Brightside (24 page)

I realize the Spanish man speaks no English. He says, “
Debo
ir
?”

“No,” Sharon says. “Joe’s leaving.”

“No, no
estoy
,” I tell her. Then I turn to the man and say, “
Salir
!”

The man picks up his hat from his lap and scurries out of the room.

Sharon forces a smile and closes the door. “Glad to see those tapes are paying off.”

“You can’t lock her away in—”

Quiet! You want us all to end up in there? Now, just let—

Why did you do this?

Because she was never going to come.

You don’t know that.

Actually, I do. And she knows too much. It’ll get her hurt. She’ll be safe there.

Safe?

Yes.

And Danny?

He’ll be joining her shortly.

Sharon and her perfect plan. I realize I have no idea who this woman is. First she’s spewing New Age bullshit. Now’s she’s the leader of a revolution.

No one’s ever what they seem on the surface.

“You need to go back to work,” Sharon says. “Finish the day.”

I picture my office, Sara’s desk, the one that used to be Rachel’s.

Rachel…crumpled in my closet like some disfigured sex doll.

Sharon’s eyes widen, horrified. She has no idea. It wasn’t part of her plan. Sharon’s not perfect after all. She just made herself believe she could handle things. Just like I made myself believe I could pull this off.

Joe…

But I want nothing to do with Sharon’s thoughts. I walk out, head back to my office.

People pass by my door, which is thankfully closed. I hear Carlos so I click out of solitaire. I can’t tell how many people are with him, but I guess three or four. The high heels either Frances or Gloria. That laugh, all Alex. Poor Alex, thinking his rose is going to win Rachel’s heart. I consider telling him he can have it. It’s just sitting in my closet, inside Rachel’s chest.

Carlos and the others start laughing, wanting everyone to hear how happy they are. I open my sales spreadsheet and
customer list so it looks like I’m working. I don’t even know why I’m still pretending, but I’m on automatic. Shock does that to me. It’s keeping me from losing it. I start rearranging pictures of condos into regions. The two-bedroom with the kitchenette is South America. The penthouse with the hammocks on the balcony go in the Australia/New Zealand pile. Everything in its little place. Everything separated like
Brightsiders
from
normals
; Sharon’s secret club and those better off in The Cabin. People like Sara and Danny.

Alex speaks way too loud, same as always. “What do you say, Carlos? Oscar’s for dinner?”

Carlos is right outside my door. “I don’t want to make plans yet,” he said. “I have a feeling about today.”

I sit up and wonder if Carlos is one of Sharon’s elite, the chosen few who get to leave. I asked Sharon why not everyone. She said there were too many liabilities, too many who’d already become institutionalized. Part of that was her fault. Her Zen bullshit actually convinced some of these pathetic souls Brightside was for the best, that they’d never want to leave if they just opened themselves up to the possibilities, the wonder of this mountain town. Sadly, that’s exactly what is going to happen to these poor fucks. They’ll never leave, not after today.

Carlos knocks, I put the phone to my ear. He pops his head in, sees me nodding.

“…Yes, right on the beach, where you can rent jet skis,” I say to my imaginary client.

Carlos whispers, “How’s it going?”

I give him the thumbs up.

Carlos winks, closes the door. His shirts are always vertical stripes. Today’s is red, makes him look like a candy cane.

I have to piss, but they’re all still standing there, asking what everyone’s plans are for the weekend. I want to go out and say a few of us will be dead at the bottom of the mountain. Might even get a few bullet holes if we’re up for it. The rest can forget about sleeping in. They’ll be in The Cabin soon enough.

My bladder’s throbbing, but I wait until the laughter’s gone. I take a peek, see a clear shot to the hallway bathroom, start humming to block everything out. My pace makes me more conspicuous than if I set myself on fire, but I make it to the urinal in the back corner, away from Lenny popping a zit in the mirror. I aim at the drain, counting off random numbers so I can’t think about anything else. Lenny leaves. I stuff myself back in my pants, walk over to the sinks, and do my best not to look at the mirror. Men don’t cry in bathrooms, at least when there’s a chance another dude might come in.

