The Queen

Did you hear about the Queen?

The untidy words scrawled on the note stared at me. I looked to my right where John Steer was sitting. His eyes darted from me to the letter. I think he was running out of air. His cheeks were starting to shift into a darker pink.

I shook my head at him. He gestured for me to write my answer down on the slip.

The Queen of England? I doodled a crown over the Q to emphasize how lost I was. I waited for Mr. Sturgess to turn his argyle back to return the note to John, who smirked and shook his head, as if the Queen was as well known as the Tooth Fairy.

John sent the note back over. Meet us at Grover’s at 9, it instructed.

Us? I wrote underneath. I eyed John; he was pretending to contemplate the math problem on the board. He didn’t look at me as I put the note on his desk, sealing the sticky note to the plastic surface before Mr. Sturgess turned around to make sure we understood.

I offered Mr. Sturgess a polite nod, then resumed to staring at John.

Us. Who was us?

********************************************************************************************************

It wasn’t hard to find Grover’s. In our town, Arcat, we had a lot of “ones.” One police station, one grocery store, one restaurant, one dentist, one school, one doctor, and one antique store, Grover’s.

It was abandoned now. Mr. and Mrs. Grover passed away within a month of each other last year. No one had bought the building. My mom is friends with their daughter, Grace, and she has vented numerous times on how she just needs to sell the property to finally close their estate.

A rumor had spread that someone was interested in purchasing the building to make it into a museum since the Grovers had been such a big part of Arcat’s history. There was another rumor that someone was eyeing it for a restaurant.

We could either have a new “one” of something or, conversely, competition in this sleepy town.

It had only been a year, but it looked untouched for ages. Ivy was choking the white stone with thick vines. The candles they had positioned on the windowpanes were now doused by the shadows that vacated the store. I thought of how militant the Grovers were in taking care of the store. Mr. Grover would whistle as he swept leaves from the front step. Mrs. Grover cleaning the windows just above, stealing glances at her bow-backed husband, her wrinkles pinched as she smiled, her eyes bright as she listened to the whistling.

I was tucked away in the alley across the street from Grover’s. The air was abundant with the symphony of crickets droning their song. I looked down at my watch. 9:15 pm flashed at me.

Late. John was late.

“Okay,” I sighed, looking back to Grover’s.

What could be so important about this place?

“Psst…Aty,” a voice whispered.

I froze. My breath caught in my chest, prickling my sternum. I turned to see three people standing shoulder to shoulder in the darkness. My feet rooted to the ground. My muscles locked into place.

“John?”

The smallest of the three shadows took a step forward.

Wire-rimmed glasses flashed in the light.

I exhaled, my muscles unravelling.

I hissed, “John Steer, you almost scared me half to death!”

“Apologies, Athena, didn’t mean to scare you there,” he said, his voice light with laughter.

The other two snickered in the shadows. I squinted and made out the broad shoulders of football players - football players? John Steer wasn’t close to any athletes.

I asked, “What are Moose and Hunter Gross doing here?”

The two choked on their laugh, I saw their shoulders descend as they fell silent. Their block heads turned, like trained dogs, to John.

A chill sliced down my spine.

“To show you the Queen, of course,” John said, “they are the ones who found her; it would only be logical for them to show you.”

The two jocks contorted themselves to slip past me to enter Main Street. They looked around, their heads turning from side to side.

Luckily, the shops closed at 8 pm, the only people who would be out were us. I looked over my shoulder at John. He watched the football players with a grin. His eyes sharp, like broken glass.

“Come on, Aty,” John said, his voice now low in thought.

He nudged my shoulder as he padded out onto Main, falling in line behind Moose and Hunter, who were crossing the street to Grovers. Once they are at the steps of the store, they started to walk down the side, meandering down to the back, the entrance point.

John whistled for me to look, and waved for me to follow.

I sighed. The chill bolted to my spine, sending waves that cut through my body over and over again, warning me that this was not right. Regardless, I crossed the street and joined the guys at the back door. In the dimness, I could see that the hedges that lined the back were now unkempt, weeds frothed at the roots, and the flowers had grown in abundance.

I fretted. I thought of the flowers Mr. Grover would pass out to the women on Valentine’s and Mother’s Day. He got them from here, and a pocket in his collared shirts were always embroidered by the flowers.

Crackling glass breaks me out of memory. The football players kicked shards of glass off the step and into the garden, shards winked in the night before they disappeared.

I bristled, grabbing John by the shoulder and forcing him to turn to me.

“What are we doing, John?”

In the corner of my eye, both boys turned to look at John Steer once they were done, they stared me down, another chill washed over my body. I let go of John’s shoulder, and step away. John looked at the crinkled fabric on his shirt where my hand was. He smirked at me.

“After you,” he said, gesturing with an extended hand.

The back door creaked open. Moose and Hunter stood on a step alongside the door, their eyes watched me as I padded into the store, into the dark.

____________________________________________________________________________

The air was cold in Grover’s. The broken windows did not help insulation or stop the pale moonlight from drifting into the store in silver sheets. Broken China plates patched the floor like scales. Bookshelves that had once been full of classics and photo albums, were now skeletons.

I whispered under my breath, “Did you guys do this?”

I glared at the back of Moose’s head, which shook in reply.

