Chapter Two

Chapter 2

            “At least you’re going to college. It’s like there’s this whole big world laid out for you, places you can go, you can be anything.”

            Tahlia scoffs and quirks an eyebrow at me, “Sure. So many doors, wide open, for single mothers.” She gives the toddler in her arms a little squeeze before putting him in the stroller, “May I remind you, that you can go to college too, if you so choose.” She throws her arms wide, “Someday my son all this will be yours!”

            “Wot, the curtains?” I squawked.

            I babysit for Tahlia while she attends college courses some afternoons.

            “Where are you two headed?” She asks.

            “The comic store, Aiden likes the World at War figurines.”

            She grimaces, “Orcs and gremlins, gross! I guess you’re excited to see Michael.” I ignore that. She buckles Aiden in, checks the straps, and pulls his jacket a little tighter.

            “Please be careful.” She says to me before turning back to the smallest human present, “ I’ll miss you every moment I’m gone.”

            “I promise, I promise, now get gone or you’ll be late. Hey short stack.” I lean over the stroller and ruffle Aiden’s baby fine blonde curls.

            When we get to the comic book store I secure the stroller with a bike chain, Mike hates it when I bring the behemoth through his narrow aisles. Just thinking his name causes that irritating butterfly wing sensation in my stomach. Which is embarrassing, he is probably 29 and I am still a senior in high school.

            “Come on kiddo.” I unlatch the almost two year old and hold him just above my hip. He babbles on, something about a puppy across the street. All dogs are puppies. There are still two letters missing on the sign gracing the awning. Once we are inside Aiden wants to touch everything. I produce two toy cars from my jacket pocket to occupy his busy little hands. No sight of Mike. I quell the disappointment I feel and proceed to walk around the shop. Aiden is super wiggly and eventually I let him walk beside me, holding on to his little wrist. He makes car noises. I can’t tell if they are racing or crashing, maybe both.

            I don’t know when I stopped holding onto his wrist, one minute he was with me the next I was absorbed in a manga novel and it had become conspicuously quiet. I look down to find him gone, at first there is no panic; we come here often and he’s a smart little kid. Surely, he is by the display case leaving his small smudgy handprints on the glass.

            “Hey Mitch.”

            Mike looks the same as always; long, chestnut brown hair tied back, gauged ears, snarky tee-shirt. “Chillin with my Gnomies” with very hip hop looking garden gnomes lined up under the caption. Now is not the time to be distracted. The space in front of the glass casing is clear, no way to tell if the hand prints are new. Panic settles like a lead weight. Then delighted little kid laughter comes from the entrance, and there he is standing with a friendly looking middle-aged man who is holding out an unwrapped Lolli-pop. Relief floods my system, not one hair of his, still too big for his body, head out of place. My relief turns to horror as the man grabs Aiden’s hand and leads him out onto the sidewalk. I am running before I can think to do so.

            “Hey!” I shout after them. Now the man is moving as fast as he can, somewhat hindered by leading the child away. Thankfully he does not think to scoop Aiden up. I gain on them quickly, just as the man reaches an old station wagon and fumbles for his keys. I react and use my momentum to launch into a running jump kick I have not done since kung fu class when I was ten. The arch and heel of my boot connect with the man’s head and he goes down.

            I barely register the sick crack the man’s head makes when it meets the concrete, all of my attention is on Aiden and I pull him up into my arms and hug him to my chest. He pats my cheek with his free hand, his other clutching the lolli he is sucking on. Oddly, he seems just fine. I realize Mike is kneeling beside the man feeling for a pulse. By the grim expression on his face he is having no luck finding one.

            “Mitch, this is bad.” The look of concern on his face is for me and not for the dead man on the sidewalk, “Get out of here I’ll make up some story for the cops.”

            Police.

             I pull out my phone.

            “No.” I said. I dialed 911.

            There is a group of people congregating around us.

            “Take Aiden and go inside. Please.” I add as an afterthought, as I hand him over to Mike and kneel next to the man.

