“Can I walk with you? Maybe we can talk about other things and take your mind off what happened,” Elliott tried his hardest at her. “I could share the choir tryout stories with you.”
Ellen closed her eyes with a smile.
“Richie was wonderful.”
There was a slight delay then Ellen chuckled. “Let’s walk.” She pointed her head out to the road.
“Not to upset you but . . .”
Ellen slowed down her walk and prepared to lose it on him.
“I just . . . . I just wanted to let you know, and don’t tell anyone, but the Captain and I really enjoyed the hardcore match up on the street.” He smiled. “We found it quite entertaining and were impressed that you drew blood.”
“Oh, Elliott.” Saddened, Ellen sighed out and lowered her head a little. “I’m lost.” She spoke as if every ounce of her strength had been expended. “I just feel so lost.”
Silently Elliott drew into her. He spoke no words and asked no questions. There was an established line of trust between him and Ellen already and if she wanted to widen it by opening up, she would. Elliott badly wanted to give Ellen the direction she sought, but he couldn’t. He could only be the chest for her head to fall into, and a bodily safe haven she so desperately sought at that moment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was something not right when Henry peered down to his watch and saw the time of four PM. It was Friday and he was done working. Not that he usually didn’t finish up early on Fridays but four o’clock was a bit much. The list of requisitions in Mechanics was easier and smaller and the day ended sooner without the division leader responsibilities hanging over his head. He never realized how much time he spent at the end of the day going through the reqs then personally double checking some of the more important repairs until he no longer had to do it.
His worn and trusted tool bag hung over his shoulder as he made his way home. He saw the note, folded and attached to his door, before he even opened the screen. Henry took it down and read it. ‘I’m working really late. We have a batch of tomatoes that seemed to ripened overnight. Poor Canning. I’ll stop by after to see if you’re home. Maybe we can finish that Wrestle Mania tournament. Hector.’
Thinking, ‘oh, sure, where else will I be?’ Henry folded the note.
“Hey, Henry,” a male voice called him.
Before going in the house, Henry looked over his shoulder at the short and bulky man who made it a point to stop in his walk to say hello. “Hey, um . . .” Two years. That man had been in Beginnings for two years, worked Plastics, and Henry had to search for his name. “Um, Buzz. How’s it going?”
“Good. Good. Hey, Henry, Hector says you kick ass at darts. A few of us are heading into New Bowman tonight. A new dart league is starting at Hoi-Hoi on the Range. Roger. Theo and I could use a fourth. You interested?”
“Not tonight. I’m kind of tired from work and all.”
“Oh.” Buzz nodded. “But what about joining the tea?. We can sub for you tonight if you’re just too tired.”
“Nah, but thanks anyway.”
“Sure,” Buzz said. “Not a problem. They’d didn’t think you’d do it, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Have a good night, Henry.”
Henry reached for his door knob and stopped. He looked back to see Buzz walking away. “Um, Buzz?”
“Yeah.”
“What time is darts tonight?” Henry asked.
“New league signups start at eight. The games are starting at ten. Why?”
“Can you um, sign me up and I’ll get there by ten.”
“Oh, sure. Absolutely. That’ll be great. See ya then.” He took a step and turned back “Henry, don’t eat. I hear they have a killer menu there. It’s payday, you know. We can splurge a little.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for asking.” As he walked into his house, Henry thought about payday. That was one thing, with the exception of the amount, that wouldn’t change. Danny Hoi handled payroll for Mechanics. Henry shut the door and walked into his home without thinking. In his walk he nearly toppled over when he moved straight into the empty baby walker. His foot tangled up into it and he spun some before he caught himself.
As he went to push it aside, Henry paused. He crouched down to the empty baby walker. How long had it been since he had Nick? Two days? Hector had been so busy and Henry realized he didn’t see his child because of that. Since the wide ravine that formed in his relationship with Dean and Ellen, Henry didn’t have the nerve to pick up his own child. It dawned on him how sad that was. If Hector didn’t get Nick, Henry didn’t see him.
