Marian felt a hand on her shoulder. "Tonight, if you're ready."
"I'm ready."
"And willing?"
"Not a shred of doubt."
Aaron nodded. "Four, then."
She nodded in turn, watched him jog down the corridor. A shiver washed over her at the thought of what they were about to do.
She hurried to her room. The technician had botched the blood collection again and the spot on her left arm throbbed just a bit. Another big purple spot likely would form. Almost like Lovelace—blood tests and X-rays and treadmills and stationary bikes and immersion into pools of water while breathing into tubes. Three weeks of this, day after day, so much blood being drawn they talked about installing a shunt so they could tap her like a beer keg.
And nothing could be done—except plan. One of the first things Aaron and Marian discovered was the lax security. They studied every detail of the routine and layout. Sunday turned out to be the best day; two medical technicians came in early, did the perfunctory data gathering, then left. That left two guards whose routine was as predictable as clockwork.
She pulled the chair over, climbed up and looked out. "Aw, shoot," Aaron had said, "you got the view." Some view: the west wing to the left, a large parking lot of patched asphalt, the ugly yellow building beyond. The parking lot was the "prison yard" where they were allowed to walk in counterclockwise circles—except once, when the guard made them go clockwise—like dogs on a leash. The gate always was closed and locked, but on the other end of the yellow building, the fence left a gap where it didn't meet wall.
A child-sized gap.
Marian tried to see as much of the lot as she could, but it was in its usual Sunday state: empty and lifeless.
She jumped down, went to the closet and pulled out a backpack, three shirts, and three pairs of jeans. She tossed the stuff on the bed, went to the chest of drawers and yanked on the drawer that always stuck. Here she grabbed T-shirts and underwear and tossed them onto the pile. She went into the bathroom and gathered soap, shampoo, and skin cleanser, a towel and washcloth. She gave a wry glance to a box of menstrual pads given to her "just in case something unexpected happens." Fat chance. She left it. When she picked up her toothbrush, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye—again. Once more, she studied the small face. The same child's face of four decades ago? She couldn't tell exactly—she'd forgotten what her childish face had looked like. She watched the girl in the mirror move a hand up to shove aside errant strands of hair. Marian Anne Athlington on this side supposedly was doing the same thing—but was she a copy? Then the mirror would be reflecting a copy of the copy of the real Marian—
"Oh, brother," she muttered, grabbing the toothpaste and dashing out of the bathroom.
"Something evil is going on," Aaron had said the day after his arrival. They had expected more of the group to appear, but no one else did. The only people they saw were three nurses, two doctors, three beefy orderlies, six guards, and Dark Suit and Slick Suit, two men who strutted like groomed poodles on the days they allowed themselves to be seen. They always arrived and departed together in a baby-blue Lexus with Texas plates.
She shoved the stuffed backpack under the bed. After changing clothes, she punched the TV on and sat down on the bed. The TV images made no impression, however. Other images began to form, images that intruded into dreams and at moments when her restless mind would allow them in. The Holn museum, with holographic scenes of a sun orbited by planets not in the familiar configuration. Alien suns, she had thought, different worlds—I'm looking at something that exists billions of miles away. She saw herself turning, spotting an odd bluish plant in a corner, heading toward it, walking by a man in a white shirt . . . Aaron, he confirmed, much, much, later . . . but she never makes it to the plant, instead the room twists and she falls. Muffled sounds, she feels herself moving . . . no, being moved . . . through a dark place. Quiet shufflings, a light, an unreal light, glowing all around, a close ceiling or wall . . . a touch of cold air on bare skin . . ..
In the room, alone, she placed her head in her hands. She'd been wrestling with the shadows off and on since arriving. Aaron, too, and they had talked about them, and agreed that Earl hadn't made up the egg-womb. It was real . . . perhaps. No matter how much they talked about them, tried to grab them, the shadows remained as elusive as leaves in a wind.
Her alarm beeped: Four P.M. She slipped her coat and backpack on. She opened the door slowly, peering out. The only person in the hallway was Aaron, peering around his door. He walked quickly over to her, wearing almost the same thing she did: backpack, denim coat, T-shirt (his black to her tan), jeans, and almost-new athletic-styled shoes.
"OK?" he whispered.
