Harken

16 Restlessness

Callista and I waited stoically in a corner booth of the restaurant that sat where the church should have been. Businesspeople held loud conversations in the tables near us—I hardly noticed they were there. Scents of oregano and basil wafted through the air from the bustling and noisy kitchen, my spaghetti and Callista’s small pizza still steaming but untouched, ordered mostly so we could get a table. My fingers drummed as I stared at Thad’s empty seat.

Finally, Thad came walking through the restaurant doors, sliding to sit beside Callista.

“Good and bad news,” he said, picking up his fork and stirring his food around.

“Bad news first,” Callista said. He cleared his throat.

“We’re in the right place,” he explained with an unfortunate tone, twirling his fettuccini noodles onto his fork and taking a bite. “I looked up what I could online at the place next door. Saint Winslow’s Church used to sit on this exact spot, before it was burned to the ground thirty-four or something years ago. They built Fabolli’s on its foundation. You know what that means?”

Both Callista and I stared at him blankly. He swallowed a bite down first.

“Thirty-four is seventeen times two,” he said. “Two lifetimes ago, the church that was here just happened to be burned down.”

“The Guardians knew I’d hidden it here,” I said, nodding my head forward into my hands. Thad lifted a finger.

“But there’s the good news,” he said. “They must not have found the Blade, or else they’d have used it on you by now, right? I mean, isn’t that the whole point?”

He pointed his fork at me. “Think like them. They have to keep killing you every seventeen years. If they had the Blade, and that’d make you die once and for all, they’d have gotten rid of you with it last time.”

“Good point,” I admitted. Maybe the Guardians had given up on their search, thinking that I’d hidden it somewhere else. Hope was having a hard time seeping through the shutters, but I accepted whatever little bit I could get.

“So where is it now?” Callista pressed. Thad swallowed his mouthful down.

“I read a little more,” he continued. “After the church was burned down, all of the relics and anything important were retrieved and moved.”

Callista’s fork scraped against her plate.

“So the Blade is just hidden with all the old stuff,” she said when it hit her.

Thad nodded deeply, too glowing for what he was about to say to be bad news

“They took it all north,” he said with excitement. “Everything is being stored at the Cathedral Of Saint Helen in a little town called Lodi.”

“And nobody ever thought otherwise,” I said, a thrill of relief driving through my heart. For once, fate appeared to be working in our favor. I shoveled a bite of my food into my mouth as some type of victory stab.

“Let’s get there fast,” I told them through my full mouth. “We can make it tonight.”

“Flying might not be the best idea,” Callista broke in. “It’s too much of a risk. All it takes is one Guardian or Chosen still hanging around this area to spot us, and it’s all over.”

It could have been the usual, paranoid Callista-speak that Thad and I were learning to ignore. However, we contemplated her words for a bit, and she was probably right. It wouldn’t be smart to take any unneeded risks now, not when we were so close and were still undiscovered.

“Dangit.” I grumbled loudly. “This is one of those rare occasions when Callista is right.”

The way she glared at me, I knew if I’d been sitting in range I’d have gotten punched.

“So let’s stay as much under the radar as we can,” I went on. “We’ll sleep tonight and drive it early tomorrow.”

None of us were interested in finishing our meals, not now that we’d found a lead and were too eager to concentrate on something so mundane. But we gobbled down our food because we were all getting tired of little but albacore tuna and crackers back at the house. I paid with one of the $100 bills, Callista and Thad sending me curious glances when I produced the money. We climbed into our cars and drove back to the house with few words passing between us. Anytime one of us tried to start a conversation, it would end abruptly. Pretty soon we gave up on trying, and separated throughout the house.

We went to our rooms early, knowing that we’d need rest to face whatever was coming the next day. When I heard the last of their doors closing but found myself turning over in the bed repeatedly for hours, I turning onto my back and stared at the ceiling, trying to sort through my thoughts.

Restlessness held me like the grip of noose, choking any sense of peace out of me that might have led me to sleep. The house had become unsettlingly quiet, the missing hum of my bedroom ceiling fan causing the room to feel even more vacant. It was just too big of a bed, the walls were too far away. There were none of my familiar photos on the walls either, those faces that most people might be frightened by in the middle of the night but I found strangely comforting. Maybe reading their eyes had made me feel like I wasn’t so alone in my room. Or maybe they’d just reassured me that I was home.

