Shackled (9 page)

In the
Wizard of Oz
movie, when Dorothy is in Kansas, everything's in black and white. In Oz it's in full color. As I was standing across from David at that moment, his image went from black and white to color. Like I'd never really seen him fully for who he was till that moment.

I'm not saying I was in love with him. How could someone say that with any certainty in this situation? Even
he
hadn't said that. I'm not saying I suddenly wanted to throw him into bed or something. Thanks to my meds these past years, I barely had an inkling of what being “turned on” even felt like. I'm only saying that he seemed different. And that maybe following him into Oz for a little while just might work out.

I crushed my cigarette out on the ground, only half-smoked. “Let's go,” I said.

David slapped a palm against the edge of the truck bed
with a metallic thud. “You got it,” he said. A minute later we were back on the road.

It didn't take long for me to realize I was able to relax and have an actual conversation with David. Not that we solved the mysteries of the universe or anything, but we just—you know. Hung out. Like a real road trip. And when I started veering into worry and panic, I snapped my rubber band and reminded myself there'd be plenty of time for both when we got to Canyon City.

David insisted on pumping the gas when we stopped at a place called Cordes, a truck stop about halfway to Canyon City. I didn't want him to do the work himself. But once he wrestled the nozzle away from me, I didn't mind so much. I hopped onto the hood and banged my heels against one tire while he worked.

“I'll pay,” I said.

“No, I got it,” David said.

“I know how much you make, remember,” I said, shivering in a sudden breeze. It was cooler up here. I wished I'd brought more than my thin jacket. I wondered how much colder it would be in Canyon City.

“It's okay, really,” David said. “I'm covered.”

“Are you, like, independently wealthy or something?”

“No . . . but my sifu pays me a bit to teach the little kids sometimes,” David said.

“What's a see-foo?”

“My wing chun teacher.”

“You teach little kids to kick ass, huh?”

“Not quite,” David answered. “It's not about kicking ass. It's about . . . peace.”

“Peace through punching.”

“Peace through blending, remember?” he said. “Blend with your opponents instead of trying to match or beat their strength. Then it doesn't matter how much bigger or stronger he is.”

“I wish I could believe that,” I said.

“I'll teach you,” David said.

Only this time he didn't try to apologize for it. I'd never seen this kind of confidence from him before. It was relaxing somehow. I didn't fight a small smile.

David caught me doing it and laughed. “See, now, is it so bad to be in a good mood once in a while?”

“Sorry,” I said.

David stood beside me, leaning against the side of the truck. “Hey,” he said softly. “I wasn't trying to be a jerk. I just like seeing you happy for a change. Can't you feel the difference?”

I frowned. “I guess.”

“But you're not really digging it.”

“It's new,” I admitted.

I tilted my head to the clear sky above us. Such a beautiful part of the state. I hoped Tara was outside enjoying it. Behind and below us, the “Valley of the Sun” lay bland and familiar as the smudged pink walls of my room. Up here, rounded
granite boulders reflected almost red, dotted with narrow green bushes.

“Can I tell you something?” I said.

“I sure hope so.”

“I spent some time in a . . . hospital,” I said.

“Appendix? Hangnail?”

“Not exactly. It was a—you know. Like, mental hospital.” It came out
mennel hospil
, I said it so fast.

David blinked a couple times. Sucked in a breath through his nose. Nodded.

“Okay.”

I glared at him through slitted eyes. “You don't think that's weird?”

David shrugged. “Maybe. Or not weird so much as, like, rare. Unusual. I mean, come on, Pel. Your best friend got kidnapped. I think you earned a little mental health break.”

“It doesn't freak you out?”

“I can say yes if that'll make you feel better,” David said. “It doesn't happen to everyone, no, so it's weird like that. And I mean, it's—well, if you're sick, you go get help. At a hospital. Doesn't matter what kind of sick or what kind of hospital.
Are
you sick?”

“Sure feels that way.”

