by Yannick Hill
Missy remembers the relief that River got there in time, but also the unspoken wish that the crocodile had gotten away from them after all, blown out over the ocean and floated away on the current, along the coastline and then inland again, picked up by some other kids, a boy and a girl just like them, but dressed in different swimming costumes, playing different games, speaking in their own made-up language and answering to different parents. She remembers wishing the crocodile had gotten away and knowing that River felt the same way. They’d returned to the swimming pool and gone back to playing their game, but something had changed, something that made their playing less fun. They had stopped soon after, gone back into the mansion to watch a movie, Missy didn’t know which movie, but she’d felt closer to her brother than she ever had, that twin feeling they talked about, the talking without words, a shared secret. Flying crocodile. Missy opened her eyes as from a dream of dreaming. She had to run to catch up. ‘I was younger. I was a kid when I thought about the swimming pool.’
‘I see,’ Silas said, and somehow Missy thought he did see. ‘And how much time do you spend online on the internet would you say?’ he continued. ‘Average? Above average? You should feel you can be honest, I’m not going to judge you.’
‘Before it was, like, all the time,’ Missy said. ‘Every day, every minute pretty much, any time something happened that I thought was cool or if I saw something I liked? I’d wanna post it to the network because, why not, right? If I see something beautiful I want my friends to see the same thing. I know, I know, it’s unhealthy but whatever, sharing things is fun.’
‘You said before. What changed your mind?’
Something about Silas, this walk in the forest, the kid with his white rabbit. It made her want to tell him everything, but something else was holding her back. She didn’t want to lie, but the whole truth? That belonged to her, and in a way that was her answer right there. ‘One day I saw something and, like, I don’t know, I wanted to keep it to myself.’
‘Something online?’
‘Yeah, online.’
‘Why did you want to keep it to yourself?’ Silas cut in. ‘Tell me more about that.’
‘Because keeping it to myself made it precious . . . like shells on the beach,’ Missy heard herself say. The ground underfoot was beginning to slope upwards, towards the mountain. ‘Sometimes I’ll find something on the beach near my house and I’ll want to take it home with me, back to my room, and taking it home in my pocket kind of makes it even better, even more precious. Because it’s mine and no one else’s, I guess.’
‘I understand,’ Silas said.
‘So, anyway, I stopped posting so much because I liked that feeling. Of keeping things close. It makes me feel—’
‘More like yourself?’ Silas said. When Missy didn’t answer, he continued. ‘Before I ask you any more questions, Missy, I think it’s important that you know something, that I explain a few things. You’re here because you’ve been chosen. You were chosen out of millions of other people because you possess certain qualities, and it’s these char-acteristics that we think will stand you in good stead for the next phase of your journey. I know all this must seem rather extraordinary, rather mysterious, but the very fact of your coming here and finding me is proof that, at the very least, you are willing to try something new, to live in the moment, as they say. As you may have gathered, it’s my job to interview prospective candidates, and while that role brings with it a certain degree of formality, it’s of great importance that you try to relax. You’re not in any kind of danger, you can come and go as you please. Should you decide to stay, I will be more than happy to explain why I have a domestic cat’s head mounted on the wall back in my trailer.’ Silas was chuckling as he said this and Missy laughed with him, drawing up alongside.
‘Why do you have a cat’s head mounted on the wall?’
‘Mickey, for that was his name, was a dear friend of mine,’ Silas said. ‘I found him on the side of the road as a kitten and he’d ride with me on my motorcycle all day long without a care—’ But before he could say any more, the boy with no name came crashing into his father, throwing his arms around his waist. ‘A bear, Dad,’ he said breathlessly, ‘I saw him. Big ole bear right over there, behind those trees, Dad.’
Without looking behind him, Silas put out his arm across Missy’s path to stop her in her tracks, and there it was, less than twenty feet away, emerging from behind a tree, its giant head swaying from side to side as it made its way. A big brown bear. Ambling toward the mountain, a steady after-noon climb for a furry killing machine.
17
‘MONEY, GET DOWN HERE!’ River switched to good cop: ‘Come on, enough with the flying in circles already.’ It was no good. Money wouldn’t stop flying in circles. He was being super naughty today for some reason. Discombobulated. ‘Come on, Money, quit being a douche and come and chill in your cage, I’m working here.’
Until Money stopped flying in circles like this above his head, River couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand: finding out what had happened to his twin sister these past few days. He’d spent the morning lurking on scoutfan.net looking for clues, any sign that there was more to the fan site than met the eye. If scoutfan really was recruiting young girls for something other than Scout Rose appreciation, they were doing a damn good job of hiding it.
River leaned back in his office chair and watched as his pet mynah bird continued to circle the room in long, relaxed, arcing swoops. His morning exercise routine was going on longer than normal. It was surreal when it got like this because you couldn’t reason with a bird, you couldn’t talk him down, in that sense. You had to be patient, let him do his thing till he was done doing it . . . Except there was this one trick, it didn’t always work, but it was worth a try.
