Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  The girl was quiet.

  Into her silence Marina said, “Sometimes when opportunity knocks, you can’t hear it because your heart is beating too loud. It’s okay, I’ve been there before.” A pause, then, “Trust me.”

  The girl said, “I want to do it, I’m ready right now.”

  IT opened the door and stepped inside Marina’s study. She turned from her guests to the doorway and called out, “Steven!”

  IT smiled, a sour expression on ITS pained face, then turned to look at each of the women, surprised to see the difference in the girl, now that IT could see her up close, rather than through the blur of a car window: she wasn’t just different inside as he had felt, she was different outside too: unnaturally aged, ripened past her season, like the boy, Luca.

  Marina asked what IT needed.

  Then, IT saw what IT never expected.

  ITS heart pounded, nearly burst through ITS chest, at least that’s how it felt while thudding through echoes of Boricio Bishop still living inside IT.

  It was impossible.

  It couldn’t be.

  Unthinkable.

  The woman beside Mary once belonged to him. The love of his life, Rose.

  Suddenly, Boricio Bishop’s shadow started to swell within, fighting back for the first time in forever, trying to reclaim its body.

  IT could hear Boricio’s tormented cries, the anguish of wanting to go to Rose, to talk to her, to tell her he was still there, that he loves her.

  IT pushed back, fighting Boricio’s will as best it could.

  Boricio’s internal screams shook like a quake through their shared, intertwined psyche. If IT were not careful, the host could expel IT.

  IT would be exposed, right there in the room, before them all, forced to either find a new host from them, fight them, or flee.

  IT had come too far to allow something as shallow as love derail IT.

  IT pushed several horrible thoughts into the host’s mind, an annihilation of the worst images IT had collected from ITS collective memories — death, decay, murder, mass graves — clubbing Boricio’s soul into submission.

  It took everything IT had to locate a voice, and shove it through the shell’s maw with something more than a grunt.

  “Nothing.” ITS smile spread in painful artifice. “I can see you’re busy, of course I can wait.”

  IT left, the shell’s heart threatening to burst through skin as IT fled the room, quick to put distance between ITSELF and the ghosts of Boricio’s past.

  IT remembered Boricio first seeing her, wiping cheese from her cheek before filling her mouth with eggs, as she ate alone, two tables away. Something spoke to the shell in a whisper — soothing, worming its way into head, heart, and soul, unlike any woman before her: true love, brighter than fire. Playful banter, before she laughed and said, Boricio? Is that your name?

  He said it was, then held out his hand.

  I’m Rose.

  Memories of Bishop and Rose that didn’t belong to IT collided in torment.

  Too much.

  The shell was brittle, knees weak.

  IT fell to the floor.

  It was so peculiar, love:

  Selfish, impatient, insecure, filled with mistakes, too hard to handle.

  Beautiful and ugly: a prison.

  Thirty

  Luca Harding

  “That’s your fist?” Trevor said, his face edging laughter.

  Luca stared at his closed hand, which looked like every fist he’d ever seen on TV, comic books, or movies, then back at Trevor. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

  Trevor held up his hand and showed Luca his fist. Even though they were the same age, or close, Trevor’s hand seemed so much larger and stronger, at least twice as manly. Other than that, Luca didn’t see much of a difference.

  “Notice anything?” Trevor asked.

  Luca was too embarrassed to say what he was thinking — I have a girl’s hand? Instead, he shook his head no and tried to keep from looking down.

  “Look at my thumb. Notice, it’s outside of my other fingers.”

  Luca looked at his own fist, his thumb curled beneath his index and middle fingers. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Well, nothing, if you want to break your thumb the first time you hit something hard!”

  Luca looked down, ashamed, then back at Trevor’s fist, and made his best imitation. He held it up for Trevor’s approval.

  “Now there you go!” he said, clapping loudly.

  Though Trevor was only teasing him, good natured like his dad probably would have, Luca was glad they were far from the skate park or basketball courts, where other kids wouldn’t look over and see that he was pathetic enough to need lessons in not just fighting, but also in making a fist!

