Dylan

by Jo Raven

  A photo catches my eye. There’s a man with a long beard, looking pensive and forbidding, but behind him… Something’s familiar about the building in the background. I squint at it, unsure.

  Hey, isn’t it Miles’s school?

  If it is, maybe Sky Gate is located nearby. It’s a long shot, but I could check if there are other buildings in the area the cult may be using, and…

  And what, secret agent Tessa?

  I stare at the headings of the website pages. ‘Liberate yourself from earthly bounds.’ ‘Repent and find heaven.’ ‘Smoke signs.’

  Smoke signs?

  I open each page, glance through it, and it’s the usual preaching about finding God, repenting and finding peace. Nothing new, nothing that can help me answer Dylan’s question.

  Is this cult dangerous? Doesn’t look like it.

  Checking a bit more wouldn’t hurt, I decide, so I search by keywords, trying to find any connection to terrorist attacks, mass suicides—anything bad.

  Nada. No results. Then again, it seems to be a relatively new cult. Couple of years old, tops, if the creation date of the website is anything to go by.

  Well, then. Looks like the web search is a bust. What to do now?

  There is one person I know who might have information on this church. One friend who has ears everywhere, in underground movements and organizations, or so Zane claims.

  Rafe.

  Is it worth bothering him about this? I hesitate, the cell in my hand. Rafe is a good friend, but I haven’t seen him around in a while. Zane, who’s his best buddy, seems worried about him.

  And this is all the more reason to call Rafe, see how he is. I scroll down my contacts and call him before I let myself think about it too much.

  The phone rings and rings, and then his familiar deep voice answers. “Yeah?”

  “Rafe, it’s me. Tessa.”

  “Tessa. Is everything okay?”

  I frown at the question. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check on you.”

  “Right. Okay.” He sounds out of breath, and I wonder what he’s doing. “Look, I can’t talk now.”

  “Rafe, wait.” I check the time on my computer screen. “Are you going to the gym later on?” He trains the Brotherhood as well as the Damage Boyz from the tattoo shop on Tuesdays and Fridays. I’ve watched see them train a couple of times, and the gym isn’t far from the office.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.” He sounds wary. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  He lets out a soft snort that’s almost like laughter. “All right. You gonna come to the gym just to ask if I’m okay again?”

  “No, I…” I frown at the website of Sky Gate. “I want to ask you for some information.”

  “Is it important?”

  “It could be.”

  “Okay.” He sounds resigned, and it makes me feel bad. “Really hafta go now. See you later.”

  And he hangs up before I change my mind and leave him in peace to do whatever it is he’s doing.

  Just as well. I work on my tasks, arranging meetings with the sponsors and sneaking peeks into the archaeological expedition’s folders. One day I’ll be there, with the mosquitoes buzzing around me, up to my armpits in muck, unearthing the past. I think of what Mom said, that I should do what I like. I need to talk to the college administration, see how I could switch my classes.

  Not now, though. Taking a year off still seems like a good idea. Need to sort lots of things out—and Dylan. I need time to figure out what’s going on between us, because…

  Because something is going on, and it’s impossible to ignore it anymore. Dylan has opened up to me. He’s told me things I’ve been longing to hear, has held me as I wanted him to.

  I said I’d fight for Dylan if I had even a glimmer of hope. Well, now hope is a bright sun filling my thoughts. Time to do something about it.

  ***

  Getting ready to leave work, I’m closing windows on my computer screen and striking items off my To Do list, making sure I’ve done all that was urgent as tomorrow is Saturday, and the office will be closed. Mr. Walker’s rules. Saves on costs.

  I’m taking work with me to do at home, and I guess everyone here does the same. This isn’t so much about the salary as about a passion, and it’s such a different mentality from my dad’s. It’s fantastic.

  As I’m preparing to turn off the computer, it occurs to me to type Dylan’s symptoms into the search engine. I bite my lower lip as I try to remember things he’s told me. Joint aches. Fatigue. Maybe fever, too, judging from the way he gets dizzy and shivers.

  Worry gnaws at me as I hit enter and wait for the results to appear. The search engine spits out the results, and I scan the links suggesting what’s ailing Dylan.

