by Abe Moss
The torturous waves came twice more, stretching him taut for a time and setting him loose. Each time he braced for it, hoping he’d be better prepared for the pain, and never was. It was always like new. After the fourth course, however, he lay still for a while, gone in his worn-down thoughts. Every few minutes he felt it coming again, felt the hooves of its approach galloping under the floor beneath him, heart beating in anticipation—and then the sensation receded, never having fully arrived. This happened a few times. He must have rested on the floor for nearly an hour, gripped in intermittent paranoia of its return.
He lay for a while longer until eventually he heard the distinct sound of air escaping the room. A release of suction. Slowly, he sat up and faced the door. The beep of a keycard. He barely attempted standing before giving up. His legs were still too weak. Then the door opened wide. A woman stepped through, but not the same as before.
He would have preferred the woman from before.
“How are you feeling, Emmett?” Dr. Marks asked, strolling casually into the room. The woman from before waited in the hall outside the door, peering in, observing.
“I can’t get up,” Emmett said.
Dr. Marks laughed softly, kindly. “You must be very tired.”
It was an understatement. Now she was there, he realized he hardly had the strength to speak. Putting thoughts into words and vocalizing those words was all much too involved.
“The drug should be in its final stages now,” she said. “You’ll continue to feel its effects for about a day. Off and on. But the worst of it is over. You might have some trouble sleeping tonight. There shouldn’t be any more head-to-toe convulsions. Just minor ones here and there. Do you want to try standing one more time?”
Not wanting to fail in front of her, to give her that satisfaction, he shook his head that he could not.
“Well in that case, I’ll have a wheelchair fetched for you. We’ll get you into bed one way or another.”
At the mention of a wheelchair he was reminded of the girl Jackie mentioned and, fearing being anything like her, he made another attempt at standing on his own. His legs shook under his weight, rising up onto his feet. To his surprise, Dr. Marks took him by the arm and helped.
“Look at that,” she said. “Some strength in you left.” She put a hand on his shoulder as she walked him to the door, into the short hallway. “It’s usually frowned upon, but if you don’t feel up to showers tonight, I’ll understand. Would you like to go straight to bed?”
“Yes…” he said, and couldn’t have been more relieved.
It was unfortunately a rather empty offer.
Once they reached the facility corridors outside of Detainment, he was somewhat unnerved when Dr. Marks decided to take him a different way than he’d come originally.
“Let’s take the scenic route, shall we?” she said. “Is it all right with you if we do a little walking and talking together? Beats that cramped little office of mine, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged, though his legs loathed the idea. “I thought… you said I could go straight to bed?”
“Are you too weak?” she asked. “Would you prefer a wheelchair?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll… be okay.”
Emmett had no idea where they were going, or how their course was in any way scenic. They were simple wandering, it seemed, down corridors which looked no different than all the others, in the opposite direction of his room entirely. And as his legs were so tired, walking with more of a slide than a step, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep going.
“Do you understand why you were disciplined?” she asked.
Wishing he could focus his energy on either walking or talking and not both, he answered simply, “Because I hit that boy.”
“And why was that wrong, do you think?”
He considered. What did she want to hear, he wondered?
“Because I should have asked for help instead.”
She seemed pleased. “That’s right. Violence is never the answer.”
Silently, he wondered if his punishment wasn’t considered violence. It had felt plenty violent to him.
“Do you feel you’ve learned your lesson?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
She made an amused sort of sound. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
His legs felt vanished under him. He was like a genie now, hovering through the corridors on nothing but a wispy tail. That was all right, he thought. He could keep going if he felt nothing.
“You should know, I’ve taken a special interest in you, Emmett.”
He peered up at her, mortified by the thought.
“Your mother is a fascinating woman.” Dr. Marks gave him a curious, perceptive smile. “Being responsible for your treatment, I’ve had to read up on her files as well. You understand, I’m sure.” She paused as though to let him comment, but he had nothing to say. “Your mother has some very interesting beliefs. She’s quite passionate about them. And based on what I’ve found most typical in children, it’s surprising to me how… unlike her, you are. One would think, being raised solely by your mother, that you would share some of her convictions. Her ideas. You’re young enough not to question most things you’re taught, and yet you’ve never spoken of them in any of our meetings. It’s almost as if… either she never taught you those things, or… somehow you’ve known better than to share them.”
Emmett wished more than ever now that they’d arrive at his quarters, where he could say goodbye to the inquisitive doctor and finally rest. Part of him even wished for another wave of cramping pain to seize him—anything to abandon the current topic.
“How would you describe her, Emmett? As a person?”
It wasn’t a fair question, he thought. It was complicated in ways he couldn’t express. His mother was many things. Many, conflicting things. To speak of one characteristic would contradict another he saw, all of them being true at the same time. How could he put that into words?
“My mom cares about me a lot,” he said. That was undeniably true. “She says she cares about me more than anything. And… and…”
Dr. Marks nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“She says she thinks I’m going to change the world one day.”
