Текст книги "Twisted Fate"
Автор книги: Norah Olson
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
We didn’t believe it at first. It looked like a normal Tumblr page. You opened it up and there were links to click on to watch his films. Harmless stuff for the most part. A little full of himself, but what seventeen-year-old boy isn’t?
When we looked closer we realized he had a hidden site—something that only members could access. The whole thing was under the name Copeland Productions—not a very sophisticated secret name. And the Amazon wish list was also under that name. And that list was long and extravagant. I’d say he’s been bought tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise by his “fans” in exchange for these films.
And the films. I can barely describe them to you . . . It makes me want to . . . It makes you sick to think that this is the world we live in. That all this was going on in this beautiful tree-lined neighborhood among these decent people.
Once we got out of Prince Charming’s weirdo castle, we walked back into the woods.
“That kid is not too bright,” Declan said. “I think he’s kinda dumb, actually, which I didn’t quite realize when I was showing him around school. But he’s come to some erroneous ideas about how the world works.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Oh well. He clearly knows how to frame a shot, I mean, that’s undeniable, he’s talented, but—”
“No! I mean you just think he’s dumb? That’s it?”
Declan nodded. “Yeah. Dumb and really materialistic,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I guess I always think people like that are kinda dangerous.”
“Nah,” Declan said, shaking his head. “They’re mostly harmless, just annoying. At first I thought this guy was real trouble too. But he’s just some geeked-out kid making art who doesn’t have the brains yet to know what it means or why he’s doing it. Maybe he really will be famous someday.”
“What about that thing he said about people buying his movies?” I asked.
“That? That, my dear young lady, is a thing some boys do called bragging. I’m pretty sure it is an enormous exaggeration.”
“C’mon,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him farther into the woods. “We already missed dinner, let’s go for a walk so people can have a chance to worry about where we are.” I said it even though it would only be his parents and maybe Ally worrying about where we were.
He laughed and followed me though the pines out into a little clearing. The ground was soft with hundreds of years of decayed pine needles and it smelled amazing. It was already beginning to grow dark when we reached the giant moss-covered stone and climbed on top of it. Declan sat and I stood, leaning my head back to look up at the beautiful canopy of branches, the blazing orange light of late afternoon cutting through the dark branches and creating a strobe effect. He held my legs steady while I arched my back and gazed skyward and then he pulled me down to sit on his lap.
We smoked and held hands, and I said, “I can’t wait until we get out of this town.”
“Yeah, baby,” Declan said. “Just a couple more years, we’re going to freaking Stanford.”
“Or Harvard.”
“Or straight to hell,” he said, grinning.
I kissed him and he put his hands in my hair. I felt like I was melting into him. I rubbed my hand over the front of his jeans and could feel him getting excited. It always seemed like Declan’s mind was racing but when we were making out, it was just the two of us. So amazing. Like time actually stopped and there was nothing else to do in the whole world but suck on Declan’s lips.
“If no one sees us doing this, is it really happening?” I joked.
He laughed. And I am sure we were both thinking about what an upside-down world Graham lived in, where you exist only when there’s some photographic evidence of you.
Before we realized it—it was dark. We walked back through the woods to the edge of my driveway—the property line between Graham’s house and mine. And we stood behind my house kissing. He pressed me up against the side of the garage and slipped his hand up my shirt and inside my bra. I looked back at the house and saw the light of the kitchen window.
Allyson was standing there. She was looking out into the woods. Just staring blankly into nothing. Sometimes I think when I’m not around or when Mom is not telling her what to do, she just shuts down. I had no idea if she had ever leaned against the garage and felt a boy’s hard body pressing into her. But I knew she was missing a lot. And maybe dull-witted handsome Graham was the boy who would make her want to finally do more than homework and bake blueberry muffins.
I gave Declan a last tight squeeze and he put his skateboard down on the driveway.
“Tomorrow, Miss Tate?”
“You bring the herb and I’ll bring the flame.”
He high-fived me and skated away and I watched him cruise down the driveway and out onto the cool autumn street. The tall ornate streetlamps started to turn on one by one as he passed beneath them and I thought what a badass Declan Wells was. And how lucky I was to know him.
