by Jeff Altabef
He points his twisted finger at me. “Soon, you’ll do this, Mitchell.”
My blood freezes in my veins. I can’t move. I can’t speak.
“If you refuse, I’ll put you on this table next.”
God help me.
He reaches back with his right arm, like he’s on a baseball mound and windin’ up for his next pitch, but that ain’t no fuckin’ baseball in his hand. It’s his new trophy, the bloody remains of what was once so appealing and—
“Here, Mitchell, catch!”
I bolted up and looked around the dark room—my room, my bed—and could almost breathe again. The cold, soaked sheets turned my body into a shivering, chattering heap.
Why did the nightmares continue to assault me? Who was that demon, and why wouldn’t he leave me alone? I didn’t know but—
Fuck a rubber duck! What did he mean when he said I’d be doin’ that soon?
Chapter 4 – April 22, 1978: Tony Hooper
“Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck by the difference between what things are and what they might have been.” – William Hazlitt
Sunlight glistened off the surface of the lake, still as a mirror, as the cloudless sky stood sentry. The spring morning harkened me back to childhood, when the blustery weather broke and we couldn’t wait to get outside to play tag, catch-one/catch-all, or Batman and Robin. I thought differently now, but those memories were no less vivid, no less uplifting.
A sheer, seventy-foot wall occupied the south end of the quarry, which had officially closed three decades ago. A narrow ledge wound down to a level spot less than two feet above the waterline, where Diana and I sat. The remarkably clear, spring-fed lake wafted a faint metallic aroma that reminded me of... I couldn’t place it—something that made my stomach clench.
The water swirled in ever-broadening circles around my feet, which were submerged in the reflection of my cheeks. I leaned farther over the ledge, came almost face-to-face with myself, as if the reflected me would provide some of the answers I so desperately sought.
Diana pulled me back to the moment. “Be careful,” she said. “You’re liable to fall into the lake.” The cool temperatures and bright sun had joined forces to paint her cheeks a rosy shade of unbearably cute.
I leaned back and let the sun work its springtime magic. The season was supposed to inspire rebirth, renewal, grand dreams and revived hopes—at least according to much of the poetry I read. I aspired to such promises, yet couldn’t escape the relentless melancholy. Nothing new there.
It had built throughout the winter, as if I’d been buried in an avalanche. Each time I’d dug away three inches of snow, four new inches sealed my frozen tomb.
Shit! Don’t be so melodramatic all the time, Tony. Focus on Diana.
The extraordinary Miss Gregario, perhaps the future Mrs. Hooper, dominated my thoughts. We’d met at our dads’ company picnic the previous Fourth of July; they were accountants with the same firm. I’d seen her around school before then, but we hadn’t actually met prior to the picnic. I’d surprised myself when I mustered the courage to ask her out, as I tended to be shy about such matters. I’d bumbled my way through it with a tongue twisted into nervous paralysis, made a complete fool of myself, and she accepted!
Whenever I contemplated the prospect of life without her, I wanted to vomit. We fit together. I told her I was the night and she was the stars, and that she brought an unimaginable light to my life. That made me a walking, talking cliché straight out of the classical novels I read but, what the hell, a little corny never killed anybody.
She was my first and only love, and when I departed for college in a few months, I’d leave her behind. Every time I pondered my future, platoons of emotions waged war within me. Even at that moment, the battle thundered in my chest and a wrenching lump bounced like a cannonball in my throat.
How will I—
“Happy birthday, Baby,” she said. “I still can’t believe you wanted to spend it here, although it is pretty.”
I smiled, unsure how to broach the subject weighing me down.
“The big eighteen. Wow. So how does it feel to be a man? Well, in the eyes of the law, at any rate.”
I snorted. “Oh sure, and where have they been for the last three years?”
I didn’t mean to take out my frustration on her. She knew that, and took it in stride. Hell, she knew me better than I knew myself.
In one of my customary fits of introspection, I’d wanted to go there to take measure of the moment, to examine my new manhood. I thought I might enjoy some time alone on my birthday. Perhaps enjoy was not the right word. No matter, for Diana would hear none of it. She’d insisted that I spend the day with, as she put it, “the most magnificent girlfriend the world has ever known.”
I couldn’t argue with the “magnificent” part, and it was apparently some kind of unwritten law that she must share the “big day” with me. I didn’t know which was funnier: her words, her goofy smile and Groucho Marx eyebrow shuffle, or the ridiculous way she’d curtsied.
She squeezed my hand until I looked at her again. “You’re having another one of your moments, aren’t you? Pondering the changes coming up, contemplating the meaning of life, the expanse of the universe, the—”
“I love this place, especially in summer. We weren’t dating long enough last summer to come out here, but I think you’ll like it. This is the hotspot.”
“What does everybody do here? Besides swim, of course.”
“You name it, somebody does it here. We bring food and pop, maybe a few beers—make a day of it.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Some of the kids smoke like chimneys out here, or do drugs.”
“Yuck!”
“Don’t worry. We’ll stay away from that stuff.” I loved that we shared those values. “Then, of course, there’s the skinny-dipping and the sex.”
