Alone

by E. J. Noyes

  “It’s a very good idea. If you can spare them, I’d be grateful.” Olivia peels the banana and takes a small bite.

  “Sure. Of course I can. Shit, I’m the one who shot you.”

  “Accidentally,” Olivia clarifies softly.

  “Yes. Accidentally.” I break two pills from the blister pack into her hand. She palms them into her mouth, and I help her lean forward to sip water so she can swallow the pills. Her skin is so soft and warm that I want to touch her forever.

  Olivia wipes her mouth and pauses, seeming to weigh what she wants to say. “So, what is all this? You living off the grid or something?”

  I hedge. “Um. It’s complicated.”

  “Are you one of those preppers waiting for the zombie apocalypse?” She smiles, just a little.

  “No, nothing like that.” Unconsciously, I shift my weight back and forth like I’m readying myself to run away from her questions. But I don’t really want to run. I want to listen to her talk all day, absorbing the sound of her voice and that accent I can’t quite place but makes everything she says sound wonderful.

  Olivia makes a soft musing hum and sinks down against the pillow. She doesn’t push any more about my strange circumstances, almost as though she’s accepted my reticence. “I might try to sleep if that’s all right?” Her face is expectant, as though she’s asking my permission.

  “Mhmm. Sure.”

  “Could you leave the door open a little in case I need you?” She coughs into the back of her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be so intrusive, but I don’t think I could make it to the bathroom on my own.”

  “Of course.” Needs me. Someone needs me. “Sure. Okay, that’s fine.” I nod, yank the curtains across the windows to block out the late afternoon sun, pull the door mostly closed and leave her to rest. After a couple of minutes, I have a thought. I bound down the stairs to the basement, grab a bucket then sneak back in to leave it beside the bed in case she gets sick. She’s already asleep.

  The dusky light outside barely penetrates my curtains, leaving me with too little light to see her features. I stand a few feet away with my eyes closed and listen to the sound of her steady breathing. For a moment, I contemplate lying on the floor just listening to the sound of another human. Just as quickly, I dismiss my idea. Creepy. Super creepy. I sneak out of my room.

  I move around the dwelling, trying to be quiet when all I want to do is stand in the doorway of my bedroom and look at her. I reheat leftover pasta from last night and try to eat it around the nervous lump taking up most of the space in my stomach. I should tell the Controllers, but it’s too late…too early to make a log. Don’t make excuses. Technically, I can log whenever I want to, but I just don’t want to. Why am I stalling? I have to tell them.

  I open the romance novel I started reading two days ago and give up after a couple of pages of intrusive thoughts pushing in when I try to concentrate. Thoughts of Olivia, of her face and her voice. Our conversations. She’s a real person. I trudge into the basement and put her clothes in a bucket to soak. Maybe I can get the blood out of her pants. Sew up the hole I made. Somebody is here. I’m talking to a real person. I want to tell someone. I can’t. Yankee doo—stop.

  Heather makes a helpful suggestion. “You can talk to me, Celeste. Or maybe write it down.”

  I use the inside of my elbow to push hair out of my eyes. “Write it down? Yeah, maybe.”

  Pen and paper. Where are they? I don’t remember the last time I wrote something down. I’ve got coloring books, those stupid intricate patterned ones that drive me nuts after half an hour, and colored pencils. That could work. Where are they, where? I need to move, sitting here thinking is making me crazy. Crazier.

  I stalk around, opening drawers and cupboards and trying not to slam them closed in annoyance. After twenty minutes of searching, I find the pencils stashed in the basement with a box of puzzles and books I’ve read too many times to be able to stand the look of them. I settle with my stuff and a glass of wine at the kitchen table. What color to start my written confession? I’ve been arrested and am writing my statement. I promise to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.

  “I love Law and Order,” Heather reminds me. “The actress who plays the ADA in SVU is so fucking hot.”

