The Disappearance

by Gillian Chan

  I realized that I was holding my breath, waiting to see what would happen next. If it had been me, I would have lashed out, anything to get rid of that hand. I thought that either it would play out like that or the kid would curl up tighter, shutting down even more. Instead, to my surprise, he leaned into the touch, just a little, and I saw his head lift, too.

  This Chaz guy was good. He didn’t move, didn’t push too hard. Instead, he kept talking, a gentle, rumbling patter of encouragement, and gradually the kid shifted position, unclasping his hands from around his legs, turning to look at Chaz, and finally pushing himself up, awkwardly maneuvering his way out from behind the TV. Chaz rose with him, keeping that reassuring hand in place.

  “That’s it. We’ll just take our time now, Jacob, and go into the dining room. Luce’ll have your dinner ready and you can just sit there quietly and eat.” Chaz was gently steering the boy toward the door now, presumably to where the god-awful smell was coming from. As they left the room, he turned, winked at me, and added, “You’d better come, too!” I was puzzled that he didn’t acknowledge the other kid, the small one who was following him closely like a little shadow.

  Dining room! That was like calling a puddle a lake. I’m savvy enough not to expect much in the way of comfort or style from these places, but this was one of the worst I’d seen. The room itself was large but looked cramped and crowded because of the long refectory table that was jammed into it. The chairs around it left little space to walk. Lucy was sitting at the head with four smaller kids surrounding her, all talking away, and one empty space into which the shadow kid zoomed. A silence fell as the whole table looked up at us as we entered the room. Some of them hadn’t been in the TV room before dinner and were in the lucky position of getting their first glimpse of me. I flashed them my ghastly grin. It never fails—the gasps, the looking away. I gave a little bow, but pulled out of it sharply when I realized that Chaz was looking at me and grinning appreciatively.

  At the end of the table nearest the door were three empty spaces: the middle one was obviously Chaz’s, facing Lucy at the other end. The ones on either side of it had been left for me and Jacob. One of them had a plate of food laid out in front of it. From what Chaz had said earlier, I knew that this must be for Jacob, but since I like to make my mark and see what happens when you push, I went to sit there. A small mewling sound came from Jacob, the first noise I had heard from him. I continued to ease myself into the chair, pretending not to have heard anything, when Chaz said, “Not yours, big fella! You get to serve yourself.”

  Lifting my hands up, palms out, to indicate no offense, I took my time moving over to the other seat. There was a big bowl of what was probably chili (it was red and it had meat and beans in it, so this was a fair guess), a bowl of boiled and slightly blackened cabbage (the origin of the stench), and a platter of rice, all within handy reach. I started ladling out as much as I could get on the plate. I’m not that fussy about what I eat, just as long as there is a lot of it. The noise level had risen again now that we were no longer providing the floor show, and I sneaked a look over at the weird kid to see how he was handling it.

  He was chowing down, but not on the food that the rest of us had. I now understood why Chaz had made a big thing about how Lucy would have his food all ready for him. Instead of the red glop we had, on his plate was what looked like sliced ham, some plain boiled potatoes, and, of course, cabbage. It crossed my mind at this point whether I should start being finicky about my food, just to yank their chains, but I decided against it because although this Jacob had been given special food, there wasn’t much of it. The interesting thing was that as he was eating, he was looking at me. He wasn’t doing the “oh my God I can’t help myself I’ve just got to keep looking at this disfigured guy because I’ve never seen anything so gross” staring, nor was it the kind of look that is trying to assess someone’s strength or weakness; it was a kind of thoughtful, considering look. As soon as he saw me watching, he dropped his gaze back down to his plate. This kept on for a while, like a game. He would start staring at me, but pretend he wasn’t when I looked at him. Then it got a little weird. When I looked up from my plate to try and catch him, he wasn’t looking at me but rather just over my left shoulder. I was spooked and immediately spun around, but there was no one there.

