Aunt Miranda lay on the couch in front of the television like a beached whale, snoring loudly. A large bottle of rum rested on the coffee table in front of her and she still clutched an empty container of Coke in one hand. Her stomach, mountainous underneath her greasy red dress, rose and fell with each breath she took, but otherwise she lay unmoving. Her swollen ankles were propped on the arm of the couch, her big toes popping throgh the holes in the tips of her stockings. She had strangely shaped nails, pitted and discolored by fungus. Taylor stood silently in the doorway, watching her through wary eyes. She hadn�t told him where to sleep or told him if he was allowed to eat anything. He thought he probably wasn�t.
There was an ashtray full of cigarettes on the table in front of Aunt Miranda, and the flickering blue light from the TV illuminated the thick smoke that still filled the air. Taylor coughed. He didn�t like this house.
He had a scrap of paper in his pocket with Dan and Nora�s phone number written on it. Taylor took it out now and looked at it, but he knew he wasn�t allowed to use the phone. Aunt Miranda wouldn�t like it, and the phone was in the kitchen, where the cats were. Taylor didn�t like the cats. They were mean, and one had bitten him. Another had scratched him. They were bad cats.
Taylor made his way down the hall and huddled in a corner, his arms wrapped around his legs. It was lonely here, with nobody to talk to.
�I can�t go to school tomorrow,� Taylor said aloud. �I don�t know how to get there.�
Nobody answered him. Aunt Miranda snorted loudly.
�I don�t know how to get there,� Taylor repeated, sadly. He sighed. �Do you think she�s a witch? Like in Sleeping Beauty, a witch?� He paused a moment before answering himself. �Maybe she�s a witch.�
Taylor scratched at an itchy red mark on his leg. �Maybe she won�t be so grumpy after she gets done sleeping.�
That was what was the matter with Aunt Miranda, he decided. She needed to get some sleep. She�d be better in the morning.
Zac had been trailing Charlene around the cell block ever since Mr. Jordan had dropped him off, but she told him he had to go to bed now. �It�s eight thirty,� she said. �My shift is ending.�
�You have to go home now?� Zac asked.
�Yep.� Charlene took a deep breath. �To my own little girl.�
Zac nodded. �Marissia.� Charlene had a picture of her daughter in her wallet, and she�d showed it to Zac. Marissia was a little, little girl, Zac thought. A real baby. She had a lot of hair though... pigtails and pigtails. And pierced ears. In the picture Marissia was sitting on Santa Claus�s lap. She had the end of his beard clutched in her chubby little hand, and she was chewing on it.
�You let her eat him?� Zac had asked, concerned.
�She stuck his beard in her mouth at the same time the lady took the picture,� Charlene had explained. �She doesn�t know any better. This was her first Christmas.�
�Did he get mad?� Zac inquired.
�No, she could have done worse.� Charlene slid the picture back into it�s plastic covering and snapped her billfold shut. �She was the first baby born in 1989,� she smiled.
�January first, at seven past twelve. I got a free supply of diapers for a year.�
�That was good,� Zac said, because he thought it might be good.
�That was good,� Charlene agreed.
Now, Charlene nodded. �To see Marissia,� she said. �She�s at her grandmother�s.�
�Can I come with you?� Zac asked.
Charlene sighed. �I�m sorry, but you have to stay here.�
�I�ll be really good,� Zac promised.
�You�re supposed to stay here,� Charlene told him, �so that you�ll be here when Mr. Jordan comes back for you.�
�He won�t come back.� Zac stared at the ground. �Nobody ever comes back.�
�Oh, he�ll come back, all right.� Charlene promised. �That�s his job.�
�His job,� Zac repeated. �His job?�
�His job.� Charlene nodded. �So. . . you stay here tonight, okay?�
Zac didn�t answer her, but he took Charlene�s hand as she led him to a cell near the front desk. �I won�t lock you in,� Charlene promised, noticing Zac�s eyes widen at the sight of the thick metal bars. �And neither will Lorna. She�s coming next.�
�Is she nice like you?� Zac asked.
Charlene smiled. �Thank you...� she hesitated. �Well... she�s nice in her own way. . . but sometimes she�s in a bad mood, so just stay in bed and go to sleep, okay? Her husband is very sick, and she gets worried, so she yells sometimes.�
Zac nodded. �Okay.� He did not like the sound of Lorna.
