Crushed

by Laura McNeal

  “I just wanted you to know I didn’t write that crap about Sands or that crap about Leacock,” Clyde said. “I didn’t write the other Yellow Papers, and I didn’t write this one.” He stared directly at Theo, who was still smiling. “So you need to tell me whether you believe me or not, because if you don’t, now’s the time”—he glanced at Theo’s bodyguards— “to discuss it.”

  Theo kept his eyes fixed keenly on Clyde for a few seconds; then, scanning the schoolground beyond him, Theo unzipped his pants and, still smiling, began to urinate. Clyde stepped quickly back. Steam rose from the wet ground. Craig tugged at a chain on his jacket and one of the bodyguards, a huge guy with bleached hair, stuck out his chin and smiled nastily.

  “I believe you,” Theo said. “I truly do.” A smile. “But if something should come out about my uncircumcised friend here, I’m afraid I’ll have to reconsider.”

  He kept urinating. He was doing it hands free, so that, from the way he was standing, somebody passing at a distance would have no idea what he was doing.

  “Anything else?” Theo said.

  Clyde—revulsed, almost sickened—shook his head and turned away. As he walked, he could still hear the splashing sounds.

  Chapter 64

  The Wishing Minutes

  When Audrey, Lea, and C.C. had been in grammar school with Edie March, they called 1:11, 2:22, 3:33, 4:44, and 5:55 “the wishing minutes.” All day, for the first time in years, Audrey had found herself waiting, first for 1:11, then for 2:22, so she could close her eyes and think, Please, please, please, in the next hour let me see Wickham and have him tell me everything is okay.

  Between classes, she’d gone to her locker even when she didn’t need to, in hopes he’d be there or had left a note, but he hadn’t. She went to Mrs. Leacock’s room after school to do her makeup essay, but the room was locked and the lights were off. This should have been a relief, but it was a disappointment. She had been ready to clean the slate, and now she couldn’t. She stood beside the door for fifteen minutes or so, nervously waiting for Mrs. Leacock to come down the hall, key in hand, but no one came. Lea’s car was gone by the time Audrey reached the parking lot, so she walked home alone.

  Once inside her apartment, Audrey went straight to the answering machine, where there was no message from Wickham. But there was a brief message from Oggy, who hated answering machines. “Hallo?” she said. “Hallo, Audrey. It’s me, Oggy. I get your letter and I write you. Don’t worry. My sister have much better—” The machine cut her off. Audrey sat still a moment in frustration, and then flipped on the computer. She checked for e-mail messages from Wickham; there were none. She glanced at the clock: 3:56. She’d missed 3:33. The next wishing minute was 4:44.

  She called Wickham’s cell phone number and got his voice mail. She’d already left four or five messages and didn’t want to leave another, but she couldn’t help herself. “Hi, it’s me. I haven’t heard from you, so maybe my phone’s not working or your battery’s dead or something. Call me, okay?” Her voice cracked, and she hung up.

  Immediately the phone rang, and she picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Polliwog.”

  “Oh, hi, Dad,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

  He laughed. “Pretty excited to hear from your dad, are you?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that I was expecting . . .”

  “A call from the beau?”

  In a small voice, Audrey said, “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. You know I don’t like it. Oggy called, though. She got cut off. Did you pick up?”

  Her father said no, he hadn’t. Lately his tone had grown lighter. He had a new job, and he’d begun to regain his old natural buoyancy. In fact, the reason he was calling was that his new firm was putting him in charge of a big project, “with a nice bump in pay.” The boss was taking him to dinner at Le Bistro, and Audrey was invited, too.

  Le Bistro, where Wickham had said she was beautiful. “Thanks, Dad, but I’ve got reading to do. I’ll just grab something on my way to the library.”

  After she put the phone down, Audrey thought of calling Lea or C.C. or maybe, she thought wildly, Oggy, but the truth was, there wasn’t one thing in the world she wanted to do except see Wickham, talk to him, touch him, and hear his soft, unbothered voice. Audrey stared at her car keys lying on the ugly Formica table, the one that Wickham had helped carry up from the basement only three days before.

