All of which is made worse by the fact that there is nothing to fucking do at the hospital. I become irritable and grouchy, to put it mildly. I think I heard one nurse refer to me as a “holy terror.” I don’t blame her.
Isabella keeps me sane, just like she had before, mostly because she doesn’t put up with my bullshit and calls me on it. We get into some very heated discussions, sometimes even shouting at each other—and then somehow, we end up making out.
After the second time a nurse walked in on us to make us be quiet, they stopped. Maybe they realized that I was always in a much better mood the following day and it made their lives easier. It isn’t fair to Isabella, but we both have fun. I think there might be a part of her that likes that I’m not afraid to show her my anger and that I don’t mind when she shows hers. There just might be hope for us.
On the subject of fairness, I haven’t heard from Xenatlas, Solrin, or Megaptera. Not surprising really. I have no means of contacting them outside the game and just logging in…I don’t know if I would be able to resist the urge to do more than just talk for a few moments in Monster Land. I can only imagine what they think of all this.
Finally, the day of checkout arrives. Isabella forewent her volunteering to help me leave and offers her and Lusitania’s apartment for the evening. I have a plane to catch first thing tomorrow morning. Mom needs help. The kaiju attacks didn’t make her ALS magically disappear and the city around her is a wreck. I’m going to move her somewhere else. Somewhere we can both get a fresh start. I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be just the two of us.
The hospital has a stupid rule about being wheeled off the premise in a wheelchair, whether or not you need it. Ridiculous as I feel, Isabella seems to enjoy having all the control and being able to direct me around. More than once she pretends like she’s going to ram me into a wall. I catch sight of some of the nurses I’ve tormented laughing at me when they think I’m not looking. This has got to be some kind of payback.
Only I don’t mind so much. I like hearing Isabella laugh.
She wheels me through the hospital doors out toward the parking lot and stops when we get outside. I inhale a deep breath of fresh air. After being trapped so long inside it feels amazing just to feel non-airconditioned wind on my skin. It makes me appreciate my time with Isabella all the more, that I’ve gotten to share this last week with her, or at least parts of it. It’s not enough though. I want more. And I need to say so before the opportunity slips by.
“I want you to come with me,” I say to her, twisting around to look at her over my shoulder.
Isabella raises an eyebrow.
I reach back and put one of my hands atop hers. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”
She shrugs, smirking at me. “No, you hadn’t.”
I swallow, draw on my courage, and press forward. “We’ve never really talked about our relationship, have we?”
Her smirk falls away into a look of disbelief. “And you want to now? Really?”
“Uh, yeah?” I thought I did. Now I think I’ve made a mistake. Did bringing it up somehow kill the romance?
“Pfft, men!” She tosses her hair back and rolls her eyes.
“We don’t have—”
“Shut up and tell me what you are going to tell me and quit waffling,” she snaps, glaring down at me. “And if I do not like it I will roll you in front of an ambulance.”
“Yikes,” I say. “At least there’d be paramedics nearby.”
She nods imperiously, like she’d already given that some thought, and waits for me to speak. Her impatience is palpable, burning over my skin.
“We’ve only been on a few dates,” I say.
She holds up a finger. “One date. You took me on one proper date.”
It’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Do you want me to say what I’m going to say or not?”
“I think I hear an ambulance coming,” she says in a low, threatening tone.
Better hurry up then and not chance getting turned into street pizza. “I don’t know what it’s called these days. Going steady. Being exclusive. Whatever. I want us to be together. And I want you to come with me.”
“To live with your mother?” she asks.
“To take care of my mother,” I correct. “She’s taken care of me, now it’s my turn to care for her. And I want you with me.”
She smiles. “And college?”
I shrug. “I’m sure we can move near a university that will accept your transfer. It’s not like you can keep going to school here.”
She looks away, no longer smiling. “There’s a lot of people here who need help.”
I don’t say anything. She’s right. There are a lot of people here who need help. But there’s only one person I can bring myself to care for and she’s in another city that’s been attacked and needing to be moved.
Isabella takes a deep breath. “I like you, Aaron. But I’m not going to uproot my life for you. We’re not there yet.”
“Yet?” I ask.
She grins down at me. “I am going to do what is best for me right now and go where I can do the most good. Maybe things between us get stronger. Maybe we drift apart. We’ll see.”
It’s not a flat out no, it’s a no-for-now. I don’t like it, but I do respect it.
“Then I guess tonight is goodbye,” I say, wondering when I’ll see her again.
She blows a raspberry. “Please. The trouble you and Lusitania get into? Someone’s got to be there to bail you angry psychos out.”
Chapter Forty
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I got Mom a place out in the country. Kerrville, Texas. It’s a good few acres of land, closer to San Antonio than to Dallas, with friendly neighbors who don’t live too close. Lots of hills, beautiful flowers, and sunsets. All that peaceful shit you’re supposed to sit around and enjoy. She likes it and that’s mostly all that matters to me.
