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Chapter 14

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Expressionless, you sit silently as your doctor explains that the emotions you feel now are normal for someone who has almost died. She says that neglect and stress have compounded the intensity of your reaction, but assures you that, with time, these effects should fade. Even with her numerous reassurances, it’s clear your doctor has given you an inaccurate diagnosis:not completely right. While the pain is temporary, the emotions they provoke are much more chronic.

“So, now what?” you ask, though you already know. Now you wait for nothing. Your vacant look clearly worries her. She sighs.

“Icarus, you’re going to be fine. That whale blood can fix anything, just let it sink in and you’ll feel much better.”

She’s wrong. She’s right. Doing the woman a favor, you give her a small nod in response. She receives your small gesture happily.

“Alright then,” she says, “if you boys don’t need anything, I’ll be on my way. Don’t want to miss the night.”
Fisher remains at your side, he’s anxious to leave the small room and finally reach The Solstice. I wonder when he’ll leave too. Despite the chaos of your initial encounter, Fisher’s not only the first kind person you’ve seen in days, he’s also your only friend. But, since confronting (and failing to overcome) your depression, you’ve found a new nihilistic outlook on life: you used to consider the world a happy place where bad things sometimes happened, but now you just consider it a place where bad things happen—and, particularly, when you’re around. So, for his sake, you follow through on the implications of your fresh perspective, and decide to relieve him of the burden of your presence.
“Are you ready to leave, Fisher?” you flippantly ask.

You already know Fisher can’t read social cues, so he unsurprisingly responds with sincerity rather than disdain. “I am, Icarus. Let’s go!”

Lazily, you pick yourself up and follow your doctor through the door on the left. Exiting the room, the cockpit of whatever has been moving you forward comes into view. The control center of your mystery vehicle has an outstretched domed windshield, a giant steering wheel, and pair of burgundy chairs. Unlike the floor of the previous room, here you walk on scratched steel that bends into the walls. Your doctor steps into the center of the cockpit with raised arms.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” she asks, twirling as she debuts the vehicle. “Took us six months to make. All of the parts were salvaged with a lot of effort and great expertise.”

WIth passing examination, the development of the room is understood room even further. Up close, the metal on the walls and floor look to be made of pieces of metal all fused together. Key features of doorknobs, screws, and flanges can be detected on the floor and walls. Like ghosts in the machine; altogether, the salvage had been repurposed with such expertise that none the vehicle’s components wavered even a centimeter out of uniformity. Now entirely inside the cockpit, you see the same quality of craftsmanship apparent in the control panel and burgundy chairs.
“Are these barbershop chairs?” you ask, touching the brown leather of one seat while looking at the chairs’ welded-down bases.

“They were,” the doctor confirms. “Though, not a lot of people know what a barbershop is anymore.”
Intending to remark on the statement your doctor has just made, you realize you forgot to ask something important: “Who are you?” This entire time on whatever vehicle you’ve been riding, you haven’t even thought to get the name of the woman who has treated your wounds—or, at least, supervised the treatment of your wounds.
In response to your question, both the doctor and Fisher give you a peculiar look. “You don’t know my name?” she asks.

“No,” you reply. “We only just met.”

Fisher turns to the doctor and then back to you and then towards the doctor again. “Maybe he forgot,” he says. “Maybe he can’t remember because of the accident.”

“He doesn’t know who she is because they’ve never met.”

You, Fisher, and the doctor turn toward the new strangers standing in the doorway. You can’t tell if the statement that was just made was bold, or if the stranger’s voice is just understandably powerful. Standing two heads taller than you, the red-bearded man creates an air of stoic might only marginally diffused with the elderly man he holds in his arms. The younger man wears an apron with a blue tank top, along with the only pair of respectable pants you have seen in two days, while the elder wears a scrappy poncho and what remains of a pair of gray sweatpants.

Despite his age, you can tell the elderis very much in charge. At the elder’s brief gesture, his servant brings him over to the barber chair on the left and sets him in it gently. Sitting next to you now, the elderly man gives you a hungry examination. Whatever he’s trying to find, detect, or spot he’s enjoying himself.

“Isaac, it’s too early in the day for you,” the doctor complains.

