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Emma wakes up to the sound of birds chirping. It’s still a foreign sound, but she enjoys it, nonetheless: their chirps merge together to form a chaotic yet beautiful melody. She throws off the silk covers of the bed, rushing to the windowsill and soaking in the liberating feeling of safety and contentment that morning brings.
This is the beauty of nature that so many of the books back at the orphanage had described.
Though the day has just dawned, some of her neighbors are already bustling about. Down below, Emma can spot an old woman hobble down to the marketplace, baskets of woven trinkets in tow. A few apartments down, she can see a middle-aged man water the begonias growing on his patio flower box. In the distance, she can even see the large skyscrapers where many of the adults work. “Business” is a new concept to her, but it’s not unwelcomed.
An air of tranquility settles over the neighborhood, one that Emma knows won’t be broken by demons like that world.
She tilts her head and oh, huh, strange—it feels oddly quiet waking up to no children running amok or monsters to face.
You have to get used to it, Emma, she reminds herself, and with a firm nod, Emma backs away from the window and moves towards the drawers. After rummaging about the new clothes—all provided by one alive James Ratri—she finally decides on a white sundress.
(Which, in retrospect, is strange: after all they’ve gone through in the same old white clothing, Emma’s gravitated towards clothing of soft pastels that suit her age and remind her that she’s worth more than just “livestock” waiting to be slaughtered.)
Emma can’t exactly remember why she’s hurrying so much through her daily morning routine, but all makes sense once she hurries down the stairs, whips open the door, and faces a beaming Norman.
“Norman, it’s been forever!” she exclaims, her grin growing broader.
Her friend looks different, better without the fate of the world weighing on his shoulders. Though his smile is a bit hesitant, it’s genuine, nonetheless, and she’ll take it. With one last glance at the interior of the tiny house—and Emma briefly wonders why she feels the need to soak in all the details, to remember the peace and security which wrapped around her so easily in the safe confines of her bedroom—she crosses the threshold and gives him a half-hug.
“I brought flowers,” Norman explains, holding out the small bouquet to her. “You always said you wanted to see a rose garden, so I brought the closest thing I could find.”
Roses are out of season right now, Emma remembers Ray saying when she asked him about the “pretty red flowers of love” that she wanted to give to everyone. No doubt, the bouquet had been expensive. (It had taken her awhile to get used to the concept of “money” in the way that the materialistic human world used it, but Emma’s always been a quick learner. Quicker than the others, anyways.)
(She’s also always been a quick observer, which is why Emma is able to note the almost eerie way Norman examines her expression as she takes the bouquet from him and gives it a sniff.)
Emma never wanted to lie to Norman, but something in her (some primal instinct that has still yet to leave her from their times before) tells her not to show her discomfort.
“They smell so nice!” she enthuses. “We should bring them to the others.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Norman says, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “I thought that today, we could have an ‘us’ day.”
“An ‘us’ day?” she quotes.
“Just you and me,” Norman clarifies, giving her a shy and almost nervous look. “It hasn’t been that way in awhile, right?”
Immediately, Emma’s wariness melts away. This is just Norman, for pete’s sake, not somebody that she has to look out for. Besides, when’s the last time that she spent some quality time with her friend? Between his drive to lead the humans to revolt and her focus on taking care of the children, they’ve had hardly any time to themselves. She’s been lonely. Alone.
(No, no she hasn’t. A presence, somebody’s figure briefly flashes in her mind, but the memory is smothered by Norman’s enthralling smile.)
Emma nudges him, bouquet of flowers still in hand. “Lead the way, then!”
They stroll down the cobblestone path. If Emma had been thinking harder, she would’ve realized that the path is free of any distractions children. Nonetheless, she’s too busy basking in the warmth of the sun and Norman’s steady presence. With him by her side, she feels invincible: nobody can strike her down with Norman guarding her.
She spots a bookstore and suddenly reaches forward to tug on Norman’s sleeve. “Hey, hey, Norman, why don’t we go inside?”
