by A J Rivers
“And what if it is?” he asks.
We stop in the foyer of the courthouse, and I turn to look at him. He’s not in the jail-issued clothes I’ve always seen him wearing when I visit. His suit is a little too big, hanging on him thanks to his body’s not being what it was when he first went to prison so many years ago.
“But it's not,” I say. “It's not true. You can function just fine. You're brilliant, Xavier.”
“I know that, Emma,” he says, his voice steady and strong. “Intelligence has nothing to do with it. I see the world very differently from other people around me. That doesn't scare me. Or hurt me. That's how I've always been. And it makes some things more difficult for me. It's not wrong or something to be upset about. It just… is. When you spoke to me in the courtroom, were you making fun of me?"
I'm taken aback by the question. “No, of course not. I thought it would help calm you down.”
“Then you understand,” he says.
I'm flustered and not sure how the conversation got this far out of my grasp.
“I understand you think about things in a different way. Some things make you feel better that other people wouldn't understand. But the way they were talking about you… it's as if they think you can't do normal things for yourself. As if you can't just live without someone helping you,” I say.
I feel strangely protective of Xavier. The way the judge and the opposing lawyer talked about him felt insulting, but it doesn't seem to bother him. I don't understand how it can be so easy for him.
"Have you ever built yourself a house, Emma?" he asks.
"No," I say, feeling us starting down one of his spirals that I'm going to have to take hold of and ride until it finds an end.
"But you are smart and capable. You are strong and skilled."
"Not at carpentry," I admit.
"And if you were stranded out in the wilderness with only yourself to rely on you wouldn’t know where you were or what would happen to you, but you would need shelter. How about then?"
“I could probably put something together,” I say. “But it wouldn't be good, like a real house.”
“But it would protect you. It would cover your head and be a basic shelter?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“And you may feel a little uneasy about it and wish someone who knew better could help you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“So not can't. Just harder. The world is made for people who see what you do. I can do those things. But they aren't the way you would do them. And I often wish there's somebody there who knows better who can help me. Not can't, Emma. Just harder.”
Tears fill my eyes unexpectedly. I try not to show them, but Xavier immediately notices. His eyebrows knit together, and I shake my head.
"I'm fine," I say, waving him off.
"No, you aren't. Why are you crying?" he asks.
"I hate that the only way they would let you out before your trial is if Dean agreed to be with you all the time," I sigh. "You've been locked up for so long. You deserve to just live."
“There's no reason to cry for me. You don't have to be upset that I don't experience life the same way you do. I'm not upset that you don't experience life the way I do. I'm sure there aren't a lot of carpenters out there crying because you can't build a house. So, don't cry because I have trouble making phone calls or telling directions, or interacting. I'm glad Dean will be there with me. I trust him. You trust him. The world is a different place from when I went in. I'm already working at a deficit. But I won't be alone. And I'll be fine.”
“Absolutely you will,” Dean smiles, throwing his arm around Xavier’s shoulders. “I'll be there to make sure of it.”
I wait for Xavier to flinch away from Dean's touch, but he doesn't. He's comfortable with him. Maybe this is going to work out after all.
Xavier looks ahead of us to the doors. Sunlight streams in through the glass, and I can see people walking in both directions down the sidewalk. I watch him watching it, his eyes tracing their movements back and forth.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask.
It's the first time he will walk outside without shackles around his wrists and ankles, without somebody holding onto a chain and forcing him along.
Xavier takes a deep breath, then nods. “I'm ready.”
We cross the lobby and push through the large glass doors out into the deep, buttery sunlight of the October afternoon. He walks a few paces away from the building and hesitates at the top of the stone steps leading down onto the sidewalk. A few people pass him, and his head snaps to each one as if he's trying to watch every one of their movements.
He takes a few steps down, then retreats. He gets close to the handrail and stops again. He looks lost, as if he doesn't know what to do. Without a word, Dean rushes forward and stands beside him. He touches his hand to the center of Xavier's back. For a moment, they just stand there together, and I notice Xavier's breaths slow, his shoulders relaxing.
They walk down the rest of the steps together, Dean guiding Xavier with no more than his presence beside him.
And suddenly, I understand the difference.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Xavier once I’ve rushed down the steps to catch up with them on the sidewalk.
“I am,” he says. “What time is it?”
“It doesn't matter,” Dean says.
Xavier looks at him strangely. “It doesn't matter?”
“No,” I say. “It doesn't matter. You don't have to eat on a schedule anymore. You eat when you're hungry.” What I said hits me, and I look at him with a concerned expression. “It doesn't matter, does it? Or do you like your schedule?”
He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”
“Good,” I say. “What are you hungry for? What sounds good?”
His lips press hard together, and he looks around.
“What's wrong?” Dean asks.
“Nothing,” Xavier says. “I'm just not used to having so many options. It's been a long time since I've just been able to pick something to eat.”
