Wake

by Lisa McMann

  Janie closes her eyes, picturing it. “Clever,” she murmurs. She opens her eyes. “Really clever, Cabe.”

  “So you could read the tablet?” he says. His face flushes a little.

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  She searches his face. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  She’s quiet. “I don’t know what to say. I’m really confused.”

  He takes her hand and leans back on the couch. “I have a lot of explaining to do. Will you hear me out?”

  She takes a breath, and lets it out slowly. All the reasons to hate him flood back into her brain. Her self-protective nature percolates. She does not want to ride this roller coaster again. “Well,” she says finally, “I can’t imagine I’ll believe a word of it. You’ve been lying to me from the beginning, Cabe. Since before, well, anything.” Her voice catches.

  She looks away.

  Withdraws her hand from his.

  Stands up abruptly. “Bathroom?” she squeaks.

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “Through the kitchen, first door on the right.”

  She finds it, sobs silently over the sink for a moment, blows her nose, and sits on the edge of the tub until she gets it together again. Realizes she’s already on this roller coaster, and sitting in the front car.

  When she gets to the living room, he’s ending a cell-phone call, saying “tomorrow” firmly, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He flips the phone off.

  “Look,” he says in a dull voice, not looking at her. “There’s some shit I can’t tell you. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. But I’ll answer any question—any question I can right now. If I can’t, and you don’t like that, you are free to hate me forever. I won’t bother you.”

  She is confused. “Okay,” she says slowly. Decides to start with an easy one. “Who were you talking to, just now.”

  He closes his eyes. Groans. “Shay.”

  Janie stands in the doorway to the living room, tottering. Furious tears spring to her eyes. But when she speaks, her voice is deadly calm. “Jesus Christ, Cabe.” She turns and grabs her backpack and walks firmly out the same way they entered the house.

  Gets in her car.

  She can’t get out of the driveway.

  She thinks about ramming his pimpmobile.

  But that wouldn’t be nice for Ethel.

  “Goddamnit!” she screams, and puts her head on the steering wheel. She can’t even drive through the yard without hurting Ethel, because of the stupid drainage ditch.

  And then she hears the front door slam. He’s running to move his car. He starts it up and pulls it into the grass next to hers so she can back out.

  She doesn’t know why she’s waiting.

  He’s coming to her window.

  She can still go now.

  He taps.

  She hesitates, and then rolls down the window an inch.

  “I’m so sorry, Janie,” he says.

  He’s bawling.

  He goes back inside.

  She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself.

  Because she thinks she’s in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now.

  She chooses the harder one.

  And knocks on the door.

  He’s on the phone again when he opens it. His eyes are rimmed in red. “I’ll try,” he says, and hangs up the phone. Stands there. Looking like shit.

  “Let’s try this again,” Janie says, angry, hands on her hips. “Who were you talking to on the phone just now, Cabe?” Her words slice through the crisp air.

  “My boss.”

  She’s taken aback for a moment. “You mean your dealer? Your pimp?” The sarcasm rings in the dusky house.

  He closes his eyes. “No.”

  She stands there. Uncertain.

  He opens his eyes. Takes off his glasses and wipes his face with his sleeve. His voice has lost all hope. “Is there any chance,” he says evenly, “that you’ll come for a ride with me? My boss is interested in talking to you.”

  She blinks. She gets nervous. “Why?” she asks.

  “I can’t tell you. You’ll have to trust me.”

  Janie takes a step back. The words ring familiar in her ears. She asked the same of him once.

  She deliberates.

  “I’ll drive separately,” she says quietly.

  4:45 p.m.

  She follows his car to downtown Fieldridge. He turns into a large parking lot that serves the back entrances to the library, post office, police station, Frank’s Bar & Grille, the Fieldridge bakery, and a small fleet of high-rise apartments and condos. He drives into a parking space. She pulls in next to him.

  He walks toward the line of buildings and, using a key, enters an unmarked door.

  She follows him inside.

