When her relief finally came—fifteen minutes late—Chloe went to the back room to punch out her time card and walked out the front door, never acknowledging Horatius. He fell in beside her as she drifted down the sidewalk.
“You should never walk home alone. Especially after dark.”
She shrugged again.
“Truly, Chloe. It dangerous. Maybe you don’t care about dying. But there are things that could be worse than dying.”
She finally made eye contact. “I don’t even know you.”
“That gang that came in probably live around here. You are just asking for trouble by walking home alone.”
“If something happened, maybe Todd—” It was almost inaudible, and she stopped herself before finishing.
She had it bad, all right. How could he possibly help someone so self-destructive? What had been done to her to make her care so little?
“Listen, nothing is going to happen. I’m going to make sure. That’s why I am here. Think of it like I am making up for not helping before. Okay?”
A shiny black SUV with dark windows and a thumping bass speaker slowed down and drove alongside them for a minute. The loud beat and rap lyrics pulsed the air around them. Horatius turned and glared right at the driver’s window, even though he couldn’t see in. The streetlight’s reflection moved over the hood, the roof, the back, as it crept along. They lingered a little longer then took off with a squeal. It woke Chloe up.
“Did you know them?” Chloe said.
“Know their type.”
“Don’t stare at them. They might shoot you.” She said it with no emotion.
When they got to Forty-First, she turned onto the street like she was alone. Horatius swung wide to follow and catch back up with her after he missed the turn. They didn’t talk until they got to her house.
When she walked up to her front door, Horatius stayed down on the sidewalk.
He said, “What time will you leave for work tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Three.”
“I’ll see you then.” He waited until she was inside, the door closed, and the porch light went dark before he went to find a bed for the night.
***
The next day at two-forty-five, Horatius paced back and forth in front of Chloe’s house, waiting for her to come out.
Thirty minutes later, he rang the doorbell. Michelle came to the door.
“Hello again.”
“Hey.”
“I’m Horace, Chloe’s friend. I came to walk her to work. Is she leaving soon?”
“Left an hour ago. Went in early.”
A shot of irritation made him growl. She was not making this easy for him.
He jogged all the way to the convenience store. Once again, he found Chloe standing like a zombie as customers came and went at the pumps and milled around the store.
“Hello, Chloe. I waited for you.”
She shrugged her standard indifferent gesture. “Had to come in early. You didn’t give me your cell.”
As though you would have called me.
Horatius took his spot by the door, standing under a fan so he could cool off from his run. “I will just wait over here.”
Another shrug.
How can I help someone so apathetic?
People came and went. Few paid attention to him. Certainly not Chloe. And her co-worker left, saying he couldn’t wait around any longer for his relief, who never arrived. After two or three hours passed, Horatius bought a microwaved pocket sandwich, four Slim Jims, and a six-pack of Heineken for his dinner and returned to his station at the door. When the store was empty, he enjoyed his refreshment. When customers came in and out, he greeted them, trying to add interest. The beer not only made his assignment more tolerable, but it certainly made him more charming.
“Have a good day.”
“Thank you. Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks for coming. Until next time.”
“Great hat. Go Rockies.”
“Beautiful baby, madam.” Big smile.
He had several phrases to keep it fresh.
When the digital clock above the counter flashed to eight-oh-seven, a feeling of imminent danger jolted Horatius out of his complacency. Something was happening in the heavens. The Fallen and Pure were battling. Pit of Tartarus, I shouldn’t have had those five beers!
The door swung wide, and the five delinquents strutted back in.
They spread out, acting casual and aloof. Their attempt to look nonchalant, separating to browse the merchandise on different aisles, didn’t fool Horatius. One picked up a can of motor oil, another rearranged baby supplies—he was the most nervous of the five. A third hovered near a laughing couple who played with the ketchup dispenser while their hotdogs sizzled on the rotisserie rack. The one with gold front teeth who still wore a wife beater met his buddy’s cold eyes then scanned the rest of the store doing reconnaissance. They both flashed looks at Horatius and then shared a knowing glance. They’re going to execute their plan soon.
Horatius slipped on his Ray-Bans to hide his eyes. He wasn't about to give away his presence to the Fallen possessing these punks.
After the playful couple paid for their hotdogs and left, the kid with the gold grill and goatee trotted up to the counter. He pulled out a Glock, bobbing and weaving like a boxer. He jabbed the handgun right at Chloe, sideways and at eye level. Like a real pro gangsta.
“You wanna die tonight?”
CHAPTER 14
Chloe stared down the gun barrel and didn’t move. Her eyes registered the first real emotion Horatius had seen since Scotland.
“Empty the register.” He threw a wadded plastic Wal-Mart sack on the counter.
“You don’t want to do that,” Horatius said, trying to keep his words crisp and hard in spite of his tongue feeling loose and thick.
Another 9 mm came out from the buddy. “Shut-up, clown,” the kid yelled. His accent was thick. “Think you’re something with those shades? You won’t feel so cool when you’re dead,” he said as he shuffled in place.
