Concealed in the Shadows

by Gabrielle Arrowsmith

  Merick is sleeping on the couch when I wake up in the morning. The sun is up, which means my father has already arrived at the barrier.

  I quietly search for paper and a pen to write Merick a note saying where I have gone. I don’t want to give him a fright like the one I gave my father, Galvesten, and Della when I wanted to be alone after Cy’s death. I add ‘please keep me informed’ on the note and rest it on top of the cell phone Merick has placed next to his pillow.

  I’m not sure if by my father’s standards I am allowed to walk to the laundromat by myself, but he has to concede some forms of independence to me.

  Merick was comfortable enough with my safety to fall heavily asleep, so I don’t worry about being snatched by a BOT as I walk down the quiet streets in the fresh morning air. Something like that wouldn’t happen in daylight. Though my father feels differently, I wouldn’t mind being taken by a BOT because it would mean being taken to Evvie.

  “Good morning, Sydney,” the already working Gwen greets as I arrive.

  “Hi!” shouts a little girl. She has blonde hair like Gwen, but hers is stick-straight, unlike Gwen’s tight curls.

  “This is my daughter, Lysia.”

  “Lysandria,” she whines, upset that her mother did not introduce her properly. “It’s a combination of Lysander and Alexandria. Do you know who Lysander is? It’s from Shakespeare,” she answers before I’ve had a chance to tell her that I do. My father’s name, Demetri, stems from a character’s name from the same story.

  “Actually, Sydney, I’m supposed to meet Rico in a half hour at the hospital and I’d like to stop by the school first. Would you be comfortable watching Lysandria for a while? I won’t be long with Rico, just long enough to load the rest of Decklin’s boxes onto the cart and haul it to this side of town.”

  “Sure,” I say hesitantly, “but couldn’t we help?”

  “Rico has that covered. I’d actually love it if we could get these loads all flipped while I’m gone. Lysia knows how. She can show you and she will help you,” Gwen warns her daughter.

  “I know, I know,” Lysia snaps. This one seems like a little handful. I think Crewe said something about that once. He said Gwen struggles to keep up with laundry because of that kid. This must be her. I don’t want to stay here and have this little one pry into everything that’s happening in my life, but I don’t see what choice I have.

  “Thank you, Sydney, and I’ll be back soon.”

  Lysia doesn’t allow a beat of silence as her mother exits the laundromat. “Guess why she has to stop by the school?” she says.

  “Why?” I bite.

  “I’m suspended,” she grins mischievously. I don’t doubt that judging by her gregariousness. It explains why she is at her mother’s work instead of school on a Friday morning.

  “How old are you?” I ask. She seems too little to have done anything serious enough to get in trouble.

  “I’m eight. Aren’t you going to ask what I did?” she plays.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” I say. A pinch of humor rises in me. Like my father suggested in Cy’s eulogy, I found a simple reason to smile today, despite not knowing what is happening to him and my sister inside Miles County.

  “I threw a bucket of crayons at another kid’s face.” Clearly, Lysia isn’t remorseful about the action. I can’t imagine such a young little girl committing such an infraction. Cyber bullying was the only real problem instruction monitors had to face with their students on EduWeb. I imagine behavior management is more of a struggle in a traditional school environment.

  “He said that my illustration sucked.”

  “Hey,” I scold automatically.

  “Fine, he said it was ugly,” she corrects her language. “She’s going to the school so she can tell the principal that I did it because I was mad and sad about my uncle dying.”

  Did Decklin have a real family here? I suppose Gwen could be Decklin’s older sister. Decklin had curly hair too, but much more loosely wound than Gwen’s and stark opposite in color. “I’m sorry about your uncle. I was sad to lose him too. He was a good friend.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “Your dad made a good talk at his funeral.”

  “Oh, Cy’s?” I ask. It hurts to say his name, even in a light conversation with a child.

  “Yeah,” she says. “My uncle’s. My mom let me put in her scoop of dirt too so I got to put in two.”

