The Broken Places

by Susan Perabo

  “You a shrink too? You don’t know shit about me.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to either.”

  “You’re hurting my feelings, fireman. Here I was feelin’ sorry for myself for being trapped underground all day and now, on top of everything, you don’t even like me. This has to be the saddest moment of my life.”

  “Mine too. Trapped with a Nazi who stinks.”

  “I stink? I stink? You smell yourself lately?”

  Sonny laughed. Not a crazy laugh, not the laugh of a guy half cocked or half dead. It was easy and real and full and it made Ian smile. It felt like it had been a million years since he’d heard anyone laugh.

  “At least you’re gonna die laughing, fireman.”

  “I’m not dying. Nobody’s dying. They’re coming for us.”

  “You hear anything?” Ian asked doubtfully. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “They’re up there.”

  “They’re thinking we’re dead for sure. Probably all went home. They’ll come back tomorrow with bulldozers and start looking for our bodies.”

  “They haven’t left, Ian. They won’t leave until they find us.”

  “I guess those are your buddies up there, huh?”

  “Yeah. My wife too. You think she’ll let them leave? And I don’t think your mom’ll be heading home any time soon.”

  Ian’s heart did a double beat. It was Sunday; his mother should be at home, cackling at some stupid video, munching on microwave popcorn. “My mom? She’s here? You sure?”

  “Well she said she was your mom. I don’t know why anybody’d make that up.”

  “What’d she look like?”

  “Christ, Ian, she’s there.”

  “Did she talk your ear off? That’s her then, if she did. She’ll talk to anybody about anything, for a thousand hours. I’ve had friends offer her money to shut up, I swear it. But she never gets the clue. She just laughs and keeps yakking.”

  “What about your dad? What’s he do?”

  “She talked him off to Cleveland a long time ago.”

  Had his mother even called him? Called to say, well, Ian’s buried under a house. And by the way you owe me about nine years’ worth of child support. He tried to imagine a house he’d never been in, a kitchen he’d never seen, his father holding the phone, probably rolling his eyes. Nah, he thought, she wouldn’t of called him. She wouldn’t call until she was sure their son was dead.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What family you got?”

  “Wife and son.”

  “What’s she do? Your wife. Raise the kid?”

  “She teaches math at the high school.”

  “Yeah? What’s her name?”

  “Laura Tucker.”

  Jesus . . . had he failed that class? A dim memory, the back row, the desk next to the window, his head cool against the glass, his eyes half open, watching Mrs. Tucker’s blond braid flap against her back as she wrote, the squeaky chalk, the shuffle of pencils on notebook paper.

  “Mrs. Tucker? That’s your old lady?”

  “Not so old,” Sonny murmured.

  “I’ll say. Whoo.” Ian shook his head. “I’m feeling a whole lot better about you, Sonny. Every guy in town wants to bag that babe. How’s it feel to be the guy who gets to do it every night?”

  “You got some mouth on you, I’ll give you that.”

  “I figure we’ll be dead before you can kick my ass.”

  “We’re not dying,” Sonny said roughly. “Shut up about dying, all right? I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “I’ve been down here a long damn time, man. I got my whole funeral planned.”

  “The town’s first Nazi funeral. . . .”

  “Hey, fuck you.” Ian tried to shift his weight, tried to turn away from Sonny, as if they were a couple lying in bed, arguing the same argument they’d slogged through a thousand times before. He felt something wrench in his ankle and grimaced.

  “My foot’s flat,” he said. “You know that, Sonny? Flat as a fucking pancake, I can tell.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “You gonna get it out of there?”

  “Can’t,” Sonny said. “Not until they come for us.”

  “How come?”

  “ ’Cause the thing I was gonna jack up the fridge with, the air bag, the inflatable, it’s buried about five feet above us. Snapped off my belt, I guess, along with the flashlight.”

  “Great,” Ian said. He licked his teeth. He was thirsty. The last liquid he’d had was a Busch beer, probably around three in the morning, however long ago that was. You could go without food for days, he remembered, but drink was different. At some point, your body started drinking itself, or something crazy like that. Then your organs got all shriveled and —

  “Hey,” Sonny said softly. “I might drift off here for a minute.”

