Break the Bastion

by Christopher Rankin

  Right in front of his house, Lucas noticed a familiar fancy car. He immediately recognized the man standing beside the vehicle.

  Blaise Lorrance was by himself, talking to someone Lucas couldn’t see. It appeared the invisible party was abnormally tall because Lorrance had his head angled up while he spoke. The old man’s hands moved like a wild orchestra conductor.

  Lucas approached and Lorrance failed to notice at first. The man was quite wrapped up in what appeared to be an entirely one-sided conversation. His pupils were dilated to the whites of his eyes. His stare moved around like something was circling him.

  “Are you OK?” Lucas interrupted him. “Doctor Lorrance?”

  The old man froze for a moment, surprised to see the boy suddenly standing there. “My boy, Lucas,” he said. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”

  “Who were you talking to?” Lucas asked him.

  “Oh,” said Lorrance, glancing to the upper right side of the sky, “I’m just an old man who sometimes talks to himself.” He smiled and said, “Out for a nightly run, I see. How have you been feeling?”

  “Much better, actually. I guess it’s the exercise.”

  Lorrance’s face twisted into a skeptical squint. “Do you think that’s what it is?” He asked.

  “I don’t know,” was all that Lucas could think to say.

  Blaise Lorrance noticed Strix peeking out of Lucas’s backpack. He gave the owl a friendly head nod.

  “I’m sorry to meet you like this,” said Lorrance. “It’s just that I don’t keep a normal schedule with typical hours. There are times when I become quite the night owl, so to speak.”

  They walked together along a stretch of the Bastion. Blaise Lorrance kept looking at the wall with a mixture of admiration and perhaps sadness, like he was watching a distant scene from his past. With the night and the haze, the Bastion seemed to climb all the way to the moon.

  “The most exciting part of being young,” said Lorrance, “is that one doesn’t know himself yet. You’re still getting to know a stranger.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “Time shows us who we really are,” said the old man. “Take me, for instance. I was a kid with learning disabilities. No one thought I would be able to take care of myself, let alone become something important.”

  “But you’re a genius,” Lucas argued. “You were always a genius.”

  “Genius,” said Lorrance, the word instilled with melancholy. “It’s the one thing you can’t earn, but you pay for everyday.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re like me.”

  “No. I’m not. I don’t even do well in school.”

  Lorrance balked, saying, “School. What nonsense. It’s more of a concentration camp than a place to learn.”

  “I don’t feel like a genius.”

  “You won’t ever feel like one but that doesn’t change the facts. After a while, no one will be able to hold you back. Don’t you see, Lucas? You’re in a cocoon and about to turn into a butterfly. Now, nobody can stop you. That’s why Strix chose you.”

  During their walk, Lucas noticed that occasionally Lorrance’s eyes would wander, like he was watching something flying around him. To Lucas, the sky was empty except for the salt fog. When Lorrance seemed to see something, his face took on a frightened blankness, like a mouse looking into the mouth of a viper.

  At one point at the end of their walk, Lucas asked him what was wrong. Lorrance’s reply was, “My mind is both my best friend and worst enemy.”

  Just before Lorrance left him, Lucas pointed out the growing tent city on the streets. “Do you know why they’re being brought here?”

  Lorrance sighed and his face looked like he was visiting an old, unpleasant memory. “I think I do,” he said.

  “LaCrone?” Lucas asked him. “Belasi LaCrone? I know that name has something to do with what’s happening. Is he behind all this?”

  Lorrance stood there for a moment, looking up at the ephemeral top of the wall. His hands came up to his temples as though a strong headache had started. He coughed and his head trembled on his neck.

  “Forgive me,” he said, his body starting to collapse. “You better get running, Lucas. I’m afraid I must retire for the evening.”

  “I’ll help you,” Lucas told him, taking Lorrance by the shoulder. “You don’t look well. I’ll help you get home.”

  “You’re a good lad,” Lorrance said, letting himself lean on the boy. “The world hasn’t sullied your gentle spirit.”

  The old man’s body suddenly went stiff. The trembling stopped and he stood perfectly upright like a man half his age. It was as though another man had suddenly stepped into Lorrance’s body.

  The most profound change took place in the old man’s expression. It turned from one of fatigue and weary understanding to something like a warrior in battle.

  “Is something wrong, Doctor Lorrance?” Lucas asked him. “Are you alright?”

  Lorrance smirked at him. “Never better,” he said. There seemed to be something very different in the old man’s face, a younger and angrier collection of angles. “Forgive me, Lucas, but what is it we were discussing?”

  “We were talking about Belasi LaCrone.”

  “And you wanted to know what he has to do with all this?”

  “Who is he? It’s like he’s some kind of ghost.”

  “I’m afraid he is flesh and blood,” said Lorrance. “Cold blood, but blood. My advice is just stay away from him. Stay away from the name even. Forget you heard it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s what happens when the world is too much for a man. I hate to use such terms, but one could say he went mad, that he turned evil. It’s a terrible thing to happen to a man.”

