Five Nights at Freddy's Fazbear Frights Collection, page 107
The high school was tucked into the back of an older neighborhood, so the first few blocks after they left the school were full of big trees and pretty green lawns. Reed usually liked looking at all that greenery. He would stare at the lawns with envy. His front yard was mostly dirt.
Today, Reed wasn’t really seeing anything he was looking at. He was back in the robotics classroom with Julius. His mind was focused on Julius locked into his exoskeleton, Julius’s face nearly purple with rage.
“ ‘In the dark ages,’ ” Shelly said, “ ‘harsh torture was commonly used to punish those who broke the law.’ ”
Reed flinched. “What?”
He turned to stare at Shelly. As always, she sat in the seat behind Pickle and Reed. Her massive backpack and extra book bag took up the rest of the seat.
Did she know what he’d done?
Her attention on her book, Shelly continued, “ ‘When someone violated civil law, torture would be done in the town square. Public display of the consequences for lawlessness was thought to be a deterrent.’ ”
Oh. She was reading. Of course she was. She loved to share what she was learning, and she often read aloud on the bus … and at home … and at lunch … and in the hallways at school—she read pretty much everywhere. Today, she was reading her history homework. Shelly was in AP World History because she’d read so many history books outside of school that she was beyond the normal history curriculum. She wasn’t just a science geek. She was an information geek.
Reed relaxed his shoulders and returned his attention to the window. When it left behind the neighborhood, the bus route ran along a main drag lined with strip malls and car dealerships. Reed liked this stretch, too, because he enjoyed looking at the cars. He liked to imagine himself driving them, and he picked a different make and model every day. Concentrating, he put himself at the wheel of a new bright yellow Mustang.
Shelly’s voice, however, ruined his fantasy.
“ ‘Torturers were very creative in the middle ages,’ ” Shelly read. “ ‘They came up with truly morbid ways of inflicting excruciating pain. The Judas Cradle, for example, impaled a seated victim for several days. With bloodcurdling names like the Breast Ripper and the Pear of Anguish, medieval torture devices were a testament to human ingenuity.’ ”
Torture. Was what I did to Julius torture?
Reed’s chest tightened. Yeah, it probably was. Being stuck was at least a mild form of torture, especially in an exoskeleton with no way to move or eat or drink or get to the bathroom. It wasn’t the Judas Cradle, but it wasn’t nice, either.
After the malls and car lots, their bus route wound through an industrial park, and then it passed a farm before turning into a newer subdivision. Most of the bus’s stops were in this subdivision, which was stuffed full of houses that, though good-size, mostly looked alike. Reed didn’t care about the houses, so he stopped registering individual things. Now he saw just blurs of color … and Julius stuck in that metal framework.
Reed’s dad, who did the best he could to be a single dad to Reed and his sister, Alexa, was fond of saying that you couldn’t solve a problem at the level of the problem. Reed wasn’t a genius like his friends, but he was smart enough to know that meant that lowering himself to the level of Julius’s meanness wasn’t the way to handle the jerk.
But still, after what Julius did to Pickle? Wasn’t that justification enough to lock Julius into the exoskeleton he was so proud of? And what about what Julius said to Reed, about locking Reed into the exoskeleton? Didn’t Julius deserve to get a taste of his own medicine?
Reed started to unwind his muscles again.
Yeah. What he did wasn’t so bad. It was justice.
The bus went through a pothole, and everyone popped up off their seats for a nanosecond. When they all landed again, Shelly poked Reed’s shoulder. He turned to look at her.
“Listen to this,” she said. “You won’t believe it.”
“What?” Reed asked.
Pickle said nothing. He kept inking in the answers to his puzzle.
“ ‘One of the most commonly used forms of torture was called the Wheel,’ ” Shelly read from her thick, musty-smelling book. “ ‘Those condemned to being constrained in this way had prolonged torture ahead of them. They were held in place, unable to free themselves.’ ”
Reed stared at Shelly. What was she doing? Was she messing with him? Held in place, unable to free themselves. It sounded like she was talking about Julius. Maybe she knew what he’d done after all. But how?
“ ‘It was sometimes called the Breaking Wheel,’ ” Shelly read on.
