[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  I found the kids in the living room, having finished an early breakfast. They talked me into letting them swim, and I relented even though I couldn’t join them. I hadn’t thought to bring a suit—something I’d have to remember from now on. While they went up to their rooms to change, I made my way to the library to find a book to read beside the pool. I entered the room with a spring in my step, but faltered in the doorway when I realized I wasn’t alone.

  A figure shrouded in black stood scanning the shelves, three books held in the crook of his arm. The un-marred side of his face was turned toward the door, the strong line of his jaw peeking from the confines of a hoodie. He turned his head slightly in my direction, one sharp, green eye swiveling toward me.

  I froze, a hand on the doorknob, my throat constricting.

  “Hey,” he murmured, turning back to the shelves.

  Unable to make my feet move, I simply continued staring in silence, shocked that he’d spoken to me. “Hi,” I managed after prying my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “I’ll just come back.”

  I got my feet to work again and began to back away, but Tate’s voice reached out to me, drawing me back in.

  “It’s okay. I’m almost done here. Stay.”

  It wasn’t a request, and it kind of felt like a test as well. If I went running for the hills, it would prove to him that I was horrified by his appearance… which was what I’d made him think Friday night by choking at the sight of him.

  If there was one thing I hated, it was failing a test.

  Without replying, I entered the room and joined him near the fiction shelves. To prove just how unbothered I was, I came up directly beside him, standing to his right and the sunken side of his face. After a moment, he pulled a book off the shelf, and then moved around me, going to look at books on another one.

  I started scanning the titles, not entirely sure what I was looking for. It became difficult to think straight with Tate standing here in the light of day, a few feet away from me. He’d gone from being a rumor—an idea that floated around during idle gossip—to a breathing person who I could hear and see. Shaking my head to focus my mind, I went back to the books.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked in a low murmur.

  I wondered if he always talked that way, with a low, ominous sort of growl underlying the bass of his tone.

  Clearing my throat, I shrugged. “Just something to keep me occupied while the kids are swimming. I didn’t bring a suit so… poolside reading it is.”

  He continued scanning the shelf he stood in front of for a few moments before grabbing a book and extending it to me. While reaching for it, I noticed he wouldn’t turn to look at me full on. He seemed to be avoiding meeting my gaze altogether.

  Turning the book over in my hands, I read the cover. “A Brave New World by Aldous Huxley.”

  He nodded. “One of my all-time favorites. I know The Hunger Games and Divergent are the standard of dystopia these days, but that’s a classic. It’ll probably be required reading for you next year if you’re in AP English, but… well, maybe you can get ahead of the class and check it out now.”

  Smiling, I looked back up at him, even though he was still slightly turned away from me. “Thank you. I can’t wait to get into it.”

  His only response was a nod, and then his focus returned to the shelves. I stood there for another minute, feeling more awkward than I ever had in my entire life. Finally, I thanked him again and turned to leave. Pausing in the doorway, I glanced back again, but he never turned around. With a sigh, I pulled the door closed, putting Tate’s hood-covered head and imposing back behind me.

  I found the kids in the hallway waiting for me, swimsuits on and towels in hand. We stopped by Ezra’s office for the key first, and then I led them outside for our day beside the pool.

  After applying sunscreen to Emma and helping Max as much as he’d let me, I told the kids to dive in. They began splashing, swimming, and practicing handstands underwater. I opened the book. The pages seemed worn, many of them still creased from being dog-eared. Obviously, the book was well loved and had been read many times. Leaning back on the padded poolside lounge chair, I settled in for a morning of reading.

  I found myself hard-pressed to put A Brave New World aside, but my job demanded it. There were many interruptions—Emma’s scraped knee after she left the pool, showers and changes of clothes after swimming, lunch and then a gaming marathon on the Xbox. By the time I left for the evening, I had only gotten four chapters in. Determined to get back to it as fast as I could, I rushed through my quick stop at the grocery store.

  The book had consumed me so completely that everything else around me paled in comparison. I had become so absorbed in my own thoughts about what I’d read so far that I almost crashed into the guy rounding the corner of the next aisle.

  I pulled my cart up short and narrowly avoided ramming Lincoln Burns in the stomach. He stumbled to avoid me, putting one hand out to halt my cart, causing me to fall against it.

  “Hey, girl,” he said, keeping his hand on the basket of my cart. A wide smile spread across his mouth, making him look like a cat cornering a canary.

  “Lincoln,” I said, purposely keeping my tone clipped.

  “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around at all since school ended.”

  Hiding from you, I wanted to say.

  “Working,” I answered brusquely, attempting to pry my shopping cart from his beefy hand.

  No such luck.

  “That’s right.” He chuckled. “I heard you were babysitting at Baldwin House. What a crappy way to spend summer vacation. Wouldn’t you rather hang out with me? If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t. My girl can have whatever she wants when she’s with me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I gave the cart a yank toward me, loosening his hold. “I’m not your girl.”

  “No, but you could be,” he argued, following me as I attempted to get past him.

  He trailed me down the cereal aisle, his long legs making it easy for him to keep up with my short strides.

