Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (20 page)

“
How many trips have we made to earth?”

Nomad shrugged. “A dozen over the last year. This is our first time here, but we've been all over. Kansas. Ecuador. Iraq. Didn't like that one. Too dusty. And all the food tasted like dates.”

Hugh’s head was spinning. Everything he was, everything he felt had been pumped into him from some information hose? What about him was real? Anything? And he'd been to other places, other cities just like this one? He staggered back, clutching for the water tower. The concrete was cool beneath his palms. He leaned in and pressed his head to it.

“
Hold on there, man. I know this is a lot to handle.” Nomad's voice came closer. “We have protocol for an addled agent, but not a total tabula rasa. Never happened before. I’d call for backup, but there’s no time.”

Hugh pealed his face off the tower. “What’s the rush?”

Nomad raised his eyebrows, his face locked as if whatever he’d just said had revealed too much. Then he covered that expression with a false smile. “Nothing, buddy. Let’s not worry about that now. Now we gotta jog that memory of yours, and quick-like.”

Hugh nodded. “I want to know.”

“Of course you do. But, not here. It’s so…” Nomad waved his hand with a flourish, “uninspiring. Let’s go.”

Nomad paused for a moment, coiled and then sprung into the air. He hovered effortlessly about ten feet off the ground. Bathed in moonlight he was a scene straight out of a comic book.

“How do I do it?” Hugh asked, looking up.

Nomad flashed a toothy smile. “Just push off. It’ll be just like learning to ride a bike, if we’d ever had to do that. Hmm, a bike. Maybe I'll get me one to take back. Anyway, come on,” he said, waving Hugh up. Then he soared up into the night sky.

Sweat broke out across his back as Hugh crouched down.
This is stupid,
he thought, coiling to spring.
It’ll never wor—

Somehow his muscles knew what to do. His legs coiled and sprang. His toes scraped the dirt as he rose. A strange sensation circled his torso, a tugging in his body, as if all his cells were surging upward. His arms and legs floundered like he was struggling not to drown. The air swished through his fingers. Somewhere a truck trundled by and he prayed it was dark enough to keep him hidden.

A hand clasped his forearm. Hugh snapped his head up.

“
Let’s go,” Nomad said, tugging. “Quit jacking around.”

Nomad dragged him skyward and Hugh willed his body along. Somehow he rose until he was soaring up, up into the night sky.

CHAPTER T
WENTY-SIX — CECE

Thursday 8:55 p.m.

Cece stared at the door. Her heart was in her throat. Did he just say—

“
Open up. It’s the police,” the voice urged.

Cece’s wide eyes found Mama’s. “What did you do?” she whispered.

Mama shook her head, terror filling her face. “Nothing. Oh God, Cecelia.” She crossed her chest, clasped her hands and began mumbling a prayer in Spanish.

Cece strode to the door, her whole body trembling. This was it. This was where they would lose everything. The police would come in, see the mess, find the shoplifted items…
O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us.

“
Just a moment, officer.” Her voice rattled like a twig in a hurricane.
Pull it together,
she thought. She clenched her hands, swallowed the fear and turned the doorknob. She slid into the little crack between the door and the jam and peered out.

One uniformed police officer stood on her stoop. Another waited just at the base of the steps. They were both relatively young and trim, though one had a potbelly that rounded over his belt. The cop on her stoop met her eyes and nodded.

“Miss, are your parents home?” His voice was not unkind, but she couldn’t tell if he was just putting on a good face before he dragged her away.

Cece shook her head. “No, officer. They’re at work.” She prayed Mama would keep her mouth shut.

The officer glanced back at his partner and then up at Cece. “Miss, we’re going house to house in this area to determine if anyone's seen a suspect in a crime.” He held up a sheet of paper. Cece stared at it.

Hugh. The sketch on the paper was clearly meant to be Hugh with the strong jaw, sad eyes and short hair. The ears and nose were all wrong, but the rest of him was there. Cece gulped and tried to sound casual, though a washing machine had kicked on in her insides. “I’ve never seen that person before. Is he the…the killer?” The lie burned as she said it.

The officer dropped his paper and leveled his gaze. Cece tried to breathe, tried to think. Her stomach was on spin cycle, her head following.

“
He’s wanted as a suspect in a murder investigation. I’m sure you’ve heard of what’s been happening around here.”

Cece nodded. Breathed. Tried to smile.

“Well, if you see anyone you think matches this description, please call the police. And keep your doors and windows locked at all times. Don’t venture out alone. Don’t go in secluded areas. When are your parents going to be home tonight?”

“
Soon. My mom usually gets home around nine.”

“
Good.” He nodded, sticking a thumb in his belt. “We could wait, but—”

“
That won’t be necessary,” she said. “She’ll be home any minute. I’m sure you have more houses to hit.”

The officer nodded. He looked tired. His partner leaned his hip against her stoop and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. Thank you. Goodnight.” Cece clicked the door shut and turned the lock. Then she pressed her back to the door and tried to breathe.

“
Cecelia,” Mama said from her place at the table, “what they want?”

“
Nothing.” Cece rubbed her forehead. Where was Hugh? Was he alright? A deeper worry throbbed at the back of her brain. Was she wrong about him this whole time? But, he'd told her the cop thought he'd killed the man when he hadn't. And Nomad sure looked a lot like that sketch.

“
Cecelia, what did they say?”

Cece looked up at Mama. The joy of the moment before had been sucked out of the room. Cece strode to the table and started clearing off dishes, tossing napkins and paper plates in the garbage.

“But, you haven’t finished eating,” Mama grabbed for the humitas which Cece was attempting to swath in cling wrap.