He turns and stares at the shop for a second before giving her a surprised look. “I didn’t know you enjoyed reading that much, Emma.”
There are many things she can say to that; for one, Emma’s always had a penchant for fairy tales and stories of fantastical adventures. But more so, she found back in the shelter that reading was a good way to immerse herself in a different world and free herself from her troubles. Though it’s certainly not her favorite pastime, she doesn’t mind spending a day inside as much as she used to.
Instead of saying such, though, Emma puffs out her chest. “I might’ve not been as smart as you, but I still could keep up with your scores! Besides, everyone had to read and research a lot to make sure our shelter—”
Emma pauses.
“Well? Go on.”
She laughs nervously.
Inwardly, her mind is racing. Why had she forgotten so easily about her best friend?
“No, it’s just that...well, I thought that Ray would probably enjoy this place a lot. We should invite him!”
Norman smiles at her, grabs her hand with a nonchalance that she never knew he possessed, then resumes walking. She rolls her eyes, but quickens her pace to keep up to him. They leave the bookstore behind, continuing along their path. “You’re always thinking about others, Emma.”
“You need to think about yourself more,” she says without a second thought, and Norman stills, as if her words have struck him both motionless and silent. Emma stops too, though a confused expression mars her features.
“Do I?” he muses.
She nods assuredly. “You need to help yourself first, or else how are you supposed to help others?”
“Does that mean…” And here, his eyes slide to meet hers. “...I can be selfish?”
The creeping sense of discomfort suddenly comes roaring back at full force. Emma had honed her instincts in that world, and they’ve never guided her wrong before. But she pushes against the instinct to run away because she won’t abandon her friend (not again, not after Yuugo), especially not Norman of all people.
Still, Emma suddenly becomes hyper aware of the fact that he’s still gripping onto her hands. Her throat suddenly feels dry, and though Emma scrambles for words— any words, lies or truth—she’s unable to find anything.
“Emma?”
“Norman…”
Her eyes suddenly catch on something shiny and Emma tugs on his sleeve, pulling him along. “Look, they’re so pretty!” she gushes, pressing against the antique shop window to get a better view. The objects in question, a beautiful display of shimmering crystals, catch the light wondrously, the light reflecting in multicolored fragments.
The tense atmosphere dissolves and suddenly they’re just “Emma and Norman” again. He laughs behind her. It’s a wonderful sound that simultaneously warms her chest and lowers her guard. This is just Norman.
She doesn’t have to put up a front around him. This is Norman, the boy who always sided with her and helped her through her troubles back at the orphanage. This is Norman, one of her closest childhood friends and closest confidants. This is Norman, the boy who once proposed exterminating…
...her mind is buzzing.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Norman offers, heading towards the door before she can reply. She follows him into the shop, eyes rounded as she takes in the brass trinkets and crystal statues. Norman disappears briefly behind a shelf of glass masks and Emma has to hurry to catch up to him.
When she turns the corner, she’s met with the sight of Norman examining an antique watch. It’s a beautiful copper color, but it doesn’t appear like something that’d suit his complexion. Emma, having grown more tactful in the past few years, bites her tongue and instead chooses to observe the rest of the store.
They’ve stumbled upon the clock section of the store, evidently. A grandfather clock towers over her, grand and old. A cuckoo clock springs to life to Emma’s right, startling her and nearly causing her to bump into the shelf. It’s almost eerie, in a way, but it’s also strangely comforting.
With an air of forced casualness, Emma steps closer and peers over his shoulder. “Are you gonna buy that?”
“Maybe.” Norman hums contemplatively.
Her eyebrows crease in confusion. “But it doesn’t work.”
His gaze, fixated on the watch, finally turns to her. “I’ll fix it later,” he promises. “Just give me a moment and I’ll pay for it. Is there anything that catches your eye?”
