Stuck Together

by Jamie Knight

  “How's your breakfast?” I asked, trying to draw him out a bit.

  “Good.”

  “I had a tea party,” Jessica said.

  “Really?”

  “Uh, huh, Mr. Otter was there and Bunny Bun and Squirrel Girl and Sugar Bear. Becky came a bit later, but I still asked if she wanted tea. It's always good to be polite.”

  Her uncle didn't really have anything to say to that, so Dean just stared into his bacon and flapjacks and brooded. I'd even gone to the trouble of using the tasty blueberry syrup, too.

  Jessica started yawning near the end of breakfast, still excited but also tired from the day of fun she had had the day before. She actually seemed to let herself be herself. I couldn't understand why Dean couldn't see that he was not the only one who was grieving. The difference was, I wasn't convinced that Jessica really knew what was going on, or if she did, how to process it. Accepting the death of a loved one being hard enough for an adult, let alone a kid barely old enough for public school.

  Cleaning his plate, Dean disappeared again. Leaving me to take care of his niece as well as wash the dishes. Putting the dishes in the sink, deciding I could wash them later, I took Jessica to her room. It was a bit early for her nap, which she usually didn't have until after lunch, but she was just so tired I didn't really think it could hurt for her to get a few more hours.

  “What book would you like?” I asked, tucking her in.

  “Chu's Day!” Jessica enthused.

  “Always a classic,” I agreed.

  “Don't be silly, it only came out in 2013.”

  “How do you know that? You weren't even alive.”

  “Google.”

  “Of course.”

  She was most of the way to dreamland by the time I finished the book. It was thirty-six pages, after all, a near magnum opus of the cute animal genre. A little bit of Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips, and the little girl was out like a light.

  For some reason, I was still worried about Dean. My concern mixing with a healthy dose of anger and confusion. When I was rallied enough, I went to look for him, already having a pretty good idea where he would be. As I went to his office, I strengthened my resolve. No matter what was happening, or how much it might hurt, I had to talk to him. I had to ask him what was wrong and what was going on with the two of us.

  The office door was locked. The usually furious typing barely audible over the blast of the music from his stereo. The lyrics to the song as clear as they were disturbing: Goin' crazy/Losin' my mind/I need you more than my life.

  My anxiety went through the roof. What was going on with this man I was locked up with?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dean

  I couldn't do attachment. It’s not that I didn't want to. If I was honest, if to no one else then at least to myself, if I was going to commit to anyone, it would have been Becky. But I couldn't. Me trying to commit fully, or even significantly, would be like a psychopath trying to love someone. It was just fucking impossible.

  I couldn't even love Jessica. It wasn't that I didn't care about her. I had the same protective instinct toward her that all normally functioning adults did for all children. No matter what other issuers I might have had, I still had a basic sense of empathy. Which really only made things worse. The only woman I had ever really loved was dead, and nothing was going to change that.

  My sister had saved my life more than once, and I wasn't even there when she died. I wasn't dumb enough to think I could have prevented the virus from taking her. I could have beaten the living shit out of the clearly crooked personal doctor who wouldn’t take her to the hospital. Though, while it would have made me feel better in the moment, it still wouldn't bring Simone back and would only leave me with sore knuckles and a prison record.

  I couldn't help but notice a lot of my life decisions up to that point would have led to hard time.

  I had meant to go back to work. The project was still ahead of schedule, but I had lost an entire day of work, and I had to make it up. Or at least I felt like I did. I knew it wouldn't bring my sister back. At least the part of my brain that was still sane did. That still didn't change the fact that I was driven to finish. I was feeling like finishing the project, and launching the app would finally legitimize the faith and investment Simone had put in me. The final proof of everything she believed I could be if only I had the support and applied myself.

  I had started working on the kernel of the idea for the app on the plane to England. It was no small undertaking. Not only did I have to educate myself on every aspect of cyber security, but some aspects of cyber security also had to be invented first. It was a similar case with block-chain. I had known even then that there must be a secure way to keep and use money online. I just had to wait for someone to come up with a base algorithm and improve on it — a process that itself took a good four years. About the same among of time that it took to find someone rich and clueless enough to fund the project without realizing that it was actually going to end up fucking them over.

  My secret desk drawer slid out without so much as a squeak. I usually kept it locked, so the last oil job I had given it was still in effect. It had been twelve years since I'd last had it open. It was a specially built hideaway. Seeing no point in waiting anymore. I twisted off the top, the distinctive smell hitting my nose as the cap came off the bottle of Bacardi. The last thing my brother gave me before fucking off to Norway to chase his dream of starting a Black Metal band. I couldn't blame him, really. Despite the fact that he had left me alone on the same continent as our parents. A betrayal that would have allowed me to legally challenge him to a duel in times gone by.

  So dramatic.

  “Simone?”

  Honestly, baby brother. When was the last time you had a shower?

  “You're not here.”

  I'm always here. In your head and in your heart.

  “I really did try,” I said, choking back tears. Refusing to cry.

