The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  "We're fine here," Doren nodded. "Thank you. But I think everyone would just be a little less anxious if we could keep that closed so we could talk in private."

  "Of course, sir." The driver's dark eyes watched them through the rear-view mirror. "I just wanted to inform you that we're about ten minutes away from the stadium. Security has been notified of our impending arrival and we will be going in the back entrance per protocol. It appears, however, that a group has gathered regardless. I hope it won't be too much of an inconvenience. Security has attempted to disperse them but you know how persistent people can be."

  Doren gave the man a quick nod, reaching for the control to close the divider from his side. "Thank you. We'll be fine." As the glass moved shut a noticeable sigh of relief traveled the rear of the limo.

  August lost it first. Doren had heard it coming; had been waiting for it, silently musing over his reply. "We shouldn't go. We'll cancel. We can make up an excuse. I don't even care what. Please Doren, this is a bad idea."

  With a heavy sign, Doren checked out the five men in the vehicle with him. Curtis' eyes were trained on where the driver would be if they could see through the privacy glass. Geoff's gaze was fixed on his fists, clenching, unclenching and clenching again. Cooper's red-rimmed eyes were wide and unfocused, staring blankly through the side window. Dawson watched the floor.

  "Auggie," he patted August's knee in a way that would have seemed condescending but for the flow of energy that came from the contact, "we're going to be just fine." He turned to look at Cooper. "Coop, why don't you help me out here and tell us what you're listening to? Fill the boys in on what you can hear."

  Cooper looked up, the tip of his tongue darting out to swipe at dry lips. "Hunh?"

  Doren smiled and took a sip of the champagne. "It's okay, Coop; I trust these guys. You can too. Tell me what you're getting."

  Cooper's eyes flicked from face to face and he cleared his throat. "Uh, Doren? Maybe, when we get there? You know, just you and I will talk?"

  Doren shook his head. "No. It's time. Let's get this crap out in the open and stop hiding from each other. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but we're all bringing something to this event and I think we need to talk about it. Everyone in this car needs to know they can trust everybody else. And as long as we're keeping secrets from one another, that's not going to happen."

  Cooper turned away, once again staring out the window, disregarding Doren completely. Curtis replied in Cooper's stead. "Why don't you make everyone feel a little more at ease then, Doren? Why don't you start?"

  Doren chuckled. He liked Curtis. He really did. The man had balls of steel. "Fine. I will."

  He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes. "Obviously you guys know that I have a gift for music. I can hear it everywhere. Even in this car there's the sound of the tires rolling on the asphalt, the wind whistling by the car, the hum of the engine. But those are the obvious ones. Those are the ones we all hear. What you don't know is that there's more to sound than what the common ear picks up. There's a riff that runs through every one of us, actually everything around us, and it changes all the time. If the weather is bad, if someone is tense, it all affects the music that is being given off. I can hear that music just like you and the person beside you hears the sound coming out of that radio."

  He opened his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the limo. "But it's more than just hearing it: I can pull from it—a power that I can transform and use as pure energy. Watch …" He lifted his hands. "Open."

  All around them the electronic door locks jumped.

  "Fuck!" Cooper whispered. "Just look at that, will you? Do it again."

  "Close," Doren responded instantly, and all the locks fell in obedience. Five sets of eyes watched him: interested, awed, but not at all surprised.

  "Wait, it gets better." Doren reached for August's hand. "Because what I have is nothing compared to what Auggie can do with it. Auggie can amplify it somehow, control it and intensify it."

  He shot a glance at August and nodded. In perfect synchronicity they both pulled a breath, and every electronic function in the back of the limo began to race: the interior lights flashed, the locks began to jump up and down furiously, the CD player roared to life, spinning anxiously and out of count, warbling like sick hound dogs. It wasn't until Doren released August's hand that the limo fell back to still.

  He waited for their reaction, smiling when Geoff nodded at him.

