“Now I know what to do.” Pause. “So, tell me, Melanie, what do you do for fun?”
“Fun? You mean sinful?”
Gail winced. “No, I mean fun. Enjoyable.”
“Like everyone else, I enjoy helping people,” Melanie said. “I believe that’s what God put people on Earth to do – to help each other.”
Oh. Van got along with Melanie because he liked people who helped him. Gail, however, took self-sufficiency as a point of pride; she hated people trying to help her. At least she had, until she transformed. She still had to force herself to ask for help.
Well, here goes… “In that case, I need to tell you I need help. I’m terrible at even admitting I might ever need help, but, well, I can’t do what I’m trying to do, as a Focus trying to help the household, alone.”
Melanie smiled ever so slightly. “In that case, Focus, I’d be glad to help.”
No, Melanie still didn’t like her. She was, however, willing to help her Focus. That was at least something. “I need some more eyes on the rest of the household, and people willing to tell me what they have seen,” Gail said. “Particularly about the Wheelhouse family…”
(22)
“Got one for you,” Van said. “Read this and tell me what you think.” The summer wind, dry and hot today, swirled around their tent, flapping open the canvas. In the after dinner shadows, the temperature still had to be in the eighties and Van wore nothing but a skimpy ragged pair of shorts. She did have to admit that the outdoor living, and the heavy labor Bart and his people assigned Van as part of his household chores, had made him much more of an eye magnet. She liked what she saw.
After three days of work, she had finally corralled him to cough up his latest research on Transforms. Gail turned to Van from her silent contemplation and took the already wrinkled Xeroxes, held together by a rusty paper clip. “‘Lee Harvey Oswald was a Crow’? This is bad, even for a tabloid.”
“Just read the article,” Van said, curt. He had been more arch than normal for a week, seeing things in people she didn’t see, and complaining that even having to listen to household politics interfered with his ability to focus on his dissertation.
She feared he was about to do a Virgil Conte and run. Most of the time, despite her aching heart, she didn’t blame him. His situation here was impossible.
Gail read, happy for the distraction. The article gave the usual conspiracy theory arguments, and also delved into a set of reasons why Oswald had to be a Crow. Such as his ability to pass by people when he wanted, hidden in plain sight, an almost supernatural ability to sense danger, and superhuman aiming ability. “Wait a second. This isn’t a description of Oswald. This is someone’s description of Crow capabilities.” Hidden in plain sight, indeed.
“How about this one, from five weeks earlier,” Van said. He handed over another Xerox, another article from the same tabloid. The title of this article was ‘UFO Abductees Victims of Major Transform Conspiracy.’
Gail scanned the Xerox, and snorted. “So, us Focuses are behind the alien abductions. Wait. Whoever wrote this article is playing the same game, but instead talking about Focus charisma capabilities. Let’s see – convince people to do things they normally wouldn’t do, remove memories, make people ignore pain, and make people experience emotions they shouldn’t be feeling. This is a list of mostly unpublicized advanced Focus tricks.” Gail was jealous; she couldn’t wait to be able to do any of these tricks. “What’s going on?”
Van snorted again, this time his ‘isn’t it obvious’ snort. “Two highly literate Major Transforms are having a secret conversation, using the tabloids as their information medium. I suspect we lesser folk have missed most of the conversation.” He paused and rubbed his hand on his beard stubble. He needed a new set of razor blades, but he was out of money for the month. Last time she checked, he had been borrowing hers, making shaving her armpits a measurably painful chore. Now, it looked like he had given up entirely and started to grow a beard. “More importantly, this implies the Crow and Focus leadership doesn’t want the non-leader Focuses and Crows dealing with each other, causing them to go to absurd lengths to get around the restriction.”
“You’re reading too much into this,” Gail said, exasperated. This wasn’t worth the bother of writing on their note board. She tossed the two sets of Xeroxes at the bed, and both landed on the floor of their tent. Her head hurt, just the usual low juice annoyance, and she put her head in her hands and rubbed her temples.
