Halifax (15 page)

Halloween night was the night children actually wished for darkness to come sooner. The setting of the sun signaled the start of trick-or-treating and the time to gather candy from doorsteps across the city. Even the usually deserted sidewalk in front of Houx Citroen Repair had a smattering of children trolling for treats, each dressed in a costume, each carrying a bag waiting to be filled.

Inside the Garage, in the hidden bowels below the streets, Farrell sat at his workstation studying a hologram that hovered in front of him. It was of a DNA strand and looked something like a purple ladder twisting and turning in the air. Its segments were somehow entrancing to Farrell.

An alarm went off and echoed through the Garage. It wasn’t so much an alarm of intrusion as an alarm of introduction. Someone had entered the building. Farrell looked up to the door at the top of the winding staircase. Nora was standing there. She was wearing a short, white dress and looked softer and even more beautiful than usual.

“Where is everyone?” Nora asked as she twisted her way down the stairs, Farrell’s eyes on her the entire way.

“Izzy and Bobby are at the Village and Rom is who knows where,” Farrell said. “Sometimes it’s better not to ask. So I guess it’s just you and me. I can teach you how to scan solar waves for hidden transmissions or give you a crash course on crime in the fourth quadrant of the Virgo Cluster, since a barge from there is coming in the next week, or we could just order pizza and watch Ultimate Fighting.”

“Actually, I was planning on going to the Halloween Carnival,” Nora told him as she reached his workstation and stared in amazement at the hologram.

“Izzy and Bobby are already covering that,” Farrell said as he stared in amazement at Nora.

Nora turned and looked at Farrell, a sheepish look of apology on her face. “I was actually planning on going to the Halloween Carnival…with Andre.”

“Oh.” Farrell tried not to betray his disappointment but it was impossible to hide.

“And I’ve been thinking a lot about all
this
and I’ve realized I just can’t drop out of society and become an alien hunter. And the fact that I just said that sentence shows just how far off the rails I’ve really gone. I have a real life to lead. I have proms and rallies to go to and a calculus exam on Tuesday. And I don’t want people to start talking about me. They’ll think I’m weird or something.”

Farrell pushed a button and the hologram suddenly disappeared. “You know, you don’t have to worry what other people think. You don’t have to be like everyone else.”

“But I
am
like everyone else,” Nora said loudly, trying to convince Farrell and probably herself, too. “I’ll see you at school, I guess.”

Nora walked back up the winding staircase and out the steel door and was gone almost as quickly as she had appeared, like an apparition, a ghost that came to haunt Farrell and then disappeared, leaving him wondering if he had ever really seen her in the first place. She had startled him like seeing a ghost would startle someone and scared him in a way he had never been scared before. He had never before felt something for anyone like he so suddenly felt something for Nora. He liked the way he felt but he knew it was a feeling that would make his life more difficult and his job almost impossible to do. Maybe it was a good thing that Nora Evans left and went back to her world. Farrell’s world wasn’t a safe place to be. Especially for Farrell.

A large, white dove was pecking away at the side of Rom’s head and blood was dripping down his scalp from a wound that exposed part of his brain. A black bird had its claws in Rom’s shoulder and had cut through the dark fabric of his fitted suit jacket. Other bird’s beaks bore into the slim legs of his trousers and pulled at the buttons of his white dress shirt.

All of this brought a bright smile to Rom’s face as he admired his reflection in the hallway mirror at the Halifax house. This was Rom’s first Halloween and this was his costume. His hair was combed perfectly to the side with just a touch of gel to keep it in place and he wore a pair of thick tortoise-shell glasses. He was outfitted in a fifties inspired gabardine suit with a skinny black tie and he had stuffed birds strategically attached to his body as if they were attacking him. He had been inspired by an old movie he had seen late one night called
The Birds
about a small town being invaded by murderous flocks of seagulls. Substitute aliens for birds and the story was very much like what was happening on Earth. It was Rom’s favorite film.

Rom almost skipped down the hallway, his wingtip shoes clicking along the floor, and bound into the kitchen where Mom sat quietly in a chair. She looked sadly out the window and across the lights of the Valley.

“I’ve never been trick-or-treating before,” Rom said as he modeled his outfit, not noticing Mom’s low mood. “It’s very exciting. Dressing up in costumes to amuse and frighten people. Getting free candy. I can see the appeal. How do I look?”

