by Blake, Bruce
She hesitated and I saw in her expression she regretted telling me.
“Nothing good. And I’m worried about Poe if the other side found out.”
I nodded. “Your secret is safe with me. I have more important things to worry about.” My nod turned to a shake. “My life would be so much easier if the guys upstairs assigned Trevor his own guardian angel.”
“Why do you assume you’re not his guardian angel, Ric?”
The thought didn’t offer any comfort; I’d been doing a poor job keeping people safe.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Trevor, can we see you, please?’
His mother stood in the doorway, her voice penetrating the Machine Head song playing in his headphones—he’d lowered the volume in deference to the headache plaguing him, as it had on and off since the three days he couldn’t remember. He remained as he was, lying on the bed, toe tapping the air.
“Trevor?”
He opened his eyelids when her hand touched his shoulder. She smiled and he brushed hair out of his eyes, regarding her with a questioning expression.
“We’d like to talk to you,” she said raising her voice.
“I’m busy right now.”
Her smile became the half-annoyed smirk she saved for times when he acted the part of rebellious teenager without hurting anyone. He might not have admitted to it out loud, but he liked that expression and did his best to make it last as long as possible, usually until she got angry.
“Really? What are you doing?”
“What?” he said, pointing at the headphones.
She raised her voice. “I said ‘what are you doing’?”
Trevor sat up and pushed the phones off the back of his head to fall around his neck, the churning guitars of Machine Head’s ‘Locust’ buzzing in them.
“Homework.”
“That doesn’t sound like homework.”
“You’re right, school’s not cool enough for this,” he said. “I’m preparing.”
“I see. How about you put it off for a few minutes? Ashton and I want to talk to you.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “You want me to put off doing homework?”
“Just for a bit. It’s important.”
That didn’t sound good to him. Typically, things parents considered important meant far less to the teenage son, like taking out the garbage or planning a boring vacation or some other bullshit. But any excuse to get out of homework was fine with him.
“Be there in a minute.”
His mother smiled and ruffled his hair; he immediately smoothed it back into place. She walked to the door and paused to smile at him once more before retreating down the hall toward the living room. Something in her expression brewed up a cup of dread in Trevor, so he pulled the headphones back on and listened to the churning guitars and thundering drums, allowing their organized chaos to calm him until the song finished.
The house still smelled of frying onions, a result of the chicken fajitas his mother made for dinner. The meal should have been his first clue something was up. Not only was it his favorite, but the occurrence of her cooking from scratch rather than heating pre-made crap happened so infrequently, alarm bells should have sounded.
He stopped in the doorway when he got to the living room. His mother and Ashton sat perched on the edge of the couch, holding hands and wearing smiles that smacked as much of worry as they did happiness. Trevor’s unease grew.
“What’s going on?”
They glanced at each other in a way that gave him the impression they were both suppressing giggles. The flesh at the back of his neck prickled and a chill worked its way along his spine.
This isn’t good.
“We have some news,” his mother said.
“Some great news,” Ashton added.
“Are you pregnant?” Trevor asked, his voice flat.
His mother tittered nervously. “No, don’t be silly.” Her eyes flickered to Ashton and back before she added: “Not yet.”
The prickle spread from Trevor’s neck and across his back, crawled along his arms. His teeth clamped together, the muscles in his jaw flexing and knotting. He’d known for a long time this day would come eventually. He’d hoped against it, wished for Ashton to fuck it up, but now here it was. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Ashton smiled wider and took a breath.
“Your mother and I are getting married.”
Trevor’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line across his face and he swallowed hard enough they all heard the audible gulp in the quiet room. The prickling sensation spread to the rest of his body, making his skin hot and too tight on his muscles. He stared at his mother and her boyfriend, stared through them, as they awaited his response. After a minute, a fault line of worry found its way into his mother’s delighted smile. It quivered, wavered.
“Trevor?”
He refocused his gaze on her, aware of the way his face would be tinting red as he breathed hard through his nose, attempting to contain himself for her sake.
“No.”
His mother’s smile melted into discouragement as Ashton’s snapped into a frown.
“We’re not asking your permission,” he said. “We’re telling you.”
Trevor didn’t look at the man sitting beside his mother on the couch she’d bought with his father, but continued staring at her, at the pleading expression seeping into her eyes.
“Trevor, honey. We--”
“You can’t do this.”
“Listen,” Ashton began, an edge to his voice, but Rae raised her hand, stopping him.
“I know it’s hard for you to accept, Trevor, but your father is...gone. He was gone a long time before--”
“See? You can’t even say it. How can you marry him when you can’t even say it?”
“I have to start thinking about me, Trevor.”
Trevor glared at her through the hair hanging in his eyes. “He’s not gone. You can’t do this.”
“He’s dead, kid. You have to let him go,” Ashton said, the edge in his voice sharper still.
“Shut up. You’re not my father. I don’t have to do anything you say.”
Ashton’s face blanched. He jumped to his feet, pulling his hand free of Rae’s. She reached for him to grasp it again, but she missed and he moved a step toward Trevor.