I wash my hands and notice a small dribble of blood where my thumbnail disappears into the skin. I scrub and scrub and scrub, seeing Rachel’s faceless body, my hands swirling around the contents of her head on the floor. When I take my thumb out from under the water, I realize it’s my blood, not Rachel’s, because the blood dribbles out again.

I’m drying my hands when Wendell, top salesman for the past three months, hurries in, all four hundred pounds of him between me and the wall, saying excuse me as he sticks his hands
under the faucet, his massive paws splashing water all over the counter.

There are three paper towels left. I wait for Wendell to finish and hand them to him, so he can finally take a piss. Wendell won’t touch his dick unless he washes his hands. I have no idea why, just his thing.

Wendell’s spraying the blue cake, thinking ab
out the weekend, possibly barbec
uing a nice burger in the Brightside park.

There’s no way Wendell’s a part of Sharon’s plan. I suddenly feel sorry for him, that big d
umb bear. Stuck here with all the rest of the ones Sharon decided are too risky.

Wendell still hates me for what happened at the bar when I let out all my thoughts about everyone, all my judgments.  I give him a smile to apologize, to say goodbye.

He looks at me like I’m hitting on him and quickly exits, not even thinking he should wash after handling himself.

The emergency exit is down the hall on the other side of the bathrooms. I consider heading for it, taking it to the roof so I can perform Paul’s plunge, but with the helicopter still hovering, I won’t even make it to the ledge.

This is the helicopter Sharon says I have to take care of, as if I have any chance. Most likely, I’ll end up in smaller pieces than Rachel. That’s probably what Sharon wants. After barging into her office, I’m proving to be the biggest risk of all. It’s probably just another part of Sharon’s
clusterfuck
of a plan, to use me as a
scapegoat. Everything’s accelerated because of Wayne. Since he broke out, the Boots have been patrolling, searching for anything amiss, for his crazy ass.

Sheriff Melvin has disabled a lot of the cameras, according to Sharon. It’s why they haven’t found Wayne. It’s buying us time, just like all the bleach in my room. But the Boots will eventually fix the cameras so we have to be ready. A big spotlight will be put on every nook and cranny. The whole town won’t be able to sneeze without someone watching. They’ll see us gathering, find the mineshaft. Our one dumb shot at escape will be gone, and anyone in Sharon’s special club will be locked away, some in The Cabin, the others down with the orange jumpsuits.

Sharon and I will end up together, most likely underground. The rest of my days with that fucking lunatic, who truly believes she’s a revolutionary. I can’t deny she’s been impressive. For almost two years she’s integrated, assimilated, wedged her skinny butt into everything Brightside. I can’t imagine trying to pretend for that long. I couldn’t even keep Sara from Rachel, couldn’t tell Rachel I loved her. I’m the fucking coward Dad always warned me about.

“The crazy leads the men to battle, but the coward gets them killed.”

I’m not going to make it if I keep thinking like this. I have to stay positive, get through the day. That’s what Dad also said. “Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. And if it doesn’t come, then your worries are over.”

I can’t do anything but worry. It doesn’t help being trapped in my office, hearing my coworkers out there bitch about
the coffee, the cold weather, the lack of selection in the vending machine. They have no idea what’s happening around them, but it’s probably for the best. It’s the little things that keep us from putting a shotgun in our mouths and blowing out our wonderfully gifted brains.

That’s what I’m thinking as the clock refuses to budge. Rachel ran out of distractions, the inconsequential crap that keeps us from seeing how awful our lives really are. She knew I didn’t love her, that no one ever would, not like she needed. So she took control, found the only foolproof way out of Brightside.

I keep picturing the night I visited Rachel in The Cabin, her sitting there so quiet and peaceful, each moment a gentle breeze. Not like now, the wind gone, everything still, Rachel shoved in next to Dad’s broken fishing pole.

