Arkadium Rising

by Glen Krisch

  "Isn't that true for anyone?"

  "You more so than most." Her eyes met his and she smiled. "Hmm... this is going to sting." She pressed a disinfectant wipe into his palm, then traced the cool wetness the full length of the wound. It hurt, but with Delaney caring for him, he also found a certain part of himself enjoying it.

  "Delaney," he said and waited for her to look up, "why are you here? You know Marcus isn't around. I haven't seen him in years. Neither have my parents. Hell, we don't know where he is or if he's even alive."

  She didn't say anything, just went back to working on his hand. She wrapped it in gauze and secured it with medical tape. "He's alive," she finally said, her smile turning sad. "And he needs help."

  Delaney let go of his hand and gathered up the triage debris and tossed it into the garbage can by the toilet. The room felt much smaller than it did just seconds ago.

  "I'll tell you what I told Marcus the last time I saw him: I have no brother."

  "Jason, please—"

  "I don't think you understand the pain he's caused my family."

  "I have a pretty good guess. I was with Marcus for five years. Want to compare scars?"

  "You know him. You know how he is. I just don't get it."

  "Don't get what?"

  "Why you would bother." Jason left the bathroom and pulled on his t-shirt. After toiling in the heat for the last hour, his skin had broken out in gooseflesh now that he was exposed to the air conditioning.

  "Just give me a minute to explain," she said as she followed close behind.

  "Thanks for the help with this." He held up his bandaged hand. "I'd love to chat, but I have a lot of work to do."

  Jason walked to the door to escort her out, but she remained in the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her. Her eyes darkened and her lips pulled into an angry pout.

  If looks could kill, Jason, you'd be dead, he thought.

  "Can I ask you a question?" He stepped away from the door and leaned his elbows against the kitchen island. He sighed, doubting not only if, but why, he should ask the question on his mind.

  "What is it?"

  "Are you clean?"

  "Why, does it look like it to you?"

  "Actually, yes."

  "Thank you. I've been sober for six months. That's why I came to see you. I dried out at a clinic in St. Louis where I met a lifelong doper named Tyler Rasmus. He knew Marcus. That's how I found out where he is. I didn't ask how he knew him, but when I finished detox, I left him my number in case he ever heard where he might be."

  "So?"

  "He called me yesterday."

  "I think your minute is up. Thanks for stopping by."

  "You're an asshole."

  "No, I just know Marcus. So, where is he? Shooting heroin in some back alley? Cooking meth out in the boonies? Somewhere in between doing something just as horrible?"

  "Rasmus, he told me Marcus is clean, too. That he's found God."

  Jason laughed sardonically; Marcus and God spoken in the same sentence? Not without a strong reference to eternal damnation.

  "I'm serious, Jason."

  "Okay, so if you know where Marcus is and he's not only clean, but that he's found God, why the hell do you need my help?"

  "Because when I find him—and believe me, I will find him—I don't know if I'll hug him or kill him."

  Jason paced the kitchen and pulled his fingers through his hair. This was the last thing he needed. His life had been so much simpler without his brother around to insert his own brand of chaos into the works. It was so much easier when he pretended to be an only child. He didn't think his parents would admit it aloud, but he knew they felt the same.

  "I'd suggest the latter. If I can offer any help, the phone directory is on the counter next to the refrigerator. Guns are found under G."

  "You know there's good in Marcus. He can be sweet. He has a big heart, underneath it all."

  "Sure, but it's all that digging to find it I can't stand."

  "Damn you..." Delaney said, her voice breaking. She covered her face with her hands and started crying. A hint of the fragility of her former gothgirl persona. He found himself attracted to her even more despite her pain.

  "Listen, Delaney, I understand what you're going through, believe me, but I just can't open myself to—"

  The side door opened and his parents entered the kitchen. Jason was surprised into silence at seeing them. It was usually his goal to have the lawn finished so he could leave before he saw them. He didn't want to be roped into dinner or have to turn down his dad's offer of a movie and popcorn afterward. Avoidance made for stronger ties when dealing with his parents.

