by Tina Amiri
“How long you gonna be?” Morgen’s soft-spoken friend inquired.
“Don’t worry about it, Steve. I’ll get one of the guys to drop me off later.”
Sometimes “one of the guys” also meant Doris, the band’s keyboardist, who was going to demand a hefty explanation for his glaring absence in recent weeks. Steve jarred him out of this thought.
“So, tell me, my friend…why can no one know about your brother?”
Morgen decided to draw on the truth. “He doesn’t want anybody to find him. They’re looking for him because of something that happened in Oregon that wasn’t really his fault.”
“You mean the cops are looking for him?”
“Very good, Steve. You sound just like him now. Look, you have to pretend you never heard of him…like I’m doing. All right?”
“Your brother left your house?”
“What do you think?”
Steve’s tanned fingers left the steering wheel to tug at the small gold hoop earring on one earlobe. “I don’ understand you, my friend. He’s your brother. He looks like you. How come you don’ care what happens to him?”
“What am I supposed to do when he’s the one who wanted to leave? I don’t really know him… And I care about my band,” Morgen affirmed. “Thanks for the lift.”
The car slowed down in front of a warehouse that had been turned into a semi-equipped rehearsal space. Two familiar cars were already there and the owner of one of them greeted him at the entrance of their unit.
Sean’s hand latched onto Morgen’s sleeve and yanked him inside. “Don’t ever pull anything like that again because I won’t be showing up the next time you fucking try it.”
Morgen swerved out of his reach. “It’s hard to make anything else a priority while you’re puking your brains out and you think you’re dying.”
Across the room, in a chair, Aden continued to pluck out a groove on his bass guitar, taking little notice of either of them until his latent annoyance finished setting. “Looks like you’ve still got a few more breaths left inside you, and I wouldn’t have quit…not until I couldn’t see for gasping.” He stood up and let the guitar dangle from his left hand.
“Trust me, Aden…I do feel that way.”
“Good to hear. Then welcome back… Now, are you going to give us your word that you’re in it for good?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” Morgen’s tone erupted through a fusion of irritation and enthusiasm. He stooped over and began opening his guitar case. “I need an amp.”
“There’s a PA system in those lockers over there, remember? Man, get your shit together or are you stoned?”
“No, and my shit’s been together for years. Don’t give me that shit. Look…I know I fucked up our big break, but I’m also the one who got us that offer in the first place.”
Everyone looked at the doorway as Doris strolled in. She only smirked at Morgen like she knew the others had already punished him enough, without any contribution from her.
“Sounds like you’re back. So…are you only back for the band or are you back for me too?”
Aden slammed the strings on his bass. “Please, save it for after practice. Can we just plan our next move, now that our savior has returned?”
“Amen,” Sean mumbled, adjusting his seat behind the complimentary low-end drum set.
Doris had her own massive keyboard, which she slugged halfway across the room before Morgen intervened and helped her place it on a stand. He tried to hide his thoughts. He had to start distancing himself from Doris, or else allow Night to take over where he left off with her as well. He wasn’t prepared when she leaned over the keyboard and kissed him.
“Are you really okay?” she asked. “Why were you so sick that night if they didn’t find anything wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. They said it’s like aftershock from all the transfusions and meds.”
“After all this time?”
“I guess,” he said, deserting the topic as fast as he could. The room was already pulsing with test sounds and he needed to start backing them. He connected all the cables and monitors in a hurry and then laid his hand on the mixing board. “Okay, go ahead, Sean.”
Their ears filled with Sean’s rhythm and Morgen signaled to Aden to start, once he was satisfied with the level of kick and snare drum from Sean.
“Let’s find out if we still got it!” Aden called through the mic. “Why don’t we try Better Tonight?”
