The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance) (51 page)

I’ll
beg for change on the street if I have to, just not yet. Leaving
Stephen unprotected and alone for that long when The Spider’s
men could show up on one of Mængmum’s whims just isn’t
something I’m willing to do.

That
feeling of wrongness clutches me again; I sit up, and look at
Stephen; there’s no question about it, he’s too injured
to leave even the bed.

Standing,
I step outside of the bungalow door, checking for, I don’t
know… signs of the Apocalypse. But the hostel looks the same
as it always does in the late afternoon, except less and less people
each day. Most of the guests are in the little restaurant eating and
drinking or on the beach, sunbathing or swimming.

No
one runs panicked and screaming; no giant celestial gates open in the
sky to let a demonic host march through. Obviously, if my breaking
the deal triggered the Apocalypse, it’s not starting here.
Biting my lip I silently send up a fervent wish to whoever’s
listening that even if it’s what I was created to do, I didn’t
just doom the world.

After
walking back into the bungalow and shutting and locking the door, I
crawl into the bed next to Stephen.

His
bruised face shifts with his stuttering inhalations. His breaths
still come haltingly, but now knowing that my visions are true, I
know that before I die, he’ll be well enough to speak to me, to
answer me, even to tease me.

The
feeling surges up in me again, the feeling I’ve had since
Stephen disappeared in that alley, the feeling that something I can’t
figure out went terribly wrong.

It’s
a low constant buzz in my mind, sometimes I notice it, sometimes I
don’t, then sometimes it grabs me and possesses my mind sending
me into blind terror before subsiding; but, it’s always there.

When
I slip my fingers into Stephen’s, the tightening of his fingers
around mine makes me squeeze my eyes in relief. “Stephen?”
I whisper.

Nothing
.

But
still, a sign of life.

Not
wanting to push it, I clear my throat and whisper, “Sorry, I
needed a minute. I think I left off at the part right after I fell
from the tree and tried to hide my sprained ankle from my dad. So,
Linnie saw me fall and she was so guilty about hiding it from my dad
that when we went to dinner with my uncle that night she started
sobbing inconsolably right as my dad was paying the check…”
I continue telling him story after story.

The
rest of the day passes in the same way, whispering stories and ideas
I’d never share with a wakeful person.

I
even admit it to him at one point, when the window shows only
moonlight and I begin to feel drowsy, “I might only be telling
you all of this because I know you can’t hear me; I’ve
never been good at sharing, I think. I used to think that I shared
everything with Linnie, but when I think about it, it’s more as
though I just felt like that because she shared everything with me.
But for some reason with you, even before I really knew you, I wanted
to tell you things, ask you things. I felt that we were the same in
some way; and, I trusted you. I trust you in a way that I have never
trusted anyone. All year I wanted to talk to you, ask you questions,
tell you what was going on in my confused mind; I even wrote you a
couple letters, which I promptly destroyed. And now that you’re
unconscious and we’re trapped so close to our deaths, I just
can’t help but undo a lifetime of guardedness with the only
person I think I will ever trust with my whole being.”

Because
I’m dangerously close to admitting my feelings for him, I force
myself to change the subject and start telling him about all the
details I hadn’t already told him about the trip through
Thailand, except for the Madeline parts.

The
things I want to say to him, the words that are constantly in my mind
as I hold him,
I
love you
,
want to be released. Now that those three little words have hatched,
they rattle at their cage to fly away, but I can never release them,
never.

I’m
clinging to my last hope, that maybe if I never admit to loving him
out loud, he’ll be safe.

My
throat hoarse from talking, I, once again, fall asleep beside Stephen
mid-story.

****

“
Water,”
the quiet whisper shocks me into alertness.

I
stare at Stephen not sure if I was just dreaming.

“
Water,”
he repeats.

I
jump off the bed, then look back, realizing I probably just jostled
him. “Sorry, water, I’ll get it!”

When
I return with a water bottle and a straw, Stephen’s lips just
barely part to let the straw slip in. He takes a couple weak sips
then releases the straw.

His
eyelids are so swollen I doubt he’ll be able to open them for
days. Because I know he has no way of knowing I tell him, “You’re
safe. You’re with me, in my bungalow. The Spider let us go.”

Fingers
brush mine and I look down at Stephen’s hand which he’s
shifted ever so slightly to touch mine. “I’m surprised,”
I whisper to him, “I thought the first thing you’d ask me
for is a cigarette.”

I
can barely understand his words, when he speaks, it takes me a minute
to process the hoarse almost silent sounds. And when I do, they
confuse me. “
Did
Linnie get upset
?”

Then
I get it,
my
story from last night
.
I had been telling him about the soul-bound on the train when I fell
asleep, right before the part where I returned to Linnie. A flush of
heat explodes in my face, wondering how much of my incessant chatter
he had listened to.

Falling
down beside him I ram my head into the pillow. His fingers squeeze
mine lightly, like:
come
on?

I
take a deep breath, and then continue my story, hoping he can’t
hear the humiliation in my voice. “I didn’t tell her, I
never did. I shouldn’t have brought her; she’s just not
made out for…my life, anymore.” I exhale, heavily. “I
should probably let you rest, huh?”

“
No…please,”
his nearly silent reply.

