by Steven Novak
“Nicky.”
“And this?” She asked, her finger continuing to the left.
“Daddy.”
“How about this?”
Tommy’s voice raised a level and his hands reached for the sky. “That’s me, Mommy!”
The next figure was a different color than the ones before, etched in bright yellow rather than black, squiggly-strange lines spreading from all around its stick-figure body.
“And this? Who’s this?”
Tommy mashed his finger against the figure’s head and looked up at his mother with his silver-blue eyes. “That’s you.”
Megan grinned. “Why am I a different color than you and Daddy?”
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the drawing once again, completely content with the fact that his answer was in fact a non-answer.
Megan’s hand moved to the final figure on the far right. It was taller than the rest and drawn in gray, a color he rarely used. Its head was twice as large as any of the others, and what she thought might be its eyes were equally massive. One of its arms was pointed in the direction of the trees and the sky.
“Who’s this?”
To her surprise Tommy didn’t respond. In fact, he stopped moving altogether. His little body sank backward for a moment in the cushions and he folded his hands across his chest. The sudden silence caught Megan by surprise. Her son’s demeanor had changed completely. He was almost contemplative—as contemplative as a four-year old can be, anyway.
“Who is it, cotton-top?” Megan asked again, calling him by the nickname she’d come up with soon after the mop of white hair started to spring from his head.
Tommy placed his finger to his chin and curled his grinning lips inward. “That’s my friend.”
“Oh, yeah?” Megan responded, turning her attention again to the drawing. “What’s his name?”
Tommy reached forward and placed his pointer finger against the paper, the underside dragging softly along the jagged contours of the gray stick figure. His eyes focused on the drawing and very slowly an expression she’d never seen him make emerged on his face. Suddenly he was older than his years. Behind his eyes she could see his mind flashing and working, and creating the sort of images only children can create.
The corner of his lips curled into a smile.
“Pweebo.”
*
*
CHAPTER 61
WHERE THINGS BELONG
*
“Come on kiddo. You’re all right, going to be just fine.”
Tommy’s eyes fluttered for a moment before opening slowly. The wall of blurry shapes that initially greeted him began to find their edges, sharpen, and mold into something slightly more recognizable. Only a few inches from his face were a pair of eyes as large as his head: the massive eyes and deep red pupils of his friend, Pleebo.
“Look at you. See? Just like I said. I knew you were in there.”
The battered Fillagrou wrapped one of his arms around Tommy’s torso and carefully helped the boy to his feet. His other hand remained firmly against his jaw, as it was essentially the only thing keeping the bone in place. Tommy winced and grunted when he stood. Both his legs were broken, and Pleebo’s boney fingers were pressing against his shattered ribs. Every movement was a revelation in exciting new pains he didn’t even know existed. Once he was up, Pleebo began dusting him off and brushing clumps of moist sand from his sweat soaked clothes.
With a sigh and a bit of an awkward smile on account of his broken jaw, he added, “Never looked better, kid.”
Once the pain had subsided and Tommy felt like he had his footing, the boy turned and glanced at the body of his father stretched out in the dirt behind. The man was almost unrecognizable, his face drenched in Ochan blood, his limbs twisted like dried broken twigs.
Pleebo noticed the expression on Tommy’s face and opted to forgo his attempts at humor for the moment. He tightened his grip on the boy and pulled him to his chest. His hand patted gently at Tommy’s back. When he spoke it was in muffled whispers against the top of Tommy’s head and into his crusty strands of hair. “It’ll be okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.”
Tommy swallowed deep and peeled himself from the understanding grasp of his friend. He knew what he had to do. A part of him had always known. He had simply needed to be reminded.
Biting down on the pain rolling back and forth across the whole of his body, Tommy Jarvis pushed a blood-stiff strand of hair from his eyes and looked up at Pleebo. The big-eyed Fillagrou had always been there for him, long before he fell into the stream at the base of his tree fort and emerged in the Red Forest. They all had. They were his friends before he knew what the word meant, and before they even knew of his existence. They were the one thing he could count on without hesitation or question. They held his hand when he cried. They were his family.
Despite this, he had stood idly by and allowed their world to darken, twist, and contort into something ugly and hurtful. His father polluted him, and he polluted them. He should have been stronger. He should have fought for them the way they’d fought for him. He shouldn’t have abandoned them when they needed him most.
Reaching upward, Tommy placed his palm against Pleebo’s face and slid his broken fingers across the scars the Ochan interrogators left behind. This was the physical trait he and his friend shared. Now, maybe more than ever, they were truly alike.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, his words dreamy and mournful.
“What are you talking about?” Pleebo responded with some confusion.
Tommy lowered his head. “I can fix it. I promise.”
Looking past Pleebo’s thin torso and dusty brown tunic, the boy noticed Staci standing near the edge of the ravine. Beside her, readjusting his stained tie once again, was the little scientist, Arthur Crumbee. Staci’s face was filthy, patched sporadically with deep-set purplish bruises. She almost looked sleepy. Her hands hung loosely at her side and her shoulders drooped dramatically. It was obvious that she’d been hurt and was continuing to hurt. He hated seeing her like that, especially knowing that on some level at least, he was to blame.