Reed blew out air. No, she didn’t know what he’d done. It was just a coincidence that she was reading about torture devices.
“ ‘They called it that,’ ” she continued, “ ‘because it was used to crush the bones of the condemned.’ Ew, huh?” Shelly looked at Reed with wide eyes. Then she returned her gaze to the book and read on. “ ‘The device was designed for torture lasting over multiple days. The Wheel was made up of many radial spokes, and the person subjected to it was tied to the whole wheel before a club or cudgel was used to beat their limbs. This process reduced the human being into a mutilated bag of bones, what one onlooker described as a writhing, moaning monster with bloody tentacles.’ ”
“That’s gross,” Pickle said without looking up from his puzzle.
“Totally,” Reed agreed. He tried not to think about what Julius was experiencing now.
But hey, at least Julius wasn’t tied to a medieval torture device, right?
Julius was restrained, and as time passed, he’d be uncomfortable. But he wasn’t in any pain. No one was standing over him beating him with a cudgel, whatever that was. He was just trapped.
Shelly continued to read about medieval torture, but Reed tuned her out. He turned back toward the window. The bus was stopped at a corner, and he watched a mom holding hands with a little kid who held a red balloon. The balloon bobbed in the air, following the little kid’s movements because it was tied to the kid’s wrist.
Reed thought about Julius’s big wrists. Maybe he should go back to the school and unlock the exoskeleton after their study session this evening. A few hours would be enough to punish Julius for his nastiness. That way, Julius would learn his lesson, but Reed wouldn’t stoop to the level of torture.
Yeah, that’s what Reed would do.
Except, how would he get away from Julius before Julius tried to kill him?
Reed chewed on his lower lip.
He sat up straight and smiled. He knew what he could do. He’d unlock just one of Julius’s hands, then jump back and run before Julius could grab him. Julius, stiff from his confinement, would take at least half a minute to unlock his other wrist and his ankles, and in that time, Reed could get far enough away to hide. Once Julius was gone, Reed could go home.
And after that?
Well, he’d deal with that when the time came.
But until then, he was going to have some good food at the Girards’ house and hang out with his friends. He was going to put Julius out of his mind and enjoy the rest of his free time that day. He deserved it.
Just like Julius deserved what was happening to him.
* * *
Reed loved his dad, and he knew his dad did everything he could to give Reed and Alexa a good home, but his dad was, well, his dad. He knew nothing about what a good home was. He couldn’t cook. He couldn’t clean. He thought “decoration” was a calendar with fish photos on it and a few sport teams’ schedules. When Reed was home, he never really felt at home, not like he did here at the Girard house.
Reed sprawled on a thick, soft gray rug in front of a stone hearth. A low-burning fire sputtered on the grate. Thales, exhausted from a rousing game of chase-the-tennis-ball, was now stretched out on the cool tiles of the nearby entryway, adding his satisfied snores to the flames’ staccato popping. The sounds were both rhythmic and soothing.
Reed’s belly was full of spicy chicken wings, jalapeno poppers, potato skins, homemade potpie, and chocolate cookies. He was so relaxed he wished he could take a nap.
“You kids have everything you need before I head to my class?” Mrs. Girard asked. She stood in the archway between the family room and the entryway, tugging on a floppy yellow rain hat.
Reed turned and looked over his shoulder, out through the French doors to the Girards’ heavily treed backyard. Yep. It was raining, a steady but light spring rain. The drops looked shiny and pink in the twilight. Reed craned his neck to see the Western horizon. He liked looking at the sun when it was getting ready to slide into nighttime. Tonight, the sun was a fuzzy bright orange tinged with purple.
He looked back at Mrs. Girard. “Thanks for the snacks and for dinner, too.”
Mrs. Girard smiled and tucked her shoulder-length dark hair under the rain hat. She shrugged her short, plump body into her slicker, and said, “You’re welcome, as always, Reed. We love having you here.” She snapped her slicker closed and looked at her own kids, who were all oblivious of her impending departure.