  “I get to hit you then, right?”

  “Not for a while. I’m tired. I’ve been up forty-eight hours.”

  “My heart’s breakin’ for you. All I been doing is lying in the dirt all day. Wake up and talk to me, man. We need a plan. You’re the man with the plan, right?”

  Silence. Then: “If I had a little light maybe we could cut our way out of here.”

  “With what? Our fingernails?”

  “I got an ax,” Sonny said. “At least I did.”

  Ian scoffed. “Probably up there with everything else.”

  “No. No, I had it in my hand when I fell. I was diggin’ with it. Must be around here somewhere.”

  Ian felt a jolt of hope. “So you can bust through maybe? Dig up while those guys’re digging down, meet ’em in the middle.”

  “No way. If I just start swinging in the dark I might knock out the only thing that’s keeping this space a space. If I had some light, maybe . . . maybe. But I’m not just gonna start swinging.”

  “So we just lie here and wait? That’s it?”

  Silence. Ian listened to Sonny breathe. He didn’t want to be a baby about it, but he didn’t want Sonny falling asleep on him either. What if he died? That wound on his head was pretty bad. What if the guy died and he had to lie here in the dark with a dead body? How long before it’d start to rot, to stink? He’d have to close the eyes, that was for sure. He wouldn’t be able to see them, but he’d know just how they looked, glazed over and staring glassy at the beginning of dead.

  “Hey, Sonny.”

  Nothing.

  “Sonny.”

  “What?”

  “Just making sure you’re not checking out on me.”

  “I’m not going to die,” Sonny said. “I’m not allowed; Laura’d never forgive me. She’d come to my grave every day and spit on it.”

  “That’s sweet. Hey, I know what’ll wake you up. Singing.”

  “Singing?”

  “You know, camp songs or something. This is kinda like camp, right?”

  “What kind of camp your mother send you to?”

  “You know what I mean. All dark and quiet, like spooky woods or something.”

  “Let’s just be still for a while,” Sonny said. “Can we do that?”

  “Not if you’re gonna pass out on me.”

  “I’m not going to pass out. I just want to be quiet.”

  Quiet. Of all things Ian did not want to be, it was quiet. There’d be plenty of time for quiet when they were dead. He remembered when his grandfather finally kicked a few years back, his mom’s dad, how the old guy had gone out talking a blue streak from his hospital bed because he knew the end was near and who knew what the end meant — maybe no more talking forever, not another word spoken in that voice you’ve gotten so used to. Plenty of time for quiet when you’re lying in your coffin, your lips sewn shut.

  “This what you thought would happen when you became a fireman?”

  Sonny sighed. “I didn’t ever become a fireman. I started out a fireman.”

  “In your blood, huh?”

  Sonny didn’t say anything.

  “You w
ith me, man? Still awake?”

  “I keep trying to think what my dad would do in this situation. I keep thinking he’d know what to do.”

  “Yeah? So what would he do?”

  He felt Sonny’s whole body tighten, squeeze up on itself like a fat ball of rubber bands. “I don’t know. That’s the friggin’ point. If I knew I’d have done it by now. But he wouldn’t have waited, I know that much. He would have acted.”

  “He a good guy, your dad? You like him?”

  “Sure I liked him. What wasn’t to like? Jesus, it was like growing up with a movie star. It was like having Clint Eastwood as your dad.”

  “You got big shoes to fill, I guess. Me, I never had much of a problem with that. You know you always see those people on talk shows saying shit like, ‘My daddy always expected too much of me’ or ‘My father never thought I was good enough.’ My old man, he never expected shit from me. I think he musta took one look at me and said, this kid’s never gonna amount to nothing. I’m not gonna expect anything from this kid. I’ll be happy if this moron learns to fucking walk.”

  Sonny was quiet.

  “Sonny?”

  Nothing.

  “Hey, Sonny?”