  “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he insisted. “If you give me another chance, things will be better. I’ll keep my hands to myself and everything.”

  I highly doubted that, but I chose not to acknowledge it. “I told you, I have to work. The Baldwins keep me pretty busy.”

  He halted at my side while I browsed the oatmeal selection, looking for my favorite flavor.

  “What’s it like?” he asked. “I haven’t been up the hill in years… not since Tate was still in school.”

  I paused, one hand on a box. For some reason, Lincoln’s question didn’t strike me as entirely innocent. The Baldwins’ home life was none of his business. They were private people for a reason, and I had to respect that.

  “It’s fine,” I replied through clenched teeth, throwing my oatmeal into the cart and continuing on.

  “Come on, you can do better than that,” he urged, steadily walking along beside me. “Do you ever see Tate? Is he is as nasty looking as they say? Is he covered in boils and scabs?”

  I stopped and whirled on him, having lost what little patience I’d had. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  He wrinkled his brow. “What?”

  “If you wanted to know how Tate was doing, you’d call him yourself and ask,” I snapped. “Or better yet, take yourself up the hill, knock on the door, and find out. Aren’t you two supposed to be friends?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “Yeah. At least, we were until he got sick and turned into a weirdo no one ever sees. He stopped taking my calls.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I muttered. “If Tate doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s his decision. And if you want to gossip about him, you need to find someone else to do it with. I’m not going to satisfy your curiosity about a guy who obviously just wants to be left the hell alone.”

  Kicking it up into high gear, I left him behind, heading to the frozen food aisle at a near run.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow.

  Once safe in front of the frozen vegetables, I paused, leaning against my cart with a sigh. Despite what Tate had done Friday, I found myself feeling protective toward him. He hadn’t struck me as a mean person… just a wounded one. It was no wonder he hid himself away, given the way people in this town talked about him. I made up my mind then that I would never tell anyone the things I saw or experienced within that house. It really was no one’s business, and I couldn’t hurt that family in any way. Even though they seemed to have everything in the world, material possessions couldn’t fix what had been broken.

  Ezra had been right. The Baldwins needed someone, and that person would have to be me. I would protect their secrets and their shame. Due to my father’s eccentricities, I had plenty of experience in that area.

  The rest of the week passed without an opportunity for me to talk to Tate again—which was really too bad, because I wanted to tell him how much I’d loved A Brave New World. Finishing it the night after he’d given it to me, I’d been a zombie the next morning due to lack of sleep. But it had been so worth it. I made sure to return to the library every day after that, but Tate never showed up again. Disappointed, I’d jotted a quick message on a sticky note and placed it inside the book. Before leaving Thursday evening, I stopped by Ezra’s office and placed the book on his desk.

  “Can you give this back to Tate for me, please?” I asked. At Ezra’s curious glance, I added, “He let me borrow it.”

  With a nod and small smile, he picked it up and set it aside. “I’ll see to it. That was nice of him.”

  Trying to keep a straight face under his knowing gaze, I nodded. “Yes, it was. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, calling me back before I could leave. “The Baldwins have a Saturday night business dinner to attend this weekend. Would you be available from about six-thirty until eleven or so?”

  Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled. “Ezra, you and I both know I have no life. I’ll be here.”

  “Thank you.” He laughed. “And it’s not true that you have no life.”

  Frowning, I inclined my head. “How so? All I do is babysit, help my dad around the bookstore, sit at home, and read.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying? A reader lives a thousand lives. You’re always off somewhere, Bellamy, exploring other worlds. You have many lives.”

  I let that sink in for a moment, realizing he was right. Besides, my life was pretty sweet. I had my dad, which was more than most people could claim to have. Plus, a job adjacent to one of the most amazing libraries on the planet.

  “I think you’re right,” I said. “Thanks, Ezra.”

  “See you tomorrow,” he murmured, lowering his head back over the files on his desk.

  I returned home in such a great mood. It didn’t even matter that Dad had left a massive mess in the kitchen. Oil stains, spare parts, and various mechanical odds and ends littered the table, where I suppose he spent his morning tinkering before heading to the bookstore. I started the laundry and made dinner while waiting for him to come home. We ate in front of the TV due to the mess in the kitchen, and then found a movie to watch together. By nine o’clock, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his soft snores mingling with the movie sounds.

  Turning off the set, I went into a nearby closet for a blanket. I took his shoes off, made him as comfortable as I could, and threw the cover over him. Because of his little problem, Dad hardly ever slept, claiming he often saw the ghosts when he closed his eyes. So, when he did manage to fall asleep without too much of a struggle, I never disturbed him. There were nights he drifted off at the dinner table—plate pushed aside, head rested on his arms. I would simply drape a blanket over his shoulders and leave him to rest.

  As I headed to my room, I grabbed my bag, which held my phone. Retrieving it from the front pocket, I found that I had missed notifications. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed an unread text from Tate. For reasons I couldn’t understand, my hands shook as I opened the message.

  Front porch.