            The emergency operator’s voice is crisp and efficient as she asks what my emergency is.

            “I need and ambulance, I just killed someone.” With the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear I start CPR, knowing it is hopeless. I tell her my story continuing CPR to the beat of ‘Staying Alive’ the way I’d been taught in lifeguard training. I am a lifeguard most summers and now I have taken a life.

            And then something right out of a horror movie happens. His hand grabs my wrist, I nearly jump out of my skin. His eyes open, his sclera glow bright blue. A raspy voice comes from his mouth.

            “Daughter of shadows, I give you eyes to see, ears to hear and hands to touch the things that are unknown.”

            With one last long death rattle, he lays still, his hand falls back and his ordinary green eyes stare at the sky.

            The room they take me to is different than I expect. No two-way mirror, no concrete walls or metal table. Instead it is a normal conference room. A long solid oak table that seats maybe 16, muted Orange walls, and black cupboards. A man who introduces himself as Deputy Halstead hands me a clear plastic cup of water. Tahlia had been called and Aiden was with her, I wasn’t sure where. Mike holds my hand. The Deputy and some detective in a suit, who’s name I can not remember, listen as I tell them what happened. (Minus the bit about the talking dead guy.) I tell them three times and answer all of their questions.

            Mike tells his version of events too. Weren’t they supposed to separate us for questioning? Finally, after what seems like hours a third person comes in.

            “We’ve reviewed the security footage from the comic shop and a few other store fronts. It seems cut and dry that you were stopping a kidnapping, we will encourage the DA to file this as self-defense. We thank you for your time and cooperation. It would be very smart for you not to leave the area, we’ll call you in if we have any more questions. For now, you’re free to go.”

            Just like that.

            The weight rolls off my shoulders in droves. Mike helps me to my feet.

            “Thank you.” I say to the deputy, detective, and whoever this third stranger was and make my way timidly to the door. I expect someone to stop me before I reach it, surely someone will change their mind and I will be incarcerated.

            “One thing Miss Mathews…”

            I flinch and my shoulders tighten.

            “We weren’t able to locate a parent or guardian.”

            Of course not, Phil has better things to do than be there when I need him.

            “As you just turned 18 this isn’t a problem. I do hope you have a good support system. You’re going to need one.”

            I nod and Mike squeezes my shoulder in reassurance as we walk to the lobby. There is Aiden asleep in his stroller and Tahlia standing right beside. She is it, my support system. I can rely on maybe three people in the world; Tahlia, Mike, and Dave. I quicken my pace so I can find comfort in my friend’s arms.

            The smack of her hand against my cheek resonates in my ears. I stand there and blink, unable to process this. The noise wakes Aiden and the sound of his crying mingles with Tahlia’s outrage.

            “Children aren’t supposed to witness people being KILLED in front of them! You almost lost my baby to a stranger. I trusted you to look after him and you just LET HIM WANDER OFF on his OWN!”

I let the steady stream of her anger wash over me without registering the meaning of her words. The Police give us privacy while Mike intervenes. It is no easy feat, she is two inches from my face, he puts himself physically between us and takes my hand.

            “Tahlia enough.” He is all calm and peace, his voice a soothing balm, “It’s been one hell of a day. If you really need to chew her out it can wait until tomorrow. Take your son home. Be grateful that you can.” He puts some weight behind that last sentence. Then with a gentle hand he brushes her to one side of the exit and pulls me out into the parking lot. He pulls his jacket off and places it around my shoulders. I am not cold. I feel… nothing, utterly numb as if my body is unsubstantial and I can just fade into the darkness.

            Mike is calling a cab, we stand in silence until it arrives.

            The cabby is chatty.

            “Looks like you two have had one hell of a night.” When his observation garners no response he continues, “I’ve been lucky enough to have never set foot inside that building, or a courtroom for that matter. Been called to plenty of both though. Usually small things. Domestic violence, drunk driving, some barroom scuffles.”

