I rubbed my nose. Phantom cigarette smoke lingered in my nose hairs.
“I know you don’t like to talk about this—”
“By this , you mean how one of my best friends turned out to be an alien sent to spy on me and another sacrificed herself to save the world? Is that the this you’re talking about? Or maybe by this you mean how my mom is a braindead vegetable?”
“Now, you know the events that took place at Gate City Park are hazy at best. Nobody’s sure exactly what happened there—”
“Except somebody who was actually there. Like, oh I don’t know, me?”
“—and I know something happened to make you run away with Ms. Connelly—”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about her.”
“—but it is generally agreed that the earthquake caused the destruction at the park.”
“That’s not what happened,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
“Yes, your alien invasion. Let’s talk about that.”
“Let’s not.” I pushed back into the sofa and crossed my arms.
“You know you eventually have to let it out.” The man looked to my left like he couldn’t quite get a bead on me without his glasses. “Building up this fantasy in your mind—”
I slammed my fist down on the sofa arm. Dust shot into the air and something cracked deep inside it. “It is not a fantasy!”
“Yes.” Dr. Baumgartner seemed taken aback. He dropped his eyes to an open folder in his lap. He flipped through a couple pages, squinted, and seemed to realize he didn’t have his glasses on. He slipped them on his nose. “Yes, of course. Let’s go back to talk about school coming soon.”
“No,” I said.
“No?”
“No.”
“Okay. How is your Aunt Stacy?” he asked with an awkward shift in topic.
“Yes,” I said.
“Your answer to how is your Aunt Stacy is yes?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Right, time is running short,” he said. “How about we try to make some progress before it runs out completely, okay?”
Nice try , I thought, glancing at the cheap clock on the far wall partially hidden by a shelf. We’d burned through about twenty minutes of our scheduled hour. I figured he was just as anxious for this session to be over as I was. It was certainly one of our less productive to date.
“Look Mr. Buttgardner, I don’t really have anything to say to you. You don’t believe me. The police don’t believe me. Aoife’s parents don’t believe me. I’m about 95% sure Aunt Stacy doesn’t believe me. Mr. Minor—”
“Yes, Mr. Minor,” the doctor cut in. “Let’s keep Mr. Minor out of this, shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s keep the one person who can back up what I say out of this discussion,” I snapped. Aoife’s brother, Dylan, still blamed me for what happened to her and refused to talk to me, much less back me up.
Dr. Baumgartner pursed his thin lips. They nearly disappeared under his ridiculous moustache. “You know as well as I do that Mr. Minor has left town and is still wanted by police for questioning about yours and Ms. Connelly’s—”
“I said to not talk about her.”
“—disappearance.”
Dr. Baumgartner glanced at the clock over his shoulder. By glance, I mean he cranked his neck as far as he could, half turning in his seat the rest of the way to be able to see the clock. It looked painful. Good.
“I know you don’t want to talk about your friend—”
“And yet you keep bringing her up.”
“—but you’re going to have to open up about it. Bottling this all in isn’t healthy. It’s what you did after your parents’ accident and look where that led you. You and Ms. Connelly ran away—”
“We. Didn’t. Run. Away.”
“—and she’s missing again. Not to mention your friend is dead?”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Yes.” He adjusted the thick glasses. “You said. An alien spy.”
“You want to know what would really help me?” I asked.
“Please.” He waved a hand at me.
“Stop acting like I’m crazy,” I said.
“Now, Gaige. I’m not acting like—”
“What do you call it?” I asked. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“This isn’t about whether I believe you or not.”
“It’s not?” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Then what am I doing here?”
“To talk about how you feel—”
“I feel like you should believe me because I’m not making this up!”
“Of course, of course.” He opened his hands out wide. “But there are some things that have yet to be explained.”
“Don’t even mention the bod—”
“Like the bodies for instance. You claim there were some aliens killed in the park, correct? What happened to the bodies?”
“I don’t know,” I hissed. “They were there when I left.”
“You also claim some of these aliens fled the park before they were lured into your gate-thing.”
“Gateway,” I said through my teeth.
The old man rearranged his face into a look of understanding pity. “I feel like the sooner you come to realize how deluded these stories are, the better off you’ll be.”
“They’re not stories.”
“And maybe you’ll be able to actually help the police figure out what happened to Aoife.”
I flinched, ripping a good inch of leather from the sofa. I stared at the piece of red cowhide until my head stopped feeling like it was about to explode.
“I think we’re out of time, Mr. Buttgardener,” I clipped.
“Actually, it’s Dr. Baum—”
“Thanks,” I said, standing. I looked at the strip of leather and dropped it to the floor before adding, “for nothing.”
I hurried out of the room, startling the receptionist who was flipping through a women’s magazine with an impossibly thin model on the cover. “Oh, hey Gaige,” she said, lowering the magazine. “Another early break? How’d it go?”
I shoved hands in my pockets and shrugged. “Same as always.”
“That bad, huh?”
I shrugged again.
