Minders

by Michele Jaffe

  Johann said apologetically, “I’ve got one more quick question. You mentioned a workshop in an abandoned building. Can you tell us where? We keep a register of alternative building uses. We’re trying to see what creates communities versus what creates crime.”

  Sadie felt herself hesitate for a split second as though she was violating a friend’s confidence. What is wrong with you? “It’s the Detroit Wire Company,” she said. “But I don’t know where it is exactly. My sense of direction is—”

  “Legendary,” Curtis put in with a wry smile.

  “I haven’t heard of anyone using that before.” Johann typed the name into his tablet. His expression changed. “It looks like the building was pulled down three years ago.”

  Sadie sat forward. “That’s impossible.”

  “I should remind you, Sadie, that we expect full disclosure about the activities of your Subject,” Curtis said, no smile now. “Our project can only proceed with complete trust and candor.” He wore a polite, somewhat perplexed expression, and his voice was mild but his eyes had hardened.

  The gazes of the others at the table became reptilian, cool and appraising, as though looking for a crack to explore.

  “That’s what the sign said,” Sadie told them. “It might be what he and his friend Bucky call camouflage, hiding things like entrances in plain sight by disguising them. All I saw—”

  Naomi pounced. “I thought ‘Bucky’ disappeared. When did you hear them discuss this?”

  “I didn’t. It was written on an old note For—Subject Nine had in a box.” Sadie felt panicky, desperate for them to believe her. “And there was a map of other secret hangouts where he and Bucky spent time. He visited three of them.”

  Johann said, “Where were they?”

  I can fix this, Sadie thought. “They—” She had no idea. “One of them is an old ferry boat in an empty lot. The lot has a high wall around it so you can’t see it from the street. Another was an old camper, completely overgrown by bushes so it looks like a bush itself.” She felt the clammy attention of predators waiting to strike. “And there was an abandoned house with a big tree in the yard, on a block of other abandoned houses, with a secret door through the fireplace.”

  Johann read from his tablet: “A ferry behind a tall fence, a camper concealed in a bush, and a vacant house with a tree. Is that right, Miss Ames?”

  “I’m afraid so.” What was she supposed to say? Her mouth filled with the bitter taste of coffee grounds. A bead of sweat rolled down her back. “There’s one other place. It’s where he was when I first entered Syncopy. They call it the Castle, and it seems to be a sort of social club for Chapsters. All of Ford’s brother’s friends go there.” She added. “I think some of them might be gangsters.”

  “We already know about that place,” Curtis said dismissively, with a glance at Johann. “The old University Club.”

  Johann put his tablet down. “Right.”

  “I think we have enough,” Curtis said.

  “Are you sure?” Sadie asked. “His brother’s friends seem to be involved in something criminal. We saw them beating someone up because he didn’t have money for—”

  “We?” Miranda asked, cutting her off.

  “That is, For—I mean, Subject Nine did,” Sadie stuttered.

  The table was a sea of hostile faces. Curtis gave her what she assumed was meant to be an encouraging smile and said, “You can go, Sadie. We’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Subbasement fourteen, going up,” the pleasant female voice of the elevator said Sunday morning.

  We’ll be in touch. Even now, almost twenty-four hours later, the words echoed unpleasantly in Sadie’s head. She gripped the rail against the back wall to keep from shaking.

  “Subbasement twelve, going up.”

  She’d spent the afternoon after her debriefing in her room in Mind Corps guest quarters, wallowing in self-recrimination and doubt. She’d gone to dinner, picked at a plate of meatballs she didn’t remember asking for, and had been slinking back to her room when Catrina stopped her in the hall.

  “I heard about this afternoon,” Catrina said, aiming right for Sadie’s most tender part. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I feel partially responsible. I warned Curtis this would happen.”

  Sadie felt a flash of confusion mixed with anger. “You warned him? About what?”

  Catrina’s voice stayed flat and emotionless. “That you’re too soft. Too gullible.” Catrina’s eyes were cool hard stones, appraising and unreadable. “You think you know your Subject. You believe what you see. But you have no idea of the deception he’s capable of. You have to be ruthless if you want to do good, and you don’t have that in you.”