  During the meal Chaz didn’t talk much to him. I figured that he had done his job getting Jacob into the dining room, and that now he could relax. I thought he might concentrate on me, the new kid, trying to pump me for information and get a handle on how they should treat me, but, apart from offering me more food, he left me alone, too, which I thought was kind of cool of him until it occurred to me that maybe he was just one of those idle time-serving bastards who have no real interest in the kids they work with.

  Paddy, the kid who had thought about giving me some grief earlier on, was two seats away from Jacob, and he kept giving me evils whenever he looked my way. I felt like sighing; even though I knew I was going to have to fight him soon, I just didn’t feel like doing it that night. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t scared of him or anything, it’s just that it’s always the same and I get tired of it, having to prove how tough I am to get people to leave me alone. I was trying to think how it could be avoided when Lucy gave me the perfect out.

  She stood up and, in a voice that could have shattered glass, yelled over the general end-of-meal hubbub. “Right, those on clear-up duty, and you know who are,” she shouted, looking straight at Paddy, “get cracking and get the table wiped down so we can get started on homework. Anyone who doesn’t think they have homework”—she smiled here—“can come and convince either Chaz or myself that you truly don’t. If you are successful, you can either go and watch TV or go to your rooms.”

  Paddy had homework—what a shame! Since it was my first day, I had none. I had already done my TV intimidation for the day, so I was free to go to my room, where I could relax peacefully, maybe read some of the fat fantasy paperback that I had snitched from the backpack of the social worker who had brought me over here. It was by an author I had never heard of before, Patrick Rothfuss. Just to keep in practice, and to keep my legend growing, I shoved and jostled a few little kids out of my way as I left the dining room, not enough so that Lucy and Chaz would notice and say something, but enough to remind everyone that they shouldn’t mess with me. Then I wandered back upstairs. My room was close to the bathroom and for once, it seemed like I had lucked out: it didn’t look like I had a roommate. Although there were two beds in the room, there was no evidence of anyone else using it: a clock on the bedside table but nothing else—no books, mementos, or photographs. Just about every kid in these places has something that they cling on to, something from their past life, no matter how crappy that was. The saddest ones are the photographs of parents, because in most cases you just know that these were not the good guys, that they are the reason the kids are here in the first place, either because they abused them or because they were drunks or drug addicts who didn’t give a rat’s ass about their kids.

  I have a photograph, just one, but I don’t show it to anyone. Instead, I keep it stashed in the lining of my jacket.

  It was taken just a few months before Danny killed Jon.

  It was on Halloween. We’re standing on our front porch, just before we left to go trick-or-treating. Jon loved Halloween, the dressing up, the candy, and he wanted us to have matching costumes. To be completely honest, I’d rather have gone off with my friends and left him to go around the neighborhood with Mom, but he was so hyped about how neat it would be, and there was a part of me that worried that Mom might let him down and that he would end up stuck at home with Danny. Jon loved old myths and legends and he wanted us to have costumes that came from them. I drew the line when he suggested that I should be a cyclops to his Odysseus. There was no way I was going to prance around in nothing but a loincloth made out of Mom’s ratty sheepskin rug with a single eye painted on my foreh
ead. So he came up with Robin Hood and Little John and that’s what we were: me with an old broom handle to be my quarterstaff and him with a toy bow and arrow. We cleaned up that year when it came to candy. Our pillowcases were so full that Jon could hardly lift his, so I ended up carrying them both. It was down to his charm, nothing to do with me. I just lurked in the background looking big and craggy, let him do all the talking, charming all the old geezers and grannies with his politeness and handsome smile.

  I’m doing it again, letting Jon take over my thoughts.

  I had just flopped down on the bed with my book when the door opened. I jumped to my feet, ready for any trouble that might come.

  I needn’t have bothered. Walking in, cool as could be, no one leading him or pushing him this time, was Jacob. He didn’t pay any attention to me, just lay down on his back on the other bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  Chapter Two

  I wanted to read, and so I was damned sure I wasn’t going to turn off the light just because the resident weirdo wanted to sleep. It was hard, though, because although he said nothing, I was aware of him there. I kept sneaking looks at him, but he never moved, just lay there, flat on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. He didn’t even cross his ankles, for Christ’s sake, just brought his heels together. If he had crossed his arms on his chest, he would have looked like one of those statues you see on the tombs of old knights. He never seemed to blink and his eyes were hard and shiny, a deep brown like chestnuts.

