The Invisibles

by Cecilia Galante

“Come on, Mons!” Ozzie barreled through another horde of cobwebs. “Our old bedroom’s right down here!”

  “Wait!” Monica yelped, trotting a little to catch up with her. “Oh God, don’t leave me! It’s dark!”

  Nora looked over at Grace as Monica and Ozzie disappeared down the hall. Grace met her eyes and then motioned with her head in the opposite direction. “You want to go see ours?”

  Nora hesitated, touching her neck with the tips of her fingers.

  “Just for a minute?”

  There had been other girls, of course, who had occupied the room after their departure, but the bones of the little space were exactly the same as Nora remembered: the sloped alcove under which she had arranged her bed, the window against the far wall where Grace had placed hers, the strange little closet next to it shaped like a lopsided rectangle. The same cracks still snaked across the top of the ceiling, including the one that looked like a web of lightning, and the one above the window that used to remind Nora of a skeletal hand. Grace walked over to the far wall, where her bed had been, and smoothed her hand over the dusty surface. “I remember wishing I could fade into this wall when I first got here,” she said softly. “That I could merge with it somehow and then disappear.”

  Nora thought back to those first few days, the silence of them, as Grace lay in her bed, staring at nothing, while she’d struggled to read Proust. She’d felt similarly, having overheard Sally, her last foster mother, a tall blond woman with bad teeth, telling Elaine that she was some kind of “weird mute.” She remembered thinking that day, as Elaine had shown her to her room and introduced her to Grace, that none of it really mattered anymore. She could be taken from place to place, introduced to twenty more people, and shown to one room after another, but it was all right. She’d found a way to hide from all of them, had figured out how to become—and stay—invisible in any sort of surrounding. Until the day came, of course, when the opposite of that had presented itself, upending everything she thought she understood about the world. And herself.

  A scream sounded suddenly from the opposite end of the hall, causing both of them to jump.

  “Was that Monica?” Grace was wide-eyed as they rushed out of their room and felt their way down the corridor.

  “Why?” Monica’s voice was tremulous with rage. “Why would you ever do such a thing?” She was on one side of their old room, which faced the far side of the building. The moon peeked out from the upper right-hand corner of the window, casting a watery column of light across the floor. Ozzie had the fingertips of both hands pressed against her mouth, and a large red blotch had begun to form on the side of her neck.

  “What’s wrong?” Nora asked. “Who screamed?”

  Neither woman looked at her. “Answer my question.” Monica stared deliberately at Ozzie. Her mouth was tight.

  “I don’t know.” Ozzie sounded hoarse. “It was stupid.”

  Nora glanced around the room, trying to figure out what they were talking about. The floor was dirtier than she could have ever imagined, with piles of dust and so many animal droppings that it was impossible to distinguish the hardwood beneath. A single board next to Ozzie’s feet had been dislodged and Nora thought she could see papers inside the shallow hole of it.

  “No one’s hurt, are they?” Grace held back a little, watching from the doorway.

  In response, Monica thrust her hand out so that Grace and Nora could see what she was holding. They both gasped.

  “The picture of your mother!” Grace whispered. “Oh, that’s incredible, Mons! You were just saying how you lost it! How you—”

  “I never lost it.” Monica looked at Ozzie again with the same accusing stare. “Ozzie took it.” She glanced down at the floorboard opening. “And then hid it down there. All these years.”

  “Took it?” Grace looked confused. “What do you mean, took it? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Monica said. “Why did you take it, Ozzie?”

  “You had two of them.” Ozzie spoke quickly, as if her words might overtake Monica’s anger. “And she was beautiful and so perfect . . . I don’t know . . . I thought I needed one, okay? Especially during those last few months. I was starting to freak out, thinking of all of us leaving and . . .” She stared at the floor, as if trying to reconnect the dots, and then looked up again. “I remember you saying she was like a stranger to you, that you couldn’t remember anything, and I just . . . I guess I thought you wouldn’t mind that much. I needed something extra to hold on to, okay? Something to look at, maybe to pretend that I had a mother out there who gave a shit. Even if it was all just in my head.”