“Oh my! I’ll have you know that I’m a lady, sir. I’m no exhibitionist.” She leaned in and kissed me. “Except with you.”
She skipped her usual seductive playfulness and leaned back. She knew I wasn’t in that place, that frame of mind.
She laid her head on my shoulder. “Don’t you guys ever worry about your parents catching you?”
“Nah, they don’t come here.”
I didn’t know if this place was such a big secret, or if the older folks just didn’t want to deal with the half-mile hike through the brush and trees to get there from the nearest street. At any rate, they didn’t bother us, which made it a popular escape spot for teenagers.
This figured to be my last summer here, and I could hardly look at Diana for fear my emotions would get away from me. She wisely refrained from dangling her feet in the lake, but I couldn’t resist. The early spring water chilled my toes into dead stumps, even as the noon sun baked my face. I loved the contrast: perfect metaphors for the forces pushing and pulling at me those days.
She sighed and placed her hand on my chest. “Summer will be here before we know it.”
It’s time.
I maintained a light tone. “Yeah, feels like I’ve been waiting forever to graduate. Then I get to have one last carefree summer before....”
She squeezed my hand again. She was a year behind me, a junior.
Her voice thickened. “You’re supposed to be happy, you know. It’s a big event, a fun time.”
“I know.”
“But....”
“I know I’m supposed to feel excited about college, about my freedom, about a whole new world full of potential and adventure. Part of me... hell, I can’t wait to see it. I’ve earned it!”
“But....”
“I hardly know where to begin.” I pulled my hand from hers and laid my arm around her shoulders. “For one thing, I’ve been taking care of Alex for three years. He’s my Shadow, and he doesn’t have anyone else.”
“What about your dad?”
I huffed and almost laughed.<
br />
Alex was a bright kid, enthusiastic and determined—my little man. I often told him he was a grown-up trapped in a kid’s body. He loved that. I liked it too, although I knew better. He may have acted older, but he was just ten years old. The way he followed me around, I often worried that people would think I had him on a leash. It irritated the hell out of me.
Well, it did. Until Mom died.
Somewhere along the way, I’d become more than his big brother; I was his best buddy, hero and idol. I’d never meant for such a thing to happen, but no sense in denying it.
I stared down at the water. “I don’t know what to do about Alex. Dad wants to be a good father, but since Mom died, he’s been way out of his element. He escapes in his work. He’s more comfortable there than at home, dealing with two kids by himself. Not exactly father of the year.”
She admonished me with a stunned expression.
“I know, I know. I hate to say such a thing about my own father, but I can’t help it. You haven’t seen the real Hank Hooper over the last three years. Trust me, if I walk away from Alex, I’ll be leaving him largely to his own devices.”
I longed for the simpler, carefree days unencumbered by the baggage of adulthood: the expectations, the worries, the pressures. I wanted to ride my bike on sunny days, play baseball all day long at the park, or teach Alex the finer points of basketball. I yearned for the simple distraction of my baseball card collection, or to crank up the stereo and sing along, pretending to the throne of stardom. I rarely did those things anymore—too old for that stuff, anyway.
“Shit! It’s not fair.” I hated whining, especially when it was my own voice.
My mother, in dying; my father, in retreating; my brother, in needing: each had conspired to take from me a sizable chunk of that which I could never regain: my childhood.
Bluch! I gazed once more into the water, and my own reflection mocked me. What right did I have to wax in self-pity and selfish examination of events over which I had so little control, yet over which I was willing to assign so much blame?
The look on Diana’s face drove a stake in my heart.
I squeezed her tighter, and almost lost my words in the depths of her scent. “And what shall I do about you? How in the world am I supposed to live without you?”
“It’s only for a year, and you’ll be able to come home for the holidays.” Her unsteady voice belied her optimistic reassurances.
“A year is a long time.”
She kissed me on the ear. “We’ll make it.”
The frigid water numbed my feet. The endless questions without answers numbed my mind.
I’d always viewed the world through what my mom had called my “looking glass.” Why must it be so cloudy, so fragile? Why must I wallow in that melancholy introspection all the time? Perhaps Mom had been right: I read too much; I thought too much; I too often lost myself in deep contemplation. She’d once claimed that when Rodin created his famous sculpture, Le Penseur, he must have had me in mind.
I’d have loved to talk to her about it. God, I missed her.
I should have just goofed off like the other kids, and had fun. I should have stopped playing Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Shit! More melodrama? Knock it off and relax, already.
---End of Special Sneak Preview of Forgive Me, Alex by Lane Diamond---
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Acknowledgements
Many people helped me to make this book a reality. Among them are my faithful beta readers who never fail to give me their time and wisdom. I would never have written this book without the encouragement, and even a little nagging, from those who read Fourteenth Colony and needed to know what happened next.
I would also like to thank all of the great people at Evolved Publishing, particularly my fabulous editors, Megan Harris and Lane Diamond. Not only did they greatly improve this book, they’ve made me a better writer. Mallory Rock deserves a shout-out also for making my random thoughts into art.