“That’s a little snippy, even for you,” Van said. “What’s going on? You’ve been bitchy for days.”
Bitchy? She practically growled at him for his word choice. “I don’t want to talk about what’s going on.”
Van stood, came over to her chair, and began to rub her shoulders. She flinched at the contact, and then leaned back into the backrub and moaned in pleasure. He didn’t say a thing, or make a pass at her, just massaging her back.
“Okay, I get the hint,” Gail said, after her neck muscles loosened up and the pain receded. “I know how to solve my problem with Bart and win my freedom from his ridiculous confinement restrictions. Something Melanie said gave me an idea.” She paused. “Only I’m going to need help, to arrange things.”
“All you have to do is ask,” Van said.
She sighed, knowing his massage and offer of help came from ulterior motives. He had wanted her to act for weeks. “I’m just not sure my plan’s a good idea,” she said. Too many things about her plan bothered her. “I keep thinking I’m taking the easy, expedient way out. Exploiting a loophole in what I said I would and wouldn’t be doing with the household, as a Focus.”
“Remember my comment about the difference between a politician and a philosopher?”
Not this again. “I know, I know. Focuses are politicians, not philosophers. I should consider my problems as practical, not philosophical.” Blech.
“It’s the ‘why’ that’s important,” Van said. “Any politician who wants to get things done can’t afford to follow a strict ideology and belief set, the way a philosopher can. Our culture considers political horse-trading and compromise as a bad thing, not realizing that without them, the governmental process freezes up…which invites anarchy.”
Gail wasn’t sure about the last, but didn’t call Van on his reach. She knew his personal dislike of anarchy colored many of his arguments. “It’s back to Reverend Narbanor’s ‘good king David’ argument, then. Being a ‘good Focus’ is going to require me to do things a ‘good Gail’ would never do.” The argument would ease her worries a lot more if she liked the King David stories, or King David himself.
“Not the way I would have argued, but, yes.”
“Where do I stop, though? How do I know when to stop?”
Van gently lifted her to her feet from where she had been sitting, on a beat-up fifty year old straight-backed kitchen chair from Van’s parents’ barn. He led her over to her cot, where he laid her down on her stomach, and resumed his massage. “Knowing where to stop is a question of morality, not ideology. Morality, of course, from the perspective of a Focus, and a Focus’s responsibilities.”
Gail groaned. “Yah, right.” She didn’t like what she came up with when she thought about things from the perspective of a Focus. Instinctive Focus morality sucked, big time. “If I end up as a typical tyrant Focus, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She sighed, and attempted to enjoy the massage. “I guess it’s time for me to get you and the gang together and tell you all what I’m going to be doing, and what I’m going to need all of you to do.”
Every step she took down this lonely path bothered her more, and filled her with fear. Where was she going? What would this make of her? How could she do any of this and not end up alone, and unloved?
---
“The queen is high, I trump the spade, and you get the last trump. We make,” Kurt said, laying down his hand. They sat on the floor, in the tiny space at the foot of the bed in one of the tiny bedrooms in the Ebener ho
use. Gail had to relax somehow; the fact they would likely be stuck living in tents and shacks all winter had her antsy. Doomed, they were all doomed.
Van sighed and scribbled at the notepad on his knee while Gail collected the cards.
“That’s rubber,” he said. “One more, or are we done for the night?”
“I’m up for another,” Sylvie said, false enthusiasm in her voice. Kurt nodded, so Gail started dealing. Her new hand, she noted, disgusted, had all of four points, and no five card suits.
Sylvie’s knuckles turned white and her face paled, and she turned to Gail, wary. “So is it cheating when I know your hand sucks?” she said.
“Oh, crap,” Gail said, as she fixed the juice count. “I’ve been trying to watch that.”
“You’ve been doing fine until just now. You must be getting tired,” Sylvie said.
Gail shrugged. She wasn’t physically tired, but mentally exhausted from too many discussions about winter survival. The household was thinking ahead, and too much thinking and too much stress made keeping the juice count steady much harder.
