by C. L. Stone
“We can’t help him at this point,” Dr. Green said, using a light to check my eyes. “Don’t blink.”
I tried not to, although I did a few times. He had checked me out last night, but he wanted to do it again. I had a brace on my wrist, for a fracture, and I was bandaged from cuts on my face and along one arm.
Dr. Green stayed with me most of the night. He’d given me medicine. He stayed by me, with the others coming to check on us while we were here.
He looked into my eyes, and when he stopped, he put the light away and checked around my head, gently massaging my scalp. “Any pain here?”
“No,” I said.
“You might later notice some aches,” he said. He shifted his hands to my neck. “Try turning...” He showed me how to twist my neck and look around, while he touched and massaged at my neck a little.
I was wearing someone’s black T-shirt and boxers, I wasn’t sure whose. I’d slept and really hadn’t slept at all. “When will Victor get back?” I asked him.
Dr. Green sighed and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Listen, pookie. Victor’s in a bit of a pickle. Nothing that can’t be handled, but for now, he’s with his parents. I think they had him sent home. A little early, if you ask me.”
I pressed my lips together, looking away from him.
“No, don’t pout,” he said, and he picked up my chin until I was looking at him. “It has to be that way. We couldn’t pull him from the car and not have him around, okay? The car was totaled. It would have been much worse if we had taken him out and left the car without a driver. Besides, we needed the ambulance. He was hurt. Unfortunately, the best place for him right now is with his parents.”
“Where they want him to be,” I sputtered, very unhappy with this.
He smoothed a hand over my cheek. “No, pumpkin. He was at the hospital and he’s okay, he’s just resting now. His insurance and his mother will do their best, but he’ll have to face charges...”
Charges! I reacted, pulling away from him, breathing in sharply. “But...” I couldn’t think of what to say.
That was it. His mom would prove she was right.
Was he out of the Academy now?
Would he have to stay with them?
Dr. Green shook his head, trying to reclaim me by taking my shoulders and holding to me. “Sang, sweetie, calm down.”
I breathed in deeply, trying not to panic.
“Do I look worried?” he asked. He looked me square in the face with those light green eyes, and a couple of locks of his sandy hair hanging across his forehead.
I shook my head slowly at his question.
“Do you trust me?”
I nodded.
“So if I said, don’t worry, should you trust me when I say that?”
I hesitated but then nodded slowly.
He smirked and then pulled me in for a hug. He kissed the top of my forehead and held me close. “Victor will be fine. Physically, he’s got a little bump on his noggin and a broken nose, and a few bruises. Nothing permanent. We should be grateful. Whatever happens with his parents, we’ll figure it out. It’s a better outcome than what could have happened. He’s alive. That’s the important part.” He patted me a little and then smoothed his palm across my back gently. “Now if you’re feeling it, get up and get dressed. We’ve got to join the family meeting downstairs.”
He tried to release me, but for the first time, I tugged him back.
I wasn’t ready to let go yet.
He chuckled, and then looked around the room, as if trying to double-check. “Lay back on the bed,” he said.
“Right now?”
“Just for a few minutes.”
I did, and he cuddled up beside me. He positioned himself so I could bury my head into his chest, and he sank his nose and lips into the top of my hair. He held me like that, just holding on and letting me feel comfortable next to him.
Like a security blanket.
For a long time, he just stayed with me, and I was listening to him breathing. He’d stayed close in the night but not this close.
He was comforting. He always was.
And then I remembered something.
“Dr. Sean,” I said.
He chuckled. “Yeah, pookie?”
I didn’t know how to say it, but I remembered something.
He’d sent a hand signal to me when I was still under control of my parents at my house. And I hadn’t known what he meant.
I did now.
And I showed him now. With my good hand.
The sign language for I love you.
My heart raced, despite the medicine in me that made me drowsy.
He looked at my hand, at my fingers. For the longest time he just looked at it.
Slowly, he raised his hand, and he did the same.
My eyes watered and I blinked. I didn’t want to cry about it.
I felt good.
I cared so much about them all. Victor. I wanted to tell Victor.
I lost my chance so often with him. Twice now.
I couldn’t miss my opportunities anymore.
Sonata
(A piece played as opposed to sung)
Sang
We couldn’t stay like that for long, not at the risk of someone coming up to check on us, especially in Mr. Buble’s house. So eventually I had to let go. I didn’t get dressed except to put on someone else’s pajama pants that were too long for me. I followed Dr. Green downstairs into the main part of Mr. Buble’s big house.
Gabriel was at the head of the table, talking to Mr. Buble and Mr. Blackbourne. The others either sat around Mr. Buble’s table or stood by.
“So Jay and Rocky were in there inside the bathroom, surprise to us, and we were really sure they were there for the thing going down,” Gabriel said. He was waving his arms for emphasis, revealing several fresh scabs and bruises. “Fucking Jay was talking about having to do a drop-off here after the concert.”
