Falling (13 page)

We reach the outskirts of Las Vegas in the middle of the
night and drop Tarren off at a motel. Gabe and I find an animal shelter, and I
learn that his hands are just as deft on locks and alarm systems as video game
controllers.

“Gabe of all trades,” he whispers, hat turned forward and
pulled low over his face.

The animals erupt at my scent, and I scurry back out to the
SUV amid yips and low rolling growls. Gabe brings back a scarred pit bull, the
leash wrapped tight around his hand. The dog fights against the leash, throwing
his head from side to side and squealing each time the collar bites into his
neck.

“No one’s going to adopt this guy,” Gabe says as if that
could possibly make anything better.

“No one but us.” I kneel and pet the dog. His body shivers,
and he nips at my hand each time I come close to a wound.

“I’ll keep a lookout,” Gabe says and quickly strolls to the
other side of the car.

“Well, life can be a suckfest sometimes,” I tell the dog as
I slowly wrap the leash around my hand, dragging the unwilling creature toward
me.

* * *

Las Vegas has a hangover in the morning. The city is washed
out, dry and nasty hot. The lights blink and jive with futility against a
brazen sun. Groups of tourists meander along littered sidewalks, and a few lone
figures sway in and out of the shadows. I watch one man lurch across the
street, putting his hand on car hoods to keep himself up.

Easy target
, a thought whispers
in my mind.
Shut up
, I think back.
Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“We’ve got to come back here when we’re done,” Gabe says,
shading his eyes as he looks out the side window.

“Too many cameras,” Tarren replies.

“But Maya wants to see Cirque du Soleil. It’s her dream of
dreams. Why do you hate happiness?”

“I don’t really…” I begin.

“Your humility is heartwarming,” Gabe cuts in. “I might just
try my hand at a little Texas Hold ‘Em while she watches the show, you know,
just to pass the time…”

“Stay focused,” Tarren says.

“You play poker on your computer all day long,” I add.

“You guys suck. You make lame people look…uh, much less lame
or…just shut up.” Gabe lays his head against the window.

We leave the city behind, and move through a sprawl of
condos and houses capped with terracotta tiles and sitting on lawns composed of
gravel and desert brush. It all looks so different from the cramped,
proudly-weathered homes of Connecticut.

The bundle in the trunk shifts whenever the car turns. I
hold a basketball in my lap, and bounce it on my knees. I try not to think
about why we are here or what Tarren’s scientist friend will want to do to me.

Tarren takes a turn up a private road, and we pass by tall
iron gates protecting houses that may have tumbled out of the British
countryside. The desert has been championed by water pipes, diligent lawn care
workers and sheer human determination to snuff out inconvenient landscapes. I
imagine Barons and Dukes pulling on tall black boots and galloping out for a
summer morning foxhunt through the majestic palm trees.

One gate is open. Little iron lions rear up on each post. We
turn and follow a cobbled road to what can only be described as “an estate”
built out of gray stone and unashamedly flaunting a bevy of peaks and latticed
windows. The bushes twist up in carefully-pruned majesty along the circular
driveway, and lawn care workers scuttle back and forth from their trucks. I
search for the fountain and find it, a marble lion roaring out a gush of water.

While I am not gaping at the house or trying to count all
the windows, Tarren opens the back door opposite of me. He shrugs on a
backpack, hands Gabe his computer bag and motions for the basketball.

“Would you call that a ‘bevy’ of latticed windows?” I ask
and toss him the ball.

“Come on,” is all he says back.

We wait at the door, and Tarren rings the bell again. I rock
on the balls of my feet feeling conspicuous among the grandeur. I’m wearing a
little jean skirt with flip flops, because the other sandals they bought don’t
fit my wide feet. Tarren sweats in the blue jacket he won’t take off. Gabe is
in a rumpled X-Men t-shirt, and his jeans are torn at both knees. He’s pretty
much perfected the stoner look. As for myself, the wide-brimmed hat/flip flop
combo screams tweaker. And Tarren… looks fine. The jacket works, and the faded
jeans give him an air of cool casual.
Dammit
.

A faint crash sounds from within the house followed by a
high giggle.

“Someone’s been hitting the sauce again,” Gabe mutters under
his breath. “Muchos cervezas.”