Shelly, reclining on an overstuffed navy-blue sofa, had her nose buried in the same thick history book she’d been reading on the bus. Pickle sat cross-legged in his dad’s blue tweed recliner, bending so low over his own book it looked like he was trying to dive into it. Reed couldn’t see what Pickle was reading. The third Girard kid, six-year-old Ory, had been playing a video game, but now he was picking up the remote for Pickle’s robot skeleton.
“Kids!” Mrs. Girard yelled.
All three of her children looked up.
Mrs. Girard shook her head and smiled. “I’m leaving. You kids behave. And, Pickle, ice that nose again in an hour or so.”
“Huh?” Pickle said.
Mrs. Girard shook her head.
“I’ll remind him,” Reed said.
Pickle’s nose was looking much better. Predictably, Mrs. Girard had matter-of-factly treated Pickle’s nose the second they got home. Examining it, she’d declared it “bruised, not broken,” and she’d cleaned it up, applied some kind of herbal cream, and then given Pickle an ice pack to balance on his face. Pickle resisted that because he couldn’t eat or read with the pack on his nose. But he didn’t have to leave it on for long. Soon, he was eating snacks along with everyone else. And he declared the double chocolate cookies Mrs. Girard brought out after dinner “healing cookies” because his nose stopped hurting after he ate them.
Now, after studying her beaky son for a second, Mrs. Girard looked at Reed. “What would we do without you, Reed?” Mrs. Girard smiled at him and then turned her back to her kids. “Bye, kids.”
“Love you, Mom,” Shelly said.
“Bye,” Pickle and Ory said in unison.
“Thanks again, Mrs. Girard. Bye,” Reed said.
“Bye, all,” Mrs. Girard said. “Come on, Thales.”
Thales was already on his feet, standing next to Mrs. Girard’s legs. His tail whipped so fast it was slapping her in the thigh. Mrs. Girard’s class was his class, too. He was learning to be a therapy dog.
Mrs. Girard, though not the source of her children’s brilliance, was no brain slouch. She went to all sorts of classes. She seemed to have a lot of interests, and she always joined in the conversations when her kids were babbling on about their homework or projects. But the Girard brains came mostly from Mr. Girard. He was a retired electrical engineer who now did consulting for big companies. He traveled a lot, and he was gone now, but when he was here, he was a hands-on dad. He was cool.
Shelly and Pickle had returned to their books before the front door shut behind Mrs. Girard. Ory pressed a button on the remote control, and Pickle’s robot skeleton stood up and slid forward a few inches. Ory’s eyes lit up.
Ory was a conglomeration of his siblings, which made him not as cute as Shelly but much cuter than Pickle. His face still round and a little pudgy, Ory had Shelly’s large eyes and long lashes and full mouth. And he had his brother’s nose. On Ory, the big nose was more amusing than ugly. He looked a little like a baby bird. Six-year-olds could rock a look like that. Ory wouldn’t have to worry about looks for a while.
Ory bent over the remote, so intent on it, he nearly touched it with his long nose. The little robot skeleton scooted forward some more. Ory laughed.
Reed glanced at Pickle. Pickle either didn’t know his brother was playing with his project or he didn’t care. Probably if Ory damaged the thing in any way, Pickle could easily fix it.
Reed looked at his own pathetic project. He was supposed to be working on it. And he had been, sort of, off and on all afternoon. He hadn’t made much progress, though.
Reed had chosen an electric motor as his actuator because his dad knew how to build a motor and was excited to help him. That part of the project, along with connecting the battery-powered motor to the exoskeleton’s circuitry, had gone okay. The problem Reed had now was with the skeleton’s structure. As always, he couldn’t visualize how to construct the form. Every time he attached a new metal component to the skeleton, he ended up with something that stuck out at an unnatural angle. And when he turned it to make it fit, the joint didn’t work properly. Right now, his exoskeleton looked mangled and backward. This wasn’t good.
Reed sighed and gazed around the cozy room. Even though the Girard family room was big and had high ceilings, it was warm and inviting, kind of like a cocoon. Filled with comfortable soft furniture, a couple tables, multiple shelves stuffed with books and games, colorful art, a tidy play area for Ory, a big microfiber-covered bed for Thales, the fireplace, and a huge TV for movie night and video games, the room was perfect for hanging out. It wasn’t so bad for doing homework, either. You might as well be comfortable while you were doing something you didn’t want to do.
