SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

26

Soft pink light filtered through the lace curtains of the vardo window. Krys blinked... Vardo? How did she get in a vardo? When did she arrive at the Romani camp? Why was she in the Romani camp? This didn't seem right. Wasn't she being held prisoner? That was the current state of things, right? She sat up. The cylindrical ceiling of the vardo stood about six inches above her. She suddenly felt cramped. There wasn't enough room in here.

Kicking off the blankets, Krys wriggled toward the ladder and attempted to get down. She found that her hands had a hard time gripping the ladder. Pins and needles danced up her legs as she tried to climb down.

"Easy. Easy."

Was that Celeste's voice? What was Celeste doing here? Celeste was a tiny pink hologram in a glass cylinder. Was she having another fever dream?

Strong hands grabbed her at the waist, helping her steady herself as she found her footing.

"Gah! What the--? How the--?" She turned only to find herself looking at the life-sized face of Celeste's tiny pink hologram. "This just isn't right."

"Try waking up like this with Graham's memories in your head."

Krys cocked her head sideways, her eyes going wide. Her right eye twitched slightly. "Heh, yeah. I can only imag-- hah!" She pointed frantically behind the life-sized Celeste. Her chin pulling back in suspicion. "Graham?" Her first instinct was to run to him, throw her arms around his neck, smother him with affection and tell him how much she missed him. Something niggled at the back of her mind, holding her back. "What are you doing here?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. "And I thought I had memory problems."

Pieces of the night before came back to her upon hearing his voice. The state of things had changed drastically in a turn of twelve hours. Wavering, Krys pushed past Celeste, moved toward Graham, all the while she remained clear and focused on his face. He didn't look right in the warm sunlight: too cheery. He sat on the one bench, upright and with a slight hunch. He wore a lightly colored shirt, dark olive trousers and suspenders. His hair, had been pulled back, loosely plated and out of his face. His beard had been trimmed. He'd bothered looking good. Krys couldn't help but wonder if it was all just a show, and if so, who was the show for?

He watched her approach with mild curiosity. A touch of concern kissed the corners of his eyes, and he pursed his lips as though holding back something he wanted to ask. As much as he denied it, or claimed it was mostly for her benefit, Graham had always worn his emotions on his face. He expressed so much with so little, a twitch in the corner of his mouth, the way he studied her, everything told her that he was restraining himself while also eagerly seeking answers from her appearance alone.

Krys hugged her arms tightly over her chest and sat on the bench beside him, tucking her right leg under her so that she could comfortably face him. She needed to see his face. Sometimes it was the only way she could really know what was going on in his head. He didn't move as she sat, didn't edge away from her. He did apologize when her knee accidentally brushed his thigh, even though it wasn't his fault. The word "sorry" simply slipped from him unchecked as she withdrew.

"No. It's fine, you're fine," Krys reassured to no avail. He withdrew in turn. She didn't blame him.

Krys began shaking, at first not realizing why. She was cold. All she had to keep her warm was the thin shift she had fallen asleep in and it was hardly enough. A thick gray blanket wrapped itself around her shoulders. Krys looked up to see that Celeste had placed it there. The two women exchanged a look, though in unnerved Krys to see Graham's expression on Celeste's face. This wasn't right. Nothing about this was right.