Emma turns back towards the window display of crystals, but she spots something even better than them. “Look, Norman, it’s Ray!”
“Wha—”
She throws him a beam, then hurries to the door. Over her shoulder, she calls, “I’ll wait for you outside, okay? I have to make sure he doesn’t wander off before we can catch up to him.”
Ray’s strolling along the sidewalk at his usual languid pace, his head tilted towards the sky. He’s wearing the same expression he often adopts when he’s deep in thought; when she calls out to him, his head immediately turns to scrutinize her.
“Hey, Ray! Wait up!”
“Emma,” he greets shortly. Over the years, she’s learned to read him well. There’s a puzzled glint in his eyes; something about Ray’s demeanor almost seems wary, but after a few seconds of examining her, he relaxes minisculely. “Why are you here?”
“Norman,” she answers simply, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly.
“No, but why are you here?” he insists, stepping closer.
And, once again, she nods. “Norman,” she answers, and then gestures to the white-haired boy quickly exiting the shop. Ray stews behind her, falling silent as the other boy approaches.
“That was quick,” Emma addresses him, her mind racing with thoughts. Realization dawns upon her, but she pushes aside the revelation in favor of beaming at him.
(Don’t think about it not yet just a little longer please I don’t want this to end pleasepleaseplease—)
“I didn’t want you two leaving me behind,” Norman replies, handing her a bag. “I bought you this.”
“Oh,” Emma says quietly, staring at the mesmerizing crystal. “Thanks, Norman.”
“Ray,” Norman greets. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Ray meets his gaze levelly. “Something drew me here.”
“Hm, is that so? Lucky us.”
“Why don’t we walk around together since Ray’s here?” Emma suggests, quick to cut through the heavy, oppressive atmosphere. She may not always keep up with the genius duo, but she’s grown enough to sense the underlying tension.
“Great idea, Emma!” Norman exclaims, clapping his hands. “Why don’t we head to the park?”
Emma shoots a look at Ray, and luckily, he understands.
“...the park?” Ray repeats, scrunching his nose. It’s the first normal thing he’s said to either of them. “Why?”
“We’re kids, right? We’re allowed to act frivolously every once in awhile. Besides...it’ll just be like old times. We can play tag together.”
“I dunno,” Emma says, glancing at her dress. “My clothes aren’t really the best for running.”
“No, they’re not,” Ray agrees.
“They look nice, though,” Norman adds, shooting Ray a mock-stern glare. “You look pretty in white, Emma.”
“Ray looks pretty in white,” Emma corrects, and to her satisfaction, the raven-haired boy scowls at her. Had it been a few years ago, Emma would’ve thought that he was pissed off at her. But now, after years together, she just grins. The way his eyebrows crease and lips purse belies his embarrassment.
Folding his arms over his chest, Ray says, “I doubt you two came here to discuss fashion. What were you planning to do?”
Though the question seems superficially aimed towards both of them, Emma senses that the question was actually directed towards Norman.
“If not the park, then why don’t we grab some snacks together?” Norman suggests.
Emma notices that he evades Ray’s question, but doesn’t point it out. Neither does Ray, though his eyes sharpen.
“I didn’t bring any money,” Ray says only half-apologetically, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Emma squawks with horror, glancing at her dress and realizing that it has no pockets. She must’ve forgotten her wallet back at the apartment. “Neither did I! Ah, man, and I wanted to try ice cream, too...”
“I can buy some for us,” Norman concedes with a sigh. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She moves to follow him, intent on picking a delicious flavor, but something holds her back.
“Emma,” Ray says urgently, catching her sleeve when Norman wanders away to grab them ice cream.
A weight settles over her shoulders.
“I know,” she replies, still smiling. It’s a lie, yes, but it’s a beautiful one. Would it be selfish for her to pretend for a little longer?
Ray studies her expression, then crosses the distance between them and squeezes her shoulder in an awkwardly comforting way. “I get it,” he murmurs, his voice heavy. Her shoulders shake, but not one tear falls.
