HELPER12, Jack Blaine [reading in the dark .TXT] 📗

to find a switch, and just as the club descends, I flick on the overhead lighting.

“Krike!”  The Driver almost falls over himself.  He barely stops his club from hitting its mark: the tousled head of Thomas Sloane.

“Mr. Thomas!” Helper shrieks even louder than she had when she’d thought the boy was an intruder.  “What are you doing here?”

“Shhh.”  The boy holds his hands over his eyes, trying to shield them from the light.  His body curls in on itself.  “Can you keep it down?”

Mr. Thomas is drunk.

The Driver and I saw this at the same time, and exchanged a look over his head.

“I’ll help you get him upstairs,” the Driver said.

“Help me?”  I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of the mess.  “Why me?”

“Well don’t look at me,” said Helper.  “I’m going to bed.”  And with that, she trounced off toward her room.

The Driver leaned down and got hold of Thomas under one arm.  “Help me,” he said, waiting.

After a brief hesitation, I help him.  The alternative seems to be leaving Thomas in the hall, and while I wouldn’t have minded that, his parents would have heard all about it when they got home.

I grab the other arm, and we start him toward the stairs.

“Unhhh.”  Thomas’s head rolls onto his shoulder.

“Oh, he reeks,” says the Driver.  He turns his face away from Thomas, who does, indeed, reek.

On the second floor the Driver steers us all toward one of the bedrooms.  He kicks the door open with his foot and we drag the boy over to the bed.

“Get him cleaned up before you put him in the sheets—Ms. Sloane would not appreciate that mess touching her precious cotton sheets.”

“Why do I have to clean him up?”  I may have been whining.

“I’m a Driver.”  The Driver looked at me as though it was perfectly clear.  “You’re the Helper.”

“I’m a Baby Helper.”

The Driver nodded down at Thomas.  “Looks like a big baby to me.”  He walks out the bedroom door.

Uhhhhhhnnnnnn.”  Thomas groans.  I look back down to the bed.  I cannot find a way to justify leaving him here like this.  He’s a mess.

The room is much grander than mine.  It’s larger, and has three windows.  There is an attached bathroom, and it, too, is much larger then the one in my room.  I open a cupboard in the bathroom and find a cloth.  I fill the basin sitting on the counter with warm, soapy water, and carry it and the cloth out to the bedroom.

He groans again, and opens his eyes briefly while I remove his shirt.  It seems like most of the vomit is on that.  I toss it toward the door, and begin to wash his skin clean.  His eyes stay closed—he’s passed out again.  I take the opportunity to really look at him.

He has fine features.  His brow is high and his lips are full.  His nose is straight and well-formed, well set in his face.  His long hair sweeps back from his forehead, and tumbles down to just above his shoulders in a glossy wave.  He looks intelligent, while at the same time, attractive, at least when he’s unconscious.  I hadn’t liked his sullen expression the only time I’d seen him awake, back at the Ward.

He stirs as I finish cleaning him.  His eyes open, close, open again.  They’re still that shocking blue. He looks at me with confusion, trying to work out who I am, and why I’m in his bedroom.

“Helper12.”  He tilts his head at me.  He seems to be having some trouble tracking me with his eyes.  “Right?”

I nod.

“I think there’s a Helper12 at school, in the kitchen.  I’m sure there is.  She’s Helper12 there.  And you’re Helper12 here.”  His lip curls ever so slightly.  “How do you tell yourselves apart, all you Helpers?”

I say nothing at first, but I can’t help myself, finally.

“How many boys named Thomas who can’t hold their liquor do you suppose there are, wandering around?”  I wave my hand in front of his face, and his head wobbles as he tries to keep it in focus.  “How do you all tell yourselves apart, little boy?” I stand to leave, but he grabs my arm.

“Do I seem like a little boy to you?”  He pulls me down closer.

I let him pull, and slam my forehead into his, hard enough to hurt.

“Do I seem like a Leisure Doll to you?”   Furious, I shake free and stand.  Throwing the wet cloth in his face, I leave the room.

I’m still shaking when I get to my room on the third floor.  I close the door behind me, and lock it.  Jobee is sleeping peacefully in his crib, as though nothing has occurred.  I watch him for a while, until I feel calm enough to get into my bed.

I lay in bed a long time thinking, wondering what tomorrow will bring.  I can’t imagine it will be anything good.

Chapter Ten

I’m up with the sun; Jobee slept so well he sees no reason to lie abed.  As soon as I have us both dressed, I sneak down the stairs, tiptoeing past the second floor hall extra quietly.  I stop in the kitchen to grab some fruit and carry Jobee out to the courtyard.  Soon he is happily ensconced on a blanket, sucking on his bottle, and trying to reach the dangling vines in the pot closest to him.  I sit next to him, nibbling my piece of fruit, enjoying the sensation of the morning sun on my shoulders.

“Morning.”

It’s Thomas.  He speaks very quietly.  He’s holding a cup of some sort of steaming liquid.  I don’t return his greeting.  He comes closer, and I look away from him.

“Helper12.”  He waits.

I say nothing.

“May I sit?”

I shrug.  I can’t stop him.

He settles himself, and blows across the top of his cup.  He takes a sip, sets the cup down, careful to place it out of Jobee’s reach, I notice.  He sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I was drunk last night, but that’s no excuse for how I