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croikWhoaaaaaa sorry for the wait! I almost got eaten alive by my Reverse Bang (I've barely read any of them, too! I'm sorry! I'm going to finish Helix this weekend and get on that, I swear!). Thanks for being patient with me <3
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 18 (7,900 words) (For other parts, art and graphics, please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my betas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chypie and tanithkitty for their input!
After working so closely with a soundtrack for my i_rb I've taken an interest in putting together a fanmix for this fic! I have a few things picked out (Stone Sour, Emily Browning, a few instrumentals by Otani Kow) but I need some more, so if you have any music recs please please send them along! :D
The carnival was only hours away from closing. As a blazing summer sun bled pink and orange across the asphalt lot, the lights began to flicker on, up the iron beams and down the striped awnings. They gleamed and twirled, their rainbow afterimages streaking across the waning day. Beneath them, men, women, children, and teenagers continued to thrive. The shrieks of laughter and delight were unceasing, almost cacophonous in the stifling humidity, tinged with the over-exuberance that came with the knowledge that all tickets had to be used up too soon. All the hot dogs had to be eaten, all the balloons had to be popped, all the prizes won, because come morning there would be nothing left except for a few stains on the pavement and the lingering aroma of burnt popcorn.
Ariadne breathed it in. The air always had a different taste to it on the last night. She smiled but couldn't help feeling a childish sensation of regret, knowing that soon even the lights would be extinguished for another year. Her beloved Tilt-O-Whirl would in a few days' time be delighting children in another town far away. There was something beautiful and sad about the transience of such simple, childish pleasure.
"I think the Japanese have a word for it," she said aloud. "When something is at its most beautiful, just before it goes away?"
"Mono no aware," Arthur replied.
"Yeah, I think that's it." Ariadne smiled down at him, but her expression soon hardened to a wince. "I guess you're not thinking it's all that beautiful at the moment though, huh?"
His lip twitched. "Not really, no."
Ariadne was sitting on a bench near the park's edge, and stretched along it lay Arthur, his head pillowed against her thigh. His hands were folded neatly over his stomach but he couldn't hide the strain pinching his brow. She remembered him complaining of a headache, but she couldn't remember why they hadn't simply decided to leave. Until the Aspirin kicked in all she could think to do was sneak an ice cube out of her soda cup and run it slowly over Arthur's hairline.
He smiled as cool moisture seeped into his hair and down his temples. "That feels good."
Ariadne teased his cheeks and chin, and when there was only a little left, his mouth. His lips parted, and moved gently against her fingertips as she slipped the ice onto his tongue.
"You know," she said, "the last time I was at a carnival, your subconscious hit on me."
Arthur snorted, and his already flushed cheeks turned a little redder. "I'm not responsible for my projections."
Ariadne grinned. "I like them that way."
Arthur squirmed on the bench. "Is there any more ice?" he asked.
Still grinning, she reached into her cup. When a group of young teenagers walked past them carrying paper pinwheels, it didn't occur to her to think it strange.
***
Cobb squeezed his eyes shut. "They're not my children," he told himself with a ferocity that broke his heart. "Philipa and James are with Marie. They're not here--this isn't real."
The tiny hand released his pant leg. For nearly a full minute later he could still feel the crease in the fabric, until another group of carnival-goers shoved past him. Only then did he feel safe enough to open his eyes again, and with a sigh noted that the two phantoms had disappeared.
"Damn it, Eames," he muttered, rubbing his beard. "That was a stupid idea." Even after having stood up to Charla's incessant whipping, Robert's repression breaking free had swept him up with a force he rarely experienced in someone else's subconscious; he had no idea how long it would have taken him to remember where he was if not for the glimpse of twirling pinwheels in Philipa's hair. He shook himself and glanced around to get his bearings.
It's a carnival? He turned in place, and when the colored lights blurred against his weary eyes he was struck by inspiration. This is the memory Banks showed me.
Cobb weaved through the packed crowds, looking right and left in hopes of seeing a familiar face of any kind. "Eames!" he shouted, but he remembered a moment later that it was probably useless to call for him. "Arthur! Ariadne!"
He rounded the carousel, and was momentarily caught off guard by the grotesque figures that had replaced the horses: beasts and snakes and insects, all snarling and ominous. As he hurried on he caught a familiar voice rising over the dim.
"Mal, come back!"
Cobb whipped around and glimpsed brown hair bobbing through the crowd. With so many people it was difficult to make anything out, so he grabbed for the fence surrounding the carousel and pulled himself up, over the sea of people.
"Mal, stop!" Yards away, Arthur latched onto a woman and spun her about. She fought against him, her hair flying and obscuring her face, but Cobb recognized her immediately.
"No!" Mal shouted. "No, where's Robert?"
They continued to speak, but Cobb couldn't make them out, and then abruptly Mal shoved Arthur back. He was quickly swallowed up by the throng and lost sight of her, but Cobb was still in position, and saw her dart away, toward the west end of the lot.
Cobb hopped down and started to give chase, but then he paused when he recalled the story he had gotten out of Arthur earlier. He said that after he lost Mal, he tripped the projections and they woke him up, he thought, changing course. We can't afford to let anything like that happen here.
He grabbed Arthur's arm and immediately began to steer him the direction Mal had gone--there was an area of open grass bordering the lot and he had a feeling that was where she was headed. "Don't ask questions, just come with me," he said.
Arthur gaped at him as he allowed himself to be dragged. "What are you doing here?"
"I said don't ask questions--we have to catch up to her!"
They hurried together past the rides and venders, and once they had circled around the Ferris Wheel Cobb spotted a tree rising over the fence surrounding the lot. He was about to speed up when Arthur tugged on his arm. "Cobb."
He motioned to one of the booths next to them. It had once been a concession stand of some sort, but slouched behind the counter was a masked creature wrapped in black robes. Whenever a child passed by it crooked its knobby finger, and offered up a crudely folded paper pinwheel.
Cobb frowned, and watched one of the young boys closely as he left with his souvenir. When the boy rejoined his parents his hair darkened from blond to black, and his face grew pale.
"That's just creepy," said Arthur.
Cobb started off again. "The inception is still spreading--we don't have much time."
They reached the edge of the lot, where a stretch of dry grass separated the dusty asphalt from an old, chain-linked fence. Nestled up against the rusting metal was a broad and twisted oak tree; it had grown into and around the fence as if doing its best to creep into the evening festivities. Though its branches sported only enough leaves for the barest amount of shade, two figures had chosen its intruding roots as their haven.
As Cobb drew closer a lump threatened to form in his throat, but he swallowed it back. "Mal."
Mal lifted her head, and her distorted face was almost a comfort to him. Her eyes were as wide and bright as he remembered, but her cheeks sloped in softer angles, and her hair was much longer than he had ever seen it on her. When she smiled there was no recognition in her face. She pressed a finger to her red lips and nodded to her young companion: a sleeping boy, curled up against her lap.
Cobb knelt down in front of her, and after some hesitation, Arthur joined him. "Is that Robert?" he asked quietly.
Mal smoothed her fingertips through Robert's hair. "He's had such a difficult time," she said, her voice rough with sympathy. "And there's still more to come. There's only so much I can do for him."
Cobb leaned closer. "Can you tell us what happened here? When you and Arthur came into Robert's mind?"
Mal's brow knit, and her eyes darted back and forth. She took in a slow breath. "I came looking for the secrets," she said. "Me, and..." Her gaze flickered to Arthur. "My shadow. And Robert ran, like he always does. But I followed him, all the way down here. I had something important to tell him."
"What?"
She continued to lightly stroke the boy's hair. "That he is clever," she said quietly. "And handsome, and generous. And whatever his father may say or think, his mother always loved him. As long as he remembers that, he'll be fine."
Arthur slowly straightened. "Were you trying to incept him?" he asked.
"I just wanted to help him," Mal said. "I told him that, many times. And he took me." She pressed her hand over her heart. "He let me stay with him, so that I could tell secrets instead of keep them. I've been waiting for this."
Arthur swallowed and leaned back. "He assimilated Mal," he murmured. "Like Eames, and...you. Mr. Charles."
Cobb edged closer, still feeling somewhat hypnotized by her almost-familiar appearance. What were you thinking, Mal? he wanted to ask, even knowing it was pointless. I should have been here with you. If only I hadn't been so...
He frowned, and reached up to gently nudge her hair off her bare shoulder. A trickle of blood was making its way down the side of her neck. "What happened here?"
Mal blinked back at him. "What?"
Arthur abruptly stiffened. "Shit--it's Eames," he said urgently. When Cobb pushed her hair back further he revealed the jagged and scabbing edge of her right ear. "Eames!"
He reached forward to shake Mal's shoulder, but she quickly and gently urged him back. "Shh. You'll wake him."
Cobb watched Mal settle back against the trunk, but no matter how hard he looked, he could make out none of the familiar ticks he had learned to pick out of Eames's forgeries. "Are you sure it's him?"
"Yeah, I...." Arthur rubbed his own ear self-consciously. "I shot him, earlier." When Cobb gave him a look he added, "He was trying to shoot me, too."
Cobb frowned, and gave Mal's shoulder a squeeze. "Eames? Are you really in there?"
Mal sighed and shook her head. "Oh, that Eames. He really should have come to dinner." She smiled shyly. "I was going to take him home with me."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
Cobb leaned back and coughed into his hand. "Just a second." He reached into his pocket and concentrated; it took more effort than he had expected, but by the time he pulled his hand out, he was holding a small compact. He opened it and offered it to Mal. "Mal, can you take a look at this, please?"
