Outcast

by Adrienne Kress

  “Look, I was born here, raised here. Went to school here. Well, till I dropped out.”

  “When did you drop out?”

  “End of last year.”

  I started to laugh harder. “Why are you doing this? This is the dumbest lie ever. I think I’d remember you if we’d been at school together.”

  “We weren’t at school together.”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “So we finally agree on something.” He cocked his head to the side and appraised me carefully. “You telling me that we’re still in Hartwich?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. And there’s only the one school here. You, sir, are totally busted.”

  “Hartwich High?”

  Well, yes, that was obviously the name of the school. If you knew the town’s name, it was pretty easy to figure it out. He was trying something here but obviously hadn’t thought it through.

  “Of course.”

  “Principal’s Mr. Anders?”

  “Mr. Anders? There’s no Mr. Anders. It’s Mrs. Johnson.”

  “Well, see, that ain’t right. Who you got for math?”

  “Mrs. White.”

  “Nope. Science?”

  “Mr. Sutherland.”

  “It was Mr. Hope for me.”

  I paused. Well, maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was a trick. “He retired two years ago.”

  “He retired? He’s in his twenties.”

  “God no, he’s ancient.”

  “We’re talking Mr. Hope, right? Really tall, moved down from Boston…”

  “…Yeah. Ages ago.”

  “He just started this past year.”

  This time we each stared at the other, and it was pretty obvious we were both super confused.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “I think you’re nuts.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  We stared at each other for a little while longer.

  “What’s your name?” he asked finally.

  It seemed like a really personal question. I didn’t see why he cared. “Riley.”

  “Riley.” He shifted a little on the spot. I guess trying to make himself more comfortable. “I’m Gabe.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it, it was a spontaneous reaction.

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Gabe. Would that be short for anything?”

  He thought for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

  “You are an angel.”

  “That’s it, dollface. You’ve got it. I am. Can you untie me now?”

  “If you’re admitting to being an angel, then no, no I can’t. Because I don’t trust angels, and you still haven’t answered my questions.”

  “Okay, I take it back. I’m not. Can you untie me now?”

  “And if you’re denying it, then no, no I can’t. Because then you’re trying to trick me, and you’re even more dangerous than if you’d admitted to it.”

  “Having fun, sweetheart?”

  I was. “Not really no.”

  “So what happens next?” he asked with a sigh.

  That was definitely the question of the moment. What did happen next? I couldn’t just leave him tied up in my shed because it wasn’t my shed. It was Daddy’s shed, and he’d be pretty shocked to find a naked guy tied up in it.

  But I couldn’t let Gabe go either.

  I really had no idea what to do. So I said, “Next is you stay here and I try to figure out what happens next.” I stood up. “Okay, so now I have to gag you again. Are you going to make a fuss?”

  “I’ll be a good boy,” he replied with a smirk, “on one condition.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You get me some clothes. Unless of course you like me better like this, and then I’m okay with that.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Well, now I had no choice, did I? Couldn’t have him thinking I liked looking at him.

  Especially because I did.

  “Sure, whatever.”

  So I gagged him and left him, freaking out just a little bit over…well, over everything.

  7.

  A couple of really lucky things happened next. The first, and luckiest, was that Daddy had to leave. Don’t get me wrong. When Daddy left it was always sad, but it was still a really lucky thing for me. See, the only person who used the tool shed was Daddy.

  He almost went into it to give the lawn a final mow before he left, but I stopped him with a lame excuse of wanting to hang out, promising I’d mow it when he was gone. I’d never touched that push mower in my life, but Daddy didn’t remember that.

  I actually hadn’t minded spending that time with him, knowing I wouldn’t see him much in the next couple months. Daddy moved to New Orleans every fall when the new term started up at Tulane. He’d come home on weekends once things got settled in. Sometimes we’d go up to see him, even watch him teach. This had been how we’d got on since earlier than I could remember. It seemed to work for our family. But it didn’t mean that Mother and I still didn’t miss him.

  Daddy left Monday first thing. By then, I’d only had the angel in our shed for a day so he hadn’t had time to notice the missing food. Or his missing jeans and one of his white T-shirts. And his shoes. The old ones that he never wore anymore. At least I’d hoped he never wore them anymore.

  I worried my prisoner was planning something. A breakout or something. That first time when he changed into his clothes and I had to untie him and everything, oh man, that first time was really tense. I’d brought the shotgun in with me. And, like with the garden shears, he seemed to think I was totally willing to go through with shooting him (again). Made sense, I suppose. After all, he did think I was totally out of my mind. So he was pretty passive. Of course, I had to keep my eye on him the entire time he got dressed, couldn’t turn away in case he took advantage of that moment.

  It was pretty embarrassing actually.

  At least, I mean, at least for me it was. I actually don’t think Gabe would have minded spending his time in the shed naked, despite the fact it was his idea to get the clothes. It was warm enough after all, and he seemed very comfortable in his own skin…in his own…everything else. Standing in front of me, putting on the clothes…he took an awful long time is all I’m saying.

