The Vanishing Stair

by Maureen Johnson

  “Seems like a weird thing to mention,” Hunter said.

  “On the wire,” Stevie said again. “These are the big reveals? Something about a tunnel and a wire? What about the stuff about the will?”

  “She would never write that down. Like I said, she’s really paranoid. She doesn’t even like that I have a phone that can take pictures. But I think that’s the . . . well, you probably noticed the bottles. And the smell. And everything.”

  “Kind of hard to miss.”

  “I should put this stuff back,” he said, reaching for the folder. “You should probably get out of here, or . . . you know, we could . . . If you want to take a walk or something? Get some coffee? Go somewhere that doesn’t smell like ass? Before she gets back and sees you?”

  They walked down Pearl Street, from the university area, down to Church Street, where the shops and the tourist section took over. This street was blocked off to cars, so they walked down the middle. They said nothing for a bit—just let the silence sit between them.

  “She went through treatment once,” he finally said, “about ten years ago, because my family staged an intervention. She said she went only because they made her, to keep them happy. She always says she doesn’t have a problem. I think she believes that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Hunter said. “Not for her, but . . . she’s not that hard to deal with. She’s fine to live with, basically. The house smells because she smokes inside and has no sense of smell. But my room is . . . it’s better. I have a giant air filter and a bunch of Febreze up there. I keep the window open a lot. Gets kind of cold.”

  “Sounds awesome,” Stevie said.

  “Sometimes I stay over with other people,” Hunter said. “My friends on campus. I just crash on the floor. It’s no big deal since I only live a few blocks away anyway.”

  “Why do you do it?” she said. “Live here?”

  “I get discounted tuition, I have a free place to live while I go to school, and I keep an eye on her and report back to everyone. With me around I think she’s a little more stable. She eats more regular meals. She maybe doesn’t drink as much. Every once in a while she gets kind of . . . agitated. She’s not dangerous or anything. She yells. But that’s it. We have one agreement—she doesn’t drive. I drive or she walks or takes a cab.”

  Stevie wondered if Hunter really was as okay with this as he seemed. Living with an alcoholic aunt in a smoke-filled house in return for free room and board and a tuition discount seemed maybe not the best deal in the world, but on some level, she got it. You do what is necessary.

  You make deals.

  “You haven’t asked me about the crutch,” he said.

  “I didn’t think I was supposed to,” she said. “You’re not wearing a cast, so I guess you use it permanently.”

  He nodded.

  “Juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I’ve had it since I was fifteen. The cold doesn’t help. I should really live in Florida or something, but here I am, in warm and sunny Vermont.”

  “Good pick,” Stevie said.

  “It’s a big tuition discount. My friends have futons.”

  There was a coffee place coming up on the right and Hunter headed for it, but Stevie lingered.

  “The tunnel,” she said.

  Hunter turned back.

  “What about it?”

  “How Ellie died down there. If we had known sooner . . . I don’t know. Maybe we could have gotten to her in time. Your aunt knew it was there. I know it’s not her fault. I’m the one who made Ellie run.”

  “If I understand what happened,” Hunter said, “and I’m not saying I do, but, what you said was right. Wasn’t it? About what Ellie had done?”

  “Yeah, but . . . I don’t think it was the whole story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stevie shook her head. She didn’t even know what she meant. There was too much information.

  “You know what?” he said. “There are some cool swings by the water. Bench swings. Bench swings make everything better. Want to go try them out? Better than coffee!”

  A bench swing sounded nice. Being with Hunter was . . . she wasn’t sure. Not terrible. Maybe odd, because he was so friendly. But was that wrong? Was it wrong just to be nice and well-adjusted?

  “Sure,” she said. “A swing. I could think of worse things.”

  They turned back off Church and headed toward the lake. Stevie pulled out her phone to check the time.

  “Wow,” Hunter said. “That guy is getting the shit kicked out of him.”

  Stevie looked up. There, down at the end of the street, under the bus shelter by the courthouse, there was a group of skateboarders.

  One of them was repeatedly punching David in the face.

  21

  “OH, HI,” DAVID SAID AS STEVIE APPROACHED. HE SMILED. HIS TEETH were red with blood. Specks of it dotted his white collared dress shirt. He had dressed up again, just like he had on the first night they had both taken the coach to Burlington. On that occasion, David was trying to trick Stevie’s parents into thinking they were dating as a way of convincing them that she should stay at Ellingham after Hayes’s death. This time, there was no such explanation. He was just dressed to the conservative nines, getting his face smashed down the block from the courthouse. He was also wearing the two-thousand-dollar coat, which had grime all over it. There was a gash along his right cheek that was trickling blood. There was another cut above his eye. His shirt had torn down near the hem and some of the buttons were undone, indicating that something had happened in the torso area.

  “How’s it going?” he said casually. “Who’s your friend?”

  There was a bit of bloody spittle coming out of the side of his mouth.