  Rheumatoid arthritis. Medication reaction or side effect. Lyme disease. Acute sinusitis.

  Lyme disease. That rings a bell.

  I sit back in my chair. Isn’t that what Teo had? Caused by tick bites. From their garden. Could Dylan have gotten it too? He’s so strong physically he wouldn’t suffer as much, at least not at first—and knowing him, he’d probably attribute the symptoms to stress.

  Of course, I saw no rash on his skin. Another check of the symptoms, though, tells me that there’s a pretty significant percentage of cases where patients do not display characteristic rashes.

  Right.

  And what—now you’re a secret agent and a doctor? Get a grip, Tessa.

  Stress may well be the cause of Dylan’s symptoms. God knows it plays a number on many people. Or it could be the flu. Or just about anything else.

  But what if it is Lyme disease?

  I lean forward again and read on the long-term effects of the disease going untreated. It’s scary stuff. Arthritis. Meningitis. Facial paralysis. Heart problems.

  Jesus. That’s it. I’m dragging Dylan to the doctor for a checkup, whether he wants it or not. I’m not a doctor, but only a doctor can reassure me there’s nothing seriously wrong with him.

  In a hurry, I turn off the computer, grab my things and leave the office. The gym where Rafe works out isn’t far. I’ll just swing by before I head over to Audrey’s to shower and change, and then go convince Dylan to see a doctor. If money is a problem, I’ll have to call Mom and see how much I can withdraw from the account she set in my name, if needed. I wasn’t going to touch it, wanted to make it on my own, but this isn’t about me.

  Not for me, I think as I cross the avenue and turn into a side street. For Dylan. I’d spend every penny in my name making sure Dylan is okay.

  His words about fighting love and pretending it doesn’t exist come back to me as I spot the gym and head toward it. I try to imagine living in a home with a parent gone and the other sliding into depression because of love.

  Isn’t my family the same? My mother, caught in a downward spiral over my father? All these years I saw it happening, right in front of my eyes. Only, she dealt with it differently. Dylan’s mom left, and his dad joined a cult. My mom clung to my father, ignoring the truth, until that perfect illusion shattered.

  Am I clinging to Dylan the same way? Everyone seems to think so—my mom, my friends. But Dylan isn’t an illusion, a perfect ideal I cling to. God knows he has his faults and that he’s hurt me—but didn’t I hurt him, too? The more he flirted with other girls, the more boys I kissed. We hurt each other. And we need each other.

  I recall all he revealed, after years of silence—why he broke up with me, why he thinks he shouldn’t love me, his doubts and fears. How he tried to turn off his love for me—and failed.

  Maybe I’m not crazy after all, I think as I enter the gym. Because, while I’ve always had trouble believing any man wanted me, I believe Dylan does. And while I’ve always doubted my parents love me, I believe Dylan does.

  I spot Rafe and head his way. The smell of pine from a cleaning product is strong in the air, overlaying that of sweat, and it makes me want to sneeze.

&n
bsp; Rafe is alone. I don’t see any of the other boys. He’s doing crunches on a machine, and wowza, the guy is ripped. I didn’t remember him so muscled. His chest is a work of art. His pecs bulge, and his abs form a sculpted eight-pack. Talk about a washboard stomach.

  And all of it is covered in beautiful ink, skulls and wings, a scorpion and the requisite dragon all Inked Brotherhood members bear. Three names are inked on his side, on his ribs: a memorial to his dead family. On the other side, in big, black letters are written the words ‘mi ricordo.’

  Meaning, ‘I remember.’

  “Hey. What’s up?” I sit on the next crunch machine, and tear my gaze from his muscular chest. Work of art or not, I won’t be caught looking at a friend as if he’s eye-candy. “Going for the NPC competition or something?”

  He frowns and says nothing.

  A guy sweating on a bike across from us says, “He’s been training like the end of the world is coming.”

  Rafe gives the man the finger. The man laughs.

  But I don’t feel like laughing. On closer scrutiny, I see a bruise darkening one side of Rafe’s face. “Training for a fight?”

