Goldenrod

A rotten smell emanates from the door, pink paint peeling up from infested wood. Moth-eaten curtains cover cracked windows. Every new observation makes me more and more worried. Surely my information must have been wrong, right? There’s no way that my old friend lives here. The girl I remember would never have let her house get into such a state.
Lola and I had met in middle school. I’d been too shy to talk to anyone, but Lola had walked right up to me and started a conversation. We’d been inseparable ever since. She was a pretty girl, plump with brown hair and eyes. I was surprised she had even noticed me, a mundane. Magicals and mundanes didn’t tend to run in the same circles. High school graduation was the last time I saw her. She was off to study conjuration, I was going to college for economics. We promised to write and meet up, but nothing became of it. It was like she dropped off the face of the earth. The last thing she sent me was a picture of her wedding. She’d been pregnant and feeding a piece of cake to a dark-haired man, both faces gleaming with joy. It was signed, “Miss you! Love, Lola Hearth Martinez.” Eventually, I stopped trying and moved on with my life. 
Until now, at least. I was visiting town for work when I heard strange rumors about Lola. Whispers that she dropped out, her family left, that her house ought to be demolished. I managed to get her address, wanting to find the truth. Those rumors are just that, surely? But… the longer I look at this decrepit door and dead lawn, the more plausible they become. I rub the handle of my taser, comforted by the secure weight in my pocket. I’ve carried it everywhere since I was a teenager, and I have the feeling I’m gonna need it. 
It takes a feat of courage to knock on that door. It sounds like things are shuffling around inside. I don’t recognize the woman who opens it. She’s old and withered, bone thin. A greasy mane of greying brown hair hangs around her face, roots growing in blonde. Rippling blisters and scars mar her temples. The dress she’s wearing is faded, stained, and far too large. She’s clutching the doorframe like she’ll keel over without it.  A wave of a foul odor hits me in the face, far stronger with the door open. It smells like something died in there. She stares at me in confusion for a moment before recognition dawns in those vacant brown eyes. My gut clenches in cold horror when she speaks.
“Dorian? Is that you?”
My eyes meet hers, and I know. This worn old woman is Lola, somehow. She seems to have aged 40 years in the last 10. What the hell had happened? Making sure none of my disgust and confusion shows on my face, I answer.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. How’ve you been?” She doesn’t seem to hear me, instead looking back into the house. 
“Please come in, come in. Sorry about the mess, I haven’t had time to clean today.” With that, she retreats inside. I follow, ignoring the impulse to flee. Something’s happened to my old friend, something bad to put her in this state. I have to figure out what’s wrong. 
The inside of Lola’s house is far worse than the door. The entryway is buried in old letters and newspapers, Shoved through the rust mailslot and forgotten. Everything’s buried in a thick layer of trash and broken trinkets, thick with dirt. Flies hang in the foul air, roaches crawl up the walls. The junk piles up highest around a couch so covered in stains I can’t tell what color it was supposed to be. Lola falls onto that contaminated couch, ignoring the bugs crawling through it. How can she stand living like this? The Lola I had known was all about cleanliness. She’d even given me tips for keeping my room organized. The sight of a house in this condition probably would have made her faint. 
“Sit down, oh, let me get you something to eat. I can whip something up for us.” 
“OH, uh, no thank you, I ate before I came." Ingesting anything stored in this place would probably kill me. She stares at me expectantly, gesturing to the couch. Oh god, she wants me to sit on that thing. Still, if I want to get to the bottom of this I should cooperate. I wade through the garbage, wincing whenever something squelched. I’ll have to burn this outfit once I get home. Everything in my body recoils in revulsion when I sit on the edge of the cushion. It reeks of mold and urine. I’m not particularly squeamish, but I can feel my stomach rolling. 
“I should introduce you to my family. Yes, my husband and children. They’ll be delighted to meet you, we so rarely get visitors” she rises from the couch, making a halfhearted attempt to smooth her soiled skirt. She bustles away, navigating the treacherous terrain with practiced ease despite her trembling legs. Being alone in the destroyed room is somehow easier without her presence. I’ve got no idea what had happened to let things get this bad. Surely someone close to Lola had tried to help her, right? Didn’t she have other close friends that noticed her decline? She went to school for magic, there must be telepaths there able to fix whatever’s wrong. 