He’d had Money since he was a little kid. Too little at first to be allowed to keep him in his room like now. Mom was scared he might peck River’s eyes out, and she was probably right. You couldn’t call it friendship, River guessed, but there was no question Money had character, meaning he was something of a motherfucker, but anyways, River loved this bird like other people loved their teddy bears. And there were things he could do to elicit a response. Fun stuff. The mimicking was one thing, but there were other tricks, and one of them was how to get Money back in his cage. River’s preferred method: sing to him. No kidding. There was this one song, a favorite pop song from both their childhoods. All River had to do was sing it out loud, only gentle like a lullaby. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t hit a note if someone had a gun to his head.
The effect was subtle at first, a slight adjustment to the angle of his wings, a couple wider circles to begin with and then smaller than before, a series of plaintive squawks, like he was doing right now, like the song was touching his tiny, stupid bird heart. And then the final descent, a dramatic flapping of wings as he hovered for a moment in his peripheral vision, and this time, to River’s great delight, Money alighted on his shoulder, a wing tip briefly caressing his right ear as he found a place to settle down. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ River cooed, craning his neck to make eye-contact. ‘Fancy seeing you there.’
‘Fancy,’ Money squawked, with little or no regard to what it meant.
‘Well,’ said River, ‘Haven’t you been a good boy?’
Squaaawk!
‘That’s right,’ River continued in dulcet tones, ‘you good for nothing mutt, you want me to flush you down the toilet? Huh? I could flush you right down the toilet and watch you disappear down the hole and then I wouldn’t have to weather your pointless existence any longer now, would I?’
The mynah bird tilted his head to one side: ‘Down the toiiilet.’
‘That’s right, Money, down the toilet,’ River said.
But Money wasn’t done talking. What the mynah bird said next sent a chill the length of River’s spine: ‘That’s the spirit River Beeear, that’s the spii-rit.’
River’s reaction was pure impulse. He grabbed Money from his sh
oulder like a grenade, tossed him into the open cage and shut the door. ‘What did you say to me? Tell me what you said, Money, or I will flush you down the toilet, you hear me?’
‘We been watching Missy for a loooong time,’ drawled the bird, ‘we think she’s ready to join us now – squawk!’
River punched the cage with his fist and immediately felt bad for doing it. The bird looked rattled. ‘I’m sorry, Money, it’s not your fault.’ But if the mynah bird was rattled, River was shaken. There was no doubt about it now. Someone had gotten to his bird and filled his tiny skull with those same words unknown_user had used on chat . . . But there was no way. No way someone had entered this room without his knowledge. He hadn’t moved in days. Almost a week in fact. River had everything he needed in this room so there was no way someone could have come in here. This was like one of those locked room puzzles, but in reverse. This place was his bunker, his refuge. Angel on the gates. River ran through all the possibilities in his head. Maybe unknown_user had hacked one or more of his devices and had it speak out loud while River was asleep (River was a deep sleeper), or in his en suite. Unlikely, but possible. He had to think. He eyed the tennis ball cannon, the boxing gloves, the climbing wall. No, he couldn’t waste any more time. He had to post something on scoutfan. Anything. Find a way in.
River grabbed a blanket from his bed and threw it over Money’s cage. ‘Sleepy time, little buddy.’ There were no squawks of protest, only silence.
In reality Versailles was never silent. Brown noise they called it: a low, soft roar, the sound of a nearby city, a storm within a storm, some unnamed horror still to come, one hundred rooms and the majority were locked. He’d worked for years to find a hack, unlock the doors, find out all his father’s secrets. He’d fantasized for years. Open every door and he could show the world who his father really was, reveal the true colors of the man who set them free. He’d get there, it was just a matter of time.
For now, River had to get back online as pr1ncess, trawl the scoutfan forums for clues. He closed his eyes and thought of her, his lovely sister Missy: her eyes, her voice, her kindness. He wished they had a twin thing, like, all the time, some kind of live telepathic link-up. That would be sweet. Even in peacetime that would be awesome. All he knew is he missed her like crazy, she was in trouble, and she needed him to bro the hell up. River removed the headpiece of the bear costume. Too hot to think. This was his chance. Reverse the roles. Sure, he was born ten seconds after Missy, but he was taller than her (just). He got that from his father. His father. He’d called him Casey for as long as he could remember. You say Dad enough times with no response and the word starts to lose meaning. So he started calling him Casey. His father was a jock. His father was a bully. Just a thug with a website. Nothing but a bully, too old for his creepy hoodies and thousand-dollar runners, too young to be CEO of the world’s pre-eminent social network, telling everybody how to think and how to be.
No wonder Missy had gone AWOL. River would have jumped ship years ago if it wasn’t for . . . If it wasn’t for . . . He didn’t know why. He could walk out of here right now. Take that one-man helicopter and make Versailles a pixel. But first, he needed to find his sister. Bro the hell up. Show this unknown_user creep who was boss. River eyed the tennis ball cannon, his rearview mirror, pursed his lips, spun round three times in his office chair and settled into his mouse and keyboard routine.
Trust no one. Be anyone but himself.
Rearview mirror.
There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.
