Deadfall

by Stephen Wallenfels

  Footsteps approached from the hall. There wasn’t enough time to clear the scan, and closing the laptop would stop the download. He pressed the Windows key +D to minimize the pop-up, then reached for a tortilla chip as Harvey, wearing boxers and nothing else, rounded the corner. He stopped, stared at Cory, then stormed up to him. “How long have you been here?” he demanded. The edge to his voice sent Cory’s heartbeat soaring.

  “I…I just sat down.”

  “That’s what you did. I asked for a unit of time.”

  “Maybe five minutes.”

  “Maybe is not an answer.”

  Cory gulped. “Okay. Six minutes?”

  Harvey flashed a smile. “Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time. That’s all right with you, isn’t it?”

  Cory was stunned at how that smile came out of nowhere, as if Harvey had flipped a switch. “Sure,” he said, certain that he wouldn’t be able to relax for the rest of the night.

  “Those of us in the legal profession have an overzealous appreciation for precise language. Lawyers that approached my bench learned that lesson quickly. What I really want to know is: Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Any reason in particular?”

  “No. I just wasn’t tired.”

  “I suffer from the same affliction.” He nodded at the laptop. “What are you watching?”

  “Nothing. I’m downloading a game.”

  “What game?”

  “World of Warcraft.”

  “Isn’t that an old game?”

  “Yes. But it’s still awesome.”

  “What’s wrong with the Wi-Fi in your room?”

  “It’s stronger down here. The download would have taken too long.” Cory wondered if he was in Harvey’s courtroom, waiting to be sentenced for a crime.

  “I’ll get it fixed tomorrow,” Harvey said.

  “A range extender might work,” Cory said, jumping at the chance to shift the conversation away from what he was doing. “But an AP would be better.”

  “What’s an AP?”

  “Access point. Sometimes they’re called repeaters depending on how your router is configured. I think APs have better range than a simple wireless extender.”

  “You lost me at repeater.” Harvey smiled. “Those tortilla chips are good, but they’re better with the mango salsa.”

  “I’m sorry. The bag was open. I didn’t—”

  “No. You’re part of the family now. I’ve been known to enjoy the occasional midnight snack.”

  Cory doubted that. Even in the shadows, he could see the man was nearly as cut as Ty. He also noticed a three-inch horizontal scar on the right side of his chest.

  Harvey asked, “How close is your download to being done?”

  Cory glanced at the screen. “It has three minutes left.”

  “Perfect. I have something for you and Ty. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Harvey left for his office. As soon as he was out of sight, Cory screen-shot the scan, dragged it to the games folder, then wiped his browsing history. The Battlenet.com download finished seconds before Harvey, thankfully wearing a T-shirt now, returned. He was carrying two white boxes, each about the size of a thick paperback book. Cory closed the laptop and stood, anxious to return to the attic.

  Harvey said, “All the salespeople at the Lot get these.” He handed the boxes to Cory. They were iPhones. The wrappers were unbroken.

  “Thank you,” Cory said, stunned.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll add you to the business account on Monday.”

  “But me and Ty, we’re not salespeople.”

  “Lesson number one,” Harvey said, “no matter what you do in life, you’re always selling.”

  While they were on the subject of the Lot, Cory wondered if now was the time to bring up an idea he had mentioned to Charlene when they were shopping at Walmart. Charlene had thought it sounded wonderful. Cory decided to go for it. “I was wondering if I could work somewhere other than the Lot.”

  “Is there a problem with the Lot?”

  “Because of my size…it would be hard for me to handle the vacuuming.”

  “Fair enough. But if you’re thinking about the hardware store, I’m afraid that is not an option.” He gave Cory a steady look, as if to nail that coffin closed. Cory wondered what it was about that particular business that took it off the table, but he didn’t want to risk derailing what he really wanted with that question.

  “Actually I was thinking Bravo Burgers. The manager said she needs a busser.”

  “Are you sure? The pay is better at the Lot. And logistically it’s more convenient for you and your brother to work at the same place. I could tell Manny that you need to do exterior washing only.”

