... the Childhood Playmate...

Chapter IV: Veils of Silk and Steel

Arabella’s shift was Andy’s first indication that someone else was coming. “Andy,” the Host said quietly, but at this point he knew what she was going to say, and he turned his attention to the shimmer. Only, it was more than a shimmer this time. It was a full-body ripple, like a heat mirage turned inside out, the sky itself buckling with anticipation. Even the ocean seemed to flinch. Andy blinked, once, twice, and felt the world jump a frame. The air shimmered, condensed, then peeled open—and through that wound in the horizon, a figure stepped daintily onto the sand.

“Holy shit, dude. Was that what it looked like when I arrived?” Sam exclaimed, eyes wide, one hand grabbing the fabric of Andy’s shirt, whether to draw his attention or work out some stress, he couldn’t say. But she got some hair from his chest too, so he winced, pulled away her hand.

“Yeah, only less reality vomit, more ground coffee beans of existence.” The fact that the sentence made sense to him, after seeing this play out several times, was probably worrisome. He squinted, studying the figure that now was walking dreamily towards the gazebo. This time, it took Andy long moments before he could recognize that face. She was exactly as he remembered her and nothing like it, her form rendered impossibly clear in the high noon sun: long, straight black hair cut short of shoulder length, a pale blue sundress fluttering in the ocean wind, feet bare and toes curled against the impossible white of the beach. She was hugging a sketchbook to her chest, and her gaze was fixed ahead, not on the throne or the other women, but on the impossible sweep of the ocean. For a second, she looked like she might float away, like gravity had to negotiate for her presence. Emi Kim.

She walked as if through water, the sand giving way under her and leaving odd, hesitant footprints. As if in a dream, she didn’t seem to notice the gazebo or the people underneath it at first. When she finally noticed everything, her body gave a small, involuntary twitch, and her eyes darted… wide, unguarded, dark as ink… first to Arabella, then to the others, and then, after a heart-stopping hesitation, to Andy.

The effect was immediate. Andy’s breath caught, his whole chest tightening around a name he hadn’t spoken in sixteen years: Laura. Because wherever Emi was, that memory was never far behind.

He watched as Emi paused, uncertain, sketchbook pressed like armor over her chest. There was a moment… a frozen, dreamlike instant… when she seemed to weigh the possibility that this was all a hallucination. Then her lips parted, a faint crescent of confusion, and she started forward, steps small and mincing, as if afraid the sand might swallow her.

Arabella met her at the edge of the platform, her smile warm and unthreatening. “Emi Kim. Welcome to The HH.” The Host’s tone was softer for this one, almost maternal, as if she’d expected to find a lost child on her doorstep and was relieved to see her arrive intact.

Emi blinked at Arabella, then at the circle of women (six now, plus Andy) and her brow furrowed delicately. She turned her head, seeking something only she could see, then she walked with gentle confusion toward the stools. As she stepped onto the platform, the sea wind pressed the sundress flat against her, tracing the line of her hip, the delicate notches of her collarbone, and Andy noticed the tiny moles on her left shoulder that he remembered and then felt ashamed for remembering.

Sam watched Emi’s approach with unabashed interest, her elbows on her knees, head cocked, blue curls glowing in the sun. She leaned over to Andy, barely whispering, “You never told me you had a friend like that in the mix. Childhood, I guess?”

Andy didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was too busy watching Emi’s face as she surveyed the group, her gaze never quite landing on anything, as if she didn’t believe in the reality of the present moment. When her eyes circled back to him, there was recognition, yes, but more than that. There was relief. And then, just beneath it, a tremor of old guilt.

“Andy,” Emi said. Her voice was faint, airy, the consonants barely touching down. “You’re here, too.”

He nodded, but it came out as a nervous, guilty smile. “Emi.”

She glanced at the Host, then at the seat next to Dawn, and seemed to decide that was safest. She sat, knees together, sketchbook balanced delicately on her lap, hands folded over it like she was holding something alive.

Dawn offered a hesitant, “Hi, I’m Dawn,” her voice breaking the tension.

Emi replied, “Oh. I’m… I’m Emi Kim.” She nodded to each of the other women in turn. Liesa gave a small, tight-lipped nod. Erin didn’t bother to look up. Norah examined Emi with a flat, disinterested appraisal, as if cataloguing her for a later report. Claire, to Andy’s surprise, actually smiled at Emi, a weird, nerdy kinship flickering between them. They both arrived with something dear to them, something the other recognized as the tool of a kin soul, after all.

Emi settled into the silence, adjusting her skirt, hands worrying the edge of the sketchbook. After a long beat, she peeked at Andy and spoke softly, “This is… a dream, right?”

He wanted to lie, to comfort her. Instead, he shook his head, unable to offer anything more.

She nodded, as if this answer was not only expected but somehow appropriate, then drew her knees a little closer. “It’s… very pretty. The sky is…” She hesitated, eyes flicking up to the impossible blue. “… too blue. Even in my dreams, it’s never quite that blue.”

Sam, watching the interaction, grinned and nudged Andy with her elbow. “She’s adorable,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear it. “I want to feed her cookies and ask her about her favorite fairy tale.”

He managed a smile, grateful for the buffer Sam provided. For the first time in ages, he felt seen—not just by Emi, not just by the women who remembered him at his best and worst, but by a person who’d always accepted both without judgment.

Arabella stepped forward, eyes bright with pleasure at the assembly. “We’re nearly complete. Emi, please, make yourself comfortable. You have joined a very select company.”

Emi nodded, then finally looked at Andy, and said in a small, sad voice, “Is Laura here?”

The question punched the air out of him. He heard Sam’s breath catch as his friend’s eyes noticed the effect that name had on Andy, and he felt the silence close around his heart. He realized what Emi must be thinking.

“No,” he said, after a long, shaky moment. “Just me.”

The ocean breeze shifted, picking up grains of sand and throwing them in tiny stinging bursts across the platform. Emi hugged her sketchbook tighter and whispered, “Okay.” Her eyes stayed on Andy a moment longer, as if she didn’t believe the answer or didn’t trust herself with the next question.

Dawn offered a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Emi. We’re kind of… in the same boat, I think.”

Emi smiled faintly. “It’s a nice boat. I like the color.”

Sam leaned in again, voice stage-whispered: “I’m obsessed. New favorite.” She shot Emi a thumbs-up, which Emi acknowledged with a puzzled but genuine little wave.

The group’s mood had shifted, the arrival of Emi acting as a solvent to the chemical tension among the others. The circle felt more complete, the air less suffocating. Andy found himself breathing easier, the ache in his chest dulling for the first time since he’d woken up here. He glanced at Arabella, who was watching the scene with a catlike satisfaction.

He wondered, not for the first time, if this was all by design: that every old story, every fracture in his life, would be trotted out in sequence, **** to sit in judgment, **** to bear witness to what came next.

He watched Emi as she smoothed the edges of her sketchbook, her face soft and luminous in the sunlight, and realized she was waiting, too. Waiting for the next impossible thing. The group sat, not quite in harmony, but in a kind of tentative, awkward truce. Even the throne felt less ridiculous now, as if Andy’s body had finally resigned itself to its role.