by Nic Sheff
“I’ll make it up to you,” I say again.
“Please,” my dad repeats.
I stand up and walk to my room.
And I leave them all where they are—better off without me.
32.
IT’S AN HOUR OR so later when I go back out in the living room. My mom and dad and Jane are all watching some black-and-white movie on TV I can’t place, but Jane gets up from the couch when she sees me and comes to give me a hug, and I kiss the top of her head.
“Hush,” my mom says. “Come on, quiet, this is the good part.”
She’s referring to the movie, and I suddenly recognize it as To Kill a Mockingbird with Gregory Peck—the courtroom scene.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Me and Jane go over to the couch, and I lie on the floor and watch the movie. And even though I know they’re all mad at me, it’s nice being here—home—with my family.
Jane holds my hand as we watch. Gregory Peck gives a speech, and there is Scout, and I inhale the familiar smell of our house, along with the Christmas tree they must’ve put up after school yesterday, while I was gone. It’s scraggly and an off color, with soft yellow lights and a few varied ornaments. My dad is on the couch with Mom, and he’s sipping a drink and she’s leaning against him.
This is my family, and I love them more than anything.
Curling on my side, I take my jacket off and cover myself like it’s a blanket.
There is a commercial now, and the local news anchor flashes on-screen. “Ninety-five-million-dollar-historic-high-for-the-lotto-jackpot-more-news-at-eleven,” he says.
The tears burn my eyes and I cry softly.
I cry because I’m happy.
“I’m going to make this right,” I say aloud.
My dad rubs my back with his big, callused hand.
“I’ll make it right, I swear.”
33.
THE BUS BRAKES SUDDENLY and I’m thrown forward into the hard plastic seat in front of me. A large man with a sunken, grizzled face turns and glares at me.
“Sorry,” I say.
He doesn’t answer. The light is gray and dull through the scratched windows.
I pick up my book off the floor and continue trying to read.
My eyes can’t focus, though. The words blur out, and I just keep thinking over and over how perfect this all is.
Everything, my whole life, it has all been leading to this moment—today, right now.
The bus rattles down the highway, becoming slowly more and more engulfed in the fog.
In order to get down to Ocean Beach before work gets out, I did have to cut my last two classes. But when I come back with Teddy, I’m sure everyone’ll be quick to forgive me.
Because I am going to find Teddy.
It will all come full circle. It’s so clear to me.
That voice is there like a gentle wind—telling me that I will find him.
“You’re going to find him. You’re going to make it all better.”
I get off the bus at the stop near the liquor store. The fog is thick and heavy, but it’s still warm. The heat surges through me as my lungs expand and contract and my hands shake badly trying to get a cigarette lit.
The liquor store is just a block up, and I walk it slowly, going over and over the not-very-well-conceived plan I’ve put together. Not that it matters. I don’t need a plan. The voice, the power, will see me through this. But I do need to find a good spot to wait for Tolliver without drawing too much attention to myself.
Everything is pretty empty, at least at the moment—two thirty on a Friday afternoon—but I figure once school and work get out there’ll be more people. Besides the liquor store on the corner, there’s a KFC catty-corner and an auto shop right next to it. Across the street is an old travel agency that looks like it’s been closed since the nineties. Frisco Travel, that’s what the sign reads. There’s also a check cashing place next to that, and I watch a very slow-moving old man walk, bent and pained, out the swinging plate-glass doors, through the fog, to his silver Buick sedan.
A black-and-white cat with a bell on its neck darts quickly up the block and cuts through a side alley.
I drag on my cigarette and keep my attention focused on the liquor store.
A pickup truck, shiny and new-looking, pulls into the lot, and a very tall, very skinny man with big brown boots steps down onto the gray asphalt. It is not Simon Tolliver.
I get ready to wait.
The waiting seems to go on and on.
But that wind blowing in my mind makes me feel at peace all through my body. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I don’t just believe that, I know that right down to the center of me.
So I sit smoking and watching the entrance to the liquor store.
Hours pass.
I go inside once to buy a water, a Starbucks drink, and some of those pink-and-white animal cookies. The clerk is that same Korean guy, but he doesn’t seem to recognize me.
Outside I eat the cookies and sit on the curb. The fog gets thicker and thicker as the sun begins to set and the world turns dark around me. But still, I sit and wait.
The time goes by.
And then I see it.
A white Ford Explorer—the same kind of car Dotty Peterson saw Teddy getting into.
It pulls into the parking lot and the man gets out. There’s no question: It is Simon Tolliver.
He’s tall and very thin, with a bald head and glasses. He wears a barn coat over a hooded sweatshirt, with his jeans tucked into knee-high rain boots. Dirt is splattered across his chest, and he’s got on a pair of cracked leather gloves, though, like I said, it’s really not cold out.
He walks with his head down into the store.
“Now,” the voice whispers.