  Sadie felt like her entire perspective, all her perceptions, were completely off. Soft? My problem is that I’m too cold, too analytical, her mind protested. “Wouldn’t being ruthless yield just as compromised results as being too trusting?” she shot back.

  Catrina gave her a tiny smile. “I’ve made you defensive. I’m sorry.” Nothing in her tone backed that up. “When you’re feeling rational again, you’ll see that I’m right.” Her eyes shifted and Curtis appeared then, walking in their direction. She gave him a brusque nod. “Curtis.”

  He was equally cool back. “Catrina. You two look like you’re discussing weighty matters.”

  “Tradecraft,” Catrina told him. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.” She said to Sadie, “It was a pleasure talking to you,” and disappeared across the hall, through the door marked BRICOLAGE.

  “Subbasement ten, going up.”

  “What do they do in there?” Sadie had asked Curtis, nodding toward Catrina’s retreating back. She was desperate to do anything other than talk about the debriefing. “I’ve been wondering since the first day of orientation.”

  Curtis had raised an eyebrow at her evasion but played along, saying matter-of-factly, “They work on the targeted use of archetypes and myths to channel behavior. The idea of the boogeyman, for example, which begins as a tool of parental control to frighten children but assumes mythic powers as members of a community hide their misdeeds under his name. An old idea but an effective one that plays on the way minds link thought, memory, and emotion to create meaning.”

  “Fascinating,” Sadie said, hoping he’d go on.

  Curtis laughed. “Maybe, but that’s all the deflection you get. Are you going to tell me what just happened with Catrina, or should I guess?”

  Sadie hesitated for a moment then blurted, “She said I wasn’t ruthless enough. That I’m too soft.”

  Curtis looked bemused. “Did she?” He shook his head and dug his hands into his pockets. “I wouldn’t listen to Catrina. I think you’re perfect.”

  Sadie’s stomach fluttered. “I thought you and she were”—she swallowed, looking for an adult way to put it—“intimate.” And failing miserably, she congratulated herself.

  “How did you—?” Curtis started to ask but changed his mind, saying evasively, “We were.” For the first time since she’d known him, Curtis seemed less than confident.

  Which made Sadie feel bold. “What happened?”

  His eyes settled on her face now in a way different than they had before. They moved lazily from her lips to her chin, and back to her eyes. “Let’s say someone else got in the way.”

  Sadie’s heart was racing. Was he really saying what he seemed to be? Despite her performance at the debriefing? Could that mean that maybe she hadn’t destroyed her chances after all? He seemed to be drawing closer to her, his eyes on her lips now, close enough so that she could feel the warmth of his chest and smell the soft citrus scent of his cologne, about to lean in and kiss her with his delicious—

  But she hadn’t gotten to find out what delicious flavor his lips were because a guy had come out of the Bricolage office just then and said, “We’re waiting for you to begin.”

  And also of course because she had a boyfriend.r />
  “Subbasement six, going up.”

  She’d slept fitfully until the call from the Committee had woken her that morning. “We have decided not to extend your Syncopy. Thank you for your service.” Two sentences, no explanation. Pack your bag. It was over. Done.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Curtis advised as he walked her to the elevator. “We’ll see each other soon.”

  “Subbasement five, going up.”

  And now here she was, heading home after less than a week. At least you won’t ever have to taste Meatballz, she tried to console herself.

  She choked on a sob.

  For the first time in her life, Sadie was a failure. It had always been there, lurking in the corners of her mind, an alert, preening bird of prey waiting to sweep down and sink its claws into her at the slightest sign of vulnerability. She’d felt the beat of its wings on the back of her neck during debates, the caress of a feather against her cheek late at night when a thesis statement eluded her, heard its mocking call during exams, but so far she had always beaten it back. Knowing it was there, watching with unblinking eyes, kept her on her toes, kept her humble, alert. Now it was right on her, talons digging in, staring into her eyes. And it hurt.