Horatius needed to keep Chloe from danger. His head was foggy. He tried to shake it off.
The one calling him a clown was an annoying distraction. Horatius concentrated. The gun in the punk’s hand became molten metal. He screamed and tried to drop it. Some of it seared to his hand. Some got on his other hand. Some on his leg. Third-degree burns propelled him out the door, yowling and cursing.
The transmutation weakened Horatius, but he ignored it. He turned his attention back to Chloe. This was his chance to help her, to help himself. Maybe he’d finish up tonight and be relieved of his requirement.
After his buddy’s sudden departure, the one with Chloe turned back toward her and lifted his gun arm again and straightened it into a hard beam.
“I said empty the register. Do it. Now!”
Chloe struggled with the sack, then with the register to find the right sequence of buttons to open the drawer.
Another of the punks left his motor oil and moved up on Horatius. He pulled out his gun.
“Get on the floor,” the punk yelled.
Horatius ignored him. He was trying to think of what he should do. His mind was so foggy.
“Drop to the floor!”
Horatius refused to budge.
“One move, I pump you with lead.”
Shut up! I can’t think with your constant rambling.
An idea! The old snake trick. Simple, easy. It wouldn’t take much power.
The kid’s shoelaces became serpents. They swirled up his legs and disappeared into his baggy shorts. The gun turned into a poisonous frog. The kid threw it and screamed. Herpetophobia. Good choice. The kid yanked down his shorts past the snakes and stumbled out the door.
The leader yelled at his retreating companion. But he couldn’t get him back. The door closed after him with a bell chime.
Horatius turned back to the leader. “Put the gun down, leave now, and I will let you live.” Of course he wouldn’t
kill him. They would not be pleased. But he could hurt him.
The guy with the gold front teeth laughed. It wasn't a very confident laugh, not after two of his buddies unexpectedly abandoned him. But he found enough courage to point his gun at Horatius. “We got ourselves a tough guy,” he said to Horatius.
Chloe dropped out of sight behind the counter as soon as the punk turned his attention on Horatius.
Good. Stay down.
“Put the gun away. You are about to get really hurt,” Horatius said.
The punk swaggered closer and waved the weapon in his face. But when he took in Horatius’ height, he bounced back to a safer distance, one where he would not have to lift his head to look at him.
“This is my last warning,” Horatius said.
The kid’s arm went rigid and he aimed. Every muscle in his face clenched. He was ready to pull the trigger. Horatius really wanted to just kill the kid. But that really wasn’t an option. Instead, he’d get his attention. All at once, every hair on the kid’s body burst into flame. Sparks exploded all over him and the hairs flared, flashed, and burned quickly down into their pores. He sizzled. The air stank with fried hair stench.
His head was not shaved close, so all those hairs joined together and his head caught fire. His thick eyebrows burned hot then sputtered out. His goatee flashed. He crumpled into a ball, screaming, swatting at the flames beneath his clothes. The fire from his ears burned a little longer, as did his oily head, because of the earwax. He should have listened to his mother and used Q-Tips more often.
In less than a minute all the flames were out. His wife beater was scorched. His bad luck he had so much body hair. Though still bent in half, he got himself off the floor enough to stagger out, tears streaming down his cheeks.
The two gang members at the back of the store shared a look then raced each other to the door. They ran past Horatius while he leaned on the doorframe to recover from expending his power.
Chloe peeked over the counter after they left and the door chimed shut.
“Are you okay?” Horatius asked from the door.
“What happened? I smell smoke.”
“Everything is okay now. They’re gone. You’re safe.” He couldn’t really get off the doorframe.
“Should I call the cops? Or at least my boss?”
That was a good idea. Others to help while Horatius got his strength back.
Sirens blared. Red lights throbbed. The police took statements and wrote notes. Chloe called her mom. She came and took her home. That was a good thing, because Horatius needed a drink so badly, God himself couldn’t have talked him out of it.
CHAPTER 15
Chloe sagged on her stool with her cello propped between her knees. Her bow hung limp in her hand with the tip resting on the floor. No music would come. Now that the Brazil tour was out, there was no reason to even practice.
Her mom lay on the couch with Michelle’s People magazine open against her stomach. She was in the same gray sweatpants she’d worn since Chloe had come home, and a dirty tee shirt—one her dad had left behind. Nana sat in her recliner crocheting a new bright yellow hexagon. So far, it was the size of a quarter.
“Mom, you should get up. You just got out of bed,” Chloe said. “You should take a shower. You’re starting to smell bad.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Nana said without looking up from her hook twirling in the yarn.
“Please don’t just hang out with me. I’m okay,” Chloe said.
You’re not okay.
Her mom rolled to her side and the magazine slipped to the floor. She bent her elbow under her head and looked up at Chloe with the frown that never left her face now. “I’m not hanging out with you. I’m just tired.” Her smudged makeup blended in with the deep gray shadows beneath her eyes.
