Page 29 of Fractal Mode


  "Four men," Colene said. "They—how old were you?"

  "Six. It was right after Mom married him. She was in town, and he was baby-sitting me. I didn't like him even then, but I knew I had to keep my mouth shut. So I was pretending to sleep. They had been helping him move stuif in, and then they sat down and drank beer and talked, and I just kept on playing dead. He was on the phone, getting something straight, so they were just waiting for him. But it was interesting, I guess."

  "You guess? Now I'm interested!" Because if Colene's mention of the gang rape had triggered this memory, it might be relevant.

  "It was about women. The men were all married, and I guess they didn't much like it. The first one said that his wife was fat, so that the thought of having candy with her turned his stomach. She had been thin when they married, but then she ate herself fat, and he thought she must want it that way so he would leave her alone. So he went somewhere else for it. The second said that his wife picked a fight every time he mentioned it and wound up shutting him out of the house, so he had to go somewhere else too. The third said that his wife always said no, and if he got really tough about it, she suffered through it with such tragedy that he lost his taste for it, so he went away too. The fourth one said that his wife arranged always to be away, busy, or asleep, so he could never catch her, and he had to get it somewhere else."

  "I guess that's what men say," Colene said. "But let me tell you—"

  "I know. But I didn't know then. I thought those wives must be really stupid not to give their husbands what they wanted. I thought it was a box of candy they meant, and one wife got fat from eating it all herself, and another shut him out of the house so she wouldn't have to share it with him. I thought they should get two boxes so each could have one. I really sort of sympathized with the men, because their wives were all treating them so bad. I knew how good candy was, and my mother never let me have much of it either. So I hoped Mom would let him have all the candy he wanted, even if I didn't like him, so he wouldn't be mad about it. Because I knew it wouldn't be any good if he got mad. That was the way it was with Dad, and he finally left for keeps."

  "Candy," Colene said with irony. "When did you learn what it was?"

  "When I was seven. He—I think she gave him all he wanted, but he got tired of it with her. Then her job hours changed, and she was home two hours after he was. He was drinking—"

  "I know how that is," Colene said. "My mother usually gets home after my dad." But the pattern seemed to have changed, because yesterday Colene's mother had come home first. Maybe to spend more time with him.

  "I don't think so."

  Colene realized that something more was in the offing. "What did he do?"

  "He—I can't tell. He'd kill me. He said he would."

  Colene already had a notion. The way Esta had reacted to that tire repair—it was that oozing gunk from the tube! Sexual molestation—at age seven. That was something Colene herself had never suffered. This girl had reason to be unhappy! "So you didn't tell your mother?"

  "I—I tried to, after a year—"

  "A year! This went on for a year?"

  "Every day. But Mom said I was making it up, and she would punish me if I ever tried to tell such a lie again. She wouldn't listen."

  Colene knew that this, too, was tragically typical. The woman might love her daughter, but she was part of the problem. "Esta, I'll listen. Tell me."

  "But I don't dare!"

  Colene pondered ways and means, and came up with something she hoped would work. "Esta, I heard somewhere that depression is anger turned inward. You're depressed. I think you have reason. I think you're really angry, but you can't let it out, so you just get worse. I'm suicidal. I know how it is. Tell me what it is that is making you so angry you can't even talk about it. Only to me. I promise I won't laugh and I won't be angry. I just have to know. Because I think I can help you."

  The girl gained some courage. It was clear that she wanted to tell, and was waning with her fear. "He hurt me—"

  "There," Colene said, indicating her own lap.

  "Yes, some. But mostly there." Esta indicated her chest.

  "There?" Colene couldn't fathom this. The girl had not yet developed in that region.

  "Yes. It hurts real bad. And I can't scream, because—"

  "Because he'd kill you?" The horror of this was growing.

  "Yes. And because I deserve it, because I'm no good."

