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Martin, Revisited
Chapter Eight
THEIR CHILDREN, ONCE MORE
Copyright 2016 - 2020 Christina M. Guerrero
INTERMEDIATE DRAFT
PROLOGUE, FIRST SECTION - Martin - Thoughts while falling asleep. Which led to a short story. Which led to a novel.
CHAPTER ONE - The English Rose - Martin in love.
CHAPTER TWO - The Mooch Message - You may think words don't matter. But they do.
CHAPTER THREE - Congratulations - Time to celebrate. Or is it?
CHAPTER FOUR - The Heart Of Man - Who we are.
INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE - Turning A Writing Project Into A Novel - A few things to consider
CHAPTER FIVE - The Dead Thing - The green spaceship theory.
CHAPTER SIX - TBD
CHAPTER SEVEN - TBD
CHAPTER EIGHT part one - Their Children, Again - Life as a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT part two - Their Children, Once More - Growing up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN- A Scent Of Roses - Pondering infinity.
IN PROGRESS
CHAPTER TBD - The Spirit Of A Good Man - Don't underestimate people. You'd be surprised what they're capable of.
CHAPTER TBD - G-Rated Swear Words - What pays the bills is not easy.
CHAPTER TBD - His Place Full Of Space - What makes a place a home.
CHAPTER TBD - Hallelujah - In search of the truth.
CHAPTER TBD - Recovery - The body, soul, and spirit need time to recover from injustice.
CHAPTER TBD - A Bit Of Heaven - The holidays are difficult for some.
CHAPTER TBD - Who's The Hero? - Looking for hope.
CHAPTER TBD - Zombie Caleb And The Holidays - Dealing with flashbacks.
CHAPTER TBD - The Mystery Of Spasiba - Are babies paying attention?
CHAPTER TBD - The Birth of Imagination - Making sense of an odd situation.
CHAPTER TBD - The DNA Dream - Nightmares and airplanes.
CHAPTER TBD - The Caleb With The Kids - The best of all worlds.
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft One:
Nothing, yet.
DISCLAIMER
Except for the first section of the prologue and the interludes, this is a work of fiction.
The rest is either a product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, things, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
Martin went to bed that night with a heavy conscience: tell his parents what he had overheard and possibly be reprimanded for not announcing his presence, or hope Hayley would say something? He considered talking to Hayley about disabilities, and how he felt: that he sometimes wanted life without cerebral palsy, and to be able to move about freely, but sometimes he thought that might be weirder than having CP, and that he believed his disability was a natural part of this life.
He thought about his father first, and what Caleb had been advising from the moment Martin could understand him: “Be a gentleman.” He next thought about Howard, and what their conversations might have been about this, and what Howard might have advised. Probably the same. Martin decided to remain silent.
As he looked out the window at the moon, he heard a whisper: “You okay?”
He looked towards the doorway. Caleb stood there; he put a finger to his lips.
Martin whispered, “What about the concert?”
Caleb moved to the bed and squatted; he wore one of his stage outfits: a long black shirt with silver designs, jeans, and black and silver boots. “It’s a long story. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. Keep this secret for me.”
“Okay.”
Caleb stroked Martin’s hair. “Any problems lately?”
“No.”
“Nobody bothering you?”
“No, sir.”
“I was thinking about those weird jokes Chris and Garance were making about your chores a few days ago. They stop doing that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Caleb sighed and looked around with a solemn face. “Well. I’ll let you get to bed. Keep our secret.”
“Does Mom know you’re here?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight, Number Eight.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
Caleb saluted him, and Martin giggled himself to sleep.
In the morning, Martin woke, stretched, got dressed, and decided to see what was happening in the kitchen. He was also thirsty, and hoped there was lemonade or orange juice to drink after he had some water.
He moved slowly along the third floor, then went down the stairs, with his crutches once again in his shirt, and his hands on the rail. On the second floor, he could hear murmurs and whispers behind the door to Hayley’s room. He decided there had been enough eavesdropping, albeit inadvertently, and decided he would announce his presence in the future unless he was in his bedroom with the door shut.
Feeling satisfied, happy, and at peace, he went to the first floor and into the kitchen.
South of the kitchen, the sun room was bright with early morning light. Martin observed for a moment, wishing he could live outdoors for just a few months, so he could feel the seasons on his skin. He had a vision of sleeping in a light blue room. He smiled at that, then turned to get a glass from the counter for juice--
Someone shoved him hard. He was not expecting this; would never have expected this in this house; was thinking if he were to be harmed, at least the perpetrators would have the courage to look him in the eyes, but apparently not.
With his right hand reaching out, and his left hand trying to help him balance on the left crutch, he could only wobble on his feet. He tried to grab the counter and push down on the crutch in his left hand, but everything failed, and he fell forward onto his stomach, with his hands and forearms also taking part of the damage.
“DADDY!” he shrieked. For once, he felt grateful that his eight-year-old voice was still somewhat high. Then he felt supremely ridiculous. What if Caleb had just shoved him?
Martin felt his eyes widen at the thought of battling Caleb.
He heard snickering. He moved slowly, in order to look around at the sun room entrance to the kitchen, at the hallway entrance, and at the living room entrance.
Nobody was there.
He grabbed one of the cupboard handles and slowly rose to his knees--
But there it was again. He felt his forehead and nose hit the floor, followed by sharp pain in his nose. Someone laughed.
He shrieked again, not using words, and struggled to get up. He was about to stand when he saw Caleb’s feet rounding the bar between the kitchen and the sunroom.
SLAM! He hit the floor again. Pain flared on his left side near his stomach.
“Someone help me!” Martin shouted. “Someone! Mr. Orville! Help!!!” He had no illusions about anything. If Caleb was about to finish him off--
Someone laughed. It was either Hayley, Garance, or Christopher; they could imitate each other very well.
Caleb’s feet moved quickly towards Martin, just as footsteps approached them and Christopher said, “Hi, Daddy!”
Caleb’s feet moved. The kitchen was silent.
Martin thought: they’re going to hurt me bad. They’re just waiting for me to try to get up again.
With difficulty, he shifted so he could see over his right shoulder.
