by Rysa Walker
“Well, that’s part of the problem. We’re not entirely certain what happened. They were working on fractions when Chase stood up in the middle of class and said he wasn’t supposed to be there. That he was in the wrong place. Not just the wrong class, but the wrong school. Mrs. Gorf tried to get him to sit back down, but he started to panic, so she called Nurse Harper, who then called me, since it didn’t seem to be anything physical. He just seemed to be very… confused. He didn’t recognize anyone. The only thing he said that made any sense was that we should call you. He asked for you by name.”
Ben nods nervously. “I guess he knew Mom and Dad weren’t home, so—”
“You see, that’s the other thing that had us a little baffled. He asked us to call his father, Benjamin Rey. Said that you work at”—Ms. Snell stops and looks down at a slip of paper on her desk—“Hillcrest Hospital in Knoxville.”
“Huh. Well, it would probably be better than the minimum wage Blake Sherman pays at the gas station.”
“Chase even gave us a telephone number. Obviously, we didn’t call,” she says with a little smile, “but I checked online, and the place exists. It’s a mental health facility. Whatever is going on in Chase’s head, he’s done his research.”
Ben doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just gives Snell a weak smile and waits for her to continue.
“So, I called your house instead, and spoke to…well, I believe it was your father. He seemed a bit…out of sorts, though. It’s possible that I woke him. Anyway, I decided maybe Chase was right. Maybe it was best to call you.”
“My dad has the flu,” Ben says, then remembers he just said his parents weren’t home. “He was…I thought he was going to see the doctor today.”
Ms. Snell gives him a sympathetic look. “There is a nasty flu going around. Nurse Harper thought maybe that was the issue with your brother at first—a fever, delirium. But he seems okay, and whatever was troubling him, it cleared up a few minutes after we got him here to the office. In fact, the nurse and his teacher both seem to think maybe this was just a stunt. A way to get attention. But Chase doesn’t really strike me as that sort of kid—”
“He’s not. Chase wouldn’t do that. I think maybe he is coming down with the flu that my dad has. Maybe he just doesn’t have a fever yet. I’ll drive him home.”
Ben starts to get up, but the guidance counselor motions him back to the chair.
“Are you sure there isn’t something else going on, Benjamin? Although—you go by Ben, don’t you?”
“I go by both,” he lies. “Chase sometimes calls me Benjamin. So does our mom. And no, really. Everything is fine, except for Dad being kind of sick.”
Ms. Snell stares at him for several seconds. Ben can tell from the set of her mouth that she doesn’t entirely believe him. But he can also tell that she’s not going to press the issue…this time.
She taps a button on her phone and says, “You can send Chase in now.” And then to him, “If there are problems, Ben, I hope you’ll remember that there is a system in place to help students.”
He nods and braces for the next part of the spiel. He’s heard it before, and he knows that’s not the last line in the script. But the door opens without even a knock, and Chase steps inside. Bursting in like that is not really Chase’s style—if anything, he tends to lean toward excessively polite. Ms. Snell frowns, and Ben half expects her to reprimand Chase, but she must figure he’s had a tough enough day.
Chase gives him a worried glance, and Ben responds with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Hey, kiddo. Sounds like you might be coming down with that bug that Dad has. Let’s get you home, okay? You got all your stuff?”
His brother nods and adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. Ben thanks Ms. Snell, and then they make a quick exit. As soon as they’re outside, he opens his mouth to ask Chase exactly what happened, but then his eyes fall on the playground, which is now totally empty. He was inside ten minutes, tops. And so the question he asks Chase instead is “How long is recess these days?”
Chase gives him a confused look. “I don’t know. Probably twenty-five minutes. Same as it was for me back when I had recess. Why?”
Ben shakes his head. “Just wondering why there’s no one on the playground. Didn’t hear a bell ring, and…” He shrugs.
“Did you see kids disappear?” Chase asks. “I’ve been seeing that a lot lately.”
