Caged Eagles (9 page)

“Why can't something just be what it is? Why am I supposed to trust you but you don't trust me? Do I look like a manipulator to you or a straightforward guy?”

“Mr. Wells, I hear this type of speech on a daily basis.”

Trevor leaned forward. “Yeah, I bet you do, from the rest of the rejects in here. Am I just another patient to you? Do I have to go on your medication to finally get out of this place?”

“We need to get back on track.”

“Answer me these simple questions.”

“Alright.” Dr. Taylor set the clipboard off to the side.

“Will the pills change me?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Will Dr. Stout insist I take a strong enough dose that I become addicted?”

Dr. Taylor had nothing else to say. Trevor stood up and crossed his arms. “I don't see the point in continuing this today. I'd like to return to my room.”

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Blaine was reading his small Bible when the door swished open.

“Does that old book really do you any good?”

Trevor didn't care to know but he needed a distraction after the depressing session with Leslie. He slumped down onto his mattress.

“Yes, it has given me advice when I seek it the most, and helps me gain strength in times of need,” his calm, booming voice informed Trevor.

“So were you just praying or seeking advice?”

“Both.” Blaine set the book aside and swung his legs off the bed to face Trevor. “She didn't let you go, did she?”

“No. I should try that old book of yours. Maybe if I rub the binding it will give me three wishes and I'll get out of here.”

“Mr. Wells,” a light female voice said from the doorway. Leslie stood with her arms folded over her chest. Trevor stood up and went toward her.

“Yeah?”

“I know you're right.” She glanced left and right down the hallway. The volume of her voice dropped. “Everything you have said, and I can not consciously allow myself to change you. I am here to help you, not manipulate you.”

“Don't let Stout hear you say that, she'll have you transferred to cafeteria duty.”

“You are my patient, not hers. I'll sign your release form. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Wells.” She walked away without another word.

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Trevor never thought the day would come. Both Burns and Leslie were present in the director's office. Trevor's insides were jumping with excitement. A single signature on a blank line and the doors to his life, his world, Sarah, were opened again. He half expected to wake up from this dream.

He had never felt freedom like this, and there was hardly any way to describe how it felt. His mind flashed to the Wizard of Oz; this was probably how Dorothy felt after stepping from her front door into the colorful, vibrant world of Oz. If there had been a yellow brick road before him, he would have skipped all the way down it.

Trevor decided to start by heading back to his old apartment building. His landlord would know what happened to his belongings and maybe give him another apartment to rent. Trevor made a mental note that he would have to go to the bank to check on the status of his account. His stomach growled, reminding him a grocery store visit would also be in the near future.

He didn't take the tram; he loved that he could stretch his legs and walk forever if he wanted to. The four hour journey to his old home felt like twenty minutes. One more block, around the corner, and Trevor entered the small lounge to the apartment building. It was exactly the same, probably always would be. The lobby was dark; but the window shades were drawn down low. The navy blue furniture permanently smelled like flower potpourri. Trevor knew he would never forget that smell no matter how hard he tried; it was too ingrained in his mind. He didn't know how the smell had become so bound to the couches, but his curiosity disappeared when he saw the landlord.

Mr. Busby, a frail man, bent over a large, leafy plant. He was always kind, quiet, and welcoming to his tenants. He had never married, so his white poodle that stood no higher than a grasshopper, and his miniature frogs were his life. He took his work seriously and methodically, but to call the man slow was an understatement. The flowers and ferns he watered were each receiving exactly the correct amount of water needed for maximum growth. Trevor knew this only because he overheard Mr. Busby tell another tenant exactly what he did to help his plants prosper.

“Mr. Busby,” Trevor interrupted the man's ritual.

“Trevor Wells, I thought you would be in rehab for years. It's been what, two years now? You're lucky you left before that first December because I had the heat break in half of the apartments. If I remember right yours was one such room,” Mr. Busby declared without rushing a single word. What the little man lacked in physical speed he gained in memory. It was similar to an elephant's.

“Yes, I was wondering what happened to my belongings.”

“Everything is still up there.” He pointed his thumb toward the ceiling. “That nice brunette you dated, Sarah, made sure the bank continued to wire rent payments until you notified them otherwise. I also let her into the apartment a few weeks ago.”

