by Sarah Noffke
“Rogue?” I say.
He doesn’t look at me directly, just keeps staring at the sun setting, creating an array of colors over the horizon. “Yes.”
“I need to tell you something.”
At the mention of those six simple words his eyes dart to mine, worry in his stare. I wish I could tell him there isn’t anything to be concerned about. I wish I could put his fears to rest at once, but I can’t. His concern is well placed right now.
I swallow, flick my eyes at the dazzling sun, which like a show pony is trying to steal my attention. My eyes pin at the rock under my feet. “I didn’t tell you something before because I thought if I could learn more then I’d be able to tell you the whole story all at once. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out everything I wanted to know. And I need to tell you what I know regardless now, because the information is yours to deal with the way you see fit.”
“What is it, Em?” he says, not an ounce of anger or frustration in his voice, like someone might have who’s been kept in the dark. His tone is gentle, encouraging.
“Rogue…” I stop, gulp, and stare up at him. This is harder than I imagined. I grab his hand, not for him, but for me. “When we were in the labs, you’ll remember I had my father’s telepathy.”
He nods, a solemn foreboding in his eyes.
“Well, I learned many things about my father and your father from reading their thoughts, and I wish I could forget all of them, but I can’t.”
He grips my hand back, angles his head down so he’s looking into my eyes. “Unburden yourself to me, Em. I want you to.” In his voice and expression is the most perfect sincerity. I want to preserve it forever because there’s everything right about the way he is in this moment. Nothing wrong.
“Rogue, do you know how your mother died?” I ask, hoping, praying all my worrying has been for nothing. He’s Rogue. He buries secrets, pains. Maybe he already knows.
His eyes take on an acute pinch. He shakes his head. Then he tugs my hand into him. “You know, though, don’t you?”
I nod and on cue a tear falls from my eye. It feels weird to cry right now, when all pain should belong to Rogue, but I can’t help to feel the sensitivity of this moment.
“Shhh,” Rogue says, sliding in close and kissing the exact place where my tear landed. He wipes the rest of it away with his finger. “Tell me. I want to know.”
I nod and find my voice below the tattered tears. “Your father,” I say, and then lose my breath. I try again, pulling the exact thoughts from Vider’s memories to my mind. “Your mother discovered a certain truth about your father. She confronted him with it. She threatened him with it. And when she wouldn’t back down, he strangled her. Then he had her disposed of.”
And suddenly my tears own me and it’s wrong to cry right now, in this moment. All pain should belong to Rogue but I cry because I don’t want to be the one here telling the man I love that his father murdered his mother. Rogue doesn’t shed a tear or grimace from the news. He only claps a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into him, holding me with a new intensity. And like all times I’ve ever been close to Rogue, my aches fade away. He always makes my pain disappear somehow. Softens it until it doesn’t exist. We stay locked in each other’s embrace, his arms around me, and mine around him.
When the sun has set long ago and the seagulls have all gone to bed for the day, I slide away from Rogue’s chin hunched over me and stare up at him. I’m only able to make out parts of his features by the ambient light of the city in the distance and the ships in the waters. He’s giving me a thoughtfully tender expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say. “I wanted to know the whole story before I told you, but I failed to find it out. And this is your history, and so yours to know, not mine to keep.”
“You’ve known this since the labs, but you didn’t tell me?”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m in awe, and yes, a little mad,” he says, but smiles. “Em, you didn’t have to know all the details to tell me this.”
“But I didn’t want you to know that your father did that to your mother—”
“Murdered,” he interrupts, saying the word I was unwilling to.
I nod. “I didn’t want you to know your father murdered her without knowing why.”
“So you’ve been trying to find that out, have you?”
I nod, in love with the way he’s regarding me with unending patience right now. “I thought that if I could discover that then it would make it all easier to digest.”
“So what did you do? Research archives from that time period? Look at death records?”
“I broke into your father’s house,” I say a little sheepishly.
Abrupt laughter falls out of his mouth. He shakes his head. “Of course you did, because that’s the most outlandish thing I could think of. Should have thought of that first. Screw death records and archives.”
“Rogue, I was trying—”
He shakes his head, his chaotic loose curls flowing with the movement. “Don’t explain or apologize. This simply confirms that you, Em, are absolutely a lunatic.”
I halt. My breath halts. I seize to blink.
“And don’t even think about changing, because you’re absolutely the most amazing person I’ve ever known,” Rogue says, sliding the back of his hand down the side of my face. “I love you.”
I smile into his hand. “I wanted to figure this out for you.”
“But you didn’t learn anything?”
“Well, I found your mother’s old study, which was absolutely curious.”
Rogue nods, taking his eyes off me for the first time. He seems to recede inside himself slightly.
“It’s in the same condition I’m guessing it was when she was alive,” I say, talking more than I think I should.
He nods again. “Yes, I spent a lot of time there.” He flips his head up and looks at me. His stubble and aching eyes making him look suddenly older. “I used to go there to hide from my father, knowing that’s the only place he wouldn’t search to find me.”
Rogue hardly ever speaks to me like this, telling me about the things he did to survive his father. I seize onto his openness. “Why wouldn’t he go there?”
