Here Lies Daniel Tate

by Cristin Terrill

  “Oh. Well.” She made this face that was part horrified, part comical. “Shit.”

  I laughed, and it surprised me. I wasn’t often surprised.

  “I was ten when it happened,” I said. I told myself I needed to test run this story on someone low risk as part of my effort to get ready for my police interview, but I think I just wanted to keep talking to her. Keep trying to home in on what made her tick. “It was right around this time of year, and I was out riding my bike. My mom told me not to because it looked like it was going to rain, but I did anyway.”

  The faintest lines of a frown started to form between her eyebrows.

  “I was walking beside my bike, because the chain had come off, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I was taking it home to my big brother, because he would know. I was worried that it would start raining before he could get the chain back on, and then my mom wouldn’t let me ride over to my friend Andrew’s house like I was supposed to.” The lies tumbled from my lips, gaining life and detail as the story unfurled in my mind. Like a real memory. A couple of kids at the next table over were looking now. But instead of making me shrink, their gazes sent a strange shiver through me. It wasn’t me they were looking at, I realized. It was Danny Tate. They could stare all they wanted, and as long as I was him on the outside, I would be safe and invisible on the inside.

  “I was jogging up this steep hill near my house, and it took everything I had just to keep my legs moving. I guess that’s why I didn’t notice the van pulling up beside me,” I continued. “Plus, what little kid around here worries about strange vans?”

  Ren had noticed the eavesdropping table too.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said.

  But I couldn’t stop the momentum of the story. The next table was openly listening now, and it gave me this feeling I couldn’t identify but wanted more of.

  “I vaguely remember the van stopping beside me and hearing the door slide open,” I said. “And then there were arms around me, hauling me inside. I tried to scream but they covered my mouth. It was dark in the back of the van, so all I really knew was that there were three other men back there with me. I could only make out the shapes of them, not what they looked like. They spoke to each other in a language I didn’t recognize. They barely even looked at me after they had me tied up and gagged. Like I wasn’t even there.”

  The group gathering around me had started to draw attention, and my audience was growing. A dozen students, then twenty, and then twenty-five hung on my every word as I spun the story of Danny Tate’s abduction. The race to the border along with another boy who was taken the day after I was, the two of us smuggled into Canada in the hidden compartment of an eighteen-wheeler along with three other children. Ren’s frown grew deeper and deeper, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the increasing darkness of the story or the growing crowd of listeners.

  Then I realized what was happening.

  All my life I’d tried to be invisible, and that gave the power to everyone else. To notice me stripped away my one protection. But they couldn’t take anything from me if I was giving it away willingly. The power had shifted into my hands. That’s what the crackle of electricity I felt along my spine was. The power to make them look and listen on my own terms.

  For the first time in my life it felt good to have so many eyes on me. These kids weren’t looking for ways to tear me down. Their eyes were full of sympathy and fascination, and that felt almost like admiration. Or even affection. Everyone leaned in, wanting to get closer to me. That’s all they’d wanted since I’d arrived here, stealing glances and surreptitious pictures. To be close to me. I understood that now, and it made me feel invincible.

  “What the hell?” The sound of Nicholas’s voice was like cold water down my back. He pushed his way through the crowd to my side. “Danny, come on.”

  Nicholas grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from the table, hauling me back toward the school building. I still felt everyone watching me.

  “You people are sick,” I heard Asher say behind us. “Disperse!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nicholas asked after he’d pulled me inside the building.

  “I . . . they asked me what happened,” I said. “I thought I should try to get to know some people, you know. Make friends.”

  “They’re not friends, Danny, they’re rubberneckers,” he said. “They just want to gawk at the tragedy. That’s all you are to them.”

  I could feel the rage and hurt radiating off him but didn’t share it. What did it matter if they were only interested in my story? They wanted it, and I wanted to give it to them.

  But I couldn’t risk alienating Nicholas, not when I was already on such shaky ground with him. I scrubbed a hand through my hair, and when I spoke, I made sure that my voice came out sounding small and weak.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted . . . I wanted them to like me and . . .”

  He sighed, but it wasn’t the soft sound the word implies. It was a hard one, like he was trying to expel all of his anger on that exhalation.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He turned and looked out over the courtyard. “You know what, fuck this place. Let’s get out of here.”

  • • •

  Nicholas took me to a diner a few kilometers from the school, and we ordered burgers and milk shakes.

  “Why did you want to go back to school so bad?” he asked. “You had a free pass to stay out of that place.”

  This was a prime bonding opportunity, and I was going to make the most of it by pulling out all my tricks. I shrugged and curled my shoulders in toward myself until I looked like Nicholas and tried to summon his sharp, cynical attitude. “It’s better than staying home all day.”

  One corner of his mouth tugged up. “Lex driving you crazy?”

  I smiled too. “A little.”

  “She means well, but—”

  “But she’s a pain in the ass sometimes, yeah,” I said. “Anyway, no one expects me to do anything at school but show up, so it’s not exactly taxing.”

