Lucretia and the Kroons (12 page)

It might sound strange, though in 6D this wouldn’t be the first time, but Loochie
knew
the lighter would work. Even though she was utterly engulfed by this void, though she swam in this death, she knew the lighter would still work. It had to. She flicked the little plunger though she couldn’t even see the lighter in her hand. She only felt it. She flicked again.

When the flame lit she nearly opened her mouth and cried out with joy.

She stopped kicking her feet and floated. She held the lighter in one hand and held its flame out. But what did it really help her see? Only more and more of the same nothing. It was like being trapped at the bottom of the ocean. What would you see with a light but more of the same? The darkness surrounding her went on too far, too long, for the lighter alone to show her
some path to safety, to life. She needed a trail to follow, like a lifeline, back to the surface, but she hadn’t been sprinkling any crumbs on the way down. What to do? What could she follow? Her lips trembled and her throat burned. That feeling reminded her of smoking.

Loochie pulled the last cigarette out of her other pocket. She held it up to her clenched lips. When she and Sunny had been puffing away, hadn’t they watched the smoke curl up from the tip of the cigarette and go floating toward the sky? A gray ribbon you could follow with your eyes.

Loochie had been holding her thumb down on the plunger of the lighter this whole time. The flame flickered, the lighter fluid burning away. Quickly she brought it to her lips and, with what was left of her life, she inhaled until the tip of the paper glowed.

A trail of smoke appeared. It was wispy and thin but it was there.

Loochie’s vision began to blur, but she concentrated. She just needed to see which way the smoke would move, up or down. That’s all she needed to see so she could follow it. She strained to stay conscious, watching until she saw …

The smoke floated
sideways
.

She was disoriented that she’d been swimming east to west, not north or south. She held the cigarette between her lips and it remained lit in the darkness and the smoke trail that floated up from her mouth looked like the arm of a snorkel.

Loochie swam furiously. When the lighter died she let it go. By then she already knew the right direction so she just kept going, cigarette still between her lips. When she left the void her ears popped, a change in atmosphere. The void fell away and she was in the mud again and her heart strained so hard that it promised to burst. She kicked and kicked. Her arms felt like they’d break from all their paddling. She lost the last of her strength and her mouth opened wide.

Loochie broke the surface of the muddy water and saw the gray sky. The rain had stopped. She gasped. She inhaled. She breathed.

Thank God for cigarettes!
she thought. That last one had saved her life. She laughed so
loudly at this thought that Sunny probably heard all the way at Shea.

Without the rainfall the mud already felt more solid below her. She trudged forward through the mud. With each step the ground was drying rapidly, becoming firmer, solid under her feet.

Loochie spat out the last of the cigarette.

Loochie climbed out of the earth.

Loochie moved across the last of the meadow quickly. She found the living room wall and slapped at it like it was the side of a favorite dog. She reached the hole, the one Pit had bashed open when he first chased her. Loochie wanted to climb right through, but she was too big. Loochie tapped at the living room wall, making her way back toward the walkway that would lead around to the kitchen.

A great screech rang out behind her. Loochie whipped her head back. In the far distance she saw the grounds had returned to the way they’d been before the rain. The meadows of half-dead grass, the row of trees. From Loochie’s position the trees appeared small. And even smaller was the figure lumbering out from between them. It was so thin. It screeched again. The figure staggered forward, trying to run but clearly weak, maybe injured. It fell and pushed itself up. Loochie squinted. Was it Alice? She couldn’t tell. It could be Pit. It barked now. It ran toward her.

Loochie booked it down the walkway. She passed the door that was half off its hinges. From inside she heard, once again, the flapping of a thousand little wings. The flying rats in their lair.

Loochie entered the kitchen. She ran to the window. She felt a chilled winter breeze, fresh air, on her face. She heard heavy footsteps beating down the hallway floor. Alice, or Pit, was close behind.

Loochie didn’t climb out the window. She practically flew.

She was on the fire escape in a T-shirt and jeans in December and didn’t feel the cold. She was too zapped with terror. She was hardly able to climb down the fire escape steps. She slid. In the periphery of her vision she saw a figure fill the window but she didn’t look back. Loochie was gone!

