House of Glass

by Sophie Littlefield

  “Someone from the roadhouse did this,” Tanya said. “He got into a fight.”

  “He got into a fight,” Jen echoed. Her mouth was pressed against the bear’s soft fur and her words came out muffled.

  “They brought him here and dumped him, so now we have to deal with the mess.” She shook her head, clucking, a show of exasperation exactly like their mother’s—at least, how she used to be, before she got to feeling so bad all the time.

  Jen remembered the featureless face, the way it shook when it laughed. Confusion made her words come out slow, like they were getting caught behind her tongue. “But I don’t think—”

  “He got into a fight,” Tanya said, not mad, but insistent. “Say it, Jennie.”

  “He got into a fight?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Good.”

  Tanya reached down and picked up the old canvas drop cloth from the shed, wadded up and sticking to itself where paint had dried. It hadn’t been there before, but Tanya didn’t seem surprised. She spread it out across the backseat of their mother’s car, which was idling in the road where the other car had been. How it got there, Jen had no idea, but Tanya didn’t seem surprised by that, either.

  “I guess since you’re out here, you can help.” Together they dragged Sid over to the car. They each took an arm. Jen tried not to touch him anywhere there was blood, which was hard to do because he had it on his hands and his shirt cuffs. He tried to talk a couple of times, but Jen couldn’t understand anything he said. Dragging him was like dragging a dead person, the way his ankles bumped along in the grass.

  “Time to go,” Tanya said, breathing hard, after they’d maneuvered him into the backseat.

  Tanya wasn’t supposed to drive, because she didn’t have her license and, anyway, Dwayne had only barely started teaching her, but Jen got in the passenger seat, anyway. It seemed like the minute she closed the door and got her seat belt on, they were at the roadhouse outside town past the paper mill. They could hear music from inside, drifting through the muggy summer night. Tanya parked next to a jacked-up pickup that blocked the view from the door. Jen helped Tanya pull Sid out of the backseat and drag his body along the ground, muttering and shivering. They laid him by the Dumpster, his arms flung out like a snow angel.

  “That’s it,” Tanya said, wiping her hands on her shorts. “Don’t worry, Jennie, our part’s done now.”

  “Our part’s done,” Jen agreed.

  Someone was tugging on her and wouldn’t stop. She squinted, trying to make out who was standing next to her now. The memory went wavy, the roadhouse and the pickup truck and Sid lying on the ground, and then it all disappeared like a snuffed-out flame.

  Livvy. Livvy needed something and Jen had to help. She made a mighty effort to focus, blinking to dispel the dark. Livvy’s outline became clearer, shimmering above her, her long hair inches from Jen’s face. She tried to look back and see Tanya, but she wasn’t there. The house was gone; the car was gone. It was all gone. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw the shelves behind Livvy, felt Licorice’s paw in her hand.

  “What do you mean, our part’s done?” Livvy said. She looked so scared that Jen forced herself to sit up. She let go of the bear and rolled onto her knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

  “I just meant we need to get our part done.” She rubbed her temple, trying to clear out the last of the confusion from her fall, or fainting spell, or whatever it had been.

  “I know. I’ve figured it out, Mom. But are you okay? What happened?”

  “I—I guess I just got a little dizzy because I haven’t eaten,” Jen said. “But I’m fine now.”

  “What is that?” Livvy pointed to the stuffed bear, which was bedraggled with age, its ribbon flattened and faded.

  “It was mine when I was about your age. Aunt Tanya gave him to me.”

  “Oh.” Livvy picked it up and set it back on the shelf. Jen flinched when she touched it; she didn’t want her daughter near the musty old thing. She should have thrown it out. Why hadn’t she thrown it out?

  “Listen, Mom, maybe you should eat something now. And drink some water, okay? This’ll take me a few minutes. I’m going to hook up the TV so we can find out what time it is. Then right before seven we’ll figure out a way to get upstairs. We only need a minute or two on the walkie-talkie, right? Just long enough to tell Jake to have Aunt Tanya call the police.”

