Harper C. Fields
June 22, 2014
Upper Manhattan
5:31 PM
With a sigh, his shoulders deflated as he looked over himself in the mirror.
Normally he wouldn't care about appearances. He knew he looked good to begin with, and right now he looked damn good, but he was never one to pine after others' opinions. Considering it was his birthday, by all means he should have every right to just flaunt everything in his birthday suit, rather than Louis Vuitton.
Anything to make the parents happy, he supposed. Or rather, Sadie. God knows, if she hadn't begged, he wouldn't be here right now. There were much more thrilling ways to celebrate your 22nd than with two people who, he was certain, would prefer that he had never been born, despite being the very two people responsible for his having a birthday in the first place.
Figures.
After getting his hair so that it tread the line between on-purpose messy and accidentally messy, he finally descended the stairs. A smile spread on his face when he saw his sister, 15 years old and pretty, her own brown curly hair pinned back. "Ready to eat, Spielberg?" she asked, taking his arm.
"Am I?" he asked, and patted his stomach, "I'm going to need a bigger suit when I'm done. I've been starving myself all day, so this better be the best damn birthday dinner ever, princess."
"Harper!" she giggled, "Be careful or Mom will hear you!"
"Well, that'll be a first," he joked as they went out to the foyer. He stalled by their giant fish tank, a large cylindrical fixture with a coral tower and tropical fish, palm against the glass. It was big enough to fit a grown man. He'd verified it.
Although it was much more comfortable to swim in it as a fish.
He watched the fish longingly, swimming without a care. His eyes flashed and he glanced at Sadie mischievously. "What do you think would happen if I just stayed here?" he asked. Somewhat of a vague question, but his sister knew what he meant, and she frowned.
"Harper..." she trailed off, "Don't..." She bit her lip.
"Chillax," he said, pulling away from the tank, "I was just kidding."
"I know but..." her voice grew worried and lowered, "you know, with all the stuff that's been happening...you need to be more careful." She paused. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Hey. Princess. Look at me," Harper said, halting and spinning to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "You're not going to tell anyone. I'm definitely not going to tell anyone. No one else knows. It'll be fine." He kissed her on the forehead. "Now, seriously. I need food."
They met their parents at the limo. His mother was all smiles and coos, petting at his shoulder and fixing his hair. She talked to him the entire way, going on about every member of the family and all the drama going on with them. No doubt it was a welcome distraction to the drama that used to be them. His father stayed quiet. Harper avoided eye contact.
Dinner was...altogether pleasant enough. Not exactly comfortable, but the food was good. The place they ate at was very, very fancy, and even though he looked the part, Harper certainly didn't feel the part. He busied himself with eating, stuffing his face with scallops and bacon and raising his eyebrows every so often whenever his mother needed verification that he was, indeed, listening raptly to her business plights. Though, after a couple daquiris, she seemed content to just ramble on by herself, regardless of whether anyone paid attention.
Things turned sour during dessert. Specifically when his mother decided to share the soapbox. "Honey, why don't you say something?" she asked.
"What's there to say?" his father asked, slapping his cloth napkin on the table, "You've said it all. There's nothing to say."
"Talk about your work or something," his mother said, ignoring the warning signs. Sadie and Harper glanced at each other, wondering if they should take evasive action.
"Work?" his dad repeated, "Work sucks." It was clear he was avoiding a stronger word. "Everything sucks. The economy for one is going straight down the toilet. And I've got that damned fraud case to deal with."
Sadie immediately glanced at Harper. He got the hint and focused on the remains of his chocolate lava cake.
"Ohhhh," their mother continued, oblivious, "You mean the one where that little boy found out that ponzi scheme?"
"Yeah, and I'm defending the fricken' company," his father snapped. Harper gulped. Perhaps at home this would escalate into something bigger. Morals arguments and whatnot. He knew his dad didn't pick his clients, but he was a corporate lawyer. There were some things that were easier to turn blind eyes to, especially if they were difficult to prove.
"Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out," his mom said, taking another sip of her fruity drink, "At least you don't do homicides. Did you hear about that Porter vs McMillan mess? Ugh."
Harper couldn't help himself. "Is that the one about the girl who was hit by the C train and didn't die?" He felt Sadie's glare, but ignored it. They were supposed to act natural, right? This was natural.
