by wade coleman
The front door opens, and Kim and Beverly walk in. Dad goes to his den. My parents exchange looks as they pass.
Mom and Kim walk into the kitchen. Kim hands me the grocery bags. Mom helps me put the food away while Kim leans against the counter and watches. It’s all very domestic, and I wonder how Kim is going to fit into our little family circle.
“How’s your headache?” Mom asks.
“Better,” I pour the brown rice into the glass quart jar.
Mom finishes restocking the fridge and gets the vodka and three glasses.
“Mom, don’t make a big deal about this, okay?”
Mom smiles and pours our drinks, her auburn hair just off her shoulders. Kim is standing next to her; her shoulders level with the top of Mom’s head.
The three of us stand at the counter in awkward silence.
Mom raises her glass and puts her hand affectionately on Kim’s shoulder. “To Kim, the first girl my son has ever brought home.” Kim and Mom slam their shots. Mom pours a second while I still sip my first.
“Hermes, we have potatoes and rib-eye for dinner. Prep while I catch up on my drinking, will you, sweetheart?” She messes my hair, which I hate, so I turn my head.
After washing the potatoes, I put them in the microwave.
“Kim told me everything that happened last night.”
I look at Kim. “Everything?”
“The flu shot is getting people sick,” Kim says.
While Mom sips her second, I put a glass pie plate on the counter.
“I checked man you helped; he’s going to be fine.”
Mom’s been an emergency room nurse for twenty years. She knows everyone.
I pour balsamic vinegar and olive oil into a pan. “I’m going to leave for a while; Dad is making some calls.”
“I tried plugging in the computer Kim took from the doctor, but there’s something wrong with it.”
Kim leans into Mom, shoulders touching.
I add a teaspoon of sugar to the pot.
I know what happened. Kim’s been hounding me to help her with the virus. But I’m not in the mood to start a new project with the cops hot on my ass. Kim had all day to work on mom. Now, mom is on board, and she’s asking for my help.
“Before you go, could you look at the computer?” Mom says.
I’m completely fucked, if I don’t get involved, then Mom will. One slip and she’s dead, and that can’t happen. Dad’s gonna be pissed.
“Yeah, Ma, I’ll get the computer running before I go.”
Kim lets out a breath and finishes her second drink.
“There were rumors about the downtown clinic. Six months ago, mutants came in with a cough and a high fever. Ninety percent died. Nobody looked into it.”
Dad comes out of his office, putting his hand on my shoulder for a second. He puts a slip of paper on the counter, then grabs a beer from the fridge.
It’s a note which says- Doctor Nick, 10 am. I wash my hands and put the paper in the garbage disposal.
“Bev,” Dad says. “Let’s fire up the grill and catch up on the day.”
Mom pours her third and takes the meat. Daniel gets utensils, and they head to the backyard.
Once they are gone. I walk to the counter and stand opposite of Kim, “I try to keep Mom out of this business to protect her, but now she’s at risk.”
“Your mom knows more about your business than you think,” Kim looks defiant.
“That’s not what I meant,” I reply. “When I fix the computer, Mom’s going to take a look at it. She knows medical terminology. Now she’ll snoop around the hospital and get herself involved.”
“Oh, I get it.”
Taking the bottle, I pour half a shot of vodka. “I guess it’s genetic,” I say. “It never occurred to me that I could walk away from a dying man until you argued with me last night.”
She shakes her head, “Kukan is right… you’re a sophomore, a wise-fool.”
“So, you and your angel, what else do you talk about?”
“Kukan says a storm is coming that will rain death.” Kim cocks her head to the side. “Beverley does not like Doctor Nick.”
The microwave dings.
“Can you hear them talking outside?” I ask.
“No…I hear them thinking. Isn’t a mesh illegal?”
“No, but if you’re questioned by the police, you’re required to tell them you have a mesh.”