Mal accepted, and tilted the mirror so that she could see herself in it. At first she smiled and combed at her hair, but then a look of confusion overtook her features. She twitched, and squeezed her eyes shut, and leaned over her knees. When she dropped the compact Cobb slipped it back into his pocket for safekeeping and put his hand again on Mal's shoulder. "Eames, it's Cobb," he said firmly. "Come on back."
Mal coughed, her body spasming, and then suddenly it was Eames with his arm around his chest and his ear bleeding. He groaned and rubbed his eyes as his features came into full shape. Cobb shifted, trying to be patient, but it seemed to take a long time for Eames to compose himself. "Are you all right?" he asked as he urged Eames to lean back against the tree. "He really got you, didn't he?"
Eames let out a long breath. "Yeah." He blinked at the surrounding park as if seeing it for the first time, and finally his gaze landed on Cobb and Arthur. "Thank you, Cobb."
"Can you tell us what the hell is going on?" asked Arthur. "And maybe make more sense than she did?"
"I don't know any more than Robert did," Eames said. He looked to the boy that still rested against his lap, completely undisturbed by the goings-on. "But I think you were right, Arthur. Mal may have been trying to incept him."
Cobb shifted anxiously. "But why? With what?"
Arthur started to answer, but then stopped himself. When Cobb saw, his temper frayed a bit further. "Just say it," he said.
"Fischer was a mess," Arthur blurted out. Guilt flashed across his face and he rubbed his mouth as if trying to suppress it. "Self-loathing, miserable. Maybe Mal was trying to give him something positive down here, I don't know. It was all we could do for him..."
Cobb shook his head, dissatisfied, but he knew there was no better answer to receive. He looked to the sleeping boy. "Is that the real Robert?"
Eames looked as well, his brow tight, and after a moment the child disappeared. "No," he said. "He was Mal's projection."
"A projection's projection?" Arthur said doubtfully.
"Yes--well, more like my projection, I suppose. He was part of the...the skin put on me." Eames's eyes lost their focus as he pressed his hand over his chest, the way he had done as Mal earlier. "Robert's mind wanted me to feel this."
A groan of metal in the distance drew their attention. As the sun continued to dip toward the horizon more and more lights flickered on all across the park, highlighting the taller rides as they began to twist and reshape. The Ferris Wheel slowed in its rotation as the rods and joints stretched, remaking its cheerful ring into triangles and angles. It resumed its slow spin as a brightly lit pinwheel.
"I guess that's a hint that we should be moving faster," said Cobb drearily.
Eames pushed against the tree behind him, and when he seemed to have some trouble getting his feet beneath him Cobb helped him to stand. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Eames's grin was almost a sneer. "No. So let's hurry."
***
Robert was spinning. With his eyes closed the sensation was dizzying and nauseating, but opening them meant an onslaught of light and color he wasn't yet prepared for. Already his ears were ringing with too-cheerful music, and whirling machinery, and children's voices shrill enough to be screams. He hated it. He wanted to rip apart the world he had created, down to every scrap of iron and concrete, until it was still and quiet and tolerable again.
The spinning stopped, and Robert jolted in his seat, his fingers white around the brass pole in front of him. With a deep breath he at last opened his eyes and climbed down onto unmoving earth. He had grown so accustomed to the spin that the stability felt foreign to him, and he stumbled, back into the side of a wooden tiger.
Children clamored off the ride, and more took their place, squealing and laughing. Robert watched them, unable to understand how anything so young and bright had come from his aching mind. He hated them, too. When the carousel began to turn he pushed away from it and wandered into the crowd.
Why am I here? Robert flowed with the happy families up and down the crowded paths. Everything was familiar and alien, and frail beneath his hands, as if ready to burst its seams at any moment. I can make anything, he thought. Why would I make this? I hate it here.
He followed the men and women, weary and disoriented, until he realized that he had come to another ride. Feeling he had nothing better to do, he sat down in a green seat and strapped himself in. All around him children were swaying in theirs, their toes just barely touching the ground, and though he was twice the size of the largest of them he could only just reach, too. It was familiar, and he kicked his feet, rocking back and forth.
The ride groaned into motion. The spinning threatened at first to pull Robert back into nausea, but then the momentum lifted him off the ground. I remember this. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back, feeling the centrifugal tug as he whirled faster and higher. The park smeared into horizontal lights. Robert closed his eyes again and tried to enjoy the cooling wind, but the roar of the crowd beneath him was too chaotic for him to find any peace.
A woman's voice rose above the din in silvery laughter. It made Robert's heart pound and he twisted in his chair, trying to see the crowd far below. From so far away everyone looked small and plastic, like dolls, their eyes vacant. But then he heard the laughter again, and he caught a glance of long brown hair among the parents lining the ride fence.
Mother. Robert's breath caught in his throat and he pulled at the chair holding him. "Stop," he said urgently, struggling with his seatbelt as if he weren't spinning twenty feet off the ground. "Stop--let me down!"
Lights flickered above him, and with squeals of protest the ride slowed and lowered its riders to the ground once more. The kids groaned in disappointment but as soon as his feet touched earth Robert clawed out of his chair and ran to the exit. I remember this, he thought again as he rounded the gate. I got off the ride, and Mother was there, waiting for me. He wanted nothing more than to see her, to have her hold him like she had when she was still the center of his world.
He saw her hair through the crowd. She was standing at the cheap metal fence, dressed in the bright blue sundress he remembered so well, watching the swings that had already resumed their spin as if he might still be on them. He could only see the tips of her profile but even that much pushed his heart into his throat. Before he could call out to her she leaned forward against the rail, making visible the figure of Peter Browning next to her.
They were standing close together in the shadow of the swings, unspeaking, their gazes upward. Browning shifted his weight and slipped his hand away from his side. He touched her shoulder, then let his knuckles trail down her spine to the small of her back. She tensed and Robert's heart stopped.
***
It was Arthur that spotted a grown man on the swings. As the three of them headed toward it Eames fought to remain clear, but the pressure surrounding him was only becoming more intense. He felt as if he were on the bottom of the ocean floor, carrying miles of dark water. More than once he was tempted to ask for Cobb's mirror back. I know, I know, he wanted to tell Robert's crushing subconscious. I asked for this. But you have to at least let me breathe.
They rounded a ticket booth and Arthur stopped, tugging them both to a halt. "There he is."
Eames looked, but when he followed Arthur's pointing he realized it was Ariadne and his double that he was indicating; they were seated together on a colorful bench, seemingly oblivious to their situation. "Go on," Eames said. "Make sure they know they're dreaming and meet us at the swings."
"I'll be quick," Arthur said, and then he jogged away.
Eames could feel Cobb start to ask if he was all right, but by then he was already moving. He picked up his pace, shoving Robert's projections out of the way when they became too dense. Everything was crowding in on him, trying to change him, nothing more so than the spreading children with their cloaks and their pinwheels. Tiny hands pulled at his pant legs as he passed, and he was on the verge of flinging them off when he finally spotted Robert ahead of him.
Thank God. Eames sighed in relief and started forward, but Cobb's hand on his elbow stopped him. "Wait," Cobb said, indicating the ride that had led them there in the first place. Browning was instantly recognizable, but it took Eames a moment to place the elegant brunette at his side. She was pale and slender and beautiful, and she reminded him of Mal.
Browning had his hand on her back. She looked at him, her eyes hard, saying not now, not anymore, and with a ghost of a smile he leaned away.
It was only a fleeting gesture, the kind of subtle interaction that Eames had trained himself to look for but still might have missed. Only when he felt a rumble beneath his feet and an extra weight to the air did his pulse hitch in apprehension. All around the projections quieted in their laughter and stopped their excited bustling, turning instead to stare at the man and woman leaning against the fence.
"Jesus," Cobb whispered next to him. "Is that what this is all about?"
Eames gulped. He looked to Robert and noticed for the first time that he was not alone: a young boy was standing close at his side, no more than eight years old. Both Roberts were watching Browning with the same look of childlike confusion, and Eames could almost see the deadly little idea seeping into their brains--a doubt that would fester for years, unconscious but constant, poisoning him with his most tightly guarded secret.
"I don't know who I am," Eames mumbled.
Cobb looked at him. "What?"
The ground rocked beneath them, and they stumbled into each other as the projections swayed and jostled. The jovial carnival tunes heightened to a screech and metal groaned as the rides shuddered on their foundations. Everything felt tight and heated and on the edge of collapse.
"Wake them up," Eames said. The projections twitched and moaned, clawing at their too-human faces and yanking their hair into veils. When one of them grabbed for Eames's sleeve he shoved it back and turned to Cobb. "Go--wake up Arthur and the others, and then yourself."
"We were going to do it simultaneously," Cobb reminded him. "At this point--"
"It's too late for that!" Eames pushed him back. "Just go, before he pulls us all into Limbo!"
Cobb clenched his jaw, but seeing the projections seizing all around them convinced him. He turned, shoving his way through the thongs back the way they had come.
Eames started in the other direction, but was snatched at from all sides by bony fingers. Growling curses, he shook and snapped the appendages off him in his haste through the crowd. The quaking grew worse but he managed to keep his feet beneath him, and finally he was in front of Robert, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Robert!" He shook him, but Robert only stared straight ahead; his expression had lapsed into one of quiet acceptance. "Robert, look at me," he said, and when Robert still did not respond he cupped his face in firm hands. "Look at me!"
Robert's gaze came into focus. "Eames." He returned Eames's concern with calm. "You shouldn't still be here," he said.
"Robert, listen to me," Eames said desperately. "This...this is just a dream. It's not real--it doesn’t matter. It's time to wake up."
