Contaminated

by Em Garner

  Opal and I work together, a good team. I know she’d rather be watching TV or reading than doing chores, but she doesn’t complain. She looks funny, though, running the vacuum that’s just about as tall as she is.

  The beds really need to be stripped and the sheets changed, but that means laundry. I’m not sure I’m ready to face the laundry room yet, which I know is stupid, because if I don’t let anything else that happened anywhere stop me from going places and doing things, I shouldn’t let what happened in the laundry room freak me out this much. Before I can decide, Opal’s calling to me that someone’s at the door.

  “Don’t answer it,” I tell her firmly.

  I truly don’t think I’ll open the door to find a Connie there, ready to pounce. They’re not really capable of that sort of thing. Not to mention that it might be easy enough for one to hide in a hardly used room, but one wandering around in broad daylight is going to get arrested pretty fast. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful when you open a door these days—I’m sure I’m not the only person who remembers it wasn’t the Connies who caused most of the trouble. It was the people smart enough to know they could take advantage of a broken system and bad enough to do it.

  I unlock three of the locks but leave the chain on so I can peek out. I’m surprised to see Jerry Wentling on the other side of the door. “What do you want?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” I’m sure I know what he’s talking about, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

  “You have one in there?”

  “One what?”

  Jerry scowls. “You know what I mean. Don’t be so dumb.” “Go away, Jerry.” I move to close the door but he sticks the butt end of something in so I can’t. It’s a baseball bat. “Let me see it.”

  “I don’t know—”

  He uses the bat for leverage and simply rips the chain off the door, pushing it all the way open and me out of the way. Opal screams as Jerry jumps through the doorway. He looks toward the noise.

  My mom gets up from the couch, also turning toward the sound.

  “Holy crap, you really do have one!” Jerry looks both fascinated and disgusted.

  “Get out of here! You can’t barge in here like that, it’s not your business!” I jump in front of Jerry.

  He barely even looks at me, just pushes me down. Hard. I stumble back and land on my butt on the floor with enough force to bring tears of pain to my eyes. I bite my tongue and the taste of blood makes me choke.

  Opal screams, crying, a long, rambling string of words I didn’t know she knew and should yell at her for using. Jerry laughs and ignores her. His gaze is focused on our mom.

  “Wow. That’s your mom, huh? You really brought her here? Is it true, they put shock collars on them to keep them from acting crazy?”

  I get to my feet, rubbing my butt. “Jerry, go home. This isn’t your business, you jerk!”

  “Oh, it’s my business. You bring one of those things in here to our building, you’re right across from me and mom, I say it’s my business.”

  When I was a freshman, Jerry was a senior. He’d had the habit of slamming people’s books out of their hands as he passed, then kicking them down the hall before they could be picked up. He was the sort of guy who’d write your name on the bathroom wall or make up a nickname based on your acne.

  He was also the sort of guy who’d kick a person to death. He’d saved me, but I couldn’t make myself be grateful to him for it. Now he was looking at my mom with a gleam in his muddy eyes I didn’t like at all.

  “Just let me see it. The collar, I mean.” He put the bat down, at least.

  “NO!”

  The look he gives me is strangely patient. “Velvet. That’s a stupid name, you know that? Vellll-vet. Why didn’t they call you Cotton, Corduroy, or something like that?”

  “You’re a jerk!” Opal shouts. Her tears have subsided. I think she was scared about him breaking in that way, but seeing it’s only Jerry has calmed her. “Jerry Jerk!

  That’s you!”

  “Ah, shut up, midget.” Jerry’s not paying attention to her. Only to our mom. “Let me see the collar. That’s all.”

  “If we do, will you get out of here?” I limp when I walk, that’s how bad my butt hurts. “And I’m complaining to the landlord, too, about the lock. You’re going to pay for that.”

  “No, I’m not.” Jerry’s flat gaze fixes on me. His smile doesn’t reach it. “I figure I don’t really owe you anything, do I?”