She nodded and shut the door softly, muffling the TV. They hurried down the hall, Marian stepping ahead to the locked double-doors. Through the small window, right on schedule, she saw a guard carrying a steaming bag of microwaved popcorn and a soda in a can into a room where football played on a TV. The pair moved on past the examining rooms.
They reached a metal door and Aaron handed her a pair of wirecutters with taped handles he'd stolen from a tool box, then knelt on the floor. She climbed up as they had rehearsed and clipped a wire leading from the door and saw the red warning light on the alarm blink out. After jumping down, Marian pulled out the key she had stolen the day before from a careless guard. The lock clicked and both pushed gingerly on the release bar, but the door swung open easily and quietly.
"Small favors," Aaron muttered.
They ran along the building, stopping at a corner. Aaron peered around, nodded, and they scurried for a dumpster looming large and green about ten yards away. They scrambled along the wall behind it to the next dumpster, then stopped. Marian's heart was beating fast. The longest run lay before them, about fifty yards with nothing between them and the windows of the clinic's west wing.
"In the movies, I think they'd run across one at a time," she said in a low tone.
"Meaning someone is left behind. I say we stay together."
"Let's go, then."
He dashed out, and she jumped practically on his heels. Their footfalls echoed off the wall like shots. Aaron hardly hesitated, scrambling up to the gap and out. Marian pulled herself up and through. They dashed down and across a street, the sinking sun angling shadows across their path.
They slowed their run a bit once they turned a corner, but Marian kept straining to hear shouts or a car engine. They trotted across another street, then up another block to a wide, four-lane road with the first traffic they'd seen. They slowed, looking for signs.
"There." She pointed.
He nodded. "Fifteen minutes."
"We'd better stay out of sight while we wait."
The bus stop had a sheltered bench, but they slid behind a bush growing beside a building entrance.
Marian breathed deeply, turning her face, trying to keep her hair from being snagged by twigs and dry leaves. "Been a long time since I've run like that."
"Yeah. At least we're able to do that much."
She had a hunch she knew to what he referred. "The wiggling fannies in the Playboy videos didn't help?"
Aaron snorted. "I didn't expect them to. What about you? Any responses?"
"I haven't tried that hard." I didn't try that hard when I was an adult. "You have the quarters?"
Aaron reached into his pocket. "Yup."
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Aaron nudged her, pointed.
They crawled out from behind the bush, waited until the bus was a half-block away, then dashed to the stop. The bus stopped with the door right in front. Marian misjudged placement of a foot and went down on one knee on the now-larger steps.
Aaron dropped the quarters in for two fares. "Can we get a transfer for downtown?"
"Sure." The driver pulled two slips of paper off a pad. Aaron and Marian took the seat one down from the driver. Two other people were on the bus, and one more got on before the driver called out "Transfers for downtown." The next bus started off almost as soon as they were aboard. Marian, next to the window, watched the buildings and streets of the strange city pass by, although many of the places had the familiar names and designs she knew from Bellingham. Different climate, same architecture, same products.
"Downtown, Civic Plaza." Aaron and Marian looked at each other; first he shrugged, then she did, then they stepped off the bus.
A flat concrete expanse stretched away from them, broken up by trees growing from small plots of grass. A pile of giant concrete blocks dominated one side, and a few people sat around the base. Tall buildings of concrete, steel, and glass edged the square, except on one side where a block-long slab lined the street as if one of the buildings had toppled over. Not too far away, a man and woman sat on a bench, the woman peering into a Burger King bag as if looking for stowaway French fries.
"Well, we have reached the point of asking ourselves 'now what?'" Aaron stuffed his hands into his pockets as he looked around.
"Find a phone." The adrenaline from the escape had faded. Now Marian began to feel hesitant.
"Yeah. Looks like there's some over there."
Aaron had to stretch to drop coins in. She held the phone book for him as he dialed.
Looking around, Marian saw the man and woman moving across the square; as they passed a trash can, the woman tossed the bag in. Marian felt a pang in her own stomach.
Twenty minutes later, they sat down on a bench. "Three of them thought I was some kid playing a joke and hung up," Aaron said.
"One did that to me. Three wanted my parents' names. This is a problem we hadn't considered. It could be touchy when we go to register."
"If we go to register." He sighed. "The cheapest motel is going to take most of our eighty dollars in one swoop. And that's just for tonight."
"One night might be enough, assuming I can get into my accounts from here."
"The big if again."
"Yes," she said, doubt now creeping into her mind like a cold fog.