  I know you did, honey. You're a fuck up. It is just who you are. I don't hold it against you. You can only do what you can do.

  “I'm sorry about Jessica. She just reminds me so much of you.”

  Well, that just stands to reason, doesn't it?

  I couldn't argue with her there. I took another big chug of rum, hoping that I would get drunk enough to pass out and not have to feel anything. At least for a while.

  That's not healthy, you know.

  She was right, of course. My sister was always right. Not that it stopped me from taking another big swig.

  “They didn't even tell me, you know. For days. They just kept Jessica, despite what the will said and didn't even bother to fucking tell me, or apparently anyone, that you died until nearly a fucking month after the fact! Trying to save the embarrassment, I guess. Fucking monsters.”

  They're your family.

  “Only by blood.”

  That's pretty harsh, little bro.

  “Sorry.”

  You're forgiven. Always.

  “I really love you, you know.”

  I know.

  “W-was it really you? With the spirit board.”

  Of course, it was, honey.

  I may well have been going bat-shit insane, but that idea still comforted me. Not only was Simone's consciousness still out there somewhere in the universe, she was doing okay and could even contact me. It wasn't the same as having her there, of course, but was still better than nothing.

  I wondered if Jessica heard her, too.

  The sun's soft rays refracted through the empty glass of the rum bottle. I didn't remember finishing it. Or much of anything for that matter. Though that was the point. Hauling myself to my feet, I stumbled over to the desk, the alcohol still very much having its tentacles around me.

  I looked like death and felt even worse. Showering off the previous night, I went out into the master bedroom and put on some fresh clothes and went to try and remember how to make breakfast. Jessica was probably hungry.

  Once I
got in there, it took me a moment to pick my jaw up from the floor. Not only was Jessica sitting in her chair, washed, dried, combed, and nicely dressed, but Becky was also laying out breakfast. I thought for sure she would be gone after what I had done to her. At least out to the guest house, if not out of the property altogether, taking her chances with the cops. Yet, there she was, dressed in her usual yoga pants and hoodie, long, dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

  How much did she know? Had Becky heard me talking to Simone? Was she even really there at all?

  Wordlessly, she came over and embraced me. Becky was definitely real.

  I looked at little Jessica, the picture of precocious innocence and so much like her sweet mother. My loving sister, who had died too damn young.

  The tears took me by surprise. Had I felt them coming, I would have stopped them, but I had been distracted. Once the advanced force had gained ground on my cheekbones, there was no way to stop the rest of them. I held onto Becky as though my life depended on it, sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder as she gently stroked my hair.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Becky

  It wasn't in the job description, but there I was. Doing my official job as a nanny to Jessica, as well as tending to Dean. It had been a hell of a breakdown, and for a while there, I wasn't sure he would make it out the other end.

  My boss spent days in his room in the dark. I would visit him as often as I could. Bringing him food, making sure he wasn't about to do anything drastic. I didn't really think Dean would, but grief could strangle people, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Most days he barely knew I was there. I would just bring in his meals and leave them on the night-table. Sometimes, when he seemed in a really bad way, I would gently stroke his hair to let him know he wasn't alone.

  I didn't really mind suddenly having to take care of two people. Jessica was just a kid, and Dean didn't seem to be in any condition to be left to his own devices. It was a bit sudden, but when he broke like that, being really vulnerable, it made me wonder if I had misjudged him. Or at least, if his actions had an underlying cause I wasn't seeing. Like his sudden bouts of coldness were intentional, like was turning off his emotions so he wouldn't have to feel the pain he was trying to avoid.

  When the defenses came down, so did the act, and Dean was flooded with more emotion than he could handle. An experience that could be crippling even to the best of us.

  My mom went through something similar when my dad died. Going into a sort of dream state, barely speaking for months. Eventually, she came out of it, but I would never forget it. I had come home from college to take care of her as she recovered. I felt it too. My daddy was the first man I had really loved, but I had to stay strong for my mom.

  A touch roused me from my thoughts. It was so sudden I jerked back. I had just put down dinner for Dean and was reaching out to stroke his hair when he reached out and took my arm, making me yelp with surprise.

  “Please,” he said, pulling me towards him.

  Understanding what he meant, I took off my hoodie and yoga pants, leaving my bra and panties on, and got into bed with him, Dean gently spooning me from behind. He was dressed too, wearing the clothes he'd had on the day he came into the dining room.

  To my slight surprise, he didn't try any funny business. Not groping my tits on trying to get his hand in my panties. He didn't even kiss me. From what I could tell, he didn't even get hard.

  What I had mistaken for an amorous need I was willing to indulge, turned out to be a need of a different sort. It may sound weird, but I think he might have been basically using me like a warm, woman-sized teddy bear. More in need of comfort than anything else.

  This became a sort of ritual. Every mealtime, I would get Jess set, feeding her whatever meal it might be and then putting her either in her playroom or down for a nap before taking care of Dean. I brought him food and let him cuddle me until he got the strength to eat.