"Pushed, darling, she was pushed," his mother corrected, "One of her school friends. Even the security camera didn't catch it, it was so crowded. If she didn't come back to life, her friend would have gotten away with it."
"Doesn't really sound like much of a friend," Harper retorted. He turned to Sadie. "How do you think she came back? Wouldn't she be splattered all over the tracks? Do you think she regrew body parts, or did they Iron Giant their way back to her?"
"Harper," Sadie scolded, covering her mouth with her napkin, "You're going to make me sick."
"She should have just stayed dead," his dad said as he looked over the bill, "That would have been normal."
"Oh, and her friend should have just gotten away with murder?" Harper asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"They might not even call it murder," his father answered callously, "They're saying these...abnormals...they might not be human. It'd be like killing an animal."
The words felt like bricks, but he tried to hide their impact. "Humans are animals," he argued back, trying to keep his tone light and joking, "What, you think they were hatched from an egg or something?"
"Show some heart, dear," his mother reprimanded, a drunken slap on his father's arm, "What if it had been Sadie? Or Harper?"
Too close. Too close. Almost immediately Sadie and Harper started speaking loudly, asking if the bill was covered and wasn't dinner great and are you going to finish that dessert because we should really be going now.
The ride back was quiet. Awkward. When they returned to the house, their mother wrapped her arms around both of them, sloppy kisses on their cheeks. "What a wonderful dinner! I have such wonderful children!" she announced, stumbling in her heels. She released Sadie to focus entirely on Harper. "Happy Birthday, Harper, darling. It's so good to have you back in the big city. Look at you...you look so handsome," she fixed his hair for the umpteenth time, "Just like your father."
"Heh. Yeah," he said, smiling. He glanced up at the man in question, who was already pouring himself a drink and heading to his study.
"Your present's in your bank account, dear," his mother said with a kiss on his cheek, before Sadie took her and led her to her room. "Thank goodness we have normal children!" the older woman crowed.
Harper headed to the game room, turning the TV on and flipping through the channels. Sadie joined him after a few minutes, a brightly wrapped package in her hands.
"Steven Spielberg collection?" he exclaimed when he opened it, "Oh, we're marathoning this."
They got through Jurassic Park and Jaws before Sadie finally had to call it quits, fatigue overcoming her. "Happy Birthday, Spielberg," she yawned as she climbed up the stairs.
"Thanks, Princess," he said, popping in Indiana Jones.
He managed to finish the first one before he too started to feel sleepy. And in need of a swim. Normally, at this hour, everyone in his family was asleep, but when he neared the fish tank, he was surprised to see his father standing in front of it.
"Hey," he greeted, a little nervously. His dad's collar was rumpled, the glass in his hand different than the one he had first held.
His father tipped his head a little, but didn't look at him.
"Lookin' at the fish?" Harper asked.
The man nodded. "You always loved the fish," he finally said, "Ever since you were small. I remember once, you counted each of them. 25, you told me. There were 25 fish. 8 different species. You knew all of them. Talked to them. Gave 'em names."
Harper gave a small half-laugh. "Kids, amirite?"
"I used to replace the fish as soon as they died," his dad continued, "So that there'd always be 25. And I always got the same type, so that you wouldn't know."
Harper shook his head. "Fooled me, all right." Although, he had always known.
His dad was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes, though...when you were in high school...I noticed an extra fish in the tank. Sometimes it was another angel fish, or another clownfish or something. The ratio would be off. I used to think you were buying extra fish and plopping them in, but whenever the guys would clean the tank, there was still only 25."
Harper's stomach had tightened as soon as his father had mentioned the extra fish. He tried to keep his face normal, tried not to give anything away. Just stare at the fish tank. His dad was drunk, most likely. At least buzzed. He was rambling. Just like his mom did.
"After you took off," his dad went on, "The fish stayed at 25. I almost had the fish tank removed, but Sadie wouldn't let me. She likes these damn fish too. But then last Christmas...there was that extra fish again. Again, I thought it was you, buying another fish, but after you left, the fish was gone too." His eyes turned to Harper's, dark, accusing.
Harper raised his hands, "Oops. Ya caught me," he joked, "That's...that's what I've been doin' all this time. Buying extra fish just to mess with ya. And then...ah...diggin' them out. Just to keep messing with my old man. Heh."
