by D. K. Wall
“Why do you say that? Where do you belong?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t deserve to be there.”
She’s wearing one of her bright knit sweaters. This one is purple and green with giant blue snowflakes. I guess they’re supposed to make you feel happy, but I find them distracting. She leans forward with her notebook clutched in her lap. “Don’t you want things to get back to normal?”
“Normal? Why do I get normal when they don’t?”
“Ah. Sounds like you’re feeling some survivor’s guilt today.”
We’ve talked lots about this. Damn straight, I’m suffering from survivor’s guilt. I’m alive, and they’re all dead. All those little kids. I can’t even remember all their faces. Or their names. I’ve tried. They were scared and hungry and tired. He did awful things to them, and now they’re dead. And I can barely remember some of them, just like I can’t remember my past.
The hiker too. A nice guy tried to help us, and all it got him was dead.
Mostly, I feel guilty that I survived and Kevin didn’t. What if Matthew had beaten me to death instead? He was right—it was my responsibility to make sure everyone followed the rules. Never let them see you. If Matthew had taken it out on me, then Kevin would still be alive, recovering in a hospital room with his family around him and going home.
Kevin knew the rules. He called out, but it was my fault. I should have stopped him. Maybe if I had, we both would have escaped and survived.
“Kevin deserves to be going home. Not me.”
“You deserve this, Jaxon. You’ve earned it.”
I know she’s wrong. I haven’t earned it at all. But they take me home anyway. We slip out one of the back entrances and past the dumpsters to Connor’s waiting pickup truck. We drive around the building, and they point to the main entrance and laugh. A pair of sheriff’s department cars are parked there with the doors open, as if they were going to pick someone up. Reporters and cameramen crowd around them, taking pictures and shouting questions.
Decoy—Something used to draw attention away from another.
We drive through some neighborhoods of small one-story houses with front porches and sidewalks, all looking more or less the same to me, until we pull into one of the driveways. A bundle of brightly colored balloons is tied to the mailbox. A sign proclaiming “Welcome Home, Jaxon!” is staked in the front yard.
Inside the house, Heather says we should relax in our room while she heats a casserole for a big celebration lunch. “Don’t worry. We have enough food to last ’til kingdom come. I think everyone in town brought something over.”
Connor pushes open the door to his room—he keeps saying “our,” but I can’t do that yet—and we go in.
He scoops a wadded-up T-shirt off the floor and tosses it into a basket then sits on the bed pushed up against a wall by the window. Tennis shoes and boots are on the floor. The desk between the two beds has a laptop and a pile of comic books. His bed has a red-and-black patterned quilt. The pillow sticks out from underneath it. He waves his arm around. “So what do you think?”
Posters are tacked to the light-blue walls. The first one that catches my eye is a bright-red car flying down an open highway. “Wow.”
“That’s a Lamborghini.”
“You going to get one?”
He laughed. “Sure. With my next raise.”
“Is that a friend of yours?” I point to a guy with a white-and-blue jersey, holding a football.
“Cam Newton? We don’t exactly hang out, but he’s cool.”
“And…” I point at the next poster, a guy in shorts, shooting a basketball.
“Stephen Curry. Also not a friend.”
“And him? Does he play sports?” A guy in blue jeans leans against a pickup truck.
“Blake Shelton. Plays awesome music.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” A beautiful woman with long blond hair thrown seductively over her shoulder.
“Carrie Underwood? In my dreams.”
I study the posters. “Where do you get all of the pictures?”
“Mostly at a consignment store downtown. We can get you some.”
I nod slowly. “I don’t know people like this.”
“They don’t have to be people. Maybe we can get you a sunrise coming over the mountains. I’ve seen some like that down there.”
I walk over to the closet and run my hands down the clothes. The closet is full of his jeans and shirts and hoodies and coats. “Whose clothes are these?”
“Mine.”
“All these are yours?” I’ve never had more than a pair of pants and a shirt, and they had to last until he remembered to get something else, which wasn’t often.
