The Keep (17 page)

Do you have a dog?

No.

Do you have a cat?

I have no pets, okay?

What about a guinea pig?

Jesus Christ! It came out loud, and Benjy looked startled. Danny hoped that would shut him up.

Benjy: Do you have any children?

Danny gritted his teeth and stared at the ceiling beams. No, I don’t have children. Thank God.

The kid went quiet for a long time. Finally he said: What
do
you have?

Danny opened his mouth to answer. What did he have?

Benjy: I said, what do you—

I heard, I heard.

What do you have?

I don’t have anything, okay? Nothing. Now I’d like to shut my eyes.

Benjy leaned closer. In his face Danny saw sympathy mixed in with a kind of cold curiosity you never saw in adults. They’d learned how to hide it.

Benjy: Are you sad to have nothing?

No, I’m not sad.

But he was. The sadness came on Danny suddenly and buried him. He saw himself: flat on his back in the middle of nowhere, with a smashed-up head. A guy who had nothing.

Benjy: Are you crying?

Danny: You’ve got to be kidding.

I see tears.

That’s just from the…my head hurts. You’re making it hurt.

Grown-ups cry sometimes. I saw my mommy cry.

I need to sleep.

Benjy peered at him. Danny shut his eyes. He heard the kid breathing next to his ear.

Benjy: Are you a grown-up?

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Danny. Danny. Danny. Danny. Danny.

Howard again. Danny opened up his eyes. The kid was still there, in Howard’s lap.

Howard: Okay. We’re back in business. You’ve been—ah, out for quite a while there, Danny.

Benjy: He was awake.

Howard: Benjy says you woke up while I was talking to the doctor outside. But Nora was here, and she says no.

Danny looked at Nora, who looked at one of the tapestries. So she’d left the room when she wasn’t supposed to, and she didn’t want Howard to know. Normally Danny would find a way to let her know that not only was she busted, but she owed Danny something for covering her ass. He couldn’t think how to do any of that now.

Danny: I thought the doctor didn’t speak English.

Howard rolled his eyes. We have a translator: guess who? It involves a fair amount of yelling. But the main thing the doctor said, he really stressed this time, is how important it is for you to
stay awake.
Danny saw the strain in Howard’s smile.

The kid’s eyes were on Danny, and the sadness came back down on him all over again. How had he ended up with nothing? Did he always have nothing? Did he really have nothing, or was this head injury just making him think he had nothing?

The walkie-talkie sputtered on Howard’s belt.

Danny: Can I have that, Howard? The…ah…. He was pointing.

Howard: This? Sure. He looked surprised, curious. He put the walkie-talkie in Danny’s hand. It felt the same as a phone or a BlackBerry or any of that stuff: compact, with a rubbery keypad, a heavy core to its small weight, which is where you felt its reach.

Danny pushed a button. Static. Such a beautiful sound! It shrank his sadness away in a matter of seconds, dried it up so fast that Danny knew it had never been real—nothing real could disappear that fast. At first all he felt was relief to be rid of the sadness, but within a minute or two that relief had tipped over into joy: he didn’t have nothing, he had
everything.
He just needed to be reattached to the everything he had.

Howard: What do you hear?

Danny smiled. Just static.

Howard: I’ve got more faith in your brain than I do in that machine.

Danny glanced at him. The kid in Howard’s lap was getting sleepy, his head resting on one of the chair’s cushioned armrests.

Howard: It could almost
be
your brain, you know? The machines are so small now, and using them is so easy—we’re a half step away from telepathy.

Danny: Except we’re talking to people who are
there.
You can hear them.

Howard laughed. They’re not
there,
Danny. Where’s there? You have no idea where they are.

Danny turned to him. What’s your point?

My point is, screw the machines. Throw them away. Put some faith in that brain of yours.

My brain can’t make a phone call.

Sure it can. You can talk to anyone you want.

