The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Home: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (The Broom Closet Stories Book 2)

by Jeff Jacobson

  His voice broke, and he felt his eyes burn and moisten.

  He turned and walked through the living room toward the kitchen.

  “Buddy. Buddy! Come on, you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to …” continued Randall, his voice starting to plead.

  “Let him go, Rand. He needs time to himself,” Charlie heard his aunt say.

  Charlie stepped outside and felt the cold wind blow on his face. He slid the door closed behind him, walked the short distance to the edge of the deck, and leaned out over the cedar railing.

  “You’re such a baby,” he said aloud, angry that he didn’t have the guts to stay with the adults and answer more of their questions. But he had been so hot in there with Beverly’s arm around him, and he didn’t want to cry in front of everybody anymore. They were all being nice to him, worrying over him, trying to give him things to eat. They had spread an ointment onto his cheek where Claudia had cut him, reassuring him that it would heal without a scar. Rita even asked him if she could rub a poultice into his temples.

  “It’ll help you forget, Charlie. Not permanently, of course. But it’ll put things aside for a bit. So you can have a break.”

  He declined her offer.

  He didn’t deserve a break.

  He deserved to remember what happened. Everything that happened. Even though he couldn’t bear to talk about it with them anymore.

  Some vestiges of the terrible power he had ingested in Grace’s basement still lingered, keeping his senses sharper than usual. He could hear the adults talking in the living room through the thick glass of the deck door. It reminded him of what it was like right after getting popped, though it was nowhere near as strong nor as haphazard.

  “… just let him be for a while. He’s not one for talking things out, if you hadn’t noticed,” he could hear Beverly say in a scolding tone.

  “I know that, Bev. Jesus. I just think he needs some help. With all that happened,” Randall said.

  Charlie hoped they didn’t get into an argument over him. They probably would. One more thing to add to his list of things that were his fault.

  “He’s not going to get over this any time soon, you guys,” said Jeremy. “I mean, being held captive in that closet, Grace threatening him, that kid being killed right in front of him …”

  An image of Todd’s slit throat flashed into his head. He squeezed his eyes shut while his hands slammed down on the wooden railing.

  He shook his head, making the voices behind him fade away until he couldn’t hear them any longer. He looked out over Puget Sound, searching for something to focus on, anything to get his mind away from Grace’s basement.

  He spotted a ferryboat bound for Vashon Island far below him, watched as it coasted along the choppy waters. By extending his vision forward and down, he felt transported away from the house with its heavy emotions.

  Charlie squinted his eyes until he could see the name Klahowya painted in thick green lettering on the starboard wall near the captain’s station on the upper deck. He looked below at the car deck and saw two young girls sitting in the back of a large pickup truck playing a game of patty-cake. Their hands clapped, opened, slapped, and closed in dizzying repetition.

  Concentrating, he listened closely, attempting to catch what they were saying.

  At first, all sound was drowned out by the drone of the ferry’s engine and the frothy churn of the boat’s wake.

  But then the girls’ words drifted into his ears as if they were in the yard below him, not nearly a mile out to sea.

  See-see oh playmate, they sang, their voices high-pitched.

  Come out and play with me,

  And bring your dollies three,

  Climb up my apple tree,

  Slide down my rain barrel,

  Into my cellar door, and

  We’ll be jolly friends,

  Forever more more,

  More more!

  Their hands slapped together two times in quick succession, then the girls collapsed onto each other in giggles.

  An old man walked past the pickup truck, eating a granola bar. Charlie heard the foil packaging crinkle, heard the chewing sound coming from the man’s mouth.

  “Quit hiding, you baby!” Charlie chided himself.

  He blinked his eyes and shook his head again. His vision and hearing returned to normal, bringing him back to the deck where he stood.

  Well, almost normal.

  “… glad that Amos is okay. Malcolm must have used one of those sleeping spells on him,” he could hear Randall saying from the living room.

  “But you mean that asshole is really his father?” Jeremy asked.

  “He raped Lizzy, and that’s how Charlie …” Rita stopped, unable to finish the sentence. “God, it’s so awful.”

  “He told me,” said Beverly, “that even though he’s not the conduit they hoped he was, he jumped into the circuit, learned everything about Thomas and Grace, grabbed at all that boosted craft, subdued them, and freed up the kids.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” declared Jeremy. “What a brave kid!”

  Charlie shook his head again. He couldn’t bear to hear it, to hear them complimenting him. Because he hadn’t been brave. He had been stupid and chickenshit. Why didn’t he do more? Why didn’t he go back and get Malcolm out of there?

  Without thinking, he leaped over the deck railing, the waning power still coursing through his veins more than strong enough to give him a soft landing on the grass below.

  That boost isn’t going to last forever, Charlie, he thought to himself.

  Ignoring the thought, he walked out to the edge of the backyard.

  Not that long ago, when Malcolm wanted privacy, he had surrounded them both with silence. Charlie reached up and plugged his nose, imitating the man’s gestures. He felt pressure against his cheeks and forehead as he closed his mouth and tried to blow air out through his nostrils. His ears popped.

  And then, nothing.

  Silence.

