Borderlands 4 Page 3

  In a moment, she was gone, but four more figures ran through the shadows from the house after her. They changed direction to cut her off, away from the lights, but he thought that a man was running in the lead, followed by three boys, all of them wearing clothes. He wasn’t sure. Then they, too, were out of sight.

  He sat watching for a long time, hoping someone would come back into view. No one did, however, and he heard no more sounds in the house, either. The girls had not moved again in their beds. Finally, too sleepy to stay up, he lay back down reluctantly and was asleep again almost right away.

  The next morning, he was awakened by Lena’s alarm. As he did every morning, he waited for his grip to unstiffen while the girls got up and used the bathroom. As they came out, he also watched the clothes they put on carefully and looked at his own body for a clue to the day.

  This morning, he felt short, and he sat up as soon as they were occupied with dressing. He estimated that his body was six years old today.

  The girls, of course, were a day older than they had been yesterday.

  That was true every morning. He didn’t understand why their ages didn’t vary like his, but he was used to it. Then he wondered if he would be in kindergarten or first grade. First grade was more interesting, but so far he had tried everything up to and including the seventh grade, one day or another. The room was chilly. As the girls put on warm, casual playclothes, he moved down his pallet to look out the window. Most of the leaves on the trees were orange and yellow, but many were red, which was his favorite. He guessed that Halloween was near.

  The air would be brisk and crisp. He went to school in autumn, of course, but today must be a Saturday, judging from the girls’ clothes.

  When they went downstairs for breakfast, he used the bathroom.

  Before Mitt came up with his breakfast, he had taken his bath and was on top of the post. Getting to the top was harder when he was only six, but he had managed, jumping as high as he could and grabbing the top surface with his hands. Then he had pulled himself up, using his feet for what little traction he could get.

  Mitt left him his breakfast. As he ate, he guessed that this would be one of those Saturdays when the girls were occupied elsewhere most of the day. Days like that were always empty and boring.

  He was never actually given permission to leave the room on such days, but the door was never locked.

  Lena came for his dishes. After she had gone, he listened carefully to her footsteps going down the hall and then descending the carpeted stairs. Beyond them, he couldn’t hear her.

  Even then, he did not move from the post for a long time. The room was chilly and he sat huddled on the post to keep warm, his hands rubbing the ribs on his sides. Finally, he heard laughing voices outside, and looked out the window. The girls were dressed in their padded red jackets and white knit stocking caps and matching gloves.

  They ran through piles of dry, brown leaves, kicking them in all directions.

  Then they began jumping in them and throwing handfuls of leaves all over each other.

  He decided to risk leaving the room today. Carefully, he jumped down to the floor, falling with a light thump and rolling on the carpet when he landed. He froze at the noise, his heart pounding, waiting to see if anyone came to check on him. If someone thought he had simply fallen, he would not be punished.

  No one came. When he was only six, his weight was negligible.

  Maybe no one was inside the house.

  He got up and walked to the door, conscious of the soft carpet under his bare feet at every step. Still no sounds came from anywhere in the house. He reached up and took the slick, shiny gold doorknob in his hand and slowly turned it. When he heard it click, he pulled the door open and peeked outside.

  No one was in the hall. The walls were white and spotlessly clean.

  High above him, paintings and photographs hung on the walls, but he couldn’t see them very well when he was six. The frames looked thick and heavy. Slowly, quivering with tension, he slipped out into the hall and carefully pulled the door short with a quiet click.

  Now, outside his room, he truly felt naked. He did not dare get dressed, because he might need to run back here and get up on the post in a hurry. He would have to explore as he was.

  On his way to school or rare trips to the doctor, he turned right and went down the hall to the main stairs. The stairs began as an extension of the hall but then turned at a landing, where a massive dark wooden banister began. It led down to the big living room. He had glimpsed a formal dining room near it, though he had never been inside that room.

  Still, that direction held few surprises.

  He turned left, instead, where the hall led to more doorways. The doors were made of wood and were white, like the walls. They had decorative shaping, though; each door had four rectangular panels indented slightly on its surface. The door knobs were gold in color and smooth to the touch. Every door was exactly the same on the outside.

  On the other explorations he had made in this direction, he had seen many doors and even peeked inside some of the rooms. Most were bedrooms, fully furnished and cleanly kept, but without any regular residents. Each room had a different color. One had a dark blue rug, blue and white curtains, and a pale blue quilt on the bed. Another room had green decorations and a third was pink. After a while, he had quit looking into them.

  He had also seen hallways branching away, but he had never had time to follow them.

  Today he wondered what had happened to the mysterious girl he had seen outside during the night. If she lived here, he wanted to find her. He had no memory of her or even of any sign of other kids but the three girls who shared his room. Of course, he hadn’t made very many trips through the house, and most of his memories of them were blurry and confused.

  The hall was chilly. He shivered and walked with his arms wrapped around his skinny torso. His toes were very cold but the carpet was just a tiny bit warm under his feet. Being only six years old today, he was smaller than he would have liked and that made him even more timid than usual.