I run over to his car and try to find anything suspicious-looking inside. I know I don’t have a lot of time. My heart is beating fast and my eyes can’t seem to focus. I breathe. There are tools in the way back and a tarp, so quick as I can, without really thinking too much, I open the trunk and climb inside, slamming the door shut and crawling under the tarp. Almost instantly I hear the front door open, and the man gets in. I hold my breath, waiting for him to find me—to throw the tarp back and murder me right there—but he doesn’t. He starts the engine and some twangy old-fashioned country music plays softly.
I feel the car lurch backward and turn.
Wherever the hell he’s going, I’m going with him. There’s no turning back now. I curl up tight and try to hold on to that voice, that cool breeze in my mind. That voice will tell me what’s right. It will protect me.
The car hits a bump and I slam against the back of the seat and the tools rattle all around me.
But, as far as I can tell, Tolliver still doesn’t know I’m here. I check my phone in my pocket then, to make sure it’s on silent. There are three missed calls from my dad and one from Eliza. Obviously, I can’t listen to them now. My dad’s probably worried about me, wondering where I am. Mom probably told him to call me. They’ll both be really angry. But when they see I have Teddy, that I rescued him, of course they’ll forgive me.
I grab on to a very large rusted metal wrench to use as a weapon in case I need to fight my way out. The voice whispers softly to me that I am being taken care of—that it will not abandon me. And so I lie still.
34.
WE DRIVE FOR A LONG, long time before the car finally pulls off onto what feels like a dirt road. I bump around in the back for a while until finally the car comes to a complete stop and Tolliver kills the engine and I hear the door open and slam.
There’s the steady sound of crickets chirping. I pull back the tarp. The night is dark. Only the light from a little farmhouse illuminates the field of artichoke and burned-out tractor parts scattered everywhere.
Crawling over to the bac
kseat, I switch the overhead light so it won’t come on, then I open the door and climb out, easing the door shut behind me.
From what I can see, I must be on a working farm up on the cliffs. There’s heavy fog and the sound of an owl in the distance.
Running hunched and low, I creep around the side of the house. There’s a woodpile built up next to one of the windows so I climb up and try to see in through the drawn curtains. All I get is the corner of maybe the living room. There’s a hardwood floor and a yellowed wall, but that’s all I can make out.
And then there’s a shadow and the voice of a little boy, around ten years old.
“No, no,” he calls out.
Tolliver stumbles into the room and grabs hold of him. “Come on. It’s okay.”
He carries the boy back, and for a moment I can see the two of them perfectly silhouetted.
Tears come to my eyes and I take a deep breath.
It is Teddy.
I thank God.
It is Teddy and I’ve found him and everything is going to be all right.
I reach into my pocket to get my phone to call the police.
But my phone isn’t there and I realize it must’ve fallen out in the car somewhere.
I run back and begin rummaging around amongst all the tools and things. The phone is there and I open it frantically, but there’s no signal way out here on this farm.
I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but the only thing to do is go in there myself. So I grab that same rusted wrench and hold it tightly in my hand. I start toward the house, breathing heavily.
But then there is a light coming from over the dirt road in the distance and I watch, openmouthed, as the light gets closer. Another car. It’s almost right on top of me before I can move—but I do, I move, running behind the corner of the house, crouching down low.
The car is a black sedan, and a man walks out quickly, wearing a big coat, carrying a black leather-looking bag. He goes to the front door and knocks. Tolliver lets him in a second later.
I climb back up on the woodpile and wait.
The man that’s come in has a really low voice and I hear him shouting, “Hold him down. Hold him down there.”
My throat swells, and I feel the adrenaline surge through me—rushing straight to my brain.
I climb down.
I hold the wrench tightly in my hand and run round to the front door.
I grab hold of the door handle and pull it open. There’s a strange musky smell in the house, and it’s dimly lit. The sound of voices comes from my left, and I take a deep breath and run headlong into the room. I have the wrench raised up over my head. I can’t even hear because my heart is beating so fucking loud. I shake and scream and run in and feel heat all through my body.
“Let him go! Let him go!” I yell as loud as I can.
Tolliver turns first and grabs my wrist, and his hand is fucking strong and he shakes my arm so the wrench falls, and then I swing my other hand and hit him in the face.
“Ah, what the hell?” he shouts.
The other man, with the deep voice and dark features, grabs me from behind and throws me on the ground.
I hit the hardwood floor and sit up, and then I look over on the couch and see Teddy is there, with a cloth on his head. I try to stand up, but the deep-voiced man pushes me down again.
“Call the police,” he yells to Tolliver. “I’ll hold him here.”
“No, I’ll call the police,” I yell louder. “Teddy. Teddy, it’s me!”
The deep-voiced man leans over me, pinning my arms back. “Stop it. Who are you? What are you talking about?”
Then Teddy shrieks and vomits on the rug next to me.
Tolliver comes running to help Teddy up.
“Christ, Doc, he’s so sick. You gotta help him.”
The man he called Doc looks up at Tolliver, carrying Teddy. “What about this kid?”
“I’ll take care of him. Here, help me.”
Teddy cries again, then he throws up all over his T-shirt.