Loochie reached her apartment. She climbed through the window. She slammed and locked it. She rolled the security gate shut. “Mom?” she called out. “Mom!”

No response.

Loochie walked into her mother’s bedroom, then back to the kitchen. She peeked inside the bathroom. Empty. When she entered the living room she held her breath, expecting to find herself back in the meadow, staring down at the promenade of trees. Lost inside 6D yet again.

Instead, she saw only the dining room table, the sofa pushed back against one wall, the television sitting in the big entertainment unit. And her green bike, still upright. Everything exactly as she’d left it. The apartment quiet and empty. She clapped once, with relief, and the sound seemed so loud.

Loochie returned to the kitchen. She saw small brown footprints on the floor. They were hers. She’d tracked mud inside. That would have to be cleaned up, but not just yet. The last bit of her birthday cake was still sitting out on the plate. She’d expected it to be nothing more than a puddle of sludge by now. Instead it was only partway melted, as if she hadn’t been gone long at all. Sunny’s blue cap sat on the table, too, right where she’d left it. She picked it up and held it to her forehead. Loochie wept.

Loochie’s mother came home an hour later. Loochie was in her mother’s bedroom, down on her hands and knees. She had a sponge and a dish towel and she’d just finished scrubbing away the cigarette ashes she’d vomited earlier.

By the time Loochie’s mother hung up her coat and pulled off her shoes Loochie was in the kitchen squeezing the sponge dry, then running it under water and squeezing it dry again. She didn’t want there to be any ashes left. She’d already wiped up all the mud she tracked into the apartment. Had already washed the mud off her jeans and T-shirt in the bathtub. They were in the hamper.

Then her mother was there in the kitchen. Loochie couldn’t believe how happy she was to see her mother. Suddenly she felt weightless. Loochie hugged her around the stomach and didn’t let go. Her mother leaned into the hug, patting her daughter on the neck.

“You changed your clothes?” her mom asked.

“They got a little dirty,” Loochie said.

The rain boots, also washed off, were under Loochie’s bed. The knit cap lay under Loochie’s pillow.

“You two must’ve had some fun.” Loochie’s mother laughed. “Is Sunny still here?”

Loochie pulled away from her mother, looked into the woman’s face.

“Sunny’s gone,” Loochie explained. Her mom nodded but clearly didn’t understand what Loochie was trying to tell her.

Loochie’s mother took out some diet soda, and grabbed a tray of ice cubes from the freezer. She saw the last bit of birthday cake on the table, still on the plate.

“You and Sunny didn’t want to eat it?” her mom asked.

“We were too busy,” Loochie said. “You can have it.”

Her mom cracked the tray, scooping out two ice cubes for her soda. “I ate too much already today. But it seems like a shame to waste. I wish you’d share it with someone.”

Loochie looked over her shoulder. “Louis came back?”

“Hah! He was so mad at me. He wouldn’t even stay at the lawyer’s. I met with the man by myself.”

Loochie picked up the ice tray and put it back in the freezer.

“Oh but the lawyer was a bastard,” Loochie’s mother said absently. She wasn’t really talking to Loochie, just out loud. She gulped the soda. “And his secretary. Rude and she dressed badly. Like a whore or something.”

Her mother left the glass on the table and walked into her bedroom. Loochie picked up the plate with the last of her birthday cake. Her mother’s suggestion was a good one. She should share it with someone.

She pulled back the security gate. She lifted the window as quietly as she could. Loochie crept out onto the fire escape. She climbed toward the sixth floor. She held on to the fire escape railing with one hand. Loochie peeked at the sixth-floor window. It was open. The kitchen stayed dark. Loochie listened for life inside but all she heard was the traffic of passing cars down on the street, the voices of kids calling to each other. And, soon, her own name.

“Loochie!”

It was her mother, and she sounded
pissed
.

Loochie set the plate of cake down on the fire escape landing, right outside the open window of 6D. Her neck prickled with the heat of fear and her heart bumped violently when she got close. As soon as she let go of the plate she snatched her hand back.

“Lucretia!”

No time to linger. Loochie hurried back down to her place. She was through the kitchen window just as her mother stepped out of the bedroom. Her mother carried one of the bare foam heads.