"One night stand, maybe a burger between us." He opened his hand. "I have four of our quarters left."
They both sat silently. The shadows had engulfed most of expanse; only the tops of the taller buildings still remained in direct sunlight. A November breeze swept across the concrete. Marian pulled her coat together but couldn't keep the chill out.
"I thought this place was a desert."
"Deserts can be quite cold, I hear."
"Aaron, we've got to do something."
"The cheap motels are several blocks, miles, away from here," Aaron said. "The ones we see from here would charge eighty dollars just to ride the elevator. We came to the wrong place." She felt his eyes on her. "Think we made a mistake?"
"I won't go back. No." She felt a chill not from cold air. "I am not a laboratory animal."
She felt a hand on her shoulder again.
"I understand the feeling. I wonder if there's some fleabags around h—"
Two persons sat down on the bench, sandwiching them. At Aaron's end, a man with uncombed graying hair, gray beard stubble, and a broad, lined face turned his shaded eyes on him. The man's open black coat showed a slight bulge pressing against the dark-green knit pullover shirt at his waist. His clothes were well-worn and his leather shoes were falling apart, showing red socks underneath. At Marian's end, a woman had a similarly well-worn appearance, but her brown eyes had a sharper focus. Her short brown hair was better combed, and her long tan coat and faded jeans looked worn, but not greasy from long periods without wash water. She wore sandals, but long white socks extended beyond the tops of short, patched, off-white socks on each foot. Marian caught a whiff of alcohol, but she wasn't sure from who.
"Name's Ken," the man said.
"Virginia," the woman said. "Who're you?"
"Umm, just a coupla kids running away from the boring decadence of middle-class suburban life," Aaron said.
"Seeking thrills and glamor from the big city," Marian said.
"Hoping to fall into a life of drugs, alcohol, and sexual depravity."
"Tasting the sleazy side of life, planning to write a best-selling book about it later."
"See, they don't talk like children."
Ken stretched, rubbed his hands on his khaki-coated thighs. "Right again, Doctor Virgie. They sure look like kids, though."
"They ran away all right, that much is true," Virginia said. "They have eighty dollars and some quarters between them. They used to have more, but they wasted a bunch trying to find a motel room."
"Eavesdroppers," Aaron said.
"We've been watching you since you got off the bus, actually."
"You had a sack from Burger King, over on the bench," Marian said.
Virginia laughed, stood up. "I'll tell you who you are. You're part of that group that was caught in the spaceship and made into children. I recognized you as soon as you got off the bus, although I don't remember your names. You have no friends, no family available to take you in. And no shelter. You'd better come with us."
Aaron and Marian looked at each other.
Ken jumped to his feet. "This place ain't safe at night. 'Specially for people your size. What're you gonna do when a three-hundred-pound gorilla with a taste for young flesh nabs you? Now come on."
Marian looked down, a helpless feeling rising again.
"We could outrun them," Aaron said. "Just take off—whang!—and they won't be able to catch us."
"True enough," Ken said. "I've lost my youthful football-captain physique. Someone else will, though. Even Albuquerque loses the night to the thugs, thieves, and drugs. Or maybe the people you're running from'll catch you."
"Look," Virginia said, sitting back down next to Marian, "I heard that comment about how you're not a lab animal. That sent chills right up and down my spine. I don't know what trouble you're in or who you're running from, but we're offering you a place to stay, with some food available, among people who do not desire to hurt you. That's the truth." She shrugged. "All I have to offer in the way of security is my word."
Aaron and Marian again looked at each other. Marian shrugged, Aaron shrugged.
"What choice?" she said.
"Not much," he said.
They both stood and adjusted their backpacks.
"Good." Virginia stood again.
The pair led them across the plaza, down a street between a hotel and a bank, around a corner and toward a construction site. A half-block-long skeleton of a building jutted skyward, crisscrossed by heavy rust-red girders. Some of the floors were closed off.
"Home, all twelve stories of it," Ken said. "Grid Manor, we call it. Ain't much, but it keeps the rain out." They passed through a gate in the surrounding fence, then stepped into the open bottom floor. A metal staircase led to the next floor, where a wooden ramp took over. The ramps angled on up the floors, and on each people watched as they climbed.
"Spread the word," Virginia had said on the second floor. "General meeting."
