by Sam Herrera
With a horror in my present, causing distrust to surround me.
I pray you can see to the person beneath. Me, not the monster’s teeth.
I’m not perfect, never claimed to be.
But I’m no demon; there’s a soul in me.”
“I know I’m only flesh and blood
And that you’re a sexy stud.
I know I’m a strange anomaly and that
You’re all you’re cracked up to be.
I know that we’re wrong for each other but I refuse to yield
Even though it feels like a walk through a minefield.”
I exhaled, in a whoosh, looking over at it. I felt exposed and embarrassed by the depth of emotion.. What if someone heard that? It was true though. It was what I really felt. I’m in trouble here.
*
I found this to be true, the next morning,, in more ways than one. Some girl, after the first class was over, had come up and told me Caleb wanted to see me and, fool that I was, I’d just gone along. Now I was on the ground, nursing a bleeding nose and a swollen eye, with Ms. High and Mighty, and two cronies, standing over me.
“Stay away from my brother,” she said in a quiet whisper.
“No.”
“No? When I tell you to do something, cowgirl—”
“Fuck. You. Bitch!” I hissed, glaring up at her.
“Fuck. Me?” she whispered, her eyes wide and her brows raised. She nodded to the Gruesome Twosome and, as one, they pounced. But they were too slow for me. I wriggled, eel-like, out of their grip and lashed out with one foot, scoring a direct hit on the face of the shorter of the two.
“Shit,” she cursed, her nose now bleeding heavily as well. She pulled her fist back. I rolled away just in time and got a grim smile out of hearing an agonized howl as her hand hit the concrete floor where my face had just been, full force. I then leapt up and swung my fist into her jaw. I put up a hell of a fight, but there were three of them and one of me. It could have gotten really nasty but…
“Hold it, right there!” the gym coach-type thundered, coming up behind Summer and grabbing her wrist as she was about to swing it.
*
I’d been sent to the first aid room to get an ice pack for my injured face while Summer Grey was suspended for the day. While I was walking, wondering how the hell I was going to explain my bruises to Father and Eve, I saw the coach guy looking at me strangely, as though there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to form the words.
“What is it?” I sighed, expecting the same old shit.
“I probably shouldn’t be even suggesting this, but I saw the way you were whaling on those three. Weren’t you scared at all?” I thought for a moment.
“Not really. I’m used to prejudiced shit like that.”
“Prejudiced?”
“They’re attacking me on account of my skin color, and dress sense, who I hang out with and because of something my friend did not do that I had nothing to do with. What would you call it?”
He nodded, knowing I had a point.
“Don’t worry about me,” I sighed, throwing the pack into the bin.
“I’m starting a jogging and track team. Interested?”
“Track?”
“Track running through the woods and countryside.”
I considered. I’d always been jealous of the serious gymnasts on the school basketball team, back home, but had never really tried myself. He sat beside me, gazing at the far wall.
“I got a ton of shit when I first started school, y’know, but when I joined the gym, I got the build and the confidence and no one laid a finger on me from then on. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Alright, a few laps around the parking lot? Cool,” I smiled.
“You know, Ms. America,” he smiled, “no one says ‘parking lot’ around here, right?” I froze. What the hell? I waited until he was gone and then dug out my phone and hit the confession app. I’d saved it because I had had a feeling, all along, there was something wrong with it. I had read it over and over: at lunch, as I was getting into bed, in the bath, even while I was watching TV, searching for what this “something” was. Now, when he’d said that, it hit me: Kyle was, like me, an American. He would say parking lot, only in the letter he didn’t.
Why did I do it? Well, as I look across Cielo’s car park at all the pukers, drunks and human wastes, all I can think is: why not?
The more I read it, and thought of all the English homework I’d had sent back because I’d spelled certain words wrongly, words like “math”, “flavor” and “savor”, the clearer it became: someone from here, England, had written this.
KYLE
To take my mind off things, like the police investigation, Sarah and I took a flight down to the beach in Hawaii that Mara and I had spent the summer on, for the weekend. The cops had told us not to go far, so naturally we’d begun packing as soon as they’d left. I made sure to give them the one-fingered salute as we were getting into the cab. It felt so weird having to ride in the plane with all the other passengers. I wasn’t used to it and I didn’t much like it either.
“So where are you taking me?” she smirked knowingly.
“I told you it’s a surprise.”
I smiled as I felt the hot, tropical sun on my face. We had dressed fittingly, in shorts and swimsuits, and were now just walking along, enjoying the day. My smile broadened as I saw the tiny bump between her hips.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she sighed, looking up at the Pink Lady.“It’s like a fairy-tale castle.”
“When our kid’s born, and when we get the Winter back, we’ll bring him or her here and he or she will be able to enjoy it all the time. Hell, he or she will be able to enjoy the entire world whenever he or she wants.”
“You’re thinking of training him or her to fly it?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “Well, why not?”
“It’s dangerous. We still don’t know that much about it.”
“Don’t worry, hon,” I sighed. “I know enough and I’ll be there all the time to walk him or her through it. Promise.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Like wha— Oh, yeah.”