  "Me next." Geoff reached into the ice bucket beside him and pulled out a fresh champagne bottle, unopened and chilled to perfection. He leaned over the floor and concentrated, holding the bottle in one hand, his right fist against the side of the heavy glass. With no more than a rap of knuckles, the floor of the limo was awash in foaming, bubbling, displaced champagne.

  "Jesus," Dawson whispered. He grabbed Geoff's hand in shock. "You're not even hurt. That's … well, that's just …" he lifted a furrowed brow and shook his hand, struggling for words, "a handy talent." Dawson sat back while Geoff tucked his hands between his thighs, almost self-consciously.

  "Well, mine's a lot more subtle than that," Dawson sighed. "I don't have any powers or anything cool."

  Doren shook his head and lifted a finger. "Au contraire, buddy, you have a very strong gift. Go ahead, Daws. Your turn."

  "I'm getting to it," Dawson said calmly. He turned to the other guys. "I have this ability to see how events are going to play out. I can follow things and see past them in my mind. I can even check out different routes and see how, or if, that changes things. You know; like, if you leave an hour later or take another route, will it change the outcome or just bring you back to the same place."

  "He calls it seeing around corners," Doren explained and turned back to the still-quiet Cooper. "See, Coop? You're not so different. Your turn, buddy."

  Cooper took a shaky breath. "Okay, okay, but don't think I'm freaky, all right? People tend not to like hearing about this. It makes them nervous." As an afterthought Cooper reached for his backpack and pulled out his weed. "I can … I, uhh … well," his hands fiddled with the baggie and his teeth worked his lip like it was a bone. He said his next words in a rush of breath, without a single pause between them. "I can read minds." He didn't look at anyone and he didn't say anything further. He just reached for his weed yet again and yanked the bag open.

  Before Cooper could begin the process of rolling, Doren stilled Cooper's hand. "You're fine, Coop. Just relax. Before you go trying to quiet the voices, think long and hard about whether or not right now is a good time to silence anything."

  Cooper paused, considering for a long minute, then carefully resealed the baggie. "They got something going down but I can't get a good read on it. I think Anton can block me. And I only think that because that's what I've been doing with him the last couple of days: keeping him out of our heads. We're kind of battling each other. But I do know they have something big planned for tonight. Their plan is to get you away from August. They don't know about the rest of us yet. I've managed to keep that away from them."

  "Good thing we didn't know about the boys' talents before we got ourselves with a blocker," Doren said, more to himself than anyone else. August shook his head in agreement regardless.

  "The way I've figured it," Cooper continued, "I'm pretty sure Anton knows that someone is blocking him. He knows something's working in the background; he just doesn't realize that you're bringing it with you. Right now, as far as him and that old chick are concerned, their only threat is August. The thing is though? I think they intend to find a way to use August to get to you. Or to use August to use you. I'm not really sure on that one, I can't quite grab it."

  Doren patted Cooper's leg, smiling. "So, Daws? What did you see as an outcome for tonight's upcoming events then?"

  Dawson let out a long breath. "It's not good, Doren. No matter how many different paths I look at, they all seem to end up at the same place." Worry creased his dark brow. "Someone's gonna die
tonight."

  Doren watched Dawson thoughtfully. "You've tried to get around it?"

  He nodded. "And I'm not sure if that's because the outcome is out of fate's hands or if it's just because there is no way around it."

  August crossed his arms over his chest, as though hugging himself. "I don't understand?"

  Dawson sighed and shook his head. "My Gramma always used to say that fate doesn't control everything. In other words, some things are set in stone: the sun rises in the morning and sets at night; summer follows spring, which is followed by fall and so on. In the same way that some people are gonna end up with cancer no matter how clean they live or certain infants are conceived for no other reason than to fall in the womb. That's fate playing its hard hand. But other things go beyond fate; choice becomes the deciding factor. And when choice is involved there's no foretelling the outcome. Not until the choice is made, see?"

  The limo fell to silence as the vehicle turned into the back lot of the stadium. The driver hadn't been lying about the crowd at least.

