by Rebecca Sky
He puffs his chest. ‘I would die for you, Mrs Patel.’
‘I don’t want your death. I want your understanding.’
‘I do not need sleep and I do not want to forget you.’
She sighs. ‘It’s been so long, I nearly forgot how difficult the newly turned can be.’ Ma claps and Ammon remains stiff as a board, waiting for her next command. ‘You will sleep at precisely 11 p.m.,’ she says.
‘Yes, Mrs Patel,’ he says. ‘I will sleep at 11 p.m.’
‘Good, now stay here for at least an hour, then go about your work as usual.’
‘Yes, Mrs Patel,’ he says.
Ma pushes open the door and peers into the hall. ‘OK, quick.’ She motions us in front, but we don’t move.
‘We don’t have all day,’ she says firmly.
‘Can you teach me, everything?’ Marissa asks as she slips out the door with Ben at her heels.
Ma ignores her and waves me to follow.
I take one last look at Ammon, watching quietly as we break out of his jail, before turning and following them down the corridor.
We come upon the exit controlled by an officer behind a glass window. It’s a different officer to the one that winked at me on our way in. Ma calls for us to stop and goes ahead. My heart races – we’re so close to getting caught I feel sick.
She pushes the intercom button. ‘Open the door.’
The officer frowns, stands slowly, hand sliding to the holster on his hip. ‘I wasn’t notified—’
‘No, you weren’t. Call Officer Ammon in the holding room, he’s released these three into my custody.’
I bite the inside of my cheek, shifting in place as we wait for him to page Ammon. Ma, on the other hand, is the picture of calm and that makes me even more uneasy.
The officer smiles as he lowers the receiver. ‘Go on.’ He buzzes us through.
We rush out the precinct doors into the glorious sunshine, taking refuge between buildings – three fugitives and a kidnapped boy.
‘The taxi I ordered is over there.’ Ma leans around a dumpster and points across the street to the black station wagon waiting by the pole. ‘By ordered, I mean the driver’s on an extended lunch break.’
Marissa elbows me. ‘Your mom knows how it’s done.’
I roll my eyes and dart from behind the green bin, running for the car. I glance back to see Ma and Marissa right behind me and Ben following them like a happy puppy. When I make it to the car I swing open the back door, waving Marissa in.
‘Sit by me, Ben.’ Marissa motions him after her as she takes her purse from my arm and slides in.
‘He can’t, he’s driving.’ Ma steps between him and the door. ‘Hurry up and get in, Rach.’
‘Why don’t you drive?’ Marissa snaps at me.
‘You know I only have a learner permit.’
‘So? We don’t know that Ben has a licence.’
Ma clears her throat. ‘We need to go. Now.’
Marissa registers Ma’s annoyance and huffs out, ‘Fine, he drives.’ Which Ben takes as his cue, and he makes his way to the driver’s side of the taxi. I slide over when Ma crams in, locking me in the small seat between the two of them.
Marissa wedges her gold purse next to the door and crosses her arms. ‘Can’t one of you sit up front?’
Ma smacks the Plexiglas. ‘Go!’
Ben doesn’t seem to get that we’re in a hurry and takes his time adjusting the seat, the steering wheel, then the mirrors, both passenger and side view.
‘Now,’ Ma says, her eyes scanning the road to make sure we aren’t being followed. My stomach’s in my throat. I’m eager to put as much distance between us and the police as we can. But Ben keeps with his routine, putting on his seatbelt and adjusting it around his shoulders.
Ma leans over me and glares at Marissa. ‘Speed this up?’
Before she can command him to do anything, he shifts the car into drive, and everyone lets out a breath. He sits stiffly in his seat, waiting for instructions.
My ma raps the divider again. ‘What’s your hesitation, son?’
He turns and looks at her, then looks to Marissa.
‘I told him not to talk,’ she says.
‘Well, tell him to take us to 56th, and hurry.’ Ma adjusts the saree’s pallu over her shoulder, leaving her hand to rest on her gold and black beaded necklace, then sits back in her seat like what she just said is perfectly fine.
