Curtain Call: Part V

"Give. Her. Back."

"No! She’s mine now," Sloan taunted, sticking out her tongue and running away from her sister with the soft white plushy grasped tightly in hand.

"No she's nooooot! Sloaaan!"

"You can't catch me! You've always been the slow one."

"Have not!"

"Have so!"

"Mom! She took Coconut again!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Sloan turned quickly on her feet, taunting her sister. "Coconut likes me better, Shannon. Get used to it."

Shannon stomped her feet, throwing her fists up in exasperation, "No. She. Doesn't. And. No. I. Won't."

Sloan dangled Coconut in front of Shannon's face. "Then come and get her."

Shannon, steam coming out of her ears, looked around their playroom. She fiercely grabbed a nearby purple bean bag chair and bellowed, "FINE."

Shannon took her sister down with one ferocious thwack. Sloan fell to the ground, losing her grip on Coconut. Shannon dove on her, grabbing the dog and throwing the bean bag chair on top of her sister. She sat down heavily, scooting herself left to right to assert her dominance further.

"Mmmmmdmdhsjklffff!!!"

Shannon cupped her ear and yelled, "What? Say that again. Sorry sis, you've always been the quiet one. You better speak up!"

Sloan scrunched her face in an attempt to breathe. All she could take in was the heavy scent of polyester and panic. Her chest heaved but no air came in. Her mouth opened and screamed, but no sound could be heard. Her lips formed "SHANNON" over and over but nothing.

Still nothing.

There was nothing but black until a few minutes later when their mom scolded Shannon and ripped the bean bag off of Sloan.

Their mom was furious.

They shook hands.

They said sorry.

They... didn't mean it.

Coconut was put on a high shelf.

The bean bag chair was moved to the garage.

They ate their applesauce in peace that afternoon, careful not to look at each other except to exchange the occasional scowl or raspberry.

All was well, but, for the rest of the day, Sloan could not stop thinking about how she would never be stuck like that again. She would never be powerless. She would never be gasping for air. She would never be smothered.

Never. Ever. Again.

.

.

.

There were no bean bag chairs on the boat, and Coconut had been in a cardboard box in an attic for twenty something years. Her sister had died many years ago, remembered fondly in the locket Sloan now clutched in her palm.

There were no bean bags, no Coconut, and no Shannon, but the panic...

The panic was there.

It was all happening again in that tiny, suffocating cabin.

What should have been an hour-long drive at maximum had turned into a multi-hour sojourn, and Sloan was starting to feel it.

After Emily reassured her that everything would be all right, and Sloan verified that she had heard her, Sloan felt very small. Sloan’s hand shook as she pulled her knuckles back from the boat’s interior wall after her knock. She tucked both hands up under her chin, curling up to feel even smaller. She was glad at the time that talking was not in her best interest, as she was not sure if she could get any words out. She knew that hearing how scared she actually was in the tone of her voice would only scare her further.

Sloan had gently rocked as the truck began pulling the boat out of the driveway and into the road. In the dark, she had imagined passing all those charming houses she had seen yesterday. She closed her eyes and saw the man taking out his trash. She heard him calling for Diane. She felt the pain in her lungs as piercingly cold air got sucked in over and over again while she ran.

But I'm not running.

I'm not running.

I'm just... here.

She felt as if the walls were collapsing in on her, but, hours into her journey, Sloan was doing her best to hold on.

To her sanity.

To her nerves.

To whatever she could…

She just had to hold on.

She squeezed her locket.

Just a little longer.

I have to cool it.

She counted her breaths with her fingers.

In two three four five, Out seven eight nine ten, In two three…

Eventually the lull of the boat on the road began to smooth out her very wrinkled nerves. She hated every moment inertia kicked her gently forward whenever they rolled to a stop.

Many stops.

Peter had been right about the road blockages. It seemed like there were a dozen checkpoints along the way. Every ten or fifteen minutes, Sloan felt the truck come to a halt and heard intermittent conversation. Sometimes she heard laughing and happy cries of recognition for old friends. Sometimes she heard concise and organized questions. She heard the faint trill of walkie talkies alerting their users to listen up. She heard a siren here and there. She heard cars rush past her in the opposite lane. She heard the excited howls of bloodhounds both near and far.

Most of the checkpoints went by quickly. They never stayed too long, just long enough for a quick check in and a chat about the exciting days of events. Sloan could never hear what they were talking about, but the conversation was usually light-hearted.

Enthusiastic.

Excited.

It had been a long time since Curtain Call had visited this city, but everyone was ecstatic to have it back. Not only that, the hunt usually never took more than 24 hours, and this, to the townspeople and even to those in more rural areas, was nothing short of riveting.

Perhaps it even felt patriotic.

In short, the energy was electric, and they all had Sloan’s decision to run to thank for it.

