by Cheree Alsop
“Hurray!” Matty yelled.
“We’ll get you Daniel’s old pair of crutches. I saved them in the attic in case he decided to try flying from the roof again,” Mrs. Clark said cheerily.
Martin leaned closer. “I think he was high,” he whispered to Chase loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Martin!” Mrs. Clark scolded.
Chase glanced at Daniel. The boy shrugged, unconcerned. Clara ruffled his hair, then gave Chase a boys-will-be-boys roll of her eyes.
“Well,” Mr. Clark said, pushing himself up. “Anyone for a game of cards?”
The others agreed and started clearing off the table. Chase rose to help them, then staggered as a wave of lightheadedness swept through.
“Easy now, tiger,” Grandpa Clark said. The older man caught him under an arm and helped him limp slowly into the adjoining living room. He eased Chase into an overstuffed chair next to the comfortably burning fire, then sat down in a mismatched chair opposite him.
Chase rested with his eyes closed for a moment to regain his bearings. When he opened them, Grandpa Clark was staring into the fire humming a tune to himself. Chase smiled when he recognized the song from Coldplay.
Grandpa Clark smiled back. He was mostly bald, a bit shorter than Clara’s father, and his face was tanned and lined with the wrinkles and age marks of a well-lived life. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled. “They don’t let me play anymore,” he said. At Chase’s surprised look, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I count cards.” He grinned. “I make a killing in Vegas, though!”
Chase laughed, then held his side at the unexpectedly sharp jab of pain.
Grandpa Clark’s brow creased. “They got you pretty good, didn’t they?”
Chase gave a half smile. “I wish I could say I got them just as good, but they had the jump on me.” His voice lowered. “It was luck that made them leave Clara and Matty unharmed.”
Grandpa Clark sat back in his chair, his gaze distant and thoughtful. “What some of us attribute to luck, others feel is help from a different source.”
Chase frowned and shook his head. “I don’t believe in God.” His voice was touched with bitterness.
Grandpa Clark glanced at him. “To each his own,” he replied.
Chase closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the fire. He could hear the others around the table in the dining room. Someone must have made a big move because boos and laughter erupted along with a cheer of triumph from one of the boys.
He allowed himself to take it all in, the scent of fresh ginger bread men just pulled from the oven, cinnamon and pine from the potpourri simmering on the stove, the crackle of the fire causing orange lights to dance in front of his eyelids, the laughter and good-natured teasing of a loving family; above it all, the sense of security filled places he hadn’t realized had been empty for a long time. He tried to hold it all in, to store it in his memory for when it would be gone, a time he knew would be all too soon.
“You did the right thing.” Grandpa Clark’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Chase opened his eyes and nodded, assuming he meant fighting off Torn’s men.
“In coming with the family tomorrow,” Grandpa Clark continued. “You’ll have a good time.”
Chase didn’t know how to respond. He was already wondering why he accepted, and doubted if he should truly go along. There was still time to leave. He glanced out the curtained window, then sighed as the shadows of snowflakes spiraled within the light of the street lamp.
“Cold night to be out.”
Chase glanced quickly at Grandpa Clark, but the old man’s eyes were closed and his face was turned towards the warmth of the fire. Chase hesitated, then spoke his thoughts aloud. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.
Grandpa Clark opened his eyes but didn’t look at Chase. He stared at the fire with a gaze that was serious and thoughtful. “You saved this family when you saved Clara and Matty. Each member of the family is each other’s greatest blessing. You deserve to be here because you gave us back something that could never have been replaced.”
“But I’m not a good person,” Chase admitted to himself and Grandpa Clark. For some reason, he felt he had to make Grandpa Clark understand. The Clarks had all been so kind and caring to him, tending his wounds, giving him a bed to sleep on and clean clothes to wear, and feeding him the best meal he’d had as far back as he could remember. He rubbed his brow, troubled, tracing the bandages there.
