Ruin

by N. M. Martinez

  Aaron just manages to put the dish in the oven and set a timer when Henri walks in the door. He stops with his hand on the knob and takes a look around the room at all of us. The crease between his bushy brows folds deeply.

  "Sorry, Henri," Jimmy says, his lips still hinting at a smile. "I didn't realize it was going to be a party or I'd have brought something for us to drink."

  Henri gives a loud sigh as he steps in and shuts the door. "Aaron, why didn't you wait downstairs?"

  Aaron crosses his arms. "With the Lost Lander? He almost didn't let me up. You should probably do something about that."

  Jimmy looks from me to Brandon then Aaron. There's only one person who's been sitting on the stairs not letting people up, and he hasn't said anything about being a Lost Lander. I bite the inside of my lip, frustrated with this group who all seem to think the best thing is to not tell me anything unless they are trying to make me uncomfortable.

  The rest of dinner doesn't get easier. Henri pulls out an extra chair for himself from his bedroom and sits at the head of the table on my side. Jimmy takes a seat across from me and I catch his eyes again, a bit thankful that it's not Aaron sitting in front of me, though it doesn't exactly matter which of them are in the seat in front of me. Both of them are dangerous, and I've actually seen what Jimmy can do.

  Over dinner, they talk about things that make no sense to me. Aaron and Jimmy generally lead while Brandon and Henri sit back. It's a thought I try to keep hidden, but a glance from Brandon and I'm sure he's caught the comparison. He smiles through his grimace and lifts a brow, but doesn't say a word.

  Jimmy is the most surprising. Though he leads the conversation, I notice that he never speaks with his mouth full. He takes small bites and never drops a piece of food back down to his plate. He's the neatest eater of all with Aaron a close second. It's such a strange thing to witness I wonder if I'm even looking at the same man I watched kill another in front of a large group just a few weeks ago.

  Eventually, I realize I'm staring, and so I look back down at my own plate, trying to keep my eyes there. The food is actually really good and perfectly spiced. It's simple, but I can taste bits of home in it. This isn't like anything that Brandon ever cooked. It's definitely inspired by food from home.

  I glance up at Aaron as he eats and catch his eye by mistake. He looks ordinary enough. People who crossed his path back home would be completely unfamiliar with that prickly feeling on the back of their necks warning them of danger. A territory filled with prey for him.

  "Are you enjoying it?" Aaron asks. "It was something I learned that I thought you'd be familiar with."

  His eyes are naturally narrow as if he's constantly suspicious. I give a nod and look back down to my plate.

  At the end of the night, Henri doesn't waste much time chatting. They stand in front of the door, and he bids Jimmy and Brandon good night. It surprises me how abrupt he is about it. It's almost downright rude, but Jimmy only smiles as if he's used to it.

  "I think that's our hint."

  Even Brandon smiles. "Subtle."

  Henri just waits for them to leave, then shuts the door behind them. Once they're gone, he turns to me, and I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do. He's not as blunt with me as he seems to be with Jimmy and Brandon, so I take it as an actual hint that I should leave.

  "Uh, I'll just be in my room."

  The dishes aren't done, but he doesn't protest. I go to my room and shut the door, leaning back on it. My breath is shallow. In the darkness of the room, it's hard to breath, but I don't dare move.

  "What do you want to talk to me about?" Aaron's muffled voice is clear through the hollow wood of the bedroom door.

  Henri responds, but he speaks low and his voice is deep. When he speaks, it's hardly more than an indistinct growl. All is quiet as Henri speaks, and when he's finished, Aaron's voice is clear.

  "That's suicide. Even I can't get in there."

  My heart races. Nothing has been said, and yet I just have a feeling that I know who they must be talking about. I blink back my tears.

  "There's no way."

  I can almost hear Henri's sigh. Who is this man that is supposed to be my father? What would he be asking for? Does he want my mom saved or does she just know too much?