  "Mom, Dad, you're home early." He checked his watch. "Like, really early."

  It was only after Jason noticed his dad's arm around his mom's shoulders and the stark, unabashed misery on her face that he realized something was wrong.

  His mom looked at him, then Delaney. Both women had tears in their eyes. Jason couldn't remember ever seeing his mom cry. His dad, certainly; he cried at the slightest emotional trauma. His mom left the kitchen without a word, retreating to the living room. The sounds of her crying and blowing her nose were quite audible even as she tried to muffle them.

  "Jason, I have some bad news..." his dad said, then seemed to notice Delaney for the first time. His eyes had been glassy and distant, but they lit up with recognition. "Delaney?"

  "Hi, Mr. Grant. Long time no see."

  "Um... can you excuse us? We have some family business to discuss."

  "Actually, I'm here about family, too. I was just asking Jason to come with me to get Marcus."

  "Is he... is he dead?"

  "No, God, no. He's fine. More than fine. From what I've heard, he has his life turned around. He's sober. He's found religion."

  "Really?" He seemed to believe the news as much as if he'd been told by the head of NASA that the moon really was made out of cheese.

  "Yes, it's true. And your pain-in-the-ass son won't come with me to bring him home."

  "Jason?"

  "Dad—"

  "You go," his mom cut him off, her voice brittle. She appeared around the corner, dabbing a tissue at her eyes. "Bring Marcus home. If he's found the right path, family will only make him stronger."

  "Mom... after everything he's done... the violence, the police knocking at all hours, and don't forget those pleasant jail visitations."

  "I want you to go. And you will. Bring him home. I need to see him."

  "Mom—"

  "Jason, I'm sick."

  "We just got back from the doctor's," his dad said, taking over when she stopped to wipe away a fresh set of tears. "When your mother wasn't feeling well the last month, Dr. Phelps ordered a bunch of tests. X-rays showed a shadow in your mother's left lung. She's scheduled for a biopsy on Monday of next week."

  "Oh, Mom," Jason said.

  She shook her head, her face wrought with pain. Tears fell down her cheeks. Without thinking, he hugged her hard, and though at first reluctant, she soon returned his affection.

  "Do this for me," she whispered, her voice more fragile than he could ever remember.

  Jason continued to hug his mother. Either he didn't want the embrace to end because he didn't want to continue to fight, or he'd finally found a softness to her he never knew existed. Either way, he hugged her until she pulled away.

  "Please, Jason?"

  He looked from his teary-eyed mom, to his stoic dad, to Delaney. The girl's tears were gone, and if Jason wasn't reading too much into it, he would've sworn he saw a flash of victory in her eyes.

  "Okay, let's say it's all true: Marcus is clean, he's living a respectable life, he's found God... you know, maybe, just maybe, he's finally in a good place, both physically and mentally. What if it's better where he is, living his new life on the straight and narrow? If we owe him anything, don't you think we should just... I don't know, leave him be?"

  Jason waited for a response, but no one acknowledged his line
of thinking. Within ten minutes of his parents' arrival, he was driving away from their house, Delaney riding shotgun as he made his way over to his apartment to change clothes and pack a travel bag.

  Chapter 2

  1.

  Concord was little more than three hours away via a series of back roads that cut through near-desolate towns that missed out on the financial boon provided by the interstate highway exit ramp system. They were making good time, but Jason would soon have to pull over for gas. Since they couldn't agree on a radio station, most of the drive had been in silence.

  Delaney stewed in the passenger seat. "We'd be there already if you'd have just taken the interstate."

  "I like these old country roads. Besides, the interstate would've been an extra forty miles, even if it is faster. There's no direct route using highways. I checked."

  "How can you drive around during the summer without air conditioning?" Sweat clung to Delaney's upper lip and her cheeks had turned rosy. Jason had to keep forcing himself to look away.

