Minders

by Michele Jaffe

  Sadie wasn’t sure it had been anger, but once Ford unleashed his it no longer mattered. “Because I want to know what it means.”

  “You—” his mother started to say, but Ford put up a hand to silence her.

  “No. Stop. I don’t want another one of your lectures about behaving for the Roaches. I mean, RCHE.” His voice was trembling and his entire mental landscape had become dark, hot, and viscous. There were no real images, just skeletal bits of memories devoured by anger. It was an amazing equalizer, Sadie thought, capable of reducing the best and the worst memories to the same slop.

  “I did what you asked me to do,” he told her. “I did my best.” Sadie felt his voice catch as his vocal cords tightened and knew that was the real cause of his pain. He’d thought it had gone well. He’d let himself enjoy it, and then—“I did a damn good job. I thought you would be happy. But all you can think of, the very first thing out of your mouth, is to find fault.”

  “Because I care,” his mother said, her voice low and tense.

  “Care what RCHE thinks. Not about me.” Sadie was torn between wanting to hug him and shake him.

  The sound of a key in the front-door lock was followed by Lulu calling out, “I went to the park!”

  “I don’t want her to see me this way,” Mrs. Winter whispered.

  “Of course,” Ford agreed, stepping out of her room and closing the door.

  Lulu was standing in the middle of the living room twirling back and forth, wearing a khaki flight suit. “I went to the park,” she repeated.

  Sadie felt Ford working to keep his relief from Lulu’s view, thinking that he didn’t want her to know how much it meant that she’d done it so she wouldn’t feel bad if she couldn’t manage it again. He kept his hands in his pockets, to hide their shaking, Sadie thought. She didn’t know if she agreed with his not telling Lulu how brave she was, but she was impressed by how thoughtful he was about it.

  “How was it?

  “Dirty. But I went. Can I tell Mom?”

  Ford shook his head. “In a little while. She’s sleeping.”

  “She’s okay, isn’t she?” Lulu’s eyes filled with worry, and Ford’s heart squeezed. Misdirect, his mind ordered. Distract.

  “Mom’s okay, but I don’t know about you.” He picked Lulu up and tipped her over. “You seem to have flipped your lid.”

  Lulu shrieked with laughter, and Sadie felt her heart expanding. She loved these moments with Lulu, loved the bouncy, supple feeling when his mind went in unexpected directions—even unexpected by him. Spontaneity.

  “Let me go!” Lulu giggled. “That’s not fair.”

  “Oh, yes, Copernicus, get in there,” Ford said as the dog came to lick Lulu’s upside-down face.

  “No,” Lulu squealed, wriggling. Soon she and Ford and Copernicus were collapsed on the couch, hiccupping with laughter.

  When the hiccups subsided, Lulu laid her head on Copernicus’s middle, said, “What did you and James fight about before he died?”

  Ford’s mind became a smooth glimmering surface, which Sadie knew marked the first steps in a self-protection sequence. Was this what he felt guilty about? That he and James had fought? “What do you mean?” he asked, and Sadie felt his deliberate effort to keep his tone light.

  Lulu stayed sprawled against Copernicus, her eyes skewed downward, fingers fanning back and forth through the dog’s gold fur. “The month before he died, you two hardly talked to each other at all.”

  “That wasn’t a fight,” he said, too quickly. “We were just annoyed with each other. Like how you get with me if—oh, wait, I can’t think of anything. Since I’m perfect.”

  Lulu puffed out her cheeks. “Agree to disagree.”

  “Time for dinner,” Ford announced. Cop-out, Sadie called. “Do you want mac and cheese or mac and cheese?”

  “Let’s flip a coin,” Lulu said. “Copernicus, your call: heads or tails?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Ford was still asleep when Sadie woke the next morning. During shallow stasis Sadie hadn’t had much trouble sleeping when Ford slept, but since she’d been back she’d found herself waking at odd intervals.

