Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand (18 page)

“I've been busy. You know how it is. Sometimes I've got a little time, sometimes I don't.”

“Well I'm not interested in a bunch of fifteen minute hookups.”

“That's all I got.”

“You are standing here, talking to me right now. Why can't we do that sometimes? Why can't we at least act like friends in public? What's wrong with that?”

He looks away.

“Even if you didn't cheat on me-”

“Hey-”

“It'd be easy for you to do.”

“I don’t do drama.”

“I just want to be able to talk to you sometimes.”

“Fine. We're over. Date Carson.”

Ouch. Even though I'm the one who first declared it over by dating someone else, the words feel like a punch in the gut. I want to disappear, just teleport to my bedroom and hide, but what I do instead is lift my chin and say, “Yeah, I'm gonna date other people. I may even have a boyfriend. Someone who wants to be seen with me.” Big talk, I think.

“Okay, you know what? I lied. You are fat. You're pasty. You're plain. Good luck finding another guy to date.”

That hurts and I want to hit back. I want to hurt him like he just hurt me. Instead I take a deep breath, wait for the sting to fade, and say, “Well, you're really hot, so I'm sure you can replace me easily enough.” I shoulder him aside and spin the lock on my locker.

He stares at me like I just slapped him. “Madison-”

“Go away.”

“Come on, I-”

“Bye.” I don't bother to put my textbooks in my backpack, but rather carry them in my arms so I can get away faster. My locker, I shut with a kick.

A
t work that afternoon, there's an email from John.

Hey Madison,

Hope you're feeling okay. Let me know if you need anything.

I love you.

John

I click open a reply box.

Hi John,

I told Carson I wasn't interested, officially broke up with JP, and still have no idea about what to do with Mom, but at least I didn't bruise any worse. I guess I'm okay.

Madison

An hour later, he says:

Madison,

Bruise any worse? What happened that would cause a bruise?

Love,

John

John,

Mom slapped me last night, hard.

Madison

A chat window pops up.

John:
That happen often? Mom hitting you?

Madison:
No. She was really upset. Thought I was going to join your Church.

John:
That's really not okay.

Madison:
I'm fine. Most of the time Mom just ignores me.

John:
Sounds lonely.

Madison:
It's not so bad. Thanks for caring, but I think it's all good.

John:
Okay, well, you know where to find me.

Madison:
I've gotta get back to work.

John:
Talk to you later. Love you.

He logs off before I can agonize about saying it back.

T
hat evening, when Mom comes in from the shed, she doesn't look at me. Just puts her cup in the sink and starts for her room.

I'm seated at the kitchen table. “Mom,” I say, “I told Carson I wasn't interested.”

“Fine.”

“So can we talk?”

She doesn't even glance at me. “There's nothing to talk about. I'm tired. I've had a busy day.” She goes into her bedroom, shuts the door, and then I hear the metallic click of her pressing in the lock.

Things are back to normal.

A
s I walk home from work on Saturday, I see Alex filling up his sedan at Jacksons. He doesn't even look up at first, until I slow down and stop. When he does look up, he gives me his usual, neutral, unblinking stare.

“Psycho can be short for psychopath or psychotic,” I say. Then I shut my mouth. Random, I think. Be quiet, Madison.

One blink, and no expression change.

“So is your mom...”

“She's psychotic.”

“Oh.”

“She's a schizophrenic.”

“So, does she, like, hallucinate?”

“Yeah.”

I nod. Well, all right, I think. What a lovely conversation. “How is she doing?”

He looks me up and down and then in the eye, then shrugs.

“Have you seen her lately?”

Wrong thing to say. He yanks the fuel nozzle out with more force than necessary and slams it down on the pump. Watch this, I can hear my brother saying. He does that with the gas pump, imagine what he might do to your face. Assuming my face was ever within arm's reach. I push that thought away.

Alex takes a few deep breaths and flips his hair back from his face. “I can't.”

“You're not allowed?”

“No, I can't. I just can't.”

“Where is she?”

“A ways. Ninety minute drive.”

“You ever been-”

“I can't do it, okay?” He whirls around and glares at me.

“No, hey, relax. I'm not trying to push you. I'm just asking.”

He looks down at his feet. “I don't even know what medications she's on, or what else they might be doing to treat her.”

“Can't you find out?”

“I don't have guardianship of her, so I'm not privy to her records without her permission, but she's kind of mentally ill, so you know,
that
doesn't work.”