“Are you, like, going to hurt yourself? Because I swear to God, you try any shit like that, I'll drive you right back to that hospital myself.”

I thought about my legs. What he might think if I showed
them. Then I processed his threat. How could a threat make me feel good? Very strange.

“No,” I said. It was true at the moment, anyway. I wanted a cigarette more than my cutting blade. Still, my fingers drifted to the pillbox just to make sure it was still there.

“That's good,” David said. “So, then, no big deal.”

I didn't respond. Not right away. The gas was done pumping by then. He put the handle back, snapped the gas cap lid closed, and leaned against the car. Beside me.

“I was only there a few days,” I said at last. “Well, and then day treatment after that. But what I wanted to say about it . . . what I wanted to tell you . . .”

It was actually harder to admit to this part. David crossed his arms over his chest, not saying a word. Just waiting. I loved that he did that.

I gazed across the highway, watching the rare car drive by. Another breeze dimpled the skin on my arms. I wished we were just on a regular road trip.

“It's easier,” I said finally, saying the words I'd never even said to myself but knew were true. “They do everything. It's almost like a vacation, except for the therapy and the meds and the blood tests every morning.”

David winced.

“Yeah,” I said. “Like freaking vampires, I swear. But still. It was easier. No one really expects anything from you. If you want to be alone, you just whip up a fresh batch of tears, get a pass to go back to your room. The food wasn't great, but it
didn't suck. You don't even have to do homework necessarily. You're this fragile little bird and everyone bends over backward to make sure you don't get upset. It's kind of a sweet deal.
That's
where I picked up smoking. There's this patio outside the living area, with a lighter bolted to the wall, kind of like a cigarette lighter in a car. We couldn't have our own lighters. No lighters, no matches. No sharps. No shoelaces. Some of them couldn't even have pencils.”

“Did you try to . . . you know.”

I knew.

“No,” I said. “But I'm not sure why not, really.”

David squinted at me.

“I just mean—” I hesitated, not sure how to describe it. “Are you claustrophobic at all?”

“Not especially,” he said. “I did get stuck on a roller coaster once. That was pretty terrifying. So we were out in the open and everything, but it took hours for them to get us down. I don't know if that's the same thing.”

“Close enough,” I said. “I'm not claustrophobic, but that feeling? Like everything's closing in on you . . . that's me. That's me, every day. For years. That's why I ended up in the hospital. I'd have these moments of being okay, but then I'd have these epic breakdowns. Like the other day at work. Go totally mental, or totally paralyzed. I mean, you've sort of seen it. So Mom and Dad put me in there.”

“So what happened, how'd you get out?”

“The money ran out. Something like that. I don't know
how it all worked exactly, my dad was in charge. But sometimes I want to go back. So I don't have to think, don't have to do anything. Just watch game shows and take meds and forget that Tara was ever my friend . . .”

I had to stop. My throat was tightening up.

“Pelly?”

I didn't respond. Just stared at the highway.

“You can say no,” David said. “But—can I hug you?”

I still didn't respond. Then I dipped my chin down, once. Twice. So small, so slight, almost imperceptible.

Then his arms were around me, his ear pressed to mine. He just stood there, holding me. My hands rose all on their own and gripped his shoulders, squeezing. They were narrow but strong.

We stayed that way for a while. Eventually, though, when David didn't say anything else either, I got self-conscious. I let go of him, hopped off the hood, and started walking to the gas station's tiny convenience store. “You, um, want anything?”

“Mountain Dew,” David said, like nothing had happened. “Thanks.”

I waved a “no problem” back at him and went into the little shop.

Maybe David was right. Maybe I was shut off. Actually, no maybe about it. I kept people away, and yeah, I did it on purpose. What did that make me? Was I inhuman?

And what just happened out there? Between us. Did this mean—

“Shut up!” I shouted at the soda cooler.

Two customers turned and stared at me in shock. The cashier peered over a rack of chips to see what I was up to.

“I don't take back-sass from soda pop,” I said to them.