  Nicholas snorted. “Like being a football player. Asher says as long as he puts in an appearance, no one cares what he does. That place is such a joke. It doesn’t bother you though?” he asked. “Having everybody whisper and stare?”

  “A little,” I said, “but I’ve survived worse.”

  “Fuck,” he said, dropping a French fry loaded with ketchup back to the plate. “Right. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know. I won’t break. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  “I haven’t.”

  I gave him a look. “Nicky. Come on.”

  A flicker of . . . something . . . went through his expression. Was it doubt? If he did suspect I wasn’t his brother, he was either biding his time until he could prove it or had convinced himself he was being paranoid. That must make him feel pretty guilty, the distrust in his gut when his brain and everyone around him was telling him Danny was back.

  I could use that.

  “It’s hard for me to feel like I’m entirely home,” I said, “because . . . I still miss you. Even though we’re in the same house, it feels like we’re still so far apart.”

  Nicholas looked down at the table and sighed long and slow.

  “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I have been avoiding you a little. But it’s probably just because I avoid the family in general these days.”

  “And?” I said, daring him to say he didn’t believe in me after that.

  “And . . . I don’t always know how to act around you,” he said. He folded his hands in front of him on the table. “It’s weird. Things are different. You’re different.”

  No shit.

  I bit back my smile and folded my hands the same way he had. “You’re different too.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

  “Maybe we can just . . . get to know each other as the people we a
re now,” I said.

  He nodded, and this time when he looked at me, he actually looked at me. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  “Good,” I said. Very good. Now whenever Nicholas felt unsure about me, he would remember this conversation and feel so bad, he’d argue himself out of any doubts. “It’s nice to be able to talk to you again.”

  His brow crinkled. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I missed you so much.”

  He looked out the window suddenly, not because there was anything to look at out there, but because he didn’t want to look at me. “Really?”

  “Of course,” I said. There was a softness around his mouth that made me think, crazy as it seemed, that he was on the verge of tears. He’d never seemed happy I was back, and I suddenly wanted that so badly. I wanted him to tell me he was happy to have me there. “You’re not just my brother, Nicholas. I know we didn’t always get along as kids, but deep down, you were my best friend.”

  His eyebrows twitched closer together, so briefly that most people wouldn’t have noticed. My stomach dropped. He looked down at his watch and said, “We’d better go.”

  He slid out of the booth without looking at me and headed for the exit.

  • • •

  The next day at school an office assistant came to take me out of second period. It was the class I shared with Nicholas, and he and I exchanged a look as I followed the girl from Mrs. Whelan’s health class. She took me to the front office and told me to have a seat.

  “Dr. Singh will be with you in just a minute,” she said.

  Talking to Singh was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t create a scene by arguing. It might look suspicious. Instead, I pulled the phone from my back pocket and dashed off a quick text to Lex.

  “Put the phone away, please, Mr. Tate,” the secretary said. “You shouldn’t even have that.”

  I made a face but slipped the phone into my bag.

  I waited there for at least ten minutes before Dr. Singh emerged from her office, still chatting with another student. She sent the girl on her way and waved me over.

  “Come on back, Danny,” she said.

  I followed her back to her office, where she sat down behind the desk and gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs across from her. I did, and she studied me silently, waiting for me to speak first.

  She’d be waiting a long time.

  “So, it seems you left school early yesterday,” she finally said. “I just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “I’m told there was some kind of incident at lunch. Would you mind explaining what happened?” she asked.

  “It was nothing,” I said. “Someone asked me about the day I was taken, and a couple of kids started listening. My brother didn’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like nothing,” she said. “What did you tell those other students?”

  “Does my mother know you’re talking to me?” I asked. “She told me I wouldn’t have to be questioned.”

  “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m interrogating you, Danny.” Singh leaned back in her chair. Her sharp eyes belied her relaxed posture. The look she gave me cut straight through to my bones. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re readjusting to school life. That’s my job.”

  “I’ve got to get back to class,” I said.

  “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Whelan,” she said. “You’ve been excused from the whole period for the day.”

  My pulse picked up. I’d known from the moment I laid eyes on this woman that she wasn’t as easy as my usual mark. And now I was stuck in this room with her, which seemed to be getting smaller with each passing second, for another half an hour.

  “Do you think you could tell me what you were talking about with the other students during your lunch period yesterday?” she asked.

  She was a psychologist; she would expect me to exhibit more signs of trauma than I usually bothered with. I looked back at the door to the office and then down at the ground, tucking my hands between my thighs and the seat of the chair.

  “I’d like to call my sister,” I said softly.

  “Of course,” Dr. Singh said, “but first, can we talk for a minute? We don’t need to talk about anything you’re not ready to. I just want to make sure you’re adjusting to being back at school all right. How about you tell me how that’s going?”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “How are your classes?”

  “Fine.” I bit my lip. “I like my art class.”

