#eexopen

The crisp white coat on Toto’s shoulders was so pristine it almost defied reason. Pants, shoes, turtleneck—everything was white, beaming off the elevator doors as they opened to Hebe’s Hideaway. There was a lot to notice about the new floor—the walls, the lava lamps, the sea of hanging lights—but Toto’s eyes were still and glassy, and he looked at nothing. The Theatre had left him with so many thoughts that they gathered in his head like a mess of tangled yarn, but in the quiet moments he had worked away at them, thought by thought, until the last strings unravelled. He knew now what had to be done.

Music reached his ears halfway down the hall; it was a chipper tune that coaxed him out of his head, and his faraway stare took on some focus. He stopped, turned, saw the word ‘KARAOKE’ flashing on the wall. This, he thought, the corners of his mouth stretching into a smile. This is perfect! Toto pushed open the door, and was promptly greeted by the robot manning the front desk. “Welcome! ♪” it chirped. “Ah, a solo artist! Shall I show you to a room?” “Haha! You’re too cute!” I’ll have that one—the closest one!” “Of course! ♪ If you’ll just follow me . . .”  “I’ll be right there!” Toto called over his shoulder, hands around a potted plant. He lifted it with ease and walked it from the desk to the door, which he propped open. The potted plant proved to be an effective doorstop and, satisfied with his work, Toto joined the robot in the karaoke room. 

“What song will you be singing today?”  “The longest one,” said Toto, taking up the microphone. “I want to sing right away!”

The robot’s lights gleamed blue, and Toto watched as a long list of songs flew past the screen to land on one nine-minute ballad. Just as requested, the music began to play, but Toto’s requests were far from over. 

“Quieter, make it quieter—not me, the music! Make me louder. Louder! . . . Even louder!" Toto cupped a hand over his mic. “This is the loudest it can go, right?”  “That’s right,” said the robot. Was that a note of hesitation in its voice? “Perfect! Ah, you’re lucky! This won’t hurt your ears at all! Haha!”

With the music low and the room humming, Toto brought the microphone to his lips. 

“Everyone? Can you hear me?” The speakers groaned under the deafening volume of Toto’s voice. It was a wonder the television didn’t shatter; instead, it diligently displayed the lyrics to a ballad that Toto would never sing. 

“When I saw how all your faces have changed since we got here . . . I knew I had to do something. So . . . with this announcement, I’m going to help you. I’m going to . . . to pick you up out of the darkness. Because there’s light in enlightenment!”  The microphone screeched in protest as Toto raised his voice, arm splayed out at his side, addressing an empty room of seats and menus and a robot that seemed to stare through him. 

“Vamp and Vi and Blythe and Shepherd, Fairy and Fantasma . . . did you know you can smile for all of them?” His voice brimmed with pride. “Right now, they’re in a magnificent place—the next place, the fully-bloomed world! And we can all go there, all of us, as long as our soul is strong. Haha! Isn’t that great? Do you know how lucky we are?! Listen! The path to that world was closed, for five-hundred years! But now everyone gets a chance! Everyone sharing this world, right now!” One vigorous gesture followed the next. Toto’s words of excitement boomed out into the hall.

“No one ever knew what happened when we left this place. Even now! Even now, there are people . . . people like you!” A note of pain crept into his voice. “Who don’t know anything! But I’ve seen it. I left my body behind to begin my migration, and then . . . then I came back! You know why?” He paused, waiting for a response that never came. “To enlighten everyone else! I had to come back so that everyone would understand. So . . . do you?” Toto’s eyes lingered on the counter on the screen—two minutes left.

“Aaaah, there’s so much to tell you. Do you get it. . .?” Toto ran a hand through his hair, cycling through all the things he had said, all the things he hadn’t. “Come find me,” he said. “I can explain all of it. You can ask me anything. OK?” Toto glanced at the robot, almost as if asking for guidance. The microphone felt suddenly heavy in his hand. “For this announcement, I’ll just sayyy . . .” He fell silent, searching for the right words. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, quiet. “This isn’t the place where everything ends. This is the place . . . where I met you. It’s where we became each other’s friends. And whatever happens, the next world will be waiting, and we’ll meet again.”

...Some things were simply too good to be true.

Nightingale knew that. If your results are positive, check and check and check and check again, because coincidences happen. If someone offers you the world, then you open the gift horse’s mouth wide and peer right down its throat to check for its rotten core. There had only been one offer in her life that hadn’t had a catch, and even then it had closed its jaws around her in its own way.

It had been foolish, to think this was different. And she had the nerve to think that the boat was full of children, when she may as well have been a child herself. 

Life did not hand you anything, and having the hubris to think so now meant they were being punished. That she was being punished. A caged bird, forced to sing for entertainment -- only there were fourteen other birds screaming for freedom, and it would only be a matter of time before they started sharpening their beaks.

