Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Rodriguez nodded, not too surprised. "Most people drop math their final year. What did you take last year?"

  "…Statistics."

  "Hm." The glass lenses mirrored the light from the screen as the teen read through his list of songs, scrolling down occasionally. The wind howled a little at the window as it abused the trees that surrounded the house.

  The red eyes came back from the window and followed the descending list. "What did you take?"

  "Calc AB. It goes: AB, BC, and then CD. All college level for college credit. All of them make you want to tear out your hair and beg for summer to come as quickly as possible." He chuckled while Vincent frowned.

  "That doesn't sound good…at all."

  "No. But then again," Rodriguez shrugged and his eyes stayed on a song title. "…sometimes it's fun. It's interesting, Math. It's Man's knowledge, everything he has learned and discovered since the beginning of history, allowing the present world to exist and function as it does… So I like calculus a bit." He smiled to himself as he clicked on the song.

  Vincent would have liked to mull over the words, but the music distracted him.

  "Nocturne…in C sharp minor." Crimson flowed from the speakers to Rodriguez's smirk.

  "I heard you play it once."

  Vincent's eyes dropped to the speakers again, and he was quiet, listening to the song. Rodriguez watched the screen as the seconds ticked by, tracked by the music player.

  Richard's voice came from the kitchen. "Alex! You know I'll eat everything if you don't get your butt down here in thirty seconds, counting…now! I, 2, 3, 4…" Rodriguez hissed something and scrambled out of the room with Vincent following behind him. Vincent stopped by the table while Rodriguez slid down the hall on his socks without meaning to. The red eyes blinked at the comical sight, waiting for the other teen to take a seat so that he would know where he was supposed to sit.

  Richard was at the head of the table with Leroy to her left and Vincentimir to her right. The red eyes were moving with Rodriguez's hands, and Vincent would copy whatever he did. Rodriguez took out his napkin, unfolded it, and lowered it in his lap and then gasped and put the napkin on the table again and dashed into the kitchen. Vincent stopped after taking the napkin out of his lap again, then watched, puzzled when Rodriguez was gone. He looked to Richard for an answer and she fitted her own napkin onto her lap.

  "He forgot the drinks. He does that every night, you just put the napkin in your lap and we'll wait until he gets back."

  Vincent nodded, not knowing what else he should do, and then he looked down at the food. He could feel the steam and heat wafting up into his face, delicious scents invading his nose. The teen bit his lip, a little uncomfortable in the strange environment with the strange mannerisms and strange food and super strange people that kidnap others and take them home… He didn't even know what the meat was. Clearing his throat, Vincent shifted in his seat to make it more comfortable. "What's the meat thing?" He pointed at a whitish hunk of meat, only glancing at the police woman for a second.

  "Shark."

  Vincent froze and stared at the fish, full of amazement. He almost cussed but bit his tongue instead. "Oh." Came his lame response, and the boy was quiet after that. Rodriguez returned with three containers: milk, orange juice, and cranberry juice. He handed the cranberry juice to his mother and poured himself a glass of milk, then offered Vincent a choice of the three.

  Crimson eyes gazed at the drinks while a hand slowly selected the cranberry juice. It was red, his favorite color, after all. And he didn't like milk and orange juice didn't sit well in his stomach. After pouring out the cranberry juice and sliding it back to the center of the table, Vincent watched as Rodriguez gathered the containers up again and removed them from the room, and then returned moments later. They were allowed to eat after that.

  Vincent ate slowly, glancing at Rodriguez at times when he began to doubt what he was doing. He ate some of the shark. It was amazing. He ate some of the broccoli. It was good. He ate some of the rice. It was addictive. But still, he ate cautiously and savored his food while Rodriguez reached for seconds, bringing an awkward smirk to the pale lips.

  "How was school?"

  Vincent's head whipped to Richard and then he looked at Rodriguez as the boy responded.

  "Good. A few tests, but I feel that I did well on them. And I drew a Santa bug in art and Vincent made fun of it."

  Richard smiled as she ate, looking down at her food. "Vincent's a bully, then?"

  "No." The black haired boy defended himself, chewing on the side of his mouth. "You would have laughed too if you'd seen it."

