by Flite, Nora
Lowering the blade, Jacob stared at his feet. He was gathering himself. Was it so he could talk, or so he could slice my pulsing throat? I held my breath, waiting.
Finally, Jacob closed his eyes... and he began their story.
- Chapter Eleven -
Jacob
16 years earlier
Standing beside the wet edge of the pit, I watched them lowering the tiny casket. It was a cruel thing that they crafted—needed to craft—caskets that small. What kind of god would allow a four year old to die? Where was the lesson in that?
The preacher was saying something. My ears, stuffed by the constant, numbing sound of the rain, didn't listen. I was exhausted by all the apologies, all the gentle pats and red-rimmed eyes that tried to understand or console. There was nothing in this world that could comfort me.
My little brother was gone.
Around me, adults taller than trees sobbed into each others arms. There was no one to even hold my hand. Daniel's death had taken our father away.
He'd been ruined by the tragedy. I'd stumbled on him, stuffed with pills and soaking in his own blood. Dad would have been dead in an hour if I hadn't found him and dialed for an ambulance.
The police had called me a hero for saving him.
I think my dad would disagree.
Turning, I put my fists into my pants and started to walk. I wouldn't get far. No one would allow a nine year old to wander off. But right then, in the grey shadows and slippery air, I tried to vanish.
Everything had changed for me. I'd lost everyone. No one had seen Daniel toddle into the road. The tires screeching had been Death's gong. Now, with my father in a mental ward, I was being shoved an hour away to stay with my grandmother. She was sweet, but her one milky eye held as much clarity as the other. The way she kept calling me Bill, my dad's name, made me sure that she belonged in the mental ward with him.
On the brink of the cemetery, I hovered by the grimy bust of an angel. The name on the base was faded, I didn't try to read it. I wanted to crawl into the ground with Daniel. Living was a burden. I couldn't imagine what was left out there for me... what would I even do?
The tears that welled up were painful. My eyes throbbed, fighting to hold them back. With no one to see me, I crumbled to the ground and sobbed. This wasn't fair. Why had this happened?
There was an empty chunk inside of me. It had been filled with love, with promise and hope. Sitting there in the mud, I wished for the rain to soak through my skin until I bloated with water. Let me drown here, right here. Put me in that tiny casket instead.
I'd give my life if it would bring Daniel back.
Of course, that didn't happen. I didn't drown, and the clouds didn't part to drop my little brother out of the sunlight and give him to me whole.
There were no such things as wishes.
Life wasn't that kind.
****
The area I moved to upstate felt as far away from the rest of the world as you could get. Tiny homes and trailers with too much space between them. Everything was rusted, crawling in that thick, damp kind of moss you could lay down on and sleep. Well, if it weren't for the awful spiders.
Everything about this place screamed 'forgotten.' It was fitting. My own personal limbo.
Gram had done very little with me since I'd come to stay with her. She'd given me a room, warned me to keep away from the construction sites, and then she'd sat in her faded chair in front of the TV and never budged. She slept there and ate there. It was her throne.
I'd never been locked away, but I'd also never had so much freedom. I didn't know what to do with it. I'd spent so many hours, day in and day out, playing with Daniel. Some brothers didn't get along, but not us. I'd adored him.
With his smiling face in my mind, I left the foundation-sinking house. I learned quickly that in this area, people didn't want to be bothered. I saw almost no other kids. I wasn't attending the school here. The hope was that my father would recover and take me back to my hometown soon. My ways of meeting anyone new was limited.
Wandering past a long stretch of gorge, packed with bulldozers, I ignored Gram's instructions. She'd told me not to come here. I got it, she was worried I'd get hurt. I wasn't about to jump into the mouth of a machine or something.
Standing on the edge of the sloped dirt, I looked down at what was happening. There were men mixed in with the whirring devices, chopping up the ground and churning towards the center of the Earth. They created deep shafts, but for what, I didn't know.
Looking to my left, I spotted the glimmer of water in the distance. Piles of sand bags and other things kept it at bay. Were they building a bridge here?
