The Impossible Coin (The Downwinders Book 2)

by Michael Richan

  Brent rolled his head to face him, and Winn gasped. Brent had a black left eye, the lid swelling shut, and a cut across the bridge of his nose, half covered by a bandage that was soaked through with blood.

  “What happened?!” Winn said, shocked by the damage on Brent’s face.

  “My dad,” Brent said. “I would have been on time, but he stopped me. Told me I couldn’t go. I was really angry at him. Later, I snuck out. By then you’d already left.”

  “You went by my house, right?”

  “Yeah, wanted to see if you might be there, even though I knew you weren’t. Woke up your mom. She didn’t seem happy about it.”

  “She wasn’t,” Winn said.

  “So I went back home, hoping I could sneak back in,” Brent said, tearing up. “He caught me.” He began to cry. It embarrassed him, so he rolled to his side, away from Winn.

  “Oh, Brent, I’m sorry,” Winn said, feeling like he wanted to cry, too. At that moment he hated Brent’s father more than he’d ever hated any human being. He wanted to jump down from the treehouse and march over to Brent’s trailer, haul his father out, and beat him up, right on the driveway, in front of the whole trailer court. He knew that was impossible. Brent’s father would just do the same thing to him that he did to Brent.

  “How bad is it?” Winn asked.

  Brent turned back, allowing Winn to inspect his face, his body jerking with a sob now and again.

  “I saw in a movie you’re supposed to put ice on a black eye,” Winn said. “Wait right here.”

  Winn hurried down from the treehouse and back into the trailer. He heard the shower still running. He opened the freezer and looked for ice – there was none. Thanks to his dislike of peas, there was a frozen bag of them sitting inside, a good year past their expiration date. He grabbed the bag and left, racing back up the trailer and onto the platform.

  “Here, hold this against your eye,” Winn said, handing Brent the bag.

  “Peas?” Brent said.

  “Just do it,” Winn insisted. “It’ll help the swelling. Can you see out of that eye?”

  Brent raised his head and looked right at Winn, holding a hand over his right eye. “Yeah, I can see,” he said.

  “Good, then you just need to get the swelling to go down. Go on, put the peas on it.”

  Brent lowered his head back down and placed the bag on his face, letting it sit. As he raised his arm to place the bag, his t-shirt rose up from his waist, and Winn saw the bruises on his stomach. Brent’s father had hit him there, too.

  “Does it feel any better?” Winn asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Brent said. “My whole head hurts.”

  “Well, leave it there for as long as you can,” Winn said. “He really did a number on you, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Brent said. “After he hit me, I tried to swing at him, and I think it pissed him off even more.”

  Winn closed his eyes. He remembered once when he was eight, when one of his mother’s one-night-stands had woken early and joined him in the dining room, trying to change the channel from the cartoons Winn had been watching. He’d told the man to leave his TV alone, and the man had backhanded him so hard he went flying into a cupboard. Winn started screaming, and ran at the man, fists swinging. The noise of their fight woke up his mother, and she came running out of the bedroom. When she saw the blood on Winn’s lip she kicked the guy out of the trailer.

  My mom may not be perfect, Winn thought, but she stands up for me. Brent doesn’t have anyone who stands up for him.

  Brent turned to his side again and pulled his knees up, moaning.

  “Still hurts?” Winn asked.

  “Yeah, it hurts a lot,” Brent replied.

  “He hit you in the stomach, huh?” Winn asked.

  “Yeah,” Brent said. “When he did that, I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to die.”

  Winn felt his own tears beginning to form. Brent was his best friend, and he didn’t deserve all this pain. He remembered the coin in his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out.

  “Brent, here, I want you to try something,” he said, coaxing Brent to roll back over toward him.

  “What?” Brent asked, lifting the bag of peas from his face.

  “See how I’m holding this nickel?” he said, showing Brent the coin pressed tightly between his thumb and finger. He felt the pleasure beginning in his stomach, knowing it would play out the next few seconds while he talked to Brent.