Caleb was holding one of Christopher’s arms. Caleb’s face was white and his mouth was a tiny slit.
Caleb said, “Watch this. Because some day, if you live long enough, you’re going to be an old man. And there may be no one there to see you fall. And this is what you’re going to have to do to get help.”
Christopher muttered something.
Caleb’s head turned swiftly; he looked down at Chris; he said, “What?” in a low, deadly voice.
Martin returned to the business of trying to stand up. He looked around, painfully, while struggling, and saw Caleb’s back as he bent over Christopher, speaking angrily.
A hand -- no, two hands -- no, two small hands -- supported Martin’s left arm; he used his left crutch and support from the counter to stand; he turned and said, “Thanks--”
No one was there.
Martin looked around wildly, again painfully; his nose and face hurt. He did not see anyone.
Meanwhile, Caleb’s angry voice alternated with Christopher’s pleading voice.
Martin looked around again; he understood being on the floor and unable to see anyone, but he should have seen anyone to his left or right in front of him as he stood. He frowned, thinking how the hands felt on his arm, positioning his own hands to figure out where the help had come from ....
A sharp pain in his chest made Martin gasp. “It hurts to breathe, Daddy.”
“We’re going to the hospital shortly. Where this ... human being--” he lightly shook Christopher “--and the other two are going to explain how you got injured.”
Laboriously and slowly, Martin struggled once more to stand. He had a brief mild seizure but managed to work through it as he heard Caleb saying angrily, “He’s having a SEIZURE now. Can you TELL? Or do you just IGNORE us when we tell you the SIGNS?”
Chris said, “I can tell.”
“Then why are you assaulting him, which could possibly bring about a seizure due to stress and anxiety? Did he do something to you?”
There was a long silence followed by, “No, sir.”
The world cleared; Martin stood and balanced using his crutches; he briefly touched his upper lip and realized his nose was bleeding.
Martin grunted; his ribs hurt again. He frowned at the other two. If Caleb cared, why had this happened? Was he behind it? Then Martin remembered Caleb in the bedroom last night -- perhaps he was preparing for such a thing to happen. But still ... couldn’t this have been prevented? His body had been harmed ... his body. This was too personal. What was going to happen next? Ongoing “accidents” followed by his mysterious death?
Caleb’s fingers tightened; Christopher winced. Caleb said, “Christopher. Did I just see you shove Martin down and laugh at him?”
No answer. The kitchen resumed its silence. A clock ticked somewhere. Outside, the wind blew softly. A few crickets still thought it was nighttime. Upstairs, a few voices chatted and laughed. The refrigerator hummed.
Christopher’s face pouted and scowled.
Caleb tightened his fingers. Martin had been on the receiving end of that deadly hand a few times.
Christopher winced. “Yes.”
“And did I see Garance do the same?”
Christopher was silent.
Caleb shouted, “Garance! Hayley!”
They came running.
Caleb said, “Line up, right here, in front of the sink. Martin, face these lost souls with me.”
Martin moved to his father’s side. Caleb grabbed a napkin, wiped Martin’s nose, and handed over a clean napkin. “Hold that there, and put your head back for a bit.”
“Yes, sir,” Martin said wearily. Maybe this was all for show, and it was going to get bad again. Maybe he could “respect” his way out of it and escape.
Even with his head tilted, Martin could tell that Christopher, Garance and Hayley looked like they were sucking on lemons.
Caleb said, “Tell me what you all did.”
Silence.
Caleb said, “Since you’re too chicken, I’ll tell you. Hayley, this morning, bright and early, thinking I would not be here, and that your mother might be sleeping in, and thinking that she did not have enough to do ... living in this farmhouse ... with attached working orchard and associated activities ... which should be sufficient activities for the average child and the average adult for that matter ... decided to assign Christopher and Garance the task of shoving Martin down and running.”
Hayley’s mouth popped open.
Caleb continued, “Nine-year-old Christopher and ten-year-old Garance, eager to please their older, eleven-year old sister, did as requested. Like you’re all in preschool and not on the verge of entering junior high.”
Caleb pulled up Martin’s shirt and said, “Look at these red marks. They will turn into bruises. He said it hurts to breathe. Probably a fracture or two in his ribs. Look at his bloody lip and his bloody nose. This is assault and battery, ladies and gentleman. If you were older, Martin could take you to court. He would win. He will chose your punishment.”
Christopher smiled briefly. Garance’s and Hayley’s eyes grew bright, but their faces remained neutral.
“Is something funny, Chris?” Caleb said, in his you’re-about-to-get-a-spanking voice.
Christopher’s face went still. “No, sir.”
Caleb said, “Martin?”
Martin said, “I want them to visit the jail and talk to the prisoners there.”
Caleb said, “Never thought about that. We’ll do it. You heard the man. You all get ready and let’s go.”
At the hospital, the doctor -- an old English gentleman -- listened to the whole story, and then studied Hayley, Garance, and Christopher. Caleb and Heather sat nearby, silently.
Martin watched with extreme disappointment. They had given him medicine for pain, but it was not helping: his nose and forehead and ribs were sore.
The doctor said, “Children. Let’s do our best to communicate effectively with each other and with our parents, yes? If we feel frustrated or angry, perhaps go for a walk or take up a strenuous recreational activity. Don’t take it out on human beings, especially those much smaller. If there is something you would rather not discuss with a parent, you can at least tell them that, and explain what they can do to help you feel better. Be kind to one another, please.”
They left the hospital and rode for a long time. They stopped for lunch, then went to a place that was actually a large prison, not a jail.
Martin observed, wondering how they had managed to arrange this so quickly.
They checked in, and then went to a big room with a lot of tables. In one far corner, two people had a quiet conversation: one man in orange clothes and shackles, and another man in a suit.
“Over here,” Caleb said.
They all sat on chairs which faced a bench.
A nearby door opened, and a boy entered, wearing shackles and orange clothes. He had pale skin, dark hair, and a stocky build. A guard assisted the boy to the bench, and sat next to him.
Martin studied this person, and saw clear skin on the boy’s face, but faint stubble. Thoughts came, as they always had, from some mysterious place deep within: he was a minor when he got in to trouble, but he is now an adult.