  I don’t like that smile. The way Jerry looks me over, like he’s imagining me naked, gives me the creeps. I don’t want him to tell Opal about the Connie in the laundry room. I don’t want him to tell anyone. He killed a person, and I was there, and I didn’t call the police.

  “Don’t show him, Velvet! Don’t do it!” Opal’s braver than I am. Or younger.

  “It’s okay, Opal. He’s going to look and then leave, right?” I fix him with a hard glare.

  Jerry shrugs. “Sure, right. I’ll just look and leave. Sure.”

  Throughout all of this, my mom had started moving slowly toward Opal, but now she’s stopped a few steps away. It’s easy enough for me to unbutton the first few buttons on her blouse and fold the fabric to the sides so Jerry can get a look at the collar. He pushes me out of the way.

  “That’s it?” He sounds disappointed.

  “What did you expect? Something with leather and spikes?” He disgusts me.

  Jerry reaches out a dirty finger to touch the thin plastic. “That’s, like, nothing. How can that do anything?”

  My mom doesn’t flinch at his touch, but just because she can’t react doesn’t mean she should have to put up with his touch. I push Jerry to the side and start to button her blouse again. “You’ve seen it. Now get lost.”

  “Where are the wires?”

  “It’s wireless, you idiot!” I face him, with my mom behind me. “Like your cell phone. God, you’re a foron. Would you get out of here now?”

  “I want to know how it works.” His eyes are gleaming.

  “It sends electrical impulses at set intervals into her brain, Jerry.” The words taste bad.

  “So it shocks her? Coooooool.” Jerry laughs.

  I smack him across the face as hard as I can. So hard, it rocks his head, and he stumbles a few steps back. I advance, my vision going a little hazy in my fury.

  “It’s not cool, you jerk! That’s my mom you’re talking about!”

  In the movies, Jerry would cower in front of me and slink away. Of course he doesn’t. He’s thirty pounds heavier and six inches taller than me, and he’s a bully. Jerry doesn’t slap my face; he punches it.

  I’m ready for it, though. I know enough to expect it. Instead of catching me in the mouth or nose, his punch lands on my cheek hard enough to make me momentarily blind with pain. It passes, though, and I’m turning back to him.

  Things always change, no matter whether it’s because the world ends around you or it just moves on. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have known how to hit another person so hard, it splits my knuckles. Now I do.

  I also kick him in the nuts, but Jerry’s obviously been kicked in the balls a few too many times, because he’s able to deflect my foot. He grabs it, yanking. I hit the floor.

  I become aware that Opal’s screaming and crying again. I hear another sound, too. A low, groaning grunt. Guttural and raw.

  Jerry and I both turn to see my mom, fists clenched, face contorted. She’s still behind the couch and can’t get at him, though she’s making her slow and steady way toward us. She hits the coffee table and knocks it out of place. She keeps coming.

  Jerry lets go of my foot. “Come on, then! Come on, you Connie piece of crap!”

  He bounces on his feet, jabbing the air like a boxer while I struggle to my feet. My entire body throbs after this second time hitting the floor. My cheek is already swelling. I think I feel a loose tooth. “Mom, it’s okay.”

  Jerry starts shouting.
Nothing coherent, just angry sounds. He grabs up the bat and smashes it into the back of the couch a few times. My mom follows the motion with her head, then looks up at him. She sees him.

  I know she does. Jerry sees it, too. But this is the guy who pulled a Connie off me and kicked it until it couldn’t get up any longer. He’s not afraid of my mom.

  “How’s that collar work, huh? How’s it work?” He’s grinning. Spit flies from his mouth. He punches the air. My mom keeps moving. “Mom, no!”

  Jerry shouts again. She moves faster. Her hands clench and unclench. She’s coming after him, and he’s doing everything he can to make her.

  Jerry reaches for me, yanks me up by the front of my shirt. He shakes me until my teeth rattle. “Lookit what I got, you Connie scum! See? I got your girl, here! What’re you gonna do about that? Nothing, right? You don’t even know her, you don’t even care! What if I do something like this, huh?”

  He smashes his mouth down on mine before I know how to stop him. It’s the last thing I expected. His tongue tries to wedge between my teeth and I pull away, spitting and flailing while Jerry laughs.

