Tracks

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, staring at the woman with copper hair and ivory skin, hearing in my head the songs Aaron would sing of her late at night. I moved away from Tracks, slowly making my way across the room until I stood in front of the image. This…this couldn’t be a coincidence, I told myself. No way. I’d just been thinking about this painting and now…here it was?

I reached out and laid my fingers on the canvas, feeling the dust that lay on the canvas, my brushstrokes invisible as they were meant to be. The Lady was smooth and idealized, perfect in emotion and composition. I remembered every step of her creation quite well.

I pulled away as the memories came back. Seeing this again, knowing my brother had brought it and hung it here, was almost too much to bear.

“Your brother liked this room,” Tracks said from his place by the door. “He left a lot of things behind.”

“How do you know?” I asked, without facing him.

“Hmm?”

“How do you know it was my brother?”

“Because I hung around here a lot too.”

“I thought you didn’t know him.”

“Not well.”

“And you weren’t friends.”

“No.”

I looked back now. “Then why did you bring me here?”

“Because I thought you might like to know that, no matter what your brother didn’t tell you, he always—and I do mean always—had you on his mind.”

“Tracks…“.

“I can’t give you all the details, Leslie. As I said, I wasn’t friends with the bloke. But he came to this castle and kept this room as his own, and he was here almost as often as I was. It meant something to him, love. The Faeries, Faeryland, the war. I know he tangled with Fitz—because Fitz would complain about losing day in and day out—and I know Aaron knew about your cousin’s antics because he would participate in them when threatened.

“But I also know he would write songs here. Sing all hours of the day and night. Play his pieces on the piano.”

He paused, nodding to the instrument that I hadn’t noticed in the corner, also covered in a thin layer of dust. Tears pricked the back of my eyes at the sight.

“And on the guitar he’d brought with him. He’d mutter about which parts he thought his sister would appreciate and which moments reminded him of certain paintings—of yours, I now realize.”

Tracks ran a hand through his hair. “He thought of you always, Leslie, so he made sure there was a piece of you here too.”

They fell, slow, silent tears that were as much of joy as they were of pain. I never thought Aaron would’ve forgotten me during his time in Ireland, but it was such a good feeling to know he’d needed me here as much as I needed him.

Tracks sighed. “I know this wasn’t what you expected, Leslie, and I’m sorry I’ve upset you. But you asked me to tell you what I know. And that—this—is it.”

I shook my head, going to him and throwing my arms around his shoulders. It was just for a moment, just long enough to express the gratefulness I couldn’t say, and then I let him go and turned away, back toward the Lady of Shallot. Seeing it brought back all the memories of when Aaron had been alive. The day I’d painted this picture; the song Aaron had been writing while I’d done it; the apple pie we’d attempted to make in celebration of our completed projects; and the kitchen we’d left in disarray when we’d failed and gone out for pizza instead.

Looking into the eyes of the Lady, all I saw was my brother.

But now, I also saw the Faeries. The woman in black. The queen. And I knew, with almost painful understanding, that all my memories of my brother would never be the same again.

Still, I was more grateful to Tracks than he would ever know.

I looked back at him. “What do you know about the fights, Tracks? What they’re about; why my brother participated—why Leila does. Do you know anything?”

He held up his hands as though in surrender. “I stay out of those, Leslie. I learned a long time ago, it doesn’t pay.”

“But Fitz seemed to think you should be helping him. He was mad when you took my side.”

Tracks chuckled. “Damn right, he was mad. We’re both Wings, Leslie. Born and bred from the same stock, for lack of a better term. You could say he thought I was betraying my people.” He smirked. “But Fitz and I have never gotten along. I’ve despised the bloke ever since I was a boy, and vice versa. I’ve watched him fight these stupid, petty battles for years and he never makes any headway; neither does Leila. It’s completely pointless.”

“What’s the prize?”

He fell silent.

That bad, huh?

“You can’t just take me halfway, Tracks. Aaron was fighting for this; I need to know what it is.”