  Nothing again. He was out. But breathing. Out but breathing. When Ian was little, six or seven, when Kally was still a baby and his dad had just bailed out, he used to go into her room at night and watch her sleep. He had this thing, this fear, that she was going to die. He’d heard about it on TV, on a show his mother liked to watch. Crib death, they called it. Little babies, healthy little babies, babies who didn’t have a thing wrong with them, they’d just stop breathing in the middle of the night and when you woke up in the morning they were dead. So two or three times a night he’d go into Kally’s room and make sure she was still breathing. He’d stand there in his pajamas and watch her sleep, listen to those tiny breaths. As long as she was breathing, she was still alive. And if he heard her stop breathing, if he shook her awake real fast, she would be okay again. That’s what they said on TV. So this would work with Sonny too. If he just kept listening, he could make sure Sonny wouldn’t die. ’Cause if Sonny didn’t die then he might not die. And — although twice in the last year he’d eyed a bottle of Drano and imagined how it must burn going down the throat — he found he’d never wanted to not die more than he did right now. Yes indeed, if God was a bargainer (and he’d be a fool if he wasn’t) Ian was going to start bargaining his way out of this coffin right now.

  Okay. One. He was going to stop being an asshole to his mother. His mother had had a crappy life, and there was no doubt he had only been making it crappier for the last sixteen years. Maybe she was a nag, and maybe she ran her mouth until everybody wanted to shoot themselves in the goddamn temple, but she had raised him and Kally all on her own and he was going to show her a little bit of respect for that, if for nothing else. It was too late to be the son she — or anyone — wanted, but maybe sometimes he could stay around and eat dinner at the house, and maybe he’d mow the lawn if it wasn’t too damn hot, and maybe he’d even get a job — okay, maybe — and pitch in some money so she didn’t have to work weekends anymore.

  Okay. Two. He wasn’t going to let anybody talk him into doing something that would get his ass thrown in jail. He was almost seventeen now, his carefree juvy delinquent days nearly over. No more social workers, no more anger management, no more lame-ass community service. If he kept beating the shit out of people he was going to get thrown in jail, real jail, and right now he’d had about enough of small spaces, thank you very much. He was going to start thinking ahead a little. Maybe when Charlie wanted to jump some nigger who was strutting his cocky ass home from basketball practice, maybe he’d say “Forget it, man. He ain’t worth our energy.” He could say that and still be cool. He could say it if it meant staying out of jail.

  Okay. Three. No more talk about blowing shit up. No more half-serious plans. The way things went these days, all the crazies out there tasting blood everywhere they looked, they could lock you up just for talking about it. And now there were all these pussy kids just waiting for a chance to squeal, wanting to get a little attention, wanting to act like heroes. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t even really want to blow anything up. They could make it seem like he could. They could make like thinking about it was as bad as doing it.

  He closed his eyes. If God was a bargainer. Well, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe you could say anything and it didn’t make any difference. Maybe all the promising in the world didn’t mean squat to God. Probably it just cracked him up. Listen to this guy, he was probably saying to Jesus right now. Just listen to this asshole, willya?

  “Ian?”

  Again, he started awake. How long? Then he heard a whimper. Like a dog, a puppy, closed up out in the cold.

  “Sonny? You okay?”

  Another whimper. “Ian? Where are you?”

  What the hell kind of question was that? Where exactly would he be besides right here, flush up against Sonny?

  “S’all right. I’m right here. Feel me? I’m right next to you.”

  A clammy hand seized his fingers. “I woke up and it was dark. It was dark, but in my sleep it was light. Bright light. It’s like everything’s backwards, you know? It’s like you could forget who you are. Do you know who you are?”

  Oh man, Ian thought. Oh man oh man oh man oh man . . . this was fucking perfect. How long had they been out? It seemed like a long time, but there was no way to tell. “How’s your head, Sonny?”

  “My head?”

  Like he had to ask. Like Sonny wasn’t babbling like an idiot. He probably had a concussion. Maybe he even had brain damage. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and woken up a retard. That’s just what he needed, a retard fireman.

  “What day is it?” Sonny asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ian said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Sonny gripped his arm frantically. “What if it’s Wednesday?”