  “What does he want?”

  Lorrance took a deep breath and considered the question. After a moment, he looked squarely at Lucas, telling him, “A new beginning. But for that to happen, nothing can be left. He won’t leave anything standing. The war, the Bastion, the whole sick country in between, nothing left standing. It’s the only way for the world to start again. Well, at least that’s what LaCrone believes.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “How does one know anyone?” Lorrance asked. “We’ve crossed paths for years.”

  “Why did he turn bad?”

  “The world broke his heart one too many times.”

  …

  When Morgan arrived home from school the following day, two city social workers were sitting on the couch in the living room. His father had dressed himself up in a collared shirt he had haphazardly tucked. He had also shaven and wet his hair back.

  The two social workers, both middle-aged women who were friendly enough, stood up and shook Morgan’s hand. “You must be the big brother,” one of them said. “Your father has told us how much you help out to take care of Brian and how you’ve both put your lives on hold.”

  Morgan was confused. He looked to his father, who was clearly putting on the perfect parent act. The man was forcing a smile so hard that it looked like it hurt the muscles in his face.

  “Go ahead, tiger,” he told Morgan. He never called him that. “Tell the good ladies here how hard it’s been taking care of Brian.”

  Morgan still had the look of befuddlement. “Um,” he started to answer. “I love my brother. I like taking care of him.”

  “Of course,” said one of the social workers as though she could see through him. “We know you love your brother and your father loves his son.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “Have you thought about letting someone else take care of him?”

  “No,” said Morgan. “Haven’t thought about it.”

  “Well,” she went on, “your father got in contact with us because he’s concerned.”

  “Concerned about what?”

  “You, Morgan,” the social worker went on. “He’s concerned about what Brian’s illness is doing to you.”

&n
bsp; “What?” He looked back to his father. “I don’t understand.”

  “We know that you’ve had some trouble in the past, fighting and what not. We also understand you’ve had some issues at school with grades and truancy.”

  “I never had any issue,” said Morgan. “It’s my school that has the problem.”

  The two social workers compared looks.

  Morgan’s father told him, “Watch your smart mouth, boy. These folks are here to help our family.”

  “The hell they are,” said Morgan.

  “Excuse me,” said one of them.

  Morgan’s father was doing his best not to detonate and slap his son across the face. He crossed his arms in a way that looked like he was trying to keep from hitting him.

  “Please, son,” said his father, holding his teeth together. “There is no reason to treat these nice folks this way. Please do your best to be polite and behave. Please. For your family.”

  “Morgan,” one of the social workers addressed him, “we know how much you love your brother and you want to see him. We’re just here to evaluate how his illness is progressing and where might the best place be for him.”

  “He’s not going to one of those concentration camps where you put poor people,” said Morgan, crossing his arms. “You act like you’re nice and you care but I know where he’ll end up. I may just be a kid, but I’m telling you, you’re not taking my brother away. I don’t care if you tell me it’s best. It’s not best and it’s not happening.”

  Both social workers just looked at one another.

  “I apologize for him,” said Morgan’s father. “Been so much stress on him. On all of us. Listen, I appreciate you coming down here,” he told the social workers.

  “We’ve met with Brian and we have his medical report,” said the older woman. “Once the office evaluates it, we’ll be in touch to let you know if Brian is accepted into hospice.”

  “Hospice!” Morgan shouted. “He’s not dying! He’s just sick!”

  “Forgive my son,” said his father. “He’s very protective of his little brother.”

  The social workers stood up and one of them spoke to Morgan. “I promise that we won’t move Brian unless that’s what’s best for him.”

  His father’s face clouded over when he heard that.

  The social workers, before they left, told Killian that the office would evaluate Brian’s medical records and case to decide if hospice was appropriate. They would be in touch in a couple of days with their decision.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Morgan and his father locked eyes like horns of battling elk. It appeared as though the quiet moment could immediately turn into a flurry of violent blows. However, nothing happened. Both men just stood there before Morgan eventually went upstairs.

  Brian had been awake and had heard much of the exchange. The boy looked scared but somehow fearless at the same time, like he was resigned to his fate. “It’s OK,” he told Morgan. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can,” Morgan smiled. “I’ll just take every opportunity I can to fight with that prick.”

  “He’s going to be real mad you know.”

  “I know. I don’t care.”

  “I know what hospice means,” said Brian, somehow looking brave. “It means I won’t get better.”

  “You’re going to get better. I promise.”

  “What about hospice?”

  “It’s not happening,” said Morgan. “I’m not going to let it happen, so there’s no need talking about it. Or worrying,” he said, quickly roughening up his brother’s hair.

  Brian’s face took on a sad, serious look. “Dad said something I don’t understand,” he said. “He came up here while he was drunk.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He asked me if I ever wondered who my father was. I didn’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “He was just three sheets to the wind out of it,” said Morgan, trying not to let show the signature of the lie. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t worry.”

