by C. L. Stone
She brought over just a small paper cup of ice chips. “Try this for now. You don’t want to vomit while your face is healing. Let’s move slowly.”
He took in an ice chip, and the wetness stung the inside of his throat that he choked on it.
She nodded and took the cup away. “Careful.”
He swallowed hard several times, soaking in the wetness from the chip.
“Do you know where you are?” she asked him.
He nodded. His own bedroom. Not in the hospital.
“Do you remember what happened?”
He nodded again. Mostly. Sort of. How did he get here?
She left him and went to a case sitting near the piano. She brought it over and performed a short examination, something Dr. Green had done similarly to him more than enough to know the routine. Pulse, checked for fever.
When she was done, she smiled at him. “Don’t move, okay?”
He wasn’t sure he could. The medicine was strong.
Should he be here?
His mother. She’d said something about getting him out of the country. The doctor said he couldn’t go. They don’t normally allow people out of the hospital while still unconscious.
“How...” he whispered.
With a puzzled gaze, she sat next to him on the bed. “Try again?”
Victor smothered the urge to grumble. Flashes of his mother at the hospital came to him. He remembered the crash and Sang being pulled from the car, but parts of it were still a blur, like waking up in the ambulance, his mother insisting the doctor call the surgeon to fix his nose. The conversation about sending Victor to Europe. Her demands for different doctors. He even remembered waking up on his back in the surgery room, and the pull of string against his nose, although at that point his face was numb.
Lost in a mess of memories, Victor fell asleep again.
And woke again shortly. He didn’t want to sleep more.
His mother would have insisted he stay at home and not at the hospital. He imagined it was not for his health, but to salvage whatever reputation she could. And if she got the opportunity, she’d fly him off perhaps.
Victor tried to talk.
Mr. Buble. He’d left him. DepthCrawler.
They could have taken him from the hospital.
They knew how.
But they wouldn’t. They didn’t. They left him. And soon, his parents might have him on that flight they wanted him on. A private plane would take him anywhere.
He almost thought he should go. He almost risked Sang’s life. Was she hurt? They promised...
They said she wasn’t. That she was fine.
Was she?
Was she safe around him? He’d almost killed her.
Her face.
Upside down.
He sobbed, the memory too strong for him to handle.
The nurse peered down at him and gently touched his arm. “If you need to sleep, sleep.” She shifted. He was pretty sure the nurse put more medicine into the IV.
After a few minutes, he didn’t have a choice.
He never had a choice.
Aria
(Self-contained piece for one voice usually with orchestral accompaniment)
Sang
After I got some better clothes on, we were in Mr. Blackbourne’s BMW, the one that had been recovered. It seemed back to normal, the VIN back into the dash without any indication that it had been traded.
Mr. Buble insisted I sit in the front seat while Mr. Blackbourne drove.
“Get comfortable,” he said to me as he held the door open. “And be ready.”
“For what?”
“You’ll have to fill in if I fail.”
I wasn’t sure what we were going to do, but I sat on my good hand to stop it from shaking, and pressed my fractured hand to my body.
I wasn’t totally sure I wouldn’t fall asleep on the ride.
Along the way, when there was a pause in the conversation as Mr. Buble went over what happened the other night with details he heard from Gabriel and North as well, I asked. “Weren’t we supposed to lay low and let Volto think we weren’t doing anything?”
“I felt that way,” Mr. Buble said from the back seat. “Until he... we’re assuming it’s him still... invaded the Griffin house. Among other incidents.”
“It’s what our team has dealt with for a while now,” Mr. Blackbourne spoke as he drove, never moving his eyes from the road, and always keeping his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. “We get quiet, he shows up. We’re in action, he shows up. There’s not much of a difference, and despite when we’ve thought we had some high ground, he manages to evade being discovered each time.”
“There’s another option, however,” Mr. Buble said. “What happens if we removed some people? Perhaps even further out of reach? We could try, at least for a while.”
Mr. Blackbourne slowly nodded and continued to focus on driving.
Removed people.
Moved them away.
Who? Me?
Part of me didn’t want to ask. Not right now. Instead, out the window, the scenery changed, drifting by as the car rolled along. The interior smelled of spring soap, and now another scent carried, another type of soap, maybe lavender or lilac, I wasn’t sure but it was flowery of some sort. I wondered if it was from Mr. Buble. I hadn’t been so close, not without a mixture of scents to make it too difficult to identify if he carried any, but it was noticeable now.
It was several miles before I finally realized we were headed downtown and in the direction of the Morgan estate.
I turned to Mr. Blackbourne. “Are we going to Victor’s house?” I asked.
He nodded slowly.
“We’re taking a risk,” Mr. Buble said, gazing out the side window. “I understand this is what this group does.”
“You’re fitting in pretty well,” Mr. Blackbourne said to him.
I turned to look at Mr. Buble. He didn’t look back at me, but he was smiling at the window. As strict as I’d thought of him, an older man with such a particular way about him, now it felt comfortable to have him around. It wasn’t totally clear if it was simply because he was with the Academy, but for the last week or so getting to know him, he seemed much different than who I’d felt he was before.