  With a frown, I left the bag on my bed and went back to the front of the house. I hadn’t heard anyone ring the doorbell or knock. Peeking through the peephole, I found our porch—illuminated by the light—empty except for the porch swing. Opening the door, I left the screen door closed as I continued peering out into the night, finding nothing or no one. Cautiously pushing the screen open, I stepped out on to the porch.

  “Tate?” I called, looking left and right.

  No answer.

  “Weird,” I muttered, turning to go back inside.

  The squeak of the porch swing moving back and forth caught my attention, and I turned to find something resting on the seat.

  It was a package wrapped in brown paper with my name written across the front in neat handwriting. Picking it up, I took it inside, waiting until I was in my room with the door closed to open it. Inside was the copy of A Brave New World I had given to Ezra that afternoon. I studied the book with a frown, wondering why Tate would leave it here, wrapped like a gift. I set it aside and reached for my phone, prepared to message him and ask. A slip of paper fell out from between the cover and first page, fluttering to the floor beside my foot.

  Reaching down to grasp it, I unfolded the page and read the note.

  Keep it.

  -Tate

  A wide grin filled my face, and I reached out to take the book, holding it against my chest. It wasn’t much, but I saw it as the peace offering he’d meant it to be. I couldn’t imagine what it had taken for him to relinquish a well-worn and obviously beloved copy of his favorite book. From the little notes in the margins and the creased page corners, it bore all the signs of having been cherished by its owner. He’d cared enough about the content to add his thoughts in the margins—had read it so many times it was practically falling apart. It was the nicest gift anyone had ever given me.

  Grabbing my phone again, I replied to his text.

  You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.

  A few seconds later, his reply came as if he’d been waiting for me to respond.

  It was no trouble. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

  I pulled my trunk from beneath the bed and laid the book gingerly inside, on top of the others. Then, after a moment, I took the paper it had been wrapped in, folded it into a neat square, and tucked it into the book like a bookmark. I’d use it as such next time I wanted to read it.

  A sudden thought occurred to me, and I messaged Tate with the question weighing on my mind.

  Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell so you could put the book in my hands yourself?

  For a long while, he didn’t respond, and I began to fear I’d gone too far. It had been a nice gesture, and he obviously wanted to make up for our first meeting. But it became clear to me that he was uncomfortable being seen.

  I didn’t think you’d want to see me, he finally answered.

  I felt a twinge deep in my chest at his words. It must hurt wondering what people thought when they looked at you, knowing they couldn’t possibly be focused on what was inside when you looked a certain way on the outside.

  I typed out a quick message before I could lose my nerve, and then set my phone aside to prepare for the night.

  You were wrong. Ring the bell next time.

  Saturday night at Baldwin house turned out to be pretty low key. I’d been nervous about having to stay past dark, but after a dinner of Chinese takeout and another movie marathon, I put the kids to bed without running into any ghosts. That might have had something to do with the fact that I was determined to not even look at the third-floor staircase—despite seeing the red rose petals every time I walked by. I was treating it like the tree in the woods that didn’t make a sound if no one was around to hear it—if I ignored the third floor, then there were no ghosts to terrorize and scare the hell out of me.

  With nothing to do until Faith and Douglas returned home, I ma
de myself comfortable on the couch in the second-floor den with the remote and a variety of streaming services at my fingertips. I put on Pride and Prejudice—the Kiera Knightley version, an old favorite of mine—and lay daydreaming over Mr. Darcy in the dark with nothing but the light of the TV. Instead of feeling frightened by the darkness, I found it soothing. After a long day of trampoline jumping, hula-hoop contests, and running up and down the stairs with the kids, I was exhausted. Thirty minutes into the movie, I began dozing, my eyelids growing heavier the more I tried to fight it.

  I couldn’t say how long I’d been sleeping, when I suddenly came awake, jolted to consciousness as a shiver wracked my body. Despite being under a fleece blanket, I was freezing, my arms breaking out in goose bumps. Sitting up, I found the movie had ended—but instead of going back to the Netflix menu, the screen showed the static-y, pixelated noise I hadn’t seen on a set since digital televisions had become popular. Wrinkling my brow, I sat up straight, pulling my blanket tighter around me. As far as I knew, digital sets didn’t experience problems with static, yet the black-and-white spots dancing on the screen and grating sound persisted, even after I’d picked up the remote and attempted to switch the input. Giving the remote a smack and a shake, I tried again, this time mashing the power button to turn it off completely.

  The set didn’t respond, so I stood and crossed the room, flicking the light switch up. It, too, failed to respond, the room remaining dark aside from the flickering light of the television. Glancing down the hall, I noticed that Emma’s night-light no longer shone from the cracked door of her room. Wondering where the circuit breaker panel was, I stood, keeping the blanket tight around me. Maybe it had blown a fuse, affecting the air conditioner. It was entirely too cold in here—significantly chillier than it had been earlier. Pausing in front of the TV, I issued a slow exhale, watching as my breath turned into white mist in the air. The shivers penetrated deeper, shaking my entire body.

  Something in me knew, then, that this didn’t have anything to do with a blown fuse. I gripped the blanket tighter, my hands beginning to shake when I heard the sound I’d been trying to chase from my mind for an entire week.