Storm Forged

by Patrick Dugan

  The guy from the service strode up to me, and his mom attempted to stop him, but he tore his arm free. He stood a couple inches taller than me, but at five-nine, almost all the guys did. His greasy shoulder-length hair hung straight in the breeze. If fire shot out of his eyes, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “You, Ward?”

  “Yeah, I’m Ward.”

  “This is all your fault—”

  “Shut your mouth.” Wendi interrupted him as she pushed between us. I had never heard Wendi angry before.

  “But this jerk—”

  “I said shut your mouth. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He just stood there for a minute, a bit taken aback by Wendi’s venomous attack. The lady he was with grabbed his arm and pulled him away. He pointed at me then turned in a huff and left.

  Wendi stood there, her back to me as she burst into tears. Mom to the rescue, swooped in with a shoulder and an understanding ear. They moved off a short distance to talk.

  I’m not sure which of us she’d surprised more. Bright and cheerful described Wendi. I hadn’t ever seen her get mad, much less barge between two guys. I glanced over, their blond heads still close together talking quietly.

  The line kept moving, kids dropping roses on the grave. Eventually, I saw Wendi enter the line to say her goodbyes. She clutched Mom’s arm, her personal life preserver. Wendi looked as sturdy as the shaking rose she held in her hand.

  Wendi stopped in front of me when she was done. “Thank you, Tommy.” Suddenly, her arms wrapped around my neck. And she started crying again. Being a sixteen-year-old boy, I really had no idea how to comfort her. I patted her on the back, unsure what else I could do. I wanted to say something, anything, to make things better, but nothing would come out.

  She let go after a while. She gave me a brave smile and headed to the bus with Jon. He nodded to me and mouthed, “Thank you.” He gently led her away. I’m sure her week had been far worse than mine.

  My turn came, the last one to go. Someone handed me a flower. I held it, staring at it, noticing how it shook. I should have done better. Suddenly, I realized the open pit filled by a lonely box gaped at my feet. “Mr. Taylor, thank you for everything you did. I hope I can grow up to be as amazing you.” I dropped the flower in.

  Walking back to the car, I noticed Powell standing under a tree. The shade fell across his face, but I could still see the smile as he watched us. I knew he was behind this somehow, I just knew it.

  The day proceeded, but honestly, the shock dulled me to the point of oblivion. I drifted room to room in our house. Nothing held my attention, and I couldn’t sit down. Around ten, I gave up and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would help restore my scattered brain.

  I couldn’t sleep, but in the dark, I spent a lot of time thinking. Don’t get me wrong, thinking isn’t one of my strong suits. Marcel is around for that. Usually, it’s lights off, and I’m out cold in two seconds. Tonight, sleep was the Roadrunner, and I was Willie E. Coyote.

  I gave up the bed and went to sit at my chair by the window but didn’t bother with the lights. Emotions warred inside of me. I wanted to cry, lash out, and make Brunner pay, or climb under a rock and hide. Mr. Taylor had left us. I had to face the facts. My head knew it, but a part of me refused to believe it. I had to deal with it, but tonight wasn’t the time. The wound hadn’t healed yet.

  Morning crashed on me like my mood going into history class. I had fallen asleep at some point during the night. My neck cramped from falling asleep in the chair. I heard a soft knock on the door. When I didn’t answer, Mom stuck her head in the door.

  “I need to talk to you.” She crossed to sit on the bed. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Some.”

  “I didn’t sleep much either.” I noticed the red-rimmed, puffy eyes and the rawness around her nose. I moved to sit next to her, putting my arm around her. It never dawned on me she had lost a friend she had known for years.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Are you okay?”

  She tried to smile at me, but it came off as a grimace. “Honey, we need to talk.”

  Oh, man. Other than your girlfriend, the last person you want to hear that from is your mom. This was not going to be a good conversation.

  “I had been thinking about this summer for a while. You are sixteen, and you should do more than lay on the couch watching TV.”

  “Come on, Mom.” It came out sounding more spoiled five year old than I intended, but it wasn't fair. “Who is going to hire me in Redemption? I guess I can pick up trash for the summer.”