4:21—Tate going into her house
4:34—Tate in her bedroom
5:00—Playground outside after-school program
6:00—Tate kneeling in front of Declan in the woods
Dear Lined Piece of Paper,
I get the feeling people here think I’m weird. I’m trying to do what Dr. Adams says and focus and stay interested in what they are doing. Ask them questions about their lives. But mostly what I want to do is watch movies. You would think there would be plenty of kids at this school who would be down with such a simple thing like that. But no. The pretty Tate girl is still on my mind constantly. I invited her over but I don’t think she understood what it is I’m trying to do.
I’m starting to make money on the films. I’ve decided to call it an encyclopedia or a directory. A person can buy an individual entry or the whole directory. The individual entry is five thousand dollars. The whole encyclopedia is fifty thousand dollars. I could make an insane amount of money in a very short time. Enough to finance my long film. Enough to do it all by myself.
I feel like she alone could understand if she would just let herself—if she would be with me alone and let me talk to her. I feel like the two of us could make movies that would change the way everyone thought. The kind of movie I made back in Virginia with Eric.
Dr. Adams is still trying to get me to talk about Eric. Maybe if I could make another movie like the one I made with him I could just show it to Dr. Adams. I could say, Here. Do you get it now? Do you understand? Because Eric got it! Eric fucking understood. Eric knew exactly how I felt. He’d had the same prescription as me since he was like eight years old. If we had a sleepover and someone forgot the Ritalin—no problem, there was plenty to go around. And when we got older we figured out how to mix things just right. Eric and I were so close we were barely different people.
Dr. Adams looks interested and concerned when I say things like this but I know Tate will understand completely. I know she will. And I know we are going to be together forever. When I film her, I can feel how real she is. How solid and grounded and real. If anyone knows this world is bullshit and the way around it is to do your own thing, if anyone understands—has ever understood—it’s her.
I knew the thing I had to do was find out what happened between Graham and Ally. She had been keeping things from me, there was no doubt. Acting all weird like there was something she was trying to tell me, but I had been so pissed at her she couldn’t find the courage to do it.
I’d already threatened Graham and I was afraid if I tried to talk to him again, I’d end up rolling around on the floor with him in his room or having to watch some other film that looked like spliced-up surveillance footage from a convenience-store camera and then have to listen to him say that’s what he intended it to look like.
The thing is this. If you pay attention, if you watch the news or pay attention in any way, you know that little towns like ours are always hiding some nut or other. In the case of Graham, I couldn’t tell what he was up to. He filmed Becky. He filmed our neighbors. He filmed himself. Christ, he filmed that little Brian kid talking about freaking X-Men for like an hour. That’s when I knew it was not just artistic inspiration but also something else. Maybe the drugs. Who in the hell can listen to a ten-year-old talk about superheroes with such concentration and attention to detail unless they are using a little Adderall?
I started to worry that he had gotten Allyson to do something she didn’t want to. Or he had footage of us that he’d taken from across the driveway.
I knew I had to get into his house to find out what was going on.
And I would have done it sooner if the whole town hadn’t been swept up in a crisis.
And what happened next was so strange. So unexpected it was even more confusing about who Graham Copeland really was.
I knew the answers were all somewhere in his room. But I never expected what I would find there.
I had been thinking about him nonstop since the ride in his Austin and the long talk we had about his friends and how life was back in Virginia. I was distracted at school. I baked him two batches of muffins. And then finally I asked him to come out on the boat with me and my parents. Of course, Syd would not go. She hated sailing. She used to love it when we were kids but now she had some big grudge against it, like it was stupid or wrong or something our parents did to ignore us.
They didn’t sail to ignore us. The harbor and building was Daddy’s life and if we wanted to be a part of his life, we had to do the things he wanted to do. I don’t know why this was so hard for Syd to understand, but I didn’t really care that much either. It kept her out of our hair and let me have a lot of time with Graham, and it was nice for him to meet our parents without Syd showing up and saying some wise-ass thing or talking about Declan nonstop.
As usual, Daddy didn’t say much. He shook Graham’s hand roughly and gave him a little thump on the back. He said, “Can you sail, then?”
When Graham said no, Daddy shook his head a little and shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth, then went to rig up the sails. But Mom stood next to him and asked him questions.
She asked him if he’d like a drink and then went below into the hold and made us club sodas and lime, which she put in two plastic martini glasses. She made herself a real martini and then began asking Graham if he was related to certain people she knew in Virginia. Mom was always so charming. I loved the way she talked to people. I think she was probably the best hostess in all of Rockland, maybe in the whole state.