  Emotional abuse. That was in certain ways the worst of all, because it destroyed the victim's will to resist. "You don't deserve it!" Colene declared.

  "Yes, I do! I know I must."

  Pointless to argue that case right now. There were still facts to ferret. "How did he hurt you on the chest?"

  "With a—he smokes—it—"

  A new horror dawned. "Show me."

  Slowly, reluctantly, the girl unbuttoned her shirt. She wore no bra, but did have a band of gauze around her chest. She drew away the gauze to bare her skin. Colene stared, appalled.

  There, where the breasts would develop, was a mass of scar tissue. The girl had been burned repeatedly with lighted cigarettes. Some of the burns were ancient; some were recent.

  "He's still doing it?"

  "Every day."

  Every day—for six years. Torture. No wonder Esta had thought of suicide. This was so much worse than Colene had imagined that it took her a while to grasp it. "But why?"

  "Because I'm bad."

  "Exactly how does he do it?" Colene hated delving into this, but she was afraid she was misunderstanding. She had to get it right.

  "He—he makes me take off my clothes, and he says, 'Open up,' and then he does it."

  Colene questioned her further, completing the ugly picture. What took shape was an incestuous molestation of such ugliness that Colene found it difficult to keep her face straight. She did not want her reaction to make the girl stop talking; she had to get it all. Esta herself did not realize the full significance of it; she thought she was being punished for her continued badness.

  "Didn't you try to tell anyone else?" Colene asked. "What about a school counselor? Didn't they tell you that this sort of thing is wrong?"

  "They did, but I didn't know who to believe," the girl said. "Maybe for good girls it's wrong, but for me—"

  "Did you ask a counselor?"

  "No. I didn't dare."

  "So the school never knew."

  "No. Only, maybe..." Esta did not finish her thought.

  "What was it?" Colene asked sharply. She realized that she had assumed the authority of an official in Esta's view; the girl was responding to her tone of command.

  "I—I wasn't doing well in school," the girl confessed, ashamed. "My badness was showing. The teacher said I fit a profile. I didn't mean to!"

  "Not your fault," Colene said. The profile of an abused child! "So what happened?"

  "They made me go to a doctor. A psy—psy—"

  "A shrink. And?"

  "He was in his office, and so—so—"

  "So sure of himself?"

  "Yes. And he said, 'Come on, girl, open up.' "

  "And you freaked out," Colene said, recognizing the horrible coincidence of words. The abuser had told her to open up, meaning something else.

  "I was very bad," the girl admitted. "The teacher was mad. She said I didn't want help."

  So it had come to nothing, because of people who were too quick to judge on the basis of too little understanding. Colene knew the type.

  A decision was growing in her. "Esta, do you love your Uncle Slick?"

  "Oh, yes! He's nice!"

  "You know he would never do a thing like that to you? Or even let it happen, if he knew?"

  "I know."

  "Pack your things. I'm taking you to him."

  "But I couldn't—"

  "Before your stepfather gets home and does it to you again."

  That persuaded her. Esta hurried into the house.

  Colene walked out to the street. She peered
each way. When she spied the distant car, she beckoned.

  It approached. The window rolled down. "Slick, trust me. It's worse than we thought. We've got to take her out of there. Now."

  "I can't—I'm not set up to—the court order—"

  "Listen to me. Those don't mean anything. You're in trouble anyway, right? You have to go away already. Take her with you."

  "But I don't know a thing about—"

  "Slick, you're her only hope. Just take her. You can learn what you need to. Right now, she can come to my hotel room. Believe me, I'm not joking. You sent me to find out, and I found out."

  "What is it?" Slick demanded. "What's with her?"

  "I'll tell you when we have her safe. But you decide now: which do you want, vengeance or to save Esta?"

  There was a long pause. "Bring her out."

  Colene turned away, and the car moved on. Colene knew it would return the moment they were ready for it.

  She went to the house and helped Esta pack. "We'll get you clothes and stuff there," she said. "Just take underwear and what you value most."