“You can try them on if you want. I’ve got old stuff in there too small for me. Maybe they will fit.”
I look over at him sprawled in the bed. He’s not big like Horace back at the hospital, but he’s still tall and muscular. I’m just short and skinny. I don’t see how any of his stuff can fit me.
“We can find you clothes down at the consignment store too. Or the Walmart out by the interstate. Don’t worry. Plenty of room in the closet.”
I walk over to my side of the room and touch the bed with my hand. It has a picture of a guy holding what looks like a sword. I point at it and look at Connor with a question on my face.
“Star Wars. You used to really like it.”
I walk over to a small bookcase with little kids’ picture books and action figurines. I pick up one who looks just like the guy on my bedspread.
“Mom didn’t want to change everything.” He leaned back against the wall. “I guess I didn’t, either. We even kept all your pants and shirts in those drawers.”
I sit down on the bed and look around.
“Don’t worry, Jax. We can change it all. Get you stuff. Make it home again.”
Connor’s side of the room grew and evolved over the years. My side, however, is as lost as that little kid was ten years ago. It tells me again how little I belong here.
Connor’s nice. I like him, really, but he’s not a brother to me like Kevin is.
Was.
We shared the darkness together. Brothers of the dark.
But here I am. Missing my brother and gaining one at the same time.
It’s not right.
I don’t belong here.
45
“Thanks for letting me do this.” Harold cut the twine holding the trunk of his Chevelle closed to reveal his surprise.
Heather wrung her hands and forced a smile for her ex-husband. He was trying, really trying, to be a father. Winning Connor over hadn’t been easy after years of broken promises and lengthy disappearances, but he had made progress. Helping Connor buy that beat-up old pickup truck certainly hadn’t hurt. The man wasn’t creative enough to try a different tactic, so she wasn’t surprised when Harold had called and told her he had a present for Jaxon. Since they had only been home from the hospital for three days, she thought it was too soon but had reluctantly agreed.
“Where did you get it?”
Harold rested the bright-red bicycle on its kickstand and stepped back to admire it. “The consignment store downtown. I had to oil the chain and sprockets and adjust the brakes, but it runs fine now. Then I sanded the rust off the frame and painted it the same color as the one he had as a kid. Thought maybe it would remind him of it.”
She shuddered and looked away. “It might.”
He looked up at her, his head cocked to the side. His face paled. “Oh God, I didn’t think. I’m so sorry. I’ll take it away.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “No, don’t. He’ll love it. It just…”
“I’m such an idiot. The police found his bicycle in the park beside the swing set that day.”
She did her best to smile. “Yes, but it’s silly. This bike is totally different. That one was a little kid’s bike.”
“But the red. I wanted it to remind him, and didn’t think it would remind you too. I’
ll take it back and paint it purple or something.”
She placed her hand on his forearm. “Harold, it’s okay. It caught me off guard, but you’re right. It probably will remind him of happier times, and that’s perfect. We need to do everything we can to take him back to normal. Besides, I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken time off work, and I’m glad I’ve spent some time with them, but two teenage boys underfoot the whole time is a little noisy. Getting out of the house will do them both some good.”
She waved off his protest and turned up the short walkway to the front door. Video-game noises squawked through the screen door, the constant sound of two teenage boys at play, but now it was both her sons and not Connor and one of his buddies. She hollered to be heard over the racket. “Boys. Your dad has something for you.”
Within seconds, the screen door squeaked open and banged shut as the boys exited the house, the soles of their tennis shoes slapping the ground. “Cool,” exclaimed Connor as he raced up and grabbed the handlebars. Jaxon froze halfway down the walk, the color draining out of his face as he stood and stared at the bicycle.
Harold and Heather exchanged a worried glance. She strained to keep her voice steady through her concern that his first connection was the same as hers—to the day he last rode his bike. “It’s a present from your dad. Do you like it?”
He swallowed hard, and his voice came out shaky. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
Connor bounced on the balls of his feet, looking back and forth between his parents and his brother. His face brightened. “Let me get mine, and we can ride around together.”