  Now the woman snickered and looked up. "Is your art so great?"

  Vincent's face went blank, almost satisfying Richard for a moment, but her son ruined it, drawing a threatening growl from Vincent as well. "His art's amazing. Best in the class, but he has this bad habit of throwing it away when he's done."

  Dark curses were mumbled under Vincent's breath as blue eyes examined him closely. Seeing that it would be best to drop the subject and leave it for another time, the woman stabbed a broccoli tree with her fork and then chewed it to death, quietly.

  Rodriguez was into the conversation now, and he smiled knowingly at his mother. "But he's even better at the pi…"

  "Rodriguez." Vincent cut in sharply, drawing the two pairs of eyes to himself, and his fork indicated Rodriguez's broccolis. "Eat your vegetables."

  "But…" Rodriguez's disappointment began to prevail over his excitement, and his voice died down until his mother killed it entirely.

  "He's right, Alex. Eat your vegetables."

  Beaten, Rodriguez grumpily ate his green trees in silence. When dinner seemed to be at a close and the blonde teen asked to be excused, Richard looked at Vincent's plate and frowned a little. "In this house, you are expected to finish everything on your plate, Vincentimir." The boy still had a little of everything left.

  Vincent was quiet, and he stared at the food until the mother and son watched him, chilled by the suddenly heavy atmosphere. "I don't want to waste it." Vincent began, still gazing at the food. "But I can't eat anymore."

  He had eaten a little less than Richard and only half as much as Rodriguez. After a few moments, Richard murmured that it was okay for him to go. She called after the two when she regained her voice and picked up her own dishes to take them into the kitchen. "No inappropriate sites on the laptop, Leroy, or I'll burn that thing."

  "Mom! You know I don't do that!"

  The woman sniggered at the embarrassed, high pitch in her son's voice and she began to rinse off the dishes to load them into the dish washer. The two teens were scaling the stairs as Vincent teased Rodriguez about what his mom had said and then was told to shut up.

  "How are your fingers?"

  The sudden question made Vincent's steps falter. He peered down at his hands. "Good, I guess. I get little pricks once in a while, but it's not as bad as I'd thought it would be. They're…it's like they're bruised, for the most part." The two noted the slight discoloration around the knuckles on one of the pale hands.

  "Hm." Rodriguez went into his room but Vincent stopped at the doorway, looking back at the guest room. "You can come in. It's not late yet." Vincent entered the room to find Rodriguez by his laptop again. He chuckled.

  "'No inappropriate sites on the laptop Leroy.'"

  "Oh!" Rodriguez hissed but continued to click on the computer, searching for something. "Go…jump in a puddle, Vincent."

  The teen smirked. "Were you going to say, go to Hell?"

  "No. I was going to say, go jump in a darned puddle, you loon."

  Vincent laughed and moved to sit in the wheeled chair again. "No. First I would have to have my shoes back, and I think I've had enough of puddles…today…" His whole body went rigid when his voice caught in his throat and his eyes shot wide, flying to the door. Rodriguez growled and grabbed him before he could run off.

  "Not the stupid shoes again! They'll be done soon anyway
so just leave them. Nothing's going to break." He grumbled as he saw that Vincent's doubt refused to leave as he sat down. "I thought we were done with the shoe business."

  "Fine. I'm not going… I said I'm not going, so you can let go now, fat ass." Vincent's dull eyes ran over the desk and his hand fiddled with a drawer he pulled out, searching through the contents. Rodriguez slammed the drawer shut again, and tapped on his key board before getting up.

  "I set up the internet and stuff…you can use it if you need to study for anything. You don't have any textbooks with you, so I thought I'd show you where you can get the same information on the school site." His finger touched his computer screen to indicate a few individual links. "I'm going to go take a shower, alright? Or do you want to take yours now? You can use the other bathroom."