  “Which one? There’s been a couple and they’re all gorgeous.” I pick up a black pencil, carefully tear the first, half-finished coloring page from the book and flip it over to the blank side. The pencil feels odd in my hand, like I’m back in kindergarten. I write the date and then:

  Today I shot someone.

  Chapter Six

  The sound of coughing startles me. I never stir during the night but I’m wide awake now and it takes me a few moments to remember why I’m on the couch, and why there’s coughing. I’m not alone. How exciting. How terrifying. In one motion, I push back the blanket and swing my legs off the couch. Still dark out. No idea what time it is.

  I’m outside the bedroom door and she’s still coughing. Not gagging. She’s not sick but sounds more like she’s got a dry throat. I knock lightly. “Olivia? Are you okay?”

  The words are pushed out quickly between coughs. “Yes thank you.”

  Resting my hand on the door, I peer through the gap. She’s sitting up, hunched over in my bed with her sound leg cocked up, her foot flat on the mattress. The bed covers have slipped, leaving her torso bare except for her bra. She coughs again, kind of coughing and throat clearing simultaneously. I slip into the kitchen, fill a glass with water and take it back to her.

  To give her time to pull the bedsheet up, I knock again and pause for a few seconds before I step into my bedroom. “Here. Sorry, I should have thought to leave you a glass of water. I’m not…used to having someone else to think about here.” I glance at the clock beside the bed. Just past two a.m.

  “Thank you.” She takes the glass from me and swallows half the water in one long gulp. A thumb slides over her lower lip to wipe away lingering droplets.

  I lean over and turn on the bedside lamp. Under the warm glow, she’s a strange color. Sallow instead of olive-skinned, with shadows under her eyes. I fold my arms under my breasts. “Can I help? Do you need something for the pain? Is it time for more antibiotics?” I’ve slipped into my new role as caretaker like I was born to it, though I guess technically I was—if you count how often I cared for Riley and both our bumps and cuts and breaks and scrapes and bruises.

  “No, it’s fine thank you. I’ll wait until the morning.” She leans back against the pillow, and after a few deep breaths she adds, “I’ll need to try and get someone to collect me, but I don’t have any phone reception here. Can I use your Internet or do you have a satellite phone or something?”

  I swallow, the movement uncomfortable and forced with my dry mouth. “I don’t. I mean, I can’t.”

  She leans forward. “I’ll pay, if that’s the issue.”

  “No, it’s not that.” I’m so embarrassed. It feels like I have a guest and I’m telling them there’s no bathroom in my house and they’ll have to go out to pee in the garden. “I don’t have a phone and there’s no Internet.”

  “I don’t follow,” she says with exaggerated slowness.

  Surely telling her couldn’t hurt? There’s no protocol for this situation and I hadn’t been told the fact they are running an experiment like this is secret. Just the nitty-gritty details, which I won’t tell her about. “I can’t contact anyone. I’m here because, well…” Settling on the end of the bed, I take a deep breath and start from the beginning.

  * * *

  “Wait. Wait. So it’s really voluntary?” Her forehead furrows, eyebrows scrunched. She nods, tiny short ones as though each thought is a stepping-stone she’s touching on her way to a revelation.

  “Mhmm. I guess it’s kind of like a job.” Though I told her why I was here, I was very careful not to divulge too much of the study, giving Olivia only the bare-bones facts in case I let some confidential details slip.

  “And y
ou can’t just ask these…Controllers to come and get me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say sharply, fear burning through my veins on the back of adrenaline. Fear. Am I afraid of getting into trouble, or losing her? It’s both, but I’m not sure which is the stronger fear. No, you can’t lose her because she’s not yours. I try to rationalize that another day or two of human contact while she heals won’t do any harm, because the experiment was ruined the moment I saw her. “I can’t think right now, I mean, I don’t even know what the protocol for this is. I don’t know what to say to them, I just—” My out-of-control thought train runs out of steam.

