Laz Has His Doubts

New story for the third OldTown Novel:

OldTown WeKare Inc.

Laz Has His Doubts describes the childhood relationship between a brother and sister who know each other well but share no love, making for a doubtful future.

Laz Jacobs stood before a crystal clear glass wall overlooking the atrium in the WeKare Industries Corporate building. Beige couches surrounded lush plants, ensconced in the center of the ground floor. Enclaves with austere black chairs, plain tables, easels, and multisided screens hanging from the ceiling, offered quiet spaces for departmental conferences, informational gatherings, and professional meet and greets.

It was all very impressive.

In his direct line of sight, a woman of medium height, a tad overweight, with short brown hair, intense brown eyes, and dressed in a stylish pantsuit, prepped for an investors meeting, her hands quick and efficient. Her mouth a hard, determined line.

Laz shook his head. He didn’t usually confide in anyone, so he had developed the habit of talking to himself. In his head, most of the time. Occasionally, he whispered, as if a secret friend was listening at his side.

“Same ol’ Martha. She never changes.”

A memory rose. He wasn’t sure of the date, but he remembered how old he was at the time. That fact had stuck in his mind like a thorn that had worked itself deep inside his brain. He had just turned nine when Martha cajoled him from his bedroom with the promise of an exciting adventure.

At first, her claim proved true. A building site closed for the winter holidays was as attractive as cake and ice cream on his birthday. Whoever left the cherry picker by the fence ought to have been fired. It made an excellent ladder and allowed them easy access to the interior.

Running full speed, they had crossed the muddy enclosure and slipped inside a window opening where the protective paper had come loose. They didn’t have to rip a thing. No one could claim that they had done the slightest bit of damage. He was proud of that point in the days after. It was about the only thing he felt happy about.

After a leisurely ramble through the entire first floor and climbing the raw steps to the second and third floors, they grew bored with the similarities of each of the unfinished rooms. It was an additional hospital wing, and wires dangled from nearly every wall, while metal tables, desks, cabinets, and cupboards sat in readiness to be attached, according to a grand plan that would make each room the proper setting for consultations and medical procedures.

He remembered jumping on one metal table that wasn’t solidly fixed in place and flipping awkwardly off the back end.

Martha nearly laughed her head off.

He should have clued in right then. But she was fourteen, his older sister, and by all rights, older meant she would take care of her little brother. That’s what his mom had always said, though their dad usually just smiled in his uncanny fashion, as if he savored a private joke.

Besides, Laz had been named Lazareth for a good reason. He had returned from the dead right after he was born. That made him special. At least, to most people.

That day, Martha had tugged his arm and dragged him to his feet. She had one more place to show him. The best yet. An elevator shaft.

Laz didn’t know much about elevators except that they took him where he needed to go without having to climb steps. His mother, Gertrude Jacobs, always said that they gave her the heebie-jeebies after she got stuck in one for three hours with a strange man who kept trying to offer her peppermints to ease her nerves.

Laz wasn’t afraid of them. That was for sure. Not until he approached the yawning hole that was the shaft without the elevator in place.

Martha marched right up to the edge, one hand grasping the frame, and leaned over. She screamed.

The sound echoed as if it had taken on a life of its own.

Laz thought his heart had exploded from his chest; he was so startled.

Martha laughed even harder this time. “Come here, and show me what you can do, Laz. It’s easy! Just lean over and scream as loud as you can.”

Icy fingers rippling down his back and his legs trembling, Laz took slow steps as he approached.

Martha’s furrowed brows expressed her disapproval. “Don’t be such a ninny. It’s just a little hole. It can’t eat you.”

Laz wasn’t so sure, but her irritation forced blood into his limbs, and he stepped next to her and looked down. Instantly, he wished he hadn’t.

“Scream, Laz. Scream for all your worth.” And with that, she stepped back.

Laz could never say for sure if it were his own fear that made him slip or if his foot caught on hers as she stepped away, but however it happened, he suddenly found himself falling.

If Martha hadn’t reached out, he would surely have died that day. But her expression never changed.

“You didn’t scream, Laz. You’re supposed to scream.”

Bewildered, Laz hung on for all his worth, his body breaking out in a cold sweat. He stared up at her, uncomprehending.

Her eyes staring down like brown orbs, one arm clutching his, she seemed as calm as a cat on the window seat. “You’re named Lazareth and everyone says you’re special because you came back from the dead. Dad said that the doctor had to slap you to make you scream and get air into your lungs. I want to hear how loud you can scream.”

Hardly able to breathe, much less scream, Laz felt his grip slipping. He might scream going down, but it wouldn’t save him now.

Martha must have known that.

At the sound of an angry voice and the sudden appearance of a security guard, Martha tightened her grip and tugged as if she had been trying to pull him to safety since the moment he slipped.

The man’s “Oh, Jesus!” prayer was met with swift action, and before Laz could comprehend his salvation, he was heaving gasps face down on the plywood underfloor.

Martha had folded her arms over her chest and stared at him, disappointment in her eyes.

Laz would never forget that expression.

Finished with her preparation for the first investors’ meeting of the new year, Martha clapped her hands free of imaginary dust. Then she looked up. Even now, a hint of disappointment glinted from the depth of her eyes.

Their gazes locked.

The fact that she was the manager of the “Live Longer and Healthier” program never ceased to bring a sarcastic smile to Laz’s face. Nothing was what it seemed with her. But because she was pretty, spoke with authority, and had cultivated endorsements from all the right people, few doubted her word, much less her mission.

But Laz had his doubts.

A remembered cold rush of fear raced over his body as he looked down. Though the glass window protected him, he still grew anxious in high places. He stepped back and wondered why he hadn’t screamed that day. He should have. Or did it take a doctor’s slap to bring about the necessary response? He didn’t think so. In fact, he had come to doubt that he had ever really died.

He murmured under his breath. “I was probably just too quiet, and they panicked. Doctors and nurses couldn’t afford a lawsuit over a dead baby. They would’ve lost everything.” He smiled to himself, satisfied that he could meet her disappointment with an expression just as powerful as his dad’s secret grin.

I’ve never screamed since.

The silence beside him felt comfortable. Laz didn’t need to hear a sound. Not even his own scream to know he was alive. And he didn’t need to hear his sister’s claims to know they were lies. He spoke his words so only his silent friend could approve. “Someday, sister, you’ll be the one clinging to the edge, and what will I ask of you?”

Still smiling, Laz stepped away from the edge.