  It sounded like Harvey was working up to a no. Cory decided to take another risk. “I want to learn how to cook.”

  That raised an eyebrow. “Is this Charlene’s idea, or yours?”

  “Mine. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I like to read cookbooks and imagine how I would change the recipes.”

  “Bravo Burgers would hardly qualify as fine dining.”

  “It’s fine enough for me.”

  Harvey rubbed his chin. Benny would have said something like Are you sure someone fat as you should be working around all those fries? You’d eat up all the profits! Cory steeled himself for the worst. Instead Harvey nodded and said, “Here’s what I’ll do. Charlene gets her worry on when I can’t sleep. She thinks it’s bad for my heart, and she’s probably right.” He tapped the place where Cory had seen the scar. “I had a pacemaker installed last year. If you promise to keep this encounter between us I’ll tell Rebecca that she has a new busser.”

  It seemed like an odd request in what was turning out to be an odd conversation. But if keeping a secret from Charlene was what it took to trade a crevice tool in for a spatula, Cory was all over it. I’ve been keeping secrets my entire life. What’s another year? “Sure,” he said. “Not a problem. Thank you, sir.”

  “Please. Call me Harvey. You’ve had a rough couple of days. Go back to bed. I shall do the same.” He started to walk away.

  Cory said, “Since I won’t be working at the Lot, do you want the iPhone back?”

  “No. But if it gets lost, stolen, or damaged you’ll owe the company eight hundred dollars.”

  “Thank you, sir. I mean, Harvey.”

  He disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the house. Cory watched Pavlov twitch in his horse-size bed by the fireplace. After a few minutes the butterflies in his stomach had calmed enough for him to put away the chips, then climb the stairs to the attic. He had a laptop, an iPhone, new clothes, and a new job. He and Ty were living together in a ski lodge. Despite a far-off voice in his head whispering, All is not right in the house of Mott, Cory allowed himself a smile of his own as he rolled back into bed.

  Chaos was finally giving way to order.

  STUMPTOWN

  NOW

  32

  When I wake she is still sleeping. Her color looks good, but her breathing sounds a little more labored, like the rattle has moved from her throat to deep in her chest. The candle is still lit although it’s barely more than a stub in a puddle of wax. I wonder how long it took to burn down that far. One hour? Three? Five? Then I look at the door and realize the crack of light is gone.

  Is it night already?

  I peer out one of the portholes. Total black. I have no idea what time it is. The thought disorients me. Frightens me. I need more light. With my heart pounding, I use the burning stub to light three more candles. That’s better. The tightness in my chest subsides. I take two deep breaths.

  Astrid stirs beside me and opens her eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, motions for the phone.

  Why didn’t I think of that? The last time I saw it was when I gave it to her at the top of the ridge. “You put it in the hoodie pocket, right?”
/>   She nods.

  The hoodie is hanging on a nail behind the stove. I check the pockets. No phone. Although I’m 99 percent sure it’s a waste of time, I open my pack and check her jeans. Empty. A sickening feeling creeps over me. Desperate, I check my pants and jacket. All I find are bandage wrappers and the alarm key for the back door at Bravo.

  “Is it in your sleeping bag?”

  She shakes her head.

  “It has to be here. Help me look.”

  Astrid glares at me. It’s a ridiculous request. And there’s really nowhere to look. Bizarrely, I think about asking her to call my phone.

  She points at the door.

  “You think it’s out there?”

  One grim nod.

  Shit. Although the phone could be anywhere between here and the top of the ridge, I’m thinking it probably fell out when we struggled (aka I broke her arm). That means I’d have to search an area of about fifty square feet.

  I say, “I’d rather not look for it now. The headlamp might call attention to us. I’ll take a quick look first thing tomorrow morning before I go for water. But speaking of the phone, I have a question for you. Actually, it’s one question with a follow-up.”

  Her eyebrows gather together. I assume that means she has a question of her own.

  I say, “Is there something you want to ask me?”

  She nods.

  “Would you like to go first?”

  She shakes her head, points to me.

