I suppose I had my guesses, but I dared not articulate them.
I suppose I had my guesses, but I dared not articulate them.
Not yourmom and dad in word or tone.
Peter Kleinau
As far as I was concerned, that settled it.
Maddie was my sister.
I wasnt an only child, I had a sister.
My skin was turning a bright, raw red.
I dropped the loofah to the tile floor.
I had a sister of whom I had no memory until a few days ago.
I had a sister I havent seen in decades.
I had a sister my mother and presumably, my father disowned and disavowed.
For Gods sake, what was going on here?
How did I forget about her so completely?
The hell of it all was this: How could I even be sure these memories were real?
For the rest of the morning I was on pins and needles waiting for the library to open.
Unfortunately, I searched online for any evidence of her existence to no avail.
Frustrating, but not totally unexpected.
When I knew Maddie and we lived here, well it was a different time.
The internet had not yet conquered the Earth and all its peoples.
Fortunately, I wasnt counting on it.
I was confident that the library would have what I needed.
If it would ever open.
I killed time by checking my email.
Lisa had, of course, already responded to my email from the night before.
She actually said, and so on.
It wasnt that she was insincere, by now I knew that.
She wasnt afraid to tell me when what I showed her was shit.
It always helped me to admit this fact to myself.
I closed my laptop and sought other ways to whittle the time away.
Some interminable time later the time had finally come, and I was out the door.
My neighbor was out in his yard, again bald and tank top clad.
Simply put, the library was a dead end.
The newspaper archives were available on computer, and I wasted a few hours poring through them.
The only thing I learned of remote interest was that the archive of the local newspaper was woefully incomplete.
Give her real name, and B.
Provide proof of my relation to her.
I could do neither.
By chance, I stumbled upon an option I had not considered: Yearbooks!
The library had decades of them from the local high school.
A generous range to work with.
I would have made a truly terrible detective.
Another quick check through the book confirmed another suspicion: Several pages were missing.
It couldnt have been a coincidence.
It made no sense at all, or at least no sense that I could see.
If someone wasnt trying to hide the existence of Maddie, then what were they doing?
I checked the previous and following yearbooks.
The year following was complete, which came as no real surprise to me.
That was the year we moved, of course.
Maddie wouldnt have continued to go to school here after we left.
There were no missing pages that I could find, but there was vandalism just the same.
A jagged black void was all that remained.
I stared at this bit of improvised censorship for quite a while, pondering its possible meaning.
This could not be a coincidence.
Maddie was not some imaginary friend a single child concocted to fight his loneliness.
What happened all those years in the hot, dusty darkness?
What happened to Maddie?
It was all so frustrating, I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes.
After all of this, I was no closer to an answer to any of these questions.
The only thing of which I was certain was that someone was hiding something.
Leaving the books on the table, I stepped away to clear my head and use the restroom.
As I gathered the books together I noticed something else: The autograph pages were filled out.
So these yearbooks were donated by former students.
Having already given up hope, I flipped through the autographs not expecting to find anything of interest.
This was a message from Maddie, addressed to me.
Ill see you soon, kiddo.
I threw myself into my work after that.
For the next several days I spent my waking hours painting and planning paintings.
If I had dreams, I did not remember them.
The one positive element of this strange trip was my work.
Perhaps it sounds conceited to say so, but I dont care.
I was never one for false modesty any more than I was for undeserved pride.
The emotions generated were of joy, even in sadness.
I forgot even to feel lonely in my isolation.
I thought I would miss the city, the light, and the noise, the constant activity.
My limited interactions with the world outside my studio were, if anything, an unwanted distraction.
The people here were friendly, though aloof.
They were not hostile, at least.
I wasnt treated as an interloper, more of a curiosity.
I quickly ran out of business cards, though I expected them to generate few sales.
It was not what I would classify as an art-buying community.
On the plus side, I was given numerous leads and some of them even panned out.
Thats probably why it hit me so hard when one of my paintings finally was rejected.
I was closing in on my second full week of furious activity when it happened.
