by Grayson Crew
“Yeah, but not the same one. They took her separately.”
“They always separate boys and girls,” Moira explains. “Just part of the process.”
Part of the process or not, I think that I should’ve been more prepared; done something when they took her. Maybe that’s why she’s so detached. Maybe she’s mad, hurt. I don’t know.
“I’ll never forget the camps,” Moira says, “and you’ll probably not forget them either.”
“I was only there for a little while,” I say. Even so, she’s right. The camp was worse than the Facility, which I didn’t think was possible.
“Well, someone must be looking out for you,” Moira continues, “because you’re here now and this is the safest place you can be.”
Moira carries a cup over to Jael. She sits beside her for a while. They don’t talk, but Jael does take the tea.
“It’s not always easy here,” says Cliff, “But it’s home. Moira and I, we’ve made a family. Couldn’t have better girls.” He stirs what remains of the fire, then slowly starts to extinguish it.
“Time to say goodnight, kid,” he says while gripping my shoulder. I’ve got an early morning of fishing tomorrow. You gonna join me?”
I still feel sick, but I want to go. I nod.
“Alright, see you bright and early.”
It sounds weird, but when he lets go . . . I wish he never would. Not like, in a weird way, it’s just . . . It feels so good, to not feel alone.
“Goodnight” Moira says. “We’re so glad to have you both.”
When they leave, Jael and I are left in silence.
Melting Candles
I stir what remains of my tea. Words are bubbling up inside me, but they won’t quite come out. My mouth opens a couple times to talk. Nothing. So I force it.
“I’m sorry they took you,” I say in a quick string.
She turns from the window, casting her face into shadow. “There’s nothing you could have done,” she says.
“I’m just . . . I’m so sorry.”
"We had no choices,” she replies. Her words settle around me like dust. I want to believe her, but it’s not true. We had choices. At least I did.
Framed by the light of her oil lamp, she stands up and walks to the door.
She pauses in the doorway, her gown melting over her like the wax of a candle.
“Bedtime?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Then she’s gone.
Beautiful
On my way back to my room, the Estate is dark and silent aside from the sound of my leather soles on the wood floor.
Once in my room, I open the drapes and see a door I hadn’t noticed before. I turn the brass handle, my finger brushing away rust.
The soft, tender smell of night blooms settle around me as it opens and I step onto a balcony. Crisp starlight spreads across the fields and rainforest below then reaches over the cliffs and ocean.
The sky is a deep blue, like the water around the Facility on a calm sunny day. The stars shine strong and bright, cutting through shadows and reaching like hands around me.
My breathing is slow and my eyes become melted glass. I lay on the cool stone floor, letting its coolness spread through my hands and feet.
Yellow
Soft yellow light wakes me in the morning. I go back into the room when there’s a knock at the door, Cliff comes in.
“Mornin,” He looks at my clothes. “Bad sleep?”
I try to smooth my messed up hair. “No, best sleep I’ve had.”
“There’s pajama’s in the closet if you want them.”
“Right.”
“You still up for fishing?”
“Of course.”
“Can you be ready for breakfast in twenty?”
“Yeah. Can I rinse off?”
“Shower’s down the hall. Meet you in the Atrium when you’re done.”
He tosses me some trunks before leaving.
Warm
In the shower I sit on the floor and let the pellets of tepid water rain around me. The slight warmth unlocks something--tension, sadness--Doesn’t matter. I’m shaking.
Huddling tighter into myself, I wrap my arms around my knees and close my eyes. Water streams down my face. Maybe it’s the shower, maybe it’s tears. I can’t tell the difference.
I turn off the water, dress and head to the atrium.
Initiation
Jael’s not at breakfast. Violin and Moira bring out rice porridge and fruit sprinkled with chili and sugar.
After breakfast in the dining hall, Cliff and I head toward the lake. Kettle runs past us with a watering can.
“I forgot to water my garden!”
She runs through a maze of pathways between thick-trunked trees to a sad little plot of flowers. Most of them look dead.
We pass through an iron gate and follow a dirt path through the field. The smell is sweet and clean as the breeze rushes around us. It gets cooler as we approach the still waters.
“You done this before?” Asks Cliff.
I shake my head.
“No worries. You a good swimmer?”
“Yeah.”
“Than you’ll catch on fast.” He tosses me a thin wooden spear with an elastic band on the end. “It’s easiest to practice from the surface.”
