Hiding in a garage, building muscles, practicing violence in every spare moment, his focus on staying alive brought with it this tunnel vision. The longer it continued the further removed he would become from his real friends leading their real lives. The Jonathan he recognized would eventually cease to exist entirely. More and more he came to terms with this, the part of himself that was withering away put up less and less resistance, but it was the relationships belonging to that part of him that he mourned. The Jonathan he was building didn’t have friends; he only had an alien and some untold number of enemies.
He’d been immersed into superhero movies by his roommates. The heroes with the secret identity always had friends, or what Hayden called their ‘entourage.’ They grounded the hero, kept him human, and inspired him to persist. Protecting them was the very reason they divide themselves into two different identities in the first place.
Jonathan always had to see the story through a cracked lens, because the heroes had something Jonathan didn’t get to have; their two identities existed on the same plane of reality. Jonathan only fought in a place that no one but he could see or remember. His story could never be like theirs; his alter ego could never be unmasked. He would never be the hero revealed, and therefore, never the hero.
Jeez, that’s the booze talking, Jonathan thought, making a mental note to cut himself off.
“You look like you are over-thinking something again.”
She’d come back to the table while he’d been lost in his depressing thoughts and he hadn’t heard her sit down. When he looked up, he was surprised to find her watching him.
“I’m glad you came,” Leah said.
“I think I’m glad I did too,” he replied.
She pulled her chair closer to him.
“So tell me, Mr. Jonathan, what scares a guy like you?”
He could tell by the way she said ‘Mister’ that she was a bit tipsy. Still, the question was a means to return to their awkward moment in the garage.
“You know, I’d rather talk about you,” he said. “What’s your story, Ms. Leah?”
“What would’cha like to know?” she asked.
“What brings you to Seattle, for starters?”
She looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but the short version is that I had the opportunity to get a change of scenery and I took it.”
“Why Seattle then, I guess?” He asked.
“It was far from the East Coast,” she said.
“Not a fan of the East Coast?” he asked.
Again she looked uncomfortable. It threw him off, he didn’t know as much about her as he would have liked, but the one thing he knew was that she didn’t get knocked off her guard easily. Gracelessness under interrogation was his arena.
“I’m just gonna lay some things out for ya,” she said. “I know it must be strange that I’m hesitating answering some pretty straight questions. So it’s like this. My parents died a few years ago. I was only nineteen, but I got custody of Jack. They had a life insurance plan that got put into a trust. Jack and I live off that.”
She looked at him then, like she expected something from him. He wasn’t sure what it was. He started to say that he was sorry to hear about her parents, when the rest of the table seemed to return all at once. They brought laughter with them, and Grant.
“Anyway, no one likes explaining their baggage,” she said, making her tone more upbeat with the return of their friends. “It’s just true what they say, ‘everything reminds you,’ so I came here to, well, you know.”
“To stop being reminded,” Jonathan said.
He didn’t need any explanation. He’d experienced the same feelings when he’d lost his father.
They shared a smile, but soon it was clear that neither knew where to take the conversation. When they started laughing at their own awkwardness she put her hand on top of his, he turned his hand over and clasped hers gently.
“Anyhow,” she said, changing the subject, “what are you studying in school? Paige said the two of you have crammed for a lot of finals together. Environmental sciences?”
“No,” he replied. “I used to study Biology.”
“Used to?” she asked.
Now Jonathan hesitated. He hadn’t forfeited his college career. At least he didn’t think he had made that decision, but perhaps his subconscious was more of a realist. “Used to,” didn’t sound like something you planned on going back to.
“Oops,” she said, smiling at him. “My turn to ask the wrong question?”
“I’m on a break is all,” he said, trying to keep the levity going.
“What caused the break?” she asked carefully, like she was feeling out if the question was okay.
Jonathan felt himself turn red, not sure how to respond.
“Yeah, Tibbs,” Grant interjected, “explain to the girl how you woke up in a puddle of your own blood. We all still want to know how that really happened.”
When Jonathan looked to Grant, he could see that the words weren’t flippant. They weren’t some slip, some drunken bad behavior. They were pointed and arrogant. He’d made no attempt to hide the malice in his voice and now made no attempt to hide his satisfaction with himself.
“I mean, if you plan on taking a girl to bed,” Grant added, “don’t you think you’ll have to explain why you wake up screaming for your daddy every night?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SUNDAY | AUGUST 14, 2005 | 12:00 AM
AN hour later, he stood in front of the punching bag, halfheartedly hitting it, not really putting anything into the punches. He was just watching the bag sway back and forth in front of him.
He hadn’t known what to say to Grant. He’d excused himself and left. Actually, he didn’t remember if he’d excused himself. It was a blur. The last thing he’d heard as he’d walked away was the sound of Paige shouting at the asshole.
Thinking about how he’d walked away was making him boil inside. He kept seeing it from Leah’s eyes. How red and stupid his face had looked. How he’d put his head down like a coward. The humiliation of the moment had been too much for him. He kept trying to transform his memory of reality to one in which he’d asked the man to step outside, but the reality refused to change.
