Another Faust (39 page)

Half an hour later, Belle was dressed and ready to leave. She hadn’t taken a bath since the day before. She felt tired and dirty and unattractive. She grabbed her purse and reached for the door, but it didn’t open. She pulled and jiggled the doorknob. Nothing. She yanked harder. Still nothing. The door was locked. She banged on the door, yelling for someone to come and get her. But the house was empty. Thomas would think she had abandoned him. Lucy would spend the whole day by his side. Belle slumped on her bed and buried her pretty face in her hands.

What have I done? I really have become her daughter.

Bicé was searching around the house, looking for Christian. She was ready to leave for the tournament, but these days, she wouldn’t go anywhere without Christian. He was the only one she trusted — though not with everything.

“Christian, are you in here?” She poked her head into his room — the room he used to rejuvenate and practice. Bicé noticed Buddy sitting alone in a corner, his back turned to the entrance. When he heard the door open, his broad shoulders rose in anticipation. She looked around, but Christian wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she say hello? She turned to leave, but before she could go, Buddy had turned from what he was doing and spotted her.

Timidly, he nodded hello.

“Hi, Buddy. Remember me? I’m Bicé.”

He had a blank look. She said her name again, slowly this time. “Bee . . . cheh.”

Buddy stood up and something caught Bicé’s eye. He was holding a piece of paper.

“What do you have there?” Bicé asked.

He hid the paper behind his back and shook his head.

Bicé stepped closer. “It’s OK, Buddy. You can tell me. Christian and I are friends.”

Buddy’s eyes flicked toward the door, and Bicé knew why he was afraid.

“I won’t tell her,” she said. “You don’t have to worry.”

Buddy stepped back into his corner. “I promise I won’t tell,” said Bicé. “I know she makes people do things. But not me. You can trust me.”

Buddy held up the paper for Bicé to see. It was a letter, a tattered old letter from a long time ago. She took it from him. The words were big and shaky, a child’s handwriting. It was addressed to a guy named Phineas the Fence. She read it over.
To: Phineas the Fence, Celtic 31. From: Christian W.

Christian W.?
Bicé’s heart raced. A clue to Christian’s past. His name before it was Faust. Reading over the letter, Bicé felt the tears trickle down her face. She let them fall and drip onto the paper, smudging the ink.
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?
Christian had done it too.
I’m gonna handle things. For the sake of him and me.
He was just a desperate kid who couldn’t think of anything else.

Buddy looked on with his plasticine face, his expression just slightly pained, just slightly knowing, just slightly anxious.

“Where did you find this?” asked Bicé, pushing the letter back into his hands. “Did Christian give it to you?”

He shook his head.

“Does Christian know about this?”

He shook his head again. Bicé took a deep breath. “You took it from
her.
”

Buddy’s nod was just barely perceptible.

“Oh, God,” said Bicé. She paced the room, thinking of what to do. Christian would be desperate to see this. He was already itching to run away. But she couldn’t leave just yet. She still had work to do.

Suddenly, Buddy looked scared, his gaze moving beyond Bicé. He pulled himself deeper into the corner and buried his face in the wall. A cool voice slithered in from behind the door. Whatever blood may have remained in Buddy’s veins froze in that instant. There was only one thing Buddy feared.

Bicé turned around. Madame Vileroy was standing there.

“Bicé, I want you to give me that letter.”

“No.”

“Bicé. Remember what happens if you don’t do what I say?”

Bicé shook with rage.

Madame Vileroy shot her a smile and held out her hand.

“I’m sorry, Buddy, but I have to take that,” Bicé said.

Buddy shook his head.

“Buddy, just give it to me.” Bicé leaned over and grabbed the letter from a whimpering Buddy. She whispered in his ear, “I’ll tell him what he needs to know. Just give it to me.”

Buddy let go of the letter. The governess tucked it into the pocket of her perfectly tailored jacket. “I see you’ve taken an interest in reading,” she said to Buddy, though he never looked directly into her face. Bicé wondered if this mindless shell of a man saw the same image that the rest of the world saw when he looked the lovely Nicola Vileroy in the face. Maybe he was the only one who could look past the trappings, into the true face of his torturer, a face that was not beautiful, but dark and hungry.

Vileroy strolled into the room casually, turning over small items as she walked, a pillow here, a textbook there. “What’s this?” she said when she came upon a notebook. She flipped through the pages. There was nothing but a few scribbled letters, shaky — not childlike — more timid, as if written by an aged, uncertain hand. An amnesiac relearning to write.

She turned to Buddy. “Tell me, what is it that you and Christian do with your time?”

He stood frozen. Bicé was confused.
Has Christian stopped using Buddy for practice?

Madame Vileroy shut the book, tucked it under her arm, and left.

After a moment’s waiting, Bicé too turned and ran out of the room.

Before his big debate with Victoria Faust, Thomas was pacing back and forth in the lobby, wondering where on earth Belle could be.
She’ll come,
he thought, but looked at his watch and began pacing even faster.

“Hey, there,” came a sweet voice behind him.

Thomas turned with a huge grin on his face. “You made it,” he said, but stopped when he saw Lucy instead of Belle. She was dressed up a little too much for a debate tournament, but she looked good.

“Hi, Luce,” said Thomas. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to support you. We’re still friends, right?”

“Of course,” said Thomas, relieved that she’d stopped ignoring him after the election day fiasco. Besides, if Belle wasn’t going to show, it would be nice to have a cheering section.

“They’re starting. Let’s go,” he said, putting a friendly arm around Lucy. Lucy leaned into the embrace and walked with him back into the auditorium.

“Mr. Goodman-Brown. You will take the affirmative side. You will be defending the following statement:
It is ethical to disregard drug patents in order to provide affordable treatments to dying third-world patients.
Ms. Faust, you will take the negative side.”

Awesome!
Thomas said to himself. He looked around for Belle, but she still wasn’t there. Lucy smiled at him from the front row.

“Perfect,” Victoria said. “Negative is so much easier . . . right to property and all that . . .”

“Are you ready?” Madame Vileroy whispered.

“Please. I have a copy of all his arguments here.” She waved a stack of papers. “
And
I have the negative case he would have given if he were assigned negative.”

“You should probably go and pretend to take notes. He’s about to start.”

Victoria looked at the judge, eyeing her as she talked with Madame Vileroy. “Oh, right. I’ll go sit down.”

Thomas took the podium and started to speak. The timekeeper started his stopwatch. “This is not an issue of right to property but rather of the right to life. . . .”

“We have to leave for good,” Christian whispered to Bicé as they searched for Belle. After thirty minutes, Belle still hadn’t shown up at the tournament.

“No, I have to stay. I have to find out some things.”

“I don’t get it. What could be that important . . . Argh. Not again.” Christian kept getting text messages from Valentin to come hear the poem he was reading for the tournament. Finally, he decided to go back home to look for Belle. Something had to be wrong.

“Look, Bicé. I’m worried about leaving her there, in that house. You know the kind of stuff she has in that bathroom. I’m going to find her.”

“I’ll go with you.” Bicé crossed herself several times as she ran after Christian down the corridor.

As Christian fiddled with the lock on the main door of the apartment, Bicé heard Belle’s door slamming against its hinges. They could barely make out Belle’s screams through the rattling.