About the Author
Jeff Altabef lives in New York with his wife, two daughters, and Charlie the dog. He spends time volunteering at the Writing Center in the local community college. After years of being accused of “telling stories,” he thought he would make it official. He writes in both the thriller and young adult genres. Fourteenth Colony, a political thriller, was his debut novel. Shatter Point is his second novel. As an avid Knicks fan, he is prone to long periods of melancholy during hoops season.
Jeff has a column on The Examiner focused on writing and a blog on The Patch designed to encourage writing for those that like telling stories.
You can find Jeff online at:
Website at www.Jeffreyaltabef.com
Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7055582.Jeff_Altabef
Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jeff-Altabef-Author/479282732198216
Twitter at https://twitter.com/JeffAltabef
Via Email at [email protected]
What’s Next from Jeff Altabef?
THE GHOST KING
Red Death – Book 2
Watch for the second book in this dystopian science fiction adventure to release in the spring/summer of 2017. For more information, please visit the Evolved Publishing website.
~~~
Aaliss and Wilky find themselves in the center of a storm. Hunted by powerful forces, will they survive long enough to unite the three tribes against the Bloody Wolf Tribe and the Witches of the Red Raven? Can Wilky find a way to prevent his shocking vision from becoming a reality?
The Ghost Riders hold the key and one will emerge—the Ghost King. But will he be their savior or doom?
~~~
And....
Be sure to start with the first book in this series, RED DEATH.
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http://bit.ly/EP4RDeathAma
~~~
And....
SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW – WIND CATCHER
Lies. Betrayal. Destiny. A choice that changes everything. Please enjoy this Special 4-Chapter Sneak Preview we offer below for the first book in the bestselling CHOSEN series, or just grab your copy now at this link:
http://bit.ly/EP4WCatcherAma
~~~
Sicheii told me this story only once, which was odd because he always repeated his stories a half dozen times. Every time he told a story it changed—often in subtle ways. Other times, he switched around important events or characters. When young, I pointed out the inconsistencies as if he’d been caught cheating at cards, which he also did quite often. My grandfather never flustered. He patiently explained that his stories were living stories. That’s what he called them—living stories. As such, they changed on their own from time to time. He never explained what he meant. Now I know.
Three years ago....
Sicheii opened my bedroom door and waved me inside. The taste of chocolate birthday cake swam in the back of my mouth and happily back flipped over my tongue where it swirled among my teeth. Mom stopped me after eating two pieces, but the rest of the cake was safely tucked into the freezer—a spoonful away.
Only the three of us celebrated my thirteenth birthday: Sicheii, Mom, and me. Other kids had big birthday parties, but for me, it was only ever us three. As usual, Mom was talking to her boss downstairs in her office so Sicheii and I were left alone.
He pulled me into my room, closed the door, and sat me on the bed. He rolled my desk chair over and bore his penetrating gray eyes into mine. That expression could only mean one thing. He liked to tell me stories when Mom wasn’t listening. I know he told her the same ones when she was young, but this way, his stories were like secrets we shared together. Besides, Mom wasn’t a fan of his tales. They weren’t modern enough for her.
“Are you going to tell me another story?” I asked him.
He smiled and nodded. The lines of his deeply tanned face turned upward a
nd his white hair shifted against his broad shoulders. “Yes, Juliet, but this is not just any story. This is the story of your birth.”
“Mom’s already told me all about how my life began.”
He frowned. “This story is about your birth, not your beginning. The beginning of your story starts when the First World was new, as it does for all of our people.”
“Troy says the same thing.”
“He’s right. Your friend enjoys a strong connection to the spirit world.” Sicheii inched the chair closer to the bed, his eyes intense and his voice stoic. His mood had turned dark as suddenly as an unexpected storm.
“Your arrival into this world was... difficult. Your mother had been admitted into the hospital the prior afternoon. She had already endured eighteen hours of labor when we all clustered about her bed. Sweat and strain clouded her face. My eyes never strayed far from the heart monitor, which measured both of your heartbeats. It was three twelve in the morning.”
“Were you angry that Mom wanted to go to the hospital?” A small smile snuck across my face. I’ve always wanted to ask him about that. As the Tribe’s medicine man, he helped dozens of other women deliver babies, so I imagined he was probably sore that Mom wanted to deliver in a hospital instead of under his care.
“Your mom is headstrong. She puts too much faith in white medicine. It’s better to look deeper into the state of someone’s spirit than treat symptoms, but that’s not the intent of this story.”
I pushed one of my pillows against my headboard and tried to get comfortable. When I punched the pillow a few times to get the shape just right, he shot me a sharp look.
Once I was done fidgeting, he continued. “Tension filled the small room. At first, there were only four of us—your mom, the doctor, one nurse, and me. But more people started to squeeze into the small room and the activity buzzed like a beehive. Your mom pushed when the doctor told her to. Her entire body strained with effort. She screamed in pain. She had refused any painkillers. The intervals between your heartbeats lengthened. First, ten seconds, then fourteen, then twenty. I grabbed the arm of the nurse standing next to me.
