Second Chances

by P. D. Cacek

  “I have you,” the Mrs. said, pushing/pulling him down the hall to the bathroom. “It’s all right, I have you.”

  Jessie squeezed his eyes tight when the bathroom light came on and shivered when he sat down on the closed toilet seat.

  “Stay here,” the Mrs. said, “Curtis, did you hear me? Stay here. Understand?”

  Jessie leaned back against the tank.

  “Curtis, do you understand what I just said?”

  Jessie blinked. “What?”

  “Stay here.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Good, good boy. You’ll be safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. Just stay here.”

  The door closed with a softer thump than the rocks and bottles hitting the house.

  Jessie closed his eyes – bad mistake – and had to grab the edge of the sink when he opened them to stop the sensation of spinning. It didn’t help much and the cold porcelain against his palm started a shiver that ran straight up his arm to his belly.

  The sound of rocks hitting the house and shouting voices were muffled, but Jessie could still hear them. And he sat there, shivering and listening – Send it back to hell! It doesn’t belong here! Abomination! Imposter! One Body. One Soul! Freak! – until the contents in his stomach had had enough and decided to leave.

  Fortunately, the bathtub was only a quick fall to the side, and the pain of landing on both knees against the tiled floor cleared his head enough to make sure he was leaning into the tub and not next to it when the contents of his stomach gushed out.

  Goodbye, wontons. Goodbye, pulled pork. Goodbye, water ice. Goodbye, spleen.

  It didn’t take long, but by the time Jessie started dry heaving the bathtub looked like something had crawled into it and exploded. He hadn’t wanted to look at the mess, let alone smell it – urp – but he was too weak to look away and afraid to close his eyes in case the room felt like dancing again. So he sat there, curled up in a semi-upright fetal position, arms hanging over the rim of the tub, staring down into the coagulated morass as his eyes refocused on a tiny speck of blue amid the various shades of reds and cocoa-brown.

  Blue?

  Holding his breath, Jessie leaned forward and felt his stomach quiver. Still cocooned in the gummy, semi-dissolved marshmallow piece, the blue pill was bigger than the orange ones he’d dumped down the john and even though his stomach acids had softened it, he could still make out the cute little heart shape in the center he remembered from health class. Valium. The Mrs. had slipped him a roofie. No wonder the lukewarm cocoa calmed him down; it had help.

  If the True Borns had decided to come just a little later he might have slept right through the shouting match and never heard a thing.

  Unless they got in…and maybe not even then.

  Jessie felt the muscles in his arms and legs tremble as he leaned back far enough to rest his forehead on the tub rim. It was cool, but the smell of vomit was making him sick again and he had to sit up. Another rock hit the pebbly glass in the small bathroom window above the tub and splintered it.

  “One body! One soul! Begone, imp!”

  They were the same words, the very same he’d said…no, not him, her…Jessica Faith, the sweet, naïve, myopic little girl who believed everything she’d been told about the Travelers and never thought to question it. And for a moment he was outside, standing with them, shouting up at the house because there was a thing inside that didn’t belong, that went against the laws of God and man. For one moment he was Jessica Faith again…and then she was gone.

  “Abomination!”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Jessie used the tub and sink edge to lever himself to his feet. It took longer getting up than it did going down, but when he finally was able to hold himself upright and look in the mirror he didn’t like what he saw.

  The face looking back had shadows under his eyes and stubble on his cheeks and chin and upper lip. The face looked tired and a bit stoned, but it also looked grown up, like it had matured a lifetime in the last few minutes.

  “We’re just people,” Jessie told the young man in the glass, “just like Abbie said.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jessie left the bathroom and walked down the hall to his…to Curtis’s bedroom. The shouting seemed louder in there, the voices angrier, the hot, muggy air pouring in through the broken window almost too thick to breathe. Jessie had to stop in the doorway to catch his breath.

  “Get it out of h—”

  WHOOP!