Dr. Marks startled him with a burst of shrill laughter which she tried to stifle as soon as it left her lips. She excused the sound.
“I’m sorry, Emmett. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… what you said just now… well, it correlates with things I’ve read in her file, is all. Those beliefs I mentioned. She has some interesting ideas about the world. Would you agree with that?”
Interesting ideas about the world. That was certainly one way to put it.
He was getting ready to say as much when a sound in the corridor caught his attention. He fell behind as Dr. Marks continued ahead, only noticing his absence a few steps further. She stopped, perplexed.
“Is everything all right?”
He cocked his head, ear to the direction of the sound. It was there. Only faintly. The second time he’d heard it now, so soon after the last. Beside them was a door with no sign or number or letter of any kind. Just a door. He took a half-step toward it. It was there. He was sure of it. Behind the door. It reached out to him on those disembodied fingers, coiling along its many beautiful knuckles around his ears. The music.
“What is it?” Dr. Marks asked.
He met her peculiar gaze with his own and straightened, trying to mask the knowledge in his eyes. Gradually, the music faded beside them until he heard nothing. Now it was Dr. Marks who cocked her head.
“You look like you heard something.”
He shook his head. “I thought I did, but I didn’t.”
“What did you think you heard?”
“I don’t know.”
Her mouth was drawn disapprovingly. She stepped toward him, toward the door to better listen for herself. She laid her doubting eyes on him for a long while, both of them standing in sile
nce in the long, deserted corridor.
“Well then.” She gestured ahead of them, continuing their walk. “Let’s get you back to your bed. You must really be tired after all.”
With a slight hurry in his step, he couldn’t agree more.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Emmett? Are you in there?”
Behind the comfort of his cubby’s blackout curtain, Emmett looked despairingly toward Zachary’s voice, having just arrived for the night.
“Yeah…”
“We waited for you after dinner hoping you’d come back. I just got back from showers. What happened?”
“They gave me a shot,” Emmett said. “It was the worst thing ever.”
Zachary drew closer to his curtain.
“What kind of shot?”
“I don’t know. The kind that tortures you.”
“Huh?”
Zachary pulled the curtain only a little, but it was enough to let in that bright, blinding light, and Emmett scowled and turned away from it.
“Oh, sorry.” He let the curtain go. “What do you mean, torture?”
“It made me hurt all over. Hurt so much I couldn’t move…” For reasons he didn’t understand, as he told Zachary these things he became emotional, and his words were choked by a lump in his throat. “I couldn’t move at all… and… everything just really hurt. It hurt a lot.”
Zachary was quiet for a moment. “How do you feel now?”
“I don’t know,” Emmett said huffily, wishing Zachary would leave him alone at once. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Didn’t he understand that? “I just want to go to bed.”
Zachary hovered, perhaps unsure what to say. “I… hope you feel better in the morning.”
It wasn’t until Zachary left him alone that he realized he hadn’t asked about Tobie. Was he all right? If Zachary hadn’t mentioned it, he probably was, Emmett thought…
He closed his eyes and tried once more to sleep. It felt so far away, always out of reach. The doctor had said it might be a struggle. He’d only thought she meant the pain, which still crept up on him every so often in various parts of his body.
Even now, as he willed sleep to carry him through the rest of it until morning, he felt the pain blooming somewhere in his buttocks, and somewhere in the arch of his foot. Dull, throbbing pain.
Never again, he thought. Never again.
✽ ✽ ✽
He did sleep that night, though sleep itself was not a savior. Sleep had its own secrets tucked up its sleeves, waiting for him to dream them out into the open like bees from a hive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LOST AND FOUND
She wanted to show him a trick.
He stood on the bottommost stair, afraid to set foot in the basement where his mother appeared to be making herself at home. It was cold, like standing before an open fridge, and he held himself for warmth. His mother paced the room, shovel and book still in hand. Her shoes slapped the concrete noisily and he worried someone else might hear them.
Little did he know, things would get plenty louder before the night was through.
“What kind of trick?” he asked.
She paused her pacing, distracted but not so distracted to forget him, and regarded him with adoring eyes. She set the shovel and book on the ground and then came to him, bent and placed her hands on his biceps. Her touch was soft and lovely as always. Reassuring. As she was bent, he glimpsed her black pendant necklace hanging against the inside of her shirt.
“A fun one. A magic one.” She rubbed his arms, sensing he was cold “My brave little worry-wart…” She perked up suddenly, eyes drifting as she remembered something. “I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m coming with you,” he said, turning to follow as she started up the stairs.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Nevertheless, he followed her and she made no further protest. He wanted anything but to be in the basement alone, even for a second. They returned to the dark kitchen—the kitchen which wasn’t theirs, in the house which wasn’t theirs, full of things which weren’t theirs—where she moved along the countertops opening drawer after drawer in search of something. Finding the correct drawer, she produced a small knife—only three inches or so. His belly swam at the sight of it.
