Shadow of the Past (8 page)

The smell of something burning stopped
her in her tracks, hand on the refrigerator door. She wondered for
a second if she’d left the stove on when something peeled itself
from the darkness and grabbed hold of her wrist, crushing it. The
sound of breaking bones echoed through the room and electric
piranhas ran riot up her arm.

Her wrist twisted upwards, raising her
arm and dropping her to her knees in pain. She looked at the hand
covered in swirling black smoke clamped to her wrist, watching it
swirl and writhe like a living thing. Two points of fire began to
blaze in front of her. She forgot about the pain in her wrist, but
she suddenly remembered her dream and why she had been
screaming.

“I’m here,” he said, kneeling back in
front of the furnace. The fire in his eyes blazed brighter than
before. “I’ve brought it for You.”

He drew the blade from its sheath.
Drops of blood pooled on its edges, ready to spill to the floor,
but he held them there with sheer force of will. He took the blade
and stuck it gently in the pile of ashes in the furnace’s chamber.
The blood ran down the blade, congealing in the ash.

After several seconds there was a
rustle in the ashes. The warm breeze was back, joined by the sizzle
and pop of fire trying to spark to life. The flames in him pulled
back, healing his body as fire and smoke rolled down the blade and
into the furnace, feeding and nurturing the newborn
flame.

There was a rush of warm air and the
fire caught, lighting the basement and filling it with the acrid
smell of burning blood.

He pulled the blade from the chamber
and slid it back home in the sheath, placing it in front of the
furnace and leaning forward as close as the heat would allow. He
drew a deep breath, taking the aroma into his lungs and savoring
it. He peered into the flames, eyes wide and tears running down his
cheeks from the stinging heat.

“I see You. And I will make him see you
too, and remember your glory.”

Chapter Eight

Mark sprang out of bed like it was
Super Christmas New Years Vacation Field Hockey Skirts for Forever
Day. Better than that, it was Date Day. Not “Gee Whiz Do You Like
Me if So Check This Box” Date Day, but “We Totally Made Out Last
Night and It Was Awesome Let’s Never Stop Doing That” Date
Day.

He showered and dressed, actually
looking at clothes before putting them on. It seemed like some of
them went better with other ones. He brushed and combed his hair,
debating the placement of each strand as if he were some sort of
hairologist.

There was a moment, looking in the
mirror, when he felt something turn in his stomach. It shook him
more than the nerves he’d felt last night and he had to grab the
edge of the sink to steady himself. The joy the promise of this day
brought was faltering under the intensity of what he’d remembered
and seen yesterday and now he could feel something else in there,
half remembered and gnawing away at him.

“Not today,” he said, forcing it back
down in his mind. “Any other day, fine. But not today.”

He ate his cereal over the sink like it
was some sort of bomb ready to explode all over his well thought
out clothing choices. When he finished and headed back upstairs he
realized that it was only 10:00. Was it too early? Did she even
expect him to call right away? Was this too desperate?

Of course it’s too
desperate. You kissed a girl that wants to kiss you again and it’s
turned you into a fucking madman who eats cereal over the sink like
a crazy person. You left desperate five miles back.

Mark flopped back down on the bed,
watching the world’s slowest second hand spin. The only other time
a girl had showed interest in him was a drama club party Steve
dragged him to their freshman year. Sarah Bingham had found him
hiding out in a corner watching everyone else have a good time and
started talking to him. After some awkward conversation, the two
ended up kissing in the hall closet. Badly, he now realized,
although he decided to attribute that to the fact that he’d been
balanced on one leg so he wasn’t stepping in a mop bucket. He tried
talking to her at school later that week, but she ducked him like
she owed him money. He had tried calling her a couple (dozen)
times, and it wasn’t until he watched her duck behind a friend as
she snuck through the cafeteria that he realized she probably
didn’t want anything to do with him.

It took talent to make a young woman
attempt a marine crawl through a chaotic and crowded high school
cafeteria, and until now he thought that might be his only gift to
women.

Settle. She said you were
nice, and sweet, and that she wanted to see you again. As long as
you don’t hump her leg or drool, you should be come off as normal.
For you.

He reached over for the phone. Normal
was a stretch, but he thought he might be able to pull it
off.

It rang forever, each chime daring him
to hang up and chicken out, but then a breathless young female
voice answered.

“Hey you,” she said.

“I hope I didn’t call to early. I just
. . . wanted to see what was going on.”

“Nothing important. My mom’s been
dragging me out of bed way too early to help unpack and all this
crap. What’re you up to?”

“Same thing. Well, I don’t have any
crap. How much stuff do you guys have, anyway?”

“Too much! I can’t wait until we’re
done and they can leave me alone. It’s such a pain!”

“Yeah, I bet,” Boxes upon boxes full of
fancy brand new stuff. Total pain, what a hassle.

“So how about you swing over and
arrange a jailbreak?”

“Yeah, that sounds . . .
arrangeable.”

“Great! Get here fast before they wall
me in with more boxes.”

Does this get any
easier?
Mark fantasized that standing at
her door waiting for someone to answer would become second nature,
but for now it still filled him with the same dread it did
yesterday. It was just well-lit so there was nowhere to
hide.

Before fleeing became an option, the
door opened and a tall, almost painfully thin man beckoned him
in.

“You must be Mark,” he said. “Come in,
come in.”

“Thanks,” Mark said, hands clenching to
fists in his jacket.

“Can I take your coat?” Mr. Baker said,
placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“No, I’m good,” Mark said. Mr. Baker
smiled and nodded, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. The man’s
short, crinkly hair was gray at the temples, and he wore tiny
silver spectacles that seemed designed to add menace to his
glare.