  Flashing red and blue lights decorated the sudden silence that followed and made the soft crunch of glass under Jessie’s shoes as he crossed the room sound like thunder.

  Jessie stood to one side of the window and looked down. There must have been forty people standing in the Steinars’ front yard, maybe more. Jessie didn’t want to count, but he recognized Curtis’s old babysitter and baker of cookies right away. She was the only one looking up at his window; everyone else was watching the two officers in riot gear as they walked onto the porch.

  Jessie heard a second whoop! from the front of the house.

  The cavalry had finally arrived.

  Jessie watched the old woman’s face as the red and blue lights washed over it.

  Is that what I used to look like?

  A low wave of voices began again and Jessie wasn’t the only one who jumped when the officers blasted another beep from the siren. The crowd went quiet and backed away, as the officer who had been driving leaned across the top of the door and lifted a mic to his lips.

  “Okay, it’s over. Go home, people.”

  “What do you mean, it’s over?”

  Jessie saw the Mrs. run toward the officer as the crowd began to walk away. The Mr. followed slowly.

  “Arrest them!” she screamed. “Why aren’t you arresting them? They tried to kill us!”

  Jessie leaned closer, wanting to hear what the officer said.

  “I don’t think so, ma’am, but we’ll take their names. There was no real harm done and I’m sure your insurance will cover it.”

  “What?”

  The officer glanced toward the window and Jessie backed up.

  “You should have known better than to bring one of those into the neighborhood. One body, one soul. Call your insurance company and let them handle it. That’ll be the best for everyone.”

  Jessie could hear the Mrs. still attempting to argue, and the Mr. trying to calm her down, as he left the window and walked to the desk.

  The chair protested loudly when he collapsed in it. He couldn’t stay there, God knows, but he couldn’t go home, and that left only one option.

  Jessie pulled out the desk’s unused keyboard tray, didn’t need one with a laptop, and reached under it for the two business cards he’d taped to the underside. Sometimes hiding in plain sight wasn’t the best plan.

  He laid both cards down in front of him and ran a finger across Dr. Ellison’s, trying to press out the crease he’d put in it when he folded it. He hadn’t folded Millie’s. Jessie’s original plan was to leave both cards in his pocket after downing the pills so the proper authorities could be notified.

  God, what a stupid idea.

  Jessie heard the patrol car drive away as he turned on the computer.

  Jessie, I need to talk to you.

  Jessie smiled and sat back as the screen came on. I was just going to PM you. Guess it’s true what they say about great minds thinking ali—

  Dad’s in jail!

  What?

  “Curtis!”

  What do you mean, Dad’s in jail?

  Jessie slipped the cards into the pocket of his shorts as the Mrs. ran past his room.

  “Curtis! Curtis? Where are…. Oh my God, what happened? Curtis!”

  It was terrible, Jessie!

  “Curtis!”

  Jess
ie could hear the hysterical edge to his sister’s inside voice. It sounded a little like Mrs. Steinar’s.

  Hold on a minute, Abbs, okay?

  Hold on? What?

  Something happened…just hang on. “In here.”

  Jessie closed the laptop as the Mrs. ran into the room. “You got sick! What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter, Curtis? Of course it matters.”

  Jessie!

  In a minute.

  He hit Mr. Wingate and broke his jaw.

  What?

  Jessie started when the Mrs. grabbed his arms. “Why did you throw up? What happened?”

  What happened?

  Chapter Thirty

  The Mrs. tightened her grip on Jessie’s arms. “Answer me, Curtis! What happened?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wingate were on TV, at a Travelers Rights March and Dad thought…. He said it was just supposed to be a rally, but….

  He broke Mr. Wingate’s jaw?

  – – –

  Abbs? What else?

  – – –

  The Mrs. sank her nails in deeper. “Curtis! Curtis, why were you sick? Why didn’t you stay in the bathroom like I told you? Curtis!”