  Maybe Catrina had been right. Maybe she was too soft, too—

  “Subbasement three, stopping.”

  The door slid open, and Miranda appeared, yelling, “Idiocy!” and trailed by a group of people in the different-colored lab coats of five floors and a security detail. “How hard is it for you to find one girl?” She turned to Sadie, said, “Hello, Ames, pardon me for a moment,” turned back to the security personnel, said, “You’re all fired,” and jabbed furiously at the elevator intercom.

  “Yes, ma’am?” the intercom prompted.

  “Joe, take us back to fourteen, please.” Miranda closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Are you all right?” Sadie asked.

  She opened her eyes and gave Sadie a melancholy smile. “I’m surrounded by nincompoops, Ames. How am I supposed to get anything done when I’m constantly running around fixing the messes they make?”

  “I’m—I—”

  “It was rhetorical,” Miranda said, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry about the mix-up this morning. The board tried to go over my head—or under it, crawling around on their yellow bellies—but it’s all straightened out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let them send you home, did you? When I handpicked you for this myself? Bah.” She made a gesture to push the suggestion away through the air. “You’re doing an outstanding job. Keep it up. Stick by your instincts and beliefs. They’ll lead you where you need to go.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence.”

  “You’re an idiot if you don’t. Haven’t you figured life out yet? There is no right answer. Convictions are as good as it gets, Ames. You’re going to pay for yours at some point, so make sure you like them. Now stand back, I’m about to breathe some fire.”

  • • •

  Three hours later Sadie lay in her Stas-Case. The automated voice said, “Syncopy in nine…”

  Thank god, she thought, closing her eyes with relief.

  CHAPTER 13

  WEEK 2

  Sadie opened her eyes and screamed. The ground was rushing toward her—

  “Whoooosh!” Ford cried as they abruptly stopped falling and started to dangle eighteen inches above the pavement.

  He started to laugh, and her terror instantly changed to pure, undiluted joy. Welcome back, she thought.

  Ford hung there for a moment, catching his breath, watching a line of ants moving a piece of leaf along a crack in the asphalt. Sadie tasted the tart sweetness of cherries on his lips and felt his heartbeat knocking against hers like knees on a first date. She shivered with pleasure as a breeze blew gently across his forearm, and the last two days were forgotten. She was not going to think about failure, about how close she’d come to not being there, she was just—

  Ford took a deep breath, filling her nose with a mix of nutmeg, warm honey, and musk that made her feel light-headed. His skin, she realized. My god, that’s how he smells.

  Deep stasis was extraordinary.

  He put his fingertips down, careful not to interrupt the supply line, and got his feet under him in a squat. Sadie was astonished by his weight and power. He tilted his head backward and looked up along the trunk of an old oak tree to a wooden platform under construction among its branches. A tree house, Sadie thought—knew—as though his thoughts were running directly into hers now. A piece of the platform corner was dangling by a few splinters, and Sadie heard him think Right again, Bucky, as he unhooked from his belt the safety rope he’d been wearing when the wood gave.

  Standing below the tree, he glanced over his shoulder through the yard at the dilapidated house. Sadie recognized it as one of the places Ford had visited while he was looking for Bucky. It was the old hideout with the turret and the hidden room through the fireplace. Sadie now watched his mind strip the place like a puzzle, assessing each piece of lumber and spare wood as a possible fix for the platform corner. It happened at blinding speed, with a soundtrack of words—“too big,” “bumpy,” “sawing,” “maybe,” “smell bad,” “diagonally?”—that she heard intuitively now.

  Find the address, Sadie told herself, determined not to repeat her failure of the day before. The house was on one of those abandoned blocks that existed like pockets of forgotten tranquility in the middle of City Center. There was no street sign visible but there was also no traffic, and between the quiet and the way that the uninhabited buildings and their plants had merged into one another, it felt a little otherworldly.