A gangly youth had sped up the ramp ahead of them. The ramps seemed endless—they'd top one, just to find another. During the climb, a few individuals joined the group. They gave them curious glances, but said nothing. "Ninth floor, the great room," Ken finally said.
The room was about the size of a basketball court and lit by fluorescent lights hanging from the exposed ceiling and by tungsten from several lamps scattered across the floor. Couches, chairs, tables, and cushions were set in groups, some covered with bright cloth. To one side, two bearded men sitting at an aluminum picnic table looked up from a chess game. The walls seemed to be made of plywood. On one side, rugs hung from the plywood while another wall was papered with photos cut from magazines and a third was covered in bright scenes painted directly on it. To the left, a stack of boxes and boards closed off a separate space, where the sounds of a television could be heard. Virginia steered them toward a spot where several couches and chairs had been placed in somewhat of a square. A solid-looking wooden rocking chair sat unoccupied by the couch Aaron and Marian were led to. The couch itself was soft and springy, although it tilted toward one corner. More people gathered around, some taking seats, others pulling chairs over while some stood in the background. Conversation was muted.
"The center of social activities." Ken giggled.
"We're calling a general meeting to discuss your situation," Virginia said. "The people here deserve to know what's up."
"And if they don't like it?" Aaron said, pulling off his backpack and setting it on the floor. Marian did the same.
"We are not hateful people."
The "we" of that statement formed a fair-sized crowd now. The individuals came in various sizes, colors, and shapes, most dressed in seemingly whatever they could find: flannel shirts, jeans, khaki pants, blouses, faded and torn jackets, dresses over hiking boots, shorts over sweat suits. Two of the faces made immediate impressions on Marian: a heavyset woman with her hair pulled back in a neat bun that contrasted to the ripped and resewn dress she wore; and a youth whose brown hair was combed neatly in place like a first-grader's first day at school. That and his torn blue-and-red checked flannel shirt made him stick out, and when he caught her looking at him, his face creased into a toothy grin and he stuck a thumb up. She turned away quickly, hoping the flush she felt on her cheeks wasn't noticeable.
Ken plopped down next to Aaron, making the couch bounce. Virginia remained standing as some of the group parted for a tall, thin man whose shaggy jet-black hair and thick stubble beard shot with gray framed a rugged face where dark penetrating eyes peered out. He wore an off-white shirt buttoned from collar to belt, dark trousers and laced boots that gleamed in the light.
"What's up, Virginia?"
"Tontine, I'd like to present . . . well."
"Aaron."
"Marian."
"Aaron and Marian—sounds like a movie. Anyhow, they need shelter, if the group agrees."
"Runaways?"
"Right, but not what you think." She told them of the Holn, and how Aaron and Marian were part of that group, and how she and Ken had found them.
The man called Tontine whistled. "You brought us some live ones this time, Virginia." He turned to them. "What are you running from?"
"Not sure." Aaron explained everything—the clinic, the physical exams, the escape.
"Why did you end up there? Where are your par—uh, relatives?"
Aaron told him about his wife; Marian described what happened with her sister. At first, she was reluctant, but Aaron had been frank, so she followed his lead.
"What were you planning to do?"
Aaron shrugged. "Find a motel, where we could relax a while and plan what's next. I know it sounds like poor planning, but, well . . ."
"We had to get out," Marian said.
Tontine nodded.
"And what about you people?" she said. "Who are you?"
Tontine regarded her a moment longer. "Homeless, but not helpless," he said. "Most of us. We share this place, live together, help each other out. They stopped work on this building five years ago. It was just sitting here, so we moved in. Put up temporary walls, built the ramps, brought in furniture, the like. We're not leeches, though. We have electricity here because we pay the bills. Same with the water and cable TV. Some of us have jobs and contribute to the general fund. Like Miguel over there, Miguel Ruiz." He pointed to a slim, dark youth. "He works at the Hyatt just down the block. And Eddie and Alice, and Frank, all have jobs. Some of us get temporary jobs to help bring in money. We make enough to get by, just not enough to get out."
"I see," said Aaron. "We've fallen in with one of those secret underground societies, the favorites of fiction writers, where a mixture of society's outsiders band together."
Tontine shrugged. "We have banded together out of self-preservation. We protect each other and keep the wolves at bay. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Only if we can't stay. I think I can speak for Marian when I say we're in a bind and need help. I have eighty dollars I'm willing to donate to whatever fund you have. It's all I can offer right now." He ran a hand through his hair. "As you can see, we have no place to go."
