American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,204

knew existed at all.

One was an interloper—there was someone trapped in Wink, someone terrible, someone monstrous. Someone who had been imprisoned (and by accident, it seemed) in Wink from the very beginning.

But the Ganymede forgot about this when it realized something else.

Mother was here.

It was a sense, a feeling, intangible but definitely there—and She’d been there from the very beginning. She’d never left them at all.

The joy and the pain were so overwhelming. She was here—but where? And how? And how should the Ganymede go about bringing Her back? Could She even be brought back?

It was troubling. But if there was one thing the Ganymede had, it was time. It just took time, and patience, and hours and hours of watching.

Sitting in the car, the Ganymede holds up a hand. The Fool looks at it, and says: WHAT HERE? YOU WANT OUT HERE?

The Ganymede swallows, and says: “Yes.”

The Fool says: JUST PULL OVER ANYWHERE?

The Ganymede nods violently.

WELL OKAY.

The Fool, peering anxiously into the trees—no doubt looking for the girl, and her gun—turns out the headlights and pulls over.

The Ganymede turns to the car door. It is a confusing mess of glass and metal and plastic. “Which piece?” it asks.

The Fool says: HUH?

“Which piece do I pull to make the outside come in?”

The Fool says: WHAT THE FUCK? OH. OH, THE HANDLE. THIS PART.

The Ganymede pulls on the indicated piece. There is a clunk, and with a small push out, the door opens.

THE FIRST is so close. The Ganymede can smell it. Its sibling has walked these mountains, over and over again.

The Fool says: YOU WANT ME TO HANG AROUND?

The Ganymede does not even bother to answer. It plows ahead into the woods. After several minutes, it hears the sound of the car pulling away.

Alone, alone. I’ve always been alone. Alone in the dark with the trees and, worst of all, that memento of home, the pink moon in the skies, so close yet so far.

I will go home. I am going home.

It smells the blood in the air and quickly finds the bodies. One of them, it knows, must have the totem—the secret door to that prison-place, that hidden bubble where the monster (as the Ganymede has come to think of it) stews and paces.

It does not take long to find it. There is a wooden box lying on the rocky ground. It is covered in blood, and the Ganymede is surprised to find it is held closed only by a silver clasp.

Ignorant wretches. Had it not told them the box must be secure? Had it not warned them of what was inside?

The Ganymede, trembling slightly, picks up the box. It refuses to admit this, but at this moment it is deeply terrified, even more terrified than when they left home and came here: for within this box is a door to something like the Ganymede and its siblings, even THE FIRST, but also not like them.

For the thing in that prison place can do the unthinkable: it can defy Mother’s wishes.

This could, if considered properly, upend much of how the Ganymede sees its existence. For at the center of its world, undeniable and immovable, is Mother, forever Mother, beautiful and terrible and vast. None can withstand Her; none can behold Her. She is all and everything.

Yet not to this being in the box. This prisoner, who appears to be somewhere on par with THE FIRST in abilities (or even, the Ganymede thinks with a thrill of pleasure and terror, above him), can do as it likes.

The Ganymede knows it should find this horrifying. To deny Mother is to prove Her fallible, which She cannot be. But it has instead chosen to cherry-pick, and take away one conclusion, and one conclusion only:

If manipulated correctly, the imprisoned thing can get rid of the siblings that stand in the way.

The Ganymede begins walking up the slope to the barren canyon above it.

Maybe, just maybe, it can get rid of another one of them tonight.

Oh, how wonderful that would be. And I will do it personally.

I am not troubled. My mind is clear. She is with me. She has always been with me.

Though I was one of the youngest, one of the weakest, one of the slightest, She made me Her closest servant, Her most trusted confidant, and I was the only one who could make Her happy, I was the only one who could entertain Her, and please Her.

It was me. I am the favorite one. I, the friend, the councillor, the