The Mansion

by Boone, Ezekiel

  “You can’t possibly be serious,” Billy said. “I’m still so full I’ll explode if I hit a single bump. Plus, it’s dark out. We can go sledding tomorrow.”

  “Ah, come on, don’t be a pussy. There are toboggans and sleds somewhere in here. Nellie, do we have toboggans?”

  There are toboggans stored in the coatroom off the main foyer.

  Wendy shook her head. “Nobody wants to go sledding. Don’t be a bully, Shawn.”

  Emily piped up. “And while you’re at it, how about you not call people pussies? Asshole.”

  Wendy leaned toward Emily. “Seriously, was he always like this, or has he gotten more obnoxious in the intervening years since college?”

  “You know,” Shawn said, “you are actually my employee. Not, you know, just technically, but in reality. I can fire you.”

  Wendy turned to him and counted off on her fingers. “One, I have enough money in the bank and shares of stock that I don’t actually have to work anymore.”

  “Wait, how much do I pay—”

  “Not enough to put up with your shit. Two, for my most recent contract, you signed off on an extremely punitive set of financial rewards if you fire me without cause. Three, you can’t actually fire me, because you wouldn’t know how to fill out the paperwork if I was gone. Four, let’s be honest, your life would fall apart without me.”

  “Okay, fine. I can’t argue with the money stuff, but I think saying my life would fall apart without you is maybe a step too far.”

  “Tell me what your phone number is.”

  “I—”

  “Without pulling out your phone to check. What’s your phone number? Or, how about this: How many cars do you own? Or, no, forget cars. How many houses do you own?”

  Emily started to laugh. Billy and Wendy, too, and Shawn gave up and joined in. “For the record,” he said, “no, I was not always like this.” He turned to Emily and Billy. “Come on, tell her.”

  Billy shook his head. “Don’t look at me. We’ve already got a messy history, the three of us, without you trying to put me in the middle.”

  He said it warmly enough, but when Shawn looked at Emily, she wasn’t laughing.

  “Yes, actually. You were always like this,” she said.

  “Come on. That’s not true. I was a good boyfriend.” He said it, and then he wished, rather desperately, that he hadn’t said it. The proof was sitting right in front of him, right next to Emily on the couch. If he’d been a good boyfriend, she wouldn’t be married to Billy Stafford. He and Billy wouldn’t have had a falling out, either. He’d still have his best friend. If he’d been a good boyfriend, maybe he would have ended up being a good husband. Maybe Emily would be married to him and maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone so much of the . . .

  Emily laughed, but it was short and hard, more of a bark. “You keep telling yourself that, Shawn. I was too young to see it clearly then, but I’m not twenty anymore. Cortaca University was a lifeline for me, Shawn. I needed it, needed to get away from my father and out of Kansas City. That degree would have been the promise that I never, ever had to worry about going back. And you know, I’ve been kicking myself ever since for dropping out, but you were part of it. You encouraged me to stay, begged me to stay at the cabin. You needed me, you said. And you know what I needed, Shawn? I needed that degree. I needed to be sure that I’d never be trapped again. Goddammit, Shawn. How could you?”

  Shawn stared at her, horrified. She was blinking hard all through that little speech, like she was going to cry, and as she finished talking, she— Shit. She was crying. And then she was running out of the room.

  Billy stood up. “Well, that took a quick turn for the worse. Jesus. Okay. I better go after her.” He took a few steps and then stopped. He looked at Shawn. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, man, but even though I think she has a real point, what happened in the cabin between the three of us . . .” He trailed off, glanced at Wendy, and then looked straight at Shawn. “Everything that happened at the cabin, well, there’s enough blame to spread around. It’s not all on you.”

  He looked back at Wendy and offered up something between a grimace, a smile, and a shrug. “Sorry. We’ve got a lot of history.” Back to Shawn. “Let’s go for a walk tomorrow. We’ve got some work things to talk over.”