I occupied myself by flexing my hands, claws slipping in and out like familiar allies. How quickly they’d become commonplace. With them had also appeared the scale-like armor over my hands. I scratched the outside of my left hand with my right claws but the metal shield refused to budge. I didn’t feel the razors even when they touched the scales. Stupidly I tried the claw against my lower arm, wincing when they sliced through. I grabbed my hand tightly as a thin sliver of blood appeared, claws retracting immediately. Bright idea, Michael…

What had I turned into? Did my power to read eyes play any part—had it been a forewarning of what I would transform into? Mr. Sharpe hadn’t had that ability. Why was I different?

I kept falling into that endless rut of questioning. Usually on nights like this, I would wander out and take pictures of people as they walked through the parks or up and down the sidewalks. I thought about how simple life had once been. There hadn’t been deaths and chases and plane crashes. There’d been work and school and sneaking out. My mom was yelling was the worst I’d ever gotten sometimes. I missed Arleta, but I missed my family even more.

What would it hurt? my untrustworthy mind began to wonder. Arleta was so close to where I was, so much that it ached just thinking about how few minutes it would take me in flight to get there. And besides, we were driving a long way in the morning. Who knew? Tonight might be my last night in Los Angeles for a while.

As soon as my mind was made up, I planned my escape. Callista and Thad couldn’t know: never in a million years would they let me go. But I was confident that if I crossed the city under cover of night, I would be safe enough, and they wouldn’t even notice.

I locked my bedroom door as a safeguard, checking to make sure there was no turquoise glow underneath—Callista wasn’t in the hall. I parted the curtains and blinds as quietly as I could. With careful fingers, I unlocked the window, wrestled the screen inside, and stepped onto the sill.

A cool breeze hit my face as I stood unsteadily, letting the air awaken me and clear my senses. Was this really a good idea?

I refused to let indecision get the best of me. So I jumped.

I fell a few inches, many more than I had intended. The rush of air sent a similar rush through my heart. I yanked at whatever invisible muscle controlled my powers, catching the air inches before the yard would have arrived. Bushes and trees muddled the shadow I cast on the ground.

Time was nothing to me as I wandered through the sky, tossing cares from my shoulders one-by-one and letting them shatter on the ground far below. The sight of the glittering city was familiar to me now, but still no less dazzling as I soared over Los Angeles and its cars and buildings, most of them powered down like sleeping robots. I kept below the clouds so that I could watch my path, struggling at first but soon falling into a natural autopilot.

Arleta did not shine nearly as brightly as Los Angeles did. I had to fly lower if I wanted to touch those old rooftops, the smell of lawn mower gasoline and road tar and car exhaust invading my nose. But that odor was such a holy sting. It reeked of plainness. I knew those broken streetlights in uneven lines, the old cars on the curbs and on concrete blocks in driveways, the grass not mowed, the badly-painted houses, the dirty pools, the wild dogs barking at the newly risen moon.

And the blue bug zappers! I could not physically hear them from as high as I was but my mind could still place their unmistakable buzz as I flew over, hearing voices from people sitting on a porch. Nothing here was fake. Insincerity died before it could crawl to Arleta.

I flew just over the tops of the cars, everything unchanged but appearing different from above. Branford Park was empty except for some stragglers smoking on a bench. I kept turning corners until I got to Hogan Lane and saw my house.

Gone were the thoughts of the glorious mansion I’d just left, the dream car that I had driven, and the bricks of cash. Nothing compared to the plain wooden sides, the regular door handle, and the red chimney with its broken bricks. I didn’t care that we had cheap plastic blinds on our windows—I flew to my house like it was a treasure, landing on the roof with excitement.

The sound of the shingles cracking under my shoes brought joy to my ears. Every Independence Day, my family would pull out the long ladder and climb onto the roof to watch fireworks unopposed by the outlines of trees and neighboring houses. We would sit with our backs to the chimney and watch as the colors exploded into our faces. Alli would point into the sky trying to guess where the next ones would go off, so it would look like she was doing some sort of wicked magic in the air.