  “So how’d it end up in the floor?” Monica’s voice was hard as steel. “If she meant so much to you, why’d you . . .”

  “I slept for weeks with it under my pillow,” Ozzie interrupted. “But I was afraid you’d find it, so every morning, when you got up to go to the bathroom, I’d jump up and put it back in the floor. And then everything started to get really crazy, you know, with graduation and moving and everything else. I forgot I put it down there. I just totally forgot until we walked in here today and I saw the floorboard.”

  Nora could see the color returning to Monica’s face as she absorbed Ozzie’s explanation. “Those pictures were all I’ve ever had of her. You took that from me.”

  “Yes.” Ozzie closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her face. “I did. I’m so sorry.”

  “I would have shared her with you,” Monica said, her voice splintering. “Especially when things got hard. All you had to do was ask.”

  “I was too embarrassed,” Ozzie snatched at her eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to know I was even thinking of my mother, let alone someone else’s.”

  Nora could feel her insides clenching as Ozzie’s words from the very first Invisibles meeting came back to her: We’ll choose to remain invisible. To everyone except each other. But they hadn’t, had they? For as thick as the walls they’d built around themselves to keep the rest of the world out, there had been cracks. Despite all their best efforts, doubt and shame had seeped through, nibbling at the edges of their fortress, letting the cold in. I didn’t want anyone to know. It could have been their rallying cry, she thought later, their group motto. Each and every one of them.

  Monica walked across the room and enfolded Ozzie in her arms. Ozzie sagged against her, her whole body absorbing the acceptance of her apology. Nora stared, trying to understand. How was it that, in the span of a single heartbeat, Monica was able to embrace someone who’d just betrayed her? Why couldn’t she be more like that herself? What was it that kept her from letting go finally, and forgiving?

  “Can I see the picture?” Grace asked as Monica and Ozzie let go.

  Nora moved in too, looking at the picture over Grace’s shoulder. It was a head shot, taken when Monica’s mother was in high school perhaps, or a few years later. She wore a black cardigan, buttoned up to her collarbone, and pearl earrings that were only slightly smaller than her earlobes. Her eyes were the same as Monica’s, round and widely spaced, and they shared the same curve in their chins. A tangle of red curls had been pulled back neatly with a silk scarf, and the ends of it hung over her right shoulder.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Grace breathed. “Absolutely gorgeous. Just like you, Mons.”

  Monica traced the outline of her mother’s face with the tip of her finger. “It’s funny,” she said. “I don’t remember anything about her. Not one single thing. But I miss her more than any other person in the world.”

  The moment was shattered by the sound of a bang downstairs. Monica screamed. There was another bang, and a third, followed by a loud male voice. “Police!”

  Monica gripped Ozzie’s arm as Nora and Grace held their breaths.

  “Fuck,” Ozzie said. “Now what?”

  Chapter 26

  What do you mean, now what?” Grace hissed. “It’s the police, Ozzie. We can’t screw around here. We have to go down and explain ourselves.”

  “Do you reali
ze you’re trespassing on private property?” The cop’s voice hurtled up the stairs. Nora wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or if he was just stalling for time until they showed their faces. Either way, it wasn’t good.

  “He won’t arrest us, will he?” Monica looked like she might faint.

  Ozzie rolled her eyes. “No, he’s not going to—”

  “I’ll give you three seconds to get down here before I come up there and arrest you!” The cop put extra emphasis on the word “three,” his voice louder than before.

  “I knew it!” Monica lunged for the door, stuffing the picture of her mother inside her shirt. “Come on!” She raced down the hall, her leather thongs slapping against her heels, and turned too quickly, tripping at the top of the stairs. A high-pitched scream sounded through the house as she tumbled down five or six steps, one hand flailing wildly for the railing as her feet flew up in the air. It was, Nora thought later, like watching the scene of a movie play back in slow motion as the railing splintered and collapsed, and then the staircase, with a horrible groaning sound, gave way in the middle, swallowing Monica beneath it.