“You’re almost stalking me.”
“I wanted to be on the couch. You were by the couch. Anyway, if you were okay, you’d talk to your friends.”
“I talked to Kaitlyn a few days ago. I’m fine.”
You’re not fine.
“You’re wearing me out,” her mom said. “I don’t have the energy to worry about you. You keep doing things.”
“What’s wrong, dear?” Nana said. “Why won’t you talk to your friends?”
“I just don’t want to. I don’t want to tell the whole story again. It’s over. I’m fine. Nothing happened.” What’s the point of anything? She lifted her bow and played the first note to nothing.
“Nothing happened?” her mom moaned. “You got your dad mad all over again. Things were just starting to get better.”
“What are you talking about, Susan?” Nana asked.
“I can’t even go into it. But suffice it to say, she nearly died. And I’m not even talking about last night.” She rolled the other way and hid her face against the back cushions.
Chloe stopped mid-note and dropped her bow arm again. “No. I didn’t. No wounds, no dead. I’m fine.”
No, you’re not.
“You were lost in a foreign country. You could have been kidnapped and beheaded!”
“It was Scotland, Mom.”
Shame on you.
“Mom! Get up. Please.” She didn’t plan to shout, but she wanted the voice in her head to shut up. “Benji needs to be picked up soon. He needs you.”
“Oh, Susan. Are you not feeling well today?”
“No, Mama.” Her voice was muffled into the pillows.
“You should take a powder, dear. It will help you feel better.”
“No, she shouldn’t take anything. She’s taken plenty.”
Her mom sprang up. The frown was angry now. “Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t take. Especially if you keep doing things like last night.” She was shaking. “And you should at least call Todd. He deserves to hear from you. What if you lose him forever? What will you do if you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Last night wasn’t my fault.”
“Which one is Todd?” She looked around the living room. “Is he that little boy around here?”
“For goodness sake! That’s Benjamin. Don’t you know your own grandson?” Her mom’s exasperation spilled even onto Nana.
Nana looked confused.
“Mom,” Chloe warned.
Her mom turned back to face the cushions again.
Nana returned to her crocheting.
Chloe loosened her bow and used a cotton yarn hexagon to rub off her cello, which didn’t have any rosin on it because she hadn’t played it. She didn’t want to play, didn’t want to make music. Life was ugly. It was bad enough she had to deal with getting robbed, but somehow her mom found a way to make it her fault that it happened.
“I hoped you two would marry,” her mom mumbled into the pillow.
“Oh, I just love weddings.”
Chloe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Mom, stop. I said we’re on hold. Just go with it. I can’t do this right now.”
Her mom left the couch, went to her room, and shut the door.
“She needs some time to herself right now,” Nana said, then concentrated back on her hexagon.
Chloe set her cello down on its side along the wall and went into the kitchen where Michelle was making a bologna and pickle sandwich.
“Wan’ some?” Michelle said through her stuffed nose.
“Yuck. You shouldn’t eat that garbage while you’re fighting a cold. I don’t know how you eat it.”
“Like this.” She picked it up and tore off a huge, sloppy bite, then chewed it with her mouth open.
“Ugh. I’m going to scramble an egg.”
While Chloe bent inside the fridge to rummage for the carton of eggs, the phone rang. Michelle picked it up and answered with her mouth full of sandwich and her nose full of cold.
“Hullo?”
Michelle paused and Chloe dug around for green peppers.
“I do have a code.”
Chloe ran cold water over a red pepper.
“S
till wanna go where?”
Chloe focused one ear in Michelle’s direction, a little curious where she was going, and with whom.
“What’re you talking about?”
Chloe turned to watch Michelle.
“The Renaissance Festival?” It sounded like Red-a-sauce. “Why would I go there with you?”
Now she had Chloe’s complete attention. Michelle loved the Renaissance Festival. Chloe and Todd always took her along with them. It was her annual birthday gift.
“Guess.”
Chloe mouthed Who is it?
Michelle waved her off.
“Yeah, I know who this is. But you don’t know who I—” She paused to listen. “It’s me. Michelle, dope. Who’d you think?”
Chloe asked her again, this time out loud. “Who is it?”
“Okay. Be more careful next time. That’s a pretty dumb mistake.” She hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Nobody.”
“Tell me.”
“A former friend of mine.”
“You don’t have many friends, let alone former ones.”
Michelle glared at her. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Is someone trying to get information about my ‘incident’ again?” Chloe went back to cut her pepper. The knife crashed against the cutting board with each hack, punctuating her words. “I wish everyone would leave me alone already. You’re such a bad liar.”
“It was Todd.”
She whipped around. “Todd?”
“He dialed wrong. Old habits, you know.”
Chloe tried to keep breathing. “He’s taking her to our festival?”
“Forget him. He’s a loser.” She formed an L on her forehead with her thumb and index finger. “Come on. Don’t start crying again. You’re better than he is.”
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