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by Matthew Costello

  Knowing exactly what Helen was driving at.

  Thinking: how sweet of her to ask.

  Christie turned and looked at her.

  “Trying to hold it together. For the kids. Trying not to think too much, remember too much.”

  “That’s the hard part. The remembering.”

  With that, Christie was reminded that she wasn’t the only one standing here who had suffered loss.

  And maybe, there was a model in how Helen acted, spoke.

  The way she seemed to move on.

  Yet, the idea of “moving on” seemed impossible.

  Not when you had a whole life planned with someone, even in this world. And then you didn’t.

  She felt that anger, that hatred, those feelings that fueled what she did back at the house in Staten Island.

  Blowing them away.

  That’s what she had done.

  Blown them the fuck away.

  “You know,” Helen said, interrupting that memory, that sudden surge of feeling, “if you need someone to talk to, anytime, night or day, I’m here. You know that, right? About anything. Even if you want to talk about those memories.”

  She reached out and put a hand on Christie’s shoulder.

  “Understand?”

  “I do. And thanks.”

  The hand slipped away, the human touch sealing the offer.

  The sunlight vanishing from the area near the lake where they had been walking.

  Time to head back.

  They walked back to the inn, slowly, Christie enjoying the air, being outside, being alone with Helen.

  Away from the fort.

  * * *

  And just before she walked past the guard at the door, she had a thought.

  One that tied into the remembering, and moving on, and everything they had been talking about.

  Today, she thought, is the last day of September.

  Tomorrow—October.

  Time moves on no matter what. The weather would change, the sun slip farther away.

  How long would they need to stay here—have to stay here?

  How many more months?

  No way to even begin to answer that question.

  And with that, she followed Helen into the great stone building.

  29

  The Secret

  Simon followed the other two boys down the hallway.

  Joe, the older kid, looked over his shoulder.

  “Mrs. Blake didn’t even see it! She’s frickin’ blind!”

  The other kid, Billy, younger than Simon, laughed. Simon laughed too, though he wasn’t sure that he should be laughing at the fact that Joe had stuck a piece of chalk in the old-fashioned eraser that then made a white path on the green board.

  Mrs. Blake couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

  All the kids laughed. Even one of the teenage girls gave Joe a thumbs-up.

  Still—Simon’s mom sometimes worked in that classroom.

  So the laughing thing, pulling tricks, maybe not so funny.

  And that was another thing.

  That Joe decided what was “funny,” what was “awesome,” and what wasn’t.

  After a while, Joe didn’t find anything “awesome” in the old building.

  They did tricks though. Like sneaking a dead spider in the middle of a pile of plates so that when one of the people serving grabbed the next plate, they’d see the spider.

  That was awesome, Joe told Simon.

  The day they sneaked down to the basement and nobody saw them.

  Yeah, that too was pretty awesome.

  These were the only two kids near his age, and Simon wanted to hang with them.

  After all, if he didn’t, what would he do here? When the dumb classes ended?

  Only by doing things that they weren’t supposed to could they have any real fun.

  Simon let Joe lead, but he didn’t like the fact that Joe treated him as if he was the same age as Billy.

  There was nearly a whole year’s difference.

  “You two,” Joe would say, always the leader, and Simon always lumped together with Billy.

  Until—

  Despite his promise to his mother, he felt he had to tell them.

  That … something that would change things.

  Especially today when Joe didn’t seem to have any ideas.

  He waited until they had turned the corner, at the other end of the long hallway from the dining hall and the pretend classroom.

  * * *

  Locked rooms here, nothing interesting, but it was private.

  He saw Joe try a doorknob.

  Joe pointed at the door.

  “We gotta figure out how to get into these rooms. So we have a place to, y’know, hang out.”

  “Someplace secret,” Billy said, always ready to support a Joe idea.

  “Right, Billy boy. Secret. And maybe we’ll find some cool stuff inside.”

  Nothing for a few seconds. Joe moved on to the next door.

  Simon had the word he wanted to use.

  “Y’know, I have a secret.”

  “What? That you’re a nerd?”

  Billy joined Joe in laughing.

  This time, Simon didn’t laugh.

  “No. A real secret.”

  Joe stopped laughing. Kept his smile. Took a step closer to Simon.

  “Okay, tell us, Secret Simon.”

  Simon felt both their eyes on him. Their faces caught some of the light from the entrance, so he could see them easily.

  Simon licked his lips.

  He should have shut up.

  I promised Mom, he thought.

  But there was no way out now, not with the two of them standing there.

  “I shot one.”

  Nothing.

  Then Joe laughed as he slapped Billy hard, getting him to laugh as well.

  Though Billy’s laugh didn’t seem too real.

  “Right. You … fucking—”

  Even Joe didn’t use that word a lot.

  And again:

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  But it was too late for that.

  “—shot one? What a squirrel? A fucking—”

  More laughs, another slap to Billy’s shoulder.

  “… bluejay?”