Well, that didn't get a laugh, but it got them to turn away again. I grabbed a Dr Pepper and a Mountain Dew, paid hurriedly, and rushed back out to the car, where David was already behind the wheel.

“You all right?” David asked as he turned the engine.

I sputtered, trying to come up with an answer. And then I laughed. Hard. Bigger and bolder than anything so far today, than anything the past several years.

Back-sass from soda pop? Seriously?

I tried to explain myself and couldn't, curling up in the seat and holding my ribs. David started in with me, and for a while there, everything in the world was good.

TWELVE

“It, um . . . doesn't look terribly terrifying,” David said, and then snorted like he'd surprised and amused himself with the wordplay.

“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”

We were parked across the street from Franklin Rebane's house in Canyon City.

Any other time, I might have admired the neighborhood. Tall pine trees lined every street, and the houses fell neatly into the “quaint” category. Mountains flanked Canyon City on three sides, and here in what Phoenicians called “the high country,” the scrubby desert brush of Phoenix had disappeared, replaced by ancient trees of the Coconino National Forest. The streets waved up and down all through town, like pavement roller-coaster tracks, and Rebane's street was no different. His driveway tilted at a slight angle as it snaked around to the rear of the house.

We'd had no trouble finding it. Interstate 17 ran right through the middle of town, with major streets branching off. One of those branches led up a hill and into this neighborhood. We'd stopped at a two-way intersection, driven straight up this road called Rosemont, and there in the middle of the street sat the house of the man who'd kidnapped my best friend.

The house itself was simple and, for lack of a better term, “cute.” Just like the others along Rosemont and the surrounding neighborhood. They were older clapboard models, many whose chimneys had begun to tilt. A concrete path led from the sidewalk to a raised porch and a red-painted front door. The house was two stories but long and narrow, with an ancient wood-shake shingled roof. I didn't see the white car anywhere, but from where we were parked, also couldn't see to the back of the house. It did seem like there was another building in back. A workshop or small garage, maybe. We'd seen others like that at other houses as we'd driven through the neighborhood.

“So now what?” David asked, and his voice had dropped as if Rebane could somehow hear us.

“I don't honestly know.”

“We could always just go up and ring the bell,” David said.

“You're kidding, right?”

“Mmm . . . about seventy percent, yes. I mean, what are our options here?”

“Wait till dark,” I said. “Sneak in.”

It didn't take long to feel the heat from David's eyes burning into the back of my head. I turned to face him.

“Well,”
I said.

“Well,
what
,” David said. He wasn't smiling.

“Even if we got inside through the front door somehow, he'd recognize me from the Hole,” I said. “And if he's Tara's kidnapper, he's not exactly going to give me a grand tour to prove it.”

“He doesn't know me. I could go.”

“He still isn't going to show you where he keeps her locked up.”

David sank back into his seat and folded his arms so his hands were under his armpits. We'd both forgotten it's always about twenty degrees colder up here. David at least had an old 49ers football hoodie crumpled up behind his seat, but I didn't ask for it. I didn't even know he watched football.

“Yeah, speaking of where he keeps her locked up,” David said, squinting out the window.

“What.”

“Have you stopped to consider why, if that really was Tara—”

“It was!”

“—then why did he take her out in public like that?”

I raised my shoulders up to my ears, wrapping my arms tight around my stomach. “I don't know,” I said. “Maybe he just figured no one would recognize her after so many years. Or he really wanted something to drink and didn't want to leave her alone in the car, I don't know.”

“But why let her out
at all
, is what I'm saying.”

“It doesn't matter!” I said. “He's a sicko psychopath whose balls should be cut off, that's it, that's the end of it, and he's got her in there somewhere, and I'm getting her out!”

I didn't realize how bitter and hateful I'd sounded saying all that until I glanced at David, whose eyes were wide as he stared at me.

That's when I noticed how hard my heart was pounding. I looked back at Rebane's house. Tried to calm my breathing. I used David's technique, counting four seconds to breathe in and six seconds to breathe out. Surprisingly, it actually seemed to help. I suddenly missed my meds again, though.