I was halfway through the first layer of another painting when my laptop chirped an incoming call from Lisa.
I grimaced, but only because I resented the interruption.
I paused Metric in the middle of Satellite Mind and clicked the icon to accept her call.
Lisas face appeared with almost visible storm clouds hovering over her immaculate silver coiffure.
Lisa, how are you?
I said, a bit too brightly as though I were blind to her clearly foul mood.
Well, John, She answered, Im not too great, actually.
Would you care to explain to me the changes you made from the proof you sent me?
I was dumbfounded and searched my memory for the last painting I sent her.
I didnt make any changes after the proof, I almost never did.
Lisa, Im going to have to plead ignorance here.
I could not recall having ever angered her like this.
Youre telling me that you do not remember adding that shit to the painting?
Youre going to sit there and tell me that this was not some infantile prank you played?
I told you I didnt change that god damned painting and I stand by that.
I really and truly do not know what you are talking about.
Im a professional artist, Im not… Ashton Kutcher or something, Im not punking you or anyone.
I absolutely did not change that painting.
Lisa sighed, and said, Okay John.
Give me a second, Ill show you the photo they sent me.
I sat there in silence while she composed the email waiting for this strange shoe to drop.
Anger subsided quickly, as it often did with me, and confusion reigned once again.
In a few moments I received a notification of her email.
There was no message, of course, only an attachment.
The color drained from my face as I stared at the image on the screen.
Displayed there was undeniably my work, undeniably the painting I sent a couple of days ago.
Undeniably, the addition was mine.
Maddie seemed to be laughing.
I was holding a dead cat, its head caved in.
On the ground was the bloodied rock used as the murder weapon.
We were both streaked with the animals blood.
John, are you there?
Lisa asked, breaking my fugue.
Im not certain how long I was staring at the image.
Yeah, Lisa, Im here, I told her.
Im sorry, I really am.
That is definitely my work but I swear to you, I dont remember adding that… that thing.
Lisa sighed again, though this time it was a sympathetic sort of sigh.
Her anger was also abating.
Youve been working too hard, Johnny.
Nobody expected you to get all these paintings done in the first month, you know.
Yeah, I know, I told her, raking my fingers through my hair.
Take a break, all right?
You dont look so well, Johnny.
it’s crucial that you get some sleep, get some real food in you.
Maybe find yourself a boy toy, huh?
I laughed, and it only sounded a little forced.
Listen, I really am sorry about this.
I hope theyre not too mad.
Ah, forget about it, She said, Ill smooth things over with the benefactors.
Thats my job, its what Im good at, you know?
Now, are you going to do what I ask?
Yeah, I told her, All except the boy toy part.
These country boys… not my throw in, you know?
I prefer a man with callous-free hands and hair that has never seen a Super-Cuts.
Lisa laughed and I knew things were okay, at least barring any further pranks.
All right, Johnny.
Ill talk to you soon.
I said my goodbye and closed Skype, wishing my own fears were as assuaged as hers.
It was another memory.
That was the part I found truly revolting.
I killed that cat.
A thought occurred to me, and I dashed to the pile of finished paintings.
When I saw what I had done, I tore them all to shreds.
All three had been defaced with a memory.
All three were shattered by the inclusion of two somber figures digging a shallow grave.
The bludgeoned feline lay asprawl in the dirt at their feet.
The second sickened me.
It was an image of the kill itself, committed within the barn itself.
I could remember the hours I spent rendering this delicate dance, so like a snowstorm captured in microcosm.
I could not recall the image of violence rendered in grotesque detail.
I could not recall rendering myself crushing its tiny skull with a rock.
But having seen it, I could remember the deed itself.
I stared at my hands and knew I was going to vomit.
How could I do something like that?
How could I do something so… so awful?
Finally morbid curiosity won over my shame and revulsion.
I had to see what the final painting revealed.
What could else would it reveal?
I wish I didnt know.
It was a genuine miracle that I snapped the picture before waking her.
Only moments later she sprung from her hideaway and swooped away, outraged at my intrusion.
Her eyes sparkled and every line of her body spoke of her enthusiasm and palpable anticipation.
