The First Three Rules (4 page)

Making oatmeal, however, was a lot more complicated.

Rudy took two bowls out of the cabinet; a blue one for him and a yellow one for Ellis. He put them on the counter side by side.

How much oatmeal was he supposed to put in the bowl? There were no lines on the bowl like there were on a measuring cup. There was a scoop at the bottom of the container, but it didn’t have any lines either. If the oatmeal had been ice cream, he would have known just how much to get. Two scoops. Or three if it would fit into the bowl.

Rudy started to pour out the oatmeal, but the container slipped out of his hand. It hit the floor tossing a wave of pale oats onto the green tile.

With the oats on the floor he couldn’t put them in the bowl and if he couldn’t make oatmeal, then he wouldn’t be able to fix Ellis breakfast. And he had to fix Ellis breakfast because if he didn’t, that terrible thing would happen. That
big and terrible
thing…

Rudy swept the oats with his hands, but it seemed no matter how hard he tried, the little oats spread more and more.

When Rudy had as many as he could catch back in the container, he put a scoop into the bowl. It barely covered the bottom. How many scoops would it take? He divided up the oatmeal; one scoop for Ellis, one scoop for him, one scoop for Ellis.

When he finished Ellis’s bowl had more.

That wasn’t fair. Rudy turned the container upside down to make sure he’d gotten all the oats. Nothing came out.

Maybe he would give Ellis the blue bowl and he could take the yellow. Only Rudy didn’t like yellow.

He’d worry about it later.

Rudy held the bowl under the tap and black specks floated to the top. He tried to scrape them off, but they stuck to his hand. When both bowls had water he carried them over to the microwave.

He wasn’t supposed to use the stove, but Ellis had never said not to use the microwave. At least not in the way that said his brother meant it. He didn’t repeat it three times. He didn’t make Rudy repeat it three times.

With one bowl inside, the other wouldn’t fit. Rudy put the blue one in first, then the yellow.

Nope. Didn’t change anything.

Rudy poured the oatmeal out of the yellow bowl into the blue bowl. Now he had to be careful or it would spill . He slowly picked up the bowl and placed it inside the microwave.

How long did he cook it?

Rudy pushed the number six. That didn’t seem like long enough. He pushed it again. Now it said twelve. Was twelve long enough? He did it one more time just in case.

He started the microwave and the bowl spun around.

Well, this was boring. Maybe he could go watch some TV for a few minutes to pass the time and then come back and check on the oatmeal.

But you were never supposed to leave things unattended on the stove. Only this wasn’t the stove. He wasn’t allowed to use the stove because he’d burned himself. This was different. It was the microwave, and Ellis never said anything about the microwave.

At least in the way that meant he was serious.

In the living room there was a collection of VHS tapes inside the TV stand. Some of the cartoons had mice, some had cats chasing mice. Rudy stuck one in the VCR.

He loved it loud but Ellis didn’t. He liked it loud even less when he was trying to sleep. So Rudy made sure to keep the volume as low as he could.

Rudy pushed a few buttons on the remote, but the snowy screen didn’t go away.

If he couldn’t watch a movie, what did he do to pass the time? There were coloring books in his room.

Rudy was extra quiet as he climbed the stairs.

His room was all the way at the end of the hall. The middle room had been their parents. Their bed was still in there, clothes, books, papers, and old pictures of mom and dad.

In his room, the coloring books were on the shelf next to the drafting table. Rudy always tried to put things back in their place. It kept his room nice and neat and that made Ellis happy. The feeling inside Rudy made it clear that in order for Ellis to always be happy it was very important for Rudy to find Jon. And because Rudy was good at finding things, he knew right where to look.

Why wasn’t finding the cookies as easy as finding the oatmeal or Jon? Rudy looked and looked all the time. He would think hard, but he never knew where they were.

The coloring books were arranged by size. Rudy was proud that he’d put them that way all on his own.

Rudy used his fingers to count off all the things he could do by himself. There weren’t many but he was really good at making his bed. The comforter was crumpled near the footboard. He put the coloring book back.

Rudy smoothed out the blankets, measured the sheets on each side, folded everything down and fluffed up the pillows.

