The torturous buzzing came to an explosive climax, circuits within his mind suddenly overloaded, and before he fell unconscious—it was gone. Aaron stood perfectly still, waiting, afraid that if he moved the agony would return. What was that all about? he wondered, his hand coming up to his nose to check for bleeding.
There was nothing. No pain, no blaring white noise. In fact, he felt better than he had all morning. Maybe this is just part of a bizarre biological process one goes through when turning eighteen, he thought, bemused, reminding himself again that it was his birthday.
As he slammed the locker door, he realized that Vilma and her friends were still talking. “Estou cansada de pizza. Semana passada, nós comemos pizza, quase todo dia.” They were discussing lunch options—cafeteria versus going off campus for pizza. Vilma wanted to go to the cafeteria, but the others were pressing for the pizza.
Aaron turned away from his locker considering whether or not he should still see the nurse, and caught Vilma’s eye. She smiled shyly and quickly averted her gaze.
But not before the others noticed and began to tease her mercilessly. “Porqué? Vocé está pensando que una certo persoa vai estar no refeitó rio hoje?” Did she want to eat in the cafeteria because of a certain boy standing nearby? they asked her.
Aaron felt himself break out in a cold sweat. His suspicion was justified, for in fact the girls were talking about him.
“É, e daí? Eu acho que ele é un tesâo.” Vilma responded to her friends’ taunts and glanced again in his direction.
They were all looking at him when it dawned. He knew what they were saying. Vilma and her friends were still speaking to one another in Portuguese—but somehow he could understand each and every word.
But the most startling thing was what Vilma had said.
“Eu acho que ele é un tesâo.”
She said he was cute.
Vilma Santiago thought he was cute!
chapter two
At the back of the West Lynn Veterinary Hospital, where Aaron worked after school, a greyhound named Hunter sniffed a patch of yellowed grass with great interest.
“Someone you know?” Aaron asked the brindle-colored dog as he reached out to affectionately scratch him just above his long, whip-like tail.
The dog slowly turned his long neck and wagged his tail in response, before another scent hidden elsewhere in the grass diverted his attention.
Aaron glanced at his watch. It was a little after eight thirty, and he was exhausted. He was hoping that Hunter, who had been constipated since undergoing a procedure to remove a tennis ball from his large intestine, would finally get around to doing his thing so Aaron could go home, have something to eat, and do some schoolwork before passing out.
The dog pulled him into a patch of shadow, nose practically pressed to the ground, turned in a circle and finally did his business.
“Happy birthday to me,” Aaron muttered, looking up into the twilight sky. “Somebody up there must like me.”
He dragged the greyhound back to the animal hospital, his mind reviewing the strangeness of the day. The business at his locker with Vilma and her friends crept back into his consciousness, and he felt a queasy sensation blossom in the pit of his stomach.
Had he been mistaken? he wondered as he pulled open the door. Had they suddenly switched to English from Portuguese? No, he thought, no, I was definitely hearing Portuguese—and understanding it. But how is that possible?
Hunter pranced into the cheerfully decorated lobby, his toenails happily clicking on the slick tile floor like tap shoes, excited to see Michelle, the veterinary assistant, standing there.
“So,” she asked the big dog, hands on her hips, “did we have success?”
She stroked the dog’s pointy snout and rubbed at his ears. The dog was in heaven as it pressed itself against her and gazed up lovingly.
“Well?” she asked again.
Aaron realized she was no longer speaking to the dog, and emerged from his thoughts.
“Sorry,” he said. “Yes, the mission was a complete and total success. We’ll probably need some heavy construction equipment to clean up after him, but he did what he had to do.”
Michelle wrinkled her nose as she went around the corner of the reception desk. “Yuck. Remind me not to go out back for a while.” She pulled a folder from a wall rack behind her and opened it. “I’ll make a note for Dr. Kris, and our long-legged friend should be sprung tomorrow.”
Aaron barely heard the girl, who was as close to a friend as he’d ever had. He was again lost in his thoughts about the impossibility of what had happened at school. There had to be a rational explanation. Maybe it had something to do with his headache.
“Earth to Corbet,” he heard the girl say. Her hands covered her mouth to make it sound as though her voice were coming over a loudspeaker. “This is mission control, over. It appears that one of our astronauts is missing.”
Aaron smiled and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been a long day and I’m wiped.”
She smiled back and returned the folder to the rack on the wall. “It’s cool. Just bustin’ yuh,” she said, pulling her colorfully dyed, shoulder-length hair away from her face. “Bad day at school or what?”
The two had started working at the clinic around the same time and got along quite well. Michelle had said that he reminded her of a boyfriend she’d once had: tall, dark, and brooding, the first of many to break her heart. She was older than he by five years, and explained often that her high school days were some of her most painful, so she fancied herself an expert on teen angst.
“You remember how it was, old lady,” he said with a laugh that she reciprocated. “Let me get Hunter back into his cage so we can get out of here.”
He hauled the greyhound out from around the counter, where he had been sniffing around a wastepaper basket, and toward the doors to the kennels in the back.