Dad pulled up the anchor and we headed out and I saw the look of joy and fascination on Graham’s face as we tacked out into the middle of the harbor and then the wind picked up and pushed us along.
Mommy and I were wearing matching outfits and Daddy sat gazing out at the ocean, manning the rudder and shouting to me to handle the rigging. “Ready about! Hard-a-lee. Dammit, gal, I said hard to the leeward side—we don’t want to lose our wind.”
I showed Graham how to do it and he looked so happy it was amazing. He had his camera with him, of course. He’d attached it to the brim of his hat and I’m sure it was capturing some beautiful footage of the sea.
Once we were cruising along for some time Graham and I sat on the bow together and felt the wind and talked.
“You’re incredible,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Never met a family like yours.”
I couldn’t believe he was talking to me this way. I’m a very simple person and I know it. But he acted like I was something so complex. Like I was special.
“No one has more secret skills than you,” he said. “You’re full of surprises every time I turn around.”
From: [email protected]
Dear Dr. Adams,
The new regimen seems to be working well for Graham. He’s been more focused and self-assured and seems to have developed a bit of a social life. Kim says he’s been having some friends over and watching movies. We’re beginning to feel that he might be able to transition into some healthy way of using media in his life.
Kim is still convinced that he has a future as a filmmaker and it would be cruel to limit his use of the screening room or constantly monitor his activities. She’s found a very good way to keep track of what he is doing by setting up “studio visits.” These are things that real artists do to have their work critiqued. She regularly watches all the movies he’s made as part of these studio visits and I think it’s giving Graham a sense of creative purpose and allows us to keep track of his activities without seeming like we are spying on him.
I didn’t believe it could happen but I am feeling more confident than ever that he will be able to live a full life after the trauma.
He’s also started talking about Eric again. I don’t know if this is the result of something you are doing in therapy or if the creative work is making him take stock of his life and making him remember the bond the boys had.
He’s mentioned several times things that they used to do together, and he regularly expresses pride in how tough and smart Eric was. Yesterday he said he would give anything to just have something of Eric’s. It nearly broke my heart. If it wasn’t for the bad blood I would almost feel inclined to contact Eric’s family to see if that was possible. But I am sure once the settlement payment cleared they were happy to never hear from us again. Such a pity. We all ache for their loss. And no one feels it more profoundly than Graham.
Lately I get the sense that he is finally capable of expressing himself and maybe looking for another friend who he can bond with. These days that possibility seems most likely from the next-door neighbors.
They even invited Graham to go out on an early fall excursion on their boat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as when he returned home, his cheeks red and hair windblown. He looked like he’d had some great epiphany. Raced up to his room, he said to take some notes. This move may be the best decision we ever made. The ocean is certainly an inspiration and maybe just the kind of combination of adventure and wholesome activity that can reach him.
Looking forward to meeting with you to discuss his progress this coming Wednesday.
Take care, Doc, and thank you.
1:34—Cleaning the decks
4:01—Tate tying knots close up
7:55—Coastline, lowering boom
15:03—Below deck
20:00–65:04—Talking with Julia
Dear Lined Piece of Paper,
She wasn’t kidding about being able to sail with her father! That girl is so at home on the ocean she’s like some superhero. I think I’ll tell Brian there’s a new superhero named Tate who battles sharks. That kid believes pretty much anything anyone tells him.
Mr. Tate is awesome. He actually smokes a pipe! I think he had it in the corner of his mouth the entire time we were out in the harbor. He doesn’t talk much at all—more like grunts and points to things. Mrs. Tate is like some kind of celebrity. They both have funny accents, but very different from each other’s. Mr. Tate actually built the ship himself and apparently li’l miss Tate used to go out on it with him when she was just a toddler.
That girl is amazing.
Her mother was not much of a sailor but she was very funny. She reminded me of the people who buy Kim’s paintings. And she was dressed in some kind of perfect sailing suit. She and Tate dressed alike. White shorts and blue-and-white-striped T-shirts and red sweaters with a picture of an anchor on them and Docksiders. It was really funny and kinda cool to film.
