“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?”

  I have no choice but to turn around. Palmer sees me and that creepy smile spreads across his acne-scarred cheeks.

  “Can I help you?” he says.

  “No. I just…” The truth. Just stick to the truth. “I saw Robert yesterday.”

  “I thought you said this morning?”

  “I did, but I meant yesterday.”

  Palmer lowers his sunglasses, studies me. I’ve made such a swamp of shit and I keep diving deeper and deeper.

  “Look,” I say, “Robert was talking about Wayne King. He said he was going to find him. He…”

  The door opened a little more and the smell of actual shit hit me.

  “Yeah, pretty nasty stuff.”

  Palmer opened the door all the way. He wanted me to see. Wanted to look me in the eyes when I did.

  The newbie stood a few feet from the window, the wooden chair lying across the kitchen floor, the giant square of plastic right in the center. The puddle of piss and shit on top of it. He was thinking Palmer was the coldest dude he’d ever worked with, worse than his uncle that used to show him snuff films.

  I don’t know why, but I’m walking in the room. Robert must have learned from Belinda, who fell from the fan when it couldn’t hold her weight. He cut away a section of sheetrock in the ceiling. One end of the rope is wrapped around a two-by-four, the other around his black turtleneck, covering that hole in his throat. He’s swinging with his back to me. Palmer looks at me and pokes Robert in the ribs with his small baton, sends Robert swinging a few inches.

  Kind of low, Palmer says, “So when did you see him last?”

  “Yesterday. He was looking for Wayne.”

  Robert’s black microphone is dangling off the kitchen counter, no final words from Robert.

  “What do you know about Wayne King?” Palmer asks.

  I quietly remembered the first time I saw Wayne. It was after Krystal had kicked me out and I was thinking about Mom.

  Palmer’s smile somehow gets creepier. There’s no way a Boot could be one of us, but I wasn’t taking any chances. In case he was listening, I keep thinking about Wayne, about my mom, about Krystal. As disgusting as it is, it wasn’t going to get me in trouble.

  Robert spins. His face is bigger than I remember, his skin all puffed out, tinged the lightest blue. Just like his eyes, wide open, squiggly red lines surrounding them. But it’s his tongue that paralyzes me. It’s so big, pushed out all the way, the tip halfway down his chin.

  Palmer’s walkie-talkie goes off, but he keeps staring at me, waiting for me to slip.

  “Palmer, where the hell are you?” a voice says. It sounds like Sheriff Melvin, but I can’t be sure.

  Palmer’s jaw clenches, that muscle just below the ear flexing like a little tumor. Finally, he answers. “Investigating the Madison case.” He wants me to know I’m not going anywhere. “I got Joe Nolan here.”

  Melvin tells him they think they’ve got a location on Wayne King, that he needs to get his ass over to the Square.

  Palmer’s still staring at me and I’m just humming, trying to plug the leaking boat I call a brain. I’m trying not to think about Melvin, Sharon, her fortunate few.

  I close my eyes, breathe in the shit and piss puddle under Robert’s swinging feet.

  The newbie runs over to Palmer and accidentally bumps Robert, sending him swinging again, spinning him like a giant marionette. This time another drop of piss lands on the floor, right next to my foot.

  The newbie just wants to get out of there. He says I obviously didn’t do this, that they need to get to the Square.

  Palmer extends his baton with a snap of his wrist. “You got five seconds to tell me what happened here,” he says to me.

  I can’t look at Palmer anymore. I stare at Robert spinning. And I don’t know how in the hell I didn’t notice it before, the front of Robert’s briefs poking out, his little boner all that’s left to say hello.

  “You really don’t know?” I ask, suddenly kind of cocky.

  Palmer tilts his head, knows I’m hiding something, but Melvin is telling him to hurry. Palmer pokes me with the baton. “I’ll be seeing you real soon. Count on it.”

  I keep humming, staring at Robert’s face, all big and blue.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In twenty-eight years, I’ve seen death. Lily and Sunny, the countless fish that died in the hands of my father. And all the loved ones that people carry around in their heads. Their parents, war buddies, their best friend from college.

  But I’d never seen human death in person. I’d never been face-to-face with a human corpse. Steven, my first real friend, was dying, not dead, and when he passed, I only saw the casket, his school picture. Not like the past twenty-four hours. Robert and Rachel. Two people who made the mistake of coming into my life.

  Without question. Rachel was my fault, and even though I don’t have any hard proof, I’m sure Robert’s death is also on me. Robert heard my thoughts of escape, knew about my plans. I didn’t know him very well, but I can’t believe he took his own life, even by accident. One final jerk-off before his hunt for Wayne King. Wayne must have set up his death, made it look like some perverted attempt to get off that simply went awry.

  Robert’s black microphone keeps flashing in my mind as I walk out of the room. It looked like it’d been thrown, ripped out of Robert’s hand, the red burn line on his lifeless palm. Robert probably tried to call out for help when the man he was hunting simply showed up at his door.

  I have no idea why, but it’s the only reason I can find.

