The Halo Chronicles: The Guardian

by Carey Corp

  Lowering my eyes from his, I drop my head to stare at the ground in shame. Silently, he lifts my chin until we are again sharing breath. “It’s hard to watch because I love you.”

  And while I’m mad, on a deeper and more mature level, I understand. Because it’s how I feel about Derry. I want him to rise above all the petty crap and become the truly exceptional human being he has the potential to be. That I’m similar to the Gabriel that’s not my boyfriend, but my protector, is startling. Maybe Seraphs and humans have more in common than we—in our finite perspective—could ever imagine.

  Gabriel presses his forehead to mine. “What’re you thinking, Alexia?” When I tell him, he rewards me with a radiant smile. “I love you—and I can’t say it enough. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  His heavenly eyes sparkle with excitement. “So,” he whispers, the timbre of his deep voice more ragged than normal as his lips hover over mine, “can we start making up now?”

  *

  “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  Turning my attention to Derry’s rigid hand, his fingers interlaced through mine and clutching me as if his very survival depends upon it, I shrug. “I don’t mind the pain.” At least if he’s clutching me, he’s not cradling his scarred arm.

  We’re sitting on a plain wooden bench in the hallway outside the judge’s chambers for the Campbell County Municipal Court. Gabriel’s somewhere nearby, but since there isn’t a good excuse for why he would be skipping school or be at the courthouse, he keeps a prudent distance.

  This is Derry’s final custody hearing. The Fosters got a lawyer, the day after Steven liberated him from the Eccles and before the police showed up demanding we give Derry back. He doesn’t look like much—longish hair worn in a ponytail, scraggly goatee covering his pointy chin, tape on the bridge of his glasses—but Mr. Dunning knows the custodial system, and he’s good, both skilled in the law and surrounded by a sunshiny halo. Amazingly, he managed to stall both the police and Social Services, as well as get temporary custody granted to the Fosters all in the space of three hours. Now more than five weeks later, we’re at the final hearing, which will determine where Derry will reside. If we get to keep him.

  When the door opens, not the main one leading into the courtroom but the more discreet one that goes right into the judge’s private chambers, both Derry and I jump to our feet. A short, stocky bailiff smiles kindly in our direction. “Judge Rettferd wants to speak to you now, Mr. Williams.”

  Our lawyer warned us this would probably happen. Derry’s old enough that the judge wants to hear what he has to say—both about his experiences with the Eccles and where he would prefer to reside. Upon our arrival, Mr. Dunning gave him a pep talk. “All you have to do, Derrick, is to tell the truth. And trust that the system works for the benefit of those who need it.”

  Easier said than done, especially for those who’ve repeatedly experienced “the system” failing us.

  Forsaking his usual t-shirts, Derry has dressed for the occasion wearing new khakis and a pale blue shirt with a matching tie. His dark brown hair has begun to grow out in uneven tufts, and for now it’s styled into a chaotic mess of tiny peaks. For a minute, he looks at me, scared. He tucks his left arm against his body covering it defensively with his right before he notices what he’s doing. Forcing both arms to drop at his sides, he turns resolutely toward the bailiff.

  But I can’t let him go without throwing my arms around him and whispering assurances into his ear. When I finally release him, all the doubt in his eyes has been replaced by conviction, which cause the gold flecks in his eyes to shine. With a wink, he says, “Thanks,” and walks away.

  When he’s gone, I reseat myself on the bench trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Courthouses are very uncomfortable for me. Not only is there an overabundance of dark ones, but many of the “good” guys—the policemen and lawyers—have waning or slightly darkened halos as well. It’s as if the system has sucked the goodness right out of them, like a parasite.

  A man in shackles passes with an armed escort. Although the prisoner stares straight ahead, as he crosses my path his head does a ninety-degree turn to glare at me and he stops moving. His halo oozes sluggishly around him like tar, making it impossible to distinguish his features. My stomach plummets. But I know, in this instance, I’m safe so I defiantly meet his gaze. The guards surrounding him tense before prodding him forward. With a sickening chuckle, he continues moving down the hall.

