Asimov's SF, December 2011

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Maerleen said, “I did not think he would follow us here.”

  “Who is he?” Addie asked, not wanting to admit that she had seen him before, during Maerleen's first night in their home.

  “A colleague. A companion.” The man walked toward them. “Not yet,” Maerleen called out to him.

  “Then when?” he shouted back. “Why ya here? Ya supposed to . . .” and then came a stream of strange words. Addie made out only a few: “Shouldn't.” “Boy.” “Long time.” “Waiting.” He kept glancing at Cyril, and Addie had the feeling that they were talking about her brother. Maerleen stepped toward him; the man took a step back. “What are you waiting for?” Addie understood his words now.

  “It does not matter how long I wait,” Maerleen said.

  The man smiled. “No, it doesn't, not to us, but it does to them.” He waved an arm at Addie. “Keep waiting, move up and down the threads like you been doing, and you complicate things, you change too much stuff, you mess things up.” She could understand all of his words now, even if she didn't know what they meant.

  Maerleen put a hand on Addie's shoulder. “I cannot leave the girl to her unhappiness, to torment herself after what must happen. If we could only—”

  The man glared at Addie. “Keep delaying, and it's worse for her, too.”

  “What are you talking about?” Addie asked.

  “See, we came here to get something,” the man replied, “and when that something, or someone, isn't here any more, it changes things.” He was speaking very slowly now. “Things happen that wouldn't have happened, and things don't happen that would have happened otherwise. That's one way to put it, but maybe a better way is just to say that Maerleen came here to get something we need, and the longer she takes to get it, the more complicated things get.”

  “You are not very good at such explanations,” Maerleen said, “and there is no need to confuse these children with them.”

  “There's no need for you to keep delaying.”

  Maerleen's fingers dug into Addie's shoulder. “But to leave her behind, to know she will not be—”

  “You can't take her with you.”

  Don't talk to strangers. Dad had told her that many times. Don't talk to strangers and look out for your brother. This man had to count as a stranger even if Maerleen knew him, and Addie could tell that she was afraid of the man.

  Maerleen grabbed Addie's hand. Everything lurched around them; Addie suddenly wanted to throw up. The jungle gym rippled, as if she was looking at it through water, then took shape as she remembered it, with shiny, unrusted bars. Her nausea eased as she breathed in some of the drier, cooler air. The park still didn't look right; the slides were farther away from the jungle gym and there were only six swings instead of seven. Except for a couple of older kids in swimsuits over by the pool, probably the lifeguards, the park was empty of people.

  Addie trembled. Her legs gave way under her and she suddenly found herself sitting on the grass. “What happened?” she whispered.

  “We went to the park,” Maerleen said, “and my friend followed us there.” Her voice was shaky. “But now we have to go home because, as you see, it's almost time for supper.”

  “Almos’ time for supper,” Cyril repeated.

  “It can't be,” Addie muttered. “We only just left the house.” But the park wasn't as bright with sunlight as it usually was in the afternoon, and across the street a man and a woman were sitting at a table on the screened-in porch of the big white house.

  She did not remember seeing a screen around that porch before. She looked up. “What's going on?” she asked.

  Maerleen's face was pale. She bit at her lower lip.

  “Look,” Cyril said. “A strawberry birdie.” He pointed across the street, at the gray house with the turret. A picture like one they might have seen at the movie theater appeared on the front of the house, near the front steps, and then sharpened into the rusty jungle gym from the deserted park they had just left. The white-haired man in the striped jacket stood next to the jungle gym, holding his straw hat over his chest.

  The man waved his hat at them and then the image slowly faded away. “No,” Maerleen said under her breath. She took Addie's hand, clutching her fingers so hard that it hurt, and led the children away from the park.

  * * * *

  Addie's father hurried across the bridge toward them, with a worried look on his face. “Figured I'd better come looking for you,” he said to Maerleen as he reached down to hug Addie.