The week before, the family room got an addition that intrigued Reed. It was a miniature house, a replica of the Girard home. Standing about three feet tall and stretching four feet wide, the house required the removal of one ottoman from the room. But otherwise, it fit in just fine. Mr. Girard built the house for Shelly, and she was decorating it to look exactly like the family’s real house.
“Do you want me to help you with that?” Pickle asked.
“Huh?” Reed looked over at his friend.
Pickle marked his book, which Reed could now see was on advanced engineering mathematics. “You sighed,” Pickle said, “and your exoskeleton looks like it’s being built by a blind man without opposable thumbs. I wondered if you wanted some help.”
Reed threw a gear at Pickle. Pickle didn’t mean to be mean … he was just brilliant in his own, matter-of-fact kind of way. That was why he was okay to hang out with even though he was super smart. Pickle never made Reed feel dumb, even when he made a comment like that one. Reed knew Pickle wasn’t making fun of him. Pickle was just making an observation. “I’ll muddle through, thank you.”
“You might try angling the joints so the left and right limbs move in the same, or at least similar, ways … unless you’re building an alien exoskeleton.”
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious,” Reed said. He made a face. “Maybe I am building an alien exoskeleton.”
“Cool.” Pickle shrugged and returned to his book.
Shelly looked up from hers. “What?”
Reed laughed. “My exoskeleton is an alien.”
Shelly rolled her eyes and returned to reading.
Ory laughed. Reed turned to see if the kid was laughing at Reed. He wasn’t. He was fully focused on the robot’s remote.
Pickle’s robotic skeleton plowed into the hearth with a loud crunch. Pickle didn’t look up from his book. Ory backed up the seven-inch skeleton and started spinning it in a circle.
Reed began to reconsider Pickle’s offer. He was pretty sure Pickle had built his little robotic skeleton in a day. Maybe he could help Reed salvage his project.
Seriously, look at the thing move, Reed thought. He shook his head at the little robotic skeleton as it whipped in tight circles.
He sucked in his breath and sat up. How could he have forgotten what happened in class today?
Well, to be fair, a lot had happened since class. The confrontation with Julius, along with Reed’s resulting uncharacteristic burst of nerve, had pretty much acted like a brain wipe of the rest of the day. All Reed could think about was Julius locked in his exoskeleton.
But now he remembered! Julius had been complaining that Pickle’s remote was affecting Julius’s exoskeleton.
And Julius was now locked into that metal frame, his body inextricably linked with its structure and therefore inextricably linked with its movement. What if it had crashed into something the way Pickle’s robot had just crashed into the hearth? What if it was spinning in circles right now?
“Hey, Pickle?” Reed kept his gaze on the gyrating mini metal skeleton.
“Huh?” Pickle looked up at Reed.
“That thing”—Reed pointed at the remote in Ory’s small hands—“doesn’t have much of a range, right?”
Pickle sniffed. “It’s a pretty great range, actually. I designed the remote to function through walls. That’s why I combined IR and RF.”
“So, if it was controlling, um, something, outside the house, how far would its range be?” Reed asked.
Pickle frowned. “You mean if the skeleton was outside and Ory was inside?”
Reed nodded. “Yeah.”
Sure, that’s what he meant. He didn’t mean if the remote was controlling Julius’s exoskeleton? No, he didn’t mean that at all.
Pickle tilted his head and thought about it. “It might reach to a few feet outside the house. Maybe. Honestly, I’ve never checked. It probably doesn’t reach beyond the house. The outer walls would be thicker than the inside walls. More interference.”
“Oh,” Reed said, attempting to sound uninterested, even though he had asked the question. “Okay.”
Reed tugged at his T-shirt, which was sticking to his suddenly sweaty skin. He suppressed a sigh of relief.
Pickle leaned forward. “Why’d you ask?”
Ory now had the robotic skeleton racing through the room in dizzying serpentine routes around furniture. Reed tried not to imagine Julius zipping around the robotics classroom in a similar fashion. If he was doing in his suit what Pickle’s robot was doing here, Julius would be bashed into walls and furniture. He’d be, at the least, badly bruised. More likely, he’d have broken bones.