The guard said, “Joby. Thank you for agreeing to talk to this family. These three children here--” he gestured toward Hayley, Garance, and Christopher “--have just shoved this boy down--” he indicated Martin “--three times, when his back was turned. As you can see, his nose was broken, and his forehead was bruised. Additionally, he has pain in his ribs. He will most likely be having that pain for about six to eight weeks. That’s how long it takes some bones to heal. Tell them what happens if they refuse to obey the law.”
Joby said in a thick Hertfordshire accent, “Those your crutches?”
Martin said, “Yes, sir.”
Joby said to the others, “You knocked down a physically disabled boy from behind? How low is that?”
Martin felt the same way. He cried silently and tried to be as still as possible. His ribs were on fire now, and anything made them hurt, including his silent sobs.
Christopher mumbled, “We’realldisabled.”
“Sorry?”
Christopher sighed then said distinctly, “We are all disabled. I have dyslexia. They are hard of hearing.”
“Right, then. So you’re all disabled. So you know what it’s like to have compromised or limited skills and mobility. So you should have more sense than to attack a disabled person. What did he do to you? Knock you down first?”
Silence.
Hayley said, “No.”
Joby said, “Did he start this, or did you?”
Garance lowered her head. “He didn’t do anything. We were just--”
“You were ‘just.’ I’ve heard that a lot. I used to say that a lot. After I heard that a lot.”
Silence.
Joby said, “Am I making sense?”
Three heads shook back and forth, indicating ‘no.’
“Then I will tell you my story. I had a decent life. Not too rich, not too poor. But then they used to get me alone and harm me. In many ways. When I complained and cried and protested, that’s what they would say to me. ‘We were just.’ That’s how they explained all their games and abuse. I had a tiny feeling. That I should tell someone and keep talking until someone helped me. But I felt ashamed. I got angry and harmed others. Then I was the one got arrested and charged. And then that was my excuse: ‘I was just.’ Don’t give me that. I don’t believe that anymore. Not from them, not from me, not from you.”
Joby frowned and sighed. “In here, I learned a lot about what went wrong ... with how and why I got abused, and why I abused others. It is a place that can help, in some ways, but you don’t want to be here. If you don’t want to be here, then listen to me. I can not speak for everyone. That would be presumptuous. But I think ... deep down .. we know what we need to do, when we have certain feelings of anger ... and rage ... and injustice ... and how to handle those feelings. I think we already know. And we need to be courageous enough to do what we already know what is necessary--”
Martin heard someone whisper, “Sounds like Dad.”
Joby tilted his head and glared at Hayley. “Something you want to share with me?”
Hayley sat up straight and pursed her lips.
Joby said, “I sound like your Dad? You think this is a joke and it’s just going to blow over and you’ll start it all up again, without any consequences?”
Hayley wiped under her eyes and looked away.
Joby said, “Can she hear me?”
Garance nudged Hayley, who faced Joby.
Joby said, “Pay attention, please. I can’t make you do anything, but I’d like to anyway, and I want you to pay attention.”
Hayley nodded and turned red.
“You don’t want to be in here. You have little to no privacy. You have to account for yourself all the time. It’s rough and unpleasant. Depending on the crime, once you get out, it might be more of the same for a long time. Maybe even forever. Some people who go to jail and then get out, find themselves back inside over and over, because they can’t stop doing what puts them there. In some ways, maybe that’s good for them as well as society.”
Silence.
The guard said softly, “So far, brilliant.”
Joby said, “Thank you.” To the others he said, “Almost everyone makes mistakes. Do you want to know why I say it that way?”
Silence.
“I say it that way because I don’t know everyone who ever lived, and who lives now, and will live in the future. But I think almost everyone makes mistakes. And when we do, I think we appreciate a benefit of the doubt, and a chance or two to make things right again. Perhaps you will appreciate faith and trust from those around you, despite your actions.”
The room remained silent. Martin listened for the other men, but the place now seemed to be deserted except for this group.
Joby said, “There is a difference between ... making a mistake--” he made air quotes “-- and deliberately planning to harm someone, physically or emotionally or otherwise and following through. I hope you learn the difference. No, I hope you already know the difference. And I hope you think about my words when you walk through those hallways and see who lives here.”
Garance’s eyes widened. “We’re actually visiting the prisoners?”
More silence.
Joby said, “Once you’re in here like me, you’re on your own. The guards are here to keep order, not be your mummy or your daddy. Some people here might have your back. But it’s not the same as being your best friend. Your lawyer and your parole officer and all that other stuff ... they are there to guide and inform you, not live your life and be you. You have to do that.”
Joby sighed.
The guard said, “Anything else?”
Joby looked into the distance. He looked at each family member.
He said, “Regarding your outburst--” he nodded to Hayley “--some of what I say may be repetitive. I don’t know how to speak professionally and in an entertaining way. But you should pay attention to what I say, no matter your opinion of me. You don’t want to be in here. Some might tell me that’s an opinion. I will argue that it’s a fact. Remember that there are many ways to express your emotions. Hitting and shoving your brother is not the best way, unless he gives permission. I doubt he did. Your brother may be very upset now, so give him time to feel better. I was battered and abused and hurt. I’ll leave it at that. But that made me think it was okay to do it to others. It’s not ... unless your life is in danger, and even then you still have other options. I don’t believe your brother is endangering your life. So be a good older brother and sisters, okay? You don’t want to be in here. It’s not easy and it’s not comfortable. You don’t have much freedom here.”
The guard stood. Joby stood.
Martin said, “Thank you, Mr. Joby.”
“You are welcome.”
The guard opened the door, and Joby went through, and was assisted by a second guard.
The first guard shut the door, sat on the bench and said, “I’ll need you to walk through in single file. Don’t touch anyone or anything. I’d recommend not saying anything, either, and just observe. Who wants to go first?”
Martin moved, but felt a big hand on his left shoulder as Caleb said, “The other three. My other boy first, the shorter girl second, long hair third. We’ll be behind them.”
“Right. Come along, then.”
