Mayday

by Jonathan Friesen

  Until, I think, Jude’s midnight tuck-ins. At first, tender enough. A straightening of the sheets, a sweet “good night,” a quick wink.

  It was a Thursday, and around midnight. Why I lay awake, I do not know, but as the door swung open, I did the natural thing for any child: I feigned unconsciousness. Jude walked over and pulled the sheets off Adele. He stood for minutes, staring. His face and hands twitched; something evil wanted to be unleashed.

  He bent over and kissed her, then reached his hand toward her pajama bottoms. . . .

  And I screamed and leaped out of bed. I kept right on screaming.

  Would you believe Jude straightened, shook his head, and pulled his hair? “What am I doing?” He uttered tormented curses and ran from the room.

  He stole nothing from Adele that night, but though I had no words for it at the time, I felt something dying inside of me. The Monster took my childhood.

  His trips to our bedroom became more frequent. Always, he moved toward Adele. Always, I screamed until Mom’s footsteps thumped down the steps or Jude cursed and left the room. Blocking the door with the bed came later, as did my late-night-”sandwich” knife, which accompanied my full understanding of the Monster’s intent.

  How can you doubt Mom’s knowledge at some level? How can you wake to a missing man night after night? Here, I learned the power of belief, and denial. The truth would have killed her, so she refused to see it.

  Couple that with the twisted tongue of a trusted therapist—one able to reframe suspicious actions in a reasonable light—and yeah, I suppose it explained Mom’s lack of action.

  Jude’s lies never worked on me. He swore me to silence about his “friendly” visits, a vow I would break only once to Officer Dewey. It was a calculated concession on my part. I could protect Addy at night, but I couldn’t follow her all day. Jude’s certain and horrid threats against my sister guaranteed that if I told anyone about his “concerns,” I would not see Addy again. Looking back it seems a stretch, but blinded by affection for the one I cherished, I could not take the chance.

  You’re never so vulnerable as when you’re in love.

  • • •

  I walked into the kitchen. If you didn’t know better, the family appeared a contented lot. Mom worked the stove, producing a fine set of pancakes. Crow and Adele plunked down and ate quickly, though one more vigorously than the other. Jude sipped coffee and read the paper.

  “Famine in Ethiopia reaches new depths.” Jude sighed. “Those poor people. How fortunate we are to have this food, this family.”

  “Hey, Shane.” Crow gagged, then gestured with her fork toward the bench in the corner. “Pull on up.”

  I walked to the cupboard and grabbed a plate, reached over to the drawer by the fridge and claimed a fork, then swiped a napkin from the bin behind the toaster.

  I pulled up to the table. All eyes were on me.

  “I declare.” Mom’s hands rose to her hips. “You move around this kitchen like you’ve lived here your whole life.”

  I bit my lip. “Oh, yeah, it’s set up so logically.”

  Jude cleared his throat and rattled the paper. “Big storm coming tonight. You’ll all want to dress warm and be in early.”

  His swipes at compassion left a lump in my throat. How could a man care about the dying, go to work, save some marriages, destroy others, return home, and destroy his stepchildren? How can all that exist within one man? What do you say to that? As Crow, I never had an answer.

  But Shane did.

  “Did you get my note, Jude?”

  He slowly lowered the paper and shot a quick glance at Mom, busy clanking dishes.

  “I don’t know what note that would be, Shane.” His eyes widened and then narrowed.

  “The one I slipped under the door last night. The one I gave to the heavy breather standing in the hallway outside Adele’s room.”

  Mom’s clanking stopped, but she did not turn.

  Have you seen rage cross a face? Disfigure it? Change it? That evil I mentioned took him over, and my heart beat irregularly. Crow glanced down. Only Adele ate on, a slow, thoughtful act. This topic had never before reached the kitchen.

  “Why were you in the hall, Jude?” Crow’s jaw was tight. “I’m curious what you were doing out there.”

