Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

  “… and then he made love to her, very, very slowly.”

  Much later, I wake up to find him gone from our bed. It’s three in the morning. I get up quickly and walk into the living room. He’s seated in front of the big screen, with the image split to show a moving aerial view of a road on one side, and a listing of border crossings on the other. To the left of the screen is a holo of a map that Laek is manipulating with his left hand, while touching his ear piece with his right, appearing to flip between two conversations.

  I watch him for a while. He sees me watching but doesn’t look up at me until he’s done with the calls. I make him go through every detail of the plan with me. I ask my questions. Make some suggestions. When I’m satisfied, I nod my head and go back to bed.

  In the morning, I wake to feel his warm body curled behind mine. As I’m wondering how much of last night was a dream, he brings his lips to my ear, his voice low and soft.

  “And the story isn’t over yet. Far, far from it …”

  FIFTY

  Siri

  I pitch the practice baseball into the corner of Michael’s bedroom where his two blue walls meet the wooden floor. The ball makes a satisfying bang before bouncing back. I adjust my pitching stance, thinking about how it’s been three days since I spoke to Simon and two since Rebecca and my mom had their big argument. I’m still no closer to getting home.

  “What are you doing?” Michael asks me.

  “I’m practicing my pitching,” I tell him in my what-the-f-does-it-look-like voice.

  Bang! I crouch down and scoop the ball up into my glove.

  “Maybe it would be better to practice outside. I could catch for you. ”

  I squeeze the rubbery ball in my hand. “Why? Afraid it’s gonna bother your parents? Then let them take me home.”

  Ba-bang!

  “I asked them to take you home. I even begged them, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They kept saying it was for your own good.”

  “You never should have told them all those things I told you.”

  “You never should have told me all those things if they weren’t really true.”

  Ba-bang! I chase the ball down to where it’s ricocheted.

  “Shit! Ball two. Notice how when I don’t hit dead centre, it makes a different sound?”

  “Siri, listen. Maybe if we wait a few days until my mom calms down, we could reason with her. But with that banging every two seconds, she’s gonna come in here and …”

  “Your mom isn’t going to come in here and do anything. She’s afraid to face me.”

  “My dad, then.”

  Ba-Bang!

  Michael sighs and turns his back on me to look for something in his closet.

  Bang! Bang!

  “Siri! Stop already!” Michael says over his shoulder.

  “That wasn’t me!”

  “Oh! Maybe it’s the door. But I didn’t hear the visitor screen ping.”

  We both rush out of his room to go downstairs. I’m a couple of steps down when Rebecca opens the door to two cops. I stop dead and back up the stairs quietly, gripping the ball in my glove harder, like I do during a big game that we may be about to lose. Michael backs up too and spreads his arms out, like he’s trying to hide me.

  I get down on my hands and knees in the hallway near the top of the stairs so that I’m out of sight, but can still hear them. Michael stays standing, but pressed back against the wall. One of the cops says, “We’re looking for a thirteen-year-old girl named Siri Wolfe.”

  I crawl backwards farther down the hall towards Michael’s room. Should I hide? Try to escape? My heart is beating fast. I feel a little sick. At the same time I feel hyper-awake, like all my senses are sharper than normal.

  I hear Rebecca ask the cops what’s going on. A woman’s voice answers her, saying something about a complaint. The voice sounds familiar. I crawl back to the end of the hall and peer around the corner. One of the cops is a man and one is a woman. The guy cop is white with a shaved head. He looks angry and tough. The woman cop is white too, with dark brown bangs and a ponytail. She’s just about the same height as the guy cop. While Rebecca calls David over, the woman cop lifts her head and looks up the stairs in our direction. I quickly pull back again, but this time I get a clear look at her whole face. Now I know who she reminds me of—Daddy’s friend Erin. But Erin’s a teacher, not a cop.

  I hear David’s voice. “There must be some mistake. Siri is a close family friend.”