Little worry-wart, indeed.
“What is that for?”
She returned to the basement door. She stood there, her hand on the doorframe, hanging her head in thought. She turned to him, her face masked by the darkness.
“Are you ready to see a magic trick?” she asked.
“Down there?”
Her silhouette nodded. “Down there.”
He hesitated, afraid to disappoint her. “I don’t know. I want to go home.”
His mother sighed, hanging her head once more, just as he feared she might.
“We aren’t going home. Not until we’re done here.”
“I don’t want to go down there.”
“Do you want to wait up here, then? By yourself?”
His silence was answer enough.
“Then you’ll have to come with me downstairs. I’ll need your help.”
He was breathing heavily now, getting worked up. He only needed time. Not yet. Build himself up to it, he thought. That was what he needed.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m scared.”
With her head bent, she turned the knife over and over in her palm, thinking.
“How about you take a minute at the kitchen table. It’s safe and quiet. It’s only you and me, and I’ll be right downstairs waiting for you when you’re ready.” She paused, waiting for an answer. When he didn’t agree soon enough, she looked again at the knife in her hand. “Are you scared of the basement, or my magic trick?”
It wasn’t until she’d said it that he understood it fully himself. How did she always know?
“Both,” he said.
She nodded understandingly. She moved toward him, ruffled his hair gently.
“I’m sorry I’m making you nervous, honey. I get so excited, I forget how confusing it must seem. This is a lot all at once, huh?”
He agreed.
“Well, then. How about this…” She peered over her shoulder at the basement door, considering. “How about you take a minute to cool off. I’ll be right downstairs in case you feel scared. And while you take a break, I’ll do my magic trick in private, and then I’ll come right back up to check on you. If you’re ready to come downstairs with me then, I’ll show you what I did. Like a surprise.”
He didn’t much like the idea of being in the kitchen alone, but it felt marginally safer than the basement. There was something off about the basement. Or, he thought, perhaps something was off about her…
“Can we turn the light on?” he asked.
“Not up here. It’s too late at night for turning the lights on.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She smiled warmly into his face, eager to transfer her contented energy into him as well. “We don’t want anyone to see the lights on and… worry that something is wrong.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Emmett,” his mother said, becoming exhausted. “Will you just listen to me, please? Everything is fine. I want you to wait here for me, just for a minute while I perform my trick downstairs. Just…” She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “Sit here and I’ll be back up in no time. Then we’ll go down together, and I’ll show you the cool trick I did. Nothing scary. Nothing to be nervous about.”
He took a seat at the kitchen table like she asked. She gave him a quick peck on the side of his head.
“Good. Everything is good. I’ll be right back. I’m excited to show you.”
He faced the kitchen window, the basement door at his back, and listened as his mother’s footsteps skipped down into the basement.
Somewhere nearby a clock continued to tick.
He checked over both shoulders pe
riodically, watching the kitchen doorway, dreading the moment someone might walk in and ask why he was sitting in their kitchen in the middle of the night…
It was almost too much. He wanted to leave, to sneak out the back door, to go back home where they belonged.
There were noises downstairs. Moving things about. Whispering, too. His mother was talking to herself, how she sometimes did. Sometimes she talked to herself a little too much, he thought…
Maybe it was her, he thought. What made him the most nervous.
He stood quietly from his chair and tiptoed to the back door, where he pulled the short drapes aside and peered through the window. The trees bent their branches to the wind, glimmering in the bright moonlight. The house groaned around him likewise. Behind him, his mother’s whispering was increasingly becoming less a whisper.
Oddly, his desire to get away from the sound of her voice was greater than his fear of the dark house. He moved toward the kitchen doorway, where the house beyond lay hidden in shadow. He peeked carefully around the corner, blinking his adjusting eyes. It was here where the clock ticked. The living room.
He looked one last time at the basement door, listening for the sounds of his mother still preparing or performing her trick.
He moved into the living room. In the shadows were two couches, a television, and a bookshelf full of photos and knickknacks—glass trinkets of some kind. They caught what little light found its way inside the room, twinkling in the dark. Little crystal figurines, shaped like animals.
Behind him, beyond the kitchen door, was a hallway. Curiously, braver by the minute, he moved toward it. He paused between each step, listening. Just the wind against the house.
There were three doors, all of them open. The first led to a small bathroom. It was incredibly dark, but he made out the shapes of the toilet and bathtub. The next door, across from the bathroom, appeared to be a guest bedroom. The blinds in the window were shut against the street, leaving it rather dark and uninviting. He refrained from turning on any lights as his mother had warned him not to.
He turned toward the last door at the end of the hallway. Moonlight slanted out. After some thoughtful deliberation, he advanced softly, delicately. A soft, squishy spot in the carpet whined under his step and he stopped. Waited. Listened. Just silence. He continued, then stopped again just short of the doorway, the toes of his shoes at the edge of the moonlight on the carpet. The living room behind him was quiet and undisturbed. Carefully, he leaned into the doorway.
