by L. B. Carter
He was still collecting all the special things: worn books with no pictures, boring black and white photos in silver frames, a few china teacups, the doilies Grandma knitted, and the mouse clock. He wasn’t treating them carefully like Mama had told Henley to, shoving them into a heap on top of the blanket Grammy made on the coffee table. The magazines and flowers that had been there he’d thrown on the couch next to her. Thrown! Henley wasn’t allowed to touch that glass vase because Mama said it was breakable. He was lucky she was upstairs, packing and didn’t see, or he’d be in time-out.
He added more to the pile.
The corner of the blanket slipped to touch the water.
Henley watched the light pink color darken, creeping up like a scary shadow monster, closer to the specials. Henley slid further down the couch, stretching out her leg, and kicked the corner out of the water. It landed on a book.
Henley glanced up at Daddy, but he was facing the other way and didn’t see what she’d done. She looked back, debating sliding to the ground to go fix it. The clock started to slide, kind of like the ice cream did off her cone at the beach. Mama had gotten her another.
That clock used to be red around the edge, but now it was old and orange on one side like a moldy peach. Mama said that was because of the sun hitting it through the window for so long. It should have put sunscreen on. At least Mickey and Minnie hadn’t gotten sunburned.
They were in the middle of the clock. He had his arms spinning around to point at the time all day and all night. Daddy was teaching Henley to read it. Right then, she couldn’t remember what the numbers were; this clock didn’t have any on it. Mickey’s right hand pointed across his body at his left shoe, the other was up by his right ear. It looked like he was dancing but with backward arms, pretzel twisted. Henley guessed it wasn’t uncomfortable because he was still smiling.
But really, she thought that was probably because Minnie was next to him in a fluffy red dress with white polka dots. They were cozy snuggly with her arms around him like how Mama always did to Daddy when he got home from work. Except Mickey and Minnie were dancing together, just like Daddy and Henley. He said they looked like his mommy and daddy, who gave it to him when he was just her age. It was his special.
Mama said Mickey and Minnie were mice. Could mice swim?
Marlowe leaped past, barking happily, his white fluff tickling Henley’s leg, and it almost made her drop her storybook and stuffed Doggy.
Doggy used to be white too, but now he mostly looked kinda like Marlowe when he went to play in the mud after a rainstorm. Mama was always trying to steal Doggy to put in the laundry. Marlowe was sad and whined a lot when Mama washed him. She didn’t want Doggy to be sad, too.
Marlowe jumped in a circle between Henley and the table with Daddy’s pile, making big splashes.
One time when Mama was out with her friends, Daddy let Henley go out with Marlowe after it rained, and they stomped in puddles and got all wet. Daddy gave Henley a bath, but it was fun with him.
This wasn’t as fun.
Mama came down the stairs with a big backpack on, and another bag in her hand, and Henley’s baby sister stuck to her front like those snails on the rocks. “I’ve got some things. Have you got everything collected?” She was breathing a lot like she’d gone for a run like she used to before, when it was just Henley, not Henley and Bromley. She looked scared.
“Almost,” Daddy said. He didn’t look scared. He looked focused like when he was reading.
Marlowe barked at Mama and splashed over to her, knocking the clock. Micky and Minnie smiled as they tipped off the edge.
Henley didn’t want Daddy to be sad, either.
She slipped off the couch cushion, stomped in the cold water to where Daddy’s clock had just landed on top of the water. Mickey and Minnie were face down, bobbing, so she scooped them up and watched the water run off the glass over their faces.
Micky grinned, happy, not sad. Probably because even when they fell, Minnie hadn’t let go.
“Henley!” Mama snapped, sounding angry and scared now.
Daddy turned around, concern finally lifting his brows. He looked Henley over, and she gave him a smile and held up the clock to show him she had it safe, but he just turned back to the picture of the family hanging over the fireplace and said, “I said shoes on, Henley.”