There was a certain silence in Henry’s home that never seemed to be there before. Perhaps it was because Henry was never there. Since his double resignation, Henry found himself home more than he wanted to be. He also found himself swimming in the reality that Number 7, First Avenue, was just a house, a structure. It wasn’t and never would be a home. How could it be when he was alone?
He stood up and tried to shake off his moment of self-pity, when Henry’s eyes caught a glimpse of that baby walker again. He smiled at the picture in his mind of Nick sitting there and how the last time Nick was there, Hector had made meltable cookies of sorts. They were the type that Nick could eat on his own and have them melt in his mouth so he wouldn’t choke. Nick played with them more than ate them. They were late bringing him back to Dean and Ellen’s because they spent a half an hour digging cookie out of Nick’s nose, ears, and various other body creases.
The laughter. How hard Henry laughed at that moment over something so simple and silly. A messy baby. His baby. Right there and then, in the midst of that one recollection, Henry knew he didn’t have to live in silence every day. If he did, it was his own doing. And just like he overlooked that walker when he walked in, he overlooked something else. Unlike before, unlike so many others, he had a choice in the matter.
Would it be the right choice? If he made it, it was not something he could take back. The idea pummeled him quickly and there was no debate. Henry’s life had already changed so much that the change he pondered would be the first one for the better.
With his nerve up and the idea strong on his heart, before Henry could coward out, he left his home in the first step of implementing it.
^^^^
In the meeting of minds, George’s was elsewhere. He’d raise his eyes as if he paid attention, but his thoughts were trailing off over and over.
“Defectors may be a problem.” Sgt. Doyle walked around the table, dropping information to George and the six men seated there. “Our mathematician estimates that we could suffer up to twenty percent defection before it’s all said and done. We have rumors that teams of defectors are plotting to leave in many of our camps. Again, they are only rumors. The thing is . . . we’ve hit the year mark. We’ve been preparing, getting things together, and building our strength. Numbers are on an upswing, but those who don’t quite like or understand what we are about are saying. ‘All right. I’ve given it long enough. I’m out of here.’”
“So if twenty percent defect, we’re looking at two or three thousand,” another man asked.
“It could b,
.” Sgt. Doyle answered. “It really isn’t a lot. There’s a lot more than that still out there. We’ll get them. But do we really want two thousand men to defect? How many of those will go to the other side?”
George grumbled and waved his hand. “We’re worrying too much about this.” He shook his head. “We have an ocean that separates us from a whole other world. What is their strength? We don’t know. I think that’s where our priorities should lie. And what are the thousand or so defectors gonna do? All go to Beginnings? I highly doubt that. They’ll wander, they’ll suffer, and they’ll return to . . .” His eyes lifted when the door opened and Steward walked in. “Excuse me. Keep going, Sgt. Doyle,” George instructed as he stepped to Steward. “Anything?” he asked in a whisper and pulled him out into the hall.
Steward kept his voice low.
“That arrogant Captain Slagel answered. Then when he realized it was me, he pretended he was an answering machine.”
“God, they are all assholes, aren’t they?” George asked.
“Not all of them.” Steward raised his eyes.
“Anything yet from Joe about our CME’s?”
“No, but they’re only trickling in. He may be thinking it’s just a fluke. Some of them got lost.”
Heavily George sighed out. “All right. We need to start working on a rescue operation. Find a crew, find a place, and find a plan. Something we can initiate upon demand and have ready to go.”
“For when?” Steward asked.
“For whenever Johnny breaks through again. I’m not pissing around anymore. When he calls again, I want to have a date, time, and meeting location to give that boy so he and my daughter can get the hell out of Beginnings.”
“You mean to be able to tell him ‘Johnny, you and Bev be at so and so, at such a time, in four days.”
“Exactly. Can we put it together?” George asked.