  "Wait!" Cooper said suddenly, turning in his seat as though inspiration had hit him. "Curtis, buddy. What about you, man? What do you bring?"

  Curtis looked quietly at each one of them in turn; then he slowly unzipped his leather and pulled it to the side. It was with stunned silence that the rest of them stared at the gun nestled at Curtis' side.

  "Remember," he said quietly, "no matter what Hollywood tells us, no matter what our imaginations want to believe, every one of us—here in this limo or inside that stadium—every one of us is mortal." He zipped up his jacket as the vehicle rolled to a stop. "And a bullet can bring us all down."

  "Okay, gang," Doren nodded. "You know what they say: he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. So let's just try to get past this and see what tomorrow brings."

  August

  He squeezed Doren's hand one more time before the security guards reached the doors. One by one they filed out and tried to follow the narrow path towards the entrance. The waiting crowd rushed them, screaming for Doren, eyes streaming with tears, papers and pens held high in the air.

  "Stay close, sir!" one of the security officers said, attempting to pull Doren towards him. As August was jostled backwards, fury rose in his chest. No way. That was what they wanted. That's what Cooper had said … they wanted to get Doren alone, away from him. And that wasn't going to happen. Not that night and not ever. August muscled his way past the guard, ducking under the man's arm to walk behind Doren.

  Oblivious to the demands of security, Doren walked through the crowd slowly, reaching in to grasp the fingers of his fans, pulling some of the younger ones closer so he could kiss the backs of their hands. The resulting pandemonium was overwhelming, almost noxious with the crush of bodies and rush of adrenaline. Doren paid no mind to any of it, smiling sweetly at the weeping girls and grinning charmingly for the rest of the besotted masses. He was in his element; August could read it on his face and see it dancing in his eyes. August thrilled for Doren's enjoyment, oddly proud, strangely honored just to be part of it. He couldn't help but wonder if Doren was listening to the excited music that would be coursing through the assembly.

  Doren was beaming by the time they finally made it through the heavy metal doors. He reached for August's hand once they clanged shut and, by direction of the guards, they made it down the hallway and into the dressing room, staying close to one another. Doren looked over, smiling, and lifted August's fist to his lips. "You okay?"

  August nodded, stopping Doren before they reached the door. "Just tell me you're still gonna love me when you're a superstar."

  Doren smirked and winked cheekily. "What makes you think I love you now?" With a grin he released August's hand and dropped into the couch.

  Cooper

  He wasn't exactly dragging his heels behind the rest of the group. It was just hard to concentrate on physical stuff when he caught the thoughts of someone else. And at that moment, thoughts were raging.

  He watched August slip into the dressing room and sit down against the back wall, well out of the way. He wondered if August knew that Doren was joking when Doren talked like he did. Surely August had to know the truth. Still, it gave him a sick feeling in his belly. He felt bad for August. Worse, he felt bad for Doren. Something was holding him back from telling the man who loved him, the man that he loved back, the very words that everyone needed to hear.

  He caught Doren's reflected gaze in the mirror. They held each other's sight for several seconds. And it was Doren that finally broke the stare, casting his guilty expression to the floor.

  August

  "You're not allowed back here, sir." The security guard caught August's arm, vice-like, as he tried to walk backstage behind the boys. Curtis' head swung instantly in his direction, a hand drifting to one side.

  August didn't hesitate with his reaction. He turned towards the startled officer and bared his teeth like a wolf advancing on prey. "I'd really love to see if you think you're man enough to stop me."

  They glared at each other, August to guard, guard to August, before Doren caught the exchange and not only stalked back, but secured the wrist of the hand that held August in place. "I suggest you get your fucking hands off my assistant."

  The guard's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, sir. We were told to allow no one but the band and the crew backstage."

  Grip became pressure as Doren twisted the guard's hand off August's. "He is crew, dumbass. Now fuck off!" He dragged August against his side and wrapped an arm around August's shoulders. "Stay close."