That’s when she knew this was bad. Not a fun indoor pool. He called her Henley.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she said. Now she was sad. She pulled herself up to a stand next to the couch using one arm. With the other, she tucked the clock in her armpit and kept it tight while grabbing for the book and Doggy on the cushion. She couldn’t reach.
Then Mama was there, lifting her back onto the couch. Henley grabbed her things, hugging them all close, Doggy and Mickey and Minnie and the book. Mama put her boots with the frog eyes on. She never usually wore them because Mama didn’t like her to go out in the rain. When Daddy let her, she had worn naked feet like Daddy liked to have.
“Done,” Daddy announced. “We need to get going.” He pulled the corners of the blanket together and tied them into a bundle.
“Daddy, the corner’s wet! You’re going to get Mama’s specials wet!”
“That’s fine; we need to go,” he repeated, not fixing the blanket. Mama didn’t even say anything about her specials either. “I got this and Henley. You go ahead and get Bromley settled with the firemen,” he told Mama.
“Should we just leave the hose on?” She handed Daddy his boots and he put them on, but they were underwater.
“Best defense we’ve got,” Daddy said with his mouth down as he looked around. He was sad.
“I got your clock,” Henley told him, hefting her arms a bit. He smiled, but she could tell he was still sad. Then he scooped Henley up, and they all faced the door.
Henley put her arms around Daddy to cheer him up like Mickey.
It wasn’t a scary door like Henley’s closet. But then Mama reached out to open the door and cried out, yanking her hand back like there was a spider. She turned back to Daddy, wearing her worried face.
“Stand back,” he said to her and plopped Henley on the couch again. “Don’t move, Hen.” She nodded, but he didn’t look at her.
The vase fell against her, and Henley used an elbow to nudge it away. It fell into the water with a plonk.
Mama moved close, stroking her hair like it was bedtime, like her breakable vase hadn’t just fallen down. She was watching Daddy. Henley watched too.
He backed up to the stairs and then took a big kick with a thud and a crack. Daddy broke the door! He kicked again, giving a big grunt. One more kick, and it broke open really loudly.
The sound wasn’t just the door breaking.
Now it was letting in all the noises from outside. It wasn’t birds like usual. The forest was roaring like a lion, and there was lots of crackling and snapping, like when the squirrels threw acorns down on the dry leaves in the fall.
There was a big pop as if there was a giant popcorn bag in the driveway, and Mama jumped.
So much noise. Henley tried to pull her shoulders up to cover her ears because her hands were full of stuff.
“Shit,” Daddy said.
“Bad word,” Henley whispered, mimicking what Mama always told him, hoping he’d hear but not her.
“Grab some blankets from upstairs, and we’ll soak them to protect the girls,” he urged, and Mama went.
Daddy came back, crouching down, getting his knees wet. “Okay, I need you to keep a tight grip on me and don’t let go, okay? I’m going to cover you up, but it’s probably going to be hot. Just don’t let go.” His brown eyes were going back and forth between Henley’s as if they were a tennis ball. Marlowe liked to chase those when Mama and her friend played at the park, back and forth. “Do you understand, Henley?”
He called her Henley again. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.
“Here.” Mama threw Henley’s comforter at Daddy, who caught it and dropped it int
o the water. Mama was shoving hers in the water and ringing it out.
“Ready? It’ll be like a superhero cape. Just a little more wet.”
“Like a towel.” She smiled.
Daddy nodded, no smile, and wrapped her and Doggy and Minnie and Mickey and the book all up as if they all just got out of the bath together. It was very cold. Then he picked Henley up again.
Mama was a backward turtle with her blanket over her front. She looked like Henley’s sister was inside her belly again. She smiled at Henley and said, “Hold on to Daddy, okay, Hen?”
It all went dark as Daddy pulled the damp blanket over her head and placed a big hand around her back. Then he was running, and she was bouncing up and down, and the clock was slipping, and Henley clenched her arms tighter and huddled closer to Daddy. It wasn’t cold anymore; it was getting hot on her back and on the top of her head. Daddy shouted something to Mama, and they were running up the hill. Henley squeezed her eyes tight shut.
