“How does your nose feel?” Desiree asked, plopping herself down in the grass.
I took a seat beside her. There was a homeless man curled up in blankets beneath a tree about a street down. All his belongings lay in a disheveled pile beside his resting body. That was a sight I didn’t remember seeing anywhere in Provex City. No one sleeping on the sidewalk. No one begging for food. Physical money didn’t seem to be available to give, though there must have been some way of exchanging it.
“It hurts,” I finally said. “I’ll have to take something for it when I get home.” I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out the cabby’s business card I’d gotten earlier in the night. He wouldn’t be coming for us here. Not needing the reminder, I tossed it into the grass.
“Do you think it’s broken?” Desiree asked.
“I dunno. Probably. Hopefully not. I don’t want to see a doctor.”
“Just see Mr. Gordon,” Desiree said nonchalantly—like why didn’t I think of that immediately?
Why couldn’t I just heal myself? I was able to help Richard come back from his coma, but I had lost faith in my ability now. Mr. Gordon could most definitely help, but I didn’t even know what to say to him at this point. I had a lot of explaining to do from our first venture into Provex City. I didn’t even know how to start the conversation now.
“Are you okay?” I asked Desiree. She was sitting cross-legged, with the gigantic sweater pulled over her knees so it covered her completely like a tent. Her heels were dropped in the grass beside her.
“My stomach still hurts, though not as much as before. I twisted my ankle a little, but I’ll live.” Desiree sat still and looked out at the street and the passing cars. “I’m sorry about earlier. That’s why I don’t drink. I go from giggling to vomiting in 2.3 seconds. I don’t like the feeling of being out of control—not really being in control of myself. But I trust you, Oliver. Otherwise I wouldn’t have ever taken that first glass of champagne. I just want you to know that. With all that we’ve been through recently, I want you to know how much I trust you and care about you.”
“I care about you, too,” I said, placing a hand on her arm. “Thank you for saving me again. When Mr. Gordon’s not here, I have you to save my life.”
“Yeah, some hero I am.” She scooted herself and her cotton tent closer to me so she could lean on my shoulder and stare out into traffic.
“You probably don’t know this,” Desiree said softly, “But the last time I had any alcohol was when I went to prom with TJ. I’d had a little before then, but that was the last time until tonight. Anna used to give me a hard time about it, but she eventually just accepted that I had my reasons for not wanting to drink.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”
“Maybe it would be good for you to get it off your chest, clear your conscious or something like that. Was prom the reason your relationship got all messed up?”
“Prom was the last night I saw TJ as the guy I was in love with. The morning after, I was introduced to a whole other person. Or at least that’s what I thought then…”
“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Desiree wrapped an arm through mine. She took several deep breaths. “I’ll tell you what happened. I don’t know how much I can get through, but I’ll try.”
The story she told was sad, yet detached like it had happened to someone else, some other innocent girl in some other time. Listening to her talk about TJ reminded me that I hadn’t heard from him since Kafka sent him away. I missed his voice. Through the heartbreak pouring from her story, something in her voice told me she missed him, too.
9
Damage Control
I didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning. Desiree and I hadn’t gotten home until almost sunrise. Luckily, no one was up yet so I was able to sneak into the house, disturbing only Frolics, and slip into bed. It had never felt so comfortable.
It wasn’t until nearly lunchtime that I got up and took off my bloody clothes from the night before. I would probably have to burn them; they looked unsalvageable. My stomach ached, and I didn’t know if it was from all the excitement—if you could really call it that—or the champagne.
I’m never drinking again.
I raised my head from my pillow, only to be greeted by my head fighting my stomach for aching supremacy.
From my room, I darted straight into the bathroom to wash up. I had slept with crusty dried blood running down my face and neck, and smeared across my hands and forearms. As the crusty layer flaked away from my scrubbing, peppering the sink drain with crimson snow, I watched the wolf-head reappear. I scrubbed it, too, but it refused to release its hold on me.
My face was bruised and swollen, unlike the morning after the fight I had been in with Sasha earlier in the school year. There were no magical healing powers done on me, so I was sorer now than I had been last night. I flinched and cringed as I carefully cleaned in and around my nose.
“Welcome to the land of the living, sleepyhead. You must have had a good time yesterday,” Mom said, making herself a sandwich in the kitchen.
“I need coffee,” I moaned.
“It’s pretty old and cold, so I’d make a new pot if I were you,” she said and looked up at me. “How was Disney—oh my God, what happened to you?”
“I kinda got head-butted in the face,” I said, figuring I didn’t have to lie about that. What would be the point? The condition of my face made it pretty obvious. “It was a freak accident.”
“Let me see.” She came over and took my chin in her hands, examining my face.
“It’s not that bad. It probably looks worse than it is.”
“It looks like your nose is broken.”
I was afraid of that.
“What happened?” Jeremy asked, strolling into the kitchen. He stood next to Mom to get a good look at my facial injuries.
Remembering the wolf head on my hand, I crossed my arms to shield the artwork from view.