And yet, despite all of this, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was broken, and beaten, and seemed on the verge of tears. It didn’t matter. She was beautiful.
Gently sliding from Pleebo’s grasp, Tommy began to hobble in her direction. His left leg was useless, dragging limply in the sand behind him with every excruciatingly painful step. Staci watched him approach, her heart pounding and her head spinning. She wanted to rush to his side and help him, but she couldn’t. Her legs refused to move. Her head was throbbing and her insides felt cold. Every time she breathed, her chest hurt. Every time she moved, her muscles screamed.
Arthur Crumbee moved from Staci’s side, jogged to Tommy and wrapped his stubby arms around the boy’s wobbly waist.
“I thought perhaps I might lend a hand,” the little man muttered with half a grin.
Tommy grinned back. Hidden behind it, though, was just a hint of shame. Reaching up, he brushed a mound of sticky, blood-coated dirt from just above the overhang of Arthur’s floppy eye. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur’s feet stopped moving. “Sorry for what?”
“For all of this.” Tommy responded softly, his gaze dropping momentarily to the red sand beneath his feet. “For dragging you here.”
Arthur answered back with a harrumph and half a chuckle. “No need to apologize, young man.” He waited until the boy was looking him directly in the eyes before he continued. “I would have died in that cave, alone with the past.”
Again he straightened his tie, tightened his grip on Tommy, and forced his aching back to remain as near to straight as was physically possible. “You’re a remarkable creature, Tommy Jarvis…remarkable indeed. You might not realize it, but this admittedly odd endeavor has provided me with exactly what I needed. I was too frightened to find it for myself. For that reason and that reason alone, you have my deepest appreciation.
”
Reaching into his pocket Arthur retrieved a replacement monocle and squeezed it into the folds of skin above and below his deeply set eyes. With a deep sigh and a questioning glance he added, “There is one thing…”
Tommy nodded solemnly, more impressed with the true size of the little man then he’d been since they met.
“In the cave on Aquari,” the little scientist continued. “What did it say to you? The particle. You claimed it communicated with you. What did it say?”
Tommy smiled at his purple traveling companion. It was the perfect question and it made perfect sense. It was the only question Arthur could have asked.
Bracing himself on Arthur’s shoulder Tommy leaned in close to the little man’s ear and whispered, “One world. Your world.”
The little scientist stepped away from the boy, his eyes beginning to water, a lump forming in his chest. The answer wasn’t quite what he was expecting. It was far simpler, more straightforward. While he might have anticipated something a bit wordier from the remains of the dawn of the universe, there was honesty in its simplicity. There was truth. His eyes scanned the wobbly child once again, traveling up his legs, across his chest and to the mop of sloppy blond hair resting on top. His dry lips parted. He wanted to speak, but could think of nothing to say. What was needed had already been said. What remained was up to him.
Before continuing to hobble forward, Tommy leaned in close once more and added, “Thank you for taking care of her.”
By the time he reached Staci, Tommy was nearly out of breath. Seated against the cavern wall, he hadn’t realized the extent of his injuries. The brief walk to her brought each and every one of them to light. The external scars were only a fraction of the issues he faced. While they would undoubtedly heal if given proper time and care, the same could not be said for those on the inside. He was broken. He’d been mashed, stomped, and left for dead. Every part of him wanted to sleep and never wake up. For the very first time, it made perfect sense to the boy. It seemed the logical progression. There would be no coming back from his injuries. Though Tommy had no idea what it felt like to die, he imagined it could not have been too dissimilar to what he was already dealing with, and because of this, he wasn’t the least bit scared.
When he stumbled forward, Staci awoke from her daze, reached out, wrapped her arms underneath his, and pulled him straight. Unable to look at his mangled body, she swallowed and turned away. It was just too hard.
“I don’t—”
Tommy responded by placing his shattered finger against the crest of her lips and sliding it to her cheek. He wasn’t sure why he did it. It was entirely out of character, something he wouldn’t have dreamed himself capable of a month ago. Something about it just felt right. All of a sudden his fears seemed so silly and so unimportant, especially around her. All the things that would have stopped him before were no longer of consequence. This was his opportunity. This was his chance to say what he wanted to say and do what he wanted to do. There would be no more chances.
Staci closed her eyes and dug her cheek softly into his palm. When she opened them again her eyes sank into his, turning to liquid and spreading across the steely blue. He was so cute. He had always been always so cute.
“Tommy…I don’t kn—”
“It’s okay.” He interrupted, bringing his other hand to the opposite side of her face. “I don’t either.”
Their heads leaned forward awkwardly, fear and nervousness and something far more carnal etched in the expressions on their faces. Their noses bumped and they pulled back. Their heads leaned to the same side and again they pulled back. When their lips touched at last, they chuckled and froze. It was an odd, uncoordinated spectacle; foreign and electric. It was childish and grown-up. In its own weird-wonderful way, it was exactly what it needed to be. It was perfect.
For both it was the first.
For one, it would be the last.
