Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (60 page)

“I hope this empowers girls everywhere.
NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE!”

She wiped her face and kissed her father’s
cheek and hugged her sister. She thanked her mother and wished she
could see her now.

Best ceremony ever.

It was almost midnight.

I waited at the back entrance, watching the
team leave. Chute was the last out. She was escorted by a security
guard to my car in front of the school. I opened her door, thanked
the man and went around to my side and when I got in we met in the
middle, hugging tight. I loved the way she smelled. “I knew you
were there,” she said. “It was like I could feel you, you
know.”

I know.

The last of the crowd was being ushered out
of the parking lot by security. I took the wheel and drove down the
empty road littered with programs and cups.

“Can you believe it?” Chute pounded the
dash, shaking her head and screaming. “I’m going home with this!
Can you freaking believe it?”
She displayed the globe award
on the tips of her fingers. The surface was clear and polished, but
it was milky and opaque in the center, like it contained a galaxy.
“Socket, I don’t know if you know this.” She eyeballed me, deadpan.
“But I could be the best tagger of all time.”

I laughed. “Where was that humility at the
ceremony? I mean, all you did was thank everyone and hoped to
inspire every girl to wear a sportsbra.”

“Let’s see if I go pro.” She waved her hand
around the globe. “Oh, mighty award that looks like a crystal ball,
please tell me where I’ll be in ten years.”

Asking for the future made me cringe. I’d
had enough of that. She chanted some mumbo-jumbo, fogged the glass
with her breath and rubbed it on her shirt. She pressed it against
her ear like a seashell.

“Socket! Guess what?”

“You win every tagghet award known to
mankind?”

“No.” She leaned close. “You’re going to
stop at a red light.”

I eased up to the stoplight, already red.
“Wow. That thing really does work.”

“And now you’re going to turn left.”

“Um, your house is straight.”

Her hand crawled across my chest. “But the
park is that way.”

“It’s midnight, Chute.”

“Oh my.” She feigned surprise. “That means…
we’re going to turn into pumpkins any second. Promise me, Socket,
they won’t make me into a pie? Promise me!”

“But your dad is expecting us.”

She nibbled on my earlobe, her breath in my
ear. “I told him we were stopping at a party.”

“He trusts me to get you home.”

“Oh, you’ll get me home.”

The light turned green.

“Your dad,” I said. “He has a baseball bat,
you know.”

“I just want to see the park,” she
whispered. “Is that so bad?”

“But you’ve seen the park.”

Her tongue was hot. Shivers ran down my
spine. “Not tonight.”

The blinker flashed on the dashboard. I
turned left.

L E G E N D

PROOF

It was 12:50 when we got to Chute’s
neighborhood. She was looking in the mirror on the sun visor,
fixing her hair. Her house was in a cul-de-sac, a single-story
ranch with white siding. The lights were bright in the bay window
to the right of the door. Her father was at the kitchen table. He
looked up when my headlights flashed across the house. I turned the
lights off.

“We’re here.”

“I look like I’ve been wrestling.”

“It’d be good if you didn’t.”

“Give me a second, then.”

“Your dad’s watching.”

“Let him watch. We’re not doing
anything.”

Mr. Thomas sipped from a can, staring out
the window. I tapped on the steering wheel, counting the seconds.
Chute flipped the visor back. “All done. How do I look?”

The dashboard glow softly lit her face.
Sometimes I forgot time when I looked at her. She was beautiful.
Most would agree, but it was different for me. Her face moved me,
deeply. Her smile. The way her eyes crinkled in the corners. Her
energy swirled sweetly, vibrating somewhere inside me.

“What?” she said. “Do I still look like the
Hulk?”

“No.” I turned the car off. “Let’s go
in.”

The doors slammed in the quiet night. We
hooked our fingers as we walked up the concrete ramp. Chute pushed
open the front door.

“There she is!” Mr. Thomas’s voice boomed
from inside the house. “There’s my Annie-darling!”

Chute ran through the house. Her dad wheeled
in from the kitchen. She kissed him on the cheek then walked behind
him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Annie was her birth name,
but her father was the only one that called her that.

“You letting the mosquitoes inside to breed,
boy?” Mr. Thomas shouted. “Get in here and shut the door!”

I closed the door and came inside. Mr.
Thomas held out his thick hand and shook mine and then Angela came
running into the front room screaming. Chute laced her fingers with
her sister and they both screeched. Mr. Thomas covered his ears
muttering, “Jesus Christ’s holy shit,” and went to the kitchen for
another beer. Can, not bottle. Mr. Thomas always said bottles were
for girls.

The girls embraced, still screaming like ten
year olds, bouncing up and down. He took a swig of Budweiser and
watched his daughters celebrate. He flinched when they hit the high
notes, but it never wiped the smile off his face. Angela was a
cheerleader in high school, doing one of her old cheers, kicking
her leg up high and shaking her hands. “A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Awesome.
Awesome. To-tally!”

Chute imitated her, but was laughing too
hard to keep up. Mr. Thomas’s laugh boomed over the top of them.
“You see that, Socket? They’re taunting me with their perfectly
working legs.”

“Oh, stop it, Daddy,” Angela said, not
breaking stride.

Mr. Thomas put his beer on the table and
wheeled over to the girls. He expertly leaned back and pulled a
wheelie, moving in time to the dance. The girls kicked out like
Russian dancers while Mr. Thomas wheeled back and forth. The cheer
broke down when the girls fell down laughing.

“Let’s see that award, girl!” Mr. Thomas
shouted.

The girls lay on the floor, catching their
breath. Mr. Thomas waited at the table. The globe was by the front
door, so I fetched it. He muttered thank you. And then the energy
changed.