  “Are you okay?” she said. She tried to take him by the arm, but he shrugged it away.

  “Fine,” he said. “Just hanging out with some friends.”

  He walked unsteadily over to another skateboarder who had been watching the whole thing and recording it with a phone. David reached up and the guy gave him the phone, then the attackers rolled off on their skateboards.

  “What just happened?” Stevie said. “Come on. I’m taking you to . . . Is there an urgent care or a hospital or . . .”

  This was to Hunter, who was still staring at David.

  “Yeah,” he said. “My car is just a few streets over. I’ll get it.”

  “I’m not going,” David said, holding up his hands.

  “David, stop.”

  “I’ll call 911,” Hunter said.

  “No, no,” David said. “No cops.”

  He sat down on the curb and examined his phone. Stevie turned to look at Hunter, who was watching all of this in total confusion.

  “Hunter,” she said. “Can I have a minute?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Hunter said, backing away. “I’m going back. I’ll . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  He headed off the way they had come, looking back once or twice.

  “You work fast,” David said, still looking at his phone.

  “What?”

  “Your new buddy. I’m very happy for you both. When will you be announcing the big day?”

  “Would you shut up?” she said. She sat next to him. “Let me see.”

  This time, he did not move away. He even stuck out his head to let her get a better look at his cheek.

  “How is it?” he said.

  “It looks deep. You need to go to the hospital, and then we need to get the police.”

  “Why?” David said, rubbing at the blood with his sleeve. “It’s not illegal to get your ass kicked in Vermont, is it?”

  “It’s illegal for them to hit you.”

  “Not if you pay them. I mean, maybe it is. I’m not a lawyer.”

  “What do you mean if you pay them? You paid someone—”

  “Hang on,” he said. He did something with his phone, then nodded in satisfaction. “There,” he said, pocketing it. “Uploaded.”
/>   “To what?”

  “YouTube. To Hayes’s old channel.”

  “What?”

  “See, I’m not completely useless,” he said. “I can hack a YouTube channel. Now, this has been fun, but you have somewhere to be, right?”

  “I don’t understand,” Stevie said, shaking her head. “Are you doing this because of what I did?”

  “You?” He laughed, and a little blood trickled from his mouth. “You? Not everything is about you.”

  He spit some blood into the street, which caused a woman nearby to move away with her small child. David smiled his bloody smile at them.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she said. “I don’t care if you want me to go. You need to go to the doctor.”

  “If you won’t go, I will.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re worried that your deal with my dad is off and he’s going to come down in his helicopter and whisk you away.”

  “I’m worried that you just got your face beaten in and you seem to like it.”

  “I’m touched. Why don’t you go back to whoever your new friend is.”

  “Why are you such a dickhead?” she yelled.

  “I think you know the answer to that. I think I told you everything. That was a good move on my part. I think I’ve finally learned the benefit of confiding in others. I’ve grown.”

  “Am I supposed to say I’m sorry?” she said. As the words came out, she realized she had no idea what the answer was to that question. David cocked his head in interest. Something curious passed over his expression—something Stevie could not make out.

  “Probably,” he said. “But we’re past that now.” He spit some more blood onto the street. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I think you have bigger problems than I do. At least I know I’m messed up.”

  He pushed himself up from the curb and started walking in the direction of the lakefront, dabbing at his face with his scarf. Stevie paced in a circle, unsure of what to do, then bolted to follow him.

  “Why did you upload it?” she said. “Why did you pay to get yourself beat up?”

  “I have my own plans,” he said. “They don’t involve you.”

  “David.” Stevie skipped a step and got in front of him to block him. He walked around her. He moved around again. At this point, blocking him would look like a ridiculous dance, so she continued alongside, keeping up with his brisk stride.

  “You want the story?” she said. “Your dad showed up at my house, out of the blue. He had folders full of information about security systems. He talked my parents into letting me back. He took me right to the airport. On the plane, I asked him what he wanted, because I don’t think your dad does this kind of stuff because he’s a nice guy.”

  “Good call,” David said, tucking his hands into his pockets. People were looking at him as they passed; it was impossible not to.

  “That’s when he said he was sending me back because he thought you would chill the fuck out if I was there. I didn’t tell you because . . .”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because how do I tell you that?”

  “You use your words,” he said.

  “And you would have done what?”

  David stopped.

  “If you told me?” he said. “I would have understood. I know my dad. But you didn’t tell me. You waited until I found my friend dead and decaying on the floor in a tunnel and then you unloaded on me.”

  “Because I felt bad,” she said. “I don’t know how to do these things. I’m not . . . I’m not good. With people.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

  “And neither are you. You told me your parents were dead.”

  “So I guess we’re even,” he said simply. “You’ll be fine. Until my dad sees the video, I guess. Oh, and the fact that I’m not going back to Ellingham. That could be a problem. But you’ll work it out.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m not going back to Ellingham,” he said.

