Sever (Chemical Garden Trilogy)

by Lauren DeStefano

  “Do you mean that?” she asks.

  “Maybe I’ll even show you the airplane I’m hiding.”

  “Now you’re just messing with me,” she says. “You do not have an airplane.”

  “I do so. And I’ll have you know that with a few very minor tweaks, it’ll be ready to fly. Put your eyes back on the target.”

  The screen door slams shut. Linden is running down the porch steps and toward us. “No, no, no,” he’s saying. “Absolutely no!”

  “It’s not loaded,” Cecily and Reed say in unison.

  Linden looks at me as though I am somehow responsible for this. I say nothing, and he bristles at Reed. “What are you thinking, letting her play with guns?”

  “I’m not playing,” Cecily says. “I’m learning.”

  I can see that Linden wants to tear the gun from her hands, but he’s too afraid. Not just of the weapon but of this startling vision of the wife he’s always coddled. His fingers stretch and clench. If we were married, I would try to reason with him.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore,” he says. “It’s like you’ve completely lost your mind.”

  Cecily, remembering Reed’s advice to always treat a gun as if it were loaded, takes her finger from the trigger as she lowers it. She regards him with resignation, maybe even annoyance.

  “You could be killed. That thing could kill you,” Linden says.

  “It isn’t loaded,” Reed interjects. “We said that.”

  “And you! You should know better,” Linden says. He looks like he wants to cry. When he’s very frustrated, his eyes take on that sort of sheen. I want to comfort him. And I want to defend Cecily’s actions, because I understand. I do. She’s small, and she never had the opportunity of an education, and she just wants a little control. She wants to be taken seriously.

  But this isn’t my marriage. This isn’t my battle.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, kiddo,” Reed tells Linden. “I’ve never done a damn thing to hurt a soul in my life, and I wasn’t going to let anything happen. You don’t come out here barking orders at me.”

  “Linden just wants to protect her,” is what I want to say. She’s all he has. I left him. I’m at arm’s reach, but I’ve left him.

  I flatten my back against the earth and hope the grass will hide me. I hope I’ll disappear.

  I hear them arguing. I close my eyes. Let the sun wash them away.

  A loud crack jolts me back to earth. I sit up. Everyone has gone silent. Reed is holding his .45 caliber pistol skyward. Even without a bullet, the shot was loud. I think he meant to stop the argument, but the next moment Linden is calling him an insane old man, saying his father was right, which throws Cecily into hysterics and how-dare-yous and how-can-you-say-thats, because Vaughn is her sworn enemy now. I’ve never seen Linden and Cecily argue like this, and it makes me feel like the world is coming undone. I thought the world had already come undone, but now I realize that I still had faith in some things.

  One thing at a time everything is falling apart.

  My legs can’t carry me to the house fast enough.

  I find Elle sitting at the kitchen table, holding Bowen and staring at one of Reed’s shelves of oddities. Her eyes are bleary. Bowen is lolling. He must have finally exhausted himself; he’s been hyper all day, reaching for things, squealing, throwing anything he gets his hands on.

  I think of what Jenna said about how he would grow to have Cecily’s temper, and that it’s a shame none of us would live to see it. I think she’d be surprised how happy he is, how excited to be alive.

  Elle must be exhausted.

  “I can take him,” I offer.

  “Huh?” She looks away from the shelf and blinks owlishly at me.

  “I can watch Bowen, if you want to rest,” I say.

  “It’s all right,” she says. Her voice is wispy. “I like holding him.”

  I’m staring at her. I don’t realize it until I notice her nervous intermittent glances back at me.

  It’s just that, with the light from the window in her hair, she somehow reminds me of Deirdre. She reminds me of the Once Upon a Time fairy-tale beauty of the mansion, and how that mansion sat atop its own parallel universe of horrors.

  I pull out the chair opposite Elle’s and take a seat. She flinches and stares into Bowen’s coppery curls. She never used to be this nervous. At the mansion she was quiet and obedient, enduring Cecily’s demands, but she wasn’t frightened. I’m certain she rolled her eyes and told Cecily to sit still while she was trying to curl her hair or alter her skirts.