“Hey, Aaron,” Michelle called after him.
He turned. “What do you want now?”
For a moment she seemed to be studying him. “You sure you’re okay? Anything you want to talk about?”
The idea of sharing the bizarreness of his day was tempting, but he decided against it. The last thing he needed was Michelle thinking that not only was he “dark and brooding,” but the equally appealing “psychotic” as well.
“I’m fine, really,” he assured her. “Just tired is all.”
He pushed through the door and led the greyhound to the kennel. It was a large room filled with cages of all sizes, big cages for the larger breeds and tiny cages for what Dr. Bufman lovingly referred to as the rat dogs. Aaron returned Hunter to his current accommodations, said hello to the other dogs, then went to the staff area where he kept his things. He removed his blue work smock, hung it on a hanger, and put on his street shirt.
He was so tired he felt as though he were moving in slow motion. Is this what it’s like to get old? Just imagine what it’ll feel like to be thirty, he thought. He slung his bookbag over his shoulder and forced himself back through the kennel toward the lobby door, looking at his watch again. It was a quarter to nine. If he made it home by nine, had a quick bite and did the bare minimum on his assignments, maybe he could be in bed by ten thirty. Sleep: It sounded like a plan.
The image of a dark-skinned boy being viciously torn apart by angels appeared before his eyes, and he jumped, startled by the sudden flash of recollection.
Maybe I’ll just skip the homework and get right to bed, he thought, a bit unnerved by the dream flashback. Give the brain a chance to rest.
He reached the lobby and as he rounded the reception desk, noticed a woman standing there with a German shepherd puppy at her heels. Michelle had a file in her hand and looked at him. From the expression on her face he had no doubt she was annoyed.
“This is Mrs. Dexter,” she said, hitting the edge of the folder on the open palm of her hand. “Sheba is being spayed first thing in the morning. Mrs. Dexter was supposed to bring Sheba earli
er but forgot.”
Aaron closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He could see his hopes of getting to bed at a reasonable time slipping away.
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Dexter began. “I completely lost track of time and…” The dog had begun to sniff around the floor, straining against her leash, practically pulling the woman off balance.
Aaron stopped listening to the woman’s excuses and set his bag down on the floor. He reached across the desk and took the folder from Michelle.
“You get out of here. I’ll take care of this,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Michelle asked, already taking her purse from the back of a chair. “I could stay a little longer but I’ve got this thing tonight and…”
Aaron shook his head. “I got it. Get out of here. You can owe me.”
Michelle smiled briefly and moved around the counter. “Thanks, Aaron. Everything you need should be right there. Have a good night.”
He waved as she went out the door, then returned his attention to the open folder. “Okay,” he said, removing some papers from inside. “Fill these out for me, please.”
Mrs. Dexter took the forms. She let go of the leash and let her dog explore the open lobby. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said as she removed a pair of glasses from her purse and put them on. “I was hoping there’d still be someone here.” She began to fill out the first form. “Lucky you, huh?”
Sheba approached him cautiously, tail wagging, ears back.
“Lucky me,” he agreed as he held out his hand for the young dog to sniff. She licked it and he began to pat her.
It took twenty minutes for Mrs. Dexter to complete the appropriate paperwork and be on her way.
“Sheba will be fine,” he reassured the teary-eyed owner as he opened the door to let her out. “The doctor will do her surgery first thing in the morning. You can call around noontime to find out how she did and when she can go home.”
The woman squatted in the doorway and gave her dog a last hug and a kiss on the head.
“Thanks for everything,” she said as she stood. “I’m sorry for keeping you so late.”
Aaron felt a twinge of guilt. It was hard to be annoyed with anyone who showed so much love for a pet.
Sheba began to whine as she watched her master getting into the minivan without her.
“It’s all right, girl,” Aaron said as he gently tugged on the leash. “Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ve got some lovely accommodations, and you certainly won’t be lonely.”
He led her through to the kennel. The smells of the other dogs must have been overwhelming, for she tucked her tail between her trembling legs and backed up against him.
“It’s okay,” he assured her—just as all hell broke loose.
Every dog in the kennel began to go wild, barking crazily, lunging at the doors to their cages, digging furiously with their paws.
Sheba backed up even farther. She looked up at him nervously and then back to the misbehaving canines, as if to say, “What the hell’s wrong with them?” He had no idea. He’d never seen them act like this. Maybe Sheba had gone into heat early, or perhaps shared a home with a more aggressive dog and the others were picking up its scent on her. She began to whimper pathetically and he reached down to stroke her head.
The barking didn’t stop, in fact it intensified, and he felt his anger begin to rise. This was all he needed. He was already later than he expected, and now the whole place was going nuts. What am I going to do? he asked himself. I certainly can’t cage up this poor dog with the others acting like…like a bunch of animals.
“Quiet,” he yelled.
They continued their frenzy. Some of the upper cages had actually begun to rock back and forth from the insane activity within.
Sheba was cowering by the door, desperate to leave. He didn’t blame her in the least.
