Sleight

by Tom Twitchel

  BUT...the fact that he had handled it the way he had instead of trusting us didn’t speak well of his character. And then he had just bailed after the fight in the alley. Live to fight another day? Or was it just plain cowardice?

  When we reached the hallway that led to the sleeping quarters Mr. Goodturn turned to me and sighed.

  “I’m sorry Miss Winters was hurt Benjamin. You should know that Constance is very skilled, more than the typical general practitioner.”

  “I trust her. She looks so much like...” I let my voice trail off, my throat tight.

  “You need some rest. And this old man does too,” said Mr. Goodturn, peering up at me through his thick lenses. He touched my arm lightly and turned away, toddling off down the hall.

  I watched him close the door to his room. There was a lot we still needed to discuss, but that would have to wait. Shaking off the cobwebs I looked across the hall. The door to Constance’s bedroom suite was open and I hoped that was a good sign. I walked up to the threshold and tapped lightly on the wall. Constance stepped into view and waved me in to her front room.

  “Benny, you look very tired,” she said, brushing her hand lightly against my shoulder. Her smile made me feel like I was twelve years old, before all the goofy crap started happening.

  “Yeah, I am. Is Justine okay?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, but sleeping right now. I gave her a mild sedative to help her rest. Tomorrow she will be much, much better, but very fatigued.”

  I looked around the small sitting room. “Is Justine’s stuff close by? I need to grab her phone. I need to text Kayla Greenberg so that she doesn’t go ballistic.”

  “She already texted her,” she said. “She said she‘s staying overnight at a friend’s. Very headstrong, your young lady.”

  I blushed hard. “She’s not my—”

  Putting her hand on my arm she gave it a squeeze. “She loves you Benny.”

  “I know,” I said, hanging my head.

  Constance gave me a small smile. “I don’t think you do. Oh, I know that you’re aware that she cares for you. But I think she understands the difference between puppy love and the real thing.”

  The entire evening was just about to tip me over. I couldn’t respond.

  Seeing me struggle Constance smiled. “I take it you don’t feel exactly the same way. That can happen. At a minimum you have a true friend in that young lady.”

  “Constance, how can I thank you for everything you’ve done?” My vision was blurred with unshed tears.

  In answer she opened her arms. Embracing her I realized that I had forgotten how good it felt to be held by family. It made me feel safe, filling me with a sense of belonging. I gently pulled away and she reached up to kiss my cheek.

  “Get some rest Benny. She’ll sleep late into the morning. I’ll watch over her.”

  Nodding I turned away quickly so she couldn’t see the tear streaking my cheek. Pulling her door closed behind me I leaned against the wall trying to collect myself.

  How was I going to manage to get up and go to school? I thought it might be better to just stay up. If I missed school though, Justine’s absence might somehow get turned into a thing by Kayla. Us both being absent on the same day. And of course, it was a thing.

  Sighing I pushed off from the wall and heard footsteps. Brock swung around the corner a second later. Seeing me he chucked his chin and headed in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. Curious, I limped down the hall after him.

  He was grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when I walked in.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.” Another nod of his chin.

  Two guys making conversation in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Where’s Kenwoode?” I asked.

  Taking a deep swig from the bottle Brock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and cocked an eyebrow. “Still out.”

  “Hey, thanks again. I owe you,” I said.

  Leaning his tall frame against the kitchen counter he took another heavy pull off the water bottle and drained it. “There’s a lot of that to go around. I owe Preston. He owes Goodturn. In fact we all owe Goodturn.”

  “You all owe Mr. Goodturn?”

  He didn’t answer, went to the fridge and pulled out another water bottle. He took off the top and downed half of it. “You did okay kid, but you’re still just a kid.”

  I felt my jaw pop and my face got warm. I didn’t say anything.

  “If it weren’t for Goodturn, all of us, me, Preston, Constance, would be toast. If not dead, probably wishing we were.”

  He took another swig. “We got snared on the East Coast about twenty years ago. Shady government op rounding up Naturals. We were being held in a bunker at an old farmhouse in Massachusetts. He saved us, shut down their operation and erased a lot of their personal mental history. That group probably doesn’t even exist anymore.”

  Mr. Goodturn’s past had a lot of dark corners in it. He’d made many of what he called pragmatic decisions. Adult-speak for making choices with the least negative outcomes. The way Brock was talking made me question whether I wanted to know more. My expression must have betrayed what I was thinking. He gave me a hard look.

  “Look kid, what we’re into, what we’re dealing with, isn’t clean. There aren’t any aspects of this that are black and white. You either throw in for the greater good, and trust guys who know more than you and me, or you back off. And stay out of the way. Simple.”

  “The greater good? Justine got shot. I don’t want my friends getting hurt.” I felt blood rushing to my face.

  “You wanna make an omelet—” he sneered.

  I spat a curse at him. “Easy for you to say! It wasn’t your friend who got shot. You don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself!”

  Crushing the water bottle in his hand he took a step toward me. “Get ahold of yourself boy. I’ve had enough of your whiny bullshit.”

  “Come on!” I said, lifting my arms.