Lola emerges from the hallway, three people in tow. That can’t be right. There’s a tall, handsome man at her side, dressed in an immaculate yellow suit. A pair of identical children trail behind them, also in perfect yellow clothes. The girl has a gold dress, the boy a gold suit. They both look about 5 years old. All three of them have the same shiny blonde hair and the same goldenrod eyes. Their stares are utterly unfocused, simply staring ahead without a shred of light. Their movements are stiff and simple.
Oh
That’s what happened to her, or at least a result of it. I may be mundane, but even I can recognize humanoid constructs when I see them. No wonder she looks so terrible, it’s difficult to maintain one humanoid construct over time, let alone three. Where is she getting the energy to keep them animated?
“This is my husband James, and these are my children Mary and Jason.” The children give sharp waves, perfectly in sync. I know she had a real husband at one point. What had happened to him? The child? Where are they,  what happened to her family? She turns and smiles up at James, but all I can see is her ruined temples and hollow cheeks. Compared to the idealized creatures surrounding her, Lola looks like a ghost on the cusp of disappearing altogether. I have to confront her, this delusion is killing her. 
“Lola? Those… aren’t people. You know that, right?” She stares blankly, then barks reedy laughter. It sounded nothing like how she used to like she’d forgotten how. 
“Oh Dorian, always quick with jokes you are. How’s college going?” 
“I graduated six years ago, Lola, please talk to me!”
“You love to exaggerate, always have. Why don’t you and James get to know each other? I'll make sandwiches for you” she turns to leave, that half-empty smile still frozen on her cracked lips. I grab her shoulders, making her look me in the eyes. The constructs, previously stationary, jerk to face me. I pull her hand up to my neck, making her feel my warmth and my pulse. Lola’s still in there somewhere, she has to be. 
“Please, Lola. Look at me. It’s me, Dorian. I’m here, I’m real. Feel my neck, I’m alive. They aren’t real! Please Lola, keeping them around is killing you.” Anything, please just show me a sign you’re not gone for good. 
Her fragile hand trembles against my skin, eyes locked on to mine. For the first time since I arrived here, her eyes focus on my face. When she speaks, I can hear her, the real Lola.
“Dorian?”
James puts a hand on her shoulder, nails impossibly even and clean. 
“Why don’t you have a sit-down dear? You’re getting worked up. I’ll make some sandwiches.” Just like that, the vacant smile is back on her face. 
“You’re so good to me dear. Make some for Dorian too, he’s looking peaky. Are they feeding you enough down at college?” She’s gone, pulled back into the world of constructs and lies. My throat tightens, fists clenched. 
“You know what, sandwiches sound great. But first, where’s the bathroom?”
“Oh, it’s down that hallway, second door on your right” The children pull her to that filthy couch and make her sink into it. They crawl up beside her, curling up like wild dogs. She pets their hair absently, not looking at them. I wade through the abandoned trash and turn down the hallway, catching a glimpse of James and the kitchen. He’s smearing a slice of stale bread with something thick and dark. I turn away, heading deeper into the rotting bowels of Lola’s home. I’m about to turn into a truly horrifying bathroom when the door at the end of the hall catches my eye. It’s pure white, untouched by all the filth surrounding it. That must be important. Why would she be avoiding it? 
I open the clean door, and am greeted by… nothing. The room is completely intact and clean, save the layer of dust over everything. Compared to the rest of the house, it’s immaculate. The pink bedspread is embroidered with yellow birds. Aging conjuration diagrams are pinned to the walls. A seascape painting hangs over the bed. Two bookcases dominate the room, one on each side. Two night-tables as well. An empty cradle leans against the closet door. With an uncomfortable lurch, I realize that this was once Lola and her husband’s master bedroom. Finally getting out of the garbage should have made me feel better, but the little voice begging to flee has only gotten louder. It takes me a moment to realize what’s so off-putting about it. It’s clean, looks like it’s been left alone for years… but the smell has gotten stronger. It feels wrong to disturb it, but I need to know. I’ll take her to a doctor, to a telepath to figure out what went wrong and how to bring her back. I lift one end of the comforter, coughing from the plume of dust. Looking under the bed, I see a box. Bingo. 