Robert sighed. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't matter at all." He smiled bitterly. "It's so stupid."
The earth jolted, and though Eames was almost tossed off his feet Robert didn't budge as if rooted to the spot. The swings were whirling above them madly and Eames cringed when several snapped off their wires and sent tiny ghosts crashing into the tents and booths. Every human face in the sea of people had vanished, leaving only plastic, just like the spinning Cairo they had left.
"Everything I went through was for this," Robert said, surveying the chaotic landscape with hatred too dull to even be called that. "I loved him so much and he might not have even been mine." He sighed, and the Ferris Wheel cracked off its axles and began to grind its pinwheel blades into the lot. "What a joke."
"Robert," Eames tried again. "Please, you can't jump to conclusions. Wake up with me. We'll ask Browning--we'll talk to Peter together. Then you--"
"It doesn't matter," Robert interrupted. He took Eames's wrists and urged his hands back. "Why are you so worried? I'm fine." He smiled. "See? I don't even care."
Eames stared back at him, baffled and at a loss. When he tried to think of something more to say his heels scraped on the shifting earth and he fell forward, against Robert's chest. Thin but sturdy arms wrapped him up. As the carnival continued to rage and crumble only Robert remained perfectly still, more at ease than Eames had ever seen him.
"It's all right," he murmured against Eames's ear. "I know you tried."
Eames pulled back, but found that he was still leaning forward; the ground wasn't simply shaking, it was tipping. Wraiths were tumbling past them down the incline and the rides and tents bent beneath the new pull of slanted gravity. Over his shoulder he could see the jagged edge of the lot rising like the bow of a sinking ship, and past Robert the opposite edge was digging troughs through the earth's crust. Fissures opened into canons and everything beyond the carnival crumbled away, until there was only an angled and broken cliff perched over dark, raging ocean.
How did this happen? Eames reached into his belt and willed a pistol to fit into his grip. He swung it forward and shoved the muzzle into Robert's temple. If I'd known it was going to end this way... He curled his finger over the trigger.
Robert stared back at him. There was nothing in his face that could be construed as consent, or defiance, or even resignation. He only looked tired, and no matter how hard Eames fought to pull the trigger, his body wouldn't obey. He won't wake up, he thought, panic in his brain and lungs and gut. The world continued to tilt and he had to press his hand to Robert's chest to keep from falling into him again. He doesn't even want to. "Robert--"
Something crashed into him from behind, at just enough of an angle that he was thrown around Robert's body and into the asphalt. When he tried to push himself up his attacker pursued, clawing at him with white and broken fingernails, and as he fought they began to scrape through the twisted carnival in a thrashing heap.
"This is your fault!" the wraith bellowed, and when it clamored on top of Eames it was his own face glaring down at him. "You did this to me! You did this!"
Eames twisted the gun forward and fired, shredding the lower half of the mask. When oily black fabric collapsed over him he struggled to free himself, but as soon as he had another two wraiths took their brethren's place. Their weight slamming into him sent him skidding down the incline again, and Eames relinquished his gun to instead paw for a handhold.
"Robert!" Eames dug in and felt his fingernails grind. He had just about managed to pull himself upright--he could barely see Robert's turned back against the swarming ghosts--but then more hands yanked his feet out from under him. He struck the ground hard and rolled, ever closer to the edge. "Robert!"
***
So he was right, Ariadne thought, glancing at the second Arthur as they clung to the sides of a ticket booth. We are dreaming.
The three of them were huddled close together, struggling to keep their balance against the angling earth. All around them angry, wailing ghosts tumbled and rolled through the park on their way to a watery grave. As Ariadne wrapped her arm around Arthur's she saw the Tilt-O-Whirl cars pile against the chain-link fence surrounding them and the burst free a moment later. The cars with their grotesque clown faces plummeted, crashing into black-clad bodies and smashing through concession stands.
"What the hell happened?" asked the Arthur supporting her. "I thought Fischer already knew he was dreaming."
The second Arthur pointed into the crowd. "There's Cobb!"
Cobb was dashing across the incline, and narrowly missed being clipped by a speeding snack cart. When he was close enough Arthur stretched out his hand and drew him in. "You have to wake up," Cobb said immediately. He reached behind him and pulled out a handgun. "Everyone, right now."
"What's going on?" Ariadne asked, straining closer. "What happened to Fischer?"
Cobb shook his head. "No time." He started to say more but then a shadow fell over his face, and he glanced upward. He went pale and lifted the gun. "Hurry!"
The muzzle rose in front of Ariadne's face, and she tensed, ready for it, but then out of the corner of her eye she caught a glance of the incoming threat: the bumper cars had been turned loose and were thundering toward them. One crashed into the ticket booth, and by the time Cobb pulled the trigger Ariadne was already being thrown to the ground, out of the circle of Arthur's arm.
Ariadne grunted as she landed on her back. She was thinking that she should have just thrown herself in front of the car when the pavement burned against her bare arms, reminding her that she was sliding. She twisted, trying to find something to grab so she could right herself, but the ground bucked beneath her and there were only more flailing bodies to grip. When she craned her head she caught a glimpse of the carnival's shorn edge, and churning waves beyond.
No, wait. Ariadne pawed at the ground and grimaced when the wraiths rolled over and past her. No, wait!
"Ariadne!"
Arthur was racing down the slope toward her. The second was only a step behind, dragging a rope bearing dozens of colored flags. Ariadne spread her arms out, and though she cringed at her bruising fingers and elbows it slowed her enough that the Arthurs could gain on her. They dove, both reaching for her outstretched foot, but when she halted there were only five fingers wrapping around her ankle.
"Gotcha," Arthur said, in one voice, with one relieved grin. One Arthur.
Ariadne stared, and when she was absolutely sure of what she was seeing she curled her fist around the grip of a hastily manufactured handgun. "Thanks," she said, and then she swung the muzzle between his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Arthur slumped, but his hand remained tight around her ankle, giving her the stability to continue watching him. She waited, fearful that at any moment a pair of corpses would slip away, but even in death he remained singular. Cobb--where's Cobb? She looked left and right and spotted Cobb clinging to a rickety fence. He pantomimed putting a gun to his head.
Ariadne took a deep breath and pressed the gun to her temple. It's over, she told herself. She closed her eyes and curled her finger over the trigger. I'm waking up. She squeezed.
***
Cobb allowed himself a moment of relief when he saw Ariadne fall over dead. They made it, he told himself as he moved carefully down the fence. They'll be fine. Now there's just Browning. His chest felt tight as he hurried back toward the swings. It's too late for Fischer.
Browning was clinging to the fence, his face white and his arm wrapped around a pale and screaming brunette. Cobb had to run across the unstable blacktop to get to them, dodging the growing stream of projections and projectiles. He crashed into Browning from behind and almost wrenched him from the fence. "Browning!" he shouted over the roar of falling metal. "You're dreaming!" He pushed his gun into Browning's temple. "I'm going to wake you up, understand?"
Browning stared back at him, and his confusion shifted swiftly to panic. "Wait," he said, craning back. "Wait--where's Robert?" His face went deathly pale. "Did he see this?"
"You're going to have to ask him up top," Cobb said. He cocked the hammer back.
"No--wait!" Browning tried to reach for him but he was too frightened to release the fence and the woman was still clinging to him. "Tell him I didn't--I'm not--"
Cobb shot him in the forehead. As he collapsed his hand came off the fence, and with a shriek the woman wrestled free of him to keep from being dragged down the slope. The body rolled, passing close by Robert's rooted feet, but he didn't seem to notice.
Cobb started to look for Eames, but then was jerked when the brunette snatched his arm. He struggled against her until it occurred to him that she was the only projection left not wearing a mask. With one hand gripping the fence he tried to urge her back. "Mrs. Fischer...?"
She heaved a sigh. "How disappointing." In a sudden reversal of temperament she sagged against Cobb and stared down at the seemingly catatonic Robert with disgust. "I should have just ruined Peter from the start."
Cobb's eyes widened. "Banks?"
"At least I took care of Fischer." She lifted her head and took in the decaying surroundings, slowly, before turning her wide blue eyes on Cobb. "What's Limbo like?" she asked, breathless.
Cobb swallowed, feeling almost hypnotized by her straight, unblinking gaze. "It's...beautiful," he confessed.
Charla smiled. It wasn't her face but he could see her through it, and was surprised to find her serene, even lovely. She watched him with quiet, patient acceptance and stretched to the end of his arm, waiting for him to shake her free. He wanted to. Her round eyes and shy smile reminded him of Mal and he ached to cast her into the hell she deserved, but he hesitated and wasn't sure why.
Charla scowled. "You coward."
Her hand shot out, clawing into his chest, and she pulled herself up so she could wield the knife suddenly clutched in the other. The blade sliced through his palm, severing two of his fingers and ruining his grip on the fence. He might have been able to keep his balance still, but then she pulled, using all her weight to tear him down the slope.
Cobb felt the earth drop out from under him. His stomach leapt into his throat and he panicked, forgetting the gun in his grip as he struggled to throw her off. They skidded down the heated lot, swearing and struggling. I can't do it again, Cobb thought as he thrashed. Not another fifty years!
A hand latched onto the back of his collar and jerked him to a halt. Charla tried to hang on but he kicked her feet out from under her. Her high heeled sandals slid on the pavement and she slammed onto her shoulder. She screamed as she fell; Cobb watched, his breath held until she disappeared, grasping and flailing, over the edge of the world.