He followed the rules, but he was willing to dive into the fight. He was willing to take a risk.
I noticed, now, how he had a change in coloration around his face. Around one eye. A black eye? Sort of. A mark where his glasses had smashed against his face? After a punch?
He was wearing makeup.
He did fit in with us.
We didn’t go directly to the gate, but a block away, at a spot Mr. Blackbourne knew the security team couldn’t see in their cameras. We couldn’t show we were together, not right now, apparently.
I looked intently at the large house a short distance away, the yellow exterior with the white trim. I’d been at the house a lot lately, always unwelcomed by Mrs. Morgan.
I couldn’t imagine she’d be happy to see me.
“Hopefully this won’t take long,” Mr. Buble said. He got out of the car, smoothed his hands over his clothes, and took with him a clipboard and a folder. “Time to put our Mr. Morgan out of his misery... so to speak.”
It was the way he said our that made me feel his determination. He wouldn’t stop trying to protect Victor.
He wouldn’t stop no matter what.
I sat still in the passenger seat, confused at his words. When Mr. Buble walked off toward the large yellow house, I kept an eye on him as I asked Mr. Blackbourne, “What is he doing?”
“Giving Victor what he wants,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “And freeing the Morgans of their problems. If they choose to accept, at least.” He gazed at me. “He’s been asking for you all night, it seems. You’re here in case he needs you to think clearly.”
“Think clearly?”
“There’s a choice left to make. The same choice Victor’s always had a difficult time making.”
My heart surged. I immediately turned to the door. “I’ll go now.”
Mr. Blackbourne held on to my arm. “Wait,” he said.
I hesitated, because he was so direct, despite my desperation to go help Victor.
“Let Mr. Buble handle it.”
“But...”
Mr. Blackbourne released my arm and gently spoke. “I know there’s some issue in the group about trusting Mr. Buble, but I hoped after sending him to be more involved with all of you, that you all would have learned to trust him more.”
“We do...”
“He is Academy, after all.”
I nodded and forced myself to remain in the car, sitting back, watching Mr. Buble enter the house alone.
“Are you sure this is the right decision?” I asked Mr. Blackbourne quietly. “His parents could force him to stay.”
“He’s not a prisoner. Victor’s place is with us.”
“So why do you say it’s a choice?”
“Because he’s also not our prisoner,” Mr. Blackbourne said. “Family is a choice.”
“The last time I was here, they were so convincing, trying to tell him he risked exposing me if I stayed with him or if he came with us.”
“That’s still true,” he said. “And will be true while the media has its day with dramatically covering what’s happened to him lately.”
That was true. He was in the car by himself and there would be news covering it for a while. The news... it’d likely expose him as some teenager who was rebelling against his parents, drinking at his birthday, crashing the car, driving while under the influence. “He’ll get charged? He’ll be arrested?”
“He won’t escape a trial,” Mr. Blackbourne said quietly. “Although community service could be traded for any jail time for a first offense.”
My heart seized. “No...” What if it didn’t work? A judge could say anything. And he’d be gone. In jail. For how long? And community service? It wasn’t his fault.
Mr. Blackbourne reached to me, collecting my hands this time and holding to them strong. “We know the truth,” he said. “We know what happened, and Mr. Buble is going in to try to remedy this situation as best as he can. This is what he does.”
“Mr. Buble does this?”
“He’s a child advocate, a foster parent, and presents himself as a few other things. But in this case, he’s the answer to their problems, unless they say no for reasons we couldn’t imagine. But let’s trust Mr. Buble can handle it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
His thumbs smoothed over the back of my hands, massaging gently. “We’re next. And if we don’t work, we send Mr. Lee. And if he doesn’t work, we have more. Whoever it takes.”
There was no doubt in those steel eyes that looked me over. “You want him out?”
“I want us together,” he said. “It’s everything I’ve worked for.”
I had to give Mr. Buble a chance. His parents might not want him there, but Victor would have to choose.
So I waited with Mr. Blackbourne, in the car, ready. I wasn’t sure what I’d say even if I had to go in, but I assumed Mr. Blackbourne had a plan, or maybe it depended on what happened with Mr. Buble.
I’d wait.
I’d wait for Victor. And I firmly believed no one on the team would rest until he was with us again.
I wouldn’t rest until I could get to him and confess.
I did love him. I wouldn’t be afraid to tell him next time.
A Bene Placito
(Up to the performer)
Victor
Victor, for a short time, was alone in his bedroom. The nurse had gone. Maybe to get food or supplies or to rest.
For the longest time, Victor stared at the ceiling. No cell phone was available. There was no phone in the room.
Rather dangerous since he was just out of the hospital.
He anticipated his parents coming in at any time to tell him they’d put him on a plane.
At times, he told himself he would fight. He’d fight them. He’d do what he could to remain here.
Did he even have the strength?