  "I'll be right here," August promised. "You can see me if you look out into the wing, okay?"

  A swell of emotion shut August's throat when Doren nudged him away, still holding August's arms, taking a long look at August's face. The expression on Doren's face was beyond somber. "If you need me, Auggie, you call me. I promise: I will hear you."

  August was overcome with the need to touch him. He stumbled forward, wrapped his arms around Doren's waist and squeezed. If anything happened, anything at all, this was the way August was going to remember him. Their bodies pressed tight together, Doren's wide chest against his, Doren's breath on his neck and hands on the small of his back. This was the memory that he would carry with him forever. This was how Doren felt, he'd tell himself. This was how he smelled. This was what it felt like to be together.

  When they pulled away from each other the crowd was pulsing, the noise from the stadium reaching the backstage, the electricity building like a pre-storm surge of wind and lightning; August half-expected to hear thunder roll in the distance.

  "You promise you'll be listening?"

  Doren touched his lips with a kiss as light as mist. "Always."

  "Time to go, Doren!"

  August didn't even place the voice. Don't leave, he wanted to shout. Don't go. God, please don't do this. It didn't stop Doren from pulling away though.

  He watched the five of them take their places: a sentry of music, an army of sound, and with a rush of lights and noise they were gone. Although the vocal intensity of the crowd erupted into near-cataclysmic levels and the instruments awakened with peals of electrical jubilance, the sudden loss of the other men's physical presence in the back room felt stiflingly silent and dead.

  A gasp of panic escaped August's lips and he raced for the wing of the stage, a desperate need to see, to verify that Doren still existed all but overwhelming him.

  Doren stood in the middle of the stage, eyes closed and face to the ceiling. He lifted his arms and the crowd went insane.

  Memories of the squirming demons from August's dream hit him harder than anything August had ever felt. He shook on weakened legs as one by one each of the musicians found their start and began to weave their intricate patterns together, transforming note to music, hushing the calls and drawing the attention of the crowd below them. Doren reached for the microphone. Vocals mixed with instruments, a hush fell over the audience, and with the reverence of a Sunday
morning congregation they watched as a star went supernova.

  From song to song the crowd fell even more in love with him. Excited, wide-eyed stares watched in frenzied fascination as Doren growled through the hard, fast licks; tearstained, awe-filled gazes fantasized along as he purred through the soft, haunting notes of the quieter ones. August was spellbound: every face turned towards Doren, every mouth moved with the words they knew, attempting to recall the rest; every eye sparkled for him, every heartbeat tuned to the rhythm, every pump of blood through every vein radiating the life he woke inside them. August had the uncanny feeling that even the mice in the walls, even the stars in the sky, had stopped to listen, feel, and be part of it.

  This, August thought, this was what Diana had meant. It was right there on every face and it was pure and it was beautiful and it was magical and good. And, oh, how badly this devotion could be used. How wrong it could all become.

  Time flew on the wings of sound and when the band stopped playing halfway through the set, and the stadium slipped into silence, August felt as exhausted from listening, as the rest appeared to be from playing. The crowd waited in hushed obedience, captivated adoration, as Doren introduced a new song.

  With a frown August finally stopped watching the audience and his head swiveled to the stage. They'd been working on a new song? How long? His heart skipped a beat, suddenly anxious. Was this Anton's influence? After all, he knew nothing about it.

  He bit the inside of his cheek and watched the stage nervously.

  Doren

  He couldn't see August there, in the blackness of the wing, but there was no question as to whether or not August remained in place. He smiled at the spot. For you, baby, he thought, this one is for you.

  It was the rain that had fallen with the whisper of threat inside it, the litany of laughter as the two of them raced for shelter. It was the promise of an uncertain but interesting future and the chuckles of angels as they gathered to release arrows at two men who didn't really believe in their existence. It was peace and harmony spoken from the rails of a roller coaster ride. It was August.