  They go down a flight of stairs, and a room opens out in front of them, with a dozen partitioned offices and a separate office with a closed door.

  Half a dozen people look up as they approach.

  “Cabe.” They nod, one at a time. He nods in response, and knocks lightly on the door to the office.

  On the window, in black lettering, it says, “Captain Fran Komisky.”

  The door opens. A bronze-haired woman urges them to come in. Her hair is cropped short, and it frames her brown skin. She’s wearing a black tailored skirt and jacket with a crisp white blouse. “Sit,” she says.

  They sit.

  She sits behind her desk, which is littered with papers and has three phones and two computers resting on it.

  The captain regards the two visitors for a moment. She rests her elbows on the desk, makes a tent with her fingers, and presses them against her mouth. Her eyes crinkle slightly with age.

  She lowers her hands.

  “So. Ms. Hannagan, is it? I’m Fran Komisky. Everybody calls me Captain.” She leans over the desk and reaches for Janie’s hand. Janie slips forward in her seat to shake it.

  “Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Janie says mechanically. She glances at Cabel. He’s looking at his lap.

  “Likewise,” Captain says to Janie. “Cabe, you look like hell. Shall we get this thing straightened out?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cabel says.

  Janie looks up, wondering if Cabe means to call her that. It doesn’t seem to bother the captain.

  “Janie,” she says in a tough voice. “Cabe here tells me he’d rather quit his job than lose you. Quite a young man he is, I must say. Anyway,” she continues, “since that announcement affects me greatly, I’ve invited you here to discuss this little problem. And you need to know that I’d rather lose my left leg than lose Cabe at this stage of the game.”

  Janie swallows. Wonders what the hell is going on.

  The captain looks at Cabe. “Cabe says you can be trusted with a secret. Is that true?”

  Janie starts. “Yes, ma’am . . . sir,” she says.

  Captain smiles. Breaks the tension a bit.

  “So. You’re here because this dear boy has been lying to you, and I made him do it, and he’s afraid you won’t believe a word he says ever again. Ms. Hannagan, do you think you can believe me?”

  Janie nods. What else can she do?

  “Good. Somewhere I have a list of things I’ve jotted down, things I’m supposed to tell you, and I’ll trust that if you have further questions, Cabel can answer them for you. And you’ll believe him.”

  It sounds like an order.

  Captain pages through the pile of papers and slips on half-glasses. Her phone rings, and she reaches automatically for a button, silencing it. “Here we are. First.” She glances at Cabe, and then back at the paper. “Cabe is not ‘involved’ with Shay Wilder.” She looks up, peering over her glasses. “I can’t really prove that, Ms. Hannagan, but I’ve seen him nearly hurl after spending a recent evening with her. You good with that one?”

  Janie nods. She feels like she’s in somebody’s weird dream.

  “I sai
d, are you good with that one?” Captain’s voice booms.

  “Yes, sir,” Janie says. She sits up straighter in the chair.

  “Good. Second. Cabe is not a drug dealer, pusher, liaison, user, and/or other in real life. He just plays one on TV.” She pauses, but doesn’t wait for a response this time.

  “Third.” She sits back, sets the paper on the desk, and taps a pen against her teeth. “We’re this close”—she holds up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart—“to closing a major drug bust in North Fieldridge, up on the Hill. If this gets messed up because you whisper one word to anybody, and I mean anybody, I will hold you personally responsible, Ms. Hannagan. Besides Cabel and Principal Abernethy, you are the only one who knows about this. Are we clear?”

  Janie nods, eyes wide. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Fine.” Captain turns to Cabe. Her face softens. Slightly.

  “Cabel,” she says. “My dear boy. Are you with me or not? I need your head in the game. Now. Or this thing is shot to hell.”

  Cabel glances at Janie, and waits. She startles. He’s leaving it up to her. She nods.

  He sits up straight in his chair, looks Captain in the eye. “Yes, sir, I’m in the game.”

  Captain nods, and flashes an approving grin at both of them. “Good. Are we through here?”