  “I want you to hold it just like this, alright?”

  “Why?”

  “Just because. It’ll help, trust me. Give me your hand.”

  Winn could see Brent was too weak to argue, but he didn’t bother to raise his arm. Winn raised it for him, and put the nickel into his hand.

  “Don’t drop it!” he said, positioning it between Brent’s thumb and index finger, putting pressure on them to keep it wedged tightly between them. Then he removed his hand, waiting to see if it worked for Brent.

  There was a few seconds where nothing happened, and Winn was afraid it wasn’t going to work. His arm was raised and his fingers held the coin in the exact way Winn had positioned them, but nothing seemed to be happening.

  Then Brent rolled back to his side. “I’m going to throw up!” he said, opening his mouth.

  “No, you aren’t,” Winn said. “Just wait. Keep holding it.”

  Winn saw Brent’s arm start to droop, so he reached up and held his hand, making sure his fingers stayed in position around the coin. He felt a warmness radiating from Brent’s body. He decided to drop into the River, and watch. The coin glowed just as he’d seen it behave before, and he could detect the waves of pleasure and healing passing through Brent’s body.

  Just before he left the River, he heard in his head:

  One day.

  He dropped out of the flow, and waited until Brent rolled onto his back and looked at him.

  “How did that feel?” Winn asked.

  “Wow. What is it?”

  “Something I found with, you know, my abilities.”

  Winn removed the coin from Brent’s fingers and studied his face, expecting to see the swelling go down around his eye. Nothing changed.

  “Did it help?” Winn asked.

  “Yeah, it felt great,” Brent said. “All the pain is gone.”

  “But it didn’t heal you...” Winn said, thinking aloud.

  “I don’t care,” Brent said, closing his eyes. “It felt wonderful. I just want to sleep.”

  Winn thought for a moment, and then pulled his shirt up and over his head. He folded it into a small pillow, and raised Brent’s head, placing the shirt under him.

  “Sleep then,” Winn said. “I’ll watch over you, make sure you don’t roll off.”

  “Can I try it again?” Brent asked sleepily.

  “Sure,” Winn said, placing the nickel back into Brent’s fingers. This time Brent didn’t roll over, he just stayed on his back, and Winn watched as a smile slowly spread across his face as the coin did its magic. He studied the black and blue discoloration of skin around Brent’s eye. Within a few seconds, Brent was out, and his arm dropped, releasing the nickel. Winn dove for it, trapping it on the platform under his hand before it could roll off. He tucked it back into his pocket and laid down on the wood next to Brent, raising his Walkman earphones to his head and adjusting the volume.

  He thought about McGraves, and what the ghost had told him about Father Kino and the cave. He wondered if an iron door might exist further back, past the narrow crack Brent had wanted to explore. He could still see McGraves crawling on the ground toward him, pinning him inside the pantry, and it made him shiver. He could see McGraves standing up and removing the knife, blood pouring down. Then he imagined a swarm of Z-flies, landing on his skin and sinking their centipede pinchers into his skin, scraping his flesh for ghost blood like a vampire bat uses its teeth to cut into a cow’s back.

  Brent shifted next to him, and his thoughts changed. He imagined the fight in
side Brent’s trailer, his father punching him in the gut and hitting him in the face. It must have been brutal for Brent – and all because he wanted to join them on their excursion. Winn felt the unfairness of it well up inside him, and he felt a sob escape him. He reached down, grabbing Brent’s sleeping hand. He held it gently, listening to the music, wishing Brent’s father would die, and that his own mother would find someone decent to marry instead of the losers she brought home.

  If I could sleep forever… I could forget about everything…

  He felt himself drifting off, the music becoming fainter and fainter in his head. Within moments, he was as fast asleep as Brent.

  Chapter Nine

  When Winn awoke he realized they’d been asleep for a long time. He checked his watch, and saw that it was almost six. They’d slept most of the afternoon away.

  He shook Brent, who was still sleeping on his back. Brent slowly opened his eyes and looked at Winn.