  They were standing under one of the park’s several pavilions, littered with picnic tables and hidden among the trees, far enough from where people would see them, and likely laugh at Luca, to keep him from worrying too much about what he looked like to anyone other than Trevor. Though it wasn’t yet 4 p.m., the sun had gone missing. Gray clouds hovered above, and a cool breeze blew through the thick clusters of surrounding pines.

  “OK,” Trevor said, moving out from under the pavilion and into an open area of grass. “Now I want you to hit me.”

  “Hit you?”

  “Yeah, don’t worry, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Luca joked.

  “Hey, just being honest! Hell, you probably won’t even land a punch. But that’s OK. That’s why we’re here. I’m gonna make you better.”

  Luca stepped into the clearing and raised his fists, trying to mimic Trevor’s stance. While Trevor looked like a boxer, or as close to a boxer as Luca had ever seen in person, Luca felt like a fraud, like a child pretending to be a boxer.

  Trevor began to move back and forth, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, circling Luca.

  Luca tried to keep pace, feeling stupid, and bursting into giggling fits.

  “Don’t laugh,” Trevor said, his eyes serious. “Pretend I’m Johnny Thomas.”

  Luca lost his giggles and tried returning Trevor’s serious stare.

  “OK,” Trevor said. “Now I’m going to move toward you. When I get close enough, I want you to take a swing, OK?”

  “OK,” Luca said as Trevor moved toward him, fists raised.

  Seeing the intensity in Trevor’s eyes only made Luca more nervous that one day soon he would be in a real fight with Johnny Thomas, without Trevor around to help him.

  Stop thinking about Johnny, and just take a swing.

  Luca moved toward Trevor and swung, a halfhearted attempt because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt his new friend.

  Trevor moved quickly out of the way, and Luca sailed right by, missing him completely. Luca stumbled forward, then felt a sharp jab in his back.

  “Ow!” he turned around to see Trevor backing away, his fists still raised.

  “Why’d you hit me?” Luca asked, trying not to let Trevor see how much he’d hurt him, especially since he was probably going easy on him with a light punch.

  “Because you missed me. Miss Johnny, and he’s gonna hit you way worse than that. You need to connect, Luca. You connect, I won’t hit you. Deal?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, though,” Luca said, hearing his dad’s voice in his ear, telling him not to sound whiney.

  “You’re not going to hurt me,” Trevor said. “But I guarantee: Miss me again and I will hurt you.”

  Their eyes met, and Luca wasn’t sure if Trevor was trying to encourage or scare him. It seemed like he was trying to toughen him up so he could be better prepared to face off against Johnny Thomas, but the intensity in his eyes made Luca nervous.

  Trevor began bouncing on his feet and jabbing at the air, “OK, Luca, take another shot.”

  Luca tried bouncing on his feet like his coach, but felt stupid, so instead, he moved in, slowly, trying to find the best angle to approach Trevor
.

  Luca took a swing, and missed again. Rather than sailing past Trevor, he turned, anticipating Trevor’s attack. But he was too slow to defend himself, and Trevor’s fist landed in Luca’s gut.

  Pain erupted through his stomach. Luca doubled over, hoping he didn’t look like the world’s biggest wimp as he sucked air through his teeth and tried not to cry.

  “Did I hurt you?” Trevor asked, his voice suddenly high-pitched and excited.

  Luca wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful to Trevor for all of his help; no other kid had ever looked out for him like this before. But if he said yes, and asked Trevor to stop, Trevor might not help him become a better fighter. If he said nothing, Trevor might beat the crap out of him during their first lesson.

  “Maybe just punch a little less hard,” Luca said. “That one kind of hurt.”

  “Oh, so you want me to fight you like a little baby girl, is that it?” Trevor said, his tone almost mocking. “You think Johnny’s gonna take it easy on you?”

  “No,” Luca said, rising to meet Trevor’s eyes again.

  “Damn right, he’s not. Now let’s go,” Trevor said, pounding his fists together, then returning to his fighting stance.