  I put up with it for a couple of hours, just aching for him to move, say something, or even acknowledge that there was someone else in the room, but he never did. Eventually, it got so that I was only peripherally aware of him: the book was as good as I hoped it would be. There was a lot of noise outside: the usual stuff you get in these places—laughter, voices raised in outrage or pain, adult voices trying to maintain some sort of order. At one point, it sounded like there was a fight, but I resisted the impulse to go out and investigate or join in. Gradually, the noise died down, and I could hear Chaz and Lucy rounding people up and herding them toward their rooms, yelling that lights-out was in ten minutes. I got up and went to the bathroom, and when I came back it was like I had never left the room. Jacob was still immobile on the bed.

  “I’m going to switch the light off. Do you want to go to the bathroom?” I asked. I wasn’t really expecting an answer. “Okay, your choice. Stumble around in the dark. See if I care. Just don’t wake me up or you’re dead.” I made the threat because that’s what I do, but my heart wasn’t really in it. He was so pathetic that it would have been like beating a newborn pup.

  I have a few problems with sleep. When you sleep, you dream. Sometimes the dreams are okay, the standard weird stuff that makes no sense, like when you’re in a crowded place and you suddenly realize that instead of people there are pigs. Best of all are the dreams when it’s like you go back in time, to a time when Jon is alive and there was no Danny.

  Mom wasn’t the world’s greatest parent, but she made sure we had what we needed and she never hurt us. It was just that we weren’t a priority for her. Oh, there were good times, like when she took us to Medieval Times because Jon was on his knight kick. Before they joust, the knights pick women in the audience to give roses to, and one of them picked her. She made Jon and me laugh really hard because she was so embarrassed and asked him, “Are you sure?” We laughed even more when she whispered to us as he rode away, “That guy needs glasses!”

  So, even if she was in and out of our lives, I had Jon, and Jon had me. We were a unit against the world and anything that might happen. I was his protector, and not only did he make me laugh but he also knew the real me. With Jon, I could talk about the books I read, the things that interested me. He saw beyond the thuggish appearance, didn’t laugh when I said that one day I would write books, too. We had it all planned. I was going to be a world-famous, reclusive writer whose identity was a mystery, and he would be my lawyer and front man. It would have been so sweet. Dreams about those times are the good dreams.

  The bad ones, ah the bad ones! Sometimes it’s an endless replay of the day when everything changed. Jon and I had been goofing off in the family room, trying to stay away from Danny, who was drinking and smoking in the kitchen. Jon grabbed the remote control for the TV from me and ran away. I chased him around the room, and when he saw that I was going to get him, he darted into the kitchen, just as Danny was returning to his chair after getting himself another drink. Jon didn’t even see Danny; he was looking back at me. They collided. The full whisky glass went flying, and without missing a beat, Danny made a fist with his other hand and smashed it with all the force he had right smack into Jon’s face. When I close my eyes I see that moment over and over again. I hear it, too: a meaty thwack. Jon went instantaneously limp. I don’t know if that blow killed him, or whether it was when he flew back, hitting the back of his head on the corner of the kitchen counter.

  You know what? It doesn’t matter. The dream always starts at that point. I go for him, then everything dissolves into a welter of blood and pain, only to start all over again. There is worse than that. In the really bad ones, Jon doesn’t die right away. He just lies on the floor, blood snaking out from under his head like an obscene halo. His eyes are open and he is looking right at me. It’s hard to describe the look in his eyes: it’s not pleading, more like disappointment, and even anger, and it’s directed at me. Sometimes he speaks. “Mutt,” he says, his voice weak and fading, “why didn’t you stop him?” I have no answer, not even when he carries on, his voice gaining strength as he rails at me, “You’re the strong one. You should have stopped him.” His eyes and mouth move, but nothing else does. His body is limp, boneless, and I know that if he recovers it will never work again. He keeps saying the same things over and over, louder each time, until he is screaming at me. Blood is coming from his mouth as if it is carrying the words, and it covers everything in a red film. I want him to stop, but I don’t have the words to answer him. His words are inside my head and they are outside, a great wall of sound that pummels me until I can stand it no longer. Then I hit Jon. I make a fist and smash it smack between his eyes. He goes instantly limp. The sound of his voice is gone from my head, leaving it empty, but then it fills up with the sound of Danny laughing. That’s when I wake up, sweaty and crying.