  “Feeling any better?” Winn asked.

  Brent tried to raise his head from Winn’s shirt pillow, and winced. Winn saw the bag of peas lying next to Brent, wet from condensation as it thawed. The swelling around Brent’s eyes still looked pretty bad, and Winn realized that although the coin had helped Brent with the pain, it hadn’t done much to heal him. Maybe it only heals gifteds, he thought.

  “My head is pounding,” Brent said.

  “Here,” Winn said, digging into his pocket. “Try the nickel again.” He held it up for Brent to take, and Brent slowly reached up and removed it from his fingers.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Brent said, the coin in his palm.

  “You have to hold it like this,” Winn said, demonstrating. Brent shifted the coin so that it was properly positioned, and he began to shudder.

  “Does that help?” Winn asked.

  “It feels so good,” Brent said. “All the pain is gone.” He handed the coin back.

  Winn looked at the nickel in Brent’s hand, extended to him. It was going to expire in a day, and what was he going to do with it, anyway? Brent’s pain was going to come back; if anyone needed it, it was Brent.

  “Keep it,” Winn said. “Use it to keep the pain down.”

  “Really?” Brent asked, trying to sit up.

  “Sure,” Winn said. “You have to set it down before you can use it again, otherwise it doesn’t work. And you gotta promise not to show it to anyone else, especially your father.”

  “I won’t show it to him,” Brent said. “And I won’t use it in front of him.”

  “Yeah, he might steal it from you if you do,” Winn said. “When you’re alone, though, feel free to use it as much as you want. It’s going to expire tomorrow, so you might as well get as much out of it as you can.”

  “Thanks, Winn,” Brent said, a weak smile forming below his black and blue eye.

  “We slept all afternoon,” Winn said. “It’s almost six. If you don’t get home, your dad’s gonna wallop you again.”

  Brent slid the nickel into his pocket. He rolled over and slid his legs to the edge of the platform and lowered himself to the branch, then down to the trailer, landing a little hard.

  “Shit, Winn, I’m sorry,” Brent said. “I hope your mom didn’t hear that.”

  “She didn’t, she’s gone for the night,” Winn said, following Brent down. He felt bad that Brent was heading home to the parent who beat him up. He would have liked nothing better than to invite Brent into his trailer and spend the evening making sandwiches and watching TV together, hiding from Brent’s father. He knew defying Brent’s father that way would ultimately end in an even harsher result.

  “Do you think your dad will let you leave after dinner?” Winn asked.

  “Maybe,” Brent said. “All depends on his mood.”

  “Well, I’ll just be hanging out at home, watching TV. If you want to come over, feel free. But don’t sneak out on my account and get yourself beat up again.”

  “No, I won’t,” Brent said. “Thanks for the nickel, Winn. Where did you find it?”

  “I’ll tell you the whole story tonight, if you come over. Get home before it’s six! You’ve got like two minutes!”

  Brent smiled again and took off toward his trailer. Jeanette was out, and Winn could hear her questioning Brent as he walked past her.

  “Your asshole father make you walk into a door?” she called.

  Winn watched Brent ignore her and run the rest of the way home.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Winn spent the night alone with the television, his CD Walkman, and a book he was reading. Brent never showed, and Winn assumed it was because of his father. He turned in early and was woken by the sound of his mother arriving home late. From the lack of continued noise, he deduced she was alone, and he was grateful – it meant he could go back to sleep right away, and wouldn’t have to deal with some jerk in the morning.

  As Sunday morning dawned, he tried to sleep in but found he couldn’t. He felt anxious, and as soon as his feet hit the ground it felt better, as though getting up and moving around would alleviate his anxiety. He ate some cereal and watched more television, rapidly becoming bored.

  He knew visiting Brent would be out until later in the day. They had a long church schedule every Sunday, and Brent’s father didn’t allow any visitors or horseplay on Sunday morning. Sometimes Brent was allowed out in the evening, but he’d just have to wait and see.