  Or maybe, she admitted, it was intentional. When she woke like this his mind was quiet and still, exactly the conditions Naomi had suggested were perfect for accessing the subconscious. Any information she could bring back about the subconscious would improve her standing with the Committee.

  The last time she’d had a chance to explore while he slept she’d thought she’d seen something flickering at a point along the perimeter of his mind, but he’d woken before she could explore. She saw it again now, and went closer.

  It appeared to be coming from a door that opened and closed rhythmically, like the portcullis on a miniature-golf castle, alternatingly revealing and concealing a landscape beyond. She approached but the door closed before she reached it, and stayed closed until she backed away, when it opened again. She tried again, once going slower, another time dashing toward it, but no matter what she did she couldn’t get the timing right, and it shut before she could get past it.

  A defense mechanism, she thought. How would Ford camouflage something he wanted to hide?

  The answer came almost immediately. He’d reverse it. Like the hinges on the wrong side of his workshop door, the passage would be open when it appeared closed and closed when it looked open.

  The next time she didn’t stop when the door closed but kept moving toward it, then through it. And found herself in an entirely new universe.

  She was standing in a vast hall with ornate moldings, elaborate chandeliers, and walls lined with gilt-framed mirrors, sumptuous but all slightly careworn—like a well-used Versailles, built of shimmering dots of color. There was music coming from somewhere, but it was too diffuse for Sadie to make out a tune.

  The space, which seemed to stretch forever, was filled with thousands of figures made of twinkling dots. Some of them were static and faded, as though over time parts of the subconscious became ossified; others swayed and danced in front of the mirrors.

  As Sadie moved through them she realized the music was actually snippets of repeated phrases, a girl’s voice saying “your brother,” a guy muttering “Liars! They are all liars!,” someone humming “Frosty the Snowman,” a man shouting “Know what you deserve?” and, in Ford’s mother’s voice, “James?” They all sounded familiar to Sadie, and she thought this must be where the windy voices from his consciousness came from.

  She saw Plum, clearer and brighter than many others, and Sadie wondered if it was because her introduction had been more recent. She was reclining on a couch with the tiered candy plate, her hand extended the way she’d held it out to Ford at their meeting. She was chanting, “Show momma you love her, just like your brother, show momma you love her, just like your brother.” The tone was grating but tenacious, the phrase “just like your brother” echoing after Sadie as she moved away, like a song lyric that sticks in the mind.

  Sadie had sensed that Plum’s words had left an impression on Ford, but it was incredible to actually see the impact materialized.

  The hall of mirrors ended at a lake, on a beach fringed with pine trees and bordered by a series of boulders that formed caves. This wasn’t a fantasy creation, it was a real place that Sadie knew. It was called Pirates’ Cove and was popular because it was a little hard to get to and secluded from passersby.

  An image of James, literally a shimmering golden boy, was sitting on the edge of a lake, skipping rocks. He smiled at her when she walked over. “I haven’t seen you before,” he said.

  Sadie sat down next to him. He looked a lot like he had in the photo from Ford’s graduation, but taller and slightly less handsome. As though in Ford’s psyche he was both larger than life and clearly flawed. “I’m just visiting.”

  “That’s what you think. There’s not much leaving once you’re inside. Maybe some dream work, but other than that we’re pretty much on lockdown these days.”

  “W
hat do you mean?”

  “Things have been static around here for a while.” James eyed her. “Although today’s been strange. What’s going on out there? This afternoon there was more traffic shuttling in and out of here than there’s been in months, and now you show up.”

  The session with Rondy, the social worker, Sadie thought. “Maybe things are changing.”

  “What do you say you take me out with you? When you go?”

  Sadie shook her head. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “I know where a lot of Ford’s secrets are buried,” James offered. “Juicy ones.”

  Since he was actually a piece of Ford’s mind, Sadie figured that was true. “Like what?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to tell you.” Then a smile. “Maybe you’ll make it worth my while.”

  Was part of Ford’s subconscious flirting with her? “Do you always hit on Ford’s friends?”