The guard opened the door again and went into the hallway. Martin followed Garance, and for about twenty feet, there was just a hallway.
They turned to their left, and there were more hallways, and offices.
Then there was a huge security checkpoint.
Garance and Hayley clung to each other, whispering. Christopher patted Garance’s back.
Martin looked around with interest, wincing at the pain in his chest and side.
After the checkpoint, they were in a wide hallway with prison cells on either side.
When the guard moved past the first few rooms, a loud rough tenor called, “Mr. Place. How’s your face?”
“Afternoon, Mr. Jones,” said the guard.
“How’s your face, Mr.--”
The voice stopped. Then started up again: “Look at wha’ we have here. One ... no, two ... no, three ... blimey, mates, we've got company!”
Garance turned to her right. The voice said, “Wha’ are you doing here, lovely? Lose your way?” She faced straight ahead, looking at Hayley’s back.
Up ahead, another voice -- low and slow -- said, “Who are they, Mr. Place? They gonna join us? I’ve been lonely lately.”
“Calm down, Mr. Turner.”
“Oh, these are the smarties what knocked down the disabled boy. When ‘is back was turned. Real brave of you, lord and lasses. Asses.”
Christopher’s voice was loud and clear: “How do they know? Who told them?”
Nobody answered him.
“Oy!” The first voice shouted behind Martin; he had passed the first few rooms now. “I’ve read most of your books, miss. Fancy giving me an autograph?”
A guard behind Heather said, “I’ll ask her later, Mr. Jones.”
They moved past several rooms where the occupants were either sleeping or silently observing, then went into another wing.
Whistles started up. A deep bass voice said, “You. With the short brown hair. Fancy knocking me down? You’d try and you’d never do that again. Nor you, nor you.” Spit flew out of that room, and landed on the floor as Christopher walked by. Two more wads flew out, narrowly missing the other two.
Martin looked from side to side, into each room, trying to move only his eyes. He saw Joby, who flashed the peace sign. Martin nodded and moved on.
They moved into another hallway, and Martin wondered if it was supposed to be a macabre welcoming committee. All the men were at their barred entrances, looking out.
A tall dark-haired man poked his nose between his bars and said, “Attacked a man with limited mobility when his back was turned? Feel good about yourself, now?”
Garance surprised Martin with a quavery, “He’s not a man, yet.”
The man stuck out his tongue and moved it up and down and widened his eyes.
Garance resumed studying Hayley’s back and kept moving.
A round blond man said softly, “Hey there, lovelies. Time to keep Jimmy company. Come on, then. Now. Right now. RIGHT NOW! RIIIIIIIIGHT THE HELLL NOWWWWWW!”
He started banging on the bars with his fists. Guards came running and a loud conversation ensued as Martin passed. He turned to his left, painfully, and was glad to see Heather behind him, and Caleb behind her.
A short red-headed man said, softly at first, then louder and louder, “Guess who’s gonna be seeing me tonight in their nightmares? And if not tonight, when I get out? Me. That’s right. ME! I’m gonna HUNT YOU FIVE DOWN AND SHOUT AT YOU UNTIL YOU TICKLE ME. THAT’S WHAT I’M GONNA DO--” This man reached out for Martin, who was right smack in the middle of the hallway, and well away from either side.
Martin felt Heather’s hand on his back. They had stopped; up ahead, Mr. Place was chatting with another guard.
The redhead started out soft again: “Do you think that hand on his back will protect him? Do you THINK that has anything to do with proTECtion? DO YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE GOING TO PROTECT HIM FROM ALL ... THE EVIL ... IN THE WORLD--”
Martin coughed, trying to hold back laughter. Evil had entered his world, not often, but was there, and Heather could not prevent that, no matter what she did. Nobody was guaranteed its absence. Correction. Hardly anybody? Correction: Very few? He thought about how to phrase this, remembering the distinctions Joby had made. He pretended to wipe his nose.
“God bless you. God BLESS you. GOD BLESS YOU. GOOOOOOOD BLEESSSSSSSSS--”
“Will you shut up, Morris?” said yet another voice, that belonged to another tall, dark-haired man. He said, “Oy. One of you come here. Tell me what color my eyes are. Please. Just one of you’s all I need. Just look into my eyes and tell me what color they are. Pretty please? With whipped cream on top? And a cherry?”
Martin glanced at this man, who winked back.
The redhead started up again, at the top of his lungs: “CHERRY BERRY BO BERRY, BEE BIGH BO BERRY BERRY BO BERRY--”
Everyone except the guards and the visitors joined in, singing along, loudly; the words echoed and rang and vibrated around the hallway.
Martin decided it felt no different from being ambushed and physically harmed and being reminded of that harm with every single movement he made that aggravated his hairline fractures. Up ahead, Christopher clamped his hands to either side of his head; Hayley had ducked her head and her shoulders were somewhere close to her ears (Martin guessed the vibrations were strong enough that she could feel them); and Garance had pulled her jacket closed with both hands, and walked with her head down.
A door opened; after they went through the doorway and down the next hallway, the noise faded away.
Near what looked like another security checkpoint, Mr. Place said, “That is part of the men’s section. The women are up ahead. Same rules apply. Single file, down the center of the hallways.”
No sooner were they within sight of the women when Martin heard a high cackling voice, “These the wankers what knocked down the disabled boy?”
Christopher, who hated that word, said, “I’m not a wanker.”
“What’s that?”
Silence.
“You act like one,” the cackling voice said.
“How do you know what happened?” Christopher asked.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” the cackling voice said.
Nearby, a lower voice said, “You don’t like anyone finding out, don’t tell anyone, and ... here’s a thought but maybe you don’t THINK... don’t get caught. Better yet: don’t do it at all, and take the straight and narrow path.”
Another, voice, quite flat and jaded: “And if you followed your own advice you would not be here.”
“Touche, my dear.”
The next few rooms were quiet.
Further down, a short blond woman muttered, “One, two, three, four, five. Five of you. I could take you all down. Just with my thoughts. I can think you into insanity.”