  My mom pushes past Opal. She’s around the couch now, moving faster without the barriers in her way. She’s almost on him when it happens.

  She doesn’t just twitch, the way she did in the bathroom. She jerks. Spasms. Her arms flail, wild. She stumbles forward.

  “What the—” Jerry’s grip on me loosens as he faces her. “What’s going on?”

  She tries again, inches from him. She swipes, putting up her fists. Another shock ripples through her, and my mom cries out. It’s a low, gritty sound of pain that has me cringing. Her entire body stiffens. I can see foam in the corners of her mouth.

  “Stop it, Jerry! Just stop it! Stop taunting her!” I kick and punch at him, but he holds me off the way I used to hold off Opal with a hand to her forehead, her arms too short to reach me as she swung.

  The spasm passes. My mom moves again. Jerry’s laughing, like this is the finest sort of joke.

  “C’mon,” he breathes. “Come on. Let’s see what happens when you try to kill me, you piece of crap.” The collar beeps.

  This time, the spasm drops her to her knees, then onto her side. She’s jittering and jerking, and I yank myself from Jerry’s grip. I turn her on her back, helpless, not sure what to do. Foam is curdling in the corners of her mouth, and her eyes have rolled toward the back of her head.

  “What the hell is that? What’s she doing?” Jerry asks.

  My mouth is dry, but the words come out. Just two, but they choke me. I can’t look away from her.

  “Mercy Mode.”

  ELEVEN

  “OPAL, GET ME A CLEAN DISHRAG. HURRY UP!”

  Opal does, ducking out of reach of Jerry’s halfhearted grab. He’s not shouting anymore. He still seems fascinated, though, bending over us. Opal brings me the cloth and I tuck it between my mom’s teeth.

  I have no idea what I’m doing.

  The video and training materials described what would trigger Mercy Mode. It didn’t say anything about how to stop it or how to treat it. All I can do is stroke her hair back from her forehead and try to keep her from biting off her tongue. I roll her on her side, thinking that will help.

  A bad smell fills the air, and Jerry recoils. “Did she just crap herself?”

  “Velvet, what’s wrong with Mama? What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong?” Opal says this over and over, her face white and eyes wide.

  “She’s… it’s okay, Opal. Really, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Under my fingers, which are resting on her hip, the muscle spasms seem to be easing. She’s stopped making that noise, too. The silence is very loud.

  “Wow.” Jerry doesn’t sound fascinated or gleeful now. He sounds wary, and when I look at him, he looks confused. “The collar does that?”

  “It’s called Mercy Mode.” I shoot a glance at Opal, but the kid doesn’t deserve lies, even one that would make things sweeter. “They build it into the collar. If the person wearing it becomes too agitated, too… aggressive, it…”

  “Kills them?”

  “Get out, Jerry,” I say in a quiet, terrible voice. “Or so help me, I will kill you.”

  He laughs, scoffing, but the look on my face sets him back. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out.

  “Yeah,” Opal says, that tough, adorable little kid. She holds up a fist. “Me, too!”

  Jerry backs up. At the door he broke to get in here, he stops. “You should just let her die.”

  Then he steps through and is gone.

  On the floor, my mom is finally still. She blinks and sits. She does stink, and the drool and foam have smeared all over her face. Her eyes focus, though. On me and on Opal. She reaches, takes each of our hands. She squeezes them just once before her fingers lose their grip.

  “Is she okay?” Opal’s stopped crying, but her face is swollen and her nose runny. “Is she going to be okay, Velvet?”

  “I think so.”

  How much brain damage can any one person can take? When does she become a vegetable? When do I start believing what Jerry said is the truth?

  “Mom. Sit up.” I help her.

  Beneath my fingers, all her muscles are trembling and twitching even though she looks perfectly still. Her breathing is a little harsh, too. She swallows convulsively and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Actually, seeing this gives me hope. She’s aware, at least a little bit.

  Opal wrinkles her nose. “She smells bad.”

  “She probably had an accident.”

