The Variables (18 page)

Lyle cleared his throat. He looked to his dad for a second and then began to speak. It was the first time any of them had heard the man talk and his voice was deep, brutish, monotone.

“Linz and I work in the Palouse together and we got the call from our mom that something bad was happening. By then, we knew it was true...we’re in a college town after all, so there were just these kids everywhere, panicking.”

Lindsey took over. Even in the dark her hair glowed bright and white as the candles flickered. She had chopped it off into a pixie cut, and it only enhanced her fragile features—a tiny nose, thin cheekbones. The woman’s voice was soft and smooth—the opposite of Lyle—but everything about her seemed androgynous. She had a boyish build, absent of curves, and her slim t-shirt exposed the outline of her collarbone and then fell straight down against her flat chest. Where her brother was large, she was slim; where he was lumbering, she was delicate.
 

Darla was fairly certain it was Lindsey who had zapped her outside by the fire and dragged her body down the steps. She felt a burning desire to just slap her across her thin face; just a quick act of violence as a reply to the stun gun. It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt her, only surprise her, and make her cry. She hated feeling that way. Hated that she could see how afraid they were and still wish them harm. In any other situation, she would have bent over backward to help the Hales feel confident and comfortable, but not this time. Not now. Darla lowered her head and listened to Lindsey tell her story without watching.
 

“We got out before any major traffic blocked the roads up there. Growing up, I thought my parents were out-of-their minds crazy for their stockpiles. But look at us now, look at where it got us. I’m not saying it saved us, but it’s been easier to deal with,” Lindsey said, but her voice was timid, unsure, like a child’s.

Lou reached out his hand to his wife and she took it and gave his fingers a little squeeze. Then he turned to his kids, “Our turn for dinner. Take them to the basement. Give them the cots. The girls in one room, the man in the other.”

Lindsey and Lyle nodded in unison.

“There’s no way you’re keeping us here,” Darla pushed her plate away. As she said it, she realized her hands felt heavy and her head groggy. The room tumbled around her—the walls marching toward her, bulging outward. She closed her eyes and kept spinning. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Should have seen that coming.”

“Just a small opiate, darling,” Cricket said in a chipper voice. “You’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

“You drugged us?” Ainsley asked. Her words, too, were starting to slur; she put her hand out in front of her and then let it fall to the table with a heavy thud.

“The Sweepers
are
coming. They will not rest until they’ve destroyed all life. I don’t know who you are or why you’re alive,” Lou said in a whisper. “But I intend to find out. I need to find out. For my family...for our survival.”

“This is not the way,” Darla replied, her eyes drooping.

“I’m content with my way. Safety is my concern—”

“No,” Darla added forcefully. “If safety was your concern, you’d have let us pass by. You wouldn’t have even let us inside your house. So, what’s your game, Lou? Why are we really here?” The orange and yellow glow of the room ebbed and flowed; Lou’s face fell in and out of the shadows, his eyes steady on his visitors, his brow furrowed.

“Please. Please understand. My family has stayed alive until now. I need information,” Lou said. “Tell me what you know and you are free to leave.” Then he pointed at his children. “Get them downstairs and out of sight. Double and triple check your locks.” The drugs had started to make her dizzy, but she thought she heard him add, “I don’t want it to be like last time.”

The basement rooms were cold and smelled of mold and dirt. Dean had been relegated to the room that also housed the rabbits, and they heard his muffled complaints about the smell from down the hall. Soon, however, his complaints died away and thick snores emanated from beyond the wall. Ainsley and Darla were given a flashlight to share, a bucket, and some blankets. As Lindsey shut the door to leave, Darla wedged her foot between the door and the frame, and shouldered her way forward. She fought against the growing throb of drunkenness consuming her.

“You know this isn’t right,” Darla said to her. “You’re a grown-ass woman. You can let us go.”

Lindsey held the Taser forward and took a step from the door, her hand on the knob. “Please...I know...”

“Look at me,” Darla whispered. “I have a son.”

“It’s not up to me,” she whispered back. “He’s scared. Paranoid. He thinks you know things—”

“A son,” Darla continued. “Teddy.” His name sounded strange on her tongue. “Theodore,” she tried again. “He’s been kidnapped.”