  “So you just got your face beat in and now you’re leaving school?”

  “You got it! Well done.”

  “Why?” she said.

  “Again, that’s for me to know. You can work out some new deal with Eddie. Why don’t you tell him you’ll find me and bring me back. That might work. You’re good at finding people.”

  “David . . .”

  She reached for his arm, but he roughly shrugged it away.

  “This is where we leave each other,” he said.

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Fine. I’ll jump in the lake. Want to swim? It’s a little cold and rough, but swimming is the best exercise.”

  It was impossible to tell with David if this was a joke, and the lake was just at the end of the street.

  “Turn around,” he said. “I’m serious about the lake.”

  Tears were streaming down Stevie’s face now. It was odd. Stevie did not cry often, and never in public. David watched this with a clinical interest for a moment, then turned and continued in the direction of the waterfront.

  Stevie did not follow. Too many bad things had happened in that lake. She was not going to be part of another.

  She had to let him go.

  By the time Stevie returned to campus, the video of David getting his face beaten in had ten thousand views. Stevie refreshed the page and watched the number go up. Most of the comments were confused, understandably. People came to this channel to watch a show about zombies. And now the zombie guy was dead and in his place was this rando getting punched.

  She obsessively checked her phone for texts from him and wondered if she should send something, but there was silence on both ends. Hunter, however, had been in touch several times. Stevie was cagey with her answers. This was hard to explain.

  On her return to Minerva, the house was quiet. There was no fire in the fireplace, but things were warm.

  Now there were three. Hayes, dead. Ellie, dead. David . . .

  How had she lived before this madness? How did she cope? Coping just . . . happened. Reality continued to unwind its sinuous path, and she walked it.

  She texted Nate to come downstairs, then went to Janelle’s door. It was cracked open a few inches. She was sitting on the floor on a fuzzy cushion, a video about SpaceX playing on her computer, bits of Arduino scattered around her. She was leaning over, looking into her wall mirror, a small pile of eye shadow palettes next to her, delicately applying color with a brush.

  “What do you think,” she said, turning to reveal one eye stunningly made up in a range of oranges, reds, and yellows. “It’s a sunset eye. Does it look like a sunset? I think it may be too orange.”

  “I need to talk to you,” Stevie said.

  Janelle spun in her direction and paused the video. Stevie shut the door and sat on the floor.

  “There’s some stuff I need to tell you about,” she said.

  “With David?”

  “Yeah. You noticed?”

  “You want to be a detective, but you’re the least subtle person I’ve ever met,” Janelle said. “You need to work on that. What’s going on?”

  “This is a secret,” Stevie said. “A serious one.”

  Janelle’s forehead wrinkled in worry. Her one sunset eye cast an uneasy glance at Stevie. There was a knock, and Nate poked his head in when Janelle called.

  “What?” he said. “This is a meeting or something?”

  “I need you guys,” Stevie said. “You need to hear this.”

  Nate’s eyes had faintly blue shadows under them, matching his faded T-shirt.

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting down on the floor and tucking up his knees. “Maybe it’s time we all compared some notes.”

  “What have you two not been telling me?” Janelle said, flicking her gaze between them.

  “You go,” Nate said. “I can’t start this.”

  Stevie took a deep breath and ruffled her hair. It was get
ting too long. Everything was messy.

  “David is Edward King’s son,” she said.

  This took Janelle a moment to process, her sunset eye winking and widening.

  “David?” she said. “Is the son of . . . the politician? The guy running for president? The one your parents work for? That guy?”

  “Yup,” Stevie said. “They don’t get along. I found out the morning after Ellie disappeared. He came on campus.”

  “You don’t look surprised,” Janelle said to Nate.

  “I found out the other night.”

  “It’s not something I could tell people,” Stevie said. “I wanted to. But no one is supposed to know. I guess it could be a security problem.”

  “So Edward King really did pay for that security system?” Janelle asked. “That’s not a rumor? I thought Vi was wrong.”

  “There’s more,” Stevie said. “He brought me back here. That’s how I got back to school. He convinced my parents. He did it because he thought if I came back David would calm down. Now, there’s this.”

  She pulled over Janelle’s computer and opened up Hayes’s channel to play them the video of David’s beating. She had seen it with the sound off. It was worse with the soundtrack, with David goading them on. It was painful to see the blows landing on him, the way he smiled up and said something else that begged for more.

  There were sixty thousand views now.

  “What in the hell is he doing?” Janelle said. “That boy is not okay.”

  Nate turned to Stevie slowly.

  “What she said,” he added.

  “He paid someone to do that,” Stevie said. “And then he told me he wasn’t coming back.”

  “Okay.” Janelle’s tone suggested that she didn’t need to see any more. She pushed herself up from the floor and addressed them both from a standing position. “You know I don’t love him, but you need to tell someone what’s going on. Now.”