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Part 1-12: Persimmon
“This is highly irregular,” said Deluxe. She clasped her tablet to her chest.
“That girl, that girl is behind there,” said Fergus.
I kept the flashlight squared on the big five. Dack was ready with the crowbar, sporting it like a baseball bat.
“Then why doesn’t she come through?” Deluxe asked.
Fergus looked at me, pleading in his eyes. I could offer no condolences.
“Best I can figure,” said Deluxe, “is that I’ve slipped into a lucid dream state.”
“I’d like you to wake up now, please,” I said.
“I can usually force myself out. A moment?”
We waited. I actually held out some hope.
“No good,” she said. “It’s a powerful one. In any case, might as well see it through. Let’s see what madame ghoulie wants.”
Deluxe pushed open the door. It was a little less crazy to see the hallway, because that’s what was supposed to be there. But the girl was not a welcome sight, although she did nothing but lean against the wall.
The flashlight dimmed as Deluxe strode over and stuck out a free hand. “Welcome to my dream, little lady. Deluxe Prime is me, what do you call yourself?”
“Persimmon,” said Fergus’ voice.
He bit down on two fingertips, eyes locked on the girl.
“Where’s your voice? Do you always take without asking?” said Deluxe. She dropped her hand.
“It’s nice to try new things,” said the voice. It sounded like it came from a hidden speaker.
The girl leaned to peer around Deluxe. She looked at me and pointed as the flashlight shut off. “Who is that?”
“Can you stop it?” cried actual-Fergus.
Deluxe waved us in. Reluctant, I crept closer, holding the dead flashlight in front of me, hoping that Dack was close behind. The girl peered past me at Fergus. She touched her throat and closed her eyes.
She was a hair taller than my roommate, mid-twenties, and cute. Dark skin, bright now in the harsh glare of the fluorescents. A spattering of freckles across the top of her cheeks. Short chocolate brown hair with a mess of clips keeping one side styled and sort of spiky. Her dress sported a simple pattern of repeating V’s.
“Better?” came a girl’s voice. Her eyes fluttered open as she offered a small smile.
“Is it your own voice?” asked Deluxe.
“Yes.”
“Her lips don’t move,” I said, keeping my eyes on the girl. Persimmon, apparently.
“Projecting it,” said Deluxe. “Happens in dreams sometimes; you have the idea of speech without necessarily needing to process all aspects of it.”
“This doesn’t feel like a dream,” I said.
“Who is she?” said Persimmon, pointing at me again.
“Alena,” I said.
“We know you, I think.”
“We? Who knows me? Willy?”
At this, the girl’s smile broadened and she clapped her hands. There was no clapping sound. It was like she was on mute.
“Are you here to help, Alena?” said her voice.
“Help? Help what?”
She skipped away down the hall, back towards the corner where we had fled, and beckoned for us to follow.
“No way, José,” said Fergus.
“Have a better idea?” said Dack.
Deluxe strolled down the hall, unabashed, so I went. After a moment, the guys came too. Persimmon went to her door, and waited. It was like all the other doors we’d tried. But I knew this room wasn’t going to be empty.
“It will be easier inside,” said the voice.
She went in, and so did we.
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