  Audrey collected some books as if she were going to study at the library, but once inside the old Lincoln, she didn’t drive to the library. She drove straight to Wickham’s neighborhood, cruising by his house six or seven times as dusk settled and houses began to sparkle with Christmas lights. At 4:44 she parked in front of Wickham’s house, closed her eyes, and said aloud, “Please, let him be home and let everything be like before.”

  Audrey walked toward the house. The footing was treacherous—no one had shoveled the most recent snow. The columns were cracked and peeling, and a pane of glass on the porch lamp was broken. There were no Christmas lights, but a downstairs room glowed yellow. At Audrey’s knock, Wickham’s mother came to the door.

  “Yes?” she said in a brisk tone; then, seeing who it was, she said, “Oh, hi, Audrey.”

  Audrey had met her two or three times, but Mrs. Hill had a reserve that kept Audrey at a distance. (“Your mother’s quiet,” Audrey had told Wickham after first meeting her, and Wickham had said in his casual drawl, “Her quiet is just her outer layer of armor.”) Tonight Mrs. Hill was wearing a heavy black-and-white coat and carrying a fashionable red purse, which she held in front of her. “I’m just on my way out,” she said, and Audrey felt something new in Mrs. Hill’s reserve— something slightly chilly.

  “I was looking for Wickham,” Audrey said, and felt her lip trembling, but if Mrs. Hill noticed this, she didn’t acknowledge it.

  “That’s the thing with Wickham,” she said. “He could be anywhere, and often is.” She made a dry laugh and pulled her keys from her purse. “I’d like to visit further, but . . .” Mrs. Hill glanced meaningfully toward the car that would carry her away from this awkward conversation.

  “Oh, sorry,” Audrey said, nodding and backing away, “but will you tell him I came by?” Before closing the door, Mrs. Hill, in a vague voice, said she would.

  From Wickham’s house, Audrey drove to Little Dragon and poked her head inside to see if Wickham might be there, eating alone and doing his homework; but he wasn’t there, and when Mr. Wong saw her, he didn’t seem to recognize her. “Party with one?” he said, and Audrey shook her head no and departed.

  She went to the pharmacy where Wickham got his Imitrex; she went to a co-op where she’d once seen his brand of lip balm; she even walked through rows of desks at the library, hoping to see him.

  Nothing.

  As she drove from place to place looking for Wickham, the quiet within the car began to make her edgy, so she turned on the cassette player, and Yum-Yum, Pitti-Sing, and Peep-Bo burst out.

  Three little maids from school are we,

  Pert as a schoolgirl well can be,

  Fill’d to the brim with girlish glee—

  The tempo was brisk and the soprano voices cheerful. She, C.C., and Lea had done this song at one of the many Tate School talent shows. It had been fun; they had been funny. It seemed like a scene from a life in no way connected to the one she was this minute living.

  Ev’rything is a source of fun.

  Nobody’s safe, for we care for none!

  Audrey cruised by Bing’s, peering into its bright interior at dozens of bored or happy faces, none of them Wickham’s; then she drove slowly back to his neighborhood. The sky was black now, and a mechanical deer made of white lights moved its head up and down. A fat inflatable Santa beamed at the street. Wickham’s house was completely dark, and remained dark the three or four times Audrey circled the block. She wrote a note (Wickham, please, please call me.— A.), slid it under the knocker of Wickh
am’s front door, and ran back to her car.

  At 5:54 Audrey pulled to the side of the street and sat staring at the digital car clock. When it read “5:55,” Audrey closed her eyes and said, “Please, please, please . . . ,” but she didn’t finish the wish. She’d begun to cry. She opened her eyes, and through her smeared vision watched the lighted deer raise its hollow head and stand perfectly still in the snow.

  Chapter 65

  No Longer in Service

  At school the next morning, Audrey saw no sign of Wickham. After sitting numbly through first period, she went to the nurse and said she had a bad headache and needed to go home. This worked, surprisingly, though the nurse called her father and got his permission first. In the car, Audrey dialed Wickham’s cell phone number and heard a mechanized voice say, “This mailbox is full. Please call back later.”