His father didn't look impressed. Or convinced. Even under the influence, he was too smart for that. Corporate law had given him a mind that a few shots couldn't dull. And his lawyer game was on tonight. "You know, they found that one kid in Jersey last week who could turn into a bird," he said, eyes on Harper, "They said she'd been able to do it since she was 10, but no one knew until she told her boyfriend. And Rory over at Rory and Mulligan? The government rounded his son up after they found out he could walk through walls."
Harper swallowed, dryly. "All right. So...what?"
The older man was silent, eyes still trained on his son. Harper kept his eyes on the fish tank, staring at its occupants. How many times did his dad stand where he was, counting the fish? Who counted fish in their spare time? Who remembered these sorts of things? And why?
There was a punchline to this sick joke, and his dad was taking his sweet time getting to it.
"You know, a couple years ago, when you were dicking around in Boston, we got a visit from some DC suits looking for you," his dad finally said. "Obviously you weren't here, and I didn't know or care where you were, so they left us alone. Then they came again, this year, in February. Same ones. Looking for you. Didn't say why. Didn't say what for. I told them to fuck off. Not for you, but because they were pissing me off. And then, two months later, all this shit about abnormals and "Dangerous ones" starts hitting the fan. And those same DC suits show up at Rory's to take his kid."
Harper wanted more than anything to just be in that fish tank and hide in the coral cave. Or at least be back in Boston, away from his father. "Where are you going with this?" he asked, the humor gone from his voice.
"I didn't think I was going anywhere with it for a while," his dad admitted, "It's all circumstantial. Too soon to jump to conclusions. But then this morning, when I'm getting ready for work, I see that the ratio's off again. And I realize that there's another fucking fish in the tank. And now. I'm standing here. Next to my son, who knows, just as well as I do, that right now, at this moment, there are only 25. Even though, this morning, there were 26. Just like there were 26 during Christmas, and 26 when you were in high school, but never when you were actually in the house. And you, peculiarly, never ever commented on this mysterious, 26th fish. Until now, when I brought it up to you."
A forceful hand clasped onto his shoulder and wrenched it back, forcing Harper to look at his father. At that moment he didn't feel 22. He felt 17 again, when his dad found out he hadn't been accepted into any colleges. This was just like the moment before his dad dropped the military school bomb. The night before he ran away. His father didn't bludgeon him with fists or beat him with belts. He did more with words. With arguments. With sneaky, oily, back-handed lawyer tactics. Harper knew that at this moment, his father didn't seem him as a son. He saw him as a witness for the opposite side, someone to dissect and cut up, to cross-reference until the truth was pulled out. Or at least some semblance of it that he could manipulate.
He used the only weapon he had left.
He cracked a smile. "What. You think I can turn into a fish? Is that seriously what all this is about? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"
His dad didn't say anything. Didn't flinch. Didn't change. Just glared at him.
"Look," he said, trying a different tactic, "Everything you said, it's still circumstantial. You don't have any actual evidence. You're crazy, for all I know. This extra fish is totally bonkers."
"A year ago, yes," his father allowed, "But now it makes too much sense not to be true. It explains too much."
"What does it explain?" Harper demanded, "Nothing! I'm just your screw-up son who'll never amount to anything! End of story!"
"I need to know."
"What do you need to know?"
"Are you one of them?"
He hesitated, for only a second. "What does it even matter?"
His father's eyes widened. "You are."
"You're drunk."
"You're deflecting."
"You're crazy!"
"Still deflecting. Jesus Christ. You actually are an abnormal. A Dangerous One."
"The only dangerous one here is you!" Harper exclaimed, pulling hard away from his dad's grip, which had become vice-like. "You're flinging around accusations, and you don't even have any evidence! Where's your proof, Mr. Lawyer? You don't have any!"
The glint in his father's eyes was the last thing he saw, instant regret the last thing he thought before something crashed into his left temple...
He woke up minutes later to water filling his nostrils. When he tried to surface, his head rammed against something hard. He forced his eyes open, the salt stinging them, and they only widened when he realized where he was.
The fish tank.
His dad had trapped him in the fish tank.
Jesus Christ.
Jesus Fucking Christ.