“Let’s take a break,” Kurt said, stretching. Gail threw her cards in and leaned back. Van got up and made for the bathroom. Gail noticed Kurt watching her. She raised a single eyebrow, and noticed, surprised, that she could do that. Always before, her eyebrows moved together.
Kurt pulled his wallet out and started extracting money. A lot of money. He put the cash on the floor in front of Gail.
“The take from my side business,” he said.
Gail frowned and quick counted the pile of worn bills. “Kurt, this is almost three hundred dollars. This isn’t just from selling pot to a few friends.”
Kurt shrugged. “$287. A few more friends, and I found a source for LSD.” So this was what Kurt and Daisy had been talking about for so long, in the Schubers’ last visit. “Since Ricky graduated and went off to do the corporate thing, lots of folks have needed a supplier. I know most of his clients, so I do pretty well.”
“Shit. What happens if you get caught?” Gail said. She looked over at Sylvie, and Sylvie was silent and unhappy.
“I’ve thought about that,” Kurt said. “I can be careful, and I can make sure there’s no risk to the household. I’ll never bring the business home, and never tie the household in. The only thing the household gets is the money. If we’re smart about how we use the money, it won’t even show up strange in the bank records. We need this.”
Kurt was right. They did need the money. But the risk…
“Don’t tell me you’re getting all moral on me about the stuff,” Kurt said. “All that religion you’ve picked up’s made you into a square. I know what you think about the drug laws.”
Gail nodded. “A bunch of suits with a control fetish. Fascists trying to stamp out freedom wherever they can find it. However, those fascists in uniform could still haul you off to prison. While we’re all young and can take that crap, think about what this would do to little Ruthie Narbanor if her family got in trouble with the law.”
Kurt’s eyes were hard. “Little Ruthie Narbanor’s looking awful hungry these days. She can take her household in trouble with the law better than she can take losing her toes to frostbite because she’s stuck outside in the winter.”
Gail turned to Sylvie. “You’re not saying anything. What do you think about all this?”
Sylvie still frowned. “We talked. I’m not happy, but we decided this is your call. I don’t like the risk, and I wish somebody else’s husband was sticking his neck out, but we do need the money.”
Gail leaned back, and Van came back in from the bathroom. He frowned at the money on the floor and started to say something, but Kurt waved him to silence. Gail thought.
They did need the money.
“Go for it,” she said.
Kurt’s decision to volunteer touched her, as well as Sylvie’s support of his decision. Worse, she couldn’t help but volunteer on her own. She had been putting off the inevitable for too many days. “People, I’m going to do it tomorrow,” Gail said. ‘It’ being her plan to win her freedom. She had presented the plan to her inner circle, and then got cold feet. She blamed herself for pushing things too quickly over the household books, and part of the blame for Virgil’s skipping town with the household money lay heavily on her shoulders. The mistake, or at least her fears about making more mistakes along the same line, had made her hesitant to push. She was terrified the confrontation would explode in her face, and make an even bigger mess for her and her household.
Sylvie took a deep breath and gave Gail a hug. “Finally.”
Gail nodded. “Sorry about taking so long to make up my mind. Doing this scares the piss out of me.”
“Me, too,” Sylvie said.
“We’ll all be there for you,” Van said, nervous and lukewarm in his support, surprising after he had pushed so hard a week ago. Kurt smiled, though, an actual real Kurt smile.
“Don’t feel bad about what you’re going to be doing,” Kurt said. “This has to happen.”
---
Gail gave the signal after Bart pulled in after his work shift, and as with his normal routine, stopped by the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Helen and Melanie walked off to corral Isabella Wheelhouse, while Sylvie skipped off to start corralling the other Transforms. Gail went to the dining room to wait; Bart would come there next. Van wandered off to intercept Buddy Attendale; she and her inner circle had talked this out and decided having Van stand next to Gail would send the wrong message. Van hadn’t liked the decision, though.