But July 4th was a long time away. I was by myself on the roof. I took a deep breath of the air and let it out slowly. If only I could put that Arleta air into bags and carry it with me, all of the danger I ever faced might be weakened.

I walked to the edge of the roof but there was no ladder. So I hopped off and let my powers lower me gently, wanting to peek in to my sister’s window. But the moon reflected on the glass and her blinds were closed. I touched the window to see if I could catch just a small peek, and I was surprised to find that it moved. Alli had left it unlocked.

A thousand thoughts went through my head at once. Did she actually think that I had sneaked out and would need to get back in secretly? I knew her too well to think otherwise: of course Alli would hope for that. Even after all the days that I’d been gone, and after they’d surely become convinced that I was either kidnapped or dead, she would still leave her window unlocked, hoping for me to return. She watched out for me even when I had abandoned her.

With my free hand, I slowly lifted the windowpane as silently as I could, pushing the blinds apart with my foot and stepping in. I could feel the air conditioning as I crawled through: I felt guilty for that. My mom must have had more important things to think about than the electricity now.

By crossing through the window, I immediately stepped back into my old world, covered by blackness but my eyes still recognizing every detail. Alli had a cheap desk that was exactly like mine—a two for one deal at a garage sale. She had tiny shelves crammed with pink book covers from her aunts, zombie comics hidden in the back. Her bed was in the corner of the square room.

Alli was under the sheets but had her thick blanket pushed against the wall, lying on her side so that she was facing me—fast asleep. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her until I actually saw her. A heavy lump formed in my throat that I just couldn’t get down no matter how many times I swallowed it. She slept so peacefully. I knew she had been worried for me though, because her bed was littered with books and a flashlight, and she had likely been restless until a short time before I’d arrived.

I knelt beside her bed, careful not to jar the mattress. With claws and scales gone, I now looked just as human as I’d always been, and suddenly felt like it too. I lay my head as gently as I could across from hers, listening to her breath and watching her still and silent face.

How can she rest safely when there were things like me around? This torturous question plagued my mind. How could people like her and my mom just go on living, millions like them too, never having any idea that they were slaves at the whim of creatures I didn’t venture to think were fully human. Was it better that way? Could it be a good thing for Alli to go on living blind and having no idea what was out there?

I remembered something Alli had told me before: monsters are never as scary if they eat you before you see them.

She took a deep breath and let it out in her sleep. I hoped that she was dreaming of something sweet – of riding in fancy cars and living in mansions and flying above the city. She deserved those dreams more than I did.

Part of me wanted to slap myself as I slipped into the sad and sentimental. But I argued straight back at whatever caused those voices, demanding to know why I wasn’t allowed to miss my family, why I wasn’t allowed to wish that I could just be normal again. There wasn’t anything wrong with normal.

“There isn’t anything wrong with normal?” it screamed. What’s happened to you? Where’s the Michael who loathed the very basis of the word normal, who hated the abyss of ordinary that sucked almost everyone around you in?

Normal? it spat. All along, you’ve never even been human.

I couldn’t take its vicious onslaught so I arose and passed through the doorway. Unlike the mansion, the walls of our balcony were plastered by framed family photographs and mementoes, no shortage of smiling faces and captured moments of excitement as I walked. Most of our family pictures had been taken by my mom until I’d gotten older and picked up my own camera. Then, I took most of them. It was easy to tell the difference: my photography was clean, all my mom’s were crooked and some had heads cropped off.

Since I was already in the house, I didn’t think it would hurt to stick around for a little while longer. I checked in through my mom’s open door. She was in bed too. Her hand clutched the cordless phone, tired bags beneath her eyes, random papers in a clutter around her on the sheets. I guessed she was waiting on a phone call, hoping the police would find me.

Part of me wanted to leave a short note that might comfort her. But I knew that might only open a lifetime full of questions for her. And worse, she’d never understand why she couldn’t go to the police.

I ventured back down the hall, prepared to leave but seeing my own bedroom door at the end. It stood welcoming me like an old friend I’d almost forgotten to visit while I was in town..

