by Amy Cross
“I'm warming up.”
“There's no hot water.”
“I figured.”
“I don't think I can...” He pauses. “Damn it, that's pathetic, isn't it? I can't even get an erection these days.”
“That doesn't matter,” I tell him. “We can still keep each other warm, right?”
Half an hour later, we're both naked in bed, under his tattered, dirty sheets. In the old days, we'd have fooled around, but Aaron's long past the stage where he can do anything like that. It's good to feel the warmth from his body, though, and as I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, I can feel him trembling all over. Glancing at the clock by the bed, I realize that midnight rolled past a while ago and it's now the early hours of Christmas morning. The room is cold, but I still can't go and shut the front door.
If I shut the door, he'll come for me.
PART TWO
Ten years ago
“What does S.I.U. stand for?” I ask as the van bumps along a dirt road.
“Where did you see that?” Mom asks, with a slightly worried look on her face.
“There was a man near the garden the other day,” I tell her, “and he was using binoculars to watch me, and his jacket had S.I.U. written on the front in big yellow letters.”
“When exactly did this happen?”
“Tuesday.”
I wait for her to reply, but I can tell she's worried.
“I was wondering what it meant,” I tell her. “That's all.”
“Nothing,” she replies. “It doesn't mean anything.”
“But it -”
“Clay, it doesn't mean anything!” she says again, more firmly this time, as she slows the van and steers us into the parking lot of the local store. “It's nothing, but you should always tell me when you see people watching the hospital, sweetheart. I've told you before, don't keep that kind of stuff to yourself. We have to help each other.”
“I see them more and more,” I reply.
“Every day?”
I nod.
“Well, that's...” She forces a fake smile as she parks up and switches the engine off, but it's clear that her mind is racing. After a moment, she glances out the window and then leans across me to look out the other side, as if she's worried that someone might sneak up on us. “Okay,” she says finally, turning to me, “let's just focus here, yeah? We have a list of the things we're supposed to pick up, and I want to get in and get out with as little fuss as possible. You remember what happened last time, don't you?”
I nod.
“Do you want that to happen again?”
I shake my head.
“Then keep your head down.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some cash, which she presses into my hand. She seems almost close to tears, but Mom's always a little edgy these days. “I want you to go into the pharmacy and buy a packet of paracetamol with codeine. They'll sell it to you if you tell them it's for your mother. Say I've got a bad back, and that's why I can't come down myself.”
“Is that on Mr. Kenseth's shopping list?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure,” she replies. “Meanwhile I'll go into the grocery store and we'll meet back at the truck in a couple of minutes, okay?”
“They won't sell this stuff to me,” I point out. “I'm too young.”
“They'll sell it to you. Just tell them it's for me.”
“Clay -”
“There are rules,” I tell her. “I'm too young to -”
“They'll sell it to you!” she snaps. “Jesus Christ, Clay, just go do what I told you, okay?” She stares at me for a moment, and finally the anger starts to subside. “I'm sorry,” she adds, leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “It'll be fine. Just tell them the tablets are for your mother and that I've got a bad back. I promise, Clay, there won't be a problem. We've done this a million times before. Mr. Kenseth wants you to do this for him.”
She's a bad liar and I know full well that the codeine is something she's keeping to herself, but I figure she knows what she's doing. Climbing out of the truck, I look across the parking lot and see that there are a few people around, just going about their usual business. Fortunately no-one seems to have noticed us yet, so after exchanging a nervous glance with Mom, I start walking toward the pharmacy. Still, it's hard not to feel that someone somewhere is watching me, and as I head into the building I can't help glancing over my shoulder, just in case. Hearing a whirring sound from above, I look up just as a security camera turns straight toward me.
“Hey,” says a voice from over by the counter. “It's that girl again!”
Looking over, I immediately realize that it's the two boys from last time, laughing at me. Hurrying past them, I make my way along the aisle until I reach the counter, although every step feels heavy. I know those boys are making fun of me in the next aisle, but all I care about is getting out of here as fast as possible.
“Hello,” says the woman, with a broad smile. “How can I help you, sweetie?”
“I need paracetamol with codeine,” I tell her. “It's for my mother. She's got a bad back.”
“Right,” the woman replies, with a look of concern in her eyes. “Okay, sweetie, is your mother here with you today?”
I shake my head.
“Is there a reason why she sent you down here instead of coming herself?”
“She's got a bad back,” I repeat.
“Couldn't she send your Daddy?”
I shake my head.
“Is there no-one else? An auntie or uncle?”
“Just me.”
“Sure. It's just that I can't sell this particular item to someone who's under a certain age. If your mother is really in that much pain, she needs to see a doctor.”
“She said it'd be okay. She's just got a bad back.”
I hear giggles from nearby, but I refuse to turn around and look at those dumb boys. I hate them.
“I've got money,” I continue, putting some cash on the counter.
“That isn't the problem,” the woman replies. “I'm really sorry, sweetie, but I really can't sell this to you. It's against the law and I'd get into a lot of trouble if I gave you paracetamol with codeine. Tell your mother that it's not your fault, okay? She needs to come down here in person or call her doctor and get a prescription, and if it's the latter, she needs an adult to come and collect it. I'm sorry, but those are the rules. You wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you?”