He squeezes his eyes shut, then reopens them and meets her eyes, repeating softly, “I get it.”
Deep, sorrowful understanding runs between them. Then, deceptively tranquil silence reigns, seeming to stretch for an eternity as they reach a nonverbal agreement.
She inhales, soaking in the scent of spices from the marketplace and sensation of the cool breeze rushing past her hair. Her mind carefully imprints this (fake) memory into her mind: perhaps, one day, it can become reality.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!”
Emma accepts her ice cream with exaggerated awe. “Wow, strawberry! It’s so pink.”
Ray’s less enthusiastic. “Thanks, Norman,” he says simply, any grief previously in his expression disappearing under their childhood friend’s scrutiny.
They settle on a sidewalk bench, Ray to her right and Norman to her left, and nothing’s ever felt more perfect.
The ice cream is cold and sweet; Emma wonders if this is how ice cream actually tastes, or if it’s just a reconstruction from what little they know about the delicacy. She consumes it quickly, and though her lips feel cold afterwards, she welcomes the foreign sensation.
“Emma?” Ray probes, seeing the subtle change in her expression.
“My lips are cold,” she explains, giggling. And, to her satisfaction, his lips quirk upwards to mirror her smile. “Say...Ray, Norman…”
“Mm?”
Emma purses her lips, tilting her head upwards and staring at the sky, just like Ray had minutes before. “We’ll always be together, right?”
There’s a pause, then Norman responds with a resolute nod. “Right.”
Ray doesn’t answer her question at all.
She’s unsure of which response she likes better.
“Emma,” Ray says.
“I know.”
Norman watches their seemingly nonsensical, taciturn exchange silently.
Can we just...stay like this? Just for a little more.
Emma’s selfish, through and through. Though she’s aware of the abnormalities in the dream-like world she’s in, she doesn’t want to let go quite yet. Ray understands, and accordingly falls silent. She’s unsure about Norman’s reaction, though; it’s gotten harder and harder to read him. He’s changed. Or, perhaps, she’s the one who’s changed.
She contemplates that notion for a few moments.
It’s undeniable that Emma would change through the passage of time, but her innocent and carefree self seems like a lifetime ago rather than just two years ago. It feels like a distant dream—a beautiful, idyllic childhood long since past. Even with Ray and Norman’s familiar presences by her side, everything feels different.
And maybe, “different” doesn’t mean bad. Granted, Emma and her friends had to grow out of their childhoods much too quickly, but she doesn’t mind being this new “Emma” either. It’s still her, at the core, just...changed. Grown. A bit more jaded, but still the same.
He who moves first...
Emma recalls the nights of chess that feel so long ago and wills her mind to remember this moment—this beautiful, peaceful moment of warmth and them, together, safe.
“...you know, we should go see Phil soon,” she comments.
Norman shifts almost uneasily. Ray’s lips curl upwards into an approving smirk. “We should.”
They exchange glances.
Ray makes the next move. “Say, Norman...have you given up the idea of exterminating demons?”
“Why are you talking about that?” Norman laughs. “It’s been ages since I’ve thought about that world.”
“How long has it been, anyways?” Emma wonders, tapping her finger against her chin. “I don’t remember.”
Norman hums thoughtfully. “Well, we’re here now, and that’s what matters. Right?”
Emma’s ready to answer in the same vague fashion, but Ray beats her to it with a direct attack: “Wrong.”
“Hm?”
Ray drops all pretenses and stands up, looming over the more petite boy. It’s funny; even now, Emma can’t see Norman as a bad guy. He’s just Norman. Just misguided. Surely.
Ray’s voice draws her out of her thoughts. “You can’t turn back time, Norman.”
Norman stands up as well, drawing to his full height as he asks lowly, “Who says I want to?”
Emma laughs nervously, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. “H-hey, you two...let’s calm down a little, okay?”
