Chapter 3: The Tape and the Bucket
Vincent's hand was still on my shoulder from where he'd pulled me back. His fingers dug into the gray hoodie and held tight, like he thought I might lunge again.
Susan had stepped sideways to cover the tear. She didn't try to fix the canvas. She just stood in front of it with her palm flat against the gold frame, blocking the dark gap with her body. Her cream blouse had a crease where she'd been gripping the chair before.
I could hear breathing from behind the portrait. It wasn't steady. It was thin and dry, with a little click every time he tried to swallow.
Marcus hadn't moved. He was halfway between the armchair and us, his dark zip jacket half-unzipped, his mouth open like he wanted to say something but didn't know who to say it to.
Vincent leaned down close to my ear. "Eli, stop," he said, quiet and hard. "You don't understand what you're looking at."
I twisted before he could tighten his grip. I ducked my shoulder and slipped out from under his hand. The floor was smooth under my sneakers and I was already at the wall.
"Eli, no," Susan said. She tried to slide in front of me but I was smaller and I got past her elbow. My hands hit the torn canvas and pushed it aside. The edges scraped my knuckles.
Behind the portrait were the gray metal doors. They were set right into the wall, seam down the middle, a flat handle on the right side. It looked like a closet but there was no light inside. Just shadow and that breathing.
I grabbed the handle. It was cold. I pulled. It stuck for a second then slid open about two feet on a track, metal scraping just enough to make my teeth hurt. The dark got wider.
Arthur was right there on the floor. He was sitting with his back against the inside wall, knees up, his light-colored top hanging loose. His white hair was thin and messy. His hands were tied in front of him with a white zip tie, and there was wide beige tape over his mouth. His eyes found mine immediately.
I dropped to my knees. The floor inside was not wood. It was concrete, cold through my jeans. There was a blanket folded behind him, a blue bucket in the corner, and three water bottles lined up, two of them empty on their sides.
"Don't touch him," Susan said behind me. Her voice was sharp now.
Vincent was right behind her. "Eli, get out of there. You're going to hurt him."
I didn't listen. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely get my fingers under the edge of the tape. It was stuck to the corners of his mouth and to stubble. Arthur flinched but he didn't pull away. He looked at me and gave a tiny nod.
Marcus finally moved. I heard his shoes quick on the wood and then he was kneeling next to me, his knee bumping mine. He put one hand on the metal door to hold it open wider.
"Easy," Marcus said. His voice was low and hoarse. "Easy, Eli. Let me help."
His hand covered mine for a second, steadying it. Together we got a corner up. The tape made a soft ripping sound coming off skin. Arthur's eyes watered and he made a small sound through his nose. I pulled slower, inch by inch, until the whole strip came free in my hand, sticky and warm.
Arthur gasped. It was a rough, scraping breath, like his throat was completely dry. He worked his jaw open and closed, his lips cracked.
"Water," he whispered. It was barely a voice. "Please."
I grabbed the one full water bottle from the line. The plastic crinkled. Marcus took it from me, unscrewed the cap with his thumb, and held it to Arthur's mouth. Arthur couldn't hold it himself because of the tie, so Marcus tipped it. Water spilled down his chin and onto his shirt, but he swallowed, then coughed, then swallowed again.
Vincent stood in the doorway of the hidden space now, his hands out. "You see? He's confused. Marcus, he needs his rest."
Arthur looked past me at Susan. His breathing was still ragged but his eyes were clear.
"You locked it," he said, his whisper cracking. "You locked me in."
Susan's hand went to her throat. She didn't step any closer. "We didn't lock you in, Arthur. We kept you safe. You were wandering. You could have fallen, you could have —"
"We told your father you'd gone to the care home," Vincent cut in, talking to Marcus now, not to Arthur. "It was for his own safety, Marcus. You know how he gets at night."
Marcus didn't look at them. He kept the bottle steady for his father. His other hand was hovering near Arthur's tied wrists but he didn't cut the tie. He just stared at the blue bucket and the blanket and the empty bottles like he was counting them.
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Arthur's hands stayed bound in front of him, white at the knuckles. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a second, breathing through his mouth now that he could.
I stayed kneeling right in front of him, the tape still bunched in my fist, the metal doors open wide behind me. Susan and Vincent were on the other side of that opening, and for the first time they weren't between us anymore.