  “Crow! Don’t talk to Jude like that.” Mom’s voice quieted. “There’s always a reason.”

  “Did I speak with a harsh tone?” Crow’s hand opened and closed, a storm gathering strength. I remembered Basil’s description.

  Tornado is coming.

  “Is everybody here crazy?” she continued. “It’s all right there.” She pointed at Jude. “It’s a sickness right here in front of our faces, but we cover our eyes and live like insane—”

  “Enough!” Mom pounded the sink and spun around. “Enough, enough . . . enough. How much do you want to take from me?”

  I stared around the room, at Adele’s confusion, at the growing crack in Mom’s denial. I peeked at Jude’s anger, and finally I faced Crow, me, now standing, in the center of it all. She alone fought for what was left of our family, for the only kernel of hope she could see. The truth.

  It would likely cost her dearly—courage in hell usually does—but in her challenge I heard her heart, her care for Addy, her hope for Mom. She was like Dad, verbally abused but in love. Yet she was so much more than him. She was still here, fighting the battle that should have been his.

  “What would we lose?” Crow approached Mom, gently grabbed her wrist. “Without him, what would we lose? We’d be okay.”

  Jude cleared his throat. “How many days will you be with us, Shane?” He folded his paper and smoothed his tie.

  I folded my hands. “Do I offend you?”

  “No, but you seem to have upset the balance of my home. Balance is everything.”

  And the psychological crap begins.

  “Crow, your mother is right. There is always an explanation, but your accusations don’t deserve one. How long has it been? And you still live out the shame of your actions as a little child. Let this family heal, Crow. My sessions are sacred, but I had many with your father.” He stared at Crow. “He confided many things, things for my ears only, but I tell you this for your benefit, as this pattern must stop. Cameron Raine fled this home for one reason, and from what I’ve heard, that reason was you.”

  I wish I could have stood between those words and Crow, because they seemed to pierce like an arrow. Addy jumped to her side, and Crow glanced up, wide-eyed, desperate.

  “That’s not true.” Addy hugged Crow. “It wasn’t her fault.”

  “Oh!” Mom threw up her hands. “Now you’ve turned Addy against us.”

  “I’m not against you, Mom; it just can’t be right.”

  Mom and Adele got into it, and Jude looked content. He’d turned the jury on itself.

  He reached for his briefcase, removed a sheet of paper from inside, and scrawled a message, his every move calm and deliberate. He pushed the note across the table, and I mouthed the words.

  I want to know you better, little pain.

  I glanced up and snapped my fingers for a pen. The Monster obliged, reaching across the table and placing one in my outstretched fingers. Passing notes was part of the middle school experience, but here at breakfast with a forty-five-year-old man, the act felt twisted and dirty. I added to his note, balled it up, and tossed it back.

  I’m quite certain that before this is over, you will.

  He folded it neatly, slipped it into his pocket, and left the room.

  Crow and Adele headed for the bedroom, leaving me alone with Mom. Her hands shook, and her voice cracked.

  “Shane, you came at a bad time.”

  “No,” I pushed back from the table. “Couldn’t be better.”

  • • •

  “How did you do
that?”

  It had been a quiet walk to the bus stop, but Crow slowed, faced me, and grabbed my shoulders. “Listen, I know you’re not normal. Nobody slips in and out of my family without a scratch. You spend time in that house, and you get wounded.” She paused. “Angel, demon, ghost—any of those ring a bell?”

  I laughed and pulled free. “No. I’m just a girl, Crow. I pay attention.”

  “Shut up. That sounds like Jude’s psycho-babble. You aren’t right.” She paused. “Do you do dreams?”

  “Not following.”

  “Do you know what they mean? If I told you a dream, could you figure it out?”

  I snuck my hand into a pocket and toyed with the locket. “Why do you ask?”

  Crow’s face fell grim. “The dream came last night.” She swallowed. “I was running through a field with Adele. It was all good, you know? Mom was there. I heard Dad, too. Then the Monster showed up.”

