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Alaska was drastically different than anywhere Jesse had ever been before. It wasn’t until he saw the huge, expansive ice in front of him that it truly hit him just how far away from home he was.
Whatever “home” meant, anymore. For the last six months, home had been a cage after all.
Hearing his parents’ voice had made him think of another home, of a younger him, sitting at the edge of his bed and flipping through the box under it.
He walked to town, bundled up against the elements.
It wasn’t until later that he found out, from reading the paper, that Mr. White had hidden out in New Hampshire.
Maybe he could relate.
***
He didn’t want to think about Mr. White, but the more he stayed in the cabin by himself, the more he did.
He’d looked different when he had come to save Jesse at the compound. His beard, his hair – but his eyes had been the same. How had he never realized the way that Mr. White’s eyes seemed to train on him with some bizarre mix of fondness and possession?
Now, the man should have been left buried where he was. Why did he still seem to be haunting Jesse?
Mr. White filled the rooms, sat on the couch – Jesse had gone into town to buy that on the second day; before that he had simply sat on the floor and been glad just to be able to choose to do it.
Mr. White whispered past Jesse’s bed, which he went into town to buy on the fourth day. Before that, he had laid on the floor and then slept on the couch.
It reminded him of the futon back at his old house. He had loved it, in all its thin, bright glory.
He wondered where it was now. Had his parents come to get it? Was someone living in his house, now?
He remembered sitting there with Badger and Skinny Pete. And then, with a twinge and an ache, he remembered sitting there with Andrea and Brock.
How many minutes had he let slip away without thinking about what he was losing?
But he was a different man, now. Mr. Driscoll didn’t have any of those memories, maybe. Or maybe he had them all.
Jesse wasn’t sure who he was going to be, yet. And maybe that was a relief.
***
Jesse’s nearest neighbor lived half-a-mile down the road, in another cabin. His nearest neighbor’s name was Bud.
Jesse assumed that was not the name that was on his birth certificate, but considering he had gone by Diesel at some point, he decided he didn’t have a whole lot of room to talk.
Bud drove by a few times and said hello to Jesse, which would send Jesse into terror because he was sure that somehow Bud knew, and that was exactly why he was coming by.
But it wasn’t.
Each time, he just came by and said hello, offered Jesse a cigarette, and then drove back to his own house.
And Jesse would be left shivering on the porch, on the couch, in the closet, under the covers of the bed.
***
It wasn’t until Jesse had been in Haines for a month that he drove into town and stayed there for a while. He didn’t have a goal this time – he didn’t need any new pieces of furniture, and he didn’t need groceries.
He wondered if he was only here for reasons of self-sabotage.
No one seemed to notice him, particularly, although a few people gave the kind of wave that someone gives to a person they suspect they recognize from somewhere but cannot quite place.
He wandered down the road, not sure where he was going. He stuck his head in the furniture shop and pictured himself in a back room, carving out chairs. Maybe he would ask in about it, once he no longer felt eyes around him at every turn. Maybe he could be happy here.
And then he walked down a few more doors, watching his feet clack against the boards.
The next door said, emblazoned proudly across the top: STEVE’S PET SHOP.
Jesse took a deep breath, then pushed the door in. As soon as he walked inside, he heard birds tweeting and then, quick on their heels (or their tails, Jesse supposed), cats meowing and dogs barking.
Next, the sound of something or other chewing on metal and then going cheep, cheep, cheep.
Jesse kept walking.
“Hey, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you,” said the young woman behind the counter.
Jesse twitched, then looked back up at the woman.
“I, uh, okay,” he stammered. “What… kind of pet do you suggest for… I just moved in?”
She smiled.
“Well, are you allergic to any animals?” she asked.
“No… I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Have you had pets before?”
Jesse thought about what he had said to Krazy-8 that one time – that he’d had a dog even bigger and badder than the Rottweiler Krazy-8 had.
“My parents had a bichion for a little while,” Jesse admitted. “I think my aunt ended up adopting him after he kept chewing up everyone’s shoes.”
The cashier chuckled.
“Yeah, they do that sometimes. If you don’t want to sacrifice your shoes, you might want to go with a cat instead. Although, hide your flip flops and yoga mats.”
Jesse chuckled.
“I’ve never had a cat before. Do they need a lot?”
“Just a litterbox, food, and water. They’re pretty easy,” the woman replied. “And you need to take ‘em to the vet.”
They walked by a series of cages and Jesse heard the sound of chewing. He turned his head to see a tiny pair of red eyes looking back at him.
“Who’s that?” Jesse asked, stopping in his tracks, though not sure entirely why.
“Oh, those are the rats,” she said. Jesse blinked. “They’re like lower maintenance dogs. You can teach them to do tricks… Or just have them sit on your shoulder. This little guy is named Rascal. He was brought in by a family whose kid was going away to UA Fairbanks. He’s really friendly, they just didn’t have the time or whatever.”
Jesse peaked at the rat again – he had those bright red eyes and a sleek, fuzzy white body.
“Can I take him?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, “Though you probably want to get two, so they can play together. And males are tough if they don’t get along already.” She pointed over at another gray rat in the corner. “That’s Pipsqueak. He is kind of shy, but gets along with Rascal. He’d be a good pick.”
Jesse peeked down at Pipsqueak, who looked back at him.
Jesse had twitched back in the compound, when Jack had referred to him constantly as “rat”, or “the rat” or “rat bitch”, or any other combination.
But rats didn’t seem so bad, now that he was looking at them.
***
Rascal and Pipsqueak looked out from their carrier as Jesse placed the sides of the new cage together.
“And then D goes to E,” he said allowed, clipping the last bar into the one beside it. “Here you are, boys. Welcome home.”
He ran his fingers along the bars. Would they feel sad, living in a cage?
He opened the door and then picked up the carrier; he unzipped it and let the two rats run from the carrier into the cage. A moment later, paper bedding was added and then a little plastic purple castle, which they immediately ran into.
Jesse pressed his face against the bars.
“Hi,” he said, “I hope you like it here. You both seem very…” He looked for a word and couldn’t find one. Thankfully, the rats didn’t seem to care.
They both ran out of the castle and up to the side of the cage, peeking through. Rascal reached his little face out and nuzzled Jesse’s fingers, and Pipsqueak ran around behind him.
Jesse smiled, filled with a warmth that he hadn’t thought would ever be possible. There was a pack of treats he had brought from the store and he opened it up, opening the cage door again and offering it. Pipsqueak was, ironically, the one with less inhibitions in this moment, and he ran up and snatched the treat right out of Jesse’s hand and then retreated to the back of the cage. Rascal let out an annoyed squeak, and Jesse reached in the bag and came out with a treat for him, too.
Jesse offered it, and when Rascal reached out his tiny hands to grasp it, too, Jesse wanted to cry.
He took a seat on his new couch and sat back, so he could watch the rats run. They made their way up and down the ladders, climbed up the sides and jumped back down again. Most of all, the two of them seemed to love to snuggle up together.
Maybe Mr. White was still haunting this house. Maybe he was still peeking in the windows, calling up the stairs.
But now, Jesse wouldn’t be up against him alone.
“We rats have to stick together,” he whispered.