“No, it was like this when we found her,” Hunter said.

“Probably middle schoolers wanting something to prove,” John said; a fair assumption, he had conducted a social experiment on the behavior of tweens last year.

I pushed a straying book back on its shelf as we move onward.

As if in response to the shift, a tiny voice creaked open in the air like a door, and said,

“Who is there?”

“That’s the Queen,” John whispered behind me.

My voice was small as I said, “What?”

I imagine that it comes out like breath on a winter day, foggy, evaporating before your face. Ice bolts my body to the floorboards. I looked around. There was only dimness and mess. We were currently in an aisle of empty shelves. In front of me was Moose, he was looking ahead.

John pressed a hand to my back and coaxed me on. He led me to the room to the left, passing Moose, and there she was.

She was sitting in a tall backed velvet chair in what used to be the room where the Grover’s had an antique dining room set up. She was facing us, as if we were late to her tea party, her posture straight, her knobbed hands perched on top of her crossed legs. She wore a bird sweater and plaid pants. Silver light wrapped her and some sort of shawl. She looked down on us - at me. I could feel her eyes, small behind her thick lensed glasses.

“Oh my god, John,” I exhaled, a chill filled every inch of me like ice water.

There was a news story last night. It was of this old woman in her 80’s, with heavy wrinkles, wiry white hair, and beady eyes.

I heard myself whisper, “Lorraine Cessair?”

She blinked at me, coming out of her mind, a light returned to her eyes at the sound of her name. She cocked her head to the side, “Yes, honey?”

Lorraine Cessair had been missing for three days.

She looked me over, her thin eyebrows furrowed as she took me in.

Lorraine asked, in her crackled voice, “John, who is this?”

“If you are about to ask me how long, the first day.” John said, his voice low. He walked toward Lorraine, who still studied me. He stood tall at her side, a hand on her chair. He said, “I heard glass shatter, went to inspect and saw good old Lorraine here, sitting on the chair like she is now, calling herself a Queen,” he said. He rolled his tongue under his cheek, looking down his nose at me.

I feel the football players at my side. I said, “What about Moose and Hunter?”

John nodded at my question, “I found them looking into Grover’s the next day after school, when I was dropping off food to Lorraine. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt the study, so I employed them. They already skipped class, so I just paid them when they went out to drop off food and water to her,” he said.

I spat, “The study?”

“Athena,” he replied coolly.

“She’s not one of your guinea pigs, John! She needs to go back to her family.”

“But think about what I learned about her, how her brain processes information, how she is constantly living in memories -,”

“She has Dementia, John. Go to a nursing home if you are so interested in how it works.”

My chest burned. My nails were burrowed into the palms of my hands.

John sighed. He looked me over, “What are you going to do, Aty?”

“What needs to be done,” I replied. I eyed Moose and Hunter. They had taken a step away from me.

I pulled out my phone, and dial 9-1-1.

“Maybe,” John said. He looked me up and down, as he gnawed on a hangnail. He was like a vulture, preening its feathers. I could make out dark crescents that burrowed under his eyes. I turned away, disgusted, facing Moose and Hunter. They glanced each other nervously.

As the dial tone trilled, I asked them, “Is he telling the truth? You were getting paid to feed her?”

They nodded.

“Then get out,” I hissed. They scrambled out the dining room, the door slammed closed behind them. More glass shattered.

As I speak to the dispatcher, I can feel John’s eyes sear into my head, trying to read my thoughts. I kept my eyes on the floor.

I tell them that I heard people talking and believe that I have found Lorraine Cessair. I nod ritualistically as the dispatcher tells me to wait, police were coming.

“Athena,” John said, his voice was calm, tears washed his face silvery in the moonlight.

Worry tightened in my chest, but dissolved quickly as every inch of me ignited.

I took a step toward him, and spat “She hasn’t had her medication in days, John. Her family has been worried about her - don’t you see what you are doing?! You are watching someone deteriorate for your selfish gain!”

My words slammed against the walls, they probably shattered more glass.

John stared at me, silently, with tears falling down his face.

“John?”

John sighed, “ I lost it,” he said quietly.

I swallowed.

“My grandpa has Alzheimer’s. I just wanted to see - I wanted to understand - why he thinks I am someone I am not,” he said to himself. He dug one hand into his front left pocket and threw a notebook at my sneakers. “Just to prepare myself -and - I got lost.”

I picked up the composition book.

He said, “I knew you would be the one to do the right thing.”

Each page had an entry that dictated John’s visits with Lorraine. It had corresponding comments on Lorraine’s meals and the shifts of her memory.

“John,” I said, as I looked up to him. “I feel sorry for you.”

The darkness was interrupted by an eruption of red and blue lights. Lorraine jolted, turning to see who was visiting her home, while John stood there, spliced from the shadow, his skin shifting to blue and red.

I exhaled, feeling the weight of the night slough from my body like petals of armor. I no longer had to carry them.

I stared past the light at John, a scrawny boy playing God in a dollhouse because he was afraid of the unknown. He looked back at me, the lights burning off his curled hair, like a halo, the grooves in his cheeks and eyes carved out more in the contrast of light and dark. He looked past me, his nails plucking at missed hangnails.

I had saved the Queen from a throne of lies.