  Even so, he was glad when he reached the first corner. Another hall branched to the right. He crept to the corner and slowly peeked around it.

  This hall, though also white, was shorter and no one was in it, either. It ended in a doorway with one of those white doors, but the door was standing open. Another hallway continued beyond it. On the right side of this hall, a line of tall windows let in sunlight. Thick, floor-length white drapes had been drawn over them on his last trip here. This time, the drapes were open. Now he walked forward cautiously and looked out the nearest window.

  It opened onto a courtyard far below. He had never really known what the layout of the house was; in fact, it seemed to change from time to time, though his own room was always the same. Now he could see that it was a massive rectangle with a courtyard in the center. No one was there, but he could see cast iron furniture with green cushions, situated on a pavement of flat, gray stones. The leaves of several trees were just turning to orange and yellow, but the smaller bushes were still green.

  “There he is,” Lena said triumphantly, behind him.

  He flinched, but firm fingers and a thumb caught his arm from behind and spun him around. Lena’s hand went all the way around his thin arm as she looked down at him. All three girls were standing over him, their faces still flushed with the cold autumn air outside. They were still bundled in sweaters and heavy socks and shoes.

  Suddenly he felt even more naked than usual. Lena’s fingers were icy. His whole body seemed to go cold. Since he was only around six years old today, they seemed even bigger than they had yesterday.

  “Do we do it here?” Mitt asked.

  “Mom isn’t home,” said Lena, uncertainly. “Um, let’s go back to our room first.” She reached down to clutch his grip tightly in her cold fist and pulled him back down the hall by it.

  The walk back seemed ridiculously short. On his exploration to this hall, knowing that he was br
eaking the rules and in danger of getting caught, he had felt he was venturing a long way. Now he felt foolish, seeing how little distance he had actually covered.

  Back in the room, June closed the door with finality. “I want to do it,” she said. “Since none of us did anything, we get to choose, don’t we?”

  “Mom usually decides who does it when he’s the one being punished,” said Mitt. “Maybe we should wait for her.”

  “When we’re being punished, she always says punishment should be immediate,” said Lena. “Since I’m the oldest, I’ll do it.”

  “I want to,” Mitt wailed.

  “Stop being a baby,” said June. “I spoke up first, Lena. Let me, come on.”

  Ignoring them, Lena pulled him around until his back was against the post. Then, as he expected, she got both her hands under his arms in the usual position and separated his feet with one cold, hard shoe. She slammed her knee up against his marbles and let go of him.

  As always, he collapsed to the carpet, stunned from the pain. Still, he fumbled for the base of the pole, remembering that June and Mitt wanted to slam him, too. Just as he managed to rise into a kneeling position, leaning on the pole, June grabbed his shoulders from behind and pulled him away from it.

  He fell onto his back. June stepped between his legs and kicked him with the blunt front of one chilly white sneaker. Pain flooding his abdomen paralyzed him for a moment.

  “I want my turn,” Mitt whined.

  June stepped over him. With effort, he rolled to one side and pushed himself up, fighting for breath. He was not surprised, however, when Mitt got her hands under his arms, too, and hoisted him to his feet.

  He was still standing hunched forward, unable to get his balance, as she slammed her bony knee into his marbles, too. This time, though, she caught him when he fell and gently turned him around to lean on the post. He clung to it, staring at a blur of bedspread without seeing it, as the girls left the room.

  When the door had closed again, he sank to the carpet and lay there without moving for a long time. Finally, when he could move again, he slowly sat up. Much more time passed before he could climb to the top of the post again, but when he could do so, he did. Then he stayed there the rest of the afternoon.

  He was sitting there when the girls came in shortly before dinner time. They had taken off their jackets and gloves downstairs, but their cheeks and hands were ruddy from more long hours out in the autumn air. They ignored him, arguing among themselves about some game they had been playing outside with the neighbors. He sat as he normally did, watching as they bustled in and out of the room, talking to each other.

  When Charlotte arrived home, she called hello to the girls from just inside the front door and then came right up to their room, carrying a wooden coat hanger she had taken from a closet on the way. She was all dressed up in makeup, gold earrings and necklaces, a fancy white blouse, and a gray suit. As she leaned on the doorknob with one hand, she slipped off her high heeled gray shoes with the other.

  “Did you girls have a good day?” Charlotte asked pleasantly. She put her shoes down and unfastened her gray suit jacket. “Don’t mind me. I have to get in the shower right away.”

  Her sheer white blouse had been buttoned tight over her bulging breasts.

  He watched uncomfortably as her motion to get out of the jacket strained open the blouse in little arcs between each button, showing him the smooth skin of her abdomen and the white lace pattern of her bra cups.

  “Sure, Mom,” said June.

  “Only, he got out,” said Mitt.

  “Oh?” Charlotte hung her jacket carefully on the hanger and hooked it over the doorknob. Then she fumbled with the button fastening her skirt. “Where did you find him?”

  “Just around the corner up there.” Lena pointed vaguely.

  “And?”