“Oh, God.” Lindsey held the Taser out and raised her eyebrows. “Kidnapped. See? You have secrets.”

“We all have secrets.”

“I can’t help my father be unafraid.”

“I want to see my son!” Darla pushed harder on the door and Lindsey backed up and let her hand slide to her side. The door opened fully, exposing a dark hallway with faded wallpaper decorated with tiny roses. The woman balked, afraid, and then opened her mouth to yell, but stopped.

Ainsley slipped from the shadows and clicked on the flashlight. The drug-induced sleep had not consumed her yet. She scanned the assembled detritus: an old oak desk, a dusty dollhouse, a large xylophone. Taking one of wooden mallets, Ainsley hit the bar and a dull tone reverberated through the room. She looked up at Darla and Lindsey in the doorway. Then she turned and pounded out a clunky version of chopsticks.

“I was kept alive against my will once before” Ainsley offered as she hit the keys.
 
“And now I’m being kept in a very strange basement against my will. If there were more people alive, I finally would be able to effectively play that two truths and a lie game.” Her own joke made her giggle, and she put a hand up over her mouth and tried to contain it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped one step closer. “I can’t help you.” She trembled and brandished the Taser. “You don’t understand...even if I could help you...” she stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

“My son,” Darla said again, her mouth numb. “I need my son.”

“Step back.”

“You can help us...”

“I can’t.”

Then Darla couldn’t say anymore. The world went blurry and she stumbled backward, and Lindsey seized the moment to slam the door and lock it. As Darla fell to the floor with Ainsley’s giggles in the background, she saw Teddy’s face and reached out to touch his rosy cheeks, but felt only drafty air before the darkness engulfed her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cass waltzed in with the same energy and flair as before, this time holding a leather-bound journal and a small package of chocolates. She tossed the book to the foot of the bed where Ethan was resting, and then pulled up the empty chair from under the Manhattan skyline print and dragged it to his side. She plopped down, crossed her legs, and leaned back, balancing the chocolates on her knee.

“I returned,” she said. “Five visits now. And per your unspoken request, I’ve brought you a journal. You’re welcome.” She fidgeted with the edge of a black-tiered skirt; a long string dangled from a fraying edge and she yanked it free and then wrapped the string around her finger, tightening it across her skin. “Every time I come back, you look surprised. Are you surprised?”

Ethan smiled. He shook his head. He wondered how his voice would sound if he spoke to her. Would it be rough and gravelly; would it be weak? Could your voice atrophy from underuse? He had tried to speak a few times in the isolation of his room. Tried to open his mouth and form the words he wanted to say, but it wasn’t that he was willfully quiet; he could not find his voice amidst the turmoil of his heart.

Each time Cass floated into his tiny room, he wanted to tell her that he looked forward to her random visits. She never presumed he would talk, and it was refreshing to know that her expectations were low. When his mom visited, she yelled at him and fretted, getting more agitated that he refused to listen to his physical therapist or try to leave the room. His last visit had gone predictably awful when she divulged that Cass’s announcement had come true: Teddy was no longer in her care.
 

“Chocolates?” Cass asked and opened up the package. “Stolen chocolates. Contraband. They taste better.”

He put his hand out and waited until she placed an unwrapped morsel in his palm. Popping it into his mouth, he tried to savor, but his excitement got the best of him and he started to chew the chunk until it melted away on his tongue.

“I can’t be long today. I have to pack. It’s not much, of course, but moving day is soon and I want to be prepared.” She said this with a mouth of chocolate. Ethan watched the way she moved the small piece around her mouth as she spoke. “You’ll be moving with your family. I happen to be privy to your housing arrangement and you’re living with your parents for a bit. No more hospital stays for you on Kymberlin. You should—and I apologize for interfering—try out the leg more.”
 

He shook his head and looked at it sitting up against the wall. He’d given it a shot. When he walked around the strap gave him rashes and blisters against his thigh; it wasn’t worth it.

“You’re a stubborn one,” she said with a smile.

He shrugged.

