Orion Cross My Sky (11 page)

I
t was nearing
ten o’ clock at night when Ryan drove his SUV up to the ER entrance of the hospital and rolled his window down. The bright fluorescent lights from the lobby cast an odd glow across the cracked sidewalk.

Herschel, the security guard, toddled over to the vehicle and straightened the faded blue hat on his head. “Evenin’, Sheriff. How’s that boy you brought in the other night?”

“Oh, he’s fine.”

“Didn’t look fine.”

Ryan knew Herschel was questing for information. A man couldn’t say much in this town without everyone getting wind of it. Instead of taking the bait, he slipped the extra cup of coffee out of the cup holder and held it out the window. “For you,” he said by way of explanation.

“Well, thank you, Sheriff.” He glanced at the writing on the cup. “From over at the café, eh?”

“Yep. I thought you might need a pick-me-up.” Every once in a while, Ryan liked to bring Herschel a hot drink when he was on duty. And he always followed it with the same wink, and the same words: “Don’t expect this every night, now.”

“Oh, no, Sheriff. I’m grateful for it, believe me.” He took a careful sip. “
Mm
, black with just a little bit of sugar. That Jennifer knows how I like my coffee.”

“Yeah, she’s a whiz with the—” Ryan stopped talking when the radio crackled to life.

“Sheriff, this is dispatch. We’ve got another disturbance call over on Grizzly Lane.”

“What is it, Cindy?”

“Bennett house again, Sherriff.”

“Damn it,” he mumbled. He turned and waved to Herschel. “I’ll see you later. Try not to fall asleep.”

“I won’t, Sheriff.” Herschel raised his coffee in thanks as he turned and walked back toward the ER entrance.

Ryan rolled the window up and drove off.

I
t was worse this time
. When Ryan approached the house, he saw the pale light from the front porch extending outward. And he heard shouting.

As he pulled the car into the driveway, his headlights illuminated the closed garage door. Leaving the engine idling, he hopped out of the car.

He had showed up late. It wasn’t clear what was happening. Or what had already happened.

“Goddamn you!” the boy’s father shouted, the front door slamming shut behind him.

Orion stumbled backward, clad in jeans and a t-shirt in the growing cold, his bare feet pressing into the unkempt browning grass. He bowed forward, holding his hands before his face, as if he wanted to clutch his head but dare not touch his skin.

“Why…why…” His voice emerged in strangled gasps, and his eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t use that bullshit on me, son,” his father barked. “You don’t get to tell me how I run this family, you don’t…Sheriff, we don’t need you here, this is between me and the boy.”

“The
boy
looks like he’s in pain,” Ryan said gravely, nodding toward Orion, who’d slumped down onto his knees, sobbing.

“He’s just weak is what he is. No ambition to get out of that shit job he’s in, no motivation…look at ’im, can’t you see it? Jesus Christ. He’s milkin’ it, acting like a—”

“Sir, I need you to quiet down, you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

A few people had emerged from their houses and were watching. Or, they’d stayed inside but were listening at their windows.

“Look, you do what you want, I’m sick of this bull—”

Ryan started to say something, started to step forward as the blue and red lights danced across the furious expression on Mr. Bennett’s face. But before he could do anything, the boy shrieked, and with anger that could only be rooted in deep, horrendous pain, he rocketed forward and attacked his father, slamming his fist into the older man’s jaw.

As Ryan jumped toward them to stop the fight, he caught a glimpse of the door opening and Mrs. Bennett looking out, her face streaked with tears and her mouth gaping.

Father and son had toppled to the porch, and the weight of them snapped a board in the rotting floor. Mr. Bennett’s jacket caught on it and tore as he tried to roll away from Orion’s fist, which was slamming repeatedly into his face.

Blood.

The older man crying out, fighting back, punching his son in the mouth.

Ryan shoving his body between them.

He wasn’t sure how it ended, but he managed to drag the kid away from his father.

And he did the only thing he could. He put Orion in handcuffs.

I
n the back
of the sheriff’s SUV, Orion sank against the seat, bracing himself against each vicious stab that crossed his face along the branches of the nerve.

Sometimes, there was a second so brief—so fleeting—where the pain receded. He took a breath, like a swimmer ready to go under again. Knowing he might drown. Slip into the pain and never return.

