Any Second

by Kevin Emerson

  So that was that.

  In the clear.

  Such a stupid thought.

  GROSS! I’m so sorry for you! (Twenty-one likes.)

  “Mom says the jazz band is going good,” said Dad. “I’m looking forward to the concert. Next Friday, right?”

  Maya nodded. Lips pursed. Willing her eyes to stay dry. “I don’t really want to talk right now.”

  “Oh, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped.

  She looks like a badly shaved dog. (Thirty-eight likes.)

  From behind with a wig, though. (Fourteen likes.)

  Each comment froze her deeper, shrank her, pushed her farther down. Starting to feel that tingling in her neck and the white spots in her vision. Tight. Hard to breathe. She needed a Serenitab, but whenever she took one around either of her parents they’d inevitably ask some searching, mistrusting, belittling fucking question. The bathroom. But there was a line.

  “Sorry,” said Dad. “I wasn’t trying to pry. Things seemed fine a minute ago.”

  “I know.”

  Dammit, they’d been having a good time! Like a real, uncomplicated good time. Just the two of them; Kendall was at an aromatic Pilates retreat up at Whistler. Last night they’d ordered pizza and Dad had given Maya a beer and they’d watched the new Marvel show on Netflix, his laptop on the couch between them, their shoulders warm against each other. Sure, Dad had been texting with Kendall almost the whole time, but even that had been fine.

  Fleas! Put her back in the kennel! (Twenty-two likes.)

  She couldn’t go to school Monday. Everyone would have seen this. Couldn’t possibly face all the knowing, the laughing, the comments, the judgment.

  Renee would probably tell her to close her phone immediately, but she kept scrolling. Her own destruction happening right in front of her. Had already happened. It was almost surreal.

  A GIF of some movie star making a grossed-out face. (Fifty-one likes.)

  J you’re a saint for trying. (Twenty-five likes.)

  7/10 for the ass though. (Eight likes.)

  “Hey.” Dad reached for her hand. “Is this about that breakup you had?”

  She pulled her hand away. “Can we just go?”

  “But what about reading?” He held up the GQ he’d bought at the 7-Eleven next door. Maya had gotten an Entertainment Weekly. It was supposed to be a thing. An actual good idea of her dad’s. Now the tears came.

  Isn’t she the bomber chick? My bff at Garfield said she’s a slut. (Forty-eight likes.)

  “Okay, let’s read,” she said before she started leaking too badly. She could feel her dad watching her still. She wanted to be invisible, to disappear completely.

  Janice you’re the most beautiful girl in school smh why someone would treat you like this. (Twenty-six likes.)

  Damn straight, beautiful, you can do SO. MUCH. BETTER. Guys and girls will be lining up. (Thirty-seven likes.)

  Maya moved her hands under the table and started digging into the callus at the base of her middle finger. One of the solid drumming ones. It had been needing work for a while.

  This was it. How everyone at Elliott would see her for the rest of the year. Damaged, that girl, and anything inside her that was good? That was hopeful, that healed?

  UM NO THANKS. (Forty-nine likes.)

  Even if her hair grew back, even if she was playing flawlessly onstage, even if she was dressed her best—

  Have some self-respect! (Fifty-seven likes.)

  Maya closed her eyes.

  Three…two…one…

  Shut off her screen and pushed it away from her. Sipped her latte, looked out the window at the cars streaming by in the misty air. Instead of opening her new magazine, she fished a small, battered blue journal from her bag.

  Tucked inside the front cover was the most recent note that Eli had left for her. She reread the middle section, which had been sticking in her head.

  When you wrote the other day that it smelled like the sea and you could hear the old ships and whales, I could picture that. I always think it’s amazing how you see stuff. Is every moment like that for you? I want to notice more. Dr. Maria told me to write down the details around me sometimes so I can feel more connected to the world. I bet you could do that really good.