  “Every one,” James affirmed. “Had to sample all his girlfriends to make sure they were worthy.”

  Sadie frowned. “Does he know?”

  “I’m here telling you, aren’t I?” he answered. “I know everything he knows. Of course, what happens between here and there”—he pointed up, presumably toward Ford’s conscious mind—“that’s a different story.”

  Sadie thought back to the night Ford met Plum. Ford had said he and James hadn’t shared any girls, but his claim had been followed by that strange sticky sensation that Sadie knew meant humiliation. He had known. He’d just chosen to deny it. Lock it away in his subconscious.

  Fascinating.

  James said, “He never wants to see me anymore. Never even calls me up for a dream, nothing. Sometimes he’ll pull out some memories, but those aren’t really me, just representations of me he’s cleaned up.” He got quiet before adding, “I suppose he’s angry at me.”

  Sadie hesitated. James was the one person Ford’s anger was never directed toward, even in his mind.

  Unless Miranda was right, Sadie thought excitedly. What if Ford had a guilty conscience about something involving his brother, so he was repressing all but the most superficial memories. “Why would he be angry at you?”

  “Leaving. Dying.” He shook his head. “It’s not fair, you know. I did it for him as much as anyone.” His eyes looked around restlessly. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Did what?” Sadie prompted.

  “I promised I was going to change our lives, you know.” He gave a little laugh. “Sure did, didn’t I? My life, his life. But not the way I meant. He knows I didn’t mean for this, it’s just sometimes…” His voice trailed off.

  “What did you two fight about before you died?” Sadie asked.

  “That I wasn’t home enough. Where was I, why was I always out, why wouldn’t I introduce him to her, was I embarrassed. He felt left out and jealous about Plum. I told him to drop it, that he didn’t know what I was doing.” Sadie saw that he’d picked up a length of rope and was now coiling it over one arm. It reminded her of the rope she’d caught glimpses of in Ford’s mind.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Getting myself freaking killed,” James said with a weird high-pitched laugh. “Making up some stupid plan and getting my ass handed to me on a platter.”

  The anger was real, and it reminded Sadie that this wasn’t James, this was the James that lived in this part of Ford’s mind. James as Ford really felt about him. A James Ford was angry at.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t have to tell you,” he snapped. “Stop asking.”

  Of course, Sadie thought. This James couldn’t explain what he had done or how he was killed, because Ford didn’t know. It was the limitation of the projection Ford kept in his subconscious. But that was the question Ford wanted answered more than anything. What had James done, and why?

  James pointed into the distance, where she saw a two-story house with a porch. “That’s where we lived when Ford was born. Mom used to make the best cinnamon raisin cookies.”

  Was that why the scent of cinnamon stood for hope? Sadie wondered. Next to the house was a squat gray factory with a smokestack. “What’s that?” she asked.

  James seemed to be ignoring her, so her eyes moved to a white clapboard house built on a layer of ice that sat improbably on the surface of the otherwise clear lake. It reminded her of the memory Ford had near the playground where James had been killed, when the boys had all been talking about what they’d do with their “fortune.”

  “Tell me about the icehouse,” she said to James. “What happened there?”

  He whooped and ran over toward it. “Only one of the best days ever. Guy I knew told me about a wreck in the lake right here, boat from Prohibition that went down with a ton of gold heading to Canada. We didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing, so we decided we’d dive for it in the winter, use the icehouse for cover.” He rubbed his hands together happily. “Didn’t find the treasure, but man, did we have a great time.”

  There was a pile of beer cans near the door, each crushed in exactly the same way, and he was winding up to kick one when a voice yelled, “Get away from there.”

  James pulled back and made a face. “See? Won’t let me near anything.” He loped off, childishly angry, and Sadie jogged to catch up with him.

  Why wouldn’t Ford want his memory of James near the icehouse? she wondered. What had happened there? Was it related to the hand with the glove reaching for—

  The rope. She’d seen James coiling it earlier, but he wasn’t holding it when they were standing at the icehouse.