  She smirked. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a playful little smile, but those were gone, at least for now. “Did I say anything about Redemption?”

  Let me tell you, having a mother who is an attorney is just plain wrong. She can twist words until they sit up and beg before fetching the newspaper. I’m not dumb, but I certainly acted that way sometimes.

  “No, you didn’t, Counselor,” I teased. I didn’t feel much like playing, but I needed to find a way to put Mr. Taylor’s death behind me, even if it was only for a short time.

  She turned serious on me. “I spoke with Eugene. After this week, I thought it would be best for you to not be here for the summer.”

  “Okay, so you are sending me away?” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice. I’m not sure it worked.

  “Eugene has a job for you at The Secret Lair for the summer.”

  “What?” Actually, I think I shouted a bit. “Awesome.”

  “I thought you might enjoy that,” she murmured. Sometimes I am stupid. Here I am, happy to go hang with Blaze for the summer, and Mom will be all alone.

  “You know it would be cool, but I think I should stay here for the summer.”

  She hugged me. Well, more like momma bear hugged me. I think she cracked a rib, but I could handle it. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m going to work in Great Falls for the summer, so I’ll be close by.”

  Part of me wanted to be offended she would be in Great Falls, but in reality, it made me feel better. I don’t know what I would do without her.

  “But what about Marcel and Abby?” Marcel had stayed with us every summer since he moved here in kindergarten. We’d been best friends since the day we met. Abby hadn’t been here long, but we had clicked. She was already more sister than friend to me, an annoying sister capable of maiming me, but still a sister.

  She gave me the “You think I didn’t already think of that” look. “Eugene has a job for him, too. Abby has been hired on by a hotshot attorney in Great Falls as an assistant for the summer. She’ll be living there as well. I’ve had the paperwork in for over two weeks.”

  “Cool. You rock.” My mom could work miracles. After we moved here, the Institute wouldn’t release any kids to outsiders. Mom sued, stating the Abandoned Child Act, which passed after the Dark Brigade attack, allowed for children to be fostered by non-family members. She argued, and won, that Gifted children were covered and should be granted the same rights. The court agreed, but only on a limited basis, when no other authority had clear in loco parentis comparable to the Institute during the school year. Otherwise, Marcel would have lived with us full time, which still pisses her off to this day. Now the Institute has a process for visitation, which takes forever to get through. Mom is one of the few who use it in Redemption. Plus, the local officials are scared to death of her.

  “They expedited the passes the day after Mr. Taylor died. One thing. You can’t tell him about the underground,” she said in her lawyer voice. “Now get packed, we leave in an hour.”

  Marcel and I arrived at The Secret Lair, bags in tow. Upstairs from the main store were two apartments. Blaze lived in the main apartment; Marcel and I set up in the smaller one. It was so different from our house in Redemption. Mom’s style bordered on girly, but this rocked the minimalistic bachelor pad vibe. The bedroom had bunkbeds, where I claimed the top one. A small living room and a smaller kitchen worked fine for the two of us. The bathroom, immacul
ately clean, still smelled like the disinfectant that had been used to scrub it.

  It turned out that Max had lived here, but a few weeks ago, he’d stopped showing up for work. Blaze said that Max did that sometimes and would show up with a story about a new girl he’d met and how it hadn’t worked out. Blaze chalked it up to hormones.

  Blaze saw we got settled, discussed the ground rules (only two—no leaving the store without permission and no one came upstairs but us), and told us training started at six a.m., so be downstairs on time. The best part about the set up was we had full access to the games and TV after ten p.m. when the store closed. We ended up going to bed way too late after playing Soul Caliber.

  Six in the morning is never pleasant, especially on no sleep. We snagged a couple Pop-Tarts and Mountain Dews and headed down for our first day on the job. Frankly, my head was numbed by lack of sleep, but I wasn’t worried. How hard could serving hot dogs and checking out games be?