“Not…exactly,” Ben says, opening the passenger-side door. “You mean, you’ve actually seen people vanish?” He tries to keep his tone neutral, because he wants Chase to be honest about what’s happening. But he’s pretty sure he’s failing miserably.
“Only when they’re in big groups,” Chase says. “Like the assembly last week. And occasionally in the hallways. Sometimes kids blink out. And there are a lot of duplicates.”
“Duplicates?”
“Yeah. Xerox copies.”
Ben’s heart quickens as he backs the truck out of the parking space. The play fort is empty now, except for a crow perched atop the awning, staring back at him.
Identical blonde girls in identical pink dresses.
“That’s…um…that’s not really possible. You know that, right?”
There’s a very long pause. Then Chase says. “Of course I do. Are we actually going home?”
Ben takes one hand off the steering wheel to reach across and press the inside of his wrist to Chase’s forehead, the way his mom used to do when they were small. It’s a bit clammy, but no fever. “Not unless you think you need to go to bed.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Okay, then. Maybe we grab some lunch and hit the library. I’ve got that biology test tomorrow. I could use some extra study time.”
“Your test is today,” Chase says. “You mentioned it last night.”
Ben debates doubling down on the lie. He hadn’t wanted Chase to feel responsible for him missing the test, just in case Mr. Furlong is in a pissy mood tomorrow and won’t let him take a makeup. But he just gives his brother a quick you-caught-me look. “Still could use the extra study time. So, what actually happened in class?”
The silence that follows is long enough that Ben is tempted to nudge Chase again. But he resists the urge. Eventually, Chase exhales loudly through his nose and says, “Sometimes it feels like this place isn’t real. Everything here is all wrong.”
“Wrong…how, exactly?”
“Different. Me and you. We’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be my brother.”
Ben feels defensive at first, like Chase is pushing him away. But then he remembers what Sue Snell said. “So, I’m supposed to be your father instead? How does that work? I mean, sure, folks start early in Haddonwood, but not at age five.”
He hopes the lame joke will at least earn him a begrudging grin, but instead he gets an eyeroll. They drive in silence until he parks in the lot at the library. An orange cat slinks along the side of the building. Ben’s pretty sure it’s the same one he saw at MB’s house earlier. A stray, then, he thinks with a touch of relief, partly because it means she’s not keeping secrets from him and partly because he won’t have to worry about his eyes burning anytime he visits her.
Chase stares blankly out the passenger-side window as Ben cuts the engine.
“I get it, okay?” Ben says. “I never wanted him to be my dad, either. But I am going to get you out of there. We just need to hold on a little longer. I’ll be eighteen in a few months, and as soon as I get my diploma—”
Chase whirls around, practically shouting, “You’re not supposed to be turning eighteen! You’re supposed to be turning thirty-four. You’re a counselor in Knoxville. I was born your last year of college. This is all wrong.”
Ben doesn’t really know how to respond. The first thing that pops into his head is to make a joke and try to coax him out of it. He could ask who Chase’s mom is in this scenario and whether she’s hot, maybe. But Chase doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood for jokes.
&n
bsp; “Maybe…maybe you fell asleep in class, Chase. Maybe—”
“I didn’t fall asleep.” He spits the words out, and Ben gets a crystal-clear image of the angry teenager his brother will soon be. It’s a year or two early, but living with old Ralphie doesn’t really allow for a long, leisurely childhood. “All of that is real. As real as this is. Realer, even.”
“But…look at me. Do I look thirty-four? And if that stuff is all real, why don’t I remember it?”
Another long silence follows, punctuated only by a single tear coursing down Chase’s cheek. It makes no sound, and yet it echoes in Ben’s head. Chase hates to cry. Hates it with a purple passion. Any other time, Chase’s hand would have jerked up automatically, flicking away the tear before it could betray him, before it brought down the wrath of Ralph. Cut out that baby shit. Unless you want me to give you something to cry about.