  I’m heading to Danny’s room. My footsteps slow and staggered. His door is cracked open, and I fear Wayne has gotten to him as well.

  Danny’s door is third on the right. I force it open, waiting to see Danny hanging there like Robert. I call out Danny’s name, but it’s so quiet, I know he couldn’t hear me, even if he’s alive.

  I step inside, eyes straight ahead, every inch of the far wall covered with my drawings.

  The kitchen is the same, the fridge displaying my first drawings. Billy Bass, mouth open, sits on the counter next to an angel food cake. My favorite. A sign below it, Danny’s scribble, CHEER UP JOE inside a happy face. The cake looks like it’s been here for a while so I know it has nothing to do with Rachel or Robert or any of the other fucked up shit I’ve just been through.

  I walk to the counter, tears falling down my face, onto the drawing of the small boy escaping through the wall. Danny added two large arrows on the picture, names next to each one. Danny is the little boy, Joe for the hand pulling him through.

  But I’ve failed. Danny and Sara are already gone.

  I’m suddenly on the floor, looking at everything, at nothing. I’m too late. They’ve taken them, and there’s nothing I can do. Even if I somehow break into The Cabin, I’m only locking myself in. They’ll never let me leave with Sara and Danny. We’ll all be in there when Sharon’s exodus goes down.

  My watch says I have less than an hour. That’s when the sun’s going to set and Sharon’s club will be filing down the mineshaft on their way to freedom. At least that’s the plan. I’m supposed to take care of the helicopter. If I don’t, no one will make it out alive.

  But fuck them. I’m not moving. My only two reasons are locked away, and if Danny and Sara can’t escape, then no one should, especially Sharon, the woman Dad trusted enough to turn me in.

  * * *

  It was before I met Michelle, a year before Brightside. I’d just broken up with Chloe, this waitress I’d been dating for about six months. Chloe never liked me, thought I was annoying, and knowing this, I just became more annoying to piss her off. I thought it was funny. She’d get so red and flustered, and would tug at her hair until it tore free from her scalp. I listened to her thoughts, figured out exactly what bothered her the most. Then I’d perform each one to watch her squirm. I drummed my fork on the dinner plate, just like her brother used to do. I’d scratch my scalp like her stepfather did every morning at breakfast.

  I was bored, destructive, pissed off at the world. I was so tired of hearing everyone’s thoughts, knowing I’d never find love, because I’d always get the truth. That’s why I set fires, wanted to watch these assholes burn. People like Chloe, who never deserved it. Finally, she had enough and moved out. She never told me, but I knew all about the abortion. It wasn’t a tough decision. She knew I’d make a terrible father, wanted nothing to do with me ever again.

  That’s what sent me into the darkness, the bleakest state I found until Brightside.

  Chloe had been gone for a week, and Dad showed up because I hadn’t been answering his calls. He found me in the living room just sitting in my underwear. Unshaven, filthy. Plates of dried food everywhere. Lily licking at the scraps.

  “Jesus Christ, Joe,” Dad said.

  I must have left the door unlocked because he was just standing there.

  “What the hell happened here?”

  I went back to watching Lily lick the dried rice and beans. Dad picked up the plate, told Lily to stop. He stacked a few dishes, put them out of her reach.

  Dad said my name, but I couldn’t look at him, knew if I did, I’d start crying.

  With Dad I didn’t need to speak. He knew everything, about Chloe, about the abortion. He cleared off some space on the couch and sat, neither of us saying a word.

  “You know,” Dad said, “your mother and I considered…”

  “I know,” I said. I’d heard Mom thinking it more than once, how she should have just ended the pregnancy.

  “Your mom couldn’t do it.”

  I finally turned. I’d always assumed it was Dad who’d talked her out of it.

  “We were at the doctor’s, already in the examination room, and she just couldn’t do it. We both knew you might turn out like me, but she didn’t care.” Dad pictured the first time he held me in his arms. “And then you showed up, and I knew you were meant to be here. That you’d do great things one day.”

  The wreckage of my life suddenly came into focus. The dirty clothes, the sacks of fast food wrappers, the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

  “Guess you were wrong,” I said.

  “No,” Dad said, “I wasn’t. You just need to pull yourself together, stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “Yeah, that’s all I need to do.” I laughed.

  Dad grabbed my face and squeezed my chin, forced my eyes to his. “You want to destroy yourself, go ahead. But there are people out there who could use your help. You can still do great things, Joe.”

  I don’t remember exactly what was said after that. I know I didn’t want to hear his pep talk, knew I just wanted him gone. He finally left and I sat back down on the couch. Lily crawled over and plopped down on my feet. She needed to be walked, and while nothing inside me wanted to see the outside world, I took her around the block. Dad’s words started to sink in. My dog needed me.

  The next day I went into BMW and convinced Saul to hire me. A few weeks later I met Michelle. The money poured in, and even though I knew my father was wrong, that I’d never do anything great, I thought I was at least doing some good. I was going to buy a house with a big yard for Lily. I told myself Michelle would accept the truth, that things would work out.