  We lumbered down the stairs, the lack of caffeine dragging us down. At the bottom of the stairs stood the office entry. It still amazed me The Lair fronted for such a technological wonder. I wanted to tell Marcel, knowing he would be in heaven down there, but the last time I hadn’t listened to Mom, I paid the price for it.

  The hallway ended with a door leading out into the café. I made sure the door closed and locked behind us; nobody wanted random people upstairs. The lights in the café were still off, but Blaze was talking in the game room. We made our way around the tables, drifting into the lit room.

  Blaze was dressed in a martial arts outfit, and a group of people knelt before him in the same garb. The tables had been pushed against the walls to provide space for a weird martial arts arena. Way too early to process this amount of strange.

  Blaze turned as we entered. “You’re late.”

  “Oh, sorry we…”

  Blaze frowned. “No excuses. We will be training every day at six and again after closing since you are only here for the summer. Nobody ever said Gifted couldn’t learn to protect themselves with their fists.” He handed us each a set of clothes: red shirt, black pants. “Go put these on and hurry.”

  We both bolted for the bathroom located between the café and the game room. I pulled on the uniform and headed back. A crash froze me in my tracks as Marcel fell, his pants half on. The door’s latch popped when he slammed into it. “Uh, sorry, Bruh.”

  I laughed and went out to class. I stepped into the line Blaze had the students in, as he demonstrated the stretching routine, more for my benefit than the other students who already would know it. Marcel ran in a minute later, breathing hard. Marcel, welcome to a bad time.

  The front door chime sounded as we moved through Needle at the Bottom of the Sea. A tall guy ran in and stopped midstride. I glanced over and almost fell—it was the jerk from Mr. Taylor’s funeral.

  He screamed and ran at me full tilt. Blaze stepped between us, restraining the ass-hat. “Enough, Turk.” His tone held a steely note. “Go to the far end, and we’ll pick up where we left off. You and I will discuss this later.”

  Turk bowed. “Yes, Shīfu.” He straightened, shooting daggers at me. I got away from Brunner and got stuck with Turk. Life is so not fair.

  For the next couple of weeks, we worked for Blaze at The Secret Lair. We got up at six to train with the class, worked in the store during the day, and then trained for another hour and a half after the store closed.

  Marcel still floundered, even with all the practice. He couldn’t get the rhythm of the moves, see how one step led into the next as a choreographed dance.

  Me? I loved it. This dance would let me kick the crap out of Brunner.

  It turns out funeral boy’s name was Matthew West, but everyone called him Turk. Nobody I asked knew how he got that nickname. Personally, I think it is short for turkey, but I’m not completely sure of it. He was the student leader of the dojo, patient and relaxed with the class, well at least with everyone else. While I still worked to figure out the Push the Mountain, Move the Sea, Turk threw people across the room.

  I still didn’t get why he hated me so much. The first time I had ever seen him had been at Mr. Taylor’s funeral. Turns out, I ended up being his favorite punching bag. Any chance Turk got, he hit me, hard.

  Other than the Turk, working at The Secret Lair definitely ranked above of school. Marcel and I manned the kitchen over lunch and dinner. The rest of the time we cleaned, took out trash, and attended the front desk. It felt good to be appreciated for my efforts. As much as Mom would have loved for me to go to law school, college was out of bounds for me. Gifted could be employed in Great Falls, but the jobs were menial since no one wanted Gifted around. And we kids weren’t allowed to learn to drive, so even those jobs didn’t come up often. Still, I found myself enjoying the working at The Secret Lair.

  Saturdays, we got out of work at six so we could see Mom and Abby. They would come get us, and we would all go out to eat something other than hot dogs and fries, then spend the night at Mom’s apartment. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until the first visit. Abby loved to come into The Lair. She and Mimi, the waitress, became fast friends and excelled at giving me shit on a regular basis. Mimi had the mouth of a drunk Marine and used it a lot, Abby laughing the whole time. Marcel swooned like he would pass out whenever Mimi went on a tear.

  After hours, Marcel and I worked with Blaze, though the extra lessons didn’t help Marcel one bit. Marcel and I would grab a couple Mountain Dews, assorted junk food, and an XBOX and play until early in the morning. Even with Turk around, it was still the best summer of my life.