  “Is she here?” the guy cop asks.

  Someone says something I can’t make out, but Rebecca’s answer is high and loud.

  “Kidnapping, that’s crazy! Who would say such a thing? David, tell them!”

  “Officer, who made this … this absurd complaint? It couldn’t have been Siri’s parents.”

  I peer around the corner again, too curious not to look. The woman cop is reading her screen. “It was the grandparents. The parents of Jane Wolfe,” she says.

  “I don’t know what would make them say such an awful thing, but shouldn’t an allegation like that come directly from the parents?” David asks.

  “The grandparents have been granted legal custody. The documents were beamed this morning from … from a Magda Diaz, Esq. of Legal Aid Services,” the Erin-look-alike says.

  “I ask you again, is the child here?” the guy cop asks, sounding angry. He looks up, right in our direction, and I realize that he must know we’re upstairs, that he probably saw us from the start. He continues looking towards our hiding place, rubbing his finger along the top of his lip. It seems like a strange place to have an itch. All of a sudden, I’m picturing a moustache there and now I think I know him too. He looks like Erin’s husband, who actually is a cop, but with his moustache and hair shaved off. I’ve only seen him a few times, and never with his cop uniform on, but it definitely could be him. What the hell?

  “Come down here, kids,” David says. “We need to clear up a little misunderstanding.”

  Michael starts walking down the stairs but I don’t move. What if this is some kind of trap? When I don’t come down, Erin—or the cop who looks just like her—opens the front door. In walks a tall man with big shoulders. Another cop? He looks up in our direction. No, it’s Daddy’s friend Philip! I make a decision and follow Michael. When I get downstairs, I squeeze my baseball in my left hand for courage and say, “I’m Siri Wolfe.”

  Philip nods and gives me a big smile, then turns to the cops. “That’s her.”

  I’m still kind of confused because if this really is Erin and her husband—Chris, that’s his name—then why does Philip have to tell them it’s me? Erin for sure knows what I look like. But Erin’s not a cop anyway, so none of this makes sense. I decide to play along and follow what Philip does. The idea that Daddy might have sent him makes me feel happy and way less nervous. But then I notice that Philip seems nervous, so I go back to being on my guard.

  “Siri,” the Erin-cop says, “We need to ask you some questions.”

  Before I even have time to open my mouth, David is talking. “This is a complicated situation. More complicated than you may realize. Officers, can I speak with you in private?”

  “No you may not,” Philip says.

  “Who is this man, officer?” David asks.

  “I recognize him.” Rebecca says to David. “He’s a friend of Laek’s.”

  “We are asking the questions here, not you.” Chris says to David.

  “I apologize. I understand your position because I work for the government too, for the federal OPIM. And there’s something that you need to know. It’s about the girl’s father—”

  “Shut the fuck up, you miserable, soulless prick,” Philip says, slamming David against the wall. David’s screen, which he’d been reaching for while he was talking to Chris and Erin, slips out of his hand and onto the floor. Philip stomps on it, hard. Rebecca jumps back with her hand over her mouth.

  “Are you going to just stand there and let this man assault me
?” David shouts.

  “The NYPD doesn’t appreciate people who kidnap young girls. I suggest you take this gentleman’s advice and shut up.” Chris then nods to Erin.

  “Siri, are you being held here against your will?” she asks.

  Rebecca is swinging her head back and forth between me and David. Her eyes look wild and her hands are shaking. I almost feel sorry for her. I need to figure out the right thing to say, the thing that will get me home without getting anyone in trouble.

  “Wait!” David says, bent over his ruined screen. “I need … I need to make a call. This will be cleared up in a minute. Michael, give me your screen.”

  Michael looks to me to give him a sign, just like he does when he’s pitcher and I’m catcher during a game. I think hard, then give him the sign for a curveball.

  “Sorry, Dad, I can’t find it,” Michael says, making a big show of searching his pockets. “I may have left it on the ball field after practice.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Rebecca, where’s yours? Never mind, you’re both useless.”