  Olivia raises both hands. “Okay, okay. Calm down, Celeste. I don’t want to upset you, but I need to make a plan. How am I supposed to get out of here? I can’t hike out.” She peers down at her leg, touches it lightly. “Maybe in a week or two but not now.”

  “I know, but it’s the best I can do.”

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Olivia’s brows dip again. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?”

  “I don’t know exactly where I am,” I tell her softly, that embarrassment creeping up on me again.

  She pauses and I cringe, waiting for her to say something incredulous about my stupidity, but instead Olivia says, “Honestly, I’m not a hundred percent sure either, just that it’s basically the middle of nowhere.” The crease between her eyes deepens. “My GPS died a few hours before you, uh, found me, and I couldn’t get a fix on my compass. I lost the trail and was wandering around trying to find it. Stupid mistake and I should know better. I saw your roof and figured someone might be able to help me get back on track.”

  I run an unsteady hand through my hair. “Look, I think they can collect you.” Surely they won’t say no. Even once her leg is healed, the thought of just kicking her out the door and leaving her to find her way home fills me with sickening dread.

  Olivia stretches forward to pat my hand once. “Relax. If it comes to it, I’ve got a PLB.”

  “PLB?”

  She smiles. “Personal Locator Beacon. If I activate it, an—”

  “No!” I’m tied in knots, my stomach twisting and turning more with every passing minute. I can’t risk the Controllers picking up on some outgoing signal until I tell them my new secret. But deeper than that, I just don’t want her to go, not yet. It’s so against the rules, but having her here has opened something I had shut away. A box I won’t be able to put the lid back on. Talking to her for the past hour has made the last shred of resolve I had to report this to the Controllers during my morning check-in float away on a breeze.

  “You slut,” Mother snarls. “Want her to stay so you can fuck her.”

  I clamp my molars together, almost trembling from the effort of not responding to the voice.

  Olivia leans forward. “Are you all right?”

  “Mhmm.” It’s not entirely truthful. I’m sweating. It beads at my temples, my collarbones, slides down between my breasts.

  “No, Celeste. You’re not. Are you ill?” A warm hand finds its way to my forehead, sliding down to my cheeks. Something a mom would do. Does she have children? We’ve only known each other for about thirteen hours but she seems totally comfortable with me. She’s awfully trusting.

  I know she’s not in any danger from me but I can’t understand how she’s just accepted that I’m not some loner psycho in the woods. I close my eyes and try to focus on the feeling of her hand against my skin, on the barely perceptible ridge of calluses at the base and first joint of her fingers. What are they from? Gardening, weights, tennis, general activities, who knows? Inhale. Exhale.

  The hand withdraws. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

  I open my eyes, force a tight smile and tell her the first lie I can think of. “It’s nothing. Really. Think I’m just feeling a little weird about talking to someone again.” Actually, that’s not so much of a lie.

  “Well, that’s understandable. How long has it been exactly?”

  I know I looked at the calendar when I woke up this morning. No, technically it was yesterday when she arrived. What did the calendar say? I avert my gaze from her distracting face, imagining my handwritten numbers counting the days I’ve been alone. “One thousand…two hundred and twenty-nine days.”

  Her mouth works open then closed again. She’s staring at me like I’ve morphed into something inhuman and I can’t help but squirm under her scrutiny. It’s not that weird, is it? I’m not a hermit, not a freak, just a person doing a thing.

  “One thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine days,” she repeats. “That’s almost three and a half years!”

  “Yes.”

  “No human contact at all?”

  “No. Well, actually kind of but not really. I send the Controllers requisitions forms and daily logs, and we instant message. But no voices and no faces.”

  She looks horrified. “Oh my goodness. Seriously?”

  “Mhmm.” In my desperation to prove that I’m really not weird or creepy, the rest of my words come out in a rush. “Like I said, it’s just like a job. It’s not that bad, really and it’s helping science and stuff. And besides, I’ve always preferred my own company.” Not entirely true, but the truth of my loneliness is too frightening for our fledgling acquaintance.

