by Yannick Hill
Casey had built this studio to her precise specifications, equipped and furnished it to the highest possible standards. It was the only way he could persuade her to bring her work home. To be closer to the kids . . . Because they miss you, he had said. Because I miss you. It was the view of the ocean that finally convinced her. Those first days she felt she could reach out and touch the glittering water with her fingertips. Those first months were among the most productive of her life. It was here she created some of her best-known designs, concepts for an order of iconic technology that would become the delivery devices for Casey’s ever-expanding social network; the windows to a billion souls. Watches, phones, tablets, laptops, desktops, cars . . . Synthea’s designs had helped define the direction for personal computing throughout the developed world. Time magazine called Casey and Synthea Baer the King and Queen of Silicon Valley, the power couple to end all power couples.
And, yes, she had seen more of her kids. River coming by to watch her work, quiet as could be, resting his head lightly on her shoulder, gasping now and then as he remembered to breathe, his clever questions about what she was doing. Missy bringing her mother lunch on the Chinese dragon tray, lovingly prepared with Leticia’s help in Versailles’ kitchens. And, yes, for a time Synthea had loved this space, a view of the ocean so total that on wilder days she half expected the waves to crash against the glass. But as the years went by the water seemed to have receded, a tidal retreat independent of the moon’s influence. Because I miss you, Casey had said.
These days the view gave her no pleasure, the glass a vast reminder of her imprisonment, curving by degrees of sep-aration from the outside and everything she’d known. She couldn’t remember the last time she turned on her computer. She couldn’t remember her own face as she no longer looked in the mirror. She couldn’t remember the name of her company, or even why she hated her husband so much. She had lost entire days in this room, and that is how it would be today.
Versailles, the ocean seemed to say, Versailles.
A fortress for his family. And everything they needed, right here. Versailles. House of a thousand cameras. Their every move recorded. Versailles as fortress, the choice of stone, walls within walls, the miles of cable and the levels of control. You can have anything you want, Casey would tell their children. Like Disney World, but no Mickey Mouse.
Her precious children. Their birthday. She had almost forgotten their birthday. Her first pill had eased the nervous tension in her chest and neck enough that she could at least breathe more fully now. Synthea sat at the angled desk, closed her eyes and placed her palms face down on the cool, brushed-steel surface. She inhaled deeply through her nose and out again through pursed lips. She was like an actress on film, waiting for a kiss that never comes.
Synthea loved to swim. She especially loved to swim early in the morning, when her husband was asleep. Ver-sailles had two swimming pools, but Synthea had not set foot in either for some time. In the golden days, when she’d first started working from home, she’d go with little Missy and swim in the waters off Versailles’ private beach. While Missy paddled, Synthea would swim way, way out into the open ocean, so far she could barely make out her daughter anymore. Then after a time she’d return to the shore and put Missy through her paces in the shallows. Missy was a strong swimmer, just like her mom. It was in her blood.
Synthea couldn’t remember exactly when the changes started. The break in her routine. Every morning she would enter the walk-in closet, intending to put on her swimsuit, and emerge wearing her work clothes. It was automatic. Like sleepwalking, the imagined ribbon of light guiding her out of the closet, out of her room, and back up to her office.
Once there, sitting in front of her desk, the trance only deepened, the numbness spreading to her lips and fingertips. And there she stayed, sometimes for hours, not moving a muscle. The journey to her son’s room this morning had been a deviation from the designated path, this pattern of non-existence, and the effort had left her with barely enough energy to breathe.
But breathe she did, and swim. She swam great distances in her mind, out, out into the ocean, away from Versailles and out of frame, until there was no land in sight and then downwards, diving deep and deeper still, until there was no light, no one, nothing but her.
Memory as dream. Her boss telling her it was okay, she would be welcome back, any time. His mouth telling her to stay in contact. She couldn’t remember his name. The name of her company. She couldn’t remember any of it just now. Her designs. Her designs were all still there, not so much in her mind’s eye as feeling part of her, as familiar as any part of her body, her hands and feet. Human factors. Ergonomics. Symmetrical balance.