  “But how can you hook up the TV?” Jen said, trying to cut through the cloudiness in her brain. “There’s no cable down here.”

  Livvy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Have just a little bit of faith in me? Okay? Just a tiny bit of faith? I’m not an idiot.”

  “I never said you were an idiot,” Jen protested, but Livvy was already stalking off to the corner of the basement.

  Jen dragged herself over to the couch. Her body felt sluggish and weak, her mind slow. She drank some water and forced herself to eat a handful of crackers while Livvy got tools from Ted’s workbench and climbed up on the stepladder. She worked in silence as Jen ate a pear, and suddenly the silence was broken by the voice of Leroy Edwards, evening anchor on Channel 2.

  “There,” Livvy said, a note of pride in her voice. She tapped the channel controls on the clicker and brought up the cable guide. “Six forty-three, Mom, we don’t have much time.”

  “Mute it, honey—we don’t want them to hear. I can’t believe you figured...” Jen stopped herself and tried again. “It’s really impressive, that you knew how to do that, sweetie.”

  Livvy rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing. Jeez. Two seconds. Now we need to figure out how we’re going to get them to let us go upstairs.”

  “Livvy, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Even if one of us can get upstairs, and somehow we get a moment alone, which in itself would be a miracle, what are the odds that Jake’s going to be listening?”

  “Really freaking good, Mom,” Livvy said impatiently. “Jake never misses a night.”

  “But still, I don’t want you up there alone. I should be the one to go. I’ll just tell them I need to see Dad.”

  “Okay, if you want, but, Mom, you have to be really convincing. You have to make them understand that you need a moment in private with him somehow. You have to make them believe it.”

  “I know, honey, I’ll do my best. I won’t let you down, Liv.”

  “You only get one chance, Mom.” Livvy hugged herself, her voice wavering. “Dad’s hurt bad, isn’t he? You aren’t telling me because you think I can’t take it.”

  “No, no, that’s not true,” Jen protested, and instantly regretted it. Livvy’s trust wasn’t something she could afford to squander now. She and her daughter had come into this nightmare already fractured, their bond weakened by the stresses of adolescent rebellion and Jen’s own failures as a mother. But that didn’t mean that Jen couldn’t do better, even now, even here. “Wait, Livvy...it’s true. Dad’s hurt pretty bad. The bullet, it went in near his elbow.”

  She traced a gentle path on her own arm with her fingertip, showing where the thing had lodged.

  “Did it go through?”

  “Maybe...I don’t know. But, honey, it wasn’t just the bullet, he had some other damage, too. That part of his arm was...” Crushed, that was the word, stomped and mangled. Jen tried to think of some gentler alternative. “There was a lot of trauma around the elbow. I don’t think he’s losing much blood anymore but that arm is going to need a lot of attention. He certainly can’t use it right now, and I don’t know how much use he’s going to get out of it for a while.”

  That was close to the truth, wasn’t it? Livvy nodded, and Jen could tell from her expression that she’d read meaning between her words. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I just didn’t want you to worry more than you had to.”

  “I’
m not incompetent. Or fragile. It’s not like I’d fall apart. I’m not the one who falls apart around here.”

  “I don’t think you’re either of those things,” Jen said carefully, trying to not to upset Livvy further. “I think you are wonderfully competent in so many ways. And if I treat you like a child sometimes, honey—”

  “Whatever,” Livvy said and sat on the sofa, her body turned slightly away, not looking at her. Jen sank into the love seat. The seconds ticked by slowly, and Jen watched the digital numerals at the bottom of the screen, wishing she knew what to say to Livvy, how to reassure her.

  Because what if these few minutes were their last?

  “Okay,” Livvy said when the guide at the bottom of the screen flickered 6:53 p.m. “It’s time. You need to get Dan to take you upstairs. Remember. You’ve got to make them believe.”