  “Holy shit!” Ozzie grabbed Nora from behind as they both skidded to a halt and stared down into the cavernous opening. “Monica!” There was no response.

  “Oh God.” Grace clutched at Nora’s sleeve. “Oh my God.”

  “Monica!” Ozzie bellowed again.

  The police officer, who Nora assumed had been standing inside the still-open front door, was nowhere to be seen, and for a split second, the only movement in the house was the faint trail of dust that made its way up through the hole in the stairs.

  “Monica!” Ozzie yelled a third time, her voice hoarse.

  “She’s okay!” It was the police officer, grunting under the weight of something. “I got her!”

  Ozzie sagged against the wall, and Grace buried her face into Nora’s shoulder. They could hear Monica moaning softly, followed by the sound of something being dragged. Nora wondered how badly she was hurt, if any of her arms or legs were broken. It couldn’t have been more than a ten- or fifteen-foot drop from the middle of the staircase to the floor below, but anything was possible when you took into account the direction she had fallen, along with all the nails and splintered wood she’d landed on. She stared back down at the hole, hoping to catch a glimpse of Monica’s blond hair or a splayed leg, but it was treacherously dark, a gaping void.

  “How bad’s she hurt?” Ozzie yelled.

  “I’m all right.” Nora could hear the fear in Monica’s voice. “I’m okay, guys. Really.”

  “You sure?”

  “Her foot’s hurt,” the policeman said. “And it looks like she’s scraped up a little. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  “No!” Monica shrieked. “No, please don’t. I’m fine. It’s probably just a sprain. Look.” They could hear her struggling to get up, small whimper-grunts forcing themselves out of her mouth. “See? I’m fine. There’s no need for an ambulance. Really. Besides, we’re actually in kind of a rush. We have to go.”

  “You’re in a rush, huh?” Nora imagined the cop shining the flashlight directly into Monica’s eyes. “If you’re in such a rush, what’re you doing here?”

  There was no answer.

  The policeman appeared at the foot of the steps, tipping a flashlight in their direction. “Anyone hurt up there?” He was a short, stocky man with big arms. Nora could see the outline of his gun in its holster, the dull shine of his belt buckle beneath his waist.

  “No, we’re not hurt,” Grace said. “But . .” She stared disbelievingly into the hole again. “How are we going to get back downstairs?”

  Ozzie was already pacing up and down the hall, looking around wildly, as if trying to recall a secret staircase or a hidden panel. The only one Nora could think of was the one in the chimney, and there was certainly no point in going up there. “We’ll have to climb out a window,” Ozzie said finally. “Maybe the one in Monica’s and my old room.”

  The cop narrowed his eyebrows. “Is that how you got in?”

  “No, we came in through the basement,” Grace said. “See, we used to live here. A long time ago, when we were teenagers. We just wanted to see it again.”

  “You used to live here?” the cop repeated.

  “Yeah,” Grace went on, a little too eagerly. “When it was a girls’ home. Turning Winds? It was kind of a while back. You might not remember it. There was a whole bunch of us living here. Anyway, we’re in the middle of a road trip, the four of us, from Chicago, and we just got carried away, you know, thinking back, remembering how it used to be, and we were—”

  “All right.” Ozzie elbowed Grace in the ribs. “Jesus. He doesn’t need the annotated version.” She put a hand on her hip and stared down at the cop. “Is it okay if we try to climb out the window? There’s one in the bedroom on the far side of the house. The moon’s shining right into it, which’ll give us some light, and if you have some rope or something in your car, we might be able to rappel ourselves down the side.”

  “Rappel ourselves?” Grace echoed. “I don’t think I—”

  “Relax,” Ozzie murmured. “It’ll be fine.”

  The cop seemed to consider this for a moment, moving the flashlight over each of their faces as if they were trying to get something past him. “All right,” he said finally. “Stay right there. I have some rope in my car.” Nora watched as he picked his way carefully through the rubble. He moved with an odd sort of daintiness, sidestepping jagged pieces of wood with small, light steps that belied his obvious heft. She hoped he had another delicate side, one that might go easy on them once they got out of here.

