I haven’t learned to handle my new but archaic toothbrush any better than this morning, when I was finally able to rid my mouth of disgusting plaque buildup. Trying it again now, I find that both of my hands are equally incapable of making the looping motions that the electronic toothbrushes in Miles make for their users.
Somehow, I manage to knock the end of my brush hard enough against the gums surrounding my top molars to make them bleed. The taste of blood mixed with the distasteful paste causes me to gag. Luckily, Crewe is in the other room, rummaging through cupboards, and doesn’t hear the awful sound.
He has spent the last few hours answering all the questions that I have thought to ask him about Sheridan. And as it turned out, there wasn’t a single question he could ask me about Miles. He knows so much more about the county I lived in than I do. Like me, life experience has driven Crewe Davids to be wise beyond his years.
I spit the remainder of the toothpaste into the sink and briefly run the water. Conserving water was something I never put much effort into inside the county, where energy and resources seemed limitless. I guess I sort of felt as if I was already doing my penance for my ancestors’ wastefulness by being forced to live inside the bounds of a county. I suppose it’s only right that I become more conscious of conservation now that I’m living in and using what is supposed to be uncivilized territory.
I rip off a length of toilet paper to pat my lips dry and to soak the blood from my gums for a bit. I tear off another chunk and use it to dust off a circle of the mirror. Looking in the mirror, I allow myself a private smile for who I have become after all that has befallen me in the last few days. I am a free person, learning to survive as the Sheridans do. Though I can’t take much credit myself for being here, I am happy that my sister has been shown a brighter future outside of Miles County.
I wrap the dusty piece of toilet paper around the bloody one, and discard them into a small paper bag in the corner. I gather the clothes that I shed from the countertop, and exit the bathroom, nearly bumping into Crewe. My cheeks flush a little and my stomach knots.
“Sorry,” he says lightly, although it was I who nearly ran into him. Ever since the talk at the safe house, where Crewe and I learned to tolerate and understand each other, he’s grown more patient with me. He didn’t yell at me when I disobeyed my order and darted from the tree or when I blatantly told him that I care more about my sister’s well-being than I do for the entirety of his town.
I think Crewe has also grown to care for me. It wasn’t simply a high-ranking soldier acting heroically when he dove to take a bullet for me. He acted out of instinct because he needed to protect me. He compassionately placed his hand on my back when I grew queasy next to Evvie’s makeshift surgical table. Over the last few hours, as we’ve conversed openly, my estimation of Crewe has been solidified. He is also someone I can call a friend. He is primarily loyal to the needs of his town, but loyalty to me does weigh in his decisions.
“The place is barren. No pillows,” he apologizes.
“It’s fine,” I tell him as I squirm past him toward my bedroom for the night. The pillows here would have probably been stuffed with lumpy cotton anyhow. Lumpy pillows are another thing that I will have to try to get used to, as if I wasn’t already a restless enough sleeper using the form-fitting pillows I slept with in Miles.
The home that Crewe and I are staying in tonight was abandoned eighteen or so years ago, when all people had to relocate their residence to their designated county. There are many like this scattered throughout Sheridan. Cy and Evvie are probably asleep in one by now.
Moving trucks were quickly booked up when the relocation date neared so long ago, forcing many people to leave behind all the items they couldn’t fit into their own vehicle, if they were lucky enough to be allowed to bring their vehicle inside. This home, for instance, remains furnished with three beds, a large dresser, a couch, a kitchen table without chairs, and a treadmill. Crewe had to tell me what that was. Gyms and some homes have these back in Miles, but they are built into the ground and their settings are controlled through tablets. The one here certainly couldn’t be disguised by a floorboard and rug.
All Crewe and I will make use of here are the beds. There is one king-sized bed and two twin beds that belonged to someone’s little princesses, judging by the matching ornate headboards.
“Are you sure you want to sleep here?” Crewe asks politely after following me into my room for the night. Earlier, he insisted that I take the adult-sized bed and he would sleep on the couch. The couch isn’t really a viable option, seeing as it is mysteriously missing the middle cushion.
