by Sam Starbuck
Lucas was leaning against the bed, his back to me. He was easing a hospital pajama shirt over his shoulders, and his hair stuck out in all directions as his head emerged from the collar. He moved slowly, as if he were tired and in pain.
"My parents are gone already," he said, before I had a chance to speak. "They spoke well of you."
"I'd hope so," I said. "I stopped their moron son from killing himself."
"Christopher, please don't – "
"Too late," I said. "What the hell were you thinking?"
He turned then, eyes big and dark in his face. "What was I thinking? Isn't that pretty obvious?"
"No, it's not!" I shouted. He glanced nervously at the door and I lowered my tone. "It's not obvious what you were thinking because nobody in their right mind – who does that? Did you even know what would happen? Did you think about it at all?"
"Every waking moment," he hissed.
"Oh, so you thought about how I'd feel?"
"This wasn't about you!"
"You made it about me! You made me your secret-keeper. We were friends. I care about you. And even if it wasn't about me did you consider the possibility that the boy might be the one to find you? Because he did find you. He dragged me out to The Pines. He called the helicopter to come get you. Right now he's probably back in Low Ferry wondering if you're alive or dead."
"I didn't mean for that to happen," he murmured.
"Guess what? It did anyway. And it's your fault," I snarled. "I don't really care right now what you meant to happen, Lucas."
He hung his head, hands folded across his thighs. I could practically see Nameless, see the drooping tail and flattened ears.
"Are you going to try this again?" I asked. He shrugged. "Bullshit, Lucas. I'm done playing games with you."
"No," he whispered. Which, frankly, surprised me into silence for a while. He took a breath like he was going to speak again, then let it out slowly.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Sore," he replied. "I feel stupid."
"Your parents yell at you?"
He shook his head.
"They should have," I told him.
He looked up at the ceiling. "Probably. They're going to put me in a clinic somewhere."
"For this kind of thing."
"I see you spoke with them too."
"You don't take after them, much."
"Nope. I'm a throwback," he said. "My father's father. Musician. Died in a mental institution. Nobody talks about him. I look like him."
"Well, then it must be fate," I drawled. He glanced sidelong at me. "I'm not done being pissed off at you."
"Sorry I bit your hand," he muttered.
"Good. It hurts."
"Well, I am, okay? What do you want me to say?"
"I don't want you to say anything, Lucas, I want you to not have tried to kill yourself yesterday. I want to stop trying to explain to the doctors that the dog bite on my hand came from you."
"Nobody forced you to do it. Nobody wanted you to do it," he added.
"Everyone wanted me to do it but you!"
"You took a poll, did you?"
"For fuck's sake, Lucas."
"I can't be a stray dog all my life," he blurted. "And I can't be a man and know how much better people treat their dogs. I can't live in two worlds and it doesn't matter because either way I don't belong. I don't know what to do."
"You seemed pretty sure of that last – "
"Will you punish me and get it over with already? Either shout at me and finish the job or give up on it. You don't want to play games, don't make snide remarks and then pretend you're trying to help me."
I shut my mouth sharply.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "Obviously I can't ask for any favors right now. Can't even kill myself properly. I think maybe I belong in a clinic."
"No you don't. You don't think that."
"No, I don't, but where else am I supposed to go? You want me to thank you for saving me? Thank you, Christopher, I looked death in the face and I didn't want to die after all so thank you, and please feel free to shout at me all you want because I'm still alive to hear it. But there isn't really any place for me in this...this stupid life, either. I don't know. Four walls and tranquilizers three times a day isn't the worst thing that could happen to me."
"Yes, so we've proved."
We were silent for a while.
"They'd take your masks away," I said, and he flinched. "They wouldn't let you make any more. Well, whatever you could manage out of paper and safety scissors."
He snorted.
"Glue sticks if you're really lucky."
"Christopher, that's not nice."
"Of course you'd have to give them to the therapist and he'd tell you what your deep down inner feelings are – "
"Stop it!" he said, around something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker.