  “I am sorry we are late,” Maerleen said.

  “Aren't that late, but their mother was getting worried.”

  “Can't be that late,” Addie said as they crossed the bridge. “We weren't gone that long.” But it was already getting dark, with cars parked on both sides of the street and in driveways, as they were when people were home from work. “We went to the park, except it was different, with—” Maerleen's hand squeezed hers, hard.

  “Saw a strawberry birdie,” Cyril murmured.

  “Thought you only saw them on the wall in your room,” Mr. Almstead said.

  “Saw one at the park,” Cyril said.

  “You did not,” Maerleen said. Her voice sounded funny, as if she felt bad about telling the lie.

  “Did too, on the side of that big house.”

  Maerleen said, “You just imagined that you did.”

  “Didn't.”

  Addie's father halted. “Exactly what did you see?” he asked.

  “A man,” Cyril replied. “Maerleen talked to him in the park. Saw him in the park and in the strawberry birdie on the house.”

  “What man?” Now their father sounded really upset. “Have I met him?”

  “He is a friend,” Maerleen said in her shaky nervous-sounding voice. “You do not know him. He waved to us at the park, that is all.”

  “You'll have to bring him around sometime,” Mr. Almstead said. “Sarah and I should meet him if—”

  “He was in the strawberry birdie!” Cyril shrieked.

  “Cyril!” Now her father sounded angry. Addie was afraid to look up at him. She caught a glimpse of Maerleen's face; she was biting her lip again. Addie was torn; if she admitted that Cyril was telling the truth, their father might get even more upset. Don't talk to strangers; he had told them that so many times. You have to look out for your brother, he doesn't know how to look out for himself. She had failed to look out for him today, and if she told her father that Maerleen had let them talk to a stranger, one who seemed kind of scary, maybe he would send her away from their house for good.

  “I saw him!” Cyril screamed. “In the strawberry birdie!” Across the street, Mrs. Smith stood on her front steps, shaking her head.

  Addie said, “I didn't see him.”

  “He was right there!” her brother shouted.

  “He only waved at us!” Tears stung Addie's eyes. “And I didn't see your strawberry birdie!”

  Mr. Almstead reached for Cyril, then backed away and thrust his hands into his pockets, looking bewildered.

  Maerleen said, “Be quiet,” and put her hand on the back of Cyril's head. He seemed about to twist away, then suddenly stood still; his pale eyes stared past Addie, as if he could not see her.

  “Cyril,” Addie said. She had been waiting for him to throw himself onto the sidewalk, or run shrieking down the street.

  “How did you do that?” her father asked.

  Maerleen drew away from Cyril. “How did I do what?”

  “Calm him down like that.” He shook his head. “You've got the magic touch.” He frowned. “Now that I think of it, he's been behaving a lot better since you've been with us.”

  Maerleen could take good care of Cyril, Addie thought. That was what mattered, more than admitting the truth to her father.

  “Emp,” Cyril said. “Emp,” he said in a louder voice.

  “Don't you mean ump?” Mr. Almstead said. “In baseball, it's an ump. Were some kids playing baseball at the park?”

  “U
mp,” Cyril said, shaking his head. Maerleen looked down.

  Their house looked different this evening, its stucco surface more yellow than beige, and somebody had moved one of the wicker chairs off the porch. A cat with ginger and white fur was stretched out on one of the front steps. Mrs. Almstead paced across the porch, hands jammed into the pockets of baggy khaki shorts; she looked up, seemed about to run toward them, then waved and went inside.

  “Mr. Almstead,” Maerleen murmured, “I am sorry. Please be assured that I want only what is best for your children.”

  “I don't doubt it,” Addie's father replied. “Anyway, I'm not about to make a federal case about your being a bit late bringing the kids home.”

  “Thank you,” Maerleen whispered.

