Girl in the Basement

by Ray Garton

  “I thought I’d come by and let you know I got me a place,” she said. “You know the Lazy Z Ranch, that little motel off Highway 273 on Spring Gulch Road?

  Ryan knew the place. It was a run-down flea-pit with little bungalows arranged in a U shape with a small courtyard in the center and a pool off to one side. The pool had been empty for as long as he could remember. The Lazy Z was a motel, but people lived there – drug addicts and alcoholics who couldn’t get apartments. People like Phyllis. People like his mother.

  “Yeah, I know where it is,” he said.

  “Well, I got me one a them little bungalows now,” she said as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. She took a bite of her pie and talked while she chewed. “You can ride your bike over there and see me sometime, couldn’tcha?”

  He shrugged. “It’s on the other side of town.”

  “Oh, I know, but you ride your bike everywhere, don’tcha, honey? I’d like to introduce you t’all my friends over there. I want ‘em to see what a handsome son I got. Would you like that? To come and meet my friends?”

  I’d rather eat my own lips, he thought, but said, “Yeah, sure. Maybe sometime.”

  “I’m clean, y’know,” she said.

  Yeah, right, he thought.

  “Been clean for sixteen days now,” she said.

  He didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Aren’t you proud of me?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah.”

  She asked about his job, how he liked living with the Prestons. Ryan answered the questions, all the while trying not to look at her. Her eyes were set so deep in her skull, and there was something about them that he didn’t like – a hunger, a desperate need. Her eyes looked like they wanted to suck him dry, to drain him of his energy, his youth, his health.

  “Well, I gotta go,” she said after she finished the pie. “I borrowed a friend’s car and I promised her I’d have it back by eleven. You wanna ride with me over to the Lazy Z? I could prob’ly get you a ride back.”

  “I’ve gotta go to work soon,” Ryan said. He was relieved to be able to say it.

  “Oh, well, we don’t wantcha to miss work.”

  She made a big deal of hugging and kissing him, like she always did. He’d decided some time ago that the visits were something she probably did for herself. Whenever she started thinking about him and suffered pangs of guilt, she made a quick visit and touched him a lot and gave him a big hug and kiss and convinced herself she was a loving mother. He certainly hoped the visits weren’t for his benefit, because if so, they didn’t work.

  After she left, he went to the bedroom he shared with Gary and Keith. A wall had been knocked out to combine two smallish rooms into a larger one. There were two sets of bunk beds on opposite sides of the room. The boys had put up posters of swimsuit models and rock bands.

  Ryan had the bottom bunk on the eastern wall – the top bunk was unoccupied – and he sat on the edge of his bed and put his elbows on his thighs, his face in his hands. Visiting with his mother always tired him out. It was exhausting, the way she constantly moved and twitched and jittered, the way she kept touching him and squeezing, squeezing, as if she were trying to milk something out of him – love, or acceptance, or –

  Maybe forgiveness, Ryan thought. But he doubted it.

  Gary and Keith came into the room laughing. Gary punched Ryan in the shoulder and said, “Keith and the old man were just playing ping pong down in the rec room and Keith beat him three times in a row. It’s drivin’ the old man crazy.”

  “He couldn’t take it anymore,” Keith said, “so now we gotta go weed the garden.”

  “You toasted him,” Gary said, holding up a hand, and Keith high-fived him.

  Gary was annoying at times. He was overly enthusiastic about everything, filled with nervous energy, a little twitchy. He was seventeen years old – less than a year left in this branch of the system for Gary – and he was the kind of guy who, if he couldn’t find some trouble to get into, would invent some, and then get into it. He was short, about five feet, six inches tall, and skinny. He had a thick head of black hair and piercing blue eyes that usually looked a little too wide. He was good with cars, and had a part-time job at a garage in Anderson. There was usually grease under his nails.

  Keith, fifteen, was probably the worst kind of person you possibly could have around a guy like Gary – Keith was a follower, and he followed Gary like a disciple. He was over six feet tall and ducked his head slightly in an attempt to lessen his height. He was big and doughy and clumsy with a mop of rusty hair and a mustache he was trying to grow. He cleared his throat frequently – it was more of a nervous tic than an actual clearing of his throat. He parroted everything Gary said and seemed to have no thoughts of his own. He was usually pretty quiet.

  Gary and Keith changed into their oldest, rattiest jeans and a couple torn old T-shirts to work in the garden.

  “How about some airhockey later on, Ryan, huh?” Gary said.

  “Yeah, sure, when I get back from work. Maybe after dinner.”

  Ryan took a shower, then scrubbed himself dry. He put on jeans and a shortsleeve yellow shirt. On his way out, Marie stopped him.

  “You okay, Ryan?” she said, smiling as always.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t eat your pie.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, I just wasn’t hungry. I’ll eat it later, okay?”

  “I’ll put it in the fridge for you. Your mom ... she didn’t stay very long, did she?”

  “Just long enough to eat her pie. I think she really liked it.”

  “You off to work now?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back later.”