Cobb released a deep sigh, but when he saw who it was that had halted his descent, he went still all over again. It was Robert holding him by the collar, still impossibly inert despite the chaos falling all around him. He stared at Cobb with curious recognition. "Mr. Charles," he said. "You shouldn't still be here, either."
Cobb started to reply, but then Robert reached down, wrenching the knife out of his bleeding hand. The last thing he saw before he woke up was the blade rushing toward his eye.
***
"Get off!" Eames hollered, swinging his elbow back. He cast off the scrambling wraiths one by one, tearing their masks off and shredding cloaks with his bare hands. "Get off me--to hell with you!" He dug his toes into the ground, hunting out any crack that could be used for leverage, and braced himself against the continuing onslaught. He felt as if they had been crashing over him for hours, but their numbers were endless and there was no reprieve in sight. He couldn't even make out Robert anymore, didn't know if Cobb and the others had found escape. All he knew was that he was being driven, inch by inch, to the brink.
The dream was already bellowing around him, but when a new roar layered over it Eames heard it right away. He lifted his head, and blanched at the sight of white spray shooting out from far above him, coating the lifted edge of the park. The mist was only a prelude; with a sound like thunder a wall of water soared over the bow, dark and foaming and all-engulfing. It crashed into what remained of the ravaged landscape, like a cleansing bulldozer sweeping away the rides and the blinking lights and their ghastly inhabitants.
Eames forced his knees to bear him. He clawed his way up the slope, and when he'd worked up enough momentum he stood, sprinting past the panicked wraiths. The entire skyline was rushing at him but he ran, flinging projections out of his path, his heart hard behind his ribs. Desperation pounded at his heels and poured sweat into his eyes. Please, he begged, his hand outstretched, hopeless but unrelenting. Please!
The wraiths parted, revealing Robert's turned back, his shoulders squared against the inevitable. Eames forced what strength he had left into his legs and leapt. His arm twisted around Robert's chest, and his fingers clenched in the fabric of his uniform just as the water hit them.
***
Eames washed up on a desolate shore. He shivered within layers of soaked clothing as frigid waves kneaded him into the gray sand, and a hard wind snapped against his bare hands and face. There was no sun to grant him relief, only tumbling clouds and white caps and empty earth stretching on and on into inconceivable distances.
There was a solemn void where the world had once been. Like any dream Eames's subconscious swelled to fill it, but there was only blank canvas, free of border and form. The possibilities were endless. Eames felt his stomach drop as if gravity were reversing, and then his imagination went to work, spilling out over the unclaimed abyss with a ferocity he thought he'd lost to childhood years.
Clouds parted to make way for warming sun, turning the forsaken beach from gray to gold. The wind softened and the waves calmed--simple, instinctual alterations that made his rest bearable. But then the land began to buckle and rise, drawing Eames further from himself. He felt as if he was being drawn in by the vacuum of space, and he couldn't help but claw mountains out of the rocks. There were entire worlds waiting to be born, histories to be reinvented, memories recreated with the clarity and bias they deserved. Infinity was his to command.
"Stop," Eames whispered, cowering in the sand. He kept his eyes squeezed shut but it didn't sway his mind from its work: out of the earth sprang jagged bluffs capped with rich soil and long grass. Rolling hillsides rippled outward, sloping and cantering into the untamed English countryside he had often envisioned as a boy growing up in crowded suburbs. "Stop," he repeated, as rivers carved through his landscape, bubbled into lakes, raced upward against gravity and crashed into waterfall pools. Flowers bloomed in every color and gnarled trees formed ranks like weary sentinels. Headstones, unintelligible and moss-laden, gathered within the borders of a crumbling stone wall.
"Stop." Eames dug his fingers in, but all matter gave way beneath him, and he couldn't staunch the outpour. He had never felt such freedom, and he wanted to create more, to become godly in a purgatory of his own making. He could build the fantasy castles from his youth, the desert warzones, his hiding spot behind the rickety cupboard, the surfaces of undiscovered moons, the musty back room where he first fell in love, the black safe with all his faces--he could craft anything, be anything, could try on every mask and live each to the end of eternity, and maybe then finally know who he was meant to be.
"Stop!" Eames gasped, feeling his body warp beneath the growing pressure. "Stop, please stop, stop, stop..."
Warm lips met his. He flinched away at first, fearing what little remained of his concentration would shatter, but they were insistent and seeking. With a sound of pain Eames leaned into the eager kiss. Fingernails skated over his whiskers and drew him in, until he was nestled against a familiar body, and slowly the fog lifted from his desperate mind.
Robert. Eames drew in a sharp breath through his nose and kissed Robert fervently, letting chilled fingers and a tender mouth remind him of a dream shared not so long before. They were still the only men in the world, isolated, and as long as Robert was safe he needed nothing more.
His imagination stilled. The world flexed and shuddered and paused in its jubilant growth, allowing Eames to collapse against the shore with a choking sigh. He kissed Robert again and was relieved when he could tell that his face was still his, just by the way it felt against Robert's own. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Robert stared back at him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Eames smiled weakly and kissed him again, just to be sure. "For now." He could still feel the pull at the back of his mind, and somewhere in the distance he might have still been paving streets with charcoal sketches, but the terror of having his mind flung to the far reaches had passed.
Robert turned his gaze upward. "Where are we?" he asked.
"This is...the deepest recess of your mind," Eames replied quietly. Even the explanation frightened him. "Of our minds. The dream underneath the dream."
"Limbo."
"...Yes."
Robert leaned back and shoved his arms beneath him; it took him some effort to sit up, as if his heart wasn't in it. Eames pushed himself up next to him, and they leaned shoulder to shoulder as the waves danced over their outstretched ankles.
"This feels familiar," Robert said, licking salt water from his lips.
"Oh." Eames grimaced. "Yes, it does." He watched the ocean undulating in the distance, remembering that rainy morning at the bay. It had been a much different feeling then. "Are you all right?"
Robert blinked slowly. "I don't know."
Eames's fingers curled against the sand, and he watched Robert's profile carefully. "How much do you remember?" he asked.
Robert's eyelids drooped, and he continued to stare straight ahead for nearly a full minute. His apathy was chilling. He shook his head. "Can you wake up from Limbo?"
"Yes," Eames said quickly. "It's been done before."
"What's going to happen to me when I wake up?"
Eames started to answer, but he couldn't get the words out. Five months ago he had slicked the water from his face and known, with certainty, what would happen once the clocked ticked down. He might never be certain of anything again. "I don't know," he admitted.
Robert sagged into his shoulder. "Then maybe I should just stay here," he said.
Eames closed his eyes. All at once he understood the cold and dreary resignation nestling into his side, and he ached so deeply that he couldn't breathe. "You can," he said, killing himself on the words. "If that's what you want." He swallowed, and a shudder boiled out of his stomach with a taste of bile. The world was still clawing at his edges and it was only a matter of time before he was someone else.
"But I can't." Eames took in a sharp breath and nudged the almost-corpse from his arm. "I can't, Robert. I'm waking up." He jerked to his feet.
Robert stared up at him, and at last a flicker of emotion shook the indifference out of his face. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"This isn't real--it's all just a dream." He reached down, praying one last time that he hadn't failed completely. "Please, Robert," he said. "Wake up with me."
Robert stared at his hand for a long moment, confused and afraid, but at long last he slipped his cold fingers into Eames's. With a deep breath he pulled his knees in, and Eames helped him upright. He swayed at first, but Eames was steady, and they stood close together on the sand. "Okay," he said quietly.
Eames didn't waste time on relief. The earth quivered and then stone rose beneath their feet, pushing them up off the beach. Robert clutched Eames's hand with both of his as they were lifted by the earthly pillar, higher and higher, rushing into the sky. Like a living monolith they pierced the shoreline panorama, until cold wind was again howling at their ears and gravity beckoned. When they were dozens of meters high Eames turned his attention on the ground far below, shaping the sloping beach into jagged rocks in all directions.
He was preparing himself for the fall when he felt Robert turn, and he glanced back. Robert was staring into the distance, where Eames's imagination had already filled his empty brain with lush and blooming landscape: forests and waterfalls and villages all grew and matured where there had only minutes ago been barrenness. His eyes widened with awe. "Did you make all that?" he asked. Even as they watched, bricks piled on bricks in the distance to create fortress walls already rough with decades of wear. "In the short time we've been here?"
"Yes," Eames murmured, and as much as it warmed him to see Robert view the product of his raw talent with so much appreciation, anxiety sobered him. When he tried to stop the evolution, he couldn't. "That's why I can't stay."
Robert pointed. "Look."
Eames followed his indication to the rolling hills and there spotted, already far off in the distance, a woman on horseback. Her blue dress and long brown hair fluttered out behind her as she and her chestnut mare raced over windswept green. She was unhindered and already closing in on the ever-changing horizon.
"Should we stop her?" Robert asked.
Eames shook his head. She was lost, completely free; he envied her, and it frightened him. "We can't."
They turned, facing down the jagged coast and the waves churning across it. "We're waking up," Eames told Robert, squeezing his hand tightly. He stepped to the edge and tugged Robert with him. "Just remember that, and we'll both be fine." I hope.
Robert nodded, and clung to him as he slipped his toes over the cliff. His breath quickened and his eyes grew impossibly wide, but when Eames lifted one foot off the ground, so did he. They leaned forward and the wind pulled them in welcome. "We're waking up," Robert echoed, so quietly that Eames could only tell by reading his lips. He took a deep breath, and then they jumped.
To Chapter 19
Fandom: Inception
Title: The Helix Trap
Chapter: 18 (7,900 words) (For other parts, art and graphics, please check my My main post)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Eames/Robert, Arthur/Ariadne, Cobb, Yusuf, Saito, Browning, and others.