“Let's check out the rest of the neighborhood,” I said, unable to look at Rebane's house anymore.

David released the brake, and we kept driving up Rosemont. The neighborhood was laid out in a simple loop. Rebane's street curved left and became a road called York. We followed York until I told David to stop. We were now west of Rebane's house—behind it.

“That's his roof,” I said, pointing. “So the backyard of this house here must butt up against his. Look at that alley. We could walk right through there and end up at his backyard wall. Maybe there's something more we could see from the rear.”

“Right now?”

“No. Tonight.”

“You're serious.”

“Well what the hell do you want me to do, David?”

David raised both hands. “Whoa,” he said. “Easy there, boss. I'm on your side.”

I covered my eyes. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” David said, and put a hand on my leg. It almost surprised me that I didn't mind it. “Look, let's go get something to eat, huh? We can talk about it over burgers.”

I had done nothing in my life to deserve being treated so well after barking like I did.

“Sure, burgers,” I said. “Can we drive by his house just one more time?”

David nodded and drove us down York until we reached the two-way intersection where we'd first entered the neighborhood. He turned left to head back up Rosemont. As we went past Rebane's house again, I kept an eye out—looking for I'm not sure what. But other than a flurry of clouds starting to roll over the town, nothing had changed. I wondered if a storm was coming.

David and I didn't talk as he drove into what served as Canyon City's downtown. Really it was just a main drag down the 17, which through town was called—of course—Main Street. I pretended we were just focused on looking for a good place to eat, but it wasn't that kind of silence.

“There's an In-N-Out,” David said, gesturing. “They're pretty good. How about we—”

“What's that?” I shouted, sitting up straight in my seat so fast the seat belt grabbed me back.

“What's what?” David said, slowing.

“Turn here,” I said. “Turn right! Now!”

He did it, pulling into a parking lot and hitting the brakes. At the edge of the lot, beside the street, sat a monument-style sign. I glared at the white marquee with blue lettering and a simple geometric logo.

“That's it,” I said. “That's the bumper sticker I saw on Rebane's car. The four
C
s that looked like an Olympics logo.”

I almost started laughing because it was so perfect and ridiculous and perfectly ridiculous.

The sign read
C
ANYON CITY COMMUNITY CHURCH
.

I scanned the parking lot, but it was mostly empty. I guess that made sense for a Saturday afternoon. None of the few cars parked there were Rebane's.

“Let's go in,” I said.

“Okay, so, not opposed to this idea
per se
,” David said. “But what's the plan?”

That stopped me. I didn't have what could rightly be called a “plan.” Not until, as I was glancing around looking for inspiration, I saw a guy across the street coming out of a Mickey D's, wheeling a little girl in a stroller.

“Just follow my lead,” I said, and got out of the car.

“You know, people say that on TV all the time, but does it really work?” David asked, shutting off the car and also climbing out.

“I don't know,” I said. “I just always wanted to say it. Kind of feels badass.”

David grinned and came around the truck to stand in front
of me. Before I knew what was happening, he'd tugged my chin toward his face and kissed me, once but nicely, on the lips.

It wasn't my first or anything. And it didn't make me get dizzy or weak in the knees or any of that melodramatic stuff.

But I felt it.

“Whoa,” he said. “Um . . . I didn't mean to—”

“You should—” I interrupted, then had to stop and swallow. “Say something before doing that.”

“I'm sorry,” David said. “You're right. I just, I couldn't . . . yeah. I'm sorry.”

“I mean, I would've said yes,” I added. Which, honestly, surprised me. But when I said it, I knew it was true. I really don't know if I ever would have tried to kiss David Harowitz. Three days ago there'd be no way. The thought never would have occurred to me. Now, though . . . things were different.

“Yeah?” David asked. “You would've said yes?”

“I think so. But maybe not here. Or,
now
. I mean, we're in a church. For starters.”

“We're in a parking lot,” David said. “The church is over there. Can I kiss you? You said I should say something.”