  Esta took a doll and a picture of a man who must have been her father. She crammed them into the suitcase with her underclothing. She seemed eager to get out of the house, as if afraid that something would stop her from escaping, now that she was taking the plunge, or that she would lose her fragile nerve if she paused.

  They hurried out. The car approached.

  Esta looked around. "My bike!" she cried.

  "We can't—" Colene started. Then she reconsidered. If they thought the girl had fled on her bicycle, it might distract them from a more accurate search. "Okay, if it'll fit. Go get it."

  Esta shoved the suitcase at her and ran to the garage. Colene went for the car. "Can her bike fit?"

  "On the roof." Slick opened the trunk.

  Colene tossed in the suitcase. Then Esta came with the bicycle, and Slick heaved that up onto the rack on top and quickly fastened it down with a strap. They piled into the front seat of the car.

  "Now explain," Slick said grimly as he drove.

  "I don't think now's the time."

  "I'm trusting you. Now you trust me. Why am I doing this?"

  Colene realized that he was as doubtful about this as Esta was. On her own authority, she was drastically changing both their lives. She had to tell him, without mincing words. She braced herself.

  "Her stepfather gets his kicks from making her hurt," Colene said evenly. "He has sex with her every day, but it's not enough, so he burns her on the chest with a cigarette, and when she stiffens in pain, that's what brings him off."

  Slick almost drove off the street.

  "Maybe you think I'm lying," Colene said. "Stop for a minute, and I'll show you."

  He drew to the side and stopped. It was just as well, because his hands were shaking.

  Colene turned to Esta, who was to her right. "It's okay, Esta. He needs to know. He won't laugh or be mad at you. Show him your chest."

  Esta obeyed the voice of authority. She opened her shirt and parted the gauze.

  Slick stared. "Oh, my God, honey," he breathed. Probably for the first time in years, he had been truly shocked.

  "No killing," Colene reminded him. "That'd bring them right to you. We have to let them think she just ran away on her own. Anyway, she needs you with her. To protect her. You're the only man she can trust."

  "Killing?" Esta asked as she buttoned her shirt.

  "Hyperbole," Colene said quickly, before realizing that the girl might not know the meaning of the word. "I mean he's mad enough to kill, but of course he wouldn't do that." It was a lie, and she felt guilty, as if she had betrayed Darius, but it was necessary.

  Slick kept quiet. He resumed driving. His knuckles were white against the wheel.

  "I don't want to get Uncle Slick in trouble," Esta said.

  "You have it backwards," Colene told her. "He's getting you out of trouble."

  They arrived at the hotel. "But you know, this is only for one night here," Colene said to Slick. "Tomorrow I have to see the professor, and you—"

  "I will get tickets to far away," Slick said. "We'll go right after you have your information." Then he thought of something. "My sister—"

  "She doesn't want to know. You can send her an anonymous note or something, saying Esta's all right. Which she will be now. Believe me, your sister can't protect her, and Esta can't go back there."

  He nodded, appreciating the cruel logic.

  They got out and unloaded the bicycle and suitcase. Colene held up the room key so that he could see the number, then realized that it didn't match the room. Hotels did that to protect their guests from getting robbed if they lost their keys. So she told him the number. "Come see us as soon as you're ready. Esta needs you. Don't go near that house. When the cops investigate the disappearance, chances are they'll catch on to what was going on. Then they'll be on your side, in a way. They'll make him pay."

  He nodded. He got back in the car and moved out.

  They went into the hotel and up to the room. The door opened as they approached it; Provos had remembered their arrival.

  "This is Provos, my companion," Colene said. "She's a little strange, but she's a good person. She—"

  But Provos was already embracing the girl, who looked startled but not alarmed. Then the woman led Esta to the bathroom, where new gauze was laid out. Any explanations would have to wait until later, when the woman did not remember the girl.