  Elle is still wearing her uniform—a white button-down blouse and a black tiered skirt. She still calls us by our proper titles too—if she speaks at all. I think the routine gives her a sense of normalcy to cling to.

  “Is it that you don’t feel safe here?” The careless question just comes out of me. It’s been too exhausting a morning to skirt around things politely. “Reed is a little eccentric, but he isn’t like Housemaster Vaughn. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Elle purses her lips, stares at Bowen for a long time before saying, “Nowhere is safe, Lady Rhine. Especially not for you.”

  “And you aren’t comfortable around me? Because you’re afraid you’ll get caught in the cross fire of the trouble I attract?”

  She hesitates.

  She nods.

  “I never wanted any of it to turn out like this,” I say. It’s a flimsy excuse, but it’s the truth. “I only wanted to go home again.”

  Bowen makes a sound, and Elle kisses his head.

  “I didn’t want anything to happen to Deirdre.” I stop myself from saying anything more, because Deirdre exists as two people in my mind—my child domestic, and the ruined girl I met in the basement. I am still trying to tell myself that the latter was some nightmare, a trick. It’s the only way I can move forward. I don’t have many years left, and I have to choose which mysteries remain unsolved.

  “Deirdre is gone,” Elle says, standing and heading for the doorway. “She isn’t coming back. I need to put Bowen down for his nap.”

  She can’t get away from me quickly enough.

  I can’t very well blame her for that.

  Down the hall the storm door opens, and footsteps pound down the hallway and toward the kitchen. Cecily is small, but she can rattle an entire house when she’s mad.

  Only, when she gets to the kitchen, she doesn’t look angry at all. She looks frightened. “You have to hide,” she says. “He’s here. Housemaster Vaughn is here.”

  I’m huddled in the closet of the upstairs hall, buried haphazardly in Reed’s coats, trying to breathe quietly despite the panic in my chest. I hate small dark spaces.

  Vaughn’s boots echo throughout the house, and when he stops walking, I feel certain that he’s right beneath me, that any move I make will set off a creaky floorboard that will give me away.

  “Before you ask, Rhine isn’t here,” Cecily snaps. Despite the authority in her tone, I know she’s terrified of Vaughn, and she’s facing him to protect me. “I didn’t want her around my husband anymore,” she says. “It wasn’t right.”

  “She’s gone,” Linden says, with none of his wife’s ire. “She left after Cecily was released from the hospital. She said something about going to Manhattan.”

  “Didn’t it ever occur to you that your ex-wife isn’t the one I care about?” Vaughn says. “I’ve been deeply concerned for your health, Cecily, and I miss my grandson. I’ve let this charade go on all this time because I wanted you to get the rest that you needed. I even allowed your domestic to come to your aid. But I see that you’re back to your usual spirited self now.”

  “Nobody leaves this house by force,” Reed interjects. “Except for maybe you, Little Brother.”

  “Who said anything about force?” Vaughn says. “Cecily. Linden. Be realistic. You can’t stay here forever. This imaginary grudge you’re holding against me has gone on for long enough. I’d like to put this whole mess behind
us. I’d like to see my grandson again. I know he’s here.”

  “He’s napping,” Linden says.

  “I’d like to see him,” Vaughn says, nothing forceful about his tone at all. “May I?” And I realize: Linden has the power here. Vaughn has always manipulated his son, but he’s never used force. He’s never showed his dangerous side to his son, and he won’t, because he’d risk losing him forever.

  “He’s a light sleeper,” Linden says.

  There are more words, Vaughn trying to tear through Linden’s newfound sternness, Linden refusing to comply, and finally Reed saying, “You’ve heard the kids. They aren’t leaving with you tonight.”

  “Cecily, go check on Bowen,” Linden says. He isn’t asking. And in a few moments I hear the stairs creaking, her footsteps passing the closet as she heads into the bedroom, where she’ll undoubtedly press her ear to the floor to hear why she’s been dismissed.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me,” Vaughn says. Then I could swear there’s a touch of doubt in his voice when he says, “Linden?”