  What else, Abbie?

  There was a fire. The house…it’s bad, Jessie.

  The Traveler…the girl, did she—?

  No. They’re okay…Mrs. Wingate and the girl, but they could have died.

  I know the feeling.

  “Curtis!”

  Why? Did something happen?

  I can’t stay here.

  “Answer me, Curtis!” the Mrs. screamed and slapped him. “What happened?”

  The slap didn’t hurt, much, but it was enough to pull Jessie out of his head and back into the room just as she was raising her hand for another strike.

  Jessie grabbed her arms, stopping her. “You want to know what happened – those pills you drugged me with upset my stomach. I’m not Curtis!”

  And then he pushed her away…forgetting he was much stronger than Jessica Faith had ever been.

  The Mrs. managed two stumbling steps backward before her foot hit a vertical shard of glass and she fell, screaming.

  Jessie! What’s going on?

  The Mr. rushed in and stopped. “What happened?”

  “She fell.”

  The Mr. took a step toward Jessie. “What did you do to her?”

  “No!” The Mrs. stopped screaming and tried to push herself up. The Mr. rushed to help. “It was an accident. It was just an accident. I stepped on some glass.”

  Jessie watched the Mr.’s eyes as he helped the Mrs. to her feet.

  “Come on, Eva,” he said, “let’s take a look at that cut.”

  I need you to do something for me, Abbs.

  Okay.

  I’m going to give you a phone number and you have to tell the person who answers to come get me. Okay?

  Okay. What happened, Jessie?

  The same thing that happened there, almost. I’m not hurt, but you’re wrong, Abbs, my kind will never fit in…there are too many who won’t let us.

  Okay. Who do you want me to call?

  Jessie took the cards out of his pocket, looked at both then refolded Dr. Ellison’s card and tossed it onto the desk. He couldn’t ask his sister to talk to the man they’d been taught was the devil incarnate.

  At least not yet.

  Jessie stared at the phone number on Millie’s card until it glowed with a reverse color halo.

  The lady’s name is Millie and she’s really nice. Tell her I’m okay, but I can’t stay here.

  Okay.

  “Can I talk to you, Jessie?”

  Jessie turned as the Mr. walked in. And tell her to hurry. Gotta go, Abbs. Thanks.

  I love you, Jessie.

  Same here. “Sure.”

  “This shouldn’t have happened, Jessie, and I’m sorry it did.”

  “I know.”

  “But….”

  Jessie closed the distance between them just enough to hand him the card. “It’s okay, Mr. Steinar. I’ve taken care of it. She should be here soon.”

  * * *

  New Hope, Pennsylvania / 2:14 a.m.

  It wasn’t the strangest call Millie had ever gotten since becoming a Newcomer counselor, but it was right up there near the top of the cream level.

  She’d been all tucked in and asleep when her room phone chirped and the next thing she knew she was sitting up in bed and listening as a girl explained that Jessie had asked her to call because he needed to leave and wanted Millie to pick him up. The girl didn’t give her name or where she was calling from or explain how she knew Jessie – the Caller ID screen just showed it as an unknown caller – or say why Jessie hadn’t called himself.

  Those questions were still buzzing around Millie’s head when, a moment after she’d hung up the phone, it rang again.

  And this time it had a number she recognized.

  “Ms. Guzman…um, Benezet? This is Allan Steinar. I’m sorry to be calling at this hour, but can you come pick up Jessie? I’m afraid it’s just not working out.”

  Millie didn’t ask. “Of course. I’ll be there in an hour. Will you see that Jessie is packed and ready. I’ll bring the necessary release papers for you and your wife to sign. I’m sorry.”

  The call ended without another word.

  Millie threw on clothes – loose blouse and pull-on skirt that looked sufficiently professional – at the same time she shoved the release forms into her toting sack and made calls to both the school’s head administrator and housing co-ordinator. Neither were overly concerned by the lateness of the hour; it wasn’t the first time Millie’d had to retrieve a Newcomer.

