He hangs up the phone and, still wide-eyed, says, “You’ll never guess who that was.”
“You’re probably right,” I say.
“Madonna?” says Todd. Game on.
“Julie Andrews?” I say.
“Joe Pesci?”
“Former Kansas keyboardist and vocalist Steve Walsh?”
“The other Jackson Four?”
“Supernatural stars Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki?”
“A dog using a telecom service to infiltrate enemy lines?”
By now, Todd and I are laughing too hard to continue (Todd wins, as he got the last one in) and Creed’s eyes are in imminent danger of rolling back into his head. Todd and I take a moment to collect ourselves before paying him our most devoted attention.
“That was Ginger Garrity. I called a while back to try to set up an interview, as I’m sure you remember. Left her a message. Figured she wouldn’t call back after a couple of days, but there she is. She wants to do it this weekend.”
“Fuck. You’re right. I would never have guessed that,” I say.
“Ah, babe, yeah you would’ve.”
“Yeah, I probably would’ve.”
“So, we have an interview with Ginger on the schedule,” I say, “What do we do until then?”
“Dig up her therapy records?” says Creed. He retains his enthusiasm and reminds me of a dog, shaking in anticipation after its owner picks up its leash. I look the other way and Todd’s face conveys the same message.
“All right, but we’ll have to wait until dark,” I say.
“So, yet again, we ask ourselves…what now?” says Todd.
“Well, I’m beat,” says Creed, “so I’ll probably sleep for a while. Maybe we could meet up back here around sundown?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I say. I almost ask where he’s staying, but catch myself when I realize I’m on the verge of inviting a person I’ve only really known for a couple of hours into my apartment. I like Creed so far. But it’ll be a while yet before I fully trust him, and all that may change in an instant. In reality, only Todd and Beth have ever earned a significant degree of trust from me, and both have shown over and over that they are worthy of it.
I’ll admit that I’m fairly relieved that Creed wants to take a break; while I would be happy spending time with Todd in whatever capacity is available, a quiet afternoon in with him sounds divine. In the throes of constant chaos and resistance at every turn, to have things be…easy, even if only for a few hours, is a prospect that nearly brings me to happy tears.
Fifteen
Todd and I walk back to the apartment with the same casual ease as earlier. The noontime sun shines high and mighty, contrasting pleasantly with the nip in the air. The town’s old buildings seem to be made of colors more vibrant and alive than they were yesterday, and the odor on the slight breeze is of the imminently shedding foliage of the mountain.
We pick up a few groceries before heading back, then spend some time cooking and eating together. I am an okay cook. I can whisk and poach and pare and mince. But Todd is a genius. Add to that that I haven’t had the motivation to cook anything more extravagant than ramen over the past month, and Todd’s homemade lasagna with from-scratch sauce makes for quite the delicious meal indeed.
We didn’t plan the rest of the afternoon, but we never do. Never have to. The idea of doing anything right now is laughable, anyway.
So, as the Wyoming sun journeys across the sky, its rays shine upon the sleepiest town in the country, championed by Todd and me as the sleepiest inhabitants thereof.
The afternoon passes like a gasp, sucking in air and pausing for a moment, only to use its exhalation to blow all the blue out of the sky. Mountains rise and silhouette against the monochrome red canvas, like solemn guardians of the night.
Todd and I observe this from my western window. I feel a chill in my spine and don’t know whether it’s from a drop in temperature or the majesty of the moment. The romantic in me asserts the latter and I don’t dispute it.
In my youth, I never knew a moment of pure tranquility, safety, peace. Even on the relieving nights my father spent out of town, when Mom, Trina, and I were able to have an innocent, quiet night and perhaps watch a movie, the threat of my father’s return loomed in my mind. In retrospect, I think we all felt it—that the time we were enjoying was merely rented, time borrowed, and we were the more appreciative of it because of that. It wasn’t so much celebratory as it was a last-ditch effort to convince ourselves that a normal life could one day be attainable.
A more aware version of me might have thought about the classically misquoted, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” But alas, six-year-old Remy hadn’t had the biblical knowledge for that connection and was thus left to revel in the spirit and sentiment without the accompanying scripture.
Now, I reflect on that young Remy—naïve, sure, but with no remaining innocence to speak of—and wonder what he might think if I told him that one day he would experience serenity with such a simple completeness as this. In the drowsy evening of a quiet town, with Todd, undisturbed by car horns or sirens, listening to a silence whose only impurity is our own breathing.
My mother has invoked in me a sense of security I’ve never felt so solidly, and freedom is at the forefront of my mind. Logistically, I’m far less free than I was in Riverdell; I spend most of my time actively avoiding being seen, and thus I can’t really do much during the day.
But what I have now is a freedom of the mind, a profound and underappreciated freedom in which one simply allows himself to think and feel, without the inhibitions and interruptions of fear, self-doubt, and distrust. As I learned almost a year ago (and as I continue to learn now), freedom of the mind and heart is more liberating than its literal counterpart will ever be.
As darkness hugs, envelops, and eventually extinguishes the last of the brilliant colors, Todd says, “Well, shall we go?”