We get into our trunks and head to a shallow pool in the lake. Cliff shows me how to tighten the band of the spear by stretching it back to my elbow--like a bow and arrow, all in one. Then, he aims for a leaf on the surface. The band snaps when he releases it, making the spear fly through the leaf and into the sand.
“Your turn.”
I miss the first few, but finally start hitting the targets Cliff points to.
“Ready to take it underwater?” He asks.
“Sure.”
I follow him into the clear, chilly deep beyond the shallows. It’s different swimming in freshwater. Maybe it’s the buoyancy. There’s nothing pulling me toward the surface. Makes it easier to dive down, but not so easy to come back up.
Ten, fifteen feet down he starts tracking a silver and green fish. He spears it on his first shot.
Back at the surface, he puts the fish in a net secured to his waist by a string.
“Look for another like this,” he says. “Go ahead and give it a try.”
I ready my spear and dive down to where Cliff found the first fish. The lake floor sparkles with light rippling along the sand and rocks.
Just when I’m about to surface for air I see two of the green fish passing through a cloud of seaweed. I pull back my band and aim my spear for the bigger one.
Through the algae it’s too tough to make the shot, so I wait for them to come back into the clear. I release the band and let the spear fly, watching it pierce through white flesh just behind the eyes. Retrieving the spear, I resurface.
“Nice shot!” says Cliff.
Back on the shore He shows me how to fillet our catch. He cleans off a flat slab of rock and lays the fish on it.
“You just slide the knife in right behind the gills, then angle it toward the head,” he says as the blade sinks in. After severing the head he slides just the tip of the knife above the spine. “The blade will follow the path of least resistance, so if you don’t apply much pressure, it’ll slide right around the ribs. If you push too hard, we’ll have bones in our meat.”
He finishes one side then turns the fish over for me to try. I’m sloppy, and there are a few bones, but overall I’m not so bad for a beginner.
Hello
Jael is helping Moira and Violin in the kitchen when we come back. She says hello, but nothing more. I get to cutting the fillets into slivers with Cliff.
Lunch
For lunch we eat raw trout on lettuce leaves with rice, garlic and a thick sauce that Moira made. I must’ve overdone it today because I feel sick after lunch. I head to my room and curl up in the bed until the nausea passes.
Brothe
rs
The next day, Cliff goes out to fish alone, but I catch up with him.
“Mind if I come along again?”
“Course not. It’s nice to have another guy around to be honest.”
We push a canoe onto the clean blue water and dive for tonight’s supper.
Never Change
I don’t sleep well that night, so the next morning, I wake up while it’s still dark and lay in my room staring at the ceiling. I keep thinking of the Facility, of Jael and Hiro.
It’s ridiculous, but I miss it. Maybe it’s just that I miss them. Even though Jael’s here, she’s gone to a place where I can’t reach her.
My muscles are tight and restless. Taking deep breaths I try to relax, but it’s not working. This place is beautiful and the family is so kind, but it’s unfamiliar. I need something I know, even if what I know is unpleasant.
Laps.
I grab my trunks and head to the lake. The dewy grass is cool under my feet, but the air is warm.
Plunging into the water, a chill shakes me. I swim. When I come back to the shore Jael is standing there. She dives into the water next to me and starts swimming.
In the ripples of her wake I see the reflection of the first rays of dawn. She waited for me to start, I wait for her to finish.
I guess it’s the one thing we have that won’t ever change.
The Serum
A month has passed and it’s time for me to get my next serum injection. Cliff says it’s the only thing that keeps the Whispers away.
“You afraid of needles?” He asks me.
“Of course not.”
“Tough guy,” he grins.
I roll up my sleeve so he can slide the needle in. It’s not so bad this time as the last.
“Did you already get the girls?” I ask.
“Just Jael’s left. But she won’t let me inject. I give her the serum, she shuts the door and does it herself.”
I bandage the site and thank him.
A Whisper in the Hall
Before dinner, I head into the east wing to stop by Jael’s room. I hear the click of a lock as I enter her hallway. Jael pockets a key then looks back at me through her falling hair.
“Cliff send you?” She asks.
I don’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t be so short.”
“What’s wrong?”
“When has that question ever worked on me?”
“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try,” I say back.
“I’d rather walk to dinner alone,” she says. “Please understand.”
“I understand.”
Her silhouette sways down the hall in the light of her lamp. Once again of course I forgot my own.