  She drove back and forth in front of Wickham’s house until a bald man in a yellow-and-black plaid coat came out and stood on the front walk to stare at Audrey and conspicuously write something down on a notepad. Audrey went home, slept until midafternoon, and then forced herself to go into the kitchen and make English toffee for Lea’s birthday. If she made something, at least Lea wouldn’t have to feel bad about her spending money.

  She was spreading melted chocolate with a spatula when she heard the front door of the apartment open. A few seconds later, her father poked his head into the kitchen. “Hi, Polliwog.” He regarded the toffee. “I thought you had a headache, no?”

  “I took Excedrin and a nap. Now I’m making a birthday present for Lea. She’s eighteen tomorrow.”

  Her father looked stricken. “Eighteen?”

  Every time her father heard how old Lea was, he worried that Audrey was that age, too, and that he’d somehow missed a birthday. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m seventeen next month. Lea started school late.”

  Her father seemed relieved. “So what’re you guys doing for her birthday?”

  Audrey shrugged. “Nothing. She just wants to do it by herself so she knows exactly what she’s feeling. She calls it a Zen birthday.”

  Her father, smiling, said, “That’s pure Lea, isn’t it?”

  Audrey said, “I guess so.” She was trying to picture a Zen Buddhist smoking a Chesterfield.

  Her father made spaghetti that night, but it was pasty, and Audrey had a hard time swallowing it. Her father had turned his little kitchen radio to Christmas music, which annoyed her so much she finally asked if she could turn it off.

  “Sure,” he said, but he looked abashed, and after she’d switched the radio off, they fell into heavy silence. Her father fork-twirled a bite of spaghetti, but didn’t put it into his mouth. He looked at Audrey and said, “Headache come back?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Audrey. It’s me. Your dad.”

  What was she going to tell him? That she’d fallen in crazy-love with Wickham and now he’d vanished and wouldn’t even talk to her?

  “I’m fine,” Audrey said in a leaden voice. She nodded at the unopened cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. “It’s just all the moving, is all.”

  Her father, staring at her and nodding, said quietly, “Okay.”

  At midnight, Audrey was still awake and she called Wickham’s cell phone number one more time. After two rings a voice said, “This Nextel number is no longer in service, and no new number has been provided.”

  Chapter 66

  “Okay in There?”

  On Wednesday, Audrey stayed in school all day even though Wickham was still nowhere to be found. Lea was absent, too, but it was her Zen birthday, so Audrey took the box of toffee by her house after school to leave it with her, and maybe talk to her about what was going on with Wickham. But Lea wasn’t there. No one was, so she left the box on the front porch, propped against the door.

  Audrey was exhausted. She drove by Wickham’s house, but on her third time by, the bald man in the yellow-and-black coat stepped into the street and waved her to a stop. He looked serious.

  “Young lady,” he said, “my name is Earl—that’s all you need to know, just Earl—and I’m captain of the Neighborhood Crime Watch team, and if you drive by here one more time, I’ll alert our direct link to the Jemison police department.”

  Audrey said, “You say your name is Earl?” When the man nodded, Audrey, to her own surprise, said, “Well, Earl, you’re just horrid.” Then she rolled up her window and drove away.

  But, she thought, Horrid Earl had done his job. She was afraid to drive by again. She turned on the cassette—“Pert as a schoolgirl well can be, / Fill’d to the brim with girlish glee”— and then drove by Lea’s one more time, but there was still no sign of her. Audrey didn’t want to go back to the Commodore, so she drove out to the river and parked on the overlook where she and Wickham liked to park. She was sleepy—she’d been sleepy all day. She left the ignition on to run the heater and nodded off, only to awake to a sharp tapping on the car window, which had gotten steamy. She lowered it an inch.

  A middle-aged man peered in. “You okay in there?”

  “Yeah,” Audrey said in a heavy voice. “I just fell asleep.”

  “You’ll want to keep those windows cracked open,” the man was saying as Audrey rolled the window back up. After wiping the window with her sleeve, she remembered where she was.

  Nowhere, she thought. That’s where you are. Nowhere.

  She wiped the glass one more time and drove slowly away.