Sooo. Dr. Adams changed the drugs. Dad and Kim think he’s some kind of genius. But really the thing that is making me so happy is that I doubled the dose. Obviously. Whatever he changed it to did not take into account I had already changed the dosages of the other stuff like six months ago. I can buy all of it online—well, I don’t buy it myself; it’s on my private wish list, which I send out to people who buy more than one hundred dollars of my films. They pay and the stuff comes in boxes that look like books or prints. Dr. Adams started asking me about dosages and I figured eventually they’d figure things out—so this method works best because it doesn’t worry anyone. Anyway . . . all this is to say I guess this new doubling the dose is more like quadrupling it.
How can someone who is not me know how I feel just by things I’ve told him? It doesn’t make any sense. I know how I feel on this stuff and I know the kind of state I need to maintain to produce good work and I am not going to let that stop. Also—if they stop prescribing it I can just get shit online. He took me off the Xanax because he said I seem to have the anxiety under control. That’s because I already got myself some Librium and have been taking it for weeks! The Librium combined with Effexor, and the Adderall from Dr. Adams, is pretty sweet. Add to that the occasional half bottle of NyQuil to give things that floating sparkling effect that makes things beautiful and you’re good to go. But overall I am focused, relaxed, and ready to achieve greatness.
The kind of greatness Eric always talked about. After sailing with Tate, I started to feel like Rockland might have been one of the more beautiful places I had ever been and I started to think that maybe I could make enough films and sell them and not actually have to go to school at all. I would wander around looking for good subjects.
It’s amazing how much money people pay just for a simple little interview with a child. Near the skate park, near the elementary school, there’s always interesting subjects. For example, Julia Blair, who I talked to. She was playing on the swings and then she jumped off and was sitting by herself near the sandbox, clearly waiting for someone to pick her up. She was wearing a pink shirt and a little dark-green cardigan sweater with pictures of tulips on it. I sat on the swings. I had my camera attached to my hat as usual. And I was pretty sure I was getting some beautiful footage. The woods behind her—the contrasting colors of her clothes, the way she played absently by herself, looked distracted and thoughtful. I knew this would look good edited together with footage of things I had taken off the news or footage of cars driving really fast.
Finally I asked her, “Are you waiting for someone to pick you up?”
She nodded. “I’m waiting for my babysitter. She should be here soon.”
“You don’t walk home by yourself? You seem like a big girl.”
“I do on Wednesday and Friday, but today my babysitter’s taking me to her house. I’m in third grade. My mom says I can stay at home by myself soon.”
She told me she lives on Westmont. While she was talking I was thinking how cool it would be to get little kids to describe the whole geography of the city. How it would be really weird. And I could intercut the descriptions with footage of highways and maybe old pictures of Rockland. I was sure the same people who usually buy my films would pay even more if I had a film with lots of kids talking about their neighborhoods and how they walked around, how they saw it. Maybe I could even get a production company interested in it.
“Do you have any friends who might want to be in a movie?” I asked her.
“Maybe,” she said. “But can I be a princess in it?”
I told her of course. It really didn’t matter what she was going to be. People would buy the movie no matter what.
I lay down on the grass near her and pointed the camera up at the sky—the canopy of trees overhead and the blue and the clouds. And it felt like the world was full of possibility. I left before her babysitter came to pick her up and went out to drive the Austin Healey on the beautiful winding roads of Rockland.
Apparently it was on some kind of automatic system. Once people had paid enough to his PayPal account or bought him everything from his Amazon wish list, the video would automatically download from his site. There were already dozens of films. I thought the worst were the ones of kids. Talking to them about what they liked and then asking them questions about where they lived and went to school and who picked them up and when. The films were basically doing all the groundwork for any pedophile who wanted to come along. I couldn’t believe them when I saw them. He was literally assisting the potential abduction—the potential harm—to a child.
One little girl gave her address, phone number, school, and listed all the streets she walked home on and what time. Our jaws dropped when we saw it.
According to his parents, that was some kind of point he was making with his art. Like the films were a comment on what he was actually doing. That they were about trust and how the world has changed and how we are all constantly being watched and have no privacy and are at risk for people harming us . . . and God knows what other excuses these people came up with for what he was doing. They were blind to what their kid was up to. This was not art. This was some kid with a camera seeing how far he could push it, how much he could get away with. How he could get any attention at all. This is a very sick, very spoiled kid and nothing more. In the end, when I look back on it it’s amazing only two people were killed. The potential harm was so great.
And who knows if some new terror will come out of it.
