Okay, maybe it was more of a half smile.
But still, his cheeks widened, his lips lifted and curled at the sides, just enough to encourage those twin dimples to spring into view. It was all right there before me—the full-on beginnings of what could’ve resulted in a truly lovely grin—but then he dropped that smile so quickly I was left wondering if it really had occurred.
“In the beginning, I was kept here by my anger, yes.” He nodded, face solemn and serious once again. “But no longer.”
I sat with his words, tossing them around in my head, going over them carefully, repeating them silently again and again. But despite all my efforts, despite my analyzing as best I could, I was still no closer to understanding just about anything he’d said.
Obviously, I got the part about anger being the glue that bound Rebecca here and that used to bind him here as well, and bippidy blah blah. I mean, duh, it’s not like I’m stupid. But what I didn’t get was that if he was no longer angry, if he was no longer bound to the earth plane in that particular way, then why stay? Why hang on to such a horrifying past, when it was just as easy to move on to something else—something better than what he currently had?
Figuring I’d take one last stab at offering my services, I looked at him and said, “So, if you’ve moved past your anger, then why not cross the bridge already? I mean, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but getting people to the other side is pretty much my specialty.”
I couldn’t help but smile when I said it; I felt so empowered by the words. Reminded that I had a purpose, one that I was actually good at, and for a moment anyway, it lessened some of the guilt I had for getting my friends trapped.
But Prince Kanta would have none of it, and if he was impressed by my area of expertise, well, let’s just say he did a pretty good job of hiding it from me.
Apparently, he had no interest in the bridge, the Here & Now, or anything of the sort. He seemed perfectly content just making do with the funky grass hut, the shabby clothes, and the freaky tea.
“I cannot be free until my brothers and sisters are also free.” The words, simple, crisp, spoken in an accent that was really starting to grow on me. And yet I couldn’t help but feel as though they weren’t quite what they first seemed.
It was as though he was speaking in riddles.
As though he was hiding something from me.
And that’s pretty much all it took to ignite my suspicions again.
“Too many remain stuck here. I cannot enjoy my release until they are also released,” he added, though the words didn’t do much to appease me.
It’s like, if he was so reluctant to move on, then fine, whatever, his choice. I mean, maybe Bodhi was right—maybe I should just stick with the jobs the Council assigned, and ignore all the other lingering souls I happened to come across.
All I knew for sure was that for every minute I spent in that hut talking nonsense with the prince and viewing scenes that had nothing to do with me, I lost another sixty seconds during which I could’ve been helping my friends.
I rose to my feet, my voice agitated, a little bit angry even, when I stared right at Prince Kanta and said, “Listen, excuse me for saying so, but I don’t really get why you couldn’t have just told me all that from the start. I mean, why all this?” I waved my arm before me. “Why drag me out here to drink your freaky tea, when you could’ve just summarized the whole thing back in the graveyard?” I glared, knowing my emotions were starting to get the best of me, but at that moment, I didn’t really care. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t know that my friends are trapped and in desperate need of my help, and yet, instead of offering the help that you promised, you chose to drag me out here just so you could totally waste my time.” I shook my head and made for the doorway, not even bothering to look over my shoulder when I said, “Listen, if you ever feel like leaving this place, let me know. I’ll see if there’s room in my schedule.”
I had every intention of bolting, had placed one foot firmly outside of that hut, but I was soon stopped by his voice wh
en he said, “The tea is called memory tea.”
I paused, glancing over my shoulder to find him shooting me a pointed look.
“And you are right, I could have just told you the story. That would have been easy enough. But I chose the tea for a reason. I wanted you to observe the story on your own, rather than to hear my possibly biased version. I also could have immersed you in the scene and let you experience it directly, but I thought it too horrific, too frightening for a child your age. Besides, that sort of thing is more Rebecca’s domain.”
I narrowed my eyes into slits. Narrowed my eyes till I could just barely make out the tall, dark outline of him. And even though I’m sure his words made all the sense in the world to his ears—to mine, not so much.
It was just another riddle.
More craftily worded nonsense that made me doubt him even more.
I folded my arms across my chest, screwed my lips to the side, and took another step forward. Stopped again by the sound of his voice when he said, “Words have the power to harm or heal, Riley. They can be used to paint many emotional landscapes. And they are often influenced, if not biased, by the speaker. It was necessary for you to experience the story with your own eyes, to view it through your own filter, your own set of biases and prejudices, and to not be influenced by mine. There is nothing like being a true witness to something to gain your own unique understanding of it. So tell me, Riley, were you not moved by what you saw? I’m curious to hear your perception of it.”
I was more than ready to bolt, eager to get back to that snow globe from hell where Bodhi and Buttercup were in desperate need of my help. But just like before, the one thing I wanted most at that moment happened to be in direct opposition to the one thing I did.
Instead of leaving, instead of bidding adios to the prince, I turned, turned until I was looking right at him again, and tried to explain the confusing array of emotions I’d felt—emotions I would happily choose to never experience again. But now that I’d felt them, now that those awful scenes had entered my mind, I knew there was no getting rid of them.
Later, they might get tucked away somewhere dark and not often visited, but it’s not like they’d ever really vanish completely. It’s not like they’d ever disappear.
Once introduced, they’d stay with me forever.
There was no emotional dumping ground for that sort of thing.