This allowed for a long introduction, first by Aden and Sean, then by Morgen’s guitar and Doris’s keyboard, before Morgen’s voice finally poured into the microphone. He stopped to boost the volume of the vocals and then resumed his dual responsibility like they’d never missed a rehearsal. They practiced for a good part of the night and as they wrapped up, Aden pressed Morgen for his word that he would reintroduce the band to his former contact.
“For sure, I will,” he replied. “I’ll explain what happened and, just maybe, he’ll give us another chance. …Look, I’m sorry!” he flared in the unforgiving silence.
Doris had readily agreed to provide him with a lift home. She took her time disassembling her equipment and debating a melodic change with Aden while Morgen cornered Sean at the lockers.
“I need more coke,” Morgen told him and Sean’s shoulders fell.
“What’re you doing with it, man? I give it to you at cost, so you better not be flipping it for double on the street.”
“It’s not that. My dad flushed it, okay?” When Sean nodded, Morgen continued. “I need something else too. I need a favor.” His sudden coughing spell splashed concern over Sean’s face. “Listen, we have this housekeeper—”
“Don’t ask me to call a hit on some little old lady…”
“He’s a cocky little prick who just needs to be taken down a few pegs. Can you do that? I’d like you to do that.”
Sean grinned as he locked the metal doors. “I’ll have to get back to you about a price.”
“It really doesn’t matter, Sean. Just tell me if you can make it happen.”
Doris cleared her throat in the doorway. “Aden’s going to help me load, and I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Sean finally turned to face Morgen. “All right…describe the guy to me.”
****
Morgen slipped back into the house at three in the morning. He announced his return by ripping away Night’s covers. “All right, freak. Time to get out of my bed.”
Night straightened his undershirt over Morgen’s borrowed sweatpants before crawling off the bed. “Morgen, Beth came in here earlier,” he reported through his grogginess. “I think I did okay answering her questions, but she kept looking at me like she knew.”
“She can’t possibly know,” Morgen insisted. “And between school and her friends, she’s hardly around. Anyway Night, when you see Doctor Barrett, don’t mention anything about those pains you say you feel sometimes.”
“I told you, they’re your pains.”
“Whatever. Just don’t mention it because if you got what I’ve got, there won’t be a damn thing in the world you can do about it. You’re still healthy enough to finish what I’ve started, and nothing else matters.”
“Morgen, I still don’t understand what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Morgen’s eyelids dropped. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve never seen a doctor before? Oh, for fuck sake…” Morgen stared at the carpet for a few heartbeats before his eyes popped up again, full of light. “He’ll probably start by asking you some questions. Then he might check your breathing, your blood pressure, and then he’ll probably order some tests…maybe just some bloodwork, but if he suspects there’s something wrong with you, he’ll need a tissue sample, in which case he’ll have to hack a piece of flesh off some part of your body where you won’t notice it missing—like in your case, your dick.” Morgen clutched himself through his jeans and cackled in turning.
“Yo
u’re just like Andrew,” Night huffed. “I don’t believe you.”
Morgen dropped his humor as he swaggered toward the door. “Good. Then maybe there’s still some hope.”
****
Hope barely registered on the police meter, in Oregon, when it came to finding the Emerald Shore arsonist. As far as the law was concerned, Night Shannien and Daphne Swanson had slipped into the underground world in some other state, or even Canada.
The thought crossed Andrew’s mind, to hire a private investigator—who he would equip with an accurate description of Night—but he couldn’t guarantee that this pro wouldn’t uncover too much. So, with what became mind-numbing time on his hands, Andrew visited every shelter and group home in his vicinity—and then beyond. He stood in alleyways and pestered people who barely had the mental capacity, or desire, to process his questions. Some of the vagrants and junkies mistook him for a cop or detective, and out of the ones who didn’t slight him, a few rummaged drunkenly through their imaginations to produce a memory of Night. In any case, he gained no leads.
