by R E Swirsky
He snickered quietly.
"How great is this? Thank you, Aaron. It's not as good a working phone, but thank you anyway, you idiot.”
He had a plan.
CHAPTER 20 Day Three - Sunday 3:10 PM
The mood inside the Pattison home turned sour like a wake no one wanted to attend. Arlene’s return, and not the loss of Vincent, had altered the mood. It stifled any remaining uplift to the spirit that existed earlier. Charlie simply refused to acknowledge Arlene's presence for the first half hour and only spoke to his wife and sister. His sister, Jennifer also made no attempt to reach out to Arlene. Both spouses awkwardly followed suit. The grandchildren remained quietly puzzled by the whole thing.
Anita did her best by popping in and out of the kitchen offering snacks and drinks. She spoke frequently to everyone and encouraged conversation. She made a point of engaging Arlene; there was an obvious invisible wall in the room.
Darrel finally brought Arlene's return back as the central topic of discussion. He focused his attention directly at his aunt.
"Excuse me, Auntie Arlene. I wanted to ask..."
"Auntie Arlene?" his father, Charlie, interrupted with a forced laugh. "She's no Aunt of yours! She's a terrible disgrace!"
Chris's face soured at Charlie's outburst, and he prepared to jump to Arlene's defence again.
"Shut it, Dad!" Darrel shouted back at his father. "If no one else here is going to talk to her or tell me what this is about, I'm asking her myself." Before his father or anyone else could interrupt again, he turned back to Arlene and asked his question.
"Is all of this tension because you left Vincent here with Gramma all those years ago?"
Arlene's eyes grew wide as she regarded those around her nervously. Everyone stared at her with an array of inquisitive expressions. This was the offensive elephant in the room that tied up everyone's tongues. They all watched and waited for her answer.
She pursed her lips tight, sighed, and turned her eyes to Chris and Anita.
"I never wanted to burden either of you with Vincent. You must know that." She cleared her throat and continued. "I was going through a lot at the time..."
"A lot of drugs you mean," Charlie interrupted.
"Charlie, just hush!" Anita called out.
"Yeah. Stop it already," Darrel added.
"Sorry, but that's how I remember it too," Jennifer piped in and nodded her head. She looked over Darrel's girlfriend, Sandra, who was unconsciously rubbing one hand over her expanding belly. "You were always jumping from one bed to the next and dragging poor little Vincent along with you. He was only a toddler."
Arlene scowled back. "It wasn't like that, and you know it. I only had three different boyfriends after Scott took off on me before Vincent was born. Three!" She shoved three fingers in the air to make her point.
Both Charlie and Jennifer chuckled simultaneously at her response.
"And all three were drug dealers," Charlie replied.
“They weren’t drug dealers.”
“Whatever. All I know is there was always drugs within arms reach of that little boy. Great environment to raise a child.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Vincent was never around drugs.”
Charlie chuckled at her denial.
"And then I dropped him off at mom and dad's, didn't I? Didn't I? Why do you think I did that, huh?"
"You abandoned him, Arlene!" Charlie shouted. "You abandoned your own kid. You just dumped him off on mom and dad's doorstep so you could go get high with your newest boyfriend! What was his name? Boo or something?"
"That drug dealer was called Roo," Jennifer added.
Chris had heard enough. "Okay, let's just stop this kind of talk right now! What's done is done. Vincent was not ever a burden to your mother and I, and he was never deprived of anything growing up under this roof. No good can come from drudging all of this history up today. I want this discussion to end right here and right now."
Charlie shook his head side to side. He was disgusted by his father's quickness to forgive.
"We are all here to remember Vincent. We should be acting like a family, not fighting like enemies," Chris added.
"We’re not fighting."
“Well, it sure as hell sounds like it to me!"
The debate continued for a while as Arlene tried to defend herself. She felt she was right to drop off her son for his own good, as she was not in any position to care for him. Her siblings could not readily accept it, and Chris continued to do his best to mediate.
As Chris continued to demand order and civility from his children, Anita stood at the doorway to the kitchen seemingly uninterested in the present conversation. She was soon preoccupied and was busy counting the family members on her fingers. She counted them once, and then recounted, careful to point at each one as the heated discussion continued. Her face lit up with an expression of awe and comprehension, and she waved her arm to get Chris' attention.
"Chris! Chris!” she shouted excitedly. “Get the camera!"
"What?" he hollered back irritated by the strange request that seem to come out of nowhere. "Camera? What the hell for?"
Anita waved her hand around, pointing at everyone in the room as if counting them all over once again.
"Just get the camera!" She was clearly excited.
Chris frowned as he recognized what was happening with his wife and immediately understood why she had been counting those present in the room.
"It's been so long since we've had everybody here in the same room at the same time, Chris. Just hurry up and go get the camera."
The discussion ceased and everyone stared curiously at Anita.
"Oh, and then go run upstairs and get Vincent. He's probably in his bedroom or maybe in the shower. I want to get a photo with the whole family together before anyone leaves."
