The Tie waved it off, a minor offense not worth addressing.
“And what of the boy? Is he well?” The Tie asked.
“Given that he’s been in a coma for four days, I’d say he’s doing splendidly. There are no cognitive deficits that I can find. Most of his injuries seem to be mending at, well, honestly, an abnormally fast rate.”
“What of his arm? What does his right arm look like?”
Doctor Saduj gave his nose an absent–minded scratch. “It’s been horribly scarred. It looks like someone intentionally carved symbols into his flesh.”
An excited anticipation filled The Tie’s eyes. “How extensive is the scarring?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The scarring, Doctor Saduj. Is it a small patch of symbols, or does it cover the majority of his arm?”
“Oh.” Saduj gave another scratch to the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses back to their proper position. “It covers from his elbow right onto his hands. I can’t imagine what sort of madness would drive a person to do such a thing.”
“Yes, yes. Fine, good. I appreciate your prompt action in this matter, Doctor. If you hear anything further concerning Pridament or there’s any radical change in the boy’s health, be sure to contact me.”
Saduj attempted to snap to attention. He’d never been in the military, and he didn’t know if the organization even did such things. “I will. I’m here to serve, sir.”
“Glad to hear it.” The Tie seemed amused by Saduj’s feeble attempts at military order. “Take good care of young Gwynn, Doctor Saduj. Return him to health and get him out of this hospital. We will see to him after that.”
“I will sir.” In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “To heal the world.”
“Yes, doctor,” a hunger filled The Tie’s eyes, “to heal the world indeed.”
6/ Luck Only Lasts So Long
Gwynn felt restless. Did they buy uncomfortable chairs in the office intentionally—a sadistic torture to further the uneasy experience of being there?
Gwynn’s left knee bounced in time to a marching rhythm that teased at the edge of his consciousness. He’d never been in the office. Almost finished high school and he had managed to keep his head down and never attract much attention. Now he had smashed the nose of the reigning school football hero. No doubt, he was a dead man.
After a seeming eternity, the principal’s door opened. Gwynn’s guts twisted as he caught a glimpse of the now familiar heart shaped face. Thankfully, the murderous intent in her dark eyes seemed to have vanished.
“Thank you very much Fuyuko, I appreciate it.” Mr. Davis, the school principal, said.
Fuyuko gave a slight bow and left the office.
Mr. Davis turned to Gwynn and sighed. “C’mon in Mr. Dormath.”
The words, Dead man walking, echoed in Gwynn’s head as he trudged into the office.
Mr. Davis shut the door and assumed his seat behind a large desk, barren except for a computer.
“Let’s get right to it, shall we.” Mr. Davis steepled his fingers. “You’re here because of what happened in the cafeteria?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll give you some points for coming here yourself. At least it shows you’re willing to accept the consequences of your actions. That said, striking another student is unacceptable.”
“I know sir. I’m sorry.” Gwynn searched for an excuse. Something to explain what had happened. In the end, he had to admit the truth. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Mr. Davis’ smile held some sympathy. “Fuyuko tells me Mr. Haze goaded you into it. Given what happened to you and Miss Murray, I can understand why you reacted the way you did.”
Gwynn tried to process what Mr. Davis had said. “Fuyuko? You mean that girl who was just in here?”
“Yes, a new transfer student from out of province who started last Monday. She saw what happened and felt she should tell me. I guess she figured I would believe her because she’s impartial.”
Gwynn started to feel the noose loosen around his neck. “Did you?”
“Gwynn, Eric Haze has a certain reputation in this school that I am well aware of. Yes, I do believe what Fuyuko told me, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a serious infraction and that you need to receive some form of punishment.”
“Yes sir.” Gwynn shrank in his chair.
“I think you should go home for the rest of the day, and take the next two days off as well. Officially, it’s a suspension. But I think you and I can both agree you need some more time off to…relax.”
Gwynn tasted rising sick. Jaimie would be pissed.
“Yes sir.” He gulped out the words.
“Is there anything you need to get from your locker?”
“Just my coat.”
“Good. Your Aunt is coming to get you. I’ll come with you so you can get your coat.”