“The Fifth Amendment gives you the right to remain silent, but that doesn’t stop the police from asking you questions in the presence of a telepath. What they read is admissible in court.” I change the subject. “This thing with the flu shot…it was probably a virus like the other plagues. That means someone had the money to make it. If they find us, they won’t send amateur street thugs like we saw last night.”
“Which is why you should have let me kill those men, they saw our faces.”
“There are other ways. I’ll dye your hair, show you how to put makeup on to hide your stripes.”
Kim walks up behind me, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So you’re going to do my hair and give me a makeover?” She whispers in my ear. “You wanting to spend some quality girl-time together?”
I walk to the microwave and take the baked potatoes out. “It’s a disguise, not makeup…”
Kim interrupts me. “Shit, you like doing makeup and hair.” She walks over to me. “You used to do makeup for high school plays.”
I wrap the potatoes in foil. “I also made props and did some acting, useful skills for a thief.”
She whispers in my ear, “Yeah, but you also like the idea of quality girl time.”
I blush. “Let’s go see my garden.”
It’s early afternoon, the metal umbrellas on poles block the sun overhead. A metal table and chairs sit in the shade where Dad is at the grill. Mom sits and nurses her drink.
Our backyard is surrounded by a ten-foot chain link fence. The garden inside is on raised beds. What we don’t eat, I sell at the Farmers’ Market.
Kim sits next to Mom. I pick four tomatoes, wash them with the hose, put them on a plate and then slice one up.
Daniel flips the rib-eye. “I don’t like the idea of you going on a mission, Hermes. You need to get your mesh and settle this thing with the cops before you start another project.”
“I already said yes.”
He grits his teeth, walks up, and pokes me with the tongs–leaving a stain on my shirt. “You bring stupid to a new level; you know that?”
I look at the grease stain on my shirt and frown. He knows I hate that.
“Hermes,” Mom says. “Why don’t you show Kim the greenhouse?”
I maneuver around Daniel. Kim picks up a tomato and follows.
The greenhouse is constructed from one-inch welded pipe. It’s eight feet wide, fifty feet long, and lined with plastic.
I open the screen door, the rich, intoxicating smell of Marijuana greeting us. The plants are five feet high. We walk down the rows and stop at the trimming table.
“Your father has plans for you,” Kim says. “I don’t fit into those plans. That’s why he’s mad.
“He wants me to be an Army officer,” I say, “I’m not interested.”
Kim bites the skin of the tomato and sucks the juice. “Why not? You wouldn’t need to hide, and you make good money.”
“That’s his dream, not mine. I don’t feel like being sent to a jungle to kill people. Besides, in the Army, you have to get up early. I like sleeping in.”
“How did you get around the draft?”
“I did my three-year enlistment as an EMT here in Frisco.”
Kim grabs my hand, heading for the door. “Come on; it’s time to eat.”
We leave the greenhouse, walk through the garden and go inside. Potatoes and rib-eye on the plate, sour cream, and butter on the table. Bev says grace and Daniel fidgets impatiently. We dig in. Kim, even with table manners, still finishes first. After cleaning his plate, Dad heads to his den.
Afterward, I clear the table and Mom breaks the silence:
“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Nine AM. If you need to reach me, you can use my private email address.”
The sun sets, and a familiar cold creeps over me. It has a bite, reminding me I’m still tired.
Mom looks me over. “Kim and I will finish in the kitchen. Why don’t you go look at the computer?”
Kim hands me the tablet, and I take it to the shop.
The corner of the tablet is cracked, the power port filled with dirt. I use compressed air to clean it and then plug it in. A green light goes on, the battery charging. Simple enough…a waste of my talent. It will take time for the battery to charge, so I head to my room.
I undress and lay on top of the covers. My mind races. Tomorrow, the cops will know it’s my DNA left at the cruiser and come for me. The mesh will block a telepath, but I still need a good story to explain why I was downtown. I’m one misstep away from being a convicted felon.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m at the Super Store, looking around the corner. Instead of the Sons of Chaos, there’s a Dryder, a monster from Dungeons and Dragons. It’s a creature that is half man and half spider, like a centaur. It’s carrying a rifle and wearing goggles. In the distance, a hound bays and the Dryder scurries off.