  The words coaxed the briefest smile to the surface. What a nice, un-shitty thing to say. And not something she’d ever really thought about.

  She ran her finger down a list she’d started making last night in her journal, the first words she’d written in it since before the DOL:

  Amazing Stuff

  Drums

  A ride cymbal: vibrating time, like an earthquake clock

  Bass-drum beats: moving air

  Unison saxophone melodies: weary, knowing

  The view when you look up from beneath the surface of a pool

  The veins on the undersides of leaves

  The underside of almost anything

  She looked around her now.

  Steam from a coffee cup

  Woman shaking sugar packets to death before she opens them. (What’s on her mind? Her annoying kid? Her annoying boyfriend?)

  Dragon hiss of the espresso machine

  Dandelions in a sidewalk crack: pioneers, the Zen of wind travel

  Her phone buzzed. Her stomach flared.

  You have 19 new notifications!

  “You want to tell me?” Dad said, flipping a page.

  “No. It’s just dumb.” For a minute there, she’d felt good. Her brain calm. Just focusing on details.

  Maya eyed the phone. Fucking thing. Every time you went in you had to catch up to the past and present and future and they were all twisted together. Old posts with new comments, old friends and possible futures and what you did three years ago and what you’d never done and what your friends were doing right this second and what you should be doing. What had people said? What would they say? What if you missed something being said right then? It was a time machine and an alternate-reality machine. It took away your skin. Gave your three-dimensional brain four-dimensional paranoia.

  She should throw the damn thing in the trash can, into the middle of the street. Take it to the beach and hold a funeral for it, Eli holding a candle. They’d share a knowing look, and then she’d hurl it into the waves. Freedom!

  And yet still, she wanted to reply to Janice so badly. Tell her to delete the post. Tell her it was a horrible thing to do. But Janice wouldn’t care. In fact, that was probably what she wanted.

  Come on. Beg me to take it down.

  Her phone buzzed again. She grabbed it. Thought about deleting her account entirely, but all those years of pictures and memories…Did she really want to erase herself?

  It’s not erasing yourself. You’re right here. With the coffee steam and the hard wooden chair and the mist outside.

  Deleting her account would be a win for Janice too.

  But she did delete the app. For now. Slid the phone into airplane mode and shoved it in her bag.

  Deep breath. More latte.

  Latte froth clinging gently to your upper lip

  “What are you reading about?” she asked Dad. As he talked, she almost listened.

  * * *

  ***

  They were halfway home when Dad’s phone buzzed. “Mom says she can’t reach you.”

  “Oh, yeah, had my phone off.”

  She could feel Dad weighing different responses. Finally, he said, “She wants to be sure you’re coming home now. Wants me to come in too, for some reason.”

  “That’s never good.”

  They shared a brief smile. Dad tapped his phone. “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “I’ll let her know we’re on the way.
”

  Dad parked in the street near Mom’s apartment. It was the second floor of a cream-colored triplex. There was a blue car parked behind Mom’s in one of the spaces out front. Maya tensed. Was this why Mom had texted? She always thought it was incredibly important to introduce Maya to all her friends and colleagues and pretty much anyone, which was the last thing she needed right now. Although normally that would not have included Dad. Had she done something wrong? Oh God, had Mom seen Janice’s post?

  The photo still behind her eyelids, the comments worming deeper into her brain.

  “In here,” Mom called as soon as Maya pushed open the apartment door.

  Maya and Dad found them in the kitchen. Her mom, as well as a tall woman in a black pantsuit—

  And Eli.

  Her heart flipped, spun around. Hammering. Ringing in her ears. Metal taste in her mouth.

  He sat at their kitchen table, hunched over in his baggy Seahawks hoodie, hands in the pocket. He only looked at her for a moment, then at the table.

  Mom put an arm around her. “I know, just sit.” She guided Maya to a chair. Eli was right across from her, and yet he seemed miles away. What the hell was going on?