Her effort goes unnoticed. Ray narrows his eyes. “What are you planning, Norman? Where are we?”
“Don’t you see the stores right before your eyes?”
He grits his teeth, fists clenching and trembling. “Norman. Where are we?”
Norman smiles. “A place where you two will be safe.”
Emma’s face crumples as she staggers to her feet to join them in their standoff. “Don’t lie to us, Norman,” she pleads, and it’s almost eerie how calm the shorter male is.
“I haven’t lied to you. Not once.”
Emma feels the same roaring anger she felt when she first learned of Ray’s treachery and willing sacrifice of their siblings. It threatens to consume her, but staring at Norman’s face and remembering the memories they’ve shared together helps ebb the tide, just a bit.
Grabbing Norman’s hands, she gives him a brittle (almost threatening) smile. “You haven’t answered us, either.”
Norman stares at her blankly for a moment, almost dazed. He resembles Adam. Then, gently, he squeezes her hands. The action sends a shiver down her spine.
“I’m doing my best to build us a future, Emma,” Norman says, his voice suddenly sounding very distant. “And I know that you two would get in the way.”
Ray starts, but Norman shoots him a knowing smile. “I’ve always been two steps ahead of you,” he reminds the raven-haired male, and suddenly Ray looks just as vulnerable and lost as he had back in the orphanage. Emma shoots him a look of concern, but her attention is refocused on Norman once he draws away.
“Norman?”
“I’m very sorry,” Norman says, and to his credit, he does seem apologetic.
Emma’s seized by a sense of panic. “Norman, what are you doing?”
Norman tilts his head towards the sky. “Do you know where I came from, Emma?”
“You came from Grace Field House, just like all of us.”
“But where did I come from?” Norman insists. “I would sometimes think about that back in those days, you know. Who were my parents? Who was my mother? If things were different, would I have lived a happy life with them? But once we learned the truth...I started wondering more. And at the Lambda farm, I finally got my answers.”
“You found your mother?” Ray asks, and by the look on his face, he’s as blindsided as Emma is.
Norman smiles. It’s a very pretty smile.
Emma resists the urge to shiver.
“Adam was the first,” he says. “Fitting, I suppose. He was a failure, but his physical strength was a strange benefit that they couldn’t manage to reproduce afterwards, not even for me.”
Emma, to her own surprise, is able to read between the lines before Ray can.
“Clones?” she asks, and it takes all of her will not to take a step backwards (because this is Norman, even if he may be a clone). “Why?”
“No, Emma,” Norman chides.
There’s a cold, calculative edge to him that she’s rarely seen directed towards her. It’s always been a part of him, this apathetic and scary Norman, but he’s always had some semblance of warmth in his eyes. Now, though, Emma’s unable to find anything but cool, chilling resolve.
“What you should be asking is... of whom?”
The wind picks up, sending the autumn leaves fluttering in a mass of scarlet and gold.
“Minerva,” Ray says flatly. “You’re a clone of William Minerva, or rather, James Ratri.”
Norman’s lips curl upwards. “You’ve always been quick, Ray.”
“I try.” The sarcasm in his voice would’ve made Emma laugh had it been any other moment.
“But,” Norman continues, and suddenly everything grows silent.
Emma watches, mesmerized, as one of the falling leaves freezes in mid-air, its vivid crimson shade bleeding out until all that is left is a monochromatic grey.
Time has frozen. The world has stopped moving. And though there seems to be nothing binding her down, Emma finds herself unable to move nor speak.
Norman gives them one last bright smile. Then, his features cool. “You’re not quick enough.”
“What have you done to us? What are you going to do?” Ray demands. Emma would’ve thought that it was a distraction tactic—Ray often does those sort of ploys—but the tremble in his voice belies his confusion. This is different from anything they’ve ever experienced.
For the first time, Norman gives them an answer.