Grandpa Clark sat forward, his arms on his knees and his hands clasped together. He studied them in silence for a small length of time, his eyebrows creased. When he finally looked up and met Chase’s eyes, his clouded blue gaze was frank and honest. “Son, I truly believe that there are no bad people in the world, just bad choices. We choose the path we walk, and by doing so, we choose our final destination.” He gave a small smile. “There are places along each path where we have the opportunity to change our direction, but again, it is our choice.” His smile fell slightly. “I walked down my own hard paths in the past, and I thought I couldn’t change, that my future was already laid out for me.”
“What did you do?” Chase asked quietly. He propped an elbow on his knee and rested his head in his hand; the dull throbbing of his headache was starting to grow.
“I met Mrs. Clark; well, Ms. Molly Clara Hampton back then.” He smiled softly, looking years younger. “For her, I would have changed my entire universe because she believed in me.” He indicated the dining room. “You have a group of people in there who believe in you, too, but this is your choice. Only you can decide which path to take.”
Chase stared into the fire, the flames chasing themselves in circles like the thoughts in his head.
Chapter 3
Later that evening, Mr. Clark and Martin helped Chase back to the bedroom. “I can sleep on the couch,” he protested.
“Grandma and Grandpa have the couch,” Mr. Clark replied. At Chase’s stare, he laughed. “It’s a hide-a-bed with the best pull-out mattress money can buy. They call it their home away from home.”
He helped Chase sit down on the bed, then handed him the clean pajamas Mrs. Clark had supplied from the closet. “Have a good night. Don’t worry about getting up early to catch breakfast. Everyone’s on vacation except me.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I’ll be at the clinic for two more days, but I’ll catch you guys at Brecker’s Farm tomorrow afternoon.”
“Night, Dad,” Martin said.
“Night, son.” Mr. Clark replied. He nodded at Chase. “Get some sleep. You look like you could use a week or two.” He left whistling the tune from Leave it to Beaver.
“I feel bad taking your room,” Chase said after Mr. Clark had gone.
“Don’t worry about it,” Martin replied amiably. He gathered up his pajamas and a comic book. “I get ousted every Christmas. That’s when everyone comes to visit.” He shrugged. “Besides, when I bunk out in Daniel’s room, we stay up playing Halo and Ghost Recon all night.” He glanced at Chase. “You play?”
Chase shook his head, then regretted the action as the pounding in his head increased. “Never tried.”
“You’ll have to join us sometime. Dan’ll teach you the moves. He’s a killer at first person shooters.” He paused. “Daniel’s a good guy, you know?”
Chase nodded. It was obvious this was important to Martin. “I can tell.”
Martin smiled. “Good. ‘Cause some people don’t get him, but he’s great. I just didn’t want you to have the wrong impression.”
“Thanks,” Chase replied. “I’ll take you up on the game offer sometime.”
Martin nodded, said goodnight, then disappeared from the room.
Chase pushed slowly back to his feet, eased the pajamas over his bruised body, then settled back onto the bed. His knee ached above the level of the aspirin Mrs. Clark had given him, but it helped ease his headache to a minor throb behind the bandages she had rewrapped on his brow. He sunk quickly into a dreamle
ss sleep of a moonless night with a patter of rain all around him.
***
When Chase awoke, the clock on the dresser showed 1:49 a.m. He knew he should go back to sleep, but memories kept flashing through his mind, memories he’d rather not face. His mouth was dry, so he rose from the bed with the goal of heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out when he put weight on his injured knee. He sucked his breath in and hobbled slowly to the door, leaning on various items in Martin’s room to ease the weight on his leg as much as possible. He opened the door and hobbled painfully down the hallway.
By the time he reached the kitchen, Chase was worn out but triumphant at his small achievement. He filled a glass with water, sat at the table, and sipped it with a small smile. He refilled it a second time, then rinsed the glass, washed it, and set it on the sideboard to dry.