  “Stay right there,” Ozzie parroted as he disappeared through the door. “Where we going, dumb ass?” She leaned over the top of the split railing, craning her neck. “Monsie! Where are you? You still okay?”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice was faint. “I’m just sitting here. Against the wall.”

  “Are you bleeding anywhere?”

  “No.” A pause. “I don’t think so.”

  “How’s your foot?”

  Before she had a chance to answer, the cop reappeared, holding a thick green coil in his right hand. He tossed it up to Ozzie, who caught it deftly. “It’s a military parachute cord,” he called. “Fasten one end of it to the windowsill, and let yourself down. I’ll get your friend here, and we’ll wait for you outside the window.”

  The ensuing twenty minutes, Nora thought later, might one day be described as a comedy of errors as she, Grace, and Ozzie arduously frog-hopped their way down the side of Turning Winds. They would definitely recall Ozzie’s agility as she plummeted down along the wall in record time, as well as the terrified whoop that came out of Grace’s mouth as she swung the rope too hard, nearly knocking off the old flower box still perched outside the living room window. Nora would remember crawling backward down the side of the old building like some kind of decrepit bug, although she got to the bottom without incident, and none of them would forget the way the moon lit up the night sky like a headlight behind them. But right now there was nothing amusing about Monica’s foot injury—which up close, looked gruesome, already swelling and changing color—or the expression on the policeman’s face as they stood before him moments later. He was not nearly as old as she’d thought he was, Nora realized, studying the diamond stud gleaming from his right earlobe. The gold nameplate above his breast pocket read LAWRENCE. She wondered if it was his first or last name. With his blond hair and smooth, apple-cheeked skin, he looked young enough to be in college.

  “All right then,” he began, fastening the parachute rope with a small plastic clip he withdrew from his pocket. “Now that—”

  “Please,” Ozzie broke in. “Please, please, don’t arrest us. Like my friend told you already, we were just in there reminiscing. We’re not criminals. Honestly, we weren’t doing—”

  She stopped as he held up a hand. “Are you aware that this building is state property?”
>
  “Oh God,” Monica whimpered.

  “We didn’t know that,” Ozzie said. “Honest to God, we didn’t. We would’ve never—”

  “Let me finish,” he said. “Not only is it state property, but it’s also getting torn down this coming Wednesday. If it wasn’t, I’d have no choice but to arrest you. Especially considering you just destroyed a good piece of it.”

  “It’s getting torn down?” Monica whispered. “Really?”

  “Really.” The cop pulled out a thick pad from the breast pocket of his shirt and gave Monica a sympathetic look. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed, ma’am, falling through that staircase. The wood is rotted from the inside out from all the termites. You could’ve broken your neck.” He flipped open the pad with a flourish and wrote something at the top. “They’re gonna put a Dollar Store here, I think. Sometime next year. And another coffee place.”

  Nora watched silently as he scribbled on the front of the pad. In a few short days, Turning Winds would be erased from the planet, the living, breathing memories inside a thing of the past. She wasn’t sure if the lonely sound she heard in the trees just then was a bird calling or the sound of her own heart breaking.

  Officer Lawrence tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Ozzie. “Considering the circumstances, I’m going to let you all off with a fine. You can mail this in directly to the Willow Grove Police Department.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Grace gushed.

  Ozzie stared at the paper. “Two hundred and eighty dollars?” she sputtered.

  “You’re lucky it’s not double.” The cop raised an eyebrow. “We caught a couple kids in here last summer who were boozing it up. They got fined two hundred each.” He pointed at Ozzie with the tip of his pen. “And don’t be late with the payment. After six days, it doubles.”

  Ozzie scowled as she shoved the piece of paper in her back pocket.

  “You ladies have a good night now.” The policeman peered at them from behind his flashlight. “You are going to leave the property now, correct?”