  * * * *

  The night air outside the bedroom window was cooler, a reminder that autumn was coming. Addie sat by the window next to Cyril, her hands folded under her chin and resting on the sill. Behind them, Maerleen shook out a quilt and laid it over Addie's bed.

  A patch of light appeared at the edge of the roof outside the window and grew into a bright pale blue square. The white-haired man, dressed in a white jacket and blue pants this time, stood inside the square.

  A hand clutched Addie's shoulder. “Go away,” Maerleen said behind her.

  “Not until you do what you were sent here to do,” the man replied.

  “Go away,” Maerleen said. Her other hand rested on Cyril's back.

  The square dissolved. The man took a step toward them, then winked out.

  “Strawberry birdie gone,” Cyril said. His voice was steady. He pulled away from Maerleen and stood up.

  “What's going on?” Addie whispered, afraid.

  Maerleen knelt next to her. “You want what's best for your brother, don't you?”

  “Sure.”

  “So do I. That is why I am here—to do what is best for your brother and for many other people as well.”

  “Then do it,” a voice said from the doorway. Addie jumped to her feet and turned to face the white-haired man. “Stop dithering.”

  “How did you get in here?” Addie asked.

  “That's for me to know and you never to find out.” The man held a flat silver case like the one Maerleen had carried around that afternoon; he quickly slipped it into a jacket pocket. “It's time.” He chuckled, as if he had said something funny.

  “You better go,” Addie said, “or my dad'll call the police.”

  “Your father's in the kitchen having another drink with your mother, who's whining to him about how tired she is and how are they ever going to make it with all you kids and with Cyril the way he is while your father keeps telling her it'll all work out somehow.”

  Cyril squinted at the man.

  “And in a few moments, your parents will go to bed and fall asleep, because your mother is exhausted and your father's had too much to drink. I went up this thread and checked on that before I ducked back here. But if Maerleen doesn't do what she's supposed to do, everything isn't going to be all right. It's not going to work out for Cyril and your mother and your father and you, and maybe not for a whole lot of other people, either. She's already off the thread we started on, and if she keeps moving across more threads—”

  “You have no business saying that in front of these children,” Maerleen said, and Addie saw the fury in her dark eyes.

  “What's going on?” Addie whispered. She grabbed at Maerleen's sleeve. Her legs shook and she sat down, hard. “What's he talking about?”

  The man stepped back into the darkness of the hallway; only his white jacket and hair were visible. “It's up to you,” he said, and the white hair and jacket vanished.

  “Maerleen,” Addie said.

  “It is all right. Allow me to ask you a question. Do you want what is best for your family, for your brother? Do you know what his life will be if I do not intervene?”

  Addie turned toward Cyril. He sat down and stared out the window, ignoring her.

  “I will tell you. He will eventually need to go away from your home to another place. He will not be able to make use of his gifts, his special talents. He will have to go away, and then your father will not become what he might have been. He will give up his studies and his teaching and take other work to support his family and to pay for Cyril's care. I was not able to see clearly what happens to him after that, only indications that his life would be unhappy and he would be working at what he hates but doing well at his work in spite of that. He and those working with him will bring about a catastrophe—a disaster, a war. This thread will snap, and those near it will also snap, more threads than would have been lost otherwise. That is what I am trying to prevent.”

  Addie shook her head, confused.

  “But if Cyril goes away with me,” Maerleen said, “his life will be better and so will your father's. At first, things will not be so good. Your father will be angry and worried, your mother upset and despairing. They will notify your police and search for both of us. When we are not found, they will feel sorrow for a while, but that will pass.”

  She could not know anything like that, Addie thought. Nobody could know such things. She was making it all up.

  “Eventually your father will find solace in his work, in teaching the young. Your mother will rear her other children and find a purpose of her own. This thread will not break. And Cyril will have a life with us, one in which he can use his gifts instead of having them wasted.”