Tarren frowns at his brother as the door swings open, and a
large-boned woman with an apparent fondness for loud colors leans against the
frame. Her breasts swell beneath a tight, pink blouse. A smile see-saws its way
onto her mouth as she sees me and then moves along to Tarren.

“Oh Troy!” She gazes at Tarren. “Oh, how wonderful. You’re
here.”

“Good afternoon Mrs. Hernandez,” Tarren says. “We’re here to
spend some time with…”

“It’s
Miss
Hernandez now darling.
Don’t make me keep reminding you.” She gives a hiccupping laugh. Gabe snorts.

“Lee, hello sweetie,” the woman drawls.

“Hola, you’re looking lovely as usual.” Gabe puts on his
best grin.

“Good boy. I’m fat and hideous. Una gorda.  But you two. Oh,
you boys look good enough to eat!” Her eyes linger on Tarren.

“This is Buffy,” Gabe nods to me. “She’s new to Big Brothers
and Big Sisters, so we’re teaching her the ropes.”

“Why, aren’t you a skinny little thing.” The woman gives me
a crooked smile. “That hat, darling. Well, isn’t that something.”

“Thanks, I simply adore it.”

“Who is it?” a voice calls from inside the house.

“It’s Troy. Troy is here,” the woman calls behind her.

“Get out the way.” A teenage boy squeezes in front of the
woman and blinks up at us beneath a mop of black hair. His eyes find mine and
alight with interest.

“We brought Chutes and Ladders,” Gabe says to him
cheerfully.

“You do know you have to be able to count to play that
game,” the boy responds in a voice that seems too deep for his thin body and
young face.

“We’ll take it slow.” Gabe ignores Tarren’s scowl. “That’s
what Big Brothers is for.”

“Oh that sounds fun,” Miss Hernandez murmurs as the kid
glowers at Gabe. “If you boys need anything, just go get it. Watch out, I think
there’s some broken glass.”

“Alright Carmen,” the boy says, “you’ve sufficiently
embarrassed yourself for the time being. We’re going to be in the lab. Don’t
bother us.”

“Miss Hernandez,” Tarren steps in quickly, “why don’t you
let Lee help you clean up that glass.” 

“Oh, how lovely of you.” The smile tips back onto the
woman’s face. “Lee, there’s cookies in the kitchen. You can have as many as you
want as long as you don’t let me touch ‘em.”

“Awesome,” Gabe says as the boy turns and stalks away into
the house.

“Bring the car around back when you’re done so we can unload
the
hockey sticks
,” Tarren says to his brother, then
nods for me to follow the boy into the house.

The kid is skinny as a wraith and his long loping gait leads
us through a house made up of expansive rooms, tiled floors and curvy, modern
furniture. My cheapo sandals squeak on the floor as we pass through a dining
room, a media room, a game room, something that seems like another dining room
and then into a massive lounge.

A life-sized painting looming over a completely pointless
fireplace shows a muscular Hispanic man wearing boxing gloves and shorts and
leering with a mixture of pride, arrogance and a little stupid thrown on top.
He stands in a boxing ring, and two lions prowl behind him.

We take a back door and emerge into the sun behind the
house. I loosen my fists. The song is still here, always here, but softens as
my skin opens to the sunlight.  I am briefly distracted by a two-tiered pool
disappearing into a grove of lush plants. Stone lions guard the path. I touch
them and feel warm marble beneath my fingertips. Stupid lions. Stupid splendor.

“Lo, you should respect your mother,” Tarren tells the boy.

“That booze hound?” The boy shrugs. “She’s worthless.
Respect is earned, not given. And it’s stepmother.”

“This is Lo?” I accuse Tarren. “How old is he?

The boy turns around and gives me an appraising look. Dark
eyes sit under thick black brows. He emotes a bad ass vibe with middling
success. Hoops stand out on his nose and lip, and he wears a skull and cross
bones t-shirt.

“How old you want me to be?”

“None of that,” Tarren says sternly.

“You said he was a brilliant scientist,” I argue.

The boy stops. His eyes blink rapidly.

“I’m smarter than you’ll ever be,” he states
matter-of-factly. “Also, lose the hat. You look like some middle-aged basket
case who shows up at Walmart in her pajamas in the middle of the day. Those
women should just kill themselves already.”