“I don’t know,” Chase says. “Maybe because you don’t want to remember. Or maybe I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy,” Ben says automatically, simply because he knows it’s what he should say. That it’s the supportive thing to say. “It’s just stress. And I need you to hang in there a little longer, okay?”
Chase nods, and they head into the library. But Ben can’t quite shut down the voice in his head saying that Chase could be right. Maybe the kid is going crazy. Maybe they both are.
Five
JULIE
Every week when Julie Kennedy sits down to write her Sunday message, she thinks that this week she’ll actually do it. She’ll go against her instincts and add just a touch of fire and brimstone to the mix. A little dash of cayenne pepper to appease Scott Jenkins and his crowd. Something to show them that she actually has read the Old Testament and knows that the God in that part of the Bible had a bit of a temper, and that He didn’t suffer fools or infidels gladly.
It will not be this week, however. Julie thumbs through Leviticus, which is no doubt Scott’s favorite, but finds no inspiration. Instead, her mind wanders over to a chapter in Psalms that talks of mercy, and then to a few Buddhist quotes on the same, and even a line from one of her favorite Jodi Picoult novels. She’s certain the latter will have Scott’s faction frothing at the mouth, and she’ll probably skip right over it when Sunday actually comes in order to keep the peace, but she’s growing more and more convinced that there will be no meeting that crew in the middle. Even if she marches in on Sunday morning and declares that Hell is real, and everyone (except for her congregation, of course) is on the fast track to a fireside seat, it will never be enough. The only way Scott will accept her at that pulpit is if God rolls time back thirty-seven years to when Julie Kennedy was in the womb and sees fit to give her a penis—something she’s never wished for and which would undoubtedly complicate her current relationship with Bill Gray.
Julie chuckles to herself. The library is mostly empty today, aside from a young mother pushing her daughter’s stroller through the children’s section, and Barb Starrett behind the desk. Good thing they’re not psychic. Would they be amused or horrified to know where Reverend Kennedy’s mind has wandered?
Her mind has been wandering all morning, unfortunately. Sometimes to Bill, sometimes (especially when she’s hit by another yawn) to the dreams that robbed her of sleep last night. It’s already nearly noon, and she would normally be close to finished. But all she has is this motley assortment of quotes and a vague notion of how to piece them together.
A flash of movement outside pulls Julie’s eye to the window, which looks out over Main Street. She smiles at the marquee of the Hart. The building has been empty for as long as she can remember. Now it reads Halloween FrightFest, 8:00–11:00 PM. The place won’t officially open for a few more weeks. Daisy says that tonight is a sneak preview of sorts. It’s partly a fundraiser for the school band and partly a way to lure people in for the grand opening. Get them used to the idea of there being a theater in town again.
For some reason, much of the work for the event seems to have fallen on Daisy. She’d seemed a little stressed about it at breakfast, telling Bill that she’d learned the day before that she’d need to get the concession stand set up on top of everything else. So Julie had volunteered to stop in and help out for a bit. Daisy seemed grateful, something that would not have been the case if Julie had offered to help Dani. At this point, if Dani Gray was drowning, with no one else around to save her, she’d probably still slap Julie’s hand away.
Julie watches over the railing as the young mother piles a small stack of brightly colored books onto the checkout desk. The kid seems much more interested in the red balloon tied to her stroller than she is in the books.
“It seems this little girl knows what she likes,” Barb says. “It’s always Dr. Seuss or Click, Clack, Moo.”
The mom laughs. “I show her different books each time we’re here. She never wants to check out something new.”
The conversation has a rhythmic quality, which sounds to Julie almost like a heartbeat. Da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum. The toddler in the stroller tugs the balloon up and down to that same sleepy rhythm, almost as if it’s been choreographed.
Julie yawns again.
“Guess Emily has learned that books are friends.” Barb smiles as she slides the books over the barcode scanner. “You rarely want to trade the old for new. Oh, I have something in for Emmy’s dad. That documentary on World War Two.”