18
Silas gripped Missy by the sleeve of her sweatshirt and told everybody to stand completely still, stay together, and not make eye contact. ‘If he charges us, we must stand our ground. More likely than not it’s a bluff and he’ll back off.’
Missy couldn’t help herself. She had to get a better look at this thing. Silas and the leather jacket. She pushed up on her tiptoes so she could look over his shoulder. And there it was. A real, live, brown bear. Like seeing a celebrity. Was it a grizzly? She kind of hoped so. It wasn’t moving at that moment. So real it was unreal. She had to get a picture. Before it disappeared. She had to get a picture. Prove to everyone back home she’d seen a real, live bear. Missy reached for her phone and when she found it wasn’t there, she lost her balance, just a little, had to put her right foot out to stop herself from falling. But she made a noise, her black sneaker scraping the ground just enough. The bear heard it and started moving forward. Silas had stopped breathing. She looked at the back of his head. She could feel his anger. She was angry with herself but there was no time. This bear. One paw swipe and it was all over. She’d seen a video. The internet seemed so far away just now.
The bear moved closer, but not for them, maintaining its course, a path mapped out a hundred years before by other, younger bears. It paused again, bobbed its head slowly up and down like it was sniffing the air. It was looking right at them. Missy closed her eyes against its amber gaze. She closed her eyes and saw only darkness, no pictures of past events, no highlights from her life so far, and no color. Only a blossoming darkness, the sound of three people breathing through their noses, the smell of biker leathers mixed with pine needles, a scent at once unfamiliar but always having been. And then, with her eyes tight shut, she saw the bear, right up close, like HD camera close, every last hair making up its massive, furry face, those amber eyes that told them nothing, only seeing, no meaning, right through them to the empty universe beyond.
When she opened her eyes the bear was gone, exit stage right between the trees, somewhere to the higher ground. They stood awhile like statues, terrified.
‘Well done, both of you,’ Silas said. ‘You were very brave. It’s not every day you see a grizzly bear.’
‘So it was a grizzly?’ Missy said, delighted because grizzlies were like, really famous. ‘But I thought there weren’t any left in this part of America?’
‘Indeed,’ Silas growled.
They made their way back in silence after that, the boy with no name keeping close by this time, his white rabbit disappeared somewhere inside the backpack.
They’d only been away an hour or so, but it felt like a lot longer, like it should be darker by now. But when they got back to the trailer it was so hot in there, Missy had to take off a layer of her clothes to stay cool.
‘Well,’ Silas said, opening all the windows. ‘I don’t know about you two, but after that I’m hungrier than a cannibal in a mosh pit. You like eggs, Missy? My son cooks a mean three-egg omelet. You game?’
‘That sounds great,’ Missy said. She couldn’t remember ever being this hungry in her life. Something to do with facing down a grizzly bear in the middle of the afternoon she guessed. She went to check her phone and then remembered . . . It wasn’t in her pockets. It wasn’t in her handbag. Missy got to her feet and turned once on the spot, scanning the trailer.
‘Looking for something?’ Silas said.
‘Oh, yeah, have you seen my phone? I must have . . .’
Silas put his hands on his hips and took a look around. ‘Hmm, must be here somewhere, can’t have gone far. Tell you what, why don’t you relax, and I’ll keep looking. I’m sure it’ll turn up.’
Missy could smell the eggs now. The boy with no name was so small he had to go on his tiptoes by the cooker to see what he was doing.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Silas said, ‘But we like to eat our meals in front of the TV. I know it’s not something everybody likes, but it’s how we do things around here. You don’t mind?’
‘Not at all,’ Missy said, stroking her pockets one last time. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and thought of the sword on the back seat of her car. She wondered whether Silas had any more questions.
‘You take the armchair,’ Silas said. ‘Watch out, though, you’re liable to drop off quicker than a lost sheep over a cliff.’
Missy lowered herself into the armchair and it was true. All this adventuring was catching up with her. Silas turned
on the TV, gave Missy a wink, and disappeared into another part of the trailer.
This was the first time Missy could remember being without her cell for more than minutes at time. Even as a kid, she and River had had these pretend plastic phones that made dialing and ringing sounds (River had a whole call list of imaginary friends), and they were still pretty young when Casey gave them their first smartphones (designed by Mom), complete with ready-made profiles on Casey’s social net-work. Missy closed her eyes and saw the brown bear, its amber eyes staring right through her. She opened her eyes and saw the TV, but she couldn’t concentrate on what was happening on the screen. She looked down at her bare arms, hands, her fingers, and they looked different somehow, still part of her, but different. She felt older. Sixteen candles. She felt stronger. She thought about the sword on the back seat of her car, her sword, her inspiration, the key to her freedom, to the future. If this is the future, I want to leave now.
‘You mentioned your house before,’ Silas said, appearing out of nowhere and flopping down in the armchair beside hers. ‘Have you lived there all your life?’
‘Me and my brother were little kids when it was being built. I remember playing hide-and-seek in the foundations. My dad . . . He named it Versailles, after the palace in France . . . I’m sorry to be annoying, but did you happen to find my phone?’