Part 7 ~ The Mouse King

The ride back to the Ghetto was silent and awkward.  Alex smoked three cigarettes, puffing out the open window, and Bobby’s shaded eyes never left the road.  The car felt heavier with the body and the bicycle in the back trunk.  Alex had complained about the bike, but Sidonie had insisted that she be allowed to bring it back.

Perhaps not insisted; she’d stared at him silently for several moments before he swore, thew down his cigarette, and said no more about taking the bike out and tossing it to the side of the road.

When they reached the theatre Bobby drove down the alley away from the few broms out and about on Shady Lane.  Sidonie twisted around in the back seat to look at them.  The Ghetto did not seem exactly alive in the morning, but it did seem less dead than it had the evening before.  It was something in between.

“Go around front and tell Dan what we’ve got,” Alex told Bobby, with an authoritative wave of his cigarette.  Bobby obeyed, hurrying down the alley towards the main entrance. 

Alex and Sidonie passed the next few minutes in silence.  Alex smoked nervously outside the car and Sidonie sat nervously inside it, though she wasn’t sure what she had to be nervous about.  Dan had no right to tell her where to be; even if he was by chance a relation of hers, he had never been in her life before yesterday.  She found herself unmoved by the idea of his anger over her disappearance.

The body was, she supposed, something to be nervous about.  Bobby, at least, thought her brother had something to do with it.  Whether that was true or not, it did say something about what Dan’s closest friends thought he was capable of.

Soon enough the one-way door opened and Bobby walked out.  Summer and Autumn were close on his heels, but Dan did not follow.

“You scared the shit out of us!” Summer exclaimed, opening the car door.  “Why on earth did you run away like that?”

Sidonie peered up at her.  There was honest concern in those violet eyes, and for the first time she felt a bit bad about running off into the night.  Summer was nice.  She meant well.  Sidonie hadn’t known many girls who would give a shit, much less have it scared out of them, over her disappearing.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know.”

“Come on inside.”  Summer waved her towards the theatre.  “Get some breakfast.”

Sidonie glanced around at the others; Alex, Autumn, and Bobby all seemed to be waiting for her to go inside before they opened the trunk again.  As if they thought to spare her from the sight of the grisly remains, forgetting that she had been the first to see it.

“Is Dan upset?” she asked, unsure of why she wanted to know.

“He’s glad you’re okay,” Summer said with a reassuring smile.  “Come inside.”

Sidonie crawled out of the backseat slowly.  “What are you going to do with the boy?”  She directed this at Bobby.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried.  I want to know what you’re going to do with the boy.”

“Sid—” Summer began to protest, but Bobby just shrugged and answered:

“We’re gonna take him to his family.”  He glanced at Alex.  “Dan doesn’t want to see it.”

“Are they going to think you killed him?”

“We don’t kill people,” Alex objected.  “Everyone knows that.  Now go inside and let us take care of this, okay?”

“Can I keep the bike?”

“Sure, fine, whatever.  I don’t care.”

“Thanks.”  She offered what was almost a smile, and turned to follow Summer inside.  Autumn remained with the guys, and Sidonie wondered why but didn’t ask.  “I suppose Dan wants to talk to me,” she said after the door was shut and they were surrounded by the theatre hallway darkness that defied morning sunlight.

“Only if you want to talk to him.”  Summer put a light hand on her shoulder.  “He only wants the best for you, Sid, he wants this to be your home.”

And is that the best for me?  Sidonie let her question go unasked.  She shrugged.

“Does that mean you want to talk to him?”

“I suppose I should.”

“Great!”  Summer’s demeanor reverted to her usual perkiness.  “He’s in his room, I’ll show you where it is.”

Sidonie followed Summer into the auditorium, but instead of climbing the steps to the stage, they went to a door on the left.  A little plaque on the door read “Green Room.”  The plaque appeared to once have been painted green, but most traces were worn off, save for a speck or two here and there.  She could still read it because the letters were embossed.

Summer knocked, and then stood with her hands folded, seeming overly prim for a moment, more like her sister than herself.

“Yes?” Dan’s voice came from inside.

“Sidonie is here.”

“Send her in.”

Summer nodded towards the door, and Sidonie told herself that she was not feeling a rising sense of dread.

She had not been expecting the room to actually be green, but green it was.  The walls were a pale shade, like the inside of an avocado, and the worn carpeting was like the needles of a pine tree.  There was a lumpy looking velvet sofa and matching chair both of a sea green hue.  It was all so astoundingly green, that for a moment she didn’t notice Dan sitting in his wheelchair.

“Sidonie.”  He swiveled towards her.  “We were worried about you.”

She was getting tired of hearing that.  Worry.  Constant worry.  What was there to say?  I wasn’t worried about myself.  She wished they would stop.  All these strangers, trying to pretend she meant something to them.  She didn’t know how to respond, so let an awkward blankness lay between them.