I slid it out onto the open, trying not to breathe too much in. It’s decently old, it looks like it hasn’t been opened for years. I’m afraid of what I might find inside but more afraid of what’ll happen to Lola if I don’t get her help. With a clench of my teeth, I pull open the lid. A haphazard stack of crumpled papers sits inside, looking far too innocent for what they contain. A pair of birth certificates, twins named Mary and Jason. Wedding photographs torn to shreds. Baby pictures water damaged. A police report I couldn’t bear to read after seeing the acronym at the top. A folded note, tear-stained and speckled red. I didn’t need to open it to know what was written. On and on it went, every tragedy in Lola’s life laid out in black ink. 
“What are you doing here?” I whip around to see Lola standing in the doorway, James at her side. Her eyes are blown wide, staring at the open chest. James hasn’t lost his lifeless pleasantry, but I doubt he can make any other face. 
“Is this what you’ve been hiding? Why you’ve got these things surrounding you?” Her eyes snap to my face, clinging desperately to Jame’s arm. 
“What do you mean?”
“Lola will you listen to me! Your real family is gone, those are constructs!” She won’t hear me, burying her face in James’ chest. 
“Dorian, that’s a horrible thing to joke about. College has been a bad influence on you. Snooping around, that’s rude you know.” I have to end this, She needs to wake up. I grab the crumpled note, a little blood’s nothing compared to the living room. Shoving it by her face, I make her look at it. Tears stream down her hollow cheeks, not reading but remembering. Her whole body is shaking. James holds her close, plastic face attempting to glare. 
“Stop, can’t you see you’re upsetting my wife?” I whip my taser out of my pocket, aiming at his chest. 
“She’s not your wife! You aren't real!” Lola goes still, pulling away from James. When she looks at me, the void is gone. Raw fury has taken its place. Her voice is choked from crying but has finally lost that lifeless happy tone. 
“So that’s what this is. You’re here just to try and ruin my life! I thought you were here to try and reconnect, but you’re just another traitor butting in and trying to take my family!” Betrayal rolls off her crumbling form in heavy waves. 
“I won’t let you take them away from me”
Withered hands clutch at her temples, yellow light dripping down her face. The not children appear in the doorway, eyes glinting with rage and life. This time, there’s no hesitation in their movements. The constructs surge forward, far more fluid than ever before. A scream tears the air, and it takes James’s collapse for me to realize I’ve already pulled the trigger. 
The prongs are lodged in Lola’s chest, her body spasming from the electricity. The children flail and cry, the whole system crashing. Lola’s on the ground, eyes wide as her body contorts. Her limbs jerk against the floor, neck rolling and banging. My taser falls to the floor alongside my stomach as the sickening realization hits me. She’s having a seizure, oh god, I gave her a seizure. Time stutters as I stare helplessly at her shaking head. WhatdoIdo,whatdoIdo,whatdoIdo? I’m searching for any memory of how to fix this, but my mind’s blank. I’m paralyzed, fingers tingling with fear. Bile bubbles up from her throat, splattering over her blue lips. Wait, blue? Oh god, oh god she’s choking on it. My limbs unlock and I crash down to her side. Snatching her wrists, I try desperately to hold her still. She feels both immensely fragile yet incredibly strong against my grip, weakened body shaking itself apart. I’m talking, mouth speaking a thousand comforts while I desperately try and help my best friend. She’s choking and seizing, face blueing. I’m running out of time, We’re helpless. I can’t lose her, she has to get through this. 
I know I’ve heard something about how to help, but I can’t think. I’m not a doctor, why can’t I be a doctor! I’m still talking with no idea what I’m saying, just trying to get through and stop this. Releasing her wrists, I thump on her chest to try and get the vomit up. All that does is make it worse. Something has to give, Lola, please, anybody. 
Her temples split open, and her whole body drops like a ragdoll. 