"Lucas, you used the black crayon again! What have I told you about using the black crayon?" I said in a stern voice, and he covered his face with his hands and whimpered with laughter. After a few seconds he bumped his shoulder against mine, then leaned harder, letting me take some of his weight.
"What am I going to do with you?" I asked, when the laughter subsided.
"It's more what I'm going to do with myself."
"Lucas, you – "
"No!" he said, looking up at me, distressed. "I didn't mean – just – I don't know where to go, Christopher. I don't know how to fix it."
"Well, we're going to have to break you out of this joint anyway, huh? Not doing you any good sulking here," I said.
"I don't suppose you brought the mask," he said sheepishly.
"I had other things on my mind at the time," I remarked. "Besides, I didn't see it. I thought you might've destroyed it."
"I couldn't do that," he said. "It'd be like drowning a pet."
I lifted an eyebrow at him. He sighed.
"You can just sign yourself out, you know," I said. "You don't have to wait for your parents to decide what they're going to do with you."
"Well," Lucas said doubtfully. "It's just...I don't know where my pants are, for one thing."
I was trying to think of a way to reply to that when there was a soft knock on the door, and Marjorie looked in.
"Good morning, Christopher," she said, as calm and collected as if she were greeting a patron in a shop. "And you must be Lucas."
Lucas glanced at me, anxious, confused.
"Lucas, this is Marjorie, she's an old friend – helped me buy your book for you. Marjorie, this is Lucas."
He offered his hand silently, and she took it. Marjorie has a firm handshake – I could see him wince a little.
"I didn't know how long you boys were likely to hang around this edifice of disease and death, but I thought I'd see how you were," she said. "See if you wanted anything other than Plato. From what Christopher's told me, you have a unique taste in literature, Lucas."
"Not really," Lucas mumbled. "I was working on a project. I like history," he said awkwardly.
"Do you?" she asked, amused. "And are you planning to become part of it?"
This brought a small smile to his lips.
"Not just yet," he said softly.
"Good," she said. "How long are they planning to keep you here, anyway? I'd like to see Christopher around my shop sometime, and he apparently can't be more than ten feet away from you or his head explodes."
Lucas blinked at me.
"Oh," she said knowingly. "He didn't tell you he slept on the bench outside your room last night, did he?"
"Hey," I said, as Lucas's eyes widened. "Just because I'm pissed off at you doesn't mean I don't care or anything."
"It's just...why?" Lucas asked.
"Don't make me slap you in the head," I said.
"Shall I give you some privacy?" Marjorie asked, grinning.
"We could bust you out right now," I said. "Marj has a car. I'll buy you some pants."
"Two things not often
said in the same breath," Marjorie observed. Lucas bowed his head and I was reminded of Nameless again. I wondered how long his movements had been so doglike, or if it was just that Nameless himself was a particularly human dog.
"My parents are coming this afternoon," he said finally. "If I'm not here, they might worry."
"Mostly about the bill," I replied. He gave me a wounded look. "Oh, come on, Lucas. I'm not going to tell you that your parents screwed you up, but they certainly didn't help."
"All the best schools," Lucas murmured.
"Yeah, I was there for that conversation too."
"Is this some kind of code?" Marjorie asked, and Lucas and I looked at each other. "Clock's ticking, boys, and my crossword is waiting."
"I still need pants," Lucas said, looking distressed. Marjorie sighed and walked out the door. "Is she leaving – "
"She's going to go talk to the doctor," I said, peering through the half-open door. "She'll find you something."
"Where am I going to go?"
"Back to Low Ferry, with me, if you want. If you want to stay in the city, Marj can find you a place. Please come back with me," I added.
"Why? What good is it going to do?"
"What harm is it going to do? It'll make me happy."
He nodded, and almost smiled again, and that was when Marjorie appeared with a set of green hospital scrubs and the triumphant cry of "Pants!"
It took half an hour for Lucas to finish all the paperwork and sign himself out, looking over his shoulder every minute to see if his parents were coming. Not long after that, we found ourselves in Eighth Rare Books at Marjorie's table, huddled together and systematically destroying a box of fried chicken from the greasy snack shack around the corner. Lucas watched everyone who came near with a wary sort of suspicion, but nobody bothers those chosen souls who sit with Marj as she rules the literary world and thoroughly destroys the Trib crossword.