For nine years, Gwynn had an obligation to be a model young man for Jaimie. She’d taken him in. He had no one else. She’d abandoned so much for him. He appreciated it. He valued her. The feeling of letting her down was a punch to his stomach.
“Mr. Davis?” He hesitated. Maybe he should keep quiet.
“Yes, Gwynn?”
Desperation took hold. He needed answers.
“I was hoping to see Sophia, to talk to her about what happened. But I haven’t seen her all day.”
Mr. Davis cleared his throat. “As far as I’m aware, Miss Murray has been away from school since the incident. I don’t think she was badly hurt, but she hasn’t been well enough to come back to school.”
“Okay. Um, thanks.” That had him worried. Pridament said that Sophia had left the hospital before Gwynn woke up. Had he lied? Were Sophia’s injuries worse?
Mr. Davis escorted Gwynn to his locker. Thankfully, the hallways were empty as it was still the lunch hour. When they returned to the main office, Jaimie had arrived. Mr. Davis explained Gwynn’s punishment and the events leading to it. Gwynn couldn’t read Jaimie’s eyes. He wished she would yell at him; hit him, anything other than be the calm, understanding Jaimie. His insides twisted so bad they overpowered the continuous throbbing in his arm and head. Gwynn trudged behind her to the car and crashed into the passenger’s seat.
“I’m sorry.” Gwynn said when Jaimie had belted herself in.
Jaimie closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m not that mad you hit Eric. Hell, it’s about time someone took that kid down a peg. It’s just a bad time. You fought me so hard about staying home a bit longer.”
“You were right. I should have listened.”
Jaimie opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re a good kid. This shouldn’t have happened. First that damn house, now a suspension on your record. You don’t deserve this. It just seems unfair. I think that’s what upsets me most.”
“Thanks Jaimie.”
They drove home in silence. Once there, Gwynn went up to his room and paced. Halloween. He replayed the night in his head. Maybe Pridament would be able to clear up some of it. The man seemed to want to talk more. Gwynn had caught sight of him several times while at the hospital. More than anything else, Gwynn wanted to know what Sophia’s role had been. Only she could answer that for him.
After a few minutes, he went downstairs. Jaimie shuffled about the kitchen. She seemed lost.
Gwynn cleared his throat.
Jaimie turned, her face red and flustered. “I was going to start dinner, but then I couldn’t remember what I was going to make.” She sank into a chair.
“You know it’s only two o’clock, right?” Gwynn asked.
“I know. I was hoping to make something…happy.”
Tears stung at Gwynn’s eyes.
“I’m sorry I let you down.”
Jaimie’s face fell. “No, no, it’s not you Gwynn. If anything, I’m the one who’s doing something wrong. I mean, in just a little over a week you’re almost killed and then suspended from school. God, my sister would disown me.”
<
br /> Gwynn searched for words. The mention of his mother had him flustered. Bad enough to feel he had failed Jaimie, but failing to live up to what his parents’ would have wanted for him? He’d become a failure.
Jaimie sniffled and wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “Crap, I’m a mess. Did you want something?”
Gwynn hesitated. It was the wrong time to ask. At the same time, something felt wrong. Something gnawed at his insides and only one person he could think of had answers.
“Jaimie, I know I shouldn’t be asking, but, I hoped you would let me go see Sophia.”
Jaimie exploded. “You’re goddamn right you shouldn’t be asking me. You think that just ’cause you’re off school you should be able to go make out with your girlfriend?”
Gwynn didn’t let her continue. “Make out with her? Girlfriend? I’m thinking she set me up so Eric Haze could get me into that house. But then something changed, she took the bullet for me. Why? I’m not interested in making out with her; I just want to know what the hell really happened.”
Jaimie’s eyes were stern, but she weighed his words. He considered pressing his argument, but that risked going too far.
“If she wasn’t at school, do you think she’s in any condition to see you?”
The building tightness in his chest started to unravel—Jaimie seemed to be considering it. “She wasn’t badly hurt; they discharged her from the hospital before me. I think she’s just laying low. I think she kind of ruined Eric’s plans by going in the house first, maybe she’s just avoiding that crowd until everything blows over.”
