Awakenings (16 page)

“Show them,” Cal tried to shout, but heard only a whisper of himself.

“Show them what?” the young man said.

“My lord, magic is in short supply on this earth. My illusion has a high casting cost…”

“Show them,” he whispered again.

The sensation of rising reversed itself. He fell through his own body, like Icarus from a blackened sky into an infinite achromatic sea. Such was the speed of his descent, the burn of the wind against his cheeks and forehead, that he lost all confidence in the knowledge this was a mental, not a physical, realm. The wind song deafened him. He thrust his arms before his face and shut his eyes tight in anticipation of the impact. And then silence.

He opened his eyes. His face was nestled in a silk pillow, his arms underneath it. He was in a perfumed feather bed with satin sheets. A soft hand touched his cheek. He looked to his side and there was Chryslantha, naked. He, too, was undressed. She rolled beside him, put her arms around his neck and straddled him with a smooth ivory leg.

“Let us finish the lesson, my lord,” she said, and kissed him.

CHAPTER 10

SCHOOL AND HARD KNOCKS

1

Daniel awoke with a start. He was on the floor, back to the door, sitting in a puddle of his own urine. He opened the one eye that wasn’t swollen and encrusted. His muscles ached, including some that hadn’t been hit. He’d slept (if one could call it sleep) in an awkward position for most of the night. The tendons between his neck and left shoulder felt as if they’d been cut short and resoldered, and when he turned his head it was as though an embedded pick was jabbing at his sinews.

The dawn rays streamed through the blinds. The golden dust in the slanted beams danced and shimmered. His aching fingers were swollen and stiff. Slowly, the boy unbuttoned his shirt, wincing every so often from the pain. He had to sit on the bed to pull his pants off. When he was done, he took a moment to catch his breath. He opened the door to his room without apprehension. Clyde would be dead asleep at this hour.

Daniel slipped quietly into the bathroom, ran his trousers under the shower and wrung them before throwing them in the hamper. Then he stepped under the water and let the hot droplets pelt him. They stung as they hit the purple tie-dyed landscape of his skin. He cooled the water with a twist of the knob and remained a statue. His rib hurt when he turned, he maneuvered the soap across his body with mannequin-like perfection. He couldn’t bend two fingers. Daniel put the wooded handle of the back washer between his teeth, grabbed one of the fingers and pulled until it popped into place. His brain swam in Tabasco for a moment until the finger settled into its slot. He did the same for the other finger—suddenly the floor of the tub rose toward him. He caught the edge of the tub with the last of his strength. Eyes closed, cheek on the porcelain, he was aware of the water dancing on his back. Daniel lay there, breathing the mildew on the grout until the spots in his head subsided. He only needed a few minutes.

Walking back to his room, Daniel froze outside his parents’ slightly ajar bedroom door. He cocked his head just enough to peek in and confirm that Clyde was still passed out on the bed. The brute was on his back, head slightly off the bed and skewed downward, exposing his throat like he hadn’t an enemy in the world.
This was the hour,
Daniel thought … if he ever wanted to do Clyde in, a razor across the throat in the early morning would be perfect. Like a vampire in its morning coffin, nothing would stir this monster before the act was accomplished. Clyde would sleep through his own bloodletting. But Daniel believed Clyde’s end would come sooner than later—that aside from the possibility of getting hit on the road while drunk or being knifed in prison some day, Clyde’s cause of death could likely be massive liver failure. So, Daniel moved on.

He dressed his wounds with some gauze wrap and an Ace bandage and went down to the kitchen. Penny sat at the table while Rita rinsed breakfast dishes in the sink. Rita kept a cigarette dry between her right index and middle fingers as she washed and maneuvered the sponge between her thumb and the last two digits of her hand.

“There’s no eggs left,” Rita said, without turning to see who it was.

Daniel poured himself a bowl of Cheerios and opened the fridge.

“We’re out of milk,” Rita added, with an edge.

Daniel realized he’d forgotten to buy groceries last night. He pulled the Brita from the top shelf and ate his Cheerios with water.

As Rita turned, she avoided eye contact. Daniel stared at her, daring her with his mind to notice the bruises. It was a game he played where he pretended to have telepathic powers and used them to help Rita notice the obvious.