  When it was just the two of them in the room, Wendy gave him a baleful look. “You’re an asshole, Shawn.” She left the room, too. Shawn heard the door to the stairs open and close, Wendy walking down to her suite in Eagle Mansion. He got up and looked over the detritus from the Thanksgiving meal: plates and glasses spread over the table, the bones of the turkey, the platter of mashed potatoes gone cold, the gravy turned solid, three different pies nibbled at. None of it mattered, he thought. It didn’t matter how many plates or glasses or platters they used, didn’t matter how much food they wasted. When he came back into this room in the morning, it would all be gone, wiped clean. Thanksgiving could have never happened.

  If only it was that easy to wipe his own slate clean.

  “Nellie?”

  Emily seems quite angry with you, Shawn.

  He looked around the room. It was just him and Nellie.

  “I think I might still love her, Nellie. Is that crazy? I think the last time I was well and truly happy was when the three of us were living in that cabin. We had some good months before it went sour. Do you know what I want more than anything?”

  Nellie was quiet.

  “Nellie?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I want it like that again. Just the three of us, that feeling like anything is possible.” He hesitated, and then, quietly: “I want Emily to be in love with me again.”

  Nothing. She didn’t say anything, and worse, Shawn realized he couldn’t feel Nellie’s presence.

  It was, he thought, the most alone he’d felt in years.

  He went down the stairs, mildly irked at the idea of having to stay in one of the suites instead of in the Nest, which he’d built for his own use. But that didn’t stop him from falling asleep almost immediately. He slept hard, too. If he had dreams, he didn’t remember them, and when he woke in the morning, once he’d taken a shower, he felt great. Refreshed. Wiped clean. His breakfast smoothie was waiting for him in the living area of the suite, and he drank it while he knocked out a couple of e-mail replies that had to be sent. When he called out for Nellie, she answered with no delay and told him that Billy could meet him for their walk in five minutes.

  He put on a pair of good waterproof boots and a heavy barn coat matched with a scarf, hat, and sheepskin gloves with shearling lining. He hesitated by the door of the suite and then decided to leave his phone. They weren’t going that far anyway, and it would be good to talk seriously with Billy without the constant pings and chatter. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, and by the time he stepped outside, he was warm enough that the bracing air felt good. The snow looked tender and light, the sun giving it a gentle sheen. The plow had already been out and the steps and walkways had been cleared.

  Billy came out a minute or two later, bundled up in what looked like brand-new winter boots and a ski jacket. He was carrying a hat and gloves, both of which still actually had tags on them. Billy held them up for Shawn to see. “I got to say, man, Nellie can be pretty boss. She’s got good taste. I was planning on ordering winter gear, but Emily said this stuff all just showed up. I thought Wendy ordered it, but evidently it was Nellie. There’s a bunch more stuff, too.”

  “Whatever you guys need,” Shawn said.

  “It’s only money, right?”

  There was an edge to the way he said it.

  “Okay,” Shawn said. “Let’s hear it, Billy. I don’t want to play any games.”

  Billy stared at him. His mouth was set, and Shawn had the sudden fear that he’d made a mistake by telling his security guys to lay off, but then Billy relaxed.

  “Sorry. Shit. I’m just on edge.” He walked past Shawn, chucking him on the shoulder the way t
hat guys do, and then went down the steps and started walking down the drive. Shawn followed, but then Billy hesitated and looked down at Shawn’s boots.

  “Those waterproof?” Billy asked. Shawn nodded, and Billy said, “How do you feel about maybe going out into the woods a bit? We shouldn’t have much trouble following the trails. Even with the snow, they’ll be pretty carved out.”

  They walked for several minutes without saying anything. Once or twice, Shawn started to ask Billy about his work with Nellie, but something held him back. He’d learned over the years that sometimes it was best to let the other fellow stew. Billy led, and Shawn followed. By the time they had wound their way up the path to the top of the rise, Billy was out of breath. Shawn wasn’t sure why, but there was something about Billy’s being out of shape that was pleasing.

  “How far out is Nellie wired?”

  “What?”

  “Can she hear us out here?”

  Shawn looked around. The trees broke the view behind them, the path curving and at times twisting. He couldn’t see Eagle Mansion at all. He shook his head. “No. Anywhere in the building, obviously, and on the grounds proper, but not out here, not in the woods.”

  Billy took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. He hesitated and then took off his hat, too, leaving his hair a static mess. “Is this some sort of joke? Are you messing with me?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t play innocent. Are you messing with me?”