“I may not be your father,” he growled between clenched teeth, “but you’ll learn to do what I say. And you have no say in what we do.”
“Ash,” Rae said. “We--”
“Don’t interrupt, Rae. Your boy needs to learn some manners.”
He stepped around the coffee table, bumping his shin on its edge but hiding the pain beneath his anger as he crossed the room to stand in front of Trevor. He only stood a couple of inches taller than the teen, but was broader and heavier. For a second, Trevor thought he’d take a swing at him, so he braced his feet, but the man stopped short, glaring at him.
“Your mother and I are getting married,” he said, the sour aroma of the night’s fajitas still pungent on his breath. “There’s nothing you can do, so you may as well be happy for us.”
Trevor glowered, the dislike he’d felt at him for usurping his father’s spot in their family blossoming into the hatred with which it had flirted for years. His body went tense and rigid, his fists trembled at his sides.
“Like fuck I will.”
Ashton’s face turned a shade of crimson and his shoulders raised up an inch, like a shrug, but then the palms of both his hands struck Trevor flat against the chest, sending him stumbling back. He didn’t hit him to knock the wind out of him or send him to the floor, but enough to exert his authority.
“Ash,” Rae shrieked and sprang to her feet.
Trevor backed into the wall and Ashton glared at him, his gaze daring him to be defiant.
“Stay out of this, Rae,” he said over his shoulder and took a step toward Trevor.
The teen slid toward the doorway. “You’ll never be my father.�
��
“I don’t want to be your father. Your father’s dead.”
“No. No he’s not.”
“It’s time to face facts, junior. That dad of yours ain’t coming back.” Ashton smiled a mock smile and spread his arms. “I’m all you've got.”
Trevor’s stomach flopped with nausea at the thought. The truth threatened behind his lips, desperate to be spoken. He wanted to tell them about his visits with his father, how it had been him who beat up Ashton on their front walk, how he’d saved him from the clutches of the angel of death. But he couldn’t, and they wouldn’t believe any of it, anyway. Instead, he raised his middle finger toward Ashton’s face.
“Fuck you,” he spat.
Ashton swung his hand at Trevor’s, but the teen dodged and slipped down the hall toward the front door. His mother’s footsteps crossed the fake wood living room floor as he paused to grab his jacket out of the hall closet, yanking it so hard the wire hanger sprang out with a clatter.
“Trevor,” his mother called after him, tears threatening in her voice.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ashton shouted. “Get your ass back here.”
Trevor threw the door open, then slammed it, stomping down the stairs, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Behind him, Ashton yelled after him to get back in the house and he knew his mother would be crying. He didn’t care what his mother’s boyfriend said, but her tears had the ability to drive a spike of guilt into his chest that could keep him there to talk things through, and he didn’t want to do that. He wanted her to be happy, but he didn’t want her to be happy with him.
Once upon a time, before Icarus died and when he wasn’t being much of a father, Trevor might have been okay with the idea of his mother and Ashton tying the knot, or at least he’d have cared about it less. But since his father’s death and subsequent resurrection as a harvester, his attitude had changed. He found himself constantly struggling to keep the secret they shared. He wanted to tell his mother and to throw it in Ashton’s face every time he told him what to do.
But he couldn’t. He’d promised. He didn’t know what might happen to his father if people found out the truth, but a promise was a promise and he didn’t want to jeopardize things for Icarus.
Not sure where to go when he reached the end of the path, Trevor took a right onto the sidewalk and bumped into someone else he hadn’t seen in his distraction.
“Sorry,” he muttered and raised his head; a surprised eyebrow followed it. “Cory? What are you doing here?”
The other teen shrugged. “Coming to see what you were up to.”
“Hmm. Fighting with my mom and her douchetard boyfriend.”
“Glad I didn’t miss that.”
“Right.”
They started walking together and Trevor saw Cory glance back at his house. No yelling or sobs reverberated through the walls, no one opened the door, intent on following him and convincing him not to go.
“Last time I left, I was gone three days,” he said. “You’d think they’d be a little more concerned.”
“They are,” Cory said.
“My mom, maybe. Not that prick. He’s the one who convinced her to let me go, I’m sure.” Trevor breathed in winter air cold enough it made the inside of his nostrils hurt. “I hate the bastard.”
“Really?”
Trevor considered for a second. “Yeah. Really.”
“Strong word, hate,” Cory said.
Trevor’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Sometimes I wish he’d die.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I paid the dweeb with the too-cool-for-school glasses and the I’m-great-because-I’m-a-cell-phone-salesman attitude, jammed the pay-as-you-go phone into my pocket, and headed out of the store.
“You didn’t have to be rude to him.”
I didn’t expect to find Dido waiting for me. Or maybe I did.
“I thought I told you to wait for me at the motel,” I said, hurrying past her. “And what makes you think I was rude? You weren’t in the store.”
“I know you well enough by now. And remember what happened last time you told me to wait in your room?”