I told Crewe I wouldn’t feel comfortable in such a large bed since I have only had small ones in which to sleep. I doubt he slept well after switching watchman duty with Cy above the cellar last night. He doesn’t need to fight with a lumpy couch tonight. I certainly can’t imagine the tough and lumbering Crewe Davids trying to squeeze himself onto one of the twin beds. Imagining the scene makes me have to concentrate to withhold a smirk. We are both guests in this house, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t also be treated as one.
“Alright, well if there’s anything else you need…” He leaves the statement unfinished and instead smiles lightly. He has a harder shell than his brother, probably due to hardship and responsibility therein, but there is a very likeable softness to him underneath it all.
“I know we should sleep, but I thought of another question to ask you, if you don’t mind,” I tell him.
“That’s fine,” he says, sitting on the uncovered mattress of the other little bed across from me. I toss the sheet over my pillow-less bed and sit atop it, pulling over me a light blanket that him and Evvie got along with towels from the storehouse.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Crewe waits for me to continue, not appearing to pull in the reins on his willingness to talk. “How did you and Cy become orphans?”
“You mean—how did our parents die?” he calls it what it is. I suppose he too has been asked this question over and over, so he sees no need to beat around the bush. “Our dad was a firefighter. The way the fire chief told it at his service, my father was faced with a choice. He had to choose whether to put himself in severe danger in order to put an end to a raging fire, or he could fight on from safety, knowing that the fire could swell, engulf the apartment building, and spiral out of control through the county.”
Crewe lifts his eyes and looks at me. Even if his recollection wasn’t prefaced with me knowing that Crewe’s father is dead, I think I could have guessed his father’s decision based on the man his son strives to be.
“Well, you know how packed the buildings are in the county,” he looks up to tell me. “My mom said that in that moment, she knows that our dad thought of Cy and me. She said he made his decision so that he would know for certain that the fire couldn’t reach us, a mile away. My dad jumped onto unstable ground, knowingly, and challenged the fire.” Crewe looks down at nothing again. “After a minute, that part of the building gave way and collapsed. I lost my dad, but he saved a lot of lives.”
“He must have been really brave,” I offer as a form of condolence. I’m glad I asked him this question, because it has brought me to understand him better. Uncharacteristic of my usual sympathies, I add, “I bet your dad is really proud of you for all the lives you save by bringing people here.”
Finally, I am able to see how much better my life can be thanks to his abduction of me. Reversed from before, that wording is no longer fitting. To be abducted means you are taken with hostility from somewhere you call home. Crewe rescued me, and when he found out that I had a sister, he risked his life to rescue her too.
“Thanks, Sydney,” he looks up and says meaningfully. I hope he knows how sincerely I meant what I said. I hope Crewe understands that I consider his debt to me settled.
“My mom was already suffering from cancer at the time,” he continues to answer my question. “She didn�
�t die until a year later, which is much longer than the doctor’s predicted she’d survive. Sometimes I feel guilty that the stress we placed on her may have killed her faster. We tried to tell her not to worry, to rest, but my mom was a selfless woman. She searched and begged day in and day out during her illness, desperately trying to find someone to adopt us. It killed us to see her so sick, and upset, but she wouldn’t give up. Right up until the day she died.”
My throat starts to burn and my eyes well up a little. Ironically, I’m not thinking about Crewe’s mother, I’m thinking about mine. His mother fought every day for over a year to find a suitable home for her two capable sons. My mother cared less and less about her young daughters, and in her insanity, brought us closer and closer to danger. My heart aches in envy of the love Crewe’s mother had for her sons and fills again with disdain for my own mother.
“We were blessed with amazing parents, just not amazing circumstances,” Crewe states.
I clear my throat to eliminate any signs of shakiness in my voice. “It does sound like they were each truly amazing. One last thing, Crewe, did Cy already tell you—”
“Yeah,” he answers my unspoken question.
I am a little surprised by this, since he and I have had such a cordial evening. I would have thought he’d be lecturing me for what I did. “I’m really sorry,” I tell him, even though he’s already accepted my mistake.
“I know. I was livid when I found out after lunch.”
Cy must have told him while Evvie got her stitches examined by Della. I wasn’t allowed in so that we’d remain dispersed and probably also because of my history of a weak stomach. I was made to wander the hallways because I refused to go back into the waiting room.