  He stomps off towards the living room, where the younger kids are watching a fantasy clip. I hear him order them to their rooms so he can use the house screen. Little Georgie starts crying and I feel my face get hot.

  Erin and Chris look at each other, but Philip stares up at the ceiling like he’s searching for something. I follow his eyes and see them stop at the house transponder at the opposite corner where the two walls meet the ceiling. I squeeze the baseball in my hand and realize what I need to do. I focus on my target. Not that different from the corner of Michael’s bedroom, just higher. I wind up and pitch, my anger making my throw hard and sure. The ball hits it dead on with a satisfying bang that turns my anger into exhilaration. Everyone stares, not saying anything, as pieces of the hardware fall to the carpet. I scream into the sudden silence, “I want to go home!”

  Philip goes down on one knee and I run to him. He wraps his arms around me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take you home.”

  The younger kids have all come in from the living room. Sara is trying to shush Benny, who’s talking about the hyper clip they were watching when the screen went dead. Little Georgie is holding on to Rebecca’s legs and crying, but she’s ignoring him.

  “Why are you lying to Siri?” she says to Philip. “You know you can’t take her home.”

  Philip doesn’t answer, so I ask him straight out. He doesn’t say anything at first. Then he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, honey. She’s right. I can’t take you home. But I can take you out of here and to my place right now, and to your grandparents Friday night. How would that be?”

  “OK,” I say, feeling very tired.

  “David!” Rebecca says. “Why are you just standing there? Go next door and use their screen. We could—”

  “Be quiet, Rebecca. It’s enough. Siri knows she’s welcome here, but if she wants to go to her grandparents, that’s up to her.”

  “But—”

  “I told you to be quiet!”

  The expression on Michael’s face as he watches his parents argue drains any remaining feeling of exhilaration from me. “What’s gonna happen to Rebecca and David?” I ask. “I don’t want them to get into trouble. Or anyone else either,” I add, looking from David to Michael.

  “If they cooperate, your grandparents will probably agree that it was just a big misunderstanding and withdraw the complaint. In that case, the charges would probably be dropped too, right?” Philip asks.

  Chris and Erin nod, then tell me to go upstairs and get my things. I walk up the stairs slowly. Everyone seems frozen in place, just waiting. Everyone but Michael, who follows me up. I start putting my stuff together as Michael watches. I don’t want to look at him, because I’m afraid I’ll start crying. Finally, I just throw myself into his arms and he holds me without talking. When I finally look at his face, he’s smiling, not sad.

  “That was some pitch, Siri,” he says, laughing. “You totally shut them down!”

  I laugh with him, a little of my happiness coming back. “I’m just glad we’re still on the same team,” I say, and kiss him right on the lips.

  *

  Philip and I don’t talk much after leaving Rebecca and David. He just holds my hand tight, my bag on his shoulder, and brings me to his car. I fall asleep on the ride to his apartment in Queens. I wake up as we cross the Whitestone Bridge, its lights like blurry, bright jewels to my sleepy eyes. I drift off again, thinking that something isn’t right. Then it hits me. The Whitestone Bridge doesn’t go from Brooklyn to Queens. It goes from Queens to the Bronx.

  The next time I open my eyes we’re on a fast highway and are no longer in the City. I rub my eyes and sit up.

  “Where are we, Philip?”

  “Almost to your grandparents.”

  “But I thought we weren’t going there until the weekend.”

  “No, we’re going there now.”

  “But you said …”

  “I lied.”

  I’m happy that I’ll get to see Grandma and Grandpa right away, but why did Philip lie like that? And then something else occurs to me. If he lied about this, maybe he lied about the other thing too. I turn to Philip and he winks at me.

  “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you? You’re gonna get me across the border!” I shout.