  Vincent thought about it and didn't see why he shouldn't, so he got up and let Rodriguez close the laptop and lead him to a bathroom with a shower. The shampoo in this shower didn't smell as nice, Vincent noticed with a frown, but the conditioner was the same, so he didn't mind. After running his fingers through his hair in the mirror for a while, the teen slipped his borrowed clothes on and went back to Rodriguez's room. The door was closed, so he waited in the hall until it opened again to reveal a cleaner Rodriguez who wasn't wearing his glasses. A hand beckoned Vincent in. As the dark head of hair passed Rodriguez, the teen couldn't resist and he ruffled Vincent's hair with a laugh, startling the other boy. "Your hair's so fluffy now." Vincent moved away with a hissed curse damning Rodriguez to Hell and beyond. Rodriguez only laughed. "You smell a lot better than you did before."

  "Stuff it, rich bastard."

  The green eyes shone with humor while Rodriguez moved to his desk and propped open his laptop again. "I think I'll name you Fluffy."

  "Screw you, Fat Ass. You're a freaken Fat Ass, that's your name."

  "I am NOT fat, fluffy runt." He had the window for the school website on the screen and he scooped up his notes and textbooks and went to his bed, where he dropped them. "Do your homework and study."

  Vincent leaned back in his seat, thrumming his fingers on the desk. "No homework. Only one test, and I have a free period right before it, and I read all the books so I know all the stuff."

  "Is it English?" Rodriguez's mattress creaked as he lowered himself onto it and crawled into a comfortable position, opening a textbook.

  "Yeah."

  "Read the Spark notes online, just to refresh your memory."

  Red stayed with the computer screen, blinking at times, and the fingers continued to thrum on the desk. Finally, Vincent got up and stretched his hands over his head and cracked his back a bit. "Gonna take a nap."

  Rodriguez sighed and buried his nose in his book. "Fine. Suite yourself." Vincent began to head for the door but Rodriguez's head popped up with a gasp. "Wait. You know about the….er…money stuff. I'll get for you tomorrow. You can come with me to the bank."

  Vincent was frozen in the doorway, his face twisted disturbingly. He got rid of the expression before Rodriguez could see it, and he moved his face away from the boy's eyes. "Don't bother. My hand's healing faster than I thought." He opened and closed it easily, showing that he was speaking the truth. "I'm a fast healer…none of that's a problem anymore. Keep your money." Rodriguez didn't say anything when Vincent left and closed the door.

  No. Vincent was sure he had lost his temporary job. It was a given after his second day of absence, but he didn't care anymore. He didn't want Rodriguez's money.

  As Vincent was making his way passed the stairs to go to the guest room, a sound seeped through his flesh and solidified his muscles, stopping him where he was. It was the ghostly sound of a piano. Coaxed by the music, Vincent didn't think twice about going to the source, and he watched Richard play brazenly. He aware of the fact that she knew that he was there, and suddenly, he realized that she had caught on to the secret or had already been told by her son. He stood behind her and watched until she was done.

  The woman turned around, glancing about to see if Rodriguez had come as well. She preferred that he hadn't. "I hear you can play." Her lips smirked at the boy's emotionless face that became a little cold, in her opinion.

  "Why did you bring me here?" He asked in a hushed voice, waiting for something to happen. It was something specific and significant, but he could not yet determine what that something was supposed to be.

  Richard's voice became quiet as well, like a gentle whisper that was still strong enough to fill the room. "Play for me."

  The red eyes didn't change. Nothing changed in the room. It was just as peaceful and quiet when Vincent moved to the bench and Richard got up, allowing it to creak a little. He sat down and laid his fingers on the ivory tips of the keys. "Is this why you brought me here?"

  "No."

  Vincentimir Ramos said nothing, and he did not play. "This isn't just playing and listening to music." Richard didn't comment as the boy remained, poised to begin, yet his slack fingers said that he would not start at the moment. "Have you ever heard of the name Vincentimir Horowitz? …..No." His head moved a little, as if he were going to shake it to support his claim. "And most around here haven't. He was a Russian pianist and a composer who played for food in order to support his family during the Russian Revolution, when he was about my age. He survived during that time…and learned to play and honed his skills despite the obstacles… He was a…great composer…and pianist…." Sadly, his words began to fail him and Vincent fell into silence. His fingers twitched as he fought to find a way to express himself. "I was named after him… My mother was a musician… So playing the piano for me, isn't just playing. I don't do it for just anyone or at just any random time." He fixed his posture and lifted his palms from the keys, where they had come to rest. "I don't do it just because someone asks me to."

