She pulled her notebook out of her backpack. "Are you any faster?"
"Not really," Gideon said. "But I was able to run the whole half-mile without getting winded."
"That's new." Delilah noted the change in her notebook.
"Top speed."
She put the notebook back in her pack. "Do you want to get out of here?"
"Back to the Spot? More tests?"
"No, I mean out of Laton. Do you want to leave? Like we talked about?"
He leaned against the wall of the culvert, crossing his arms. "To Houston?"
"Or El Paso or Vegas or somewhere. Somewhere big. Somewhere not here."
Gideon didn't respond, bringing the cigarette to his mouth.
Her hands fluttered, and she watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. "I can't stay here, Gideon."
"I know."
"No, I mean I can't. My powers... when I use them, they change my eyes. No way I can keep that hidden here. Town is too small, people are too nosy."
He rubbed his cheeks. "Shit, really?"
"Yeah, check it out." Delilah pulled the razor out of her pocket and drew it across her palm.
He stiffened. "Shit, Delilah--"
"Don't worry," she said. "It doesn't hurt."
She held her hand out towards him and concentrated. A diffuse web of black smoke expanded from the wound, spreading to surround him.
He backed away from it. "Holy shit."
"Right?"
Delilah swirled the smoke around her friend, and discovered that she could feel his presence. She sent the cloud, diffuse, through the tunnel, and was delighted to discover that she could "feel" everything along its length. Spiders, bits of rubble, every crack and fissure. The more diffuse it became the less distinct the impressions were.
Gideon squinted. "It's so dim in here. I can barely see it."
"Can you feel it?"
"A little. Only because I know it's there."
Delilah pointed towards her face. "Check out my eyes."
Gideon stepped forward, eyes searching. "Holy fuck, you're like all vampire and shit."
She could feel his surprise, taste it, like a shift in the smoke's perception. She focused on it, and found that Gideon wasn't just a presence in the smoke, but a complex mix of impressions that she had no real context to understand. The 'surprise' impression deepened to something more like panic.
Her mouth went dry. "Gideon, I can tell what you're feeling!"
A gurgle was his only response, and Delilah focused on him visually. The smoke had retracted from the culvert to surround her friend in a dark cloud that almost obscured him completely. He was clutching at his throat, jaw working, tendons in his neck straining.
"Oh my god, Gideon!"
Delilah flapped her hand ineffectually, trying to dislodge the shadow, before regaining her composure. She concentrated, clenching her fist and willing the shadow to retract back into her hand. It did so almost grudgingly, tendrils seeming to cling to his skin before slipping free.
Gideon fell to his knees in the tunnel, choking and gasping as it left him. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
She ran to his side. "Oh God, Gideon, I'm so sorry!"
"What the fuck, Delilah?" The tendons in his neck were straining, visible.
She felt faint. "I totally didn't mean to -- I'm so sorry!"
He steadied himself against the culvert wall, using it to rise to his feet. "Shit. I couldn't breathe."
Tears were welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
He looked at her, gave a lopsided smile, then pulled her close. "It's okay, it was just an accident."
"I had no idea that would happen. I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Delilah let herself be comforted by his warmth, his embrace, his presence, for a moment. Only for a moment, and then she pushed away. "You're the only person who's been around while I was practicing."
"Yeah. Well." He scratched his head. "I can see why you want to leave. If it was anyone else..."
"Yeah." She leaned against the side of the tunnel.
"Okay, let's go."
She looked up. "What? Really?"
"Yeah." He smiled. "Fuck this town and it's small-minded assholes. Let's go to El Paso. Start new lives."
"Are you ready?" Delilah asked. "I've got a few hundred in savings--"
"Ready as I'm going to be," Gideon said. "Let me go get my shit from home, and I'll meet you at your place."
"Make it the library. I want to check some things out," she said. "Oh God, I know I've been talking about leaving, but can we really pull this off?"