  He got on his bike and headed up Fig Tree Lane. The July sky was a brilliant blue with billowing white clouds off toward Mt. Shasta, the purple, white-spotted sleeping lady that rose up in the north. High overhead, a commercial jet the size of a mosquito left behind a tiny white trail.

  He listened to the air blowing over his ears as he rode and tried not to think about Phyllis. He remembered that he’d planned to pay a visit to Maddy in the basement today. He regretted not doing it that morning, before work. He would have to try that evening.

  At the end of Fig Tree, he stopped and waited for a break in the traffic on Airport Road. When it came, he crossed and rode his bike into the crowded parking lot of Kent’s Market. He chained his bike to a rack on the side of the building, then went inside. He went in back and put on his green smock. Kent put him in the reefer with Karil stocking the beverage coolers. It was cold back there, and it felt good after being outside in the heat.

  Ryan had been working at Kent’s for two months, but Karil had just started a few days ago. She was about his age, a tall, raw-boned girl with long red hair and clusters of freckles on her cheeks.

  “You’re Ryan, right?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I have a terrible time remembering people’s names.”

  He smiled. “Mine’s pretty easy to remember.”

  They worked for awhile, then she said, “So, you ... you live in a group home, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s that like?”

  “Not like everybody thinks,” Ryan said with a shake of his head.

  “What does everybody think?”

  “I’m not sure, but people seem to freak out when they learn there’s a group home in the neighborhood. I mean, jeez, it’s just foster kids, not the criminally insane, you know? It’s not like we’re all these foaming-at-the-mouth criminals.”

  “Yeah. People do think that, don’t they?”

  “Every place I’ve ever lived, most of the neighbors hate the fact that there’s a group home on their street or on their block. They think we’re gonna rob their homes when their gone and rape their daughters at night, or something. When the fact is, I prefer to do all my raping during the day so I can see what I’m doing.”

  Karil turned to him with wide eyes, her full pink l
ips parted. She stared at him for a few long seconds, then he smiled.

  “I’m kidding,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said, and she laughed and rolled her eyes at her own gullibility. “I-I didn’t think you were a rapist, really, I was just, well – “

  He chuckled and said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself.”

  “So, what happened to your parents?”

  “My mom’s a drug addict and I don’t know who my dad is. What about yours?”

  “Oh, mine? Uh, well ... my dad’s a podiatrist and my mom has a little antique store in Redding. We live over in Wooded Acres.” She gestured west.

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. I’m an only child. Which puts a lot of pressure on me. I mean, y’know, I have to be the smart one, the good looking one, the successful one, all rolled up into one.”

  Ryan frowned. “Aren’t you putting a lot of that pressure on yourself?”

  “Oh, no. You don’t know my parents. Trust me. They’re puttin’ the pressure on.”

  Ryan might complain about this or that now and then, but he never complained about growing up without a permanent set of parents. All the people he knew who had them seemed so deeply unhappy with them.

  THREE

  After dinner that night, Gary reminded Ryan of their planned airhockey game. They went down to the spacious basement. The Prestons had done a pretty good job of furnishing their rec room. It had a ping pong table, an ancient airhockey table, bumper pool, a couple pinball machines, two dartboards, and an arcade PacMan. There was a couch and a couple chairs arranged around a television, and cupboards against the back wall contained shelves of DVDs to choose from. It was all wholesome family fare, nothing of interest to Ryan. But it was a place to watch the DVDs he rented. Nobody in the house was interested in the movies Ryan liked to watch, except for Gary, who was interested in everything. When he came in and found Ryan watching, say, a Japanese horror movie, Gary wanted to know who starred in it, who had produced, written, and directed it, what it was about, and whether or not it was any good. Ryan always paused the movie, listed off its credits for him, and caught him up on the plot. He didn’t mind the intrusion. Gary wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t a great guy, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

  Ryan played airhockey with Gary for awhile and Keith watched. The girls came down a little later and Nicole said she wanted to play the winner. Ryan intentionally lost the game.

  Nicole was fifteen, a heavyset girl with a pretty face, short blonde hair, and big blue eyes. She was a challenger, always challenging people to arm wrestling matches or games in the rec room or stare-downs. Ryan had never acknowledged any of her challenges – he’d just ignored them, as if she hadn’t said anything at all – and for that reason, it seemed, she was comfortable talking to him. Usually when she talked to him, it was about her mother, who was in jail for prostitution. Ryan listened. He spoke up once in awhile, usually for clarification, but mostly he just listened. That was all she seemed to want and need, someone to listen.

  Candy was a sixteen-year-old sex fiend. She had a voluptuous body, and she enjoyed displaying it for the boys. Marie was always telling her to go put something on. She had frizzy, shoulder-length brown hair and an hourglass figure. Tonight, she wore a tight blue bellyshirt and tight red shorts. She looked like she’d been drawn for an adult comic book. Candy had come to his bed his first night there. Three in the morning, she’d awakened him with a kiss and tried to get under the covers with him. He told her to get the hell out of his room. It was his first night, and he didn’t want to get in trouble on his first night at a new place, it would get things off to a bad start, so he told her to get the hell out of his room. The next morning, he’d tried to explain his reasons to her, but she wasn’t interested in them. She’d never returned to his bed, and she’d been chilly toward him ever since.