A sweet scent wafted through the air. Was Ellis making waffles?

Ellis made the best waffles.

The electronic scream preceded the acrid smell of burning plastic.

Ellis threw himself out of bed.

“Rudy!” Black smoke rolled out of the kitchen. He raced to his brother’s room. Rudy lay curled on the floor hands over his ears. “We’ve got to get out!” Ellis yanked on Rudy’s arm.

“Make it stop! Make it stop!”

“I will Rudy, I promise but we gotta get out of the house.” When Rudy wouldn’t budge, Ellis grabbed the comforter off Rudy’s bed.

Smoke burned his eyes and made him cough as headed down stairs. Gray-black plumes billowed from the back of the microwave. The panels were warped so bad that the digital numbers on the front were unreadable.

Ellis yanked open the door and blobs of charred oatmeal spilled out.

“Goddamn it, Rudy.” Ellis staggered into the dining room, opened the windows and then the back door. A breeze drew out the smoke, but the oily smell lingered.

Back in the kitchen, the microwave continued to puke up piles onto the counter.

What if Rudy had used the stove and really caught something on fire? What if the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off? What if…there were just too many possibilities and all of them could have gotten Rudy hurt or killed.

“Ellis?” Rudy stood in the doorway with his fists clutched to his chest.

“Take your comforter back to your room.”

He didn’t move.

“Now, Rudy.”

He picked it up. “But it has oatmeal on it.”

“Then take it to the laundry room. I’ll get you another one in a little bit.”

“I can get it.”

“No.”

Rudy flinched.

Ellis took a breath. “No. I’ll do it. Just take that one to the laundry room, then go sit on the couch and watch TV.”

“But the thingy won’t work.”

“Then color or look at your baseball cards.” Rudy stayed where he was. “Please, just do as I say. I’m not in a good mood right now.”

“I had to make you breakfast. You didn’t eat oatmeal yesterday and I wanted to make oatmeal. I spilled it, but I cleaned it up. I put it in the yellow bowl because you like yellow.”

“Rudy.” He flinched again and Ellis cursed at himself. “Please. You can tell me about breakfast later. Go sit on the couch.” Rudy carried the comforter into the living room.

Cleaning up after Rudy had no end. One mess after another. Every day. Trying to keep his brother from hurting himself. Trying to keep Rudy from hurting him.

His mother had made caring for Rudy look so easy. After their parents died it became clear Rudy would never be able to function on his own.

When he was younger Ellis had worked hard to keep his brother presentable and under control in public. If they drew the wrong kind of attention he would have wound up in foster care and Rudy in a home. And Ellis couldn’t let that happen.

Rudy was his brother.

His responsibility.

His burden.

But it didn’t stop Ellis from longing for the life he’d lost. The friends he never had. The impossible opportunities he would never get a chance to experience.

The sound of Rudy humming kept Ellis company while he scraped the oatmeal off the floor and moved the microwave to the back porch.

With the mess cleaned up a different kind of dread filled Ellis, because he needed another microwave. Trips into town were always potential disasters. Rudy couldn’t seem to understand most people didn’t want to be his friend. There were a few locals who were nice to him but the majority acted like his mental disability was a contagious disease. So Ellis never went out unless he had to.

Unfortunately, today he had to.

Rudy huddled on the couch in the living room shrouded in his comforter. A smear of drying oatmeal made a tan spot on the blanket.

Ellis sat beside him. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Rudy looked at the floor. “I was just trying to make breakfast. I had to make breakfast because I want you to be happy.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. But you could have gotten hurt.”

“Three sixes. I put it on three sixes because it had to cook.”

“Please Rudy, promise me.”

“And the bowls wouldn’t fit. So I put it all in one bowl.”

Ellis massaged his forehead, but the pain wouldn’t stop. “Rudy, look at me.” When he didn’t Ellis took his brother by the chin. His bottom lip trembled. “Promise me, you will never touch the microwave again.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“But how am I going to make you oatmeal?”

“I’ll make the oatmeal. Now promise me.”

“I promise.” He tried to look away but Ellis forced his head back up.