Andrew had seen the truth at the end of every road and on every road sign throughout his travels. Lila held all the clues, and the time for nonsense was over. While watching her house, he never saw Night, but he did witness Lila coming and going dressed in two distinct ways: either in a long coat for going shopping or to work, or in sweats for jogging. He even became aware of her loose schedule for hitting the trails, and he made note of this. He couldn’t bear another month to go by without getting any closer to a lead, to avenging his pride and his livelihood, or as he’d put it for Lila, to getting his restitution…now from her as well.
Chapter Thirteen
Sandy cruised out of the grocery store with bags strung up to his elbows. His tall frame wobbled on the paved slope, in the back parking lot, so he hardly needed help from two meaty hands to end up careening into one of the big metal garbage bins behind the store.
In the rubble of strewn groceries, Sandy tried to turn his head, but his assailant gripped his hair so tight, he could only shift his eyes. His chin jutted within an inch of the metal bin and he suspected he might end up tasting it if he attempted to struggle.
“Shortcuts can be hazardous. What’s the rush, buddy?”
Sandy paddled with his arms to back up on his knees but he stopped when he felt a knife rip up through the denim seam at his rear.
“Yummy. Check out the merchandise. Fish-eggs…Steak… I guess I’m going to eat good for a few days.” The thug fired a derisive snort, and at the detection of movement at the end of his knife, jabbed the blade further in between Sandy’s buttocks. “I don’t wanna be feelin’ bad about anything, so I hope you’ll just tell me you want me to take what I need.”
“Take what you need,” Sandy croaked, feeling the vomit rising in his throat.
“Good boy. And you don’t wanna be puttin’ yourself in any more danger by carrying around a lot of cash, now do you?”
Sandy grimaced at the reality that he was being robbed, and at the attacker’s degrading method that had already sliced one of his cheeks.
Sudden voices in the distance must have spooked the perpetrator because he finished with his victim abruptly. He pulled back his knife, then smashed Sandy’s face against the metal bin before feeling through his pockets and confiscating all the remaining cash from his wallet. After seizing the grocery bag loaded with meat, the man sauntered away to a waiting truck.
****
Doctor Barrett’s cordial manner quickly dissolved Night’s apprehension about the visit. He also spent more time on small talk with Frederick than on the examination of his patient.
“He’s concerned about you,” the doctor told Night, trying to excuse Frederick’s odd and willful intrusion in the room. “It’s been a little while,” he commented as he held the chest piece of his stethoscope against Night’s back beneath his opened shirt. “Breathe out,” he said, and Night nearly did the opposite as his shirt began to lift. Morgen didn’t tell him about this, but with his back to the wall and his shirt still on, it all ended without incident with the doctor pulling the apparatus from his ears. “You certainly look better than the last time I saw you. That was quite a miracle…your previous remission. How are you feeling these days?”
“I’m fine,” Night answered so quickly that it made the doctor grin and Frederick cross his arms.
“Okay…so, let’s just make sure with some routine blood work.”
Just like Morgen’s account of an exam, the doctor had checked his lungs and blood pressure. He also asked about pain, and Night knew to say no to any questions related to pain symptoms.
“Have you been losing weight?” the doctor inquired, undoubtedly based on Frederick’s private, preliminary report.
“I guess so. I haven’t been thinking a lot about eating…with all the rehearsing these days.” It helped him, and Morgen, that his gradual weight loss, since arriving in California, had blended their alternating appearances.
Doctor Barrett turned to Morgen’s father. “My guess is that your son is healthy, but here’s a lab rec, just to be sure.”
“I’d like you to call me with the results,” Frederick insisted.
Even Night caught the doctor’s hesitation, but Frederick’s long-standing relationship with Doctor Barrett, and whatever it was in his tone, forced a nod from the doctor. “If Morgen’s okay with that,” he included.
Amidst the prickly hush, inside the car, Night flinched when Frederick’s hand sailed toward him when its aim was to simply brush over his hair.