Then there was an explosion, and Daddy stumbled back, and the blanket fell off Henley’s head and arm, and all she could see was red. Red like the clock used to be. The clock that was falling as Daddy started running again. She could hear Mama yelling. Daddy tripped, slamming them both into a tree, except it was on fire! That’s why Daddy cried out. The whole woods was on fire!
“Take her!” Daddy was saying to someone.
There was another explosion. Daddy fell down, and Henley tumbled with an oomph to the ground. The clock slipped and rolled partway down the scorched grass. No!
She darted toward where it lay, Mickey and Minnie invisible behind the reflected flames from the tree tops.
“Henley,” Daddy shouted, crawling after her.
She reached out to grab the clock, and a big pop exploded hot all over her arm. She was screaming and crying, and she couldn’t see. Then she was picked up.
“Take her and go!” Daddy yelled. “Keep her safe!” He never yelled.
Then she was bouncing again, looking back over his shoulder to try to find Mickey and Minnie to tell them sorry that she left them.
But… there was Daddy, back there, on the ground, using the blanket he’d wrapped her in to pat out the fire that was licking at his leg like Marlowe sometimes did.
“Daddy! No! Wait.” Henley screamed; she wriggled. “Down. I want down. Daddy! I’m sorry about your clock! I’ll help you get it.”
Crack.
It was louder than when he kicked the door, louder than the explosion that hurt Henley’s arm.
Mama screamed.
Another heavy blanket covered Henley’s head again. An engine started. And the bouncing stopped as the man sat down with her on his lap, no matter how much she protested and tried to escape. He hugged her close, like Minnie with Mickey. “Go,” the man who wasn’t Daddy said.
∆∆∆
Henley snapped awake, sweating, overheating. The phantom pain in her arm caused her to grab onto the cool metal in its place as tears coursed down her face, just as they had seventeen years ago.
She let go to brush the moisture away and puffed out a cheek-full of air. She hadn’t had those nightmares in a while. The distant sound of waves was a little too similar to the crackle of a forest fire.
Finally blinking clear her blurred vision, a startled shriek was almost sucked from her throat that would have been as loud as Mama’s echoing in her ears. Her pulse shot back up, and she scrambled awkwardly back from the android next to the bed, falling over as the ‘mattress’ undulated beneath her. Her good hand came into contact with something solid—the fork.
With the tool at hand, literally, Henley stabbed wildly into the bed. First, the liquid sprayed all over her like a shower until, with enough effort, a stream aimed at what had discovered her.
It froze, sending a nice little firework of sparks that, although mesmerizing, inspired Henley to slide backward on the rapidly deflating mattress until her head hit the wall.
Letting out another breath, Henley willed her heart to calm. Her eyes shot a few imaginary sparks of their own at the enemy, which, until a few hours previously, had been the sole joy in her life.
That dedication was how she knew that this device was much more advanced than the full anatomical models at Faneuil, even though it looked like a simple arm attached to a basic stand on wheels, which had been neatly folded and tucked away in an alcove in the wall and thus unnoticed when she snuggled in. The anatomical models were not yet autonomous. This one more closely resembled the little device she’d been using to test out her upgrades… or like the prosthetic she wore every day. It could respond to external stimuli, too… like intruders.
Besides the fact that theirs cost them quite a lot whereas hers was handmade out of scraps, the difference between her hand and the one belonging to the boat owner was its weakness: water. It seemed stationing herself close to the harbor was redundant, thanks to the strange bed selection. Henley had been able to use another, closer source for her ultimate weapon against electronics.
Henley carefully slid closer, partly because she was still wary and partly because navigating the now concave bed proved to be a challenge. As suspected, she found what she dreaded: a camera, mounted at the top of the stand where the arm connected so that it could navigate the narrow cabin.
