Flight of Life (Essence Series #1) (21 page)

Hawk smiled, delighted that he
successfully angered Calloway. “I don’t blame him for what he did,”
he said. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with you either.”

“
I’m going to kill you!”
When Calloway gripped the desk before him he felt his knuckles pop
from intensity of the force. Anger was not a novel feeling to
Calloway but he’d never experienced it at such a high level.
Calloway stared him down and imagined snapping his neck,
permanently removing him from this plane. He wanted to make this
kid suffer—make him disappear. Calloway was exhausted from the
constant insults and comments. He didn’t do anything wrong. The
comment about his father made him snap. The authorities said his
father had been killed but a body was never recovered. It was all a
mystery and the suggestion that his father left him willingly was
too painful to think about. Even a decade later, Calloway still
thought about his father every day—he was always in his thoughts.
“I’ll make you regret saying that.”

Hawk leaned back in his chair. “Go
ahead,” he said. “Do your worst, Poverty Boy #2.”

Mr. Avey returned to the classroom and
stared at Calloway, who was still standing and gripping the edge of
the desk with a look of hatred on his face. Mr. Avey sighed. “I
can’t leave you two alone for even a moment,” he said. “Sit down,
Calloway.”

Calloway dropped into his seat and
faced the board. The pale color of his cheeks was replaced with the
fire of ferocity that coursed through his body, making his skin
redden. A line of sweat formed on his brow and dripped to his upper
lip. He’d never been so angry in his life. While Calloway sat in
his seat, bottling his rage, he reminisced about his father and
reflected on his memory of him. He admitted his father was
different than most other parents, other people. He spent a
majority of his time in his study, reading old manuscripts and
analyzing old history textbooks. As a historian that taught at
Fresno University, he dedicated his time to academia and research,
choosing to study the events of the past instead of living through
the happenings of the present. The lectures Calloway would sit
through were boring and uneventful, but he had to listen to his
father’s classes in silence because he was too young to stay at
home alone. He recalled watching his father walk across the room as
he explained the civilization of human history. The look on his
face was always animated when he spoke about his profession—he
loved his job. Sometimes Calloway wondered if his father loved it
more than his own son. Their relationship was strained and quiet,
never close to perfect, but Calloway still loved his father
unconditionally.

After his mother died, his father,
Sven, began to change, and Calloway remembered the transition with
clarity. The light in his eyes was absent and he had no zest for
life. He passed the days in a stupor, not listening to the words
Calloway spoke. When Calloway walked into his study he saw his
father staring at the textbook on the desk, not really reading it
because the book was upside down. Sven changed so much that
Calloway didn’t recognize him anymore. The blond hair that matched
his own started to fade to brown and his blue eyes lost their
illumination. He walked around the house like he needed a crutch;
bent at the waist with a crooked posture like a wounded soldier
from battle. The prevalent muscle that used to cover his frame was
absent and his body atrophied, becoming a thin skeleton with no
substance. Sven never had an appetite and trashed most of their
groceries because they were already expired by the time he decided
to eat them.

Sometimes Calloway wondered if he
really did kill himself. There was no police investigation in his
father’s death. They never pursued the mugger that murdered him. He
wondered if they lied to him because of his tender age. Perhaps
Aunt Grace never had the courage to tell him the truth—that his
father wanted to die. He couldn’t imagine his father wanting to
leave him—his only son—but the doubt still plagued his mind.
Calloway refused to believe that Hawk was right—his father would
never do that.

“
You may go,” Mr. Avey
announced. His words snapped Calloway from his reverie. “Your hour
of service is up.”

Hawk grabbed his backpack and dashed
out of the classroom before Calloway could stand. He shut the door
behind him and disappeared down the hallway.

“
This feud between you
needs to end,” Mr. Avey said. “You have the rest of the year to get
through.”

“
I wish it was over,”
Calloway said.

“
Which?” Mr. Avey
asked.

Calloway thought for a moment.
“Both.”

“
Enjoy your youth while
you can,” he said. “It slips away too quickly.”

Calloway rose from his seat and placed
his backpack over his shoulders. He couldn’t hide the depression he
felt. The thought of his father killing himself was enough to make
him lose his will. He felt the despair spread through his body like
a poison and clench his heart painfully.

Mr. Avey looked at him. “Tarry a
moment, Calloway,” he said. “I have something for you.”

“
Yes?” Calloway asked. Mr.
Avey pulled a medium-sized box from under his desk and handed it to
Calloway. Calloway looked at the case for a moment and his eyes
widened in surprise. The box depicted a picture of a personal
laptop—a very expensive one. He returned his gaze to Mr. Avey. “I
can’t accept this.”

Mr. Avey smiled. “But you will,” he
said. “It’s rude not to accept a gift.”

Calloway ran his hands over the box. “I
can’t believe you got me a laptop.”

“
Now you don’t have an
excuse,” he said. “You better submit those essays on
time.”

Calloway shook his head. He was still
recovering from the shock. When he needed to register for his exam
his teacher paid for the test without hesitation, and then he
covered his fee for the winter formal—Calloway was astonished.
Never had anyone put so much effort in his well being other than
his own family members. It wasn’t just the monetary gifts that
tugged Calloway’s heart, but it was the belief his teacher had in
him—that he was smart, even gifted. “Why are you doing this, Mr.
Avey?”

Mr. Avey leaned against his desk. “I
want you to succeed, Calloway. There is no other
reason.”

“
But why me?” he asked. “I
can’t be the only intelligent student you have.”

“
No, you aren’t. All my
students are smart.” he said. “But you’re the only one that is
gifted—and not just in intelligence. I hate to see that potential
go to waste.”