Her children. Her children she remembered perfectly. The first time Missy made her laugh, not infant Missy (and the way she pronounced ‘anteater’) but teenaged Missy, making a joke, a good one, and Synthea laughing. She remembered her children perfectly. Shouting at River and River shouting back, and then his knock on her bedroom door much later to apologize, and her solemn apology to him because they’d both been wrong. Symmetrical balance.
She remembered her children perfectly. And she loved them for how different they were. From her. From Casey. From each other. And finally from themselves, as they grew older and became their own people, making jokes and answering back. How different and exotic and strong and full of potential. She remembered her children perfectly, pills or no pills.
It was hours before she surfaced again, she could not tell how long, but the sky had darkened outside her window. Time for her second pill. Versailles roared beneath her like a vast, buried spaceship. Missy’s birthday. For several moments she couldn’t remember her daughter’s age. She made a calculation. That’s right. Her Missy was sixteen years old today. She realized there had been no promises. Nothing planned for Missy’s birthday. Not even a cake with candles. She remembered. Magic candles. River’s tears when the flames kept coming back. She never bought them again. Her two children, her Little Baers, both taking a big breath and blowing out the flames at once. The flickering image. Their happy birthday. Missy first, then River ten seconds after. But Missy was big sister, always looking out for little River. The two of them together, their playing. The water pushed beyond the edges of Versailles’ outdoor pool and onto the grass, an unexpected gust of wind across. Flying crocodile. Flying crocodile. She couldn’t remember what it meant just now, the memory escaping her like eggshell in the viscous white. Her children. Their birthday. She had almost forgotten their birthday. Sixteen candles, the magic gone. Sparkle and fade and then. No picture.
Synthea opened her eyes. An unexpected adrenaline rush allowed her to stand up from her chair. She picked up the smartphone from the desk and selected Missy from her favorites. It was ringing. It was ringing but Missy didn’t pick up. Synthea couldn’t bring herself to leave a voicemail. She touched the metaphor of a red button on the capacitive screen and let the device fall to the floor at her bare feet. She looked down and saw the diagonal crack. Her toes were turning blue. She hoped it was a trick of the light.
Time to break the rules.
She put the pill back in its plastic bottle and screwed the lid until it clicked and clicked again. She turned to face the elevator and walked towards it. Like one of River’s video games. First person perspective. She pressed the button in the wall and the door opened. Time to find her daughter.
5
Until now the voice had told her where to go next. Which turns to make in the city, which exits to take on the highway. Like satellite navigation but better, because this was her adventure. Around four in the afternoon, the landscape play-ing like a movie, the voice on Missy’s phone said to stop at the next gas station and take something that wasn’t hers.
Whatever happens, the man said, do not hesitate. Do not look back, Missy. It does not matter what it is, but you must. To move to the next stage, you must take something that is not yours.
Right away she turned the music off, the landscape n
ow a different movie outside her window. She felt sick. Controlling the car was suddenly a very difficult task, like the whole thing might break apart at any moment. Like riding a roller coaster. There was no way. No way was she going to steal. This wasn’t a video game, this was real life, and stealing was wrong. She thought of her mother again, the comb passing through her long red hair, a cache of birthday presents somewhere. Sixteen candles. A birthday cake made with lemons and her mother waiting in the electric blue dress, the choice of outfit, her careful make-up. It was Synthea who taught Missy how to drive, and she was a good teacher. Patient. Her voice low and slow and careful . . .
What was she doing out here? Taking orders from some random voice on her phone, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? Her mom needed her. Missy suddenly wished she’d taken Synthea with her, away from Versailles. The two of them, out on the open road, singing songs from the radio. Missy remembered. A rare trip into the city. I’m taking you to my favorite place, her mom had said. Just don’t tell your daddy.