  Anyway.

  The next lucky thing happened when I went to pick up my timetable for school that same day. This was a pretty big deal, actually, what happened next, and it made me feel kind of stupid. See, the thing is, I’m pretty smart, not just with the stuff that comes out of books, but in applying the stuff that comes out of books. I’m a pretty good problem solver is what I’m saying.

  But still.

  I’d shown up pretty early. I’d been up first thing to check on Gabe. He’d been asleep, so it hadn’t taken long. Having nothing better to do, I walked into town and sat on the bench in the square. The one by the fountain in front of the town hall. I liked to sit there, at least when it was free. It was perfect for people watching. From that bench you could see the heart of our little community. The town hall with its whitewashed bell tower. The shops and the grocery store. The sidewalks lined with small trees caged in wire at the bottom. The Catholic Church looking totally out of place.

  First thing on a Monday morning, things were coming slowly to life. There wasn’t a lot of work in town. Most people commuted to New Adamstead, which was around three times bigger. But the shop owners would soon open up. I knew them all. Pam, who worked at the flower shop. Dan at the old bookstore. George Smith Sr. who ran the post office and George Smith Jr. who ran the liquor store. All of them.

  Finally the clock on the town hall struck nine, and I walked up Main Street, took a left and then a right, and found myself staring at the school. It looked pretty deserted and really small. I guessed it was probably the students usually loitering on campus that made it lo
ok a bit bigger, but right now, all on its own, only two cars in the lot, it looked kind of pathetic. I’d remembered getting a tour of my cousin’s school in Rochester. Red brick, twice as large, with a brand new football field out back.

  I went inside.

  “Riley Carver, you’re here early. Keen to get started?” Mrs. Jackson was the school secretary, always wearing that blonde wig of hers, kind of crazy happy sometimes. I thought maybe it had to do with her wearing the wig in our muggy heat, with only the ceiling fan to keep her cool. But she was nice and pretty good at her job, as far as I could tell.

  “I guess. Can I just pickup my schedule from you?”

  “Of course you can. Let me go round back, though. We’re still not set up yet.”

  I nodded and took a seat on the small bench in the corner as Mrs. Jackson disappeared into the VP’s office.

  I sat and waited, feeling a bit anxious to get back to Gabe. To try to relax, I focused in on the honor roll lists hanging opposite me. I noticed they’d done last year’s already. My stomach clenched when I realized I hadn’t made it for the first time. Didn’t matter. I’d make up for it this year. I would. I’d stay focused. Not worry about Chris. Or the angel bound and gagged in my shed. That wasn’t a distraction. Not a distraction at all.

  This wasn’t helping calm me down. I stood up in frustration to look at some of the pictures of previous graduating classes instead.

  That’s when the second lucky thing happened.

  I like looking at old-fashioned pictures. I like the clothing, how unreal it all seems that people actually wore that stuff, and they weren’t just actors playing characters in movies. And so I’d started with the 1941 grads instead of the most recent. It was when I hit 1949 that I saw it.

  Mr. Anders. Principal.

  “Holy shit.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  I turned around to see a very displeased looking Mrs. Jackson.

  “Uh, sorry, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “You know better than to use that kind of language, Riley.”

  “I know, I know…I was just…” I turned back to the pictures. “I was just looking at the pictures.”

  “Yes?”

  “How long was Mr. Anders principal?”

  “Who, dear?”

  I pointed at the small black and white picture at the top of the class of 1949.

  “Oh, Mr. Anders. I don’t really know, dear. Let’s see.” She came round the desk and stood next to me. Together we scanned the pictures till we stopped at 1961. “Well, there you go then: Mr. Rupert.”

  My heart was in my throat. If what Gabe had told me was true, then he was at school when Mr. Anders was principal, and if that was the case then…”

  “Mrs. Jackson, what about Mr. Hope.”

  “What about him, dear?”

  “When did he come to the school?”

  “Ages ago,” she replied.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  Mrs. Jackson looked at me, and I could tell she was a bit confused. And hot. Her face was getting flushed, and she was fanning herself with what I assumed was my timetable.

  “Well, dear…” She returned to her side of the desk and started typing into her computer. “We don’t really have those kinds of records here, but I can pull up Mrs. Johnson’s retirement speech for him. That might help.”

  I nodded and crossed over to the long counter that hid her desk and leaned against it to wait.

  “Here we are…” She took a moment to scan through the speech. “He started the fall of 1955. Wow, I didn’t realize how long he’d taught here. He should have taken his retirement years ago. He did love his students, though…”

  “And do you have any yearbooks from that year?” I interrupted her way too eagerly. I think it frightened her.

  “In the library.”

  “Can I see?” I didn’t see much point pretending this wasn’t exciting for me. She couldn’t possibly have guessed why. Besides everyone in the town knew I was a little odd. I didn’t really think I was. I was just pretty honest about stuff like thoughts and emotions. Still, I guess most people felt that made me strange.

  “Okay…”

  Mrs. Jackson led me to the library, unlocked it for me, and escorted me over to the archived yearbooks in the back, the section that was basically used for makeout sessions and not really for any kind of research. It made sense I’d never noticed them before.