“There were some guys roughhousing in line. One guy threw his head back and smacked me right in the nose,” I said. “Freak accident.”
“Can I touch it?” Jeremy teased, sounding oddly like himself again. “Let me touch it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warned. “Back off.”
“Are you all right?” Mom asked. “Perhaps we should go see the doctor today.”
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “It looks worse than it actually is.”
“I think it makes you look better,” Jeremy said. He grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the refrigerator and headed back to his room.
“What am I going to do with you?” Mom asked. “I’m reaching the point of not wanting to let you leave my sight—the both of you.”
“Too late, Jeremy’s already gone,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah,” was all she said in return.
I was finally granted the peace to brew myself a fresh pot of coffee. I stood by the machine while it dripped so I could drink it as soon as it was ready. My head ached for it, a hammer pounding just above my eyes.
I was left alone after that to down my scalding coffee and then followed it with a bagel. After my lunchtime breakfast, on my way back to my room, I noticed Jeremy on his bed with his laptop. I passed by his door, stopped, and went in to see him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Out of my room, douche bag,” he said without ungluing his eyes from the screen.
I simply ignored him and took a seat in his computer chair. Swiveling around, I waited for him to acknowledge me.
“Okay, what is it?” He dropped the screen 45 degrees.
“Did Cias have a Lorne tattoo on his hand, you know, the wolf-head one?” I asked.
“No, he wasn’t a Lorne. He was a family friend.”
“How about a wolf-head tattoo that was different than the official Lorne one?”
&
nbsp; Jeremy stared at me with a blank look on his face.
“A barred-teeth wolf instead of an open-jawed one,” I added. “Or have you seen one like that on someone else?”
“Why? Where is this coming from?” Jeremy asked, sitting up straighter and pushing his laptop aside. “You went back, didn’t you?”
“Maybe…” I murmured. I pulled at my sleeves until they covered half of my hands, encaging the wolf completely.
“You promised!” Jeremy said. “That’s how you got messed up, isn’t it? You went back and got yourself into more trouble. I’m assuming you didn’t go alone. Is Desiree okay?”
“She’s fine,” I said. “Nothing happened that we couldn’t handle.”
“Except your face. Close the door,” Jeremy demanded.
“Have you seen a tattoo like what I described or not?”
“Not that I can remember.”
That was all I needed to hear. I stood up and walked out closing the door behind me.
“Don’t go back! I’m warning you!”
Luckily, Mom didn’t come to see what the yelling was about—probably desensitized to the brothers’ quarrel.
I hung out in my room for a while, continually looking at myself in the mirrors of my closet doors, touching my nose and cheeks to see where they hurt the most. Who were those guys? They were connected to the Lorne family in some way, obviously, but they were different. Were they members of that Lorne Royal Guard like Darius’s Commodore Chaos mentioned?
The wolf head stared at me from my wrist. It looked more prominent than it did last night—maybe it was just me. But one thing I knew was I couldn’t keep looking at it. The wolf would drive me insane. I felt like it was already seeping into my blood, poisoning me, turning me into a paranoid mess—turning my room into a cell to hold me for my own safety.
My room.
TJ had written that on my wall, but I didn’t want to think about him now, so I pushed all thoughts of him aside.
With an overwhelming urge to break away, I charged through the house and exited the side door—granted a brief play session of fetch with the Frolics bulldozer—and then headed for Desiree’s.
She seemed surprised to see me when I randomly showed up at her front door, but let me in without question. She was in sweat pants and a baggy T-shirt. Her hair was disheveled and she didn’t have on a stitch of makeup. She looked like a completely different girl than the one I was out with last night.
“I need you to fix this,” I said, showing her my arm with her artwork.
“That’s as good as I can do. I don’t think I can make it any better.”
“That’s the problem—it’s so good. Too good. I need it gone.”
“I can’t erase it. It’s got to fade away on its own,” Desiree said.
“I can’t look at it on my arm anymore,” I pleaded. “Paint over it. Turn it into something else. Please. There’s got to be something you can do. What if Mr. Gordon sees it when school starts up? We’ve only got a few days left of vacation.”
“I know, right? It’s come and gone so fast,” Desiree said.
“Please,” I said. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
She led me up to her room and I was not reassured by her feeble response of “I’ll try.” But she sat me down on her desk chair and instructed me to place my hand sideways on the face of the desk. She stared at it for a long time, barely moving, clicking her teeth together.
“You’re making me nervous,” I said.
“I’m thinking.”
Desiree took the jagua applicator, dipped it in the dye, and went to work. In a matter of forty-five minutes, she turned the Lorne wolf head into an unrecognizable design that extended around my wrist like a band. Again, she instructed me to wait the allotted time for the dye to seep into my skin before washing it off.
The finished product was a brilliant disguise. The only reason I could still make out the wolf head was because I would specifically look for it. My focused eyes created the illusion of a three-dimensional picture, and when I looked at the band long enough, the wolf head eventually popped out from its camouflage. No one else would be able to point out the wolf head from the band design, even upon close inspection. I figured I was safe.
