by Bryan Fields
“It is an insult! I am not a retard! I have been tested for all that crap and I am perfectly normal!” He turned and slashed the seat next to him into ribbons. “Say that again, and she bleeds!”
“Hey, hey! Just take it easy!” I cautioned him. “I don’t think you’re a retard.” I felt dirty even saying that word—the only time I use it is when talking about ignition timing for car engines. That’s not what having Asperger’s means anyway, but I refrained from correcting him. Truthfully, I had never suspected Asperger’s or any other disorder in Randall’s case. He was just an asshole.
The HOV lanes were open. I merged in and gave it some gas. To keep Randall distracted, I called out, “Don’t worry about the seat, it’s just fabric. Feel free to take out some more aggression on them.”
Randall dropped the razor and blew his nose again. “I told her before not to say things like that. It isn’t true. Mother had me tested. I don’t have any disorders. I’m just quiet and…sensitive. I want people to like me, that’s all. I wanted Sharon to like me. I told her I loved her just the way she was, and that she didn’t have to be a dyke anymore.”
He kept sniffling. “I told her that, and she slapped me. I hit her back, but it was with the hand holding the razor. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Then she kicked me in the balls. I don’t…I can’t believe she did that. Everything after that is kind of a blur. It’s her fault, like I said.” He snuffled again. It sounded like he’d run out of tissues and gone back to his sleeve.
The interchange for I-70 was coming up fast. I checked the mirrors to make sure no one had come up behind us. The highway was clear, ahead and behind. Rose leaned back in her seat, ready to go. I got a good grip on the handbrake and took a deep breath.
“Hey, Randall. You may have a knife, but I’ve got a car! Seatbelts, asshole!” I yanked up on the handbrake and spun the wheel as hard as I could. My lovely Cherokee obediently skidded sideways and flipped. The world vanished in a maelstrom of tearing metal and shattered glass. The airbag knocked my glasses off my face and the air from my lungs. I lost track of the number of times we rolled before I blacked out.
Chapter Ten
Suffer No Guilt
Huh. I guess my cunning plan worked.
The sound of screaming metal filled the air as a huge circular saw cut my car apart. Every part of my body hurt. I tried to wiggle my toes and felt a rush of relief when they responded. “Pain is good,” I muttered. “Pain means you’re alive.” I opened my eyes and looked around to take in the damage.
All of the airbags had deployed. Rose was holding my hand and crying. She was uninjured, of course. I gave her hand a squeeze to get her attention. When she looked up, I whispered, “You should have some scrapes and small cuts from the glass.”
“Shut up,” Rose answered. “Just lie there and let them work.”
“Listen to the lady,” one of the firemen said. I blinked and tried to focus on him. His coat said, ‘Cooper’, and he looked like 5XL worth of bodybuilder stuffed into a Single X Nomex coat. He had crawled into the back seat, and was checking us out while his friends started peeling the roof off the car.
Cooper wouldn’t let me turn my head, so I asked him, “Where’s the guy who was in the back seat?”
Cooper didn’t stop working. “Don’t worry about him. You just stay still. You’re both doing fine and we’ll have you out in a minute.”
I winced as he shined a gawdawful bright light in my eyes. “I want to know if he’s dead or not. He tried to kill us. He caused the accident. Now, is he still alive?”
Cooper grimaced. “He’s no longer a threat to you, okay sir? Now, just relax.”
“He tried to jump,” Rose said. “When the car started to skid, he grabbed for the door. He got thrown out. He’s back there, on the road.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.” I half-shrugged at Cooper. “Sorry if that makes me sound like a bad person. He tried to kill us. I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Cooper said. “Stop talking and don’t move, please. Things are about to get really loud.”
I leaned back and let the firemen do their jobs. They peeled back the roof and pried the doors open with a lot more speed—and noise—than I expected. Rose and I both got cervical collars and backboards for the ride to Denver General. As we were being moved, I waved over one of the cops and asked if he could have Detective Hanson meet us at the hospital. He said that he would as the EMTs hauled us off. Halfway there I started worrying if Rose would remember to relax and take her armor down before we got to the hospital. We really didn’t need any questions about needles bending and breaking right now.