Warnings: Violence, sexual content.
Disclaimer: These characters and setting do not belong to me and are being used without permission but for no profit
Summary: After the Inception proves successful, Eames tracks down Robert out of concern for its unusual side effects. Meanwhile, Arthur is hired to a dangerous job that forces the rest of the team to take sides: whether to defend Robert and his fragile mind, or ruin him completely.
Notes: C&C Welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my betas
chypie and tanithkitty for their input!After working so closely with a soundtrack for my i_rb I've taken an interest in putting together a fanmix for this fic! I have a few things picked out (Stone Sour, Emily Browning, a few instrumentals by Otani Kow) but I need some more, so if you have any music recs please please send them along! :D
The carnival was only hours away from closing. As a blazing summer sun bled pink and orange across the asphalt lot, the lights began to flicker on, up the iron beams and down the striped awnings. They gleamed and twirled, their rainbow afterimages streaking across the waning day. Beneath them, men, women, children, and teenagers continued to thrive. The shrieks of laughter and delight were unceasing, almost cacophonous in the stifling humidity, tinged with the over-exuberance that came with the knowledge that all tickets had to be used up too soon. All the hot dogs had to be eaten, all the balloons had to be popped, all the prizes won, because come morning there would be nothing left except for a few stains on the pavement and the lingering aroma of burnt popcorn.
Ariadne breathed it in. The air always had a different taste to it on the last night. She smiled but couldn't help feeling a childish sensation of regret, knowing that soon even the lights would be extinguished for another year. Her beloved Tilt-O-Whirl would in a few days' time be delighting children in another town far away. There was something beautiful and sad about the transience of such simple, childish pleasure.
"I think the Japanese have a word for it," she said aloud. "When something is at its most beautiful, just before it goes away?"
"Mono no aware," Arthur replied.
"Yeah, I think that's it." Ariadne smiled down at him, but her expression soon hardened to a wince. "I guess you're not thinking it's all that beautiful at the moment though, huh?"
His lip twitched. "Not really, no."
Ariadne was sitting on a bench near the park's edge, and stretched along it lay Arthur, his head pillowed against her thigh. His hands were folded neatly over his stomach but he couldn't hide the strain pinching his brow. She remembered him complaining of a headache, but she couldn't remember why they hadn't simply decided to leave. Until the Aspirin kicked in all she could think to do was sneak an ice cube out of her soda cup and run it slowly over Arthur's hairline.
He smiled as cool moisture seeped into his hair and down his temples. "That feels good."
Ariadne teased his cheeks and chin, and when there was only a little left, his mouth. His lips parted, and moved gently against her fingertips as she slipped the ice onto his tongue.
"You know," she said, "the last time I was at a carnival, your subconscious hit on me."
Arthur snorted, and his already flushed cheeks turned a little redder. "I'm not responsible for my projections."
Ariadne grinned. "I like them that way."
Arthur squirmed on the bench. "Is there any more ice?" he asked.
Still grinning, she reached into her cup. When a group of young teenagers walked past them carrying paper pinwheels, it didn't occur to her to think it strange.
***
Cobb squeezed his eyes shut. "They're not my children," he told himself with a ferocity that broke his heart. "Philipa and James are with Marie. They're not here--this isn't real."
The tiny hand released his pant leg. For nearly a full minute later he could still feel the crease in the fabric, until another group of carnival-goers shoved past him. Only then did he feel safe enough to open his eyes again, and with a sigh noted that the two phantoms had disappeared.
"Damn it, Eames," he muttered, rubbing his beard. "That was a stupid idea." Even after having stood up to Charla's incessant whipping, Robert's repression breaking free had swept him up with a force he rarely experienced in someone else's subconscious; he had no idea how long it would have taken him to remember where he was if not for the glimpse of twirling pinwheels in Philipa's hair. He shook himself and glanced around to get his bearings.
It's a carnival? He turned in place, and when the colored lights blurred against his weary eyes he was struck by inspiration. This is the memory Banks showed me.
Cobb weaved through the packed crowds, looking right and left in hopes of seeing a familiar face of any kind. "Eames!" he shouted, but he remembered a moment later that it was probably useless to call for him. "Arthur! Ariadne!"
He rounded the carousel, and was momentarily caught off guard by the grotesque figures that had replaced the horses: beasts and snakes and insects, all snarling and ominous. As he hurried on he caught a familiar voice rising over the dim.
"Mal, come back!"
Cobb whipped around and glimpsed brown hair bobbing through the crowd. With so many people it was difficult to make anything out, so he grabbed for the fence surrounding the carousel and pulled himself up, over the sea of people.
"Mal, stop!" Yards away, Arthur latched onto a woman and spun her about. She fought against him, her hair flying and obscuring her face, but Cobb recognized her immediately.
"No!" Mal shouted. "No, where's Robert?"
They continued to speak, but Cobb couldn't make them out, and then abruptly Mal shoved Arthur back. He was quickly swallowed up by the throng and lost sight of her, but Cobb was still in position, and saw her dart away, toward the west end of the lot.
Cobb hopped down and started to give chase, but then he paused when he recalled the story he had gotten out of Arthur earlier. He said that after he lost Mal, he tripped the projections and they woke him up, he thought, changing course. We can't afford to let anything like that happen here.
He grabbed Arthur's arm and immediately began to steer him the direction Mal had gone--there was an area of open grass bordering the lot and he had a feeling that was where she was headed. "Don't ask questions, just come with me," he said.
Arthur gaped at him as he allowed himself to be dragged. "What are you doing here?"
"I said don't ask questions--we have to catch up to her!"
They hurried together past the rides and venders, and once they had circled around the Ferris Wheel Cobb spotted a tree rising over the fence surrounding the lot. He was about to speed up when Arthur tugged on his arm. "Cobb."
He motioned to one of the booths next to them. It had once been a concession stand of some sort, but slouched behind the counter was a masked creature wrapped in black robes. Whenever a child passed by it crooked its knobby finger, and offered up a crudely folded paper pinwheel.
Cobb frowned, and watched one of the young boys closely as he left with his souvenir. When the boy rejoined his parents his hair darkened from blond to black, and his face grew pale.
"That's just creepy," said Arthur.
Cobb started off again. "The inception is still spreading--we don't have much time."
They reached the edge of the lot, where a stretch of dry grass separated the dusty asphalt from an old, chain-linked fence. Nestled up against the rusting metal was a broad and twisted oak tree; it had grown into and around the fence as if doing its best to creep into the evening festivities. Though its branches sported only enough leaves for the barest amount of shade, two figures had chosen its intruding roots as their haven.
As Cobb drew closer a lump threatened to form in his throat, but he swallowed it back. "Mal."
Mal lifted her head, and her distorted face was almost a comfort to him. Her eyes were as wide and bright as he remembered, but her cheeks sloped in softer angles, and her hair was much longer than he had ever seen it on her. When she smiled there was no recognition in her face. She pressed a finger to her red lips and nodded to her young companion: a sleeping boy, curled up against her lap.
Cobb knelt down in front of her, and after some hesitation, Arthur joined him. "Is that Robert?" he asked quietly.
Mal smoothed her fingertips through Robert's hair. "He's had such a difficult time," she said, her voice rough with sympathy. "And there's still more to come. There's only so much I can do for him."
Cobb leaned closer. "Can you tell us what happened here? When you and Arthur came into Robert's mind?"
Mal's brow knit, and her eyes darted back and forth. She took in a slow breath. "I came looking for the secrets," she said. "Me, and..." Her gaze flickered to Arthur. "My shadow. And Robert ran, like he always does. But I followed him, all the way down here. I had something important to tell him."
"What?"
She continued to lightly stroke the boy's hair. "That he is clever," she said quietly. "And handsome, and generous. And whatever his father may say or think, his mother always loved him. As long as he remembers that, he'll be fine."
Arthur slowly straightened. "Were you trying to incept him?" he asked.
"I just wanted to help him," Mal said. "I told him that, many times. And he took me." She pressed her hand over her heart. "He let me stay with him, so that I could tell secrets instead of keep them. I've been waiting for this."
Arthur swallowed and leaned back. "He assimilated Mal," he murmured. "Like Eames, and...you. Mr. Charles."
Cobb edged closer, still feeling somewhat hypnotized by her almost-familiar appearance. What were you thinking, Mal? he wanted to ask, even knowing it was pointless. I should have been here with you. If only I hadn't been so...
He frowned, and reached up to gently nudge her hair off her bare shoulder. A trickle of blood was making its way down the side of her neck. "What happened here?"
Mal blinked back at him. "What?"
Arthur abruptly stiffened. "Shit--it's Eames," he said urgently. When Cobb pushed her hair back further he revealed the jagged and scabbing edge of her right ear. "Eames!"
He reached forward to shake Mal's shoulder, but she quickly and gently urged him back. "Shh. You'll wake him."
Cobb watched Mal settle back against the trunk, but no matter how hard he looked, he could make out none of the familiar ticks he had learned to pick out of Eames's forgeries. "Are you sure it's him?"
"Yeah, I...." Arthur rubbed his own ear self-consciously. "I shot him, earlier." When Cobb gave him a look he added, "He was trying to shoot me, too."
Cobb frowned, and gave Mal's shoulder a squeeze. "Eames? Are you really in there?"
Mal sighed and shook her head. "Oh, that Eames. He really should have come to dinner." She smiled shyly. "I was going to take him home with me."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
Cobb leaned back and coughed into his hand. "Just a second." He reached into his pocket and concentrated; it took more effort than he had expected, but by the time he pulled his hand out, he was holding a small compact. He opened it and offered it to Mal. "Mal, can you take a look at this, please?"