For longer than I paid attention to, I stood and watched the work. The construction was white noise, both in sound and sight. The sun was fading when I finally left. A stiff chill in the air forced me to knuckle my hands down into my pockets. I should have gone back to Gram's. My legs weren't done yet. They wanted to escape something I didn't even understand.
I'd been told before that I was smart for my age. Maybe I was. Wondering about Daniel, my father, my future and the point of everything... I would have preferred being a slobbering idiot. Then I could have gone digging in the dirt, pretending to be a bulldozer, and maybe actually been happy.
Kids shouldn't be so morbid. I did know that much.
Pushing up a hill of cracked concrete, patches of it missing, my ears picked up a sound. Climbing to the top of the battered road, I stood over the smallest, most beat up playground I'd ever seen. And there, fitting the scene so perfectly it was scary, was a single, solitary kid.
He sat on a swing, head down and tears rolling down his chin. Other than myself, I'd never seen another boy crying. Daniel didn't count, he'd been a baby. Babies could get away with sloppy tears.
Amazed, I watched him for a minute. His reddish hair matched his glowing nose. He had been sniffling for some time, the rawness was obvious. Skinnier than me, he had the look of an underfed puppy.
Something in my chest—something curious and sympathetic—forced me to walk over to him. My shoes on the gravel alerted the kid to my presence. His head shot up, charcoal-black eyes fixing on me with fear, then accusation. “What are you looking at?” he snapped.
Pulling up short, I searched for any cuts or bruises on his glaring face. I couldn't see any. “Why are you crying?”
“I'm not crying.” Rubbing his eyes furiously, he gripped the swing's chains and hunched lower. He was trying to vanish. I knew what that was like.
For the first time since Daniel's funeral, I felt myself being pulled towards someone. Ignoring how he flinched, I walked until I was sitting on the swing beside him. “I'm Jacob. Nice to meet you.”
His frown said he wasn't sure about that. Silence hung between us, his coltish legs digging his sneakers into the gravel. He didn't look at me when he mumbled. “Kite. I'm Kite.”
“Kite?” I asked, trying to make him look my way by sheer force of my stare. It wasn't working. “Does that mean you can fly?”
Jerking his head around, he gaped at me. “What are you talking about?”
The smile on my face felt strange. It had been so long. “You know, kites can soar in the air. Didn't you ever use one?”
“I know what a kite is,” he said, wiping absently at the dampness on his shirt sleeve. “Don't make fun of my name.”
“I'm not. I think it's cool.”
Kite didn't blink. He watched me, trying to decide if I was serious. The tension in his face started to melt. “Thanks,” he said under his breath.
We sat there, swinging gently and kicking the dirt. The chains were brown from years of rain, the playground so pathetic I imagined few people came here. So why had Kite? And why had he been crying like that?
“Sometimes,” he said, almost to himself. “I like to pretend I can fly.” He glanced at me, his eyebrows knotting tightly. “I know that's stupid. You don't have to say it.”
A flicker of compassion ratcheted around
in my chest. “I wouldn't. Not ever.”
The side of his lip went up. It was a frail smile. I wanted to nurture it, to see him feel better. He was reminding me of Daniel, even if that made no sense. “How old are you?” I asked, trying to put a wedge between my comparison of him and my four year old brother.
“Nine, my birthday was back in May.”
He's six months older than me, I realized in shock. Kite had the fragile look of a scared animal. By default, he just felt younger. “Me too,” I said softly. “Nine, I mean.”
Kite nodded, like my age solved everything and we could now become friends. “I haven't seen you around here before.”
“I'm staying with my Gram. I used to live an hour off that way.” I pointed, trying to picture my warm home. My head swelled with laughter and smiles from two people who couldn't do either of those things anymore. “Where do you live?”
Peering off to the right, his scrawny neck tightened. “That way. With my uncle.”
Kite said the word uncle like it was a rotten piece of food he wanted to get out of his mouth. I'd never hated anyone, I didn't even hate my dad for breaking down and leaving me. Anger was one thing, this was new. “What about your mom and dad?” I asked, curiosity making me blunt.