Rose was released while I was getting a scalp wound stitched. My other cuts were minor and I somehow managed to get away without a concussion. Once the doctors were finished, two cops came in to get my statement. I didn’t deny deliberately causing the accident, but I made a point of saying that I feared for our lives and considered Randall to have tried to kidnap us under threat of deadly force.
One of the cops raised his eyebrow at that. “Are you claiming self-defense? There’s not a lot to go on as far as backing that.”
I pulled my phone out. “I recorded what he said. I need to get this to Detective Hanson.”
The cops left the room for a few minutes, returning with a third fellow wearing a damn sharp suit. I waved at him. “FBI?”
He shook his head. “I’m Hanson. Before I ask you anything, I want to hear your story.” He nodded to Rose. “Ma’am, if you could please go with these officers, they’ll get your statement while I’m talking to your friend.”
Rose gave me a peck on the cheek and left without complaint. Hanson sat down and I played him the whole recording. I also admitted deliberately causing the accident in order to take Randall out. Once he was finished with his questions, he shook my hand and walked out with my phone in an evidence bag.
We were discharged from the hospital a little after five in the afternoon, the day after the accident. I didn’t have the heart to ask any of our friends for a ride home, but the money we’d won was still in my pocket. We called a cab, and told the driver we wanted a fast, quiet ride home. He tucked the Benjamin away and drove.
A hot shower washed away the dried blood and hospital effluvia. I watched the water swirl away down the drain for a while, until I had to accept the simple truth that guilt and regret don’t come out with soap and water.
Rose was curled in the middle of the bed when I emerged from the bathroom. I stretched out next to her and called my parents to let them know we were home. They’d wanted to come to the hospital, but Mom’s immune system didn’t need the stress. When she asked how I was doing, I lied and told her I was fine. Just sore all over and wracked with guilt.
After I hung up, I rolled over and rested my head on Rose’s thighs. She stroked my hair, and after a few minutes, I said, “I didn’t have to kill him. I had his confession, and you could have restrained him any time. I killed him because I wanted to be the one to avenge Sharon. I wanted him dead, and now I’m going to carry him around inside me for the rest of my days.”
“No, you’re not,” Rose said. “Your head is crowded enough with me in there. You don’t have room for someone else, and I don’t share.” She slithered down the bed and rolled over, straddling me. “I need your energy, David, pure and untainted. I’m fighting for the survival of my race, and I won’t allow anyone or anything to interfere with that. You did the right thing. You gave Randall a chance. He didn’t take it. He killed once and wanted to kill again. To kill us. You owe him no apology.”
Her eyes turned gold, and long, curving horns started growing from her forehead back, following the curve of her skull. Shimmering, metallic purple wings emerged from her back, along with a thin, whip like tail. “Regret if you must,” she intoned. “But suffer no guilt. Guilt can poison my children, and I will not have it. Now, will you release it, or must I drive it from you?”
Seeing her from
this perspective gave me a new appreciation for non-Human body parts. “Two things,” I said. “First, I wouldn’t be who I am without regretting what happened. But you’re right. I don’t want to feel guilty for it. Second…could you make the horns smaller? Like, cute little baby horns?”
She changed her horns and, as promised, drove all the guilt and self-recrimination I was feeling far, far away. I’ll always regret what happened—Sharon’s death, Randall’s attack on us, and my own choices—but I won’t be haunted by it.
By morning, all the bruises and scrapes I’d gotten from the crash were in full bloom. It hurt to sit still and breathe, much less move, so I downed a couple of Vicoden and staggered to the recliner for a blissed-out marathon of British television. I’m a fan of England’s favorite motoring show anyway, but on pain killers it was just hilarious. Rose sat with me all day, keeping me hydrated and handling calls from the press. We ordered pizza and I fell asleep on the recliner again.