  Then there was Lyssa. Ryan felt his smile stretch to its limits when he saw her come into the rec room. After he lost the game of airhockey, he went to Lyssa’s side and took her hand.

  They went over to the couch and sat down. Ryan turned on the TV and tuned to MTV-2. They slumped down into the cushions until their heads could not be seen by the others gathered around the airhockey table behind the couch. Their heads were touching, so they spoke softly.

  “What’d you do today?” Ryan said.

  “Picked a lot of blackberries.”

  “That pie was delicious.”

  “Well, it was made with the berries I picked, so I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go see Maddy.”

  Lyssa frowned. “What do you want do that for?”

  “Because I want to see what she’s like.”

  “I don’t want to go see her.”

  “Then I’ll go see her by myself.”

  “I don’t know if Marie would like that.”

  “Marie doesn’t have to know about it,” Ryan said. “She and Hank are upstairs, probably watching Law & Order right now, or something. I just want to talk to her.”

  Still frowning, Lyssa shook her head. “She doesn’t always talk. And sometimes when she does, she doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes it sounds like she’s talking in a completely different language. I’m telling you, she’s creepy.”

  “You want to know the real reason I want to see her?”

  “What?”

  He whispered in her ear, “I want to see her because she’s creepy. I want to see what scared you so bad.”

  Lyssa sat up and looked back at the group around the airhockey table. They were absorbed in their game, cheering Nicole on, laughing. Lyssa slumped down again and said, “Okay. But we won’t stay long. I don’t want to get caught. I mean, Marie probably wouldn’t mind that much, but she probably doesn’t want us bothering Maddy, either.”

  They got up and left the rec room. They went down the hall and past the stairs, went on to the closed door of Maddy’s room.

  Lyssa knocked lightly with a knuckle and said, “Maddy? What’re you doing?” She opened the door and stepped in.

  Ryan followed her.

  It was a large room with blue-sky wallpaper spotted with white fluffy clouds. There were posters on the walls of kittens and puppies and ducklings, with captions like “Hang in there!” and “Friends are forever.” Stuffed toys were everywhere – on the bed, the dresser, on the floor here and there – and there were a lot of Barbie dolls. A dollhouse stood in the corner. There were Barbie accessories all over the room. A radio on the dresser played classical music softly.

  Maddy sat in a chair against the wall. She sat with her back straight, hands in her lap. She wore a blue dress and white bunny-rabbit slippers on her feet. She appeared to be staring at the doorway when they entered, almost as if she’d been waiting for them. She was, indeed, a big girl for nine years old – fleshy and stout, with a large head and a small face. Her dark hair fell in curly strands to her shoulders.

  Ryan and Lyssa stood just inside the door after Ryan closed it.

  “Hi, Maddy,” Lyssa said. “You listening to some music?”

  After a moment, Maddy nodded her head once.

  Lyssa took a step forward. “I brought someone to meet you, Maddy. His name is Ryan.”

  Ryan walked over to Maddy with his hand out to shake. “Hi, Maddy. Nice to meet you.”

  She stared at his hand a moment, then looked up at him, but she did not shake.

  Ryan dropped his hand to his side, then hunkered down so his eyes were level with Maddy’s. Her narrow brown eyes looked at him, but seemed to see through him, as if he weren’t there. “I live here, too,” he said. “I’ve been here three months. How long have you been here?”

  Maddy blinked, and her eyes came into focus. She looked directly into Ryan’s eyes and her lips parted. Her mouth turned up in a smile, creating dimples in her fat cheeks and revealing two rows of small white teeth.

  “I’ve been here a long, long time,” she said in a low, gravelly voice. It was
the voice of someone who’d been smoking for years.

  It startled Ryan. His mouth opened but he couldn’t speak for a moment. The voice was startlingly incongruous – how had it come out of this little girl? Okay, she wasn’t so little, but she wasn’t the owner of that voice, she couldn’t be. And yet it had come from her mouth.

  “See what I mean?” Lyssa whispered behind him.

  “How long have you been in the house?”

  “Oh, in this house,” Maddy said in the low, quiet voice. “You think small, boy. You’ll never be a writer thinking that way.”

  “What?” Ryan said, his voice breathy with shock. Gooseflesh prickled across his back. The room suddenly felt chilly.

  Maddy blinked and turned her gaze over Ryan’s shoulder. “Hi, Lyssa,” she said, and she sounded like a little girl, with a slightly adenoidal but distinctly girlish voice.

  “Hi, Maddy. I brought Ryan to meet you.”

  Maddy looked at Ryan again. “Hi, Ryan.”

  “Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse. He stood.

  Maddy sniffed noisily. “Where’s Marie?”

  Lyssa said, “She’s upstairs.”