He looks at me sideways, like he didn’t hear me right. “The same reason that he never had the gall to move out her furniture or to change the room. He just kept it closed up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she haunts it,” he says.
And like I’m back in the room right now, the chill of the space sweeps through me, taking over my being. Taking residence in my bones. Invading my blood with cold.
“Oh,” I say. “But you felt all right there?”
He nods. “I felt protected there. Maybe that’s why she stuck around. Didn’t you feel safe there?”
“Very,” I say, meaning it. “And your father? What happened to him when he entered?”
“Bad things,” Rogue says, his eyes lighting up a little. “Things moved. The space changed. I think deep down I always suspected that he did something to her. I didn’t want to face it, though, but it’s long overdue.”
“Your mother, she’s still there. Her ghost is in her office. I felt her.”
The movement of his Adam’s apple tells me this is more than he’s used to processing in front of other people. Finally he nods.
“Rogue, she knows why your father murdered her. Not only do you need to know that for closure, but we need to know what your father is hiding.”
He places both of his hands on my shoulders, almost like he’s using me as a support, although holding him up would take all I had. Still I’d try. “Sounds like we need to recruit someone who can talk to the dead,” he says, his voice too perfectly smooth, his smile too bright.
I lay my head on his chest and pull him into me. “We’ll get answers, Rogue. And then we’ll crush your father with them, and mine too.”
He squeezes me into him with a gentle pressure.
&
nbsp; Chapter Sixteen
“You really think this is a good idea?” Rogue says, checking the alleyway for signs of life.
“No, but it’s the best plan we have.” I pull my head back out of the bars of the gate to my old home. The yard is empty. It’s late morning like before. Only Tutu is home. My mother left three minutes ago. I watched her go from my spot on the side of the house, her skinny, pale legs hurrying down the walkway. She was probably hustling off to her scripture study group. At these meetings the women sit around discussing the scripture, which is three hundred pages of bullshit. Middlings serve these upper-class Reverian women finger foods while they discuss the burdens of being the golden race.
As far as I can tell, the scripture is repetitive babble that seeks to convince two different races of their roles. It’s the doctrine our society was based on. In all the pages there’s nothing on wrongdoing of any sort. Nothing about rules or order or any parable to illustrate how we should live our life. It’s simply one long story about a set of gods who created different races for the purpose of achieving balance for themselves. These races are to serve each other and in turn the gods will protect us. Upset the balance and we’ll upset the gods. I want to laugh about it, but it’s difficult to do completely since it’s such a huge part of my upbringing. And too many times lately I wonder if the gods are punishing Rogue. Maybe by living on his own and not protecting Middlings, he has upset the balance. I shake my head at this idea and focus back on the house.
I turn and face Rogue directly. He doesn’t look exceptionally different after last night, but something has shifted in him. A new motivation has boiled to the surface. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”
“Fat chance that’s going to happen,” he says.
“If someone comes by, hide,” I say. “But if there’s a problem then do your cheetah thing and get the hell out of here.”
“Another thing that’s not gonna happen.”
“Fine, I’ll see you in a few,” I say.
I’m through the gate and across the acre-long yard in less than a second, thanks to leeching Rogue’s speed. Traveling through the Valley with Rogue has been much easier than when I did it alone. Although I had worried about draining him too much, he insisted that I leech him so that we could race through the Valley using his superhuman speed. The last time I leeched him, though, it had immediate effects, draining him, making him exhausted. But he’s right that this was the smartest strategy.
This time I don’t worry about scaling the drainage pipe. I enter through the back door. Giorgio, our family chef, is out to market. I’m certain the house is empty of everyone but Tutu and her spirits, but that won’t last for long. Soon Giorgio will be back with his arms full of groceries and his mouth ready to ask questions I can’t answer.
I pop into the hallway and freeze. Wait. Nothing happens. I eye the back door behind me, my escape. I’m leery to move too far into the house and be trapped if someone returns at an off hour. The floorboard creaks when I take another step forward. I cough, purposely. It echoes through the mostly empty house. And then a misty white figure floats through the wall to the side of me. Ronald stands looking at me, his gaze sturdy, an easy grin on his face.
“Finally,” I say with relief. “There you are.”
“Oh, is this a game we’re playing? Like hide-and-go-seek?” He sounds amused, his voice rich and smooth.
“No, but I know how you like to patrol. I was hoping you’d find me.”
“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” he says with a bow. “What can I do for you, Morie?”
I bristle at the use of that name, at the reminder of what it means. “Will you please relay a message to Tutu?” I flick my eyes up to the ceiling. Tutu is on the other side of the eastern wing and therefore too far away for me to get to safely.
“Certainty, my dear.”
The point that I’m standing here giving orders to a man who’s been dead for seventy-five years is truly bizarre. “Tell her that I really need her to meet me at Vider’s house in fifteen minutes.”
Ronald arches a curious eyebrow at my order. Inclines his head.
“It’s super, super important,” I continue. “I normally wouldn’t ever ask her to do anything so crazy, but I really, really need her to do it!”