I thanked Desiree for the last-minute touch-up procedure and left shortly after. She could use the rest of the day to recoup from last night’s mayhem as much as I could. Our relationship had reached a new level last night; I didn’t want to push my luck. I still had Anna to think about. And Desiree was still with Eli. Or was she? These were things I needed to think about, things we needed to discuss, needed to work out, but certainly not today. I could barely think straight with the throbbing in my head, let alone make any important decisions.
Desiree led me to the front door and gave me a hug in her ratty stay-at-home clothes. I held onto her a few seconds longer than I probably should have before starting my pensive walk home.
10
Unsalvageable Pieces
Richard was scheduled to be released from the hospital on the final day of Christmas vacation. It was a new year and a new start. The family was finally being reunited.
Mom had spent the morning working around the house, waiting for the call. I was antsy, too, but not for the same reason. I was excited to have Richard come home, but I didn’t want to return to school. I didn’t know what I would say to Mr. Gordon when I saw him. I felt like I’d let him down—not once, but repeatedly. I could already see the hurt look on his face. The disguised wolf head on my right wrist burned with guilt. I didn’t want to face my tormentors again. I didn’t know how to act around my friends in a group setting anymore. The voice I heard in the back of my head while in Provex City blended into my thoughts better now, but it was still here, torturing me one cynical thought at a time.
“We're leaving now,” Mom said with a quick knock to my door. She was gone before I even had a chance to respond.
I pushed all remaining thoughts of school from my consciousness, grabbed a jacket, and opened the door to a theatrically impatient golden retriever, thumping his tail against the carpet.
“Sorry, boy. You’ve gotta stay here. We’ll be back soon. All of us this time.”
At the hospital, Mom started crying as soon as she saw Richard out of his seaweed-green gown and back into his street clothes. He was seated in a wheelchair, talking with one of his nurses, when we all piled into the room. Mom advised him not to get up, but he did anyway. Richard still had casts on his left arm and leg, but he was already able to grasp, stand, and get around rather well with crutches. The wheelchair was just a hospital formality.
“Don’t hurt yourself. We haven’t even gotten you home yet,” Mom said, trying to laugh through the tears.
“Home? I’d much rather hurt myself here.”
“No one’s getting hurt,” Jeremy said.
“Especially not the Miracle Man of St. Joseph’s,” the nurse said.
That’s what they began calling him a few days after he awoke. They couldn’t explain how he was healing so fast, and I couldn’t tell them that it was me. I woke him up. I set his healing in motion. To them, it was a miracle. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to walk out of the hospital six weeks after his accident. Yet today, he would be able to do just that.
Richard’s primary doctor, Dr. Barnes, strolled into the room. “It looks like the gang’s all here,” he said, shaking hands with each of us, then Richard. “I don’t think we did very much for you. Somehow, you did all the heavy lifting yourself. I just want to wish you and your family the best.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Richard sat back down in his wheelchair, looking guilty like he had just been caught misbehaving. “You’ve done so much. I don’t know how to thank you more.”
“I wish I could take more credit. Believe me; I do.” Dr. Barnes gave a short uncomfortable laugh.
“I thought you actually wanted to leave this place,” Jeremy said to Richard.
“Well, this wheelchair
isn’t going to push itself,” Richard said with a sly half-grin. “How about giving me a jump start, tough guy?”
Jeremy didn’t hesitate to grab the reins, and in that moment, our family had finally come back together. I was carrying Richard’s crutches, which I handed to him when we reached the main entrance. I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment when Richard pushed out of his wheelchair a final time and found his balance on the crutches. The nurse who had been in his room when we arrived had followed us down to the entrance.
“I can’t thank you enough, but I hope to never see any of you guys again,” Richard said, smiling.
We all had a good laugh. I, too, could go without setting foot inside another hospital for a long time.
As we pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Richard said he craved a cheeseburger, so we stopped at In-N-Out on the way home. We waited in the ridiculously long drive-thru line, then took our food home, and ate our lunch at the dining room table. It was usually reserved for holidays, but today was as special as any holiday and deserved celebrating.
“That was absolutely amazing,” Richard said after scarfing down his burger and fries. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. “I guess I should call Jerry this weekend and get a meeting set up.”
Jerry McDonald was Richard’s new lawyer, who’d come to the hospital several times to get a head start on building a case against the driver responsible for Richard’s accident.
“There will be plenty of time for that. You just got home,” Mom said, beginning to clear the table. “He’ll understand that you need your rest and should take the weekend off.”
“I feel fine. I’ve been resting for weeks. I’ve never felt so rested. I need to do something. I can’t just sit around and do nothing anymore.” Richard got up from the table, carefully balancing himself on the backs of the chairs, the wall, and the doorframe to help guide him into the kitchen. He was too stubborn to use crutches since entering the house. But at the rate of his healing, he wouldn’t need them for much longer anyway.
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