At other times, he struggled with the idea of allowing them to take him.
He’d yelled at Mr. Buble. Since then, he hadn’t seen or heard from anyone.
No one on his own team had come around. Did they not care?
They were smart enough to figure out how to talk to him if they wanted. Luke could come through the window.
If they really wanted him.
Where the misery came from, he wasn’t sure, but it stayed with him. Even as he tried to tell himself he was being stupid. Of course, they would help him. Sometimes timing was everything.
But every moment no one showed up, he doubted.
He doubted they’d come. Could they even help him now?
Once, drinking and taking a prescription that wasn’t his, they could forgive.
Twice? Driving while high? North had said to get Sang, to park and wait. That’s it. He couldn’t even do that.
He shouldn’t have been high.
Jay... Rocky... Gabriel had suggested if they got the others high enough, they’d be unable to do their job. And maybe rat out what was going on.
Except they’d underestimated the two of them. Should have known. They’d never done pot before.
Didn’t think they’d have that bad a reaction.
Lightweight.
No excuse. He’d probably face an Academy trial at best.
Maybe they had to keep their distance.
Victor Morgan. Hospitalized after an intoxicated car crash.
Were there newspaper reporters in the streets outside the door?
Is that why they left the hospital?
Willing to risk his life for the family.
♥♥♥
When he woke again, someone else was at the piano.
Tinkering with the keys.
For a moment, he thought it was Sang. They let her up here? His heart soared.
She played piano?
In short sections, she played. A stanza of something or other. He wasn’t even sure it was any sort of song, because sometimes the keys didn’t sound pleasant. Sometimes she repeated notes to make it sound like she was playing something and then went in a different direction.
It took him much too long, with the medication fading back to allow his brain to work, to realize it wasn’t Sang. It was Brie. How could he have thought otherwise? They didn’t look alike.
Suddenly Brie stopped and turned her head to him. Her gaze was a little cloudy, and yet around the edges of her eyes, she was tense. Her dark hair hung around her face. She wore jeans and a black T-shirt, very unlike how she was at the party. “I’m waking you up,” she said.
“How...” he started to say but couldn’t find the right question. There were too many questions floating around in his brain.
She went to the bed, peering down at him. “Your mom called my mom. She wanted you to come with us.”
With Brie? He shook his head.
She sat down on the bed, reaching for his hand. “Victor. They’re going to come for you. And if you don’t leave, the police, they’ll take you in. Your lawyer can’t save you this time.”
“Can’t leave,” Victor breathed out.
Brie pressed her lips together. “She found out. My mom. She’s sending me back to Europe, but to a house far away from school. My mom offered to take you there with us.” She leaned in. “I don’t think I can take being alone with my mom. Don’t make me.”
Fire seemed to fill his lungs. “Brie...”
“You can’t stay. If you’re in Europe before they arrest you, say to a specialist doctor for recovery, it’d give time to possibly run a trial without you. Your mother wants minimal exposure, and you’re lucky you’re still a minor. None of the court proceedings will be public. The issue will die, maybe in a couple of months.”
He shook his head. This was all wrong. He couldn’t go.
“They’ll send you to jail,”
Brie said. “Juvenile detention. If you stay. Even if it won’t be public, you’d still have to face that. It won’t make a difference.”
Would he go to jail? Was that what awaited him after this? No wonder the Academy stayed away. It was often too risky to go in after an Academy member once the police were involved. And Sang... if he went in, was there a way they’d expose her? Would all this risk exposure of the Academy if he was arrested? They’d send an Academy lawyer... but he was still underage and this was complicated.
He debated the answer. His heart hurt. His lungs burned. His body was numb and heavy and in pain. Calculating answers became too hard.
Brie turned away, looking toward the piano. “It won’t be so bad,” she said, although her tone was slow, her shoulders down, looking defeated. “I tried. You tried. We couldn’t make it work. They still have control over us. Maybe they always will. But maybe after a few months, we could find a way.”
It wasn’t her fault. He felt bad. Her world was ending, too. If she couldn’t go back to her school, she couldn’t go back to her girlfriend, she was every bit like him right now. She felt forced, and she had no Academy to offer any assistance.
Was there no hope? Was that why he was still here? His family offered an escape, and maybe the Academy wanted him to take it.
Maybe they didn’t want him to be here.
♥♥♥
Time passed. He was in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Brie was here. Sometimes it was the nurse.
He pretended to sleep anyway. They were waiting. He wasn’t sure for what.
At one point, he was alone.
He shifted in the bed, and slowly, he sat up.
The room had been picked up. The music the nurse had spilled over the room had been stacked neatly on top of the piano.
Of all things, he sort of wished he could take the piano and run away with it.
It was stuck here though. Pieced together inside this room, because it was too big to fit in any door or window. It’d have to get taken apart to be removed.
And yet, he wished he could get it out. His parents would, if he agreed. They’d jump at the chance, if it meant he’d do what they wanted.
The notes of his requiem, the one the nurse had looked at, filled his head.