  He took a step and then hesitated, frowning at me. “Don’t press it kid. I don’t want to do this.”

  “What’s your deal?” I said, lowering my arms.

  Brock shook himself and threw the water bottle in the trash.

  “It’s my other thing,” he growled.

  “What other thing?”

  “My second aberration. I’m an empath.” He seemed to be trying to get himself under control.

  “What?”

  Giving his head a quick shake he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It means that I pick up other people’s emotional state. Like a receiver. Except it’s always on. Wide open. That fight at the waterfront created residual issues. All the anger, fear and whatever else is splashing around seeps into me. Takes a while before it fades.”

  It sounded a little like my sensing knack, but with significant problems.

  “How do you use that?” I asked before I could stop myself. Sawyer had mentioned that he was sensitive about his knacks.

  “I don’t. It’s a nuisance. Other than picking up crap when I’m playing cards, or fighting, it’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Sorry.” There didn’t seem to be any other response that was appropriate.

  He stared at me. “You think I’ve never lost anyone? Never seen a buddy take a hit? And the girl? Why was she there in the first place? You kids. If you’re going to get involved you can’t do it half way.” He rubbed his face with both hands and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna hit the rack.” He looked at me, appraising my rumpled clothes and red eyes. “You need to decide on where you stand. In or out. Simple.” He stalked out of the kitchen.

  In or out.

  Actually not simple at all.

  SIXTY-FOUR: BE VERY AFRAID

  WHEN I WOKE up, I had a lot of trouble getting out of bed. I couldn’t remember ever being as tired. Well, other than the long bus ride to Seattle when I was thirteen.

  But it was close.

  Dragging myself out of bed I looked around, disoriented f
or a minute, and then I remembered: the underground meeting, the fight with the Shades and...

  Justine.

  Pulling on my clothes I stumbled into the tiny bathroom and tried to make myself somewhat presentable. No shower. I’d slept for a little over two hours and would have to race to school to make the first bell. So I had that to look forward to. The continued absurdity of worrying about my academic career in the aftermath of what I’d been through was funny, but I wasn’t laughing.

  Limping down the hall I stopped at Constance’s door and knocked. Her night (morning?) had been just as long, maybe longer, so I waited without knocking again.

  The door finally opened a crack and Constance’s face, looking disheveled and weary, appeared in the narrow space.

  “She’s fine, but she’s still sleeping,” she said, a tired smile curving her lips.

  I immediately felt guilty. She’d been up taking care of Justine while I’d been sleeping. “Sorry. I just wanted to know if she was okay before I left.”

  “You’re leaving? Oh, school. Oh my God. I forget how young you are. She’ll be fine, Benny. Really.”

  Ducking my head, searching for an appropriate response, I mumbled something about being late.

  “Benny, go. She’ll be fine,” she said, her smile brightening slightly.

  “Okay, mo…Constance.” Crap. Couldn’t even get that right.

  She grinned at my near misfire as she closed the door.

  I went through the kitchen, grabbed an apple and a power bar and ran out of the apartment without running into anyone else. My stomach growled unhappily as I sent down the first thing I’d eaten since lunch the day before.

  I ran through the pawnshop and got on the bus with everything going on around me just a blur. It wasn’t until I settled into a seat that I realized it was snowing again, not heavily but it looked like it was going to stick. Everyone else on the bus had smiles on their faces. A perverse voice in my head wanted to clue them in to the secret war that was being waged in the city.

  By the time the bus shuddered to my stop near school I had pinched my skin and slapped my cheeks enough times that I was able to fool myself into thinking that I was wide awake. I ignored the questioning looks from the other passengers as I walked past them to get off.

  If they only knew.

  I was less than clear headed as I walked up the steps and pulled open the door to the main entrance. I turned down the hallway and headed for homeroom.

  And realized that I’d forgotten to do my homework.

  Again.

  I walked up and opened the door with class already in session, but not by much. Mrs. Sayles gave a slight shake of her curly-haired head and nodded at my empty seat. No stares from my classmates, just a few smirks.

  By the time lunch rolled around I was a hot mess. If I hadn’t been starving I’d have taken off and cut the rest of the day, just to get some sleep. After I’d had my tray filled, I shambled over to my spot and dropped onto the bench. It only took a few minutes for Justine’s friends to find me, Kayla being the first.

  She sat down opposite me and flipped her black and now green-highlighted hair back. Not Goth or punk, her appearance borrowed from both: pale makeup offset by heavy and colorful eyeshadow, pink lipstick, short black fingernails, ripped jeans, loose and baggy sweatshirt. Leaning over the table, her hands on either side of her tray she glared at me.

  “Where the hell is she?”

  No need to guess who she was referring to. I toyed with the idea of playing dumb.

  “Do you know her parents came to my house last night? My house! They were yelling at my parents, telling them they were going to sue them because she wasn’t there!”

  I shelved the idea of trying to mislead her. “She’s safe.”

  Russel Chu and a couple of Justine’s other girlfriends sat down.

  “Uh uh. No way is that all you’re going to tell me. Where is she?”

  I couldn’t tell her much, especially with three new sets of ears listening in.