“Different motel, this time.”
“I suspect the gentlemen in the black overcoats don’t need a forwarding address.”
True.
We got to the corner and crossed the street against the orange flashing hand; she rushed, but I took my time. A car wouldn’t hurt her but it might cause me serious discomfort, yet she was the one who hurried.
“Where are we going with your new cell phone?”
“It’s for Trevor.”
“What’s he need another cell phone for?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t have one.”
Dido touched my forearm and I thought a mild shock coursed across my skin, but it disappeared quicker than it came and I doubted it had been there at all.
“Are you kidding me? A fifteen year old without a cell phone? Even I had a cell phone. Well...before that guy shot me.”
“His mother won’t let him have one.” I pulled my arm from her grasp, continuing on my way. “She thinks they emit harmful gamma rays or some shi...crap.”
“Well, it’s true. Those things’ll kill you.”
I raised my eyebrow, wondering if it was too soon for humor. What the hell. “Those, and mom’s jealous boyfriends.”
“Hmph. Water and cars and monkey bars, too.”
Good to see she had a sense of humor about what happened. We walked for a minute in silence. I regarded my shoes and the ancient splotches of discarded gum on the sidewalk bleached white by the sun.
“Did Poe ever tell you how she died?”
I glanced over at my pint-sized companion, a furrow in my brow, but she stared straight ahead and didn’t see my questioning expression.
“No.” I’d never bothered to ask her. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “Curious, I guess. Didn’t you ever wonder?”
“I’m not sure you want to bring up her name right now.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
She stole a peek over her shoulder, making me suspect she was worried someone watched us or listened in, waiting to catch her like a nun at a Catholic school hoping one of the students drops an f-bomb so she can tell fucking Father Dominic and he can put his switch to work.
Or maybe that was my old shit coming up. Again.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, bulling my way through a group of tough-looking grannies hanging around outside a coffee shop. “I’m sure Mikey won’t mind you talking to an angel who’s working for the other side.”
I made sure to emphasize the sarcasm in my voice, unsure if an eight-year-old spirit was capable of catching the subtle nuances of my brand of humor without a little help. She stopped and grabbed my arm again, dragging me to a halt. I looked from her face to her hand on me, then back and frowned.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“You promised you wouldn’t tell,” she said, concern and a pleading tone in her voice.
“I’m not telling,” I said. “But maybe you’ll think twice before following me next time I want to be left alone.”
She stared at me for a minute, lip quivering as though tears weren’t far behind. I softened my expression a tad and considered apologizing, but she nodded once, like we’d struck a bargain, relieving me of responsibility.
“I have to get moving. Trevor will be out of school soon and I have to catch him before he gets home.”
“I’ll wait for you back at the room.”
She turned to leave and this time I touched her arm to stop her.
“Whoa. You already said you didn’t think it was safe.”
“Yeah, well...they didn’t get me last time.”
“You should probably come with me. People can’t see you anyway.”
She shook her head. “Trevor will.”
“What do you mean? Why would he be able to see you?”
“Because he�
��s been to Hell.”
I never told her that.
Hand on arm. Stop. Again. This time the guy behind me walked right into me and snarled a derisive comment. I ignored him.
“I don’t remember telling you Trevor had been to Hell.”
“I...er.” Her gaze darted away and her feet followed. “I’m going to go,” she called over her shoulder as she took off back the way we’d come.
“Hey.”
Other people on the sidewalk glared at me, most of them with at least vaguely annoyed miens, but the subject of my shouting ignored me. Of course, they couldn’t see her, so they probably thought me crazy, a sentiment to which I’d grown accustomed. In fact, there were times I’d have been counted amongst those concerned for my sanity.
Shaking my head, I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have time to follow her or I’d miss Trevor, and I’d done that too much in my life already. As much as I didn’t want anything to happen to Dee, my son’s safety ranked higher in priority.
I hurried across another street, dodging cars driven by people who seemed they’d rather hit me than the brake pedal, and then cut across the park, making a wide berth around the duck pond and its overhanging willow tree. Too many angels found me hanging out with the waterfowl these days, so I’d decided to take time away from the aroma of bird shit and pond scum. Someone else would have to fatten up the ducks with unhealthy white bread crusts.
A few students were already making their way across the damp grass, so I quickened my pace, keeping my eyes on them to make sure I didn’t miss Trevor amongst them. By the time I reached the edge of the park nearest the high school, the place was a sea of ripped jeans, black leggings, and teenage angst.
I waded through the throng of teens who should have been happy to be free of their learning environs, but their mood didn’t seem as bright as one might expect. Then I remembered the school had lost three students, which explained the sense of melancholy. Not only did a bunch of these kids lose friends, they’d spent the afternoon listening to talks about dealing with grief and teachers urging them to speak with a councilor. Not a great day at school.
After a minute sifting through the acne-covered faces, I saw Trevor crossing the school yard, walking away from me. He was with a kid I didn’t know, a tall, lanky boy with hair longer than Trev’s and no jacket.