"We'll find a way. I'm super strong. You have... crazy blood-smoke. There's got to be something we can do to get by. And El Paso's only the first step. Fuck this whole state, Delilah. With your smarts and my strength, there's no limit to what kind of life we can make for ourselves."
She gave an impulsive squeal and hugged him, eyes shining. "What about the others?"
"We can keep in touch," Gideon said. "When we get settled we can let them know. But man, I am so done here."
"Me too, Gideon."
It wasn't the way she'd wanted it. It wasn't the situation with Gideon she'd wanted. But circumstances changed, and Delilah was smart enough to know when to change with them.
***
Lily woke up Monday morning to the realization that she had to break up with her boyfriend.
It seemed at first like a sudden revelation, but it wasn't. It was the end result of a general dissatisfaction she'd been feeling since well before the accident. He was going off to college in Boston, and she was probably going to Texas A&M on a track scholarship. They'd been acting and talking like they were going to try and maintain a long distance relationship, but Lily knew that that probably wouldn't be the case. She knew better.
Even so, it wasn't really a realization. It was an acknowledgment. The last week's bizarre storm of events had put things into a new perspective for her. While she loved Derek, had loved him these last two years, they were growing up, growing apart. Devilish heritage aside, they were fundamentally two very different people. Derek was laid back, easy going, and capable but unambitious. She was faster-paced, practical, and wanted more out of life than a steady paycheck, football on Sundays, and beer on the weekends.
Derek wanted a family. He talked about marriage, about kids, about finishing school and coming back to Laton to settle down.
Lily wanted more. And shit, now?
He was there, waiting for her on the bleachers near the track after school, offering her a good-natured smile. "Hi."
"Hey," she said, feeling an emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
She climbed up the bleachers to his side, sweeping her sun-dress's hem underneath her as she sat, staring down at her sneakers.
"You're a hard girl to reach lately," he said. "You haven't been avoiding me, have you?"
"No," she said, her gaze darting, looking everywhere other than at his eyes. "No. I've just been... you know. Working through stuff."
"I know," he said, smiling that handsome smile of his. "You know you're not alone, right? I'm here for you. Always. However you need me."
Christ, he was making this hard. Why did he have to be so... good? So wholesome? "I know. It's just... you know. Stuff."
"Stuff." He looked away, watching the runners on the field below.
"Things I need to work through on my own." She reached out and touched his knee. "Not that I don't appreciate it. Appreciate you."
His warm hand slipped over hers, comforting, enveloping. "I know you need some space. I respect that."
Jesus, why couldn't he be a dick like Barny? It'd be so much easier to break up with him.
"Stuff I don't want to drag you into."
"Don't talk that way."
"I'm serious," she said. "Derek, I've got things going on that you don't understand. Things you wouldn't understand."
"Try me," he said. "Even if I don't understand, you know I can listen
. I'm here to support you, Angel."
She pulled her hand away, a cold wave bringing gooseflesh to her arms. "Don't call me that."
"I always call you that."
She shook her head. It was too weird, in light of recent events.
"Can I call you Muffin?"
"Muffin?"
"No? Schmoopy?"
"Don't call me Schmoopy."
"Honey Pants?"
"Honey Pants?" She laughed. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
"Sugar Pie?"
"Oh god no, that's what my dad calls my mom."
Derek dropped his voice an octave. "Aw, don't be like that, Sugar Pie."
"Is that supposed to be my dad?" Lily asked. "Is that what you think my dad sounds like?"
"I'm Deacon Tim Baker. Would you like to try one of my cinnamon rolls?"
She shook her head. "Where did that come from?"
"From the cinnamon rolls your dad always brings to the bake sales."
"My mom makes those."
He dropped his voice again. "Would you like to try one of my wife's cinnamon rolls?"
She laughed again. "You're terrible at this."
He grinned and put an arm around her. "I'm a jock, not an impressionist."
She sighed, hating how charming he could be. "You don't even paint."
"So much for my dream career."
She turned her head to look at him. "Are we going to be okay, Derek?"