  Those dreams are the worst.

  So I have a hard time with sleep: I want the good dreams, but I have no control over what comes, and the bad ones seem to come more often. Most nights, I want to sleep but dread it at the same time. My first night with Jacob as my roommate was like that. I was probably a bit more on edge than usual because I was in a strange place and had a roommate who seemed to be king of the weirdos: catatonic one minute, out of touch with reality, mute by choice (it would seem), but then functional enough to be doing stuff on his own. I half expected him to leap to his feet once I switched the light off, but he didn’t move.

  I lay there listening to his breathing, which was even and untroubled, listening to the sounds of the house settling down for the night, Chaz’s rumbly voice coming from downstairs. Then I was looking down at Jon’s face as he lay limply on the dirty kitchen floor. This time his eyes were closed, and I waited to feel my muscles bunch as I launched myself at Danny, but I never moved. Just stood there, looking down. Danny didn’t seem to be there. Jon’s eyes opened and he stared at me, only they weren’t his eyes. He had blue eyes like Mom, and these eyes were dark, the whites gone, colored a deep red. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His mouth opened; the familiar questions started.

  “I tried, Jon! Truly, I did, but it was too late.” I wanted those eyes to close, the voice to die down, because I didn’t want to do what I always did in the dream.

  Blood started to trickle from his mouth, his teeth outlined in red, then it was a flood, but the words were still clear, not garbled. “You’re the strong one, Mutt, why didn’t you stop him?” He w
as wailing now. His head thrashed from side to side, emphasizing the uselessness of the body attached to it, a dead weight.

  My fist was clenching. I tried with all my might to open my fingers, to keep my hand at my side, to stop it being drawn inexorably toward Jon’s face. The muscles were quivering. When I felt I was losing control, I screamed, “I tried, Jon, I tried, but you were dead and he was too strong. If you don’t believe me, just look at me. Look what he did to me!” My arm powered forward, but before I felt the wet impact of bone on flesh I woke up. My sides were heaving as if I had been running. Sweat was washing over my face, trickling down past my ears, but maybe that was tears. I don’t know. The salt bitterness of blood filled my mouth where I had bitten my tongue. As the drumming of my heart quieted I heard another sound. At first, I thought it was me, that I was still muttering, but it wasn’t.

  From the other side of the room, a papery, slightly sing-song voice whispered, “I was the strong one once.”

  I shivered, a shiver that seemed to start deep inside me. I waited, unsure that I had heard anything, that it hadn’t been part of my nightmare, but the only sound I heard was Jacob’s gentle breathing, so even that I knew he had to be asleep. Had I imagined an echo from my nightmare and, if I hadn’t, who the hell had spoken?

  I lay there for a long time before sleep finally came, this time a blank sleep with no dreams that I recalled in the morning.

  They woke us up by banging the bloody gong again. It shocked me onto my feet. Jacob lay just as he had the previous night. I could have sworn that he had not moved at all, except that now his head was turned so he could look at me, those unblinking brown eyes freaking me out just a little. I thought that Chaz or whichever staff member was on duty would have to come help Jacob get ready for the day, but no, he silently got to his feet and, without a word to me, headed out of the room. By the time I got myself together, he was downstairs, sitting next to Chaz, ignoring the pancakes and syrup that seemed to be everyone else’s favorite and solemnly eating plain oatmeal. He didn’t even look up when I flung myself down into the chair opposite him.