A List of Cages

by Robin Roe

  For about a week, this is our ritual: Charlie coming over after work with games. Us playing. Julian watching. Till the day Charlie tells me my hyper-cricket-legs are driving him fucking crazy.

  “Go for a run or something,” he orders.

  Julian sits up straight, obviously concerned. Charlie continues to obliviously click his controller.

  “It’s cool,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re annoying. When’s the last time you left the house?” Charlie leans his whole body as he tries to get his car on course again, clicking furiously, but it falls over the edge of the cliff. “Fuck!” He starts to pass the controller to me, then yanks it back. “I’m playing again. Go. Get out. I’ll babysit.”

  I glance over at Julian, who looks more worried than offended.

  “We’ll be fine. Right, Julian?” Charlie says.

  Julian gives me a totally unconvincing nod, but leaving the house is so tempting that I pretend he means it. I pull on sweats and sneakers, tell them I won’t be long, and then I’m out.

  The sun feels amazing. God, I forgot how much I used to love running. I went for runs all the time before I got the van. I really need to force Julian to leave the house. It’s not healthy staying inside all the time—you need the vitamin D. But without literally dragging him, it’s probably not going to happen. For such a quiet kid, he can be seriously stubborn.

  I turn a corner, running faster. My whole body feels lighter, my mind clearing enough to realize that no matter how much things suck right now, it’s all temporary. I can see the big picture, the aerial view. Things will be like they were—better, even. I know it.

  I run another few blocks, starting to sweat a little. I’ve been gone for at least an hour. Julian’s probably freaking out.

  I turn around and jog home.

  When I arrive, out of breath and sweaty, I find Julian sitting on the floor beside Charlie, holding a controller in two hands while Charlie cheers him on.

  AT MIDNIGHT I find Mom in the living room watching Family Feud without much enthusiasm, not even bothering to yell at the contestants for being so stupid. When I fall onto the yellow couch beside her, she says bluntly, “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?” I ask, surprised.

  “You’re too together.”

  I laugh. “Would you be happier if I had a mental breakdown?”

  “You still aren’t talking to Emerald, you aren’t going out, but you’re bouncing around the house like you’re happy.”

  “Wait, so are you worried that I’m together or that I’m pretending to be together?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Julian’s been with us for almost a month now, and yes, there were some adjustments, and yes, he still sleeps on my floor and refuses to leave the house, but things are better. I can see things getting better every day.

  “I’m serious, Adam.”

  “Please feed whatever this is with Julian.” I’ve lost my playful tone, and she catches it.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re the one who has to break up fights and find drama everywhere you go.”

  She winces. “Is that what you really think?”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. Julian’s the one this happened to.”

  “I am worried about him. Of course I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about you too. You’re leaving soon, and I just want—”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going.”

  “You’re not going to college,” she says flatly.

  “Of course I’m going to college. I’m just not moving. I’m going to commute.”

  “This is crazy. You can’t just—”

  “I thought you’d be happy. All you ever talk about is how much you’re going to miss me.”

  “I will miss you.” She sighs. “Very much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to go.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Julian will be fine, Adam. I did a good job raising you, didn’t I?”

  “Adequate.”

  She laughs and mutters, “Punky Brewster.” Then she gets serious again, but I wish she wouldn’t. I’ve had enough serious to last a lifetime. “I know you want to take care of him. Everyone you’re close to…they all need you so much.”

  For a minute, we don’t talk, just half-watch the final round till she says, “Someone like you has to be around people. You can’t be alone so much.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  She frowns at me like I’m deliberately trying to be difficult. “If you won’t go out, then have people over. You were planning that graduation party. You could still have it.”

  “It’s a little late for that now.”

  “Have one anyway.” She sounds way too insistent about something that doesn’t even really matter.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just something small. It would be good for you. For both of you.”

  “Yeah…maybe just a few people.”

  “Like Emerald?”

  “Maybe.”

  IT’S A SMALL party compared to the one Emerald had back in December, only fifteen or twenty people, but the noise and chaos are still too much. I open the back door, and cross the yard to sit on the grass beneath a giant tree. Its branches dip low and wide, hanging around me like a curtain.

  The last time I was outside was when we went to Russell’s house. Once we got home, Adam parked in the garage.

  He keeps telling me I need fresh air, that sitting in front of the window like a cat isn’t the same. Part of me misses the sun and the way it felt to ride my bike as fast I could. But whenever I would imagine leaving, I’d see the blue sky like the ocean—no walls or shore or end in sight. And I’d see myself disappear.

  Tonight, when all Adam’s friends arrived, I could tell how much they missed him. Most of them told him openly, and the others just kept watching him like they couldn’t get their fill of his face. They were nice to me too, almost but never quite hugging me, as if they were afraid touching would hurt me.

  I breathe in deep. My lungs expand and it only hurts a little.

  The air smells sweet, warm, real. Maybe Adam was right about going outside. It’s nice. I dig my fingers into the grass. Press deeper, into the soil, and I picture my mother standing on our old back porch, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  I can still hear the music from inside, but I’m far enough away that it’s just a pulse without words. I close my eyes.