“Isn't that a good thing?” I ask. “Don't you like being able to choose?”
“You have to understand,” he says. “It's like having a box of markers. The rest of the world has four. Maybe eight. I have fifty. It's easy to decide when only one option fits. It's much harder when so many could work. I don’t know what color fits best when I have so many. I don’t know what to choose.”
“So, don't,” Dean offers. “Don't choose. We will take you to every place you want to go and get you everything that sounds good.”
“Absolutely,” I say. “We'll get a little bit of everything and have a giant celebratory banquet.”
Xavier smiles. “I'd like that.”
When we get to the row of restaurants that stretches down one of the biggest streets of town, I park so we can walk from option to option. I notice Xavier staring at people as we pass by them.
“What's fascinating you so much?” I ask. “The clothes?”
“They're talking to themselves,” Xavier says.
I look at the group that just passed him by and notice one of them with a phone in his hand and a wireless earbud tucked into one ear.
“No,” I say. “He has a headset on. He's talking on the phone.”
“Oh,” he says with a note of disappointment in his voice.
I laugh. “They had those headsets before you went into prison. Don't you remember them?"
"Not really," he shrugs. "I guess I didn't pay that much attention to people. I rarely used my phone. I lost it a lot. Didn’t need it for much. If Andrew couldn't get in touch with me, he just came to my house."
He stops, and I see a look of worry flash over his face.
"What?" Dean asks.
"My house. What happened to it?"
"It's fine," Dean says. "I talked to the courts and your attorney from before you went in. The trust you set up has been maintaining the house. Your bank accounts are fully accessible. You
can go home."
A smile nudges the corners of his mouth up just slightly, as if he is almost afraid to show the emotion he is feeling.
"Home," he says softly, the word sounding as if he hasn't said it in a long time and is trying it out.
"Come on," I say, heading for the door of the first restaurant. I hold the door open for him, and as he walks past, a thought occurs to me. "Xavier, you didn't tell me. What snack did you choose? So you weren't feeling like Pop Rocks?"
"A Swiss Roll," he grins. "Solid and reliable on the outside, and no one can see what's inside. With a nice swirl."
He follows Dean the rest of the way inside.
I give a sharp nod. And there you go.
Chapter Twelve
The three of us pile into my hotel room to eat the massive spread of food we picked out. Dean will take Xavier back to his house tonight and give him a chance to decide if he really wants to stay there. He seems to be genuinely looking forward to going home, but I know there's a chance it won't feel right once he gets there.
After all, it's where Andrew died. It's where his entire life went off the rails. And it's been sitting there for a decade waiting for him. The trust he set up before he reported for his sentence ensured the house would be taken care of and properly maintained. The trustee reassured Dean everything is in good shape, but it's still going to take some getting used to.
I've already reserved another room in the hotel, so there's somewhere available for him in case he doesn't feel comfortable.
It's good to see him starting to relax, sampling all the different foods he picked out, and relishing his ability to pick up the TV remote and change the channel at will. We’re finishing up when I notice my phone flashing with a new text message. I must not have heard the alert. Wiping my hand on a napkin to get the sticky apricot sauce I put on my spring rolls off, I then pick up the phone.
As soon as I read the message, I'm on my feet.
“What is it?” Dean asks. “Is something wrong?”
I shake my head, forcing the last bite of food down my throat as fast as I can so I can talk.
“No. Not wrong at all. The search warrant went through. I can get back into the temple,” I say.
“Let's go,” Dean says.
“You'll have to stay here,” I tell Xavier.
“Why?” he asks. “I want to see it.”
“I know that,” I say. “But you're not in law enforcement. Dean is a private investigator, but he was hired by Detective White as a consultant for the case.”
“I've waited so long to see that place,” he says, anger bubbling just below the surface of his voice. “I only ever saw through other people's eyes. I could only see what Andrew saw. Sterling, Graham Nelson. I only knew what their eyes would show me; I can't do that anymore. I need to see for myself.”
He's getting anxious, but there's nothing I can do. It was already a challenge to get the search warrant. I can't compromise it by bringing in not only a civilian but someone directly involved in the case. Not until I run it by Creagan and get permission.
“I will take pictures. I can video call you,” I say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they are. “No, I can't.”
“He doesn't have a phone,” Dean says. “That's something we have to fix, and we've got to get you out of that suit. You can't be comfortable just hanging out like that. Give me just a minute.”
He leaves the room, and Xavier stares at me. It's uncomfortable, and yet at the same time, I don't want to move. I'm as curious to find out what he sees when he looks at me as he is to see it.
“Don't be afraid for me, Emma,” he finally breaks the silence.
“I can't help it,” I sigh. “What if I can't do it? What if I can't prove what actually happened and they send you back?”
“Then I would have gotten this time,” he says. “This is my reality now. That was my reality then. And if it becomes my reality again, that will be the way it is. I will hang onto now and know that then won't be forever. There's more. I don't want to go back. And I don't believe I will.”