  “Look, I don’t tell Justine what to do, especially since she came back.” Kayla nodded begrudgingly. Apparently we’d both been getting a taste of the new and aggressively independent Justine. “I saw her after school, she wanted to hang out with me, I told her no and then she went off and did her own thing.”

  All true.

  Kayla wasn’t satisfied.

  “Uh huh. Sure. And you don’t know where she is?”

  To drive a point home, I cocked my head and then slowly made eye contact with all of the others who were now totally listening in. Then I looked at Kayla. “I wonder how pissed Justine would be if I broadcast her business all over school?”

  Kayla’s mouth twisted, she glanced at the others, not even pretending to give us some privacy. Then she slit her eyes. “Fine. I want to talk to you after school.”

  Hilarious. “Get in line,” I said.

  She didn’t respond and we all dug into our meals, conversation slowly picking up, but dancing around the subject everyone really wanted to talk about.

  Late classes spun by without any drama. I received some light scolding, but hey, Christmas Break was just days away. Who would get picky with a student over homework right before the holiday? Especially when he’d been near the top of the honor roll every semester.

  I was leaving by a side exit when Kayla caught up with me. A bright pink jacket added another discordant layer to her wardrobe, making it even harder to categorize her appearance. I guess that was the point.

  “Trying to slip out and avoid me?” she asked, lifting her lip in a sneer.

  “What do you want Kayla? I already told you she’s okay,” I said.

  Slinging a backpack bearing a Jack Skellington logo over her shoulder, she frowned. “Not good enough. I want to know where she is so I can tell her to get her parents to calm down.” She sprinkled in some profanity while she adjusted her pack.

  “Did you try to call her? Text her?” I asked.

  “Yes. She’s not answering. I know you know something. Do you want me to go to the principal? Talk to the cops?”

  Turning over the possible outcomes in my mind I decided it wouldn’t help to have her stir the pot.

  “Look, she’s fine. I did see her last night but everything else I told you was true. She wasn’t feeling well enough to come to school, and she’s getting taken care of by someone who knows what they’re doing. She probably thought she was helping your parents out by not coming to your house last night.”

  Narrowing her eyes she didn’t say anything, as she thought about what I’d said.

  “Is she coming home today? My house?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “Probably?”

  I shook my head. “Most likely. Kayla, I don’t control her. Do you?”

  She snorted. “No, of course not.”

  “I’m telling you that the jam she got into was not my fault and that she’s going to be fine. She’ll probably go home later today.” Sure, completely recovered from a bullet wound, nothing crazy.

  Blowing out a breath to push her bangs out of her eyes she pointed a stubby black-nailed finger at me. “You know what Brown? You say she’ll be okay; I believe you. You say she’ll probably head home later; I believe that, I know how she is, but not your fault?” She made air quotes with her hands when she said ‘your fault’. “Think about this: whatever she got into last night would she have if she wasn’t all tangled up in your ish?”

  That was a little too close to home. I frowned but didn’t say anything. The direction she was taking the conversation didn’t have ‘happy ending’ written on it.

  Raising her eyebrows, she said, “What no snappy comeback? I’ll answer for you: she wouldn’t have been near whatever B.S. messed her up if it wasn’t for you. And why is that? I’ll answer that too. She’s in love with you and can’t think straight when it comes to you.”

  I was mad, but I was also chewing on what she was saying because it was very close to the mark. Maybe rig
ht on the money.

  “You’re bad for her. It’s weird because you’re like, supposed to be the goody-goody boy. But you need to totally let her off the hook. Or you’re gonna do more than just piss off her parents and get her sick.”

  “Knock it off Kayla. I get it.”

  But she was cruising so fast I don’t think she even tried to pump the breaks on her verbal barrage.

  “I don’t think you do. So, guess what? I think I’ll call her parents and tell them she’s at your place. How about that?” she crossed her arms over her chest and stood there, feet spread wide with a ‘whatareyougonnadoaboutit’ look on her face.

  My guilt took a nose dive and my face got hot. I was angry. I was tired of people getting up in my face and threatening me. It was complicated by the fact that the stuff she had said was kind of true. But that didn’t give her the right to dump all over my personal life.

  “Kayla you caught me on a bad day. I’m over having people blackmail, threaten and trash on me. So here’s where I’m at with you: go ahead. And when Justine’s parents do their thing and create drama I’m going to let Justine know you’re the one who put the match to that bag of crap. What do you think about that?”

  I didn’t feel great about trying to one up her. She was upset and cared about Justine. But enough was enough. Her mouth closed and her lips drew into a tight line. I watched her process what I’d said and weigh it against the threat she’d made. Then she leaned toward me, her face inches from mine.

  She hissed three words. The last was my name and the first two were not ‘happy birthday’.

  My batting average with the opposite gender continued to suck.

  I started to say something sarcastic, but caught myself. Instead I watched her make an exaggerated pirouette and storm down the hall in the other direction, taking big, long, bouncing strides that virtually screamed ‘I am pissed off’.

  Running my hand through my hair I let out a sigh. Pushing out through the double exit doors I stepped into the gray afternoon. Swirls of snowflakes chased cars as they left the student parking lot.