The Wright Way

Chapter 21 - The Wright Way

I sit up and rub my eyes, hoping the vision will disappear. Still, the people remain. It's hard to make out the faces, but the guy standing by the foot of the bed reminds me of Barnaby. He's considerably bigger than everybody else in the room.

I shake my head. Barnaby can't be here. Nobody can be here.

Slowly, I reach for the bedside lamp and click it on. The light makes me squeeze my eyes and I briefly pray that when I open them the room will be empty.

Yet when I force them to open, the unmoving figures are still there. Worse still, I'm beginning to recognize them. By Joshua's side of the bed stand Sarah and Batya. It is indeed Barnaby watching me solemnly from his place at the foot of the bed. My eyes slowly travel from one face to another, fetching names from my memory. Joseph. Mark. Quentin.

"Hello, Ethan," says someone standing to my left.

I look up and meet Uncle Zachary's piercing gaze.

His voice wakes Joshua up. He stirs, then raises his head and props himself on one elbow. He looks around, first with the dull expression of someone rudely awakened, then with a more appropriate look of alarm. His eyes skip from one white clad figure to another until they stop on me.

"What's going on?" he whispers.

It's a good question, yet not the most urgent one.

"This is not what it looks like," I say, turning to Uncle. "This man has lost his home in a fire. I invited him to stay with me for a few days."

"Very kind of you," he says softly. "You even offered him your bed, I see."

"He was supposed to sleep on the sofa." I shoot an angry glance at Joshua. He blinks, apparently still clinging to the hope, already abandoned by me, to wake up any moment.

I turn back to Uncle. "But you see, we're both dressed, so there was nothing inappropriate going on." I gesture at myself, immensely thankful for having fallen asleep in my clothes, and then at Joshua, who's wearing the grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt he bought today.

"Who are these people?" Joshua draws himself into a sitting position, his eyes moving from one impenetrable face to another. I can imagine how weird this must be to him. I at least know who they are. To him, this must be absolutely surreal.

Eventually, his eyes stop on Uncle Zachary.

"Hey," he says, frowning. "I know you. I saw you on TV. You're—"

"Be quiet." Uncle's eyes remain on me—a heavy, unblinking gaze. "Get up, Ethan."

My mouth feels dry. "Why?"

"You're going home." He doesn't sound mad or upset. Considering the circumstances, it's unnerving. "You've tried to do it your own way. We can see the results." He nods at Joshua, then puts his finger to his lips as I open my mouth to protest. "Hush. Your excuses offend my intelligence. Get dressed."

Slowly, I lower my feet to the floor, then look over my shoulder at Joshua who gapes at me, completely lost. I wonder how much trouble this gets him in. Uncle won't be happy with an outsider witnessing this. If there is any hope to get him off their hook, it lies with me going with them now. Perhaps they will leave him alone then. Either way, disobeying is not really an option.

"The hell?" Joshua says, and then, suddenly, he rolls off the bed and darts across the room. His move takes everyone by surprise, and some of the figures break their silence and gasp.

Joshua reaches the couch and grabs something from it. He turns around, holding the knife he used earlier to cut the apple. The plate slides off the couch and hits the floor, scattering pieces of brown apple skin around. He ignores it, pointing the knife in our general direction.

"Now what the fuck is going on?" He's almost yelling. "Why—"

Ignoring the knife, Barnaby steps over to him, grabs his hand and twists it. Joshua lets out a short squeal, drops the knife and plops ungracefully onto the sofa, following Barnaby's push. He rubs his wrist and looks up at the white-clad giant, his eyes wide and panicked.

"I don't understand." He sounds like he's about to cry. "Who are you, people?"

"Just friends and family." Uncle's eyes leave my face, which feels as if a bright projector has been turned off. He saunters towards the couch, his robe swishing to the rhythm of his steps. "Joshua Hill, isn't it? I heard about the fire. So sad that you lost your job. Well, such things happen, don't they?"

Joshua nods slowly, apparently as hypnotized by the calm voice as many before him.

"I understand that this must be strange to you." Uncle spreads his hands, then nods at me. "We're just here to retrieve my nephew. A little family issue, you see."

"Nephew?" Joshua's eyes shift to me, and his eyebrows go up. "You're his—nephew?"

I nod, getting up to my feet. As little as I liked what was going on here until now, Uncle's paying attention to Joshua is worse. The faster I leave with them, the better.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joshua whispers, his eyes round with shock.

"It doesn't matter now," Uncle says, watching me. "Although I do wonder if perhaps Ethan was a bit shy about his family connections? Anyway..." He reaches into the folds of his long robe. I wonder briefly if they brought the robes with them and put them on here—surely the didn't walk the streets dressed like a procession of ghosts? Yet how on earth have they managed to do it so quietly as to not wake us up? Did they get dressed outside the apartment? Why bother, if the only reason for their visit was to take me home? The robes are for important ceremonies, not for...

Then I see what Uncle takes out of his pocket, and all thoughts evaporate, leaving only a dull, sinking feeling in my chest.

"A glass of water, please," Uncle says, and Barnaby disappears into the kitchen.

Uncle opens a little white ring box that contains a single blue pill. He shows it to Joshua.

"Don't worry. It's not dangerous. It only causes a short-term memory loss."

"What?" Joshua's eyes widen ever more. "Memory loss?"

"A very short term," says Uncle. "You won't remember what you did in the afternoon, at most. Also, and most importantly, you won't remember us." He points around the room and smiles. "I'm sure you understand we wouldn't want such publicity."

"Uncle, that's not necessary." I step towards him. "He won't tell anyone."

"Hush." Uncle looks at me, a frown replacing his smile. "You haven't earned a right to speak to me yet."

Joshua throws a confused glance at me and then at Barnaby who returns with a glass of water.

"You can dissolve it in the water." Uncle takes the pill out of the box and puts it on his palm, offering it to Joshua. "Or just swallow it like this. You won't remember a few hours of your life—a bit inconvenient, right, but frankly..." His smile widens. "You don't really have a choice."

Joshua looks at him, then at me. I can sense his mind rushing, estimating the possible risks of accepting or refusing, perhaps trying to put together whatever scraps of information his memory contains regarding The Wrights in general and Uncle Zachary in particular. Yet the whole situation is too unexpected to allow him to accurately assess it. All he knows is that he's in a room with six people wearing medieval-looking white robes, at least one of them twice his size and possibly violent, and another one a leader of an organization of which he probably heard one or two worrying things. Saying 'no' to them must seem like a bad idea, yet taking an unfamiliar drug is hardly any better.

His hand rises slowly and reaches out for the pill. His eyes rest on Uncle's kindly face, as if seeking encouragement. Uncle smiles and gives a little nod.

"No!" Before I know it, I step forward and hit Uncle's hand, sending the blue pill flying into the air.