Calloway was quiet for a moment. The
words were almost too much to listen to. “Thank you,” he said
quietly.

“
You are very welcome,” he
said.

Calloway placed the laptop into his
backpack.

“
Don’t give up, Calloway,”
Mr. Avey said. “You have a long way to go.”

It was exactly how Calloway felt—that
he wanted to give up; that this unexplained belief in him was
misplaced. Calloway wondered if his teacher could read his mind. He
always seemed to be in tune with his feelings, understanding
exactly how Calloway felt at every moment. It was obvious Mr. Avey
cared about all his students, even the ones that lacked a promising
future, but Calloway felt different, special. He wondered if Mr.
Avey was this invested in all of his students, but he already knew
the answer—he wasn’t.

White Wing

The fog hung heavy in the winter air,
blocking the sun in the sky and hiding the statues mounted on the
grass outside the building. Calloway couldn’t see outside because
the view was obscured by the heavy clouds pressed against the
glass. When he was outside, the moisture soaked through his sweater
and drenched his hair, making him feel a constant chill. He hated
the winter season but he preferred it over the summer months—he
hated riding his bike in the sweltering heat.

They sat at the table in the Grandiose
Historian Library and waited for the attack by the Hara-Kir but it
never came. Calloway suspected it would happen eventually—they just
had to wait. The blazing hearth warmed the large room and chased
away the winter chill. The dancing flames sparkled in the crystal
of the chandelier and made the glass appear to be on fire. Calloway
felt cozy and at ease at the library despite the constant threat of
impending death. The Headquarters had become a home away from
home—a break from reality—and Calloway was glad they were there
now. The thoughts of his late father drifted into his mind and made
him melancholy—he tried to fight the feeling.

“
How’d detention go?”
Easton asked as she wrote on her paper.

“
Fine,” Calloway
answered.

Easton looked at him. She knew there
was something bothering him. “Do you want to talk about
it?”

Calloway was quiet for a moment.
“No.”

Breccan looked at his cousin then
dropped his gaze, leaving him in peace.

Calloway opened his backpack and
removed the computer from the box. He stared at it in awe. He still
couldn’t believe it was his.

Breccan stared at the
laptop. “Where did you get
that
?”

Easton looked up from the Kirin Book
and her eyes widened in surprise. “A laptop?” she asked
incredulously.

“
Mr. Avey gave it to me
today,” Calloway said simply.

“
To
keep
?” Easton asked.

Calloway nodded. “Yes.”

“
Why?” Breccan snapped.
“Why would he give you one? What’s his fascination with
you?”

Calloway and Easton both flinched at
the venom in his voice. Breccan was more than upset by the generous
gift—he was angry.

Easton turned back to Calloway. “That
was nice of him.”

“
Too nice,” Calloway
said.

Breccan shook his head. “That’s
ridiculous,” he said. “Isn’t that against school rules or
something? He shouldn’t shower you with such gifts.”

“
He just wants me to
succeed,” Calloway argued.

Breccan abandoned the meal he was
eating and looked away. “Whatever.”

Calloway wasn’t sure why his cousin was
so angry but he didn’t press him for answers. He would wait for a
better time to question his aggression.

“
Have you tried it out
yet?” Easton asked.

“
No,” Calloway said as he
shook his head. “I haven’t even turned it on yet.”

The front door opened and they all
froze in their seats. Calloway couldn’t remember if he locked the
door but now that seemed irrelevant—another attack was coming.
Calloway pulled the knife from his pocket and faced the stairway.
Breccan and Easton stood beside him with their blades drawn, ready
for the attack by a Hara-Kir.

“
What are you freaks
doing?” Weston asked when she reached the top of the
stairs.

Calloway sighed in relief when he
recognized her. He stowed his knife away and the others did as
well.

“
What are you doing here?”
Breccan asked.

“
And hello to you as
well,” she said as she looked around the room. She stepped closer
to them and stared at her sister.

Breccan turned to Easton. “You told
her?” he snapped. “You promised you wouldn’t!”

“
I didn’t!” Easton
shouted.

“
Then why is she here?”
Breccan said. “You obviously told her so stop lying about it. I
knew we couldn’t trust you.”

Easton looked like she had been
slapped. “I’m not lying!”

“
Shut up!” Breccan
yelled.

Calloway touched him on the arm.
“That’s enough,” he said to his cousin. “Let her explain herself.”
Breccan pulled his arm away and stepped back from
Calloway.

Easton looked at her sister. “What are
you doing here?”

“
I followed you,” she said
she stopped in front of them. “Mother says you’re never home but
you refuse to tell her where you’re going. She asked me to tail
you. So what are you doing?”

“
None of your business,”
Easton snapped.

“
I think it is,” she said
as she looked around. She glanced to the chair and her eyes widened
when she saw the Hara-Kir’s cloaks hanging off the back. She
grabbed the hood and ran the material through her fingers. “What’s
this?” Her voice was no longer playful. She was mad—hysterical.
“Easton?”

“
It’s just a jacket,” she
lied.

Weston turned back to the other cloak
and Calloway took the opportunity to cover the Kirin Book with his
laptop and backpack.

Weston threw the cloak on the ground
and marched to her sister. “Tell me what you’re up to!” she yelled.
“You’re dealing with something you have no knowledge of. How did
you get these cloaks?”

Easton kept her mouth shut as she
stared at her sister.

“
Tell me!” Weston yelled.
“You’re going to get yourself killed. I told you to stay away from
them—not
hunt
them.”

“
What we do is none of
your business,” Easton said. “You never tell me what you’re doing
so I don’t have to tell you anything. You always leave me in the
dark.”