My hospital bill, which I expected to be enormous, was paid for by an anonymous third party. Receiving that bit of mail sent a shiver up my spine. There’s no way to be certain but I know who paid for my care while I’d been a vegetable and I’m getting really sick of these secretive bastards.
Other than that single piece of excitement however, everything is peaceful. Tranquil even. And all told, boring as shit. There’s not a lot to do out here besides find work, and I’ve done that. Everyone needs mechanics, and one with a half-decent website willing to make house calls, especially to some of the more remote areas here, can do pretty well, even starting out with dangerously competitive prices.
Business is picking up. When it isn’t, I tend to Mom. She’s getting worse fast. I honestly don’t know how much of the effort I’ve been throwing into my work is me avoiding playing the game again, or me getting out of the house so I don’t have to see how much worse she’s gotten over night. It’s not happening by leaps and bounds, but her growing paralysis is noticeable. Her limbs are stiffer. Meals are becoming a kind of workout.
It makes me sick. Makes me want to tear shit up. Makes me want to escape into Taisaur.
So, I throw myself into working. Texting Isabella often, which is weird, but good. I don’t know if things are going to work out between us. She’s looking into new universities to transfer to and wherever she ends up it’s going to be a long way from here. Knowing that, I can’t help wondering if I’m being unfair to both of us by staying in touch, stringing us both along.
I can’t worry too much about it though. There’s shit to get done.
Today I’m working on a personal project, tuning up Mom’s RV and changing the oil. Mom’s abusive nurse had been trying to sell it. I got it back and have been restoring it. It’s not a vehicle meant to be left untended to. You got to care for it.
And I do. Because it’s become something of a retreat for me. Even though I’m living with Mom, it’s good to have a place that
’s just my own, separate and outside of the house I bought for her. It and the garage are my refuges on the property, and right now I’m on my back, crawling around under the engine and emptying out the oil so I can replace it.
It’s hot out. Hot enough that a shadow falling over my legs creates a change in the temperature, making me glance out from under the RV to a pair of shoes and slacks that have no business being out in the country. I crawl out, pulling the drained bucket with me, and look up into the face of my father.
“Dad,” I say.
He nods a greeting in return. “Need any help?”
I’ve got oil stains and grease smeared over my arms, clothes, and I’m pretty sure my face. He looks like he just stepped out of the office. No way he’s crawling down under the vehicle with me or getting dirty. I don’t think he’d even know where to start if I asked him to come down.
It sounds like he’s offering an olive branch though, so I’ll take it. “Hand me a flathead screwdriver,” I say, gesturing at the toolbox I’ve set off to the side.
He gives another nod and rummages around in the box for a few minutes longer than it would have taken me to grab the damn thing and then hands me a screwdriver. It’s a Philips head. I’d have thought he’d at least know that a flathead has a flat end.
I grunt, get up, and retrieve the appropriate tool from the box, then slide back under the RV. Whatever he wants can wait. I’m in the middle of something.
And wait he does. But not quietly.
“Need me to hold a light or something?” he asks.
I come out from under the RV again. “Nope. Done underneath.”
I grab a rag from near my toolbox and wipe my hands off. I still need to replace the oil but since he’s not going anywhere I want to get whatever the hell this is over with. Much as I want him gone, I’m not going to give him any help getting started. So, I stand there, watching him, waiting for him, while I wipe my hands.
He takes his damn time about it before finally asking, “Are you going back to college?”
Is that what he’s after? Interjecting himself into my life again. Trying to take control, put me on some path he thinks he knows is better for me? I take a deep breath.
It’s not as easy detaching myself from my anger lately. Without the game, I feel like I’m backsliding, giving in to impulses and not thinking rationally. That, more than anything, is what allows me to see that this question might not be what I first think it is.
So, I give the question some serious thought. It’s not the first time I’ve done so. I want to be fair to it though, fair to him, and whatever this is supposed to be.
I don’t see how going back is a real option. By the time it becomes one, I don’t know that I’ll still feel that way.
Isabella’s going to be graduated in two years, barring some drastic change. Not that a girl is a legitimate reason to dole out thousands and thousands of dollars for an education I may or may not use. Even so, she’s the first thing that pops into my head when I consider going back. Not fair to either of us.
Then there’s the realistic reasons, two things that are inescapable riptides, pulling me away from a college life. First and foremost, as always, is Mom. She’s dying. She’s losing her autonomy. And I’m not about to trust her care to some stranger who might hurt her again, especially with as fast as she’s deteriorating. If anyone is going to be by her side for her final years of life it’s going to be me and I’m going to make sure they are the absolute best years I can give her.
And then there’s the kaiju to consider. Just because I haven’t been playing the game doesn’t mean others haven’t. Just because Titanocobra was killed doesn’t mean the aliens won’t attack us again. Fact is, I don’t even know if Titanocobra is really dead. The thing could be like Taisaur or any of the other kaiju the players use, vanishing after death. Except that the corpse didn’t vanish. The government actually has some special taskforce cleaning up the remains. Not that that means much. Who knows, maybe the aliens have another kaiju they can send back after us?