The aquarium. Missy remembered. The rippling blue light on her mother’s white clothes. Being hugged close as the shark swam by the darkened glass, their breath held as one, and then their whispered words and celebratory dance of fear and excitement. The car ride home with the radio on, her mother’s voice, singing songs from long ago and knowing all the words. Her mom’s hands on the wheel, the muscles in her arms moving under her freckled skin as she steered the car home. Versailles. The electric gate and Casey waiting at the top of the stairs to the mansion.
Missy remembered. A family dinner. Casey asking about the aquarium, what Missy saw. But when Missy got to the part about seeing the shark Casey interrupted and asked Missy what she wanted for her birthday. And when Missy said it wasn’t her birthday for a really long time Casey said he could get her anything he wanted. She could have her own theme park, right here in Versailles. Roller coasters, cotton candy, the whole thing. It’ll be like Disney World, he said, but no Mickey Mouse.
Missy remembered. The muffled roars from the master bedroom hours later. They never went into the city again. She and her mom. Side by side in the car as they sang old songs from the radio. Her mom’s hands on the wheel, the muscles in her arms moving under her freckled skin as she steered the car home.
Missy looked down at her hands, more like her father’s. She should never have left her mom, but she could not go back. Not now, not ever. This wasn’t a video game, this was real life, her life, her decision to run away, out of frame, Versailles in the rear mirror. And then it hit her: bouncy ball.
Aquarium shop. She’d stolen a bouncy ball from the aquarium shop, taken it home. Bouncy ball . . . thinking about it now, she didn’t know if she’d ever actually bounced the ball, just remembered River using it as some kind of code, like: I’m gonna tell on you (not that he ever did). So, okay, she had stolen before. But that didn’t mean she was going to steal something now, just because some random voice— and there it was, still a ways off but close enough to know: the spinning blue and white sign of a gas station.
The sharp air conditioning set the mood. Missy hooked her arm through the handles of her basket like, look, this is me, walking down the aisle, shopping for myself. She realized she’d never done this before. All the food, drink, clothes, make-up, whatever she needed, it was there before she even asked. Versailles was a dream she was only just waking up from, here in this convenience store.
Right now she needed supplies. Something to eat, something to drink. Apple juice, she liked apple juice. Orange juice, she liked orange juice. Iced tea. She loved iced tea, especially with lots of ice, by the pool. There was lemon iced tea. Raspberry. Green tea iced tea. All different kinds. Missy had never been this thirsty in her life. She held one of the cold bottles to her cheek, the condensation leaving a patch on her skin. Then she cracked open the lemon iced tea and took a hit. She was paying for it so why not, right? Wait, this was too many drinks, the basket was already too heavy. She put back the orange juice with pulp and the diet sparkling green tea with strawberry kiwi iced tea, and kept the rest. Next. Cereal. Most important meal of the day they said. Two boxes of Cap’n Crunch and her basket was full and almost too heavy to carry. Missy felt suddenly very tired, ready-to-go-to-sleep tired.
She set the basket on the ground and took a second to compose herself. Shopping was really hard, she decided. Missy gave herself a second. But in that moment something happened, the world shifted on its axis. Twinkies. Twinkies happened. Right in front of her, at eye-level, she saw them, or rather, they saw her. She didn’t even like Twinkies, but in that moment she knew. Flying crocodile. Versailles in the rear mirror. What Casey did. She suddenly had the strangest sense that this bunch of Twinkies was the answer, her escape. She plucked the packet from the scratched white shelf and scrunched the cellophane till it tensed like a balloon.
She closed her eyes and she was high above the earth, suspended there from a brightly colored air balloon and rising, Versailles too small to see, the ocean waves unmoving, areas of blue, patches of green, yellow, brown and then . . . Missy opened her eyes and started walking, reality left behind with her basket full of cold drinks, the condensation forming a small pool on the ground now they were out of the refrigerator. Next thing she knew she was through the automatic doors, a slow flash of glass catching the neon and the sun, a blast of warmer air from outside. The automatic doors and her act felt automatic, her shiny black SUV waiting for her in the parking lot across the way, the closing distance and the man calling her back from inside. The man was calling and she started running, closed the distance to her car and climbed inside. The thumping bass of whatever music played last.