  “Okay. Question one.” I show her the clearly defined imprint of her teeth on the meaty part of my right thumb. “Do you remember how this happened?” She blinks and nods. “Right before you did that you let out a scream that could probably be heard all the way to Portland.” I pause. She waits. I wonder if she knows where I’m headed with this. “At that moment I realized two things. For one, I scared the shit out of you. I’m sorry about that. So thank you for going Wolverine on my thumb. I deserved it.” She nods. There’s maybe the faintest hint of a smile. That’s a relief. I need some encouragement for what comes next. “The other thing I realized was that your vocal cords work. Which brings me to my follow-up question.” I pause again. Her eyes narrow. Yeah, she knows where I’m headed. Maybe I should stop here. If she wants to talk, she will. On the other hand, she needs to know that I know—so I blurt it out: “Did you know you have an accent when you talk in your sleep?”

  Her eyes go wide. Let’s call this her deer-in-the-headlights look. Again I wonder if I should stop. But I’m too far down this road to turn around. Even if it means I’m likely to crash and burn. “I think it’s Australian. Or maybe British. I’m not sure because it was mostly mumbles, mixed with some no’s and something about a boot.” I try to keep it light, like it’s no big deal. In truth what I heard was anything but light. There is some scary shit going on in this girl’s head.

  Her eyes close. I wait for them to open. They do not. It looks like pain is involved. I’m not sure of my next move. Did I go too far? Was I too insensitive? Should I have kept this information to myself? Honestly, I thought this revelation would be good news. With her secret out, we could move past it. Wrong again. As Benny would say, Chalk up another win for team stupid. Her silence has gone beyond awkward. It’s time for damage control. I say, “On the other hand, talking is overrated. We talk and talk and what do we really say? And given our current situation, I think hand signals and head shaking are the way to go. I’ll stop talking now. After you ask your question.”

  Her eyes open. I don’t see the spark of anger I saw before. But the lighting isn’t very good, so I could be wrong. It’s been known to happen. She motions with a finger for me to come closer.

  I lean in.

  She motions again.

  I lean so close that I feel the heat radiating off her cheek. Now I’m starting to worry. “Astrid, if you’re thinking about biting my ear, let’s just—”

  She puts her hand over my mouth.

  Our little room falls silent. The candles flicker. She pulls her hand away.

  Then with her fevered breath brushing my ear she whispers, “Where’s the loo?”

  LUSTER, OR.

  SEVEN MONTHS AGO

  33

  On Saturday mornings when Charlene taught yoga at the YMCA and Harvey went on his 6.2-mile trail run with Pavlov, Cory would make breakfast for Justin and Chloe. Ty would join in when he wasn’t at the dojo or at work. It was the one meal he cooked without any guidance from Charlene and he planned for it all week.

  On this particular Saturday he started with a buckwheat pancake recipe he found in an old Bon Appétit magazine. Cory made some tweaks of his own, using 2 percent milk mixed with plain yogurt to replace the buttermilk, two egg whites folded into the batter for extra lift, one cup of shredded apples, and a half teaspoon of nutmeg instead of cinnamon. Judging by the empty plates and requests for seconds, Cory was confident that his tweaks were keepers. While Ty changed for his shift at the Lot, and Justin and Chloe loaded the dishwasher, Cory checked his phone to see if he had any texts, hoping to hear from Stellah. It had been over two weeks. The only text was from Rebecca, the gossip-in-chief at Bravo, reminding him of the mandatory CPR recert today at 1:00. Cory was replying when Harvey returned all sweaty from his run. He snagged the last slice of bacon and said to Cory, “You and your brother in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  They watched cartoons with Justin until the fifteen minutes were up, then walked down the hall past the fishing pictures to Harvey’s office. The door was closed as usual. Ty knocked three times. A voice from inside barked, “Enter.”

  Harvey was seated behind his desk, laptop open and phone to his ear. He said into the phone, “We’ll talk later,” and hung up. Cory noticed that it was a black Samsung, not the silver iPhone he used for business. Harvey had already showered, but instead of the tan slacks and blue button-down shirt he wore to the Lot every day, he wore a dark blue suit with a cream-colored shirt and a red tie. Cory could smell the faint scent of his cologne. It mixed well with the leather and oiled wood.