  Luca began moving, again trying to figure out the best way to hit the kid. He tried to remember some of the moves his father had taught him the other night, but his mind went blank in the moment’s heat. If he missed again, Luca would feel like the world’s biggest loser, unable to learn the most basic moves. And he’d get hit again!

  He balled his fists tight and moved closer, eyes bolted to Trevor’s.

  Come on: Don’t miss, don’t miss, don’t miss.

  Luca took another swing, at Trevor’s face this time, giving it his all …

  … and missed. Again.

  This time, Trevor dodged and closed quickly on Luca before he could turn back around. His fist slammed into Luca, right in his ribcage, so hard he felt like something must have shattered inside him.

  Luca fell to the ground, eyes burning as they got wet, wincing through the sharp pain blooming through his right side, while trying his hardest not to cry. Tears painted his face anyway. So Luca stayed hunched on the ground, face buried in his arms, hoping Trevor didn’t realize he was crying like a big giant baby.

  From nowhere, Luca heard the sound of clapping, from many hands.

  Huh?

  He wiped his eyes, looking up to see Johnny Thomas, Gus, and Kiyor as all three stepped into the clearing. Johnny and Trevor bumped fists like the best of friends, showing Luca his mistake: Trevor was one of Johnny’s gang, and the entire afternoon was nothing but a set-up.

  Oh no!

  Now Luca was alone, in an isolated part of the park where no one could see them, surrounded by nothing but enemies and trees.

  He stood, raising his fists, trying to ready himself for whatever was going to come, from whoever was going to deliver it.

  Johnny laughed, “Oh, look, Boys, Luca’s a boxer now! And it only took one ‘lesson.’”

  “Leave me alone,” Luca said, trying to sound brave despite his streaming tears and knocking knees.

  “Or what?” Johnny said. “You gonna kick our asses? You gonna kick all our asses?”

  “Just … please,” Luca said, giving his all to not losing a whimper. “I don’t want to fight.”

  Johnny stepped toward Luca, eyes wild and filled with something between rage and glee that chilled Luca to his bones. “Come on, Luca. Show me your new skills. I want you to hit me.”

  “No,” Luca said.

  Johnny smacked him hard across the face.

  Luca stumbled backward, his left cheek on fire, though he dared not touch it. He balled his fists, thumbs out, and raised them in front of his face, watching Johnny approach. Unlike Trevor, Johnny wasn’t bouncing or weaving or moving his fists like a boxer. He just stood still, staring at Luca, laughing.

  “Come on, you little bitch. I said I want you to hit me!”

  Luca stayed frozen in indecision, trying to determine what he should do. He was surrounded by Johnny and his friends. Trevor met Luca’s eyes, giving him that same intense stare he gave him during their “training.” Luca shook his head, a silent condemnation for tricking him.

  Luca couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to fall for Trevor’s scheme. But he didn’t have time to feel stupid or sorry for himself now: he had to fight for his life.

  “Come on!” Johnny said, this time shoving Luca back.

  Luca stumbled, but stayed on his feet, thinking he should have swung at Johnny when the boy had reached out to push him.

  “Come on, Faggot!” Johnny taunted.

  Luca kept his fists in front of him, not wanting to make the first move. Some part of him was hoping if he didn’t initiate the fight, maybe it wouldn’t happen.

  Maybe he could still walk away unharmed.

  Johnny moved like lightning, his fist striking Luca in the center of his chest, and sending him to the ground gasping for air.

  On his hands and knees, Luca reached up and clutched at his chest, as if he could somehow will air back into his lungs. He felt like he was going to die right there, surrounded by bullies. He remembered how Johnny had crushed a rabbit to death. Would he, could he, do the same to a person? Maybe rabbits were just the start for a monster like Johnny Thomas.

  Luca finally caught his breath and stood as the kids around them began to chant, “Fight, fight, fight.”

  Luca’s heart pounded in his chest, every hair on his body seeming to stand on end, as an overwhelming sense of doom tightened around him.

  Johnny moved in to swing.

  Luca dodged, managing to bring his fist around to a wallop at the back of Johnny’s skull.

