Bird box

The room is silent again. Malorie is still standing. She feels electric.

“Gary?” Jules pushes.

Gary leans back in his chair. He breathes deep. He crosses his arms over his chest. Then he uncrosses them. He looks serious. Annoyed. Then he grins. He stands up and goes to the briefcase. He brings it back and sets it on the table.

The others are staring at the briefcase, but Malorie is watching Gary’s face.

He snaps the case open, then pulls forth the notebook.

“Yes,” Gary says. “I do have it on me. I do have Frank’s notebook.”

“Frank’s?” Malorie repeats.

“Yes,” Gary says, turning toward her. Then, maintaining his theatrical, gentlemanly way of speaking, he adds, “You little snoop.”

Suddenly, everybody is talking at once. Felix is asking for the notebook. Cheryl wants to know when Malorie found it. Don is pointing his finger at Malorie and yelling.

In the chaos, Gary, still looking at Malorie, says, “You paranoid pregnant whore.”

Jules is upon him. The dogs are barking. Tom gets between them. He is yelling at everyone to stop. Stop it. Malorie does not move. She stares at Gary.

Jules relents.

“She needs to explain this right now,” Don explodes. He has leapt to his feet and is pointing angrily at Malorie.

Tom looks to her.

“Malorie?” he says.

“I don’t trust him.”

The housemates wait for more.

Olympia says, “What does the notebook say?”

“Olympia!” Malorie says. “The notebook is right there. Fucking read it for yourself.”

But Felix already has it in his hands.

“Why do you have a souvenir from a man who put your life in danger?” he demands.

“That’s exactly why I have it,” Gary says insistently. “I wanted to know what Frank was thinking. I lived with him for weeks and never suspected he was capable of trying to kill us. Maybe I held on to it as a warning. To make sure I didn’t start thinking like him. To make sure none of you did, either.”

Malorie shakes her head vehemently.

“You told us Frank took the notebook with him,” she says.

Gary starts to respond. Then he stops.

“I don’t have a satisfactory response for that,” Gary says. “Possibly I thought you would be frightened if you knew I had it on me. You can think what you will, but I’d rather you trusted me. I don’t fault you for looking through a stranger’s luggage, given the circumstances under which we’re all living. But at least allow me to defend myself.”

Tom is looking at the notebook now. The words crawl beneath his eyes.

Don takes it next. His angry expression slowly turns to confusion.

Then, as if Malorie’s aware of something greater than what any vote might solve, she points a finger at Gary and says, “You can’t stay here anymore. You have to leave.”

“Malorie,” Don says with little conviction, “come on. The man is explaining himself.”

“Don,” Felix says, “are you fucking nuts?”

The notebook still in his hands, Don turns to Gary.

“Gary,” he says, “you must realize how bad this looks.”

“I do. Of course I do.”

“This isn’t your writing? Can you prove that?”

Gary removes a pen from the briefcase and writes his name on a page in the notebook.

Tom looks at it for a second.

“Gary,” Tom says, “the rest of us need to talk. Sit here if you want to. You’d hear us in the other room anyway.”

“I understand,” Gary says. “You’re the captain of this ship. Whatever you say.”

Malorie wants to hit him.

“All right,” Tom says calmly to the others, “what do we do?”

“He has to go,” Cheryl says without hesitation.

Then Tom begins the vote.

“Jules?”

“He can’t stay here, Tom.”

“Felix?”

“I want to say no. I want to say we can’t vote to send someone outside. But there’s just no reason to have that book.”

“Tom,” Don says, “we’re not voting to send someone out who wants to go this time. We’re voting on forcing someone to do it. Do you want that on your conscience?”

Tom turns to Olympia.

“Olympia?”

“Tom,” Don says.

“You voted, Don.”

“We can’t force someone outside, Tom.”

The notebook is resting on the table. It’s open. The words are immaculately presented.

“I’m sorry, Don,” Tom says.

Don turns to Olympia, hoping.

But she does not answer. And it doesn’t matter. The house has spoken.

Gary rises. He picks up the notebook and places it back in the case. He stands behind his chair and raises his chin. He breathes deeply. He nods.

“Tom,” Gary says, “do you think I might have one of your helmets? One neighbor to another.”

“Of course,” Tom says quietly.

Then Tom leaves the room. He returns with a helmet and some food. He hands it all to Gary.

“It just works like this then?” Gary says, adjusting the strap on the helmet.

“This is terrible,” Olympia laments.

Tom helps Gary put the helmet on. Then he walks him to the front door. The housemates follow in a group.

“I think every house on this block is empty,” Tom says. “From what Jules and I discovered. You have your pick of them.”

“Yes,” Gary says, nervously smiling beneath the blindfold. “That’s encouraging I suppose.”

Malorie, burning inside, watches Gary carefully.