White Rabbit Society Part One

by Brendan Detzner

  “Do you like school?” she asked. “Are you making friends?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I guess. There’s a kid I eat lunch with, but he’s not really in any of my classes.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in honors classes. I’m in the stupid room, mostly.” Andrew had a learning disability. He actually spent less time in special ed here than he had at his old school, but there was still a lot of distance between the classes he went to and the room where Josh spent his time. He still wasn’t sure why Josh had sat next to him in the cafeteria. Maybe it was just because he was sitting alone.

  “Are you friends with anyone in the stupid room?” Shadow asked.

  “Not really. There’s one guy, but I don’t like him. He has a little group that sits together but I don’t want to be with them.”

  “Why not?”

  “They make fun of people. I don’t want to be around them.”

  “Is that bad?”

  Andrew had gotten used to answering questions like that. Sometimes Shadow got confused by really obvious things. He didn’t hold it against her; he sympathized.

  “Yeah. It hurts people’s feelings. I don’t want to be around somebody that hurts people like that.”

  He noticed that Shadow’s fingers were shivering. Their vibration filled the chamber with a dull moan. This was the sound they made when Shadow was confused, or deep in thought. Andrew tried to figure out what she was thinking about.

  The noise went away, and Andrew knew it was time to go home.

  “Thank you for coming. Have a good night and see you tomorrow, Andrew.”

  Shadow’s head spun around, counter-clockwise this time, and her eyes were again obscured. Andrew felt a rush of fresh air pour in from behind him. When he turned around, a portion of the gazebo wall had disappeared. He could see the park outside, fully in autumn, giant red trees and an overcast sky.

  “See you tomorrow, Shadow.”

  The opening disappeared as he passed through it.

  Andrew ran home. He had three blocks to cover before dinnertime, and he didn’t want to be late.

  #

  He stopped running and stood still for a moment, letting his heart slow down. He didn’t want his grandmother to see him gasping for breath; she got worried easily.

  There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway. The hubcaps looked nice— they were polished brand new, shining like four full moons— but the rest of the machine was a wreck, a thick coat of sheer black paint filling in a hundred dents and scratches. The windshield had a bullet hole going through the center of it.

  He climbed up the front steps. The doorknob jumped away from him like a scared animal as he reached for it.

  “You must be Andrew.”

  The man in the doorway had pale blond hair and a flat nose, like most of the people in his grandmother’s family did, but Andrew had never seen him before. His clothes matched his car. Black jeans, black T-shirt. His eyes were small, submerged in their sockets, the tips of icebergs. There was a tiny gold ball fastened to his right earlobe.

  “Your grandmother’s in the kitchen.”

  Andrew heard his grandmother’s voice. It was even softer than usual, frightened but trying to hide it.

  “I’m not quite ready yet. Andrew, did you introduce yourself to your Uncle Paul?”

  They waited in the living room for a few minutes. Paul sat in a chair and read the front page of the newspaper. Andrew sat quietly on the coach on the other side of the room. He didn’t have an uncle. His parents had never mentioned an uncle, had never shown him a picture of the man he was now sharing a room with. But his grandmother had never had a guest over for dinner before either.

  “Hey,” Paul said, quietly but suddenly, catching Andrew off guard. “Want to see something cool?”

  He reached into his pocket, produced a penny, and held it out in front of him in his hand, palm up, like it was something special.

  “Keep your eye on it,” he said. “Watch close.”

  He popped his hand up like a toaster launching a piece of toast, sending the penny up into the air. Andrew watched it go up, watched it come down. Paul made a fist and quickly reopened his hand. When he did, the penny was gone, and Andrew’s wallet was in the palm of Paul’s hand.

  Andrew reached for his hip pocket. The wallet wasn’t there. Paul threw it back to him and he opened it. Nothing was missing. There was a spare key, an emergency card that still had Chicago phone numbers.

  Paul smiled, and Andrew felt his face turn red. “I lifted it when you came in the door,” Paul said. “It’s just sleight of hand. I can show you if you want.”

  He started reading the paper again.

  “Time to eat!” his grandmother shouted from the kitchen. Her voice was high and shrill, and she seemed to be short of breath.

  Paul put the paper down onto the table and took a deep breath.

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He smiled at Andrew without showing his teeth and got up. There was only one way into the kitchen. Andrew had no choice but to follow him.

  The table was very neatly set. Andrew could imagine his grandmother with a ruler, checking the distance between the plates and the silverware. She reached into the middle of the table with a large plastic serving spoon, dug into the casserole she’d made, and put a generous portion onto each of their three plates. Paul dug in enthusiastically. Andrew hesitated, working up his courage.

  Just as he was about to take his first bite, he felt something wrap around his ankle, over his sock and then suddenly under it. Its texture changed as it moved up his leg— a soaked washcloth one moment, a piece of metal the next.

  Andrew shoved himself away, striking the countertop and scraping the bottom of the chair’s legs against the kitchen floor. His grandmother flinched at the sound but she didn’t say anything. She shook, but only a little. All her effort was devoted to keeping still.