  All sound gone: all noise, conversation, compliments, questions, worried sentiment, everything outside of his small, cone-shaped spell of protection, gone.

  The only thing left was the noise in his own head. Words and images bumped against each other, yelling for his attention.

  Todd. Todd is dead. And Malcolm too. Dead. You sat there while they butchered that boy, and you thought about wanting more of that power. You did. You did.

  I didn’t know! I couldn’t help it, I just …

  Malcolm’s dead because of you. You should have gone back downstairs and helped him.

  I know.

  How could you leave him down there? With her? With the others? Of course they killed him! You knew you shouldn’t leave him, but you did anyway.

  They slit his throat, they slit his throat, they slit his throat.

  Violent images arose in his mind’s eye once again: the gaping maw in Todd’s neck, the blood spattered everywhere, Claudia’s cruel smile as she stood there, holding the knife.

  The look of sad acceptance on Todd’s face when it had been only the two boys, facing each other. Charlie drinking all that power in huge hungry gulps, Todd knowing that it was too late for him, that he was about to die.

  No! he shouted inside his head. No! I didn’t want that! I didn’t ask for it. They made me drink. She made me take it all. No!

  Grace’s face floated into his brain, with her tricky, soft smile, her bright red hair, her creamy skin, all so oddly gentle, inviting, belying none of the savage cruelty just inches beneath the surface.

  I stopped her! I broke that circuit, and I stopped her. I …

  I saw into Grace’s deepest thoughts, at the filth and brutality floating around in there. He saw it all again, picturing eel-like shapes swimming beneath black oil.

  Malcolm is dead. Malcolm is dead. Malcolm is dead.

  You freed up those kids, Charlie. Malcolm’s voice talking to him now, disembodied, his firm, gentle words meant to comfort him, meant to give h
im strength. You did the right thing. You harnessed all that power and you freed up the kids.

  No! I don’t deserve comfort.

  Come on, little man, you gotta ease up on yourself, okay? For Pete’s sake! The wrinkles above Malcolm’s cheeks crinkled as he winked at Charlie.

  Grace and Thomas, Claudia and Tony. They all escaped. But how? Malcolm said he had it under control. And why did they leave Malcolm’s body but take Todd’s? Maybe it was some sort of message?

  I know what’ll happen next. Grace’ll go into hiding. She’ll rebuild her strength. Then she’ll do it all over again. I know she will. She’ll kidnap more kids, kill more teenagers and adults, it won’t stop, it won’t stop, it won’t stop! The phrase continued reaching a deafening volume in his head.

  Cha-a-a-a-arlie.

  His body jerked hard and he looked around the yard, expecting to see …

  Because it wasn’t a voice in his head this time, it was …

  No. Impossible. Impossible! How could …

  Right inside of you, little man.

  It was Grace’s voice coming from somewhere inside his chest. Vibrating just above his sternum.

  No! D-d-don’t call me that. You never get to call me that again. Those were his words, don’t …

  I can call you whatever I want, little man. Because I’ve burrowed up like a little mousey right inside of you.

  No!

  And I’m going to burn a hole right through you until you turn to ash.

  His hands flew up to his chest as he felt a white-hot searing pain stabbing at the area around his heart.

  He stumbled, barely catching himself before falling backwards on the ground.

  No! he shouted, though he wasn’t sure if it was out loud or in his head. How can she be inside of me?

  The pain burned brighter, increasing until his eyes watered. This time he did cry out loud. His legs gave way beneath him as he crumpled to the ground.

  Looking up at the gray sky, he gritted his teeth, then pushed down hard on the bones in his chest.

  The pain froze. It didn’t lessen, but somehow by pushing on it, he stopped it from getting worse.

  No, you can’t stop me, boy, I’ll …

  Now he could see it inside of himself, see a small flame flickering in the middle of his chest, surrounded by blackness. As he continued to press, the flame began to shrink.

  No, you can’t. You can’t do that … he heard her scream.

  Oh yeah? He said through gritted teeth. Watch me!

  He pressed harder, and the flame dwindled to a tiny spark. He knew, without quite understanding how, that he had subdued her, that for the moment she could no longer speak to him. A steely satisfaction replaced the burning sensation.

  He pushed and pushed, but no matter how hard he tried, the spark would not extinguish. At least the pain in his chest disappeared. Somehow he had stopped her, even though he couldn’t get rid of her.

  He sucked in gulps of cold air, then rolled over and pushed himself upright until he was on his hands and knees, the grass cold and wet beneath his fingers.

  How did she get inside of me?

  Did it happen accidentally, when I jumped into the circuit? If so, why wasn’t Thomas inside of me too?

  Maybe she made it happen. Maybe she slipped inside of me even while I was controlling her.

  Don’t worry about it now, Charlie. She’s subdued for the time being. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.

  He shuddered. Bigger fish to fry. The exact words that someone had told Thomas after Charlie’s mother escaped out the basement door.

  He stood up and brushed wet grass off the seat of his pants.

  Like … like what? What bigger fish?

  And for a moment, everything was quiet. There was calm inside his head. Not because he had found the peace and emptiness himself but because his thoughts had run themselves out.

  But only for a moment.

