The Key to Everything (16 page)

Jesse knew in her gut this boy was connected to her right from the beginning. A strong feeling of familial bond sparked instantaneously. Everyone noted how similar the boy looked to her. She might as well have been the boy’s birth mother for anyone could tell. Since her dad vanished from the family when she was a little girl, Jesse named him after her favorite poet. She didn’t have any problems giving Auden her husband’s last name when they got married a few months after the adoption. 

 Jesse closed her eyes and relaxed. She pushed and pulled the stroller back and forth gently with her prosthesis. Sunspots drifted slowly around the dark insides of her eyelids. She traced the swirls and patterns, enjoying the dizzy sensation they brought. A shadow moved over her face. She was about to open her eyes when that same familiar voice whispered in her ear. Breath caught in her chest and the half-empty Bloody Mary glass fell out of her hand, smashing on the wooden deck. She listened closely and carefully. Anyone watching her from afar would have seen her nod her head and begin softly crying. 

A rustling sound came from inside the stroller. Jesse reached out to grab the handle when it was violently yanked away. The loud “thop” sound cracked in her ears as suction between the plastic cup and the skin of her stump separated the titanium alloy calf and foot away from the rest of her leg. As she jumped out of the chair, the stroller’s rubber handle slipped just beyond her fingertips, and she lost balance on her good leg and fell over, leaving one empty ski-suit pant-leg flailing in the cold winter wind. 

Washed out in the glare of the bright sun, Jesse watched the fabric on the sides of the stroller stretching out at odd angles. The shapes of small claws pushed and scratched, leaving puncture marks and gouges running in every conceivable direction. Struggling to catch it, she reached out and was able to grab onto one of the back struts before the stroller rolled off the edge of the deck. She slammed the heel of her palm down on the plastic brake just inside of the back wheel locking the carrier in place. Using the now-immobile stroller for balance, she pulled herself up to her knee and scrambled up to the side, peering over the edge in a panic to check on her son. 

“Auden?” He voice was quiet and unsure of itself. The light blue-and-white-plaid blanket lay inside, undisturbed by any of the previous commotion. Its slow rising and falling calmed her nerves, and she was able to breathe along with him. Her fingers reached under the lip of the blanket and slid it down to take a peek.

His empty stocking cap rested flat, like a decompressed balloon in the wrinkles of the cushioning.

“Auden?”

Pulling the blanket lower, she saw the top collar of his red sweater lying gently on top of the black t-shirt with “Mommy Only Wanted A Backrub” written in thick white lettering.

“Auden!”

Jesse tore at the blanket, throwing it out of the stroller. Caught in the wind, the soft blue fabric floated through the air, over the railing at the edge of the deck. If Jesse had looked, she would have seen it spread apart like paper in the wind before its descent to the snowy ground. 

At first, she couldn’t tell what it was. The baby’s black sweatpants sat cross-legged on top of something, with his thick, fur-lined boots standing upright below the rectangular-shaped bulge. It was moving. Slowly going up and down. Her fingers inched their way down to lift up the rest of the clothes.

The old brown leather split and cracked with every breath. That’s what it was doing. Breathing. Tied closed with a string the color of blood, she could hear the air slipping out from between its pages as it exhaled. A stench emanated from the stroller that was almost unbearable to breathe. Her hand hesitated just above the book, thinking for itself, afraid to touch. 

“Oh, my boy…” A tear fell from her eye, and she watched it falling into the dark leather. Moisture quickly spread out in perfect circles, bringing a refreshed, new softness to the old skin. 

“Jesse.” Her mother’s voice came up, caressing her face, from the breath of the book. She felt a soft hand on her shoulder and turned around.

* * *

The local newspaper printed that when Jesse’s husband found her, she was bleeding from hundreds of scratches all over her hands and face. Carrying the headline “Baby Stolen In Broad Daylight From Ski Resort” above a black-and-white photograph of an empty stroller turned on its side. The article quoted the lead investigating detective from the police department: “After a cursory medical examination, we questioned the mother for details of her assailant. Unfortunately, she remains in a state of shock. On the advice of her doctors and with the permission of her husband, we will continue questioning after she has had time to recover more fully. Until such time, we ask that any member of the public who has information leading to the whereabouts of this child please contact us at…” 

Search-and-rescue teams spent the next week combing through every inch of the mountain but could not find the little boy. The only clues found were small animal footprints in the snow that disappeared at the edge of the tree line seventy yards away. None of the local residents could identify what made the tracks. Anonymous photographs posted online showed large groupings of them, as if made by hundreds of small animals walking in eerily straight columns. Strangely, no markings in the snow were found leading up to the lodge, only moving away from it. 

Later in the week, reports of track sightings came in from as far north as Brisbane and as far west as Perth. Large numbers of the indigenous population of Brush-Tailed Rabbit Rats were mysteriously being slaughtered all over the country. Australian Animal Control agencies were never able to determine the cause.