Isaac doesn’t turn immediately at the call, but answers after a moment, “I’m sorry to say you’re right, dear.” Isaac’s voice sounds weebly, and almost out of life. Sharp and hollow, his words evaporate just past his lips. “But before I go, I need to know something.” He returns to you. “Mary? Are you there?” The question goes unanswered in a surprising show of confusion by everyone. “I look different, I know, more lives to live without enough time to live them. But I remember you. Do you remember me?” The room falls still. No one has an adequate answer for the old man’s senile questions. He senses it and looks down. “Must be too far-fetched, then. No wonder you’re a man.” Isaac sighes. “Alright. Take me away, Melisa.”

The larger servant moves towards his master, but is stopped before taking a single step.

“I said Melisa! Stay here and talk to her. Describe the world, Colin. Describe it all.”

Offended, Colin moves back, leaving room for Melisa to walk past. She scoops Isaac out of the chair and together they exit the cockpit. Whatever relationship Colin and Isaac have, it is powerful: Colin doesn’t speak until Melisa and Isaac are completely gone.

Out of sight and out of earshot, he pulls a book out of his apron pocket and approaches you. “My name is Colin Daie.”

“Hello,” you blurt sleepily, unsure on how to talk about what just happened with the old man and the strange conversation that didn’t make sense.

Colin opens his book and frowns. After turning several pages, he looks at you and closes his book. “Do you know what this is?” Colin asks, flaunting the book through which he has just looked. I hope to God that isn’t the Bible.

“Is it the Bible?” you ask.

Colin gives an expression of bemused confusion while Fisher attempts to keep up with the conversation.

“No, it isn’t,” Colin replies. “But that does support my theory on who you are, Icarus. We have never met, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know where you are, yes?”

“I’m told this place is called the Solstice,” you say. “But other than that, I have no idea.”

Colin turns to Fisher. He nods some inaudible command, with which Fisher responds and leaves the room. Idiot.
Now alone, Colin turns back to you and motions to one of the chairs. Going through the motions, you follow the order and find your seat. Colin sits in the other chair and swivels it in your direction. He sits very close to you: a little too close, in your opinion—you can smell his breath.

“Icarus, where were you born?”

“Maryland.”

“Maryland?”

“Yeah, like Baltimore. Why?”

“Who told you that?”

“Told me what?”

“That.”

“That I was born in Maryland?”

“Yes.”

“My dad.”

“Your dad?”

“Yes,” you say, becoming annoyed with Colin’s questioning. What the hell is going on? Why do you care? Despite his intimidating presence, you feel a slight impulse to slug Colin.

“Whom, might I ask, is your ‘dad’?” Colin asks. Your impulse endures.

“My father’s name is Brian: Brian Holmes. He owns a watch shop in Maryland,” you answer dryly. Colin sits back into his chair. Grabbing his head, he slowly starts to scratch his scalp. His expression is one of lazy stupefaction. “Do you know who he is?” you ask.

“I know just about everyone,” he replies. You’re about to clarify the question when Melisa and Fisher reënter the room. Melisa holds in her arms a large piece of rolled-up paper, and looks unhappy with the burden.

“Thank you, Melisa,” Colin says.

“Is there anything else?” she asks.

“No. You can leave now.”

“You don’t need my help?”

“We’ll be fine,” Colin laughs. Your doctor gives you another worried look, then turns back to Colin. She kisses him on the head and leaves. You’ll always be alone. Still, you smile at your surprise: the thought that Colin and Melisa being together had never crossed your mind. In the strange rapid-fire introductions, he seemed so servileand she seemed so dignified. They couldn’t possibly mix in your mind. “Fisher, you should leave too,” Colin says. “This might take a while.” Fisher nods and leaves with Melisa through the only foreign door in the cockpit. Colin begins to unroll the paper on his lap. Alone with Colin now, you worry while wondering what might happen next.

“Colin, I’d like to leave with Fisher,” you say, deciding that burdening your friend beat the frightening uncertainty of whatever might appear on Colin’s scroll.

Colin looks up from his lap in surprise. “Him?”

“Yes,” you angrily reply. What’s his problem? Fisher may be odd, but you hate the idea of anyone mocking him. You begin to rise from your chair, but Colin beats you to a standing position.

“You’re going to need to hear this first,” Colin warns.

Tired and angry, you start to unravel. “Hear what? What could you possibly need from me?” you ask. “Colin, I appreciate what Melisa has done for me, but honestly, I just want to go home.”