Then it came back. Worse than before.

Fuck.
The tears made his vision blur, and he could have sworn someone was sitting beside him, gouging a knife into his face.

How does that feel
, the entity murmured.
Does that feel good? It doesn’t? Let me do it again
.

Stab. Slice.

The knife cut from his eye to his temple, the throbbing shot down along his cheek, the lightning bolts staggered into his teeth. Around his jaw.

I want to die I want to die I want to die.

The SUV turned a corner. He thought he heard a voice, and he realized it was the sheriff’s.

“Are you okay? Orion?”

He realized he’d started rocking back and forth. Awareness set in, telling him the choked shrieks permeating the air were actually coming from his throat, from deep in his belly, like the guttural gasps of an animal dying.

The voice again. “Orion, should I take you to the hospital?”

A shadow. A suede hat, and beneath it, a glimpse of stubble on a pronounced chin as the driver of the vehicle glanced back at him. Headlights. Orion hung his head, hiding from the light.

The light…the light, it hurts.

“No,” he gasped aloud. “No hospital.”

“Are you sure?”

He rocked back and forth, his stomach turning as he wondered why the man who’d just arrested him was bothering to give a shit.

“No hospital, no hospital!” he cried out.

It seemed as if the drive took forever, but the vehicle finally lurched to a stop and Orion knew relief was on its way. The relief that came from vomiting, those brief seconds in which he could feel something else—his throat burning, his gut wrenching—something other than the horrific pain that made him want to kill himself.

When the sheriff opened the door and helped him out onto the pavement, he turned away, his hands still behind his back, still locked in cuffs.

He didn’t care.

In the back of his mind, confusion stirred as he realized the sheriff was gently rubbing his back as he puked all over the parking lot.

Orion stopped. He heaved, gasping.

In the bitter cold, it occurred to him he wasn’t wearing shoes. Metal clinked as his handcuffs were unlocked and his arms freed. The putrid scent of vomit wafted up to his nostrils. He thought of how cold his feet were as he accepted the bottle of water the sheriff handed him.

Every move mechanical, slow, he washed his mouth out and spat on the asphalt.

Then he stumbled, and the sheriff caught him, holding onto him, leading him carefully toward the building.

“Cold. So cold,” Orion wheezed.

“I know, kid. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you warm in no time.”

“Why did…why did you…”

“Save the questions.”

He did as the sheriff asked, and they stepped into the warmth of the police station. Orion thought he was going to jail. Instead, the sheriff led him straight into his office and shut the door behind them.

T
ime passed
. Slowly. A pain attack seemed to go on forever. But when it was happening, and when it was over, Orion often reminded himself that all things were temporary. Sometimes, he worried the attack would never end. But it always did.

There was a small, stained loveseat in Sheriff Ryder’s office, tucked between two bookcases. At this angle, laying on the firm cushions, Orion focused on thick law books and manuals on criminal justice. His vision blurred from the tears still leaking from his eyes. Every so often, the books would go out of focus.

The warmth in the room was cozy, comfortable. Orion wasn’t sure what had happened, but somewhere along the way, the sheriff had tucked a soft blue blanket around him, and a small pillow beneath his head.

He couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t in jail.

He’d attacked his father, who could easily press charges. Even now, Orion could’ve been behind bars for assault and battery. But he wasn’t.

A figure loomed over him, and he startled before he realized it was Sheriff Ryder.

“Relax, kid. You’re bleeding. Your father clocked you, after you got him. I just need to—”

“Don’t touch my face,” Orion begged, leaning away. “
Please, please, please, don’t
.”

“I’m gonna have to. I know it hurts. But I gotta clean you up. You’re gonna have a black eye on top of it. Your dad split your lip. I won’t do much, I swear.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

Orion looked up and met his gaze. The sheriff’s brow was crinkled, the corner of his lips turned downward in a slight frown. His expression showed deep compassion, a kind of caring Orion wasn’t used to.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He steeled himself and let the sheriff clean the blood away. When it was over, he released a breath, pressing his body against the cushions of the loveseat. His feet were covered by the blanket, but hung over the edge.

“How’s the pain?”

“Fucking sucks, Sheriff.” He spoke between his barely parted lips, not daring to move the muscles in his face.

“Please call me Ryan.”