“Consider it done,” Steward replied then glanced to the meeting in progress. “Did you need me to stay?”
“No. I need you on that. Just get it together and give me peace of mind.”
“Got it.”
George gave a ‘thank you’ look when Steward walked down the hall and then, even though he didn’t want to be there himself, mind or body, George returned to his meeting.
^^^^
“Elliott, this is ridiculous.” In the women’s quarters of Containment, a place not used for quite some time, Ellen watched Elliott take a pair of jeans from a duffle bag and lay them on a bunk. “Go to Joe’s. My house. Robbie’s house. Anywhere but here. You won’t get any rest. Dinner here is in a half hour and then they do the Hokey Pokey forever.”
Elliott snickered. “The Hokey Pokey?”
“Yeah, you know . . . You put your left foot in, you put your left foot out.”
“I know what it is. Is doing the dance some sort of therapy?”
“No.” Ellen shook her head. “Richie started it and they’ve made it their new after dinner thing to do. Besides, Bub is really funny. So you see? You won’t get any rest to pull a night shift.”
“I’ll be fine in here. I’ll shut the door and I won’t hear a thing. Besides, my men brought in the four new survivors. I’d like to be available should anything go wrong. I’d feel responsible.”
“Elliott, I am the survivor queen,” Ellen told him. “Trust me. They weren’t a bad batch. You need to get sleep.”
“Yes, I do, Ellen. I’ll get it here, but you have to let me.”
“All right.” She moved to the door, then looked back. “For today . . . thank you very much.”
Elliott winked softly then smiled.
As Ellen stepped from the women’s quarters and pulled the door closed, she heard the buzz of the security door. To her surprise to, Henry walked in. She nodded a polite ‘hello’ then walked to her office.
“Ellen,” Henry called to her. “Do you have a minute?”
She slowed down. “Only a minute. I have to help get dinner ready for the crew.”
“I understand.” Henry followed her in her office. “I appreciate any time.”
“Sure.” Ellen sat down behind her desk. “What’s up?”
In nervousness, Henry cleared his throat as he pulled up a chair. “I heard you were in a big fight in the . . .”
“What did you want Henry?” Ellen stopped him.
“Nick.”
“Oh. Dean’s home. Just go get him.”
“No, El. I don’t think you understand. I want Nick. I want to raise him and have him live with me.”
Ellen slowly looked up at him. “No.”
“No, that’s not right.”
“What isn’t right about it? He’s my son.”
“He’s my son too.”
Ellen laughed. “Yeah, part-time or whenever Hector comes and gets him . . . no.” She looked back down at her papers.
“It’s not fair, El. You have a bunch of kids.”
“And I’m supposed to just let you have Nick because I have enough?” Ellen questioned. “It doesn’t work that way, Henry. You have to want to be a parent and want the responsibility. Nick has a family at my home.”
“I want a home.”
“You have one.”
“No, I don’t. I have a house,” Henry said. “You can see him anytime you want. Anytime. I’m not asking you to give up rights as his mother. I am asking you to give me rights as a father. I want him to live with me. I want that chance. I won’t fight you over him. That’s not fair to you. I’ll do it right or at least learn to do it right. I just want him to know who his real father is and not just by looking at me. I want him to know because I was always there for him like my own father was for me.”
“Do you not like the way I am as a mother?” Ellen asked.
“Ellen, this isn’t a personal strike against your motherhood. This is a plea because I have nothing. But I can’t say I have no one, because that’s not true. I have Nick.” Henry sat in Ellen’s silence, then he stood up. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
“Henry.”
Henry stopped at the door. “Yes?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Really?” Henry asked. “You’re not just pacifying me are you? I mean if you mean ‘no’, tell me. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“I’ll really think about it. I . . . I let Frank have Brian. It worked. At the very least, I’ll let you have him more. But as far as having him altogether, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Henry . . .” Ellen exhaled as she stood up. “For what it’s worth, I am very sorry that things have changed so drastically for you.”