Barb crouches down behind the desk to search for the reserved item as Julie replays the librarian’s words in her head.
Oh, I have some-thing in for Em-my’s dad. Da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum, da dum.
That doc-u-ment-ar-y on World War Two. Da dum, da dum, da…
The rhythm lulls Julie, and her eyelids drift downward.
…dum, da dum, da dum.
It’s fifth period, and Ms. Darbus has been delayed at her doctor’s appointment, so Julie is at the whiteboard, accenting the syllables to illustrate Shakespeare’s use of iambic pentameter. English lit is not her field of study, but the assistant principal, who usually gets stuck with this duty, is out on maternity leave. A low hum runs through the classroom while she writes, as students talk among themselves. The chatter dies down quickly when she turns back, their faces morphing into the standard mask of bored adolescence.
“Okay, let’s read together now,” Julie says, tapping her palm with the marker on each accent.
Two HOUSEholds, BOTH aLIKE in DIGniTY,
In FAIR VerOna, WHERE we LAY our SCENE,
From ANcient GRUDGE break TO new MUtiNY,
Where CIVil BLOOD makes CIVil HANDS unCLEAN.
When they reach the end, one of the juniors, the star center of the basketball team, raises his hand. Julie nods, and he leans forward.
“So hold on now, and let me get this straight.
This Shakespeare has a beat stuck in his head.
And all these folks are chattering in verse,
while swords are flying round, and streets run red?”
He grins and turns to the kid next to him, who gives him a high five.
Music comes out of nowhere, and a cheerleader near the front begins to sing, without even raising her hand.
“Juliet is hangin’ out the window.
And Romeo is chillin’ on the street.
Tryna find a way to say I love you
That doesn’t interrupt the steady beat.”
Julie taps the desk with a ruler that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, trying to restore order. But the entire class is now singing:
Da dum da dum, da dum da dum da dum
And Romeo is chillin’ on the street.
Da dum da dum, da dum da dum da dum
Now everybody’s rappin’ to the beat.
Two verses later, music has taken over the classroom. Students are dancing on and around the desks, everything perfectly synchronized. Her own feet turn traitor by the final coda, and the basketball player whirls her into a dip as the class belts out the last roun
d of da dum, da dum, daaaaa…
“Aaaah! You get out of here, you stupid bird!”
For a moment, the words blend in with her dream. Then Barb screams again, whacking a broom against the bookshelf behind the circulation desk. A large black crow is perched on top. It must have come in through an open window.
Or maybe Barb has decided to turn the library into a petting zoo. She’s never seen an animal in here before, aside from Mrs. Johnson’s service dog. But in addition to the crow, a fluffy orange cat is sleeping in the chair behind the librarian’s desk. It seems completely unrattled by the noise.
Julie leans toward the railing as the last remnants of the bizarre dream fade away. The bird doesn’t seem concerned with Barb, even though the bristles of her broom are only inches away from its feet. It glances at Julie, but only for a moment. Then its eyes, which are reflecting an odd shade of white from the lights of the library, shift a few tables over to where Ben Rey is sitting. She feels a disconcerting wave of déjà vu when she sees a Haddonwood High jacket hanging from the back of Ben’s chair, just like the one the basketball player was wearing in her dream. Ben’s younger brother, Chase, is at the table with him. They seem to be arguing about something.
The bird’s eyes are fixed on the boy. Chase’s eyes, however, are firmly fixed on his brother.
“I’m not five years old anymore, Ben. I can stay in the library by myself. Go take your test. Go to practice. You had to miss because of work already this week, and—”
“I’m not going anywhere. I can take a make-up on the test, and Coach will understand if I miss practice.”
“No, he won’t,” Chase says, clenching his jaw. When he stands up, the bird’s head follows him. “Fine. I’ll go home, then. You go to school. I’ll hang out with Dad.”
“Damn it, Chase, would you just sit down?” Ben sounds exhausted. “You know I can’t let you do that.”