A tall brunette slammed into the bars of a cell to their right; Hayley let out a little scream. The brunette said, “You are so pretty! I love your hair! Can I have it?” She blew a kiss, then pressed her face hard into the bars, which made it impossible to understand everything else she said.
A loud raucous voice said, “Here they come! The circus is in town! Step right up! Who do we got?”
Martin looked and wished he had not. To his left, a large round nude woman was shouting as she manually covered herself with what smelled like feces. Up ahead, several guards rushed toward them and then to the large woman’s room.
“Come along, then,” said Mr. Place.
Christopher stopped and retched.
A tall bald woman stood near her bars and said rather reasonably, “What’s the matter? This isn’t quite to your liking, then? Not quiet enough? Offends your sensibilities? The constant ‘in-your-face’ is not normal? Naked people who have gone round the twist are cramping your style?”
Christopher retched again.
Garance went to him, and rubbed his back, and gave him her jacket and said, “It’s okay. We can wash it, if you do.”
The bald woman watched, then frowned, then threw herself onto her bed and pouted. “Wish someone would help me like that.”
Further down, two blond women, one on either side of them, commented back and forth, “I’ll take those two.” “No, I’ll take them.” “Then you take the other two.” “No, I want the last one.”
Martin glanced that way. He received another wink.
Their voices started up again.
“You can have the old ones.”
“Ew. They’re ancient. Most definitely not my type.”
“I’ll take Mr. Place. Hey, Mr. Place.”
“Mr. Place is married, luv.”
“Then I’ll just fantasize.”
“You can have me, luv.”
“You’re not my type.”
“Then I’ll take--”
They turned the corner. A few hallways later, they entered yet another security checkpoint.
Mr. Place stopped, gestured to several benches and said, “Well.”
Caleb said, “Did you inadvertently take us through the um ... special ... section?”
“No, sir. That would be in a different area. Those are so-called normal inmates.”
Christopher said, “They’re normal? Why do they talk that way?”
“Lots of reasons. They want a reaction, they want to have a serious chat, they are struggling with personal issues. They think it is okay, even when no one is okay with it. They are from all walks of society, so keep that in mind.”
Martin said, “Can we visit the special section?”
Mr. Place studied him. “I’d say it’s not for children, but life itself harms children daily. Only with your parents’ permission.”
Caleb said sternly, “If he goes, the others go, too.” Hayley, Garance, and Christopher frowned.
Mr. Place said, “If you two say it’s okay, I will check with my superiors.”
Heather and Caleb moved away and chatted, then returned and said, “Yes.”
Mr. Place also moved away, muttered to several devices attached to his uniform, then returned and said, “We’re allowed to go through one wing. This may be disturbing. But I think it may remind all of us, myself included, that life is not always pleasant and fun, and that those who suffer need to be in a place where they can either heal, or where they can be safe.”
They passed through another checkpoint.
Beyond that, the hallways had more concrete and less bars.
Martin immediately heard a monotone voice, reciting the words to “Mary Had A Little Lamb” over and over.
This person was in the first cell to their right: a young man on a bed, staring at the ceiling, repeating the lyrics.
Mr. Place said, “I’m not supposed to give too many details. Suffice it to say he chose to harm himself first, which caused permanent damage. And significant damage to a few others. He will never recover.”
Someone whispered, “Psst.”
Martin looked to his left. A face looked through a small square of bars and said, “What time are you leaving?”
Mr. Place said, “Soon, sir.”
“Not soon enough. You’re too close to my soul.”
Martin bit down on his own tongue, fighting not to smile or giggle.
The face said, “Go ahead and laugh. You think I’m funny? You wouldn’t if you were in here.”
They moved along.
To his left, Martin saw another face. This one raised one eyebrow and said nothing. To Martin’s right was a wall, then another face that said, “When you lot break out, tell them I’m innocent. I didn’t do it. Promise me you will.” The face moved away, then there was a long, trombone-like fart.
Martin couldn’t hold back. He shook with repressed giggles and laughter, hoping no one would notice.
To his left, was another room with a cover over the barred window. To the right, the door was open and the big white room was empty. Up ahead, two orderlies pushed a stretcher upon which a covered form rested. The cover had blotches of brown or dark red on it. As he passed the white room, Martin noticed color in his peripheral vision; he turned -- painfully -- and saw written on the wall near the door in a reddish-brownish color: “Today I die.”
He observed with interest, remembering Heather saying once: “When I was eight, I thought about becoming a psychiatrist. I was fascinated by the subject for a long time. But it wasn’t really a burning passion. I still think about it from time to time, though.”
“Mom,” he said.
“What, Baby.” She moved to his right side.
“It is interesting. Someone has to be interested ... and care ... and take care of them, huh?”
“Yes.”
Up ahead, Mr. Place was muttering to Chris, who was frowning and glancing at Hayley. Garance joined them.
Caleb said, “Martin. Are you satisfied with this activity?”
“Yes. I don’t know if they care about what they saw. But maybe ... just maybe ... they will think a little bit about it. Think about everything--”
Chris bent over and threw up.
Mr. Place muttered into one of his devices, and a figure appeared in the distance and approached them. It was a janitor.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. His voice carried down the hallway. He wiped his mouth on Garance’s jacket.
The janitor said, “We’ll get this cleaned up. No harm done.”
Mr. Place called, “Ma’am? Sir? We’ll be just ahead, where he can rest.”
“Okay,” Caleb said.
Mr. Place, Chris, and Hayley walked to a bench and sat. Garance remained, looking toward Caleb, Heather and Martin, who joined her.
“What happened?” Heather said.
“This person ....” Garance gestured to another covered window. “This person ... well ... cooked and ate another person. After killing the person.”
“Hm,” Caleb said.
Heather nodded slowly and politely, as if hearing someone had just done something traditionally acceptable in society.
Garance frowned at them. “Can we go? Chris is getting sick.”
Martin felt a big hand squeeze his left elbow. It took him a few seconds before he said, “Oh. Yeah, Daddy. Can we go? Maybe this is enough.”
“Let’s go tell Mr. Place.”
Soon, they were walking back to their van. They drove off the prison property, and everyone was silent for about half an hour.
