Blacker
Chapter Seventeen: Black is the Color

He didn’t know what to say. He was completely paralyzed and overwhelmed by his emotions. They were a whirlwind inside him. Joy, relief and ecstasy all at once. Tears, laughter, coughs and chokes. All at the same time. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even move. For three seconds he was fixed to the spot, helpless and immobile, then she was on him.

She devoured him more than kissed him. At first he did not respond. This was happening to someone else. This was a dream. This wasn’t real. But the passion of her kisses melted his disbelief. Her body was pressed against his and she was wrapping herself around him. He did the same. He felt her push him backwards with the force of her kisses. He didn’t care. He was lost in the wild excitement of it all. Kissing, tasting, holding her tight. He only pulled back from her slightly when he needed to breathe. And that was when she laughed that unforgettable and so beautifully sweet, delicate sound that he’d missed so much.

“You’re going to be alright,” Carol Anne said. “Everything is going to be just fine. I can see you. I can understand it. I’m going to be here now, like this, and everything is going to be just fine.”

He knew that it wasn’t her, couldn’t possibly be her. She was something else, something alien or artificial or unexplainable. He didn’t care. He launched himself at her.

“Oh my God.” His voice was muffled by her long hair, “Oh my God you smell the same. You feel the same. You’re just like I remember you.”

“I can see you,” Carol Anne said cheerfully, “and I can understand that you cannot see me.”

He inhaled her scent. The familiar, delicious smell of strawberries and cream. He never knew what it was that made her smell that way. He’s never asked and she’d never told him. He breathed her in and sobbed into her neck as she squeezed his shoulders. She said more words, some did not make sense. He missed most of it, but heard when she spoke one last time.

“I missed you,” she said, “I really missed you.”

He held her tight. He couldn’t speak now because all he could do was shudder and sob and crush her body to his. He knew he wasn’t dreaming but there were flashes of anxiety when he wondered if, somehow, he was.

“There, there,” Carol Anne soothed, “you’ll be fine now. I was waiting for you back at the flat. I knew you’d come home.”

He withdrew from her slightly. “You were waiting? Is Jackie alive?” A lightning strike of memory exploded in his mind. “Eilidh!” he shouted. “Oh God, Eilidh’s on the bridge. I lost her there. We’ve got to go back and look.”

“We should get you home,” Carol Anne said, “Eilidh’s gone. There’s only you and I, the way it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s not far,” MacGregor said. “Come on. We need to go look for her.”

He was dazed and confused. This wasn’t Carol Anne, but it felt like her and smelled like her. He wanted to fold her into his arms again. But Hunter was still out there. Even if she was that mashed up mess of flesh and bone, he had to know.

“We can go back to the bridge,” Carol Anne said. “If you really want to.”

She took his hand. He felt the warmth of her touch. It was so familiar and so wrong all at the same time. He kept telling himself that this was not Carol Anne. This could not be Carol Anne. But it felt like her, smelled like her.

“I have to go back.”

“Come on, then.” Her voice sounded reluctant. “We’re not far away from the bridge. We can go back there and I’ll have a look for her.”

“Thanks,” MacGregor said. “I can’t believe it’s you! How is this possible? How can you be here?”

She pulled him along, gently insisting on his right hand.

“We’ll talk about that later,” she said. “Now please just be glad that we’re together. I know I am. I really am.”

The words surprised him. There was something about the way she spoke. It was almost as though the words were a surprise to herself also. His mouth was open, but there were too many questions and the emotions were just too intense.

“Okay.”

She dragged him along. He let her pull him through the oblivion. A part of him felt reluctant to go. He’d made it this far on his own. Was he giving up to turn back now or to allow Carol Anne to turn him around?

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”

He shook his head. His mind was foggy. Everything wasn’t making much sense to him. Carol Anne being here was completely impossible in itself. He knew that he wasn’t dreaming. But he also knew that this wasn’t the real Carol Anne. It was a fantastic facsimile, but it couldn’t be real.

He allowed Carol Anne to take him back the way he had come. She avoided the pavements and took him straight along the middle of the road. He wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. He was too busy trembling, too busy being disoriented and dumbstruck by it all.