  Ty headed straight for the couch. Harvey said, “Don’t bother sitting. The business we have to conduct here won’t take long. Let’s get started, shall we?” Ty glanced at Cory, his eyes saying, WTF? Cory shrugged. He wasn’t aware of anything they had done wrong.

  Harvey leveled his gaze at the two of them. “Three months and a day have passed since your arrival. You performed your duties at work without issues, and adjusted to the tone and tenor of our family.” He aimed his gray eyes at Cory. “Charlene tells me that Chloe’s anxiety has improved. Her anxious behaviors, particularly the nail biting, are nearly gone. I understand your math tutoring has played a role.”

  Cory relaxed enough to allow a smile. “She got a one hundred on her last test.”

  “I know. Chloe emailed me a picture of the test.” Harvey smiled just a little. “While on the subject of the internet, is the wireless signal in the attic meeting your video game requirements?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect.”

  “And you’re happy with the arrangement at Bravo?”

  Cory understood the juxtaposition of wireless and arrangement. “Yes,” Cory said, trying not to picture Harvey towering over him at two a.m. “The arrangement works for me.”

  “Excellent.” He focused on Ty. “I spoke with Dr. Sanchez. She said you attended all your anger management sessions. She is confident that you recognize your triggers and have developed an effective anger management plan. Do you agree with her assessment?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s good. And on another encouraging note, Tony said you are trying out for baseball. Is this true?”

  “Tryouts were last Wednesday. I made varsity.”

  “Congratulations. What position will you play?”

  “Pitcher.”

  Cory glanced at Ty. He did his best to convince Ty not to try out, that he could potentially have his name in the paper and that might not be helpful considering their history. Ty popped a Swedish F
ish in his mouth and said, “Relax, dude. No one’s gonna find us in Lusterfuck, Oregon.” But yesterday afternoon the coach posted his varsity roster on the school website, and highlighted their newest addition to the starting rotation, a transfer from Portland named Tyler “the Steamer” Bic with a “lights-out fastball that’ll make the batters cry for their mommas.”

  Harvey said, “Between the fastball and the curve, which pitch is your preference?”

  “I don’t throw curves. I just throw hard and harder.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Harvey smiled, then looked at Cory, as if he just told a joke.

  “Excuse me?” Ty asked.

  Harvey said, “A fastball uses brute force to intimidate the batter. There is nothing subtle about that pitch. But a curveball? That’s a different animal. It uses deception to trick the batter into swinging at what often turns out to be a bad pitch.” He paused, then said to Cory, “You look more like a curveballer to me.”

  Cory said after a careful beat, “I don’t play baseball.”

  Harvey shrugged. “Neither do I. However, that doesn’t preclude me from appreciating the game.” He closed his laptop. “But I didn’t call you boys in here to discuss America’s pastime. You need to get on with your day, and I”—he checked his watch—“have a press conference in thirty-five minutes.”

  “A press conference?” Cory asked. That explains the tie.

  “Things are about to get a little crazy around here. A state senate seat opened up and I’m announcing my intention to run.” Harvey slipped the Samsung into his top middle drawer and locked it, then stepped out from behind the desk. He led them out of the office and down to the door that leads to the garage. “Do you recall our discussion about milestones?”

  “Yes,” the brothers said.

  “Since you satisfied the requirements for milestone one…” Harvey opened the door and switched on the overhead lights and said, “Behold milestone two!”

  There was a car in the first stall, but it wasn’t Harvey’s white Lexus. Cory had to blink twice, just to be sure that what he was looking at was real. It was the old Volvo wagon. But it wasn’t old anymore. The black paint glistened, the tires shone. In this spotless four-car garage, it looked like a new car on a showroom floor. Cory had noticed that it went missing a couple weeks ago and asked Charlene about it. She said Harvey had grown tired of the eyesore and called to have it towed. “But don’t worry,” she said with a wink. “When the time is right you’ll have a car to drive.”