Jaimie shook her head.
“Fine. On the condition you call me from your cell if you’re staying and call me again when you’re on your way home.”
“I will.” It dawned on Gwynn just how much faith his aunt put in him. “Thanks Jaimie. I promise. I’ll call you soon.”
“You better, or I’m not going to be Ms. Nice–and–Understanding–Aunt any longer. Got it?”
Gwynn gave a salute.
“Got it.”
Gwynn bolted out the door before she could change her mind.
§
He had walked the route to Sophia’s a number of times, though he’d always made it seem he had another destination in mind. He would often hope Sophia might be outside her house alone and call him over, or maybe join him in his walk. It had never happened, and as he had gotten older, he realized his actions were kind of creepy and that he needed to dial back.
He passed the 7/11. A shudder ran along his spine.
His memories had him so preoccupied, he slammed into someone at the stoplights. He had to catch himself from falling.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” His voice stammered.
“That seems to be a habit of yours.”
Gwynn stared at the girl Mr. Davis had named Fuyuko. Genuine anger filled her eyes. Clearly not a girl to make an enemy.
“I know. It’s been a rough day for me. I’m sorry I keep running you over.”
Fuyuko shrugged. “I’ve had worse things happen.”
She took a step closer to Gwynn, moving beyond his barrier of personal space. It wasn’t unpleasant, just awkward. She seemed to be inspecting him.
“I heard a rumor you were in an explosion.”
Gwynn tried to laugh it off. It sounded unnatural and even uncomfortable. “That’s what they tell me. Whole thing’s a little blurry.”
“When I came into the school last Monday, the other students were saying that you were going to die.”
“Doctors got it wrong. I’m fine.”
Fuyuko’s gaze fell to his hand. “Trying to start some new fashion trend?”
“Hmm? What?” Gwynn looked down. Oh, she meant the glove. His face reddened. “No, no. There’s, umm, some scars. I didn’t want people staring at them.”
“I see. Well, good bye.”
Fuyuko turned to cross the road.
“Wait.” Gwynn called,
She turned back. “What is it?”
Thankfully, she didn’t sound annoyed.
“I wanted to say thanks. For speaking to Mr. Davis. It really saved me. No one else would’ve bothered to help me out.”
She smiled, small and brief, but Gwynn had seen it.
“I thought Mr. Davis should know the whole story. The way others were talking, I knew none of them would.” She said, her voice smooth and silky—no accent that he could detect, just an air of intelligence and sophistication.
“Well, I guess I don’t have many friends. Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“You are very welcome. Good day.”
With that, she turned and crossed the road.
Gwynn waited for the light to change and continued on to Sophia’s.
Crossing Dixie, he made his way through a walkway and turned right when it came out to a residential street. He kept walking until he came to another walkway. Through this, left at the street, and down three houses. While most of the houses in the subdivision were an average family home, the ones on this street were all custom builds. Sophia’s home would fit at least two of his house.
Gwynn took a deep breath and started walking toward the front door. His forehead dampened and his stomach knotted. The constant throbbing in his arm and head didn’t help. Several times, he considered turning back. So many times, that the walkway to the Murray’s door seemed miles in length.
When he reached the door, Gwynn gulped another breath and rung the doorbell.
Several moments passed. Gwynn figured he should give up when the door echoed with the sound of locks clicking open. The door opened to reveal a grim, middle–aged man whose eyes fell disapprovingly on Gwynn.
“I’m sorry to disturb you sir.” Gwynn stammered. “I wondered if Sophia was home.”
Thinly veiled anger filled the man’s eyes. “She’s not seeing anyone right now.”
“Oh.” A pit gnawed at Gwynn’s stomach. “Can you please let her know Gwynn came by to see her?”
The man hesitated. “Did you say you were Gwynn?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man, Mr. Murray, Gwynn assumed, inspected him.
“The same Gwynn that went into the Cameron house after Sophia?”
“I am.”
Mr. Murray’s eyes softened. “I heard you were badly injured. I figured you’d still be in the hospital.”