  “What did Mom say?” I asked. “In the field, when it was good. What did she say to you?” I lowered my voice. “I’ve always wanted to know.”

  “What are you talking about?” Crow squinted.

  “It was all green, right?” I whispered.

  “Now you’re scaring me. I didn’t ask you to tell me my dream, just to interpret. Can you listen without freaking me out?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Crow stuffed her hands in her pockets, “So yeah, it was all green, until the flowers popped up, yellow everywhere.”

  “Then—”

  “Then I woke. My sheets were drenched, and I had this feeling. I really need to know. I think I was going to die.”

  I stared into her bloodshot eyes. “Dreams are funny things.”

  “Am I?”

  “You read way too much philosophy at thirteen.”

  “Am I?”

  Sadie said I was a soul-mind, but she said something else, that I couldn’t come to awareness until after my physical mind fell asleep, until Crow’s mind fell asleep. What if Crow’s brain, deep down, knew that truth? What if she dreamed the undertow, rode an unconscious current that told her we both couldn’t live at the same time, that one of us would need to go?

  Crow knew, even if she didn’t know what she knew. As long as I was in her life, there was the real possibility she could not be.

  “Shane, I don’t care so much for myself, but if I’m not here to be in that room, what happens to Adele?”

  “Oh, Crow. There are things I want to tell you.” It was my turn to hang my head. “Believe me. Until this threat has disappeared, one of us will always be there with her. Can you just believe me on that?”

  Crow stared hard into me. “Okay.”

  “Good. And get some sleep today.”

  “Yeah, and you keep going to school. And Shane?” She whisked back her hair. “Whoever you are, stick around.”

  The bus hissed to a stop, and the first drops of rain fell. Straight-down rain. Rain I knew well. April 30. The door closed, and I took my seat. The sky opened up, and I stared out at Crow statued on the curb. She didn’t move until the bus was out of sight.

  “What a freak.” A girl I’d never seen giggled behind me. “She doesn’t even care if she gets all wet.”

  No, thanks to me, she’s got more to worry about.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  William Shakespeare

  I WALKED INTO SCHOOL THINKING ABOUT THE LAWS OF RETALIATION. Teens master them. I lived by them. I wondered if, in my attempt to put Jude in his place, my note had ratcheted up the stakes for Crow and Adele.

  Even in death I was doing damage to myself.

  But tonight, all would reverse. I’d make up for everything I’d done.

  My few days back at Midway had seen me transitioned from regular courses to extended stays in the special education room. Like Crow, I “struggled” through every subject, stumbled over every word.

  “Now Shane, I know you can read this.” Ms. Jounquil placed a few lines before me.

  I slowly formed the word. “The bot—”

  “Boy.”

  “The boy and has—”

  “His. The word is his.”

  “The bot and his toy . . .

  Ms. Jounquil threw up her hands. “How is it that a child—”

  “Teen.”

  “How is it that a teen as verbally literate as yourself—”

  “You. As literate as you.”

  “This is pure insanity!” She rose, took a cleansing-breath walk around the room, and plunked down across from Kayla, who by all appearances truly could not read.

  “We’ve reached our last day without Crow.” Ms. Hurls, another para with an unfortunate name, pulled up a chair. “It will sure be a lot more interesting when she returns.”

  I closed my book. I always liked Hurls. She was a no-nonsense, no-trying-to-save-the-world, punch-in/punch-out, type of assistant.

  “Did you know”—she chuckled and folded her arms—“that Crow toppled her desk onto my lap the first day she was here?”

  Sure do.

  I reached for a pencil and doodled on the blank sheet before me. “Do you recall what you said before she did it?”

  Ms. Hurls scrunched her face, and then shook her head. “That was a long time ago.”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Crow, I’ve heard you were coming. You’re Dr. Jude Drayton’s daughter. How lucky for you and Adele. To have a man like that work you over? You probably get free personal therapy whenever you need it.”

  She stared at me. “I did say something like that. Crow remembered that? She told you?”