On the other side is the alley where Kim left me. My shadow paints a serpentine streak across the length of the two-story concrete block walk on the other side of the road. The more I look at it, the more the shadow grows solid, the scales shimmering in the moonlight.
Suddenly, the dragon moves off the wall and turns towards me, her legs as thick as telephone poles. She lumbers forward, and our eyes meet. The black eyes emit a cold light that freezes me in place. The dragon raises her head, takes a deep breath, and howling cold cuts through me, and then I’m just sand in a storm.
* * *
I wake up breathing hard like I’ve been running a marathon. I look out the window; the moon is up. After dressing, I head out the front door. Walking down the middle of the road, I admire the mature fruit trees in the front lawns. Mom wanted oranges and Dad wanted apples, so we have three of each in the front yard.
The next house down on the other side of the street is stoner Bob’s. His wife, Amber, planted cherries, but she died before I was born. He keeps a room for her and talks to her like she’s still alive.
In the cherry tree by the mailbox is ‘Precious,’ Bob’s cat. He named her after the “one ring that binds them all.” Bob is a Lord of the Rings fanatic.
When I was sixteen, his Precious pounced on top of me when I was out for a midnight jog. I was practicing my shadow walking under the trees when she landed on my back. I took her for hell ride and reformed Precious over Sarah’s Koi pond a mile away. While swimming to the side, she was pecked at by fish sensing fresh meat. The new genetically engineered Koi have sharp little teeth. Sarah would trap mice and feed them to the fish. She died a few years back, so now Maggie, my best friend, takes care of them.
I walk past the mailbox, just out of pouncing range. I can see the places where Precious’ fur never grew back. Over the years, the bright pink scar tissue faded into a dark reddish brown. Our eyes meet, and she communicates to me with her expressive eyes,
“Someday, your guard will be down, and I’ll tear your throat out.”
After I pass the cat, she hisses from the tree.
A hell ride is something I do when I want to get from one point in space to another very fast. I shift deep into the shadows, where it feels like I go through a series of doors. Each time I pass through, I leave a little more of myself behind. Then I reach a space of pure raw, naked nothing. There I exist, until something shifts in the current, and I pass through a door, and I remember my name. The next thought gives me my destination, the Koi pond, and with those two thoughts, I reform.
In seconds, I cover a mile distance and stand next to the pond. The fish swim up next to me and wait to be fed.
Sarah, Maggie’s mom, died five years ago of leukemia, just like Bob’s wife, Amber. A lot of vets who served in the Bio War and were stationed in the gulf got leukemia. They think it was a combination of radiation and exposure to crude oil.
A fish breaches the surface of the water and catches a bug. I throw a pebble at the second story window.
A light goes on, and Maggie’s window opens. “Hermes, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Maybe…probably…no.”
When I was in high school, I used to come over to Sarah’s house after I pulled one of my pranks. People would come looking for me at my house so I would hide out here. She would feed us pie while Sarah and Maggie listened to my exploits.
“I’ll see you in the kitchen,” Maggie closes the window.
I walk in the back door. On the other side is the kitchen. I take down the tea kettle from the rack over the sink and fill it with water. After turning on the gas stove, I put on the kettle. As I’m putting two cups on the table, Maggie comes down the stairs. She’s wearing a blue robe and matching slippers.
She walks over to her stone top counter, opens the top to a small ceramic jar and says, “Smell this,” she says.
“I’m not in the mood for mint.”
Maggie picks up another jar. “How about this?”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
“Cinnamon tea it is,” she pours the hot water. Maggie has brown skin and eyes. She stands a little over five foot and sports some ample D cups. When she sits down with our tea, one of her breasts escapes from under her robe. She adjusts her robe and asks, “What’s up?”