  Their conversation doesn't last much longer than that. Aaron never seems to pick up that irreverent jocularity from earlier at dinner when Brandon and Jimmy were here. He says good bye, and I think I hear him say, "We'll see." But he's gone before I can process it.

  Henri doesn't stay up longer than that either. It's late for him. He shuts out the light and I hear his boots scrape along the floor to his room where he shuts the door. Only then do I move from my spot and lay down on my bed. I don't dare turn on the light. I don't do anything else other than lay still and fight the memories and the tears. The moon is just a sliver in the sky and not enough to brighten the room.

  It takes a while before I can fall asleep.

  Twenty-one

  The next day, I can't face Alex. I spend my morning alone. Afraid that he'll hear my footsteps and know I'm avoiding him, I also spend my morning sitting quietly. I'm thankful that he called Brandon, but at the same time he's hardly any better than anyone else I've met so far. No one has really been completely honest with me. The only exception being Maria, but she hasn't seen me enough to have any real chance to hide things from me.

  I don't know what to do with myself, but some alone time is needed. Maybe some time spent on my own, away from others to sort my own thoughts out. There are things that I need to do, I need to find out how I fit in here, if I'm going to fit in at all.

  But this alone time only lasts so long before I'm bored again. Then I remember why I needed to sit and talk with Alex on the stairs. It's lonely and boring in Henri's house. Even though he lives here and it bears all the markings of being used, there is still something empty about his apartment. It's the same way Brandon's was empty, the only difference is that this apartment bears signs of Henri's life lived here over a long period of time.

  I look over his book shelf, poking at some of the book spines. None of the books are ones I recognize. Most of them seem to be how-to books on repairs and building. All of them are covered in thick layers of dust. It's as if Henri lives here, but doesn't really live here. He spends most of his day gone, and even when he comes home, he is only here long enough to eat and then go to sleep.

  I sigh and stand up and take another look around. Henri is missing in this space. Everything that is around is simply the product of whatever he's working on, but none of it offers any deeper clues about the man. He doesn't offer any clues about himself either, so perhaps that's of his own design. Maybe there's some other place where he really resides and this is just the distraction.

  It's clear that I won't discover anything in this apartment, and I still don't think I want to talk to Alex. Not yet anyway. So I make plans. I decide that I need to explore. It sounds good in my head until I'm standing in front of the door with my hand on the knob, certain that Alex will hear it open and possibly expect me.

  The apartment walls feel too close. The room is stuffy. I need to get out whether Alex hears or not. So with one large breath, I open the door. It does give a small squeak that sounds loud to my ears because of the blood rushing through them. I stand on the threshold for a moment, listening for movement at the bottom of the stairs. When I don't hear anything, I step out and listen again. The hallway seems even quieter than normal. My ears aren't good enough to hear Alex's breath from downstairs, but it does seem a little too quiet. I twine my fingers together and think about it for a moment before deciding to just continue on across the hall to the apartment opposite Henri's. Most likely, Alex is at the bottom of the stairs and the second I go check, he'll catch me. It's hard to turn away from him. Maybe it's just some strange Neutral politeness on my part, or maybe that's just the effect he has on me.

  I decide to start with the door furthest away from Henri's apartment a
nd away from the stairs. With one last glance towards the stairs, I turn the old knob and push the door open with my shoulder. It gives without a squeak, but it isn't easy. This door hasn't been opened in a very long time.

  The sight I see when I step in surprises me. There is still furniture inside it. Not much, but more than I'd expect. There's an old couch in the middle of the room. Near the kitchen, there's a small table with three chairs around it. Two of the chairs are knocked over. I stare at them and give a small shudder. Something happened here. I'm not sure what gives me that impression at first. Two knocked over chairs seems odd. But a third chair sits up and pushed back from the table. It's askew, as if shoved back from the table quickly. Still, that person had time to get up without knocking that chair over.

  The air is heavy with dust. It burns down my throat as I swallow carefully, standing on the edge of the room deciding whether I want to go in further. The grimy windows filter what bits of light pass through washing the room is stained shadows and a slightly yellow light.

