Page 70 of The Invisible Roommate
“Hats can be knocked off, too.” He didn’t intend to make his voice louder, meaner, but that’s how it came out. A tremulous staccato like a basketball slamming a backboard. His nerves split off in thousands of directions, creating new pathways for anxiety to overtake him.
“What if the hat was more like a helmet?” Gerard posed. “Like the one with the thermal binoculars.”
“Enough!” Emory barked. “Enough. Please. It can’t be done. It can’t happen, okay? I can’t leave here just to see you sing. I’m invisible, and I’m wanted for theft, and that kid probably just compromised my position and my research—don’t you get that?”
His own words reared back at him like a provoked horse liable to strike at any moment. I can’t leave here was a blunt hoof to the head, knocking loose a memory of him saying that exact sentence while sitting on a cold bench outside a firehouse in North Carolina to a pair of adults dressed as police officers. Or were they actually police officers? It was all still repressed, locked up tight in an inaccessible vault.
Until tonight.
Until his dream spun the dial and swung open the vault door.
“Do you think because I’m famous I don’t get things?” Across the table, hurt visibly sizzled in Gerard’s big eyes. “I’m not stupid just because I don’t know what a refractive index is or know about the Lorentz oscillator model.”
“Of course I don’t think you’re stupid,” Emory said, throat mostly clogged with a cluster of unswallowable memories.
“Real convincing.” Gerard stood and crossed to the trash can, where he scraped the rest of the food off his plate. The tines of the fork squealed as the gloppy yellow eggs tumbled off, roiling Emory’s empty yet upset stomach.
“Don’t be like that,” Emory heard himself say.
Gerard scraped faster, harder. “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me how to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emory asked, operating on high alert.
“It means that—”
Gerard lost his grip on the plate. Out of sight, it plummeted into the trash can. Crack. They both stopped their arguing. For a moment, Gerard stood there without moving. Emory wanted to help but sensed that might only make matters worse.
“I’m going back to sleep,” Gerard said, crossing to the bed.
But Emory couldn’t allow them to go to sleep angry, so he crossed to the bed, sat again, and said aloud what he’d been holding back. “Before the kids woke me up, I was having a dream.” Gerard paused before turning out the light, but he didn’t look over. “It was about my mom.”
“One of your foster moms?” Gerard asked, eyes still cast down on the bedside table.
“No.” Emory shook his head, which further unblocked his thoughts. “My birth mom. The one who gave me up.”
“When you say she gave you up, you mean…?” Gerard asked, turning toward him.
Emory’s body trembled with a sudden wave of tears.
Gerard inched closer, then clearly second-guessed himself. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?” he asked.
Emory needed physical touch so it didn’t feel so much like his body was becoming scattered atmospheric particles. He was already unviewable; he couldn’t bear to be intangible too, so he reached out his hand, certain the sleeve of his robe extending would be enough for intuitive Gerard.
Emory shut his eyes to the room, hoping maybe that would stop the sudden spinning sensation. But as soon as Gerard clasped his hand, Emory’s insides took off like the propellor on a motorboat. He could’ve sailed across the bay on Gerard’s support alone.
“I’m right here,” Gerard said.
“Thank you,” Emory croaked out.
“Of course,” Gerard said, tightening his hold. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”
“Yes,” Emory said, realizing fully that it wasn’t a dream. Out from the mental vault slunk a hellish Halloween demon that needed to be exorcised. He was half tempted to ask Gerard if he still had that rosary and bottle of holy water from Father Daniels, but instead, he simply spoke his way through the hurt.
33Emory
TWENTY-TWO YEARS EARLIER
The local firehouse hosted a Halloween party every year.