Violent images surged through his mind, feeding the storm inside of him. The images kept growing worse, more visceral, until he was seeing Grant’s blood on his hands as he pummeled him into the sidewalk. He was growing drunk with it, not wanting to calm down, not wanting to feel better. All he wanted was to have stopped thinking and acted.
He wanted to give the rage what it needed.
He hit the bag, hard this time, grunting with the effort. It felt good, better. He pulled his arm back hard and struck again. It smacked with the sound of fist hitting canvas.
Who did Grant think he was? The arrogant shithead had sat there, eavesdropping, waiting for the perfect moment to make him as angry as possible.
It should have worked.
Grant had miscalculated. Jonathan didn’t have a short enough fuse. He’d been too shocked to be angry at first. By the time he’d worked himself up enough to want a fight, the window for violence was lost to him, and now his anger pleaded to go back to that moment and make a different choice.
He heard the garage door open and Collin and Hayden walked in. They took one look at him and knew. Luckily, Collin had no interest in pretense.
“Asshole!” Collin declared, Hayden standing beside him, nodding his agreement.
Jonathan didn’t want to, but he choked trying to keep a chuckle from escaping. They were probably the most harmless men he knew. They were as aware of this as he was, but the way they stood before him like they wanted to head out into the night and pummel Grant with him was priceless.
He almost resented them for making him laugh. He was trying so hard to keep his rage fueled.
“Um, what,” Jonathan paused. “What did Leah say?”
“Don’t worry,” Hayden
said, seeing Jonathan diffusing himself. “We made sure she didn’t think it was anything like the way Meat-Head made it sound.”
For some reason, that didn’t soothe his fears.
“What did you tell her?” he asked.
“Honestly, I don’t think she knew what to think. We made sure she knew you’d been attacked. You know,” Collin paused. “Not self-inflicted or anything. That was all we said. She seemed to already know about that much; though, maybe without the more disturbing details.”
“That’s it?” Jonathan said
There was a pause as Hayden and Collin looked at each other.
“Well, I mean, you know, she could tell that it must have been pretty bad. The way you left, she knows you’re not…” Hayden trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.
“That I’m not okay.” Jonathan finished for him, nodding slowly then looking down at the floor.
There was an awkward moment before anyone spoke again.
“Paige is definitely breaking it off with him,” Collin said, failing to hide how happy he was about it. “I’ve never seen her so angry. It was a little scary.”
“Where is she?” Jonathan realized he hadn’t thought to ask why she wasn’t with them.
“Last I saw she was publicly humiliating him on a street corner, we didn’t stick around to watch. Collin and I walked Leah home,” Hayden said.
“It’s too bad her birthday got so epically messed up,” Collin said.
That’s when they heard the yelling from the front yard.
“You’re being ridiculous, Paige. I drank too much,” Grant yelled. “Come on, I’m sorry.”
The sound of Grant seeped into Jonathan like gasoline on the cooling embers of his rage. The thing inside of him became aware, climbing to the surface, fixated on the man’s voice. Jonathan was headed for the side door, passing Hayden and Collin like he’d forgotten they were there.
“Jonathan,” Collin said sheepishly. “You’ve, you’ve got that creepy look—”
“Just go home, Grant,” Paige yelled.
If they were loud enough that Jonathan could hear them in the garage, then half the neighborhood could hear this domestic disturbance.
“Holy crap,” Hayden said excitedly to Collin, “I’ve always wanted to be on Cops.”
All Jonathan was thinking was that maybe he hadn’t missed his window after all.
She stood defiantly in front of Grant in the driveway. Jonathan could see she’d been crying, and her makeup looked smeared down her cheeks. She’d taken the earrings he’d given her out. Seeing her so upset only made it worse, made him think less, made him want to fight more.
“Leave,” she screamed at Grant.
He was about to fire something back, but stopped when he saw Jonathan rounding the corner.
“Oh,” Grant said in disgust, “here he comes.”
“She doesn’t want you here,” Jonathan said.
Looking at the man’s face, it was as if Grant truly believed he’d somehow put the events of the evening into motion; engineered it so that he’d look like a victim while Grant came out the villain.
“You have them all fooled,” Grant said, “but you and I, we both know you’re full of shit.”
Jonathan couldn’t imagine what had driven Grant to indulge in this delusion, and he didn’t care.
“What, Tibbs, you want to get in my face, try and make me look like an asshole?”
He stepped between Paige and Grant, knowing he was making the man angrier, wanting him to snap.
“Go inside, Paige,” Jonathan said without taking his eyes off Grant. “He won’t follow you.”
Fuel to the fire.
“And, Grant,” he said, “you are an asshole.”
Grant smiled.
He’d wanted it, he’d been waiting to bring it out, to see Jonathan pushed far enough that he stopped worrying about control and do something stupid. He turned his head, just for a moment, as though he were building up for some clever retort, some harsh put down.
Instead, his sudden movement caught Jonathan off guard.
Grant’s fist connected with his face. It spun Jonathan around and he fell onto his hands and knees. The gravel of the driveway cut into his palms as he stopped his fall. The ground wouldn’t hold still, the socket of his eye throbbed, growing warm where the fist had connected.