Mom didn’t move or acknowledge him. She stared straight ahead. She was lost in her own thoughts—if indeed she had thoughts of her own.

“Is there something wrong, Mom?” Rom asked with genuine concern.

“What’s my name?”

Rom was surprised by the question. It had never occurred to him she would want a name. “You’re name? You’re…Mom.”

“Other moms have names. But I’m not like other moms, am I?” Mom asked as she finally turned to look at Rom. Her large and very sad were eyes filled with tears. “Because unlike other moms, I didn’t make you. You made me.”

Rom pulled a chair across the floor and placed it next to Mom. He sat down and folded his hands in his lap. He was in a grown up suit and was mimicking the mannerisms he had seen grown ups use.

“You know, Mom, I’ve never told you this…well, I’ve never really told you anything because I haven’t really known you that long, but where I come from I was made, too. Not like you. Not mechanically—but biologically. I was sort of grown, not born. I was genetically engineered to be a servant. Farrell saved me from that. He gave me a chance to be his brother and even though he doesn’t really think of me as a brother I think of him as a brother. He’s part of my family. He and Izzy…and you. And there are many different types of families. Some have one mom. Some have one dad. Some have two dads. We have a different kind of family too. Not everyone gets the chance to make their own mom but that’s why you’re prefect. Because I made you that way.”

Mom was unmoved by Rom’s story. Her expression unchanged. His words had failed to reach her, leaving Rom with only one other idea.

“Your name is…Gucci,” Rom said as he looked at the label on the purse that was hanging off the side of Mom’s chair. “That’s your name.”

Mom instantly perked up. She jumped up out of her seat. A great big smile filled her face as she pulled the Gucci purse off the chair and slung it across her shoulder.

“Gucci? Thank you, Rom!”

“Where are you going?” Rom asked. “Aren’t we going trick-or-treating?”

“You are too old to be trick-or-treating, Rom,” Mom said, suddenly sounding way too much like a real mom. “That’s just pathetic. And I’ve been invited to a neighborhood Halloween party. Adults only. I just needed a name so I could tell people what to call me. I’m Gucci Halifax. Good night, son.”

Mom left the house and now Rom was the one sitting sadly in a chair in the kitchen staring out over the lights of the Valley. His Halloween fun had come to a screeching halt.

Coach Gwynn walked along the festive sidewalks of Cahuenga Village. He wound his way around trick-or-treaters and past the well decorated shops of Main Street, from the coffee shop and its cauldron full of candy corn mixed with coffee beans to the festive Taco Time Mexican restaurant where a pumpkin piñata hung by the front entrance.

Wearing his white Lexham Academy polo shirt with
Coach Gwynn
embroidered on the breast, the coach walked the streets like a celebrity, occasionally nodding to a Lexham student or smiling at the pretty mother of one of the many children enjoying the Carnival. His whole life and all his self worth was wrapped up in being the basketball coach at Lexham. Alone here in the village, without a wife or kids of his own, only highlighted the fact that Lexham was all he had.

Approaching the midway of carnival games, the coach couldn’t have been more in his element. All the games—the ring toss, bushel basket toss, skee ball, the bobbing for apples—were games a grown man with any small measure of athletic ability could excel at. He could easily prove his sporting prowess against the skills of any uncoordinated small child with hands sticky from cotton candy. At the center of the midway, calling to the coach with its bright lights and loud music, was his favorite game. The basketball toss.

Coach Gwynn slapped two dollar bills down on the counter in front of a teenage attendant who wore a large button on his shirt that read
Go For Two!
Four hoops with suspiciously small rims were hung behind him and basketballs lined the counter. Stuffed animals in various sizes were displayed along the sides of the large booth.

“Let’s win some prizes!” the coach said as he rubbed his hands together. The attendant rolled his eyes and handed one of the basketballs to the coach. Coach Gwynn aimed carefully, pulling his wrist back just so, and shot the basketball up into the air and through the nearest hoop. It fell straight in, all net.

“That’s the way you do it!” the coach bragged. “Uh huh! Hand it over.”

The attendant pulled down a stuffed monkey. It was so cheaply made that stuffing was poking out of one of its legs. He pushed it down the counter towards the coach.

