The Variables

“Nice sweatpants,” Ethan answered, a smile in his voice.

“What?” Cass smiled. “You didn’t get your own pair?”

Ethan leaned against her doorframe. “My parents are ridiculous. They actually think Teddy and Blair is a good idea. They essentially told me to back off...”

“We knew that would happen,” Cass cooed in a sympathetic voice. “I’m sorry though. I am.”

“I owe it to Teddy to fight for him. Darla wouldn’t want this…I know that.  He deserves better than this,” Ethan lamented. “And it’s not like I don’t know that it will be hard to get him away from Blair...it’s just...how could they possibly think that he’s better with her than with me? With my mom? My mom’s a child whisperer, you know. She could raise a million Teddys.”

“Shhhh,” Cass shushed him. “Nothing can be solved tonight.”

“I’ll kidnap him,” Ethan proclaimed. “Right?”

“Kidnapping someone in an enclosed building?” Cass laughed. “Ethan...”

Lucy stuck her head out further. She could still only see Ethan; Cass was hidden in her own doorway. Her friend mumbled something incoherent and Ethan muttered a reply. He was now leaning with one arm against the frame.

“I’m not going back there tonight,” he said.

“I don’t have a spare room,” Cass replied, but her tone was warm.

“I’ll sleep on your floor.”

“But what will my neighbors think?” Cass teased. “First day on Kymberlin and you’ll be the first to have a walk of shame...”

“I won’t be the first,” Ethan replied. “You saw the champagne flowing freely at the welcome party...”

“Well.” Cass leaned out of her door, shortening the distance between them. “You’d be my first overnight visitor in a long time...”

Lucy shook her head, reeling. The intimacy, the flirting; their voices carrying all the way down to her—she was sick as she followed the conversation.

Ethan laughed. It was the first time Lucy had heard him laugh since he was brought back from Oregon. She thought of him a few minutes ago glaring at her on the stairs, spewing forth his accusations with such disgust. And now, he laughed.

“Oh really?” Ethan replied. “Look, Cassandra, here’s the deal. My last girlfriend is dead. And the last girl I thought I could love ended up shot and burned to a crisp inside of my own house. But you knew all that.”

Lucy’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand to avoid from gasping audibly. She slumped back against the door. Her breathing became ragged and quick. What had he said? Burned up in their house? She reeled and tried to understand. Burned? The last girl he thought he could love? Who? And what? Confusion flooded her.

“So,” Ethan continued, “maybe I’m not really the best guy in the world to align yourself with right now. My track record with women is pretty poor.”

Cass laughed her trademark laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ethan King,” she replied. “Now come sleep on my floor so we can make everyone think you’re much more charming than you actually are.”

She helped him inside and shut her door.

The hallway was silent.

Lucy stumbled out into the vacant hall and let out all her breath in a hot gush. The hallway spun and she put her hands on the wall to steady herself. Their house had burned? And there had been a girl. There had been a fire. Someone had been shot. But you knew all that, he had said to Cass. She knew all that?

She knew all that.

Lucy’s face burned and her stomach knotted as she realized the worst betrayal of all: Cass and Ethan were friends. And they had kept it a secret from her.

They were conspiring together, sharing plans, telling stories, and they had excluded her completely.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The visitors came back to the house along the river on two other occasions. The second time there was an argument with raised voices and determined shouts before the car sped away with a peal of squealing tires. Still, their identities and stories were a mystery that Lou and his family kept closely guarded. Beyond the walls of the Hales’ fortified shelter was a thriving community of survivors. And deep in the dark belly of the basement, they hid a great secret: three humans kept against their will who held secrets of their own.

Lindsey had talked to them once more about an escape. But her ideas were ever-evolving, hindered by unknown entities. She kept their hope afloat by sending small promises as she passed them their meals or took them to the bathroom. Tiny nuggets of hope; shards of promises carried in the darkness.

Darla was done.

Done hoping that they could slip out into the night.

Done waiting for Lindsey to come up with a plan.

Done being pushed around.

Done feeling useless and trapped.

Anti-Stockholm Syndrome had reared its ugly head. She looked on Lindsey with disgust and rage as she realized that Lou’s daughter’s desire to align herself with the captives had cost them precious days. She had let a waifish girl with big eyes and choppy hair convince her that the best plan was waiting for the right time to escape. That had been a poor decision; regret settled in her gut like a rock. She couldn’t think for too long about the time they had wasted or the guilt was unbearable. She wanted to blame the drugs and the fear, but she knew there was no excuse that would get her to Nebraska faster.

Darla was done. And Darla was leaving.

She plotted their escape by the light of their camping lantern, closing her eyes and imagining a series of events that would end their torture. Ainsley had relegated herself to lying supine with her feet on the rocking horse. She would push it back and forth, the old springs squeaking and crying out in a measured tempo.

Darla slept, curled up against the carpet without a blanket or discarded shirt to cover her, but her eyes snapped open when she heard slow, steady footsteps on the stairs. Expecting Lindsey, she pushed herself off the ground and walked over to the door and pounded on it with her fist.

“I don’t want to talk to you unless you’re here to free me,” she whispered through the wood.

A flashlight beam sca

But it wasn’t Lindsey on the other side, it was Lou. He spoke to her and his voice was rich and deep, and he spoke barely above a whisper. “You think I’m a monster,” he said.

Darla pushed her ear against the wood to hear. She didn’t answer.

“You have a bargaining chip to get out of this basement…you know what you need to tell me…and you won’t.” He seemed genuinely hurt and confused. “You have to explain it to me, Darla,” Lou continued. “We’ve reached the point of no return. Your presence here is costing me allies…”

“The people I hear,” she said. “Who are they?”

Ainsley stirred. The rocking horse creaked.

“I have people to protect, too,” he answered. “What do you know about the Sweepers? Where are you going and what do I need to do to protect myself from them?” The flashlight disappeared for a second and then reappeared under the door. “Darla?”

She lowered her head and scratched her nails into the wood. Just so he would know she was there; just so he would know she was listening. Then she cleared her throat, “I don’t trust you. You’ve given me no reason to believe that you will keep your word. I’m a bargainer, Lou, but I don’t have anything to give you. When you let me out of this basement of your own free will and not because I’ve given you anything in return, only then do you get to know what I know.”

Lou sighed.

“But…” he started and stopped. “If you are one of them…”

“I’m not co

“It’s not personal,” Lou continued. He was practically begging. “It’s survival. I know that someone tried to kill us and failed. I know that they will continue to kill every last survivor until they have accomplished their goal...and yet you continue to protect them. Protect their whereabouts. That’s suspicious. Highly suspicious. Explain it to me, Darla. Explain to me why I’m supposed to think of you as my ally. I’m begging you…I’m here, I can’t sleep, I can’t think.”