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One of the things Barbara missed the most in the Dark Place was the moon. She used to love to stare at the moon on clear nights. When her life, her old life, seemed at its most hectic, when she faced uncertainty or change, the moon was always there waiting for her. Her shining constant.
From her place laid out on the motel couch, she couldn’t see any moon in the sky through the window. No stars either. No light, as if this reality’s inhabitants might get a little too hopeful from a glimpse of moonlight. All she saw were the occasional flickers of streetlights or shadows cast by the headlights of abandoned cars. Artificial light. Fake.
She shifted her view away from the window. Too depressing. The less she thought about it, the better. Instead, her gaze moved onto the figure sharing the couch with her. Laying limp on top of Barbara, fast asleep, was Alice Wake. She had one arm tucked under her head while the other hung off the side of the couch.
The visit had started very usual for the two women. Alice took photos, Barbara modeled. Later on, Barbara had offered the blonde a drink during their break. A combination of the alcohol and exhaustion had Alice practically falling asleep standing up. It was entirely possible, Barbara considered, that Alice hadn’t even noticed her on the couch as she crawled up and fell asleep. Not that Barbara minded of course. A bit of physical contact was always welcome in Room 665. Very welcome in fact.
Barbara moved her arm gently to place her hand on Alice’s back, gently stroking her. This action prompted no reply from the sleeping woman. Barbara smiled.
She must have really been exhausted, Barbara thought.
Barbara herself rarely slept anymore. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d taken a nap. She could always pretend while Alice was out like this, but something here just eliminated the need for it. Or maybe the lack of light ruined her Circadian Rhythm irrevocably. Another thing taken from her by decades in the Dark Place, another stake of her humanity gone. She gritted her teeth for a moment before slowly relaxing again. She had to remind herself that none of that mattered now. Not with Alice here.
Alice. Dear, sweet Alice. She was just what Barbara had spent lonely decades praying for. It wasn’t just about not being alone anymore, although that was a nice change. It was about that other someone being Alice. The tenacious little photographer on a journey to escape the Dark Place. Alice the hero. Alice the champion. Alice, who wrestled with self-doubt almost as much as she wrestled with the shadows outside. It was scenic, almost too perfect for Barbara.
Alice needed a friendly face. Someone in her corner to turn to when times were darkest. Someone to tell her how good she was doing. That wasn’t hard. It helped that Alice was good at what she did, but Barbara had always had a penchant for flattery. Everyone liked to feel good about themselves and she was happy to oblige. And what Alice offered in return was invaluable. The chance for Barbara’s art to be expressed once more, to be directed and captured. To act as a muse. She had missed it, the devotion that came inherent with the act. When Alice adored Barbara, it felt like the sun was shining on her for the first time after a dreary winter.
But that’s what makes this so dangerous, right? Barbara found herself thinking, Because she doesn’t want to stay here.
Barbara wrinkled her nose in a frown. It was true. Even in their longest stints together, the plan of escape was always at the forefront of Alice’s mind. What was worse was how often she talked about bringing Barbara with her.
She still has a life out there to go back to. Not like you.
True again. In fact, Barbara thought if she had to hear another word about Alice's wonderful writer husband, she might just throw something out of her motel room window. She began to drum her fingers on the other woman's back, thoughtfully. It was a tricky situation. Alice actually seemed to miss her old life taking photos for her husband. To Barbara, the idea of Alice’s abilities being used to prop up someone else with no investment in her true artistic spirit and development seemed incredibly sad.
What a waste!
That life out there was really all Alice wanted. Meanwhile, with Barbara in room 665, she seemed much more creatively motivated. More open to experimentation, new ideas and techniques. The benefits of having a muse open to the same. Perhaps, if Alice could be swayed to Barbara’s style of creation, she could be swayed to other things as well.
It wouldn’t be easy to convince someone to abandon their old life, especially for something so different. She learned this while running the commune with Tom. Some people were unable to cope with even the idea of too great of a change. There was nothing she could do about that.
But things were different in the Dark Place. There weren’t so many rules constricting what Barbara could do. It encouraged her to get a little more…creative. There were many different ways of convincing people aside from flattery after all. Of course, she didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Alice, but Barbara worried there wouldn’t be a way around that. She’d try to avoid it, or at the very least make it quick. Alice would understand eventually if it came to that. The benefits outweighed the loss. This was too important to play it safe. A woman’s very salvation from a life of unfulfilling monotony was at stake.
Barbara’s stomach turned at the idea of Alice somehow waltzing her way out of here, back to the real world, back to him. Endless days of photographing him for his next award, next article, next author’s bio. Her talent trapped in the shadow of her husband’s spotlight. Her-
Barbara froze. Alice had suddenly shifted on top of her with a quiet groan. It was then that Barbara realized that without paying attention, her hand had moved to grab onto Alice, tightly. She held the fabric of Alice’s jacket and shirt in a white-knuckled grip. She released the clothing quickly. Alice, upon getting comfortable again, sighed and fell back asleep. Barbara sighed too, relieved.
Barbara studied Alice’s sleeping face as a smile crept across her own. She moved her hand up to Alice’s head. First, she took a moment to tuck a few loose strands from Alice’s face behind her ear. Then, she combed her fingers through the photographer's blonde hair in a slow pattern. Even from her deep sleep, a soothed smile began to appear on Alice’s face. Barbara felt her face heat in return. Alice was lovely. Not just a pretty face, but a creative force. A shining light in an endless sea of darkness.
Barbara was Alice’s muse. And in turn, Alice was Barbara’s. Barbara would ensure that the two stayed together in the Dark, no matter the cost. She had all the time in the world to make sure of it.
In the meantime, Barbara laid her head back on the couch, hand still tangled in Alice’s hair, and closed her eyes. She didn’t feel like sleeping. But Barbara Jagger was nothing if not an actress. She could always pretend.