“The first of many, my friend,” the coach said as he put another two dollars on the counter. “The first of many.”

Coach Gwynn took another basketball off the counter and was mid-shot, mere feet away from glory, when Jon Roberts hopped up next to him, startling him.

“Hey, Coach Gwynn!” Jon said loudly and with gusto.

The basketball bounced off the rim and fell away from the basket. No points. No stuffed animal. The coach looked like he was going to strangle Jon.

“What do you want, Roberts?” he asked wearily as he pulled another two dollar bills out of his wallet and put them on the counter.

“Some of the guys told me I’m not on the team anymore,” Jon said.

“That’s right,” the coach told him. He bounced a basketball on the counter a few times as he glared at Jon. “I don’t need a cheerleader on my basketball team.”

“The correct term would be a yell leader,” Jon said to the coach, and then caught himself, surprised at what he had just said. “But anyway, um, everyone told me about what happened at the game and I have to say that I don’t remember any of it. I think someone from Westminster must have spiked my Gatorade.”

Coach Gwynn looked at his former player, surveying him from his bright, white keds to his white, tight pants to his imitation, non-sanctioned, Lexham cheerleader’s turtleneck. “Did the guys from Westminster also tie you down and force you to dress like this?” he asked Jon.

Jon looked down at what he was wearing. It was a mystery to him, too. He looked around to make sure no one else was listening and leaned in closely to the coach. “I don’t know what’s happening, coach,” he whispered. “Suddenly, I have no interest in basketball whatsoever. All I want to do…is cheer. I swear, it’s like my total dream in life.”

“Then why do you want to be on my team?” the coach whispered back.

“I don’t,” Jon said. “But my Dad does. He’s kind of, like, totally and apocalyptically insane with anger about it all.”

The coach pivoted away from Jon and shot the basketball through the hoop. A perfect basket. “And another one!” he yelled out for everyone to hear. “How does he do it?”

The attendant pulled another stuffed animal down and tossed it to the coach. Coach Gwynn was taking out more money when the attendant stopped him.

“Two prize limit,” the young man said sternly.

The coach looked disappointed as he grabbed his two stuffed animals. He tucked them under his arms. “I could have played pro ball, you know?” he said to the attendant or to Jon or to himself. “I could have, but I didn’t. But I could have.”

Coach Gwynn walked back along Main Street, probably headed for a small, bachelor apartment somewhere and a night alone. Jon Roberts, though, trailed behind him, bouncing along, trying to get the coach’s attention.

“So what do I do, coach?” he asked. “I’ve got to be on the team, but I also have to follow my dreams. You know?”

Coach Gwynn stopped walking and turned to face his cheerleading point guard. “I think you should probably go break your arm or something,” the coach told him. “That way you have an excuse for your dad why you can’t play.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just told my dad that I wasn’t cut out for basketball?” Jon asked.

“I got news for you, Roberts,” the coach said. “You
aren’t
cut out for basketball. But I’m sure you’ll make one hell of a cheerleader.”

“Yell leader…”

“Whatever,” Coach Gwynn said as he walked away.

Jon watched, dejected, as the coach rounded a corner and disappeared from his view. A moment later, however, there was a flash of light. It came from around the corner, from where the coach had just gone. It had been like the flash of a lightening and was bright enough to attract Jon’s attention.

Jon slowly walked towards the corner and turned to look down the cross street. There was no sign of the coach or anyone else. The street was deserted. Lying in the middle of the road, however, were the two stuffed animals Coach Gwynn had won. Jon picked them up and looked around for any sign of the coach. Two stuffed animals, but no Coach Gwynn.

Jon Roberts shrugged it off. He took the stuffed animals and swung them in his arms. He looked around one last time to make sure no one was watching—and back-flipped down the sidewalk and off into the night.

For all the children and teenagers dressed up in Halloween costumes and gathering to retrieve candy at the doors of houses in the neighborhood surrounding Main Street, one person stood out for how
normal
he looked. It was Bobby Ramirez. He had actually—combed his hair. He had also dispensed with his sloppy green army jacket, the one he wore every day at school and on weekends and probably to church when his mother forced him to go. He was now wearing a checkered, button-down shirt. It didn’t fit him and wasn’t ironed but he actually looked good. He looked like a different Bobby Ramirez. A respectable Bobby Ramirez.