Copperback (16 page)

“You
don’t have to talk about it. I can put the TV away so you don’t have to see it
again.”

“NO!
I want to talk about it. Even if I can’t see it, I know it’s still going on,” he
said, enraged again.

“I
know that we are not as awful as some other–”

“Yes
you are. You didn’t see what they did. I was there. I saw it firsthand. I heard
the screams every night. I had to sit and listen to them dissect us while we
were awake.”

I
was stunned; I had no idea their camps were so horrible. My understanding was
that they had sat there waiting to be sold off to the highest bidder, and that
would be it. I wasn’t sure what to say at that point.

“What
happened to you?” I was afraid of the story he might give. As fearful as he was
on that first night – being held down, forced to endure physical agony while we
tried to help – I could only imagine what he had been thinking and why he
reacted the way he had. I sat on the bed next to him so I could be close, in
case he needed me.

 “I
was lucky. I came a few weeks after the first group. I’m not sure where we
landed, but there were not many of us; only a few hundred.”

For
weeks after the initial arrival of the Sayner and Vesper in Wisconsin, meteors
continued to fall in various locations around the world. Each time, the local
populace would hold their breath, nervously waiting to find out who had come.
The “meteors,” as we would come to find out, were a kind of escape pod –
similar in shape to an almond – with smooth, sweeping curves running along the
sides. Although each device was only a bit larger than the average basketball,
it could contain thousands of displaced beings in their sand-like form. As the
showers dwindled, however, so did their occupants, until many pods sat
unopened, showing no sign of life.

“We
were taken to a camp set up to keep us from escaping, keeping women and
children on one side and men on the other. They provided clothes, but the cell
we lived in was cramped, and food was scarce. In the weeks that followed, I
watched people starve to death as we fought over any scraps we could get. I
managed to get enough to keep myself alive, but learned quickly to eat as fast
as possible before someone else stole from you.”

I
wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this story, but I knew he wanted to keep going and
I had no right to stop him. He needed to get it out. I was the only person he
had trusted to listen.

“Some
tried to escape and, looking for freedom, fought with guards. I stayed quiet
and kept to myself, trying not to attract any attention. Sometimes when someone
would die, the body was left in the cell with us for days so that we had to
smell and sleep near it till they decided to remove it. Other times they would
just pick someone to take and beat with copper weapons and put them back with
us so we had to listen to them cry out as they would shift uncontrollably till
the pain was too much and they would either die or they would pass out and one
of us would end their suffering.”

He
had stopped looking at me and stared at his hands again. He didn’t have to tell
me that he had been one of the few to end a life.

“That
was what you had gone through. The shift when you woke up. What does it feel
like?” I felt bad interrupting, but I had been curious about the shift for a
while.

“Usually
it doesn’t hurt. I can control it sometimes and other times my body just reacts
if it knows that I could get hurt. It doesn’t work if I’m unconscious. I’ve
never felt pain until – that first night. I can’t describe it. It was different
than what this feels like.” He pointed to his leg and pumped his hand open and
closed, trying to show me.

“Throbbing?”

“And
it was different than when you had to set it, and different than what being
stabbed felt like. It would get worse each time till I almost couldn’t stand
it. I wanted it to end, but it never stopped until you.” He had put his hand to
the penny still clasped around his neck. It was the only thing saving him from
enduring the constant shift.

“After
a while, I could feel that there were less women and children on the other side,
since the fear was lessening. They had been taken away or killed. The ones that
started fights or caused problems were usually the ones taken for tests. I had
been picked to be taken, but before I could be walked out, another person tried
to run, and I was put back so they could chase him down. He never came back,
but that night I could hear him screaming in a tent close by. He had taken my
place. I should have been the one to suffer.”

He
was so upset that I was waiting for tears to come. He had to stop for a moment
and recollect his thoughts, but held back any fits of anger. I felt compelled
to reach out for his hand, but was afraid he would stop if I did.

“What
happened after that?”

“Some
of us were shipped off to other camps. I was transferred around a few times
over the years, till they had decided to make us slaves. By that point, I had
been put in my own cell and fed better than before. Each of us took a turn
meeting with someone who would ask us questions to find out how much we could
say, and give us a name. The woman who saw me said she thought it was wrong what
they were doing and thought we should have names from the Bible.

“After
we went through, we were given our mark and sent back to wait. They gave us new
clothes and shoes so we looked good when they sold us.”