“Give him a chance, Gaige,” she said. “He may be clueless sometimes, but Mr. Buttgardener can be helpful at times if you give him a chance.”
“You heard that, huh?”
Her full lips twitched into a smile. Sonia Moss was a junior at Gate City Community College majoring in psychology. She liked to talk to Dr. Baumgartner’s patients while they waited for their appointment and wasn’t shy about how she took this job to gain experience in the field. It turned out to be a paper pushing job, but she had to pay for college somehow. For her trouble, she earned several hours of pay for sitting around reading magazines and not even bothering to turn on the computer that just might be older than electricity.
My sessions were state sponsored and Mr. Baumgartner was the only psychiatrist willing to take the meager money the state was willing to fork over for my emotional wellbeing. I had the feeling I was one of only a handful of patients he had the pleasure of ‘helping.’ I never saw anybody else in the waiting area and I had caught a glimpse of his appointment book once. Its pages were empty except a reminder for him to pick up milk on the way home.
“How are you doing really?” she asked. True concern showed in her eyes.
I shrugged a third time. “Peachy.”
She was quiet a moment while she looked at me unflinchingly. “You know, I believe you.”
“You do?” I frowned, thinking she was messing with me.
It was her turn to shrug. “I know a crap ton of scientists and geologists converged on Gate City like beetles on a turd and found no trace of anything you say happened out there at the park—”
“Is this supposed to help?”
“—but, something happened out there.”
“Yeah,” I said. “An earthquake.”
> She shook her blonde hair, her face becoming suddenly fierce. “Don’t do that. If you’re going to claim those things happened, you can’t waver. Be confident. Slam your fist and declare it at the top of your lungs.”
I laughed. When it bubbled up, I thought it might be spiteful and ironic, but it came out genuine. “I’m sure that will only make them think I’m crazier than they thought. Poor Mr. Buttgardener wouldn’t be able to handle me.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She laughed, too.
I felt myself opening up to her. I wanted to keep talking to her about what happened. It wasn’t so much the fact that she said she believed me. It was more that she made me feel like she believed me. So, I did what I always did when I felt myself giving in to somebody. I changed the subject.
“So, how do you plan on keeping away the unforgiving lines of age ?” I asked.
“Huh?” she asked.
I nodded my head at the magazine she held. She flipped it to look at the cover.
“Oh!” she said and laughed again. “They suggest salsa if you can believe it?”
“Really? They want you to put salsa on your face?”
She nodded gravely. “Just think. I could keep a bag of chips nearby in case I get the munchies.”
“Good call.”
“Yeah,” she said.
The conversation fell. I thought maybe she might make a good psychiatrist someday, but she had to learn how to not let patients stop talking once she got them to open up. Once I had stopped, an unforgiving urge to bolt hit me like a punch in the gut.
“Well,” I said, “I got to go. I got things and stuff to do.”
“Right,” she said. “Don’t want to keep you from your things and stuff .”
My things and stuff turned out to be wondering the city on foot. I did that a lot lately. I spent a lot of time at the ruins of Gate City Park after the battle in spite of being warned off by police, Aunt Stacy, Mr. Baumgartner, and anybody else that caught me there. I guess I held on to the hope that Aoife would show up sooner or later. She never did, but I spent most of my time there. I’d move just out of sight of the cops when they’d shoo me away, only to return when they left.
I did that for a while. Maybe a month or two until it became too painful. Every day I told myself this is the day. That day never came. Finally, I stopped going. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle the feeling of knowing she wasn’t coming back.
Still, it felt even worse to stop going. It was like I’d given up on her. In a way, I guess I had. Deep down, I had told myself she was gone for good and that hurt. It was worse than anything I’d ever felt except my parents’ accident. Sometimes it felt like it could be worse than even that. At least I hadn’t been the direct cause of their accident. I couldn’t say the same about Aoife’s sacrifice. If it hadn’t been for me, she would have never had to make it.
I found myself standing at a corner. It was only a few blocks from the park. I hadn’t realized I had been heading that direction. The guy in the car waiting for me to cross honked his horn. I only looked at him like he was a crushed squirrel in the road.
He honked again and when I didn’t move, he stomped on the gas. He yelled something out his partially open window as he zoomed away.
I let out a breath and took a step back. I couldn’t go back there. I wanted to. I really did. I kept telling myself—no matter how ridiculous it sounded—that I had to be there for her to be able to make it home. I didn’t have power to control the gateway anymore. I couldn’t tell if it was even there, but somehow, I had to be there for her to return.
And I was betraying her. Even as I turned and walked away from the park, I was betraying her to whatever fate she suffered on the other side of the gateway.
2
Monotony
My walk home took me past Gate City High. The teachers’ parking lot was littered with cars. School was still a couple weeks away so I assumed they were there working on their curriculum for the coming trimester. Of course, Ryan’s rusty old pickup truck was there as well. Painful memories of sitting with Aoife before school flooded my head. We sat right there on that bench and laughed at the school custodian’s paranoia the morning on the day we went through the gateway. Before Seanna showed up and ruined my already pathetic life.