  “Got it.” Jen stood up and took a deep breath. She’d pretend with everything she had.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I just remembered,” Jen said. Standing on the second step from the top, she had to look up to see Dan’s face. It had taken him a few moments to answer the door when she started pounding on it, and he didn’t look happy. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded, smelling of fried food and cigarettes. “Ted’s supposed to play basketball tonight. If he doesn’t call, his friend is going to come by to pick him up.”

  “Yeah?” Dan looked dubious. “Why should I believe you?”

  “His friend sends his son up to the door to get Ted,” Jen said, coming up with the story on the fly. “He’s fourteen. There’s no way I’m letting another child walk in on this.”

  Dan stared at her for a long time, and Jen could feel herself starting to perspire. But she didn’t look away.

  “Let’s say I let Ted make a call,” he finally said. “How do I know he’s not going to start yelling his head off the minute his friend picks up?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Jen said. “Not if I explain.” Not if you’ve got that damn gun pointed at me.

  Dan cursed and smacked his hand on the doorjamb. “Goddamn it. You tell your husband that he can’t fuck this up.”

  He led Jen up the stairs. She didn’t dare to turn around and look at Livvy. Instead she touched the outline of the walkie-talkie in her pocket to reassure herself that it was there. In the kitchen, Dan grabbed Ted’s phone off the counter. Passing by the office door, Jen glimpsed Ryan inside, using Ted’s computer with his feet up on the desk.

  In their bedroom, the smell was stronger, the dirt-and-metal odor now tinged with something sick and even more foul. Dan flipped the switch, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the silk-shaded lamps on the nightstand.

  Ted was back in the bed, a motionless form under a mound of blankets. Jen couldn’t see his face. It took a second to register that the blankets were from Teddy’s bed; Dan must have taken them to replace the soiled ones in the bathroom after he got Ted moved back to the bed. He hadn’t bothered with restraints this time; the ropes Ryan had cut off were still in the corner of the room where he’d tossed them.

  She moved closer, and Ted shifted and she saw his waxy, gray face. She tried to compose herself as he opened his eyes. “Hey, you,” he said thickly, trying to lick his cracked lips.

  Jen bent and kissed his forehead gently. His skin was hot and moist. She lifted the sheets to take a look at his arm and almost wished she hadn’t. It was easily twice as large as it had been before, at least below the injury. The flesh was a purpled gray, swollen and shiny, his fingers spread wide and fat. Jen touched her fingertips gently to his forearm and was shocked at the burning heat. Ted winced and she took her fingers away.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, not wanting him to see how shaken she was.

  “I’m okay. How’s Livvy?”

  “She’s doing fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about her.” She laid a hand on his forehead. The fever had taken over his whole body now; his skin was damp with perspiration.

  Dan grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her back to the foot of the bed. He tossed Ted’s phone onto his chest, where it landed in the tangle of bedcovers.

  “Honey, you need to call Phillip and tell him not to pick you up for basketball today,” Jen said. Ted looked at her in confusion, and Jen hoped Dan would think he was just slow from the pain, not because she was lying.

  “We can’t risk Luke coming up to the door,” she said carefully. “You have to call and tell him you’re sick.”

  “Make the call,” Dan said. “But don’t even think about trying anything funny.” He put a hand on Jen’s neck and pulled her back, away from the bed, until her back was pressed against him, and she felt the hard cold barrel of the gun on her forehead.

  “Oh, God, don’t hurt her,” Ted mumbled. It took him two tries to pick up the phone, and then he tapped at it clumsily with one hand, using his thumb to find the number. It took a long time before Jen heard it, faintly, ringing on the other end. Three, four, five rings... When Phillip’s message played she felt weak with relief.

  “Hey, Phil, Ted here.” His words sounded hollow and rough. There was a pause while he bit down his pain and gathered the energy to continue. “Listen, I’m not feeling well...don’t think I’ll make the game. So. I’ll give you a call next week. Take care.” He ended the call and let the phone drop back on his chest, exhausted.

  “Not bad,” Dan said, lowering the gun. Jen could still feel the barrel’s imprint on her skin. “You sounded like shit. I’d say it was convincing.”