“Does
the mark mean anything?” I was looking at his hands. The pale raised scar on
the hand without a bandage was not something he could hide. I could just
imagine them using a cattle brand to give it to him; searing his skin and
cauterizing before it could bleed all in one move.

“It’s
the symbol of the Vesper; the eye that can see all. I would do anything to be
rid of it.” He covered his other hand subconsciously as he spoke, trying to
hide it from view. I could see that the shame was coming back again as he
turned away in an attempt to avoid looking at me.

I
couldn’t help myself; I had to do something. I knew I might send another mixed
message, but I didn’t care. He had just spilled everything out to me and I
didn’t want him to think that, just because I couldn’t decide how I felt about
him yet, it didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be there for him. Instinctively,
I pulled his hand from hiding and placed it in mine, back on my lap. I traced
the continuous line with my finger, running over the imperfect skin. He watched
my finger intently, not pulling away.

“I
don’t care if you hate it. I understand why, but it doesn’t change who you are.
You are smarter than I think anyone has given you credit for. You make me laugh
all the time. You keep trying to be strong even when you hurt. You’ve made me
feel something I haven’t felt in years. Even with this scar, I think you’re
perfect.”

 Holding
his hand in both of mine, I brought it up and kissed it, feeling his warm skin
against my lips. It was a bold move, and I wasn’t sure what his reaction would
be. I looked at him, waiting to see.

He
was still watching my hands, finally bringing his eyes to mine. His caring eyes
stared at me, almost longing to return the affection. Eventually he looked back
down, smiling. It grew wider until I could hear him laugh softly.

“I’m
not perfect. I have my flaws. I have a big scar on my side and a messed up leg
and can’t even get out of this bed.”

“You
will. It’s just going to take some time, unless you’re in a hurry to leave?”

There
was an exaggerated sigh, but his smile remained. “Well, I guess I can stay a
few more weeks, but only if you insist.”

It
was funny hearing him pick up his own brassy remarks.

“And
get me a remote.”

“Now
you’re going too far.” I jabbed him in the ribs. As straight faced as I was
trying to be, I couldn’t help but to smile. Even with how bad his history had
been, I hoped that, going forward, I could help create some new memories he
could remember me by. We still had time, and I was determined to make the best
of it.

Tuesday
turned out to be far more manageable than Monday had been. With enough books to
keep Job entertained for a month, coming home to a mess or screams seemed
almost impossible to fathom. In over a week’s time, I had dealt with more drama
then I could ever handle on an all-day marathon of movies revolving around the
subject. I had felt every hard-wired emotion available in me, as well as a few
new ones I had kept bottled up for years. Living with him had become a full-time
job in itself and lent no room for anything else. I had figured out why Sally
had been so insistent that I be the one to keep him, other than his injuries:
he was a handful, and I had nothing better to do.

Seeing
him calmly reading a book – flipping through the pages every couple of minutes,
only pausing to scratch an itch – was a relief. He paused for a moment to give me
a smile and just as fast went back to his reading. Job was content with the
books I had given him the night before and had already created two piles, one
on each side of him.

On
one pile he had stacked all of my romance novels, a few thrillers, and a
psychology textbook. The other had the dictionary, which I had assumed would be
the most helpful, along with the graphic novels that Chase had left behind. In
his hands was the large compellation book of Shakespeare plays.

I
had a love for his work, and bought it on clearance at a book store many years
before. It was sad to see such a great piece of work nearly being thrown away
due to lack of interest by today’s readers. Any time I had run out of things to
read, or found myself bored by the same plot, different characters, I found
myself pulling it out to read through the many comedies or tragedies – usually
tragedies in the more recent years. Most I had read so many times that the
pages had become stuck together from whatever I had been eating at the time.
There were creases on pages I had marked to remind me where I had left off. At
some parts, I had underlined a quote that I enjoyed the most and didn’t want to
forget if the need were ever to arise.

I
had explained to Job that the book was a little advanced for him and to wait to
read it till he had a better understanding of the language. The last thing I wanted
him to believe is that we would ever talk like that on a daily basis. As
complete as it was, there were no footnotes or explanations of the language,
which for me wasn’t an issue, but for him it could create some interesting
conversations.

“Thought
I told you to wait till you had read some other things first?”