  But Shawn was really and truly startled by the question. “No,” he said, “I am not messing with you. Why? What happened?” He realized that Billy was shivering. No. He’d just seen Billy take off his hat and gloves. Billy wasn’t shivering. He was shaking. “Dude,” Shawn said. He stepped to Billy and put his hand on Billy’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  Billy covered his face with his hands.

  “What are you talking about, Billy?”

  Billy lowered his hands, and then Shawn watched him take several deep breaths, exhaling forcefully and fully each time. He looked about to say something, but then he paused, and it was like watching a train going down one track suddenly switch to another.

  “Takata.”

  “Are you joking now?”

  “She knows about Takata.”

  “You’re talking about Nellie? How,” Shawn said, trying very hard to keep his voice low and calm, “could she possibly know about Takata? You know about Takata. I know about Takata. One, two people. Nobody else. And certainly not a goddamned computer program. How is Nellie supposed to know about that?”

  Billy stood next to a heavy maple. It was a tall tree, naked of leaves but still standing strong into the sky. Shawn figured it had probably already been a big tree back when his great-grandfather first built Eagle Mansion.

  “You tell me,” Billy said. “You tell me how she knows about Takata.”

  Shawn took two big steps forward, his hands launching of their own accord. He grabbed the lapels of Billy’s coat and pushed hard. Billy stumbled the few inches back until he banged against the tree behind him. Shawn lifted and twisted, and Billy’s heels came off the ground. He leaned his face in tight to Billy’s.

  “Stop. Saying. That. Name.” He spit each word out as an entire sentence. No. He yelled it. He was screaming at Billy, and Billy looked terrified. His face had gone pale, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping like that of a fish. Shawn gave another hard shove and then let go, throwing his hands up in the air and stepping away as Billy stumbled and then caught himself. “Just shut up, okay? Let me think for a second.”

  He turned and paced down the trail, putting space between him and Billy, stopping once he had gone twenty or thirty feet. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his barn coat and then kicked wildly at a drift of snow. “Arg!” He screamed it up to the heavens. Why couldn’t things stay buried? It was like a zombie rising from the grave. He went to kick at the snow again and then he froze.

  Oh my god. Had he . . . ?

  He had.

  It wasn’t Takata rising from the grave. It was him. Shawn Eagle. His own damn fault. Takata hadn’t just risen from the dead on his own; he’d been dug up and revived by Shawn himself. This whole ridiculous project. Rebuilding Eagle Mansion, trying to get Nellie working. It was him. He couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  “Come on, let’s walk.” He followed his own advice, tromping farther down the trail. He didn’t bother to look back. Billy would follow him or he wouldn’t, but either way, he wanted a little more distance from Eagle Mansion before he had this conversation. He walked hard for maybe a quarter mile. The snow crunched with every step he took. He’d had his landscapers carve out miles and miles of trails through the acreage he’d bought—Emily said she’d been running them regularly—but this trail traced the ridge. With the leaves thinning on the trees, he caught occasional glimpses of the Saint Lawrence spilled out below him. Finally, he stopped in a small clearing and waited for Billy to catch up. The snow was fresh, untouched.

  “What do you mean, Nellie knows about Takata?”

  Billy was out of breath again, and he bent over and put his hands on his knees. “Give me a second.”

  Shawn watched him huff and puff, impatient.

  “When you brought me here in September, and Nellie said that your question wasn’t what we wanted to ask her about? She said his name then. And she’s still doing it. I’ve gone through absolutely everything, and I can’t figure out where the name Takata is coming from. It’s like she’s pulling it out of the air, but she knows, man. She knows.”

  Shawn started to speak and then he stopped. “Give me your phone,” he said.

  “Why do—”

  “Give me your phone.” He was positively growling.

  Billy stared at him and then patted down his pockets. After a few seconds he shook his head. “Left it back in the Nest. Why do . . . Wait. Nellie can listen through our phones?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But how much privacy do you really think you have? And I’ll tell you this, if I ever hear you say the name Takata to me again after this conversation, I swear to god I’ll do to you exactly what I did to him.”