But this time, Tracks stayed silent. I groaned. It was like pulling teeth with him sometimes. He’d tell me a little, give me the smallest taste of the Faeries, and then lock down completely. I understood that he wanted to be careful with what he said, that he was trying not to freak me out by saying too much too quickly. But he’d just given me a piece of Aaron. I needed him to tell me the rest.

But if I pushed him too hard, I might push him away, I realized. And I needed him now as much as I needed my brother.

“Just tell me one thing, Tracks. Please.”

“What?”

I shook my head stubbornly. “You’ve got to promise.”

The look on his face, though his eyes remained hidden, was strained. “Leslie, I can’t—”

“Please,” I begged. “Just this once.”

“All right. Okay. Just this once.”

I took a deep breath and walked over to him. “My brother was here,” I said carefully. “In this room, in the castle. But…it’s not supposed to be here. So how did he find it? How did Aaron know where to look when I didn’t?”

He sighed. I could tell Tracks was regretting his promise already but he made no move to argue again. I waited in silence, patiently impatient because he’d already put a lot on the line for me. If Fitz ever found out how deep Tracks was involved with me, he’d go for Tracks’ throat again. I knew the risks Tracks was taking, but I couldn’t step back until I knew how Aaron had found the realm of Faeries. I hadn’t found it until Tracks had shown me, and I needed to know who had shown him.

It wasn’t Leila. It couldn’t have been.

At last, Tracks licked his lips. “Leslie, why do you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why can I find the castle and you can’t?” he wanted to know, his voice gentle.

I shrugged, unsure how this was related. “Because you’re the one with the wings?”

“Because I’m a Faery,” he corrected.

“Right. But that doesn’t explain how—”

Because I’m a Faery. I started to shake my head, dreading what I thought Tracks was about to say. No, I told myself firmly. No, that can’t be right.

“Tracks,” I began.

But he was already nodding. “I’m sorry, Leslie. I’m so sorry for whatever the reason he never told you. But your brother, just like your cousin, was a Faery as well.”

I stayed in my room that night. Even when Leila came home and knocked on my door, I stayed rooted in the center of my bed, as absent in mind as in heart. Brenna came next, but I remained the same. I didn’t want to see anyone.

This couldn’t be happening, I thought, staring out the window I’d forgotten to close behind Tracks. This couldn’t be true. My brother—a Faery? No way. No possible, fucking way. I knew that kid like the back of my hand and I’d have known if he was some magically altered freak. It would’ve been genetic or something, yeah? It would have to be, I realized suddenly.

Ma. She would’ve told us. She was Irish; she was raised in Calaway, ten minutes from that railroad. If Aaron was a Faery, she would’ve said something. She wouldn’t have been able to hide it. How could she hide something that was part of our bloodline?

Tracks had yet to be wrong about anything. Yet to lie and sneak around behind my back—as far as I knew. He’d been honest about what he was from the start, and had filled in the blanks Leila had left empty. But he was wrong about this. He had to be. If Aaron had been a Faery, he would’ve gotten it from Ma, and I would’ve been told. I was sure of it. If he’d been a Faery, it would’ve been in my blood too, and I wouldn’t be so absolutely against this possibility.

No. No possibility, I corrected myself. Because Aaron wasn’t a Faery.

I understood about the castle. I accepted that it was there, hidden in a world parallel to mine. And I understood about the Faeries—that couldn’t be denied any more than Tracks’ wings could. But that was where I drew the line.

So what the hell had Tracks meant when he’d said Aaron was a Faery?

I didn’t know what to do anymore. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. I’d only been in Ireland a couple days and already I was unlocking secrets I hadn’t wanted any part of in the first place. Maybe I’d gone too far. Maybe I should’ve just listened to Leila and Tracks and just stayed out of everything. Maybe I should’ve walked away when I’d been handed the chance.

I shook my head and pressed my palms into my eyes. But that’s not your way, idiot, is it? I asked myself mildly. God forbid you let anything drop. Aaron’s killer… When will you accept you’ll never know why he killed him?