  It was balmy, the air buzzing with the sound of the insects tucked into the overgrown yard. Ford spent the next three hours cannibalizing the surrounding houses and yards for parts and hauling them up and down with the dumbwaiter, which he’d installed on the side of the tree trunk. Sadie’s mind was working feverishly to assess all the new physical sensations she had access to: the smell of warm pavement, sweat running down his back, a bug in his mouth. He worked constantly, pausing only to swig water from a gallon bottle he’d suspended so it could be easily accessible from the treetop or the bottom.

  It was like watching a performance, Sadie thought, the sleek motion of his mind as he thoughtfully chose pieces from the other buildings to realize his vision. He had a specific idea, but what fascinated her was his flexibility, his willingness to change as the reality evolved, taking advantage of a whole window with a pane of glass he found hidden inside a ruined house, compensating for a door that had looked solid but was rotted through. He knew generally where his final destination lay and trusted he would get there.

  By the time he was done there was a roof with a window as a hatched skylight, four walls, one of them hinged so it could open completely like an awning, a short table with two chairs, a rope ladder, and his favorite part, the head of a rocking horse he’d cut off and, mounted like a piece of taxidermy. Now the place has some class, she heard him think to himself, and she laughed.

  Cali called as he was finishing the last of his water. The sensation of strength and ease she got as he crushed the bottle with one hand gave Sadie a little rush.

  It was clear from the warmth in his voice when he said, “Hey, babe,” and a few gossamer images that Sadie caught that his dinner with Cali on Friday had gone well.

  “Hi, lover,” she said. “What are you up to?”

  He glanced around the tree house. “Nothing. Working. You caught me on my break.”

  And yet, Sadie thought, he was lying to her.

  Tiny perfect points of color filled in the rest of the tree house in his mind, adding candles, a picnic basket, plates, and Sadie realized that he was building it for Cali, to take her to dinner. As a surprise. That’s why he was lying.

  Wow.

  He did all this for her, Sadie marveled, aware of a strange tight feeling
in her chest. He built the entire thing, just for her. Of course, Cali loved him so she knew how special he was.

  “I just wanted you to tell me again that I’m going to be great at my new job and everyone will like me,” Cali said. “I’m nervous.”

  “You’re going to be great at your new job and everyone is going to love you,” he told her.

  And you’re getting a tree house, Sadie said. Which shows that one person in particular loves you very much.

  “Thanks,” Cali said tremulously. “I tried listening to your message from the other night again—are you sure you weren’t drunk? It was really long, and you know how when you’re drunk—”

  Ford chuckled. “I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Well, I tried, but it was too noisy to hear anything, so I gave up.”

  “Like I said, it was mostly just me telling you over and over how spectacular you are and how lucky I am.”

  Now you say, “And I’m lucky too,” Sadie prompted her. But Cali went with “Which is exactly why I wanted to hear it. So you promise to tell me all those things on Wednesday?”

  “Yep. I might even make up a few new ones. And to show you I’ve been listening, I found somewhere really special to take you. Somewhere new.”

  Sadie suddenly had a lump in her throat.

  Cali said, “Sounds promising.”

  That’s all? Sadie demanded. What about “Thank you,” or—and I can’t believe I’m suggesting this—“You’re the best”? You love saying that.

  But Cali just said, “Bye.”

  Sadie found herself feeling very dissatisfied with Cali. All her words about loving Ford seemed hollow in the face of her self-centered behavior on the phone. Ford had poured his heart into that message he’d left and all she could say was that it was hard to hear, and was he drunk? That didn’t seem very loving at all. Sure, she was pretty and had nice boobs, but Sadie began to think Cali wasn’t sensitive enough to be with Ford.

  Ford didn’t seem to be upset at all, though, and as he looked around the tree house it was impossible not to share the excitement spilling from him. She felt a shimmering current of sensation that started in his toes and radiated through his entire body and knew, with the new clarity of deep stasis, it was pride. The idea that he felt good about something he’d done began to fill her with her own sense of warmth. He is not your friend, he is your Subject, she reminded herself sternly. Your job is to assess and consider but not empathize.