“About what?” Q said.
“Everything.” Raya walked over to the dresser and stood behind the girl she used to be. “She should have wiped that lipstick off. She should have forgotten all about performing her songs. She should have called Jace and told him not to drive home from college that night to watch her sing.”
“Why?” Q said.
Raya gripped the back of the chair her younger self was sittingon.
Q stood up. “What happened, Raya?”
“Jace didn’t come. He—”
A current swept through the painting and carried her, Q, and the rest of her confession away.
“What time does the gallery close?”
Frequently Asked Questions
The Elsewhere Express
Passenger Handbook
Raya
The current weaved through an underwater labyrinth of Raya’s life. She was young in some paintings, older in others, laughing, sobbing, and everything in between. Raya’s music filled each scene, and her heart knew every note. Thanks to their tether, Q learned the songs too. After winding through corridors of her childhood, the current released them in the corner of a dark room.
“Where are we?” Q looked around.
“We’re back in my bedroom. This is the same night as the first painting we were in.” Raya pointed to a shadow outside her bedroom window. “That’s me sneaking back after performing at the coffeehouse.”
Fifteen-year-old Raya hauled her sticker-covered guitar through her window and rested it against the wall by the door. She crawled into bed, pulled her blanket up to her chin, and stared at the watercolor ceiling. Though the dark hid her younger self’s painted face, Raya knew that she was smiling. Raya touched her cheeks, remembering how much they had ached from grinning ear to ear all the way home. She wasn’t even disappointed that Jace hadn’t shown up.For the first time in her life, she caught a glimpse of what it was like to have a purpose other than being his sister. She performed a new song she had written for him to finish her set and let its notes carry her away. The audience in the half-filled room traveled with her, the warmth of their applause lingering in her chest as she lay in bed, thinking about all the rules she had broken just to find out what she was meant to do beyond being born. Raya sprinted to the door and barricaded it with her body. “She can’t open this door.” Frantic knocking rattled the door against her spine. “I won’t let her.”
“Hiraya,” her mother yelled. “Get up.”
“Raya…” Q reached out to her.
She turned away from him, tears flooding her eyes. “You wanted to know my darkest secret? Here. This is it. Are you happy now? I live in this night, Q. I remember every second of it.” The knocking grew louder, making the entire painting shake. “Jace died because I asked him to watch me sing my stupid songs. He shouldn’t have been in his car. He shouldn’t have been on the road. He should have been safe in bed with all his dreams.”
Painted Raya bolted up. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jace.” Her mother broke into sobs through the door.
Raya grabbed her old guitar. For as long as the door was closed, her mother could not burst into her room and tell her that Jace had been in a car accident or ask her if she knew why her brother had decided to drive home. For as long as the door was closed, she could keep all her guilt behind it. Her painted self ran to the door. Raya swung the guitar at her. The portrait shattered in an explosion of paint, staining Raya’s face with blood-red streaks of stolen lipstick.
Her mother’s sobbing stopped. The bedroom dulled and darkened. A sickly sweet, foul smell seeped into the room. Raya retched and dropped the guitar. Rotting vines crept over the windowsill.
“It’s the stowaway.” Q covered his nose with his sleeve. “We need to get out of here.” He grabbed hold of the doorknob and twisted it. It refused to move. Q rammed the door with his shoulder.
Raya yanked her desk drawers open. She rummaged through them, pushing aside pencils and pens.
“What are you doing?” Q rammed the door again.
Raya grabbed a paintbrush and half-used tubes of paint. “I’m not doing anything.” She thrust the supplies at Q. “You are.”
Q
Tendrils of rot crept through the gap beneath the locked door to Raya’s childhood bedroom. It crawled over the lavender carpet, spreading decay. Q stood on the bed, painting a hatch on the ceiling.
“How much longer?” Raya glanced down at the rotting floor.
