Genesis Girl (28 page)

A few days later, I’m invited inside Barbelo’s office to wash the floors. I’ve spent the whole week washing floors in the villa. I’ve cleaned out almost every room.

“See that?” Barbelo asks me when he invites me into his office. There’s a row of filing cabinets longer than the Archives at Tabula Rasa. “Those files are all mine. Nobody tells me what to do because I know so much.” He puts his hand on my back. “Someday soon I’ll need your help. I can’t send letters forever.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I remember back to the manor. I think about all of the letters Lydia got, calling her away. I always thought she was coming home to her purchaser, but maybe not. Maybe it was Barbelo sending her away to do his bidding.

“Important people trust us.” Barbelo stands up and walks back to his desk. “Vestals are incorruptible.” He peers at me over the rim of his glasses. “We’re unreadable, and we can go anywhere.”

I’m everywhere too. Barbelo lets me clean all over the villa. That’s my job. I’m the new cleaning lady. “I always like a girl around to make this place shine,” he says.

That’s what happened to Lilith. Barbelo liked her face in the Citrus Sunshine campaign and decided to bring her home to Plemora for himself.

At least, I think that’s what happened. I found the white headband Lilith used to wear in the commercial tucked behind some cleaner in the broom closet. When Lydia saw me holding it, she snatched it away like it was evidence.

All I know for sure is that I spend every day making this villa sparkle. I’ve also cleaned Barbelo’s cell, which is totally ordinary. Lydia’s room is right next door and is every bit as basic but does include a closet.

There’re plenty of locked closets, but there’s only one room in this whole place that I haven’t been in yet. I can smell its stench coming from under the floor.

That’s where we’re standing today, the three of us.

“Don’t make her do it, Barbelo,” Lydia pleads. “Please don’t send her in there.”

Barbelo snaps his fingers. “That’s enough, Lydia. It’s time Blanca sees our guest. I think she’s ready.”

“She’s not ready. She’ll never be ready.” Lydia steps in front of me, protecting me from the unknown.

That’s when Barbelo slaps her across the face.

“Blanca, get your bucket,” he says.

So I grab my supplies. And when Barbelo opens the door, the smell becomes overwhelming. It’s the stench of rot, shit, and despair all rolled into one.

Somewhere inside the little room, someone or something is moaning. When my eyes finally dilate, I see a creature, huddled underneath the cot.

It’s Beau.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Barbelo asks me from the doorway.

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“Because Beau tried to run. He thought he could follow that whore of his. But Lydia found him first, and we’ll find Fatima too. She can’t hide forever. Not when we’ve got her lover boy as our hostage.”

“That’s brilliant,” I lie.

“Of course it is,” Barbelo says. “Now clean this place out. I’ll be right here watching.”

“Yes, Father. Of course, Father.” It hurts me, knowing that Beau is hearing me call Barbelo Father.

But I’m not sure if Beau can hear me. All six feet of him is crouched into the fetal position, and his eyes are wild. As I scrub away the filth, he stares at me without recognition.

At least I can make his prison clean.

I think Lydia’s trying to protect me. She slips me extra food when Barbelo’s not looking. She brings me books. After the blessing ceremony last night, she brushed a strand of hair off my face and behind my ear. I wonder if she was thinking about the manor, and about that time she brushed my hair.
I am loyal. I am
…

I wonder if she wishes we could go back home.

Maybe Lydia can’t leave anymore, after what happened with Ethan. Maybe this is it for her, and she thinks that we’re going to be our own weird family. But you can’t trade a McNeal for a Vestal; it doesn’t work like that.

I’ve lived my whole life knowing that my parents didn’t want me. They castrated my virtual identity for the chance of a better life. But that payout was for them, not me. So if Barbelo Nemo really is my father, what difference does that make? Either way my dad is an asshole.

I would like to know about my mother though. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a mom is Lydia, and that was pretty much messed up from the start.

But Lydia still might be my best hope. She might be Beau’s salvation too. That’s what my instincts tell me. Because I could fight Barbelo or I could fight Lydia, but I probably couldn’t fight them both. Not when Lydia has a gun. Not when Beau’s in no position to fight.

So today when Barbelo is in the garden, I approach Lydia. She’s in her cloister on her yoga mat, but the door is open. I’m supposed to be washing dishes.

“We have to help Beau,” I kneel next to her mat.

Lydia’s in Lotus position. She opens one eyelid and peers at me. “That’s not possible.”

“I have to help Beau,” I say again. “I’m going to do something, with or without you.”

Now I’ve got her attention.

“No way,” Lydia says quickly, opening both eyes now. “You can’t do that. He’ll lock you up again.”

“Not if you don’t tell him.” I put both of my hands on her shoulders and give her my most intense smile ever. “You’re inspirational. I’ve looked up to you ever since the first time we met. You always make the best decisions. You always protect the weak. You’re the most courageous Vestal I know.”