  “Maya, I don’t know if you remember me,” said the woman in the suit. “I’m Detective Pearson. We—”

  “We met at the hospital last year.” Maya kept her hands in her lap. Resumed work on that callus.

  “I’m sorry to surprise you like this,” said Pearson. She brushed her black hair behind her ears. Nails painted blue. Small silver rings on a few fingers. “But we’ve had a break in the Cedar Gate case and we’d like your help.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. It took some luck,” said Pearson. “But Eli remembered that he often heard a truck in the late-night hours where he was held, and saw flashing lights. We theorized that this was most likely a garbage truck, and so we pulled the pickup schedules for the general area where we believe Eli was held. There are only a handful of sites that receive nighttime pickup, and then only a few houses on each route from which he could have seen the lights, and…yesterday we found it.”

  Maya slid her foot under the table, searching for Eli’s. Maybe with a tap she could say, Oh my God! How are you doing with this?

  “We’re taking Eli over this morning to confirm the location,” said Pearson, “and to get his account of the space and evidence. There’s a preliminary forensics team there now, and we want to bring Eli through before we move in the full team. That’s going to attract the media.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Maya asked.

  “Eli asked for you to accompany us.”

  “Why do you need her?” Dad asked.

  “I think it might help me remember,” said Eli.

  “We know you two have been in touch,” said Detective Pearson.

  Maya looked at her mom.

  “It’s all right,” she said. And yet her eyes said it wasn’t.

  “Eli’s had a difficult time accessing his memories from that period,” said Pearson. “And challenges with communication. He says talking with you is helpful, and his psychiatrist confirms the progress since you two started communicating. It was his idea, but everyone’s been briefed.

  “Not her father,” said Dad.

  “That’s why we’re here. And this is totally up to you,” Pearson replied.

  “What about the danger?” Mom snapped. “What about this Gabriel?”

  “There’s no danger,” said Pearson. “We’ve already been through the house, and we’ve had surveillance on the neighborhood. Maya will be completely safe. But I understand if—”

  “I want to go.”

  “Maya—”

  Dad touched Mom’s arm. They shared a glance, some kind of telepathic communication that caused a lump in Maya’s throat.

  Mom bit her lip, looked at Maya. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Thank you,” Eli said to her parents.

  Mom nodded, tears rimming her eyes. Dad shrugged, arms crossed.

  “As soon as you’re ready,” said Pearson, “we should go.”

  * * *

  ***

  They rode in Pearson’s car. Maya and Eli sat in the back. Eli stared out the window.

  “You know,” said Pearson, “you guys really took a risk by writing those letters to each other. If anyone had found them…”

  Maya frowned but didn’t reply. Probably wouldn’t be wise to start mouthing off to a detective.

  “Dr. Maria said it was a good idea,” said Eli.

  “I get that,” said Pearson, “from her point of view.” Her phone started to buzz. “I gotta take this.”

  Maya found her hand twisting at her hair and pulled it away. “When did this happen?” she asked Eli.

  “I was sleeping over at Graham’s.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Not yet. I mean, we’re not supposed to tell anyone yet.”

  Maya lowered her voice. “Hey…” She thought of the other afternoon, on the stage. “Is he cool?”

  “Graham?”

  “Yeah, I mean like, I don’t know, he seems a little…” She didn’t know what word to use. Weird? Creepy? Off somehow? Not much different from the words she’d been called just now. She settled on “different.”

  “He takes things hard,” said Eli. “And everyone bullies him. He’s been a really good friend.”

  “No, I know, I just—”

  “Nobody else has….I mean, except for you.” Eli turned toward the window.

  “Sorry.” Shit, that was stupid. “Forget I asked.” Like Eli didn’t have enough to worry about. “Hey.” She reached across the seat and ran her fingers over his hand. As she did, more voices scolded her—Slut! Eww! Lost Cause!—but she was just trying to be supportive. Touch didn’t have to mean anything more than that. Didn’t have to be weird or suggestive or go anywhere. And she wanted him to know she was here. He could pull his hand away if he wanted, and he didn’t. “How are you holding up?”