I smile and nod. I’m excited to bring Todd and Creed along, and I figure that, to some extent, I’ll become something of a tour guide. An amusing flash of thought occurs in which I am indeed a full-fledged tour guide, wearing an ugly blazer with a bronze nametag, exasperatedly answering Todd’s many questions while also trying to keep Creed from touching everything.
As I lock the door behind us, I get just a small, nostalgic taste of the Good Ol’ Days, in which Todd and I would go to Beth’s house or to a movie. Maybe we’d go to the park, or sometimes we would set out with no particular destination in mind and go exactly there.
This excursion is different, sure, but I mentally strip those differences away and focus on the similarities.
We make our way through the darkness, and I take the lead when we get to the trail. The moon is bright enough, once again, to illuminate much of the path, but Todd feels more comfortable following behind me when it’s dark.
“Man, this trail is a lot less romantic at night,” he says, “and a lot creepier. You really did this alone?”
“What can I say? I’m an insatiable adventurer.”
Todd laughs as we take teetering giant’s steps through the tall grass surrounding the cottage, glowing in the moonlight’s silvery sheen. The upper window on the west side is closed; Creed is here.
Todd and I climb through the window and head upstairs to find him sitting up against the wall with his phone out.
“Took you long enough,” he says. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but I’m pretty sure I see him wink.
We elect to leave all of our previously acquired documents there in the cottage. They may be useful in comparison to the others’ notes, but we decide that we’ll only use the trip for the collection of documents, and we can go through them when we get back here. That way, we won’t get sucked into a vortex powered by the thirst for knowledge that’s both present and strong in all of us. I’m definitely not fond of the prospect of spending another day at the school. Even so, I packed more food this time, just in case.
“We all r
eady, then?” I say. The others nod and we set off.
A sense of oddity lingers for a moment, but I think that’s my brain struggling to make Creed fit into the distinctly Beth-shaped hole left in our trio. The feeling is gone in a minute, though—not because Creed fits into that space, but because I surrender to the idea that Creed is just Creed.
The three of us walk up the hill toward the falls, a steady shrrr growing louder by the minute. We don’t talk much during the journey. Todd gets this way before exciting events: pensive, speculative, anticipatory.
Creed is just enjoying the ride. Perhaps his mind is as full as Todd’s, but as it is, his eyes zip and zoom from place to place—even in the darkness—the whole way there. I pick the lock holding the chains together on the front gate, and we slip inside. So far, Creed has seen everything we’ve passed, but the alluring excitement of crossing previously uncrossed boundaries within these walls seems to hold him in a grip of trembling anticipation. He keeps looking around like we’re in a building made of cheese, his fingers drumming audibly against his backpack straps.
“There’s an unlocked door out by the cafeteria,” he says. As far as I can perceive, the man nearly shits himself when I pull out my key and hold it up like a trophy.
“Where did you get that? I was wondering how you had been getting around so fast in there.”
“From the program director’s office. There’s a whole drawer full of them.”
“Also, Remy is a wiz at picking locks,” says Todd. This evidently answers Creed’s next question, as he remains silent after opening his mouth to speak. Instead he closes it and nods.
I open the door inside the lobby and we enter the small area with the office and restrooms, and I can practically feel Creed beside me, abuzz with excitement. I can’t blame him; living here for as long as I have drove me to investigation, but I had the benefit of full access to the facility.
As we cross to the school hallway, Creed deflates slightly, but bounces back even more vibrant than before. I suspect that, from his perspective, it must have been a bit of a roller coaster: finally walking through a locked door only to find himself in the same hallway he’s been in before, surrounded by the same old locked doors. But where there were previously barricades and obstacles, he must have realized, now there is a hallway rife with potential, brimming with things to be explored. And even better, being that it’s been locked up, it hasn’t been exposed to the same cast of vandals as the more accessible areas have been. Things will be all but undisturbed, ripe and ready to be juiced for the sweet nectar that is intel.
“First things first,” I say. I beeline for the door marked ‘Program Director’ and open it. Todd and Creed follow me inside, but there’s scarcely room for all three of us, so I make my business quick: I open the squeaky drawer and pull out one key each for Todd and Creed. Todd places his in his pants pocket, which looks almost offensively unceremonious compared to the respectful reverence with which Creed takes his and clutches it to his chest like a man who found his wedding ring after weeks of diligent searching. I expect him to kiss it, even, but he instead opts to hang onto it, keeping it clenched in his palm.
“Got a thing for tarnished old keys, do you?” says Todd. “Should Remy and I give you two some privacy?” Todd grins and Creed laughs, breaking his trance-like fixation.
“Right, then, all explorers ready? Let’s get going on why we’re here.”
While I’m by no means averse to exploring more, I do find relief in that I already know where I can find relevant documents. The thrill of every door and cabinet potentially holding important information was fun, but this errand can be completed quickly, which is the more prudent way to do it. Still, I suppose I can’t very well deny Todd and especially Creed the chance to explore the school after giving them keys and seeing Creed light up like the Las Vegas skyline.