The bedsprings squeaked every time he moved, but Zac could hear Charlene talking to Lorna anyway. Lorna�s voice was high and dissatisfied, almost a whine.
�I am not being paid to keep an eye on motherless four year olds! This is a juvenile detention center. . . not a charity ward!�
After Charlene left, Lorna came and peered through the metal bars at Zac. He stared back at her, trying to keep his lower lip from trembling. Lorna was scary. She had thick glasses that made her eyes seem a hundred times bigger than they should have been, and long fingernails, like claws. �I don�t want any trouble from you,� she said. �Hear?�
Zac nodded, but he was unable to keep the tears from spilling out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He didn�t make a sound, and he didn�t look at Lorna anymore. He pulled the blanket over his head. He wanted to leave.
�Now, now. . .� Lorna�s voice was surprisingly soft. �I didn�t mean to make you cry.� She came into the cell and sat on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking louder than ever. She pulled the covers away from Zac�s face and rubbed his back, gently. �I imagine it�s very hard for you, being here.�
Zac nodded. He buried his face in the pillow.
�It will be over soon, though,� Lorna assured him. �It won�t be so bad.� She took Zac�s hand out of his mouth. �It isn�t good to suck your thumb, dear... not sanitary.� She smiled. �I think I have something for you, though.�
Within minutes, Zac was sitting on Lorna�s lap at the front desk, a Tootsie Roll Pop in his mouth instead of his thumb. They were watching a tape of one of Lorna�s soap operas on the small black and white TV set up on the counter, and Lorna was explaining the plot to Zac as they went along.
�You see, this is Mariel. Mariel was engaged to Jonah, but she left him at the altar, the scandalous hussy. Jonah forgave her, however, because she told him she�d been kidnapped by her vengeful long-lost twin sister, Veronica. Veronica, however, was actually being held captive by Mariel herself at that time, because only Veronica knew about Mariel�s secret relationship with Bainbridge.� Lorna stroked Zac�s hair. �I always tape my programs, dear, because there never is anything to watch on television late at night.�
�Never,� Zac agreed, remembering the Brady Bunch.
Dan spun around in his swivel chair and stared at the ceiling. Twelve drawings, due in two days, and he couldn�t ask for any more extensions. �How am I supposed to concentrate?� he asked the light fixture. �How?�
Dan gazed at the blank sheet of paper in front of him and pressed the needle sharp point of a drawing pencil into his hand. Maybe he should sharpen his pencils again.
Absently, Dan pressed the tip of the pencil against the paper and began to sketch, lightly at first and then darker. He drew lines. Big lines and little lines and squiggly lines and lines he turned into faces and lines he turned into hair for chia pets. Dan slid the chair back after awhile and surveyed his work.
�Art school,� he said to himself. �Art school, art school, art school, art school.� Art school. . . and now this. Maybe he should have gone to work at Dunkin Donuts. Maybe he should have amounted to something. �I should have amounted to something,� Dan said aloud. �Something intimidating.� He set his jaw. Something that had to do with legal things. Then he�d know what to do.
�Legal things,� Dan scrawled across the paper, on top of all the lines. He nodded. �Legal things.�
There were footsteps in the hallway and Nora crept in in her bathrobe, a cup of tea in her hand. She leaned against the doorframe, sighing. �This is really bad, Dan.�
�This is really bad,� Dan agreed. �Have you heard anything?� It kind of amused him that Nora had arranged an elaborate system of contacts throughout the hospital, to keep herself informed of Isaac�s condition.
Nora nodded. �He�s the same,� she said. �Which is good, I guess.�
Dan nodded solemnly, but a smile was playing along the corners of his mouth. �If they find out what you�re doing, you could get deported.�
Nora scowled at him, narrowing her eyes.
�I was kidding!� Dan protested, but his wife had already turned and was stalking down the hall.
�Nor!� Dan rose to his feet and pursued her. �Nora! Seriously. . .�
In the hospital, Isaac lay in bed, wondering if he would die if he pulled all the tubes out. Probably, he decided, and wondered if he should do it. Even if he did get out of here, things might never be the same. They would never be the same. Taylor and Zac would be fine without him. Maybe he should just give up. He was too tired, anyway. He probably couldn�t have pulled the tubes out even if he wanted to.
He closed his eyes. What if he never got out of here. . .