  “For a war,” he says and then looks away, as if regretting his words.

  “A war. Who are you at war with?”

  He clamps his mouth shut and continues with the crunches. Sweat pours down his body. His muscles tremble. How long has he been at it?

  “Rafe…” I toy with the handle of my purse. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing. And this isn’t what you came by to ask, is it?”

  I sigh. “No, it isn’t. I came to ask if you know anything about the church of Sky Gate.”

  “Sky Gate.” He stops and stares at me, tensing. “Why are you asking?”

  “So you do know about it.”

  He narrows his amber eyes and wipes his drenched hair out of his face. “Might have heard of it. What’s this about?”

  I glance at the other man across from us, but he has put on earbuds and seems focused on exercising.

  “Dylan’s dad is involved with them,” I say, “and Dylan is concerned.”

  Rafe grabs a towel from behind him and dries his face. His mouth is pressed in a flat line. “Bunch of stupid assholes,” he finally says. “They’re recruiting every desperate guy, so they can sit around together and bemoan the futility of our existence, day in and day out.”

  “Are they dangerous, Rafe? I need to know.”

  “I don’t know.” He works his jaw. “Not for sure, anyway. There’s one case of a Sky Gate member who tried to strangle his brother, but Sky Gate says they’d nothing to do with it. That every member acts on his or her own free will. Fucking hypocrites.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They brainwash their members, make them believe their life and the lives of others are standing in the way between them and heaven. And when the more desperate, more depressed members act on it, the church leaders wash their hands and say they had nothing to do with it.”

  Jesus. “This doesn’t sound good. But it doesn’t mean the Church is dangerous. Doesn’t mean Dylan’s dad will do anything like that.”

  Rafe shrugs and throws the towel to the floor with more force than necessary. His muscled, tattooed arms are glistening with sweat. “No, it doesn’t. It’s all up to his state of mind, his susceptibility to suggestion. That what you wanted to hear?”

  “I guess.” No. What I wanted to hear was that Dylan’s dad poses no danger to anyone. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “Everything okay with you?”

  I shake my head, force a smile. “Yeah. I… I left my apartment. Asked for a restraining order on Sean, my ex. Haven’t seen or talked to my dad in days. Dropped out of college. Everything’s fine.” I slant a look at him. “You?”

  He whistles, his cat-like eyes wide. “When did all this happen?” He winces. “Wait, don’t answer that. I haven’t been around much, have I?”

  I clench my fingers around the handle of my purse. “Want an answer?”

  “No, leave it.”

  I grin and open my mouth to tell him it’s time he came out with us one night for drinks, when my cell rings. I whip it out and answer without looking. “Yeah?”

  “Tessa?” A boy’s voice. “Tessa!”

  “Who is this?”

  “Miles. It’s Miles.” His voice breaks. “You told me I could call you.”

  I get up so fast my purse falls off my lap to the floor. “What’s wrong?”

  Rafe gets up too, frowning at me. He picks up my purse and hands it to me, then grabs a sweater hanging on the machine and pulls it on.

  “Dylan,” Miles says, his voice rising in panic. “He can’t… he can’t get up.”

  My pulse thumps in my ears like a time bomb. “What do you mean?”

  “He fell asleep and won’t wake up.”

  “Jesus. Miles, are you at home? Is he there?”

  “Yes! I… yes.”

  “Okay.” I’m already running toward the exit of the gym. “I’m on my way.”

  ***

  “Tessa! What the fuck’s wrong?” Rafe is following at my heels as I jog toward my jeep. “Hey!”

  “Dylan.” I cross the avenue, weaving between cars, and I hear Rafe curse behind me.

  “Dammit, Tessa, wait up!”

  I reach my jeep, waste precious seconds searching for my key and finally locate it and unlock. I slip behind the wheel.

  The passenger door opens, and Rafe folds his tall frame inside. He slams the door closed. “Now. About Dylan. What happened?”

  “Don’t know. I think he’s been sick for a while. Wrote it off as stress.” I start the engine, and shoot out into the traffic. “He’s been dizzy, and I think he had a fever this morning.”