  You’re a faggot, Charlie. What a joke you are.

  For some reason, this thought brought him up short.

  Really? Really?! After all you’ve been through, that’s what you’re gonna focus on?

  An image of Diego emerged, looking at him, at their spot in the woods, with the span of the bridge arching above them.

  His look of shock, then wonder, and then delight, after Charlie shouted out loud that he was gay.

  Calm settled in his mind again as the loud voices and the bright images softened, faded away, like the spark of Grace in his heart: not disappearing entirely but becoming so small that he could rest a bit, could get a break from the all the clamor.

  Well, so be it. You’re a faggot witch, you were born because some bad guy raped your mother, you’ve seen murder, you almost killed your father. So what? Get over it, you’ve got work to do.

  He almost laughed, hearing the sharp pragmatic tone of this voice. Was it the same one he had heard when he was still tied up in Grace’s basement, telling him there was nothing he could do if Randall and Amos were dead, that he had to calm down to think things through? This voice was new to him. It sounded like himself, only more grown up, like someone who knew a thing or two about the world. Like somebody he could trust.

  Charlie reached up squeezed his nostrils closed, then blew hard. He felt his ears pop, then … wind on his face, a bird chirping overhead. The loud hoooo of a ferry’s horn below, signaling that it was about to dock.

  He couldn’t hear the adults talking about him in the living room above.

  He stood still, eyes closed, feeling for a moment the simple softness of the grass beneath his feet.

  Then the sound of the deck door sliding open.

  “Hey, Charlie,” he heard Jeremy shout from above and behind him.

  He whirled around, feeling stupid as he realized how he must have looked, standing there in the yard all by himself, maybe even talking out loud like a crazy person.

  “Yeah?” he replied, his voice a little too loud.

  “Rita and I are gonna leave now.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “You need anything?” Jeremy said to him, and Charlie could see the worry only half-hidden behind his smile.

  Before he could answer, Rita stepped out onto the deck and stood next to her husband.

  “Anything, Charlie. You just ask, okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Um, thanks. Thanks for coming over,” he said, although he wasn’t really sure why he had said it.

  “You’re welcome, Charlie,” Rita said. “Get some rest, okay? You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Okay. Uh, you too.”

  Jeremy’s smile widened, and for a moment Charlie could see the worry disappear.

  “We slept fine last night, you goofball. You’re the one who needs a nap!”

  In spite of himself, Charlie laughed.

  He watched the bottoms of their feet through the slats in the deck, as they walked into the house and slid the door shut behind them.

  Charlie turned back toward the water and looked up at the sky. Fat clouds colored gunmetal gray pushed and jostled against each other. It looked like it could rain any minute. But for now there was only a cold wind and the briny smell of the Sound.

  He looked at the large maple tree directly above him. Many of its leaves had turned from green to shocks of rust-red and orange. A few branches, however, were already bare. Their naked twigs pointed like accusing fingers, as if blaming October for robbing them of their clothing, some of which lay scattered near his feet.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He entered a familiar number on the dial pad. Then he waited, his thumb hovering over the call button.

  Should he call her?

  Should he call and tell her that he knew? That he knew what happened?

  What would he say? “Hi, Mom, it’s me. Charlie. I know what Thomas did to you. I know he’s my father. I know why you ran away from home.”

  No. He wasn’t ready to have that conversation with her. Maybe she wasn’t ready to have it with him either.


  Then what would he say? “Hi, Mom, I can fly around on a broomstick now. It’s cool. Wanna go for a ride some time?”

  That just sounded stupid. And she probably couldn’t even fly anymore. If she could, would he want to?

  The truth was he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He was confused. On the one hand, he was still mad at her for lying to him, for dumping him off and leaving in the middle of the night. Just because bad stuff happened to her as a teenager, did that give her the right to treat him like that? Wasn’t she being a hypocrite?

  On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t being fair to her. He had learned what happened to her by being inside Thomas’s mind, not hers. He didn’t know what it had been like for her. Maybe he should show her some compassion.

  One thing he was clear about: he didn’t want to go back to California. Not yet, anyway. As violent and frightening as the past few days had been, he still really liked his life here, with Beverly and Randall, with his new witch friends. With Diego.

  His thumb moved closer to the send button.

  Charlie waited.

  Then he watched as it moved over to delete. It pressed down on the button and held it until all ten digits disappeared from the screen.

  “Abracadabra. Just like magic,” he said, laughing a mirthless laugh while putting the phone back in his pocket.

  He looked again at the tree above him, running his eyes along the thin lines of its branches. He felt into his chest, where there was the small spark that was Grace, small and hot like a tiny ember. It wasn’t burning into him like it had before, but he had no doubt it, or she, would try again. Would try to burn a hole right through him. He had no doubts anymore of what she was capable of.

  “I’m going to find you, Grace,” Charlie whispered out loud, and he pictured the words coming out of his mouth like wisps of smoke. He imagined the wind grabbing at his words and rushing away with them, twirling them up through the bare branches and the dying leaves of the maple tree, drifting upwards and becoming something solid.

  Something like a prayer.

  Charlie turned and walked toward the door that led into the basement, then went inside.

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