“What did you two do with my wig!” she shouted.

Loochie stood there, looking almost bashful. “I gave it to Sunny,” Loochie said.

Her mother watched Loochie quietly. Her lips were clamped tight, holding in a rage.

“I went upstairs,” Loochie said. “Sunny didn’t come down so I went looking for her.”

Mom squeezed the foam head’s neck tightly. “What does that have to do with my wig?”

“I was wearing it,” Loochie said. She grabbed the back of a chair for balance. Then she told her mother everything. Climbing up to 6D. Being yanked inside. Finding the park inside the living room. Running for her life as the Kroons pursued her. The Playground of Lost Children. The flying rats. Sunny’s rescue. Alice. The muddy meadow. Swimming in the void. Absolutely all of it. Well, almost all of it. Loochie left out the cigarettes.

When Loochie was done both she and her mother were sitting at the kitchen table. Her mother cradled the foam head in her lap the whole time. When Loochie was finished she felt relieved, even happy. Certainly her mother could understand, after all that, why giving the wig to Sunny had been so important.

“I don’t know what to say,” her mother told her.

“Say you’re not mad at me about the wig,” Loochie offered.

Her mother looked down at the foam head. Her movements were slow, stunned. “I’m not mad about the wig.”

Loochie nodded happily, relaxed in her seat.

“But you don’t really think …,” her mother began. “I mean, Loochie, please tell me you’re joking. You don’t really believe any of that happened, right?”

“You think I made it up?” Loochie asked. She felt as if she’d been stung all over her face.

Her mother looked up from her lap. Her eyes were moist. Her jaw hung slack and her lips were open.

Loochie didn’t try to argue. Instead she hopped out of her chair and marched to her bedroom. When Loochie returned she held Sunny’s blue knit cap in one hand.

“Well then how did I get this?” She shook the knit cap, its pompoms dancing.

Her mother looked at her daughter’s evidence. “It’s just a cap,” she said quietly.

“But you should’ve seen my clothes when I came in!” Loochie said. “They were covered in the mud.”

“Bring them to me,” her mom said. Loochie went and yanked them from the hamper. The clothes looked worn down and wrinkled and wet, but they were clean.

“That’s just ’cause I scrubbed them!” Loochie shouted.

Loochie’s mother touched her daughter’s forehead with the back of her hand. She dropped her hand and watched Loochie with a grave seriousness.

“Go to your room,” her mother said, her voice lacking any emotion.

Loochie didn’t know what to do just then so she just got up. Her mother didn’t believe her.

Slowly, Loochie’s mother shuffled back into the bedroom. As she did she looked over her shoulder at Loochie one more time. A look of confusion, pure bafflement, was there.

Loochie turned to the kitchen window. She was about to close it, but before she did she leaned her head out. Her mother’s doubt seemed to infect her. Could she really have made it all up? She looked to the sixth floor, just in time to see a long, narrow hand reach out from the apartment. Loochie knew that hand. It was Alice’s.

“I hope you like it,” Loochie whispered.

In another year, at the age of thirteen, Lucretia Gardner would be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Over the rest of her adolescence she would see many different doctors and be admitted to a number of different mental hospitals in Queens. In the first year of her illness Loochie’s mother would tell the admitting staff about the time Loochie claimed to have battled monsters inside a park inside apartment 6D. To her mother, and the doctors, this counted as a clear manifestation of mental illness, an amped-up delusion, the trick of a troubled mind. Loochie learned to stop arguing otherwise. Folks like that could never be convinced. Sunny’s death was no delusion, though. Neither was Loochie’s grief, which lasted a year. The doctors and her mother, and later even her brother, dismissed Loochie’s story, but she never doubted that it was true. Louis had turned out to be right about one thing, however: Being young didn’t protect anyone. Horrors came for kids, too. She understood that now. But that didn’t have to be the end of the story. Because of Sunny, so much joy had come for her as well.

After Loochie saw Alice take the cake, she closed her kitchen window. She shut the security gate. She went to her room just as her mother had told her to do. She lay down in bed. Sunny’s blue cap was tucked under her pillow. Keeping it close comforted Loochie. That night she slept the good sleep. In her dreams there were no monsters, only friends.