“
I’m finished,” Cece said, pulling the dish back. Her voice was steel as her hands clenched the Pyrex. “Thank you for the meal. Really. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Mama crossed her arms. “You don’t sound like you appreciate it at all.”

A rage bubbled inside of Cece. She swung around and narrowed her eyes. “What I’d really appreciate is if you’d get back on your meds and stop this madness. One home cooked meal doesn’t change the fact that we live like crazy people all the time, Mama!” Cece dropped the Pyrex to the table and shook her hands in the air. “You think one meal makes up for the nights you never come home? The days there’s nothing in the fridge but ketchup? Worrying that the
cops
,” she pointed to the door, “are going to show up to drag me to some foster home?!” She slammed her hands into the table, rattling the glasses. “Thanks for the humitas, Mama, but what I’d really appreciate is a normal mother.”

She’d gone too far. She knew it. Yet her chest felt lighter. The years of pent up frustration, of never saying a word had slowly eroded her life one square inch at a time.

Mama’s face contorted into a look of astonishment, then rage. Her five-foot-two frame rocked back and forth. “How
dare
you speak to me that way!”                            

“
Mama, I—”

“
Shut up,” Mama snapped.                            

It felt like a slap. Cece dropped her jaw.

“Now
you
listen to
me
.” Her hands shook as she racked them through her wild curls. “I am sorry that you haven’t had a perfect life, but I always loved you. I always done the best I could for
you.
” Mama punctuated the word with her finger. “You might think you'd have some perfect life with a better
mami
, and maybe you would, but we don’t get a choice in our
familia
. Just like I didn’t get a choice when my
papi
kicked me out at sixteen because I was pregnant with
you
.” Tears filled Mama's eyes. “But, I would
never, ever do that to you.” She paused, sniffled. “Those pills make me feel like I'm dead, Cecelia. Dead.”

Tears rolled steadily down Mama’s cheeks. She shoved them away with the back of her hand. “I won’t stand for this kind of treatment in my own home.”

“I’m sorry,” Cece mumbled, but Mama grabbed her purse and streaked for the door. “Mama, wait.”

Cece watched as Mama slammed the door behind her, rattling the kitchen window. The sound cut through Cece like a quake. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she let them fall. Hot angry tears. She wanted a million tears. Enough to wash this shitty trailer away. To wash her away. Oh God, wasn't there anyone to help? 
             

Cece walked over to the cluttered roll-top desk, shoved a wad of papers out of the way and rolled it back. Bills, receipts and envelopes covered every surface of the desktop. She heaved a frustrated sigh. It would take ages to dig through all this. She pressed her hands to the chipped wood lid. Two tears slid down and splatted on a wrinkled Kmart bill from 1999.

Her eyes landed on a yellowing address book with a faded kitten on the front. Cece blew the dust off and flipped through. The pages were littered with old addresses, long scratched out, names that once had meant something to her mother now inked into oblivion. There was her babysitter from second grade crossed out. The next page listed Mama's friend Holly from a church they no longer attended. Each name was like a stake through her heart, one more person that her mother had cut them from. She wiped away the tears and kept going.

Cruz Acha, her grandfather, was on the first page, but all the numbers had been inked through. Cece stared at the digits, cut through with blue pen, and ached. The numbers and addresses were severed ties to a family she could never reach. Her eyes fell on the last number, crossed out. In the past she'd always discarded it as no good, but she'd never called. Maybe it worked. Maybe they knew his new number. Maybe she was ready to try anything.

Cece dug her cellphone out of her pocket, heart pounding. She dialed the international area code as Mama had taught her so many years ago. Then she pressed the numbers and held the phone to her ear, barely breathing.

There were a series of clicks and a long expanse of silence. What would she say to him if he answered? She hadn't talk to him since she was eight years ol—

“
Hola. Residencia Romos
,” a woman’s voice said.

Cece struggled to remember the tiny amount of Spanish stored in her brain. “
Hola. Estoy tratando...
uh
... de llegar a mi abuelo, Cruz Acha. Abuelo? Entender
?” Why hadn’t she thought about what she would say before she called? She pressed the phone to her ear until it hurt.
Please let him be there.

The woman on the other end paused. “
No. No hay nadie llamado asi aquí.”

Her translation was slow. No one here by that name? “Wait. There has to be a mistake,” Cece stammered. “Uh... 
Error. Por favor.
”

“
No comprendo
.” The phone clicked.

“
No. Wait.” The line buzzed in her ear. Whoever she'd been talking to was already gone. She stared at the phone for a long minute, feeling all the hope she'd built crumble. She flipped more pages, finding no one. Frustration welled up until she took the address book and threw it. It hit a dusty picture frame, which toppled to the floor and smashed.

“
Goddamn it!” She shook her fists, a silly gesture, and one that brought her no comfort. She wanted to smash more than a just frame, but Mama would notice. She had to clean up her mess. Tears sliding down her nose, Cece leaned down and picked up the cracked frame. The picture was one she'd seen a hundred times, Mama on the beach with her friend Holly in tiny bikinis, their tan bodies glistening in the Florida sun. It lay half out of the frame. She tried to slip it back in, but something was wedged behind it. Another photo. Her fingers dug out the crinkled image.

A man with dark curly hair and a thick mustache smiled at her from the faded photo, a suave Antonio Banderas type. His eyes held a spark of mischief that drew her in. As she lifted the image she realized the photo was creased so the second half of the picture was folded back. Cece slipped her fingers around and opened the photograph up all the way. The crinkled image formed into one of a happy couple, pressed into each other, smiling.