Chapter 2
GRACEN
I pull my truck in beside Malin’s Audi. I knew I’d find him here. He’s always here.
Climbing out, I glance up at the sun and squint. It’s always so damn hot in Arizona. What I wouldn’t give for a little cool weather.
Sighing, I shut the door and head down to the lake.
My eyes are already trained on the lone figure floating in the middle of the lake on a recliner floaty.
He’s fully dressed with bare feet, and there’s a small paddle hanging off the side so he can get himself back to the dock when he’s ready to come in.
I sit at the end of the dock, set my cooler beside me, and take my boots off. Socks next. I roll my pant legs up and drop my feet into the warm water. Even the water is too hot to be refreshing. Damn Arizona sun.
Opening the cooler, I plunge my hand into the ice. When the cold makes me shiver, I bring my hand to the back of my neck. The icy drops of water drip down my back under my shirt. I sigh.
The ice is primarily to keep my water cold. It just happens to serve a second purpose. The sun makes me drink a fuckton of water, and yes, that’s an actual measurement.
I’ve spent most of my life in upstate Vermont, ten minutes from the Canadian border. Four years ago, Avory called and asked me to come to the Estate for a while to work on a project with them—tracking down the active members of the New World Order Temple cult.
Not sheep members. Not unless they’re actually causing harm to others. But those in charge. Those recruiting. Those abusing people in the name of God.
I didn’t have to stay on the Estate. I could have gone home years ago and still delivered the identities of these cultists. But while here, I learned why I was looking for these scumbags, and quite frankly, I’ve been enthralled with Malin since I first met him.
Before that, even. The first time I laid my eyes on him, I was completely and utterly captivated. I’d like to say that it’s just sympathetic fascination. The man has been through hell his entire life. He still struggles.
I don’t think that’s it, though. There’s just something about Malin that I can’t get away from. And thus, I spend at least a portion of every single day watching him float on the lake because he’s here almost every single day.
Maybe for peace. Maybe the rhythmic rocking of the water. Maybe he needs to get away from one-year-old twins.
Whatever the reason, I spotted Malin in this routine early on, and I’ve been watching him from the dock ever since.
We don’t speak. I wait here in this spot until he rows himself back in and climbs out.
Usually, we make eye contact, and then he pulls his float out, ties it to the dock, and retreats to his car.
No words exchanged. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever said anything to me at all. Does he know who I am? Does he know I come here to watch him? Part of me hopes he doesn’t. It’s probably obsessively creepy. He’s dealt with enough creepiness in his life.
An engine makes me glance behind me. It’s not a vehicle. I suppose that’s not true. It is a vehicle, but it’s a child’s vehicle. A little Jeep with a little trailer hauling bikes. In the backseat of the jeep is a picnic basket.
There are days I wonder what it would have been like to grow up on the Estate when your first vehicle is acquired when you’re three years old.
That’s how long Emerson has been driving.
He has his little brother Sulien in the passenger seat.
There are times when the third Noaz Van Doren line is in the backseat, but not today.
Emerson pulls his Jeep beside my truck, and the two young boys climb out. Sulien gets the picnic basket, and together they walk toward me with smiles.
It’s rare that I spend my sessions staring at Malin alone. Almost always, I’m accompanied by one of the children who reside on the Estate. And there are a lot of them.
“Hi, Uncle Gracen,” Emerson says. He’s wearing overalls with untied boots and no shirt. This boy has a style all his own.
Sulien is in loose cotton pants and a loose cotton long-sleeved shirt. The heat doesn’t touch him, apparently.
“Hello, boys.”
Sulien sets the picnic basket down and sits beside me. He doesn’t talk much but offers me a smile.
Emerson cups his mouth and hollers, “Uncle Malin!”
My heart jumps as Malin turns his attention this way. He generally ignores everything around him unless someone calls his attention. Especially when he’s floating on the lake.
“Come in, Uncle Malin. My dad says you need to stay hydrated, and I have a cold drink for you!”
Malin adjusts himself on the lounge and reaches for his paddle. Rhythmically, he makes his way to us.
Emerson remains on his feet. The three of us watch as Malin makes his way across the lake until the side of his float bumps my knees. I grip the edge. His eyes meet mine briefly before he looks at Emerson.
Emerson pulls out a small backpack with a water tube. I’m reminded of a gerbil watering bottle and try not to smile. I know it’s one of those packs hikers use.
“Dad says you better have it all gone before you get off the lake,” Emerson says, grinning.
Malin inclines his head as he accepts the water. We watch as he takes a long drink, closing his eyes.
“It has lots of ice,” Emerson says. “And the pack is insulated, so it’ll stay cold for a while, but my dad says it’s not good to always drink icy water when it’s super hot out. Me and Suli overrode him because it feels good to have a really cold drink when it’s so hot.”