Then Caleb pulled into a rest area, stopped, and said, “I’m sorry you got sick, Chris. Will you be okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve lost my appetite, but I’m okay.”
“Does everyone understand why we went there today?”
Chris said, “Yes, sir.”
Garance said, “Yes, Daddy.”
Martin said, “Yes, sir.”
Caleb turned. “Thank you Martin, but you did not have to answer. Hayley?”
Martin wondered how this might work. Hayley was behind Caleb. The van was dark.
“Hayley?”
Garance said, “Daddy, can Hayley and I talk to you alone?”
“Of course.”
The three stepped out of the car.
Heather said, “She’s lost all of her hearing.”
Christopher said, “How do you know that?”
“I have eyes and ears.”
Martin watched, and smiled when Caleb hugged Hayley for a long time. Then they moved where a nearby streetlight could illuminate his face; they chatted for a while, then returned to the van.
“Let’s go home,” Caleb said.
At home, in the driveway, Caleb said, “After we catch up with Giselle and talk to The Others, we and you four will talk in the living room, then we will talk to each of you separately. Let’s go.”
Inside, Martin sat on his chair, and watched as Caleb brought glasses of water, then sat.
Heather said, “We understand being rambunctious and sneaky. But we don’t want you harming each other verbally or physically without consent. Do I need to clarify any of that?”
Hayley stared at her; Garance sipped her own water; Christopher frowned. Caleb squeezed Heather’s right hand; she smiled softly and turned pink.
Christopher said, “What does that mean? All of it?”
Heather said, “For example: If two or more of you actually enjoy being rude to each other, that should not be a problem. I overheard a conversation recently that consisted entirely of weird and rather ingenious insults. Both parties laughed after each insult. Nobody came and told either of us about it, and those involved seem to enjoy what happened. Likewise: if everyone involved in rough-housing is having fun, then we don’t have a problem with that. But if you are touching someone who tells you to stop, or shoving someone who has not given you permission, then be prepared for at least a good talking-to.”
“But how would we know?” Garance asked, frowning.
Martin said wearily, “If someone doesn’t know you’re about to do it, you should know permission has not been given.”
Garance rolled her eyes and looked at the ceiling.
Caleb said, “Martin: Excellent point. Garance: Ask before rough-housing.”
Heather said, “We’ve had talks about consensual touching, nonconsensual touching, and inappropriate touching. Let’s remember the difference. With family members, maybe we think that it’s okay to do what we did yesterday, and the day before, with hugging and kissing or rough-housing. But sometimes maybe someone might not want a hug or a kiss, or to mess around, and we need to be prepared for that, ALWAYS, and not make fun of anyone who says something like ‘Not today’ or ‘I don’t feel like it’ or ‘Some other time.’ Or maybe someone is not moving toward you; watch out for that, and don’t complain to them about what they have a right to refuse at any time. Sometimes we might feel sick or sad or preoccupied and not interested in touching. Remember that every relationship in this household is consensual. No one in this house has the RIGHT to touch anyone else. It is always consensual. If you are forcing someone to feel your hands or any other part of your body, and they don’t want you to do that, we will have more problems.”
Caleb said, “About your personal rights: If you feel like your rights are being violated, tell us, or if you’d rather tell a doctor or a police officer, then do so. Also: if you are simply having a bad day or a bad life, and need help, you need to tell us. We are here to help you. Take responsibility for your emotions and your life, and stop blaming others for what you need to do for yourself, like moving from childhood to adulthood and pursuing your own path. That includes the responsibility of asking for help when you should do so, instead of expecting others to read your mind. If you are unable to ask for help, and no one will help you ask for help, then do your best to be heard. If we can figure it out, and ask you if you need help, then you need to tell us exactly what you need. Please do not lie about each other, or frame each other, or carry out any plans to ambush each other. That creates hard feelings. We both know plenty of people who ended relationships because they were targeted with one or more of the above. I don’t know anyone who likes being treated that way. If you do, then find others who do, and continue doing that stuff with them. Stop causing so much trouble.”
Martin glanced quickly at his sisters and brother: they appeared to be listening.
Caleb drew Heather closer, sighed, and said, “Don’t forget what happened today. Martin’s nose was broken; I’m glad it was a minor break; it could have been worse. That bruise on his face will take a while to heal. And the fractures in his ribs will take at least six weeks or so. Hayley, how dare you accuse him of faking his rib pain. Keep those kinds of comments to yourself, or go find a place to enjoy them with others who feel the same way. At the moment, we do not want any of you alone with Martin. If you realize you are alone with him or are going to be alone with him, then get away from him and call for someone to be with you. This way, we have witnesses. Do not touch Martin. Martin will not touch you. If Martin touches or assaults you, let us know.”
Heather said, “Any questions?”
After a long fidgety silence, Caleb said, “Martin, please stay. The rest of you, please get ready for bed.”
Giselle entered the room and chatted with Heather and Caleb. Martin worked through a minor seizure silently, then looked around the room at the furniture and paintings and toys.
When Giselle left, Caleb said, “Little one, you want to sit between us?”
Martin slowly left his chair, and went to them, feeling achey. Caleb helped him sit back, and Heather said, “A hug and a kiss?”
“Yes, Mom. I’ll tell you ahead of time if I ever don’t.”
“My Baby. I’m sorry this happened.” She kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back.
He leaned against her, gently, holding on to his ribs through his shirt.
Caleb said, “Martin, I owe you an apology. I thought I would get to you in time, but I did not plan well. Plus ... they move fast.”
“Where were you?”
“I was sitting in the sun room at the table. And those ... kids ... were so preoccupied with their agenda they did not see me coming towards them. Didn’t even look up. They looked rather frightening. And they moved fast.”
“Some predators do. Watch any animal documentary.”
Heather said, “He loves his documentaries.”
Caleb said, “Maybe he’ll produce documentaries about botany.”
Martin said with irritation and amusement, “I’m sitting right here.”
“Sorry, Little One.”
“What happened to ‘Number Eight’?”
“It’s still there.”
Heather said, “Anything else you want to talk about, Martin?”
“Can I be alone with The Others?”
“Yes.”
Caleb said, “They’ll protect you. They already do, actually. We talked to them about what to do.”