“He was driving the truck,” North said across the room. He was standing against the wall, all black but with a black sweater instead of his T-shirt... likely because the shirt I was wearing was his, I thought.
It was his eyes that bothered me. Red. Swollen. I’d only seen it once before. Angry. Too sad. Hurting so bad on the inside. And yet as he spoke, he seemed to remain calm.
He continued, “And after the Jeep crashed into it, he rolled it right back into the SUV we borrowed for the night, too. So he was actively attacking us.”
“So there is some connection,” Mr. Buble said. “This Jay, and possibly Rocky. And anyone he might be with.”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “He opened up a bit as we were smoking with him, which is what we wanted. He...” Gabriel closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat. “He said something about this being a job he picked up.”
“But did he know who hired him?” Mr. Buble asked.
Gabriel shrugged. “It was via email and then Facebook. But we should get more details if we snoop. I bet Victor...” Gabriel trailed off, as if remembering what happened.
I glanced around at the others. We were all here, and the moment Victor’s name was mentioned, they all seemed to flinch at the same time.
We were all worried, despite knowing he was alive and things would be fine. Not seeing him, maybe, not hearing from him now, that was the worst.
“It was Volto,” I said quietly.
They turned to me now. I’d talked a little about what happened from when Volto pulled me from the car until Mr. Buble and North found me.
“It’s two people,” I said at the end. “Volto... something happened I guess, but I have a feeling they’re not even working together, maybe they were but certainly not right now.”
“Great,” North said. “And it’s not any of these guys?”
“Rocky might know,” I said. “You’ll have to talk to him. He was pretty mad. He might have caught the second Volto and found out. He also said Volto had lied to them about what was going on about the whole thi
ng.” I considered the conversation again. “I really, really think maybe... it wasn’t them that broke into the house. That this second Volto stole back the trunk. The trunk with our equipment inside. They didn’t know about a safe, or other items.”
“We didn’t get to the trunk to trade,” North said. “And that’s the only item they had. But it was there. Jay took off after the crash in the truck. They didn’t wait around. Mostly scattered. Probably scared of cops.”
“And it’s likely they know about me being somewhat associated with you now,” Mr. Buble said. “They won’t trust me. Or Mrs. Ruiz, if we tried again.”
“I can follow up with Jay and Rocky,” North said. “And Karen and Wil. They didn’t exactly see me at all. Just Silas. There’s a chance he might just think Silas was helping you, after you said something to them and they attacked you. What did they say to you, anyway?”
Mr. Buble was silent for a long time, as if considering his words carefully. “I took a path of most resistance. I took a bet that agitating the leader, the big one with the muscles...”
“We didn’t know him,” Silas said. “But I’m pretty sure he goes to the school. He looked familiar.”
Mr. Buble continued, “I wanted them to fight. I wanted to see how strong this group was. You said Volto was clever. None we talked to were him, maybe, or maybe someone was but wasn’t wearing the mask. I know I’m new to this, but I believe that they were hired and had very little idea what was going on. I’ll believe all they knew is that they needed to help with getting the trunk and the drop-off and would be paid.”
“So Volto hired someone else to break into the house?” Gabriel asked. “And then hired kids from school to sell it off? That’s fucked up. They could go to jail forever and they didn’t even know.” He shook his head, folding his arms and sitting back. “For Volto, even a fake one, this seems really risky.”
“This Volto knew we would never call the cops,” I said. “And they were right. We don’t. Not in the same way most people would.”
“That protection is for you, not for them,” Mr. Buble said. “We don’t have to extend them any courtesy. They broke into the Griffin house and there’s already a police report. We could still claim they broke in. It’s likely the police could match prints. Or find some connection that would lead to the actual thieves.”
“It’s still a risk to do that,” North said. “I could get more information from Jay and Rocky by joining them and figuring out who at least this other Volto is. That one has to know who the real one is.”
Mr. Buble’s dark eyes drew off into the distance, as if considering. “Do we teach immediate lessons? Or do we allow for second chances? Do we strike at the heart, or cut off the head?”
The open questions echoed in my mind. I glanced at the others, everyone but Victor, sitting or standing around the table. Meeting some of their eyes as they looked back at me.
No one seemed certain.
Not until Silas spoke up. “Saying something to the police about them risks Sang. We’re back to why Volto can get away with everything he does.”
I lowered my head, realizing that was true. Notifying the police, Rocky would say I was a witness. He helped save me from the car.
Maybe that’s why the other Volto came for me. It forced me into the middle, forcing them to make the choice of not calling the police.
Maybe this other Volto was somewhat as clever as the original.
Gabriel slapped his hand onto the table’s surface. “Fuck this. Sang can get into the Academy without being a ghost bird whatever.”
“Mr. Coleman,” Mr. Blackbourne said, who had been standing by silently as Mr. Buble was taking the lead on this. He had his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall near the table.
“Sorry,” Gabriel said. “I just mean... If that’s the only risk, that Sang gets...”