Time is of no importance. Only life is important. The Supreme Being said so.
Chapter Eleven
Life Will Find a Way
I woke up to the doorbell, convinced Randall was waiting outside with a chainsaw. I grabbed my robe and stumbled to the door. Rose was already there, talking to someone in hissing, snarling Draconic. She waved me over and stood aside.
From the language they were speaking I knew our visitor was another Dragon in Human form. I wasn’t expecting a male, much less one with freakish muscles, bulging eyes, and spiky, fire engine-red hair stiff enough to drive nails with, all wrapped up in knee-high boots and a leather posing pouch.
Rose said, “David, this is my brother, Rolling Thunder of Summer Lightning in Autumn Sky Echoing Across the Mountainsides. He has a gift for you.”
The big guy gave me a slow nod as he reached behind himself, into someplace I couldn’t look directly at. He pulled out a magnificent two-handed sword, along with a sword belt and shoulder harness. He held it up in both hands, bowed, and slowly held it out to me.
I took the sword from him and returned the bow. “Thank you. It’s magnificent.”
He stared at me for a moment, then made sort of a ‘go on’ gesture. When I didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and muttered an imprecation even I could understand without a translator. He held his left hand out to me, palm up, and mimed slashing a blade across it.
Ah, right. I partially drew the sword, noting the claw-like runes inscribed in the blade. I shifted my grip to the ricasso and took a deep breath to steady myself. I pressed the heel of my palm to the edge of the blade, held my breath, and moved my hand up along the blade. The blood smeared along the edge before I felt anything. Rose wrapped some gauze around my palm and handed me a square of raw silk moistened with jojoba oil. I cleaned the blood away and wiped down the sword until the big guy appeared satisfied. He nodded to Rose and said something that sounded like either ‘goodbye’ or ‘have fun playing with your monkey’. He stepped off the porch and vanished, as though he had stepped behind an invisible wall.
“Nice fellow, your brother. Name is a bit of a mouthful, though.” I closed the door and sat down on the stairs before I fell over.
Rose set a black lacquered box on the carpet next to me, and then went to the medicine chest. She removed the gauze and reapplied a regular dressing. “That was his personal name. The family and clan names are much longer and harder to translate.”
“Oh, good. I’ve always felt that a proper Dragon name should be worth at least fifty points, not counting any tile bonuses.” I ran my fingers over the knot work embossed into the belt. “This really is a gorgeous blade. I take it the blood was some kind of sacrifice?”
“An introduction and claim of ownership. A blade will only be loyal to blood willingly shed.” Rose kissed my new bandage and released my hand. “I contacted him last night and asked him to have it made for you. The engraving says, ‘A Life Well Lived Knows No Guilt’. Well, that’s the closest translation, anyway. The wooden box has all you will need to care for it properly. I’ll teach you to clean and hone the blade when you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you. I love it.” I drew the sword all the way so I could examine it in the light. Even to my untrained eye, it was a magnificent piece of work. The temper line, where the blade had been treated with high-carbon clay to make it harder and better able to hold a sharp edge, undulated in perfect symmetry on both sides of each edge. The balance was exquisite, and the entire sword felt much lighter than it should.
Rose anticipated my question. “Dwarves are the best weaponsmiths. Their steel is lighter and stronger than any other. A hoard just isn’t a hoard without a Dwarven blade in it.”
I sheathed the sword. “How did he get this done in one night? I wouldn’t think even Dwarves would sell something like this off the rack.”
Rose shrugged. “Dragons have their ways.”
I snorted, picturing several Dwarves being held upside down and shaken vigorously. “I bet they do. So, when do I get to learn your name?”
She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “My name is Rose Drake. Didn’t we already cover this?”
“Yes, but…” I shook my head. “So, what’s on the menu for today?”
“We have some errands to run. Starting with these.” She pulled a dark blue leather pouch out of the pocket of her robe and tossed it to me. “We need to find a good gem dealer.”
