Author's Note: Deep psychotherapy for sociopaths? Tend and befriend instinct for women? Richard Connaught in a Youtube video? Sometimes the Internet is generous...

10

By sunrise the next morning, my throat felt sore, my nose stuffy, and my head was almost in a total fog. My first drink of the day was hot black tea with an orange slice floating on the top, and that was soon chased down with a spoonful of orange medicine that tasted strangely like liquid Ben-Gay. As much as it soothed my throat's soreness for a time, that gradually gave way to coughing and blowing my nose into various tissues. My very first day of suffering from a winter cold had finally arrived.

The doctors and nurses were very patient with me, though...thank goodness. I received quite a few cups of cold water that morning, because they told me it would help my throat. I also learned the benefits of warm toast with melted butter and sliced peaches—not only was the first easy on my sore throat, but the second gave me a few extra vitamins to fight it. I silently imagined myself holding a peach-shaped ice cube against my throat as I finished them off one bite at a time. That would have been funny and soothing all at once, as long as I didn't have to deal with it melting in my hands.

Then I snapped back to reality with my last swallow, and had to blow my nose for what seemed like the fiftieth time since I'd woken up. Someone was knocking at my door, and the orderly had let them in on the spot. It was Em as promised, and she'd brought along a stack of letters with her. I had no problems using sign language today, because it would help me rest my voice for the time being and communicate well in the meantime.

Hi there, Em...

We couldn't hold hands or hug, because then I would most likely give her what I'd caught. That didn't stop her from smoothing my hair back or kissing me on the forehead, though.

Hello to you too, Petey. How are you feeling today?

Even though I wanted to crawl under my blanket and hide, I did my best to smile anyway.

I'm sick as a dog. How are you feeling?

She gave me an identical grin back, complete with a little space between her front teeth that matched my own.

Oh, I'm just fine. Better, now that I know you're safe.

Her expression got so serious so quickly that I felt a shiver jump up my spine.

I'm afraid we might have a more urgent problem on our hands, though.

Urgent? I signed, blinking once or twice. What do you mean by 'urgent'?

She refused to meet my eyes as she dropped the pile of letters into my lap. It wasn't until after she'd drawn away a few steps that she decided to look at me again.

Petey...didn't you tell me that you had a job already?

My hands started to put together a response, but soon I found myself dropping them just as fast as I'd tried raising them. There was a message stamped with the word 'Urgent' in large red letters, and I felt a shiver travel up my spine at the sight of it. I might have been able to fool Em on my pretend employment because my real nightly activity had earned me handfuls of the shiny stuff to bring home and show her. What I could not do was show that same treasure to whoever worked at that Office, because then they would be able to add up the evidence and report me to the nearest policeman.

Fine time for this to come up, I thought, feeling the weight of Em's stare as I struggled to come up with an alibi. I had expected a long talk about us finding work for me together, not a short question about one of my various past lies. From the look on Em's face, she'd expected a quick explanation as to why I was receiving letters stamped in red from the State Job Office...and definitely not a stunned silence. That was the last thing she'd ever hoped to see from me.

Well, Peter Michael Clancy? I'm listening. How come you seemed to have all that money from working half a year ago, and don't have any now...?

Whether it was from my sickness or the fact that I was bundled up pretty tight, I couldn't tell. What I did know was that I felt a sweat coming on as I forced my fingers to cooperate, and so begin to air out all the dirty laundry of my past life.

Well, first I had a rough time getting along in school, remember? After I got out of the elementary classes, right? It felt like it was just me, so...so I found this one group of boys who I thought would help keep me safe from the bullies, but—but not really, and so then...so then there was this other group that came along, and then we started having pretend fights with each other, and...

I snuck a look back at Em, half expecting her to look angry or start yelling at me with her hands. Instead, she just wrinkled her brow and motioned for me to continue, almost as though I had worried her instead of frightening her.

…And then we started fighting other people...well most of the time, other boys our age, but then we found these rich old folks, and—

Em suddenly raised her hand for me to stop, and I felt that old lump settling in my throat again, reminding me that this wouldn't be good.

—Wait, wait. You're telling me you got involved in some sort of fighting club?