Broken Rachel, broken gifts. I just can’t stop breaking things. It’s what I do.

Yes, Rachel was broken when I met her. Then The Cabin broke her more. But I had to go and finish the job.

Next, it’ll be Sara. Then Danny. Stupid, happy Danny, the only person who’s truly able to find good in anything. But The Cabin will end that. They’ll inject him, make him swallow the meds, and they’ll kill the only spirit in Brightside worth saving. The idea of them destroying that gets me to my feet. I still have an hour left of work. Carlos might call the Boots, but fuck it. Let them sound the alarm. This is the only chance I’ve got to make things right.

* * *

The wind cuts across my face and makes my eyes water, so it looks like I’m crying as I walk through the Square. I have my headphones on and the people I pass think I’m on one of my strange walks, only now I’m apparently working out to music that makes me weep. I don’t care. I just need to get to Danny, need to tell him to talk some sense into his sister. He’s the only one who can get through to her. I’m sure he’s scared right now as Sara tells him she’s going to The Cabin. She’s probably telling him to be strong, that it’s the only way they can get through this.

Lodge Two is just up ahead. I start to slow my pace. There’s a car parked out front, and an ambulance. I’m too late. I start running. I can imagine Danny fighting off the Boots trying to protect his sister. I see the gun pressed to the side of his head, him screaming for Sara as they drag her from the room. I see the Boots crushing his ribs, kicking in his belly.

But as I rush in, there’s only one person in the hallway. Blue jeans and black windbreaker, cell phone to his ear. He’s pacing outside of a room near the stairs, the opposite end of Danny and Sara’s room.

I usually stay away from the Boots, but this guy’s young and doesn’t look that dangerous with his aw-shucks face. Plus, morbid curiosity is all I seem to be seeking these days.

I pass the elevator when he turns my way. He holds the phone to his chest and points over my shoulder. “You need to turn around.”

I’ve never seen him before, but it’s obvious he’s
weirded
out. Whatever is in the room isn’t good. I walk closer.

The guy tries to use his big boy voice. “Did you not hear me? I said turn around.”

I stop four feet from him, close enough to know he isn’t counting numbers or singing songs. He can’t get the image of the rope out of his head, the rope on the other side of the door. I nod past him. “Whose room is that?”

“None of your damn business.” He’s not good at this and thinks of Robert.

I reach for the door and he jumps back like I’m attacking. His right hand slips inside his jacket. “Stay back.” This poor kid’s shaking, has no idea what he’s doing. He’s scared, and it’s going to get me shot. Light reflects off his wedding band a few inches below the gun’s barrel. “D-d-don’t take another step.”

My voice gets real calm, like I’m trying to put him to sleep. “I know him,” I say. “You don’t need to point that at me.”

He starts counting to himself, just like they trained him, to keep us out of the loop. He realizes he looks like an idiot aiming at a shithead like me and his fear gets washed out by embarrassment. “Calm down, sir,” he says, even though I’m the calmest I’ve been in months.

“There’s a situation here,” he says, “and you don’t need to see this.”

I should’ve  kept my goddamn mouth shut, but still said, “I just saw Robert this morning.” There’s no reason for me to be here at all. I came here for Danny, not Robert.

The guy sees my nerves showing and tells me to wait. He says he’ll be right back, slips into Robert’s room. I think about running, but if I do, I might as well just run straight to The Cabin. I need to just stick, see whatever is behind that door, start crying, act like I’m getting sick, then leave.

The guy didn’t close the door behind him. I see a shadow swaying across the wall.

I hear a voice. “Who saw him?” It’s Palmer, the asshole who put the gun to my head, the fucker who wants to finish the job. I’m already turning, realize I’ve made a huge mistake, when Palmer’s dirty fingers grab the door, his face, those mirrored sunglasses pointed straight at me. “What’s this all about?”