Things Not Seen (11 page)

A
n hour or so after the cops leave, Dad's on his way back to work, and I'm in the kitchen after lunch with Mom, and the phone rings. I pick it up, but before I say a word, Mom grabs the floating receiver out of the air.

“Hello?…No, I'm sorry, Bobby isn't here. He's visiting some relatives in Florida, and I'm not sure when he'll be back. I'll tell him to give you a call the next time I talk to him. Good-bye.”

She hangs up and turns to me, cold and serious. “Don't answer the phone, Bobby. If Dad isn't around or if I'm not home, just let it ring. Do you understand?”

“Oh. Right, like in case it's that lady calling.”

Mom nods. “Or Mrs. Trent, or the school, or just about anybody. You can't use the phone at all, and if you send any e-mails, erase your tracks.”

I tilt my head and stare at her in disbelief—which has no effect, because she can't tell I'm doing it. I have no body language. “What…like, you think they're going to tap our phones? That's pretty paranoid, Mom.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. If I was running this investigation, and I thought a child might be in danger, I'd sure ask a judge for a wiretap, wouldn't you? All I know is, it makes sense to assume the worst.”

Which is pretty paranoid, like I said. But I put a shrug in my voice and say, “Fine. I won't use the phone. Who called?”

“Alicia.”

“So, I can't talk to her?” Because I don't think I could stand that.

Mom reaches into her purse and hands me her cell phone. “Use this, and you can give Alicia that number, okay?”

I go up to my room and call Alicia. I'm glad she called, because I've got this idea I want to bounce off her. Except it's a pretty wild idea, and I don't want her to think I'm nuts.

After she answers, she says, “So, how's everything in Florida?” And for a few minutes I forget about my crazy idea because there's plenty of other stuff to talk about.

I say, “Very funny,” and I then tell her about the search party. When I'm done, she's not laughing anymore.

“The lady really said your mom and dad could go to jail?”

“No…not exactly. But she said there could be criminal prosecution, and that means you get arrested, and when you get arrested, they take you to jail. So it's the same thing.”

She's quiet for a few seconds. Then she says, “Guess what book I just finished listening to.”

“I don't know…something a little lighter than
The Scarlet Letter
, like maybe
Winnie-the-Pooh
? I have no idea.”

“
The Invisible Man
, by H. G. Wells.”

“Oh. And you're reading this because of me, right?”

“Of course.”

“I'm deeply honored. So, how is it?”

“Creepy. I think H. G. Wells has some serious issues. All his books are about wackos who try to take over the world. This character he made up is a real nutcase. But the part about how the man made himself disappear is pretty interesting. You should read it.”

“I'd rather have you give me a summary.”

“Because you're lazy?”

“Right, and because it's hard for me to check books out of the library right now.”

“Okay. Fine. So this half-crazy albino guy feels like a freak, but he's also kind of a genius, and he starts studying light, the way light works. And he gets this idea that if he could make every part of his body reflect light the same way that air does—which is not at all—then his whole body would be as invisible as air, and he could be completely transparent and have all this power. For him, it's all about the power. And he mixes up all these chemicals that can change the way his body reflects light, and he drinks this humongous drug cocktail, and he feels like he's going to die, and he passes out, and when he wakes up, his body has disappeared. At first he's happy, but what he finds out is that being invisible is terrible and that all these ignorant people are scared to death of him, and that makes him even crazier, and he turns into this schizoid homicidal maniac, and at the end it takes about six men to finally kill him.”

She pauses, and I don't say anything.

“Bobby?”

“So, that's the story?”

“You said you wanted a summary.”

“This sounds like a book I really need right now. Discouraging and disturbing, yet also deeply depressing. Thanks so much for sharing. Maybe you should start Alicia's Book Club. Here's your slogan: ‘Books to Push You Over the Edge.'”

She doesn't say anything. So I say, “Sorry. Still, you have to admit, that's a pretty depressing story.”

“But it's not, it's
not
depressing!” I can picture her face, and her intensity surprises me. “Because when I was listening to this book, all I could think of was that
you
are nothing like this guy. You aren't some crazy person trying to prove some big point, or become a famous scientist or something. You were nice before this happened, and you're still a good person. It's not like you wanted any of this. It's just an accident. You're innocent, and this other guy's guilty. Plus, he doesn't trust anybody. And that's not like you. This guy is all on his own because he's so selfish. You're not alone like he was. Like, your mom and dad? They would go to jail just to keep you safe. You have people who care about you and want to protect you.”

“People like you?” That stops her.

“…Well…yeah.”

Now she's blushing, I'm sure of it. I say, “You've really thought about all this, haven't you?”

“In case you haven't noticed, Bobby, I really think about everything. Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm stupid.”

Her sarcasm doesn't bother me anymore. Besides, it's my fault for getting personal. So I say, “I think you're right about this being an accident. But my dad says there's no such thing as an accident. He says there's only cause and effect. So anyway, I got this strange idea this morning, and I want to know if you think it's stupid, okay?”

“Sure.”

“You know how when something bad happens, everybody says, ‘Of all the people in the world, how come this had to happen to me?' Well, I'm lying on my bed early this morning reading an article in
Time
magazine about people who have had UFO abduction experiences. And I read that until the media got going on this, all these people—hundreds of them—they all kept quiet about it because they thought it only happened to them. And I look at myself, at all this, and I think, What makes you so sure this is only happening to you? Maybe going invisible has happened to other people too. Maybe lots of people! And everybody is keeping it a secret and thinks he's the only one in the world with this problem.”

