dad’s wrists like she might fall if she doesn’t. I know it’s hard, that it hurts, but you’ve got to try. We’ve got Lizzie to think about now. After so long, so many times that I … that we l-lost … Frank, she’s just a little girl. What about her? What if one of those things—

I’ll be okay . Lizzie can tell they’ve forgotten her, because they jump as if she’s suddenly popped into this Now right out of the Dark Passages. I bet I can help .

No . Now it’s her dad who shakes his head. No, Lizzie, you don’t know what you’re saying. This is not for you. It’s too dangerous .

Frank . Mom’s face is wet. Did you just hear yourself? Don’t you understand that you are risking us by risking yourself?

Meredith. Sweetheart . Dad’s eyes are watery and red. I know you’re afraid, but I’m still here, and I would sell my soul for you, I would die for you, I would take your place and never think twice, but please , please, don’t ask me to stop. You don’t understand what could happen. I swear, Love, I’ve still got it under control—

Control? Mom screams. She pulls away from Dad, leaving him with nothing but air. You’ve got it under control? Then what the hell was that woman doing in our attic?

3

SO, IN THEend, Dad promises to stop working on the new book, not to try writing it again or even make notes to squirrel away in London. Not one word. He swears to let this story fade away. Cross his heart.

Hope to die.

4

TWO MONTHS LATER, Mom sends Lizzie to call her father for supper.

This is the first time since the crazy lady that Lizzie’s gone to Dad’s barn, which broods on a hill. Mom’s told her to stay away: Your father needs space and time to mourn . Like the book inside, Dad has to rot.

Lizzie’s missed the loft. Before, Dad let her play as he worked, and she made up tons of adventures for her dolls with all her special Lizzie-symbols: squiggles, triangles, spirals, curlicues, arrows, ziggies, zaggies, diddlyhumps, swoozels, and more things with special Lizzie-names. Just a different way of making book-worlds for her dolls, that’s all. Not that either parent knows what she can do. If her mom found out? Oh boy, watch out. So she doesn’t tell. No big deal. No one’s ever gotten hurt.

Well … not counting the monster-doll, which started out life as a daddy-doll but got left in her mom’s Kugelrohr oven too long on accident because Mom let her set the timer and Lizzie messed up. The heat was so bad the monster-doll’s glass head melted, his eyes slumping into this giant, creepy, violet third eye. Afterward, the monster-doll was really cranked, like, Hello, what were you thinking, you stupid little kid? She tried explaining it wasn’t on purpose, but oh boy, the monster-doll wasn’t having any of that . Mom said he was ruined and tossed the monster-doll into the discards bucket, but Lizzie felt guilty because the whole thing really was her fault. So, quiet as a mouse, she snuck back into Mom’s workshop and fished the monster-doll’s head from the bucket.

Problem is … her stomach gets a squiggly feeling whenever they play. The inside of the monster-doll’s head is all gluey-ooky, the thoughts sticky as spiderwebs. Every time she pulls out, she worries there’s a tiny bit of her left all tangled with him. Sometimes, she even wonders if she oughtn’t to swoosh the monster-doll to a special Now where he can’t hurt anyone. She hasn’t, though.