“Repeat after me. I will not touch the microwave. I will not put things in the microwave.” Rudy did. “Now say it again.” He did. “Good.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Scared, not mad.”

Rudy nodded. “Can I give you a present?”

“As long as it isn’t more oatmeal.”

“It’s not. I promise.” Rudy took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “I drew this for you after we came home from the post office. I wanted to give it to you then, but I had to wait, so you could help me write his name. I was going to ask you while we ate oatmeal. But now there’s no oatmeal.”

Ellis smoothed out the wrinkles. Three stick figures held hands under a smiling sun. Crooked letters spelled out their names under two of them..

“Who’s this?” Ellis pointed to the stick figure left blank.

“That’s Jon.”

“Jon?”

“Yeah.”

“How can that be Jon? We went to the post last week and we didn’t meet him until yesterday.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t know his name.”

Jon pushed himself up on an elbow and waited for the numbness to drain out of his arm. The throbbing in his shoulder was echoed in his hips.

It took two tries for him to get to his feet.

When he picked up the gun the self loathing voice and the image of his brother in the barn never came. Neither did the screams from the warehouse.

There was only Ellis.

He returned the .38 to the side table. Then the phone rang.

Jon could count on one hand the people who would call earlier than the sun could rise and he’d still have four fingers left over. He answered the phone.

“Jon?”

“Bored, Mike?” Jon cringed at the sound of his own voice.

“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why haven’t you called like you said you would?”

“Because every time I do, you try to psychoanalyze me. I’m fucked. I know I’m fucked. I don’t need you to remind me on a daily basis.”

“I’m your friend, remember?”

“You’re the department shrink.”

“I’m still your friend.”

Ever since the warehouse, being friends with anyone was nothing but a farce. None of the people Jon had worked with looked at him like one of their own anymore.

“Are you still there?”

Jon’s right knee didn’t want to bend. “Yeah.” He limped into the kitchen.

“You never did answer me. Are you okay?”

“Dandy.”

“You sound like you’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t been drinking.” Glass shards, food on the walls, food on the floor. It was going to take hours to clean up the mess. “Not that there weren’t times I didn’t want to.” Like now. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping good.”

“It’s common for sleep aids to lose effectiveness. A dose increase should fix that.”

Jon picked his way through the broken dishes to the coffee maker. A splinter of porcelain stuck him in the toe.

He bit back a curse. “The pills don’t work because I’m not taking them.”

“Why not?”

“I thought this was my friend Mike calling, not Dr. Talbert.” Jon searched the cabinet for the coffee filters. He found the box. It was empty.

“Friends worry about each other too.”

“Yeah well, I’m fine.”

“Tell me why you’re not taking the sleeping pills?”

Jon leaned against the counter. “They make me feel like shit.”

“It can’t be half as bad as not sleeping.”

“It is. Trust me.” Jon resumed looking in the cabinets. Maybe he had some instant coffee.

“Have you talked to Dr. Kale about giving you something else?”

“No.”

“And I suppose you have a good reason for that too?”

Jon slammed the cabinet door shut. “I’m not seeing the doctor either.”

“Jesus, Jon. How the hell are you going to get your scripts refilled?”

“I quit the medications.”

Mike’s breathing was the only sound.

Jon gave up on the coffee and limped back to the living room. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help.” He sat on the recliner. “I don’t need any help. I’m fine. I’m dealing.”

“People don’t just deal with PTSD.”

He looked at the small table by the door. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Then you should be well aware of how important it is for you to take your meds and make the sessions. I want you to set up a another appointment with Dr. Kale. And I want you to take the meds.”

“You’re not my keeper.”

“You obviously need one.”

“Fuck you.” Jon hung up. The silence was cut short by ringing. It went on for a while, stopped, then started again. He picked up the receiver. “Mike, I’m done talking to you. I’m not going to the shrink. I’m not taking the pills. They don’t work. Do you understand? Nothing will change the fact that two detectives and my partner, not to mention the dozens of girls, died. Little girls, Mike. That son-of-a-bitch Beck used them as human shields then mowed them down when they panicked.