Alicia says, “So you're saying…maybe there's this whole squad of other invisible people out there somewhere?…That's pretty hard to believe.”

“Is five invisible people harder to believe than just one? Is five or ten or a hundred any weirder than one? Okay, think about this: Do you and your dad ever talk about life in outer space?”

Alicia snorts. “Are you kidding? My dad's a nut about that. He says because there's life here on Earth, there
must
be life other places in the universe too. The universe is so huge, he says it's stupid to think that Earth is the only place with intelligent life.”

“Exactly. Because the same things that caused life here probably caused it to happen somewhere else, right? So here I am, and I've gone invisible without trying to, and something had to cause it, and maybe the same causes did it to someone else as well. Like life on some other planet. It's not so crazy.” I'm trying not to sound too excited about this, but I am.

Alicia's not going to just go along with it, though. She says, “Well, maybe it's not crazy, but so what? Let's say you could actually find someone else who's invisible, then what? What good does that do?”

“It's good because then we could compare notes, that's why. That's why when scientists do experiments, they do them lots of times—to compare the results.” I stop and think a second because I want her to see why this could be important. Then I say, “Okay, when you lost your sight, did the doctors ever talk about other cases—cases like yours?”

Now she's thinking. “Yeah—actually, that was the first thing they did! They looked through this huge database of other patients, scanning for people with the same kind of problems and conditions as mine. They wanted to see what the best treatment would be.”

“Exactly. And did they find any cases like yours?”

“About fifty, and that was just in North America.”

“Did it help?”

“…Kind of. It confirmed what they already thought. People with my kind of problem can't be helped.”

“Oh.” And I remember that information can cut both ways.

“But that doesn't mean it would be the same for you, Bobby. If we found just one other person, then we compare both cases, and if details start matching up, then you've got some real clues, right?”

“Right,” I say, “but that's where I hit a brick wall. Because if there are others like me, how do we find them? Like, run an ad in the newspaper? ‘Having Problems With Invisibility? Call Bobby, and say so long to your troubles.'”

Alicia giggles. “You'd probably get some very strange replies.”

“Right. That's the brick wall. Because even if there
was
some other person like me, and even if we could find him, what good would it do? Because the cops are still gonna crash in here five days from now and try to arrest my parents.”

“But it's something to work on, Bobby, and it's not like you've got some other big plan, right? And you can't just sit around and feel sorry for yourself, do nothing for five days—right?”

It's her tone that gets to me. “Who said anything about doing nothing? That's what drives me nuts about talking to you sometimes. You twist everything around and run it through a grinder, and then shoot it back at me.”

“Sorry you're so sensitive. You brought it up, as I recall—all these invisible people running around the world, right? You asked me, I said it sounded like something worth looking into, and then
you
turn around and say it's all just pointless.”

“I didn't say it's all pointless. I just have trouble seeing how it makes sense to start hunting around for other invisible people, that's all.”

“So what
does
make sense to you, Bobby?”

“Right now? Nothing makes any sense at all.”

Now she's pushing. “Oh, come on. Don't do the ‘poor little Bobby' routine. Let's get this thing figured out. What are some other ideas? There must be some other ideas, right?”

“No. I really don't have any other ideas. Believe it or not, I just wanted to talk things out a little, you know, talk to a friend. Remember friends, Alicia? Friends are people who—”

“Yeah,” she snaps, “yeah, I remember. Don't you start lecturing me. Don't even think about it, Bobby. I've got to go now, and you? You've got to find someone else who wants to sit around and listen to you snivel about everything. Let me know how it all works out, Bobby.”

“Sure. You bet. Go ahead and hang up. Good-bye.”

I hold the phone on my ear, waiting for her to hang up. She doesn't. I can hear her breathing.

“Hey—Alicia.”

“What?”

“Thought you had to go.”

“I thought you said good-bye.”

“But then you didn't hang up.”

“Neither did you.”

“Look, Alicia, I know that idea's crazy. Or maybe it's actually a good idea—it's practically the only one I've had so far. I just don't know what to think about anything, that's all. So I'll keep thinking, okay? I'll think about that, I'll think about everything. There has to be something, some idea. Because if there's not, then I might just walk into that lady's office at Child and Family Services tomorrow and plant my butt on her desk and tell her I'm fine, and let her hold my invisible hand and take my pulse. I'll get right up in her face and make her deal with the facts of the case, and just see what happens. Or maybe I'll make her an offer she can't refuse, maybe haunt her office all day, trash her computer, help her forget about me. Maybe visit her house a couple nights in a row, maybe scare her to death. Or maybe I'll write a juicy suicide note and set things up so my mom and dad are in the clear, and then I can go to my own funeral like Huck Finn did. And then just disappear. I don't know—I just don't know.”

When I'm done talking, Alicia doesn't say anything. All I hear is breathing. And when she talks, it's her small voice.

“I know where you are right now, Bobby. I've been there too. I have. And if it hadn't been for Nancy, I'd have probably tried to kill myself or done something else really stupid, stuff like you're talking about. So I'm going to be your Nancy. I'm not giving up on you, no matter how long it takes for things to get better, or even if things never do get better. And even if you give up on yourself, I'm not giving up on you. And I don't believe you're going to get mean or go crazy or any of that. I just don't believe it, Bobby. I know better.”