"It's up to the group." Tontine stepped aside.
Murmuring spread through the crowd. Marian saw the portly woman step up behind her. She touched a wayward strand of Marian's hair, then grasped a long lock in slender fingers and began stroking. "Lovely," she said, releasing the hair. She turned and stepped through the crowd, which parted for her. Marian leaned toward Aaron.
"You think this is a good idea?" she said in a low voice.
"It's the only alternative we have. Unless we just walk back out into the street. Virginia seems straight enough, and this guy Tontine seems to have a lot on the ball."
Marian nodded and was about to speak when a clatter cut her off. The crowd parted again, and the woman emerged, pushing a metal grocery cart ahead of her. She parked it directly behind Marian and began rummaging through one of the bright cloth bags she had stashed in the cart. She pulled out a flat black box, opened it and took out a comb, scissors and brush. She sat down next to Marian, held the implements up. They gleamed in the light.
"Clean," the woman said. "Fine." She slid fingers down the long length of Marian's hair.
"This is Betty," Virginia said. "She's a trained beautician, although her mental condition prevents her from holding a job. She's very good at it, and she keeps her equipment spotless. That's what she meant."
"Tangled," Betty said, grasping a thick lock. Agile fingers worked at a knot.
"It's not in good condition. I, um, sort of haven't had a chance to take care of it." Marian looked at the woman's face lined with wrinkles while her forehead creased in concentration. Her hair was all gray, going to white, but every strand was in place and the bun sat neatly at the back of her neck.
Betty glanced up, met Marian's eyes for a moment. "Bad times," she said, picking up her brush. "Tangles out." She began brushing with steady, confident strokes, holding the hair so it didn't pull. Marian felt tense muscles begin to relax.
"We ought to get her and Linda together," she said to Aaron, who smiled.
"It's settled," Tontine suddenly said. "Welcome to the secret underground society."
* * *
[["I have adopted these children in order to save them. In turn, they can save us. They have been blessed by God, touched with the miracle of the Word, the wondrous miracle of His love. They are victims of fear and hate, but God has sent them to us as a sign of his love and commitment to give life eternal to those who accept Jesus Christ into their hearts. Amen."
"That was the taped statement from The Reverend Jim Brigman on why he has become the custodian on record for Alisa Bardnoth and Harold Coner, two of the so-called Rewound Children who were caught by the extraterrestrials and apparently turned into children. One of the children Brigman adopted, Alisa Bardnoth, apparently cut her wrists in a gas-station restroom in Stratford, Texas on November fifteenth. A patron discovered her immediately and paramedics were able to stanch the bleeding. Bardnoth, twenty-nine at the time of her capture, had been a church secretary married to Archie Bardnoth. She told police her husband had physically thrown her out of their house on the day she tried to kill herself. No action has been brought against Mr. Bardnoth, and he has refused to comment to reporters. The couple had two children, a boy, two, and a girl, five.
"The other Rewound Child, Harold Coner, thirty-one, had been a used-car salesman in Santa Fe, New Mexico, near the site of the Holn landing. He had been living with his sister, Janet Caperton, of Wilmington, Delaware, after the Holn incident, but as Coner reportedly told state child welfare officials, one day he came back from a walk to find his clothing and other belongings piled on the sidewalk in front of the house. Ms. Caperton also has refused to talk to reporters. Coner is divorced.
"No other information is available, either from Brigman's statement or from his church, the Faith Christian Ministry. A reliable source in the church, however, told CNN Brigman had heard of the plight of the two and immediately started adoption procedures.
"Brent Caseman, NBC News, Waterhaven, Oklahoma."]]
* * *
Aaron whistled what he thought was a happy tune as he walked up the ramp to the ninth floor. As he got to the top, he realized it was the melody for the heavy-rock group Bent Photons's controversial song "Jesus Had No Legs." He grinned, surprised that under the screaming guitars and pounding beat there was even a melody there.
Mild weather had allowed the window covers in the great room to be removed, and sunlight flooded the area. The "windows" were little more than heavy plastic stretched from floor to ceiling girders, but they did let light in.