They drove on for what was probably a mile at a time, Sloan gathered, before being stopped again.

And again.

And again.

After the tenth or eleventh time, Sloan just stared at the ceiling without the focus on calm she had before. She did not feel much at all by this point.

Except her hip bone digging into the floor of the cabin.

That she felt.

It hurt so badly that she nearly heard it.

In all, the journey wasn't too bad.

There was one checkpoint, though, that shook Sloan. It didn't have the celebratory energy of the others.

This one felt cold.

It was on a quiet street, quiet enough that Sloan could hear a bit of the conversation.

“Seems… for a lake visit.”

Peter spoke up, loudly for Sloan's sake, “Well, you know those old pipes get testy if you don’t run water through `em. God knows we don’t need frozen pipes come spring.”

The man paused and continued slowly, "I am partial to running water, myself."

“Aren’t we all? Well, I’ll see ya, man.”

“Hey."

BANG BANG.

Sloan winced as the man ushered Peter to stay put by tapping what may have been the butt of a rifle twice on the bow of the boat, directly over Sloan’s head. She tried to blink out the ringing in her ears and groaned, pushing her face into her bent elbow.

"I still think it's a bit early," he said walking around the boat. "Mind if I check her out?"

"No, not at all. Go right ahead."

The boat dipped.

It swayed.

He's on the deck.

He carefully paced the length of the boat, pausing every now and then. By the sound of it, he was lifting the lids of storage bins. His cautious footsteps thumped along closer and closer to Sloan.

"Hey, could you come unlock this cabin?"

Shit.

Sloan bent her arms up and, with all her might, moved the boxes and bags closer to the door. They swept as much as they could as far as they could, and Sloan began rotating her hips to scoot herself as far away from the door as possible.

"Well, now, I don't see how that should be any of your business. But I guess if it will get us to the lake faster, I might as well oblige."

Peter!

"Now if only I could find that key…"

Sloan moved as quickly as possible and as quietly as possible. She tried to shift herself in time with the man's footsteps as he paced the deck, and she bit her lip to keep from panting.

At least my hip feels better.

"Ah, there it is. Emily dear, could you help the man out?"

Sloan began struggling as her space got tighter. She was sweating bullets and shaking when she heard Emily hop on the boat.

"Here you are, sir."

Sloan lay perfectly flat, arms pressed against the floor above her head and legs bent carefully to the side. Her chest moved up and down rapidly while her mouth lay open but just shy of silent.

Breathe, damn it.

"Oh shoot! Clumsy me. Now, where did that fall?"

In.

"Here, ma'am. You do the honors."

Out.

The padlock tinkered.

In.

The doors fell open

...In...

Sloan held her breath.

The light from outside blinded her, reflecting off the roof of the cabin and down into Sloan's eyes. She stared straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

...In...

"Go ahead and check it out."

...In...

"Seems you're prepared for a long stay."

...In...

"That we are. Looking forward to it."

The man paused for a few moments, carefully inspecting the cabin before grunting, "Well, okay, thank you. You can close her up."

Emily shut the doors.

Out.

Sloan listened intently as Emily and the man got off the boat. She heard muffled speech for a minute or two before Peter began driving again.

Oh, thank God.

There were only two more stops after that one. Both went by without a hitch. Sloan was cold, her sweaty clothes chilling her. She felt nauseous and bone-tired. She did not know how much more of the cabin she could take.

I want to go home.

It was the first time she allowed herself to think of it, home. In all the excitement she had not let herself consider that, while she could probably spend a decade on the lake, she would have to do it without her parents.

She felt incredibly guilty for the first time.

And furious.

Her parents had already lost one daughter. Now they had to lose another. This one felt crueler, though. Shannon's death had been out of their hands. No one saw it coming. No one meant for it to happen. Cancer is not something anyone organizes or plans for.

Sloan's death would be very, very intentional.

And everyone would see it coming.

Hell, everyone will see it happen.

Hot tears flooded her eyes. It was too much. Her sister, her parents, her fate, and this glorified cubby hole...

Too much.

Her hands hit the ceiling above her as she finally allowed a sob. From what Sloan could hear, her cries would not be heard over the roar of the highway. They would stop if they were pulled over again. Until then, the sobs kept on coming. They rolled over her again and again as she beat her fist on the ceiling. Her lungs gasped for air that was far from fresh and felt thinner and thinner all the time. Her feet kicked the wall over and over again as she struggled. Her head pounded, and her mouth fixed itself in a silent scream.

I'd take that fucking beanbag chair over this any day.

Sloan almost laughed. She drew her hands over her eyes, trying to stifle out the tears. Eventually, she could breathe again. Really breathe.

She was minutes from exhaustion-induced sleep when the boat rolled to a final stop. She heard Emily and Peter open and close their car doors in unison.