I wait for her lamp to be out of sight before I head to dinner myself. While waiting, I hear what sounds like the static of hushed voices.
Maybe it’s the breeze--but there are no windows in this hall. The air chills. I leave.
Kettle’s Garden
Another month passes. I fish with Cliff, gather rice and try to help Kettle save her little garden--which is finally starting to show some life.
Turns out she was bringing The Mister and The Misses out and letting them use the garden like a litter box. She thought it would fertilize the plants. I convinced her to make a litter box elsewhere.
When I can, I help Violin and Moira with chores around the house. Jael keeps busy too--busier than me--but she always works alone.
A Day Off
Today, I’m carrying rice bags into the kitchen after a humid morning in the field. I place the bags at the doorstep because I don’t want to drag my muddy feet into the estate.
“Good morning, West,” says Moira with a smile. The sweet smell of herbs boiling on the stove reaches me.
“Good morning.”
“I think you should take the rest of the day off, you’ve been working too much lately.”
“Keeps my mind busy.”
“Sometimes it’s good to stop and relax.”
“I don’t relax.”
“I know,” she says, this time more seriously. “It worries me.”
Violin comes beside Moira. Her eyes widen when she sees the amount of rice I brought back.
“Violin, I want you to take the rest of the day off and show West your favorite spot. Will you do that?”
Violin nods. She takes off her apron, carefully hangs it on a hook, and straightens her yellow bow.
“Let me wash up,” I say. “Meet you in the Atrium?”
She nods.
Violin’s Tower
From the atrium, Violin takes my hand and leads me down a corridor I hadn’t noticed before. It’s long and dark, with hallways branching off into blackness. At the end is a door with wooden slats and iron hinges. A padlock chains the door shut.
Violin wiggles the key into the rusty lock until it finally cracks open. In front of us is a tight, winding, stone stair.
At the top, she holds a finger to her lips, sealing them shut. We step around the corner and into light.
We’re on the highest floor of a tower--the peak of the Estate. The golden afternoon sun bounces rays off the rolling ocean and spreads them across the forest and dark sand beaches beyond.
Water moves leisurely through the terraced fields into waterfalls that pour over cliffs into the ocean. Shadows fall from the low lying clouds, dropping rain onto the mountain ridges behind.
I smell the salt of the sea, the honey of flowers and the sap of trees. For a moment it makes me lightheaded in the best way possible.
We’re under some sort of a terrace; at least I think that’s what you’d call it. Vines drop from the ceiling and moss reaches out from the cracks of dark stone. In the center, stretching from one end to the other is a shallow pool filled with golden-white fish and purple lilies. Doves crowd every corner.
At first they don’t notice us. Then, as if they all had the same thought they open their wings. In a flurry they rush past us and toward the mountains.
At the end of the pool, in an enclave, is something I thought I would never see again--a rich, black piano-- grander than mine back at the Facility. It’s at least twice the size and the body is horizontal instead of vertical.
Violin must keep this clean, because there’s no dust on the keys. They’re discolored, probably from age, but clean. I hit a middle note. It’s flat.
Before I lift the hood to check the strings, Violin is pulling out a tuning wrench and a shiny, metal whistle from the base. She blows a note.
I have a helper.
It takes the whole afternoon, but between the two of us, we get the piano tuned to what I’m used to playing. I sit on the bench, place my fingers on the cool keys and start.
Today I don’t have a story to my music, because it’s been too long since I played. So, I just focus on the notes as they come to me. I must’ve lost track of time because when I finish, the sun is starting to set and Violin is sleeping in the shade of the piano.
“Violin,” I whisper. She rubs her eyes and sits up. “It’s dinnertime. I’m going to stay up here for a while if that’s okay.”
She places her key in my hand and wraps my fingers around it.
“Thank you so much.”
Once she heads down to dinner, I sit on the bench and go back to playing. At first, it’s soothing; then, somewhere along the way, the energy that’s been running through me drains and something heavy settles in.
Emptiness. Emptiness with weight.
The heaviness gets to a point where I can’t keep playing. I lay on the ground near the edge of this tower and curl onto my side. Brilliant red and purple sunset rays wrap around me like a warm blanket until I close my eyes.
Older Brother
Later, I hear the creaking of rusty hinges and see Cliff walk up with a tray of food in one hand and his guitar in the other.
“You missed dinner,” he says as I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Worried me.”