Henry shook his head. “I made my own bed. No pun intended.” He winked. “But . . . it’s different. I’m adjusting. I’m sure the focus will widen some more but already I am seeing a whole different view of Beginnings.” His hand tapped on the archway of the door. “I gotta go. Thanks again.”
Ellen took a deep thinking breath through her nostrils and sat back down at her desk. She lifted a pencil to finish off he rreports before dinner and she heard the single knock. She looked up. “Bub.” She smiled at the lobotomized savage. “Yes?”
His mouth opened as if it were a strain and with a point into her office he let out a communicative moan.
“Sure, go on,” Ellen told him.
With a squeal that resembled a ‘thank you’, Bub walked in to the office and straight to the copy machine. He lifted the lid, placed his head in there, and pressed the button.
Ellen watched, leaning back in her chair. She smiled when Bub lifted the photocopy of himself. So pleased, he nodded at her and walked out of the office. She supposed he was taking that to a new survivor. Then the whole situation just astounded her. One lobotomized savage named Bub learned to use the copy machine so much faster and easier than one Security guy named Frank.
^^^^
The ability Joe had was a gift. As a parent he knew. If Robbie was a window, it didn’t matter how dirty his pane of glass was, Joe could see right inside him and all that was wrong.
Robbie had a breaking heart. Joe knew it, saw it, and he felt it. In an unusual spot for him at the hall, Joe sat at a table with a bottle and a partially filled glass before him. It was early and he supposed that was why Robbie was there. Very few people showed up on a Friday before nine or ten because that was when the Starters stopped their pre-show practice and actually started to play.
Joe watched his son on the stage that he built. The stage he created, loved, and graced every Friday night. Robbie sat on a bar stool with his guitar over his shoulder. The look of pain on his son’s face could have killed Joe. HIs left hand held the neck of the guitar and he hit his fingers against the strings in the form of chords in an attempt to play a song without his strumming hand. Each time Robbie would progress the chord patte
rn just a little further and Joe would beckon in his mind for Robbie not to get frustrated. He tried to convey to Robbie, ‘keep going, you’ll get it. I know you will’ But every time Robbie made a mistake, his face showed more distress.
Joe knew what was going through Robbie’s mind. Robbie sat on that stage hoping that some sort of miracle would allow him to do the one thing he loved most . . . play his music. Joe wished he could say something to Robbie for encouragement, something other than sounding like a father but Joe had no musical ability whatsoever. He even had a hard time adjusting to the switch over from eight track tapes to cassettes. But there was nothing Joe could say. He couldn’t tell Robbie to ‘try this, or that’. Joe couldn’t but . . . Paul could.
“Hey, Mr. Slagel. Got a front row seat, huh?” Paul said and smiled as he walked by Joe to the stage and set his case down. “Robbie, it’s good to see you.” Paul popped open his case.
“Hi Paul.” Robbie lifted the guitar over his shoulder. “Do good tonight.”
“What are you doing?” Paul removed his bass.
“Gonna go . . . you know, sit out there.”
“Why?” Paul asked. “Are you not feeling well?”
Robbie gave a sad snicker. “You’re kidding, right. Paul? Um, I can’t play with you guys. You may not have noticed, but I lost my arm.”
“Really?” Paul smiled. “Oh, yeah. I see.”
Robbie laughed. “Thanks.”
“So your throat’s sore then.”
“No. Why?’
“What’s your arm got to do with singing?” Paul asked. “You sing thirty out of forty some tunes tonight. Man . . . I can’t pull it.”
“Paul I don’t . . .”
James, the other guitar play approached the stage. He was as upbeat as Paul. “Hey. I hear a few of the women from the House of Lesbians are stopping by to hear us tonight.” He set his case down. “Did I tell you Danny wants to book us at Hoi-Hoi on the Range?”
Paul smiled. “No shit? Cool. Robbie, ain’t that cool?”
Robbie took a shivering breath. “Um, sure.”
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 204