"Everything's going to be okay," he said.
She sighed, trying not to hate herself for being too weak to make a clean break, trying to believe him, breathing in his scent. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake.
***
Sheriff Bill Cermak's car wasn't in the driveway when Gideon returned to the house. Good. It had been difficult enough to make his way back from the culvert without running into any of Laton's deputies, the last thing he needed now was a confrontation with his father. All he needed to do was get in, grab his go-bag, and get the hell out.
It was hard to believe it, but he was finally getting out from under Bill's thumb. He wasn't anywhere near as confident as Delilah was regarding their chances in El Paso. It was risky, and they didn't have a plan, but it was better than staying in Laton. Better than staying with his foster-father.
He crept along the driveway on the side of the house, walking slow, almost sideways like ninjas and special forces dudes did on television. It gave him a wider field of view, but he didn't see any patrol cars coming.
Mrs. Foster was out on her lawn, watering her flowerbed with a hose. He stopped and stared at her, offering a tiny wave. She gave him a nod, turned off the hose, and went back into her house without a word.
Gideon counted that as a win.
He snuck around the corner of the driveway to the back patio. Dale's bike was gone. Part of him wanted the chance to say goodbye to his little brother, but he knew that it was probably for the best not to have to explain anything. If Dale didn't know anything, he couldn't tell anyone anything. He couldn't get in trouble for trying to help.
Then again, maybe he'd be glad that his screwed-up foster brother was finally gone. It was probably for the best. Gideon wasn't good for the people in his life. The normal people, that is.
The patio door was locked. No big deal. He popped it loose from its frame with a practiced shove, a skill he'd learned at an early age. He slid it out of its track, and laid it carefully against the wall.
He realized he could just have easily broken it free with his newfound strength. Or just busted through the wall.
This way was probably less conspicuous.
Gideon's tread was soft and silent as he passed through the kitchen to the hall.
The door to his room was shut. Bill had finally gotten around to fixing it. He'd been gone for two days, maybe the old man had hoped he'd finally run away.
"Sometimes wishes do come true," he muttered, pushing the door open.
Bill Cermak was sitting on the chair next to Gideon's bed, shotgun across his lap, dressed in full uniform. "Figured you'd be back, boy."
CHAPTER FOUR
The thunderous pounding of Gideon's heartbeat filled the redhead's ears, and he clenched his jaw at the sight of his foster father's shotgun, a weapon usually kept in the back of the sheriff's cruiser. Bill was holding it loose in his lap, but Gideon had little doubt that the lawman could have it leveled and fired in one swift motion. He didn't know if the shells would put him down, and he wasn't particularly keen to find out. Gideon didn't like guns.
"Dad, what are you--"
"Don't 'dad' me." The sheriff's lip curled. "I always knew it would come down to this, boy."
Gideon stood in the doorway, staring, not daring to move for fear of setting the man off. "Okay, let's calm down."
"I'm calm." The sheriff's eyes were cold, his voice flat. "Anything about me say I'm not calm?"
Gideon's eyes flickered to the gun he held.
"Calm ain't stupid, boy. I knew this was coming. Knew it was here when Deacon Ross called to say you and that Carter boy tore the shit out of his shed and crashed on through his kitchen."
"Dad, Barny jumped me. I had to defend myself."
"I don't care." The sheriff stood, gun in hand. "You call me Dad, and I've done my job, raising you as best I could, even after my Mary passed on. I did my duty, even bringing you up alongside my own flesh and blood."
Gideon felt anger's pilot light ignite, biting back his opinion on his foster-father's parenting skills.
"I fed you. Clothed you. Housed you. Put up with your sass, put up with your lazy shit for a decade and a half. Did my goddamn job for this goddamn town."
"You want a fucking medal?" Gideon regretted the words as soon as they'd escaped his mouth.
The sheriff's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "I did my fucking job!"
Gideon recoiled at the sight of the rage in the old man's eyes. Sheriff Cermak had been pissed at him before, but this -- there was a contempt in the sneer on his lips, and an undeniable hatred on his face that he'd never seen before.