“Okay. I am tired.”
“Need help getting to bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Caleb said, “Be right back, My Love.” He gently lifted Martin, and went to the stairs to the attic. “We’ll take the short way.”
The stairs were wider and thicker than the ones on the attic door. They went up to the attic, where Caleb turned on the light, and passed through.
Martin said, “Why not make this a playroom, or an office? It’s so clean and the wood is brand new.”
“We’ve been thinking about that. Hang on tight.” Caleb went down the wooden attic stairs backward, using just one hand on the rails, carrying Martin. “And right here, to the gentleman’s room.”
He placed Martin feet first on the floor, then handed him a key.
“A key?”
“To the lock to your room. You get the first lock. Everyone else will, eventually. The other emergency procedures still apply.”
“Cool.”
“And do you still have your whistle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I forget anything?”
Martin giggled. “I don’t know.” He touched his ribs. “Dad. Could I ... could I ... could I listen to the conversations you have with them?”
Caleb seemed to think about this. “If you were to ... you might hear some things ... some awkward things. I say if someone has knowledge of your partial demise and does not inform you, then you should have knowledge of something equally important. How about I take you to the other doorway of the attic, and you stay there. The acoustics are perfect.”
“Thank you.”
Caleb lifted Martin and they went up the wooden stairs.
Martin said, “These stairs used to creak a lot.”
“I fixed that and made them stronger. It’s a good way for everyone to get exercise: going up and down and through the attic when you fancy the trip.”
At the other doorway, Caleb whispered, “Be quiet and just listen.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Caleb disappeared down the stairs. A few minutes later, voices conversed softly yet Martin could hear them perfectly.
Caleb said, “He’ll be okay. He’s got a whistle. And so does everyone else.”
Heather said, “We should have gotten the intercom system.”
“Let’s give that some thought. Perhaps safety is slightly more important than privacy.”
“Yep. I checked with the gang. Christopher will go first, after using the bathroom. He said he was going to be in there for a while.”
“And here he is. How’s Number Four?”
Christopher’s voice: “I’m okay, Mom.”
“Have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
Heather said, “You feeling better?”
“Yes. Why would someone do that? Eat another person? That’s gross.”
Heather said, “I don’t know. Some people have unusual tastes.”
“And that pady with the loop. I mean lady with poop. That was gross.”
“Some people are disturbed enough to do things like that.”
Caleb said, “Do you have any questions about why we were there, and what we expect from you?”
“No.”
Heather said, “You’ve got plenty to do here. Please don’t follow Hayley’s instructions. Take care of yourself, and fulfill the responsibilities you have while living here.”
“I know. I needed some money, so that’s why I did it.”
Caleb said, “Really. Well, don’t do things like that, at Martin’s expense. Talk to us about money. Not Hayley. It’s okay to hang out with her and be kids together. But don’t do this plotting, ambushing, assault, trouble-making thing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Show Martin you’re sorry by following the rules we gave you earlier, and by being kind to him. And the rules apply to him, too. If he starts something with you, let us know.”
“Okay.”
“You want to talk about anything else?” Caleb asked.
"No ... I don’t know ... what did he mean ... Joby ... what did he mean that people have your back but they’re not your friends?”
“It might be a give and take situation. Someone makes sure you don’t get harmed too badly, and you thank them by doing them a favor. Like the money in exchange for the hit on your brother.”
Martin waited through a long silence.
Finally, Christopher said, “Not harmed too badly? You still get harmed?”
“Yes. Like the man said: prison is a rough place.”
“I don’t want to be there, then.”
Caleb said, “Then do your best not to. If you’re ready for bed ... good night.”
Christopher said, “Good night.”
There was a brief silence then Heather said, “Would you wait until we’re alone in the bedroom for that?”
Caleb said softly, “It was just a kiss.”
“It was ‘just.’ That’s the theme of the day.”
“It’s your fault for being so cute.”
“Right.”
Caleb’s voice changed from a soft murmur to a friendly greeting: “Well hello, Garance!”
“Ew. You guys should do that in your room, not in here.”
“What. Hugging?”
“I saw your hand on her thigh, Daddy.”
“Well, we’re decent now. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“That was nice of you to help Christopher at the prison.”
“I felt bad for him.”
“Do you have any questions for us?”
“Let me think. Um ... um ... did that person ... the one on the stretcher ... did he or she know about dying? Or committed suicide?”
Heather said, “I don’t know. But I’m guessing suicide.”
“Did that boy Joby tell them what we talked about? Is that how they all knew?”
Caleb said, “It’s possible.”
“Why?”
“Let me get this straight: You’re wondering why he was willing to talk to you and then possibly betray you, but you have no problem being kind to Martin one day, and then betraying his trust in you another day. Sounds close to the same thing to me.”
A long silence stretched on and on.
Heather said, “Please don’t do this anymore. You can make this up to Martin by following the rules we just gave you. Anything else you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“Good night, Number Three,” Caleb said.
“Good night.”
Another long silence was broken by Caleb’s voice: “What’s wrong with having another baby?”
“We have eight children now. Well ... seven who are alive.”
“I know. But don’t you want another one?”
“I don’t mind trying to make one, but I really don’t want another one. I’m out of names.”
“There are many ... many names still available.”
“But I don’t like the other names.”
Caleb giggled softly.
Heather giggled softly.
Martin tried not to giggle. It sounded like they were talking against each others’ mouths.
“MortimerBarney,” Caleb said.
“GladysPercival,” Heather said.
“Percival?”
“Call her Percy for short.”
Caleb laughed and she giggled.
Heather said, “Number Two is coming.” Silence. “And don’t say it. Don’t say it.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“But you look like you’re thinking it.”
Caleb laughed. “I won’t say that. I will say Number Two thinks she’s Number One.”
“She told me she forgot she’s Number Two.”
“Whatever.”
“She did. And that-- Oh hello, Hayley.”
“Hi, Momma. Daddy.”
“Come here and sit close.”
“Okay.”
“How are you feeling?”
Silence.
Heather said, “I’ve known for a few weeks that you’ve lost all of your hearing.”