Ronald smiles, his mustache twitching a little as he does. “Two reallys, right?”
I nod. “And two supers,” I say with a wink.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make her do it. I’ll threaten to sing nonstop. She detests my singing.”
“Thank you,” I say, a relieved smile breaking over my face as I dash for the exit while Ronald slides through the solid wall.
***
The sun is high in the Oregon sky, which is such a deep blue. It contrasts with the fiery red and orange trees, reminding me autumn is quickly making changes across the Valley. As I suspected, Tutu scuttles around the back gate to Vider’s house right on time. Her gray hair has taken on a bluish tint in the October sunlight. Hopefully no one will notice her gone.
“Don’t you worry, Em,” she says, having read the apprehension on my face. “If anyone sees I’m gone, I’ll tell them I went on a walkabout because I sense I’m about to die. No one’s going to argue with a woman about to pass.”
I smile at her. She’s using her raccoon-headed cane more than usual, which is to say she’s actually using it. Usually she half drags it behind her, only propping herself on it when she stands. “It’s good to see you again, Tutu.”
She nods in agreement. “You know who it’s good to see is that young man behind you.” She whistles through her teeth. “For the love of the sweet gods, Rogue Vider, you are something else, aren’t you?”
He steps out from behind me and takes her hand and wrings it, and I swear I spy a tiny blush on her pale, almost transparent skin. “Boy, you look strong enough to lift a car off the ground and handsome enough to steal the heart of the gods.”
“Ms. Fuller, I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Rogue says, not an ounce of nervousness in his voice as he holds a ninety-nine-year-old woman’s hand in his.
“Actually I’m even more of a charmer than I used to be. What can I say, I’m getting better with age.”
“That’s for sure,” Rogue agrees.
Tutu rounds on me. “All right, so Ronald says you were adamant about my meeting you. What are you up to, child?”
“Well,” I begin, drawing the word out, trying and failing to keep the nervousness out of my voice. Finally I rush through my words in one enormous breath. “After we trespass into Vider’s house, I was hoping you’d use your gift to speak to Violet, whose spirit occupies one of the rooms.”
She purses her wrinkled lips and regards me with an unreadable expression. “Of all the reasons to finally leave the house…” She clicks her tongue three times and then reveals a perfect smile. All-white porcelain teeth wink back at me. “This is the best one I could think of,” Tutu says, making for the door immediately. “Times a-wasting you, young-ins, let’s get to it.”
Rogue takes the position behind me, his tension palpable as we near the house. I reach out, grab his hand, squeeze. His eyes lighten a bit, but it’s an act. At the threshold he blows out a long breath. I tug him forward, afraid he’s about to change his mind. Walking into this house must feel like stepping back through time for him. Most probably have nostalgia when they return to their childhood homes. I know I did. But from the slack expression on Rogue’s face and his darting eyes, I don’t sense he’s harboring any sentimental emotions. And what would it feel like to enter the house where your mother was murdered? Still haunts. This whole mission is quite demented. I shiver out a sudden chill.
Probably driven by curiosity, Tutu bustles through the living room and down the hallway.
“How do you know where you’re going?” I ask, catching up to my tutu.
“Dear Em, I can sense her. She’s a powerful spirit. She’s carrying a surge of energy to stay anchored to her current location.”
Tutu has her hand on the knob to Violet’s office when I turn back to Rogue. “Are you sure you want to go in there? You don’t have to. I could stay here with you, send Tutu to speak to her,” I say.
He shakes his head roughly. “I’d rather be in that room than out here. I’ve always been safe in there.”
I nod. Turn to the door, which is already half open. My tutu has disappeared into the dark, dusty study. Rogue reaches for my hand, a gesture to keep him comforted. I relish the idea I can do that for him.
The door creaks softly when I push it open. Tutu stands, leaning on her cane, looking at the center of the room, an amused look on her perfectly wrinkled face. “I forgot how beautiful Violet was,” Tutu turns to me and says. “Now you can see where Rogue gets his good looks from.”
I step up beside her, my eyes adjusting to the darkened room. The dust tickles my nose, scratches my eyes. “I can’t see her, Tutu,” I say, squinting into the darkness.
“Oh, well, child, cipher me or leech me or whatever it is that you do,” she says, turning around and giving me a look of tired offense.
Rogue has closed the door and taken the space on the other side of me, his warm hand in mine at once. He’s searching the space, his eyes hungry to explore a room he hasn’t seen in many years, but seems so fond to look at.
I turn back to Tutu. “No, I could drain you. Hurt you. If I leech you too much you might pass out, or worse.”
“Because I’m old?” she says, a scowl in her voice. “If I have to relay everything this lovely woman has to say,” she says, waving at the empty open area in front of us, “then I’m going to be drained. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take a seat on that couch over there and you’re going to leech me and learn everything you need to. And if you don’t, then you’ll leave here without information. Is that clear, my dear?”
I roll my reluctant eyes at her. “Fine. Go sit, but don’t be mad at me when you pass out and Rogue has to carry you home.”
She winks at me before she trudges to the sofa. “Oh, I won’t be mad at all if that young man carries me home. Not at all.”
