Brightside, Mark Tullius [philippa perry book .TXT] 📗

BY DAY 70 I’D MADE up my mind, so I stayed away from Danny like Sara had asked. I bought an audio book, “Learning Spanish 1 and 2” to keep my mind busy, keep me focused on something other than the mineshaft as I passed Brightsiders in the Square or the halls of work. I looked like a weirdo, repeating “Cuánto cuesta la carne,” “Me encantaría un vaso de agua,” and “Puede que me señale el bar más cercano?” Weirdo was better than everyone knowing the truth.

I stayed away from the woods. Had no idea if the cave had been discovered, boarded up, filled with cement, like the one on the Eastern edge, but I couldn’t risk going up there to look. Not right away. I had to appear like everything was normal.

At work, I’d pull up maps of California to chart a course to Mexico, memorize names of cities, the closest airports, the distance to island getaways. I learned all I could about the best places to go and every time Carlos came around he was thrilled to see I was taking my job seriously.

In Brightside, everyone had to find a purpose, a reason to stay alive. That’s what Sharon would always say. And Grace. And Phillip. Carlos, too.

Well, I definitely had my purpose: To get the fuck off this mountain.

Every night, I’d train. Started jogging. Did push-ups, sit-ups. Needed to get my body ready for long trek to Mexico and beyond.

I even practiced the hum Dad taught me to clear my head. I realized it was just another version of Sharon’s mantra.

Dad used to say, “Sometimes you have to make noise to make everything quiet.”

I hated him for what he’d done, for turning me in, but I finally had a purpose here in Brightside and no one, especially my father, was going to screw it up.

I only allowed my fantasies of beaches and bikinis at night, holed up in my apartment when I knew everyone was asleep. I actually felt sorry for the others, the ones who’d never breathe free air again. I felt awful about Sara, too, but I’d given her a chance. She just refused.

Still, I knew she was right, that Danny wouldn’t survive on the outside. He’d end up getting us caught. He was better off here. When I would remember, I’d make him drawings. I’d been putting the good ones into a book and was planning on leaving it by his door on my way out.

Finally, after two weeks, on Day 85, I decided to visit the cave. Snuck out in the middle of the night. Looked like I was just taking a jog, my normal routine, running around the mountain repeating, “Gracias por el bridis.”

There wasn’t a soul in the Square. I ran a few laps to make sure then took off into the trees. Even the calm Spanish woman’s voice couldn’t tamp my anxiety. My heart thumped against my ribs as I climbed up the hill, passing the tree with Rachel and Michelle’s names scratched out, stepping around the huge tree that had fallen and cracked open the cave.

And there it was. Perfectly untouched, just the way I left it, every stone in place. Not a single crack to see into the cave. Part of me wanted to rip them away, just take off down the shaft, but I didn’t have my supplies. If the cave had been demolished, I didn’t want to get caught with rope, bottles of water and cans of soup. I ran my finger along one of the rocks, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

Day 86 would be my last.

The next morning I tried to stay vigilant, focused, but the excitement made everything fizz. I felt like a kid going to school on his birthday, waiting, watching the clock, needing it to move faster so I could go home. Only this time home was everywhere. Anywhere but Brightside.

I put on my headphones and opened the door. “War Inside My Head” was playing, just the right song for the number of people on the sidewalks, everyone heading to work.

I cranked the iPod as loud as it went and kept walking, not worried about someone stopping me. A question not heard, a question not answered.

The music shut everything out. Dad used to hate it.

* * *

I WAS THIRTEEN AND we were in the car when Dad ripped off my headphones and chucked them into the back seat. “You think I want to listen to that crap?”

“It’s not crap.”

“You’re going to blow out your ears. And mine.”

I forgot he could hear my quiet rage, the screaming, blasting thoughts.

He blew out a long breath of decaf and was much calmer when he said, “You really think you need to listen to that stuff?”

I hit Stop so I didn’t waste the batteries. “I like them.”

Dad grabbed my Walkman, slid out the tape, held it up so he could read it. “Fear is the Mindkiller. Funny.”

It wasn’t funny. It was power. It blocked out the rest of the world. Three men punishing their instruments, their fans, themselves. Saying the stuff I wanted to, but didn’t know how. I didn’t bother telling Dad any of that because he wouldn’t get it. I held out my hand and said, “Maybe I like noise. Maybe it’s better than most of the crap I hear in your head.”