  “What did you do with the rope?” she asked when she caught up with him.

  “Dropped it,” he said with a shrug. He was staring intently into the distance. Sadie followed his gaze and somehow without moving they were standing back at the edge of the hall of mirrors.

  “Shift change,” James announced. “End of a dream.” As he said it they watched the crowd part hastily, and an ambulance with the word HARMACY stenciled on it came barreling through, driven by a tiger in a cowboy hat. The doors opened, and twin versions of Cali wearing ER scrubs climbed out.

  James said, “It’s time. He’s ready for the message. You have to get it to him.”

  “What message?” Sadie asked.

  “Something’s wrong with the rooster,” he said, like he was talking to himself.

  Sadie looked for a rooster but didn’t see one. She turned back to ask James where it was, but he’d vanished. Instead, she found she was standing near Plum again, still on the couch with her candies, hand out, chanting the same refrain, “Show Momma you love her just like your brother.”

  Sadie had been so focused on the “like your brother” part of the chant that she hadn’t really paid attention to the first half. But looking at Plum with her hand out, as though waiting to be kissed, Sadie had an idea. What if the advice Plum had given Ford about his mother, to tell her that she was valuable to him, was actually just what Plum wanted? Maybe all it would take to get her to tell Serenity Services that James never did drugs was to play her game. Kiss her hand.

  She had to take Plum with her into Ford’s conscious mind and make him realize this. Ford wanted James’s case reopened, and Plum—the girlfriend wanted for questioning—was the best hope. If he was sweet to Plum, she’d be sweet to him.

  Sadie said to her, “Can you come with me?”

  Before she could get an answer, there was a rumble like an earthquake. Ford’s subconscious bucked once and vanished as he opened his eyes. Sadie found herself in a slightly hazy version of Ford’s mind, staring up through his lashes at the living room ceiling.

  Had she caused that? Did something in her conversation with Plum wake him?

  His mind came into clearer focus. He grunted and stretched to reach his phone. The screen said six A.M., half an hour before his alarm.

  Dropping his phone on his chest, he closed his eyes and sank back in
to the cushions.

  And then sat up abruptly. Sugar momma, Sadie heard him think. If I’m sweet to Plum, she’ll be sweet to me. Serenity Services will have to listen to her.

  Sadie’s head whirled with astonishment and excitement. Had her conversation with Plum moved from his subconscious to conscious mind? Or had she just been channeling a conclusion he had already reached? She felt like every part of her was tingling.

  Apparently the discovery excited him too because his hand strayed down his stomach and slid beneath the waistband of his boxers. Sadie’s breath caught as with a clash of cymbals, a jazz band reached for its instruments and began grinding to life in his head. They started off separate, each instrument playing its own wave of sensation, tickling Sadie in different, unfamiliar places, then picking up speed as they began to knit together into a powerful, pulsing sound.

  Ribbons of color streaked across his mind, shimmering and dissolving as others took their place. This is nothing like shallow stasis, Sadie thought, her pulse quickening faster than his, her mind trilling with the vibrations of a French horn leading the other instruments as it twisted its joyful throaty sound upward through a virtuoso series of chords. This was—oh god!—not like anything—open your eyes, Ford—she’d ever—please, I want to see, I want—experienced or even—

  She moaned aloud and over the noise of the band heard his stifled grunt in her ear as his body pitched and hers convulsed, sending golden shock waves of sensation bouncing from her to him then back again—

  —dreamed.

  Ford lay on his back breathing hard, and now he did look down, but all Sadie saw was the wet place on the front of his shorts. She was dizzy from the spinning in his head and the thoughts in hers, wanting it never to end, wanting to do it again, wondering how long he’d have to wait until he was ready—

  Absolutely not, she told herself. There would be no repeat. Are you out of your mind?

  Yes, in fact, I am, she answered, stifling a laugh at her own bad joke.