  "The Freon's out."

  "So get it fixed."

  "I'm a busy guy. But don't worry. It's on my to-do list."

  Delaney rolled her eyes and unclipped her seat belt.

  "You're not thinking of jumping, are you?"

  "That would make your day, wouldn't it?" She shrugged off first one sleeve of her hoodie, then the other. He glanced at her as she performed this maneuver, and did a double take when he noticed she was braless under her black tank top and that her left nipple was pierced.

  "Jason, the road?" she said, tossing the hoodie to the backseat.

  "Right. Keep it on the road. Good idea." He could feel his face flush and his groin stir.

  "And keep it in your pants. That's an even better idea," she scolded, a hint of edgy playfulness in her voice.

  During Delaney's time with Marcus, Jason had little interaction with her. She'd always seemed so aloof and brittle, a wilted flower in a neglected vase. He'd taken her persona as an act, a pretension he never quite understood. But she seemed so different now.

  Still with her seatbelt off, Delaney leaned out the window, letting the hot breeze riffle through her hair. The humidity curled her dark hair, made it bob in thick curls around her ears and chin.

  "That's a little better," she said, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the midday sun on her face.

  Jason gazed at the skin of her lower back that had become exposed by her leisurely lean out the window. Intricate, yet delicate tattoos of layered feathers fanned out along her back, imbuing it in sepia-toned shades of red, blue and indigo.

  The tires of his Honda Accord bit the gravel shoulder. He jerked the car straight and took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through him for a multitude of reasons.

  "So, what do you think?" Delaney said, turning her head to face him, her curves accentuated by her languorous pose.

  "About what?" he replied, then cleared his throat.

  "My angel wings, silly." Delaney shifted again toward the window and lifted her tank top to her shoulder blades. The delicate feathers covered her back, disappearing under the slim fabric still covering her.

  "They're... beautiful. A work of art, really."

  "At least someone can appreciate them," she said, then pulled her shirt back down. "Marcus thinks they're hideous, that I've maimed myself. He said that I should know better."

  "Know better, why?"

  "I'm Jewish. Like that makes me preordained to hate any permanent inking of my skin."

  "Like he has any grounds to talk? What about his tattoos?"

  "They're gone."

  "Gone? How's that possible?"

  "He had them blacked out. He wanted to get them lasered off, but that costs a fortune, especially with how much work he'd had done."

  They drove on in silence. Jason kept his eyes on the road, even as he sensed Delaney shifting again in her seat. He couldn't imagine his brother ever changing, but maybe he had. Blacking out his skin was even more permanent than the tattoos buried beneath.

  "So, according to this Tyler Rasmus guy, Marcus is living in a town call Concord, Illinois? I've never heard of it."

  "It's a farming town near the Mississippi."

  "And you believe him when he says that Marcus is living in a little no-name town in the middle of nowhere? You don't think this is a wild goose chase?"

  "He had no reason to lie. He didn't even want to take my phone number, but I forced it on him. I guess Marcus is doing custodial work for the city."

  "If it's true, the work is fitting."

  "Can you just tone down the bitterness a little bit? It's a long drive."

  "It was a longer twenty-plus years with Marcus in my life."

  "Really, what the hell did he ever do to you?"

  "Every highlight of my life has been pissed on by my brother."

  "Every one? Sounds like Jason didn't get enough hugs as a kid."

  "That's not what this is about."

  "You know, you sound kind of defensive. I think I might be on to something."

  "Fine, I'll give you an example. I started running track my freshman year. I was pretty slow at the beginning, but I worked my ass off every day after I joined the team. By the following year, I earned my varsity letter. On the day Coach Ellis told me I'd made varsity, Marcus was arrested for burning down a synagogue."

  "So you think he burned down a synagogue to ruin your good news? Are you really that self-centered?" Delaney sighed and leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, effectively ending any further discussion on the subject.