“I’ve put you two to rest for a bit,” he says. “You see, they decided to enhance my abilities a little more while I was at the farm. I wasn’t very durable before, but with the new blood that runs through my veins, I’ve learned a surprisingly large new set of skills.”
“You’re a demon,” Emma whispers.
“Of a sort,” Norman agrees. “I am the perfect monstrosity, don’t you realize? I stand as the single largest threat to the Ratri family and the demons alike.”
Ray takes over, sensing Emma’s disconcerted thoughts. “What’s your goal? What do you want?”
“It’s simple.” He flexes his hand experimentally. “I will destroy all of those monsters until I’m the only monster left.”
“What are you planning? Why are you keeping us here, then?”
Norman’s tone saddens, but his expression remains placid. “You may not agree with my methods.”
“Norman—”
“Sometimes, you have to sacrifice things for the greater good.”
It’s a perversion of his advice from years ago. Emma remembers their late night chess games and can do nothing but stare as Norman backs away.
“I’ll be back soon,” Norman promises. “I’ll purge our world of any evil. Then, we can make this world a reality.”
He literally disappears right before her eyes, his figure dissolving away into nothingness. One tentative swipe at where he once stood reveals there’s nothing but thin air. Emma’s breath catches in her throat and abruptly, she stumbles and plops back onto the bench, feeling strangely weightless.
“Was he always like that, Ray?” she asks desperately, because it shakes her to her core that Emma can see traces of her childhood friend in the strange being (not a monster, she doesn’t think that she can ever view something with Norman’s face as a monster) standing among them moments ago.
Ray’s stare is piercing.
“I think,” he says slowly, after a few more seconds of contemplation. “Well, that was Norman, no doubt about it. But they’ve twisted him, Emma. There isn’t one person who doesn’t have an ugly side to them, but whatever the people at the farm did to him...changed him.”
“We have to get him back.”
“We have to get ourselves back first,” Ray corrects, clenching his fist. “This isn’t a place, and I doubt we’re here physically. We haven’t encountered every demon, so it isn’t possible to assume that they can have abilities that affect the mind. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Emma confirms. Something about Ray’s composure pulls her together and anchors her; she can think, now. “I kept thinking that some things were weird, but I didn’t think much about it.”
“We don’t know how much he’s affecting our minds right now, but it can’t be everything, or we wouldn’t be talking about this,” Ray reasons. “It’s more likely that he can just plant suggestions in our mind, or maybe push us in a certain direction.”
Emma scowls, kicking at the dirt. “But why did he put us here?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Ray tilts his head towards the sky again, squinting. “I told Gilda and Oliver that if anything happened to us within the next few days, she should be wary around Norman.”
“You suspected something would happen.”
“Norman’s been different,” Ray explains simply. “And I always take precautions. I didn’t expect for something like this to happen, though...”
Her eyes trail upwards. “So is this a dream, then?”
“I’m not sure. If so, then is there a way our minds can be linked? Assuming that you’re not a figment of my imagination, of course…”
“...I have an idea.”
He turns to face her, eyes probing but undoubtedly trusting. “How can I help?”
And it strikes Emma then that if Norman is her guard, her knight, her safety net...then Ray is her equal, her trusted confidant, her partner.
And as such, Emma doesn’t hesitate to reach over and pinch Ray’s cheek as hard as she can. The boy flinches and jumps back, nursing his cheek and demanding, “What are you doing, Emma?”
She beams, unperturbed by his animosity. “It hurts, right?”
“...it does. But that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Do you remember Minerva’s story about the butcher and the sheep?” Emma persists.
Ray pauses, undoubtedly recalling the tales they once loved (still love). Emma knows all of the stories by heart, and she has no doubt that Ray—the boy who had always spent his days seated under a tree with a book in hand—knows them better than her.
It’s one of the more eerie tales in Minerva’s book. A herd of sheep are led to believe that a mysterious shepherd is leading them to graze in a pasture, only to realize that the pasture is actually a slaughterhouse. They escape narrowly by feigning innocence and biding their time to find to exit.