She reassured herself that BTI didn’t have viewing rights to privately owned items. They’d need a warrant, and by then, they wouldn’t be able to get there fast enough. She tossed out the hypothesis that they might have hacked the device because they wouldn’t do anything that immoral if possible. Anything to avoid being inspected. She’d thought that was due to scientific integrity to make sure their work didn’t get scooped. After Buster’s revelation, it was clear how much more sinister the reasoning was.
When her more detailed, but equally soaked, robotic fingers, which even appeared human beneath her leather glove, were able to agilely snag the thin paper from the dead android’s fingers, Henley let loose a proud grin that helped flush away the remainder of her fear from the dream and the wake-up surprise. The memo slid easily from its slackened grip.
The few typed words were, of course, smudged and blurry due to the dousing, but she was able to make out some of them, indicating that it was a note about a meet-up. Money laundering was easily hidden for someone this rich. Drugs were also a luxury the rich could afford. In either case, Henley didn’t feel so bad about destroying the cabin.
In reality, she shouldn’t judge. Those sentiments were mightier-than-thou thoughts; Henley was a criminal now, multiple times over—she was starting to lose count. Well, the boat was already damaged and beached before she boarded.
Sitting on the slowly deflating bed, watching the little fountains spittle out and leak onto the floor, the dream seeped back in like the damp into her clothes. She’d been a criminal for a lot longer if she was honest with herself. She stared down at the black-coated hand in her lap. That tech, and all her failed prototypes at BTI, weren’t the only things she’d destroyed.
Unintentionally, Mama would clarify, automatically, without inflection as if it was necessary, like it was a required response—part of her job as a mom. She never said it wasn’t Henley’s fault. That would just be lying. Something Mama and Daddy never did.
Well, Henley could still save her sister. Maybe.
She dropped back onto the bed, and it gave a pitiful flop beneath her, cradling her as she sank into it. The patter of water hitting various surfaces in the cabin slowly petered out, and in that time, she allowed herself to take stock of her situation and wallow.
One - she was on the run, two - she was lacking any transportation, three - she didn’t know if her pursuers had followed her via the street performer footage, four - she had inadvertently soaked the popcorn, meaning she’d failed her one task of acquiring food, and five - she had lost her accomplices—technically ditched them.
Oh, and three and a half - her pursuers were actually her boss and colleagues, and they wanted her dead. She just had to carry
on alone. Fine. That was easier.
Henley hadn’t really had many friends at BTI. She wasn’t as bad as the Bus, so nicknamed by the loud guy in the cafeteria—she never learned his name—because he just plowed blindly toward his destination, which was usually work.
Henley didn’t alienate everyone. But she’d been so focused on achieving her goal. Part of that motivation was her own will and the rest, simultaneously and more importantly, had been due to the encouragement of her boss and mentor. The pressure to appease him was strong, particularly given that she’d been awarded funding to be there.
To be honest, everyone else had been research-centric, too. Relationships weren’t a priority in any capacity.
In fact, BTI didn’t approve of much collaboration.
Sure, she’d had her share of sleepless nights listening to moans and bumps against the wall from the next room and even made out with some guy at the new student orientation party when she first arrived. No one really got involved, though. No personal questions; no intimacy. It just wasn’t relevant, which Henley was grateful for because it meant no one knew about her handicap—her ex-handicap.
Her ability to hide it was owing to her dedication in high school to making a prosthetic as life-like as possible in both looks and function. It was the project that had impressed BTI, one of only a couple universities left in the country after the Advanced-Degree Crash resulted from oversaturation and low funding. It impressed them enough to take her on with the full fellowship. Was that irony? She never could use that word right.
No longer knowing if it was tears or bed leakage covering her face, she pushed herself up and hoisted her soaked body over the now sunken edge, knocking over the expensive electronic statue with no resentment.
As soon as she peered out of the door, blinking in the morning sunrise, she started, then laughed aloud.
It was just her flying friend back for more popcorn.
“Thanks for the laugh, buddy. I needed that. Sorry, the popcorn got a little soggy.” She sighed when her stomach growled. “And I have no idea if I can steal any more food. They might see me.”