  “Are you getting along with the other students?”

  “I guess,” I said. “Most of them just ignore me.”

  “Is that why you told them that story at lunch yesterday?” she asked. “You didn’t want them to ignore you anymore?”

  “Danny?” A muffled voice spoke in the hallway. Someone said, “Excuse me!” in a sharp tone, and then the door to Dr. Singh’s office was opening. Lex stood behind it like an avenging angel, beautiful and terrifying.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said to Dr. Singh.

  “Ms. McConnell, come in,” Dr. Singh said, rising from her chair. “I was just—”

  “You’re not supposed to be talking to my brother,” Lex said. She pulled me up from my chair and away from Dr. Singh. Her hands were shaking. “He’s been abused and traumatized and the last thing he needs is to be questioned about it by—”

  “I’m sorry you’re upset, Ms. McConnell,” Dr. Singh said with perfect calmness, “but I’m just trying to do my job, which is to ensure that Danny is reintegrating into the school environment. I assure you, that’s the only subject we were discussing.”

  “Our mother was very clear on this subject,” Lex said. “Danny just wants to be treated normally—”

  “And he skipped school yesterday,” Singh said. “This is only what I’d do with any other student who’d done the same thing.”

  Lex’s shoulders started to slump. She was ill suited to conflict under the best conditions, and now her righteous anger was wilting under Dr. Singh’s patient onslaught of logic.

  “I have to be allowed to do my job, Ms. McConnell,” Dr. Singh continued. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, yes,” Lex said, “but—”

  “Please, Ms. McConnell.” Dr. Singh stepped toward us, and although she was several inches shorter than Lex, she seemed to tower over her. “Have a seat, and we’ll speak privately for a moment. Danny, how about you go wait in the outer office with Mrs. Day?”

  I shot Lex a look, and she nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute, Danny.”

  I wanted to protest, but I didn’t know how without looking suspicious, and then Dr. Singh was closing the door on me and it was too late. What were they going to talk about? Mrs. Day was waiting for me at the end of the hallway, and I wondered how much she’d overheard. I started to walk toward her before I noticed the restroom across from Dr. Singh’s office.

  “I’ve got to pee,” I said.

  Mrs. Day frowned but nodded. I stood inside the restroom, door cracked, waiting. Less than a minute later I heard the ding that signaled someone entering the outer office, a person Mrs. Day would have to go deal with. I left the restroom, crossed the hall, and pressed my ear against the door of Dr. Singh’s office. The odds of me getting caught were high, but I had to know what was being said in there.

  “. . . know this is hard to hear,” Dr. Singh was saying in a low tone, “but I’m very concerned about Danny. He’s not acting the way I would expect someone who’s been through what he has to be acting. I cannot overstate how important I think it is that Danny be seeing someone—a mental health professional—regularly. Daily.”

  “I think he’s doing pretty well, considering,” Lex said.

  “He’s doing extremely well. That’s what concerns me. I see signs of trauma, but nothing like what I’d expect from someone in his position,” she said. “Either he’s expending a tremendous amount of ene
rgy to repress his feelings, which will only cause him more problems down the line, or . . .”

  The silence in the office was deafening.

  “What are you trying to say?” Lex asked.

  “I know it’s not my place,” Dr. Singh said, “but I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t . . .”

  “What?”

  The counselor’s voice dropped even further, until I could barely make out the words.

  “Are you absolutely sure that boy is your brother?”

  • • •

  Fuck.

  • • •

  “Danny.”

  I jumped back from the door and found the secretary looking at me sternly. Stomach churning, I went to the outer office and took a seat, letting her watch me over her paperwork until Lex returned. Only the watery feeling in my legs kept me from running.

  Are you sure that boy is your brother?

  Was she?

  For the first time, I really thought about prison, as a reality and not just an abstract threat. The thought of being locked up filled me with horror, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, it wasn’t that different from a lot of the care homes I’d jumped through hoops to have the pleasure of staying in, and I’d always held my own against the delinquents and criminals who populated them. There had been entire years of my life where three square meals a day and a roof over my head, even if I was behind bars, would have been welcome. Some part of me had always suspected that’s where I’d end up eventually, if I was lucky. So maybe being caught wouldn’t be that bad.

  Except being caught meant the Tates finding out I was a fake, and I was surprised to discover that that thought bothered me the most. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Mia would cry. Patrick would punch me. Nicholas would hate me forever, and Lex would never recover. I didn’t . . . I didn’t want that for them. They didn’t deserve it.

  Lex emerged from the hallway. I stood, my pulse pounding hot in my head, waiting for her to look at me in horror or scream or something. But she didn’t. She hardly looked at me at all, and maybe that was worse.

  “Come on,” she said to me. She’d only talked with Singh, but it looked like she’d been knocked around. Her face was pale and clammy and her hair was mussed. She struggled to get the strap of her purse back over her shoulder. “We’re going.”