The summer twilight now descending all around me carried a sense of a day ending, the walls and corridors reflecting a faint reddish glow. I felt drowsy and peaceful, and I had to fight hard not to succumb and simply accept whatever was coming. I must get back to Julia and Tom, but first, I had to see what now lay behind the door to the rehearsal room. This artifice and whatever it represented were beginning to fall apart; there was an air of impermanence about the whole structure, and the walls now more resembled curtains of red light rather than solid things.
I staggered forward on the shifting floor, trying hard to keep my balance, and upon reaching the door, I pushed it open.
Before me was a watercolour painting in pastel shades of green and red, quite still and unmoving. As I stared, blobs of undifferentiated white became people seated at tables. It seemed my act of observation was bringing the scene to life, and through the mist, I saw that the entire cast had huddled together in the centre of the room. There were bottles of wine on the table and half-empty glasses, but if this had been a celebration, it was over.
I looked around the table, and the people sitting there stared back vacantly with dumb smiles on their faces. There were a couple of girls sitting on men's laps with cocktail glasses in hand, and there was an awful air of finality hanging in the air.
Whoever was controlling my quest had resorted to using set pieces. They were either running out of ideas and thought I would not notice, or they were working with limited resources. Either way, it showed that they had limitations.
One of the girls, more aware, was softly weeping as she pressed her partner's hand to her face. He smiled back at her foolishly before slumping into his seat, unaware and untouched. She was playing the same part as the semi-conscious girl by the pool, and I was reluctant to repeat that scene, but I could not simply walk away without some sign of acknowledgement. As before, I extended my hand to meet hers, and she reached out to make contact. She wore a silver bracelet engraved with her name, Janine. Smiling gently, Janine turned back to her companion and, in a rehearsed move, protectively placed her arm around his shoulders.
Letting out a hard sigh and closing my eyes, a tear ran down my face, but I did not attempt to brush it away; I could not continue with this charade for much longer.
Somebody grabbed my arm, and a voice bellowed in my ear, snapping me out of my self-pity.
"I am not your uncle Albert. Did you not hear what she said? It was a play—make-believe. Now calm down, or I am going to have to throw you out."
Jeff was still with it to an extent, still functioning, and I peeled his hand from my arm.
"Okay, Jeff," I said.
He looked confused, searching for something to say, and then sat down. Who these beings were, and whoever had granted them such a temporary existence, they were people who had experienced consciousness and emotions; they deserved better than this.
On cue, the ground shifted, and there was a low rumbling from deep below. I could do nothing for these people; I had to get back to Julia and Jack before it was too late.
The door to the corridor was stuck shut, and I had to barge my way through the corridor, where the ground was undulating like a stone sea. I jumped from trough to trough, pausing at the crest of every wave, but now the ceiling above me sagged alarmingly, and drops of liquid began to fall all around me. The situation was becoming desperate, and as twilight began to deepen, it became increasingly difficult to maintain my sense of direction.
"Peregrine!"
The shout came from my left, and I saw Julia standing at the open stage door, beckoning me to come over. To reach her, I had to cross the flow of the stone sea, knowing that if I slipped into the current, it would be impossible to escape. Water began to pour in torrents, and it was clear that if the ceiling burst, a massive volume of water would crash down and flood the corridor. I would never get to her in time. I signalled to Julia to close the door; a flood could occur any second, and the door was a sturdy structure that might prevent the water from entering the stage area.
Julia ignored me, and, gripping the wall with one hand, extended her arm to meet mine. Knowing that the falling water would sweep me away, I abandoned all caution and leapt from crest to crest like a hurdle racer. Our hands connected, and we fell back together behind the door. I bounced straight back to my feet and firmly shut the door, dropping the horizontal iron bar into place. I sank to the floor, exhausted, and crawled over to where Julia lay.
"Are you OK?" I gasped.
She didn't answer and lay still with her eyes closed.
Oh no!
I shook her gently, and she said, "Just give me a moment, Peregrine; you are no lightweight, you know—you knocked all the breath out of me."
I almost cried with relief.
I'm afraid of the others," I began.
She had opened her eyes now.
"Gone, are they?" She said it without expression.
"I should think so; the whole place seems to be collapsing."
"I mean, were they gone when you arrived there? she said, emphasising the word.
She knew then.
"Yes, almost a couple of them still remembered their lines, but it was near the end."
There was a loud roar from outside the door, and the central iron bar on our side slammed against its restraint. The door held against the surge of water, but I wondered how much time we had left. I knew nothing of the building's layout, but if it was a complete structure and not a series of separate sections, the corridors would connect and the entire area would eventually flood.
"Let's go up to the stage, Julia, and see how Jack is."
We automatically linked our hands as we walked. Looking back, I cannot recall exactly how I felt, but it was possible that in my mind, Julia and Montana had become one.
Jack was still sitting on the throne where we had left him, but his chin was resting on his chest. He couldn't be asleep, surely? I walked over to his chair and shook him.
"Jack?"
No response. I put my hand under his chin and raised his head; it was a dead weight. I pulled back an eyelid and saw the white of his eye. Jack was so out of it that I feared for a second that he might be dead, but I could feel a slow but rhythmic pulse in the carotid artery in his neck; he was alive, and he was breathing.
I got to my feet and looked around in confusion. More than ever, now, I felt convinced that this whole experience was a dream, and I was back in the hall, asleep, or somebody had taken me back to my room, and I was in my bed. I closed my eyes and willed myself to wake up.
Come on, come on.
I was banging my fist against my forehead and hitting myself harder and harder.
"Peregrine, stop."
It was Julia—or was it Montana? Was this all some kind of stupid wind-up?
I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, whoever she was.
"Who put you up to this? Tell Jack to open his eyes. I am sick of all this. Put things back to normal."
I was aware that I was shouting, and worse than that, Julia was crying great, heart-wrenching sobs. My anger instantly evaporated, and I pulled her close.
"Julia, I am so sorry; please don't cry."
She buried her head on my shoulder, and without thinking, I pulled up her tear-stained face to my own. Our lips met, and we kissed. A deep and passionate kiss sent my head spinning. When we finally broke off, I embraced her even more tightly.
"Montana."
She stiffened.
"You can let me go now. Everything is going to be fine," she said, gently removing my hand from her arm. Can't somebody get him a cup of tea or something? I really must go."
I grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Montana, what are you saying? It's me, Peregrine; we love each other."
"Now, now, my friend. We don't want to lose control, do we? That was all in the play, and we were just acting. It's not real, don't you understand? My name is not Montana; it's Julia, and I have an appointment to keep. Now take your hands off me and let me go."
This could not be happening. She was repeating her lines from when I first saw her. She was the same as the rest of the cast—an automaton that was running down.
"Montana, please…" . . .