“I
did. I finished all of these first and then started this one.” He pointed to
the stack of romance and thrillers without looking up. There had to have been
at least a dozen books in the pile – most were at least 600 pages long, if not
more. I had only been gone for a little more than eight hours, and he had
breezed through over half of what I had left him.

“You
skimmed through them, right? There is no way you actually read them from cover
to cover.”

“No,
I read them. Do you want to quiz me on it?” He seemed a bit put off that I
would interrupt him again, placing his hand between the pages, looking up as
though I should be doing something else at the moment. He was impatiently
waiting for me to stop the interrogation so he could go back to his play. I
could tell from where he had stopped that he was reading “Romeo and Juliet.” I
had almost every line memorized.

“And
you understand it all? I mean – you said…but…I’m really confused.” I put my
hands up and dropped them to my sides several times as I tried to form a
coherent sentence. I couldn’t grasp the concept.

I
stood completely baffled as to how someone who had said they had read very
little could pick up a psychology book and read it cover to cover and actually
retain any of it. I had taken the class twice and only managed to pass due to a
very giving bell curve.

He
continued to look at me with his one eyebrow raised, trying to make sense of my
babble, yet still miffed about the interruption.

“Forget
it,” I said. “Apparently I should know something that I don’t. Just make sure
you give me a list of books you want before I leave tomorrow. I assume you can
write, too.” I spun around, taking a few steps away. I knew I had been a little
too harsh, but I had been looking forward to coming home from the moment I had
left the house. I had hoped to spend time with him, to learn more about him.

 “Emily
– you don’t have to go. Please come back.” His voice was so smooth and relaxed
I would have come back no matter what he had said. His agitation was gone, and
I knew before I turned back he would have set the book down to give me his full
attention. I was right.

“I
can read,” he said. “What I would consider a little might be different from
what you see it as. I can read fast, too. I do understand this one, but I’m
taking it much slower. As for writing, I never tried, but it sounds like
something I want to learn.” He was grinning, trying to convince me that he
hadn’t deceived me. He moved the stack of unread books to the other side, patting
the space for me to sit by him.

As
alluring as it was, I stayed in place, looking down at the ground. I wanted
nothing more than to sit and talk for hours, but being so close to him – feeling
his warmth, the soft touch of his hands…I had to stay or I would again send the
wrong message, and he would know I had bluffed about being friends.

I
had spent the better part of the previous night fighting with my feelings over
him. On one hand, I could give in and let my guard down and see where it would
take me. If he left, I would be alone and have to start over again, moping
about my loss, eventually letting it slip to the wrong person. If he stayed, I
could keep him from view. Eventually get caught and lose him anyway. On the
other hand, I could just stay away, ignoring his requests for close company, keeping
a safe distance so the temptation wouldn’t be there. He would be able to leave
without looking back. I had been assuming that he could even feel that way.
Every mannerism or expression told me he did, but as far as I knew it might be
a culture difference.

“I
better get upstairs and get you dinner – any requests?” I forced myself to ask.

“Anything
without onions.” If he was disappointed by my rejection, he was hiding it better
than I would have thought. He kept his smile going, hoping that I would at
least laugh at his little joke.

“I
think Sally mentioned you need to stop eating junk food, and I need to give you
more stuff with calcium, to help with the healing. I hear they are a great
source.” If he felt the need to be humorous, I could get him back.

The
look of disgust was priceless. He not only cringed, but stuck his tongue out,
making a gagging noise. “I’m thinking I’ll be here for a long time, then,” he said,
sounding like he was choking on the thought.

“Ok,
ok – I’ll find something to make you that’s onion-free.”

Rummaging
through the freezer, I was able to dig up a bag of shrimp pasta with peppers
and broccoli. I had some milk left in the fridge, and sniffed it to check if it
was any good. It was still within drinking range, and I poured two glasses. After
heating the skillet for the pasta and dumping in the contents, I had a while to
wait for it to cook. With nothing better to do than kill time, I went back to
the living room to find a pen and paper so that I could start my list of things
to get the next time I was out.

I
walked over to the end table and opened the junk drawer. Searching for the pen
at the bottom, my hand ran across the links of the bracelet, still spackled
with dried blood. Pulling it out of the drawer, I looked at it for a moment,
sickened by its sight. Its copper shine gleamed in the light of the room. I
wanted to be rid of it forever. It was a reminder of the unspeakable act
Derrick had committed on someone so innocent. I could feel a wave of nausea
start, like it had that night, and was compelled to toss it back in the drawer
to be forgotten again.

