MADHOUSE

If you were going to die in a place, would you care if the place was clean?

Rachel didn’t think she would, but she cleaned nonetheless.

The walls of the kitchen were slathered in a layer of off-yellow grime. Invisible to most, but evident enough to the touch. A slippery layer borne from the mating of flesh and heat.

They cooked the flesh of animals here. Day after day, with little ventilation. The heat made the fats and oils leap from cooking pan to air in a desperate attempt to escape. But there was nowhere to go, and inevitably the fleeing oil would end up stuck on the wall.

Even the dead things cannot leave this place, she thought.

It was one of those things that happened over time. It did no good to clean the walls every day. So they let it build. Meal after meal. Day after day. Until Father determined it was dangerous and unsightly. He would call for Rachel to get her bucket and suds, and then the scraping would begin. She’d sweep her sponge back and forth, and the fat would end up getting squeezed out into a pail. The pail would go down the drain, and that would be that.

Maybe the dead can escape after all.

She was at that step now. The wall was clean enough. She hefted up the heavy bucket, careful not to let a single drop slosh from the side. Then she began a careful penguin walk toward the garage. Rachel turned and backed into the door, bumping it open with her hips, and felt for the light switch. As soon as she flipped it and turned, she saw movement.

Limbs flailing. Clothes whipping around.

Two people frantically reversing their undressing.

Rachel slammed the door shut behind her. She had no sympathy for those two, but she knew what would happen if Father or Mr. Kasper were to see it. Actually, she thought, Mr. Kasper likely wouldn’t care. But Father would care enough for the both of them.

“Lord have mercy,” said Rachel, crossing herself with three taps as she spoke. “What if I’d been Father?”

She hefted the bucket down the stone stairs, heading for the drain.

“Oh, hell, it’s only Rachel,” said Bobby Kasper. Sarai sat next to him, her blonde locks unkempt and wild. The faint layer of makeup the Teller girls were allowed, smeared on her face. Bobby Kasper had his red plaid shirt on, unbuttoned. A brown hair horn stood straight up from the crown of his head.

The two of them sat amongst the dirty laundry, spread out on the floor beside the laundry press.

“Are you kidding me? She’s just as bad … might as well be another parent,” said Sarai, glaring at Rachel.

Rachel straddled the drain in the center of the garage and began a slow pour. Said goodbye to the fat, and the suds.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” asked Sarai.

Rachel set the pail down and stretched up to full posture. Rubbed her shoulders and pushed out her waist.

“I suppose not,” said Rachel. “But I have two conditions …”

Sarai scowled. Bobby looked somewhat amused, and far too relaxed for what he’d been caught doing. He sat back on his elbows, legs spread out before him across the laundry.

“One, don’t ever let me see anything … I don’t want to go blind,” said Rachel, smiling wryly. “And two, you’re gonna start helping me with some of the cleaning.”

Bobby Kasper laughed. He was closer to Rachel’s age than Sarai’s, and seemed to enjoy the banter. He had a sister once. Not anymore.

“She’s devious,” said Bobby.

Sarai punched his right shoulder.

“Fine. Is that it?” asked Sarai.

Rachel folded her arms and tapped her chin, thinking.

“Well—”

Rachel’s words were cut off by the sound of a screaming alarm bell. A loud wail, rising and falling. Rachel turned back toward the door. The regulator hanging above it was flashing red and green.

Rachel moved, knocking over the bucket as she ran for the stairwell. Sarai and Bobby leapt up and followed.

It can’t be real, she thought.

She exploded through the door back into the kitchen and found the red box, set into the wall at eye level. She twisted the handle, pulled out three gas masks. One for herself, two for the others catching up behind her.

These were not the fancy ones, like the Men in White wore. These were utilitarian and smelled like tires, but they worked. That was all that mattered.

She pulled the mask across her face and tightened the straps. Felt relief as the layer of rubber cut the alarm down a few notches in volume. The respirator kicked in, layering her breaths with a heavy hiss and sigh. The eyepieces fogged, but as she continued with a steady inhale and exhale. That too, faded.

The three of them ran from the kitchen to the living room.

There, standing by the front door, was Father. He wore a black suit and a gas mask. He held his pocket watch out before his face.

Mother, Mr. and Mrs. Kasper, and Isaac stood assembled around him in a loose circle by the door. Mother was wringing her hands.

As soon as Rachel joined the others, Father clicked a button on his pocket watch. He spoke, the mask making his voice sound muted and suffocated.

“Two minutes … roughly,” said Father. “Way too long. What slowed you down?”

Rachel collapsed onto the couch. The mask wasn’t letting her catch her breath. Sweat began to roll down her forehead, whipping up a thick film against the rubber lining.

“Rachel?” asked Father. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

He was fixating on her, and only her.

“We were all the way in the garage,” said Rachel, feeling her voice go boxy behind the regulator. “I knocked over the bucket and hurt my foot.”

Father shook his head. “No excuses,” he said. “Two minutes would have finished you off.”

He slid his pocket watch into a slit on his waistcoat, then began to loosen the straps on his mask.

“Daddy, what happens if we don’t get our mask on fast enough?” asked Sarai, removing hers.

Rachel thought to point out that her sister had been far slower but let it drop.

Lucky girl, thought Rachel. The mask gave Sarai an excuse for having smeared makeup.

“The Vapor can fill a house this size in five seconds,” said Father, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “But that’s why we take the medicine at night. Slows down the poison.”

“But that’s no excuse to dawdle,” said Mother, shaking a finger at Sarai. She was a bit more even-handed.

Mother wavered a bit as she moved. Her eyes were a touch droopy.

“Well, I reckon that’s enough excitement for one day,” said Mr. Kasper. He looked red in the face and huffed and puffed his words. “I believe I’ll retire to my quarters.”

The thin, sickly man stumbled between the rest of them, worming his way through the living room back toward the basement door.

“Better get down there, Pop. I heard liquor goes bad if you leave it out too long,” said Bobby as his father passed.

Bob Kasper moved like a whip, far faster than Rachel thought he was capable of. He slapped his son in the side of the head, just above the ear.

“Watch your tongue, boy,” said Bob Kasper. There was no hint of friendliness or comedy in his tone.

Bob Kasper disappeared. A spider crawling back down to its web.

Mother departed next, dropping her gas mask onto the living room table. She steadied her balance against whatever she could find, including Father’s shoulders. She did not excuse or explain her departure, just began the long ascent up the stairwell.

“Rachel, why don’t you collect all the masks and give them a good cleaning?” asked Father.

Rachel’s eyes followed her mother up the stairs, and she sighed. Rachel pulled off her own mask.

“Yes, Father,” said Rachel. “Sarai, why don’t you help me?”

But when Rachel turned, she saw her sister and Bobby Kasper were gone.

Both Father and Emma Kasper disappeared, which left Rachel alone with an empty room and a pile of sweaty gas masks.

She turned to look at the front door. That forbidden portal. Somewhere in the midst of the drill, she’d felt something strange. A curious sense of glee when she thought the alarm might be real.

If the day actually came when the seals broke and the Vapor found its way inside, they might have a chance. The door might swing open. Rachel would gladly risk her life if it meant a single fleeting glance of the outside world again. Of green leaves and fresh running water. The sounds of crickets and birds.

The fat on the kitchen wall had to die to get out of this place. But in its own way, it sure as hell got out. Maybe, she thought, it wouldn’t be so bad to go down a drain, as long as she ended up in an ocean.