  Left feeling shaky and with an upset stomach, I start to examine why the really dark ones—demons, I guess—are attracted to me and how that relates to my particular gift. For the first time since learning about the Gifts of the Saints, I feel the need to understand what I possess. And the purpose behind it.

  But later—today is about Derry.

  Taking out my phone, I text Gabriel and Becke—who will report the news to Jonah—that Derry’s in the judge’s chambers. Becke’s reply of good luck is nearly instantaneous. But Gabriel’s response is even quicker. Am around the corner. Can B 2 U in seconds if needed. Love. Just knowing how near his is, is reassuring.

  Minutes later, Derry emerges. “Well?” I ask, jumping to my feet to meet him.

  He nods his head as if trying to convince himself. “I think it went okay. She asked me a ton of questions about the Eccles and then wanted to know my preference. I think I remembered everything Mr. Dunning said.”

  “Good.” Since he seems a little shell shocked, I lead him back to the bench. Sitting beside him, I wrap my arm around his shoulder, smiling as I recall underneath his conservative button up, his white t-shirt proclaims, “The Force is Strong with this One.” His crazy version of a good-luck charm to sway the universe in our favor.

  I silently pray it works.

  Reaching into his pocket, Derry pulls out my—his—little pink MP3 player and two sets of earbuds connected though a splitter. Still dazed, he states, “I made us a Waiting for Someone Else to Decide My Fate mix.” As expected, I laugh.

  Taking the earphones, I lean against him, grateful we’ve got music to fill the wait. The mix is long, which is good because nearly thirty songs later the doors to the courtroom burst open, and a chaotic whirl of ashy-black stomps out. Just inside the halo, I can make out the features of a balding man in his mid-to-late forties. With a mismatched suit coat and trousers in contrasting shades of brown, a yellow shirt and red tie, he looks like he raided a thrift shop for something to wear to court. Behind him totters the gravelly-haloed Mrs. Eccles wearing a dress that barely covers her thighs and reveals her surgically enhanced chest. Guess no one told her the judge was a woman.

  “Is that your foster father?” I whisper, pulling off my earphones and removing the one from Derry’s closest ear. The dark man stops to glare at us before stalking in the opposite direction followed by his plastic wife.

  “Used to be.” Derry grins as he pulls me to my feet. “I’m guessing from ‘ole Earl Senior’s reaction, he didn’t care for the decision they reached in there.”

  Turning expectantly toward the door, we’re greeted by Steven and Kate’s smiling faces. Gripping Derry’s hand with brute force, I wait for them to say the words that make it official.

  “We have custody,” Kate blurts this as she moves in to hug her new foster son. Steven follows, giving Derry a manly handshake and a very non-patronizing “congratulations son.” Then Mr. Dunning is pumping everyone’s hand and adding his congratulatory words.

  Finally, I get my turn. Derry envelopes me in a bear hug so that my feet dangle off the ground and my face gets buried against his Adam’s apple. He smells faintly of shaving cream. “I get to stay, Lexi.” So much is in that single sentence—disbelief, hope, fear, longing, and relief—it twists my heart. Fighting the emotions that threaten to spill over from my eyes, I cling to him until the tearfulness has passed.

  The last weeks have not been easy on any of us. Strangers—social workers, court-appointed shrinks, and others—have poke
d into every aspect of Kate and Steven’s life; every aspect of Derry’s and my school. And it’s not over yet. Until adoption, there’s no such thing as “permanent custody.” Still, the four of us—Kate, Steven, Derry, and me—exit the courthouse as an official court-sanctioned family. For now.

  In the car, I pull out my phone to spread the good news, texting a single word to Gabriel, Becke, and Jonah that conveys everything they need to know. Party! J

  *

  To celebrate, we’re throwing a surprise party with presents and everything. Since Derry has missed out on a lot of gift giving occasions, it’s my idea to do a house warming theme but with all Star Wars stuff for his room. Incidentally, if the Fosters had lost custody we still would’ve had a party—it just would’ve been a sad, the-world-really-sucks theme. But I’m thrilled it’s the former!