“Quiet,” Aaron tried again, voice louder and full of authority.
The shepherd pup started to scratch at the door, digging deep gouges in the wood. He grabbed her by the collar to pull her away from it. The frightened dog began to urinate on the floor—the floor he had already mopped as one of his final duties of the evening.
Aaron’s head began to throb with the insane baying; the odor of urine wafting through the air made his stomach roil. He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Quiet, or I’ll have you all put to sleep!” he shrieked, his enraged voice reverberating off the walls of the white-tiled room.
The room went completely silent. Each and every dog suddenly calm, as if frightened by his words.
As if they had understood what he had said.
It was close to eleven by the time he finally stepped through the door of his home. Aaron removed his key from the lock and gently closed the front door behind him.
He stopped in the hallway, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, wallowing in the quiet. He could actually feel his body beginning to shut down.
The dogs had given him no further trouble after his emotional outburst. There wasn’t so much as a whimper as he got Sheba settled in and mopped up her accident. They must have sensed that he meant business. Still, it was kind of strange, how they reacted. Then again, what did he expect after the kind of day he’d had.
Aaron trudged toward the kitchen. He was disappointed that Gabriel wasn’t around to greet him, but figured the dog had probably gone up to bed when his foster parents put Stevie down for the night. The dog kept a very cautious eye on the autistic child, as if knowing he was special and needed to be looked after.
The light was on over the stove and a small piece of notepaper was held to the metal hood by a magnet in the shape of a cat’s head. The note from his foster mother told him that everyone had gone to bed, and that his supper was in the oven. The note also mentioned a little surprise for him in the dining room. That made him smile.
Using a potholder, he removed the foil-wrapped plate from the oven and proceeded into the dining room. As he sat down he noticed a blue envelope leaning against a chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in it. He picked up the card, wondering if he was supposed to light the candle and sing “Happy Birthday” to himself. He doubted he had the energy.
The card depicted a young man’s dresser covered in trophies for various sporting events, and said, “For a winning son.” He opened the card and read something schmaltzy about the perfect boy growing into a man and rolled his eyes. Every year Lori bought the most sappy card she could find. He did the same for her birthday and Mother’s Day. There was also a crisp new fifty-dollar bill stuck inside. Aaron sighed. He knew his foster parents couldn’t afford this, but also knew it would be pointless to try to give it back. He’d tried before and they always insisted he keep it to buy himself something special.
He finished his dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas and was rinsing the dishes while mentally wrestling with the idea of what he was going to do next. Most of him just wanted to go to sleep, but the more studious part of him thought it best to at least attempt some homework.
Slowly he climbed the stairs to bed, leaning heavily on the rail, and popping the last of the cupcake into his mouth, his tired self busily shoving that academic part of his persona into a burlap sack. The door to Stevie’s room at the top of the stairwell was ajar, and the light from a Barney nightlight streamed into the hall. He quietly stuck his head into the room to check on the child. Gabriel lay at the foot of the bed and began to wag his tail wildly when he saw Aaron. He crept carefully into the room and gave the dog’s head a good rubbing.
Stevie moaned softly, deep in sleep, and Aaron pulled the covers up beneath his chin. He watched him for a moment, then gently touched the child’s cheek before turning to leave.
At the door, he motioned with his head for Gabriel to follow. It was pretty much the same routine every evening. The dog would go to bed with Stevie, but once the child was asleep, he’d join Aaron for the night.
The big dog jumped down from the bed with a minimum of no
ise and headed down the hall. Watching Gabriel, Aaron fondly recalled when he had first seen the dog, tied up in a yard on Mal Street, his light yellow—almost white—coat of puppy fur covered with grease and mud. He was so tiny then, nothing like the moose he was today.
As he approached his own room, Aaron could hear the soft sounds of a television news broadcast coming from his parents’ room across the hall. A timer would turn the television off at midnight. Talk about routine, Tom and Lori had been going to bed early and falling asleep in front of the news for as long as he could remember.
The door to his room was closed and he pushed it open, letting Gabriel in first. The dog hopped up onto the bed and stared at him with dark, vibrant eyes. His bright pink tongue lolled as he panted and his tail swung happily.
Aaron smiled as he closed the door. When he first brought the dog home, he was so small that he couldn’t even get onto the bed without help. Now he couldn’t keep the beast off it. He often wondered what fate would have befallen the puppy if he hadn’t stolen him from the Mal Street yard under the cover of darkness. Rumors were that the rundown tenement housed members of one of Lynn’s street gangs, that they stole dogs and used them to train their pit bulls for fighting. With his first gaze into Gabriel’s soulful eyes, Aaron knew there was no way he could ever let anything bad happen to the dog. The two had been inseparable since.
Aaron kicked off his sneakers and practically fell on the bed. Never had he felt anything more glorious. His lids, heavy with fatigue, gradually began to close, and he could already feel his body prepare for sleep.
The dog still stood over him, his heavy panting gently rocking the bed like one of those coin-operated, sleazy motel, magic-finger beds seen in movies.
The Fallen Page 3