“I’m not sure what happened. I guess I wasn’t as bad as they thought. I got out two days ago.”
“Gwynn, Sophia’s not here.” Mr. Murray shuddered. “But I think it’s important you see her. She keeps asking for you.”
Despite his dark suspicions, Gwynn’s heart raced. “I’d be glad to come back when she gets home.”
Sophia’s father’s face fell. “I don’t know when that’ll be Gwynn.” Her father’s eyes misted. “It’s not very good. Sophia’s back in the hospital.”
5/ Instrument of the Shadows
Gwynn sat on his bed, inspecting the scarred mess covering his right arm. It burned and itched. The markings played across his flesh from the elbow and onto his hand. They held some meaning, but it eluded him like the whispers of a dream. When he stared at them long enough, the answer seemed so close, something he could reach out and take. But it always danced away before actual comprehension set in.
“We’re not too sure how,” the doctor at the hospital had said, “but you appear to be completely healed.”
“So? Why’s that a problem?” Jaimie had asked.
“Ms. Roberts, please try to understand.” Doctor Saduj huffed. He pushed his heavy glasses further up his nose and scratched at the wrinkled skin of his forehead. “When Gwynn arrived in hospital, he had several broken ribs, a punctured lung and obvious head trauma. He remained comatose for four days and we had every reason to believe the possibility of extensive brain damage. Now, after a total of seven days, he is completely healed.”
“Again, what’s wrong with that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it”
Doctor Saduj made a poor attempt to hide how flustered he’d become. “Except that it’s impossible. Not only has he healed at an accelerated rate, there isn’t even evidence that the injuries ever existed. Even when bones heal, they leave evidence of previous breakage. None of that exists. It’s as if the injuries never happened.”
Fire filled his aunt’s eyes. She hadn’t birthed him, she might not have been ready to be his mother, but neither of those facts kept her from a fierce defense. “That’s not really our problem. Is it safe for him to go home?”
“Well, yes.” Doctor Saduj spluttered. “We would like to do some more tests to try and understand just how—”
“No. There will be no more tests.” Jaimie turned to Gwynn, her small form full of power and determination that towered over all others in the room. “Gwynn, get dressed. We’re leaving. Thank you Doctor, I’m sure Gwynn’s speedy recovery is due to your outstanding care.”
Doctor Saduj shrugged. The doctor didn’t think for a moment his care had cured Gwynn, but the droop of his shoulders and the distant look in his eyes spoke of defeat at Jaimie’s hands.
Seven days after admission with life threatening injuries, Gwynn left the hospital. He should’ve been ecstatic, felt blessed. But doubt, cold and gnawing at his innards, kept a simple question ever–present in his mind; why am I alive?
When his parents died, he felt angry. Why had they died? Why did his dad have to switch jobs anyway? If they had just stayed where they were…
To ask why he had survived never occurred to him. At the age of eight you expected to live, death seemed odd. Being older, he understood people died for far less. How many people sidestepped the reaper twice? If this was luck, how long would it hold?
Life had changed. His room, exactly as he’d been comfortable in for years, today seemed cold and foreign. The white walls, barren of posters and color, loomed high and seemed too close.
Gwynn pulled a long–sleeved shirt over his head. It did nothing to cover the scars on his hand. He couldn’t recall a time when the opinions of others meant that much to him. But the scars were private. The thought of someone else seeing them filled him with uncertainty, like a dirty secret. Gwynn searched the room for something to cover his hand. Nothing on his floor or the small desk with his computer proved of any use. His eyes fell on his dresser and inspiration took hold. The top drawer held socks and underwear, the second sweaters, the third, and bottom–most, drawer held clothes he classed as other. He rooted around the drawer, digging to the bottom. A search rewarded him with a pair of biking gloves. The black gloves had leather sewn to the palm and the fingers cut off. Aunt Jaimie had purchased them. But Gwynn preferred to feel the rubber of his bike handles, so the gloves had been retired. Gwynn slipped the right hand glove on. He flexed his hand a couple of times and left the bedroom behind.
Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds) Page 5