Let’s Not [Obliterate]

The day Dema died, she barely managed to hold herself upright at the grand piano.

“We can stop if you want to. Continue another time,” I told her. We were in a music studio I’d reserved for the day, to record one of Dema’s songs for one of her schemes or whatever, but she was so weak these days, I wished Theora was here.

Dema shook her head. “Nah, let’s get this done today, Zappie.”

“You’re adamant, huh?” She shot me a look that told me so much, my stomach dropped out. “You’re not okay?”

“Apparently I have a big risk for a blood clot now? Well, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, the band will only last for a few more days and I wanted to get done before that anyway.”

I took a very deep breath, trying not to cry on the spot. I’d known for a long time that the end was coming, but now that it was getting closer, it was difficult to grapple with reality. “Well, for what it’s worth, with what we’ve already recorded, we can probably cut together a version that’s good.”

Dema nodded. She wasn’t as fast as Theora learning the guitar, but her progress with the piano had been tremendous. They were both terrifying when they set their minds on something.

“I’ll just…” Dema took a sip from her glass of water, then stretched. “Don’t want something that’s ‘good’, I want something that’s perfect. I’ll just get this done now.” 

And she did. Three takes later, I was in tears after all. It didn’t take ages to finish the mix; only voice and piano after all, and when I was done we set towards home. The wind threatened to swoop Dema away more than once, so we ended up interlocking arms and hiding in wakes as much as we could.

But the short walk to the bus went well, and the bus itself only came twenty minutes late, so at some point in the evening, we got to my home — we were scheduled to hold one last meeting of band practice before getting put on as the opener of a band I met during the festival. 

Needless to say, that never came to be.

We were planning on practice only if Theora made it there, though. If not, we’d just spend an evening with IO. Since we wanted to go all out for practice, my housemates had made it elsewhere for the night. We didn’t have to hold back at all.

“Oh, you’re already here,” I observed when I saw Invent One sitting next to the entry door. “It’s not locked.”

Invent One nodded and got up — probably knew that, I figured, as I let them both in.

 

After a look at my phone, I sighed. “Yep. Storm duty. Theora will stay in attendance at the brigade. Told us to call her if something happens.”

“That bad, huh?” Dema mused, head leaning against the back of her chair. She’d been playing with her bass in her lap. “Think tomorrow’s gonna go well? We kinda needed today’s practice, right…?”

With how many last-minute changes they’d decided on since last week, that appeared to be an accurate assessment. Dema had created another three songs after the festival — a true monster of creativity as of late — and both I and Theora had been eager to include them in their program.

That said… “Honestly, I think it will be fine. You and I are the only ones who really need practice, since Invent One figured out the basics.” My gaze went over to IO, who was busy staring at a wall. “We can look at a song or two now, but… we did get some practice. So it’s going to go well as long as we focus.”

Dema nodded. “Thanks, Zappie.”

I didn’t bother to correct her, and just sighed with an indulgent smile.

She seemed to pick up on it, and apologetically went, “But Zappie’s so much easier to say!”

“Yeah, yeah. Either way, we should practise the song about orcas. Since you’re straining your vocal range with that one, I asked Invent One if it wants to try singing.”

“Song about orcas?” Dema asked. “Which one’s that?”

“ORCA…?”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands in recognition. “That’s short for Our Really Cute Afterstory. It’s like, a song for happy ends! Nothing to do with orcas.”

My eyebrows twitch. “But the lyrics are about how much you like orcas?”

Dema nodded. “Yeah, but the lyrics have nothing to do with the song. They’re just for fun.”

“You are going to give me a headache.”

“Alright, well, then let’s go with the orca song, if you wanna call it that. No pun intended.”

I frowned. “What? Am I missing something? Where is the pun?”

Dema scratched her head. “What do you mean? There’s no pun, that’s what I said!”

I wanted to jump up and go after Dema, and based on her grin and how she was grasping the armrest to be able to get up quickly, that was probably the point. I suddenly got really suspicious. And then it hit me. “Wait, are you doing this on purpose? Are you winding me up?”

Dema pulled up an eyebrow, grinning. “Why, I would never.”

All tension left my body. “You noticed I’m feeling bad, didn’t you?”

Dema’s face turned a bit more serious. “Wanna talk? What’s got you all sad?”

“Well… you know what it is. It’s just… a lot. I don’t want you to leave.”

Invent One nodded. “I don’t want Dema to leave, either. Dema is fairly damaged by now, though. It might be best for her to return home.”

I rub my eyes while Dema lets out a sigh. She says, “Well, yea. Not sure about that. I’m worried about Theora.”

“Wait, what? How?”

Dema pauses for an agonisingly long time. “I have pretty much all of my memories back now, which kinda makes things worse, I think. But like… makes me think.” She tapped her temples. “She’s got this idea in her head that she’ll have to kill me in our home world. And considering what they did to her, I don’t really blame her?”

“What did they do to her?”

IO is the one who answers: “Theora is a weapon programmed to destroy the Ancient Evil. She’s been made to believe, for millennia, that her purpose is to serve the System.”