She can’t seriously be suggesting what I think she is. ‘You want to go to our house?’ I lean forward and place my hand on the cool glass divider.
‘Yes.’
‘But we …’
‘Oh please,’ Ma says. ‘It’s the safest place, we’re listed as a P.O. box upstate. The school doesn’t even know where we live.’ She cocks her head at Marissa. ‘I don’t need to remind you we’re trying to evade arrest.’
Marissa purses her lips.
Ma taps over her glove, where most people wear watches, and glares at Marissa.
‘You heard the lady,’ Marissa says to Ben, ‘head to 56th.’
Ma and I watch out the back window. There’s police everywhere in the city, but none of them seem concerned with us. Still, every time I spot a patrol car my heart races into a panic. And the closer we get to my house, the clammier my hands become. I wrap my fingers in my skirt to keep them from trembling. I don’t invite people to my house. Not even Marissa. It’s embarrassing, with my dad and all. Marissa’s lucky enough not to know who her father is. Now, a whole carload is going to meet mine. I can’t think of a worse punishment. This is all Marissa’s fault and she’s too busy pouting to realize it.
Soon we’re pulling up to the kerb in front of our brownstone. Dad comes running out before the doors are even open. He’s wearing a red floral apron over his blue Chelsea Football Club tracksuit and a big smile of relief.
I slink lower in the seat. ‘Oh great.’
He rushes to Ma’s window, passing Ben, who’s en route to Marissa’s door.
‘My dear, you’ve been gone so long. I was worried.’ Dad flings open the door and helps, or rather pulls, Ma out.
‘We’re fine.’ I force a smile, trying to lessen the awkwardness of the exchange. Ben puts his arm around Marissa, and she leans into his body with the casualness of long-time lovers. It would be a catalogue picture if it weren’t for the glazed happiness in his otherwise sharp eyes. I miss the watchfulness that I saw briefly in the cell, the depth that hinted that Benjamin Blake is somehow more. Definitely more than this love-sick puppy. He doesn’t notice anything but Marissa now.
It’s Marissa’s fixed curiosity on Dad that cracks through my fake composure. My cheeks burn.
‘Yes, we’re fine, dear,’ Ma says, with a smile I know is forced, but it’s pretty darn convincing. ‘Why don’t you go make our guests some tea and get started on dinner?’
‘Yes, of course, anything you wish.’ He kisses her and turns, rushing back inside. He doesn’t even notice me.
‘Is that your dad?’ Marissa cringes. ‘I didn’t expect a—’
‘Shut up, Rissa.’
‘What? What did I say?’ She holds up her hands, looking to Ben for support. Of course he’ll agree with her.
My whole body tenses and I storm into the house, dumping my books and whipping off my blazer, skirt and blouse in our narrow front entrance. I head for the couch in the comfort of my under-tank and jean shorts, and collapse into the corner, running my hands over the familiar red suede. Breathe, just breathe. Don’t let her see you cry.
The door opens and Marissa enters. She kicks my skirt out of the way and sets her gold purse on the mantle, Ben following after her. Awkward glances fling around the room and my heart pounds, wondering what they’re all thinking. This is why I never invite her over.
‘There are a lot of red things,’ Marissa mumbles, picking up Ma’s table centrepiece tapestry with a picture of the Vijaya Vilas Palace on it. ‘You’re, like, really Indian.’
Correction, this
is why I never do.
‘You know what, I don’t make fun of your all-white house, don’t make fun of mine.’
Ma enters the room and forces a smile. I hope she didn’t overhear Marissa’s words. She tries her best to preserve and share our culture. After almost thirty years in America she still dresses like she did in Gujarat. As much as she respects St Valentine’s, I often wonder if she wishes she had never had to leave her country and her family for it. While my nani went to one of the Hedoness schools in India, disguised as a Hindu convent, she wanted Ma to experience other extensions of the global infrastructure and chose St Valentine’s because many well-known Hedonesses come from there. She dropped Ma off and stayed only two weeks before rushing home, leaving Ma to board at school. Nani doesn’t like America much. She says the women are too dreamy-eyed and the men act like boys.
I glare at Marissa using Ma’s tapestry as a hand fan while ogling Ben. Maybe Nani has a point.