My door was closed and as it had a squeaky hinge, I felt only safe enough to open it a few inches and push myself through.

Everything was exactly as I’d left it. The piles of papers all over the desk, socks littered around the chair, camera lenses and tripods and lights…no one had moved a thing. Even my bed, which I had left unmade on that fateful Sunday morning, still had its sheets pulled back.

And my photographs—not a single one was missing from my Great Work. I sat on my bed and its springs creaked. A gentle whirr continued from the ceiling fan above my head. Even it said hello.

It was like I had traveled back in time. The world seemed to say that if I only crawled back in to my own bed and fell asleep, I’d awaken in the morning to the sound of my mom knocking on the door, yelling for me to hurry up and get to school. I’d go out to my car and it’d be parked there, just like always. I’d see Spud at school and we’d argue about why we never got dates. I’d drive home, edit some photos. I’d sneak out to see a client. My mom would act like she didn’t know. I’d sleep again. Repeat forever.

As if to shatter this possibility though, my hand—which had been absently running across my desk—uncovered the newspaper article with Callista’s face on it.

I couldn’t look at it. I covered it again, and left.

I headed back for my sister’s window, but when I reached her bed I stopped and knelt again, just wanting one more minute. I would have stayed all night if I didn’t feel like a prodigal serpent attracting danger to this holy place.

I sighed. A lock of hair was in Alli’s eyes so I reached to brush it away.

Suddenly, her hand slammed down, and before I could react, she’d grabbed hold of my wrist in an unbreakable grip. Her eyes flew open, and I was caught.

Alli swung up from the pillow and slapped me across the face with her other hand. The sound of the strike clicked off the walls like a tiny firecracker.

“You jerk!” she hissed. “How could you do this, Michael!?”

Her voice was a type of screaming whisper, as low as she could manage in her fury. The darkness did little to cover her reddened face and eyes brimming with tears, seething through her teeth in rage and hurt.

“I didn’t—!” but she wouldn’t let me get more than that out before she slapped me again.

“I’ve cried for you for days!” she said. “Mom and I thought you were dead.”

I finally freed myself from her grip, grabbing both of her wrists before she could hit me again, holding them down as she fought me. She was a mess of tears and fury, struggling to breath and to keep quiet at the same time but failing miserably at both.

“Shh!” I commanded. “Don’t wake Mom up!”

She wrenched herself free, feet getting tangled in the bed sheets as she tried to sit up. I got one more strike, this time from the other direction.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Have you been out on some job all this time? Because if you have then I’m going to tell Mom.”

It was the strongest menace she could muster. Her hair was in chaos over her shoulders, strands of it sticking to the tears on her cheeks. I was still in shock—everything had happened so fast, and now that I’d heard her voice for what felt like the first time in forever, I didn’t know how to react.

There was really no easy answer to her question, either. I sighed and sat deeper on the bed, pushing my legs up from the floor: she wanted to know I wasn’t going to bolt.

“You didn’t even call,” she said accusingly. “You didn’t send me one text.”

“I didn’t have my phone,” I said weakly. That only made her angrier.

“What sort of a lame excuse is that?” she replied with shoulders lifted in disbelief. “They still have pay phones. I don’t care if you’re in trouble or you’ve killed somebody or if you can’t talk to mom. But you call me.”

She broke down after that. She didn’t weep or sob, but her head fell forward weakly, like there was no more energy left to fuel her anger. She pulled her knees up close to her chest like they might protect her, laying her forehead on them and creating a wall between her and I.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster. No words would equal the apology I wished I could have said. What confession could I offer that would make up for the pain that she was in? I had abandoned her. I’d disappeared and let them come to their own conclusions. Even if I was running away—even if I’d planned to kill myself—I’d have left a note. Somehow I’d plucked myself from one world and moved to another, and forgotten the fissure my absence would create.

Her back pressed against the wall, eyes staring at me over the tops of her arms. She wanted more of an explanation. There was no way I was going to give her one—I didn’t care how much she begged, how much she cried or hit me, I was not dragging her in to the peril I’d found myself in.

So I said nothing. Eventually she picked up on my silence and tried to break me down with her gaze, but I still refused.