  He remembered standing in the police station with his parents as they inquired about Marcus's release. As they waited, Jason had brought up his good news, hoping it would cheer them up. His mother had given him a look like he'd said something offensive, then ignored him the rest of the day. His dad's reaction was little better. He'd clapped Jason on the back and gave him a brief, distracted smile before turning away to ring the bell to get one of the milling police officers' attention. Maybe he was self-centered, but at least he tried to live an honest, hardworking life.

  Jason pulled off the road and coasted into the gas pump island at a place called Happy's Qwik Serve.

  "We there yet?" Delaney said, opening her eyes.

  Jason laughed. "No, just need gas."

  2.

  "I'm going to find a slushie if it kills me," Delaney said as she left Jason to finish filling the tank. He doubted she would have any luck. It looked like Happy's hadn't been upgraded in about forty years. The numbers on the gas pump were the old-fashioned scroll variety. She'd be lucky to find a refrigerator with sodas that weren't out-of-date.

  "That sounds good, get me one while you're at it."

  Delaney looked over her shoulder as she walked. She flicked him her middle finger and glared at him through a sweaty smile. She turned away, knowing he was watching her. He could tell by the way she swayed her hips as she moved; it was a show, a slight exaggeration of real life, a performance for an audience of one. He smiled and topped off the tank. She was a slim girl, but curvy, no longer withered to a rail-thin shadow by drugs.

  As he pulled up the hinged wiper blades to wash the windshield, he tried thinking of something to take his mind off his brother's ex-girlfriend.

  His Wednesday deadline loomed, but no one would notice if it passed without him turning in a story. His official position at The St. Louis Times was as a stringer, reporter on local city council meetings, and agate writer for the sports page. Basically, he did whatever entry-level task his boss could think up. After six months without any prospects of advancement, Jason had begun to wonder if Ralph Sheridan was trying to get him to quit. That's when he decided to start writing unsolicited feature-length columns and casually turning them in on Sheridan's desk every Wednesday morning. He'd known the paper was looking to tap the flagging younger demo, so Jason had decided to write columns for the Lifestyle Section that detailed the hottest new clubs and the city's dating scene.

  His e
fforts had gotten little reaction from Sheridan. It was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom. The only progress he ever saw was that Sheridan now knew his name. Everything else at the office carried on as it always had, but now he had created this self-imposed deadline to meet in order to try to get his boss to notice him. Would it ever work? Would Sheridan notice if he missed a week's unsolicited copy?

  Jason looked down at the windshield after losing himself in his thoughts. The glass hadn't shined like that since he bought the car secondhand three years ago. He chuckled, happy to have distracted himself for at least a few minutes from where he was and who he was traveling with. He tossed the squeegee back into its trough and went inside to pay.

  The gas station's interior smelled of spent cigarettes, used motor oil, and the passage of time. An old man sat on a stool in the middle of the cash register island. He seemed as permanent a fixture as the overpriced merchandise surrounding him, and just as dusty.

  "So, you must be Happy?"

  The man didn't comment, but his dour expression said plenty. Either Jason had made a terrible mistake or Happy was one of those ironic nicknames.

  Jason handed him his credit card. "Do you happen to have a slushie machine?"

  "God damn slushies," the old man barked. "Everyone from not from around here comes in and wants a slushie."

  The old man returned his card and slid the receipt across for him to sign. "I'll take that as a no."

  "Wiseass."

  Jason ignored Happy's crabbiness. "Where's your restroom?"

  "Down the center aisle and on your left."

  "Thank you kindly," Jason said and tipped an imaginary cap. The old man waved him away as if he were shooing a fly.

  When Jason was leaving the restroom, Delaney was leaning over an old porcelain drinking fountain. He stepped close, getting a good view of the lower portion of her angel wings.

  "No slushies," he said, almost a whisper.

  Delaney turned around quickly. She stood staring up at him with her big brown eyes. Without thinking, he brushed a water droplet from her lip with the index finger of his good hand.