Malorie(72)

Doesn’t Malorie get it? Could she really stand where Tom stands now, mere feet from the people who discuss what might be their last moments alive? Could she be this close to a breakthrough and not feel the excitement Tom feels? He knows the answer to this, and it makes him feel sick. If Malorie were here, it wouldn’t be happening. She’d get hysterical. She’d demand everyone close their eyes. She’d take him by the arm and drag him out of this tent, one gloved hand over his face.

Maybe she’d even hit him again.

“Your mother,” Henry says, once again seeming to sense where Tom’s head is at, once again proving he already knows Tom better than his own mom does, “wouldn’t get any of this at all, would she?”

“Not at all,” Tom says.

But he doesn’t want Henry bringing Malorie up right now. He doesn’t want to think of her at all.

“She’d scream bloody murder at every single person in this town,” Henry goes on. “She’d call them all crazy, and she’d include you in that assessment.”

Tom nods. But he really doesn’t want to talk about this right now. He just wants to listen to Jacob and Calvin, hear what they have to say, add to their conversation. Their ideas. Their bravery.

Jacob says, “It’s different than looking at the reflection of one in the mirror because, for starters, you might see something in your peripheral vision that isn’t reflected in the limited shape of the glass.”

Calvin says, “In this case it’s all about forcing the creature to do something fathomable.”

They’re talking about his ideas!

It’s everything Tom’s ever wanted.

“God, it’s like I can hear her voice already,” Henry says. “The shrill bemoaning of the new world. The endless rules. You’ll see.” He plants a heavy hand on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom wants him to remove it. “When you finally get to view one, you’ll see just how paranoid your mother has been.”

Jacob and Calvin are discussing mirrors. Reflections. The possible mind of impossible creatures. Tom wants to get lost in their words. He could listen to them for weeks.

But Malorie, as is her nature, keeps coming back up.

“She’d go for me first,” Henry says with a chuckle. “She’d ask who took you here, and when I raised my hand…”

“She wouldn’t see it,” Tom says.

“That’s right!” Henry says. His laughter is louder than the discussion between the two volunteers.

He thinks this is funny, but it’s not. Not right now.

“Eventually she’d find out,” Henry says. “And she’d come for me. Except…like you bring up, where would she know to look? And doesn’t that sum everything up, Tom? Here, a woman so righteous, yet completely inert. Well, she’s done it to herself, I say. She’s so deep in the dark she wouldn’t know if safety were sitting right beside her.”

Not now, Tom thinks. Not now.

“My God, if she had her way, you’d be locked in a crate like veal. She ever tell you what veal is, and how it was raised? Probably not. She probably didn’t want you knowing that’s what was happening to you.”

Allan enters the tent. He says the two-way mirror is ready. He says something about a park. Jacob and Calvin stop talking.

Tom can’t help but imagine them mad.

“…like a caged animal, Tom. And what kind of life is that? And who, then, would have put you in a worse position? The things outside…or your very own mother?”

Jacob and Calvin smile Tom’s way as Allan escorts them outside.

“Wait,” Tom says, but they’re already out of the tent.

“Who indeed?” Henry says. “And it makes you wonder, it makes you ask, who is the monster? Not I, Tom. Not us. Indian River has accepted me. Just as it accepts everyone. Your mother would say a place like this must draw the psychos. And maybe it has. But a madman at ease is safer than a sane woman unsettled. The creatures may be monsters, but as evidenced by your mother and the life she deemed fit for you…those nasty things are not the problem. Man is the creature he fears.”

The words rattle in Tom’s head like broken sticks outside Cabin Three at Camp Yadin. Tom hears them, yes, thinks he even knows what they are, yes, but his mind is on other things.

Amazing things.

Outside, Athena Hantz calls for him. And beyond her voice, the sound of a community celebrating.

Already, Tom thinks.

Before even trying it.

And isn’t that everything he’s ever wanted? To celebrate the effort? The results be damned?

“Best be going,” Henry says. But his hand is still on Tom’s shoulder, keeping him rooted to the ground. “You thought you cut the apron strings by leaving the train…” Henry laughs. Not the happy kind. “You’re about to positively slash them.”





THIRTY


Malorie smells rot seconds before Olympia tugs on her arm.

“Mom…”

Malorie stops walking. It’s harrowing enough to grasp the reality that her daughter can look, but the gravity in Olympia’s voice chills her.

“How bad is it?”

They’ve reached Indian River. It’s as black as it’s ever been behind Malorie’s blindfold.