Part 2: Mr. Fur
It is dark again, and he feels a tiny hand on his knee.
"She's sleeping now," Savannah says.
"Yes. She has been sleeping for awhile."
"She didn't sleep before. You got her sleeping."
"Yes, I did. Has she...have you..."
"I like her," Savannah says. "She's sad."
"Yes."
"She lost someone."
"She did, yes. Her son. He went away."
"She hasn't got anyone. I haven't either."
"You have me, Savannah."
"Does she have you too?"
"If she wants to have me. We still have to talk about that."
"I think she'll want to. She's sad."
"It's not that simple."
Savannah holds her up her doll. It's a stuffed monkey. He has seen her with it before. "She has me. And Mr. Fur. He's already made things better."
He hoists her onto his lap. "Is that so?"
She nods, her little head bobbing seriously. "I talk to him. And he tells me things will be okay."
She holds him aloft, pantomimes talking. "It's all right, Savannah," she says. Her voice is a clipped, robotic monotone. "You'll be safe there. I'll send someone. He'll protect you, and you'll be safe."
It takes a moment for the implication to sink in, and when it does, it takes a conscious effort for him to keep his voice neutral as he clarifies. "He said that to you?"
"Uh huh. He says a lot of things."
"He actually, literally said it to you? Like, with a voice that you heard?"
"Well, of course I heard it! He wouldn't be talking if you couldn't hear..."
"Could I hear him, Savannah?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because, silly! He is Mr. Fur and he only talks to me. That's what makes him my special friend."
"Right. Savannah, I'm going to wake her up now. Can you play in the bedroom for awhile?"
"Okay."
"And can I keep Mr. Fur for a few minutes? I...I want to tell Aunt Sarah how great he's been."
Savannah shrugged, climbed down from his lap, already interested in other things. "I haven't looked in your shopping bags? Can I? Can I look?"
He nods. "Go find the cookies. Have a snack. Then play for awhile, okay? I'll call you when dinner is ready."
He rouses Sarah gently, already turning Mr. Fur over in his hands, feelings its plushy body, wondering where Catherine Weaver has hidden the bug.
--
She opens her eyes, and at once, her body tenses and her eyes track him warily as he paces in front of her.
He waits for her to speak first. She doesn't, just follows him with that blank, suspicious stare.
"We need to talk," he says at last.
"There is a bug in the doll."
"You heard that?"
"I hear a lot of things. So who is it from, Ellison? Weaver? Her 'boy' John Henry? You?"
"I'm on your side," he snaps. This sentiment has lost some of its patience in the numerous repeating of it he has done these last weeks. Even by phone, she has been angry, skittish, paranoid. It has surprised him that a woman as tough as she is has been so fragile underneath it all and needed so much comforting. He is still trying to wrap his head around the magnitude of what she has been through...
"So, have you found it yet?"
"I'm surprised you didn't," he says.
She sits up and gives him an odd look. "Yeah. I'm surprised about that too."
"Have you been okay, Sarah?"
"First things first. Did you find it?"
She gives him a minute, snatches the monkey from his hands, traces her thumb around its seams and creases. Then pulls, hard, on its floppy head. It falls off into her hands and she reaches into the cavity of its neck and pulls out a transceiver.
"Stand back," she says. And crushes it between her palms. There is a sizzling noise and bits of plastic fall away when she moves her hands again. There is a scorch mark on her palm.
"She'll wonder why he won't talk anymore," he says.
"That'll be the least of the things she'll have to wonder about."
His heart flutters. "So, you're planning to take her away, like you took John?"
"She isn't safe. I've told you that already."
He reaches into his travel bag, pulls out an envelope, hands it to her.
"Passports," he says. "There is one for me in there too. If you'll have me."
He sees the fight on her face, puts a hand on her knee. "I've lost people too. Let me in, Sarah. Let me help. Let me fight. It's bigger than you. Bigger than us."
"Ellison..."
"Don't tell me I don't understand."
"You don't."
"And don't tell me that in the end, it's all on you."
"It is."
"It's bigger than you. Bigger than us."
"You have no idea."
"Then teach me, just like you taught John, just like you're going to teach her. Teach me. Let me join you, Sarah. When Judgement Day comes, I want to live too. Let me join. Let me fight."
She closes her eyes, clearly fighting memories. Charley. Derek. Others she's lost. John...
"My rules," she says.
"Yes. Fine."
"You follow my rules."
"I will."
"And if you double-cross me, so help me god..."
"I know what's out there," he says.
"I know better."
"I know you do. Teach me."
She pulls out the passports. James Johnson. Sarah Johnson. Savannah Johnson. She traces her finger over the the familiar letters. J-o-h-n. Recognizes that for the gesture it is intended to be.
"I kept the names the same," he says. "Simpler that way."
He's already learning.
--