  “No, Father, I wouldn’t. I’ve always felt that you and I could trust each other.”

  “Rhine is dangerous for you,” Vaughn says. “You know that I was only trying to protect you, don’t you? I saw how devastated you were by her absence. You understand why I didn’t tell you when she returned.”

  “I understand,” Linden says.

  “Everything I have ever done has been to protect you.”

  “I know. Like I said, she’s gone now.” He lies so smoothly. I never would have thought him capable. “Let me talk to Cecily,” Linden says. “Come back tonight, and I’ll be sure she’s ready to come home.”

  There’s more talking, but I can no longer make out the words because they have moved out of earshot. Vaughn’s voice sounds cooing, sympathetic. Despite every indication he gives that he is incapable of human decency, I’ve never doubted that he loves his son. His only living child is his greatest weakness; Linden is what he lives for, what drives him to madness and at the same time fills him with these rare bursts of humanity.

  But he would destroy everything in Linden’s life. He would dissect his wives. He would murder an imperfect child before he’d ever allow such a flaw to burden his son.

  The front door closes. There’s a long silence, and then footsteps come up the stairs and my closet door is opened. Linden and Reed are standing before me as I climb out of the darkness, and Cecily comes from the bedroom, eyes full of tears, collar of her shirt in her fist. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before,” she says to Linden. “Please don’t bring me back there. Please.”

  Linden looks at her a long while, then at me. Reed puts a hand on his shoulder; he already knows what his nephew is thinking.

  “We have to leave before my father comes back,” Linden says. “Pack as quickly as you can.”

  REED HAULS a box of dehydrated food into the backseat of the car.

  Cecily frowns, hugging Bowen to her chest. “Is the top of the car made of plastic?”

  “Vinyl. It’s a Jeep. Been around for more than a hundred years and still totally weather resistant,” Reed boasts, patting one of the windows. It shimmers as it ripples in the sunlight. “And the radio works. I’ve noticed that you’re a little musical aficionado.”

  That gets a smirk out of her, albeit a reluctant one. “And you know how to care for an infant? You’ll have enough formula and everything?”

  “Formula?” Reed says, gently rapping his knuckle against Bowen’s cheek. “A boy his age is ready for rum.”

  “Kidding,” Linden says quickly, lugging my suitcase out of the house. “He’s kidding, love.” He kisses her cheek as he moves past. “My uncle took care of me when I was a baby. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “And Elle will be here to help him,” I remind her. Right now Elle is upstairs cleaning, as she’s been doing all week; Linden emphasized that her only job is to care for Bowen, not Reed’s house, but she insisted that the level of dust was unhealthy for an infant.

  “I should make sure she has my checklist,” Cecily says, and hurries inside. I can see that she’s struggling to be strong about this. Bowen is as much a part of her as her own arm, and it was a difficult decision to leave him behind. But he wouldn’t be safe. Who knows what we’ll encounter.

  Linden follows Cecily into the house, and I lean against the side of the Jeep. Reed leans beside me and says, “This isn’t your fault, doll.”

  I know he’s trying to comfort me, but I can’t help my bitter laugh. “Right.”

  “Really,” Reed says. “It was bound to come to something like this eventually. My brother was going to take things too far one day. I always feared that he would screw something up and Linden would be killed by Vaughn’s efforts to make him healthy. But thanks to you, Linden is finally starting to gain some depth perception.”

  “Would it have been so bad letting him carry on in ignorance?” I say. “If I’d never come along, he’d have gotten some happiness, at least.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Reed says. “You can sulk about it, or you can act.”

  He’s right, of course. To die trying would be better than to die without purpose.

  It was my brother who pulled me out of bed once before, who forced me to go through the motions until it became a comfortable routine. But he’s not here to pull me together now; he’s hundreds of miles away, murdering innocent people in the name of some anarchist cause. He can’t hold me together this time. I have to do it myself.

