Page 39 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
“Dying is too easy for one like you.” Fabric rasped as he rolled up a sleeve. He stood over her, the stink and sweat of him a palpable miasma. Mercy turned away, more from revulsion than fear, and kept her eyes shut. Easier if you didn’t see the blows coming.
A pause. Someone spoke at a distance. Then, footsteps. He was walking away.
She cracked open the working eye.
The vanguard had left. He must have been called off by a signal she hadn’t seen. When the ringing in her ears died down, she could hear muttering outside the door. Ah, talking to someone. That explained it. A small, temporary reprieve. She blew out a sigh. Blood flecked her breath.
The room she’d been put in was damp and gray, with grimy walls and a muddy floor. Maybe there was stone or concrete underneath all that grime, underneath the caked layers of blood and viscera and human feces and who knew what else. It had long been buried, though.
No windows, because obviously. And it was underground. Like the reservoir. No, don’t think of the reservoir. Even so, from within this closed box of a place, she could hear the rainstorm gathering strength outside.
Mercy wasn’t expecting help. Hong Kong didn’t have a functioning police force in the Walled City, and had not for years. Ever since the war, Kowloon had belonged to Cobra Lily. Her affairs were her own. Besides, the police now wanted her for killing Kit Ling.
The only other person who believed Mercy, who could really help her, was hopefully long gone to safety. No one had mentioned Erika, which was promising, and she’d seen no sign of her old friend, or of Bao. Mercy prayed that meant both of them were well away, and safe.
For herself, Mercy couldn’t summon up any angst about her own fate. A big part of her was beginning to believe that she deserved everything that had happened in the past few days.
Not from killing Kit Ling, because she knew she was innocent of that.
The years with Cobra Lily were fine, too. Triads had a reputation, and many of the things they did constituted a break of law. But Kowloon had been abandoned by proper countries, left to rot while China and Britain uncomfortablydodged the responsibility for its poverty and spirit infestations, refusing to deal with any of it. The schools and protections and rules kept Kowloon running, and even the triad dues were not so different from taxes.
What had led her to this sense of resignation was the conviction that she had done wrong, in the past she could not recall. After many years of being a ghost talker, Mercy had learned to believe their complaints, and the ghost had been adamant: she had caused great pain, somehow, in her forgotten youth. Even if she no longer remembered it.
After all, wasn’t that what the waking visions and nightmares were about? Her own brain, trying to remind her of things her heart apparently wished to forget. Lying here, taking blows, she kept trying to pierce the veil around her mind. If she could recall what she’d done, maybe the spirit could be reasoned with.
A strange little idea popped into her head, giving her a moment’s pause.
Those waking visions. Had she ever tried to interact with them properly? She talked to them a bit, answered their cries, sure. But nothing in depth, as it were. Her go-to reaction had always been to shout at Sea Sister, or attempt to wake up.
Maybe it was time for a different tactic. Mercy closed her eyes, fighting off the pain and panic. Think, she told herself.
The forlorn figure, lonely and tormented on a surreal beach.
Sea Sister. SEA, SISTER!
Dead eyes, staring out from the face of a dead water fetcher.
Do you remember the island, Chen Mei Chi?
Kit Ling, smartly dressed and smiling coldly.
Are you sure, completely sure, we have not met before?
Red Bird’s nails, clacking and painted.
Do you still not recognize yourself?
A trickle of cold water ran across her cheek.
Mercy opened her eyes. Well, the one eye, anyway. The ceiling was dripping, the walls wet with moisture. The central drain was flooding, seawater welling up, the reek of brine overpowering the stench of blood and filth; a welcome change.
And Sea Sister was there. That monstrous, ocean-drenched young woman, wearing the same ragged clothes. As always.
“You,” Mercy rasped, through burst lips. “You are the key to all of this. Help me understand. Why is this happening to me, and why is it happeningnow?”
Sea Sister drifted over. With every step she drew closer, the level of water rose a little in the room until it was almost knee-deep. Mercy floated on her back, unable to move, neck twisted to keep the monster in her sights.
When she was standing with her knees against Mercy’s shoulders, Sea Sister stopped and peered down. Water dripped from the ends of her hair. Pearly eyes did not blink.