  “Make sure you get some rest tonight, because tomorrow’s another adventure. Then we’ll see how good a closer you really are.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Laek

  I leave at dawn, pedal all morning. I’m not nervous, but my bike flies. My progress is marked by a terrain that changes from grey to yellow, and greens that lighten as the sun swings higher in the sky. By the end of the ride, there aren’t more than a handful of cars sharing the road. Almost no one but cyclists take this particular route. And then only to access bike paths used by locals, far from the highway. I stop 2.7 kilometres short of the border and dismount. I cut across a field, finding the path that runs to the farm road. It’s pitted with muddy holes and overgrown clumps of grass. The path dries as it smoothes out. Dust tickles my neck and cheeks.

  I leave my bike leaning against an old info sign. Walk the final hundred metres to the border, kicking up more dust on the shoulder of the road. There’s a little, white customs house just behind the crossing. It has a diagonal roof sloping down to my right, and two metal bathroom doors embedded in the side. There’s a flag, a drive-through window, an overhang extending above the path. The structure is small enough to look like the entrance to a provincial park—the place where you pay your fee and they beam you the map of the campsites. It’s innocuous-looking too. If not for the distortion field. I watch as the air seems to pinch and waver. Then Philip emerges, walking towards me. I go still. He veers towards the bathrooms, an oversized metal key dangling from his big hand. I move parallel with him, my own hands clutching at air.

  Philip uses the key to enter the bathroom furthest from the road. He emerges less than a minute later, shoving a metal object that looks like the key, but isn’t, into his pants pocket. “Laek,” he says, planting himself a few feet in front of me. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Siri?” I ask.

  “She’s fine. You should start seeing her just … about … now.”

  I look to my left as Siri appears on her bike on the circular path in front of the border station, less than ten metres from us. My heart leaps and I have to stop myself from running to her. I hold myself back and watch her intently instead. Blue jeans, sky-blue t-shirt, sunglasses, bike helmet. She crosses the border, then quickly loops around and crosses back. She has a look of fierce determination on her face, but when she sees me watching her, she smiles. The whole world seems suddenly brighter.

  I turn to Philip as she disappears up the path again. Move towards him.

  “Wait, Laek. Don’t come any closer.”

  “It’s just an imaginary line.”

  “No. No, it’s not. It may be random, but it’
s real.”

  “But if it’s random, what difference can a metre or two make?”

  “You and Janie entrusted this task to me and I’m not going to let you down. But we need to do things my way.”

  I tilt my head slightly. What happened to my shy, insecure friend? I have to admit that I like what I see. The confidence and control.

  “How did things go in Brooklyn?” I ask, watching for Siri to reappear.

  Philip pulls the device from his pocket and checks it before answering. Some kind of scrambler? Or maybe a drone detector. “They went fine.”

  “Your mouth looks tight, Phil.”

  “Alright, we had words. Michael’s parents and I.”

  “You weren’t even supposed to be there.”

  “I changed the plan.”

  I wait, but he leaves it at that. “And Siri?”

  “She was perfect. Smart, resilient, adaptable … She’s some kid. On the ride up to Janie’s folks, she mostly slept, but when we got there, she had a nice long talk with her grandparents. It seems to have helped her sort things out. And on the way up this morning, she and I had an opportunity to chat too. Don’t be too hard on her.”

  I watch Siri loop around the circular path again. “I don’t plan on being hard on her at all.”

  “She realizes that she messed up.”

  “I think we’re the ones who messed up. Me, particularly.”

  “What could you have done differently?”

  “Been honest about everything from the beginning. We thought we were protecting her. I don’t know. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have had kids so young. How could I have known what I was doing? I still don’t sometimes.”

  “None of us do. But your kids are great. You two must be doing something right.”

  “How’s Kyla?”

  “She’s the light of my life. I told you I have primary custody of her now? Dana has her on the weekends. But I have a feeling she may even give that up and only see her on holidays. Dana’s with this new guy now. He’s not too keen on raising someone else’s kid. And … well, she’s pregnant too. I just found out recently.”