I hesitated for about three seconds...then I made myself nod in agreement. If we had been that clever to start with, we would have made it solely for organized fights in some kind of ring, and we might have earned money in a good way even though the State would have never given us permission for it. Still...the little battles we had between our gang and all the others were as close to actual battles as we had ever received, and as long as we didn't lose, we'd have had a lot of experience to brag about later.

And then...some rich people came along, and started tossing in their money to bet on the winners?

Sometimes the lie was so much more merciful than the truth. I closed my eyes and grimaced after hearing this, and Em automatically took it as a sign of me confessing my guilt in the matter.

I don't believe it! You've been gambling?

I managed another small nod, but not without thinking, With my life. No other words could describe that except the ones I never wanted to sign or say out loud. Thanks to my Em's improvisations, I might not ever have to.

Oh, Petey. Why didn't you tell me this as soon as it happened?

Because you were always away, that's why.

I smiled wistfully just to let her know I wasn't angry with her, but inside, my heart was pounding from the stress.

I mean, truthfully, Em...double shifts every night, except on weekends! You didn't get home until one in the morning, and by then every other person on this island would be in bed, me included. What could I have said about...about any of this?

I watched her lean forward in silence; then hide her face in her hands and start to sniffle. It wasn't fair that I had to be sick at a time like this. If it had just been me not eating that had me in this bed right now, I would have gone straight to her and hugged her without any second thoughts. Thanks to my stupid cold, that just wasn't possible even though it was the only thing I wanted to do. Instead, I could only hang my head and stare at my hands as they clenched the edge of my blankets, completely helpless with my own mother crying in front of me.

I sat there without signing a word for about five minutes, maybe longer if my mind didn't count the seconds correctly. I hated myself for bringing this on—my malnourishment, my sickness, even all this suspicion about me and my tiny family just because I didn't have the guttiwuts to say no to a few smooth-talkers of the streets. There was only that one letter to hold my attention in the meantime, because that word on its front, that 'Urgent' stamp in red, had raised all sorts of worries and questions inside my mind. I might have had Em's help in creating an alibi for her, but what would I say to this State Job Office since I knew I would have to write back immediately?

As if to answer me, Em dried her eyes with the back of her hand; then drifted back to my bedside and opened it by tearing one of its corners across. I pulled the letter out, unfolded it, and read just enough to learn that I had exactly three days to explain why I had not visited the Job Office, and that I would have to include any necessary medical papers or other forms to prove my claim. If I succeeded, then there was always a chance of me receiving a federal pardon as well as some assistance in finally choosing a job for myself, effective as soon as I was proven to be physically able to undertake it. If I failed to do that, however, then the Office itself would send the police after me for occupational delinquency...and after that, I might even have to spend some time in a low-security prison until the State ended up choosing a job for me. There was no question for me on which way I would have to go, though. I'd already figured out the answer about ten seconds after hearing the entire message.

Em, do you have a pen? I signed, my brow wrinkling in concentration.

Right here, she signed back, handing one to me once she had fished it out of the bottom of her purse, along with a small notepad that I silently whispered thanks about to anyone up above that might be listening. Barely thinking of anything but protecting myself, I began to scribble out this message:

To whom it may concern:

Please excuse my terrible lateness at doing what was expected of me so long ago. I had easily been drawn into a fighting club for gambling purposes about three years ago, which finally disbanded early this summer. A short period of time after that, I was treated in a mental health facility from June until September, and from October to the present I had tried treatment with a therapist, but with very little results.

At the present time, I am in the State Hospital undergoing treatment for malnourishment and a winter cold. Please also accept any enclosed documents with this letter, as I wish to clear my name before the State Court and begin to live a more productive life. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Peter M. Clancy

Thanks, Em, I told her, handing her the pen back along with my finished letter. Em was able to smile a little after hearing this, and once she'd stored both back inside her purse, she wasted no time in holding my teacup to my lips so that I could enjoy the last of my tea. A lukewarm drink like that never tasted so good in my life.

I'm glad that's over, she signed slowly, reaching just far enough to ruffle my hair. In return, I handed her my tissue box, because if I couldn't comfort her directly, at least I could make sure she was able to dry her eyes.

So am I, I agreed, quietly hoping that this letter was the last of my troubles. Unfortunately, as I would find out within a few days, my troubles were just beginning.