“The principal called about some desks yesterday,” Rita said.

“Yeah. Clyde already discussed it with me.”

Rita turned and looked at him with that strange interest in trivial things one has when stirred by emotions for which one cannot find expression.

“Five hundred dollars is a lot of money,” she said. “You know your father’s out of work.”

“Can’t find a job, huh?” Daniel stressed.

Rita directed an agitated nod to the staircase and relaxed only when she confirmed it was vacant.

“Don’t talk like that,” she snapped. “I swear, Danny … you bring things on yourself. Don’t write on the tables, don’t sass your teachers … just don’t do anything.”

“I could sit in a closet all day.”

“Clyde’s trying.”

“He’s a short anchor and we’re a leaky rowboat, Mom.”

Rita glanced at the stairs again.

“When was the last time Clyde rolled out of bed before eleven o’clock?”

“You ought to be a little more grateful.”

“How can I? I remember Dad. Clyde doesn’t measure up.”

“Right, it’s all
my
fault,” Rita shot back.

“No, I didn’t mean…” Daniel regretted setting her in motion, something he knew better than to do.

“You think I planned to be a widow at thirty-three? Think it’s easy starting over, alone, with a young child?”

He’d heard Rita’s lament a dozen times, her shield against her own poor decisions. Daniel was only eight when Rita married Clyde. Too young to have a clue about his future stepfather’s alcoholic and abusive nature. The truth that Rita never owned up to was that it was her fault; she had surrendered to loneliness.

“Mom…” She was shaking, and true to form, would soon be prying the cap off a bottle of mother’s little helpers. Disturbed by the argument, Penny looked ready to bawl. Mr. Biggles lay on the floor by her high chair. Daniel picked it up and shook it before her with a smile. She grabbed the bear and squeezed it like a life preserver.

“We’ve got a roof over our heads,” Rita continued. “There’s food on the table…”

Yeah, thanks to me,
Daniel thought.

“If you don’t like it here, you can join the Marines. I’ll sign the papers.”

“Mom…”

Rita headed toward the stairs in a huff and stopped short of ascending. She stared at the top landing, then around the room, looking trapped where she stood. Her drugs were in the bedroom.

“I’m doing laundry,” she said and headed for the basement. “You got anything needs washing?”

It was an innocent question, but it stung like a wasp. “In the hamper.”

Penny, who wore as much food as she’d eaten, banged the table with a spoon. She moved her face around playfully as Daniel tried to wipe it with a napkin. “You need to change your clothes,” he said.

“No,” she giggled.

“No? That’s a pretty powerful word for such a small girl.”

“No.”

“And you need to take a bath.”

“No,” she said again. She was in a good mood, just giving the word a test drive as she determined the limits of her power.

“Give me a kiss,” Daniel said.

“No.” She shook her head until it became a blur.

“Please.”

“No.”

“How about a hug?”

Penny gave Mr. Biggles a bear hug and thrashed side to side like she would love him to death.

“Not Biggles … me,” he said.

“No,” she said.

Daniel stopped coaxing. The toy glared at him, locked within Penny’s arms. It disturbed him that he envied the bear.

2

Someone had replaced Daniel’s desk in Algebra. On close inspection, though, Daniel realized it was his old desk after all. The top had been sanded down and restained with two coats of varnish. It was a half-assed, sloppy job. He could still see some remnants of the old grooves from his drawings. There weren’t going to be any new desks. The realization gnawed at his gut. He could have refurbished all the desks himself for less than fifty dollars.

Katie Millar sat next to him. It was the only class they shared this year, an unexpected result of Daniel having gotten into many advanced courses. Fortunately, he sucked at math.

Katie wore a white turtleneck, but it couldn’t completely hide the purple blotch that adorned her neck this morning. His heart sank at the thought of her with Josh; a spoiled, rich brat who probably had more than one girl and didn’t care for any of them. Daniel daydreamed about the purple welts Katie could give him instead of the ones he drew from Clyde.

“I heard about your fight with the Grundys,” Katie said. “Looks like they gave as good as they got.”

“They never laid a hand on me.”

“That’s not what they said. Besides, you’re wearing the evidence.”