“Bobby tells me that you went to Bromia last night,” Dan finally broke the silence.  “You must have heard rumors about that place, or at least read about it in your mother’s book.”

She nodded.  He seemed unnaturally calm, considering he had been raging and “tearing apart the Ghetto” in her absence.  But then, that was only what Alex had said.  Perhaps he’d exaggerated the level of passion.  She made a mental note that Alex was, possibly, theatrical.

“It isn’t a safe place,” Dan said, after waiting a moment, as if expecting her nod to be followed by something.  “That is no mere myth.  You are not to go there, Sidonie.  I have to be very firm on this.”  He sat with hands resting lightly on the wheels, surrounded by green, and she thought him a spot of absurdly drab brownness in a world of color.

He waited again for a response, but she gave him none, not even a nod.  So he continued:  “The Ghetto, while not the same as Bromia by any means, is also unsafe.  At least, for an outsider.  I do not want you wandering out on your own.  When you leave the theatre you must have Bobby, Alex, or the girls with you.”

She did not know what her face said to him, as she stood there wordlessly, but she could not imagine what words to speak.  Every response in defiance of his mandates sounded like the sullen rebellion of a child in her mind’s ear, and yet she could not find any desire in herself to apologize or promise obedience.

“Do you understand?” he prompted, frowning.  It was a dull frown on a dull face, and Sidonie admitted to herself that he must, indeed, be her brother.

“I understand,” she answered.  It was the most neutral of responses, saying nothing of whether she had done anything but hear and comprehend.  But it seemed to suffice.  In Danior Maianzel’s mind, she thought, understanding meant acquiescence.

“Good.”  He removed his hands from the wheels and folded them in the air above his lap.  “Summer tells me that you have read some of you mother’s letters to our father.”

She nodded.  One.  Some.  What difference did it make?

He raised his eyebrows slightly, as if trying to decipher her silence.  “So you understand?”

Why was “understanding” so important to him?  She nodded again, and said, “There was no mistake.  I understand.  You’re my brother.  My half-brother.”

He settled back, relaxing a bit.  “Yes.  I realize that this is all probably a lot for you to take in.  The death of your mother and step-father followed so closely by all . . . this . . . .”  He glanced around the room, as if that glance encompassed the whole Ghetto and everyone in it.

Sidonie followed his glance, and let her eyes rest on an uninhabited corner of the room.  Step-father.  What a casual and dismissive word.

“I wanted to have more time to speak with you, but something has come up.  I just wanted to make sure that you understood the importance of staying here at the theatre unless someone is with you,” Dan said, his tone all business.  Dismissive again.

The “something” must be the dead boy in the tree, she thought.  It was odd.  In Rivalie if she had found a dead body there would be an uproar around her.  Or at least she thought so; as she had never found a dead body before, she wasn’t sure.  But once a boy who went to her school had died, and everyone at school had to see a councilor about it.  She hadn’t even known him, but the mere idea of someone you might have known being dead was enough to merit long discussions about feelings.  In Rivalie.

“Do you know who that boy was?” she asked.

Dan’s hands tightened around each other for the briefest of moments.  “Yes,” he said, that plain dull face remaining unbothered.  She wondered if her own face always looked so blank, and if it ran in the family.  “It’s unfortunate.  And a reminder that the dangers of Bromia are very real.  The family will be notified.”

He wheeled himself to the door and opened it, then sat there with an expectant look.  Summer was still standing outside, and she gave Sidonie a little wave.

“Summer will be looking after you today,” Dan said.

Summer nodded, adding, “It’s gonna be so fun!”

Sidonie allowed a half smile to crack her face for a moment, and then gave up the effort.  She rarely ever smiled involuntarily, but even if she were prone to it, she thought, this would not be an occasion for it.  Perhaps if she tried very hard she might make the smile seem genuine, but she did not care about it that much.

Dan shut the door behind her.  Even the click of the door seemed self-assuredly dull.  He was like a Mouse King.  All brown and plain and rodenty, yet still in charge of everything.  The Mouse King . . . she knew that she could not stop thinking of him as such now.  She could only hope not to let it slip out.

Summer led her a few feet from the door, then said, “Before you ask, yeah, talking with Dan is always like that.”

Sidonie’s only response was to turn and look at her, but she must have read something into it, because she added quickly, “Oh I wasn’t listening.  But you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Awkward and kinda scary,” Summer whispered, leaning in towards Sidonie’s ear.  That was awkward and scary all on its own.  But then she straightened again and said normally, “Dan’s in charge, here, and no one’s complaining.  He just doesn’t know how to put people at ease.”

She shrugged, then suddenly her arm was around Sidonie’s back, her hand squeezing her shoulder in what Sidonie imagined was supposed be a friendly manner.  With her other hand Summer lightly brushed her fingers through the limp brown strands of hair hanging unimpressively over Sidonie’s ear.

“Come on!” she suggested, ominously bright.  “Lets do something with your hair!”