  Kate tells Derry we’re going to the movies at the mall, which is pretty sneaky even for her. After a light, early dinner, we are on the verge of walking out of the house when the doorbell rings. Derry happens to be waiting in the living room, while the rest of us loiter in our rooms where our gifts and decorations are hidden. When he answers the door, Gabriel, Jonah and Becke—arms loaded with presents—shout, “Surprise!”

  Steven, Kate, and I enter from the opposite direction with festive, theme-wrapped packages, a Yoda balloon, and a banner which reads: MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU.

  Whirling to look from one group to the other, Derry’s mouth hangs open in shock, a rare occasion of speechlessness. Piling the presents on the coffee table in front of him, I order Derry to sit and relax while we decorate and arrange the food. Thanks to the local party store, we have all the essentials for the ultimate Star Wars celebration, from plates and napkins, to centerpieces and party favors.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the music from The Empire Strikes Back playing in the background, I hand Derry a Darth Vader party hat and noisemaker. As he places the hat on his head, his eyes mist over. “You guys didn’t need to go through all this trouble. It’s not even my birthday.”

  But I know—vividly remember from all those years of neglect and indifference— this is the party Derry has dreamed about having since he was seven years old. Each neglected birthday, Derry would insist that by next year he would be reunited with his real mom, and, complete with a welcoming new family, they would throw him the biggest, best Star Wars party ever. Over time, the fantasy evolved to include me as well.

  It is a joy to make his dreams come true.

  Blinking away the tearful memories, I explain, “It doesn’t need to be your birthday. This party is to celebrate you.” There’s so much more on the tip of my tongue about belonging to a real family and finally being together, but I bite it back and blow my noisemaker in his face to break the tension. After Derry retaliates, I declare, “I think it’s time to open your presents.”

  The wonder on Derry’s face as he opens everything a guy could need for a tricked-out Star Wars bedroom nearly erases all those years of going without. My gift is bedding and an alarm clock, which plays the Star Wars theme. When he opens my vintage Episode IV sheets, he exclaims, “I’ve always wanted these!”

  “I remember.” As if I could ever forget.

  Among many other generous gifts, Kate and Steven give him a new desk and laptop for his room, complete with a second monitor and speakers in the shape of R2D2. As Derry unwraps them, Steven explains, “I wanted to get you the desktop that depicts the life-sized Han Solo in carbonite, but Kate said it was impractical for school work.” He chuckles. “Maybe next year though.”

  Becke and Jonah give him some throw pillows with icon sayings from the saga and a framed movie poster. Even Nana Kransky has sent a present to welcome him, a beautiful LED digital canvas depicting the X-wing fighters’ assault on the Death Star.

  Gabriel’s gift, the Ultimate Collectors Millennium Falcon Lego set—the expensive one with a zillion pieces that you need to be practically grown to build—gets a great reaction, and I hide a smile as I remember what my boyfriend said when he first told me about it. “This should buy us some privacy. I figure if Derry works on it every day after school, we should get at least two weeks without interruption. Maybe more. Heck, when he’s done I’ll get him the Imperial Star Destroyer and the Collectors Death Star if it guarantees alone time with you.”

  Giving creed to Gabriel’s predictions, Derry declares, “I’m going to work on this every day after school until I finish it.” I can’t help but glance at my boyfriend, whose ever-so-sly wink over Derry’s bent head send shivers radiating through my body.

  After the presents, Kate and Steven quietly retreat, giving us the run of their—our—house. While the boys take Derry’s new toys into his room, Becke and I pick up. All evening, Becke has been pleasant but withdrawn. Clearing a half-eaten plate of food, her nose wrinkles in revulsion and she takes a deep cleansing breath.

  Taking the plate from her, I inquire, “Feeling okay?”

  Her gossamer halo flickers like the last flame of a waning fire. “Not all that well—I think I’ve got that flu you and Derrick had.” Sickness would explain the halo inconstancy.

  Unable to stop a groan as I remember how awful it was to be sick, I place an empathetic hand on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry what?” Jonah and the rest of the guys have returned from Derry’s room just in time to overhear something I realize, too late, Becke was trying to keep private.

  Suddenly Becke looks a lot worse, so I calmly explain. “Nothing really. Becke’s not feeling well, is all.”

  “Babe, you should’ve told me.” Jonah takes her hand and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Do you want me to take you home?”