“So Mark,” Mr. Baker said, “Chrissy
tells me that you have some sort of scooter you ride around on, is
that correct?”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” Mark
said.
Here it comes.

“Well,” Mr. Baker said, beginning to
circle around Mark with slow, deliberate strides. “I’m sure it’s
fine for you to get around and all, but I think you can understand
that her mother and I may be a little cautious about her
safety.”

“Yeah, I guess I can
understand that,” Mark said, trying not to obviously look like he
was trying to keep Mr. Baker from getting behind him.
I am not at all afraid of him latching onto my
neck with some sort of crazy parent death grip.
“But I do have a spare helmet and I’ve never been in an
accident.

“Well, that’s all well and good,
but--”

“Daddy!” Christine said, bounding down
the stairs, and coming to a stop between the two. “What did I say
about cross-examining my dates?”

“Now Chrissy,” Mr. Baker started, but
Mark quickly interjected.

“It’s okay,” he said. Over time he’d
learned to do the opposite of what Joe would do, and Clara had told
him these were called ‘manners.’ “My friend Steve’s mom feels the
same way about the scooter, but I’ve always brought him back safe.
I can promise to do the same with your daughter.”

“Well . . . ,” Mr. Baker said, rubbing
his chin as if confused by these ‘manners’ and what they meant for
the viability of scooters.

“Daddy, please! It’s not really a big
deal, okay?” she said, taking a hold of his arm with both hands and
looking up at him with fluttering eyes.

With the heavy sigh of one performing
an act of unspeakable kindness, Mr. Baker nodded. “I suppose you’re
right, Chrissy. But don’t be too late. We still have some work to
do.”

“Best Daddy ever! Thank you!” she
darted up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the check. She slipped
away and pushed Mark towards the door.

As they headed down the walk, Christine
tossed her hair back and gave Mark a pained look, “God, they’re
such a pain in the ass. But you,” she grinned. “That was amazing.
And they say Jersey’s filled with bad boys.”

“Hey, fuhgedaboutit,” said Mark,
shrugging his shoulders and tossing his hands in the
air.

She tossed him his helmet and winked at
him. “Cute, tough guy. Let’s get out here so I can greet you
properly.”

She wanted to know where all the “cool
stuff” was so they drove around for a bit. Mark pointed out his
favorite places to eat, the good movie theater up on the Hill and
Ridgemont Park near his old middle school, hoping it could pass for
cool.

“I think this is it,” he finally said
over the metal wasp-buzz of the engine.

“This is fine,” she said, squeezing him
just enough to make him almost run them off the road. “Let’s stop
here.”

They pulled over near a secluded end of
Ridgemont, at one end of the big pond near the group of large
trees. They picked a seat under one that had a nice cushion of
leaves and a pair of big roots that forced them to squeeze close
together.

“So this place is nice,” she said,
nuzzling up next to him.

“The park? Yeah, I used to hang out
here all the time, pretending I was fighting ninjas or army guys or
whatever.” She chuckled. “Or something cooler. Smoking the drugs,
or something like that.”

“I meant the town. It’s kind of
charming.”

“Oh yeah, real charming. Designed for
smug yuppie assholes to feel better about themselves and built on a
geographical sliding scale so you can be sure where you fit in on
the economic food chain. And if you do live down with the rest of
the Morlocks, you better be a tough guy or you’re going to eat shit
for the rest of your life.”

“Well, speaking as one of those yuppie
assholes, not every guy from Morlock village has to be a tough
guy.”

He could feel his face flushing. It was
tough remembering the only difference between her and the people he
hated was the fact that she was here with him and apparently didn’t
hate him.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I never
wanted live here, but my folks . . .” he stopped, realizing that he
was in forbidden territory. There was no way he was going to go
into all of that now, if ever.

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Folks never give you much choice in anything. You just get dragged
around like a rag doll. My brother is older and it was way harder
on him. If he hadn’t gone to college when he did I think he and Dad
would've come to blows by now.”

“Really?” Mark said. “In those pictures
everyone looks so happy and, well, normal.”

“Oh Jesus! My folks
are
not
normal. My
folks wouldn’t know normal if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.
My dad’s a total workaholic freak and my mom is just obsessed with
making sure everything looks okay and in its right place. They’re
the anti-normal.”

“Well, I guess it beats the
alternative.”

“I dunno. Ever since Ryan moved out my
folks have just been all over me, but with the move and everything
done it’ll be nice to just slow down and just let everything
settle.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “Slow is
good.”

“Well,” she grinned, shifting up to
kiss him. “Not that good.”

After exhausting themselves with an
hour of kissing and over-the-clothes groping they just leaned back
against the tree, arms and legs intertwined and enjoying the crisp
fall air.

“I should be getting back soon,” she
said. “The last thing I want is my dad getting on your case
again.”

Mark grinned. “For this, he can get on
my case all he wants.”

She reached up and took a leaf out of
his hair. “You’re sweet.”

“Really?”

Her fingers left his hair and softly
traced a line from his cheek to his chin. “Yes, Mark. You’re very
sweet. I can’t remember if I’ve met a guy who’s been sweeter.
You’re kind, you’re caring, you’re considerate. . .”

He chuckled. “What am I, a Cub Scout?
Next you’ll say I’m loyal and honest.”

“Oh, you’re those too, I’m sure, but I
don’t think you realize how rare that is.”

“Are we going to get disgusting
boyfriend/girlfriend names now?” he asked, kissing her
fingertip.

“Well, we’ll have to play it by ear.
Have to give it some time to find the really disgusting
ones.”