“It’s difficult for me to fathom that anyone could tell her what to do,” I say, but then again, Theora cares. I could tell her what to do, and she probably would, to a certain extent.

“They can’t,” Dema agrees. “And she tries to refuse them. Doesn’t really change what her caretakers did to her, nor what the System did to her. Probably still feels like an obligation, like she’s failing.”

“So she’s still being exploited,” I say. “But… what does that have to do with your return?”

Dema shrugs. “Just, I’ve been thinking. If I die here, and never return, then she never has to kill me. And we did get some good years, huh?”

My blood runs cold. “What? That can’t possibly be what she wants, though.”

Suddenly, Dema cracks a smile. “Why, that’s the entire point of making her choose, right? I want her to do what she wants. She already knows what I want. Which is to stay with her. But she’s gonna have to make that choice too, if anything’s to work out.”

I frown. I don’t quite get it, but from her expression, I don’t think I’m meant to. It’s between those two. 

“This got me feeling really nervous,” I admit. “I kind of want to get Theora here.”

“It’s alright,” Dema says, and I can hear in her voice that she’s vetoing my proposal to get that girl here right that second.

 

The next few hours are hazy in my memory. We ended up playing without Theora, but not for long. Dema kept teasing me, but as the evening progressed, things got a little more tense. The noise from outside was almost deafening now, even in the basement, and electricity went out. I wanted to call Theora, but there was no reception.

“This is worrying,” Invent One had said, at some point. “Projections are looking poor.”

“What should we do?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I—” 

That’s what I remember. I’m not sure if it happened right then, or if we had more frantic discussions. It was an old house, and it had flaws, of course. But I don’t think that was the reason. The reason was the storm — it was just too strong. Impossibly strong, perhaps. A violent reaction of the world. I have to read between the lines, mostly, when these friends of mine talk about other worlds and all, but what I gather is: the world made an attempt, and succeeded.

Anyway, between the wind, the thunder, the rubble and tree in the air, the building caved in.

I learned later that many houses in town suffered the same fate. 

Things went dark for a while — I assume I lost consciousness. I remember hearing Invent One’s attempts to get us out of the rubble, but its body was too weak, and its access read-only. It went for help. I’m just glad IO wasn’t buried too. Dema and I couldn’t move. I think I was mostly fine; there were air pockets, my legs were stuck under furniture and rock, and I was covered in dust. I may have been bleeding, but my main problem was the cold.

Dema and I must have talked a lot, because I remember parts of our conversation. She was stuck right beside me, out of arm’s reach. I heard her voice close, but couldn’t feel her warmth.

“Nah,” she murmured at some point. “Theora’s gonna get here in time and rescue us. For sure. Can count on that.”

I was the most terrified when the smell of smoke came with a breeze. The building had caught fire. We were in the basement; my roommates were visiting friends out of town that day, so I assumed they were fine. Could IO even find help with that fickle body? In that storm? I hoped it hadn’t gotten stuck somewhere above. 

Dema kept encouraging me all the way through. Like she had way more experience with dying than I did. And I mean — that’s true, even when it comes to dealing with people on the verge. She was in hospice care after all. Went to dialysis several times per week because of her failing kidneys, but other than that, she had mostly been fine. Knowing Theora, she probably took care of Dema like a nurse would have, without even realising. 

Theora never got sick. Not once in our lives do I remember her being sick. I got sick, of course. The fact that she had no experience with it herself had never taken away from the care and gentleness she offered to those who were struggling.

At some point, Dema managed to reach her bag, and pulled out two bottles. She tossed me one. My fingers were too cold to realise at first, but it was warm. A little respite in the freezing air. I wanted to throw it back to Dema, because she needed the warmth more than I did — but she had her own bottle. 

Theora’s tea always stayed hot, no matter what. I put the flask beneath my clothes and hugged it to my chest. I felt invincible beside it.

Perhaps Dema was right — maybe Theora would save us. Like she always did.

I caught Dema drinking from the flask at some point.

“What are you doing? Are you that thirsty? I’m pretty sure it won’t stay hot once you actually drink it.” 

Dema’s eyes were glassy — I only saw them because they actually glowed in the dark. “Why, how can I not drink it? Fills me with warmth.”

I moved in and out of consciousness, but Dema kept waking me. Smoke and heat raged above, freezing cold bit at my legs from beneath, but my heart was safe between Theora’s tea and Dema’s words. 

That feeling of safety turned numb when, eventually, Dema lost consciousness. The flask of tea rolled out of her arms. The lid wasn’t closed properly, so the insides poured out, over my arms and into my hair. It felt like I was punched.

The tea was cold. Ice cold. 

It was cold.

Why was it cold?

My mind searched for a conclusion to this nonsensicality, fogged out and about to fall asleep. Flashes of memories. Dreams? And I remembered. Cold brews. Theora loved cold brews. 

Dema had tricked me. There was only ever one warm bottle. The one she’d handed over.

Dema had kept the cold brew herself.