15
Boarded
Bronson shivered as the wind rattled the fire escape mounted to Cindy’s building. He hopped up the last set of steps then stood outside her bedroom window working up the courage to knock.
The window slid open. She poked out her head.
“Get in here before somebody sees you,” she said, stepping back so he could get through.
“I can’t go back to the shop tonight,” Bronson said. “It isn’t safe.”
“Why? What happened?” Cindy said.
“Hot John broke into the shop and smashed a bunch of stuff. I’m also pretty sure Osbert did something to Mr. Horum.”
“A rescue mission to Curleyworld? When do we leave?” she said, grabbing her hat from the nightstand.
“Not tonight,” Bronson said, pulling a subway schedule from his back pocket. “The last bus already left. Next one’s tomorrow morning.”
“Any idea how we break in once we get there?” Cindy said. “I might be able to pull up the blueprints with that program we installed on the mayor’s computer.”
“Getting in won’t be a problem. They’re having some big opening ceremony tomorrow. We can buy tickets like anybody else,” he said.
“Didn’t these guys see you without your mask?” she asked.
“Maybe I can wear a disguise or something,” Bronson said.
“Hold on. I think I have something that’ll work.” Cindy opened the top desk drawer, rifling through loose pens and papers until she located a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.
“These were my dad’s so be careful,” Cindy said, slipping them on Bronson’s face. “You’re a regular Clark Kent. Still seems off though. They wouldn’t fool me that’s for sure. Good thing is kids all look the same to adults… Unless it’s their kid anyway. Trust me. With these you’ll be practically invisible.”
“Cindy, you’re pretty smart sometimes. You always notice all sorts of interesting stuff,” Bronson said, smiling at her.
“When you can’t see the future you have to make up for it somehow,” she said. She gave him a kiss, which made their mounting problems little more than background noise.
Bronson broke the kiss then grabbed his bag. “We’d better rest up for tomorrow. Can I sleep here or do you want me on the couch?”
“No way,” she said. “Nothing personal but you gotta leave.”
“Where am I supposed to go? Can’t I just stretch out on the floor? I’ll get up extra early even. Please?”
“Cheese on a cracker. Let me check something, okay?” she said, rushing from the room. She returned a moment later with a smile on her face. “Okay. My mom’s scheduled to work until eight, so if you can make sure you’re gone by then she’ll never even know. Can you do that?”
Bronson nodded. Cindy kicked some loose books and clothes under her bed then retrieved a few blankets and a pillow from the hall closet. She made up the floor bed, even turning down the blanket’s top right corner.
“Welcome to Hotel McNeil,” Cindy said. “Nothing but the best for the famous Dogboy.”
“Ah, be quiet,” Bronson said, crawling in between the blankets. Cindy climbed into her bed and turned off the lamp. The two laid there for a few minutes watching the shadows and street lights dance across the acoustic finish on the ceiling.
“Cindy?” Bronson said.
“What?” she said. “I was almost asleep.”
“D’you ever wonder if, like… if everybody speaks and writes a different language but then we hear and see everything in our own language?”
“What are you talking about?” Cindy said.
“I mean… You can’t know what the world looks like to everybody else, right? Because you only see out your own eyes. Maybe we’re all seeing our own version of the world, only we don’t know it because we’ve never seen somebody else’s version.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said, leaning up on one arm so she could see Bronson. “Like maybe that clock on the wall looks red to me but to you it’s the same color I call blue. Like my red is your blue and your blue is my red if that makes sense.”
“Totally,” Bronson said. He closed his eyes, listening to the cars off in the distance.
“Bronson?” Cindy said.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Did I ever tell you what happened to my dad?”
“Just that you don’t know where he is,” he said.
“When I was five we were hanging out while Mom was at work. There was this show with a clown… Bonzo? Bozo? I know it started with a ‘B’. You ever see it?”
“Don’t think so,” Bronson said.
“Oh, it’s great. Lots of funny little sketches and cartoons and everything. So the show was just starting and my dad asked if I wanted a snack. I said sure so he went to the kitchen to grab one. They did this thing at the end of the show where the clown marched all the kids out of the studio. When that started I went to see why he wasn’t back with my snack. He wasn’t in the kitchen, but the back door was hanging wide open.”
“Were you scared?” Bronson asked.
“A little, but I was more mad that I didn’t have a snack. I found this box of dough mix that had a picture of a pizza on the front. I dumped it out into some foil and— God, I was so stupid… I stuck it in the microwave while I went back to watch cartoons.”
“You didn’t,” Bronson said.
“I did. When the fire alarm went off I followed our emergency plan and had our neighbor Ms. Montero call 911. By the time they got there, the whole place was a big pile of ashes. They never found a body or anything so my mom figures he just left me there. The missing person report we filed never got solved so I guess I’ll never know.”
“That’s awful, Cindy,” Bronson said. “Do you miss him?”
“Not as much as I used to. I mean I was so little it seems more like a dream than anything. Sometimes I think maybe he was a secret agent who had his cover blown, but my mom says I’m giving him too much credit.”
“It must be hard not knowing what happened,” Bronson said.
“Not as bad as what happened with your parents,” Cindy said. “At least if he’s dead I didn’t have a front-row seat like you did. What was that like? You know… Seeing somebody die?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bronson said.
“Aw, don’t be such a cheat,” she said. I mean it’s only fair you spill after everything I told you.”
“Did I ever mention the only reason we even went on that stupid drive was because I got my butt kicked on the playground?”
“Seems like that happens a lot,” she said.
“This is why I didn’t want to talk about it,” Bronson said.
“Oh, calm down. I’m kidding. I’ll stop.”
Silence hung in the room for a moment before Bronson spoke again. “My dad had powers like mine, you know. I wonder if he saw what was going to happen that day. What if he could have stopped it?”
“He loved you right? Why would he put you in that car if he thought it was going to wreck?”
“Yeah. You’re right. I’m being stupid,” Bronson said in a tone of voice that suggested he wasn’t quite sure. He rolled over on his side. “I didn’t have my seatbelt on when we crashed. The police said I probably would have snapped my neck if I’d worn it. Funny thing is my dad’s the one who asked me to put it on. What if he—”
“Bronson, you can’t really believe that,” Cindy said, tossing a pillow in his direction.
“I don’t. Not really. Just something that goes through my head sometimes.”
“You can’t blame yourself or your dad or the seatbelt. We both know your stupid uncle is the guy who did it in the end,” she said, rolling over on her side. “Hey, I’m tired. Mind if we go to sleep?”
“Yeah, I was kind of falling asleep already,” he said. “Thanks for the talk. It was nice.”
“You too. Night, Bronson,” she said. Her voice was softer, like a faucet running.
“Night, Cindy.” He closed his eyes, listening to the soft whine Cindy’s nose made when she inhaled. He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes then drifted off to sleep, breathing in sync with Cindy’s nasal lullaby.
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