  “This morning.” He sends me a curious glance. “You two got together?”

  I don’t know. I have no idea. So I focus on driving as fast as I can.

  “Who called you?” Rafe is still watching me. It’s as if he can see right through me.

  “Miles. Dylan’s brother.”

  “And?”

  “He said Dylan can’t get up.” The knot in my throat is like the stone blocks that make the pyramids.

  “From where?”

  “I don’t know.” I hit the wheel with my palm. “I didn’t ask. I was in a hurry to leave.”

  “Give me your cell.”

  Wordlessly, I pass it to him. It looks tiny in his big hand. He scrolls to find my last received call and hits connect. He identifies himself and asks questions to which I’m dying to know the answers—where Dylan is, how he is, if he responds when talked to, when touched—and I keep driving.

  “Was that Miles?” I ask as soon as he puts the cell down. “What did he tell you?”

  “Not much,” Rafe mutters. “Poor kid’s is terrified.”

  “How’s Dylan?”

  “He’ll be okay. Just get us there.”

  Now I want to hit Rafe, but crashing the car might not be a good idea right now. “Should we call an ambulance? Talk to me.”

  “Told you, kid’s terrified. He could only tell me Dylan can’t get up from the sofa and that we have to help him. Says he’s talking to himself.”

  “Shit.” I turn into Dylan’s street and park in front of his house in a screech of tires. I kill the engine, and I’m out of the car and hurrying toward the house in a heartbeat, Rafe’s footsteps following me.

  The house door opens, and Miles throws himself at me. I hold him, feeling how his body shakes, as Rafe pushes the door open all the way and walks inside. Tugging Miles along, I enter.

  Dylan is sprawled on the sofa, on his side, and Rafe sits down next to him. He puts a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and shakes him. “Dylan. Wake up. Come on, buddy.”

  I spot Teo sitting on the carpet, staring at us with wide eyes. “Miles. Go sit with your brother.”

  “You’ll help Dylan?” He looks up, his eyes red.

&nbs
p; I hug him. “Yes. He’ll be fine. Go sit with Teo.”

  He nods and sinks on the carpet next to Teo, as I walk over to the sofa. It’s like walking through water, my limbs heavy. It’s as if time has slowed down.

  “He’s burning up,” Rafe says as I reach their side and sit on the arm of the sofa.

  I can see it. Dylan’s face is flushed. His forehead is blistering hot to the touch, slick with perspiration. He’s muttering words under his breath, but I can’t make them out.

  “Dyl. Can you hear me?” I take his hand and squeeze it. “Dylan.”

  His eyes move behind his lids but don’t open. He makes a small noise, and his fingers curl around mine. “Tess?” His voice is scratchy, but I’ve never been happier to hear it.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” I swallow hard, a knot in my throat. “Hang on in there. You’ll be okay.”

  Dylan says nothing, but his fingers squeeze my hand.

  “Could be just a bug,” Rafe says. “The flu.”

  “We should take him to a doctor,” I say quietly. “This could be serious.”

  “You sound like you know something.”

  “Could be Lyme disease. What his brother had. They’ll have to run tests. If it’s that, he’ll need quite a lot of antibiotics. Teo’s still taking them.”

  “Damn.” Rafe groans and dry-washes his face. Then he gets up, pulls out his cell and makes a call. He paces while waiting for whoever he called to answer, his long legs eating up the small space.

  Miles and Teo sniffle from behind the coffee table.

  “It’s all right,” I tell them, infusing my voice with as much certainty as I can. “He needs medicine, and he’ll be back on his feet.”

  Miles nods, his blue eyes wide.

  Rafe stops midstride, plants his feet apart. “Tyler?” He brings the cell closer to his ear. “That you, man? What’s all that noise?” He turns toward me, his whiskey-colored eyes unreadable. “Okay. Listen, I need a favor. Need you to come and babysit Dylan’s brothers. Yes, now.” He listens for a few seconds, his mouth tightening. “Then bring Jax along. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Yeah, right now. Hurry up.”

  A long moment passes. Then he disconnects. “Okay. Let’s go.”