Sloan smoothed her clothes a bit as she heard Emily quickly hop up on the deck. She sped over to the doors, quickly unlocking the padlock. Sloan heard a few curses until Emily finally got both doors open.

"We're getting you out of there, sweet girl. How are you holding up?" Emily kept asking her questions as she moved supplies out of the cabin to make her way to Sloan.

"I'm okay," Sloan managed to get out.

"My goodness, that took longer than expected. Okay, come on out! Here, sugar," Emily beckoned, holding out her hands.

Sloan's legs shook as she brought herself on all fours. She crawled out of the cabin, blinded by the grey light outside, and grabbed Emily's hands.

Emily pulled her up onto her feet. She held her face gingerly, frowning at the swollen eyes and beaten expression.

"Hey," she whispered. Sloan raised her eyebrows. "You're almost done. Do you know that? It's almost over."

Sloan nodded.

"Okay, baby. Sit here. You'll have to stay low, but you can still sit comfortably. I'll get you some water."

"Thanks… thank you."

"Of course."

Sloan lowered herself onto the deck and rested her back on the side of the boat. She looked around, realizing she hadn't taken much of it in earlier that morning. There was not, however, much to take in at all. A couple of life jackets, two fishing poles stored horizontally on the wall of the boat, and an old murky cooler were all that sat on the deck beside the supplies Emily had pulled out of the cabin to get to Sloan. Peter was moving supplies from the truck bed back in and around the cabin, organizing the goods and carefully eyeing Sloan as he did so.

“Thank you, Peter.”

He shook his head, “No need to thank me, Miss.”

Thank you.

Emily came back with the water and squatted beside Sloan. "Drink this. You can keep sitting right here, but we'll be moving the boat onto the water. You just rest up, and we should be at the cabin shortly. We are a good ways away from where we normally park, so it will be another hour or so before we get to the lakehouse. Peter is taking the truck up there separately, and he'll let me know when we can pull up to the dock. Hey," she started, demanding that Sloan meet her gaze, "Sleep if you can. You hear me?"

I hear you.

Emily patted Sloan's head as she stood up. The boat moved up and down as she stepped off it, and soon after they were backing the boat into the water. The process was a bit bumpy and loud, but it was not nearly as long as Sloan expected. Soon enough, Emily was expertly anchoring it to a post nearby before going behind the boat to speak with Peter.

Sloan carefully peaked over the edge of the boat's wall to see them arguing softly a few yards away. She almost pulled away, confident Peter was regretting their helping her, before she heard a bit of what they were saying.

"Don't you think… hands? Our… her. Just her. You can't be… not you. I kno-"

Emily interrupted, "Just listen…"

"We… later. You couldn't…"

"She can-"

"Right now... her. We..."

"Fine. Later."

"Yes, later,” Peter agreed. He stepped toward the truck before turning back and giving his wife’s hand a squeeze and a comforting nod. She thanked him with just a hint of a smile as she headed back toward the boat.

“All right, kiddo. It’ll be just you and me for a while,” Emily said as she joined Sloan. She sat in a cracking leather seat as Peter gathered the last of the goods in the truck.

“What was that about?” Sloan asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

Emily let down her rolled up sleeves as she pondered an appropriate answer. “I have a few things to take care of that I think I ought to do while we help you. He thinks I should wait longer.”

Cryptic.

“Longer? How long have you been waiting?”

“25 years next spring,” Emily answered, glancing at Sloan out of the corner of her eye. “A story for another time."

Peter returned and placed the bags beside Sloan. "Okay, Miss, I'll be off now. I'll join you both some time tomorrow evening, I imagine. Until then, is there anything you need me to pick up? Maybe someone to contact?"

"No, that's… actually, yes. Yes, I do," she said as she looked around frantically for a piece of paper. She ended up tearing off the corner of a paper bag while Emily found a pen for her. "Thank you," she said, accepting the pen. “This is my parent’s address. They don't live too far away. Could you go see them, and can you tell them I am okay?”

Peter nodded. “Is there anything I can say to prove the message is really from you?”

Sloan pursed her lips, looking at the floor for any ideas. “Tell her… my mom…,” she glanced at her locket, quickly deciding to unclasp it and hold it up for Peter to take. "Show her this. It will make her listen to you. Her name is Sarah. Tell her that I am not with Shannon. She'll know I'm okay."

Peter looked at Emily, and, though thoroughly confused, he nodded. "If you say so."

"I do. It will work, trust me."

It better work.

Peter stepped off the boat and untied the knot keeping them on shore. He tossed the rope onto the deck and the boat began floating away. He waved and, just as he began turning away, Sloan stopped him.

"Peter!"

"Yes?!"

"Tell her I want Coconut back!"