“How?”
“How could I not?”
Martin heard sniffling sounds which turned into Hayley’s sobbing.
Caleb said, “Hayley. We can get you the best sign language and lip-reading services available.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t want to be deaf anymore. It’s hard.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I had a dream that I was with you, Momma. And one of the other children. I don’t know who. But then I died. And you were talking to me, but I was just ... some sort of blood clot ... a baby-shaped blood clot. And even though I had no mouth, I was telling you that I changed my mind because it was too hard.”
“Too hard? I am sorry. I’m sorry you’re deaf. You have our help, and if you would rather have someone else’s help, we can do that. Maybe a little break would be nice. There are different school schedules. When we return to America, you could be on a different schedule. Something that doesn’t make you feel stressed out.”
“No. I want to be with my friends and graduate with them.”
Caleb said, “You’ve got good friends both here and in the States. Someone might be interested in helping you and making it fun and less terrible.”
“Maybe. I will have to spend a lot of time learning, and I want to do other things, too.”
Heather said, “We can help you with time management. It doesn’t have to be a terrible, overwhelming thing. Life isn’t hard just for you, it’s hard for me and almost everyone else I know--”
“You always say that.”
Martin strained to hear more, but he waited a long time.
Caleb’s voice drifted up from the first floor: “Let her sit there and pout for as long as she wants. When she’s ready, she’ll turn back to us.”
Heather said, “I think she might be depressed.”
“I think so, too.”
Caleb said in a low voice, “We can still go to London. This doesn’t have to affect that.”
“Let’s still go. They love it, and we have business to take care of.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“It’s one of your biggest-selling records.”
Caleb’s voice sounded impatient. “I know that. How long do we have to market ‘Phenomenal’? It was released more than five years ago. Marketing time should be over.”
“I bet it’ll still be popular in the future. Maybe even after one or all of you pass away.”
“Whatever.”
“If you don’t stop saying that.”
“Whatever ... whatever ... what ... ever. How much you want to bet it won’t be relevant in the future?”
“I bet ... I bet ... I bet you ... if nobody cares about that album or any of its songs past the two-thousands, let’s say two thousand and fifteen, I’ll buy you a brand new suit. That suit you’ve been wanting for years.”
“What if I bought it?”
“If you do, and the song is still relevant and in demand, then I will ... have another baby, if I still can.”
“No. You’ll be old, then.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“What if you can’t ... you know ... have babies anymore? At that time?”
“Hm. How about this: if the song blah blah blah, then I will treat you to a weekend in the tropical area of your choice.”
Caleb said, “Now we’re talking.”
Martin smiled; she preferred cold climates, and had not yet gone anywhere tropical with Caleb.
Heather said, “And what will you do if the songs are still relevant?”
Caleb’s voice was muffled.
Heather giggled and said, “I beg your pardon.”
Caleb said, “Nevermind; we could do that for free. If anyone cares about this ridiculous album past the year of our Lord two thousand and fifteen, I will buy you a building in New York City.”
“What.”
“Buy you a building. In New York City.”
“Really.”
“Really.”
“Huh. Deal.”
“Deal. Kiss on it.”
A smooching sound echoed into the stairwell, followed by Hayley’s alto voice: “I’m ready to talk.”
Caleb said, “Okay. Have you decided on what might work for you? We don’t want you to feel stressed or depressed about learning a different way of communicating.”
“I will take the lessons. But I want to go slow. It is hard. I already looked at what I have to do, and it is a lot.”
“You can go as slow as you want. You are welcome to live with us until you master it, and then still live with us. Just follow the house rules, and we should be okay. We’ve told all of you, once you turn eighteen, you’re still welcome, but we want you to work or volunteer or help us with the household.”
“Okay.”
Heather said, “Please talk to us. We are here to help. If you don’t want to, and prefer to talk to someone else, then tell us.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else?” Caleb asked.
Hayley said, “No. Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Martin decided he would give them all one more chance. He lasted three more years, and gave them ninety-seven chances. His parents told him about the hidden camera as soon as they got it, and told him to remain silent about it, and he did. But that did not make up for the ensuing three years of random, odd incidents. He found himself alone in the backyard one day without his crutches, after Hayley promised to keep an eye on him. She was in pain for three evenings during dinner, after choosing hard labor on the farm with one of The Others, over a walk with Caleb. “He just says the same thing over and over,” Martin heard her whispering to Christopher one night. “So boring! I’d rather work on the land for eternity.” Christopher, who still looked queasy at the mere mention of the jail visit, said, “We don’t need to be too weird. We’re just playing jokes. Right? I don’t want to go back to that prison. Or any prison.” After the doll-from-the-attic incident, Martin realized their parents needed to focus on Hayley, Garance and Christopher, who seemed to need the most attention and love. Additionally, Martin simply wanted to be on his own. He had enjoyed growing up in this big group, but he needed to begin his own life, no matter what that meant.
Carter said, “Were there anyyy good times?”
“Yes. More before the shoving-in-the-kitchen incident than after.”
“The incidents might haaave started because sheee was jealous?”
“I think so. And if she was being truthful about her hearing ... if the last thing she could hear on her own was my laughter ... maybe I represent happiness and innocence to her ... stuff like that ... childhood ruined or ending ... adulthood beginning ... self-control and responsibility having to replace chaos and immaturity. Sometimes I wonder: what if I had gone to her and spoken to her about being disabled? Maybe she wouldn’t have ordered the hit on me.”
Carter shook his head. “The hit.”
“I had already thought about being disabled and what it meant, enough, at age five, that I was at peace with it. I had hoped Mom and Dad would help her find peace, or that she would on her own. I did my best to be tolerant and understanding but after a while it was no fun to be around her or Garance or Christopher.”
Carter sighed. “Sometiiimes things end. Like you said. It is saaad. But it haaappens.”
“I know.”
“I I I hope youuu don’t seek them out without aaa good reason.”
“I don’t want to. The joy went out of those relationships a long time ago. Maybe loyal, kind, platonic love is still possible. Until then, I will remember ....” Martin smiled. “I will remember those days when we spoke to each other kindly and wish it could have lasted forever.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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