The Pentrals (7 page)

“Okay, I think you’re good,” he says when he’s done.

“I think you’re good.” I instantly cover my face with my hands. Did I seriously just say that out loud?

He laughs. “Well, this has been an interesting day.” I feel hot, burning even, and know I’ve experienced a new feeling: embarrassment.

“Um, thanks for your help,” I say, wanting to crawl under the covers for good.

“Thanks for letting me help you.” I wonder if he is going to kiss me. Months ago, no Thomas-Violet scene would end without a kiss. He takes a step forward and I brace myself, sick with nerves at the idea of finally experiencing a kiss, at feeling true love.

But he doesn’t. He places his right hand on my face, and slowly runs his thumb across my cheek. Not what I expected but equally nice, a tender act of affection.

“Goodnight,” Thomas whispers.

“Goodnight.” I listen to him walk downstairs and out the front door, before I fall back into the cloud-like comforter. The fluffy fabric surrounds my body, and I roll around to make sure every inch is covered in comfort. Ahh, now
this
is nice. Even though I am within a gravity-restricted body, I feel like my Shadow self: light as air. But the feeling is more than a physical assessment of self; there is a stirring in my chest, particles racing to find a final destination.

What a precious gift—to be noticed. And not just noticed, but adored. It is something my Person has certainly taken for granted. I roll over to connect with Violet, to convey this very thought, when I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye.

A movement, perfectly synced to my own, shifts across the room. It cannot be Violet, as she is struggling to even keep up. It took me years of practice to follow her correctly; I’m sure shadowing is the least of her worries right now. No, there’s only one thing that could be echoing me with such precision: a Reflection.

It’s surprising, really, that it has taken me this long since our switch to catch a Reflection, considering Talline’s obsession with mirrors. I guess I’ve been too caught up in ogling sensitive soccer players and trying to stand upright to notice what I look like. But now that I am alone and have a better grasp on gravity, I can take the time to meet my other half, the other Pentral who spends her life staring at Violet.

I approach the mirrored wall on the other side of the room, anxious to see how this Reflection works. Although we perform similar roles, our worlds do not overlap. Just as I barely had time to look at anything other than Violet, I certainly never had time to mingle with mirrors. Still, I’ve always been curious.

Reflections portray the world as it is meant to be seen. There is no interpretation of size and shape as with Shadows; within the frame of their boxed-in view, Reflections must paint an accurate picture. Though limited in artistic license, I envy these Pentrals for their access to color. Everything Shadows do exists with the same dark palette, but Reflections have a rainbow of shades at their disposal. With so many textures and hues at their fingertips, Reflections get to put on a real show, one I’ve always been curious to witness.

But what I see in the glass is not what I expect. Rather than an exact inverse of my Person, the vision before me has taken additional liberties. Even in the dim light, I know there is something very wrong with what is displayed.

It is not Violet. It is a monster.

* * 10 * *

A
creature, cut from the same cloth as Violet, but with a bizarre configuration of features, stares back at me. At the hairline is a protruding lump, the size of a golf ball. I touch my hand to the spot, and watch in the mirror as I trace its outline. I have never seen this before on Violet’s face—did it happen when she fell? It does not hurt to touch it, though I am still new to the feeling of skin. I am not sure how it should feel. The skin under her right eye is inflamed, puffy like from a bee sting, transforming her face into an entirely different shape. It is asymmetrical—the left side seems taught compared to the swollen right. Violet’s delicate freckles, usually confined to her cheekbones and tip of her nose, have multiplied, and taken on a putrid green color. No, this is wrong. This face cannot be the result of a fall. I step back in shock.

The only way I realize the high-pitched scream comes from me is seeing the Reflection twist its mouth open wide. Before I know it, Mrs. Rayne is standing next to me.

“Violet! What’s wrong?” she asks me. I peel my eyes away from the horror before me and take a good long look at her mom. She is so absent from Violet’s life I almost forgot what she looks like. Her hair is red like Violet’s, only less vibrant, and though her eyes are currently tense with concern, they are usually dark and sunken against her sallow skin. If she smiled, it would pull her features into a less hopeless formation, but she rarely smiles anymore.

