I didn’t
He paused, shaking, then wrote
I don’t know what this guy did.
Maybe not, but you knew what he was supposed to do—what you bribed him into doing, I suppose. You, Robbie, needed something else. What did this old man do to you, Robbie? That is the only thing I don’t know. I can imagine many things, though.
Robbie felt like he might throw up. For months now, the whole thing had seemed unreal, a show he was watching rather than really being a part of. In some ways, he was doing the will of the Other One before he was fully aware of it, going through the motions. It had all been laid out so perfectly. The job at the rehab center was one of a string of similar ones he had done most of his life. The Other One had instructed him on the best way to obtain employment there. It was easy, even with the cloud of complaints and accusations that had followed Robbie over the years. He was a US citizen without a criminal record. There was a labor shortage. He was in.
Also surreal but smoothly accomplished was his introduction to the man he was to draw blood from: the breathing husk in room 728 with the name Caleb Evermore. Only one blood draw was needed. That’s all the Other One demanded. Robbie was squeamish about the needle Wally had given him, but he used it well enough. The man in the bed jerked a tiny bit when Robbie inserted the stout syringe and pulled blood from his left arm, but otherwise didn’t react. The arm went limp again, a thin, pale appendage barely different in color from the sheet it lay on, running down to a hopelessly idle hand that grasped nothing. After that, there was a trick or two, like pouring sand over his brother’s shoes. It was madness, aimed at Joe and delivered one step at a time.
Robbie wasn’t stupid. Caleb Evermore was really Robbie’s brother. More importantly, though, he was Joe’s identical twin. The Other One hadn’t offered much in terms of how that had come about, but Robbie got the gist, and it rang very true. His parents, for whatever banal or complex reasons, had left a boy to die. What Uncle Mike had pulled off was an elaborate trick on a failed, dying system. The machinations and sleights of hand were unknown, but Robbie could imagine them. He was no stranger to changing names, creating identities, shifting realities. Institutional bureaucracies were soft underbellies for deceit. Uncle Mike was clever. Clever and meddling.
Meddling Uncle Mike couldn’t leave well enough alone on the night of the blackout either. Their mother was gone, but Robbie was handling it. Uncle Mike had to butt in, though, pairing the brothers with some other gay man. A smooth-talking savior, a usurper. That man had led Robbie blindly into an unspeakable violation. He would never look at Joe the same again. He would never look in a mirror the same again.
Robbie’s chest heaved. He wished he could reach into the black square and pull the author of these words back through. Yes, Robbie wanted something else. He wanted that bastard Nate Porter punished along with his mother and brother. It was so little to ask after the killing they had already done.
He swept the ashtray off the desk in a rage. He wanted one last thing for himself—a bit of control, the ability to step off the path the Other One had placed him on. Who did that person think he was, anyway? Why did he get to direct everything? Why was Robbie trapped in the back seat, marched around in the dark like a dog on a leash? As if that miserable, fetid, terrifying night hadn’t been bad enough? They had been abandoned, and Robbie had been left to fend for his little brother. He had been brave. He had been steadfast. But then he had been ordered down a staircase and
they jumped me I couldn’t stop them
Robbie hit send before he knew he was doing it.
What?
THEY JUMPED ME TWO OF THEM I COULDN’T STOP THEM I COULDN’T STOP THEM THEY JUMPED ME THEY JUMPED ON ME THEY WERE ALL OVER ME
He slammed his fists against the keyboard, sending letter caps flying. Ghostly white light emanated from underneath, exposing the hardware. The keyboard looked useless, but maybe that was best. If this whole, strange trip had been just above a dream, then it could be snuffed out like one too. Maybe, down the road, he would find Nate Porter himself. A sweet thought for another time. Now it was time to walk away. His mother was dead. His brother was trapped, just like Robbie had been in that black stairwell when there was breath in his face, and laughter, then that terrible smell, then hands all over him . . .
I see you.
Robbie gawked. The screen was still lit, the black square in place.
That’s right, I see you. I don’t care about your reasons, your tantrums, about who tortured you, or who you blame. But before I leave you, know this.