  Yes!

  Johnny stumbled forward, grabbed the back of his head, then turned to Luca, screaming.

  Whatever tiny victory Luca might have felt evaporated into Johnny’s bellow. Their eyes met, and Luca knew in an instant:

  He’s going to kill me!

  Luca turned to run.

  He made it maybe five steps before Johnny tackled him from behind, wrestled him to the ground, and pulled him into a vicious choke hold, twisting Luca around so his belly was facing the dark sky. Luca imagined one of the other kids rushing forth with a knife or something, looking to slice his belly open and leave him to die.

  Luca screamed, desperate to wrangle free. Johnny’s arm twisted around Luca’s neck harder, squeezing tight. Luca kept trying to break free, reaching up to pull Johnny’s arm off and digging his nails deep into the bully’s flesh, trying to hurt him so bad he’d have no choice but to let go.

  Johnny grunted in Luca’s ear, “I’m gonna kill you, you little bitch.”

  He squeezed tighter, despite Luca’s fingernails now drawing blood.

  Luca flailed, kicked, and elbowed back at Johnny’s face, trying to break free. Nothing worked. Johnny’s leg wrapped around Luca’s, pinning him in place.

  Luca looked up at the others, pleading with his eyes. “He’s going to kill me. Help!”

  Surely, they don’t actually want me dead!

  But maybe they did — their eyes were glazed over, like wolves watching a meal stumble into sight.

  Luca met Trevor’s eyes, pleading. Surely, the boy wasn’t faking everything. Someone couldn’t pretend to be that nice only to be so cruel, could they?

  Please, Trevor!

  Trevor turned from him, as if too ashamed to see what would happen next.

  Luca gasped for breath as Johnny’s vice-like grip tightened on his neck. Luca was certain death would find him in seconds; he thought of his parents and sister, how he would never see them again.

  Something flashed through his mind — memories that weren’t memories that he’d dreamed: the car crash, his family dying, and the old man, Will, who adopted him. And then there was more … a sickness that wouldn’t go away after his family left him.

  The sickness that sent him to the hospital.

/>   Then Luca was cured. His brother had asked the doctors to use this weird, blue, glowing vial. Then in the vision, dream, or whatever it was, Luca writhed on the floor, choking, hoping that each of his breaths wouldn’t be his last. Finally, Luca was better. Better than better, able to teleport, away from danger or sadness or lonely, and into … places. Then his brother … Boricio was his name … asked him for a favor.

  To go and get another one of the vials.

  He needed it to save his girlfriend.

  But the old man, Will, wouldn’t let him.

  So Luca did, and then …

  The vision finished, and Luca was back with Johnny Thomas’s hands circling his neck, convinced that if he didn’t break free, he’d be dead. Memories would come true if he let them, if he didn’t get up — now!

  Urgency and anger surged through Luca like fire. It crackled in his veins and nearly exploded, bursting from his body, thrusting him out and away from Johnny’s hold. Luca stood upright, staring down at the bully, whose eyes had gone wide with surprise.

  “What the?” Johnny Thomas said, jumping to his feet, then falling backward.

  Luca barely registered the bully’s surprise, as some primal almost other part of Luca took control. Luca’s eyes seized on the dirt, and a tree branch a few feet away, then blazed toward it so fast, Johnny could barely track his movement.

  Johnny had no chance to prepare a defense.

  Luca seized the branch, flipped it so its sharp end was pointed out, then brought it forward, driving it through Johnny’s gut.

  As the makeshift spear pierced him, Johnny’s eyes went even wider. He gasped through his final breaths, blood spurting from his mouth. Luca met his eyes, then drove the spear deeper, doing as much damage as he could to Johnny’s internal organs.

  Screams raged around Luca as the other three kids took off, fear palpable and fueling Luca’s rage. From somewhere deep inside, something Luca couldn’t recognize, and didn’t know existed until it was screaming inside him, demanded that Luca answer as it surfaced to take full control, mind and body.

  They can’t leave here alive.

  Kill them.

  Kill them all.

  Luca obeyed.