Quiet commotion from further down the hall caught his attention. Making his way to it, he listened a moment. Gunfire followed by shouting and laughter heralded that Martin and Daniel were still up playing games. Chase knocked on the door before he could second-guess his decision. He heard the game pause, then Martin opened the door.
“Awesome!” he said when he saw Chase. “Hey Dan, we’ve got another player,” he called over his shoulder. He stepped aside to let Chase enter.
Chase had never seen two rooms more opposite than Martin’s and Daniel’s. Where Martin’s room was simple and tidy to a fault, every space in Daniel’s room was occupied. Martin’s two posters were outshone by posters, album covers, and pencil and ink drawings from the floor to the ceiling and even covering the ceiling in some places. In one corner, a black light illuminated an entire solar system suspended from fishing line. Two banana chairs sat on a black rug with a white crescent moon in the middle that face a television stand with a game system underneath it.
Daniel, sitting in one of the banana chairs, hefted an extra controller. “The more, the merrier.”
He tossed it up and Chase caught it, eyeing the numerous buttons suspiciously. “You guys are going to kill me a million times before I get the hang of this, aren’t you?”
“Probably,” Daniel agreed. He watched Chase ease himself painfully to the ground. “You want to sit on one of these chairs?” His tone indicated he thought it would be a bad idea.
Chase agreed. “I don’t think I’d be able to get back up.” He patted the surprisingly comfortable carpet. “Besides, this is the best seat in the house.”
Martin laughed and sat down in the other chair. “It’s all yours.” He glanced at the screen, then back at Chase. “Uh, we already took the honor of creating your profile when you said you’d come play.”
Chase couldn’t help but laugh. His new profile screen was neon pink with the name ‘Thug Slayer’ proudly emblazoned across it. “Thug Slayer?” he asked.
Martin grinned. “Daniel came up with it. He thought it was better than Man Who Chases Away Bad Guys.”
Daniel laughed and Chase nodded appreciatively. “Yes, much better.” He studied his controller for a moment, then gave up the hope of ever learning the controls. “Okay, let the dying begin.”
Between various, gruesome deaths in which he, too, was his worst enemy, Chase found himself in a more conversational tone than normal. “You like the Broncos, huh?”
Martin nodded, firing a well-timed missile at Chase and blowing ‘Thug Slayer’ off a ledge. “I haven’t missed a game since Payton got on board.”
“He’s a good guy,” Chase agreed. “As nice in person as he is on television.”
Martin’s eyes widened. “You’ve met him?”
“Shook his hand once,” Chase replied.
Daniel glanced at him after nailing Thug Slayer in the head with a sniper rifle. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to you than meets the eye?”
Chase leaned back against the side of the bed. “I think you could say the same thing about anyone,” he said evasively. He scrambled his character desperately toward a bazooka only to get sliced from behind by Daniel’s Shadow.
“True,” Martin agreed thoughtfully. “No!” he shouted when Daniel bombed his hiding spot with a well-thrown grenade.
Chase pulled the trigger while holding his breath, then let out a yell of triumph when the bullet got Shadow.
“Lucky shot!” Daniel said begrudgingly.
“Definitely,” Chase agreed. He set down his controller, tired and more than ready to end on the one kill he’d had all game long. “I hate to say it, but I think I need to retire.”
“Stopping while you’re ahead?” Martin teased. He paused the game with a smile.
“Well, seeing you’re both about two zillion to one, I’d have to say yes,” Chase replied.
Daniel rose unexpectedly and helped him to his feet. “Thanks for playing, man. It was fun.”
Chase smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed killing me.”
“Definitely,” Daniel replied. He was only half-joking when he continued, “You’ll have to come back so we can kill you again sometime.”
“Oh, don’t think you can keep me down now. You’ve created a monster in Thug Slayer. I’ll never surrender.” Chase laughed, then winced at the accompanying stab of pain. “Someday, I may actually win.”
“You already did,” Daniel replied in a serious tone. At Chase’s questioning look, he continued, “Thank you for what you did for Clara and Matty. That took guts.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Martin said.