"Thank you, Marj," I said, around a mouthful of food. "I didn't really pack my wallet for a surprise trip to Chicago."
"My pleasure, Christopher," she said, ruffling my hair. "Do you two need money for the train?"
"I can send you a check."
"Let me buy you a train ticket. You save your money to buy one back to see me a little sooner than sometime-next-year."
"She's very generous," Lucas said in an undertone, as Marj turned to answer a question from a patron.
"She likes me," I replied. "You, she probably thinks you're weird."
"Well, I am," Lucas answered.
"Send her a mask. She'd love that," I told him. "Keep you busy, too."
"I'm not going to try again. I promise," he told me. I watched Marjorie wander off with her patron in search of whatever they wanted – if they even knew. One of the joys of a bookseller's life is knowing what someone wants to read before they do.
When we were finished eating, and during a lull in Marjorie's business day, she counted out more than enough money for two train tickets back to Low Ferry, tucked it into the pocket of a battered backpack, and slung the pack onto my shoulder.
"Books, for you," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "And some biscotti."
I gave her a tight hug while Lucas stood by awkwardly. When we were finished, he offered his hand, leaned in when Marjorie went to hug him, then back when she saw he had been ready to shake. The tips of his ears reddened with embarrassment as he stood very still and allowed her to hug him.
I imagine his parents found out about his disappearance while we were on the train that afternoon, but I've never found out and it would be difficult for me to care less about them than I do. We were quiet on the train, Lucas buried in one of Marj's books, me staring out the window at the landscape rolling past.
At some point, Lucas shifted so that his arm was tucked up against mine, the side of his head tilted onto my shoulder as he slowly turned the pages of the book.
When we arrived in Low Ferry, I left Lucas huddling against a wall to avoid the wind and went to find the payphone. I was only halfway there when I saw a car pull up – Charles's elderly four-wheel-drive, with Charles at the wheel and someone in the passenger's seat. I blinked at him and he blew his horn, so I gestured for Lucas to follow me down.
"Heard you were coming back in," he said, and I gaped as his companion jumped out and pulled open the back door – the boy, grinning and pointing for Lucas to take the front passenger's seat.
"How?" I asked, climbing into the back after the boy.
"Kid told me," he said, and I looked down at the boy, who gave me a solemn stare in return. "Good timing, huh?"
"Good timing," I echoed, still staring at him as Charles pulled onto the road into town.
"How was Chicago?" Charles asked easily, with a friendly smile for Lucas. Lucas caught my eye in the rearview-mirror, obviously as confused as I was.
"Cold," I said, settling the pack Marjorie had given me on the floor of the car. "We uh. Well, it was...educational?"
"Oh? See those museums they have?"
"No, we mostly just visited," I said, and decided to forestall further questions. "How's Low Ferry?"
"Oh, getting on. You left your lights on in the shop, by the way – Paula ran over last night and closed it down for you."
"I'll have to thank her," I murmured.
"I told him you went to Chicago to get your hand looked at," the boy piped up, but there was a note in his voice that said he was trying to tell me something.
"Yes! I trust it's nothing serious," Charles said.
"No, just a dog bite," I said.
"Not one of ours?"
"A stray," I said quietly. Lucas was very still in the front seat, staring out the window.
"Well, I'll take you back to your place first," Charles assured me. "I can drop you off on the way to The Pines," he added to the boy.
"I'll walk home. I gotta talk to Mr. Dusk," the boy said.
"Long way home for you, though?" Charles said.
"Not so far, I'll cut across a few fields," the boy answered.
"As the crow flies," Charles smiled. "The only way to go around here. Which reminds me, Leon's on the warpath about his foxes again..."
He chattered about Leon's problems and Jacob's and Old Harrison's thoughts on the matter of foxes until we pulled up outside Dusk Books a few minutes later. The boy climbed out after me and knocked on Lucas's window to make him roll it down.
"Look after yourself," Lucas said, reaching out to disorder the boy's neat blond hair.