  I stay by the door at first, scared to step in and have it close behind me. For a brief moment I contemplate going downstairs to find Alex and asking him if he knows about this room, but I don't. I'm far too reliant on the people around me already, and they've all lied to me or not told me the truth enough times for me to realize that I'm the only one who can find these answers.

  I take a step in and close the door myself. Not all the way, but just shut it and leave it ajar like I did the last time. The apartment is the same layout as Henri's, just mirrored, and so I step over to the smaller bedroom first.

  This door sticks in the doorjamb too. I give it a shove and trip in, nearly dropping my glasses. My hand is still on the door knob, so I pull myself back on that and look up.

  Just like the last room, there are still things in here, but not many. The first thing I notice is the stained mattress off in the side of the room. It's only a mattress, and something about it makes me uncomfortable. There are no blankets around it or sheets on it. Next to it there is a small toy truck-- the only toy in the entire room.

  There's a small pile of clothes in the corner of the room, and one small red shirt sticks out on the edge of the pile, halfway lying on the ground. Crinkled, but spread out enough that I can see how tiny it is and I gasp. I don't know whose room it is, but I can guess it was a little boy's room once.

  Inhaling the stale air proves to be a huge mistake. My eyes start to water, and I give a cough. I fight it, but I know I need out now. This is someone's past. Something bad happened, and I shouldn't be here.

  I step out and shut the door to the child's room quietly. The door of the next room catches my eye. It would be easy to take a peek. My eyes jump down to the floor in front of the door and I catch the edge of a dark stain in the floorboards. That is enough for me.

  The old white paint of the hall, cracking and chipping, is a refreshing sight after the haunted apartment. I take a deep breath of the fresher air and then turn around to shut the door. Something tells me that no one can know that I was here. I shouldn't even ask Alex about it.

  "What are you doing?"

  The voice is deep and familiar. I turn around quickly. Jimmy stands in the hall with his fists at his sides. His smooth face with its natural shadow smile is crumpled in anger.

  I can still feel the dust on me as I stand there in front of him unsure what to say to him. This place means something to him. He knows something about it. "What is it?" I ask him, my voice scratchy from the need to cough. "What happened there?"

  Jimmy looks down and his hair falls over his eyes. I bite my lip, suddenly able to imagine him as the boy he must have been once. Did he play with a toy truck? Did he wear a small red shirt?

  Jimmy still can't look at me. He doesn't answer either of my questions. "Go home and stay there."

  There is a warning in his voice that is sharper than if he had come at me and just hit me. My legs become weak, and I hurry past him back to Henri's apartment when what I really want to do is go outside and stand in the sunshine to let the traces of darkness evaporate from my vision.

  Inside the apartment, I lean on the heavy door and listen for Jimmy's footsteps, but I don't hear them. The hall sounds completely quiet, and I'm too scared to open the door again.

  I step away from the door and further into Henri's house, glancing back at the door as if Jimmy might change his mind and follow me. There would be nothing I could do. The door doesn't even lock, and I doubt a lock would keep him back if he really wanted in. The worst thing Henri would have to deal with would be a broken lock and possibly a stain on the floor.

  There's a soft tap at the door, and I freeze. It can't be Jimmy. He would just walk in like he did last night. My voice is locked in my throat. It takes effort just to ask, "Who is it?" My voice fights its way through the silence and somehow is heard on the other side of the thick door.

  "Alex."

  I shove off the couch and over to the front door not too far away, happy to see someone with a friendly face. The door opens quickly and I peek out. When I confirm it's just Alex, I grab him by his forearm and pull him inside, quickly shutting the door behind me.

  He stands surprised inside Henri's apartment with his brows drawn up in that thoughtful way of his that makes me want to hug him.

  I don't. "Did you see Jimmy? Is he pissed? What did I do?"

  Alex opens his mouth and shuts it again. His eyes never meeting my own. He glances down at the floor, his long hair in his face.