  Eyes still on him. Billy’s lips straight but Joe still with a grin.

  “No. A Can Head.”

  And now having said it, Simon could see that the secret was too big.

  Because now—Joe took another step closer to him, so that his face was only inches away.

  And Simon wished he could be almost anywhere else.

  * * *

  Joe jabbed at Simon’s chest with a finger.

  “You shot a Can Head?” A few endless moments went by. Then: “No you didn’t.”

  All Simon could do was nod.

  “Okay. How? Where?”

  Billy nodded and added his question.

  “Yeah. How?”

  And Simon realized he had to tell them everything, or they would never believe him.

  The only two kids he could be friends with, and they might turn on him.

  Worse, they might even turn his secret into a joke. Tell the others.

  And then—what would his mother think?

  So now, he told them everything.

  About the house. That night. About his sister teaching him how to hold the gun, how to undo that thing, the—

  “Safety,” Joe said.

  He had shot a gun. Up here, maybe a lot of kids had.

  But not at a Can Head.

  Never killed one.

  “Yes, safety,” Simon added.

  Then how they kept coming, so many of them, and Simon shot one, missing, then hitting, more shots until finally it fell.

  He realized—in the shadows of the hallway—that he was shaking.

  He guessed that the other boys could see that as well.

  Finally, when he was done telling them about that night, he stopped.

  “N
o … shit,” Joe said.

  And Simon knew that he believed him.

  * * *

  Simon felt himself stop shaking. He had been breathing hard as he told the story fast, in a quiet voice.

  The other kids’ faces still catching the light. Billy’s eyes—especially—open wide.

  “So where’s the gun?”

  Simon could have told them that too.

  That there was a gun for him. His own gun.

  And that he knew where it was, how he promised his mom never to say anything about that to anyone else.

  And that … could perhaps be an even bigger secret.

  Instead:

  “After that, my mom took it. She must have given it to the Colonel. It’s … gone.”

  Joe nodded; it obviously made sense to him.

  “Too bad. Man!” The grin again. “You killed one. Really awesome!”

  Simon wanted to go back to the main hallway. Maybe see if they could play one of the board games that Joe always labeled as “dumb.” Or borrow one of the other kids’ handheld videogames. Didn’t have a lot of games, but it was something.

  Instead, Simon realized something else.

  That his secret. That what he had said.

  The truth of it.

  That … it represented a challenge to Joe.

  How could he be the leader?

  If Simon had killed a Can Head?

  Too big a secret, Simon thought.

  Joe smiled.

  Then said: “I’ve got an idea. And, after that story…” he lowered his voice … “Can Head killer, you’re going to love it.”

  * * *

  Kate felt a tap on her shoulder.

  After an hour of stirring pots of a yellow slop that was tonight’s dinner, a few real potatoes in it, but mostly giant tins of government-issued “soy product,” she wanted to get as far away from the kitchen as possible.

  She turned to the person behind her.

  One of the young guards.

  She had seen him looking at her during meals.

  And he didn’t look away when she noticed.

  “All done in there?”

  She nodded.

  “Not much fun. All that kitchen stuff.”

  “How would you know?” Kate said.

  After all, the guys with the guns never did any stuff like that. As if carrying a gun made them allergic to cleaning dishes, serving food, or any kind of real work.

  “I’m just guessing,” he said, his grin returning.

  He is cute, Kate thought. But older.

  “I’m Tom,” he said. He stuck out his hand.

  Kate shook it. Tom gave it a squeeze and released it.

  “I’m—”

  “Kate. I know.”

  Then: “Been watching you. Thinking … she must be bored out of her mind.”

  Now Kate smiled. “Yeah. I am.”

  “Not much to do here. For fun, I mean.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He came closer. “But there are things. Places you haven’t seen. If you want to get away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tom looked around, making sure that no one could hear them.

  “Been downstairs? To see what’s underneath this old building?”

  “Off-limits, right? The Colonel’s orders.”

  “Not all orders have to be obeyed. I can get you down there. Show you around. Good place to get away.”

  “Get away? For what?”

  As soon as she asked the question, Kate realized how stupid it sounded. Like she was a kid.

  I’m not a kid, she thought.

  “That’d be cool. Maybe later—”

  “Maybe now,” Tom said jumping in. “You’re done with work. I’m not supposed to be anywhere for a while.” He took a breath, grin widening. “Let me give you a tour.”

  Now Kate looked around.

  She hoped that her mother might walk by, and take this possibility away … at least, for now.

  But they remained alone in the hallway.

  “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just thought—”

  “Okay.”

  “Really? Sweet. Just follow me.”

  Tom turned around, and started back toward the dining rooms, the row of offices, to a part of the inn that Kate thought led nowhere.

  But she soon saw that she was wrong about that.

  * * *

  The three boys huddled by a large couch covered with shiny material and legs that ended in animal’s paws.

  The chair looked as if it had once been alive.

  “So listen—what happens when you go outside?” Joe asked Simon.