Take the pain.
“Who’s the asshole now?” Grant taunted him.
“Grant! Leave!” Paige screamed, her voice betraying her fear as she moved forward to get between them again.
Jonathan wasn’t scared; he felt a smile on his lips.
It was laughable to him that two months ago he wouldn’t have known what to do in this situation. No man, let alone Grant, was enough to scare him now, not after being accosted by an alien and having half his chest ripped out; not after facing Sickens the Fever, not after drowning.
He had nightmares that Grant wouldn’t understand if he lived to be a thousand. Getting punched in the face was just something he needed, to see he wasn’t fragile, to bring the fighter all the way to the surface.
He shook off the pain and turned to stand.
“You’re still the asshole,” he said as he reached his feet.
Paige turned, startled that Jonathan was standing, unnerved by the tone in his voice, the look in his eyes.
Grant knew how to fight, Jonathan had no doubt of that. Still, Grant had drunk five times the amount of alcohol that he’d had this evening, and Jonathan trained at his violence on a daily basis. When Grant came at Jonathan with a haymaker meant to take his head off, Jonathan moved to the outside. The punch sailed past him as he came in close and caught Grant with his elbow. Jonathan’s attack was swift and hard. The sound of bone hitting forehead was crisp and rewarding.
Grant staggered back.
The blow would’ve rocked anyone. Jonathan gave him no time to recover and used his backward momentum against him, quickly stepping into him while tripping him from behind with his leg. Grant hit the ground before he knew what was happening. Not waiting for him to regain his wits, Jonathan thrust his fist down hard into center of Grant’s torso. The man gasped as the wind rushed out of him.
It was a blow to the solar plexus, Jonathan knew. His instructor had shown him the place to put the force. Grant wouldn’t be getting himself together soon.
He wheezed and coughed trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.
Jonathan struggled then as he hovered over him, he didn’t want to reel his anger back in yet. The thing breaking loose inside of him didn’t want to be locked away again; it wanted to beat the man’s face until he couldn’t recognize it. He was right there, vulnerable in front of him, begging for Jonathan to vent his rage.
“Jonathan,” Paige said.
He didn’t want to hear her. His mind was too balanced on the edge between walking away and giving in.
“Jonathan, don’t…” Paige pleaded.
It wasn’t the words, but the fear, the desperation in her voice, that made him hear her.
This isn’t it, Jonathan. This is not about him.
He knew that if he let himself go now, that there wouldn’t be any coming back. Not to Paige; she’d see him beating a helpless man into the pavement and she’d see it again every time she looked at him. It would confirm her fears about him.
This is not the moment.
He looked away from the man on the ground and forced himself to breath, exhaling his anger. His muscles lost their tension, beginning to relax. His fists unclenched. He became aware of the sound of Grant gasping on the ground, the hot throbbing over his eye, the rawness of his hands. He looked back to Grant, and somehow, barely, he found mercy. He turned away, walking back to Paige, leaving Grant on the ground.
“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” she whispered, genuine, but relieved he hadn’t lost control.
Collin and Hayden were ten paces behind her. They’d seen it all. Jonathan could see it on their expressions.
Jonathan ignored him. A few more steps and he’d do his best never to think of Grant again.
“Answer me dammit!” Grant began to raise his finger to point at Paige. “You think I care about her! They made me stay with her!”
Jonathan slowed.
“They made me,” Grant said, “so I could tell them about you.”
Jonathan stopped.
“Yeah!” The arrogance in Grant’s voice was returning. “You see? He knows I know. He knows he’s in deep shit.”
Jonathan turned, facing the man still wheezing on ground, not knowing what to think. He couldn’t tell if Grant was trying to screw with him. It was too much to process. The only thing he knew for sure, no matter what was actually going on, he had to get Grant to stop yelling about it.
“Oh yeah, Tibbs, they know.” He was smiling at the look on Jonathan’s face. “You aren’t fooling shit. They know all about you.”
“Paige, please go inside,” Jonathan said. “Please, don’t fight me on this.”
He let her see his face, the wrath no longer in control. He let her see his concern. She was confused. After all the drama, this new level of unexplained crazy talk from Grant was hard to comprehend.
“What’s he talking about, Jonathan?” she asked shaking her head.
“I’m not sure,” Jonathan said. “I’ll find out, please go inside, I’m not going to hurt him again.”
She looked at Grant bewildered, her eyes still shining from the crying and confusion. Then back to Jonathan, who nodded reassuringly. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, but she started to walk toward the house, toward Collin and Hayden.
“Take her inside,” he asked of them.
They seemed unsure, but nodded at his command. Paige reached for Collin, tugging at him for support. Jonathan nodded back to them as they walked into the house before returning his gaze to Grant.
He knelt next to him slowly, like he was approaching a growling dog he didn’t trust not to bite. At least, Grant didn’t look like he wanted to fight anymore. He was reveling in the reaction he was getting from Jonathan, staring him down, looking for signs that he’d regained some power that he thought was stolen from him.
Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero Page 27