Mal accepted, and tilted the mirror so that she could see herself in it. At first she smiled and combed at her hair, but then a look of confusion overtook her features. She twitched, and squeezed her eyes shut, and leaned over her knees. When she dropped the compact Cobb slipped it back into his pocket for safekeeping and put his hand again on Mal's shoulder. "Eames, it's Cobb," he said firmly. "Come on back."
Mal coughed, her body spasming, and then suddenly it was Eames with his arm around his chest and his ear bleeding. He groaned and rubbed his eyes as his features came into full shape. Cobb shifted, trying to be patient, but it seemed to take a long time for Eames to compose himself. "Are you all right?" he asked as he urged Eames to lean back against the tree. "He really got you, didn't he?"
Eames let out a long breath. "Yeah." He blinked at the surrounding park as if seeing it for the first time, and finally his gaze landed on Cobb and Arthur. "Thank you, Cobb."
"Can you tell us what the hell is going on?" asked Arthur. "And maybe make more sense than she did?"
"I don't know any more than Robert did," Eames said. He looked to the boy that still rested against his lap, completely undisturbed by the goings-on. "But I think you were right, Arthur. Mal may have been trying to incept him."
Cobb shifted anxiously. "But why? With what?"
Arthur started to answer, but then stopped himself. When Cobb saw, his temper frayed a bit further. "Just say it," he said.
"Fischer was a mess," Arthur blurted out. Guilt flashed across his face and he rubbed his mouth as if trying to suppress it. "Self-loathing, miserable. Maybe Mal was trying to give him something positive down here, I don't know. It was all we could do for him..."
Cobb shook his head, dissatisfied, but he knew there was no better answer to receive. He looked to the sleeping boy. "Is that the real Robert?"
Eames looked as well, his brow tight, and after a moment the child disappeared. "No," he said. "He was Mal's projection."
"A projection's projection?" Arthur said doubtfully.
"Yes--well, more like my projection, I suppose. He was part of the...the skin put on me." Eames's eyes lost their focus as he pressed his hand over his chest, the way he had done as Mal earlier. "Robert's mind wanted me to feel this."
A groan of metal in the distance drew their attention. As the sun continued to dip toward the horizon more and more lights flickered on all across the park, highlighting the taller rides as they began to twist and reshape. The Ferris Wheel slowed in its rotation as the rods and joints stretched, remaking its cheerful ring into triangles and angles. It resumed its slow spin as a brightly lit pinwheel.
"I guess that's a hint that we should be moving faster," said Cobb drearily.
Eames pushed against the tree behind him, and when he seemed to have some trouble getting his feet beneath him Cobb helped him to stand. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Eames's grin was almost a sneer. "No. So let's hurry."
***
Robert was spinning. With his eyes closed the sensation was dizzying and nauseating, but opening them meant an onslaught of light and color he wasn't yet prepared for. Already his ears were ringing with too-cheerful music, and whirling machinery, and children's voices shrill enough to be screams. He hated it. He wanted to rip apart the world he had created, down to every scrap of iron and concrete, until it was still and quiet and tolerable again.
The spinning stopped, and Robert jolted in his seat, his fingers white around the brass pole in front of him. With a deep breath he at last opened his eyes and climbed down onto unmoving earth. He had grown so accustomed to the spin that the stability felt foreign to him, and he stumbled, back into the side of a wooden tiger.
Children clamored off the ride, and more took their place, squealing and laughing. Robert watched them, unable to understand how anything so young and bright had come from his aching mind. He hated them, too. When the carousel began to turn he pushed away from it and wandered into the crowd.
Why am I here? Robert flowed with the happy families up and down the crowded paths. Everything was familiar and alien, and frail beneath his hands, as if ready to burst its seams at any moment. I can make anything, he thought. Why would I make this? I hate it here.
He followed the men and women, weary and disoriented, until he realized that he had come to another ride. Feeling he had nothing better to do, he sat down in a green seat and strapped himself in. All around him children were swaying in theirs, their toes just barely touching the ground, and though he was twice the size of the largest of them he could only just reach, too. It was familiar, and he kicked his feet, rocking back and forth.
The ride groaned into motion. The spinning threatened at first to pull Robert back into nausea, but then the momentum lifted him off the ground. I remember this. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back, feeling the centrifugal tug as he whirled faster and higher. The park smeared into horizontal lights. Robert closed his eyes again and tried to enjoy the cooling wind, but the roar of the crowd beneath him was too chaotic for him to find any peace.
A woman's voice rose above the din in silvery laughter. It made Robert's heart pound and he twisted in his chair, trying to see the crowd far below. From so far away everyone looked small and plastic, like dolls, their eyes vacant. But then he heard the laughter again, and he caught a glance of long brown hair among the parents lining the ride fence.
Mother. Robert's breath caught in his throat and he pulled at the chair holding him. "Stop," he said urgently, struggling with his seatbelt as if he weren't spinning twenty feet off the ground. "Stop--let me down!"
Lights flickered above him, and with squeals of protest the ride slowed and lowered its riders to the ground once more. The kids groaned in disappointment but as soon as his feet touched earth Robert clawed out of his chair and ran to the exit. I remember this, he thought again as he rounded the gate. I got off the ride, and Mother was there, waiting for me. He wanted nothing more than to see her, to have her hold him like she had when she was still the center of his world.
He saw her hair through the crowd. She was standing at the cheap metal fence, dressed in the bright blue sundress he remembered so well, watching the swings that had already resumed their spin as if he might still be on them. He could only see the tips of her profile but even that much pushed his heart into his throat. Before he could call out to her she leaned forward against the rail, making visible the figure of Peter Browning next to her.
They were standing close together in the shadow of the swings, unspeaking, their gazes upward. Browning shifted his weight and slipped his hand away from his side. He touched her shoulder, then let his knuckles trail down her spine to the small of her back. She tensed and Robert's heart stopped.
***
It was Arthur that spotted a grown man on the swings. As the three of them headed toward it Eames fought to remain clear, but the pressure surrounding him was only becoming more intense. He felt as if he were on the bottom of the ocean floor, carrying miles of dark water. More than once he was tempted to ask for Cobb's mirror back. I know, I know, he wanted to tell Robert's crushing subconscious. I asked for this. But you have to at least let me breathe.
They rounded a ticket booth and Arthur stopped, tugging them both to a halt. "There he is."
Eames looked, but when he followed Arthur's pointing he realized it was Ariadne and his double that he was indicating; they were seated together on a colorful bench, seemingly oblivious to their situation. "Go on," Eames said. "Make sure they know they're dreaming and meet us at the swings."
"I'll be quick," Arthur said, and then he jogged away.
Eames could feel Cobb start to ask if he was all right, but by then he was already moving. He picked up his pace, shoving Robert's projections out of the way when they became too dense. Everything was crowding in on him, trying to change him, nothing more so than the spreading children with their cloaks and their pinwheels. Tiny hands pulled at his pant legs as he passed, and he was on the verge of flinging them off when he finally spotted Robert ahead of him.
Thank God. Eames sighed in relief and started forward, but Cobb's hand on his elbow stopped him. "Wait," Cobb said, indicating the ride that had led them there in the first place. Browning was instantly recognizable, but it took Eames a moment to place the elegant brunette at his side. She was pale and slender and beautiful, and she reminded him of Mal.
Browning had his hand on her back. She looked at him, her eyes hard, saying not now, not anymore, and with a ghost of a smile he leaned away.
It was only a fleeting gesture, the kind of subtle interaction that Eames had trained himself to look for but still might have missed. Only when he felt a rumble beneath his feet and an extra weight to the air did his pulse hitch in apprehension. All around the projections quieted in their laughter and stopped their excited bustling, turning instead to stare at the man and woman leaning against the fence.
"Jesus," Cobb whispered next to him. "Is that what this is all about?"
Eames gulped. He looked to Robert and noticed for the first time that he was not alone: a young boy was standing close at his side, no more than eight years old. Both Roberts were watching Browning with the same look of childlike confusion, and Eames could almost see the deadly little idea seeping into their brains--a doubt that would fester for years, unconscious but constant, poisoning him with his most tightly guarded secret.
"I don't know who I am," Eames mumbled.
Cobb looked at him. "What?"
The ground rocked beneath them, and they stumbled into each other as the projections swayed and jostled. The jovial carnival tunes heightened to a screech and metal groaned as the rides shuddered on their foundations. Everything felt tight and heated and on the edge of collapse.
"Wake them up," Eames said. The projections twitched and moaned, clawing at their too-human faces and yanking their hair into veils. When one of them grabbed for Eames's sleeve he shoved it back and turned to Cobb. "Go--wake up Arthur and the others, and then yourself."
"We were going to do it simultaneously," Cobb reminded him. "At this point--"
"It's too late for that!" Eames pushed him back. "Just go, before he pulls us all into Limbo!"
Cobb clenched his jaw, but seeing the projections seizing all around them convinced him. He turned, shoving his way through the thongs back the way they had come.
Eames started in the other direction, but was snatched at from all sides by bony fingers. Growling curses, he shook and snapped the appendages off him in his haste through the crowd. The quaking grew worse but he managed to keep his feet beneath him, and finally he was in front of Robert, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Robert!" He shook him, but Robert only stared straight ahead; his expression had lapsed into one of quiet acceptance. "Robert, look at me," he said, and when Robert still did not respond he cupped his face in firm hands. "Look at me!"