The story may not have been referring to Norman specifically, but Emma’s sure that it must signify something about the demon world.
Ray must’ve come to the same conclusion that she did, for he gives her a curt nod before glancing up at the sky one last time. “Let’s explore,” he suggests, gesturing towards the direction she and Norman came from.
Emma nods, her resolve hardening. “Right.”
Though they’re both on their guard as they walk through the still bustling town, Emma can’t help but admire the color and detail of each shop. It looks similar to Goldy Pond, only it’s not a death trap.
“ Or is it?” she wonders briefly in her mind, but Emma really doesn’t want to believe that Norman would send them off to their deaths with a remorseless smile.
She’s scanning the town for abnormalities but can’t find anything, and it’s starting to make her panic. What is Norman going to do? If he wages war with the demons, how many of her family members will die? Though Ray had once been the one making calculative sacrifices for the greater good, Emma doesn’t doubt that Norman would sacrifice others for his goal.
Even if they get out, how can she stop him? Will he listen to her? She still doesn’t know everything Norman and his underlings are capable of, and Emma doesn’t want to fight him. But what other solution is there? Besides, is she even in the right to demand that they establish peace with the demons?
“Emma.”
“Yeah?”
Ray gives her his signature half-smile, half-smirk and chides, “Believe in yourself a little more, yeah? We’ve been in worse situations before. Just because this is new doesn’t mean we won’t figure things out. We’ll pull through.”
And it’s just so, so funny because once upon a time, Emma had been the one who could see through Ray and cheer him up.
“It’s like our roles are reversed,” she laughs, and though she doesn’t elaborate, Ray gets it.
“Well, someone has to say it,” he replies, scowling. He’s embarrassed. “And I’m just extrapolating from our patterns so far. We’ve always made it through impossible situations, and that streak is not going to stop here.”
His words hearten her, and Emma shares a grin with him.
I can do this. We can do this.
Think...think...what have I seen that can help?
“I saw skyscrapers,” she says. “In the distance, I mean, over in the other direction.”
“...what?” Ray deadpans. “This is a small town. Skyscrapers should only be in large cities.”
She blinks, but doesn’t doubt Ray’s words. “Huh, really?”
“So this world is limited to whatever Norman knows,” Ray mutters, adopting his usual thinking position. “Let’s head there, then.”
They quickly switch directions, and Emma leads the charge, skipping along the sidewalk with a levity she shouldn’t really possess considering the circumstances. Eventually, the smaller stores grow scarce and they begin passing by taller and bigger buildings. Selecting one of the skyscrapers, Emma skids to a stop once she reaches the entrance.
She can’t help but stop to stare at her reflection in the glass door.
The girl reflected in the glass looks small and dainty in her pretty white sundress. She doesn’t look like Emma, not really, because Emma may be petite but she is a warrior.
She is a survivor.
“We need to hurry, Emma,” Ray interrupts her thoughts, pulling the door by its shiny metal handle and hustling her inside. His urgency is like a cold shower: she shakes off her contemplation and focuses on the matter at hand.
Oliver. Gilda. Don. Violet. All of her family.
There are people out there possibly counting on them.
“This way,” Ray says, glancing at a sign. Emma has to increase the length of her strides to keep up with his rapid pace. “I don’t trust the elevators. Let’s use the stairs.”
She nods firmly. “Got it.”
They throw open the door to the staircase—supposedly, there are sixty flights of stairs, according to the sign next to it. Emma hopes that they won’t have to climb all of them, but nonetheless, she doesn’t hesitate to follow Ray up the stairs.
They trudge higher and higher with little more than slightly labored breathing. This is nothing compared to their trek to Goldy Pond, after all, and there aren’t any immediate dangers impeding them, either. Emma’s lost count of how many flights they’ve climbed when suddenly Ray slams into something invisible and nearly tumbles down the stairs.