  Richard didn't speak. She only watched and waited to see if he would play. Vincent almost didn't. He almost stood up and left at that moment, but he stayed, and slowly pressed down on a key to play his first note.

  The notes came out softly, moving up and down, over the piano, changing to different pitches, like the blossoming of different flowers. A large one opened as several smaller ones unveiled themselves. Then the rolling deeper notes flowed like waves, thick and heavy, through the music, catching it in a rapid current that sped off with the thin white fingers, over the keys, pressing them down and jerking the hands as if they were only a part of its functioning body. His hands were an organ working to bring the piano to life. His hands became its heart and they pressed the keys that filled the instrument's wired veins with vibrations that sung out sound.

  Time became lost as the fingers flowed and jumped and leaped over the keys. Stroking them and then striking them just to slow and comfort them again with softer notes. The current caught again and the hands were whisked up and down the piano once more, always moved by the fluid sound and not the muscles that were within the boy. It was almost spiritual, like a holy ritual of worship to a god of music. But that was only a feeling in the back of Richard's mind as she watched the fingers, unable to look away to see the boy's face. She watched, and minutes went by. The piano's voice rose and drew Rodriguez out of his room and he watched as well, standing beside his mother while she failed to notice him.

  And Vincentimir played on and on. And his hands began to slow and time took up its place in their lives again. He stopped and turned to them, suddenly lighter, in his mood, than before. He was at ease. "Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor… Not all of it, and it's not the same without the orchestra, but I think I did it some justice." The two watched him without interrupting as the teen went on. Vincent could feel his quickened pulse begin to slow. He didn't want to lose the exhilarating high he was feeling at the moment, and he couldn't remember the last time he had played like this for anyone else other than his uncle, and he had only played for the man a few times through the years. "Can I play something else?" Richard came back to life with a gentle smile on her lips, warmed
by a secret she kept to herself. The boy had accepted them, and now there would be no getting rid of him. "Of course. Play until your fingers fall off, Vincentimir." She left the room with the same smile, while Rodriguez lingered. "I'm going to move my stuff down here. I'll be back in a second." He almost apologized as he ran off to transfer his books and notes to the glass coffee table surrounded by white reading chairs in the open room that contained the piano. Vincent didn't wait for him to return, and began to play Moonlight Sanata, the first movement. And then he played the Appassionata Sonata, the third movement. He played until Rodriguez had finished his studying and was reclined back in a chair with his eyes closed, about to fall asleep. Richard came and told the boys to go to bed once Vincent had finished his last piece.

  Vincent was the first to wake up, and he took his time looking out of the window in the guest room, to view the trees and the buildings in the far distance, all dampened with rain. Boredom drew the long, sinewy fingers to the different drawers in the room, amounting to the discovery of a clean comb and a tube of toothpaste without a brush. He left the tooth paste and used the comb by the mirror, easily disentangling a few persistent knots. When the clock showed that it was 6:55 AM and Vincent was sure that it had been Richard's car that had driven through the trees a few minutes ago, he took it upon himself to wake up the sleeping teen. It was Friday, so of course Rodriguez didn't want to wake up.

  He crept into the quiet room and his predatory eyes spotted his lumpy prey that was hidden under the blankets. Patiently, with a wicked grin on his lips, he stalked closer to the mound and then took aim. He pounced on the sleeping Rodriguez, making the teenager fight and yell to get him off. By the time the blankets slipped off the bed, with Vincent falling with them, Rodriguez was kneeling on his mattress with his pillow as a handy weapon hovering over his head. Soon, because of Vincent's sniggers, Rodriguez figured out what had happened and he yelled at the 'scrawny, fluffy runt' to get out of his room.

  When Rodriguez had dressed and gathered his stuff into his backpack, he went downstairs to help Vincent find the bowls so they could eat some cereal. It was at this time that they recalled the washing machine. They had no choice but to start it and then search for something that Vincent could wear.