“I have no idea,” I answer finally. “Not now. Maybe not ever. The timing’s shit. I think though…maybe in a few years I might give it another go.”
Dad glances back at the house. He understands that reason at least. “You’ve got to be where you’re needed.”
My fists clench at those words. Did he seriously just say that? Where the hell does he get off saying that to me after he walked out on us?
He sighs. “Been meaning to ask you, where’d you get all that money from?”
Shit, is this what he’s really here about? I cross my arms. “None of your damn business.”
He jerks and an angry look passes over his face.
“I don’t need you checking up on me,” I say. “I didn’t do anything illegal to get it, so you back the hell off.”
“Dammit, Aaron, I didn’t think you had,” Dad snaps. “I’m not—damn you make everything so difficult. I’m trying to tell you that I’m proud of you.”
That brings me up short. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to feel at those words. I really don’t.
But for the first time in a long time, in fact, for the first time in my memories, anger isn’t the only thing I feel when Dad talks to me.
Chapter Forty-One
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Later that evening I’m sitting in the living room with Mom watching the travel channel. We’ve ordered pizza and are both nursing a beer. It’s a good time. Different than we’re used to. Television’s never really played much of a role in our lives. We’ve always preferred to be active. Living vicariously through the assorted shows and episodes doesn’t seem so wasteful now. In fact, the mood in the room is downright wistful.
Dad left shortly after our talk. He’d just needed Mom’s signatures on some paperwork and his wife wanted him back as soon as possible. At least someone wanted him. I sip my beer and blow out that bitterness. I don’t need it and it’s not doing any of us any good. The world’s the way it is, even if it does now include giant monsters and aliens.
“Think you’ll take up travelling after I’m gone?” Mom asks, bursting the wistful atmosphere and rupturing the tiny bit of inner peace I’d managed to cobble together.
I take another sip of my beer to stall. She’s not Dad, though. My silence doesn’t make her uncomfortable. She just quirks an eyebrow and wiggles her own, near empty beer bottle at me.
“I haven’t thought about it,” I confess.
As confessions go it shouldn’t have felt like a big one. We still hadn’t had a real talk about the kaiju, either my being one or her experiencing Titanocobra’s attack. I think I’m grateful for that. I wouldn’t know how to begin confessing how good it feels to be that powerful, even as everyone around me was dying.
This one though…it’s intimate. It’s also final and fatalistic. Thinking about life after Mom seems somehow blasphemous. How dare I think about that while she’s still here? The world is changing enough, chaotic enough, right now without looking to the future. On the other hand, how irresponsible of me not to? At the very least I should start collecting contact information and researching funeral homes. There are a lot of people all over the country who are going to want to pay their respects to Mom when she goes.
I can see the disapproval in her eyes as she takes me in. It makes me glad I’ve showered and changed clothes. If I’d still been grease stained I think I’d feel like even smaller beneath her gaze now.
“You need to start,” she says.
I don’t disagree. I also have no idea where to start, because we both know that she’s not talking about her funeral arrangements or whether or not I’ll travel. What the hell am I going to do with myself after she’s gone? Maybe go back to college. Maybe expand whatever business I’ve managed to build out here. Maybe maybe maybe. Guess I’ve got a lot of options. All of which suck because I won’t be able to tell he
r about them.
The doorbell rings and I leap to my feet. “Pizza’s here.”
Saved by Papa John. Only when I open the door there’s no acne scarred teenager hoping for a tip. There is, however, the delicious aroma of freshly baked dough, cheese, and marinara sauce with the tangy overtone of peperoni. Welcome as that aroma is, the man in the tweed suit holding and smiling that too-sharp grin is not.
“Don’t you have any other clothes?” I ask Dr. Ward. “Or better yet, someone else to bother?”
He laughs, shaking his big belly. I can feel Mom tensing up back in the living room. She remembers his last visit. So do I. But I’m not pinned down any more.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Dinner’s on me.”
“Believe it or not, that wasn’t actually a concern,” I say, as dry as I can manage. “What the hell do you want?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” he says. “Would you like your pizza?”
I snatch the box away from him.
“You haven’t been playing the game,” he says.
“We both know it’s not a game,” I say, and it’s an effort not to growl. I’m not helpless now. I’m also not going to do anything to jeopardize my newfound freedom.
“Sure, it is,” he says, almost congenially. Smug bastard. “And my backers want you to keep playing it.”
I shake my head. I’ve got my escape now. “My sentence is up. I don’t need to play anymore for you.”
That was the deal. I play once a week, logging in like I’m checking with a parole officer, and I stay out of jail until my sentence is done.
“Of course, you don’t,” Dr. Warden says, his grin widening. “But you want to, don’t you? You miss it.”
I do. I hate him for knowing it. That’s his design though.
He nods sagely, grin sliding back down into a smile.
“If that’s all you’re here for you can fuck off,” I say and make to close the door.
“Actually, this is a courtesy call, Mr. Moretti,” Dr. Ward says.
How To Train Your Kaiju Page 21