  "He did say something, didn't he?" I duck down a little, trying to get Alex's eyes, but he turns his head again. "Alex, would you just tell me? What is going on?"

  That does get his attention. He looks up at me and whispers, "I'm sorry."

  My body goes limp just as blackness closes around my vision. Alex jumps forward, his arms wrapping around me, and then darkness.

  Twenty-two

  Something isn't right. I wake up on the cold floor of a darkened room. Cold air seeps in from an open window and chills my fingers and the tip of my nose. Grains of dirt roll under my fingertips against the wood flooring, and I brush a leaf which crinkles at my touch.

  At the sound, there's movement. Not far away from me, a body moves, turning towards me, and I hop up to a sitting position and scoot away quickly. My shirt rides up my back so that bare skin touches a spider web in the corner and I yelp, turning around again and making a big scoot right towards the other body in the room.

  Long arms enfold me and pull me close against a hard, warm chest with a quiet comforting shush sound. It's comfortable at first in this dark room in someone's arms, and I lean into him with a sigh. His chin gently touches my temple, scratching at it with a bit of stubble.

  I close my eyes. It's Alex. It has to be Alex. Strong, but not large, he even has his legs around me as he quietly shushes me and whispers his apology again. I open my eyes and try to get my bearings. There is a window that has the pane smashed, jagged pieces left sitting in the frame. Outside the window, I catch a glimpse of the next door building, another run down place with shards left where the windows should be and I know right away that this isn't Henri's apartment.

  “Where are we?” My voice is louder than I mean it to be. The room is smaller than I expect.

  Alex shushes me again, and I get angry. I push at him, digging into his stomach with my elbows and fighting against his arms. They hold me in place like ropes. I can't remember how we got out here. The last thing I remember are his eyes, unnaturally, bright green.

  “You used your power on me, didn't you?” I kick at him again, fighting against him even as he tries to hold me down. “You told me you wouldn't.”

  “Paula, please.” His breath warms my hair and tickles my neck. Against my ear, his accent is a tiny bit stronger. “Stop. There are others who may hear you.”

  I do stop, my breath too heavy to continue. I haven't budged. Alex still has a firm hold on me. “Why Alex?”

  “I need your help.” His grip tighte
ns around my ribs and I have to pat his arm and give a wheeze before he realizes how tightly he's holding me. He relaxes enough for me to get a breath and he takes one of his own before he just says, “I need your help to get my daughter.”

  In the dark, quiet room, we both sit still. My breath is heavy and my heart beats hard. It's not that I'm completely unaware that Alex has sex, but having a child changes things. He's not just some strange boy, he's a man, a father.

  Alex is completely unaware of this shift in my perception of him. He still holds me close as if nothing has happened, waiting for my answer. I don't give it right away. I let my breath return to normal, but my heart continues to beat quickly in my chest. He can probably feel it against his hands knotted together across my stomach. It feels as if my whole body vibrates just from the quickness of my heart beats.

  “What if I say no?” My hair hangs in my face as I lean forward, away from him and his warmth and protection. “Will you take me back?”

  His answer takes a moment, and when it comes it is barely audible. “Yes.”

  I'm not sure I can believe him again. “What is it that you want me to do?”

  The cold night air rushes in-between us as he turns his head away from me. “I can't tell you.”

  “You can't tell me.”

  “There is a telepath.”

  I swallow and blink back tears, angry that they appear now when he might mistake them for sad or fearful tears. “You can't tell me because there's a telepath, but you'd like my help.”

  Alex doesn't speak and he doesn't move. His grip tightens again and I jab him with my nails to make him loosen his fingers. “It's my daughter,” he says into the dark.

  Between my anger and his desperation, we are locked together on the floor in the dark. In the back of my mind, I am aware that there is more. There are things he is admitting he can't tell me, and there is one important thing he has told me. His daughter needs help.

  “How old is she?”

  His fingers tense against my ribcage. “I don't know. Young. We don't keep time the same as you.”