In the two days they'd been here, Aaron and Marian had begun to settle into the routine, pulling various duties, including "KP" in the ground-floor kitchen of two camp stoves, three hot plates, and an electric skillet. That, and the old refrigerator, were not enough to feed the thirty to fifty people who might be staying at the manor at any one time, so full-blown meals were eaten at the Salvation Army food kitchen in an abandoned department store three blocks over. The food was tasty, but Aaron couldn't resist seeing the irony of him eating in a soup kitchen.
Today, he had accompanied Tontine on "fire warden" duties—Tontine being the person who established the fire rules in the first place. Aaron had been impressed—the preparations even included alternate staircases and chain-and-bar ladders coiled on three floors.
"This place is a firetrap," Tontine had said. "Flames would shoot straight up the ramps. All I want to do is give everyone a better-than-even chance."
Off the kitchen were the showers, one for men, the other for women, and makeshift as they were, they did have hot water. The toilets, however, were outside of the building in the auto-privies set up on the sidewalk. Rules controlled these amenities, also. Because the toilets were outside, women had to have an escort. At night, temporary toilets were set up in the showers. So far, he hadn't pulled "honey pot" duties.
Aaron marveled at how well Grid Manor functioned. Some residents came in just for a few days; some had been there almost from the day they had started enclosing the spaces.
"In winter, we get pretty crowded," Virginia had said. "It gets chilly, but it beats trying to stay unfrozen on the streets."
The only cloud had come the day before as the group had walked back from a Salvation Army dinner. Aaron had spotted a van waiting at a traffic light—a van like the one he'd seen parked at the "prison" when they'd "exercised." He'd pulled Marian aside and explained to Tontine. The van had turned a corner at the green light, but five minutes later Ken abruptly pushed him and Marian into a bank alcove.
"That van again." He placed himself in front of Marian, Virginia in front of Aaron. Tontine and the chess players—who played so much they were known as Black King Leo and White King Sam—watched as the van drove by slowly.
"As if looking for someone," Virginia had muttered.
When it turned a corner again, Tontine signaled and the group scurried down the street, everyone searching for signs of the van. Once inside the construction fence, Marian kicked an empty bean can.
"So, this is how it's going to be, huh?" she said. "Every time we see a white van we're going to cower."
"Don't forget blue Lexuses, Lexi, with Texas plates," Aaron said.
"We're going to have to be more careful," Tontine said. "It might be that your friends haven't quite given up."
Marian had pegged Tontine as the most enigmatic of the group.
"Yeah, I know, the name sounds like something out of a bad World War I flick. What can you expect from shavetail soldiers on their first drunk? We swore undying allegiance to each other, lubricated by bottles of Kentucky Beau, the worst rotgut crap you'll ever find on a legit liquor shelf. Anyhow, one of the guys took our last unopened bottle home to Omaha and put the damn thing in a safety deposit box. The last survivor of the group has to chug it. He won't be a survivor for long."
The others weren't so reticent.
Such as Ken: "High school hero gone bad. I dated the head cheerleader. I cared nothin' for college, to the dismay of my parents. They gave up on me and I gave up on them. They had my little brother, who did them proud, so that relieved me of 'sponsibility. What the hell." He shrugged. "Just another incomplete pass."
And Virginia: "Phud from Duke, research at Fermilab for a while. The death of the Supercollider pretty much decimated particle physics, too. Too many phuds, too few accelerators. When Fermilab cut a bunch of us, I panicked. Traveled everywhere, to CERN, to Japan, to Livermore, back to Fermi, to Brookhaven, to Cal Tech—résumé in hand, humble pie for lunch, looking, hoping, talking. Nada. I didn't have the right connections, the right specialty, the right racial mix. Came to New Mex, talked to Sandia, planned to go to Los Alamos, but Los Alamos was pretty well chopped up by then. I never made it up there. These people found me crying myself to sleep on a bench in the plaza. She shrugged.
In the great room, Aaron found Marian where he expected: in the rocking chair, legs curled under as she worked with needle and thread, flowing hair glistening. Betty's tender ministrations had brought back its luster.
"Hey, windee." He sat down on an ottoman.
"Hey, wound up," she said, with a quick glance. News shows already had taken a scientist's description and dubbed the group the Rewound Children.
"Who's getting his buttons back?"
"Kilkenny." She snapped a thread. "What have you been doing?"
"Checking for fire violations in the men's quarters." The men slept on the floor below the great room, the women a floor above; married couples had partitioned rooms on the sixth and seventh floors. "When I was little the first time, I wanted to be a fireman in the baddest way."
