When the Devil Dances

“Ah dunno, honeychile,” Elgars answered with a thin smile. “An’ Ah wish you’d drop it.”

Wendy’s eyes went wide and a shiver went down her spine. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Whuh?”

“Never mind.”

They ate in silence for a period while Elgars looked around with interest and Wendy carefully considered her new acquaintance.

“Do you remember what a southern accent ‘sounds’ like?” Wendy asked carefully.

Elgars turned from her examination of their surroundings and nodded. “Yuh.”

“Have you thought… would you want to try talking with one?” Wendy asked. “It sort of seems like… you want to be talking with one. It’s the only time you’re clear.”

Elgars narrowed her eyes at the younger girl and clamped her jaw. But after a sulfurous moment she took a breath. “You mean lahk this?” she said. Her eyes widened at the smooth syllables. “Shee-it, thet’s we-eird as hay-ll!”

“That’s a bit thicker than you were,” Wendy said with a smile. “But it’s clear.”

“What the hayll is happenin’ to me?” Elgars said, the accent smoothing out and the voice softening. She set down her knife and grabbed her hair with both hands. “Am Ah goin’ nuts?”

“I don’t think so,” Wendy said, quietly. “I know people who are nuts, you’re just eccentric. I think the shrinks were driving you nuts, though. I don’t know who is coming out of that head, but I don’t think it is the person who went into the coma. For whatever reason. They kept telling you that you had to be what they reconstructed that person to be. And I don’t think they were right.”

“So, who am Ah?” Elgars asked, her eyes narrowing. “You’re sayin’ Ah’m not Anne Elgars? But they did a DNA check and that’s the face Ah’m wearin’. Who am Ah then?”

“I dunno,” Wendy said, setting her own implements down and regarding the redhead levelly. “We all wear masks, right? Maybe you’re who Anne Elgars really wanted to be; her favorite mask. Or maybe you’re who Anne Elgars really was and the Anne Elgars that everybody thought they knew was the mask.”

Elgars regarded her in turn then pushed away her tray. “Okay. How the hell do Ah find out?”

“Unfortunately, I think the answer is talk to the psychs,” Wendy said. She shook her head at Elgars’ expression. “I know, I don’t like ’em either. But there are some good ones; we’ll just have to get you a new one.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the cafeteria and her face worked. “Changing the subject, one of the things we haven’t discussed is work. As in what I have to go to. I think you’re suppose to help with it; at least that is what I think the psychs meant. God knows we could use a few more hands.”

“What is it?”

“Ah, well,” Wendy said carefully. “Maybe we should go look it over, see if you like it. If you don’t, I’m sure we can find something you’ll enjoy.”

“So,” Elgars said with a throaty chuckle, “s’nc you can’ be in s’curity or t’ Arrrm’uh, whuh do you do?”

* * *

The door must have been heavily soundproofed because when it opened the sound of shrieking children filled the hallway.

The interior of the creche was, as far as Elgars could tell, a kaleidoscope that had experienced a hurricane. There was one small group of children — most of them seemed to be five or so to her admittedly inexpert eye — that was not involved in movement. They were grouped around a girl who was not much older, perhaps seven or eight, who was reading a story. And there was one little boy sitting in the far corner working on a jigsaw puzzle. Other than that the remaining ten or so children were running around, more or less in circles, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

It was the most unpleasant sound Elgars had ever heard. She had a momentary desire to pounce on one of them and eviscerate it just to get it to Shut Up.

“There are fourteen here during the day,” Wendy said loudly, looking at Elgars somewhat nervously. “Eight of them are here all the time, Shari’s three and five other who are orphans.”

A medium height blond woman carrying a baby made a careful path through the circle of playing children. She could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty with a pleasant face that had probably once been exceedingly pretty. The years had clearly been hard, though, and what looks were left hovered between rough and beautiful, like a tree that had been battered by a century of winds. Despite that she seemed to be almost completely imperturbable as if she had seen the world at its worst and until something to equal it came along it was a good day.

“Hi, Wendy,” she said in a husky contralto that bespoke years of cigarettes. “Who’s your friend?”

“Shari, this is Anne Elgars. Captain Elgars, technically, but she’s on convalescent status,” Wendy said in one rush. “Captain, this is Shari Reilly. She runs this creche.”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Shari said, holding out her free hand, which happened to be the left.

“Pl’sed,” Elgars croaked.