I closed my eyes and buried my face in my knees. I didn’t want to think about that right now. About his death. I had enough on my hands knowing that I hadn’t actually known my brother at all. How long had I been blinded to who and what he really was—whatever he might’ve been? How long had he kept it from me? My whole life? Just a year? A day? Had he been about to tell me the night he’d died, when he’d gotten all sentimental about the days when he and I would believe anything?

I wanted to believe that. That Aaron had wanted to tell me. But the point was, he hadn’t. Whether he’d been about to or not, he’d decided against it. Before the guy had come out of the shadows and cut his life short. Aaron had given himself the perfect opportunity to tell me the truth and he’d walked away.

Just as Leila had done.

So what did I do? Get mad at my brother and curse him for lying to me? Hate him because our relationship hadn’t been enough? Curse his name for trying to protect me? Lump him in with Leila and call him a traitor? And as for Leila, do I cut her some slack, give her another chance?

I didn’t know anymore. For a little while, I’d thought I’d had everything figured out. Ignore Leila, talk to Tracks, cry for Aaron. Now I wasn’t sure what to do.

Tracks… At the moment, he was the only thing keeping my head above water. Keeping me from falling into the blackness of depression with no hope of coming back out again. I knew I could trust him, whether I understood why or not. I knew that he meant me no harm and wanted to help me, whether or not he understood why. I couldn’t ask for anything more. Not yet.

I fell back on my bed too overwhelmed to keep thinking. I buried myself in the covers, my head under my pillow, and prayed for a blissful, dreamless sleep.

I was back at Ripper’s. I knew it by the smell. When the dust settled and the fog of dirt calmed, I discovered I was kneeling in front of the pool of alcohol again, staring down at my own reflection like I didn’t know what I was seeing.

I realized then, I didn’t.

Because it wasn’t my face. It wasn’t Fitz’s or Tracks’ or anyone I might’ve recognized. Oddly, it wasn’t my brother’s either.

It took a few seconds for the gentle ripples to clear, ripples caused by my own breathing, heavy and short. When the surface was smooth, I was able to make out the face.

It was a woman. With long dark hair, gazing pitifully out of a tower window.

At first, I wondered if it was the Lady of Shallot. It wouldn’t have been the first time I dreamt of her, but it would’ve been the first in years. But then the colors blended, brightened, and I realized who it really was. The woman from the painting on the ceiling of the castle. The woman in black.

As I watched, she seemed to move, her hair fluttering in the breeze, her lips murmuring words only she could hear. I bent closer, hoping that if I held my breath I’d be able to catch something, the absurdity of listening in on a woman in a reflection never occurring to me.

But then I heard her voice, faint, quiet, yet distinct above the wind. Leaning closer, I tried to understand what she said.

She was singing, I realized at length. Or chanting. I couldn’t be sure which. But her words rhymed and she spoke in rhythm, a soft, soothing rhythm I think she meant to calm.

I strained for her words, leaning closer and closer to the reflecting pool until the very tip of my ear touched.

“Evermore.”

Lyrics and music written by one Aaron Patrick Lucas.

I snapped back abruptly, but I could still hear her voice as if she was now singing in my ear.

“A frail heart in a deadened place

A thought upon a hidden bank

It has shattered...with me, it shattered...

“Reason tells me to cut and run

Wisdom tells me my time is done

Shatter...Obey and shatter...

“Reason is a fretful soul

And yet mine has suddenly broke

I shattered...I have shattered...”

Her voice faded here, disappeared back into the silence of her tower, and I pulled back further, moving as far away from the pool as I could. I sat back on my heels and listened to the words that echoed in my head.

Reason tells me to cut and run

Wisdom tells me my time is done

Shatter...Obey and shatter...

The tears burned as they choked my throat, clogging my senses until I couldn’t breathe. I no longer could see Ripper’s, nor the pool or the woman. All I felt was a deafening darkness. A pitch black abyss hovering in front of me, clawing to drag me in. I reached out a hand, desperate for the release, and as my fingers slid into nothing, my body slipped into the abyss.

And there was no Peter Pan to save me this time.