I stand. ‘I need some air. I’m going to the garden—’
‘You will stay here.’ Ma flashes a weary look and I hesitantly reclaim my seat. ‘I don’t want anyone outside, even in the garden. I’m sure we weren’t followed, but we can never be too safe. Now excuse me, I’ll check on the tea.’ She peels off her gloves and heads to the kitchen.
Marissa and Ben flop on to the couch beside me. ‘My neck is stiff,’ she says, batting her eyes at him.
‘Let me massage you, my love.’
She flips around, grinning at me before removing her blazer, twisting up her hair and sliding her shoulders out of her button-up top. ‘This is how it’s done,’ she says, leaning back into Ben’s strong hands.
I search through the pile of magazines on the coffee table, picking Runner Life and a copy of Femina. I take turns flipping through for something, anything, to distract me from them. It doesn’t work. All I can think about is Ben in a floral apron, rushing to attend to Marissa’s every need. I can’t picture him like my dad – I won’t.
‘You know what?’ I slap the magazines on the table. ‘I think we should release Ben. Tell him to forget you, us, all of this. Tell him to return to Central Park.’
‘I will never forget, my love.’
I roll my eyes.
‘Please,’ Marissa says, leaning into his massage. ‘Does it look like I’m ready to let him go?’
‘He stays,’ Ma says, re-entering with a tray of mismatched mugs and teacups and a pot of sweet masala tea in one hand and her gloves in the other. She takes in my glare and adds, ‘For now. I’ll just ask a few questions then we can send him on his way.’
‘Fine,’ I sigh.
‘Fine,’ Marissa says, crossing her arms.
The tea fragrance wafts across the room, and everyone retakes their seats as Ma busies herself filling the cups. When finished, she relaxes into her armchair, a teacup and saucer resting next to the gloves on her lap. ‘Now tell me, Benjamin, what did this officer want from you?’
Ben glances at Marissa, who nods for him to answer. ‘Ammon?’
‘Yes, the man with the red glasses,’ Ma says.
‘I want to be a police officer.’ Ben sits forward, cupping the steaming mug. ‘He agreed to meet with me and answer questions about the job, maybe even give a referral to the academy. We were going to go over a missing person’s case he’s been working on. I was waiting for him at Central Park …’ Ben blinks a few times and rubs his head, like he’s trying to figure out how his words and memories don’t match.
I try to imagine Ben as an officer and I can’t picture him becoming like the men who handled us so roughly in the cells.
Ma lowers her cup. ‘Who does he think is responsible for these abductions?’
‘On the phone he mentioned something about aliens,’ Ben says, as if it’s something normal to say.
I practically drop my teacup. ‘Aliens?’ This confirms it, when Ammon said, ‘I’m going to make sure you never reach the mother ship,’ what he really meant was, ‘you’re one of them.’
Marissa giggles, leaning further into Ben, who wraps an arm around her and whispers something in her ear. All I make out is the word love.
‘Of all the things I’ve been called,’ Ma snorts from her perch on the side chair. ‘This is a first.’
‘Told you.’ Marissa elbows me. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
I glance to Ma to find her fighting back a cheeky look, and it makes me smile. All the worry of them knowing our secret seems so silly now. Aliens are understandable. Offspring of Eros? That’s just laughable. ‘No, aliens is good.’ I nod to Marissa. ‘We’re aliens, all right – some of us more than others.’
‘Oh, please.’ Marissa huffs. ‘Do we look like aliens to you?’ She flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder and bats her eyes at Ben. ‘We’re so much more than extraterrestrial beings – more like all-powerful ones.’
‘Marissa …’ Ma warns.
‘What? It’s not like he’ll remember.’ She turns to Ben and pinches his cheek. ‘Besides, I’m thinking of keeping this one.’
Then the boy who looks and is just like Benjamin Blake in every way, except for his mind, says, ‘Oh yes, my love, you should keep me.’
‘What are we going to do?’ I ask, leaning around Ben and Marissa’s snugglefest to try and talk to Ma.