“Still living in your old adventures,” she smiled. Sarah looked down at her stomach, stroking it protectively, as we relaxed and sunbathed for a while. I watched her as she pulled her shirt up over her head, stepped out of her shorts and stepped into the warm shallows, dressed in nothing but her blue bikini, her gleaming blonde hair tossed lightly in the gentle breezes. Beautiful. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen, emerging belly and all. I thought deeply for a while about the subject Mara had brought up: marriage. Did I want to marry her? I knew full well that she was the one and that there was no else for me. Ever. She came back and lay on the sand beside me.“I had a look at a piece of the evidence they’d gathered: a security photo. It fell from one of the files they were carrying—”
“I’d rather not, hon,” I sighed. I took the photo she was offering anyway and the bottom fell out of my stomach. The picture quality sucked balls but even so the guy, stepping over the bodies of the two victims he’d just gunned down as they were getting out of their car, was my exact double. I exhaled noisily. I’m fucked.
“If you don’t mind,” I told her coldly, “I’d like to enjoy my freedom while I’ve got it.”
“I need to know: is it you?”
“No.”
She sighed and nodded and I smiled fondly. She was pissed for me and she was beautiful. My mind filled with grim images of the future: cells and slamming doors and shit. A life without sunlight and without her, the woman I loved? No, I couldn’t handle that. In my rucksack, back home, was a handcannon I’d taken from the Winter’s arsenal before it had vanished. If I could not prove my innocence, if things came to the worst, I had that
at least.
MARA
I walked out, after another ho-hum day, and waited for the ever-present, ever-embarrassing limo, sitting beside Andy, neither of us knowing what to say. I’d wanted to see Caleb, but he was now nowhere in sight. The only one who was in sight was my brother and he was too busy burying his nose in his mobile to notice me or anyone. Typical. I heaved a sigh and put on a smile and a wave for Dan, Caleb’s buddy, as he walked off.
“Guess who?” the owner of the pair of hands that suddenly blocked out my vision sniggered.
“Get off,” I grinned, unable to help the huge grin that was on my insides as well as my outsides.
“You must be Andy. We haven’t properly met; I’m Caleb. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”
“Uh, huh? She’s never mentioned you.”
“No, I didn’t because it’s none of your damn business,” I snapped, suddenly sick of him and his goddamn silence. He took the hint and moved away a few steps. Caleb took his seat beside me.
“Wanna get outta here?”
“Well…to where?”
“Anywhere but here,” he said, smiling and shrugging. Giggling and feeling like a full-on rebel, I let him pull me up by the hand and out of the school gates in a rush. “Where the hell are you going?” Andy yelled after us. We actually ran past my entering limo in the mad dash outta there. Clifton was only a few yards out of town so we could easily walk it. We wandered among the gray stone cottages and lush rose beds of Barrowdale. I couldn’t help cocking my ears, even after living here for a month, for the honk, honk, honk of taxis caught in the jams. This silence was so alien to me, so new. All I could hear was birdsong and the distant mooing of the cattle in the farmhouses. I couldn’t help, either, admiring my companion as well as my surroundings. We had both taken off a layer as it was sunny and hot. Caleb had slung his school uniform jacket over his shoulder and was now hanging it by one finger. I swallowed hard as I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the way the white shirt clung to his lanky, muscular frame. To distract myself, I waved to a pig, poking his snout through the steel bars of his…sty to get a look at us.
“What are you looking at?” Caleb asked. “Haven’t you ever seen a pig before?”
“Yeah, on TV.” We passed by a horse pen next. I grinned, entranced. He or she was mostly white, but with brown streaks and blotches across the sides and on the forehead. He reminded me of Hidalgo from the movie with Viggo Mortensen.
“Here,” Caleb said, bending down to pick a handful of grass. He held it out over the bars, palm flat. With a grunt and a whinny the horse came over to help himself. “Go ahead,” he smiled as the horse licked whatever was left off his hand. I shook my head, happy to watch them. It was quite a picture: the beautiful horse and the handsome boy so close together. When Hidalgo had eaten he let Caleb give him a pat on the neck. “Are you sure you don’t want to?”
“Umm.”
“C’moooonnnn.”
“Fine,” I grinned. I walked forward and reached up to pet him. His fur was bristly when I stroked upwards. But downwards, it was fine and silky and his eyes were even more beautiful than the rest of him; large, dark marbles framed by long lashes.
“When Indians wanted to tame their horses, they blew up their nostrils so the scent would be familiar. Try it.”
“We’re not Indians,” I pointed out.
“But I bet you would still like to get to know him, right?” I smiled and nodded, unable to deny that. Feeling a little silly, I blew gently, seeing the pink and brown nose twitch slightly. Pulling back, I stroked his long neck and entwined my fingers through his thick, white mane. I felt Caleb watching me just as I had watched him. In a weird way, Hidalgo and I look alike. We had the same long, bony face and white hair. If his eyes were bloodshot we would look exactly alike. I looked over at Caleb and saw he was still watching us with the strangest expression. It was almost like awe. I gulped and turned my face away, blushing.