  Linden hauls a carton of water that’s been bottled from Reed’s well into the backseat amid all the other supplies. “Can I help with anything?” I ask.

  He closes the door. “It’s all done. We’re ready to go.”

  Reed shows us how to use the phones, which are the pride of his homemade contraptions. There are three of them, one of which he’ll keep. “They almost never work,” he tells us. “They work on signal towers, and you’ll only find those in cities. And here, of course, since I made one myself.”

  “So that’s what that thing is that’s always humming,” Cecily says ponderingly. She’s got her arms crossed and the hood of her sweater pulled up despite the heat. I think a strong wind could come and blow the hair across her face, and when it receded, she’d be gone.

  “You can charge them with the cigarette lighter in the dashboard,” Reed says. “Call me if you run into any emergencies. I’ll come get you.”

  Everyone says good-bye. Bowen is complacent when Cecily and Linden fuss over him, passing him between each other like a shared secret. He laughs, and Cecily frowns when she hands him to Elle, whom she bombards with a last-minute list of reminders. He likes being sung to. It’s important to encourage him to crawl so he doesn’t fall behind on his milestones.

  “We’ll be back soon,” Cecily promises her son. “You’ll hardly notice we’re gone.”

  I feel a pang of guilt as I climb into the backseat. I don’t want to be the reason anyone is separated from family.

  I’m wedged between the plastic window and a pile of boxes and suitcases. Cecily takes the seat in front of me, and Linden gets behind the wheel.

  Cecily asks, “So how fast can this thing go?”

  “Fifty, maybe,” Linden says.

  She crawls over the armrest and peeks at the gauge. “The number goes up to one-forty,” she says, pointing.

  “It’s an old car, love,” he says. “Just because it says one-forty doesn’t mean we should go that fast.”

  “Oh, Linden,” she says, falling into her seat with a flourish. “Live a little.”

  When night falls, we don’t stop. Linden puts the high beams on and keeps driving. The radio softly plays music that’s cut by waves of static.

  We took a brief stop at a diner to use the restrooms, and Cecily and I switched seats. Now she’s asleep, snuggled against the luggage in the backseat. Linden casts worried glances at her in the rearview mirror. Despite her vigor, he worries. I think he’s afraid she’ll stop
breathing again.

  I think of my brother, out there somewhere. I think of time passing, and our lives slipping away. I think of my mother’s handwriting, and Reed’s gun in Cecily’s fearless hands.

  “Can’t sleep?” Linden says.

  It’s only nine o’clock, according to the faded green numbers on the dashboard, but it feels much later. It feels as though we’ve been driving for an eternity, rather than four hours. It feels like there’s no destination in sight, and maybe there isn’t. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking that Linden and Cecily would be safest if they could make it to Claire’s. I’ve been wondering if Gabriel is still there, if he thinks I’m dead. And the wondering turns to worry turns to pain, and I have to shut down entirely and stare at the scenery blurring by. But now it’s too dark to do that.

  “No,” I say. “Too anxious, I guess. I can drive if you’d like.”

  “I’m not tired yet,” he says. “It’s only a few more hours to Charleston. I’d like to make it there before we stop.”

  I notice his speed has increased. We’re barreling down a tunnel of nothingness. Dead things all around. Broken buildings, civilizations that are hiding in their barricaded houses, if there’s any civilization at all.

  There’s this sudden overwhelming need to hold on to something. This feeling that I’m falling forever and forever into nothingness, and I want to grab Linden’s hand. I want to feel the pull of the steering wheel in his certain grasp. I want to feel like I have any control at all over where I’m going and what will happen next.

  It takes all I’ve got to resist reaching for him.

  He clears his throat. “I had a brother too,” he says. “You knew that, right? My father told you?”

  “He died before you were born,” I say.

  “Right. I never even knew his name,” Linden says. “If I ask about him, my father shuts down, even gets angry. I don’t know if he looked like me. I don’t know if he was kind, or—or angry, or anything at all. But I think of him every day. He’s not at the front of my thoughts, exactly, but he’s like this weight I carry. This echo I hear sometimes when I speak.”