  There was nothing under the table. Paul ate, talking in between bites.

  “I’m sorry your folks aren’t getting along.”

  #

  “He was like that the whole time,” Andrew said. “He would talk about my parents, or other parts of the family. He asked me questions and then didn’t let me answer, he just kept talking.”

  Shadow listened. They were well past the opening of their game, right at the point where Andrew felt Shadow might start overtaking him, when she’d asked if anything unusual had happened to him the previous day. It was the first time she had ever interrupted a game in progress.

  “Describe him to me.”

  Andrew described him. Her neck swayed.

  “Shadow, do you know him?”

  Her neck was so far bent over it looked ready to snap.

  “He’s you.”

  “Shadow, that doesn’t make any sense.”

  Shadow’s fingers vibrated.

  “You’re right... he’s not you. I thought he was you. You were him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When I first saw you, I thought you were him. That’s why I brought you here. I’ve been waiting for him.”

  “Shadow, you’re still not making any sense.”

  Humming again. “He’s been coming to see me. Yesterday and the day before. You should stay away from him, as much as you possibly can.” Still humming. “And you shouldn’t come back here. It would probably be safer if you left right now.”

  The humming stopped. Andrew looked down, away from Shadow.

  “We’re not even done with the game yet.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  He took another look at the board. The pieces had been rearranged. He now had Shadow in checkmate.

  Andrew looked Shadow in the eye and stood up, shaking with anger.

  “You changed the board. You cheated.”

  “You won, Andrew. You should leave now.” Andrew looked over his shoulder. The wall had disappeared.

  “I’m coming back tomorrow.”
r />   “You shouldn’t. It isn’t safe.”

  “Shadow, I want you to tell me what he told you.”

  “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Andrew hesitated, but only for a moment.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Why are you going to come visit me when I’ve told you it isn’t safe?”

  “Because we’re friends, Shadow.” He crawled out through the opening.

  It was a beautiful day, a taunting flashback to spring. Andrew closed his eyes. He knew as soon as he got back to the house he was going to have to deal with his grandmother and the man who called himself his uncle and maybe his parents if they called to ask how he was, but he felt a sudden and overwhelming need to drop all of that for a moment. Back home when his parents were fighting, it was something he found he had to do every so often, just so he didn’t go crazy. One moment, he decided. One breath.

  Just as his lungs swelled to their fullest capacity, an adult hand closed around his shoulder.

  “Your Grandma’s decided to spare us an evening of her shitty cooking,” Paul said. “So how about we get ourselves a pizza?”

  #

  Andrew and his uncle were sitting at a table in the space between the front door and the counter, a table so small and delicate that Andrew suspected that it was only meant to support the elbows of waiting customers. The pizzeria wasn’t really a restaurant, just a take-out place; other customers had come in, picked up their food and left, but they were the only ones who’d just stayed where they were. Paul had his back against the wall. There was a black briefcase on the table next to his plate. His food was caught in its shadow.

  “What’s the problem, you don’t like pineapples?”

  He didn’t, but he knew that this was the only dinner he was likely to get. He took one small bite at a time, trying to confine the food to the back of his mouth where he wouldn’t taste it as much.

  The girl standing at the counter was old, just out of high school, maybe. She was wearing a light gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and had blonde hair with brown roots showing. She’d been giving them disapproving looks ever since it became clear they weren’t leaving the waiting area.

  Paul pulled another slice of pizza from the pie in the middle of the table. Then, very quickly, he put the briefcase down on the ground and pressed a button. The briefcase fell open- there was nothing inside it except for an immaculate black felt lining.

  “Watch.”

  Andrew felt that same feeling brush across his knee for just a second, a skinny finger bypassing his clothes, pencil lead then chicken feathers then dirty glass. He looked over at the girl. Nothing happened at first. She brushed her hair off of her face, patted her shoulder. She patted her shoulder again.

  Then, suddenly, her face tightened. Her eyes bulged out and her teeth clenched. She clawed at her neck, desperately, but her fingernails were unable to gain any purchase against her skin.

  After a minute of struggle, her hands flew towards the floor, as though they had just been released. She turned around and ran as fast as she could, plowing through the kitchen doors, leaving them swinging.

  “Damn,” said Paul. “I was hoping she’d scream.” He whistled, waited a moment, and closed the briefcase.

  “Easy trick,” Paul said. “Nothing like…”

  A squat middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap stepped through the door and looked around. He walked up to the counter.

  Uncle Paul closed his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t think anybody’s manning the register right now, friend.”

  The man looked Paul over with some suspicion, straightened up, and shrugged. He turned towards the cash register and settled in place to wait.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re wasting your time,” Uncle Paul said, but the fat man stayed put.

  Paul fingered the clasp on the briefcase.

  “Uncle Paul,” Andrew interrupted. “Maybe we should leave now and eat while we walk.”

  He relaxed as his attention moved from the fat man down to Andrew. A smile crept onto his face.

  “You got a point.”