  I had started out in my underwear, but by the third, or maybe fourth, time, I was completely naked. He still didn't try anything. I was just trying to let him know I was ready if he needed it. In an odd way, I sort of thought that would be kind of a breakthrough.

  Soon, after about two weeks of gentle care, Dean seemed to rally, though to say he was back to normal wouldn't really be the truth. He came out of his room and engaged with both Jessica and me, but there was definitely something different about him. Not something new. Like something was missing.

  I kept up the routine, going a bit above and beyond my nanny duties, also making meals for Dean as he worked in his office. And going well beyond the call of duty eventually re-joining him in his bed, when he asked. Which was honestly less often than I would have thought or even hoped.

  He really was amazing in bed, and I absolutely loved how he could make me feel. Even if I was really confused emotionally, not even really sure that Dean liked me, let alone loved me. He was willing enough to fuck me, but he had made it clear long before then he thought I was hot. Even back when he was still trying to find a replacement. Something I was pretty sure he didn't know I was aware of. The problem was, I had pretty good hearing and just so happened to be passing when he was on the phone asking about alternatives. How he had gone from wanting to give me the ol' heave-ho to giving me a nearly daily seeing to, sometimes twice a day, was anyone's guess. All I could figure was that something had happened to make him seriously reassess his priorities.

  I floated about the kitchen, trying to figure it all out. It was lunchtime once again, and Dean was back to working in his office. Another good sign that he might be on the mend. I had gotten some pasta into Jessica, between her rapturous soliloquies about how awesome her Uncle Dean had become and put her to bed for her nap, unable to keep myself from smiling. I may have been confused, but Jessica was confident in her happiness. Her joy was quite contagious.

  The little one taken care of, I went to the kitchen to make something for Dean. Struck by inspiration, I decided to give my Philly cheesesteak another try. Leaving one on a plate in the kitchen for when I came back, I brought the other up to his office.

  I paused at the door for a second, pressing my ear to the cool smooth wood. I knew it looked crazy, but I had to be sure I was actually hearing what I had thought I'd heard in order to make sure I wasn't actually going nuts. From the other side of the thick door came the resonate sound of “Ode To Joy” being played on a Hagstrom Viking guitar, Dean currently being well into the third movement. I raised my fist and knocked, unsure about interrupting. He seemed to be having such a good time, and I kind of wanted to hear the end.

  “Come in,” he said, the movement continuing.

  “I brought you something,” I said.

  “Sandwiches, awesome!”

  I did my best to keep from bursting out in laughter. That reaction was so very different from my first attempt. He actually seemed to be looking at the sandwich this time and very much liking what he saw.

  “Enjoy,” I said, setting the plate down and desk.

  “Why don't you join me?”

  “I'd like to, but I have to go get Jessica up soon. I'll see you tonight, though. After she's in bed.”

  “It's a date.”

  I left then before anything had a chance to happen, listening to Dean humming almost orgasmically after the first bite of his sandwich. Something I had heard before but was always nice to hear again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dean

  I had forgotten I even knew how to play that song. I had loved Ludvig Von when I was a kid and not just because of his connection to A Clockwork Orange, though that was a large part of it.

  I was pretty edgy as a kid. Though never to the point of actual violence, “ultra” or otherwise. Though me and my Droogies did twock the inter-webs real horror-show. Similar to almighty Alex The Large, it took being caught to quell the beast within.

  I didn't go to prison, but I was basically under house arrest, unable to even go to the corn
er shop without a member of my extended family, who were nearly as bad as my actual family, coming with me. If I didn't, I would be sent back to America and go to prison.

  My only chance for escape would be to somehow get the ferry over to Amsterdam and hide there the rest of my lift. It could probably have been done. Most Dutch people spoke English as a second language at that point, and the government was hands-off, to say the least. They didn't have barriers for the canals running along the bike paths. Figuring that if you get wet, you're doing it wrong. The police were so lax, you basically had to be posing a direct physical threat to someone before they would intervene. Something that did not include smoking pot in your apartment or conducting target practice in your own back yard as long as everyone was there by choice, and you didn't hurt anyone. I could have been really happy there.

  Sadly, I didn't have a car and couldn't make heads or tails of the subway maps. Thus, my dreams of freedom were quashed, and I spent eight of the next eleven years under the threat of the U.S. government until my ban was lifted.

  On the upside, I had lots of time to plot my revenge. The court order had banned me from going on the internet, but that really only applied, or at least, was enforceable in the states. My relatives had said they would uphold it but hadn't counted on my levels of ingenuity. Mainly when doing something, I was told I wasn't allowed to do.

  Using all my charm and stealth, I convinced the clerk at the local corner shop to get me a smartphone with a by the month British plan on it. I paid him double what the phone was worth and only used his store for top-ups. Technically I wasn't supposed to have any money. It wasn't part of the court order. It had been my family's own punishment for besmirching their name. Simone fought for me, because of course, she had, but our mother was intractable. They would send the London relations enough to cover my expenses so I wouldn't die but nothing else.