Sheriff Cermak knocked the chair aside and took two large steps up to Gideon, shotgun held tightly across his chest. "I didn't want you! I never wanted you! No one fucking wanted you, you worthless little shit!"
"Easy!" Gideon half-raised his hands, a chill down his spine, blinking. The old man had lost it. There was no humanity in those eyes. "I'm just here to get my shit and go."
"Your shit? What shit? You don't own a damn thing I didn't give you or that you didn't steal."
"Fine. Fine. I'll just go. I'm getting out of town." Gideon stepped away, back into the hall. "You won't have to deal with me ever again, okay?"
"I shouldn't have had to fucking deal with you to begin with! Baker was the one that volunteered. I said he was foolish, that you were monsters, that we should have drown y'all in buckets and been done with it. But no, Baker volunteered our fucking town to raise you hell-spawn, and it's all come to fucking this!"
"Wait, you knew?" Gideon stepped towards the older man. "You fucking knew?"
The sheriff raised his shotgun.
Gideon slapped it out of his hands almost as a reflex, sending it tumbling to his bed. "You fucking knew what I was? What we were?"
His foster-father dove towards the dropped weapon.
Gideon grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back, slamming him against the wall, almost screaming. "You all knew?"
Bill struggled. "They didn't know shit. Baker and Ross thought that if they raised you right, within the Church, you'd grow up righteous. The Kleins thought that the way you developed would teach them something. But I knew, you're fucking right I knew."
Gideon slammed him back against the wall hard enough to make the house shudder. "What did you know, you miserable old fuck?"
The sheriff's voice dropped to a whisper. "I knew that the only thing they'd learn was that you were corrupt, through and through. I knew you'd turn out like this. I knew it was starting as soon as Bob
sent word that the other one was headed our way, that it was coming to Laton."
"Bob?" Gideon asked. "Bob who?"
He suddenly became aware that his foster father had worked his revolver free of its holster. Gideon grabbed his father's hand, squeezing and yanking it upwards. The sheriff howled and dropped the gun.
Filled with a sudden furious rage, anger at years of abuse, years of neglect, years of being lied to, Gideon hurled his step-father across the room. The man smashed through the doorway and into the hall, where he lay in a crumpled heap, like a pile of dirty clothes.
Each step Gideon took towards the fallen sheriff felt thunderous, ponderous, and each step brought memories to the surface. Memories of the sheriff's harsh words, his disdain, his emotional neglect. Memories of Gideon's suffering at the hands of bullies like Barny and his cronies. The world receded into a red haze as he stepped into the hallway, towering over the groggy sheriff.
"Do it." Bill tried and failed to get up. "Show them I was right, you devil."
"Gideon? Dad?"
Gideon spun to see his foster-brother staring at them from the end of the hall. "Dale?"
"What are you doing?" Dale dropped his skateboard. "Are you fighting?"
"Wait, no--"
Dale took a few steps into the hall, then stopped, his face paling. "What did you do? What did you do to dad?"
Gideon looked down towards the fallen sheriff, then back up at his foster-brother. "He attacked me!"
He started towards Dale, stopped by his foster-father's weak hand grasping at his leg.
"You leave him!" The Sheriff dragged himself onto his elbows. "Run, boy. Run! Save yourself!"
Dale's face set itself grim. "Leave dad alone!"
"He pointed a gun at me, Dale--"
Dale grabbed a coffee mug from the kitchen counter, and hurled it down the hall towards his foster-brother.
The mug shattered against the wall next to Gideon's head, and he raised an arm instinctively. "Dale, wait!"
"Get out!" Dale's face was burning red, and he grabbed a plate. "Get out of here!"
Gideon reached back into his room and grabbed the blue canvas duffel go-bag, packed with everything he'd need for the next few days, just as the plate shattered against his back.
Infernal Revelation : Collected Episodes 1-4 (9781311980007) Page 12