She chased herself for miles afterwards, every car in her mirror, the pine trees growing darker to the right, taller somehow and the looming mountains behind. She thought of him. The young clerk who hadn’t made eye contact. She saw him on the way in – a little heavy around the edges, his curly hair a murky blond. She thought of him in his glass box, as the tarmac passed underneath her car she worried he might get in trouble with his boss, their different-colored shirts, the pine trees growing taller somehow and the thought of cameras, grayscale security footage of her crazy act.
Twinkies. She laughed out loud at this, but didn’t dare glance at the shiny cellophane packet on the passenger seat, the feeling in her belly blossoming with new guilt, the laughter turning to singing when Scout Rose came on the radio, her favorite song, a song she’d had on a loop in the weeks before she ran away, away from Versailles, across America, Twinkies on the passenger seat and the soft roar of the SUV, the muscles in her arms flexing under her skin as she turned the wheel, minor adjustments translating to giant swerves, the thrill of escape and the blue unknown.
If only they could see. If only she could share this moment. All she had to do was log back in. The glowing embers of her user data. Thirty days to reactivate. One photo. #Twinkies . . . No. This was her. Missy missing now. She tapped cancel. But there was one person. She had to make contact. This wasn’t about likes or comments or follows. This was different. She opened her messenger app and spoke a text.
6
Flying crocodile. Like bouncy ball, it meant different things. When they were little kids flying crocodile meant, like, you wanna play? Flying crocodile? A proposition. Let’s go play outside. Let’s do this. Nowadays it was more if you saw something random on the internet or in real life then it was so flying crocodile. An acknowledgement. By doing something unexpected or risky, you could also be flying crocodile. Like when the two of them took their father’s speedboat so they could go look for dolphins and got grounded for a month? They were being totally flying crocodile. A badge of honor. But like this, as a text message, with no context? This was new territory. Missy was taking flying crocodile in a new direction, and River wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Could it be some kind of birthday greeting? He could work with that he guessed.
Where are you? he texted back – No reply. Fine then, Riv
er said out loud. He bounced a fluffy tennis ball off the wall and caught it again. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. Still no reply. Very unlike Missy. Their texts, like all their conversations, were always rapid-fire. This delay was unheard of. It wasn’t a twin thing, but he was worried.
Usually it was Missy worrying about him. Always hassling him about something, trying to introduce him to her friends, not that she was seeing all that much of them herself. Now that River thought about it, his sister had been wanting to hang out a lot more, trying to get them to do stuff together, play co-op video games, go out in the speedboat again, whatever. But it wasn’t like when they were kids. He didn’t need her to protect him like before, he could protect himself. He didn’t need her friends. He had friends. Sure they were a motley bunch of freaks he’d met online under various guises – moms on baby forums, chainsaw enthusiasts, random NASA personnel, phone-sex workers, around-the-world yacht racers, cheating husbands, cheating wives, bored elite Navy SEALs, America’s leading expert on big cats, his worst enemy at school, several errant algorithms – but what difference did it make? They liked him and he guessed he liked them. He didn’t need her protection. He could take care of himself. He remembered. Then he shook his head, canceling the memory. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch.
River ran a search on Missy’s phone, trying to get a fix on her location. Nothing. That was strange. His sister was smart, but not tech smart. What was she up to? He didn’t like it. It felt out of sync.
Was this flying crocodile some kind of birthday riddle? Bounce, catch. He took a second look at the tennis ball. Too fluffy. New balls, please. Bounce, catch, curveball across the room, so hard River might have dislocated his elbow. He watched as the tennis ball slammed right into the cage containing his mynah bird, Money. He didn’t mean to do that.