Read Online Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) by David Estes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Estes
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And now, for some reason that’s beyond his understanding, he’s afraid of the Mississippi, his once enemy, now an old friend.
His father lets him cling to him while he fiddles with the straps on the backpack. The boy stares up at him, his father’s head haloed by a sea of stars, and watches as he removes two long, webbed shoes strapped to the pack. He drops them on the ground and says, “Step in.” The boy complies, placing one foot at a time into the gaping holes in the strange shoes. They remind him of duck’s feet, only a whole lot bigger. They fit perfectly, although he has to wriggle his feet back and forth to get them to slide inside. “Good,” his father says. “These will make you swim faster, as if you have fins like a fish.” The boy lifts each foot, wondering how something so clunky will help him in the water.
Next his father unzips a pouch and extracts a large plastic bag, which he wraps around the backpack, sealing it inside. Using a length of rope, he ties it around the boy’s waist. It feels heavy, weighing him down, like how the boy imagined Zoran felt when wicked King Bernard locked him up in the dungeon with a ball and chain tethered to his ankle.
If his father expects him to swim like this, wearing a hot, itchy second skin, clunky shoes, and dragging a heavy load, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. Not to mention the bugs crawling around in his head.
“I love you, Son,” his father says, hugging him fiercely, smashing the boy’s face into his stomach.
“Father, I don’t understand,” the boy says. It’s dangerously close to a question, but the boy doesn’t care. Something’s not right. His father never acts like this before a swim.
“I’ve tried my best to protect you,” his father says, his eyes glistening. No. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry , the boy thinks. “But this was always inevitable, Son. You were never going to be able to stay here forever. You’re not even supposed to be alive. Janice and I…we’ve hidden you away for so long—too long. But now you’re in more danger with us than away from us. Please know that none of this is your fault. It’s mine and mine alone. What you are.”
“Father,” the boy says, an unsettling realization creeping through him, like the bright tears of dawn over the horizon. “What am I?”
“It’s better if you don’t know everything. Better if you just become the orphan they’ve forced you to be. Listen to me.” His father grabs his chin and holds his gaze; his father’s stare is more intense than he’s ever seen it, like robot laser beams boring into his skull. “The devices in your eyes hold the key to your identity, the one I’ve created for you. None of it is real , Son. You have to become a new person with a made-up past. You have to pretend it’s real. You have to become the boy I’ve created for you.”
“But why?” the boy asks, struggling to wrap his mind around what is happening.
His father sighs heavily. “I know what is best for you,” he says, but he doesn’t look at the boy, as if he is trying to convince himself. “I’ve watched many like you die, running and hiding and running and hiding—and always getting caught. We have to try something different. Cut all ties to the past and move forward toward a better future. Start over. One day you might know the truth, but you should never speak of it. Not out loud. Not in your head. And you should never try to find me or Janice. Never. Do you understand, Son?”
“Father?” the boy says, seeing something that scares him in his father’s eyes. Not tears—something else. Something building, growing, forming, like a puddle of spilled paint. Something dark. Eyes like the man on the holo-screen, still dark blue but as fierce as a lion’s.
His father wrenches the boy’s arms from off his waist, gripping them tightly, squeezing him, hurting him. The boy cries out, but his father doesn’t seem to notice. “Be safe, Son,” he
And now, for some reason that’s beyond his understanding, he’s afraid of the Mississippi, his once enemy, now an old friend.
His father lets him cling to him while he fiddles with the straps on the backpack. The boy stares up at him, his father’s head haloed by a sea of stars, and watches as he removes two long, webbed shoes strapped to the pack. He drops them on the ground and says, “Step in.” The boy complies, placing one foot at a time into the gaping holes in the strange shoes. They remind him of duck’s feet, only a whole lot bigger. They fit perfectly, although he has to wriggle his feet back and forth to get them to slide inside. “Good,” his father says. “These will make you swim faster, as if you have fins like a fish.” The boy lifts each foot, wondering how something so clunky will help him in the water.
Next his father unzips a pouch and extracts a large plastic bag, which he wraps around the backpack, sealing it inside. Using a length of rope, he ties it around the boy’s waist. It feels heavy, weighing him down, like how the boy imagined Zoran felt when wicked King Bernard locked him up in the dungeon with a ball and chain tethered to his ankle.
If his father expects him to swim like this, wearing a hot, itchy second skin, clunky shoes, and dragging a heavy load, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. Not to mention the bugs crawling around in his head.
“I love you, Son,” his father says, hugging him fiercely, smashing the boy’s face into his stomach.
“Father, I don’t understand,” the boy says. It’s dangerously close to a question, but the boy doesn’t care. Something’s not right. His father never acts like this before a swim.
“I’ve tried my best to protect you,” his father says, his eyes glistening. No. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry , the boy thinks. “But this was always inevitable, Son. You were never going to be able to stay here forever. You’re not even supposed to be alive. Janice and I…we’ve hidden you away for so long—too long. But now you’re in more danger with us than away from us. Please know that none of this is your fault. It’s mine and mine alone. What you are.”
“Father,” the boy says, an unsettling realization creeping through him, like the bright tears of dawn over the horizon. “What am I?”
“It’s better if you don’t know everything. Better if you just become the orphan they’ve forced you to be. Listen to me.” His father grabs his chin and holds his gaze; his father’s stare is more intense than he’s ever seen it, like robot laser beams boring into his skull. “The devices in your eyes hold the key to your identity, the one I’ve created for you. None of it is real , Son. You have to become a new person with a made-up past. You have to pretend it’s real. You have to become the boy I’ve created for you.”
“But why?” the boy asks, struggling to wrap his mind around what is happening.
His father sighs heavily. “I know what is best for you,” he says, but he doesn’t look at the boy, as if he is trying to convince himself. “I’ve watched many like you die, running and hiding and running and hiding—and always getting caught. We have to try something different. Cut all ties to the past and move forward toward a better future. Start over. One day you might know the truth, but you should never speak of it. Not out loud. Not in your head. And you should never try to find me or Janice. Never. Do you understand, Son?”
“Father?” the boy says, seeing something that scares him in his father’s eyes. Not tears—something else. Something building, growing, forming, like a puddle of spilled paint. Something dark. Eyes like the man on the holo-screen, still dark blue but as fierce as a lion’s.
His father wrenches the boy’s arms from off his waist, gripping them tightly, squeezing him, hurting him. The boy cries out, but his father doesn’t seem to notice. “Be safe, Son,” he
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