It seemed like only a few minutes passed by. Carol Anne did not speak but she hummed quietly to herself as they moved together. He recognized the tune. An old Irish song he had heard her sing many times before. Her grandfather had taught her it, he remembered.

“Black is the color,” MacGregor whispered. “You remember it?”

“You remember it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She stopped pulling him along. Her hand squeezed his lightly, playfully.

“Wait here,” Carol Anne told him. “I’ll go and see if she’s there.”

Her fingers left his. “Do you know what she looks like?” he said.

“Of course I do,” she said. “Wait and I’ll see what we can do.”

There were no sounds at all. She moved so lightly that she disappeared from his senses completely. He felt a sudden surge of panic. He was cold again, head to toe, shuddering with the thought that she might not return – that she might not have even been there to begin with.

“Carol Anne!”

“I’m right here. There’s no need to worry. I’m looking for the woman you were with. I won’t leave you.”

He clenched his hands into fists. He was completely disoriented now. It seemed they could not be where they were supposed to be. It had taken him a long time to navigate to the old cinema and beyond. Carol Anne had only been holding his hand for such a short time.

“She’s dead. The lady you were with. Hunter is dead. I’m sorry to tell you.”

He didn’t feel anything. He’d already suspected as much. If Hunter had somehow survived she’d have caught up with him long ago. He simply shook his head slowly. Carol Anne’s long fingers found his hand once more.

“I’m sorry it happened,” she said.

“I am too,” MacGregor replied. “Can we… bury her?”

“In the ground?” Carol Anne’s tone was incredulous. “I don’t think we could do that.”

“We should try,” he argued, “What’s… what does it look like?”

“Well, it’s really, really nasty,” Carol Anne said. “Like a really nasty mess. I think that would be the most accurate way to describe what I was seeing there.”

She was pulling him away. He found himself resisting, subconsciously. He felt like the whole existence of Carol Anne represented a dream that he didn’t want to wake from. Her insistence to leave the scene was wobbling the tentative illusion that he was trying so hard to dissolve himself into.

“Are you certain?” he said. “I need to know I didn’t leave her behind. I can’t just…”

“You aren’t leaving her behind. Why don’t you believe me?”

Both of her hands were on his face, touching him lightly. He remembered her touch, her smell. Her breath was close to his mouth, then she kissed him lightly.

Carol Anne withdrew from him. Her hands left his face and he felt the cold night air replace her delicious warmth. “There’s nothing we can do. You have to believe me.”

She was taking him away from the bridge. She was stronger than he remembered. He found himself pulled along. He didn’t resist too much.

“Come on now, I’ll take you home.”

“To where? The flat?”

“Oh course.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that where you want to go?” she seemed confused. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“But Eilidh…”

“Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh,” Carol Anne’s tone was cold, “I wish you wouldn’t say that name anymore. She’s behind you now. I’m in front of you. Can’t you see me?”

Her grip was tight, almost painfully so. They’d left the bridge again. She was pulling him back towards the Star Bar. Down Bridge Street towards Eglinton Street. She seemed almost desperate to leave the scene.

“Why are we rushing?”

“I just want you to myself.”

Again, reality began to crack the fragile boundary of this fantasy. There was something about her tone that wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Carol Anne he remembered. But it was a good approximation.

“We’ve got all the time we want,” he said. “I… I know it can’t be you. Look, I just want to tell you something…”

“We’ll have all the time for talking later,” she protested.

“No!” he dug his heels in and stopped her from taking him any further, “No, I want you to listen to me.”

“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Shh, just listen.” He squeezed her hand, “I know it isn’t you. I know it can’t be. I know you’re from the SOD or whatever it was. The black ball north of here. The thing that started all of this. I know you… you belong to that thing.”

“You shouldn’t…”

“Listen, Carol Anne. I just want to tell you that I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. You’re… you’re enough for me. I don’t care what you really are or what this is all about.”

“Well that’s just fine,” she said lightly, “because I am Carol Anne.”

She kissed him on the lips. He smiled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hunter tried to float into his consciousness. He shoved her back. He held onto Carol Anne’s hand tightly and confidently as they walked together into the night, occasionally giving it a light squeeze.