“I’m getting a mesh.”
She puts up her hand. “You stop right there.” Maggie gets up, pulling a cherry pie out of the fridge, and puts it on the table.
I grab two forks, a plate, and a knife. There’s half a pie left.
Maggie cuts off a slice and hands me the rest.
Maggie quit school in the ninth grade when her mom got sick. After she died, Maggie took over the bread-making business.
I take a bite of very sweet cherries in a flaky crust and savor it.
“So, let me guess, you’re getting a mesh so you can tell a story to the police?”
“I’m just exercising my right to a little privacy in my mind.”
She takes a bit of pie and chases it with the tea. “Tell me about the girl.”
“Huh?”
She points her fork, “Don’t huh me.”
I push back the pie after the third bite, my sweet tooth filled. I get up I cut off a piece of French bread and slather it with goat butter.
“Bring me a piece.”
I cut the bread and put it on Maggie’s plate. After spreading the goat butter thick, I take a bite.
“What’s her name?”
“Kim. I met her on a heist. We took turns saving each other’s lives.” I take a sip of tea, I look at Maggie. “We know each other’s secrets.”
She puts down her fork and picks up her mug. “What’s her secret?”
“Kim’s an unregistered telepath and a good one at that. She’s very deadly in dangerous situations. She might be a sociopath or just have PTSD.”
“What’s your secret, Hermes?”
Her question catches me off guard. “You know…that thing I do.”
She pushes the pie to the side. “You mean walking through walls?”
I shrug and let a breath out. “I don’t walk through walls. I just maneuver around them,” I change the subject. “I don’t know if Kim likes me or is just using me.”
Maggie takes a bite of crunchy French bread, “Are you putting up with her because the sex is good?” She puts more butter on the last piece of her bread. “What’s she like?” Maggie asks in a sultry tone.
I blush then turn away. I keep forgetting that Maggie is a lesbian. We always had this brother-sister relationship growing up, so I never looked at her that way.
Maggie laughs. “What’s she look like?”
“Kim is gorgeous, beautiful yellow eyes, tiger-striped skin, and a butt carved in granite.”
She points her finger at me. “Just like on the school paper, you always bury the lead in your story.”
The sun starts to brighten the eastern sky and a cock crows. Maggie and I stand up.
A large vintage Coca-Cola clock says it’s a past five. “I have to start making bread.”
I head to the door. “I have to go see the doc.”
As I walk back home, the light from the rising sun casts a long shadow and the cold retreats from my skin.
I think about last night. By tomorrow the police will match my DNA to a crime scene and come for me.
The evening wasn’t all bad, though. The silver and gold I stole are equal to one hundred thousand credits. It would take me ten years working as a mechanic to earn that much.
I walk in the front door. Mom and Kim are making breakfast. It looks like everyone is getting along. I pour a cup of coffee.
“Sit down, Hermes, breakfast is ready,” Mom says.
Beverly hands Kim two plates. It’s piled with hash-browns, scrambled eggs, and toast. Kim sits, puts down the plates, and we eat voraciously.
Kim cleans her plate with a piece of toast, making sure she gets all the egg yolk. “Those are the best eggs I ever had.”
A rooster crows nearby.
Mom smiles, pleased with the compliment. “That’s because they’re fresh.”
“Hermes keeps Bob in marijuana, and he keep us in eggs.” Mom returns with a medkit and fills a syringe. “Take off your shirt.” She gives me an injection. “This is a slow acting anti-trauma drug. It stays in your system for days.”
Dad opens the door to the shop, looks at me, and motions with his head to join him in the garage. I walk into the shop. In the center of a metal table is a bag of silver.
“That’s for Doctor Nick,” Daniel says.
“You see the gold?”
He drums his finger on the table. “I know a guy who runs the local lottery. He keeps thirty percent of all the money you want to be laundered. This time next week everything will be clean.” He sits down. “This would have been your best score ever, except for this thing with the police.”