A Shadow Passed Over the Son
Page 8
Hot fear chain-reacted in Parker’s stomach, flooding his body. He instantly began to sweat. He was going to be arrested. Handcuffed. They would lead him out like a fugitive. People would recognize him and say things like “Ain’t that Joe Perkins’s boy?”
“I heard he stole an ice cream in the park.”
“I heard he stole a loaf of bread from the store ’cause he ain’t got no money.”
“Doesn’t matter, stealin’ is wrong.”
“His momma Mary was killed in The Attack.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“Such a shame.”
None of them would know the truth, and it wouldn’t matter because he was going to spend his birthday locked up. And the worst part was that his dad was going to come home from the war only to bail his no-good son out of jail. And all because of a poster of a scantily-clad girl in an airplane.
But not just any girl; it was Transcendental Tal. She was his rose in the darkness.
They would never understand. He wouldn’t even try to explain himself. He already wanted to die for the shame of it.
But something in the man’s demeanor caught Parker’s attention. The man seemed . . . solemn. More so than would be natural while apprehending another juvenile delinquent warphan from Southie.
The man wasn’t wearing a badge. He wasn’t one of Kingdom City’s finest. The uniform wasn’t police. It was military. Class A Dress military. It seemed the man might topple over for all the stripes, insignia, ribbons, and crests covering his sleeves, shoulders, and lapels. A gleaming silver eagle shone on his chest. The silver bird bore a shield on its front between outstretched wings. It clutched arrows of war in one claw and an olive branch of peace in the other. Traditionally the bird had looked to its right, to the symbolic peace of the olive branch. But President Chase ordered the national symbol be changed three years ago. After The Attack. The bird still held its head high but it now looked to its left, to the arrows, to the war in which America found herself. The eagle meant the man was an O-6. A colonel.
Beside him stood a man in black, save for a white collar.
This was not about the poster. Their presence outside his door on a Friday morning had nothing to do with a stolen poster of a scantily-glad girl in an airplane, even if she were a famous singer posing with a Top Secret aircraft.
The colonel slowly removed his cap. He locked eyes with Parker.
Parker heard Bubba’s voice in his head: Friday the thirteenth . . . malchance . . . bad luck. He knew immediately and without a doubt . . .
. . . Bubba had been right.
Chapter 8
Warphan