“Have you talked to her, even? On the phone?”

“Yeah. She just cries.” He sets his jaw and folds his arms.

I glance at my phone. It's four in the afternoon. “How late do visiting hours at the hospital go today?”

“'Till seven.”

I look at him, with his military jacket and hostile stance, at the way he looks at the ground as if embarrassed to admit to me that there's something he can't do. “Want me to come with you?”

He looks at me and lifts an eyebrow at that.

I take a moment to think about what I just said. My brother, if he were here, would be screaming, “Madison, this is not your problem. Run away!”

An image of Grace, Alex's mother, pops into my mind. I think of how disoriented she seemed, wandering around town. Now the thought of her in a place with dozens of other people like her and no contact with her son makes my heart ache for her.

And then there's Alex, clearly distraught, and clearly feeling helpless.

I wait.

“Would you?” he says.

Before I can digest the thought fully, I march myself over to the passenger side door of his car and open it. “Let's go.”

T
he first thing I notice about Alex's car is that it reeks of sandalwood and Tiger Balm, smells I associate with older, Asian people. The second thing is that the passenger side seat has a pile of what look like toys out of McDonald's Happy Meals still in their cellophane wrappers. Aside from the toys, the car's spotless, its beige leather upholstery looks like it just came off the lot. A carved jade figure dangles from a knotted red string hooked over the rearview mirror.

Alex opens the driver's side door and reaches over to scoop the toys off the seat and dump them in the back. “Sorry,” he says. “My mom's.”

I sit down and buckle myself in. “Just so we're clear,” I say, “if I show up dead in a ditch somewhere, my brother will kill you. Skin you alive.”

“I'm not like that.” He gets in the driver's seat and shuts his door. For a moment he stares at the steering wheel, his jaw working. Then he turns to me and says, “Madison, listen. Thank you, but you don't have to do this.”

“Would your mom get to see you if I don't?”

No ready answer.

“Okay, let's go.”

He looks at me a moment longer, then starts the engine and reaches down to shift gears, his hand coming within inches of my knee. We pull out of the gas station, onto Wilkstone, and head left. We're going south.

“You know the way?” I ask.

“Yeah, it's easy.”

Now I wonder what's the bigger danger, getting attacked by Alex or getting lost with Alex? I pull out my phone and tap a text to my brother:
Don't be mad. I'm going with the senior class psycho to see his mother in a mental hospital.

The phone rings ten seconds later. I press the ignore button.

But that doesn't work. My phone rings again.

Alex glances at me, as if curious why I'm not answering.

I put the phone to my ear. “H-”

“Okay,
what?”

“Yeah, so now you know.” I keep my language vague. Saying stuff like, “Yeah, I know he's a total psycho but really it should all be fine, I'm just calling to let you know in case I disappear,” seems like a bad idea with Alex sitting right next to me.

“How did you-”

“Listen, I'll call you later-”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Hang on. Where are you now and where are you going?”

I look over at Alex. “Where are we going?”

Alex tugs a card out of the breast pocket of his jacket and hands it to me. It's a doctor's business card. I read the address off to John. “We're about ninety minutes away.”

“You will call me when you get there.”

“No.”

“Or I will call you. Your choice.”

“Give me a break.”

“And you will call me when you leave, and you will call me when you get home or else I will call Carson Montrose-”

“Hey
.”

“-and Jean-Pierre's mother and everyone else in town who has a listed phone number to tell them that Alex might have kidnapped you. Get them out to find you, and if I don't hear from you before tomorrow, I will call the police.”

“Overreact much?”

“Honestly? No. My sister just texted me that she got in the car with a psycho to visit a mental hospital.”

“See if I ever tell you anything again.”

“You know I'm just doing this because I care. I love you. Call me.”

“I'm not gonna do that.”

“I'll talk to you in ninety minutes. Love you.”

“You are such a jerk.”

“Black Bear says stay safe.”

“Please...”

But he's done with his lecture, so we sign off.

“Your mom?” Alex asks.

“My brother.”

“He read you the Riot Act?”

“Yes.”

Alex looks sidelong at me. “He's a good brother.”

“You think I should be scared of you?”

He looks me up and down and in the eye, then returns his attention to the road.

That sends a chill down my spine. “Okay, I'm scared now.”

“I won't hurt you.” 

I curl up and tuck my feet under myself. This, I can tell, will be a very long ride. “I didn't tell him you bashed a police car.”