The glow of the clock -- now crimson -- followed her like a demon’s eye as she swept off the deck, into the foyer, into the glass prison of the elevator. A wide-open space -- the lounge seemed promising at first, but the space seemed menacing, almost; not enough obstacles to throw in the path of an attacker,  a space behind those curtains where someone could hide. 

So... instead, the restaurant, where she could pull out a chair and sit, clutch the sleeves of her coat around herself, and -- take a moment to slow her breathing, to bring her heart rate down, to-- get a grip. 

She had, after all, found herself in something of a position of responsibility. 

And the door, and her shoulders tensed, even as she forced herself to look up, and-- crack a smile. Weak, but there. Someone had to start smiling if they were going to make it out alive, and Nightingale had never been a stranger to taking the reins.

“...There is saying, in my family’s country. Bude-li v holubníku krm, holubi se sletí. Literally is... if pigeons are fed, pigeons will come.”

She motioned to the seat across from her, trying to smile a little wider. “...More accurate translation is that if you act like ass, you must not be surprised if you are ridden. We have all become asses in coming here, is my thinking. But, is also saying that patience brings roses, and unity strength. So I am hoping these are also true.” 

The watch in her vest pocket felt like it burned against her, and knowing that the other had one the same that would give them license to kill kept running through her mind. But, a day at a time. A step at a time. And ignoring the elephant in the room never did anything.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream ♪  I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream ♫ And I know you too, I walked with you once upon a dream ♪ You, you, you, I walked with you once upon a dream!” He folded the papers twice over, ran his tongue along the bitter part of the envelopes, pressed them crookedly in place. With a red pen, he scrawled a name, and then another. On the floor of his bedroom, Toto was surrounded by copies of the same letter, each less neatly written than the last—it was as if his handwriting had deteriorated over time, but really it was just his patience. Only two hours remained until Movie Night; 9:45 p.m at the theatre, just as his invitations promised. ‘Pajamas welcome!’ ‘Come with an empty stomach!’ Toto sang his jaunty tune as he glanced over the last of the papers. Certain it was perfect, Toto sealed it away and tucked the stack of envelopes into his coat pocket. 

 After pulling on his suspenders and checking his smile in the mirror, Toto danced out the door. When it closed behind him, a thought struck. 

“Party food!”

There was popcorn and candy at the cinema—he had seen it earlier that evening—but was it enough? Toto had been to hundreds of parties, perhaps thousands. He knew that there was no such thing as a party without variety. It was at that moment he remembered the eight-layer cake he had won that still stood, undestroyed, in the restaurant. With a proud, energized laugh, Toto sprinted down the hall. - - - - - - -  At 9:45, the stage for Movie Night had been set. Previews were rolling on the screen. Rows of refreshments lined white-clothed tables that were not there before. Chocolates, candies, pizzas, and a bowl of cold spaghetti were just a few of the choices provided. At the other end of the room, the wedding cake towered expectantly. 

Toto slouched into his seat in the front row, picking at the popcorn in his lap. Exactly ten identical bags lined the seats beside him, one for each passenger—for a lucky few, there was chocolate drizzle. When the opening credits began, the first guest had yet to arrive. Soon, Toto thought, each time with less vigour. It had been nearly two hours by the time Toto had decided to rest his eyes, just for a moment. The sound of the movie seemed to drift further and further away.

The first sign was in the elevator, fastened to the glass by a crooked piece of tape. ’SO PYJAMA PARTY IN GAME ROOM’ it read in bold, blocky letters. The second sign was in the centre of the suites; ‘PARTY THAT WAY’, accompanied by a long arrow pointing towards the elevator. The third sign was taped to the spa door: ‘THIS WAY TO PYJAMA PARTY!!! ☺’ 

For all who wished to make an appearance, the Game Room was the final stop; inside, Toto could be found by the dartboard, awaiting his guests with an impressive pink bubble protruding from his mouth. He was notably not wearing pajamas. All around him, board games of every kind had been put on display, and the pool table had been repurposed into a snack table—there was chocolate-drizzled popcorn, tortilla chips, salsa, a bowl of moderately burnt cheese, five types of gummy candy, and whole apples for the health-conscious passengers aboard.

“Mm-. . .!” 

Toto spun around when he heard the door open, eyes alight with excitement. It took only a glance to determine that Dot’s announcement had not been weighing heavily on Toto’s mind. Killing Hour? Murder? Detectives? Right now they were only words. The bubble deflated with a pop, and Toto peeled it off his face.

“You’re the first one here!” he said. At the other end of the room, the newly-arrived passenger did not look quite so happy as he did. Toto remembered the crowd on the deck two hours earlier—all those faces, drawn and uneasy. 

“Oh–! Are you worried?” Toto tipped his head to the side, his voice loud even over the pinging of machines. “That someone’s going to hurt you?” He took a step closer. “Because of the prizes, right?”  Toto pulled the Killing Hour watch from his pocket. He held it up at his side, grinned, and moved his thumb over the bright red button at the top. Click. The clock’s hands dialed upright; slowly, one began to tick.