  Then Dad paid Michelle that visit, learned she’d never accept who I was. He must have known I’d crumble, just like I had with Chloe.

  That’s the only reason I could come up with. That Dad sent me here before it was too late.

  He must have believed this was the only way for me to reach my potential.

  If only he could see me now, sitting on Danny’s floor, pathetically weeping over Rachel and Robert, the guy I barely knew. Weeping for Danny and Sara, the only people here worth saving. Everyone dead or locked away because of me.

  Grandpa’s shotgun flashes in my head. The gift my father sent in pieces, a puzzle like my Rubik’s Cube. I had to go and solve it so Rachel could blow off her face.

  “Joe,” a voice says.

  It sounds like Sara, and I figure I must already be in The Cabin. They must have found the body in my closet. But I don’t remember them taking me.

  Sara’s face is right in front of me.

  The slap stings too much for the medication I must be on. It sends little crackles up and down my head.

  “Where’s Danny?” she says.

  I’m not in The Cabin, still in the room with all my sketches. Danny’s room. Sara’s room.

  “Was he here?” she asks.

  “What?”

  She just about screams, “Was Danny here?”

  “No. The door. It was open.”

  She paces back and forth, says, “Shit.”

  I get to my feet and ask what’s going on, why she’s not in The Cabin. Sara says she went looking for Danny, but he wasn’t at work. He didn’t even show up today.

  “They’ve already got him,” I say.

  “Who?”

  But she already knows. “Why? They said they were only taking me! Danny didn’t do anything.”

  “It’s Sharon. She wanted him out of the way.”

  Sara’s head shakes back and forth, like she’s trying to get rid of every horrible thought. She has Sharon’s throat in her hands, crunching her windpipe.

  I think of Robert, the rope digging deeper, his face turning purple, his tongue dangling down like he was trying to get a crumb off his chin.

  Sara turns to me disgusted. She hadn’t needed all of that.

  I try to apologize, but she wants to know what the hell is going on. I tell her I don’t know. I touch her arm, expecting her to push me away, but she just collapses, huge sobs filling the air. Her mind only on Danny, the brother she swore she’d protect.

  Finally, the shove comes. Then her tiny fists ball up and beat at my chest. “YOU DID THIS TO HIM! YOU!”

  I take each blow, wishing she were stronger, wishing her fists were holding knives.

  “He can’t…” Sara’s picturing a catatonic Danny, the joy completely drained from his eyes. “I have to go,” she says.

  My hand is around her wrist. She’s pulling away, but I grip harder, yank her back. “You go there, and you won’t be able to do anything. They’ll do the same to you.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be with him.”

  “Sara, no. They’ll never let you leave. You know too much.”

  I hear Sara thinking before she even says it. “Then I’ll tell them everything. I’ll tell them and they’ll have to let us go. They’ll know Danny and I…”

  Part of me wants her to do exactly that, to put a stop to Sharon’s plans, to end all this before we all end up comatose or dead. But I remember what Sharon said, that Brightside couldn’t last forever. It’s not sustainable, and sooner or later, the funds would run out and they’ll have no choice but to eradicate us. They’ll say it’s what’s best for the country, the normals will never know the truth.

  I know Sara thinks a little time is better than none, but there is another way. We can break Danny out and make the escape on our own.

  I tell Sara to wait by the pond, that I’ll handle everything. Sara refuses, says she’s coming with me. I tell her fine, but we have to stop by my place first. We’re going to need Dad’s gift.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sara makes me promise I’ll turn myself in if Danny has already been drugged. She says we’ll never get him out of there. Medicated, he’ll be too heavy. I tell her I will, but I’m still thinking of other options, thinking about the ambulance, how we could steal it, load him up, drive right out. But the Brightside entrance is locked by a steel gate that not even Sheriff Melvin has access to.

  We exit Lodge Two and I see the helicopter hovering over the Square. I’m praying they don’t find Wayne, not until we can free Danny. Every Boot is preoccupied, but the moment they have Wayne in cuffs, their attention will shift back to us. Danny and Sara are supposed to be taken in the next thirty minutes.

  The sun is falling and it’s blinding on the way to my place. I can barely see the sidewalk. I almost trip off the curb. Sara grabs my arm, yanks me back.

  I tell her thanks, but she still hates me and my insane plan. She doesn’t see how we’ll ever pull it off.

  Still, Sara wants it to work. She wants Danny to be free, to have a life, to be normal, even if it’s only a little.

  There aren’t any Boots outside my building. The place is quiet, almost too quiet. Everyone is at work, all that remains are the smells, especially the bleach growing stronger as we near my door. The bleach covering Rachel.

  Faceless Rachel, still in my closet.

  I tell Sara to wait here, even though she’s seen everything in my head, me cleaning, sweeping the broken bits of gifts, broken bits of Rachel. Sara’s eyes get real big, she’s looking at my door that’s open just a crack.

  The Boots must be in there. I start to tell Sara to run, but she’s stepping towards the open door. There’s something on the floor, just inside my apartment. It’s Danny’s hat.