She smiled and waited patiently.
Chris ambled his way over to his wife. As he made his way across the room, he could feel all of his children's eyes on him. There was no more hiding the fact that Anita's dementia was much worse than he let his children know these past few months.
CHAPTER 21 Day Three - Sunday 8:49 PM
The sun had nearly set by the time Vincent had the stones for the first two footholds removed. Removing the stones from the wall was more difficult than Vincent imagined as he only had his fingers and the knife to free the stones from the wall. Just like the first two footholds, trying to free up any stone for the third one let him know his planned escape was indeed a difficult challenge. The stones were all irregular in shape and size, and the stone he wanted to remove was caught behind the two adjacent stones and required the removal of these few smaller ones on each side. The task took nearly two hours to complete.
The difficulty with the third step made him frown. His hands were sore from the rope burn, his arms ached terribly, and he could feel the soreness that always preceded blisters already developing on his fingers and palms. Wrestling each stone out with only his bare fingers made his fingertips raw. The next stones, and all those thereafter, would be even more difficult to remove; they would require him to stand with his feet in the footholds of the wall while one hand was gripped tightly onto the rope.
He'd decided early on that the steps in the wall would be best arranged in alternating steps on opposite sides of the well so he could hold onto the rope in the centre with one foot anchored on each side for balance. He also decided it might be best to spiral the steps to reduce the likely hood of causing a collapse by removing too many stones in one area one above the other. He had learned about collapsing walls somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn't recall where or when. Maybe it was at work at the Garden Centre. He just knew he didn't want to risk a collapse of the stones lining the well.
Vincent carefully tucked the knife into his back pocket, grabbed onto the rope with both hands, and hoisted himself up onto the wall. His palms and fingers were still tender from his earlier attempt to climb the rope, but he hung on tight and ig
nored the discomfort. It was uncomfortable to stand with his feet in the wall. He had to stretch his legs far apart to suspend himself and he could feel the immediate pull on his groin and the strain on muscles he rarely used as one foot sat much higher than the other in the wall.
"They never taught this kind of stuff in gym class,” he said. "I am going to be so flipping sore by the time I make it out of here. But at least I'll be out." He laughed quietly with a strained optimism and set his eyes back upon the wall to pick the next stone to remove.
With one sore hand still gripped onto the rope, he used the other to lift the knife gently from his back pocket by the blade. He selected his next rock and began to scrape and dig away between the stones. It took over an hour to loosen the two stones needed for this notch, but it was the quickest process he’d managed so far. He had to shift his hands multiple times and change his leg positions often as the cramping in his muscles became unbearable very quickly. He pulled at the loosened rocks with his bare fingers and scraped and pulled until they came free. He let each rock fall and crack loudly against the other stones.
"One more foothold down."
Vincent carefully dropped himself down to the bottom and rested on the small stool. His mood had remained positive all evening, and he forced a smile. He looked up the side of the well and counted how many steps would be required to make it to the top.
"Seriously?"
He didn't like the number and recounted again. He then figured at least an hour for each foothold. He heaved a heavy sigh. He wasn't sure he had the strength to last that long. He had only ingested less than a cup of water today and had consumed absolutely no food. Could he really last another full day on only the half bottle of water that remained? His mouth immediately went dry as he thought of the water, and his belly churned to remind him that he'd missed another dinner. He knew the effects of dehydration and hunger would surely begin to show by morning, but he there was nothing he could do about it expect pray that he could make it out while he still had the energy and the will.
Vincent's mood slowly turned sour as his mind raced repeatedly over the multitude of obstacles that lay in front of him. It finally crashed.
"This is fucking impossible," he whispered. He peered through the darkness at his scraped and sore hands.
Vincent was beyond angry at his friends for what they did to him, but he had already resigned himself to the situation. He wanted to release his anger in some kind of outburst, but he had no energy to waste. He also wanted to cry. How could he possibly be so stupid? How could he let this happen? It was his own fault. Nobody pushed him down the well. He looked up at the darkening sky once more and tried to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come.
Tomorrow he would work hard on the stones. Tomorrow he would try to climb up the crazy staircase to freedom. Tomorrow he would find his two friends and do something very bad to each of them. He didn't know what he would do, but he knew he would hunt them down once he was out.
He remembered how Aaron and Roger snickered at him from the top, and he couldn't help but think they had planned to leave him down here. "...and you will pay for not coming back. Both of you! Why would you do this to me? Why?"
He closed his eyes, and he could feel that sleep was readily waiting for him. He was so very tired. He welcomed his dreams that allowed him release from his vengeful thoughts.
CHAPTER 22 Day Four - Monday 6:45 AM
The sound of an unwelcome friend's return woke Vincent up.
"Caw! Caw!" the black crow called from the top of the well.
Vincent stirred and groaned. Another long day was about to kick off by the return of the irritating crow. He covered his ears with his hands, but it was not enough to block out the incessant crowing.
After twenty minutes of non-stopping cawing, Vincent stood up and screamed at the top of his lungs. “Shut up! Shut up, damn it! Just shut up!"