  “I was thinking the other night,” Brian went on. “Even though I’m so sick, and my own father doesn’t want me, I’m still so lucky.”

  “Why lucky?”

  “Because of my older brother,” Brian said. “I have such a good big brother, it makes up for not having a real mom or dad.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Morgan told him. “I wish it did.”

  …

  While doing pushups that evening, Lucas heard someone singing outside his bedroom window. A man’s voice, or perhaps a boy’s, hummed a tune along with the words: I’m sorry, Lucas, so sorry, Lucas.

  When he got to the window, Nox Jaborosa peered up from the alley below. Looking even more feral than during their last encounter, he was covered in mud, dust, leaves and branches. He had strands of red seaweed wrapped around his neck like salty pearls. The whites of his eyes seemed electrical, like his madness was creating its own light.

  “Lucas,” he said, “it’s me, Nox. Don’t be afraid. Can you talk?”

  “What do you want?” Lucas asked him from the window.

  “To say I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK, Nox. I’m not angry with you. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, it’s not OK,” said Nox, sounding almost sad for a moment. “I never knew why I wanted to hurt you. I just knew that I did. Now, I know why. What’s happened has shown me. They’ve shown me. Strix has shown me. The reason I wanted to hurt you is because of how alive you are.”

  “I don’t know what that means, Nox.”

  “It’s what I, your mother, and everyone else want to snuff out. We don’t even realize we’re doing it, Lucas. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be, Nox. I always knew you were in even more pain than me.”

  For a moment, Nox’s eyes shimmered in a way that made it look like there were tears. He told Lucas, “So many people are dead, Lucas. They’re not really here. They’re zombies. They’re just wandering ghosts. That’s why when they die, they won’t really die.”

  “What do you mean, Nox?”

  “Mister LaCrone doesn’t need them. He’s taking the ones he needs for the plan. Others he’s taking just to keep them out of the way. Do you know what he’s going to do with them?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  “He’s gonna drown them,” Nox whispered. “So they can’t hold the new world back.”

  “What is this new world, Nox?”

  “You’re going to see soon,” Nox said. “You’ve got one more monster to go before...”

  “Before what, Nox?”

  Nox raised his forefinger to his mouth like the answer meant revealing a secret too soon. “Strix will be so angry if I tell you,” he said. “He’ll hurt me in my head.”

  Then Nox backed up and disappeared into the dark corner of the alley.

  …

  Up the hill, Callista heard her father talking on the phone to someone in his office. There was something in his tone of voice that made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. All the confidence and strength had been wrung out of his words. He sounded like a man pleading to an arch angel.

  She listened at the door.

  “Mr. LaCrone,” he said. “I assure you I’m making all the arrangements. Please don’t worry.” After listening for a moment, he went on, saying, “Please. I don’t know how you know about that night, but please, please Mr. LaCrone. Please don’t speak about that night. I’ll do anything you say, just please let me forget what happened.”

  Callista pushed the door open and her father saw her standing there.

  “No, Mr. LaCrone,” he went on to the caller, “of course we are maintaining all levels of secrecy.” After that, the caller hung up.

  “That was the man you’re scared of?” Callista asked him. “Wasn’t it?”

  Her father suddenly looked like his entrails were spilling out onto the hardwood. He considered how to answer before telling her, “It was.”


  “Why are you so afraid of him?”

  “I’m going to tell you some things, Callie, but you’ll have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else and you won’t ask me anything more. Do you promise?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Alright. I promise.”

  “Belasi LaCrone,” said her father. “Don’t even speak those words to anyone. That’s how serious this is.” He poured himself a drink with shaky hands. “I’ve never met him,” he said. “The strange thing is that no one has. He gives all his orders over the phone or through other people. No one knows what he looks like even. He’s taken over my company. Most of the companies. Most of the government.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I’m not sure entirely,” her father told her. “No one knows the whole plan but him. I only know my part. The only thing I know for sure is it’s nothing good.”

  “How has he taken over so much, so quickly?”

  “No one knows exactly. His finances are bottomless and he seems to know everything about everyone. He knows their secrets. That’s all the power anyone needs.”

  “Do you have secrets, Daddy? Is that why you’re doing what he says?”

  Her father took another sip of Scotch and stared up at the ceiling. When his eyes met hers again, she could see the depth of fear running through him. He looked like a frightened animal in a trap.

  Eventually, he told her, “Belasi LaCrone is a monster. I always told you there was no such thing as monsters, but I was wrong.” His face turned a shade of red and he started to weep. “What he’s made me do,” he cried. “What he’s threatened me with! What he’s created!”

  She hugged him and patted him on the head until he stopped crying. The sound of her father sobbing made her lightheaded. The man only rarely cried and never before like this. As Callista held him, a bubble of anxiety welled up inside of her. The man that had ushered in her life could no longer be the indestructible bastion.

  …

  Callista went upstairs and grabbed Strix off her dresser. She sat him down on her carpet and took a seat across from him. Before the owl could even light up, she started talking.