I opened the pouch and poured a stream of gems into my hand, from diamonds as big as a cherry pit to a ruby the size of a quail’s egg. “I guess we do. More sparkly items from your hoard, I’m guessing. What brought this on?”
“Randall said those coins were being noticed. I thought gems would be better to sell. My brother will pass the word back home to stop trading the coins here.”
“Probably a good plan.” I poured the gems back in the bag. “Let’s only sell a few of these at a time. I’ll call some car rental places and see if one delivers.”
Rose took the bag back. “I’d like to go look at cars today, if we can. I’ll contribute whatever we need to get a good one. I want to make sure my children are safe.” She picked a legal pad up off the coffee table and showed it to me. “I’ve already decided we should skip any supercars. They’re too fast and too fragile. No small cars, either. I don’t want anything that attracts falling pianos. And no caravans. They catch fire too easily.”
I started laughing. “I want to stick with an SUV. Another Jeep, or maybe a Hummer. We’ll have a look and see what’s available.”
Rose headed upstairs to get dressed. “We should start with Land Rovers,” she called over her shoulder.
I headed upstairs as fast as my aching muscles would allow. Getting the rental car was easy enough, once I threw enough money at the issue. While we were waiting for it to be delivered, I called several jewelry stores until I had some referrals to two reputable gem dealers. We hit both and then, checks in hand, we headed for the car dealerships.
We started with the Land Rovers, since they were closest. And, even in the dealer’s showroom, with the salesman watching us, we checked the back seat of every freaking car first. We wound up paying cash for a tricked out Range Rover with all the options we could cram into it.
Once we had the car situation resolved, we did our best to get on with life. Sharon’s murder made headlines, so we agreed to a few press interviews, each time making a point to ask people to donate to anti-bullying charities. We’d discussed it with Manya and all agreed Sharon could have benefited from such resources when she was growing up.
The legal square dance took a while to sort out, but in the end I got a two-point defective vehicle ticket and nothing else. I paid the fine and didn’t argue.
The video I’d recorded closed the case on Sharon’s murder, just as I’d hoped. The police got a warrant for Randall’s house and, sure enough, there was no sign of his mother. She eventually turned up in a sterling silver urn in the china cabinet. She had passed away about six years earlier, and, true to for
m, Randall had been cashing her retirement and Social Security checks to supplement his income.
The straight razor he had used was in the china cabinet as well, along with some of Sharon’s hair and prints of the pictures he took of her with his phone. It might sound odd, but I was thankful Randall had kept his sick little mementos. They removed any doubt about Randall’s guilt and any need to second-guess my decision.
Sharon’s parents sent me a good-sized check as a reward for finding her killer. Keeping it felt like blood money, so I signed the whole thing over to an LBGT rights organization. I made sure her parents got a nice thank you note and all the credit they were due for their contribution.
Time counts, and keeps counting, and what we do today we have to tell the new-born tomorrow. So it was that two weeks after the first anniversary of Sharon’s murder, in a Mumbai hospital room perfumed with hyacinth and champa, the wheel of life came full circle as Rose and I joined Manya and her family in welcoming Miss Aparna Hyzenthlay Datona-Patel into life on this rolling world.
And no matter what you might think, those videos of a Dragon doing barrel rolls over the Gateway of India and the Taj Hotel have nothing to do with us. That Dragon is clearly green.
Move along. Move along…
BOOK TWO:
THE DRAGON AND THE WASP’S NEST
Chapter One
A Private Little War
“Ma’am, it isn’t public indecency. The law says a homeowner has a reasonable expectation of privacy in and around their property. If you’re looking close enough to be offended, you’re looking too close.”
“Pervert,” Rose muttered.
“Tramp!” Mavis Brundle, the Vice-President of our homeowner’s association, wagged her finger in Rose’s face. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you Godless little harlot!” I’m not sure if it was too much Botox or if she had the wrong facial muscle snipped, but she looked like a cross-eyed Siamese cat under the best of circumstances. Being all puffed up on self-righteous indignation didn’t improve things any.