He leveled his stare, daring me to mock him. There was a lot of frustration in Kite, I could feel it in waves. “I don't know. Guess they didn't want me.”
Burrs inched into my guts. Leaning over, my voice flooded with empathy. “Mine are gone, too. Both of them.” And Daniel. I couldn't say that last part out loud. Then I might start crying.
Kite's eyebrows floated up. He was smiling nervously. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was happy that I was alone. That I could understand what he was feeling. We were similar, that must have been a first for him. It was for me. His smile split wide open. “Do you want to—”
“Kite!”
The shout startled us both. Across the concrete, an older man was stomping our way. It was dark, but I could see the rage in his face... and the terror in Kite's. I didn't even ask. I knew this had to be his uncle.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” He was growling, nearly on top of us.
I shot a wary look at Kite, wondering what we should do. He was crumbling into the swing, a ball of skinny arms and legs. “Sorry, Uncle Nick,” he whimpered. “I was just... just...”
The man slowed down, seeing me for the first time. I wondered what he would have done if I hadn't been there. “Who are you?” he asked.
Pushing off the swing, I got ready to run. There was a wickedness in this man's stare that unsettled me like nothing else. I couldn't put words to it, not then—I was too innocent in those days. “I'm Kite's friend.” I didn't dare say my own name. I had the paranoid idea it'd give him some kind of power.
God, I'd never felt so scared, and he hadn't even lifted a hand towards me. There was a vibe here. A cloying, disgustingly slick hunger in how this scarecrow-man watched me.
“Uncle Nick,” Kite said loudly. It was intentional, meant to draw his uncle away from me. It worked, the man glaring down at Kite now. This wasn't better. I witnessed Kite transforming into a broken excuse for a boy. His eyes were down, his posture nervous.
I knew in my heart that this was the source of Kite's tears.
This man was to blame.
Grunting, Nick put a giant hand on Kite's pointy shoulder. “Come on. It's time to go.” With a final look at me—so intense it gave my goosebumps—Nick guided Kite down the hill.
Peeking back, my new friend's eyes glistened in the looming night. They were warning me to run. Those black pupils were dull, defeated. Kite was used to whatever was about to happen to him.
The details were lost on me. The core of this encounter wasn't.
Studying how Kite's uncle held him close, how he stroked his grubby fingers over the boy's arm and neck, I grasped that this was wrong. Really wrong.
More than ever, I wanted to protect Kite. He was someone I hardly knew, but he'd tucked himself into the hole left by my little brother. Kite needed to be protected. Saved in a way I couldn't have done for Daniel.
Even if I didn't know the method yet...
I would find a way to rescue Kite.
****
As time wore on, and my determination to run into Kite at the playground continued, a number of things became clear. For one, he went from a rabid animal eager to bite, to a sweet, shy boy who was amazed to have a friend.
On my end, as days became weeks became months, I realized my father would not be coming to retrieve me anytime soon. Or at all. Whenever I asked Gram about him, she would make a face and change the topic.
My sadness over the changes to my world... they faded with Kite at my side. He was strangely funny, and when he was far away from his uncle, he opened like a flower. It was delightful. It was tragic.
For my tenth birthday, Gram set up a water sprinkler in the yard. In the hot sun, we ran around screaming, hopped up on Italian ice and our own young blood. The long days were wonderful. They helped both of us forget our demons.
The difference was that at night, Kite's demon came back for him.
I knew what hate was, now. Young as I was, this feeling was real. The man who stole my friend away was destroying everything good about him. The contrast between Kite's joy when he was with me and his shaking, buckling fear when Uncle Nick appeared, it was stark.
I didn't believe in wishes. I still caught myself silently begging every shooting star that fell that summer. Save my friend. Please. There was never any answer.
It was a memorable season. We did all the things that boys should do. Even broken kids like us could enjoy fireflies and ghost stories. Kite was especially fond of an imaginary game that he introduced me to. In it, we called ourselves the Jackals, pretending to be members of a secret task force that fought bad guys and saved the world.