  #

  Paul walked back over to the bridge and leaned against the railing. His briefcase was sitting on the ground next to his feet. They ate quietly for a few minutes. Andrew was the one who broke the silence.

  “If you’re my uncle, how come I’ve never heard of you?”

  He finished chewing.

  “I’d be surprised if you had,” he said.

  They kept eating. Andrew asked another question.

  “What did you do to me at the dinner table?”

  Paul laughed out loud and smiled a little wider. He leaned over.

  “I guess I’ve gotten in a habit of scaring people when I’m just getting to know them. Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing personal.”

  He ripped off one last bite of pizza crust.

  “And I know I didn’t answer your question. Look, there’s a lot going on right now. You know how it is, sometimes you’re the hunting dog and sometimes you’re the rabbit. I’m the rabbit right now. I like you and some of it’s kind of your business anyway, and I will fill you in. But right now the important thing is for you to keep your head down. Stay away from that park and from the gazebo. Stay away from him. Understand?”

  “Her,” Andrew said.

  “What?”

  “Shadow’s a her.”

  Paul stopped eating.

  “You gave it a name?”

  For a moment Andrew was more embarrassed than afraid. Paul turned around and grabbed the railing.

  “You gave it a name… shit…”

  He turned to walk away. Andrew stepped in front of him, not really sure what he was doing. Paul rose his arm and swung, knocking him out of the way, down to the ground.

  Andrew had never been hit by an adult before. He felt no pain right away, didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear, barely saw anything except the sun shining straight into his face now that he was on the sidewalk looking up.

  Paul turned around and ran, his briefcase swinging awkwardly in his right hand.Andrew watched him go, listened to his footsteps after he turned the corner. The birds on the river shore were singing, and the water was pouring over the top of a small dam a few hundred yards away.

  Andrew slowly became aware of the sound of his heart beating, of sweat against his skin.

  Andrew got up and crossed the street. He found a door and opened it. He asked politely if he could use the phone.

  #

  Paul looked up at the ceiling of the Tiki bar. The short man in the winter coat was pinned there, his limbs spread out from his body to avoid the lanterns.

  "Even if you'd looked, you wouldn't have seen anything."

  Paul pointed at the floor and the man fell hard in front of him. He tried to crawl away but he was quickly pinned again. He tried to yell for help but he could hardly breath.

  Paul was holding the gun now. He pointed it down at the floor. The man in the winter coat was still making choking noises. They got a little more high-pitched when the barrel made its way to his face.

  Paul put the gun down on the bar, wiped it down with a washcloth and pushed it into the sink. He left the bar with his backpack. The other guy hadn't brought anything with him, not even something fake. Paul had to guess that ripping him off had been plan A, B, and C.

  Even after Paul whistled for his familiar, the stranger didn't move. Paul heard a half a second of the man in the winter coat begging for his life as he left the bar.

  Driving away, he thought about the look on the stranger's face. Paul realized he'd had fun. The appointment had been a wash, but he'd had a good afternoon. He didn't know how to feel about that, he didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  It sat on the table that was his mind like a paperweight. This was going to be his life. At least for a while.

  CHAPTER 3

  #

&
nbsp; "So what do they call me when I'm not there?"

  If you wanted to meet somebody, not like you did at one of the conventions but one on one or close to it, you usually met at a restaurant. Nowhere too nice, but nowhere too shitty, so that neither party involved got the idea that the other person was trying to intimidate them one way or the other. Somewhere isolated enough that you wouldn't run into anyone you weren't planning on running into, so that if you saw a familiar face it was either the person you were here to see or somebody who'd found you.

  Usually, they met at the kind of place where you got a pickle on the side when you ordered a hamburger. No more, no less.

  Paul had found that this was the best way to get people to explain things. He'd had to pay for a lot of meals, and sometimes for bigger secrets he'd had to pay more than that, but it was worth it. He was eating with Fat Rob tonight. This was before Fat Rob got messed up, when he could still think straight.

  "They call you the kid," Fat Rob said. "That's not such a big deal, that's what they call everybody, when they first start coming around. If they're young, at least."

  The nicknames were so that everybody knew for sure who everybody else was talking about. Last names weren't used.

  "Do people usually stay around for a while? Once people know who they are?"

  Rob thought that was funny. "They do except when they don't. People drop off the circuit all the time. Usually you don't know why. It's probably for boring reasons most of the time. Guys get married, stuff like that. And sometimes guys get in each other's way. I hear that you've had some experience with that lately. All that rum and pineapple juice."

  Paul had no idea how Rob could know about what had happened at the Tiki bar. He stared at Rob across the table. Rob just laughed.

  "Relax, pal. I don't know the details, it was all secondhand stuff. There was one version of the story where you turned the guy's eyeballs inside out. That was bullshit, right? I mean, if that's really a trick I'd trade you something for it."

  Rob let the table go quiet while he waited for an answer. Paul tried to keep his poker face up. He was split in half. Yes, that was me. No, that's not me. He didn't know what to say, the best story to tell.

  The truth didn't come into it one way or the other.