  “It ain’t Wednesday,” Ian said. “You know why? ’Cause if it was Wednesday we’d be dead. We’re gonna be dead or eatin’ each other by Wednesday, Sonny.”

  “I’m not eating you,” Sonny said matter-of-factly. “No matter what happens.”

  Ian laughed, though he didn’t think Sonny knew what it meant to tell a joke anymore. “That’s fine, old boy. Don’t eat me if you don’t want. But if you die first you can be damn sure I’m eating you. I’ll find that little ax of yours and go at it. Filet o’ Sonny. Sonny McNuggets.”

  A girlish giggle. “You want fries with that?”

  “Supersize,” Ian said.

  “You know what?” Sonny asked.

  “What?”

  “This goddamn house might fall on us in five seconds no matter what we do.”

  A chill rippled down Ian’s spine. “Hey, idiot. Hey, stupid. Hey, moron. You’re supposed to be the cheerleader, okay? I’m the one supposed to be freaking out. Don’t you go all loco on me.”

  “My father,” Sonny said. “He sent me away to school, to college. Did I tell you that? Sent me away to the good old Pennsylvania State University. Happy Valley, home of the Nittany Lions. I tell you that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well he did. Didn’t matter that I didn’t want to go. You think that’d matter to him? Last couple years I started thinking, what if he didn’t think I had it in me to be a fireman? What if he didn’t think I had the balls for it? What if that’s why he sent me away?”

  Ian shook his head. “That’s crap. More’n likely he did it ’cause he didn’t want you spending your days like this.”

  “What do you know?” Sonny asked. “You didn’t know him.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “They fucking worshiped him. Sometimes he looked at me and I could see he was thinking I didn’t have it.”

  “I think you’re making that up,” Ian said. “I think you’re making that up on the spot, ’cause you’re freaked out. You’re making up all sorts of lies about your life ’cause you’re
scared and it’s dark and you’re fucked in the head. Been there, done that, old boy. I told myself lots of shit about my father this morning, I was thinkin’ he left because of me, ’cause I was such a hopeless case. But you know what? He was just an asshole. He left. So what? You gotta not dwell on that stuff, man. That’s why we gotta sing. Singing’s good for us.”

  “I can’t sing,” Sonny said. “Dogs run away when I sing.”

  “No dogs here,” Ian said. “Just my little rat, and he ain’t listening. Let’s sing songs about light, okay? ‘Light My Fire.’ ‘This Little Light of Mine.’ ‘You Light Up My Life.’ ”

  Above them, something creaked ominously. Ian pretended he didn’t hear it. “ ‘The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia.’ Glow Little Glow Worm.’ ”

  “We’re dead,” Sonny said flatly. “You hear that shit upstairs? We’re dead.”

  “Shut up!” Ian shouted. “Listen, man. Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get your ass on the move. Right now. You’re gonna find a way out of here. There’s a window, somewhere in this place. I don’t know where, but it’s how we got in all the time. Can’t be more than twenty feet away, off to your left if I got my bearings straight. You’re just gonna slide on your belly, man, all the way over to that wall. You use that ax if you need it, hack your way through whatever’s in the way. You get out and then you send somebody to come back in for me. I’m good for a little while, Sonny. But you gotta get started, you hear me?”

  Silence.

  “You hear me?”

  “I can’t do it,” Sonny whispered.

  “Wha’dya mean you can’t do it?”

  “My back’s broken. I can’t move. It’s dark, Ian. I think I’m paralyzed. I can’t even lift up my head.”

  “That’s horseshit,” Ian said. “What kind of fireman are you? Your back ain’t busted. You’re just freaking yourself out. You wanna prove something to your father, then —”

  Something above them shuddered and then gave way; a piece of the ceiling crashed to the floor beside Ian’s right shoulder. This was it now, the end, he was sure of it. Once one thing went the whole thing would fall. But it didn’t. Everything was silent. And then, from Sonny, a new sound. Spit and phlegm and little squeaks. Christ Almighty, he was crying. The fireman, the brave guy, was crying.