  “Julian?” It’s the voice I’ve heard in my head like a rusty echo a million times.

  My eyes fly open. Russell’s silhouette is near the open gate, just a few feet away. He begins walking toward me. I want to run or yell, but I can’t. I have absolutely no control over my body.

  As Russell passes the back porch, the motion sensor light turns on, and I can see him clearly. Unshaved, unwashed, unhappy. He’s looking at me, and I realize that I have no control over my body because it’s not my body to control.

  My eyes flick to the back door. He seems to know what I’m thinking. Quickly, he crouches down—then he springs all of his weight toward me. On me. One of his arms winds around my stomach, pulling my back into his chest, while his other arm encircles my neck. I can feel his heart against my shoulder blades, his chin on top of my head. I can smell him, bitter soil and sweat. He tightens his hold, both arms wrapped around me. It’s the closest to a hug we’ve ever shared.

  “Why did you leave?” he asks. “You told me you wanted a chance, and you left.”

  “I had to. Adam—”

  His forearm tightens across my throat. “I’m the one who took you in. Me. But no matter what I do for you, you still hate me.”

  I grab at his arm, twisting in his grasp. I can’t breathe.

  Abruptly, he lets me go. I suck in a pained breath before turning around to face him.

  “I…I don’t hate you,” I say
, and I mean it. “I know you’re just unhappy.”

  His eyes flicker in hopeful confusion. “Then you want to come with me?”

  I remember the video. The expression on his face when he was hitting me. All the times he found a reason to punish me. Not to make me better, but because he enjoyed it.

  “No. You hurt me. It’s not okay to hurt people. Even if you’re unhappy.”

  His face turns to ice, and then it cracks. “I never touched you,” he growls. “In all these years, I never put my hands on you.” He leans in close, his eyes on fire. “Did I?”

  I shake my head.

  “I could have, but I didn’t. You don’t even think about that. About what I had to do.”

  The porch light dies, plunging us into darkness, but it doesn’t really matter. I was never good at reading him anyway.

  I feel one hand wrap around my throat, and there’s just a hint of pain. I should be afraid, but I feel empty. I remember my father’s hands. My mother’s hands. What hands are meant to do.

  His fingers tighten, lifting me like a puppet until I’m on my feet. When he starts dragging me toward the open gate, the numbness flies away. My mouth goes wide. His hand slaps across my lips. As I kick and claw at his arm, I feel something wet against my neck, then the sharp sting of teeth.

  Russell pulls an object from his waist, one I recognize from the same cabinet that holds the switch. “This is my father’s gun,” he says.

  “I—I’m sorry about your father. I miss my father too.”

  He starts to laugh, and turns his head just enough for the moon to shine against his face. It’s the clown mouth, a smile around a sneer. “You think I miss my father? I hated him.”

  “I—I—”

  Russell laughs again and holds the gun out in his palm in front of me like an offering. “He used to talk so much about what it meant to be a man, but I always thought there was something small about using one of these. A man should rely on his own power, not tiny pieces of metal you can’t even see coming.” He pulls the gun back in his tight grip. “But they’re quick, and sometimes you need things done quick. Isn’t that true?”

  I try to nod.

  “Adam is something that could be done quick.”

  I try to speak, but Russell squeezes my face so hard with one hand that my teeth catch against the inside of my cheek and I taste blood.

  “You know how quickly it can happen. One minute you have them. Then, in an instant…” He releases my face and snaps his long fingers. “…they’re gone.” I go cold and sweaty at the same time. “All of them. Gone.”

  This time when he drags me, I go limp. I don’t walk, but I don’t fight, letting him pull me farther from the house to the gate, where he could take me anywhere.

  Lately I’ve been wondering if anytime I get nervous or worried or whatever, I’ll think it’s a bad feeling. Because this could just be stress, or it could be an actual premonition when Julian’s not in his room or in the kitchen or anywhere else in the house.

  I open the back door, and the porch light illuminates two figures: Julian—and Russell. His giant arm is wrapped around Julian’s neck. He’s pulling him toward the gate.

  I break into a run, shouting, “Stop!”

  They freeze, and there’s this expression on Russell’s face, a terrifying kind of hatred that’s never been directed at me before. Slowly he raises his arm, and the expression becomes one of immense satisfaction.

  I’ve always thought if a gun was pointed at me, I’d know what to do. If you’ve seen a million superhero movies like I have, you think you’d throw out a smart-ass comment, then maybe spin-kick it from the bad guy’s hands.

  Instead it’s just white and so much fear I can’t think, and I’m stammering and doing what stupid people do in movies—trying to reason with the crazy person holding the gun and you can’t do that. You can’t.

  “It’s okay, Russell,” Julian’s saying. “I’ll go. I want to go with you.”

  I hear the door open behind me. “Adam, are you—?” Emerald. She screams, then there’s a smattering of terrified voices.

  My mother pleading.

  Someone crying.

  Someone running.

  These are all the wrong things to do. They’re going to make him panic.