But the truth is Lydia looks scared. Even with me telling her exactly what she wants to hear, she doesn’t say anything. Or maybe the problem is that I’m not telling Lydia what she wants to hear after all.

“Please, Ms. Lydia. We have to do this. It will be like a mother/daughter adventure.”

“After lunch,” Lydia whispers with tears in her eyes. “I’ll unlock the door for you at one o’clock, but you won’t have much time.”

We don’t have much time now either. Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I slide into Downward Dog, like a yoga genius. Lydia and I both Salute the Sun. When Barbelo walks in, the two of us are doing yoga together.

Like the old days, back at the manor.

Tiny sips of water, little bits of fruit, gentle words and cooing; coaxing Beau out from underneath his cot is like helping an injured bird. He is startled and shaky. When I reach out to touch his hand, he pulls it back.

“Beau, it’s me,” I whisper. “I’m here to help you.”

Beau stares at me without recognition. He’s been cloistered too long.

I feel like a traitor for trying, but I say the blessing, in case it will help. “Beau, you have a hard road. In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it
.
You have everything you need to achieve happiness.” I hold my wrist out to him so he can see my cuff.

Beau doesn’t respond for a few moments. But then he reaches out his own cuff, and the blessing is complete.

“Blanca!” he says harshly, as if his vocal chords have been damaged.

“You need to eat,” I say. “Come out so I can give you some food.”

He’s skeletal. As soon as Beau crawls out from under the bed, I see how much he’s truly suffered. I don’t recognize him. His hair is matted around his face like he’s grown wild.

“Eat,” I say. “Eat your fill and get stronger.”

Beau waits a few seconds, suspicious, and then he tears into the food with both hands.

I take the linen napkin and wipe away the plum juice dripping down Beau’s chin. He scarfs down the food so fast I worry he’ll choke. “I’m going to be back, Beau. I’ll get us out of here. So you have to be ready. Do you understand me? You have to be prepared.”

“Fatima?” Beau says, suddenly remembering. “How is Fatima?”

“She’s okay,” I say, hoping it’s the truth. Cal will keep Fatima safe, if he’s still alive. “You need to get stronger so that when we escape, we can go back to her.”

“But what about Barbelo?” Beau asks. “He says that—”

“It doesn’t matter what Barbelo says,” I say softly. “He’s not the boss of you.”

“Then who is? Who?”

“Nobody’s the boss of us,” I answer. “That’s why you need to get better. So you can take care of yourself. We both need to be strong so we can both leave.”

I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

Beau takes deep breaths, gasping for air, like he’s breathing for the first time. “Blanca, I … ” But he can’t finish his sentence.

“I need to go now, but I’ll return tomorrow.” I enclose Beau in my arms and rest his head on my shoulder. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Beau doesn’t say anything. But he hugs me back.

Right before I open the door to leave, I pause. “Remember, Beau,” I say, turning to look at him. “Remember that you are loved.”

Opening a door is easy. Opening a mind is hard. That’s the only excuse I can give for what happens today at the villa. It’s the only excuse I have for my own deadly stupidity.

It starts when the well won’t work, and there’s no water to clean up the breakfast dishes.

“The generator must be out.” Barbelo throws his dirty gardening gloves on the clean kitchen counter. “Damn it, Lydia! Turn off the sink before the pipes break.”

“Yes, Barbelo,” she says. “Of course, Barbelo.”

But Lydia’s not quick enough. Barbelo knocks her in the jaw with his fist. She sits down at the kitchen table, holding her chin, not saying anything until he leaves.

I get some ice from the freezer and wrap it in a little cloth. Then I press it gently to Lydia’s face.

“Why do you let him do that?” I ask her. “Why?”

Lydia doesn’t answer. She rocks back and forth in her seat, holding the compress to her chin.

“Back in California, you were so powerful.” I picture her standing up to Headmaster Russell. “What happens here, when you get to Nevada?”

“I’m sorry, Blanca,” Lydia says. “I’m sorry. You don’t know. All the years. My sister.” Lydia isn’t making sense. She’s rambles. Then she reaches in her pocket and takes out the key. “This is a good time,” she says. “I saved some figs for him in the bowl over there.” I think she means for me to go see Beau.

“Keep the ice on that,” I advise.

Lydia nods and rises from the chair, one joint at a time. I follow her out of the kitchen.

It’s been five days now of helping Beau get better. He’s in his right mind again and gaining some weight. Each day he’s growing stronger. I know it.

And I’m getting stronger too. I’m as strong as I’ve ever been.
I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

I feel the heat press into me as we walk down the hallway to Beau’s cell. Whatever stopped the well from pumping must also have affected the cooling system.

The temperature is becoming unbearable.

Lydia unlocks the door for me and then sits down on the tiles, her back against the wall. She’s still holding the ice on her chin. I kiss her on the forehead to say thank you, and a tear rolls down her cheek.