“I don’t…” Jaxon shifted his gaze to his brother. “I don’t know how to ride it.”
Connor stopped bouncing and raised an eyebrow. “But we used to ride everywhere. You never forget how to ride a bike, right?”
Heather walked over to Jaxon and stroked his hair. “It’s been a long time, right, honey. You forgot how is all.”
“Y-y-y-yeah, that’s it.”
“Well, we can’t put training wheels on it, ’cause that would look silly.” A nervous laugh slipped out of Connor, earning him a dirty look from his mother. He dropped the smile from his face. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you, Jax. Jump on.”
Heather absorbed the younger boy’s nervous look and nodded encouragement to him. He hesitantly stepped forward and slung his leg over the middle bar. As Connor held tightly to the seat and handlebars, Jaxon balanced and pleaded, “Don’t let me fall.”
“Don’t worry, little dude, I’ve got ya. Just pedal slowly.”
Jaxon remained frozen, his toes planted on the pavement. A puzzled look crossed Connor’s face, but he shrugged it off. He released the handlebars, guided Jaxon’s left foot onto the pedal, and waited for the boy to do the same on the other pedal. Without the benefit of movement, the bike remained balanced only because of Connor’s grip. Replacing his hand on the handlebars and gripping the back of the seat, Connor walked forward slowly to give Jaxon the sensation of movement. He carefully removed his hand from the handlebar and walked holding only the seat, allowing Jaxon to get the feel of the movement of the front tire as the younger boy’s knuckles turned white under his firm grip.
He patiently explained the hand brakes and dismissed the gears with a wave. “We’ll get to those later, but first I want you to pedal.” With a cautious rotation of his feet, Jaxon was soon propelling forward. Connor jogged alongside, shouting encouragement. The front wheel wobbled a few times, but he was soon moving fast enough to turn Connor’s jog into a determined run.
Connor released his hold on the seat and kept pace alongside. He continued to coach and encourage, but Jaxon had full control. Connor slowed and fell behind as he watched his brother ride around in the street.
Jaxon looked over his shoulder and realized Connor was several steps behind. He panicked and didn’t look where he was going. The bike crashed into the curb, sending both boy and bicycle tumbling through the air. He hit the grass in the yard and somersaulted, a tangle of legs and arms flying in the air.
Heather gasped and ran toward him. Harold and Connor reached him first, so she had to elbow her way past them to see the extent of his injuries. To her surprise, he was sitting up and laughing.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked.
He held up his left arm, the ripped shirtsleeve exposing a raw scrape and a trickle of blood on his forearm. He shrugged and said with a grin, “It’s nothing.”
The horror of his past rippled through Heather again. He wasn’t simply acting tough, as some boys would. Compared to the things he had experienced, a scrape really was nothing.
He righted the bike and climbed back aboard. With a little help from Connor, he restarted his pedaling and was soon riding up and down the block. Smiling, Jaxon regained his confidence and extended his distance in front of his brother, too far to stop a fall but never out from under the watchful gaze.
Harold stood beside his ex-wife as she alternately gasped and held her breath. “Connor’s good with him, isn’t he?”
As she started to answer, Jaxon wobbled again and struggled to correct his balance. Connor reached out to steady the bike, but the younger brother regained control himself. The boys’ laughter floated across the yards.
With a hand against her throat, she coaxed herself to relax. She couldn’t take her eyes off them as she answered Harold. “I went into the den the other night, and Connor was teaching him how to work the TV remote control. Jaxon is fascinated with movies, like he’s never seen one, but didn’t seem to know how to turn the TV on or off, change the channels, or even adjust the volume. It’s the craziest thing, all the basic stuff he has forgotten, but Con hangs in there and shows him.”
“He’s going to make a great dad someday.” Harold paused for a moment. “Much better than I ever was.”
She risked taking her eyes off the boys for a minute and turned to Harold. “You taught Connor how to ride a bike, remember?”
He looked down at the ground, but the faintest smile showed on his lips. “I remember you upset when Con came in crying, a big scrape on his knee and a tear in his jeans.”