  Colene got on the phone and ordered a good meal for three. She wanted to eat early, in case things got complicated later. She had proceeded as if Esta's presence were routine, but knew that she was technically guilty of abduction. She didn't think that Esta's family would be able to locate her within a day, but it was best not to gamble.

  Room Service delivered the meal. The three of them were completing it when Slick returned. He had two airplane tickets to Mexico City. No doubt he had contacts there, and it would be almost impossible to trace his route thereafter. He also had a small collection of comic books. "I thought—I didn't know what you might like, honey," he said to Esta, pushing them at her.

  The girl gazed up at him. "Are you really going to take me away?"

  "I have to, honey. If you stay anywhere near here, they'll find you and make you go back. I'm breaking the law just being with you now."

  "But you live here! You'll lose your job!"

  He shook his head, smiling grimly. "Honey, I didn't really like my job anyway. Maybe I can get a better one, and just take care of you, and we'll never speak of the past. Would you like that?"

  She stood. "Oh, Uncle Slick, just hold me."

  They embraced, somewhat awkwardly. Esta was nervous about being close to a man, even this friend of her childhood, and Slick did not know how to hold a girl who was a relative. But Colene knew they would work it out. Each of them was the one good thing in the other's life. Each could have a better life with the other.

  Then Esta looked at one of the books he had brought. She smiled, accepting it. Colene saw the title: Morning Becalms Electro. That was probably humor. Better that than horror.

  "I have to call my folks," Colene said. "Don't worry, I won't tell them where I am."

  She went to the phone. Provos wheeled the dishes out to the hall, remembering how it would be done in the morning. Provos' lack of concern was a good sign; it meant that there would be no trouble in the night. Slick and Esta shared the couch and talked, seeming happy to get better acquainted.

  Colene's father answered the phone. That was probably best, because it meant he was home, rather than out with a woman. "Dad, I won't be home tonight," Colene said. "Something came up. But I'm okay, and I'll be back there probably tomorrow afternoon."

  "Back to stay," he said.

  The guilt welled up again. "Dad, I can't stay. I have commitments. This is just a visit."

  He was persistent. "Where do you have to go that's more important than your family?"

  "You wouldn't beli
eve it, Dad."

  "Try me."

  Why try to lie, when the truth would not be believed? "I have to go on the Virtual Mode. That's like a path across realities, and every few steps I cross into a new reality, until I get to another anchor site. I have—I have a man from one of those other worlds, and a telepathic horse. Provos is from one of those realities. But there's trouble, and our friends are caught in a reality where we don't want to stay. So I had to come back here to—to get something. To help them get back on the Virtual Mode. And I'm going back. You and Mom are better off without me anyway. Just forget me."

  "How do you get on this path?"

  Was he actually believing her, or just humoring her? Did it matter? "My anchor is in Dogwood Bumshed; that's where I step through. That's where I got on the Virtual Mode, and where I came back here. It's my connection."

  "You just go in your shed and disappear?"

  "I guess I do, really, the way it must look from here. Because I step into the next reality. I know it sounds crazy, but that's the way it works. The next reality looks the same as this one, but the people are different, I think. Some of the other realities are really weird, and some are dangerous. Magic works in some of them. But I don't expect you to believe any of this, Dad. Just take my word that I have somewhere to go, and I can't stay here."

  "I understand. We'll see you here tomorrow, then."

  Colene laughed. "Yes. I have to go there, to get to my anchor. Bye for now, Dad."

  "Goodbye, honey."

  She hung up, struck by the similarity between the way her father addressed her and the way Slick spoke to Esta. A girl one cared for was "honey." It meant so little, and yet so much. Why did it make her feel so horribly guilty?

  Her father had taken it surprisingly well. He had really seemed to believe her, or at least to accept it for now. He hadn't tried to argue. Yet he had seemed to care. Maybe he figured that he would be able to talk her into staying when she showed up there.