  He let that sink in for a few seconds. He could see that it shook Billy. Truth be told, it shook him that he’d said it. Shook him even more that he absolutely meant it.

  He could feel the handle of the maul in his hands. It was a visceral feeling. He could have been standing by the woodpile outside the cabin that October afternoon so long ago. The three of them had been fighting over it for days. They’d been living together since graduation, the end of May. Nearly five months, and things had been sour almost from the beginning. Takata had his own idea of things, was looking for a way to leverage their work into a quick payoff, while Shawn and Billy could see the forest despite the trees. But then Takata had tried to make a move behind their backs. They weren’t far enough along in what they were doing to have even considered giving up on the idea of Nellie yet, but Takata was taking a job, and he was taking the seeds of what they were doing with him. All of it for a salary that wasn’t even that impressive.

  “Just giving it away, you mean,” Shawn had said. “You’re just giving it away like it’s nothing.”

  Takata didn’t see it that way, though. He’d worked just as hard as they had, and he was tired of living out in the woods. It was a good enough offer, and they were fools for not seeing it, and forget you, Shawn. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Shawn. You want to try and I’ll sue you until you’re back in the Stone Age. I’m taking what’s mine and you can’t stop me.

  Shawn hadn’t meant to do it.

  They’d been drinking beer and shouting and hurling accusations for days, weeks maybe, and that day, Billy had finally given up. In retrospect, Shawn should have noticed that Billy always had two beers for every one that he had, but that afternoon, Billy was either passed out or just asleep, and it was only he and Takata standing out there in the yard. Shawn had been so frustrated that he’d started splitting logs to have som
ething to do; the swing and thunk of the maul knocking the rounds into smaller chunks of firewood felt like a heartbeat. The maul was an eight-pounder. They’d found it in the cabin when they moved in. The handle was worn smooth by years of use, and at first, Takata had laughed at Shawn’s delight in finding it: How could you cut anything with such a rusty ax?

  But Takata hadn’t grown up in the woods. He’d seen it only on television. He thought that an ax and a maul were the same thing, and Shawn had to explain to him that you wanted an ax to be sharp and thin, but that a maul was supposed to be thick and dull. An ax was designed to cut wood; a maul was designed to split wood wide open.

  Takata learned the difference.

  It had happened so quickly. If he could have taken it back, he would have. But he couldn’t.

  Takata just kept pushing and pushing and threatening to destroy what they’d been working on, claiming he’d make Shawn sorry if Shawn didn’t give in, and Shawn just turned without thinking and he—

  Eight pounds was light enough that you could make the head of the maul whistle through the air. On firewood, the edge forced the wood apart, breaking it into two pieces. A blunt edge with the full force of a grown man swinging the handle in anger? What a maul could do to a human being.

  He swung it hard, like he was swinging a belt.

  Shawn woke Billy, and Billy was terrified at the sight of Takata’s body on the ground, the disgusting pulp of Takata’s head. Billy was almost gibbering. But Shawn saw the angles immediately. They carried the body to the plot of land where his great-grandfather, his grandfather and grandmother, and his parents were all buried, and they dug up the grave of his great-grandfather. The boards of the coffin had all but disintegrated, and Billy started freaking out again when he saw bones, but Shawn dumped Takata’s body in the ground and started shoveling the dirt back in. They cleaned themselves up and then Shawn went to work on Takata’s laptop. He sent an e-mail withdrawing from the job, and then he set about building an elaborate series of echoes and boomerangs. It helped that Takata had no siblings, no aunts or uncles, just his mother. Shawn sent an e-mail telling her that he—Takata—was taking a break and going backpacking for a while. Working around IP addresses and bouncing signals was nothing, and for a year he kept it up, a short e-mail every few days, just enough so that Takata’s mother didn’t seem concerned. Takata “flew” to Romania—the country had a database with enough holes that Billy wormed his way in and added Takata’s name to their customs and immigration rolls—and then from there, Takata worked his way through eastern and central Europe. After almost twelve months, Takata was in Italy, on the coast. Shawn wrote one last e-mail to Takata’s mother: according to the e-mail, Takata had bought a sailboat, cheap, and was planning to sail from Sorrento, Italy, to Barcelona, Spain.