“Miss Sorenson risks being taken in by police and taken to her parents,” Mr. Blackbourne said gently. “If brought to her home by the police, her parents will likely make it much more difficult for her to come back to us. I appreciate your view on the topic, but we’re still in the middle of a heated divorce between her parents, with our own lawyers, and this would make it much more complicated.”
I blinked rapidly, and without thinking, blurted, “Call them.”
Mr. Blackbourne looked to me, as did the others.
“If I’m the only one... if... I’m the one in the way...” I said quietly, “why should we risk more for this?”
“We can’t,” Mr. Blackbourne said.
“Volto has manipulated all of us, until it’s nearly killed us. If the answer is to call the police and they capture Volto, both of them, and I only go back to my parents... We can risk it. We can’t risk doing this anymore.”
“You’re not going back,” Kota said, half standing from his spot at the other head of the table. He looked right at Mr. Buble. “That can’t happen.”
“Fucking right,” Gabriel said. “Forget what I said. I wasn’t thinking.”
There was a calamity of voices all at once.
I sighed. I didn’t like the conundrum this was. Being caught in the middle. This could have been over by now.
I’d survived my parents. I could do it again.
I would fight them all. I would never risk Victor or anyone else again.
A hand suddenly caught mine, and I realized it was Mr. Buble, reaching across to get my attention among all the other voices.
At this, the others quieted, looking right at us.
Mr. Buble looked right into my eyes and gently squeezed my good hand. “Self-sacrifice is not necessary, although your unselfishness is an admirable quality. While willingness to do the right thing is an exceptionally fine attitude to have for an Academy member, we would never risk anyone one ounce of unpleasantness if it can be helped. It is not your fault what happened to Victor.”
I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t cry, though I felt tears. I nodded.
He continued to hold on to me as he looked to the others. “Let’s focus on this Rocky and Jay and the others that had been at the scene and do everything we can to get to the heart of who Volto is... both of them. We were thrown off before with the duality, but now we know better.”
My heart raced, perhaps this wasn’t totally the right move, but wanting to trust the others that I didn’t have to go back.
But could we survive with two Voltos lurking around?
Mr. Buble glanced in my direction, as well as nodding at Dr. Green. “I assume you’re not too hurt?”
I shook my head, although I was a bit groggy and worried about being sore like Dr. Green suggested.
“Then you might come with me,” he said, standing up. He motioned to Mr. Blackbourne. “And this time, you should come along.”
Mr. Blackbourne had been standing by, looking on as the others talked. He immediately stood taller. He was impeccable, as always, with his gray suit and maroon tie, only it was all wrinkled, and it took his moving away for me to realize that was the case. He’d been up all night. “Of course.”
“The rest of you,” Mr. Buble said, “get organized. We’ve still got a to-do list.”
“If you’re going for Victor, I’d like to go,” North said darkly.
Mr. Buble turned to him. “We’ve got it from here.”
“But... I need to,” North said, now speaking more through his teeth.
Mr. Buble moved away from me and approached North. He said gently, “You know it’s not your fault either.”
North didn’t say anything. He only glared at him, ignoring the others completely.
“I need to,” he said.
Mr. Buble placed a hand on his shoulder. “We must all play our part. You did your best, and you might be needed if we fail. But only if we do.”
North said nothing further, but he nodded shortly. He turned away from the others and left the room.
I wondered why he looked so miserable, that maybe he felt some guilt, perhaps for bei
ng the one to ask Victor to drive to go get me.
Niente
(Nothing, barely audible, dying away)
Victor
Everything changed so much, that by morning, Victor felt he’d dreamed it all.
Was Mr. Buble really there?
He was still angry. Mostly at himself.
Was he in Europe now?
The pain of his face ebbed, came back, faded.
The doctor had said he needed surgery on his face.
When he opened his eyes, he was in his own bed. There was a tightness at his face, and a throbbing at the back of his head started the moment he shifted to look around the room.
Why did everything hurt so bad?
Why was he home?
Someone was standing by, a woman in blue scrubs. She approached him. He didn’t recognize her. “How are you feeling, Victor?”
“Who...” He breathed. He suddenly remembered the hospital. They had stitched his nose, examined him, given him medicines.
The groggy effect was strong in him.
Within moments, he seemed to doze again.
When he woke, the nurse was at his piano, idly opening pages that had been sitting on top.
She was talking to herself. “What a clever kid. Able to write music. A sonata? This requiem? No title. No lyrics.”
Victor breathed in sharply. He didn’t like the woman picking through his things, especially the music. It was something no one ever looked at or noticed.
When he got stuck at his home, waiting for concerts, he often dabbled with lines of music, writing down random notes on blank music sheets. No real reason. Mostly boredom while he had to wait for so long.
He started to say something, but choked quickly, his throat very dry.
The nurse jolted on the piano bench, dropping the pages, a couple scattering to the floor.
She came over, looking at him. “Oh good. You are awake now?”
He hadn’t realized he was attached to an IV bag until now, suddenly feeling the needle as he lifted his hand to her. He coughed again. “Water,” he said.