No
Nononononono
Please, God, don’t let this happen
Please, Lola
You can't, this can’t-
A few seconds ago I was praying for the shaking to stop, but now her stillness is the worst thing in the world. Her eyes are still open, just as empty as her artificial family had made them in life. I feel her neck, unsure of what I’m looking for. I don’t know how to tell if she’s truly dead or on the brink, because I wasted all my time chasing success rather than learning how to help her. It takes a droplet landing on her cooling cheek for me to realize I’m crying. My whole body is empty, ribs about to crack under the weight of the moment. 
I’m a murderer, I killed a helpless ill woman in her own bedroom. The worst part, the worst part is that no one will even realize I did it. She’s been trapped in here so long there’d be no disappearance, and not even a corpse could be smelled over the decay permeating the rest of the building. Looking around, there’s no trace of the constructs. Without a fuel source, they fell apart into nothing. Any trace of an alibi had dissolved with them. It feels like my brain has shut down, I can’t think. All I can do is look into Lola’s eyes and weep. 
Thump
The sound from the living room replaces the void with pure terror. What if I’m wrong? What if somebody heard a struggle and is coming to check on her? I’ll be found, imprisoned for life, I’m not strong, I’d get eaten alive. I’d need to see the eyes of Lola’s family, see the hatred carved in their faces at the sight of her murderer. Oh god, I’m a murderer. The rational part of my brain tells me to confess, that if I explain myself it will be better for everyone. That the noise was probably a trash pile collapsing or something. That part of me has no power over the raw animal fear of the cage. My eyes drift to the cradle, an idea sparking to life. 
I tear myself from her stiffening form and sprint across the room, legs full of pins and needles. Pulling the cradle aside, I gag at the smell radiating from that white door. Whatever’s causing the stench is trapped inside. I manage to locate the handle through watering eyes and fling it open, rusting hinges whining at their disturbance. Light cuts through the rotten dark and my feet give out from under me. That must have been what broke her so deeply. Finding him…keeping him. Bastard didn’t even have the decency to leave the house before blowing his brains out. He doesn’t even look like a person anymore and all the evidence has gone black with mold, but I know a bloodstain when I see one. I don’t know how long I sit there, trapped between a pair of bodies barely able to breathe. Time moves strangely in places this degraded. 
Eventually, I make myself get up. I stagger, legs numb from sitting on them and lack of breath. If this is the path I’m gonna take, I might as well finish the job. I grab her shoulder, shuddering at the sensation. She’s already growing cold and stiff. I make myself pick her up anyway. The limpness of her underfed body seems to make it triple in weight. The steps don’t want to come, my feet begging to just leave her and flee. I force myself to keep going. I’ve already gone this far, she deserves to have it done properly. Her final resting place is inside the closet, propped up against the wall. I make sure to face her away from the mess, Lola shouldn’t have to look at that. She’s always hated messes. 
I slam the closet door shut before I can dwell on her anymore. If I don’t leave now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make myself go. When I turn to leave, I stop myself from trying to get one last look at her closet. She’s gone, and I’ll be gone if I don’t hurry. Even though I knew it was coming, it’s still a shock to enter back into the landfill of a hallway. The ripe stench of mold and rotten food is a relief compared to what I left in the bedroom. The roaches don’t bother running away as I pass. Maybe I smell more like death than a human to them. I don’t blame the bugs. I don’t feel like a human either. The destroyed living room is strangely empty.  You wouldn’t think a room so choked with trash could feel cavernous, but it can when you know that it’s your fault it’s abandoned. I don’t look at the letters carpeting the foyer, can’t bear to see her name in increasingly desperate ink. Finally, I grab the doorknob, ready to be free of this nightmare. But, my fingers don’t want to grasp it. Once I leave, my choice is set in stone. I could wait here, call the police, and explain what I did. As soon as I open the door, I know I won’t be strong enough to come back. When she’s found, they’ll be looking for her killer. It’s only a matter of time until I’m discovered and locked away. Both these paths lead to a cell, one with dignity, the other kicking and screaming. It should be obvious but… I’m a coward by nature, always have been. 
My breath catches, and I try not to think about the dark stains my shoes leave on her overgrown front steps. 
Category:Beings
Category:Mental Illness