‘I’ve put a call in to the school—’
‘Ooh, that reminds me,’ Marissa says, rubbing Ben’s chest and interrupting Ma, ‘get my purse for me, I need my phone.’
Ben jumps up and crosses the room, grabs her golden bag off the mantle and is bringing it back when his glazed eyes flick to the bag in his hands. He frowns, staring, blinking, trying to focus in a way someone does when they’ve forgotten a common word.
‘Have a seat,’ Marissa says, patting the couch beside her. Ben hesitates to listen; instead he releases the bag and squeezes his head.
Marissa’s mouth drops. ‘It’s wearing off. How can that be? My last turning lasted two days.’
‘Well,’ Ma brings the teacup to saucer and sits forward, ‘did you make good contact?’
Marissa crosses her arms. ‘I did the best I could, considering the steel bars.’
Ben, still squeezing his head, lowers himself to the empty seat beside Marissa, and stares down at his socks, puzzling over a dirty spot he picked up from the fall at the park. Ma eyes me warily over him.
‘Should I turn him again?’ Marissa asks.
‘What? No,’ I say.
‘Let’s see how this plays out,’ Ma says, louder.
He wobbles back, like he’s being jolted into his body, blinking as he takes us in. I can only imagine what it’s like being under Hedoness control and then suddenly released. Yo-yoing back and forth between sanity and delirium. He looks lost, confused, and I feel awful for him.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks, glancing around the room, his eyes never settling in one place. He stands quickly. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’
Marissa tugs on his sleeve, ushering him back to the couch. He sits, keeping his weight suspended by his legs, like at any moment he might bolt for the door. ‘You’re fine, we’re here to help,’ she says.
‘You.’ He looks at her, really looks, then his blue eyes shift to mine and I’m relieved to see that curiosity in them again. ‘And you,’ he says, ‘I recognize you, at least I think I do. My head’s kinda foggy.’
Ma takes a sip of her tea. ‘Marissa, why don’t you tell him why he’s here,’ she says, less in a tell him the facts and more in a you made this mess, you clean it up kind of way.
Marissa forces a smile and looks about, not focusing on any one thing. I’ve seen this shiftiness many times. Part of me wants to say something, but the other, larger part can’t wait to hear what wild story she comes up with. When her eyes trail past the pile of books strewn by the door, they spark with an idea. She sits up straight.
‘We found you passed out in Central Park on our way to school this morning. We didn’t know if you had health insurance so we c
alled Rachel’s mom and she brought you here.’
He looks at me, then at Ma in a way that hints he’s trying to gather his own evidence.
‘Passed out?’ he repeats, as if he doesn’t believe it’s true.
When no one answers, he stands and tugs on his coat. ‘Well, thank you for your help but I should get going, I was supposed to meet someone and he’s probably wondering where I am.’
Ma sits forward, shifting her teacup and saucer to the table and gripping her gloves in her other hand.
‘No,’ Marissa says, tugging him back. ‘I mean, you hit your head pretty hard when you fainted. We called the precinct and they said Ammon’s coming to get you.’ She glances at Ma as if to ask if she did OK. Ma responds by refilling her teacup and sitting back in the chair. Marissa smiles.
‘Oh yeah, Ammon, eh?’ He frowns. ‘How did you know to call Ammon?’
Ma’s back stiffens.
Marissa crosses her legs. ‘Well, we, uh—’
‘We called the police to report finding you,’ Ma says. I choke on my mouthful of tea. ‘We gave your description and they connected us through to Ammon.’
He relaxes at this, in a way that a person relaxes in a room full of strangers, uncomfortable and forced, and he rakes a hand through his dark hair. ‘I never thought of myself as the fainting type.’ He grins at Marissa, a real grin, one he wants to give her, not the dull forced grin of a turned man. He just got jolted back into his body and doesn’t really remember anything, and yet he’s poised and confident in the midst of all this confusion. I can’t remember a single time my dad looked that self-assured.
Marissa’s ears flush. I’ve never seen that happen before either. She likes it, him. I don’t blame her; there’s something about him, something disarming.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ he says again, making intentional eye contact with each of us. ‘I should probably call Ammon and find out when he’ll be here.’