“Jesus,” I say. “Teddy! What’d you do to him?”
The man, Doc, gets up off me and takes Teddy in his arms.
“Kid,” Tolliver says, shaking me by the shoulders, “there’s no Teddy here. My boy is sick. Can’t you see that? You better get out of here.”
“Your boy?” I keep on yelling. “He’s my brother! You kidnapped him!”
“Simon!” Doc calls from the bathroom.
I try to find the wrench, then, on the ground, but somehow it’s not there anymore. Tolliver goes off to the bathroom and I race to follow him.
The noise of the water is very loud.
“Kid,” he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout. My boy—my son—is sick.”
Teddy is stripped and lying in the bathtub as the water fills around him. His eyes are nearly shut and his face red and sweaty, though at the same time he is shivering from the cold.
“That’s my brother! That’s Teddy! What did you do to him? Teddy!”
Tolliver gets my wrists and shoves me into a sitting position on the tile, and Doc comes over and points his finger right in my face.
“Who are you?” he demands. “What are you doing here? Listen to me, there is no Teddy here.”
Tolliver then grabs me by the wrists again and yanks me to my feet. “See? This is my son, Colin. He’s real sick.”
I stare at Tolliver, and—I see a genuine kindness in his dark eyes. He has a big broad face and is just big and broad in general. His skin is a reddish brown, and he has large hands with long fingers. He places one of those hands gently on my shoulder.
“Kid, you are obviously confused. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us who you are.”
I stammer, so goddamn frustrated now I can’t fight the tears back. “My brother, he was kidnapped two years ago from Ocean Beach and now he’s here. You have him.”
Tolliver shakes his head, but his eyes soften and I see something like pity there.
“Kid,” he starts. “Kid, come on, take a look at my son. Take a good look. Slow down. Breathe. And look. This is Colin. My son.”
My shoulders drop, and I do what he says. I look at Teddy through the blur. I rub my eyes and look again.
The boy has turned pale and his lips are bluish purple and he’s shivering terribly. His hair is matted down and greasy—his dark brown hair, his large forehead, his thin, trembling lips.
Dark brown hair.
It is not Teddy.
He doesn’t even resemble Teddy—not really.
Teddy is a redhead with freckles. Teddy’s nose was broken when he was six, and it’s been crooked ever since. Teddy has a wide mouth and big green eyes.
I put my hands on the edge of the bathtub and try to steady myself. The tears come so I can hardly breathe.
“It’s not him,” I cry. “It’s not Teddy.”
Simon Tolliver puts his arm around me.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “I remember now. That case. The kid who was kidnapped at Ocean Beach two years ago? Teddy . . . uhmm . . . Bryant? Was that it?”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Teddy Bryant Cole.”
“But what made you think he was here?” the doctor asks, working at the boy’s—not Teddy’s—forehead with a cloth.
“The . . . the police report,” I whimper. “You were the last chance I had.”
I feel Tolliver’s hand rubbing my back and I want to go home suddenly, so goddamn badly.
“It’s okay,” he says. And then he turns to the doctor. “Doc, you don’t know this about me, but I had a real . . . troubled past. I was in prison and . . . I did some bad things. But I’ve changed. I went to counseling, I met Cheryl. I turned my life around. It’s been years now.” And then to me, “But I promise you, kid, I had nothing to do with
that boy’s disappearance. The police questioned me. I didn’t do anything.”
The doctor clears his throat. “We don’t have time for this. You go get those clothes and a bag together. And get a blanket to wrap Colin in. He’s ready. We need to leave immediately. None of that matters now.” He leans over and pulls the drain from the tub.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Leo,” Tolliver tells him. “We’ll get you taken care of, too, kid, don’t you worry,” he says to me.
He leaves then, and the doctor grabs a few white towels off the rack.
Rubbing the boy’s body roughly with the towel, he continues talking, murmuring through gritted teeth. “Don’t know what you were thinking, bursting in like that. It’s a good way to get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky you came in here when Colin was so sick. Simon most likely-a shot you as an intruder, you go sneaking up on him.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He calls out to Tolliver then, pressing the back of his hand against the boy’s forehead. “Simon, buddy, we gotta go.”
The doctor picks the boy up and Tolliver comes over, wrapping him in a military-looking surplus blanket.
“All right, let’s get a move on,” the doctor says. “Kid, we’ll drop you off at the police station on the way.”
“No,” I plead. “No, please, I just want to go home.”
He nods. “Okay, well, then, hurry. Come on.”
We all walk out together, Tolliver carrying his son.
The doctor fires up the engine.
Tolliver holds his boy in his arms.
We drive fast to the hospital.
And I think about Teddy.
The fog closes in around us.
And we drive.
35.
THE BUS UP THE 101 from Mercy Hospital lumbers through the night. Up here, closer to the city, the fog has been blown clear and there is only the starless black above reflecting the toxic glow of the lights downtown.
There’s only one other person on the bus, a young guy, probably just a little older than me, wearing big studio headphones and bobbing his head to whatever music he’s listening to.