I did not share her excitement.
I looked sick with fear, the same sort of dread I felt now.
Mixed with this trepidation, however, was a dark sort of anticipation of my own.
I was almost proud of the way I rendered this complex mix of emotion.
Behind my back, I held an object that shined like a heliograph in the filtered light.
It was a knife.
That wasnt the worst part.
The worst part was that we were not alone.
Between us was another child, even younger than myself.
His expression was one merely of interest, and of vicarious excitement.
He had no idea.
We were going to kill that child.
That night, after finally falling into a fitful sleep, I had a final dream.
I was back in the barn again, the hot dusty darkness.
The light was dim, almost non-existent.
I was soaking wet.
Something terrible had happened.
Im not sure what it was, only that I needed to escape.
If I could just get out of this barn I could run home to mommy and daddy.
They would know what to do.
There was no way out.
My young mind crackled with the static of uncontrollable panic.
The walls of the maze were made of the rusting hulk of dead machines and barbed wire.
It was Maddies maze.
Maddie wasnt with me.
Maddie was the monster at the center.
Maddie was the Minotaur.
The hero became the king in the end.
Sometimes she told the story differently.
Sometimes the Minotaur was the hero, and the hero was the monster.
Maddie was always sad when she told it this way.
The sun was dipping lower.
The Minotaur was coming.
I had to escape the maze before it could catch me, and the maze was its home.
It knew the way.
Over and under, between and through, bit by bit I navigated through the terrible twists and turns.
More than once the sharp edges caught me, tore at my clothes and bit into my flesh.
I could not cry out.
The Minotaur would hear me.
Nothing seemed familiar in the growing darkness.
The shapes grew and loomed over me, as if they too were trying to stall my escape.
The maze seemed endless, though some small part of me knew that it could not have been so.
It was just a dusty old barn full of junk, wasnt it?
I always suspected these monsters were real no matter what my parents told me, and now I knew.
I could not tell from where, I only knew it was all too close.
I didnt answer, I didnt make a sound.
Talk to me, Johnny!
I dont want you to get hurt!
Tell me where you are and well talk, okay kiddo?
The monster was trying to trick me, thats all.
I was getting away and it was trying to lure me into its terrible claws.
I thought I could see a line of light in the darkness.
Was it the door?
I scrambled through the darkness, desperately trying to pick out a familiar landmark.
I couldnt help myself that time, I yelped.
The monster heard me.
Stay right there, okay!
God, it was close.
But so was the line of light!
Only that line was disappearing, and fast.
Cuts and scratches all over my body sang with pain, and the wetness was growing sticky.
Dust clung to me and tickled my throat and sinuses.
I had to get out now, or I would be stuck there with the monster forever.
I could see a brilliant beam of light shining through the darkness.
It wasnt the setting sun.
The monster had a flashlight.
If the beam fell upon me I was finished.
The beam played dangerously close to my position.
I would have to crawl underneath.
Dropping to the floor I had to stifle another sneeze from the dust that rose with my impact.
I had nightmares sometimes about their jagged yellow teeth.
The beast cried, desperation in her voice.
c’mon, Johnny, we can talk about this!
Under the tractor I went, and never mind the creatures that may object to my presence.
She sounded close enough to touch.
A hand seized my foot and I shrieked.
With what little room I had, I struggled mightily against the clutches of the great and terrible Minotaur.
I was just a kid, just a scared kid whose only friend was his sister.
His sister he loved so dearly.
His sister he feared.
And then my shoe slipped from my foot.
I abandoned the prize to the Minotaur and crawled to the open air.
The Minotaur screamed, but I didnt listen.
I burst through the door into the waning light.
Before I ran screaming for home, I looked down at myself.
The wetness that coated me was browned with dust but I knew what it was.
Not my blood, but boys blood all the same.
When I refused to do what Maddie asked, she took the knife and did it herself.
She grabbed that screaming boy by the hair and slashed his throat open with a butcher knife.
And she laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
She drank that boys blood and laughed.
I ran, screaming into the night.