  With a few minor exceptions, the staff at New Beginnings were used to working long and irregular hours.

  She decided she’d call Dr. Ellison when she got back and had more information.

  Usually the thirty-nine-mile trip from New Hope to Phoenixville took about an hour, but with little traffic along 202 and a near-constant speed hovering between 70 and 75 mph, Millie pulled up to the Steinar house in just under forty-two minutes.

  And wished she’d been there sooner.

  Millie scuffed the curb and turned off the engine.

  The house reminded her of others she’d seen during and after the war to free the slaves. Most of the windows were broken and the plants that lined the walk trampled flat. There were scrapes and gouges in the paintwork and front door that reminded Millie of bullet holes. And she prayed to God they weren’t. Bright yellow ribbons of police tape decorated the porch columns, illuminated by a hanging bare light bulb. A police car sat in the driveway, silent and dark until Millie pulled up, then the passenger-side door opened and Jessie got out.

  She’d just seen him the week before, but he looked older somehow, fragile yet sturdy at the same time.

  The officer in the driver’s seat must have said something to him because Jessie bent down and nodded, then opened up the back door and pulled out a large red duffle bag. Millie saw him smile as he slung the duffle over one shoulder and started down the drive toward her.

  She grabbed her toting sack off the passenger-side seat and got out of the car, unlocking the doors as she did so. Millie was just stepping onto the sidewalk when the scarred front door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Steinar came out, followed by another police officer.

  “But it was an accident!” Mrs. Steinar said. “Curtis, come here, please.”

  Jessie kept walking until he reached the car and Millie opened the passenger-side door. “Are you okay, Jessie?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

  She looked over his shoulder at the house. Mrs. Steinar was still calling her dead son’s name.

  �
�I’m so sorry, Jessie.”

  He nodded, then turned and looked at the people on the porch.

  “Curtis would never hurt me! It was an accident. Tell them, Curtis. Tell your father it was an accident!” Mrs. Steinar started down the front steps but Mr. Steinar stopped her and pulled her back onto the porch. “Curtis, please!”

  “It’ll be better for her if I go,” Jessie said as he turned back to Millie. “I can, can’t I? I don’t have to stay, do I?”

  Millie thumped her hand against the top of the door hard enough to clear the lump that had suddenly filled her throat. “No, honey, you don’t. Now, you climb inside and get comfortable, just throw that in the back, while I go talk to them, okay?”

  “Curtis!”

  Millie closed the door and started up the walk. She’d seen grief in both her lifetimes and it always took something away that could never be replaced. Hope and joy mostly, but sometimes, like now, reason. Mrs. Steinar had lost her son again and that kind of grief didn’t go easy.

  “Curtis!”

  Mr. Steinar moved his wife back to give Millie room. “Eva, stop. It’s for the best.”

  “Let me go! Curtis, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I’m sorry. Curtis!”

  Millie reached out and took the woman’s hand. “Hush, now, hush. You’ll be fine, just hush. That’s right.”

  Mrs. Steinar looked at Millie without seeing her. “It was an accident.”

  “I’m sure it was. Now why don’t you go back inside with this nice officer and rest a spell while I talk to your husband?”

  Mrs. Steinar nodded as the officer took her arm and walked her back into the house. “Curtis is a genius, you know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Steinar, I’m—”

  “Just give me the damned papers,” he said, “and get that thing out of here.”

  Millie handed him the forms that legally relinquished any and all responsibility and obligations to Jessie and even managed a soft ‘thank you’ when he handed them back.

  Didn’t matter who or when, some things never changed.

  Jessie was almost asleep when Millie got into the car. “All done?”

  “All done,” Millie said and started the car. Mr. Steinar was still on the porch, waiting for them to leave. Millie pulled out a little too quickly, squealing the tires against the road. “Sorry.”