“Well, that’s a little unfair,” Frederick remarked, clutching onto the steering wheel instead. “But I’ll tell you the truth, Morgen, I’m not finished with being angry about the other day. You can be grateful that I didn’t mention your new pastime to Doctor Barrett or you might have found yourself with commitments to some rehab program that truly would have messed with your big plans. Just be advised, I have all the resources I need to make that happen anytime I choose.”
Night looked his way and tried to comprehend.
“But it’s also important to keep this thing quiet, at least until the election is over. It’s not exactly what I need, right now, for the whole world to find out that my son is an alcoholic and a drug-addict.”
Flickers of understanding began to distort Night’s features.
“If you really care about your goals as much as I care about mine, then I hope you’ll get familiar with what it takes to achieve them. And even if you blast into stardom, you’re still someone’s kid, and you will respect us. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, of course, Daddy,” Night answered as he pushed Morgen’s sunglasses onto his nose to hide his flooding eyes. He ached to trust Frederick’s intentions and dismiss Morgen’s theory that his adoptive father could barely tolerate him. Absorbed in his thoughts, Night didn’t notice the double strobe of Frederick’s eyes at his response, or the contemplative silence that followed.
****
Beth found Night in the living room, one evening in December, examining the Christmas tree, and the wrapped boxes beneath it.
“Don’t tell me you don’t care what you’ve got under there,” she blurted.
“What do you mean?”
Beth tossed him a reticent grin and knelt in front of the tree beside him.
He tried to look indifferent to her presence when, to his utter amazement, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. A few seconds went by, and then she exploded.
“I knew it! I wondered why we had so many presents this year, but I guess it’s because they’re not all for me and Morgen. Mom and Dad bought some for you too!”
She seemed so confident, he didn’t dare try to defend himself. “No one can know,” Night whispered. He’d already felt that Morgen was moving too fast to induct him into his new life—and this proved it. Night’s eyes scanned the room as though they could penetrate the walls.
Beth snickered. “If you don’t want anyone to know, then yo
u’d better start keeping your mouth shut. You’re totally unlike him, you know. It was pretty obvious when I talked to you in Morgen’s room the other night. But I also noticed your tooth.” She pointed to her top right lateral incisor. “Morgen once tried to pull a bottle cap off with his teeth and he chipped his tooth.” She shrugged. “Maybe no one else remembers that, but I remember. I remember most things.”
Night looked at the floor, blinded by his nervous head rush.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I’m not that surprised, you know. We’re both adopted, Morgen and I, so anything’s possible. I just can’t believe that jerk tried to keep this from me. Let’s go see him…” she said, bouncing off the floor and racing for the south staircase.
Night’s heart felt like an olive being sucked through a straw as he ran after her. “Don’t, Beth,” he pleaded as she neared Morgen’s suite, but she simply charged in.
“Morgen?” she called, standing in his doorway like a lioness on a crest of land. “Get in here! Me, you, and this person who looks like you, need to have a little conference!”
Morgen emerged from his bedroom looking like something was prodding him from behind. His glare shot over Beth’s shoulder and splattered on Night.
“You don’t even look the same,” Beth articulated, “now that you’re together.”
Night had thought so all along. It couldn’t be missed— the difference in their hair color and cut, the tone of their skin, the prominence of Morgen’s cheekbones compared to his own and, probably most of all, how even their demeanors conflicted in such close proximity.
Morgen finally piped up in a huff. “Beth, this wasn’t supposed to happen, but since it did, let me introduce you to my idiot brother, Night.” He stamped past Beth and shoved Night in the chest. “Get out so I can talk to my sister!”
****
“Well…?” Beth demanded.
“Well, I guess now you know.” Morgen plopped down on his couch and waited for her to join him. “Night showed up here completely out of the blue. I wanted him to leave, but just before I kicked his ass out, I realized he was a musical genius. He’s going to try to help me, Beth—but you need to help me too, by not saying anything to Mom and Dad.”