  Janie shifts uncomfortably.

  And then she gives Cabel a haunting look.

  “Fuck,” she whispers, and digs her fingernails into the chair’s armrests.

  5:14 p.m.

  Janie tumbles into a bank vault, where a black-haired cop sits on the floor, tied up. He wrestles with the ropes around his wrists and the gag in his mouth—

  5:15 p.m.

  She’s back in the chair, next to Cabel, except Cabel is walking behind her, moving toward his chair again. The door is closed now. He sits down.

  “Thanks,” she whispers, and clears her throat. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

  Captain is staring at her, eyes narrow. She looks from Janie to Cabel, back to Janie. She clears her throat. Loudly. Waiting.

  Janie’s face goes white.

  Cabel’s eyes go wide.

  “Do you need medical assistance, Ms. Hannagan?” the captain finally says.

  “No, sir. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Cabe?”

  “She’s fine, sir.”

  Captain taps her pen on the desk, deliberating. She speaks slowly. “Is there anything else you two want to tell me about what just happened here?”

  Cabel looks at Janie. “It’s your call,” he says quietly.

  She hesitates.

  Looks Captain in the eye.

  “No, sir,” she says. “Just . . . that . . . one of your officers is asleep at his desk and he’s having a nasty dream. Looks like a bank robbery gone bad for the cops. He’s tied up in a vault. Sir.”

  Captain’s face doesn’t change. She taps her lips with the pen now, and she’s holding the wrong end. Blue ink leaves a tiny dotted trail under her nose.

  “Which officer, Janie?” the captain asks slowly.

  “I . . . I don’t know his name. Short black hair. Early forties, maybe? Stocky. He was tied up with rope around his ankles and wrists, and had a white cloth gag around his mouth. Last I saw, anyway. Things change.”

  “Rabinowitz,” Captain and Cabel say together.

  “You want to double-check those facts for me, Cabe?”

  “Sir, no offense, sir, but I don’t need to. I think you might like to go question him yourself.”

  Captain tilts her head slightly, thinking. She pushes her chair back. “Don’t go anywhere, you two,” she says. She gives them both a strong, hard look before leaving. A look that says, “You better not fuck with me.” When Captain opens the door and strides out, Janie grips the chair in anticipation. “Leave it open, Cabe,” she gasps as she goes blind.

  And she’s back in the vault.

  They’re running out of air. The cop is struggling to get loose. He’s trying to knock his cell phone out of his belt. Janie knows he wants to call his wife. She tries to get his attention. He looks into her eyes, and she concentrates on his pupils. Ask me to help you, she thinks as hard as she can think. Though she doesn’t know how he will be able say it with the cloth stuffed in his mouth.

  She hears a muffled plea and realizes it’s good enough. “Yes! That’s it.” She unwraps the gag, and realizes she spoke out loud. Cool. “Now.” She stares into his eyes again. “This is your dream,” she says. “You can change it. Get free.”

  He looks at her, his eyes wild.

  “Get free,” she encourages again.

  He struggles and cries out.

  And his arms and legs break free.

  He lunges for his phone and calls 911. Closes his eyes, and the vault lock magically appears on the inside of the vault. A piece of paper floats down from nowhere with the information on how to open it.

  He does it instantly.

  And everything goes black.

  5:19 p.m.

  Janie’s back with Cabel. He’s touching her arm. “You okay, Hannagan?” He slips outside and returns, hands her a paper cup full of water, and she drinks it greedily.

  She is shaking only slightly, from adrenaline more than anything. “I did it. I helped him,” she says. “Oh, God, that was cool! My first time for a tough one like that.” She grins.

  Cabel is smiling wearily. “You’ll have to explain that one later,” he says. “If you’re still speaking to me.”

  “Oh, Cabel. I . . . ”

  Captain comes back into the room and closes the door.

  “Tell me what you saw, Ms. Hannagan. If you would, please. Rabinowitz says it’s okay.”