The closer we became, the more my destructive anger grew. There was a seething monster in me. It looked at Uncle Nick and wondered how someone like him could be allowed to live, when my little brother had not.
And so, as our first year passed and we became taller, more spindly-legged versions of ourselves, the rage in me also matured. Kite's terror when he knew he had to be alone with his uncle... it was tangible. It never faded, no matter how he aged.
One night, I followed him home. It wasn't planned. I just felt myself moving through the dark woods, stalking them back to Nick's tiny little shed of a house. Kite said very little, but his uncle grunted things just out of my range.
Slipping under the windowsill, I crouched and waited.
Kite's sobs were bad. His screams would haunt me.
I was only ten, and at the time, sex was an elusive and odd beast. I knew of it, the way all kids do. I didn't understand the technical side. I didn't need details to know that what was going on inside that house was horrific.
Years of this. This was what had shattered my friend so deeply.
He was crying. I heard his uncle scolding him; shuddered at the scratchy, awful groans. Unable to take it any longer, I ran off into the humid night and didn't look back.
What innocence I had left was disintegrating.
This was a morbid secret Kite had never shared with me. Maybe he'd had no words for it. More likely, he was scared. I was scared, too.
But of all my emotions—everything that jangled in my skull as I fled through the trees—the one that bloomed brightest was hate.
Pure hate.
I would find a way to help my friend.
- Chapter Twelve -
Kite
15 Years Earlier
“I don't want to talk about it.” Though I said it with as much force as I could muster, Jacob didn't even have the courtesy to blink. “Why are you bringing it up at all?”
He was sitting beside me on a fence, his skin tan and muddy from our constant time spent outdoors. Amazingly, I still managed to be pale. It was the best summer I'd ever had. Jacob had become a fix
ture in my life like no one else. He'd refrained from asking about my uncle for over a year. Never poked into my life.
Until today.
Itching his nose, Jacob stared me down. “I heard what he was doing to you.”
Grabbing a rock, I chucked it into the bushes. “You followed me home?” My cheeks were on fire, my belly in a knot that couldn't be undone. “You're an idiot, Jacob. What if he had seen you?” And how much did you see? I was too scared to ask.
Hopping down onto the grass, he looked up at me where I perched. “He didn't see me. I was careful. Kite... I swear I didn't peek inside.” Maybe he was lying to help me save face. I was burning with shame. “Please don't be embarrassed, I just want to help.”
“You can't,” I spat. Another rock flew into the woods. “Forget what you heard.”
Jacob's eyes warmed. I hated his pity. “I can't forget. And I won't.”
Bile rose up and burned my throat. “Just try to.”
He waited until I was looking at him. Then he spoke, soft and cryptic. “Can you forget what he's doing to you?”
Images ripped through my mind. Awful things, dark and twisted and full of cruel words and sweat. No, of course I couldn't forget. I'd tried since the beginning. I'd struggled in every way to make what was happening bearable.
The result was a brittle boy who flinched and ran and hid from everyone.
“Kite,” he said gently, putting a hand on my arm. I jerked away, but he kept right on talking. “Your uncle is hurting you. You need to tell someone.”
Jumping down, I shoved past him. Rage was turning my muscles into weapons. I wanted to kick and punch everything around me. “I tried telling people! You don't think I did?” Scowling sharply, I jammed my heel into a log and sent it tumbling. “No one cares! No one around here gives a shit what happens to me.”
He hovered by the fence, staying back like I'd attack him next. “Who did you tell?”
“My fourth grade teacher.” Snatching up a branch, I shattered it over a knobby knee. “Know what he did? He visited my house, and my uncle smoothed it over with beer and money.” Another stick snapped violently. “That night, he was worse than ever.” Through my anger, the hot pricks of disgust made me shiver. “I tried to run away, once. The cops brought me back when he called them. They found me that same day. I can't hide, I have no where to go. He'll never let me escape and there's no proof but my word. Everyone always think I'm lying. Jacob, there's nothing I can do!”