“Well,” Caleb said, clearing his throat, “he’s eaten. What about us?”
We walked along the gray gravel road until we reached a whitewashed brick building with benches outside. We walked in and I scanned the wares on display: sandwiches, cakes and scones. I ordered a Quorn sandwich with salad and took a seat while Caleb made up his mind. I looked all around the café with interest, ignoring the stares and whispers around me. Yes, I’m albino. Get over it. It was very light and open and in America we didn’t have families of geese waddling past the window. It seemed the local wildlife was everywhere, in every aspect of the people’s lives. Looking up at the high, craggy fells overlooking the village, I could well understand the appeal of this place for both human and animal.
“So,” Caleb smiled, coming back in with two Cokes, sliding one across the wooden table towards me, “what’s your story?”
“My story?”
“Sure, everyone has one.”
“Well, um, I’m from America obviously.”
“Uh, huh.”
“I have a brother, Andy, who you’ve met?”
“Yeah, I don’t like him. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, neither do I. I had a mother but she died of cancer when I was about five.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“‘S okay. I’ve got a father who was a big shot entrepreneur in New York. It was his idea to come here, business trip or something, and, as you know, I’m still adjusting to this new life.”
“I have one sister, as you know.” We shared a rueful smile, recalling how delightful she was. “I have a father and mother who are both still alive, I’m happy to say. I like art and reading. My father was never a big shot really. He did time in a mental hospital.”
“Really?” I asked, my brows shooting up.
“Yeah, crazy, huh?” We both chuckled.“For a while, after his release, he did odd jobs around town until he finally made it as a writer. My mother’s an artist; she likes graphic design, and portraits, and things.”
“I’m jealous; my father’s the least artistic man on the planet.”
“You don’t like him either, do ya?”
“Nope,” I shook my head, putting my hands up. “Yah got me. He’s a dick,” I scowled, “won’t let me decide anything at all. He just uprooted me out of a life I was perfectly happy with all of a sudden. And did I get a say? Did anyone care what I thought? Noooo. Sorry,” I added, “I didn’t wanna—”
“It’s fine,” he smiled. “For what it’s worth I think you’re doing a great job not letting those stuck-up bitches get to ya.” I shrugged modestly. We paid and left, taking a walk around the glittering lake.
“I heard about your friend. The whole school heard. What do you think about…that?”
“I don’t believe it, but everyone else does. Sad, huh?”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a slight pause.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, I know how you feel.”
“You do?” I frowned.
“Well, kinda.” We sat for a while, looking out over the tree-shaded, gravel pathway while I waited for him to elaborate. While I waited, he smiled at me. You have a nice smile. I watched as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the bright sunshine, studying him, close-up. His hair was as thick and dark as ever, he had a freckled, cute nose and, when he opened them, his bright blue eyes were now cloudy and distant.
“Ah,” he sneered suddenly, “this is bullshit. It happened before I was even born.”
“Well?”
“My grandfather. He was a serial killer and so was my aunt. He trained her to be.”
*
I came home that evening, hoping for a game of cards or a movie with Eve only to find her and Father sitting at the table. They looked up at me and Father, standing, left the room.
“Hi, Mara,” she smiled, looking at me as I took his seat.
“Hi.” I gazed at
her, wracking my brain for something to say to her. Nothing came.
“How was school?”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “How’s flying planes?”
“Fine. Is Andy around?”
“He has soccer practice.”
“You mean football,” Eve smiled. I sensed there was something I was missing here. “Have you heard from Kyle Thayer?” she asked, her smile vanishing in a split second.
“No,” I said. “Why? Are you okay?” That was actually a rhetorical question; I could see for myself she wasn’t. Her face was drawn and pinched and there were dark circles around her eyes. She looked at least ten years older.
“He killed my father.” I blinked and reared back. I did recall her telling me a little about him, that he was in the army, but hadn’t gone into any further detail. She swallowed hard and looked down, her eyes overly bright. “They’ve just heard. He was gunned down, just like the others. And just after they released him,” she spat, “due to lack of evidence.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting a hand on her arm. I truly was. I couldn’t think of another damn thing to say.
“That’s it? I’m sorry?”
“What do you want me to say?” I frowned, suddenly on the defensive.
“How about, ‘I can’t believe I was ever friends with that piece of shit. I hope he gets the death penalty. Something like that.”
“I am sorry for your loss. Truly. But, no way. I maintain Kyle. Didn’t. Kill. Anyone. I believe that utterly so how can I say that? And how could he, anyway? Last I heard he’d taken Aunt Sarah for a little vacation in Hawaii. How could he kill your father from there?”
“How did the two of you get on the top of the Statue of Liberty?”
“What?”
“How did you get to all those distant places all around the world?”
“Alright, look at this,” I snapped, putting the letter app on my phone and showing her. She studied it for a long time.
“Well, that proves it, doesn’t it?”
“Does it? We don’t spell ‘savor’ like that or say ‘mathssss,’ we say math. Someone from here, England, wrote this, not him.”