It’s the shouting that leaks through the quiet space between Guns and Roses’ ”Night Train” and “Out ta Get Me” that makes me stop painting. I pull my Walkman headphones from my ears and listen.
Barking, enraged voices. High, keening sobbing. Words clash and overwrite each other in the air, a tangle of fury.
I stand up and go to my window, pull the curtains back. Across the commons I see three people outside of Focus—two men and a woman. The men are shouting. The woman is screaming and crying.
Moss, Brady, Coral.
Shit.
I yank on my boots and heavy sweater and go out into the frigid air.
“She belongs at home!” Brady yells. Moss yells something I can’t make out. From Coral I hear shrill, panicked tatters: No!…let me… can’t…no idea…Brady! I trudge as fast as I can toward them.
“Hey,” I call. They keep shouting, oblivious of me as I draw near. “Hey!” I shout, air misting before me in my efforts through the snow. They turn to look at me, but Coral is still screaming words I can’t quite make out.
“You running a fucking cult up here?” Brady demands. His ferocity surprises me; I didn’t think he had it in him. Moss is barefoot in the open maw of his cabin. Coral is on the slick, snowy steps leading down from the cabin wearing canvas tennis shoes, high-water pants, and a slouchy sweatshirt. “You can’t keep people here for days on end!”
“She wasn’t being held captive here,” Moss growls, annoyed. “She wants to be here!”
Brady rounds on me. “Cindy’s been run off for four days, or didn’t you know?” he spits, his eyes challenging. “No word. I came up here the other day and asked that old fuck Gus if he’s seen her, and he was useless. I’ve been looking for her everywhere. I finally heard from my favorite person, Mantis, that your boy here probably had her stowed away in his fucking cabin.” Brady is gesturing with his thumb back toward the parking lot. I can see Brady’s truck; there’s someone in the passenger seat. A hulking figure. Is Mantis here?
“He’s not supposed to be anywhere near—“ Moss starts, angry and pale.
I’m so stunned, it takes me a moment to figure out where to start. I turn to Coral.
“You’ve been here for four days?” I ask in disbelief, looking at the small, hunched girl with the growing belly.
“This is my home.” Coral’s face is wet with tears. The tip of her nose is red.
“Your home is with me, Cindy,” Brady says, trying to control his temper, but it’s barely working. “You need to be home with your boyfriend. Safe. You’re six months pregnant and things are falling apart. We were doing so good, Cindy! You were doing everything right. Feeling good. Happy. What happened? What kind of spell are you under out here?” Brady’s voice is almost a plea. He’s scared. Exasperated. Coral starts crying again. “And you’re not as slick as you think you are, honey. I find the pills stashed around the house. Like a squirrel with acorns.” Her hair is wild and tangled. Her eyes are as tameless as I’ve ever seen them.
“Coral,” I say gently, alarmed to hear this. I reach out to clasp her hand gently, but she pulls it away.
“And what the fuck are you playing at?” Brady demands of Moss. Moss flinches. “What kind of sick fuck are you? I can see the paintings behind you. They’re of Cindy. A miserable, monster Cindy. It’s horrible! Don’t you understand that that’s not her—she’s sick, you asshole! Do you get off on that?” Brady stutter-steps toward the cabin door, and Moss jerks backward in fright. I grab Brady’s arm, and Coral puts herself against his chest, screaming.
“What in the living daylights—?” Old Gus’s voice wedges into the cracks between us, and suddenly he’s there. He waves me back and pulls Coral gently aside and inserts himself on the first step of Moss’s porch, between Brady at ground level and Moss up in the cabin. “ This all has got to stop! It’s got to stop, you hear!” Brady is red faced and heaving, seeming to look through Gus right into Moss.
“You listen to me,” Brady growls, speaking directly to Moss. ”If you don’t leave her alone, I will come back here myself and mess you up. Do you understand? I don’t want to see you near her ever again. If I do—I swear it—I’ll kill you.”
“Brady!” Coral wails, horrified.
“This is not a game, Cindy! This is your life!” Brady shouts.
“That is enough of that! Mr. Bouchard, please take your leave! You’re going with him, Cynthia, and that’s that.” It’s jarring to hear Gus use her given name. Harsh. ”You’re done here. Let go. Fired. Whatever you want to call it. Early maternity leave—“
“Gus!” Moss cries, his face twisted in horror. He grabs at his hair. “You can’t do that!”
“No!” Coral is squalling, nearly falling to her knees. Brady bears her up. ”No!” She collapses into his chest, crying. My heart hammers.
“Stay away, Cynthia. Stay away for a while. Get some rest,” Old Gus tells her, and Brady is nodding at this.
“This is—this is crazy! She’s allowed to do whatever she wants!” Moss bellows, frantic.
“Juniper, why don’t you help Mr. Bouchard get Cynthia down to his truck,” Old Gus tells me, looking weary and upset. We all seem to freeze for a moment, taking this all in. Coral is in shambles. Moss looks panicked, Brady vindicated. Gus tired, quiet.
I look around the commons and see a few rubberneckers watching from a distance. I go to Coral’s right side, and Brady takes her left. We hold her hands. Brady rests his hand on her back.
“Okay now,” I whisper near her ear. “It’s alright.”
She’s still crying, loudly, but she’s not fighting us. We lead her away from Focus and down to the lot.
“I have to-to come b-back,” Coral keens as we reach the messy lot, nodding her head, freaked as a spooked horse, eyes bulging.
“Sure, of course,” I coo. “We can talk about that,” I say, looking up at Brady, who finally nods his appreciation when he sees she’s going to go with him without too much of a fight. We both realize we have to say whatever we need to say to get her to go home and get help.
Mantis climbs out of the truck as we approach, and I feel every muscle in my body tense up. He somehow looks bigger than I remember him. Or I feel smaller.
“Looks like we gotta keep a better eye on you,” Mantis says, placing a hand on Coral’s shoulder as he and Brady help her into the cab of the pickup. His hand looks so big on her small body. He looks at me with bemusement.
“You—you okay, Cor?” I ask, voice weak. She doesn’t look at me as they settle her in the middle of the bench. The two men slide into the truck on either side of her.
Mantis pulls the passenger door shut, and suddenly Coral is behind glass.
“Thank you,” Brady calls through the cab, his voice muffled.
“Sure,” I reply numbly, stepping back as Brady starts the truck up and turns it around. Mantis tips a salute to me with two fingers through the window, and it somehow feels vindictive. Like he has gotten his way. I watch as they take Coral away, taillights sinking in their descent of the driveway, disappearing around the bend.
Cold shivers wrack my body, and I feel strung taut.
I eventually turn toward the commons. Toward Focus. Toward Moss.
His face, even from this distance, looks devastated. Terrified. His body trembles in the doorway, his hand clutching the frame as if for support.
A bolt of hatred radiates from his body to mine. It says, You took her from me.
He ducks inside and slams the door with such force, it sounds like a gun going off.