  “The guard tells you where you can go. They watch you.”

  “Right. And where can you go?”

  “Not far. Just in front of the building.”

  Joe gave Billy a nudge as if there was something funny about Simon’s answer.

  “And what fun is that? But we”—another nudge to Billy—“have been far away from this place, on our own.”

  Simon thought of the secret he had told them, and how he shouldn’t have told them at all.

  And now Joe was talking like he too had done something secret, something awesome.

  Maybe—Simon thought—something dangerous.

  He leaned close. “We were able to get over to that cliff. There’s a path, all crumbly, has an old wood handrail. We climbed it. Nearly to the top. We could see…” His hands flew out … “all around.”

  Simon didn’t know what to say.

  Though he could feel where this was going.

  “That was awesome, right Billy?”

  The younger boy nodded. Then, as if expecting another elbow to his chest, he added, “Yeah, it was really—” the boy thought for a moment. Then: “—awesome!”

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t get caught?” Simon asked.

  “Caught? No way. I came up with a plan. And it worked. Takes three kids, though. Did it with this other kid. He and his family left. Just before you came. But now—” he slapped Simon on the back—“you’re here!”

  Simon didn’t want to ask any more questions.

  He just kept thinking how he wished he hadn’t told them about his using a gun, about shooting a Can Head.

  Should have just stayed quiet.

  “One of us distracts the dopey guard, then two of us can get away, get to the cliff, the trail. Climb it. It’s amazing.”

  Simon looked at Billy, guessing who the two to climb the ledge would be.

  “How does it work?”

  Simon felt as if he had to ask.

  “You in, Simon?”

  Billy had his eyes on him too.

  Maybe … hoping that Simon would say no.

  Instead: “Sure.”

  “Good. I knew you’d be, Can Head killer.”

  The words stung.

  “Now let me explain how we do it. Listen up, ’cause we’re going to have to be fast.”

  30

  The Cliff

  Simon and Joe waited by an old clock while Billy walked to the front door.

  Glass panels on either side would let Billy see out.

  “Just got to be … patient,” Joe said, a whisper.

  Then he saw Billy turn and give them a wave.

  “There you go!”

  Joe had explained that the guard would sneak to the side of the building where no one could see him and have a quick cigarette. Every twenty … thirty minutes.

  Just had to wait.

  And when he did, the main door would be unguarded.

  They watched Billy stand by the door, looking out one of the glass panels.

  Then Billy went out, pulling on the great door, the wooden door a giant compared to the small kid.

  “Okay—wait,” Joe whispered. Then: “Okay—now.”

  Joe hurried to the door.

  * * *

  Kate came to the end of the corridor, following Tom to where two sliding doors sealed off the hallway f
rom the rest of the inn.

  They’ve got to be locked, Kate thought. This can’t lead anywhere.

  Tom hurried to where a latch kept the doors locked together.

  Kate watched him pull a piece of metal out of his pocket. He stuck it in the keyhole of one of the sliding doors.

  A click.

  He turned back and grinned at Kate.

  “Easy, huh? Just need a little know-how.”

  He slid the door open.

  “Now, quick. Don’t want anyone to see.”

  Kate hesitated.

  Yes, she was bored. But going somewhere that they weren’t supposed to?

  Actually … breaking in?

  “Come on.”

  Tom looked as if he was about to slide the door again, the adventure over.

  She made a quick decision and slipped in, just as quickly followed by the boy.

  * * *

  Suddenly, Kate stood in darkness.

  “No electricity here. So it’s kinda dark. Got some light from the windows down farther.”

  The air here tasted even more stale than that in the main building.

  For a moment, Kate turned back to the door that Tom had slid shut behind them.

  “Going to lock it?”

  “The door? No. No one checks it. I’ll make sure it’s locked when we come back.”

  His face in the shadows, backlit by the windows at the far end.

  “Okay. All set? Follow me.”

  And he led her deeper into that darkness.

  * * *

  “Now!” Joe said, pulling open the front door to the inn.

  Joe ran out first, and Simon raced to follow him. The older boy fast, easily outpacing him.

  Simon looked over his shoulder.

  The guard hadn’t come back to his position at the front door. Still smoking a cigarette, and now with Billy talking to him, making sure he looked the other way …

  The plan was working.

  And when Simon looked ahead, he saw Joe run to the side of a path, going even faster, heading through woods to the sheer ledge that rose above the inn and the lake.

  In minutes, they were out of sight of the building.

  Safe, Simon thought. No one can see them here.

  It was like … an escape.

  And now, it was fun.

  Joe slowed his run a bit, letting Simon catch up.

  And as soon as Simon caught up to the older kid, Joe slowed to a walk.

  He turned to Simon and put a palm up.

  High five.

  Simon had never “high fived” anyone.

  He put his palm up and Joe slapped it, with a bit of a sting.

  “Wasn’t that sweet?”

  “Yeah,” Simon said.