I am angry with Mrs. Rayne for her disappearing mom act, but she is my only viable witness to this scene. “There’s something wrong with my mirror. When I look at it, I don’t see myself.”

I want her to confirm whether or not what I see is really there, whether I have gone crazy. But when her eyes meet the glass, she does not look at my Reflection at all. Instead, she is transfixed by her own Reflection. I watch Mrs. Rayne examine herself in the mirror, with the same mix of confusion and sadness on her face I witnessed Violet express in the past. Yet when I look at Mrs. Rayne’s Reflection, it appears normal, a true telling of her features. Suddenly I am even more frustrated with her. What does she have to be upset about? I am the one with a monster staring back at me!

“Mom!” I shout, breaking her from her spell. She turns to me, surprised. “Mom, do I look okay to you?”

“Yes, of course dear,” she replies automatically, without even giving me a once over. “Why don’t you get some rest, it’s late.” And with that she retreats back to her cave of a room. I don’t know which is more upsetting—her apathy or my Reflection.

I stomp around the room looking for Violet, who has stayed close these last few hours but not as close as she should. The monster stomps along with me in the mirror, though I try to avoid its terrible appearance. “Violet?” I finally find her under the bed. I try to reach her, but she is behind a pile of old art supplies.

“Violet, I need to talk to you.” I see no point in whispering; Violet’s mom is clearly not paying attention. Shadow Violet doesn’t budge. “Violet, please. I know you’re scared right now, but… I am too.” It’s true. The carefree serenity found on the cliff now feels lifetimes away after one quick look in the mirror.

Slowly she slinks out, like a small frightened animal, and I lay my hand down to connect to her consciousness. At first she is silent, then suddenly explodes into a tirade of thoughts. “What is happening—please—I don’t understand how can I not be in my body—who are you—make it stop—.“

“Okay, try to slow down,” I say gently. I wonder if she has become aware of the tether between us. I try to relax my body as much as possible in hope that some calm will transfer to her. I watch as her form changes from a tortured, writhing configuration to a steadily swaying splotch.

She tries again. “What is happening?”

“I’m not sure exactly. We were in the art room, and I got angry at you for lifting and yelling at Thomas, and then you fell on top of me—“

“It felt like something tripped me,” Violet interrupts.

“Really?” I remember moving at odds with her as a small act of defiance, but could that have affected her motions? As a rule, Shadows aren’t able to interact with the physical world. Of course, I’ve always been so busy with my duties I never even thought to try. Still, I have passed over millions of objects while trailing Violet, and never once has my presence caused anything to shift. Then again, I’ve never had a furnace of emotion propel an independent action until a few hours ago.

“Somehow, we have switched places,” I continue. “Now you, Violet, are a Shadow. I am in your body.”

She is quiet, letting the information settle. “Do you have a name?” she asks in a voice so timid, I hardly recognize it.

“Antares.” I stop. I have never spoken my own name.

Again, silence. “That’s pretty. I… didn’t know Shadows had names,” Violet admits.

I shrug. “How could you? It’s not like I’ve ever reached out before.”

“And you, have you always been my Shadow?”

“Yes, since the day you were born.” I think back to a tiny redheaded infant and me, scrambling to understand how to mimic her movements. “Shadows generally stick with the same Person for her whole life, so that we can learn all her mannerisms and project them properly.”

“Generally? Like, Shadows can get reassigned?” I hear a twinge of fear in her thought.

I pause. “It does happen. Which is why… I need to tell you everything I know about Shadows. I need you to stay with me at all times,” I say, trying to sound authoritative, even though I’ve never had control over anything.

“Well, where else would I go?” she asks. Anywhere, I suppose. It’s not like Class Twos are actually attached to their Persons. We have the ability to wander. It’s our duty that keeps us close. Still, Violet is not used to living by the choices of others. She’s a creature of free will, able to do as she pleases. Making this switch, going from commander to follower, will not be easy.

“Just, don’t. And we’ll need to practice, get your shadowing skills up to speed.”

“I will. I suppose. I mean, how long do you think we’ll stay like this? Can’t I just stay hidden or something? What’s the worst that could happen?” Violet asks.

