“Well, why didn’t you say so from the get-go? I’ve been expecting you. This way.” The bug moves, two of his forelegs gesturing me inside.
I step in. The passenger car is resplendent, ceiling aglow with more firefly chandeliers, although these don’t roll. Crimson velvet hangings line the walls. Red and black tiles cover the floor. The front section has rows of empty white vinyl seats like those on a typical passenger train. The back is divided into private rooms, outer walls shiny black with red closed doors—three rooms on either side with a narrow center aisle separating them. I follow the conductor down the aisle.
“Morpheus said you’d be coming on behalf of a mortal guest,” explains the beetle.
My heartbeat skips, hopeful. “You mean Morpheus is here?”
“Was here,” my host responds. “This morning. Haven’t seen him since.”
My hope fades. “But he told you I’d be bringing a mortal? How could he have known?”
“Nay. I didn’t say that. He told me you’d be coming on behalf of one. Told me the lad’s name, so I could ready his memories for transfer.”
“Jebediah Holt, right?”
The beetle stops next to the first two rooms and turns to face me, scratching the carpet under his hat as if puzzled. “Never heard that name.”
“He’s the boy who came with me. The one the butterfly dropped off a few minutes ago. Where is he?”
“The boy who came in before you … ah, yes. He’s in this room here.”
The conductor points to the first door on my right. There are brass brackets on each door with removable nameplates. Jeb’s is marked Nameless. I reach for the knob, but it’s locked. I try to force the door open, leaning in with one winged shoulder.
“Now, we’ll have none of that.” The conductor grabs my wrist with his spiny leg, and I shudder from the cold, prickly sensation.
I pull away and frown. “I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s about to be.”
“Shouldn’t you at least put his name on the door?”
“His memories can find him on their own now that he’s here. They’ve been waiting for him, after all. But since you are to view memories that aren’t yours, we needed a name to coax them in.”
I look over my shoulder at Jeb’s door as we walk down the aisle. I don’t want anyone else’s memories; I don’t need to know any more secrets; I just want to make sure my boyfriend’s all right. My throat tightens as we come to the last room on the left. I force myself to look at the name in the bracket: Thomas Gardner.
Even though a part of me suspected as much, I gasp, holding my hand at my numb lips.
The conductor opens the door and leads me into a small, windowless room that smells like almonds. On one side, an ivory tapestry hangs above a cream-colored chaise lounge. An ornate brass floor lamp stands beside it, casting a soft glow. On the other side there’s a small stage complete with red velvet curtains that appear ready to part at any moment to show a silent movie on a silver screen.
“Have a seat, and the show will begin shortly,” the beetle instructs.
“Right. The show.” I settle into the chaise, arranging my wings on either side of me. There’s a small table to my left holding a plate piled with moonbeam cookies on a lace doily. My mouth waters as I grab a handful. I scarf down three before I realize the bug is staring at me with his compound eyes.
“Sorry,” I say between gulps. As I speak, silver beams radiate from my mouth, reflecting around the room. “I was hungry.”
“Yes, well, that’s what they’re there for. Just expected royalty to have a bit more couth is all.”
I cover my mouth to hide a hiccup. Light flashes from between my fingers.
The beetle clears his throat. “You get to choose which head to ride in.” He looks at his passenger manifest. “Would you prefer your mother or your father?”
“My mother? I thought this was my dad’s memory,” I ask, confused.
“It’s a memory they share. So there’s a residue of your mother’s insights imprinted on his. Whomever’s eyes you watch it through affects the perspective.”
I bite my lip. This is my chance. A unique opportunity to understand what took place all those years ago, why Mom made the choices she made. Everything will be the truth, because memories don’t lie.
“I want to see it through my mom’s point of view.” I croak the answer, not sure what’s about to happen or how it’s possible to step into another person’s past.
“Noted.” The conductor scribbles something in his journal, then punches a button on the wall with his spindly leg. The stage curtains open, revealing a movie screen. “Picture her face in your mind whilst staring at the empty screen and you will experience their past as if it were today.”