Robert's gaze came into focus. "Eames." He returned Eames's concern with calm. "You shouldn't still be here," he said.
"Robert, listen to me," Eames said desperately. "This...this is just a dream. It's not real--it doesn’t matter. It's time to wake up."
Robert sighed. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't matter at all." He smiled bitterly. "It's so stupid."
The earth jolted, and though Eames was almost tossed off his feet Robert didn't budge as if rooted to the spot. The swings were whirling above them madly and Eames cringed when several snapped off their wires and sent tiny ghosts crashing into the tents and booths. Every human face in the sea of people had vanished, leaving only plastic, just like the spinning Cairo they had left.
"Everything I went through was for this," Robert said, surveying the chaotic landscape with hatred too dull to even be called that. "I loved him so much and he might not have even been mine." He sighed, and the Ferris Wheel cracked off its axles and began to grind its pinwheel blades into the lot. "What a joke."
"Robert," Eames tried again. "Please, you can't jump to conclusions. Wake up with me. We'll ask Browning--we'll talk to Peter together. Then you--"
"It doesn't matter," Robert interrupted. He took Eames's wrists and urged his hands back. "Why are you so worried? I'm fine." He smiled. "See? I don't even care."
Eames stared back at him, baffled and at a loss. When he tried to think of something more to say his heels scraped on the shifting earth and he fell forward, against Robert's chest. Thin but sturdy arms wrapped him up. As the carnival continued to rage and crumble only Robert remained perfectly still, more at ease than Eames had ever seen him.
"It's all right," he murmured against Eames's ear. "I know you tried."
Eames pulled back, but found that he was still leaning forward; the ground wasn't simply shaking, it was tipping. Wraiths were tumbling past them down the incline and the rides and tents bent beneath the new pull of slanted gravity. Over his shoulder he could see the jagged edge of the lot rising like the bow of a sinking ship, and past Robert the opposite edge was digging troughs through the earth's crust. Fissures opened into canons and everything beyond the carnival crumbled away, until there was only an angled and broken cliff perched over dark, raging ocean.
How did this happen? Eames reached into his belt and willed a pistol to fit into his grip. He swung it forward and shoved the muzzle into Robert's temple. If I'd known it was going to end this way... He curled his finger over the trigger.
Robert stared back at him. There was nothing in his face that could be construed as consent, or defiance, or even resignation. He only looked tired, and no matter how hard Eames fought to pull the trigger, his body wouldn't obey. He won't wake up, he thought, panic in his brain and lungs and gut. The world continued to tilt and he had to press his hand to Robert's chest to keep from falling into him again. He doesn't even want to. "Robert--"
Something crashed into him from behind, at just enough of an angle that he was thrown around Robert's body and into the asphalt. When he tried to push himself up his attacker pursued, clawing at him with white and broken fingernails, and as he fought they began to scrape through the twisted carnival in a thrashing heap.
"This is your fault!" the wraith bellowed, and when it clamored on top of Eames it was his own face glaring down at him. "You did this to me! You did this!"
Eames twisted the gun forward and fired, shredding the lower half of the mask. When oily black fabric collapsed over him he struggled to free himself, but as soon as he had another two wraiths took their brethren's place. Their weight slamming into him sent him skidding down the incline again, and Eames relinquished his gun to instead paw for a handhold.
"Robert!" Eames dug in and felt his fingernails grind. He had just about managed to pull himself upright--he could barely see Robert's turned back against the swarming ghosts--but then more hands yanked his feet out from under him. He struck the ground hard and rolled, ever closer to the edge. "Robert!"
***
So he was right, Ariadne thought, glancing at the second Arthur as they clung to the sides of a ticket booth. We are dreaming.
The three of them were huddled close together, struggling to keep their balance against the angling earth. All around them angry, wailing ghosts tumbled and rolled through the park on their way to a watery grave. As Ariadne wrapped her arm around Arthur's she saw the Tilt-O-Whirl cars pile against the chain-link fence surrounding them and the burst free a moment later. The cars with their grotesque clown faces plummeted, crashing into black-clad bodies and smashing through concession stands.
"What the hell happened?" asked the Arthur supporting her. "I thought Fischer already knew he was dreaming."
The second Arthur pointed into the crowd. "There's Cobb!"
Cobb was dashing across the incline, and narrowly missed being clipped by a speeding snack cart. When he was close enough Arthur stretched out his hand and drew him in. "You have to wake up," Cobb said immediately. He reached behind him and pulled out a handgun. "Everyone, right now."
"What's going on?" Ariadne asked, straining closer. "What happened to Fischer?"
Cobb shook his head. "No time." He started to say more but then a shadow fell over his face, and he glanced upward. He went pale and lifted the gun. "Hurry!"
The muzzle rose in front of Ariadne's face, and she tensed, ready for it, but then out of the corner of her eye she caught a glance of the incoming threat: the bumper cars had been turned loose and were thundering toward them. One crashed into the ticket booth, and by the time Cobb pulled the trigger Ariadne was already being thrown to the ground, out of the circle of Arthur's arm.
Ariadne grunted as she landed on her back. She was thinking that she should have just thrown herself in front of the car when the pavement burned against her bare arms, reminding her that she was sliding. She twisted, trying to find something to grab so she could right herself, but the ground bucked beneath her and there were only more flailing bodies to grip. When she craned her head she caught a glimpse of the carnival's shorn edge, and churning waves beyond.
No, wait. Ariadne pawed at the ground and grimaced when the wraiths rolled over and past her. No, wait!
"Ariadne!"
Arthur was racing down the slope toward her. The second was only a step behind, dragging a rope bearing dozens of colored flags. Ariadne spread her arms out, and though she cringed at her bruising fingers and elbows it slowed her enough that the Arthurs could gain on her. They dove, both reaching for her outstretched foot, but when she halted there were only five fingers wrapping around her ankle.
"Gotcha," Arthur said, in one voice, with one relieved grin. One Arthur.
Ariadne stared, and when she was absolutely sure of what she was seeing she curled her fist around the grip of a hastily manufactured handgun. "Thanks," she said, and then she swung the muzzle between his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Arthur slumped, but his hand remained tight around her ankle, giving her the stability to continue watching him. She waited, fearful that at any moment a pair of corpses would slip away, but even in death he remained singular. Cobb--where's Cobb? She looked left and right and spotted Cobb clinging to a rickety fence. He pantomimed putting a gun to his head.
Ariadne took a deep breath and pressed the gun to her temple. It's over, she told herself. She closed her eyes and curled her finger over the trigger. I'm waking up. She squeezed.
***
Cobb allowed himself a moment of relief when he saw Ariadne fall over dead. They made it, he told himself as he moved carefully down the fence. They'll be fine. Now there's just Browning. His chest felt tight as he hurried back toward the swings. It's too late for Fischer.
Browning was clinging to the fence, his face white and his arm wrapped around a pale and screaming brunette. Cobb had to run across the unstable blacktop to get to them, dodging the growing stream of projections and projectiles. He crashed into Browning from behind and almost wrenched him from the fence. "Browning!" he shouted over the roar of falling metal. "You're dreaming!" He pushed his gun into Browning's temple. "I'm going to wake you up, understand?"
Browning stared back at him, and his confusion shifted swiftly to panic. "Wait," he said, craning back. "Wait--where's Robert?" His face went deathly pale. "Did he see this?"
"You're going to have to ask him up top," Cobb said. He cocked the hammer back.
"No--wait!" Browning tried to reach for him but he was too frightened to release the fence and the woman was still clinging to him. "Tell him I didn't--I'm not--"
Cobb shot him in the forehead. As he collapsed his hand came off the fence, and with a shriek the woman wrestled free of him to keep from being dragged down the slope. The body rolled, passing close by Robert's rooted feet, but he didn't seem to notice.
Cobb started to look for Eames, but then was jerked when the brunette snatched his arm. He struggled against her until it occurred to him that she was the only projection left not wearing a mask. With one hand gripping the fence he tried to urge her back. "Mrs. Fischer...?"
She heaved a sigh. "How disappointing." In a sudden reversal of temperament she sagged against Cobb and stared down at the seemingly catatonic Robert with disgust. "I should have just ruined Peter from the start."
Cobb's eyes widened. "Banks?"
"At least I took care of Fischer." She lifted her head and took in the decaying surroundings, slowly, before turning her wide blue eyes on Cobb. "What's Limbo like?" she asked, breathless.
Cobb swallowed, feeling almost hypnotized by her straight, unblinking gaze. "It's...beautiful," he confessed.
Charla smiled. It wasn't her face but he could see her through it, and was surprised to find her serene, even lovely. She watched him with quiet, patient acceptance and stretched to the end of his arm, waiting for him to shake her free. He wanted to. Her round eyes and shy smile reminded him of Mal and he ached to cast her into the hell she deserved, but he hesitated and wasn't sure why.
Charla scowled. "You coward."
Her hand shot out, clawing into his chest, and she pulled herself up so she could wield the knife suddenly clutched in the other. The blade sliced through his palm, severing two of his fingers and ruining his grip on the fence. He might have been able to keep his balance still, but then she pulled, using all her weight to tear him down the slope.
Cobb felt the earth drop out from under him. His stomach leapt into his throat and he panicked, forgetting the gun in his grip as he struggled to throw her off. They skidded down the heated lot, swearing and struggling. I can't do it again, Cobb thought as he thrashed. Not another fifty years!
A hand latched onto the back of his collar and jerked him to a halt. Charla tried to hang on but he kicked her feet out from under her. Her high heeled sandals slid on the pavement and she slammed onto her shoulder. She screamed as she fell; Cobb watched, his breath held until she disappeared, grasping and flailing, over the edge of the world.