“Your sister doesn’t know we are meeting.”

Ethan turned and looked straight at her.

“Should I tell her?”

He shrugged slowly and tried to look confused. How does one convey without words that they genuinely don’t know the right thing to do? Cass helped him feel better because she told him stories of Haiti and long torrid tales of ex-boyfriends gone wrong. She flounced around the room, arranging flowers and spending time with him as if she enjoyed every second. And when they spoke of Teddy, she would touch him, slightly, on the wrist, and tell him that she would do everything she could to help him get Teddy back. Maybe the talking about saving Teddy was an excuse to spend time together—he had thought of that, of course. But it was this tidy conspiratorial relationship that kept him from the edge of a deep cavernous abyss.

Cass had never done anything to wrong him. She had never tried to pretend that this place was something it wasn’t. She had allowed him all his eye-rolls and disturbed faces and frustrated sighs without judgment.

Sometimes, she made him feel whole again.

And not in a way that felt like a betrayal to anyone.

“Lucy is my friend. And I’m not a person who enjoys keeping secrets,” she said. “I’ll honor your privacy if that’s what you wish...but you should know...Lucy will feel sad when she finds out that you and I...” she trailed off and then smiled. “Became friends. Is that what this is? Are we friends?”

Ethan looked right at her and nodded.
 

“A strange friendship this is,” she laughed. “The architect’s daughter and the mute.”

He wanted to ask her if those were the best ways to define themselves, but of course he couldn’t. Even though his chest hurt from wanting to say something, anything, back to her, he physically didn’t know how to form the sounds.

She laughed and hit at his good leg playfully.
 

“No, that’s not right. Let’s see...the social butterfly and the tentative newcomer.” She clasped her hands together. “Better?” It was as if she read his mind.

He nodded.

“Or the dark-skinned beauty and the
survivor
. That’s a more mysterious one. I like it.” She popped another chocolate into her mouth and unwrapped one for him. “More?” He nodded and put out his hand, but she stood up and bypassed his hand and placed it right in his mouth, the heat from her body tangible. He shut his mouth as she pulled back her fingers.

Five visits.

Each time a bit more intimate, friendlier, more familiar. And while his brain had sometimes drifted to her in idle moments, he never thought of her in a romantic way with any sort of conviction or regularity. Cass promised him Teddy—he was the tie that bound them together. As her visits ended, she would write him small notes to confirm that they were united in reuniting him with the boy. While the task seemed larger than their capabilities, Cass remained undaunted.
 

“I have to go soon, just a small trip today. But I wanted to tell you I saw Teddy yesterday with Blair.”

He stiffened.

“She cares for him...she is trying. You should know that.”

He looked at the Manhattan picture. She shifted in her seat. He felt something inside of him, something firm, slipping away.

“She’s beautiful. Blair,” Cass said to him. “You could love her you know. Easily. That would solve it. She’s older than you, but that’s not an issue. If you loved her, she would let you. She’s hungry for it. And then that’s solved. A perfect family.”

He narrowed his eyes. Tightened his jaw. It felt like a game. He reached out and motioned for Cass’s hand. She gave it to him. Her skin was warm. Taking his pointer finger, he just traced two letters into her palm. One word.
No
.

“Well, it was worth a suggestion. I’m skilled in the art of love. If you change your mind, I could help you.”

Still holding her hand he traced another word into her skin.
Stop
.
 

“I don’t know how to get him back,” she admitted in near whisper. “But I want to. For you. I want to give everyone what they hope for most in life. That’s not so bad, is it? Until people realize that sometimes I fail—”

Stop
. He wrote it again. Then he penned with slow determination:
Trust
.

He let her hand go and smiled.

“Au revoir,” Cass replied. She leaned down and kissed his cheek with a friendly peck. “Packing, you know.”

Ethan pointed toward the journal and then gave her an A-Okay sign. She smiled and placed her hand over her heart.

“Always happy to be a blessing.” And she stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, Ethan King. Until next time.” She glided across the floor, opened the door with a flourish, and disappeared outside. Ethan looked at the journal and sat up enough so he could reach it. When he opened up the first page, she had left him a note.