  His jaw moved. No words.

  “Maybe this is the beginning of the end,” she said.

  Eli sort of chuckled.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in, like, an ominous way.”

  “It’s okay. How are you doing?”

  Maya shook her head. “It’s been a crappy morning.”

  “What happened?”

  Maya felt a surge of nerves, but she took out her phone and reinstalled the app. Logged in and pulled up the photo. Held it out to Eli. “Janice.”

  Eli peered at it. “She posted that?”

  “Yeah. It’s been super-fun.”

  “It looks bad.”

  Maya yanked her phone away. “Thanks. That’s what everyone’s saying.”

  “No, I mean, it looks like it hurts.” He touched his own scalp behind his ear.

  “Oh. Yeah, it really does. But it also kinda helps. Maybe less than it hurts.”

  They merged onto the highway.

  “Hey.” Maya got her journal from her bag. “I was writing back to you this morning.” She held it out for him to see. “I started making this list.”

  Eli looked at it. “Those are cool.”

  “Your doctor lady is right, by the way. It does help you kind of calm down.”

  Outside they were passing Cedar Gate Mall. Exiting.

  Maya wrote another line in her letter. Showed it to Eli and pointed toward the floor of the seat.

  Energy-bar-wrapper graveyard

  Eli kind of smiled.

  They wove through a neighborhood of small houses and past a large brick school. “We’re going in the back,” said Pearson. She turned down an alley between two streets of houses.

  They rolled slowly, gravel crunching. On either side were tall fence
s overgrown with vegetation, clusters of recycling bins, and odd discarded items: a stack of tires, an aquarium, a soggy mattress. They stopped beside a metal garage door built into a high wooden fence. The door was open, revealing a carport with an old white Ford Focus.

  “Is that his car?” said Pearson.

  “I think so,” said Eli. The color had drained from his face.

  They got out, stepped around the car, and stood facing the house: two stories, its yellow paint chipped and faded. A brick path crossed a small, overgrown backyard to a short set of slanted wooden steps that led to a door. The door was white, but it and the windows hadn’t been cleaned in so long that they were caked in a layer of brown grime. The windows all had heavy black curtains drawn across them.

  “No phones while we’re in there,” said Pearson. “We’d have to confiscate them if you tried to take any pictures or video.”

  Maya shivered. Her mouth was dry, white edges to her vision. She could feel it, the secrets behind those curtains, the darkness lurking. The yard was surrounded by the high fence, but there were gaps, boards askew. Maya saw toys scattered in the yard to the left, impeccable greenery and a fountain in the yard to the right. Nice houses. In between: a lair.

  “Jennings, this is Pearson,” she said into her phone. “We’re coming in the back door, over.”

  “Copy that, Detective.”

  Pearson started slipping on rubber gloves. “The house is owned by Ellen Carter, but Ms. Carter has been in a nursing home up in Shoreline for nearly eight years. She has one son, Stephen Carter, age forty-four. We believe that’s Gabriel.” She started across the lawn. “His father, Archie, died in 1981, when Gabriel was eight. Suicide. He’d worked for Boeing, fought in Vietnam. Records about Stephen are harder to find. He finished high school here in Seattle near the top of his class. Was National Guard, and his unit got called up for two tours in Afghanistan. After that things get pretty spotty. No recent credit history. We’ve requested his military records and are looking for any additional employment records. The only thing we know is that he has a post office box up in Lynnwood. House and car are in his mother’s name, and based on their condition, we think he left quite some time ago. We’re checking the visitor logs at the nursing home, as well as car rentals, bus and train tickets, airlines, all the way back to the day of the attempted attack. But that’s all we have to go on. Maybe you’ll see something that will help. Ready?”