How can I argue? I am banished back to my apartment, banished to pace the floor as I wonder what Elizabeth is doing, and if she is putting herself in harm’s way.
Weeks pass like this. My father comes over to tell me that he has to go back to his family, that he’s been away too long. He is not going to ask me to go with him—we both know that. He says he’ll be back, and that if I need anything at all, I should let him know. I need many things, but none of them are worth him knowing. He doesn’t ask me about Elizabeth, about curses, about the “teachers” who appeared in the apartment. He doesn’t want to know about any of that, not really. He wants to stay in his own world, the one that most people think is the real one.
Most nights, Laurie comes by after school, and Elizabeth comes by after Millie’s. We watch movies. We eat Chinese food. It’s all very normal, except for the fact that I’m not visibly there.
The days are the hardest—long stretches of alone time, their loneliness amplified by the sound of the people who are not present. I go to the park. I walk through museums. I suffer in the summer heat like everyone else. But all the while, I am aware of the curses I can’t see. I am aware of the problems I can’t solve. I see that Ivan the dog walker and Karen the live-in nanny have gotten together. I am happy for them. But I can’t feel that happiness inside myself. Not during the day.
One night, after her mother is asleep, Elizabeth slips out to stay with me. She and Laurie have a deal—he’ll cover for her if she covers for him on another night so he can go to the roof with Sean. They want to watch the sunrise together.
It’s strange to have her over and to know she won’t have to leave until morning. We’re shyer with each other, but also a little looser, a little freer. When we kiss, it doesn’t feel rushed. When we do more than kiss, we only rush when we want to.
Our intimacy stops well short of sex. We’re not ready for it yet, and know we won’t be for a while. Not because of the circumstances, but because we both need to know each other really well and for a long time before taking that step. Also, in the back of my mind, there are the circumstances. I know we would be careful, completely careful. But if something went wrong—would the curse be passed on? Elizabeth and I never talk about this, never mention it. I doubt it even crosses her mind. But it’s there on mine. It hovers over the whole future.
It is more than enough to have her sleep in my arms. It is more than enough to be there as her breathing takes on the pace of sleep. It is more than enough to wake up and find she’s doing the same thing—watching me, seeing me, marveling at it all.
* * *
It starts to feel almost routine. There are a few minutes when I feel dizzy, when I feel a little weak on my feet, but I don’t think much of it—I often exhaust myself during the summer, and have never really understood how the sun affects my skin if it can’t be seen. Do I get sunburned? Heatstroke? Elizabeth tells me I look fine, but I’m not sure.
When she comes home, it’s almost like we’re husband and wife, and she’s the one who’s gone to the office. I ask her how it went. She tells me what she’s learned, and I understand about half of it.
Then one day she comes home and tells me something that needs no further explanation.
“He’s come back,” she tells me. “It’s him, Stephen. Maxwell Arbus is here.”
Chapter 20
I’VE BEEN LYING TO STEPHEN. The lies twist like a restless ball of snakes in my stomach, as if I’ve earned a curse of my very own. I tell myself that it can’t be helped. Repeat over and over that this dishonesty serves a great purpose. But the words are bitter on my tongue, and I know I’m a hypocrite. I know that lying to someone you love is never okay.
But I don’t know what else to do.
* * *
Things are so much worse than he knows. I think it’s worse than even I know.
* * *
Sometimes when I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I try to remember how it happened.
I push my mind back to that afternoon, to the fever that was burning my body from the inside out, because that’s when the memories become a bit clearer. I think it has to do with the way that the fever took me into a place not unlike the strange shores I occupy between dreams and waking.
What happened on the subway comes in jarring flashes that jolt me back to myself before sleep fully takes hold. I can hear gasps from other passengers, followed by shouts to call 911. I feel Saul’s arms gripping me and I scream because his touch on my sore-splotched skin is unbearable. Despite my cries, he doesn’t let go and doesn’t lose his footing when the train slows at the next stop. Through the fog of pain and the fever I sense bodies lurching around me as the train squeals to a halt on the tracks. Millie whispers urgently to Saul. I am lifted, carried from the brightness of the car and plunged into the shadows. People shout after us, pleading with Saul that I need an ambulance, demanding to know where he’s taking me.
After that I don’t remember anything until a tepid, vile liquid invades my mouth. I imagine gutter water has a similar taste. I choke on the substance, coughing so it runs down my chin.
“There, there,” Millie says, patting at my wet skin with a soft cloth. “You need to drink it. Drink it, child.”
I start to shake my head, but now Saul is holding my mouth open. The swamp water pours in again and this time Saul clamps my jaw closed, so I can either swallow or drown in a stagnant puddle.
My stomach cramps and I’m sure I’ll vomit.
“Breathe.” Millie squeezes my hand. And I do breathe, and despite the horrible taste in my mouth, my body begins to unclench. Something cool trickles through my blood and eases through my pores. The fire scorching my skin is smothered and the festering sores that bubbled over my throat, chest, arms, and legs fade to bruises and then disappear altogether.
Saul’s grip loosens. “Has she had enough?”
“I think so,” Millie answers. My vision isn’t blurry anymore and I can see her peering at me. “How do you feel, Elizabeth?”
“Like I’m about to throw up.” I hope she doesn’t want me to keep talking because if I open my mouth again, I’ll be sick for sure.
Millie putters around me in nervous circles. “No, no, no. You can’t regurgitate the tonic. Your body needs it to repel the curse. Sit still, be quiet, and I’ll go fix you some peppermint tea.”