  “Here you go. Now Riley, can I just give you your timetable and go back to the office? Other students might show up.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “I’ll leave the door locked. You just make sure to close it all the way when you leave.”

  “Yup.” I was already sitting on the ground paging through the yearbook. I didn’t see or hear Mrs. Jackson leave, I just knew she had left when I glanced up and saw her gone, my timetable on the floor in her place.

  So I went back to the book and started with the freshmen. Of course the names were alphabetical by last name, which made things tough, as I didn’t know what Gabe’s was, but I could be very systematic if I had to be. Something I’d inherited from having a Daddy who was a scientist.

  I saw him, second page of juniors.

  Oh my god.

  Gabe McClure.

  McClure.

  My angel had a last name.

  He looked just like himself, in a button-down shirt, open at the top, no tie unlike most of his male classmates. Hair gelled up and back, totally retro. It was him.

  It was him.

  I got up quickly, gave myself a head rush, and pulled 1954 off the shelf so I could see him as a freshman. I laughed out loud when I looked at the picture. This time he was wearing a tie, his hair was parted on the side, his bangs brushed flat across his forehead. He looked, for want of a better word, like a total geek.

  I pulled down 1957.

  But I couldn’t find him.

  And then I remembered.

  He said he’d dropped out: “End of last year.”

  Which meant…

  Which meant he thought he was still in 1956.

  Except that it wasn’t like he had amnesia or anything, and it wasn’t like he was some guy who’d been in a coma and woken up over fifty years later and didn’t know when it was.

  Gabe looked like the Gabe in the pictures. Except his hair wasn’t all nice and neat. Aside from that he looked like he was still in high school. Gabe didn’t look like he was…I did the math…in his early seventies.

  Oh my god.

  He was old.

  Except of course he wasn’t.

  But he should be.

  Oh my god.

  So I stole the yearbook and ran home. Well, ran and walked, it was a longish way home. But I walked really fast when I wasn’t running. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Point is I got home as quick as I could.

  Mother’s car was gone. She’d probably gone to get her hair done. It made her feel better to do something like that when Daddy left. Distracted her. It was good to know she’d be gone for a couple hours. I wouldn’t be as paranoid going to talk to Gabe.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” It was the first thing he always said after I took the gag out of his mouth.

  “I brought some cereal.”

  “My favourite part of the day. The part when you feed me.” The same joke. Except a little more resentful now. Still I gave him a few mouthfuls and he took a swig of water obediently.

  “You had enough? You need to…go?” It was probably the most embarrassing part about having a prisoner, taking Gabe round back of the shed, holding onto the rope like he was a dog. It was the most risky thing too, worrying if someone would see, if he’d try to escape. But he never did. Why didn’t he? What was he playing at?

  But Gabe just shook his head, and I was relieved. I really wanted to just blurt it all out, everything I’d discovered, but I wasn’t sure how he’d take it. If he’d even believe me. That’s wh
y I’d also brought today’s newspaper with the date, my yearbook from when I was a freshman, and a laptop, all still hidden in the bag in the corner. I thought he’d think the laptop was pretty cool. Well, at least I would have, if I’d come from the past.

  I didn’t know where to start so I just did what I always did, said exactly what was on my mind. “You think it’s 1956, don’t you?”

  He gave me that look he always gave me when he thought I was nuts.

  “’Course I do. Why.” He didn’t say “why” like a question. It was almost like a threat.

  I took a deep breath and passed him the yearbook, open to his picture. “This you?” I asked him.

  He looked at it. “Yeah.”

  It was him.

  Oh my god.

  “Okay, so here’s the thing then.” I got up and grabbed the bag, returned and sat opposite him. “This is today’s date.” I pulled out the paper and handed it to him.

  Gabe put aside the yearbook, which was tricky, seeing as he still had his hands tied up, and took the newspaper. He stared at it. For a really long time. He looked up at me with that look again, then he grinned.

  “Nice try,” he said tossing it to the side.

  What? “No, seriously it is. I mean, think about it.” I scooted closer toward him, and he raised his eyebrows. “You mentioned Mr. Anders was your principal, you mentioned all these teachers I’d never heard of. And then Mr. Hope. Mr. Hope who came to the school while you were there, but who retired while I’ve been there. All your teachers are there in your yearbook, and all my teachers,” I pulled out my yearbook, “are in mine. Look.”

  I’d marked the page already. He held the book open in his hands and stared. He stared and stared. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until he looked up at me, his eyes wide, and said, “Holy shit.”

  “Mr. Hope. He’s way older, but it’s him. It’s totally him. You see it right?”

  Gabe nodded and let the yearbook fall out of his hands.

  “See? You aren’t from this time.”

  Gabe kept staring at me. I suddenly didn’t feel like saying anything anymore, didn’t feel nearly as excited. He looked…well, he looked frightened. No, not frightened. Terrified. And I’d gotten so used to his cocky confidence. All at once I started to feel scared too.