  Janie blinks. She can’t believe Captain is taking her seriously. She tells her everything she witnessed in the vault.

  There is a long.

  Long.

  Pause.

  “Hot damn,” Captain says finally.

  She tosses her half-glasses on the desk. “How’d you do that? You’re . . . you’re . . . ”

  She hesitates.

  Continues, almost as if to herself, in a voice tinged with something. It might even be awe. “You’re a regular Martha Stubin.”

  6:40 p.m.

  Cabel and Janie are snarfing down grease-burgers and fries at Frank’s Bar & Grille, next door to the police department. They sit at the counter on round red bar swivels, watching the cooks fry burgers five feet away. It’s one of those old-fashioned places, where you can get a malted milk shake.

  They eat with abandon, minds whirling.

  8:04 p.m.

  They are back at Cabel’s house. Cabel shows her around the two rooms she hasn’t seen: his bedroom and the computer room. He has two computers, three printers, a CB radio, and a police scanner.

  “Unbelievable,” she says looking around. “Wait—wait one second. . . . Do you live here alone?”

  “I do now.”

  “How—”

  “I’m nineteen. I was in the class ahead of you until ninth grade. You may remember.”

  Janie remembers him flunking into their class. “It was before I knew you,” she remarks.

  “My brother pops in now and then, just to see if I’m staying out of trouble. He and his wife live a few miles away. They moved out, thankfully, when I turned eighteen.”

  “Thankfully?”

  “It’s a really small house. Thin walls. Newlyweds.”

  “Ah. What about your parents?”

  Cabel lounges on the couch. Janie sits in a chair nearby. “My mom lives in Florida. Somewhere. I think.” He shrugs. “Dad raised us. Sort of. I guess my brother actually raised me.”

  Janie curls up in her chair and watches him. He’s far away. She waits.

  “Dad was in Vietnam, at the tail end. His mind was messed up.” Cabel looks at her. “When Mom left, he got mean. He pretty much beat the shit out of us. . . . ” Cabel looks at the table. “He died. A few years ago. It’s cool. Yanno? I’m over it. Done.”
Cabel gets up off the couch and stretches.

  Janie stands up. “Take me back there,” she says.

  “What?”

  “Show me. The back of the shed.”

  He bites his lip. “Okay . . . ” He hesitates. “I haven’t, you know. Been back there in a while. It was—used to be—my hiding place.”

  She nods. Gets her coat. Tosses his coat to him. They go out through the back door.

  Crunch on the frosty grass.

  Taste the air for snow.

  When they get close, he slows down.

  “You go ahead,” he says. He stops at the edge of a small, dormant garden.

  Janie looks at him. She’s afraid. “Okay,” she says. The grass grows long and squeaks as she walks through it.

  Janie slips away into the darkness and disappears from Cabel’s view behind the shed. She stops and peers at the shed, getting her eyes accustomed to the darkness. She sees her spot, where she leans against it in the dreams, and stands there.

  Looks to the left.

  Waits for the monster.

  But she knows now that the monster died with his dad.

  She crawls to the corner, to view the place where he comes from.

  She sees it, vividly.

  Cabel, leaving the house. Slamming the door.

  The man on the steps, yelling. Following.

  The punch to Cabel’s face.

  The lighter fluid to his belly.

  The fire and screaming.

  The transformation.

  And the monster, running toward her, with knives for fingers. Howling.

  She’s starting to freak out, in the darkness.

  Sucks in a breath.

  Needs, desperately needs, to hear it was just a dream.

  He’s sitting on the back step. Quiet.

  She walks to him. Takes his hand. Leads him inside.

  The house is dark. She fumbles for a lamp, and in its glow, they cast shadows on the far wall. She closes the curtains. Takes his coat, and hers, and hangs them over the chairs in the kitchen, and he stands there, watching her.

  “Show me,” she says. Her voice shakes a little.

  “Show you what? I think you’ve seen it all.” His laugh is hollow, unsettled. Trying to read her mind.