  He thought about visiting Gale and seeing if he’d let him play PS2, then discounted the idea. He didn’t mind Gale when Brent was around, but when it was just the two of them, Gale bothered him. He considered Gale a little odd, and his mother was constantly checking in on them, to see if they needed or wanted anything. He found it creepy.

  He clicked off the TV and sat, wondering what to do. Out of sheer boredom he let himself drop into the River and he felt himself rising up and out of his body. He considered drifting back to his mother’s bedroom to check on her, but she had told him in no uncertain terms that he was never to spy on her, so he decided against it. Instead he let himself drift toward the wall of the trailer, seeing if he could go through it. As he approached it, his natural reaction was to stop – who walks into walls? Marty had told him he could do it if he tried, but he’d been scared to be out of sight of his physical body, as though he might lose his way back to it.

  He reached out his hand and pressed his fingers against the wall, but his fingers didn’t touch anything. He saw them disappear inside the wood paneling. He felt a chill go down his spine, and he pulled his hand back, checking his fingers. They were still there, attached to the end of his hand.

  He tried again, and allowed more of himself to enter the wall. He felt himself clutching with his fingers, unable to see them. He slid more of his arm into the wall, freaking out a little at how he could move his arm around within the wall, and at how his arm looked amputated, cut off as it entered the paneling.

  Then he felt something grabbing on his arm, pulling him. He tried to pull his arm back inside the trailer, but it wouldn’t come.

  Come on, he heard. Come outside.

  He relaxed a little – it was Marty’s voice.

  I saw your arm sticking out of your trailer, thought I’d come over and see what you were up to!

  I’m afraid to go through the wall! Winn thought.

  Don’t be, Marty replied. Just move forward. I’ll pull you through it.

  Winn closed his eyes, not wanting to see the wall approaching his face as he drifted toward it. He felt Marty pulling on him, and then he stopped.

  Open your eyes, Marty said.

  He opened them, and he was outside the trailer, floating about three feet off the ground. Marty was holding his hand.

  I didn’t feel anything, Winn said.

  Of course, Marty said.

  Winn became concerned. I want to go back in, and check on my body, he said.

  You do that, but then come back out, OK? On your own.

  Winn nodded. He dropped Marty’s hand and mo
ved back toward the trailer, closing his eyes as his face approached the aluminum siding. He opened them again once he figured he’d cleared the wall, and saw himself sitting on the couch, his head back as though he was asleep.

  As many times as he’d done this, it always bothered him to see his body in this state. He feared he was dead. He reentered his body by dropping out of the River, and felt himself lifting his head. He held his hand in front of his face, stretching his fingers. It had become so easy to come and go like this, to leave and then reenter his body. Every time he did it, it felt more and more natural. Going through walls is probably like that, he thought. Gets easier the more you do it.

  He considered walking outside to see Marty, but he knew Marty would be disappointed in him if he didn’t join him in the River. Marty had been encouraging him to try and go further and further from his body when he entered the flow. He let himself slip back into the River, and he drifted back through the wall of the trailer. This time he kept his eyes open, and for a brief second he saw the interior of the wall. Not much to look at.

  You made it! Marty said.

  It’s still freaky, Winn replied.

  Your body will be fine, as long as no one disturbs you. If they do, you’ll feel it, and you can return to it very quickly, no matter where you are.

  I’d still like to stay close, if you don’t mind, Winn said.

  Ah, shucks, Marty said. That ruins what I had planned!

  What? Winn asked, intrigued.

  Well, I was just a little bored of walking on the ground, that’s all. I was thinking it might be more interesting to walk around a couple of hundred feet up. Marty smiled at him and began to rise. You coming?

  Winn watched as Marty rose rapidly. He was scared to join him, and didn’t move.

  Marty stopped about thirty feet above him and looked down. Oh, come on. Trust me. I’ve been doing this for years. You’ll be fine, I promise.

  Winn gulped and let himself rise to join Marty. He began to panic as the distance between himself and the ground increased.