“Cy calmed me down and made me see it through your eyes,” Crewe explains. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done the same thing.” I’m surprised to hear that Cy reasoned with his brother on my behalf. He didn’t give me any inclination throughout the rest of the afternoon that he had thought about the lie from my viewpoint. He worked silently on creating the new network, which still hasn’t been completed. I’m glad Rico was there to ease the tension in the room. He conversed with me while he toiled amid the frustrations of failure. Even still, it was an excruciatingly long day.
“Where did Layton come from?” Crewe asks.
“Evvie’s last foster. Her name was Merideth Layton. I butted heads with her a lot, but she was the closest person to family that we have had.” It’s peculiar to be talking about Merideth in the past tense. She still exists, but not in a world where I’ll ever see her again.
“So what is your last name, anyway?”
“Harter,” I answer. Crewe’s expression of light curiosity suddenly morphs into one of grave importance. At first he is rendered speechless in his shock. Then, a frightful urgency takes over him.
“Sydney Harter, Harter with a t?” He is stating this as truth rather than asking it, so in my bewilderment at this turn of events I say nothing. “Was your mother’s name Loretta?” he escalates, now standing over me.
I mouth the word yes, but no sound escapes my lips. Frantically, Crewe sprints from the house, leaving the door ajar. This isn’t like the time that he removed himself from the car to settle down and think when I demanded that we go back to Miles for my sister. Crewe is sprinting somewhere specific, and in a life or death manner.
I am utterly perplexed and panicked by his reaction to my last name. It evidently carries information that I am not privy to. I run out of the house as well, and listen for the sounds of his bare feet against the grass, cement, or pavement. At this hour, the citizens of Miles County would still be carrying on loudly with their extravagant evenings. Here, all but the nocturnal critters are at rest. Still, I can’t hear the beating of his footsteps, but that doesn’t stop me from deciding a direction to go.
I sprint as fast as I can through the yards of strangers toward the forgotten home where my sister is. As it turns out, this is exactly where Crewe headed. I fight to catch up with the glow of his white T-shirt, but this is no easygoing run for Crewe. As I realize the pace at which he is driving me along, I begin to wonder if he fears for his brother’s life, for my sister’s. Surely, he can’t be moving the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone run just to share a piece of information with Cy, no matter how much weight lies in it. With the revelation of my last name, Crewe Davids has a renewed fear for all of our lives.
His pounds on the door a short distance ahead of me echo in the still night. Crewe doesn’t wait two seconds before he issues more thunderous thumps on the door, with the addition of screaming his brother’s name. Another few seconds, and Crewe exerts all of his force to kick the door in. I arrive on the lawn just in time to see the heavy front door knock the sleepy Cy against the wall.
Crewe grapples for his dazed brother, who slides against the wall and plummets to the floor. He lifts Cy’s pained face into his hands as he crouches over him.
“What’s going on?” I demand to know.
“You didn’t ask what her name was, did you?” Crewe asks his stunned brother straight away.
“What? What does it matter?” he slowly mumbles.
“It matters!” Crewe yells. “This one matters.” He stares intently at Cy. Crewe is able to convey something of meaning to his brother, who looks up at me in disbelief.
“What do you know?” I demand from either of them. Neither brother budges. “Tell me what you know!” I scream impatiently, grasping Crewe’s arm to drag him up forcefully. He stands on his own and whirls his arm free from my grasp.
“Go check on your sister,” he demands angrily in my face. My heart drops. The repetitive pounding, Crewe’s screams, the door getting kicked in, my screams. Evvie should have been sprung awake in all of this. She should be out here, demanding like I am to know what is going on.
I don’t argue with Crewe. Fretfully, I stride around him and his brother. I brashly force open doors to a bathroom and a closet, frantically searching for a bedroom. I yell out my sister’s name, but my call goes unanswered. One of the brothers tells me it’s the last doorway. That is the room where Evvie should lay in an incredible slumber since she isn’t responding to my calls.
I open the door. A strong, cool breeze freezes the tears on my face. Filled with horror, I flick on the light. The windowpane is missing. Rustled sheets and a blanket lie partly on the bed and partly on the floor. Evvie is not here. My sister has been abducted.
Concealed in the Shadows Page 25