            Oh, trifles. At least my sarcasm has not left me. Or Mike. While the cabby launches into a story I glance surreptitiously to my left where Mike appears to be nodding off. I wonder if I will sleep at all tonight.

            “…Launched himself over the table. Finally, the bar tender saw fit…”

            I stare out the window until I feel the car pull over.

            Mike pays the man, “Thank you for the ride and the fascinating conversation.”

            I lean forward to tell the cabby my address, but am interrupted.

            “Now, I know you’re aching to go home to Phil, but consider instead coming inside with me? I’ll put on some coffee, we’ll talk, or not; your choice. Then I’ll drive you home when you’re ready.”

            “Thank you-” I look at the cabby’s name plate, “Leonce. Have a pleasant evening.”

             I follow Mike through the store front and to the back stairs, sectioned off with cording and a sign, “Employees only.”

            Mike has no employees. I have always wondered what his loft was like, now I wish it is under better circumstances that I will find out.

            Mike adopts a saccharine sweet falsetto, “Have a pleasant evening Leonce. You sound like my aunt Mildred.”

            I snort, “You do not have an Aunt Mildred!”

            He smiles and unlocks the door. I watch from the doorway as he enters and starts puttering around the kitchen. He puts a kettle on. I purse my lips together.

            “You promised coffee.”

            “French press.”

            Oh.

            “There are no booby traps, or land mines or anything.” He holds his arms wide as if to say, ‘See I’m still standing.’

            I carefully step inside and close the door behind me.

            I wonder where his bedroom is. My cheeks flush and I feel ashamed to be wondering about such things at the end of a day like today. I had killed someone. Aiden was safe, but that didn’t negate my actions. There had to have been another way. My best friend now hated me. I am being taken care of by a man who I’ve known all my life, but really shouldn’t have cause to care. I hadn’t called Phil. What if Dave read about this in the news and I lost my job? How would Phil and I manage? The man’s grey face flashes into my mind and I fold into myself and sit hard on the linoleum floor. I can’t breathe. Tears streak down my face, I sob soundlessly.

            I feel a hand on my back and I flinch. I don’t like to cry in front of people, never had before, it feels like weakness. I am anything but weak, I’d been taking care of myself for years, working and studying and holding myself accountable. Now I can’t even stand up. As if he knows his compassion will undo me Michael draws his hand away and leaves me alone.

            I don’t know how long it takes to pull myself together. When I stop crying I am a phlegmy mess. There is a box of tissues sitting on the floor next to my left knee. I wipe my face and blow my nose.

            Deep breath in, deep breath out.

            There is the clinking sound of plates and glasses being placed on a wood table.

            Deep breath in, deep breath out.

            His walls are sage green. There is a framed photo collage of all his regular customers taking up space over the mantle of an electric fire place.

            Deep breath in, deep breath out.

            Chair legs scrape across the floor.

            I stand awkwardly, my legs are shaky as if I just had the stomach flu. I don’t look at Michael as I sit down at the table.

            “This is a lot of food.” Am I whining?

            My stomach feels leaden.

            “You’re welcome.”

             A laugh bubbles out of my throat.

            A full breakfast is spread out on serving plates between us.

            “Pancakes too.”

            “My full repertoire. Only the best for you kid.”

            There is a kind smile on his face as I meet his eyes. He clears his throat and digs in. I follow his lead.

            Once I start eating I don’t stop until all of my food is gone. I hadn’t eaten all day, it wasn’t uncommon of me to skip meals. Cooking takes effort, too much effort when you are the only one eating.

            We finish our meal in silence and when we no longer have the food to occupy our hands the silence grows loud between us.

            Michael tips his chair back and balances it on two legs.

            “So.” He clears his throat, “I need to know what he said.”

            I tilt my head to the side, my brows furrowed, “Leonce?”

            He buries his face in his hands exasperated. His pony tail spreads out behind his shoulders as he shakes his head.

            “The dead guy.”

            I drop my mug.