  The low point came toward the middle of the summer. We were getting ready to close for the evening. Usually, we would practice with Blaze after, but he had gone upstairs sick. Turk sat by himself at a table, watching TV. Marcel asked him to leave so we could lock up.

  “Hey, Ward,” Turk said, his words slurring a bit. “Why don’t you make me leave?”

  Turk sounded drunk, and Blaze wasn’t here to intervene as he did during class. I couldn’t run upstairs and get him, so I would have to handle it myself.

  “Turk, go home.”

  “Make me, Ward.” He got up, lurched a bit, heading for me.

  “What is your problem, Turk?”

  “My problem is you, asshole.” He got right up in my face. I could smell the beer on his breath, see the red of his bloodshot eyes.

  My body tensed, but I forced it to relax in the way Blaze had taught me. The energy rushed through my body. I waited, seeing everything without watching anything.

  “Go home, Turk. You’re drunk.”

  “It’s all your fault, your fault.”

  “What is—”

  Turk’s stance shifted just a bit. He slipped into Flashing Wings, his fist striking straight at me. I blocked and stepped back.

  “Turk, stop now.”

  Marcel stood off to the side, paralyzed.

  “It’s your fault.” He charged in, Gathering of Snakes led to Glancing Lance to Reversing Circles to something I hadn’t learned yet and me slamming into the concrete wall. Pain flared hot, a sudden fire through my head as something tore in my shoulder.

  Turk stood over me, his face red with anger. “It’s your fault he’s dead. If he hadn’t helped you, he’d be alive.”

  “What?”

  “My Uncle Jack, you killed him.”

  He pulled back his arm, fully intending to hit me again. A chair smashed into his back, dropping him to the floor. A stunned Marcel held the chair in front of him, like he was taming a lion. Turk lay out cold on the floor.

  “Well, I think Bowing to Buddha would have worked nicely, but the chair did a fine job, Marcel,” Blaze said from the doorway.

  10

  Turk sprawled out cold on the floor, Marcel held the chair over him, and I clutched my shoulder in pain. To be fair, Blaze looked about as bad as I felt. It was the first time I’d never seen him with his hair down. He resembled a grumpy yeti.

&nbs
p; A loud clang made me jump, launching a new jolt of pain. Marcel had dropped the chair. He could have been a kid who had broken the cookie jar, his face a mixture of fear and embarrassment.

  “Blaze, I’m sorry, but he—” Marcel started, but Blaze cut him off.

  “Dude, I saw the whole thing.” He held up the keys for the front door. “I forgot to leave these for you to lock up. Worked out for the best.”

  Blaze knelt down and checked Turk, who was coming around. He groaned a bit, shaking his head as if to clear it. I’m sure the chair left a few bruises. Blaze mumbled something I couldn’t make out and helped Turk over to a beanbag chair.

  “Marcel, go to the front desk. Under the phone, you’ll find a number for a Nurse Irene. Please call her and see if she could assist us.” He grinned at what had to be a private joke. “Tell her we had a training accident.”

  While Marcel hustled off to make the call, Blaze checked my shoulder. From the tsk-ing noise and the concern on his face, it wasn’t good. “My guess is a broken collarbone. Dude, what were you thinking? Turk has years more experience than you do.”

  “Turk accused me of killing his uncle.” It still didn’t make any sense. He must be related to Mr. Taylor, but other than the authorities, only Mom and I knew the truth. Well, us and whoever murdered Mr. Taylor.

  “Man, this is a mess,” Blaze said. “I didn’t know Turk was related to Jack.”

  “No one did. I asked around to see why he hated me so much.”

  “Tommy, I thought I’d been on some weird rides before, but you take the cake.”

  After what felt like hours, but actually was thirty minutes, Nurse Irene rapped on the front door. Marcel let her in and escorted her back to the trauma center. No white dress and nurse’s cap, she looked more professional athlete than Florence Nightingale. Her long light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a loose fitting red and white top and spandex pants and carried a medical bag. She moved with the grace of a dancer.