Her knees wobbled as she rocked back and forth, waiting. Her arms trembled jelly-like, and she tasted stomach acid in the back of her throat. Was she doing the right thing? If things went wrong, she feared she would lose what support she had in the household. Her situation was bad, confined to the Ebener farm, but as Virgil Conte had said, things could get worse. Focus bitch Adkins words echoed in her mind: “When you’ve screwed your household up so badly that you’re their slave, come talk to me again. If they’ll let you out of your closet. Maybe then you’ll be ready to listen to reason.” Did an actual closet await her? The Ebener farm was a mighty big closet, and she still couldn’t forget Virgil’s threat, or ignore Bart’s growing fear of her. Who was she to complain? Perhaps she should back off. She was just the household’s Focus.
Focus. Center. The necessary one. By chaining her, figuratively, her household was shackling themselves. The fact they were stuck living in a Michigan cornfield, with no money for a real solution, was a piece of evidence that the household, by chaining her down, was hurting themselves.
Or was this all just rationalization on her part, a simple annoyance over being confined to the farm? This wasn’t what she had wanted to be doing with her life, this crazy politics and power games and whatnot.
What if she…
Her thoughts and fear fled when she spotted Bart entering the small Ebener dining room. “I have a question, Bart,” she said, before her own fears quieted her voice and kept her from speaking. “I have some research I need to do at U of M tonight, and I’d like to take Van and Helen with me to help. This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
Bart winced. He looked hungry and unhappy already, and Gail bringing up this well-worn subject now didn’t help.
Exactly as Gail planned.
The fact this was her plan didn’t keep her knees from wobbling and the acid taste from the back of her throat as she waited for Bart to speak.
“We already settled this, Gail,” Bart said. “The household can’t afford to have you and whatever bodyguards we’re forced to send with you going gallivanting around whenever you want.”
Gail nodded. “You’re sure about this?” She wanted him to back down. She didn’t want to do what she planned to do to Bart unless she had no other choice.
“Of course I’m sure about this,” Bart said. Damn. Gail crossed her arms, the pre-arranged signal. Her arms shook as she did, but she didn’t back down. “Now, if
you don’t mind, I would like to…”
Bart’s voice died when he saw Helen and Melanie escorting his wife Isabella into the dining room. Unwillingly. His eyes flickered to the two other dining room open doorways, where per Sylvie’s work, the other household Transforms now gathered, curious. More came than Sylvie personally gathered, drawn by Gail’s emotional mixture of strong agitation and inner resolve.
“You said you wouldn’t use the juice to control the household,” Bart said, his voice rough with instant fear. His eyes settled on his wife. “Are you breaking your agreement?”
“I did, and I’m not,” Gail said. She needed to get everyone’s attention, right here, right now, before things got out of hand. Right here, right now, if Bart wanted, was the point where he could throttle her plan. All he had to do was lay the hammer down, physically take her and confine her.
The next bit was hard, and she shivered with her own fear, fear she didn’t have time to acknowledge. She had to act now, before Bart realized he was out of options that didn’t involve shoving Gail in a closet. As Daisy said, she had to strike first.
This could go wrong in so many different ways. From one experiment with Sylvie, which ended with Sylvie’s arms clutched around Gail’s knees, and Sylvie bawling her eyes out, Gail knew this would be rough on all of them. She had nearly upchucked on Sylvie when she had finished the test…and what she had done to Sylvie hadn’t held even the slightest hint of hidden pleasure. It was all bad, all the way down.
The morality of what she was about to do nagged at her, as well. She wanted to be bluffing, but both Van and Kurt, past masters of and occasional victims of nasty male behavior, convinced her that she had to do this for real if she wanted to succeed.
Gail took a quick inhale of breath and pushed her will forward, trying to be brave, to ignore the instinctive wrongness of her actions, and do what she needed to do. She reached out through her metasense, and made the change in Isabella that removed Gail’s tag from her. “I’m doing this,” Gail said. Her knees shook, harder. She had to hold back her vomit.
No Chains Shall Bind Me (The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Seven) Page 18