My steps slowed to a halt as I stared at the chunk of wire metal. It was just a bench. There were several of them around the school campus, but this was the one where I had my last moment of happiness. Sitting with Aoife, I felt a moment of peace in a world of turmoil. I didn’t have to think about anything except that moment. Since then, there was no more peace for me. Only hurt.
A yell tore my eyes from the bench. The football team’s practice field was located behind the school and the team was deep into a preseason practice. Coach Graham was yelling at a player for not executing the play properly. I walked a little further down the sidewalk and stood outside the tall chain-link fence to watch. The team ran the play a second time and Coach started yelling again. Jonathan Miller, the running back, was the target of his ire for missing the chip block as he went out into a passing route.
I thought Coach should be yelling at the quarterback, too. The kid, a sophomore named Charlie Hughes, missed the wide open tight end running down the middle of the field. Instead, he had thrown into double coverage to the right.
I curled my fingers in the chain link fence and leaned in as the team reset the play. Charlie Hughes sent the play in motion again. Charlie. What kind of name is Charlie? Who names their kid Charlie now-a-days? What was this, the 1880s?
“He’s not even looking at the defense before snapping the ball,” I said out loud to myself. “Sloppy footwork.”
The pass sailed high and out of bounds. A little freshman ball boy ran after it.
“I could do better than that without even trying,” I said. My fingers tightened on the fence. “No. Not anymore.”
That wasn’t my life anymore. The school district was unsure what to do with me when I reappeared more than a week after I had disappeared. Even though I had only attended a few weeks of my sophomore year, they feared a public backlash if they held me back. Don’t make that poor little boy with a messed-up head start the year over with a bunch of kids he doesn’t know. So, they kindly gave me all Cs for the year without me stepping a foot on campus and ushered me on to my junior year.
Football was a different matter. All the experts figured it was the breakdown during my last game that had caused me to run away. Unable to cope with losing, I had grabbed Aoife and convinced her to just walk away without looking back until I showed up alone over a week later. Not only alone, but full of fantastical stories about aliens and other worlds. There was no way they were willing to put that kind of strain on me again.
That was supposed to be my team. I was supposed to be the varsity quarterback. I did my time as JV QB and now some snot-nosed sophomore was doing my job.
“No,” I said again and stepped away from the fence, barely resisting the urge to kick it as I did.
I hurried the rest of the way home, rushing past Mr. Minor’s empty yellow house on the way. I stopped on the sidewalk outside Aunt Stacy’s house. The yard was plain, but one of the nicest in the neighborhood. With no school, I had a lot of time on my hands. I spent a lot of that time learning how to care for it, so when spring rolled around I had tackled it with the same vigor as I used to put into football. As a result, the grass was always perfectly cut with diagonal rows that looked like I had staked out my path before I mowed and bushes that were trimmed back in just the right way to highlight their natural beauty.
At least I accomplished something of use.
I walked the steps to the porch and up to the front door. “I’m home,” I called out as I stepped inside. It was a habit I had gotten into so Aunt Stacy would always know I had come home.
Aunt Stacy stepped out of the kitchen into the living room. “Hey, G. You’re home late. Your session run late?”
“No, I wen
t for a little walk.”
“Oh?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She tried to look casual, but I could see the tightness around her eyes. “Where to?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t go anywhere near the park,” I lied. “Just walked some. I stopped by the school and watched the team practice.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And, I miss it,” I said truthfully.
“But, you under—”
“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “I don’t need that stress on me.”
That was what I was told when the principal and school superintendent sat me down to inform me I couldn’t be on the team anymore. For some reason, they felt the need to have an officer there with them when they broke the news. It wasn’t like I was going to flip out on them or something.
“Maybe your senior ye—”
“Yeah,” I interrupted again. “Is that lasagna I smell?”
“It is,” she replied after a beat. “It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“And garlic bread?”
“Of course. And salad, too.”
I waved a hand. “Yeah, I’ll eat a leaf or two.”
“Ha. Ha,” she drawled.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“She’s out back with Everett.”
I nodded and headed for the back door. Mom sat pushed against one side of the bench swing Stacy had bought specifically for her sister to be able to get outside more. Everett, a massive mutt of a dog—also bought for Mom—took up most of the swing. His long body stretched across it with his legs hanging over the side. His oversized head lay in Mom’s lap. She absently stroked his neck.
Neither Mom nor Everett looked up as I approached. Mom probably didn’t realize I was there. Everett probably just didn’t care.
“Dinner is going to be soon,” I said.
The swing rocked gently back and forth. No more than a few inches of movement.
“I should have listened to you when you tried to warn me,” I said with a sigh. “You did try to warn me, didn’t you? That morning of the earthquake. All you did was freak me out and leave me vulnerable to Seanna’s lies. Not your fault,” I added quickly.
The Gatekeeper Trilogy Page 57