I open my mouth to ask again, but finally I realize that there's no way this is going to work out. I'll just end up feeling even more stupid. I told Mom that this would happen, but she never listens to me.
“Here,” the woman continues, taking a red lollipop from the stand, “have this, on the house.”
Grabbing the money and ignoring the lollipop, I turn and head back along the aisle, and I can feel myself starting to sweat with nerves as I imagine that woman watching me walk away. I knew she wouldn't let me buy the tablets, but Mom insisted and now I'm going to get into trouble.
As I get to the door, suddenly a hand reaches out and grabs my arm.
Turning, I bang into one of the shelves and knock it over, sending hundreds of chocolate bars all over the floor.
Nearby, the two boys are laughing their asses off.
“What's going on down there?” the woman shouts from the counter.
“It's that girl from the weird cult!” one of the boys shouts. “She's making a mess!”
Hurrying out of the pharmacy, I run to the van, but Mom isn't back yet from the other store. I try the handle, but she's locked the doors. Running around to the other side I try again, but there's no way to get inside.
“So what's it like out there?” asks a voice nearby.
Turning, I find that the boys have followed me. They're standing in a patch of sunlight, squinting as they grin at me.
“Look at her,” the second boy says after a moment. “She's, like, retarded or something.”
“No I'm not!” I tell him.
>
“You so are.”
“So talk to us,” the first boy says. “What's it like living out there in a weird cult?”
“It's not a cult,” I tell him. “It's a hospital.”
“I saw it on the news again,” he replies. “They said there's some weird freak who runs the place, and all the women there are his wives.”
“He's not a freak,” I reply.
“Is your Mom one of his wives?”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“They said you all believe you're going to get saved by this weird god you've invented, and you're going to get, like, whisked off into the sky. Is that true?”
“I... That's what Mr. Kenseth says.”
“Do you believe it?”
“My Mom says it's true.”
“Yeah, but it's crazy. Only an idiot would believe something like that.”
“Mr. Kenseth's smart,” I reply. “My Mom says he's a genius and that everyone should listen to him. She says he's more intelligent than everyone else, that's why he's realized all of this stuff and it's also why he got contacted by...” My voice trails off as I realize how dumb I sound; all that stuff sounds so stupid, I wouldn't believe it myself if it wasn't for the fact that Mom is so certain. I figure she has to be right.
“Then what's he really like?” the first boy asks. “Come on, no-one from the outside ever gets in, but loads of people are always talking about that place. What's Conrad Kenseth like?”
He waits for me to answer.
“She's probably not allowed to say,” the other boy says with a smile.
“Yes I am,” I tell him.
“So go on, then. What's he like?”
I stare at him, willing him to just disappear in a puff of smoke. Glancing at the grocery store, I see that there's still no sign of Mom.
“What's your name, anyway?”
“Clay,” I mutter, turning back to him.
“Clay?” He turns to his friend. “What the hell kind of a name is that?”
“There's nothing wrong with it,” I continue. “It's totally normal.”
“My name's Tom,” he replies, “and my friend's name is Ben. Those are normal names. Clay's weird. Was that always your name, or did they give you a new one when you went to live with the cult?”
“It's not a cult,” I tell him, “and it's always been my name.”
“Is it short for something?”
I shake my head.
“Huh,” he continues. “So when you grow up, are you gonna be that guy's wife too?”
“Are you already his wife?” Ben asks with a grin.
“It's not like that,” I reply. “Mr. Kenseth just wants to help people. He's got all these really good ideas and he's trying to make the world a better place. He just has to start at the hospital first, but you'll see. He knows what he's doing.”
“Jesus,” Ben replies, “you talk like you've been brain-washed, do you know that?”
“You don't understand anything,” I tell him.
“I know a zombie when I see one,” he continues. “You're all zombies out there, right?”
“Shut up!” I shout, stepping toward him and pushing him in the chest. “You don't -”
Before I can finish, I realize that a thin trickle of blood has begun to run from one side of his nose. He reaches up and wipes it on his finger, clearly shocked.
“What the hell?” he whispers.
“No way!” his friend says suddenly, and when I turn to him I see that he's got a nosebleed too.
“She's a witch,” Ben says, sniffing back some more blood as he looks at me. “You did this to us, didn't you? You're some kind of freak!”
I shake my head.
“I'm gonna tell everyone about you,” he continues. “Everyone in this whole town is gonna know about Clay the little witch who lives in a cult!”
“You're a liar!” I shout.
“Witch!”
“Shut up!” I shout, grabbing him by the collar and swinging him into the side of the van. “You're a liar! I'm not a witch!”
“Get off!”
“I didn't make you have nosebleeds! You did that yourselves and -”
Suddenly Tom grabs me and pulls me back. Losing my footing, I fall to the ground and land hard, grazing my elbow.
“Hey!” Mom shouts suddenly, rushing over to us. “Get out of here!”
