Sabine - Chapter 1

The rain fell in sheets of iron, bringing with it a practiced bitterness that evoked varied emotions in the passersby. A small, huddled figure leaned against the cement wall of a smoke shop with a smile on her face. Rain was a good friend of hers. The other elements simply bent around her, but the rain fell indiscriminately, caressing her like everyone else. 1

She closed her eyes and sighed, not minding the hard cement against the back of her head, because it didn’t notice her, and so she couldn’t feel it either. But a wave of dread passed over her, shattering her peaceful joy. 2

The rain stopped abruptly, as a figure approached, clad in robes of blood-red velvet, the likes of which will never be found on our plane. “Hello, Sabine,” said the figure, a woman beyond the comprehension of any mortal. She extended an ivory hand to stroke Sabine’s rain-drenched cheek with a crimson-nailed finger. Her voice rose and fell like the ocean, but was at the same time as caustic as the fires of Hell itself. “You come here often,” she continued, baiting Sabine. 3

“I like the people,” was her agitated reply, “The scents, the colors, all of it is just overwhelmingly beautiful to me.” The woman sneered. “You were always such a hopeless romantic,” she spat, “One would almost think you still felt some hope of going back. You can never go back, you know.”4

A tear rolled down Sabine’s cheek, mingled with the rain and therefore unnoticed. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees for comfort. Staring dazedly across Cole Street, she began to speak in a monotone. “That man right there. The one with the green duffel. I – I used to see him twice a week at the Goodwill. I spoke to him once,” she said, haltingly, “He’s a Vietnam vet. He works two jobs now to keep his shabby one-bedroom above the bead shop. He was kind to me, speaking to me almost as if I were his daughter.”5

The woman laughed as if this were the most outrageous thing she’d ever heard. “Forget him. Forget them all. You are nothing to them, and they are nothing to you. You can’t go back. You know that, Sabine,” she whispered, almost comfortingly, but with an undertone of menace.6

Sabine glared at her. “You’re not trying to make this easy for me, are you? I want to felt the rain again. Why ever did you make the rain go away?” she said, with pleading eyes and a pathetic edge to her voice. The woman smiled condescendingly. “I wanted to speak with you, Sabine. You know I have taken a special interest in you. I have followed every step of your case, and I knew from the start that something about this one wasn’t like the others.7

“Please, step into my boudoir,” she said, with a forced French drawl, as the Haight-Ashbury disappeared, and the scents of marijuana and ethnic food were replaced with the smell of burning incense and the acrid perfume of dead flowers. Sabine spun around at the sound of two large, ornate double-doors slamming shut behind her. She looked around her, seeing everything for the first time, though she had been there many times before. Directly opposite the double-doors was a raised platform, it’s centerpiece a large bed, with scarlet sheets and a canopy of black lace. To the left of the bed stood a mahogany armoire with wrought iron claw-feet, and to the right was a podium, the sort a professor stands behind to give a lecture. But this was no ordinary piece of furniture. At first glance, one would see only a beautiful piece of carved cherry wood, but after a few seconds the wood would start to change. The demons and angels adorning the sides of the podium would come to life, and the inscriptions along the base would glow with an eerie sheen. Gradually, one would forget anything or anybody else was there, and then they would notice the only thing more remarkable than the podium: the book that sat atop it. 8

As Sabine took in her surroundings, the podium underwent all these changes. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the room, seemingly out of nowhere, and the cover of the book opened against the podium with a resounding, hollow sound. The pages fluttered for a few minutes, and from the pages came a myriad of sounds that nobody and nothing was there to make. A baby cried, a wolf howled, glass shattered, birds sang, lovers moaned, and violins played. Then the sounds stopped, as abruptly as they had begun. The book had fallen open to a page that listed names, thousands of names, names that had not been spoken for millennia. And in the center of the page, a single line was illuminated: Sabine Mimameidr. 9

A voice filled the room, seeming to leak out of every particle of matter around Sabine. It was the voice of Memory incarnate. 10

“There has been an unsuspected change in your case. The Book tells me that there may be one who still remembers a certain Sabine Mimameidr,” drawled the voice. Sabine’s heart skipped a beat, and her mind raced with possibilities. Was it? Could it be…? No, she couldn’t dare to imagine, to dream, or to hope. 11

The voice continued. “This one, it is a man. He thinks of you in fleeting half-formed pictures, but he does not know your name. If he were to recall your name, you would go back. Everything would be as it once was. But I cannot allow this to happen, my dear. I have never lost a soul, and am not about to stain this flawless record by allowing you to escape.” Sabine’s heart felt as though it were prepared to expand out of her chest, murdering her human form and transforming here into pure elation. Corydin! It must be, she thought, the face of her love rushing back to her all at once. It was a face she had pushed so far from her mind, because it was torment, blackest hell to think of it. But finally, after almost two years, she allowed the strong, almost Roman face to creep back into her soul. She closed her eyes, and could almost feel his unshaven cheek against hers, fell his warm breath upon her neck as she buried herself in his broad shoulder. She pulled away from him to examine the exquisitely formed jaw line, the burning eyes, and the sensuous lips that had been for her a tourniquet in her darkest hours. She ran her fingers unbelievingly through the soft, dark hair that she loved, and kissed the warm neck she had missed so painfully. 12

All of sudden, he was gone, and the scarlet room fell into place around her. She sank to the floor in agony, all the love, joy, and pain hitting her like a fist in her weak stomach. “Why are you doing this to me?” she screamed, “Why torment me, why did you even bring me here? Is there a way? How, how can I return to him?”13

Memory scowled at her. “Stupid girl,” she said, “The only way back is to get him to speak your name aloud. You’ve known this all along, and her you remain. I shall find it entertaining to watch you try,” she sneered, and her laughter rang in Sabine’s ears as she fell through blackness, to land hard on the corner of Cole and Haight.14