Everyone responded to new things differently—it was a lesson that had been imparted to Toto when he was very young, but he had never seen the truth of those words quite so clearly as he did aboard this ship. As the newly-decorated Dot beckoned them all through the foyer, her guests dispersed, some still wearing frowns from the night before. Everyone responded to new things differently—so was this focus in their eyes? Did these slow steps forward come from the kind of excitement that was almost too much to bear? Toto could feel it too. His heart was drumming in his chest, and his glee was electric. The more he thought about the hesitation and the quiet of the passengers around him, the more he understood them. Anyone would be overwhelmed by what lay ahead; a flowing fountain, red trees, walls of paintings like Bal du moulin de la Galette and Nympheas—and all on the third floor of a cruise ship. With a toothy grin that announced his impatience, Toto rushed forward. He was through the gallery and out of sight in an instant, but the lively sound of his footsteps could still be heard.

- 

When someone came upon him in the Practice Room an hour later, Toto did not notice them right away. Music blared from the sound system, dense and punchy and several notches too loud—so loud that anyone who stepped inside those four walls would be able to feel the bass in their bones. In the centre of the room, Toto was a storm of energy, sharp and sweeping. He moved without pause, each motion snapping to the next with seamless elasticity. Toto danced with the kind of control that only came from experience, but there was a wildness in it, a spirit of freedom that could not be learned. The fire that moved Toto’s body was something that only a love to dance could achieve.

Hinged to the rhythm, Toto danced and danced, not stopping even when he locked eyes with his fellow passenger through the mirror. His coat billowed behind him as he spun around, and when he finally spoke, his voice managed to cut through the noise.

“Haha! Come dance with me!”

Toto danced over to the other guest, beckoning as if to reel them in by magnetic force. He gentled his movements just a little as he crept closer, and then a few steps away again; a wordless invitation to join in.

It was eleven minutes past midnight, and the Sleepover Suite was dark and empty. Pillows collected in heaps, folded and creased from when Daisy, Bandit and Toto had made beds of them. Wrappers from cookie packets and sticks of gum still littered the left corner, and in the centre of the room a game of Monopoly sat unfinished. Toto stood blinking in the doorway. Oh, he realized, the rooms were reopened—and then he was struck by a feeling of incredible loneliness. Toto lingered there for half a minute longer before he shut the door.

When the elevator stopped and he stepped out onto the sixth floor, Toto decided he was no longer lonely—there was so much to do and see that it left little room in his head for any thought but one, and it was a truth he had known all his life: the reasons to smile far outnumbered the reasons not to. And so he smiled as he moved down the empty hall, thinking that maybe, if his late night exploration stretched on long enough, he would cross paths with a friend. He never did—but he played soccer with the gym ball and danced with the human models in the lab, and after that he ate banana cream pie in the movie theatre until he felt sick. In spite of the nausea and an errant crumb on his cheek, Toto still managed to look dazzling in all of the pictures he took in the photo booth—he was sure that anyone would say so.

By the time he reached Paradise Deck, half the sky had already turned pink. Toto fished the pocket watch out of his coat to find that it was several hours later than he had thought; he did not consider how it might look should someone find him standing there, alone in the still-dark morning with the Killing Hour inches from his fingertips, but no one ever did, and he carried on—past the volleyball court that was now so clean, past the pool where he had once thrown Fantasma from his shoulders, and on another day found himself stranded with Daisy in a makeshift gondola. Toto walked to the very end, the bow of the ship where, at one time, fifteen passengers had stood. The deck seemed so much larger now. Toto spread his arms, teetered from one foot to the other, hummed a jaunty tune as he looked out at the sun on the horizon. It cast a glimmering orange line down the centre of the sea, where Toto noticed a spot of water that was several shades darker than the rest—and then that darkness moved.

“Ah–!”

The sea frothed around the shape as it broke the surface, smooth and grey, and two smaller shapes followed. From the first, a burst of water. From the second, a tail.

“Aaaah-! Haha! Les baleines!”

Toto tore from his spot at the bow and raced to the elevator in a clumsy sprint, jabbing the down button over and over as he descended to the first floor. The doors has barely opened when Toto shouldered his way through, screaming his delight into the hall.

“Whales! Whales, there are whales, wake up!” He banged his fists on every door in his path—Daisy’s, Bandit’s, Nobody’s, Lumi’s, Judge’s, Nightingale’s, even Dot’s. “Upstairs!” he called out. “Hurry!”

Toto did not wait for an answer; once his friends had been sufficiently alerted, he was back in the elevator, loosed onto Paradise Deck. He ran and ran until he reached the bow, but when he looked out at the sea again he saw nothing but a sheet of glistening water. A small sound escaped Toto as he opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped himself when he realized that whales would not be convinced by him. With his palms against the barrier, he watched the empty water, rooted to the spot until he heard the footsteps of a friend who had answered his call. He turned to face them.