She shrugged. “Well, moms worry about those things, but he got over it quick. And you got him right back on that bike.”
“Yeah.” Connor had stopped running beside his brother and instead stood in the road and watched him ride. Harold grinned as the bond between the boys grew. “But I wasn’t around to teach Jaxon, was I?”
“No, but Connor did. And he’s doing it again. Those are skills he learned from you.”
“But I missed teaching him myself.” He sighed, a long, low sound of mourning. “I missed so much.”
Heather wrapped her arm around his waist, an expression of affection she hadn’t shared with him in years, and squeezed. “We can’t change the past, Harold. Let’s vow not to miss tomorrow, okay?”
46
Sweat ran down Connor’s back despite the cold air. He leaned over, hands balanced on his knees, and sucked in a lungful of air. Both pride and exhaustion coursed through his body as he watched Jaxon ride in big looping circles in the road, amazed by how fast the boy had learned how to ride his bike.
Relearned, he reminded himself. Even better, remembered.
The shock of hearing Jaxon say he didn’t know how to ride a bike had dulled. He simply meant he had forgotten, as he had forgotten so many things, locked away in that dungeon all of those years. Everything would come back to him. Connor would have his little brother back again.
“Give me a sec to get my bike. We’ll go find some trails.”
Jaxon braked and wobbled a little before getting his feet planted firmly on the pavement. He nodded toward Heather, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Harold in the front yard, watching them like hawks. “She’ll be okay if we go off like that?”
Connor flashed his brilliant devil-may-care smile in the sun. “When I promise her I won’t let you out of my sight, yeah. And don’t worry—I won’t.” He ran around th
e back of the house and pulled open the squeaky door to an old storage building. Pushing aside a lawnmower and some yard tools, he extracted his BMX bicycle and rolled it into the yard. Rust speckled the faded green paint. The handlebar grips were wrapped in tape to hide their wear. He brushed the spiderwebs off and oiled the chain, mentally noting how many months had passed since he last rode—back in the heat of summer, he thought, with a couple of buddies after high-school graduation. The pickup truck Harold had helped him buy had become his preferred method of transportation, but it would be fun to trail ride again.
He mounted the bike and rode to the front of the house, skidding to a stop on the grass in front his parents. They were being friendlier and warmer than he had seen in years, probably ever. Over the last couple of years, as Harold had so obviously been trying to rebuild a bridge with Connor, they had declared a tenuous truce and were polite to each other. He knew that was for his own benefit, not theirs. Without a common child, they would long ago have gone their separate ways.
Now that they have both sons back, maybe…
But he couldn’t let his thoughts get ahead of him. “Cool present, Dad. I think he got the hang of it again quick, so I’m going to take him out on some trails if that’s cool.”
Heather chewed on her lip as she watched her younger son circling in the road, only a few wobbles noticeable. “You think he’s ready?”
Harold smiled at Connor and said, “With his big-brother guardian, he’ll be fine.”
She reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Just be back for dinner.”
Before she could change her mind, Connor waved and pedaled down the drive, motioning for his brother to follow. Jaxon quickly fell alongside, and they chatted as they cruised at a comfortable speed. They zigged and zagged through the neighborhoods, turning right and then left, aimless and having fun. They slowed at each intersection as Connor urged Jaxon to look both ways for cars, even if he had the right-of-way. Safety first, he admonished, feeling adult in his words.
After half an hour of riding aimlessly, they pulled up to the end of Broad Street, across from Abe’s Market. The road to the left twisted up into the mountains and into the next county. The road directly across entered the town’s industrial park, a collection of aging manufacturing plants that provided the backbone of jobs to Millerton. Many had closed over the years, their parking lots sprouting tall weeds and closed off with rusting chains. Connor worked in a factory inside the complex, hoping to never hear that his own employer was going bust. Since it was a Saturday, the plants were mostly closed and quiet, the blinking traffic light dancing on the overhead wires in the breeze with no traffic to control.