The Pieces of My Self

42 - The Game

LILLIAN

South Covington, 20 June 2174, Monday Evening

I once read Jack Kerouac's book when I was very young. I stole it from the shelf of one of my social workers. His On the Road made me think about busting out of the foster home system. I had no idea where I'd go, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. My escapes never amounted to much. I always got tired and hungry and finally came back after half a day of adventure. No guts.

But Kerouac's words stuck to my brain like a shadow in a white-hot sun. Maybe because they described a riddle, and I saw myself as a riddle: Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night? This particular question bedeviled me.

The shiny car. Who's is it? Where is it going?

Headlights beaming from the darkness winked out as I stepped from the Sammy onto the road in front of my house. The silver roadster that had been following me rolled to a stop a block away. Since yesterday, the pursuer had been omnipresent, watching.

I had no illusions. The thugs could come again. I could disappear and no one would care—except my kids.

Inside, Grady and Amara were finishing supper. Their heads turned as I deadbolted the door, cautioning them with a forefinger pressed to my lips. "Shhhh."

I turned off the lights, went to the window, and peeked through the blinds, waiting. "I'm playing a game," I explained in hushed tones. "It's like hide and seek. Everyone has to be quiet."

They, of course, had questions, but played the game, whispering.

"What are the rules?" Amara said.

"There are no rules, except you have to be quiet. Sometimes they can hear you, even from far away."

"Who are They? Are you okay, Mama?" Grady asked.

Grady sometimes questions my sanity. I guess I'm not always on an even keel, but this time, it was important for him to believe in me.

"I'm fine, honey, I promise. It's a mystery. I'm trying to solve it. That's the goal."

Grady fretted and dug his hands into the pockets of knee-length shorts, hunching his shoulders. "This is an odd game."

Amara went to her brother and hugged him. "What's out there?"

"There's nothing to be frightened of," I said. "I'll protect you."

Grady was doubtful. "I thought you said it was a game?"

I didn't answer, but kept looking out the window at the silver car.

After 15 minutes, the fancy vehicle and its shadowy driver crept along the road in front of our apartment, lights out, then rolled beyond my vision, into the darkness.

I waited 15 minutes more before turning on a desk lamp.

"The game's over," I said.

"Did we win?" Amara asked.

"Yes," I said. "This time, we won."

* * *

I read Amara a story, put the kids to bed, then checked for the silver car. It hadn't returned.

In the quiet of the evening, with light from only a table lamp, I sat on the couch and tried to organize my thoughts about the cryptogram, the ring, Henri J. Knightly, and my own role in the puzzle. My finger skimmed the pattern of birds on the ring's outer band. The metal was warm to the touch. I twisted it, and the lamp flickered. I tried again with the same result.