  Ted’s eyelashes fluttered, but there was no other response. She had to act now, before Dan forced her back down the stairs.

  “Dan...can I just go to the bathroom?” she asked. “Just real quick, before we go back down?”

  “What for? You’ve got one in the basement.”

  “It’s...” Jen tried to think of something, anything, that would convince him. “I wanted to get the Tylenol out of the hall bath.”

  “How come? You got a headache?” Dan’s voice was mocking. “Thinking of yourself when your husband’s lying here like this?”

  “No, I just...it’s for Livvy. Please.”

  “Okay, whatever, let’s go,” Dan said. He put a hand on her waist and shoved her toward the door to the hall. “Move it.”

  Jen reached for Ted, but she was already too far from the bed to touch him. I love you, she mouthed, but Ted’s eyelids were half-closed, and she couldn’t tell if he saw her.

  “I’ll just be a second,” Jen said, when she stood in front of the bathroom, her hand on the knob.

  “Uh-uh, no way. I’ll come with you.”

  “But—”

  “Get the Tylenol, then you can do whatever else you need to do downstairs.”

  Jen saw her chance disintegrating. “Please,” she said, her voice thick with despair. “Please just let me go by myself.”

  But Dan pressed past her with an exaggerated sigh. He went through the medicine cabinet, found the Tylenol and tossed it to her. The little bottle bounced off her wrist and fell to the floor. When Jen bent to pick it up, the blood rushed to her head, and she had to grip the sink to keep from falling.

  “Keep it together,” Dan snapped. “We can’t afford another one down.”

  She slipped the bottle into her pocket, where it clacked against the walkie-talkie, but Dan didn’t appear to notice. That was it, then—the plan wasn’t going to work. She’d lost the chance to make the call, their only chance to get help.

  As Jen followed Dan back into the hall, she felt weak from the magnitude of her failure. She lingered for a second in the doorway, and reached into her pocket and pressed the button on the walkie-talkie—just once, long enough to hear a single syllable of her nephew’s voice. It sounded like “two”—as in “testing, one, two, three” or perhaps “too” as in “are you there, to
o?”

  Dan glanced over his shoulder at her, and she cleared her throat. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Ryan appeared at the top of the stairs. Jen hadn’t heard him come up. His hair was sticking up on one side, as though he’d been napping.

  “We need to move him back to the basement,” he said to Dan, ignoring Jen. “I’m not sleeping up here with that smell tonight. And he never shuts up.”

  “He’s fine where he is.”

  “Okay, well, I’m not fine where he is. Let them deal with him.”

  “Ryan...”

  “Come on. I’m asking you for one little fucking thing. This whole time we’ve done everything your way.”

  For a moment the two men stared at each other. Jen recognized Dan’s beleaguered frustration; she had felt that way herself so many times when dealing with Livvy. But Livvy wasn’t a psychopath. Livvy didn’t hurt people to amuse herself. She prayed Dan would refuse Ryan, that he’d let Ted stay here instead of subjecting him to a move.

  “Okay, fine,” Dan finally said. “Get over there on the other side.” He yanked off the sheets and blankets and pulled Ted’s legs toward the edge of the bed. Ted moaned in agony.

  Dan gave a heave and Ted was sitting up, swaying while Dan struggled to get an arm around his shoulders. Ryan took the other side, grunting with the effort of helping to lift him up. Once Ted was vertical, he took a small, tentative step.

  “Don’t pass out on us,” Dan demanded.

  “I’m fine,” Ted muttered through gritted teeth.

  They made their way down the hall, shuffling like zombies, Ted in between the two men, his legs buckling every few steps. Jen followed behind. She thought about trying to lag behind and call Jake, maybe ducking into Livvy’s room. But she couldn’t say what she needed to Jake in the amount of time she would have before they came for her, and she couldn’t risk them finding the walkie-talkie she was hiding. Besides, if she tried anything, they’d let Ted fall to the floor while they dealt with her, and she didn’t think he could take any more trauma.