Was this guy for real? He couldn’t be. Danny pushed himself into a sitting position, wide awake. You’re telling me I should talk to people who aren’t there? Like some loony tune in the street?

Howard leaned in close. He spoke softly, like he was letting Danny in on a secret. No one’s ever there, Danny. You’re alone. That’s the reality.

I’m the opposite of alone. I know people all over the fucking world.

Benjy jolted in Howard’s lap. He said a bad word, Daddy.

But Howard’s eyes were fixed on Danny. He seemed wide awake, too. What are they giving you, the machines? Shadows, disembodied voices. Typed words and pictures if you’re online. That’s it, Danny. If you think you’re surrounded by people, you’re making them up.

This is absolute crap.

I’m saying you’re the boss! Have some faith in the power of your mind. It’s doing more work than you realize. And it’s capable of so much more than that!

Danny knew what he was hearing: a Motivational Speech. Before his pop gave up on him completely, Danny used to get one of these every few months. The message of a Motivational Speech was always the same: Your life is ridiculous, it’s shit, but there’s still a way to turn things around—if you do what I say.

Danny leaned toward his cousin. He talked right into his face. Howard, listen to me. I like machines. I love them. I can’t live without them, and I don’t want to try to live without them. To be honest, I’d rather cut off my balls than stay in a hotel like yours for one frigging minute.

Howard: Fantastic! Better yet!

Why?

Because it’ll mean that much more when you figure this out!

Fuck you, Howard.

Daddy—

Danny: You’re really pissing me off. Are you doing that for a reason?

Howard: I’m trying to keep you awake. This is the longest you’ve gone yet.

Danny felt a surge of rage. It gathered low in him, somewhere around his groin, which he actually felt stirring under the sheets. His voice came from high in his throat: I’m not interested in my brain or my imagination. I like
real things,
okay? Things that’re actually happening.

What’s real, Danny? Is reality TV real? Are confessions you read on the Internet real? The words are real,
someone
wrote them, but beyond that the question doesn’t even make sense. Who are you talking to on your cell phone? In the end you have no fucking idea. We’re living in a supernatural world, Danny. We’re surrounded by ghosts.

Speak for yourself.

I’m speaking for both of us. Old-fashioned “reality” is a thing of the past. It’s gone, finito—all that technology you’re so in love with has wiped it out. And I say, good riddance.

The rage plunged up through Danny. Fuck this guy. He’d cut Danny off from everything he had, but that wasn’t enough—now he had to convince Danny that it didn’t exist at all, that he was making it up! And he did it with a smile, like he was enjoying himself.
Fuck this guy!

Danny couldn’t take any more lying down, he had to stand. He dropped a foot off the side of the bed and was halfway onto his feet before Howard realized what was going on. He put a hand on Danny’s chest and stopped him. Howard spoke very softly. Wait, wait, no, buddy. You’re getting carried away. The kid was still in his lap.

Danny tried to push against Howard’s hand, but being even halfway vertical made his head start to spin. It was almost a relief when Howard took one of Danny’s shoulders in each of his hands and eased him gently back.

Howard: You can’t stand up, buddy, no, no. You’re not ready for that. And I—I went too far. I’m sorry, Danny. I was trying to engage you, but I went too far.

Danny thought he might be sick. He took long, shaky breaths. The room was dead quiet.

Howard: You okay? You hanging in there? He held two fingers to Danny’s wrist like he was checking his pulse.

Howard? Benjy?

It was Ann. She stood in the doorway in a blue bathrobe, looking confused. Her voice was sleepy. I looked in Benjy’s room and he wasn’t there and I sort of freaked out.

Howard went over, carrying Benjy in one arm. The kid attached himself to his mother like a monkey glomming onto a tree trunk. Danny was glad to be rid of him.

Howard: He’s been keeping me company. Haven’t you, Big Guy?

Ann: It’s—isn’t it the middle of the night?

Yeah, we’re trying to keep Danny awake. Then he spoke softly to Ann so Danny couldn’t hear.