  Oh, so Decklin didn’t have a family after all. I know Gwen isn’t Cy and Crewe’s blood relative, but I can see why Lysia might call Cy her uncle. There are probably loads of kids who think of him that way. It might not bother me coming from other children, but I don’t like the way this little one refers to Cy as her uncle, especially when she says that she got to put in two scoops of dirt. Those scoops were used to bury my best friend. This energetic, desensitized girl has no right to talk about him like he was hers. “Why don’t you start showing me what we need to do around here?” I suggest, changing the subject.

  “It really sucks that he died, huh?”

  “Lysia, I’d rather not talk about it,” I stifle the conversation. I do prefer that this forward child is telling it like it is rather than saying that it will get better and that everything will be okay. I would be more upset by something like that, but I still can’t handle talking with her about it at all.

  “You’re not going to tell Gwen that I swore, are you?” she asks with no real concern in her eyes.

  “I will if you do it again,” I decide.

  “Oh no,” she mocks. I’m going to have to muster a lot of patience and tolerance today. I don’t know how I’m going to manage that when I’m already on edge about my father’s mission.

  Lysia jumps down off an old, top-loading washing machine and goes over to a front-loading one that has stopped spinning. “This one is an H-E,” she explains. “That means it gets done faster so I always have to watch for it first.” What it actually means is that it is a high-efficiency machine, like the ones on the inside, only those serve as both washers and dryers.

  The transitions building in Sector Seven where I lived has as many machines as I see here, even though it had only about a third of the residents that Sheridan has. Our machines take just over five minutes to wash and dry, but Lysia tells me some of these take up to a half an hour for each job. I can understand why one person is assigned to do the town’s laundry rather than them coming in casually to do it themselves. The machines have to be in constant use, run efficiently according to like colors and appropriate load sizes, for the town to stay looking presentable.

  Lysia is explaining how each household writes their number on the tag of each of their clothing items when Merick walks in looking for me. I come out from a row of stacked machines and a little shadow follows me.

  “We need to talk,” Merick says, rubbing his hands together.

  “What is it?” I ask him frantically.

  “Lysia, go find your mom,” Merick instructs. He doesn’t talk to her as if she's the young child that she is. I suppose adults don’t use that type of tone with this one.

  “She ain’t here,” Lysia says.

  “I’m watching her,” I say. It’s as strange to Merick’s ears as it is foreign on my lips. He either agrees that I am not fit to keep a child company, or he is equally as surprised as I was that I’ve been asked to watch this little girl after just being introduced to her.

  “Alright, you go do what you’ve been told,” he tells her. “Sydney, let’s just step outside here.” Lysia stomps her foot and crosses her arms appallingly across her chest, but she stays put when I walk outside the door. Before Merick begins talking, I see her ear pressed against the glass from the inside. I decide not to do anything about it. I need to hear what’s happened, now.

  “First of all, I should tell you that your father isn’t where you think he is.”

  “What?” I ask. Did my own father lie to me? Did he tell me that he would go for her so that I wouldn’t?

  Mer
ick reads the betrayal on my face and stifles my questioning quickly. “He got a call late last night from Braves. Crewe is alive.”

  Thank you, God. Thank you. One of my heroes still lives. Now I can keep my postmortem promise to Cy. I can look after his brother. I can start by apologizing for telling Crewe that I hated him. From there, I can search to find little reasons to make him smile so that slowly, I can help heal the hole in his heart.

  “You were right, Sydney. He had gone toward the county with his anger ablaze, but when he got there, he realized it wouldn’t be what Cy would have wanted. Cy wouldn’t want to see his brother die in vain like he did. He slept at the safe house. In the morning, he headed for Braves. Crewe didn’t think that your father would want to lose more lives, so he hoped that he could convince Braves and his troops to enter the fight with him instead.”

  “Braves knew we were looking for Crewe because I called him to tell him the situation after you called me from Lame Deer. Crewe was hotheaded and threatened that he’d go on his own if Braves got on the phone to call us. I guess that’s what Crewe ended up doing last night anyway, after Braves told him for a final time that he would not send his men. Apparently, there was a drawn-out, high-speed car chase and wreckage that finally enabled Braves to cuff Crewe and bring him in. Your dad went to Braves to try to talk some sense into Crewe so that we can bring him home.”