There’s no way to tell her, no words to make it clear. The only way to make her understand the urgency of our situation is to show her. To give her a sense of what happens to Shadows who disobey.

“Follow me,” I say.

We don’t have to go far, there are prisoners everywhere. Every inanimate object has its own Class One Shadow. Over the years I’ve learned how to avoid them, block out their hollow innards of consciousness, but tonight I have to submit.

Making our way downstairs is quite a scene. Violet and I, both inexperienced in our new forms, don’t exactly move gracefully. She slides down the steps way too fast, a rushing black blur like water down a hillside. I’m still trying to get a hang of gravity, so I hold on to the banister, taking careful, calculated steps, as if the ground might explode under my feet. It’s a good thing Mrs. Rayne is not around to see this; she’d think her daughter was high.

The kitchen is dark except for the glow of the holopane, suggesting healthy dinnertime menus in a soft blue light. A recipe for broccoli risotto ticks by, complete with step by step cooking illustrations. I flick on the overhead bulb, and all the room’s surfaces begin to glow, calling all the Class Ones to attention. I settle on the dining room table, easily the most neglected piece of furniture in the house. I cannot even remember the last time Violet and her mom shared a meal here. No family dinners, no assembling of place settings, no scooting of chairs. Nothing even remotely significant has happened here in recent memory. The Shadow waiting below this table has had no interaction of any sort in a very long time. I look as it replicates the rigid rectangular shape perfectly on the floor. This will be difficult, but unfortunately, this forgotten Class One will be a perfect example.

“Violet, I want you to touch this Shadow,” I say. She hesitates, probably unsure of such a strange request, but eventually floats over and merges with the black outline. I kneel down and place my hand on the crisp shape in solidarity.

At first, there is nothing. No burst of thoughts exchanged, just an empty vessel. Violet starts to shift of boredom, but I stay firm. Slowly the Class One’s mind stirs, groaning deeply, trying to grasp at this random moment of connection. Like the walking dead aching to find words, but none come. It’s been too long. Too much time has passed, leaving this mind to rot, its ability to communicate spoiled. Like an echo reverberating down an abandoned well, the moans call over and over, hopelessly searching for something they cannot find. It is the most wretched, heartbreaking sound I have ever heard.

Violet pulls away and cowers in an empty corner. I crawl over, the moaning still ringing in my ears. It’s been a long time since I deliberately connected with a Class One, its struggle to find life leaves me feeling drained.

“What… what was that?” Violet whimpers.

“The punishment for not living up to the Pentrals’ expectations.”

“A what? A Pentral? What’s that?”

“Pentrals are Shadows like me, and Reflections too. The faces in the mirror, the outlines on the streets: they are not yours. They are all Pentrals. We have different classes, One through Four, and what you just heard,” I pause. “What you just heard was a Class One.”

“But Antares, I just don’t understand.” Her voice is high pitched, like when she cries. I cannot see her face, but I know she is unsettled. “Why? Why would you do this?”

“Do what?” She is upset, so at least I know my lesson landed successfully. Still, that’s no reason to get angry with me.

“Shadow! Follow the commands of some all-seeing beings? Why? Why do you shadow?” she shrieks.

I lean back on the lacquered kitchen cabinets, my head suddenly feeling heavy. I have never been asked anything about myself. I rarely allow time for personal reflection. It’s easier to keep it all buried deep, forever locked away, because I know opening that box will only lead to pointless frustration. But here, after listening to that Class One, completely unable to express itself, I feel compelled to seize the moment while I can.

“Because,” I begin, “I used to be a Person, just like you.”

* * 11 * *

T
he words are true, but having them out there, floating in the open, shocks me. I’ve never admitted them, barely even thought them, and my heart aches hearing the painful truth.

“You… were a Person?”

“A long time ago. I lived a human life. I don’t remember any of it, the Class Fours made sure to wipe all that away. But something I did back then led to my becoming a Pentral.” I run my fingers over my calf, the raw skin rubbing against the bandage. A mistake, a clumsy accident, caused my flesh to rip apart, but something deeper, more painful, ripped my life away. “Being a Shadow, devoting my life to another, is supposed to prove my worth. A sense of selflessness. It’s a chance at redemption.”