  Opal’s eyes go wide. She looks more scared of this than what happened before. “You mean… like, in her pants?”

  “Yeah.” I want to make this somehow better for Opal, like I should try to pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe I should lie to her about it or something. But I don’t. “That’s what happens to you sometimes when your brain gets shocked like that.”

  “Could it happen to her a lot?” Opal sounds tearful. She’s petting Mom’s hair.

  “It could. It’s because she’s sick, Opal. She can’t really help it. And it’s because of the collar.”

  Opal’s face twists. “Can’t we take it off?”

  Her fingers toy with it, and I push them away, but gently. Mom looks back and forth between us. “It doesn’t come off.”

  “Not ever?” Opal puts her hands on her hips, her face going from sad and scared to angry. Tantrum ready.

  I wish I were a little kid and could get away with tantrums. “Nope. It’s the law. Besides, it’s supposed to keep everyone safe. Us and her, too.”

  Opal pets Mom’s hair again. Mom leans toward the touch just the barest amount. Opal’s small fingers tug on a tangle hard enough to tilt Mom’s head, but she makes no noise of protest.

  “We need to clean her up.” I’m not looking forward to this. “She needs a shower, her hair washed, clean clothes put on. That sort of thing.”

  Opal’s looking anxious again. “She can’t take a shower by herself, huh?”

  “No. But I’ll help her. It’ll be okay.” I hope.

  “I want to help, too.” Opal says this firmly, like there’s no choice of me disagreeing.

  I don’t want to disagree. I don’t want to be the only one taking care of our mom. And I don’t want to not give Opal credit, either, for what she’s capable of doing. She’s a kid, but she’s not stupid.

  “Okay. You go get the shower started. C’mon, Mom. Stand up.” I stand, and with Opal’s help, we both get Mom to her feet.

  She’s a little wobbly. She clings to both of us, pulling us toward her. For one moment it feels like it used to when she called for a group hug, squeezing us both while we usually squirmed and protested. The moment passes fast; I know she’s not hugging us, no matter how it feels. She can’t hug us anymore.

  This, more than anything that’s happened so far, settles a stone in the pit of my gut and makes me want to just give up. Everything. All of th
is.

  Then I hear Opal whispering, “C’mon, Mama, it’s all going to be all right,” and how can I give up?

  I can’t abandon Opal, and I can’t abandon my mom. No matter how hard all of this is, I have to believe it’s going to be better, in the end. I just have to.

  Opal starts the shower running while I start to help my mom out of her clothes. I’m afraid she’ll protest again, the way she did last night when I tried to lift her nightgown. I’m afraid of what will happen if Mercy Mode is activated so soon after the last time. Mom doesn’t struggle, though. She’s even helpful, lifting her arms when I pull her shirt off over her head.

  It’s easier to see her naked this time. It’s not easy to undo the diaper, though what’s inside isn’t worse than anything I’ve had to deal with at Cedar Crest Manor. It’s sure not worse than anything she ever had to handle with me or Opal. I can tell Opal’s trying not to be upset. She’s doing a pretty good job, too. I make sure to keep my voice light and cheery, the way I talk to the old people when I’m taking care of them.

  “All righty, into the shower! Opal,” I say quietly, “hold her other hand so she doesn’t slip.”

  My mom shudders when she gets into the shower, but after a minute she tilts her face into the warm spray with a low sound of relief. Working together, Opal and I wash her clean. We don’t talk much while we do it. I think maybe Opal will get the giggles about Mom being naked, but she’s more mature than I give her credit for. She just shares the washcloth and soap with me so we make sure to get her clean all over.

  When we get to washing her hair, though, Opal says, offhandedly, “It’s like when we used to wash Jody.”

  Jody, our golden Lab. Unlike a lot of dogs, Jody loved baths. She’d let us scrub her for an hour if we wanted.

  “It’s nothing like that.” My voice comes out short and sharp, low and not like my own.

  Opal shrugs and fills up the oversized plastic cup we’re using to rinse Mom’s hair. “Hold the cloth over her eyes so the soap doesn’t get in them.”