  We were due for a piece of good news. I’m glad to hear that Crewe is alive, but unfortunately his stunt has delayed my father from pursuing Evvie, and every moment the level of danger surrounding her increases.

  “Does Crewe know my father’s plan?”

  “Yes, but he’s lost his head. Crewe has always been protective of the people, and has been able to set aside his own desires and think about what is best for Sheridan. Now, he’s demanding that he go along and that they basically blow up everything, and everyone, in their path. He’s angry. He has every right to be, but it’s made him the new largest threat to Sheridan and to the other refugee towns.”

  “So have their doctors stick a needle into his neck. We need to get both of them back here so that my dad can go where he needs to go. We’re wasting precious time, Merick.”

  “Actually, Sydney, that’s a great idea. We can keep him cuffed and give him time to process here, in Sheridan. I’ll call and make the suggestion in case none of them have thought of it yet. Will you be here if I need you later?”

  “I suppose so,” I answer.

  “Alright,” he says. He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and dials as he walks across the street.

  “What was that about?” Lysia begs the instant the door chimes. “Is he alive?”

  She knows an awful lot about everything that’s going on for an eight-year-old, but then again, I blurted to the entire hospital, children included, exactly what was happening a few nights ago. Since then, I’m sure her mother hasn’t been able to keep her prying and persistent questions unanswered.

  “If you’re talking about Crewe, then yes,” I tell her. I feel so relieved and so good to say so.

  “Is he okay?” she asks with desperation and genuine fear, which I find curious coming from her.

  “He’s fine,” I answer her. She instantly envelops me in a tight hug as high as her height reaches.

  “Crewe is very special to you too, huh?” I ask the little girl still latched around me.

  “Well yeah. He’s my dad.”

  The conviction with which she says this is unsettling to me, even though I know it can’t be true. Gwen must be a single mother. Lysia’s father was either never in the picture or fell from it when she was little. Maybe he passed away or was left behind in a county. If that’s so, she has chosen a good fatherly figure. A little young, I’ll say, especially for Gwen, but worthy all the same.

  Lysia can tell that I don’t take her statement as truth, and is offended. “It’s true. Gwen is not my mom. I’m adopted.”

  Now a strange concern grows in me. Crewe is too young to be this little girl’s father. He would have just arrived in Sheridan, fresh from the orphanage around the time she was born. I just don’t see it. Crewe wouldn’t be seeking a dangerous job the way he does if he had a daughter, however crazy she may be.

  “Oh! I’ll let you guess who my real mom is!” Lysia exclaims. Now I’m utterly lost and confused in this little girl’s dream. She is pulling my leg all over the place. “She gave me up for adoption because she was really young when she had me, and Gwen says that she wanted me to have a better life than she could give me.”

  Children do say the wildest things, but this story feels too real to be make-believe. “I haven’t met that many people in Sheridan yet,” I admit.

  “Yeah, but you’ve met my mom,” she says excitedly. “I’ll give you a clue. Part of my name comes from her name.” I wrack my brain for what I can, but I can’t think of any women other than Dellaphine, whose name does not fit into Lysandria. “It’s the second part of my name,” she reveals. I think for another moment, but Lysia has no patience with me. “You were with her just yesterday morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. I’m still perplexed. “She’s a seeksmen,” Lysia says. There is only one female seeksmen.

  “Alix,” I say flatly.

  “Alixandria,” she emphasizes. “She and Crewe dated for a couple of years, but they don’t anymore.”

  She was telling the truth. Crewe Davids has a daughter. She is here, with me. This is the eight-year-old, jabbering daughter of Alix, who Crewe used to date. I am shocked.

  I am angrier than usual the rest of the day, which probably doesn’t make a good first impression on Gwen, especially since Lysia and I did nothing during the time that she was gone. I’m cross because it’s easier and more natural to me than the emotion that I really feel. I’m crushed.

  I never expected this. I thought Crewe and I were so much the same. Now I’ve found out about a daughter that he never mentioned. I don’t feel as though I know Crewe Davids anymore, and I hope I can reconstruct a desire to keep the promise to his brother, Lysia’s uncle Cy.