“Ray!” she squeaks, grabbing him by the scruff at the nick of time and pulling him to his feet. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Ray grins victoriously, bearing his teeth. “We finally reached it. You noticed it too, didn’t you, Emma?”
She nods, approaching the empty space where Ray had fallen cautiously. She probes the invisible wall above her head experimentally. It feels solid, but that’s about it: she can’t see it nor feel its texture. “So this is the ceiling?”
Ray joins her, examining the invisible space warily. “I guess so. We’ll need a way to break it.”
“It probably depends on the material, but we’re probably not strong enough to break it,” Emma comments thoughtfully.
Ray hurries to the side door that leads to one of the skyscraper’s floors. She follows him, and they enter a room full of cubicles yet devoid of people. It feels empty and weird. “I doubt it’s metal, though. I was keeping inventory of everything about Norman’s place.”
“What about this?” she suggests, holding up a floor lamp that feels suspiciously light in her hands.
He takes it from her and tests its weight against the invisible ceiling experimentally. “Perfect. Step back.”
“Wait.” Emma strides to the window and tries to memorize the view of the mismatched city skyline. She stares at it for a long moment, then rejoins Ray at the stairs. Her gaze is steel. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Ray nods, then darts forward and throws all his weight into slamming the floor lamp into the invisible ceiling. She sees a crack of drywall, and suddenly the illusion of the skyscraper is fading away. Ray tries again, this time hammering at the fissure in the ceiling, and his blow rings true.
Reality shatters.
The bright and brilliant colors of Norman’s carefully crafted, fake world fade away. Emma inhales a breathful of dust and begins coughing, clutching her throat as they’re enveloped by a cloud of dust and pieces of drywall rain down upon them. Her hands grasp air, grabbing around confusedly until they finally catch on fabric and relief floods her chest.
She can't see anything, but when Ray tugs on her hand and pulls her forward, she follows without hesitation. They take several steps before Ray stops abruptly and she nearly runs him over.
Slowly, thankfully, the cloud of dust subsides and her sight, blurry as it is, returns.
She and Ray are dusted in white from head to toe, but they’re undoubtedly in the same outfits they had worn in the illusory world, confirming Emma’s suspicions. Their perception was fooled and their minds duped. Norman couldn’t create a world: he could only shape one.
Ray’s holding a metal pipe instead of a floor lamp, now. It’s one of many metal pipes packed in tidy bundles and stacked on the elevated platform she and Ray standing on. They’re in some sort of large warehouse, and breaking the ceiling was enough of a shock to break the illusion.
Emma’s registering all of this as she continues coughing, but as time slowly trickles by, her coughs subside.
Ray gives her an approving nod, squeezing her hand. “Ready to go?”
She grimaces, snatching a metal pipe from the bundle. It’s nothing like her bow and arrow, but it’s better than nothing at all. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The steps creak under their weight.
As they hurry down the stairs—were there really only that many in the illusion?—she can’t help but blurt out, “I really wanted that world to be true, you know.”
“I know.” Ray glances at her. “Me too. But the die has been cast, Emma, and we’ve got to work with what we have.”
“Yeah…”
He reads her easily. “...what?”
“...we’re going to have to confront Norman, Ray. This isn’t just some...some nameless demon. This is Norman.”
They reach the bottom of the stares and make a beeline for the doors. Ray pauses, presses his ear against the door, and hesitantly pries it open. Usually, they’d be more cautious about such matters, but they have no time to waste and Emma sorely doubts that an extra twenty minutes of reconnaissance will help.
Besides, if someone had been here, they would’ve already barged in once they figure out that we broke out, she reasons.
“I know it’s Norman,” Ray says, and he clenches his fist. “So that’s why we have to think even harder to outsmart him. That guy...from what he was saying, it doesn’t sound like he’s working with the Ratri family nor the demons.”
“What if we can’t stop him?”
He locks eyes with her.
“We will.”
She takes strength in his words.
“We will,” she repeats.