The structure that squats behind the brothel is the old caretaker’s house. It was all right when I stayed here.  The air conditioner wasn’t really enough to deal with the thin walls and living with Monty was like rooming with a wolverine.  But other than that, it was fine.  It actually doesn’t look much different and a wave of nostalgia sweeps over me.  I’ve passed through dozens of places in my life and rarely thought of any of them as home.  Something about being back here leaves me feeling a little out of sorts though.  I suppose I knew that would happen all along.  If this place didn’t mean a thing to me I wouldn’t have come.

No one answers my polite knocks.  There’s a camera trained on me, of course, but I’ve already decided not to even think about that.  After all, I have no intention of watching whatever kind of strange brew they turn into a so-called show.

The doorknob turns in my hand and since I don’t feel like standing out here in the heat all day I have no qualms about going inside.

“Hello?”  I call.

Someone spiffed up the inside of the place.  I know Spencer lives at Atlantis full time but the leather couch, hipster wall prints and turquoise accents don’t seem like things he would choose.

No one answers me but in a few seconds I can see I’m not alone.  Well, I’m never alone now.  The Camera Creep comes slithering through the doorway after me and I know there are fixed cameras installed all over the place.  I was told that the crew tails us in shifts for about twelve hours a day and the fixed cameras pick up anything else that might be exciting.  Maybe I should have asked Cate Camp if they’re everywhere, even in the bathrooms, but then again maybe I’d rather not know.  If someone really finds it interesting to watch me brushing my teeth and taking a shit, then we as a people have probably fallen off the evolutionary abyss.

It’s not just the Camera Creep keeping me company.  Not six feet in front of me is Montgomery Savage.    He’s sprawled in a chair.  He’s got no shirt on, a web of dark ink on his body and his pants are open.  His bleary eyes try to shift into focus.  Then they widen.  “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

“I’m not here,” I say, dropping my bag.  “You’re dreaming.”

Monty utters a grumpy string of curses and rolls out of the chair, finally straightening up and glaring at me like he’s an angry bull and I’m standing here with a red blanket screaming ‘Toro!’   He’s pretty ripped, more than he used to be, and it’s obvious he’s been roughed up by life.   But I would bet that I could take him down if I needed to.  I’d rather not though.  We’re not fucking teenagers anymore.

Luckily, Monty seems to settle down after a few seconds.  He pats his pockets and finds a pack of cigarettes there, lighting up and looking me over coolly.

“Jesus,” he says with a short, humorless laugh, “I wonder who else will come crawling out of the fucking woodwork.”

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Monty.”

He puffs on his cigarette while I look around.  Monty probably isn’t going to make things any easier, or more pleasant.  I’d rather just stay out of his way.

“So is there anyone else home?”

Monty shrugs.  “Spence is jerking off in the creosote somewhere.  The girls are probably in the big house.”

“I saw them already.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Is that so?”

I look him in the eye.  “It is.”

The last time I spoke to Monty Savage we had a difference of opinion.  I thought he ought to mind his own goddamn business and he thought I needed to get acquainted with his fists.  I wasn’t about to be taken down by some Hollywood pretty boy no matter whose brother he was so I gave it right back to him, like I usually did.  We both came out of the scuffle rather worse for the wear with no clear winner.  He’d gotten in the last parting shot though.

“You go near my sister again and I’ll fucking kill you.” 

A few hours after that all hell broke loose and whatever I’d thought I was to these people didn’t matter.  They were more than ready to toss me in the dumpster.  Even Ren.  Maybe she had her reasons but I’ve never understood how they could have led her to do what she did.  People didn’t connect the way we’d connected and then lose it all just like that.

Anyway, whatever else I have to say about Monty, he cares about his family in his own way.  That’s why I decide to hold my tongue and not fire back some snappy retort that would piss him off.  If I’d ever had a sister I probably wouldn’t like any guy who messed around with her either.

“I guess you can take the back room,” Monty says, turning his back to me as he runs a hand through his black hair.  “I wondered why someone got it all cleaned up.  I guess I should have known.”

“Thanks,” I mutter and start to head down the narrow hallway.

“Hey, Oscar.”

I turn around.

Monty Savage is giving me his best and most dangerous scowl.  I have to admit it is effective. “If you’re here to cause any trouble for her, you and me are gonna throw down.”

I’m not in the mood to cave to him.  Or to give any assurances.  Let him stew for a while and wonder what I’m up to.  So all I say is, “I expect we will.”

It’s the same room I stayed in five years ago.  It’s small and square and someone decorated it in retro southwestern style.  I close the door in the face of the Camera Creep but I’m sure they have other ways to watch me.

Even though it’s hotter outside than it is inside I crack open a window.  There is all kinds of nervous energy running through me even though I get nervous about as often as I turn my head and cough.

Ren was obviously shaken by the sight of me.  Part of me wants to go barreling into the big house right this minute and make her even more uncomfortable.  Another part of me feels kind of sorry for the way her face paled and her hands trembled.  I’ll give her a little space, for now.  But only for a little while.

Because I’m here.  And she’s going to have to deal with me whether she likes it or not.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

REN

Ava chatters away about the gourmet spaghetti she’s going to make for dinner even though dinner is hours away.  She grabs mismatched pots out of the kitchen cabinets and let Alden smack them against the terra cotta tiles.

There is no mention of the fact that Oscar Savage has materialized.  It should be a subject worth discussing even if she knows nothing about what happened between me and Oscar five years ago.  And I’m sure she knows something.  She’s trying to distract me from the full tilt freak out that threatens to erupt.

“That sounds good,” I tell my sister when she mentions driving into town for a bottle of wine. When I look up, Ava catches my eye and gives me a tiny smile of sympathy.  She opens her mouth to say something but then glances at the nearby camera and shuts it.

I rub my eyes and see a medley of rainbow color.  When I stop rubbing, I see his face.  He’s no longer just a painful memory spasm.

He’s here.

He’s right out in the yard talking to Cate fucking Camp, likely plotting the next shocking plot twist.  At least it doesn’t look like he’s going to follow me into the house.  For the time being anyway.

If Oscar had wanted to find me he could have found me long ago.  I was never hiding.

Why now?

Of course I already know the answer.  Oscar is here for the show.  He’s here because someone thought this would be a nice unseemly addition to the story.  I’m sure he’s being paid handsomely for showing up.   With some bitterness, I think about how his arrival could not have been scripted better.

“Shit,” I whisper, so softly it could be mistaken for a sigh.

Alden scurries over and drops a stainless steel pot in my lap.  He offers me a delightfully impish toddler grin and announces, rather oddly, “Imma bat!”