Instead,
I walked back to the kitchen, prepared to drop it in the disposal and flick the
switch, hoping it would shred the chain into fine pieces. I caught myself
before letting go, rinsing it off in the sink. I could put it to good use
instead. As Derrick had said, it was expensive; selling it off for any amount
would be an investment into Job’s safety for the future. Tossing it in my purse
on the counter, I didn’t give one more thought to it. I finished up dinner and
took everything back down to my favorite companion. We would enjoy each other’s
company in the quiet room and he would pick up the knack of writing faster than
ever expected.

*****

Morning
felt as though it came too early. I had a dreamless night on the couch,
sleeping peacefully without crowded thoughts of Job in my head to keep me up.
He had insisted on learning so much writing, my hand had cramped after hours of
going through print and cursive, both uppercase and lowercase. He had asked to
see me sign my name over and over, but when it came time for him to try he was
at a loss. He had no middle or last name. With his language so incomprehensible,
he didn’t know any translation of his name to the English language, and so fell
silent and decided to stop. Even as I suggested he could pick his own names,
the moment was bittersweet, as it was another reminder of his slave life.

After
a shower and change of clothes into a pair of shorts and pale yellow tank top
that hugged my body, I put on a small amount of makeup, which I’d worn every
day since the disastrous night. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to impress. I
was comfortable enough with my body to know I didn’t need the extras, but it
made me feel good to dress up a little every now and then.

Upon
reaching the bottom of the stairs, I could see sweat on Job’s brow from another
failed attempt at trying to move his leg before I could stop him. His shoulders
were slumped from exhaustion. He still flashed a grin my way, but I knew he was
nevertheless upset over his condition. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all
night – haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. “You need to stop worrying
about it,” I said, trying to be as supportive as possible. “It’ll happen when
it happens. There’s no need to rush.”

He
smiled again, but remained despondent, putting his head back down, still
fighting off the sleep he needed. I wasn’t going to force him into a
conversation he didn’t want. I had learned that, when something was on his mind,
it was best to let it go and wait till he was ready. I had my speculations that
it was more than just being able to wiggle some toes, but I knew not to press
the issue.

“I’m
going to run out and get some things. Anything you want, other than a remote?”

He
shrugged his shoulders, still looking at his lap. I set breakfast down next to
him, hoping it would lighten his mood. He didn’t even glance at it as I stepped
away.

“It
better be gone by the time I get back, and you better get some sleep. I know
you were up all night.”

I
felt like a mother talking to a child who had played video games till all hours
of the morning. He still gave no reaction, and I wasn’t going to wait for one.
I hated walking away when he was like this, but he wasn’t giving me a choice.

Walking
outside, the summer heat hit me like a ton of bricks. The August swelter was in
need of some rain to cool things down. Even as early as it was, opening the car
door blasted me with heat, and I could feel my makeup starting to melt on my
face. I rolled down every window in the beater and cranked the air as high as
it would go, hoping to cool it off before having to drive up to Clarion.

Traveling
there was my best chance of finding a pawn shop while keeping clear of anyone
that could recognize me. I withdrew a large amount of cash at a local ATM
before making my way west along the highway. I planned on using the double pay Sally
had granted me as a backup in case the bracelet turned out to be as worthless as
Derrick. I had already made up my mind that I would get him some new clothes,
since the ones he was wearing were shredded. I would have to wait to give him
most of them until he could get up and moving again. He would need shoes and
everything else. I had used one of his shoes to give me an idea on size, but I
was still unsure what dimensions he would wear in jeans.

I
called Chase, hoping he could get away long enough to give me some ideas and
maybe answer some questions that had been nagging me.

He
answered on the second ring with dread in his voice, waiting to hear bad news.
I had forgotten to call him after our turn of events, and he would be glad to
know that yet again we were able to save him.

“Are
you ok to talk right now?” I asked, hoping Derrick was far enough away, in case
Chase slipped up.

“Yeah,
I’m just running a load in the truck alone, today. I have a few minutes. You
know, I think I got Derrick off your back for a little while. He asked about
you, and I lied and told him you were feeling better. I told him to just give
you time, that you’re a bit of a hermit and you need to warm up to him.”

“Thanks
– I think. Not to change the subject, but you know Job is ok. We didn’t have to
cut anything off. He managed to pull a one-eighty just in the nick of time.”