"You still might get your wish—"
"Marian." Tontine called across the room. He carried what looked like a pet carrier in one hand and a large envelope in another. "These have your name on them."
"What?" Marian tossed the sewing on the couch as Tontine set the carrier on the floor next to the chair.
Marian unlatched the top and a furry head immediately thrust through the opening. "Merlin!" She reached in and gathered a large cat, coat splotched with browns and whites, into her arms. It meowed lustily and rubbed its face against hers. Marian looked up at Tontine. "Where did you find him?"
"I stopped by to see a friend who works at Lovelace Hospital, just down the road from the VA hospital. The cat arrived in this about a week ago, addressed to you, care of the hospital. The staff didn't know where you were, but they fed it and watched it, but weren't sure what to do with it. I told D.J. I'd take it. I didn't tell him why."
"I don't understand. Was there just this one? What about Phoenix? There should be another cat."
Tontine held out the envelope. "Maybe this will help. It was taped inside the box. D.J. said they had plenty of arguments about opening it, and had just about decided to."
"I—here, hold him." She thrust the cat into Aaron's arms.
"Whuoof." The force of the thrust and weight of the cat almost knocked him backward. "Man, you are one big cat." The animal looked straight back at him from chest level, one green eye surrounded by brown fur, the other by white. "A nice one, though." Aaron scratched gently behind an ear. After a moment, the cat condescended to enjoy the scratching, blinking and tilting his head slightly.
Marian, meanwhile, had torn the envelope open. As she pulled out a folded paper, a bundle fell and scattered. Money—Aaron could see at least three five-hundred dollar bills in the pile.
Marian glanced at the cash as she unfolded the sheet. "It's from Shirley."
Dear Marian,
I am so sorry, but I have bad news.
Two days ago, your landlord cleaned out your house. Just cleaned it out. Didn't call, didn't tell me. Sold what he could of your stuff, gave away what he couldn't. Chopped up that old bureau you never knew what to do with for firewood. Last time I saw the place, he was redoing the floors and repainting everything. Not a thing of yours is left. He chased the cats out of the house. I don't know how long they were out. I found Phoenix on the road, hit by a car, killed. Merlin was sitting by her body. Not making a sound, just sitting there.
It gets worse. Your sister claimed all of your savings and checking accounts. It was done by an electronic fund transfer. I couldn't figure out what was going on, so I had a friend at the bank check for me. It was all gone in two hours. Even your 401 (k).
Marian rubbed a cheek with the back of the hand holding the letter.
Inside the envelope is your severance pay from the city, plus an extra bonus they stuck in. I know we're not supposed to send cash through the mail, but after what happened to your accounts, it's all I could think of.
I don't know what else to do. Mother is dying and the doctors want me to come to Minneapolis right away. I can't contact you and your sister slammed the phone down on me twice. I'll send the cat and your money to that hospital you were at and hope they can forward it.
I am so sorry. I have failed you in the worst way.
Marian rubbed her eyes. "Oh, Shirley—"
The letter fluttered from her hand to the floor. Marian covered her face. Aaron got up, stepped over and gently placed the cat in her lap. She wrapped her arms around it as it let out a quiet meow; then Marian pushed herself back in the chair, head down, hair hiding her face, weeping.
Aaron sat back down hard on the ottoman, barely aware of Tontine gathering the money and letter, folding it all back into the envelope, placing it on the ottoman next to him, then quietly walking away. Utter powerlessness washed over Aaron. He wanted to touch Marian, comfort her, but what could he say? It'll be all right? That would be a lie—and he would not pretend otherwise. She'd lost everything, just as he had. So? That could be no comfort to her. Anger sprang up in him, hot and fast, and he wanted to hit something—but to what end? All of his manly power was gone—the power to get forces in motion that got things accomplished. He shook his head, looked at his sneaker-clad feet resting near the runner of the rocking chair. He pushed his left foot forward until it touched, then slid it up on the runner. He hesitated a moment, then gently pushed down. The chair tilted forward, then back when he relaxed. It took a couple of times, but he got a steady rhythm going, not too fast, not too far forward or backward, just a gentle swaying. The cat watched him through heavy eyelids.
Marian didn't look up, but the weeping diminished. Aaron sat as unmoving as the cat, except for his foot gently rocking the girl in the chair.