  “Yeah, but listen.” I set down the pencil and looked her in the eye. “She went home and thought about the whole deal. You couldn’t know. She felt bad about the toppling.”

  “Sure she felt bad.” Hurls patted my back, paused, and squinted. “Think she did?”

  I sighed. “I know it. According to her, you’re one of the good ones here. She told me herself. She told me about everyone. Say, I need a pass to the office.”

  Hurls, her face aglow, glanced at Ms. Jounquil and slipped me a note. I left the room, clear on what I would do on this, the day before Mayday.

  A quick run down the hall brought me to chemistry.

  This is going to be painful.

  I closed my eyes and pushed into the room. Heads swiveled, and gazes fixed on me.

  “Mr. Jenkins?” I stepped in and closed the door behind me. “I come with an apology.”

  Jenkins didn’t bother to glance up. “You come in the middle of a lab. Find me after class and I’ll be much more forgiving.”

  “Normally I would, but there may not be time. This apology is from Crow Raine, who is unable to be here today.” A deep hush fell over the room. “Crow is terribly sorry she strapped glass beakers to your chair. Though she did not act alone, she feels bad for her part. The fact that she drew blood makes it worse. It was very unclassy, and she’s very sorry.”

  I felt a loosening deep inside, as if a painful tether had been cut. I felt lighter. No wonder the world dumped their problems on Lifeless.

  Mr. Jenkins frowned and removed his spectacles, placing them carefully on the front lab table. “To my knowledge, I will not be blessed with Crow’s presence until next year.”

  “Oops. That’s right, that’s eighth grade.” I backed out of the room. “Just apply that apology to next year and keep your head up, er, rear up, next Halloween, okay?” I slammed the door on a roomful of giggles and headed for phys ed.

  If my witness in Lifeless’s room did anything, it showed me the healing power of confession. Not the stuck-in-a-box confession to a snoozing priest, but the gut-wrenching kind. Seeking forgiveness runs deeper than words. Forgiveness is supposed to hurt.
>
  It’s a fierce act of the will.

  I slipped into the girls’ bathroom and started a list of my sixth- and seventh-grade sins. As the paper filled, it became harder. My list of major sins stretched beyond fifty, and they involved almost every teacher at Midway. I would omit the kids. I did not have the ream of paper required for those.

  I stepped out of the bathroom clear on my goal.

  “Shane.” Basil leaned against the wall. “Thought I’d find you here.”

  I peeked at the hall clock. “You just did.”

  Basil hated closed sentences that left his smooth tongue no room to wriggle.

  “And where are you headed now?”

  “It’s not yours to know. I’m working for Crow.”

  He crossed his arms and thought a moment. “Then it is my business.”

  Did you hear that? That not-so-subtle claiming? The result of an entitlement mentality run wild.

  “She’s too good for you.” My words gave me pause. Is that really true? “You don’t own her, Basil. You’ll never own her.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  I exhaled hard and stormed nearer. “Then what do you want from her? You’ve been a barnacle on her since you met. You must want something. If you could tell her anything . . . If she was standing right in front of you and you could . . . speak into her soul . . . what would you tell her?”

  He winced. “So I’m speaking into her soul? Really weird, Shane, but I’ll play along. If she was here I’d, um . . .”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Fine. I’d tell her I don’t know what the hell is going on inside her brain or inside her house, and I don’t know how to ask about it any clearer. And I don’t get why she won’t let me in. I mean, does she think I invite Mel to my mom’s? She knows everything about my parents, and all I know is that hers treat her like garbage. So I worry. And wipe that look off your face, Shane. I worry ’cause . . .

  “’Cause what?”

  “’Cause she’s special, dammit. There, I said it. I know I don’t act like it, but there it is.” His breath slowed and evened. “And why I told you that, I have no idea.”

  “You know, when I met you, I thought you were an idiot. Now I think you’re a bigger idiot.” I smacked him on the shoulder.