  Russell’s arm—choking.

  Julian’s face—crying.

  The gun—closer, closer, till it’s resting cold against my forehead.

  I can’t see anything now. I know to stop him I need to be able to see, but everything’s blurry because my eyes are full of tears. I squeeze them shut, feel the tears spill over.

  A sudden sound and smell that reminds me of fireworks.

  CHARLIE AND RUSSELL are rolling across the grass. Charlie’s taller, but Russell’s bigger and looks a hell of a lot stronger. Somehow, in the seconds my eyes were closed, Charlie must’ve tackled him. The gun must’ve fallen, must’ve gone off.

  Where is it?

  Julian’s on the ground, scrambling backward while they twist and grapple.

  I don’t see the gun.

  I don’t know how, but Charlie’s gotten the better of Russell. Digging his knees into the bigger man’s chest, he brings his fist high into the air, and smashes it right into Russell’s face. I see the exact moment when he breaks Russell’s nose, a wet crunching sound and flood of blood.

  Russell roars, links his huge hands together, then slams them like a battering ram into the side of Charlie’s head. Charlie topples over onto the grass with a heavy thud beside a still-stunned Julian.

  I see the gun.

  Charlie and Russell and I all move at the same time—but Russell’s faster. Charlie tackles him like a linebacker and there’s another firecracker blast. It’s still echoing in my ears when Charlie and Russell fall. Now both of them lie still, the front of their shirts blooming blood.

  Arms tighten around me. I try to get away.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” my mom is saying over and over. I half-hear, half-see the yard full of friends, most of them crying, some of them placing panicked phone calls.

  I pull away from my mom and drop to the grass. “Charlie?”

  He doesn’t move.

  Julian’s sitting completely still, like a photograph of a painting. Julian, twice removed.

  “Charlie!” I yell.

  He grunts and sits up.

  “Jesus!” I take in a huge breath. “Are you okay?”

  He looks down, touching his blood-soaked chest, confused and scared. “I’m not hurt,” he says. “Unless it’s shock. Am I in shock?”

  I laugh, a crazy, hysterical noise. “No. I think it’s his.” I nod to Russell, who’s watching me with malevolent and not-quite-dead eyes.

  I half-hear my mom organizing, sounding counselor-composed while she gathers crying kids and tells them to come inside. Emerald takes Julian by the hand and leads him away like a child.

  “I didn’t—it was an accident,” Charlie stammers. “I was just trying to—” He scrambles away, rubs his shaking, bloody hands in the grass, and falls back against the fence. “He was gonna take Julian. He was gonna kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “I stopped him.”

  “I know.”

  I’M NOT SURE how Emerald found me way the hell out here. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Just took off and didn’t stop till I reached the lake and couldn’t walk any farther. She takes a seat on the wet grass beside me, and for a few minutes we watch the blue-green water without talking.

  She breaks the silence. “I remember coming here when we were kids. Wasn’t there a rope tied around that branch?” She points over my head to a tree with limbs that extend over the lake.

  “A hose,” I answer. “They took it down after someone drowned.” I made that up—I actually have no idea why the Tarzan-swing garden hose is gone. Now she’s looking bleakly out at the water like she can see someone’s ghost. That feels appropriate.

  “Are you okay?” It�
��s only been a week since I sat in the backyard with Charlie and watched Russell die. I looked him in the eye, while Charlie looked at the sky, then something happened that I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain later if I tried. Russell’s eyes were so full of hate. So full, then just empty, just glass, just nothing.

  After everything that’d happened, I expected Julian to get even worse. Instead, he seems stronger, actually speaking at a normal volume now. It’s almost like he was afraid to talk before, afraid Russell could hear him no matter where he was.

  I remember when Julian was a little kid, he was so stubborn, but maybe that’s a good thing to be—a force of will that doesn’t die no matter how many horrible things happen to you. But me, I just have this one thing, this one bad night, and I’m—“I’m fine.”

  “What did I do?” Emerald shouts, startling me and the ducks swimming just a few feet away.

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “Then why won’t you talk to me?”

  Because I’m an idiot—like as stupid as Brett was, if he’d actually existed. Because I blamed her for what happened to Julian even though it’s really on me.

  “Do you know how scared I was?” She’s crying, her face all blotched like she rolled around in poison ivy. “I thought he was going to kill you. And when you were okay, I never felt so grateful in my life. I didn’t want to take anything for granted anymore. I thought you’d feel the same way, but you didn’t. I love you, and you won’t even talk to me. I told you.” She sobs. “I told you I would break.”

  It’s like we’re back inside the center of the labyrinth and I’m struck with so much regret and so much love, it’s worse than a heart attack. “I’m sorry, Emerald. I can’t. I’m not helping anyone right now.”

  “You do help.” She wipes the tears off her red cheeks. “You helped him. You were so brave—”

  “Brave? I’m not brave. As soon as I saw that man I should have been, I don’t know, so fueled with homicidal rage that I did something. But I just stood there, crying. It was Charlie who actually did something, and I’m not even sure he likes Julian.”