“Witch!” Tom shouts as he and Ben run away across the parking lot, leaving Mom to help me up off the ground.
“What the hell was that about?” she asks, taking a look at my elbow and picking some pieces of gravel out of the wound.
“They're just stupid,” I mutter, trying to make sure that I don't start crying. Mom says Mr. Kenseth can see us all the time, even when we're not at the hospital, so I can't let him know that I'm weak.
“What did they say?”
“Just stupid stuff about Mr. Kenseth and about the hospital and about us.”
“Well you know to ignore them, right?”
I nod, watching as Ben and Tom go to two women sitting at a cafe. I guess they're telling their mothers all about me, and about how I'm a crazy witch who made their noses bleed. I wish they were right, I wish I was a witch, 'cause then I'd do way more than just make their stupid noses bleed. After a moment, the two women look over at me with shocked expressions, as if I'm some kind of monster.
“Can we go?” I ask, grabbing Mom's arm and trying to pull her to the van's door.
“I can't believe you got into a fight,” she replies, still picking at the wound on my elbow. “The one time we come into town and you draw attention to us like this. Mr. Kenseth won't be happy. Did you at least get the codeine?”
I shake my head.
“Clay! Why not?”
“They wouldn't sell it to me.”
“I told you what to say!”
“I said it, but it didn't work!”
“Then you must have said it wrong! Jesus, you had one job, girl!”
“Can't you go and get them?”
“They know me in there.”
Glancing at the pharmacy, I see that the women who work there have come to the door and are watching us. They don't look shocked, they look more... sad, almost as if they feel sorry for me.
“Come on,” Mom says, unlocking the door and lifting me up onto the seat. “We have to get out of here.”
“There's another of those men,” I tell her, spotting a man in a dark blue coat with the letters S.U.I. in big yellow letters.
She looks over at the man, who seems to be just watching us from next to a building on the far side of the lot. After a moment, he holds up a camera, and I guess he's taking photos.
“Jesus Christ,” Mom mutters, sounding stressed, “don't these fucking jackals have anything better to be doing? There are actual criminals out there who oughta get caught, but do they go after them? Hell no, they just spend their time buzzing us.” Slamming the door shut, she hurries around to the other side of the van and climbs in, just as I spot two more of the S.U.I. men coming toward us.
“What do they want?” I ask her.
“Mrs. Layton!” one of the men says, knocking on the window next to me. “Can we have a word, please?”
Ignoring him, Mom leans over and locks the door, before putting her keys in the ignition and starting the engine. She seems to be in a real hurry, and she's muttering under her breath.
“Mrs. Layton! We'd like to talk to you for a few minutes. There's nothing to worry about, you're not in trouble, we just -”
“Go to hell!” she shouts, her hands trembling as she puts the van in gear.
“Mrs. Layton!” Another man knocks on the window on her side. “Please, let's not upset your daughter. For her sake, can we talk?”
Without replying, Mom slams her foot on the pedal and the van lurches forward, almost knocking one of the men over. As she accelerates and steers us across the parking lot, she keeps on muttering to herself, but I can't make out any of the words. I t
urn and look out the window, and I see not only the women from the pharmacy but also lots of other people watching us, while several more S.U.I. men are taking photos of our van. Over by the cafe, Ben and Tom are watching with their mothers, and I briefly make eye contact with them as we speed out of the lot and back onto the dirt road. From the look in their eyes I can tell that they hate me, but that's okay 'cause I hate them too.
“What did they want?” I ask, turning to Mom and seeing that tears are streaming down her face. “Mom, what did those men want?”
“They're agents of Satan,” she replies, keeping her eyes on the road. “That's what they are, Clay, they're agents of evil. They were sent by a false god to trick us, but they failed, and do you know why? They failed because Mr. Kenseth has taught us the path to true salvation, and because nothing is ever going to make us leave the hospital again!” She sniffs back some more tears. “They don't understand. They can't. They're too stupid.”
I watch her for a moment.
“Are you one of Mr. Kenseth's wives?” I ask finally.
She turns and scowls at me.
“I just wondered,” I continue. “If there's -”
“Quiet time,” she snaps, turning back to face the road. “No more talking until we get back to the hospital. Quiet contemplation.”
Sighing, I turn and look out the window, watching as the barren fields flash past. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I was out there, running away from all of this, instead of speeding back to the hospital. Everything with Mr. Kenseth just feels so wrong, but I figure I'm just too young to understand. After all, Mom says Mr. Kenseth's a genius and that we have to live with him and do what he says, and Mom wouldn't lie. I guess she understands things better than I do, 'cause I'm just a dumb kid.
Today
“Oh my God, this place looks...”
Limping into the kitchen, Aaron seems genuinely stunned by the transformation. I don't blame him: since getting up before dawn, I've spent a couple of hours cleaning the place from top to bottom, and now even the sink – which before was covered in rust and brown smears – is glinting so much, it's almost painful to look at it directly. I swear, I planned to make the place look good, but I never thought I'd do quite so well, especially since Aaron didn't exactly have a lot of cleaning supplies. I guess I just got into a zone.