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that you’ve had nothing but your own company.” Olivia grins. Her teeth are bright, white and even, except for one of her overlarge canines which is slightly out of line in front of its friends. I wonder what it would feel like under my tongue. Or scraping over my skin.

  I push down my inappropriate thought and return her smile. “That’s true. Are you hungry? You skipped dinner.”

  “No, but thank you.”

  “Sure. Do you need anything else?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  Her assurance appeases my discomfort slightly but being in here is starting to make my skin crawl. If I stay, I’m going to say something really stupid or inappropriate. I start edging toward the door. “Okay well, good night.”

  “Good night, Celeste.” A pause. A soft laugh. “Or good morning, rather.” She reaches for the lamp. Darkness. I can’t see her and I’m surprised to realize it hurts. I’m empty inside again. I slip through to the living room and lie back down on the couch.

  Groggy and stiff from my restless night, my neck is cricked when I rise to start my morning routine. Down the hall, my bedroom door is ajar. A quick peek inside tells me she’s still asleep. Or pretending to be. I sneak in to collect my running shoes and some clothes, stealing glances at her the whole time. But she doesn’t wake.

  I rush out into the fresh morning and begin my run. It’s starting to get too cold, too snowy and windy, too dangerous to run outside and I probably have only another week or so before I’ll be forced inside and onto the treadmill. I make my way around the grounds, keeping a steady pace past the spot where I shot her. The spot where I dragged her in. Where I helped her onto the cart and brought her inside. Last night’s snowfall has covered all evidence. It never happened.

  By the time I’m done it’s almost seven a.m. and she’s still asleep. A kid waiting for their parents to wake up on Christmas morning has more patience than I do right now. A small part of me wants to make a whole lot of noise and accidentally wake her up. Of course I can’t do that. That would be rude. I peek again on my way to the shower. I make and eat breakfast as quietly as I can, check on the still-sleeping Olivia then settle in the computer room with the door closed for my daily session with a Controller.

  Cont D: We registered two shocks from your implant yesterday between 1537 and 1540. Is everything okay?

  Shit shit shit. I don’t want to lie, but…I don’t know how to tell them what happened. Not yet. I work hard to keep my face neutral, and hope whoever might be watching me from the other side of the camera thinks nothing of my expression.

  SE9311: Yep everything’s fine. I tripped and
fell out of the white into the green. I winded myself pretty badly and couldn’t get up.

  I fake a self-deprecating smile for good measure.

  Cont D: I see. In future, perhaps exercise a little more caution?

  Yeah, no shit.

  SE9311: Good plan. Will do. Thanks.

  Cont D: Do you have anything to report?

  Yes.

  SE9311: Nope. All good.

  My body feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out. Though it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, the near-constant anxiety about Olivia being here is exhausting, that real bone-weary dread. It’s been so long since I felt anything like it that I’m not entirely sure how to make it go away. I could make it go away by making her go away. Is that trade worth it?

  I wait for Controller D to say something like they saw me and they saw her and they saw us. But they say nothing of the sort. Surely if they’d seen her, if I was in trouble, they’d say something? My stomach flutters uneasily. What if they didn’t see her because…she’s not real? I force the thought out. She’s too real to be not real.

  Once Controller D asks a few more perfunctory questions I’m left alone. I write a quick log—excluding an important detail—and leave the room. Door closed.

  Another quick peek into my bedroom. Olivia has woken and moved into a semi-seated position resting against the pillows. She’s pale but otherwise seems all right. She smiles. “Good morning. For real this time.”

  It’s easy to pretend her smile is because she’s pleased to see me. “Hey, morning.” I lean against the doorway and spill questions. “How are you? How’s the leg? How did you sleep?” The floodgate on my voice has been opened and I cannot push it shut again.