-29-

Auden: A Prison of Words

Last night I dreamt a song. Choirs of voices sang in unison. Though wordless, a sense of sadness and love haunted the lilting, natural melody. There were no instruments or stage. No orchestra gathered beneath an electroshock-haired conductor waving a baton in front of a crowded hall. Nor was my body present physically. I wept as the tones surrounded and passed through the air around and within me. So beautiful, I thought, so vast. So intensely private and personal, it became universal in its aspect. No eyes to see, no colors or even blackness. There was nothing but the music. As it was apparent to me that this was a dream, I thought I should wake up and write it down. Of course, that didn’t happen. There were no eyes to be opened or hands to play the notes I longed to recall. Still lost in this fold. I cannot find myself. It feels like a lifetime I have been pressed in here. Unrelenting pressure. Unforgiving stiffness. Something new is here. Someone that I think was not here before. Some other trapped here with me. The words have been writing him. The pages feel more real to me now. The paper has gained a rough and woody texture. I can almost reach the edges to open my way out. If there is another here, surely I must be close to freedom. This story cannot be finished yet. I won’t accept that. This is not my ending. This is not how I was written. I take a vowel from here and move a consonant next to it. It takes all of my effort… all of my strength. I have been here far too long. 

-30-

Emily: Marionette

Emily sat at the kitchen table with her knees up high, toes on the edge of the chair, her feet covered in bright pink socks rolled down to the ankles. The steam stopped rising some time ago from the mug of tea held loosely in her fingers interlaced over her shins. She felt used up. Worn out and tattered, like a garage band playing an out-of-tune and slowed-down cover of “I Bought A Headache” by the Replacements.

Jason and Jeremy were still upstairs. The thumps and thuds stopped vibrating down from the ceiling about an hour ago, so they must have grown tired and put themselves to bed. She knew she should go check on them at some point, but right now she couldn’t muster the strength to get up from the chair. Even blinking her eyes was a marathon-esque struggle. 

Auden had been gone for three days now. There was no sign of him anywhere. His truck was still in the driveway, and all of his clothes were either folded neatly in the dresser or hanging in the closet. She wanted to call the police. She wanted to call the fire department, Boy Scout Troop 114 and the National Guard, too. None of them would find him, though. 

The book was on the counter next to the sink. Emily could feel it breathing. The leather crackled and shifted up and down so slowly, almost imperceptibly. But she could see it. Her eyes caught a flicker of motion outside the window. The squirrel sat on top of the fence and looked at her. The small black eyes didn’t blink. It stood still, breathing in time with the dry cover of the book. 

Emily‘s muscles creaked as she untangled her fingers and stretched her feet to the floor. The cold of the tiles instantly seeped through her thin socks, and a shiver ran from her toes through her spine up to the base of her skull. Shaking her arms and twisting the kinks out of her back, she watched the little brown rodent mimic her every movement. There was no fear or apprehension. This was just the way things were. After all, if her husband could take a trip inside of an old ratty book, why couldn’t a squirrel play the Mirror Game?

She ran her fingers through her oily hair, and the squirrel’s hand brushed the dusty fur back between its small ears. Then something odd happened. The squirrel moved its arm down toward the fence, and Emily’s hand reached for the book. Surprised at her lack of control, she tried to pull her hand away. It was no use. Her hand wasn’t listening anymore. It reached down and picked up the book. The squirrel became a blur of motion, a brown haze of vibration and ear-piercing screaming. No sound came from the animal itself, but a painful ringing shot through Emily’s inner ears and downward into her chest.

Her fingers flipped through the moldy pages. The wooden planks of the fence started cracking and falling apart. She found herself mumbling the words on the pages and rocking back and forth. Warmth spread down the inside of her thighs, and a splashing sound came from far off in the distance. Waters burst and, unlike the birthing of a child, these were waters that could not be stopped. The flow spread out of her eyes and nose and down onto the book. The words blurred, and Emily fought to understand their meaning. In them was her path, her key to finding Auden.

A page opened up, and her hands settled flat on the counter on either side of the book. The handwriting was uncertain, childlike. Whoever wrote it pushed so hard that indentations crushed into the paper, creating deep shadows within their valleys and crevasses. An odd sensation of being drawn into the crimson pulled at Emily’s gut. The room swam around her as every sound was sucked away in the vacuum left behind. 

The page lilted and rolled from the center outward, as if it were made of water. Everything was motion. Rippling and swirling, becoming even more chaotic and disorderly. Slowly, the words drifted back together from across the page…

The water swirled and spun Emily’s head around. Her stomach churned, causing the remains of her tea to rise high in her throat. She tasted sour acid on the back of her tongue, and her shoulders lurched  toward the sink. Though she hadn’t eaten in days, a thick black-and-red sludge surged from her mouth with a coarse, guttural scream and splattered across the white porcelain. 

Her knees lost all of their strength. First, the left leg collapsed. She tried to regain her balance by clutching the edge of the sink, but her fingers slipped on the vomit and were unable to gain solid purchase. The right knee folded, sending her chin hard into the countertop, and her teeth crunched down into her bottom lip.