  At home (no messages from Oggy or Wickham, no e-mail) she noticed that her father had come home for lunch and left a small Christmas tree. He’d placed a box of old decorations next to it, but after sliding off the lid and staring at the miscellaneous colored glass balls covered all over with hairline cracks, Audrey realized she didn’t feel like putting them on the tree. She wondered what time it was in Germany. Was it later there, or earlier? She knew Oggy wouldn’t mind if she called at the wrong time, but her sister might.

  Audrey climbed into bed and made herself pull out her schoolbooks. She read the first page of the assigned selection in her literature anthology and realized she could not remember who the characters were. She could see the edge of the Yellow Paper she’d folded inside her notebook, and now she slipped it out and unfolded it.

  Audrey stared at the article without reading it and then— she wasn’t sure why—she took her blue pen and began circling words the way Mrs. Leacock had done when she was finding evidence of Audrey’s influence.

  Dudette. Scusi. Evidentially. Stellar.

  She looked away from the paper and stared at the green wall of her room.

  Brian.

  These were Brian’s words. Not Clyde Mumsford’s, Brian’s. Was that possible? She thought back to the other issues of The Yellow Paper. To how she and Lea and C.C. had told Brian about Zondra and Sands nailing them in Patrice’s class. To how they’d told Brian about Theo putting Audrey on his to-do list. And then to how weird Brian had gotten when she’d told him about Mrs. Leacock catching her cheating.

  Still, she’d been wrong once before.

  Audrey looked out her window and wished she could call Wickham. He’d know what to do.

  But Wickham wasn’t here, was he?

  Audrey pulled on her jacket.

  She was going to Brian’s.

  Chapter 67

  The Yellow Man

  Brian and C.C.’s house looked bigger than it used to. It looked massive, in fact. Audrey rang the doorbell and peered through the front window, but no one came to the door. She shook her head, but couldn’t get rid of the “Three Little Maids” song that kept running through her head:

  Pert as a schoolgirl well can be,

  Fill’d to the brim with girlish glee,

  Three little maids from school!

  Audrey had been to C.C.’s house often enough to know that the Mudds kept a spare key on the back porch, inside a terra-cotta bird feeder. If she went into the house now,
she could look in Brian’s room and see if there was some real evidence that he was the Yellow Man.

  She stepped off the front porch and walked to the back door. The sky was turning pink and the light was coppery. Nothing moved in the nearby yards, where it was too cold for ice to melt or children to play. She reached into the bird feeder and removed the key. When Audrey turned her head slightly, she was startled to see eyes in the neighbor’s window: a cat stared fixedly at her, its paws curled under in anticipation.

  The lock stuck, but then, almost against her will, it gave.

  “C.C.?” she called in. “Brian?”

  Breakfast dishes sat unwashed on the counter. “It’s Audrey!” she shouted.

  The icemaker made a scraping noise.

  On the stairs she passed a pair of track shoes, an unopened package of Christmas tree lights, and a pile of folded clothes. The house smelled like fabric softener and slightly sour milk. Brian’s bedroom door was closed.

  Audrey swallowed and knocked. “Brian?” she said loudly.

  A deep stillness.

  She nudged the door open. Brian’s bed was a swirled mass of sheets and blankets and T-shirts and papers. The room was dim except for a bright edge of light beneath the closed closet door. Brian’s computer screen was mostly dark, but a pin-sized light gleamed. Not off, but asleep.

  Audrey pushed a key, and tiny icons of games and folders flared up in neat rows, including files called “Doc-u-Mints,” “Brian’s Bidness,” and “Pulitzer-Prize Contendahs.” It would take forever to search through all his goofy folders.

  Audrey closed her eyes and kept them closed until she heard a scratching sound. Her eyes shot open. The scratching was hard and persistent, and seemed to be coming from the closet door. Audrey felt the acceleration of her heartbeat as she tiptoed toward it. It was coming from the closet, all right. Someone was scratching on the door. “Brian?” she said. When there was no answer, she whispered, “Who’s in there?” She half expected Brian to break into his slacker’s laugh, but it was quiet except for the scratching, which seemed more urgent now.