“How did you get in my window without a ladder?” she asked instead, voice muffled into her knee. She was trying to keep her eyebrows narrowed at me, though her relief at seeing me again was beginning to wear down her wrath.

“I climbed,” I said, reaching to brush away the hair that was stuck to her face.

“You’re not part spider now, are you?” she asked, only with half sarcasm. I sniffed.

“I think that’s more ninja than anything,” I replied. She let out a slow breath, looking away from me and then back again.

“Don’t try to make me laugh,” she said. “I’m still mad at you. Why’d you go?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said.

“Then what should we talk about?” she asked with an irritated shrug. “You just disappear and make us think you’ve been kidnapped. The police think you’ve just run off because of the car crash and won’t do much to help us. Mom’s been trying to hack into your computer for days now to find your clients.”

“Any luck?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Alli said. “Mom can barely type.”

I sniffed in amusement. It was true: she hated most computers.

“Then she wanted your cell phone to dig in that,” Alli went on. “She told me if she could find it, she knew the password because she’d seen it over your shoulder: 3140.”

What was up with my mom always being a step ahead of me? All at once the pages of data and contact lists and snapshots I’d collected on my phone rolled through my head. And worse, I hadn’t cleared my web history from reading Father Lonnie’s blog.

Alli stared at me strangely. “You look nervous.”

“Did she get it open?” I insisted. “Don’t look at me that way, what happened?”

Alli pressed her lips together, suddenly enjoying this control, or rather the fact that she was finally wreaking her vengeance. When my face didn’t soften, she relented.

“No,” Alli admitted. “She never found your phone, because when she told me that, I went in your room and hid it.”

Alli reached across the blanket and past me to her tiny bedside table, sliding the drawer open. Inside and beneath some papers was a small rectangular object that I knew very well. I dove to take it but she snatched it out before I could.

“What was she gonna find if she did?” Alli said, putting the phone behind her back.

“Just give it to me!”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Alli pressed.

“I just can’t.”

“You know I can keep secrets,” she told me.

“This is bigger than a secret,” I said. That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, but it was all I had.

Silence fell over us both again, Alli full of questions and me holding answers that I wished I could tell her. I shouldn’t have even come back. Now Alli was a partner in crime, now she’d have to keep a secret as my mom went on searching, begging for someone to help find me, wondering if I might be dead. Alli would have to watch all that. And I knew she’d go on keeping the secret anyway, no matter how much it tore her up inside.

“Alright,” she gave up, voice breaking. She dumped the cell phone into my lap.

“Now I promise I won’t tell,” she said hoarsely. “But you can’t disappear. I won’t ask questions or try to find out what’s going on, but you can’t disappear.”

I gripped the cell phone tightly, pulling Alli close to me in an embrace—we never did that, but it just felt right. I didn’t want to let her go. But I knew that I couldn’t stay. Every moment that I lingered only brought more danger into that house.

She let me pull away from her. I could see in her eyes that it was far too soon. She looked panicked when my feet touched the floor again.

We didn’t bid each other farewell because to say the words would have held too much finality. When I got to the window, I turned the cell phone on and held it up, waving the colored light over her face like it was a tiny flashlight, then shining it on the floor as I mimicked sweeping my tracks away. She finally grinned back at me. I climbed out the window, and heard the blinds clatter back into place behind me.

I swung myself to the side and out of her window’s view before I allowed my powers to lift me higher, whirling to the rooftop. I waited there, hands clutching the edge until I heard the sound of her window sliding shut. I knew she’d be watching there, hoping to see which direction my shadow would run. She wouldn’t think to look to the sky.

When I was certain she’d finally given up and left the glass, I sat up. Part of me hoped that by the next morning, it’d be like I’d never been there. She’d wake up and doubt herself, thinking that my return had all been a dream. Even if my mom or the police squeezed it out of her, they’d say it was delusions too. I figured I was safe enough.

“Having trouble sleeping?” came a sudden voice from behind me.

It scraped up my spine like a hairbrush of nails. I spun around, hands out at once with claws and scales following in the same second, hovering at the ready.

Sitting in the shadow of the chimney was a man with white eyebrows, the same man I’d twice seen in my nightmares: Wyck.