When they pulled away, Staci leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Tommy, and pulled her body as close to his as she could. Even that didn’t seem close enough. She felt his broken legs give way momentarily and did her best to hold him upright. She didn’t want to let him go. Not ever again.
Her head buried in his chest, she whispered into his shirt, “I’m sorry I can’t fix you anymore.”
Tommy dug his head into her hair, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. She smelled the way he believed all girls should smell, the way his mother had. He wanted to remember it. He wanted to take it with him.
His hand slid to the top of her head and his fingers sank into her hair. “That was never your job.”
Though it pained him to do so, Tommy forced himself to untangle his fingers from Staci’s hair and wiggled his broken body from her grasp. She held tight, clutching to the fabric of his shirt until the very last minute before he eventually slipped free. Tommy’s face tilted upward. His gaze settled on the cavern above and whatever might lie beyond. He wondered if he had enough left in him to do what needed to be done. He wondered if his body would hold up.
“What?” Staci asked, with some confusion. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Tommy looked down at his hand and tried to move his broken fingers. The bones popped and cracked, grinding against each other, dragging along the nerve-endings and sending flashes of pain through his arms and across his chest. They were broken, but they would work. They had to work.
It was going to hurt, what he had to do.
It would only hurt for a moment, though. It had to be done. It had to be done, and he was the only one who could do it. It’s what he was made to do. He’d been doing it his whole life.
When Tommy placed his hands on Staci’s shoulders, she instantly knew something was wrong. It was the look on his face, so serious and sad and apologetic. There was something he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t.
Her voice quivered when she spoke. “What’s going on? What are you going to do?”
When she tried to squirm free, Tommy tightened his grip. “I have to put them back where they belong. This needs to end.”
“Who?” Staci huffed, her lower lip quivering. “What are you talking about, Tommy? You’re not making any sense.”
Tommy’s eyes settled on hers, unblinking, refusing to budge. He wanted to tell her, but knew she wouldn’t understand. Even if she somehow did, she wasn’t likely to accept it. That would have been asking too much.
“Tell Nicky…”
Tommy paused. His hands were already beginning to warm. They knew as well as he what was to come.
“Tell Nicky that I love him.”
When he tried to slide away, Staci reached forward and snagged his shirt. “No! Waitaminute! You can’t! Whatareyou? Wait!”
Tommy’s hands slid from her shoulder, already beginning to glow and hum and pop. Slowly the light crept up his arm, heading for his shoulder and into his chest. Tommy grabbed onto Staci’s hands and wound his glowing fingers with hers.
“You have to let go,” he whispered softly, the light inching up his neck. “It’s the only way.”
Staci shook her head, bit her lip, and swallowed the words of protest in her throat. A single stream of moisture seeped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. Less than a foot from her face, the humming light had engulfed Tommy’s head. It molded itself around his features like honey, accentuating his boyish curves and transforming his blue eyes white. Her hands slipped from his shirt, bits of light clinging to her like taffy before snapping back.
Her voice was soft and pleading as she desperately hoped to discover some way to bargain her way out of what she sensed was inevitable. “I don’t want you to go.”
Tommy smiled from behind his honey-white shell. Beams of warming light shot from his face and warmed Staci’s skin. “I’m right here. No matter what, I’ll always be here.”
A miniature flash of lightning sparked from his face and tickled her lips, leaving her breathless.
Immediately after stepping backward, Tommy l
ifted into the air. Pleebo and Arthur rushed to the girl’s side, wrapped their arms around her and pulled her backward. Hovering ten feet above the sand, the whole of his body crackling with energy, Tommy stopped and glanced at his friends one last time.
It would take everything he had left in him, but it would be worth it. In a minute it would all be over. In a minute they would be safe.
His arms extended to the side and his head tilted up. With an explosion of light his body shot upward as if blasted from a cannon. Tommy smashed into the rocky ceiling and burnt his way in. His energized exterior disintegrated everything it touched, plowing its way through the stone like a drill, carving a swath as it soared upward. When he hit the surface, the boy blasted through the frozen ground of the Ochan courtyard amidst the battling armies. All at once, the fighting stopped. Every head turned in his direction and every jaw dropped. Despite the radical differences of their features, every expression was exactly the same.
When Tommy hit the clouds, the ugly grayish-black things parted and moaned. The whole of his body was alive, each muscle, bone, and fiber of hair tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. When the pain settled in, he ignored it.
Just a little longer. He only had to hang on a little longer.
Tommy closed his eyes and steadied his resolve. He could feel his feet beginning to disappear. The light was swallowing them whole, gobbling them up and transforming them into tiny grains of lighted sand, which were then sprinkled into the clouds below. When the clouds disappeared, the night sky turned to black. The nothingness of space folded in. The cold didn’t matter and the pain became an afterthought. Tommy’s legs were gone and his torso was next. Reaching above his head, the boy scooped himself a handful of stars and pulled them to his face. The concept of distance no longer had meaning. Though they were light years away, the tiny balls of light collected in his hand as if he were catching reflections from the surface of a pond. With his other hand he grabbed more, scooping as much as possible and bringing them to his face with a smile. They looked exactly as he remembered, and they were exactly where he’d left them.