“Okay.” He gave himself a moment, trying to relax the muscles in his face. The pain slowly backed away. The attack was almost at an end. But he had to be careful. He couldn’t move. He had to breathe through his mouth. Even breathing hurt.

The sheriff was moving around somewhere behind him. Orion recalled seeing a desk when they’d first come in. He didn’t dare look.

“Okay,” he mumbled again. “Ryan.”

“Yeah.” The sheriff stepped into view. This time, he wasn’t wearing his hat, and he’d taken off his coat. He wore a long-sleeved, tan, button-up shirt, and his badge was on a lanyard around his neck.

“Why am I here, I mean…why…why aren’t I in jail?” The words caused reverberations of pain, like earthquake aftershocks, to shoot across his face. He jerked his head, wincing.

“Because you don’t belong in jail.”

There was a brief scraping sound as Ryan pulled a chair over and sat down.

“Isn’t it…can’t you get in trouble?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Sure, I guess. But then, sometimes, I bend the rules a bit. And I do it when I see somebody needs help. You need help.”

“Me. I don’t…”

“Orion, you’re a good kid. You’re in more pain than anybody your age should be in. Shit,
nobody
should be in as much pain as you’re in. How long have you had this?”

“Born with it.”

“Surgery?”

“No. Those…surgeries cost a lot.”

“That’s true, they do.”

“Anyway, Dad…wouldn’t.” He couldn’t get the words out. It was too long of a story, and it hurt to talk. He thought about how his grandfather had suffered with the same affliction, but it’d skipped his dad.

He thought about
MVD
—micro-vascular decompression. Pretty much a brain surgery. They’d go in behind the patient’s ear, having located the source of the nerve compression at the base of the brainstem. And then, they’d insert a tiny sponge between the compressing vein and the nerve and hope to God it did something. Sometimes, it didn’t. In many cases, it helped. But Orion wasn’t optimistic, especially since his father hadn’t allowed him to do it.

And at this point, he hadn’t exhausted all other possibilities. Surgery was a last resort he wasn’t ready for yet.

The sheriff watched him with a curious expression on his face. Was it compassion—or pity?

Ryan cleared his throat. “Listen. I’ve been called to your house enough times to know your family life isn’t that great. And that’s why I didn’t throw you in jail. You’re not in the best of situations, and in any other town, maybe you’d be in jail right now. Am I risking my job by letting you recuperate on this couch? Probably. But you remind me of me.”

Orion said nothing. He couldn’t. The pain was too great.

“I grew up in a dysfunctional home,” the sheriff continued. “My mother died when I was twenty-two. She drank too damn much. That put a lot of strain on the family, and it was hell. I was an only child.”

He kept turning his watch around on his wrist. Orion watched the continuous movement as the sheriff talked.

“Dad died three years ago, only a year after we’d started to mend what was left of our relationship. I’m telling you this so you can see you’re not the only one. You’re not alone. But you have to take care of yourself, kid. Especially in your situation. I know it’s tough, but you gotta make sure this kind of stuff doesn’t happen in the future.”

Orion breathed out. “You mean, don’t beat the shit outta my dad.”

“Sure. And just take care. You’re battling something most people your age don’t even know exists. But you can make it through.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I see the same strength in your eyes that I saw in mine. Years ago. I don’t know what your pain is like, but I know what it’s like to live with a family who doesn’t understand you and doesn’t try.”

“You should be a therapist.” Orion paused. “Not a sheriff.”

He allowed the left corner of his mouth to move upward in a half-hearted smile, but he instinctively curtailed the movement of the right side of his face.

“I’m gonna let you rest for a bit. But—” The sheriff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I’ve got an extra room in my condo. You’re more than welcome to stay there for a night or two. We’ll let your dad think you’re in jail.”

“What about…”

Sheriff Ryder shook his head. “If you knew my secretary, you’d know she’d be all for it. And Cindy in dispatch, she’s the sweetest lady I’ve ever met. She’d probably hide you over at her place. But I’m not gonna mention it to her.”

“Okay.” Orion wasn’t sure if he was agreeing to the idea or not. He just didn’t want to talk anymore.

The sheriff seemed to notice his discomfort, taking it as a signal. He stood from the chair without a word and went to work at his desk.

Orion fell asleep with the sounds of paper shuffling behind him, his exhaustion too great to deny.