Girl Minus X

Chapter 1-2

“Antoine’s farm. You two are at the farm?”

Dany shakes her head, no. Shrugs.

And everything falls to pieces. Because there, in the yard, just behind her aunt, the world has gone topsy-turvy. A fight has broken out. Or worse. Dany nods her chin at the ruckus just behind Norah.

Norah turns, and her whole body tenses up. Because there, in the prison yard behind her aunt, the group of waiting prisoners has parted – moving back in a loose circle – drawing an anxious ring around a pair of prisoners. At first, Dany thinks the woman has been hurt and that’s why she’s screaming. Screaming and tugging at her chain. But when Dany traces the chain to the other end, she sees the real problem.

There, lying on the ground, a prisoner is face down in the muck. Her face half buried in the foul stuff. Her head is wildly thrashing. Above her, the other prisoner is yanking on the chain that binds them – trying to get away. She yanks so hard that the prone woman’s arm pops right out of its socket.

All around them, the world has gone quiet.

And in that quiet, Dany hears the sound of bone, dislodged. Hears sinew, tearing. An echo of it there, in her head. For always. And ever.

Norah takes one step back. And another. Presses her back against the fence, dividing her jumpsuit into small orange diamonds. But Aunt Norah has hit the hard limit of her world. There’s nowhere for her to go.

Dany takes in the prisoner, face down in the yard, thrashing. She knows what an epileptic seizure looks like. But this is no ordinary seizure – no, this is something worse. Dany studies the prone prisoner, there, convulsing in the muck. Jasper, her biology mentor at the lab, would see it too. One look and he’d see it. This woman is sick. Something has shorted the circuits in her brain. Dany tries to get a look at the prisoner’s eyes, her pupils, but, with all that thrashing, it’s impossible. As she watches, she feels her little sister’s hand glide into hers. Feels tiny fingers gripping her own, falling slack, gripping again, as the kid’s huge eyes take all of it in.

A shrill alarm splits the air and, for a long beat, Dany forgets all about her mentor.

Forgets the woman, seizing up in the muck.

Forgets her aunt, back pressed to the fence.

Forgets everything, except that tiny hand in hers.

For a long time, the air screams, and when the screaming stops, when all is quiet, Dany’s ears ring with an echo of the alarm.

Before her, the rope trembles. The guards, on either end, have unclasped the hooks. As she watches, the red rope drops to the ground, lifeless, a skinned snake. Dany grips her sister’s tiny hand, grips it hard.

The closest guard turns on Dany and the kid, taking the two of them in. His hand hovers over his baton before settling on his belt buckle. He leans in. “Go on,” he tells her. “Get out of here.”

Dany grabs up her backpack and takes hold of her sister’s hand. But the kid’s feet are planted in the earth. “We’ve got to go,” Dany tells her. “Now.” But the kid just stands there, staring past the fence, at the outline of her aunt.

Dany follows Mac’s gaze, takes one last look.

She gets it, she does. Her little sister wants their aunt to face them, to acknowledge them one last time. To hold up a single hand. To wave. To let them know she’ll be okay. But the guard shifts his hand, takes hold of his baton.

“Move,” Dany hisses. She tugs on that little arm and the kid stumbles forward a step. And then Mac just stands there, again, staring up at Dany out of bottomless eyes.

“Aunt Norah will be okay,” Dany tells her. “She can handle herself.”

The guard steps forward, eyes on Dany.

“We’re going,” Dany says and pulls. But the kid is a square wheel, so Dany has no choice. She drags her sister away. Time and again, the kid squirms from her grip and, turning back, fixes big eyes on the yard. Another need as insistent as hunger has taken hold.

“She’ll be okay, I swear.”

The kid looks up, searches Dany’s face.

“I swear,” Dany whispers. “I’ve got a plan. I promise. I will get Norah out.”

Back at home, Mac goes for the Scrabble box. The kid gives the box a shake and stares up at her sister.

But Dany looks from the game to their ancient answering machine. The dusty black box is analogue. Inside, there is a tiny compartment to hold a little tape cassette. The thing belonged to Antoine – who is seriously paranoid about digital technology. On the black box, a little light blinks red.

Dany knows it will be bad news – because it’s always bad news – but she hits the button anyway. On the inside of her chest, there’s this tiny whisper of hope that refuses to die. The little whisper is telling her that maybe Eva called. Maybe Eva is on her way over.

But the first message is from the phone company. Not only are landlines being permanently phased out, but their bill is past due. Dany hits the button again, and the tape skips forward. The machine blips and there, from that dusty plastic box, comes the voice of a tired old man.

“Danielle, mon chou, it’s me, it’s papa,” the voice on the machine says. The kid sets down the Scrabble box and stares, head c****d.

Dany frowns.

“You’re mad. I understand.” Antoine sighs, and for a beat, there is the sound of his tired breaths. “Can you tell Mac there’s going to be chicks?” he tries. “Four, five days more, I think. Maybe she wants to come see the baby chickens hatch. Maybe you both want to come and see. I’ve fixed up rooms for both of you. You know that I –”

Dany hits the button and the machine shuts off. But too late. The kid is looking up at her, eyes bright. She’s heard it all. With a sigh, Dany reaches for the phone. “I’ll call, I’ll call,” she tells Mac. “Stupid chickens.”

But the kid is grinning.

Dany picks up the phone and frowns. Taps on the little button. But when she holds the receiver to her ear, there’s no dial tone. No nothing. Just a dead hunk of plastic. Because they’ve finally done it. Cut the landline off.

She holds the telephone out to her little sister and shrugs.