“. . . Yeah, okay.”

And he kissed me one more time. I'd been nervous to walk into the church building, but suddenly those nerves settled a bit. Or were at least replaced by a different type of nerves.

“Cool,” David breathed. A little puff of frost sailed from his mouth.

“Cool,” I said. “Okay.”

It gave me the extra boost I needed to go inside the house of the Lord and lie to someone's face.

We followed signs to the main office and went in. An older lady at a desk looked up, assessed us with practiced ease, and chose to smile.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “How can I help you?”

I'd never really done this before, but having come this far,
so
far, I forced myself to stay in character.

“Hi, I'm trying to locate Mr. Rebane?” I fought the urge to say more, figuring the more I talked, the more implausible my story would become. And I hated the way his name tasted in my mouth. It soured the vague peppermint David had breathed into me.

“Ooo, I don't believe Frank is on campus right now,” the lady said. “He generally doesn't work on Saturday.”

“Work?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

The lady looked confused at my confusion. Dammit.

“Well . . . yes,” she said cautiously. “May I ask what this is about? I'd be happy to leave him a message.”

This is right where I thought things might go. Time for the big reveal, see what happened.

“I'm friends with his daughter, from when we were little?” I said. “I've lost touch with her over the years, but I found out her dad went here, so I just thought I'd take a shot in the dark.”

I tried to smile, and probably shouldn't have. I could feel the lie on my face.

But I got the answer I needed.

The lady slowly shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Frank has no children. He's never been married.”

Yes!
I thought.
I've got you, you son of a bitch.

“Oh,” I said, hoping my surprise was at least a little convincing. “I guess . . . you're sure? I mean, of course you'd be sure, it's just that I . . . I must've gotten the wrong Mr. Rebane entirely. Wow. I'm so sorry.”

My acting skills weren't so bad after all—the lady smiled kindly and said it was no problem. David and I thanked her and walked quickly back to the car. As if on instinct, neither of us said anything until we were both inside and the doors closed.

“No children,” I said. “So he lied. That wasn't his daughter. I knew it!”

“You're talking about at the Hole,” David clarified.

“Yes. He said, ‘I'll have a short decaf, and my daughter will have a hot chocolate.”

David nodded thoughtfully, but even as he did, I felt my resolve slipping. It must've shown on my face, because David then said, “What?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I, um . . . that's maybe not the exact wording he used.”

David arched an eyebrow. I rubbed my face. God, this was getting complicated.

“He might've just said, ‘and
she'll
have.' Maybe he never actually said she was his daughter. I mean, if he'd said
that
and he doesn't have kids, then he lied. Maybe I could take that to the cops and it would raise a little more hell.”

“But if he didn't say ‘daughter'—”

“If he didn't say ‘daughter,' then he's just an old guy with some girl. Could be her uncle, a family friend. Maybe he's her youth pastor.”

“Yeah, what was that whole him-working-here thing,” David said. “You looked surprised when she said that.”

“I was. I am. I had no idea. I don't know what he does here. You think he works with kids?” The thought churned my stomach.

“Who knows,” David said. “What's our next move?”

I didn't miss the fact that he said “our” instead of “your,” and it was kind of awesome. Just as a side note.

“I still think we need to stake out his house or something,” I said. “That's where the answers are.”

“Well, I don't recommend we do that till it's dark,” David said. “And we've got a couple hours before that happens. Let's stick with grabbing food for the moment, huh? We can talk about our options.”

“Okay, yeah,” I said.

David started up the truck and drove us back toward the In-N-Out. As he was parking, I said, “Did we . . . just . . . kiss? Back there?”

“Um, yes,” David said. He shut off the engine. “Is that still okay? We actually did it twice, I don't know if you were counting.”

“No, I remember,” I said. “I'm just trying to figure out what that means.”

“Well,” David said. “When you figure it out, let me know. Because, um, I'm pretty much, like,
high
right now. I kind of can't feel my legs.”