Ann’s eyes refocused. She gave the kid back to Howard and came to where Danny lay. She looked the same straight out of bed as she did in bright sunlight, telling how a dip in a swimming pool was going to turn around some washed-up lady’s life.

Ann: Oh, Danny. How’re you doing?

Danny: Fending off the coma. So far.

Howard: Not coma, please don’t say that word. Gripping sleep or—or grabbing sleep.

Danny and Ann looked at each other. She was scared too, but not the way Howard was. Ann wasn’t scared Danny would die, she was scared he would tell.

And then it all came back: the whole reason he’d fallen out the window in the first place. Danny hadn’t exactly forgotten it, but he’d been thinking backward, crooked, maybe because of the drugs. This whole time he’d had a fact inside his head that would blow a hole straight through the middle of Howard’s life. And having that fact put Danny in charge.

His anger at Howard dried up instantly, like his sadness. He floated in a weird state of relief.

Howard: Nora, what’s the time?

Nora: One fifty-four.

Howard: Wait—what? He turned to look at her.

Nora: More than two hours. Almost two and a half.

Howard let out a shout: Yes, yes! Danny, you did it! You did it, buddy!

He half fell on top of Danny and embraced him—the warmest envelope of a hug Danny could remember in his life. Howard’s torso covered all of his, and the heat from it sank between Danny’s ribs and pulled in around his heart. Confused, he reached up and clung to his cousin.

When Howard stood up again, his eyes were wet. He wiped them on his arm. Fuck, I was worried. I can say that now, Danny. I was so fucking worried about you.

Benjy: You said fuck! Fuck!

Ann: Benjy! Howard!

But she was laughing. All of them were, even a few graduate students who must’ve come in from the hall. There was crowing, hi-fiving, all that stuff. Only Ann was still afraid. Danny saw it in her eyes: a kind of squinting, like the sun was out.

Danny was tired, so tired. The old exhaustion rushed back in to fill up the place where his anger had been. He felt it wrapping around his eyeballs, rolling them back in his head. He shut his eyes and passed out.

My crew and I are digging up a plumbing line maybe twenty feet inside the perimeter fence when I notice a little tan Subaru coming up the road. This road connects the interstate to the prison. It runs parallel with the outer fence but at a distance, and what with the two layers of chain link in between plus all that razor wire, you’ve got no idea who’s driving. I don’t even know what makes me look. But that’s bullshit. We always look.

There’s no visiting on Thursdays, so the parking lot is empty except for staff. The Subaru pulls in and takes a spot. I’ve got no reason to be thinking about Holly—Thursday isn’t her day. And I’m not thinking about her, but for some reason by the time the door opens on that Subaru I’m waiting for her to get out. And then she does.

She’s smoking, that’s the first shock I get. Usually I can smell it on a woman when she smokes, her hands and hair and breath, but with Holly I had no hint. It’s a nasty habit, especially in a woman—too bad if that’s sexist. But watching Holly take a long drag outside her car, shielding her eyes from the sun, I’m not disgusted. More impressed. That she was smoking all that time and I didn’t even know.

Shock two is her outfit. Instead of the loose stuff she usually wears, she’s got on a long dark skirt with some kind of pattern on it and a pale green blouse like you wear to an office. Her shoes have a little heel on them, enough to tip her forward onto her toes. And her hair is down, blowing around in the hot breeze. She takes one last drag and squashes the butt under her shoe.

By now my eyes hurt from the brightness of all that wire I’ve got to look through to see her, not to mention the white stone rubble they use to fill in the dead space between the inner and outer fences. It’s white to set off any foreign object that happens to land there, for example any one of us who somehow manages to clear the first fence, which is thirty feet high, without nicking an artery on all the razor wire they’ve got spiraling along the top. The outer fence has a wall underneath it that reaches twenty feet into the ground. Nothing gets through but the pipes.