Dad took the tape, dropped it into his shirt pocket. “Real nice.”

I sounded like a baby when I told him to give it to me, said it was mine.

Dad pulled the tape out and looked at me like he wanted to know the truth, not what I thought he wanted me to say. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “You do know what people think of other people who listen to this music?”

I couldn’t lie. Not when Dad looked at me like that. I said, “People are gonna think what they’re gonna think. I’d rather not hear it.”

Dad shook his head. “Who cares what others think of you. Let them think what they want. That’s your answer?”

“For now.”

Dad handed me the tape and headed down the street. “You’re a better man than me.”

And I was. I never would’ve turned someone in, especially my own son.

* * *

DAY 86. I TRIED TO keep busy at work. Made calls. I even sounded enthusiastic for the first time, because I wasn’t selling the customer. I was selling myself. On the island bungalows, the desert resorts. But time wasn’t moving fast enough. I kept thinking it was time for lunch, halfway there, but it wasn’t even ten. I decided to get something to drink, headed for the door.

Sara said, “Joe...”

“I’m fine.” I put on my headphones. “See?”

The break room was to my right, a good chance it was empty. This wasn’t a place where people hung out by the water cooler so I opened the door, stepped inside.

Carlos finished digging in the fridge and headed toward me, a water bottle in each hand. He was talking so I had to take off my headphones and ask him what he said.

“I’ve been going over numbers with Sara. I think we can crack Canada.”

“Cool.” I pictured myself walking the streets of Montreal.

Carlos cocked his eyebrow.

Quickly, I said, “I can put together a list of territories.”

“Great.”

I went over to the cupboard, tempted to grab the dusty can of regular coffee, but I started a fresh batch of decaf. The last thing I needed was having my mind race. There was just no telling how far it would go, what I’d give away.

Carlos asked when I could have it ready.

“End of day.”

“Great.”

Thankfully, he left. I felt bad for Sara, knowing she had to sit in his office every day listening to Carlos wearing out the word “Great!” and yet somehow keeping my secret.

I poured my cup, walked out, and nearly spilled it at the sight of Rachel. Her hair was dried out and frizzy. She wore this baggy wool sweater that reminded me of my grandmother’s before she was sent to the psych ward. Rachel’s eyes were wide and jittery like she’d been electrocuted. Her skin pale, almost gray.

Those wide eyes grew even wider when she saw me.

“Joe!”

She hurried over and threw her arms around me. More life than when I saw her in the Cabin, but still not Rachel.

“Thank you for visiting me. The nurse said you were really sweet.”

“Oh...” I noticed everyone in the office coming to gawk at the girl formerly known as Rachel. This shattered creature standing there in that disgusting wool sweater. I brought her to my office, the one that used to be hers.

It was a mistake. Rachel started crying, sobbing, then suddenly pulled it together because she knew people were still watching.

“Why don’t you give us a second, Sara?”

Sara said sure thing and closed the door behind her.

Rachel just stood there staring at her old desk. She wasn’t blinking.

I asked her, “When did you get out?”

“Um...this morning. Yeah...”

“Well, that’s great.”

We stood there for a few seconds. I couldn’t believe how old she looked. Rachel messed with her hair. “I’m getting a new apartment. They’re painting it now so I haven’t had a chance to shower.”

“You look great.”

Rachel knew I was lying, but she appreciated it.

“So,” she said, “I was thinking maybe we could have dinner tonight?”

“Tonight?” I pushed the thought of the cave out of my head. “I’m buried in work. I don’t really know how long...”

The tears spread across her eyes again. She had the image of the cave rattling around her damaged brain. It confused her. She shook her head like she was mad at it.

“Screw work,” I said. “Dinner sounds perfect. Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking Oscar’s. You know, like old times.”

“Oscar’s it is.”

Rachel smiled and it looked like it hurt.

“Well, let me get back to work. I’ll meet you at eight.”

She sounded a little more like her old self when she said, “Okay.”

I couldn’t have her near anymore. As calmly as I could, I opened the door and smiled, told her, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Rachel leaned in and put those dry, cracking lips on mine.

Sara came back in after being subjected to Rachel’s scowl. I couldn’t look at Sara, not with what was going through her head.

She was telling me to look at Rachel, to really take