“Did she tell you why?”

Mr. Busby bent down and watered the nearest plant. Then he took a step toward the next one in line along the window seal.

“She was there for only ten minutes before she came back down with an old gray sweater. The only other person that had been up there was that redhead you use to date. She stole the keycard from behind my desk.” He glanced over at the main counter across the room. “Hurried upstairs, got what she wanted, and came back down before I could call the cops.

“When was that?” Trevor felt his disgust for Brandi grow.

“Oh, probably about fourteen months ago. Let me get your keycard now.” The little man moved toward the desk.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” Trevor took the flat, rectangular keycard and turned toward the elevators. Mr. Busby had already begun to water plants again.

Once inside the apartment he felt like he had stepped into the past. Everything was exactly as he had left it, though he was sure Brandi and Sarah would have moved some things around in the last couple of years. He opened all the curtains to let light shine into the room.

In one corner the light illuminated the fact that his desk needed dusting badly. Trevor pushed books, magazines, and computer game cases out of the way to find an old picture frame. The back was lost somewhere in the pile but the glass rested on top of the nearest book. He remembered very well what was in that frame–Sarah. It had been a photo of her on their trip to Penrose Park. She had had wet strawberry-scented hair from the water rides. Her smile had made the sun look dull. It was his favorite picture of her–where had it gone?

After searching the kitchen counters, couch, and T.V. stand without any success he decided to take a shower. The hot water felt great, but he couldn't help but feel defensive. He had taken showers in the prison for the last two years, and he'd always been on guard there.

He went into his room to find his favorite old pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt. Sarah never liked his jeans. She said they looked like something her grandmother would shred for spare sewing material. There they were, under another pile of clothes. Trevor pulled them out and put them on.

Trevor thought Sarah was silly; he didn't see the problem with the big hole worn in the right knee. He surveyed the material and there were no holes in any other area. He was always disgusted with people who went that far with their clothing. He didn't want to be forced to see parts of someone's body just because it was in style to wear the trash. Brandi entered his mind. No, a hole in the knee wasn't bad; but that just showed how classy Sarah was. She always dressed in clean, appropriate clothing.

They still fit perfectly, maybe even a little loose. He knew he would need money so he began searching through all his old hiding spots. Nothing under the mattress, nothing taped to the bottom of his dresser, nothing hiding in an old sock in the top of his closet. Brandi—he knew she would have searched the entire place for all he was worth.

“Damn her.”

Trevor said it out loud to himself. He stood defeated in his room. Maybe if he was lucky there would be a twenty in one of his pockets. He grabbed an old coat and found a five. Another pair of jeans had a ten. He did find a new twenty-dollar coin on the floor under everything. He tried to avoid using coins; mostly because it was rumored the government put trackers in them. He wasn't a suspicious person, but he allowed the coins to be his one exception.

Trevor slipped the money into his jeans, but felt something stop it from sliding to the bottom. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a grocery list. He never made grocery lists. What kind of guy would do that? He unfolded the paper to find a note from Sarah. His heart ached for her when he saw her beautiful curving handwriting.

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Trevor stepped onto the elevator and pushed the fourth-floor button. When the doors slid open he marched to apartment 420 and knocked. He leaned against the frame of the door, as if this was a daily routine. The truth was, he had done this a million times but he was the most excited for this visit. The door opened.

“What the fu…?”

“Hey, bet you're thinking hell has just frozen over. While you wait for the Mack truck that just smacked you in the face to drive off, I'm going inside.”

Trevor pushed past Brandi. He knew it was only a matter of moments before she demanded that he leave.

“
What is going on here
?”

“I'm out because I was a good boy and did everything they said.”

“Liar.”

He walked farther into the room, looking for Forrest. “Go ask Dr. Taylor.”

“Get out.” Brandi held the door wide open.

“Why? You found no hesitation in using my place awhile back for your own personal rendezvous, so I don't feel bad about this.”

“How do you know that?”

“I'm not stupid, now where is Forrest?”

She defiantly placed one hand on her hip. “He's gone.”

“So in other words, he's around here somewhere.”

“I said he was gone, get out.” Trevor heard a bedroom door down the hallway open.