Chase shifted on his good leg and wondered how to respond when a knock at the door saved him. It was two short taps, one long one, and two more short ones.
“Come in, Clara,” Daniel said.
She opened the door and poked her head in. “Just seeing if you guys were still up. I made some . . . .” She fell silent at the sight of Chase. Her long brown hair had been freed from its ponytail and now hung around her slightly mussed. She brushed it back self-consciously.
“We’re teaching him how to play. The guy’s sadly lacking in the primary education of our generation,” Daniel said.
Clara rolled her eyes. “I’m glad you feel obligated to give it to him,” she replied, her smile teasing. “But you’d better quiet down or you’ll wake up Mom.” She met Chase’s gaze, her tone growing serious. “And you know what she’ll say if you’re keeping our guest from getting the sleep his needs to recuperate.”
“We didn’t make him come in here,” Martin argued. “He chose to come on his own.”
“I highly doubt that,” she replied skeptically.
“I did,” Chase said. He wondered why he felt like he should be apologizing. “I couldn’t sleep, and,” he winked at the boys, “was sadly ignorant of my lack of education.” He sighed dramatically. “Of course, if my performance means anything, I am still sadly lacking. Thug Slayer bids you adieu until a later time.” He gave them a formal bow which they returned with mock solemnity before he left the room.
“Your brothers are great,” he said to Clara after closing the door.
“I know,” she agreed. “I’m lucky to have them.”
“Yes, you are,” Chase replied. He felt her questioning glance, but didn’t feel like expounding. He limped slowly down the hallway trying not the show the pain that was coursing up his leg.
“It’ll get better,” Clara said as if she could read his thoughts.
“What?” Chase asked cautiously.
“Your knee,” she replied. “It’ll get better, but it’s normal for it to feel worse before it starts to ease up.”
“You know this from experience?” Chase asked. He paused at the kitchen to ease the feeling of nausea the pain in his knee was creating.
She nodded. “I twisted my knee playing softball about two years ago.” She frowned slightly. “Of course, I don’t know if it’s different when you’re kicked.”
“Me neither,” Chase said. She threw him an incredulous look and he shrugged. “I’ve never twisted my knee playing soft
ball, so I’ve nothing to compare it to.”
Her brow creased, a half-smile on her lips. “You’re not crazy or anything, are you?”
Chase shook his head. “Just tired and recovering from a concussion.”
“Well, if that’s all,” she replied with a quiet laugh.
He limped forward again. It felt like his arms and legs weighed ten tons apiece.
“Do you need help?” Clara asked with a note of worry.
Chase shook his head, then stumbled and caught himself against a doorframe. Without a word, Clara ducked under his arm and helped him slowly up the hall to his room. He sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I feel like I’m swimming through tar right now.”
“You need sleep,” Clara replied. She studied him from where she stood by the window. She told herself not to care, not to get caught up with someone involved in his kind of trouble, but something about him made her heart twisted unexpectedly in her chest. He seemed so lost and alone. She had never met anyone like him.
He nodded wordlessly. He heard her turn to leave and forced his head up. “Clara?”
She turned back.
He pushed the hair from his eyes. “I’m not what you think I am,” he said quietly. He fumbled for the right words, his mind sluggish with the need to sleep. “I appreciate this, all of it. I just,” he shook his head. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Sleep,” she replied, her tone encouraging as if she was trying to get a sick child to drink water. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Chase nodded and settled back on the bed. She closed the door and he listened for her footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t hear them. She stood outside the door lost in thought; it was after he had been asleep for quite a while that she finally turned and walked back down the hall.
***
The next morning, which the clock on the dresser proudly heralded to be 11:35 a.m., Chase limped into the bathroom to find Daniel’s old crutches waiting for him. Some bored individual, which Chase assumed to be Daniel, had drawn intricate pictures of dragons, demons, phantoms, skulls, and flames along the entire length of the metal on both crutches.