Cobb released a deep sigh, but when he saw who it was that had halted his descent, he went still all over again. It was Robert holding him by the collar, still impossibly inert despite the chaos falling all around him. He stared at Cobb with curious recognition. "Mr. Charles," he said. "You shouldn't still be here, either."
Cobb started to reply, but then Robert reached down, wrenching the knife out of his bleeding hand. The last thing he saw before he woke up was the blade rushing toward his eye.
***
"Get off!" Eames hollered, swinging his elbow back. He cast off the scrambling wraiths one by one, tearing their masks off and shredding cloaks with his bare hands. "Get off me--to hell with you!" He dug his toes into the ground, hunting out any crack that could be used for leverage, and braced himself against the continuing onslaught. He felt as if they had been crashing over him for hours, but their numbers were endless and there was no reprieve in sight. He couldn't even make out Robert anymore, didn't know if Cobb and the others had found escape. All he knew was that he was being driven, inch by inch, to the brink.
The dream was already bellowing around him, but when a new roar layered over it Eames heard it right away. He lifted his head, and blanched at the sight of white spray shooting out from far above him, coating the lifted edge of the park. The mist was only a prelude; with a sound like thunder a wall of water soared over the bow, dark and foaming and all-engulfing. It crashed into what remained of the ravaged landscape, like a cleansing bulldozer sweeping away the rides and the blinking lights and their ghastly inhabitants.
Eames forced his knees to bear him. He clawed his way up the slope, and when he'd worked up enough momentum he stood, sprinting past the panicked wraiths. The entire skyline was rushing at him but he ran, flinging projections out of his path, his heart hard behind his ribs. Desperation pounded at his heels and poured sweat into his eyes. Please, he begged, his hand outstretched, hopeless but unrelenting. Please!
The wraiths parted, revealing Robert's turned back, his shoulders squared against the inevitable. Eames forced what strength he had left into his legs and leapt. His arm twisted around Robert's chest, and his fingers clenched in the fabric of his uniform just as the water hit them.
***
Eames washed up on a desolate shore. He shivered within layers of soaked clothing as frigid waves kneaded him into the gray sand, and a hard wind snapped against his bare hands and face. There was no sun to grant him relief, only tumbling clouds and white caps and empty earth stretching on and on into inconceivable distances.
There was a solemn void where the world had once been. Like any dream Eames's subconscious swelled to fill it, but there was only blank canvas, free of border and form. The possibilities were endless. Eames felt his stomach drop as if gravity were reversing, and then his imagination went to work, spilling out over the unclaimed abyss with a ferocity he thought he'd lost to childhood years.
Clouds parted to make way for warming sun, turning the forsaken beach from gray to gold. The wind softened and the waves calmed--simple, instinctual alterations that made his rest bearable. But then the land began to buckle and rise, drawing Eames further from himself. He felt as if he was being drawn in by the vacuum of space, and he couldn't help but claw mountains out of the rocks. There were entire worlds waiting to be born, histories to be reinvented, memories recreated with the clarity and bias they deserved. Infinity was his to command.
"Stop," Eames whispered, cowering in the sand. He kept his eyes squeezed shut but it didn't sway his mind from its work: out of the earth sprang jagged bluffs capped with rich soil and long grass. Rolling hillsides rippled outward, sloping and cantering into the untamed English countryside he had often envisioned as a boy growing up in crowded suburbs. "Stop," he repeated, as rivers carved through his landscape, bubbled into lakes, raced upward against gravity and crashed into waterfall pools. Flowers bloomed in every color and gnarled trees formed ranks like weary sentinels. Headstones, unintelligible and moss-laden, gathered within the borders of a crumbling stone wall.
"Stop." Eames dug his fingers in, but all matter gave way beneath him, and he couldn't staunch the outpour. He had never felt such freedom, and he wanted to create more, to become godly in a purgatory of his own making. He could build the fantasy castles from his youth, the desert warzones, his hiding spot behind the rickety cupboard, the surfaces of undiscovered moons, the musty back room where he first fell in love, the black safe with all his faces--he could craft anything, be anything, could try on every mask and live each to the end of eternity, and maybe then finally know who he was meant to be.
"Stop!" Eames gasped, feeling his body warp beneath the growing pressure. "Stop, please stop, stop, stop..."
Warm lips met his. He flinched away at first, fearing what little remained of his concentration would shatter, but they were insistent and seeking. With a sound of pain Eames leaned into the eager kiss. Fingernails skated over his whiskers and drew him in, until he was nestled against a familiar body, and slowly the fog lifted from his desperate mind.
Robert. Eames drew in a sharp breath through his nose and kissed Robert fervently, letting chilled fingers and a tender mouth remind him of a dream shared not so long before. They were still the only men in the world, isolated, and as long as Robert was safe he needed nothing more.
His imagination stilled. The world flexed and shuddered and paused in its jubilant growth, allowing Eames to collapse against the shore with a choking sigh. He kissed Robert again and was relieved when he could tell that his face was still his, just by the way it felt against Robert's own. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Robert stared back at him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Eames smiled weakly and kissed him again, just to be sure. "For now." He could still feel the pull at the back of his mind, and somewhere in the distance he might have still been paving streets with charcoal sketches, but the terror of having his mind flung to the far reaches had passed.
Robert turned his gaze upward. "Where are we?" he asked.
"This is...the deepest recess of your mind," Eames replied quietly. Even the explanation frightened him. "Of our minds. The dream underneath the dream."
"Limbo."
"...Yes."
Robert leaned back and shoved his arms beneath him; it took him some effort to sit up, as if his heart wasn't in it. Eames pushed himself up next to him, and they leaned shoulder to shoulder as the waves danced over their outstretched ankles.
"This feels familiar," Robert said, licking salt water from his lips.
"Oh." Eames grimaced. "Yes, it does." He watched the ocean undulating in the distance, remembering that rainy morning at the bay. It had been a much different feeling then. "Are you all right?"
Robert blinked slowly. "I don't know."
Eames's fingers curled against the sand, and he watched Robert's profile carefully. "How much do you remember?" he asked.
Robert's eyelids drooped, and he continued to stare straight ahead for nearly a full minute. His apathy was chilling. He shook his head. "Can you wake up from Limbo?"
"Yes," Eames said quickly. "It's been done before."
"What's going to happen to me when I wake up?"
Eames started to answer, but he couldn't get the words out. Five months ago he had slicked the water from his face and known, with certainty, what would happen once the clocked ticked down. He might never be certain of anything again. "I don't know," he admitted.
Robert sagged into his shoulder. "Then maybe I should just stay here," he said.
Eames closed his eyes. All at once he understood the cold and dreary resignation nestling into his side, and he ached so deeply that he couldn't breathe. "You can," he said, killing himself on the words. "If that's what you want." He swallowed, and a shudder boiled out of his stomach with a taste of bile. The world was still clawing at his edges and it was only a matter of time before he was someone else.
"But I can't." Eames took in a sharp breath and nudged the almost-corpse from his arm. "I can't, Robert. I'm waking up." He jerked to his feet.
Robert stared up at him, and at last a flicker of emotion shook the indifference out of his face. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.
"This isn't real--it's all just a dream." He reached down, praying one last time that he hadn't failed completely. "Please, Robert," he said. "Wake up with me."
Robert stared at his hand for a long moment, confused and afraid, but at long last he slipped his cold fingers into Eames's. With a deep breath he pulled his knees in, and Eames helped him upright. He swayed at first, but Eames was steady, and they stood close together on the sand. "Okay," he said quietly.
Eames didn't waste time on relief. The earth quivered and then stone rose beneath their feet, pushing them up off the beach. Robert clutched Eames's hand with both of his as they were lifted by the earthly pillar, higher and higher, rushing into the sky. Like a living monolith they pierced the shoreline panorama, until cold wind was again howling at their ears and gravity beckoned. When they were dozens of meters high Eames turned his attention on the ground far below, shaping the sloping beach into jagged rocks in all directions.
He was preparing himself for the fall when he felt Robert turn, and he glanced back. Robert was staring into the distance, where Eames's imagination had already filled his empty brain with lush and blooming landscape: forests and waterfalls and villages all grew and matured where there had only minutes ago been barrenness. His eyes widened with awe. "Did you make all that?" he asked. Even as they watched, bricks piled on bricks in the distance to create fortress walls already rough with decades of wear. "In the short time we've been here?"
"Yes," Eames murmured, and as much as it warmed him to see Robert view the product of his raw talent with so much appreciation, anxiety sobered him. When he tried to stop the evolution, he couldn't. "That's why I can't stay."
Robert pointed. "Look."
Eames followed his indication to the rolling hills and there spotted, already far off in the distance, a woman on horseback. Her blue dress and long brown hair fluttered out behind her as she and her chestnut mare raced over windswept green. She was unhindered and already closing in on the ever-changing horizon.
"Should we stop her?" Robert asked.
Eames shook his head. She was lost, completely free; he envied her, and it frightened him. "We can't."
They turned, facing down the jagged coast and the waves churning across it. "We're waking up," Eames told Robert, squeezing his hand tightly. He stepped to the edge and tugged Robert with him. "Just remember that, and we'll both be fine." I hope.
Robert nodded, and clung to him as he slipped his toes over the cliff. His breath quickened and his eyes grew impossibly wide, but when Eames lifted one foot off the ground, so did he. They leaned forward and the wind pulled them in welcome. "We're waking up," Robert echoed, so quietly that Eames could only tell by reading his lips. He took a deep breath, and then they jumped.
To Chapter 19