Malin nods. “Thank you, Em, Suli.”
Sulien smiles. “You’re welcome.”
“Is the water nice?” Emerson asks as he gets to his hands and knees and reaches into the water. “It’s like bathwater.” He sighs.
“Can I float with you?” Sulien asks.
Malin nods. He drops his feet to the sides and then offers his hand to help Sulien onto the float. Emerson hands his brother a bottle of water, and I let go of the float. Sulien turns so he’s facing Malin and lies on his back, folding his legs so they lie over Malin.
I watch as the water gently rocks them away from us. Neither speaks. They barely move as they float on the lake.
Emerson hands me a sandwich from the basket. I accept it with gratitude.
“How’s school?” I ask after a few minutes.
He shrugs. “It’s fine. Axl is starting an axe-throwing club.”
I shake my head. Shocking. “What’re you doing?”
“Dad is taking me to visit a couple local schools so I can see the kinds of clubs and stuff that they have.”
Malin brings the tube to his mouth. The side of my lips curls a little. He’s so obedient. Even to his younger nephews and nieces. He’ll have that water gone before he gets off the water, just as he’s been instructed.
“Maybe some sports. Our school is still really small, though,” Emerson continues.
I glance behind me in the direction where the newest road on the Estate leads through a line of trees. When you’re looking in that direction, you can just barely make out a hint of a couple buildings where the Van Doren K-12 private school is located.
Not for the first time, I wonder what it would have been like to attend school here on the Estate. There are times when I think it would be awful. Spending your entire life on the Estate, including going to school. Never being exposed to the outside world.
Then again, they have access to the highest educated teachers and are taught an advanced curriculum designed for truth and readiness out in the world.
It combines a lot of other countries’ curricula, including cleaning, basic living necessities, and adult responsibilities being introduced over time.
It’s pretty cool. I’m slightly jealous.
There’s no way I could have attended the school, though. It’s only been open for the last six years. Just in time for Emerson to begin pre-K.
Van Dorens from distant branches of the family now send their kids here. We have boarding students and local students.
Jalon designed the school to expand as needed, with those expansions already in place. We’re currently at two classrooms for the K through six. The high school years are larger than the younger grades.
I teach a few private investigation classes as electives for eleventh- and twelfth-year kids sometimes.
If Emerson is visiting local classrooms, it means that the school is in the process of expanding again.
This time, the young kids. I imagine we’re going to reach capacity soon.
Jalon set a barrier and refuses to go beyond it.
I know that the K-12 tracks—the kids who are here for their entire schooling careers—already have a waiting list.
There’s nothing that man can’t do. I swear to fuck.
He builds it, and the world flocks to it.
Anything to be a part of the Van Doren legacy that Jalon has created.
And goddamn, his little successor is going to be the first ruler of the entire world.
I’m sure of it. She’s a genius spitfire if I ever saw one.
And she’s only six!
“What did you like best about elementary school, Uncle Gracen?”
I’m still staring at Malin. I haven’t taken my eyes off him. There’s something meditative about watching him, even as my mind wanders or I hold a conversation. It’s as if I can feel the gentle rocking of the lake as he is.
“Recess.”
Emerson snorts. “Be serious. You had to have liked something.”
“I liked building things. Robotics. LEGO. That kind of thing. Taking something that can be manipulated and creating whatever was in my mind. Finding the exact piece that brings it all together.”
“Was it a club?”
Was it? “I suppose so. I’m not sure we called it a club, but yeah, that’s basically what it was.”
Emerson hums. We share the contents of his basket and continue to talk about school while I watch Malin. There are times when I think Sulien has fallen asleep. Malin jerked up at one point to keep Sulien from rolling off the float. Beside me, Emerson inhaled sharply.
“It’s a good thing Uncle Malin has quick reflexes or my brother would have drowned,” Emerson says.
I don’t think he’d have drowned. There are enough of us around that we’d have saved him easily enough, but he doesn’t need to go through that.
The sun is on its way over the trees in the distance when Malin brings Sulien back to the dock. I help him off the float and watch as the two young boys head for their little Jeep. I watch as Malin ties his float to the dock, meets my eyes briefly, and then walks away.
I’m still sitting on the dock when a shadow falls over me. I look up to see one of the triplets. He watches me, studying my face.
“If you’re waiting for him to notice you, it’ll never happen,” he says. Then he walks away.
Is that what I’m waiting for? Malin to notice me? He knows I’m here. He looks at me all the time. Well, often enough, I suppose.
But I hear the message clearly enough. Malin isn’t like everyone else. The abuse he survived assured that. If I’m interested in him, I’m going to have to make that far clearer than the clearness of what I’m doing already.
Which is practically stalking him, though I’m not at all hiding the fact that I’m watching him.
So… what do I do to make it clear to Malin that maybe I want to be a part of his life as more than just a spectator?