Sometimes I wonder if I had a sibling, if they’d have protected me like the Van Dorens protect each other. Or would they have become a victim too?
Maybe I do have a sibling. Maybe they don’t know about me.
The twins are playing on the living room floor when we come inside. Avory smiles at me from where he’s leaning against the couch close to the babies. Ellory crouches down to kiss his boys and then his brother.
Different kinds of kisses, of course. It’s weird that my brain has to tell me that this is how it should be. That’s not something I should have to differentiate, but I have a feeling that a part of my subconscious remembers something different as a child.
I watch the twins for a minute and think to myself,how does a grown man look at babies and sexualize them? What am I missing? What did Ryan see in me when I was a baby?
“How’d it go, Malin?” Avory asks.
I nod. “It was fine. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Okay. We’ll call you for dinner.”
“Thank you.” I turn to leave the room. Ryan follows.
2
GRACEN
I pullmy truck in beside Malin’s Audi. I knew I’d find him here. He’s always here.
Climbing out, I glance up at the sun and squint. It’s always so damn hot in Arizona. What I wouldn’t give for a little cool weather.
Sighing, I shut the door and head down to the lake. My eyes are already trained on the lone figure floating in the middle of the lake on a recliner floaty. He’s fully dressed with bare feet, and there’s a small paddle hanging off the side so he can get himself back to the dock when he’s ready to come in.
I sit at the end of the dock, set my cooler beside me, and take my boots off. Socks next. I roll my pant legs up and drop my feet into the warm water. Even the water is too hot to be refreshing. Damn Arizona sun.
Opening the cooler, I plunge my hand into the ice. When the cold makes me shiver, I bring my hand to the back of my neck. The icy drops of water drip down my back under my shirt. I sigh.
The ice is primarily to keep my water cold. It just happens to serve a second purpose. The sun makes me drink a fuckton of water, and yes, that’s an actual measurement.
I’ve spent most of my life in upstate Vermont, ten minutes from the Canadian border. Four years ago, Avory called and asked me to come to the Estate for a while to work on a project with them—tracking down the active members of the New World Order Temple cult.
Not sheep members. Not unless they’re actually causing harm to others. But those in charge. Those recruiting. Those abusing people in the name of God.
I didn’t have to stay on the Estate. I could have gone home years ago and still delivered the identities of these cultists. But while here, I learned why I was looking for these scumbags, and quite frankly, I’ve been enthralled with Malin since I first met him.
Before that, even. The first time I laid my eyes on him, I was completely and utterly captivated. I’d like to say that it’s just sympathetic fascination. The man has been through hell his entire life. He still struggles.
I don’t think that’s it, though. There’s just something about Malin that I can’t get away from. And thus, I spend at least a portion of every single day watching him float on the lake because he’s here almost every single day.
Maybe for peace. Maybe the rhythmic rocking of the water. Maybe he needs to get away from one-year-old twins.
Whatever the reason, I spotted Malin in this routine early on, and I’ve been watching him from the dock ever since. We don’t speak. I wait here in this spot until he rows himself back in andclimbs out. Usually, we make eye contact, and then he pulls his float out, ties it to the dock, and retreats to his car.
No words exchanged. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever said anything to me at all. Does he know who I am? Does he know I come here to watch him? Part of me hopes he doesn’t. It’s probably obsessively creepy. He’s dealt with enough creepiness in his life.
An engine makes me glance behind me. It’s not a vehicle. I suppose that’s not true. Itisa vehicle, but it’s a child’s vehicle. A little Jeep with a little trailer hauling bikes. In the backseat of the jeep is a picnic basket.
There are days I wonder what it would have been like to grow up on the Estate when your first vehicle is acquired when you’re three years old. That’s how long Emerson has been driving. He has his little brother Sulien in the passenger seat. There are times when the third Noaz Van Doren line is in the backseat, but not today.
Emerson pulls his Jeep beside my truck, and the two young boys climb out. Sulien gets the picnic basket, and together they walk toward me with smiles.
It’s rare that I spend my sessions staring at Malin alone. Almost always, I’m accompanied by one of the children who reside on the Estate. And there are a lot of them.
“Hi, Uncle Gracen,” Emerson says. He’s wearing overalls with untied boots and no shirt. This boy has a style all his own.