Tarren gives me a warning look as I open my mouth to
respond. We continue past the pool to a large guest house set away from the
rest of the property. Lo taps in a code on the keypad and presses his thumb
against the screen.

“Fingerprint analysis, really?” Tarren asks.

“We’re working on some dangerous shit in here
Troy
. Gotta’ be careful.” A smug smile comes and goes on
the boy’s face.

A green light blinks on above the door, and Lo pulls it
open. Bright white lights flicker on to reveal a sterile room that looks very
labish in a kind of fake way that you see in movies or on television. The air
is cool and crisp, and I hear the hum of an air conditioner vibrating through
the walls. Microscopes and racks of beakers sit on the counter tops.  A large
table stands in the middle of the room connected to a machine that looks like a
big, somewhat menacing donut. 

“How did you manage a CT Scan?” Tarren asks.

Lo blinks. “Carmen and I agreed to a parent-by-purchase
arrangement. She buys me whatever I ask for, and I stop releasing hornets
during her dinner parties. It’s worked out quite nicely so far.”

I gaze at the black freezer chest in the corner. It’s large
enough to fit a body. Several bodies. I turn and notice Lo staring at me. He
takes his time, running his gaze up and down my body. His face remains passive,
but his eyes are expressive and bright with curiosity. His energy courses
rapidly around his body, not jumpy like Tarren’s but quick and focused.

“So this is the hybrid. Amazing.” Lo shakes his head. “And a
hottie too. Bonus.”

Tarren rolls the basketball into the corner, shrugs off his
backpack and pulls out a notebook. I discard the hat and sunglasses.

Lo pulls on a black lab coat, skull and crossbones on the
pocket.

“You kind of look like that chick who’s missing. What’s her
name.”

“Maya,” Tarren says as the heat rises in my face.

Lo blinks and blinks again.

“Oh, no way. Holy fucking Jesus and Mary, you two are
unbelievable.” He lets out a high-pitched laugh. “You guys are in deep shit.
Everyone and their arthritic, cancer-ridden grandmother is looking for her.”

“Just shut up and do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”
My voice trembles.

“Yeah,” Lo coughs and blinks.  He pulls open a drawer. “You
know, this must be really traumatizing. If you need a shoulder to cry on. I’m
here for you, baby.”

“Lo,” Tarren warns.

“I’m not a virgin, you know,” Lo continues, “and I’ve read a
lot of things. Ever hear of the
Kama Sutra
? I have
it memorized.” Raw, bright colors edge into his aura.

“You’re like twelve!” I shout.

“That’s not what my fake ID says.”

“Enough,” Tarren says quietly. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

They do get to work. Tedious hours tick by as they examine
me, take blood and hair samples and measure my radiation output. I am poked and
prodded, X-rayed and scanned. I lay on the table for long stretches of time
reading
The Count of Monte Cristo
as the boys peer
at my blood beneath a microscope and murmur science jargon to each other. I
have elevated levels of this and a prominent reaction to that enzyme, which
suggests manipulation of whatever complex.

At some point, Gabe knocks on the door, and Tarren goes out
to meet him. They come back carrying the tarp-covered bundle.

“Freezer,” Lo says without looking up from his microscope.

I stare at the page of my book, keeping my eyes adhered to
the blurry words. Still, I can’t help but hear the sound of them lifting the
body up and over the lip of the freezer. It slides in and hits the bottom with
a heavy
whump
. The lid closes, and I turn to find
Gabe giving me a sympathetic expression. Silently, I beg him to stay.

“Keep searching for new hits,” Tarren tells his brother.

“But…” Gabe looks at me. I’m mentally clinging to him like a
frightened cat.

“We’re fine. Bring us back some cookies in an hour or so,”
Lo says.

Gabe glowers at the boy.

“Go,” Tarren says, softening his voice. “We can’t afford to
let any angels slip by us.”

I know this is true, but I need Gabe to be here anyway. I
need his goofy grins, his lame Chuck Norris jokes and his unflappable
confidence that everything will be all right, even if I know it isn’t true.

On his way out of the room, Gabe pauses next to me and
whispers, “Don’t let them do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll be
right outside.”

Then Gabe is gone, and Tarren is planting a long needle into
a vial of clear liquid. I don’t move at all except that my grip on the book
puts indents in both covers. I’m ready to spring onto the ceiling if he makes a
lunge for me.