So, we pass through the school area, my two companions flitting from door to door together. I almost point them in the right direction, but the sentiment feels like I imagine a father might feel, watching his two voracious children hunt down Easter baskets. In a couple of minutes, they find their way to the courtyard door. Creed, in complete ecstasy, uses his key to unlock the door. The courtyard carries less mystery and enigma than my first time through; my not being alone has robbed the scene of its magic melancholy. In contrast, these two seem adequately enthralled despite that Creed has been to this area before.
Both of them look around for a minute, then gravitate toward the dorm building.
“Ah, yeah. It’s all corroded. There’s a broken window in the back where we can get in,” says Creed before I think to. It’s a strange sensation to be speaking so candidly about our shared experience, as it was so saturated in mystery and suspense last time the two of us were here—for me, at least. I wonder what that may have looked and felt like from his perspective. Probably he followed me from the cottage, certain he knew where I was heading.
We make our way around to the back, where I entered before, and the familiar disarray of the office comes into view. I take a moment to entertain myself with the thought that that was only a couple of nights ago. So much has happened in the past two days that it seems to have been much longer than that. But if any day is to feel so long, I’m glad it has been this one.
We clamber inside, Todd only slightly less gracefully than Creed and me. Creed uses his precious new key to unlock the door with a brand of childlike glee, and we step into the main area hallway.
Although there are three of us this time, the spacious hall seems more empty than last night. This time, I think, it’s because my attention is largely devoted to my companions instead of filling up the floor and staircase with imaginary students and their loud chatter of varying emotions. No, indeed, the bare, hard surfaces echo our own noises rather than the parting of its former occupants.
“There’s a classroom up there,” I say, pointing toward the locked door on the other side of the hall.
“But wasn’t the school area back there?” Creed asks.
“Yeah, but I think this one is more like study hall, a place to come and do homework more than to learn new material.”
Todd and Creed both approach the door. Todd opens it this time, and the two walk in ahead of me, reaching the desk before I even get to the doorway. By the time I’m halfway into the room, Creed has already fished Ginger’s folder out of the metal drawer.
“Shall we indulge here or later on, maybe at the cottage?”
“Later,” I say. “That way, we can assemble all of the information we have and view it as a more complete picture.”
Todd agrees and Creed, looking just the slightest bit put out, tucks the folder into his own bag and we move on. Recalling my first time through that room, I get goosebumps for a moment, wondering whether my stalker before is here with me again. But of course, that’s only in the split second before I remember that he is, in fact, standing right next to us.
We make our way through the east doors, out to the vast main area containing the entrances to the dorm units. This time, I lead the way instead of indulging their curiosity, as there’s nothing of interest between here and Willa’s room. All the while, I watch Todd as we move; his razor-sharp memory is surely ablaze, taking mental images as we go.
I open the door to Willa’s unit and show Todd and Creed to her bedroom.
“This is where I found the lockbox,” I say, holding the mattress up. The three of us split up, looking through the rooms for anything else, but we come up empty-handed; my initial combing through seems to have been sufficiently thorough.
After declaring the unit useless, we head onward toward, in my opinion, the most likely place to contain further relevant information: the therapists’ offices. If there were any telltale factors from Ginger’s behavior leading up to the event, they will have been well reflected and well-documented over time, and well-preserved since then.
I open the door to reveal an office identical to that of Willa’s therapist in terms of si
ze and shape, but nothing else. The walls are covered in artwork that looks like it was done by the clients: psychedelic explosions of clashing colors, tastefully and artistically done roses, and festive pieces including hand turkeys, construction paper Christmas trees, Valentines, and what look like pumpkins, but may in fact be poorly painted sunsets.
“Interesting,” I say, “I would think that someone with a sentimental attachment to this stuff would have taken it with her.”
“Yeah, that does seem weird. Maybe she only put it up to please her clients, and never actually was all that attached to it,” says Todd.
I shrug and open the closest drawer in the desk. This one, similar to the one in Batista’s office, is filled with candy wrappers and decades-old snacks. My curiosity is not enough for me to keep that drawer open.
The next drawer is the one I’m after. I thumb through the names as Todd and Creed speculate imaginatively on the potential effects of consuming such ancient treats. Creed goes the food poisoning route. Todd goes the superpower route.
Looking through the names, I keep my eye out not only for Ginger, but for any of the names that have come up so far. Ellen, Josalyn, and Rhonda show up, and although I don’t anticipate much of value, I take the folders and deposit them into my backpack just in case.
“On to the next one?” I say. The following office is Willa’s therapist’s office, and even though I looked through it last night, I’m now equipped with more names to watch out for. The fruits of that endeavor are files for Donna and Gina. As with the others’, I stash them away and we continue.
“Onward and upward,” I say, leading the others out the door and into the tall hall. Indeed, we head up the next flight of stairs, an area I didn’t cover last night due to sheer complacency (though the visit from that band of adventurous teens helped to usher me out). This floor is not part of the openness of the hall, and instead the staircase disappears up into the ceiling. And as we ascend into it, we find that there are no windows up here, rendering our flashlights both necessary and safe to use.
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