“I just need to keep you informed, Icarus. That’s all,” Colin replies. You roll your eyes and step around him. Taking your first stride towards the door, you hear a loud click behind you. Turning around expecting to find a gun, you instead see Colin’s hand on the controls next to the wheel. “You won’t be able to leave now, Icarus,” he says. “I’ve locked all of the doors; there’s no way out.”

“Unlock the doors.” you snarl as you clench your fists.

“No.”

“Unlock the doors!” you shout: your cry reaches a penetrating pitch.

“After we talk,” Colin says, his voice unwavering. “You need to hear this.”

Aggravated, depressed, annoyed, and now hostage, you take your first step in a long time towards control. Across the short distance, you build a meager momentum and thrust yourself into the air while flinging a fist at your captor. Surprised with your leap, Colin raises his guard too late and takes a punch to the center of his forehead.

Your first punch is remarkably unremarkable. The blow doesn’t daze him at all, and Colin has not even shifted his stance. Landing beside him, you follow your first punch with a second to the ribs, but before your strike can connect your head blasts back. You fall on the metal floor and look up to see Colin clenching a fist of his own.

“You can’t possibly beat me, Icarus,” Colin growls. Rebelliously, you pick yourself off the floor and raise your dukes once more.

“Open the door!” you scream.

“No!”

You lunge forward again, this time leading with a jab. Colin grabs your fist with one hand, seizes your neck with the other, and slams you to the ground hard enough for an echo to reverberate through the room.

“Enough, Icarus!” he yells.

You surprise Colin with a kick from you right leg to the head. You kick with surprising strength, and the blow draws first blood. Colin steps back, clenching his nose, with blood seeping between his fingers.

Rising again, you realize you’re not feeling any pain. The whale blood is still in effect. I’ve taken two direct blows and feel nothing. I have a real chance of winning! Smiling now, you raise your fists a third time. With his free hand Colin surprises you with a quick punch to the side of your head. The blow knocks you back against the far wall. You rebound in Colin’s direction, and he catches you coming with a kick to your stomach. You fall to the ground, but feel unfazed.
“You can’t beat me, Colin. I’m invulner—”

In one long arc, Colin throws you against the ceiling, the wall, and the floor. You flop like a rag doll in the giant’s hands. Picking you up, Colin attempts to repeat the attack, but in midflight you claw at his cuticles, bend back his fingers, and pry yourself free from his grip. Colin recoils and drops you to the floor, where you swing your hip and slam your leg into the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground beside you. Using every bit of your minimal upper-body strength, you pounce up on Colin and bite deep into his shoulder. He screams.
Colin hammers your back and head, but to no avail.

“Let go! Let go!” Colin cries. You gnarl at his shoulder with fervor. You want to win, you need to win. The door’s opening is irrelevant: now, all you are is the primal. With your teeth attached to his shoulder, Colin finds a gap between his flesh and your jaw and pushes his hand in your mouth, scraping the flesh of his arm across your incisors. The sensation is discombobulating and you release him. Free of your teeth, Colin swings again, but for the first time you dodge the brute. You laugh at your own luck and instinct before he throws you face first into the floor. There, he places his knee on your back, making any struggle pointless. Pulling your left arm free, Colin puts his second knee atop your elbow. Brutally, he pulls back your wrist—and, in doing so, breaks your arm.

You stop struggling at the shocking noise of broken bone. Colin releases your wrist for you to stare at your broken limb. The sight is surreal, and you feel nothing but dumbstruck while he does the same with your other arm. The fight is over: you have completely lost.

Wheezing and out of breath, Colin picks you and throws you back into the barbershop chair.

“If you get up, I’ll break your legs next!” he screams as he pants.

Taking Colin’s word, you remain motionless in the chair. Both you and he take the opportunity to recuperate after the fight. Several seconds pass; thanks to the whale blood, you begin feeling your bones realign.

“Colin,” you whisper.

He looks up angrily from his bleeding fingers. “What?”

“That was my second fight, ever.”

“It shows.”

You smile: though you’ve never considered yourself an aggressive person, you’ve thoroughly enjoyed this altercation—not just as a good bit of exercise, but also as a distraction from your depression.

Finally, Colin catches his breath. “Now,” he says, reaching behind his chair he grabs the long roll of paper that Melisa brought earlier. “The history of the world.” Colin unrolls the paper, and reveals what looks like a map.