More
careful what I say now, I tell him about my past year, training with
Albert, and how he prevented me from having friends and wouldn’t
speak to me. I also tell Stephen about his adorable nephew, who I
realize he’s never met. Telling stories about Albert and Hayvee
and Albert Junior, I end up laughing and feeling more sad that I’ll
never see them again than resentful at the way they isolated me.
Hayvee and the baby became family this year, and in a weird way so
had Albert.

By
midday Stephen whispers responses to my stories; by sunset, he’ll
let me feed him a little soup. The soup is spicy but the hostel staff
isn’t exactly letting me order from a menu, I hope that the
spice doesn’t aggravate the pain in what I’m sure is a
very cut up mouth. His cheeks are too swollen to let me examine
inside, I have no idea if he’s missing teeth or what…

But
honestly, I’m just happy that he’s eating something.

When
he can eat no more, I continue with my stories until I again fall
asleep.

I
wake in the middle of the night when Stephen’s fingers gently
brush across my face.

“
Hi,”
I whisper before I open my eyes, then I sit up. He’s moving his
arm!

“
Could
you help me…” he whispers, voice still hoarse, “…to
get to the bathroom?”

“
Of
course!” I say, too emphatically. Maneuvering him the ten feet
to the bathroom is one of the most challenging tasks I’ve ever
undertaken. Even having lost weight, Stephen probably weighs more
than forty pounds heavier than I and I have to carry the majority of
his weight.

When
I get him into the bathroom, I help him lean against one wall
intending on helping him undress. There’s nothing romantic
about it. Blood has glued his t-shirt and pants to his all-over
bruised skin in different areas, and I end up just leaving his shirt
and pants on, not wanting to rip open his many scabs.

“
We
have to soak your clothes off,” I tell him.

“
I
was intending to use the toilet,” he whispers.

“
Can
you hold it?”

“
Okay,”
he whispers.

It’s
horrible.

After
managing to get him into the bath, the moment the water pools around
his raw skin he cries out in pain. I have no clue if what I’m
doing makes things worse or better. The water would make us sick if
we drank it, does that mean putting it on open sores will make him
worse? I don’t know. I know that keeping his sores dirty has
got to be bad news; I am the worst person in the world for Stephen
right now.

Grabbing
one of his hands, I sit on the edge of the bathtub and say, “Squeeze
my hand.”

He
does, as if the horrible pain wakes him a bit, he squeezes my hand
with more strength than he’s shown in days. After, maybe,
twenty minutes, he asks, “Will you help me get out now?”

Getting
his soggy clothes off is hard, but at least the material no longer
attaches to his scabs. At his request, I leave his boxers on, wanting
to leave him that amount of dignity. When he asks me to leave him, I
do, not sure if it’s the right thing to do. But I know how it
was to have someone guard me when I used the toilet and I’d
never enforce it on anyone.

I
knock on the door what feels like an hour later and when I hear a
voice too faint to understand I crack the door open. “Can I
come in?”

“
Yes,”
he rasps out. He leans against the wall, slumped and looking
exhausted. He’s managed to take off his boxers and wrap a towel
loosely around his waist.

Awkwardly,
I help him secure the towel. My breath catches; I have never seen so
much damage on a body. The Spider must have been right; Stephen must
have been just not willing to die. Closing my eyes and steeling
myself, I help him to the bed, knowing that every time I brush
against him, every time he moves, he’s in agony.

After
lying him down I force myself to examine his body. A few of his scabs
have opened from the water and the removal of his clothing,
especially an ugly cut on his shoulder. Running to grab Stephen’s
medical kit, I send out ‘thanks’ to whoever’s
watching out that Stephen was pretending to be a medical student. His
kit comes complete with gauze and disinfectant and all that good
stuff.

Apologizing
more times than I can count, I disinfect all the scabs; it takes me a
few minutes to realize what had made all those little round cuts, it
was Mængmum’s knuckles.

****

I
don’t bring up leaving until halfway through the next day.

Stephen
has improved so much in the last twenty-four hours. Some of his
bruises have begun to fade into a sickly yellow at the edges and no
fresh blood has transferred onto his latest bandages; but walking to
the bathroom is still treacherous and I almost dropped him the latest
trip, but I got him to sit up and eat, which pretty much makes me
want to throw a party from the relief.

Even
knowing that Stephen isn’t well enough to make it down my
bungalow’s steps, I know I have to bring it up.

“
I’m
supposed to bring you to Bangkok in two days,” I tell him as I
rub my forehead with my hands. “It takes a full day to get
there…and we don’t have enough money for a phone call
between us.”

“
How
do we get there?” he whispers.

“
I
have no idea. We need to call for help but I don't want to leave you
alone while I go beg for money… maybe if I could leave you
with a gun or something while I go get the Jeep in Haad Rin, but we
don’t have any weapons.”

“
Take
me with you,” he rasps.

“
It
took me a full hour to get you dressed this morning,” I say,
“We’d have to walk all the way to Haad Rin and hope that
no one took the Jeep, which I abandoned on the street. And, Pom isn’t
going to help us,” I add, “He took venom, he’s no
longer Pom. I’m sorry I know you guys we’re friends. I
only knew Pom for a month, but I liked him. He
knew
better, too.” I shake my head.

“
Just
give me some time to rest, then we’ll figure it out,” he
breathes.