“Brandi, is something wrong?” Forrest hollered and walked out into the living room in only a towel. “I thought I heard someone …” his words trailed off when he saw Trevor. “Trevor? What are you … what is going on?” He glanced from Brandi to Trevor.

“I think Brandi should explain that to you.” Trevor leaned against the back of the couch, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at Brandi. He wanted to watch her squirm.

“The both of you know each other?” Forrest was very confused. Trevor decided to speak first, knowing Brandi would only come up with a ridiculous lie.

“Remember the manipulating miserable liar I use to date? Well, you're looking at her.” Brandi cursed at Trevor.

“Brandi? Is this true?”

“I … no … Trevor … ” Brandi was caught in too big of a lie to have an answer.

“Brandi, answer me.”

“Yes Brandi, explain how you've been blackmailing me into doing what you want. Tell him how you're using Leslie Taylor to keep me in prison. Try to deny you went to the hospital, thinking I had been stabbed instead of Forrest. Did you tell Forrest you came to the rehab to blackmail me before that hair appointment of yours?”

“Brandi, you told me you had to leave early because you had a job interview. You've been lying to me?”

“Forrest, don't believe him.” Brandi moved to grab his arm but he shook her off.

“Why shouldn't I? Is he telling me the truth, yes or no?”

“No, he's a liar.”

“Did you lie to me?”

“No, but ….”

“I told you never to lie to me again. You have so I'm leaving.” Forrest went to the back of the apartment again. Brandi followed him,

“No, you can't! I love you.” She became hysterical and began to cry. Forrest dressed and began to shove arm loads of his clothing into black garbage bags. Brandi stormed into the living room screaming at Trevor.

“How could you do this?! I'm going to make you pay! I will make sure you never see Tobian again.”

Trevor marched across the room toward her and she backed into the corner. He grabbed her by the shoulders, “Where is she?” his voice was dangerous. She spit in his face and refused to respond. Trevor pulled her across the room and out to the balcony. He pushed her near the edge. She turned like a viper toward him. “You don't have the guts,” she snapped, but Trevor could see the fear in her eyes.

“I've been in rehab already and I can get out within months for your murder, so what is stopping me?” Trevor pushed her halfway over the ledge.

“Forrest, Forrest, stop him, please!” she shrieked to Forrest, who now stood behind Trevor with his coat over his arm. His lips parted and he inhaled to speak but didn't. Trevor could see the fear in his face. Forrest closed them and cleared his throat. He opened his opaque-colored eyes and said,

“I don't care, Brandi, and I will say you tripped. I guess you had better tell him what he wants.” He turned and walked back inside.

“Get her number now!” Trevor allowed her to return to the safely of the apartment. They stared at each other, like two cats do before fighting. She was the first to move, making a dash for the door. Trevor was faster and pulled her back to him.

“Get the number or we will go back outside.”

He held onto her arm and she walked over to retrieve a piece of paper out of a small desk drawer. She shoved it into his hand, expecting him to let go. Instead he pulled her across the room to the coffee table where her cell phone sat. He dialed the number but she grabbed it and hung up before the call connected.

“Okay, okay, I will get the number.”

She panicked, now scared. Shaking, she pulled a note out of her pocket that said “Morrison” on it. Trevor dialed the number and waited. A foreign voice answered the phone.

“Good afternoon, Morrison and Vanderbrush residence, how may I help you?”

“Yes, I'd like to talk with Tobian.” Trevor used her first name so as to not draw suspicion.

“One moment.” Classical music, Bach's Concerto in E flat major came over the receiver. Trevor recognized it because Sarah played the stuffy old music a lot. He glanced over to see Brandi with her head down and shoulders drooping. Her fake sobs were muffled behind her hands. Forrest finished putting the last bag of things near the doorway. The music continued for what felt like an eternity and Trevor grew impatient.

“Hello.”

He didn't know how to reply and couldn't find the words he wished to come out of his mouth. It was the first time he had heard her voice in two years and that simple word was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

“Hi, yes, Sarah, it's me.”

“Oh my …” her voice trailed off.

“I'm out, and I got your note and this number from Brandi.” Trevor heard a voice in the background,

“Toby, who is on the phone?”

“Umm …” Sarah was unsure how to answer.

“It's okay, I have to go, but at least tell me where you are. I will come get you.”