  “We brought him back here. All three of us took turns.”

  “My.” Charlotte nodded her approval. “I’m sure he learned his lesson.” She smiled at him as she wriggled her skirt down, revealing a white half slip. “All three of you. My.”

  He looked away when she caught his eye, but glanced back to her when she broke eye contact and leaned forward to step out of her skirt.

  His leaving the room was very serious and he was afraid she might order one of them to slam him again, but she wasn’t saying anything else yet. He watched her hang the skirt with great care from hooks on the horizontal bar of the coat hanger, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

  While the girls chattered on about their day, Charlotte took her earrings off one by one and laid them on top of the dresser. Then she did the same with her necklaces. After that, she listened to the girls absently as she unbuttoned her blouse.

  He couldn’t look away as her hands moved downward. The tight fabric of the blouse loosened and then she flipped the sides back, showing her smooth shoulders striped with the white bra straps. The bra was underwired to support her huge, soft pale breasts. He looked at the long line of cleavage between them, then at the bra again. The straps were until she reached behind her back and made a quick motion. The bra lost its tension and she eased it off, nodding at something June had said.

  He had seen her bare breasts several times, but not often. Her nipples caught his gaze. Pink welts from the bra marked her breasts and her shoulders and her sides. She rubbed the marks with both hands.

  June sat down on the bed, talking about the neighbor kids.

  His grip was stiffening. He wondered how long it would be before one of them noticed him. They were certain to see him sooner or later.

  He couldn’t hide.

  Mitt, whining a little, complained about their game with the neighbors again. Her mother was sympathetic. June argued; Lena went to use the bathroom.

  Charlotte paused, listening to June and Mitt. She stood in front of them in only her white underpants, darkened in the front by her triangle of pubic hair. A few stray tufts of it peeked out from the elastic around her thighs.

  He looked at her precisely coifed hairstyle and the still perfect makeup on her pretty face. Then his gaze moved down to her breasts again and past them to her stomach. Below her underpants, her thighs were fleshy but shapely as well, and her calves were trim. Her feet were small and her toenails bright red.

  Charlotte, still listening to Mitt, slipped the fingers of one hand under the elastic waistband and slid the underpants down as she bent forward. At the same time, she lifted first one leg and then the other to step out of them. She tossed them on top of the half slip on the bed and scratched the red line across her waist idly with long fingernails.

  He stared at her pubic hair in fascination. This was only the second or third time he had seen her completely nude. His face felt hot and he was covered with sweat.

  The bathroom door opened and Lena started out. She saw him, though, and pointed accusingly. “Mom! Look!”

  He covered his hard, stiff grip with his hands, but of course he was too late.

  “Oh, really.” Charlotte sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  She shifted slightly to face him, putting her fists on her hips. Her breasts swayed and jiggled with the movement. “All right, whose turn is it?”

  “I want to,” June said eagerly, jumping up and down.

  Charlotte nodded to him. He jumped all the way down to the floor and caught his balance with one hand on the carpet. Then he stood up, giving Charlotte one more glance. Her pubic hair was just a shade darker than the hair on her head. She stood patiently.

  June smiled happily, put her hands on his shoulders, and slammed her knee up into his marbles. He collapsed again in extreme pain, this time falling to the carpet on one shoulder. His grip softened right away.

  While he lay on the carpet, now chilly with the sweat that had accumulated all over his body, he heard Charlotte gather up her clothes and leave the room.

  That night, in bed, his marbles hurt sharply and his knees and lower abdomen throbbed with
a dull ache. He lay awake long after the girls were asleep.

  After a while, he sat up and moved to the middle of the bed so he could see out the window. Dry autumn leaves from the mussed piles drifted slowly in the wind over the dying grass, some of it still green and some brown. No one was out there.

  He lay down again. Now, as his lower body still throbbed with the multiple slammings, he wondered what he would do. He did not want to go exploring tomorrow. Charlotte or the girls almost always found him. He had only sneaked out and back undetected a couple of times.

  They always led him back by his marbles or his grip but usually only one of the girls punished him, under Charlotte’s supervision. Today had been different because she had been out.

  In the darkness, the faint light coming in through the window threw shadows on the walls and ceiling of his cubicle. Some were from the stark, half-empty branches of trees, while others, in straight, perpendicular lines, were cast from the window and its casing. He gazed at them absently.

  Maybe he would try exploring at night some time. He had never thought of that before. Not tonight, though.

  He still wanted to see the mysterious girl. Maybe she could be a friend. He didn’t have any.

  Finally, despite the pain, his eyes closed and he drifted into an uncomfortable doze.

  A noise downstairs woke him up from his fitful sleep. He didn’t know what that noise was, but he recognized the next one. It was a swinging door that led from the kitchen to the foyer just inside the front door. It made a distinctive squeak when it was opened and closed.

  First he had heard it open; a few seconds later, he heard it close.

  He sat up quickly, his heart beating fast. It might be that girl he had seen and this might be his only chance to meet her. He threw off the covers and climbed down the ladder, taking care to be quiet.