The crowing stopped abruptly, and Vincent stared up in surprise at the sudden silence. The crow danced around the edge of the well, turned inward, and dropped its head down inside the well. The crow peered at him from above.
"Caw!"
"Caw yourself, you stupid bird!"
"Caw!"
The crow remained unmoving at the edge.
"Just shut it already!"
"Caw!"
"Are you mocking me? Huh? Do you really think I want to be down here?"
"Caw! Caw!" The crow bounced its tiny head up and down as if to answer Vincent.
Vincent rose from the stool and tilted his head to the side. Was he just imagining the crow? He rubbed his eyes, leaned back against the stones, and stared back up. The crow was still there.
"Really? You're really going to just sit there and taunt me while I'm stuck down here?"
The crow shuffled along the edge and stared down at Vincent.
"Instead of bugging me like this, why don't you just go piss off and get someone to help get me out of here? I mean it! Just get out of here and leave me alone if you're not going to help me! Just go! Get outta here!" He thrust his fist into the air at the crow.
The crow danced along the edge for a moment and then flapped its wings and flew away.
Vincent stared up bewildered; he thought for a second that the crow understood every word he just said. He waited a few minutes for the crow to return like yesterday, but it didn’t come back.
"Hmph. I guess I told him," he said. He continued to look for bird's return. The only thing that came was the sun, which cast the same orange glow as the last two mornings on the ridge of the well opening.
Vincent sat back down on the stool and an unexpected shiver snaked its way through his body. He wrapped his arms tight around his chest to hold in the heat. He knew it wasn't any colder this morning than it was any other morning. The temperature at the bottom of the well remained constant the entire time he sat inside the well, and he knew this morning was no different. Aaron's coat had certainly been more than sufficient to keep him warm up until now.
Vincent removed one hand, unzipped the coat and slid his hand inside. His normally flat stomach was sunken, and he could feel the noticeable drop under his bottom rib.
"Really?" he asked himself aloud. "I can't be that starving already."
He shivered again and tried not to worry that the dehydration was the cause of his shivering. The vision of the one remaining half bottle of water popped into his mind, but he tried to ignore its persistence.
It was normal for Vincent every morning to feel the need to urinate upon waking, and this morning was no different though he had consumed very little water the day before. It was still much too dark to see anything at the bottom of the well, so he went only by feel to empty out what he could from his bladder. He sensed immediately that there was little to expel, and what dribbled into the bottle burned badly as it passed.
"Shit," he whispered and zipped back up. He was so very thirsty. The image of the half bottle of water pounded away at his will.
"Not yet," he mumbled. The severity of his situation was becoming impossible to ignore. He wanted to cry, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop if he started. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he immediately wiped it away.
He stared up the long chimney at the sky up above. The thirst was driving him mad, and he mulled over exactly when he should consume this very last portion of his water. He still had a lot of work to do today; a lot of hard sweaty work.
"I'll wait. I'll wait until I make it half way up. That would probably be best.”
Vincent counted up the wall to the top again. Could he really make it all of the way out today? It felt like an insurmountable task. He grabbed Aaron's knife and was soon wedged upon the wall where he jabbed and picked in the cracks to find a loose stone that would soon become foothold number five.
CHAPTER 23 Day Four - Monday 7:15 AM
Chris felt oddly relieved to have Arlene back in the house. It had been a very long time since he had allowed himself to lie in bed and let Anita rise on her own wi
thout him. When he rose earlier, just after the sun broke the horizon, Arlene was already up and had the kettle on to boil. She was quick to usher him back to bed. She insisted he get some much needed rest while she was there. She would look after her mother once she rose.
The muffled sounds of Arlene and Anita deep in discussion stole their way up to the master bedroom where Chris lay awake wondering what exactly had become of his children. He listened hard but could only catch the odd word here and there or an occasional outburst of shrill laughter from Arlene that was sometimes reciprocated by Anita.
He was tired in a way that could only came with age. He spent too many years worrying about making sure each of his children had a solid future ahead. In the end, he was unable to control it. Try as he might, they made their own choices and disappointed him repeatedly.
Arlene was his favourite child from the very day she was born. He doted on her, and though he tried to deny it, he knew he did this at the expense of his other two children. Having her back in the house brought back many old memories of her as a toddler when she would creep quietly down the hall and slip into bed with him and Anita. It was something he had never tolerated from his other two children. Anita tried to discourage Arlene, but Chris always overruled Anita when it came to his favourite child.
She was his favourite in ways that could only be counted by him and Arlene.
He reluctantly recalled the moment it changed between them. It happened so suddenly. She was sixteen and frequently slept over at her friend’s house on the weekends. The sleepovers at Marriana’s seemed harmless at the time. Chris would drop her off on a Friday night and return the next day to pick her up the very moment she called. He loved his little girl and was always at her beck and call. She was always full of giggles and smiles as she told Chris how much fun she had the moment she entered the car. She'd kiss him on the cheek and thank him again for picking her up.