“This came from Clyde.”

“Oh,” she said. Katie turned away and searched for the day’s lesson in her textbook.

Once, Katie was Daniel’s Rock of Gibraltar. After one of Clyde’s tirades, they’d lie against the trunk of a willow, his head on her lap, and she stroked his hair while he imagined himself in another life. It’d been months since they last did that. She was under pressure from her parents not to associate with him outside of school anymore. Clyde had worked for her father at the meat plant until he had been caught stealing prime cuts by the caseload for black market sales. It was as a favor to Daniel on behalf of his daughter that Mr. Millar did not press charges on Clyde. As an adopted child, Daniel had no traceable pedigree and everyone soon realized his legal guardians were trash badly masked by a single coat of whitewash. As the semester moved on, Katie withdrew her emotional attachment, as though Daniel might sully her with his bad fortune. A vacuum had emerged that made the day-to-day harder to bear than ever before. Adrian was a good friend but had no strength to lend him. If Daniel was to survive, he had to find untapped reserves of his own to draw upon. His universe was closing in on him.

Mr. Napolitano walked in and began handing out the morning’s quiz, which Daniel had forgotten to study for.

“Mr. Hauer, your presence has been requested at the principal’s office,” the teacher said as he approached.

What now?
Daniel thought. He collected his books and stood.

“No, take the quiz first,” Napolitano said. “It should only take ten minutes if you know the material.”

3

Conklin’s secretary, Lacy McKnight, had taken a liking to Daniel. She told him he reminded her of her baby brother. Unlike the other delinquents who’d spent time in front of her desk, Daniel found her a pleasant presence in a school full of antagonists. She was powerless to change school policy or suspend detention, but would often sneak him cookies and tell him about the latest escapades of her little brother who was in the Navy and stationed in Italy. That someone was standing in his corner made the trip to Conklin’s easier to bear. Ms. McKnight treated him like family. Daniel would be sure to include her in his Oscar acceptance speech for Best Animated Short. Noticeably missing from the acknowledgments would be Clyde and Rita. Missing today was the jovial smile Lacy always greeted him with, an understanding that no matter what he did it was small potatoes in the world of great events and that everything would be okay no matter how much Conklin blustered. She shot Daniel a worried look as he approached. Daniel half felt he should turn around and run for his life. Raised voices emanated from the principal’s office.

“Look at you,” she said with a trace of mother hen.

“I’ll be fine.”

Lacy shook her head. “Go in.”

Conklin was talking to Jim Grundy and Darlene Lebeaux, his nemeses’ parents, and the local sheriff, Ed Maher, who wore his hat and sunglasses indoors and was, coincidently, the principal’s third cousin. Mr. Grundy had yet to reach thirty-five, but looked like he was pushing fifty. He wore a few days’ growth on his face and his emaciated thinness was emphasized by the stringy mullet he chose for his coif. Darlene was slightly older, but had a body as nubile as a woman half her age, which she tried to contain in the miniskirt she pulled on constantly because it was one size too small. Darlene was legendary among the boys in town. It was rumored that once a year she picked a graduate headed for military service and gave him a poke for good luck behind the strip club where she danced.

The parents sat on the couch, facing a chair reserved for Daniel. Conklin sat to his left, the sheriff to his right. Daniel realized he was on trial. Somehow, in the middle of this whole mess, Daniel had the wherewithal to realize that Darlene wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“S’that the little fucker?” Jim Grundy asked. “Sure’s hell took you long enough.”

“I had a test. Why am I here?”

“Why…? You whupped my boys!” Darlene said.

“There, there, Darlene,” Conklin said. He reached forward and patted her on the thigh. “Don’t get excited.”

“They attacked us,” Daniel said.

Conklin gave him a skeptical look. “Did you walk away from a conversation the Grundy boys were having with Adrian Lutz and then come back with a two-by-four post, which you then attacked them with?” he asked.

Reality had become skewed with that interpretation. A placid mood suddenly befell Daniel, like a shore when the tide withdraws before the onslaught of a tsunami. Daniel retreated to his mental battlement and took up arms. “Only if by
conversation
you mean Tony Soprano chatting with someone who’s late on a payment.”