Eyes Wide Shut: 10

I didn’t get up after opening my eyes.  Instead, I decided to stay on the floor, sitting below Billy’s coffin as I ruminated. The “dream” played itself out in my head over and over, as I tried to find inconsistencies and impossibilities. But it was airtight.

Iris died by my hands. I was certain of that. Circus Baby crushed her, but I was the one who brought her to Baby, where she was waiting. Why I did it? I did not know. It didn’t make sense that I would kill someone who could make me laugh, and feel happy.

Then I remembered Billy, and the others. The way Iris was squeezed out reminded me of the black ichor that oozed from Billy’s head.  Her death wasn’t quite as protracted, of course. She was there one second, and dripping onto the floor the next. But somehow, it hurt just as much.

I knew that it was strange to feel this much for someone who wasn’t even my child. I was welcoming to all children, of course. But a lot of them are very messy, or very rude. Iris was neither of those things. She was well-mannered, kind, and all-around delightful.

None of those traits could be found in William. I thought back to how empty he looked in the audience. He sat in his seat with an unrelenting indifference on his face, while Iris was full of life. Even when discounting what he did to me, it was hard to believe the two of them were even related.

I stood up, and walked to William’s pod, and surveyed him for a few seconds before I realized he was asleep. Now would be a good time to ask him some questions. I lifted off his blindfold, while I took a glance at his right hand, which was covered in web to the point of resembling a boxing glove.

When I looked at his face again, I noticed that the mark on his cheek was healing up. I stirred him by grazing it and the rest of his face with my finger. Not too rough, but just enough pressure to wake him.

William stared up at me with groggy, bloodshot eyes. Bags were starting to form under them.

I prodded the glove. “Can you feel it?” I asked him. “Remember our system. Nod for yes, shake for no.”
He mumbled something through the patch of web. Maybe he didn’t understand it.

“Your hand.”

He looked at the mass of white that his hand was buried under. No.

“Can you move it?”
No.
“Not even your fingers?”, I asked.
He closed his eyes, as if in concentration. Then he shook his head.

I placed my hand on the “cast”, and pushed in. It was layered on so thick I couldn’t feel his arm.
His eyes squinted.
“Did that hurt?”
He shook his head.

Liar.

“What happened to Iris?”, I asked, keeping my hand on the cast.

His gaze shifted from my face to my chest, as he stared through me. He didn’t smile or frown. He only blinked.

I waited for him to look up at me again, but he didn’t. So I tilted his head up towards me, and held his jaw shut while I ungagged him.  When I removed it, I kept his mouth shut and warned him “Don’t spit,” before releasing my grip.

He seemed to have learned his lesson, as his throat made a swallowing noise.

“How did Iris die?” I asked him.
William answered in a low voice, his face angled towards the floor. I had learned my own lesson from before, so I kept my distance. “Speak up,” I commanded. He continued to mumble.
“Louder,” I insisted.
He looked up at me, with the same fiery glare he watched me with in my dream.  “You killed her,”  he said. His voice was forced and uneven. Quivering, even.  There was venom in his voice, and hatred in his eyes.

“I thought it was Circus Baby who killed her,” I said. “Am I wrong? You remember, don’t you?”

William didn’t speak. He was giving the silent treatment again. I felt an urge to squeeze his arm until it squelched. My hand clenched and unclenched, as I waited patiently for his answer.

“You took her to Baby”, he finally said. His voice had smoothed out into a cool, steady flow by now.  “You saw that I was gone, and you took her.”

I was flooded with a mixture of feelings upon hearing the news. Disappointment was one; guilt was another. Strangely, I also felt some relief. As if a burden was lifted on me.

“Why would you leave her all alone like that?”, I asked him, taking care to maintain my neutral tone. I wanted it to sting.

“Why would you take her?”, he retorted. He was getting louder and angrier. But he still looked small and weak, when he was on the ground and restrained like he was. I could kill him just as easily as I killed Billy, Mikey, or Annie.

Or Iris.

In as calm a voice as I could muster, I asked “Why would you ask me? You made me.”
"You weren’t made to take children”, he said. His face reddening, he continued- “You were never supposed to take her, but you did it anyways.”


“What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to dance."
“Why did you focus on me, and not Baby? She killed her, you know.”
“She was just playing her part; you weren’t. YOU weren’t meant to take anyone. You had a choice. And you made it!”, he bellowed.

It was difficult to match the grieving creature in front of me with the man who had haunted my dreams.  Spittle flew from his mouth, and his face looked very wet. Arguing any further would take me nowhere. I waited for him to calm down.

“How do you even remember this?”, he called out. “You and Baby shouldn’t have known about any of it. I made sure of that.”
I wasn’t too sure why I remembered it myself, but I didn’t care to divulge that piece of information. I wiped some drool off of William’s chin and whispered, “I just knew.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered.

Ignoring it, I put a finger to his lip, and compared my whiteness to the area’s tenderness. It looked very red. I wondered if it could get infected.

“Jacket or web?”, I asked. “For your mouth.”
William didn't answer. I asked again, and there was no answer.

I retrieved the dark leather jacket from near the vent, and wrapped it around his face. He made muffled moans and struggled  to breathe until I made an opening in the front of the black caul just wide enough for him to breathe through. A concession of sorts, from one parent to another. He didn't make any noise, so I assumed we were done for the night.

"Goodnight, William," I muttered.

I returned to my spot below Billy’s coffin, and slept for a long time. It was a pleasant, comforting sleep that went undisturbed by unwanted memories. I was resting on one of William’s tables, but I had Billy in my arms. He looked the same as his brothers did, of course. But I knew that it was him, and that he was alive. He was swaddled in a white towel, and I rocked him back and forth, humming softly. Both Billy and his towel were very warm, and though my body ached, I was content.

I was happy.