  “No I’m fine.” In the face of our skepticism, she asserts, “Really.”

  With a small frown that distorts his features but isn’t unattractive, Jonah asks, “Is that why you didn’t answer your phone after school?”

  For a moment, Becke looks as if she needs to make a mad dash to the bathroom. Then pushing her hair back from her forehead, she sighs and frowns up at Jonah. “I guess you’re going to find out anyway, and I don’t like keeping secrets from you—Mr. Creepy sent me a note in sixth period asking me to see him after school.” Collectively we all open our mouths to rant, but she cuts us off. “Before you say anything, it was fine. I guess I didn’t do so well on today’s test. But since I’m such a good student normally, he gave me a chance to retake it.”

  Gabriel catches my eyes as Jonah’s darkening halo whips around his body in a tight revolution. As we watch, Jonah carefully but firmly grips her arm. “How come you didn’t tell me? I would’ve stayed with you.”

  “I know, but you had your driver’s test. I didn’t want you to miss it—and I didn’t want you to be distracted. Nothing happened.”

  Although Gabriel’s voice is calm, his eyes are wary. “Well something happened. You got asked to stay after and retake today’s test. And you got sick.” When Becke nods, he continues, “Take us through the details.”

  Alarm registers in Becke’s trusting emerald eyes. “You think Mr. Abernathy had something to do with my getting sick?”

  “Probably not. More than likely it’s just a coincidence. But I’d feel better if I heard the whole story.” Guiding her to the couch, Gabriel seats Becke and waits for Jonah to join her. The two boys exchange an unmistakable look, grim and knowing.

  Becke watches each of us as we sit opposite her, Derry and Gabriel in armchairs while I drop to the floor between them. As soon as we settle, she begins.

  “Well, Mr. Abernathy was nicer than usual. He explained about the test and asked if I wanted to retake it. After he gave it to me, he left the room and didn’t return until I was nearly finished, forty minutes later. That’s about when I stated feeling off. Dizzy, sweating, disoriented—I waited for him to grade my test and when he told me I’d passed, he noticed I wasn’t doing too well. He poured me some more water and then offered to drive me home.”

  “You didn’t.
” Derry shakes his head, a denial that she would accept a ride from the pervy teacher. Although Jonah remains silent, his halo continues to churn.

  “I was so out of it by then—I didn’t really know what I was doing. You guys were all tied up with court—my parents were working, and I didn’t want to interrupt Jonah—so I agreed to go with him. I wanted to lie down so badly. He didn’t try anything funny—just drove me home. I went straight to bed and must’ve really been out of it, because when Jonah called around six-thirty, it felt like I’d barely slept. But Mr. Creepy dropped me off at 4:05, so I figure I slept for two solid hours. And I’m really starting to feel better.”

  Placing his hand on her cheek, Jonah turns Becke toward him. Looking her squarely in the eyes, he implores, “Promise me you’ll never—ever—do something like that again. Promise you’ll interrupt me, and if you can’t get me you’ll call one of our friends. I don’t ever want you to be alone with him again, not at school and definitely not away from school, like in his car.”

  Solemnly, Becke nods. “I promise. I really wasn’t using my best judgment. I was just so sick—now everything’s a blur—I barely remember my actions. It’s like it all happened to someone else, with me watching but completely disconnected.” She shivers as she relives the feelings of helplessness. “Weird.”

  Wanting to cheer her up, I admit. “When I was sick, I might’ve told Gabriel I dream about him shirtless.” Cringing, I hide my face against my boyfriend’s leg as the others chuckle at my expense. Except for Derry who’s “ewww gross” is unmistakable. But my confession does the trick as we all start sharing and then laughing about some of our more embarrassing moments.

  Later, as Derry and Jonah debate some finer point of Jengo Fett and his clone son Boba, Gabriel whispers into my ear, “Come outside with me.” Taking my hand, he leads me away from the others, pausing only to grab a soft throw blanket on the way out the back door.

  The early May night is clear. Stars dot the sky around the barest sliver of a crescent moon. As we settle on the bench, Gabriel pulls me onto his lap and wraps us in the blanket to protect against the cool breeze.