“You don't?”
“No. You will do this, Emma. You will understand. It's all just waiting for you. It's always waited for you,” he says.
“What do you mean?" I ask.
"There is an explanation for everything. I have waited all these years because it wasn't time. I've been waiting for you," he says.
"How do you know?" I ask, feeling the weight and significance of his trust heavy in my chest.
"You've never looked through me. Other people act as if I don't exist. They try to force me into their world, their language. You weren't afraid to come into mine. Which means you won't be afraid of theirs."
His eyes break away from mine only when the door opens again, and Dean comes back in. Xavier said I have never looked through him, but it's the way he looks at me that's unnerving. I feel he's seeing something other people don't. And I can't help but wonder what it is.
“Try these,” Dean says, tossing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt onto the bed next to Xavier. “They're probably going to be a bit big on you, but they'll be way more comfortable.”
“I will pick up some clothes for you on the way back,” I tell him. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A green toothbrush,” he says.
It's matter of fact, and I don't question it.
“Stay here and relax,” I say. “Don't leave the room. Lock the door when we leave, put the chain on.”
“Should I stay?” Dean asks.
“I'll be fine,” Xavier tells him. “I do very well staying in one room behind a locked door.”
I’d already changed out of my court clothes when we first got back to the hotel, so all I need to do is put on my shoes, and Dean and I are on our way. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as we drive toward the temple. We are going to be able to find them now. All the answers that were hidden.
We will get the proof we were trying to give them all along. And finally, this will be done.
“What do you mean, nothing?” Xavier asks two hours later when we're back in the hotel room. “How could there be nothing?”
“That's what we want to know too,” I sigh. “We got inside, and when the locksmith opened the doors, the rooms were empty. I mean, there was still furniture, but the papers were gone. The ledgers, the books, the records. The clock on the wall. The wheel. Everything. It was gone.”
Xavier shakes his head for several seconds, as if he's juggling the words around in his brain and hopes they will fall together in an order that makes more sense.
“You said everything was there.”
“It was,” I say. “I have pictures of it.”
“Then why can't those pictures be used?” Xavier asks. “Why haven't you shown them to the detective, so he'll open an investigation into Sterling?”
“Because they're not admissible,” I explain. “Neither are the ones that Lakyn took. We were both trespassing when we took those pictures. Breaking and entering. A whole slew of crimes was being committed when we took those pictures. That means we can't use them. According to the detective, those pictures don't even exist. Unless he is able to find that evidence in the building when he's there, it doesn't matter.”
“What I don't understand is how they got everything out,” Dean says. “That building has been under total surveillance for months. The task force has been on twenty-four-hour watch. Nobody has gone in or out. How did that happen?”
“There has to be some other way to get in the building,” Xavier announces. “A door that isn't a door.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“A diversion. They made themselves invisible, so no one would see them. They were there, and they weren't there. They were gone, and they were always gone,” he says.
“So, we're right back to the beginning,” I say.
“What are we going to do?” Dean plops dramatically against the couch.
“Until we can figur
e out how they got into that building, we need to know everything we can about The Order of Prometheus. And that means FireStarter,” I say.
I pull out my phone and pull up the images I took in the temple the night Dean and I went in. “Look at these letters. They keep track of all the property The Order owns or controls.”
“What does that have to do with FireStarter?” Dean asks. “I know they own the cornfields and the Halloween attractions.”
“Yes,” I nod. “The cornfields adjacent to the ones filled with bones. FireStarter is a shell company, a front for The Order. Look.” I open my computer and bring up the file full of research I already did on the mysterious company.
“So, all of these things are business ventures by Prometheus?” Dean asks.
“Not all of them,” Xavier points. “They would spread out. Like water on air. If they were too close, you could see them like the mist. So close, the connection would be obvious. But if they stay just so far apart, they would become invisible. If the water is far apart, you can’t see it. But it’s still there.”
“Sterling Jennings’ brother is not a member of The Order. Yet, he controls FireStarter,” points out Dean.
“And I'm still sure Millie knows so much more than she's talking about,” I say. “I think it's what she wanted to tell me. She said she needed to tell me something about her brother. That I needed to stop him.”
“But which brother?” Dean asks.
“I don't know,” I say. “I thought it had to be the judge. But now that I'm looking at this…” my voice trails off as I look over the list of properties and holdings Eric was able to dig up for me and compare them with the ledgers I found in the Prometheus office.
“What is it?” Xavier asks.
“FireStarter is listed as owning the cornfields and the attractions nearby. The corn maze, the pumpkin patch. All of that is owned by FireStarter. Then the cornfields where all the bodies were found are contested land. They aren't technically owned by anyone, which is how no one is being directly held responsible for the bodies yet. But look at this.”
Both men lean around to look at my screen as I hold a fingertip to the image on my phone and then to the screen of my computer.