  What about me, Addie thought; Mom and Dad will blame me. They would be angry with her for not looking out for Cyril. She thought of all the times she had wished him gone, had hoped they would send him away, had longed for her own room and not having to watch out for him. They would know that she wanted him to go away, so they would be right to blame her. She was suddenly sorry for all the times she had hoped for Cyril just to disappear.

  She could not let Maerleen take him. That was the only way she could make up for all of her hateful thoughts.

  “What did you do to my brother?” she asked. “What's an emp?”

  “It is a small thing, a device that dampens certain of his senses so that he—” Maerleen sighed. “It helps him. Without it, he would be overwhelmed by what he sees and hears and senses.”

  “Then why does he have to go away if you can make him better with that?”

  “Because he will need more than an emp, and he will not get what he needs if he continues to live along this thread. He will not be able to use his gifts. Your father will also not do what he should do. Cyril must go with me.”

  This could not be happening. “You can't take him away. You can't.”

  Maerleen leaned toward Cyril and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come with me.”

  “No.” Addie threw herself at the woman. “Leave him alone!”

  “Adelaide—”

  “You can't have him!”

  Maerleen let go of Cyril, grabbed Addie under her arms, and threw her onto her bed. Addie lay there, too shocked to move, as Maerleen reached for her brother again. Her left hand closed around his wrist; she held her flat silver case in her right. An opening appeared in the wall, revealing grey stone steps that led to a tall glassy door.

  “Strawberry birdie,” Cyril said.

  Maerleen said, “I am sorry.”

  “You can't take him!” Addie forced herself up and flung herself at the two of them. She held on to Cyril, trying to pull him away, and then felt Maerleen's arm around her shoulders. The floor heaved under them; Addie felt sick and squeezed her eyes shut, afraid she might throw up.

  The ground under her feet was still. She opened her eyes and saw a glass door. “Maerleen?” Addie whispered.

  “It is all right,” Maerleen replied. “No one will harm you.”

  Addie turned to face a barren landscape of sand and rocks that stretched to what looked like giant jagged teeth on the horizon. “I want to go home,” Addie said. If Maerleen would only take them both home, she would be good and always l
ook out for Cyril and never again wish that he would be taken away.

  As she turned back, the glass door slid open. The white-haired man stood in front of them. “Ya know what ya done?” he shouted. “Do you know?” he said more quietly.

  “I know,” Maerleen said.

  “She can't stay here and she can't go back down that thread to where she was, not now.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you bring her here? Why did you let her—”

  “She does not deserve what would have happened to her where . . . when she was. There would have been no forgiveness for her. Even if her parents had believed she did nothing wrong, she would always have carried the blame inside herself.” Maerleen knelt next to Addie. “Your brother will be well cared for here. You believe me, do you not?”

  Addie nodded, forcing herself to believe it in spite of the desolation outside the glass door.

  “Then you must go back now, but all by yourself.”

  Addie swallowed. “But he said—” She pointed at the man. “He said—I thought—”

  “Do not think of what he said. Turn around.”

  Addie turned to her right to see a hallway with walls that seemed made of mist. She could barely make out the room at the other end of the hallway, but it appeared to have windows like the ones in her bedroom.

  Maerleen said, “You must walk down that passage, now.”

  “Will you ever come back?” Her eyes were tearing up. “Will you bring Cyril back home, just for a little while—”

  “Go.” A hand pushed her forward. She stumbled into the passage. The windows rushed at her as she slid down the hallway, unable to stop herself. She rolled onto the floor, righted herself, and got to her feet.

  Cyril and Maerleen were only tiny blurred images on the wall, standing at the end of a tunnel, and then they winked out.

  * * * *

  At last Addie got up and stumbled toward her bed. Tears ran down her face; she could no longer hold them back. Cyril could not be gone; he was downstairs watching television with the sound off or playing on the porch with his Lincoln Logs. She fell across the bed, unable to stop crying. Dimly, outside the windows, she heard the sound of a car driving by, and then a voice that sounded like Bobby Renfrew's calling out to somebody else.