He gazed into the globe like there was
something inside, oblivious to the ruckus on the other side of the
kitchen. His eyes glassed up. Mr. Thomas was not the type to get
misty, but the water in his eyes reflected the kitchen light. He
held the globe close to his nose. His breath was choppy.

Angela leaped up when she saw the award,
leaned over her father, hands on his shoulders, looking into it
much the same way. Chute sat next to them. Suddenly, the house was
very still. Mr. Thomas’s lips started to move, but they didn’t say
anything. Angela felt him quiver, hooked her arm around his
neck.

“Mom would be so proud, Chute,” she
said.

Mr. Thomas took Chute’s hand. She laid her
head on his shoulder. Angela wrapped her arms around them. Their
energy intermingled, merging with deep sweet hues, connecting at a
very real, essential level. All barriers stripped away.

Angela nodded at me. I hesitated. Mr. Thomas
cleared his throat. “Get over here, boy.”

Chute held out her hand. I took it, joined
them at the table, felt the family essence weave into my being,
their hearts beating through my arm next to my own pulse. I was
five the last time I felt something like that, just before my
father died.

We gripped each other tightly, staring at
the globe. But it wasn’t the award we were looking at. We weren’t
admiring its beauty or fame. It was a symbol of Mr. Thomas’s
family, represented how grown up they were. There was a time he was
convinced he would never live to see it, but there he was. There
they all were, wrapped tightly at the table.

Chute was a young woman. And here was
something to hold, something to prove it.

Something her mother would be proud of.

“Don’t close the door!” Angela shouted. “Dad
said he’d get his bat.”

Chute fell back on her bed, arms out.
“Listen to her,” she said. “She used to sneak out of the house all
the time, and now she’s telling me when I can close my door.”

“You sneak out all the time,” I said.

She rolled on her side, buried her face in
the pillow, said something about the greatest day of her life. She
used to have posters of celebrities and bands on her wall. They
were replaced by a shelf full of trophies. She’d have to clear some
space for the globe.

The only thing that remained the same was
the picture over her headboard of the three of us. We were on the
curb in front of Streeter’s house. It was our first day taking the
school bus. We were seven, had our bookbags strapped on our
shoulders. Chute was in the middle, arms around us.

“I can’t sleep,” she said into the pillow.
“Will you stay the night?”

“Right.”

“You can sleep on the couch.”

“I told you your father had a bat. If he
finds me on the couch in the morning, he’ll use it.”

She lifted her head. “You can hide, then
knock on the door like you came over for breakfast.”

She’s serious.
“Look, I’d love to see
you all day and night, but I can’t. Not tonight.”

“The world can wait.”
Still
serious.

“I’ve got some things to do, and there’s a
trip.”

“Where are you going?”

I grabbed a tagghet puck from her dresser,
inspected the scuff marks. “Somewhere far away, but it won’t take
long.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get used to you
being on the road, once I’m Mrs. Greeny.” Her laughter muffled into
the pillow. “It’s not easy being the wife of a superhero, you
know.”

“I’ll bring you to the Preserve when I get
back. I’ve got some kids that would love you to teach them some
tagghet moves.”

“Really, really?”

“Promise, promise.”

She rolled over, closed her eyes and hummed.
Her sleepy imagination flashed with images of trees and grimmets.
“Could you do that energy thing?” She tapped her forehead. “I’m not
tired.”

I sat on the bed and touched her forehead.
My essence mingled with hers and our experiences merged. A
closeness. Oneness. Something that reminded us we were never
alone.

She was softly snoring within a minute. I
stopped at her doorway and glanced at the picture of the three of
us again. It seemed like just the other day. I leaned closer. The
details were smudged in the background, like there was a figure
using back-reflecting gear to appear invisible. Then again, it
could just be the printer smudging up.

I had a gut feeling that wasn’t it.

L E G E N D

To Reign

The roads were empty and slick from a light
rain, reflecting the street lights. I turned the music off and
cruised down the Interstate. I didn’t miss leaving South Carolina,
but I hated leaving Chute. Someday, I could bring her with me. But
then what? Are we going to play house inside Garrison Mountain? I
was still so torn about my two lives. Somehow they were going to
merge. Maybe one day I could retire and find peace and quiet and a
normal life when the world was saved.

I took my exit after crossing the Cooper
River bridge, the blinker flashing—

The figure steps forward, reveals the
strands of wet hair over her face. Red hair. Chute lifts the knife,
her face twisted with anger. Then she leaps, swinging the weapon
down at me, lightning flashing off its edge.

“Auto-pilot engaged,” the car reported.

The tires hit the gravel on the shoulder as
the wheels turned the car back onto the pavement.

I was slumped in the seat. My lips were fat
and rubbery. The moon passed between branches. The car found its
way to the secure location of the wormhole while I tried to get the
feeling back. Only when we entered the blue swirl could I take the
wheel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I knew enough that these
weren’t normal visions. If they got any stronger, I’d be dead. I
had to get some answers.

I flew across the boulder-field toward the
vertical wall of the Garrison. The Commander would get my reports
soon enough, but not before I made one last stop. Call it
compulsion or gut-instinct. Or insanity.

If I have anymore visions, Pike said.
As
if he knew I would.

I called ahead to my office. When I arrived,
Pike waited with his legs folded beneath him. A string of spit
jiggled from his mouth. The minders appeared behind him.

“Wha’ dewyew wan?” Pike lifted his heavy
head, his dark glasses askew, revealing the white eyeballs filled
with rooty veins. “So soon?” He smacked his lips and sat up. “To
what do I owe the pleasure of—”

“What do you know?”

“I know, I know… what do I know? What do
you
know?”

“You know something, Pike. Something about
the things I’m seeing. You tell me WHAT YOU KNOW!”

His mind was scrambled, thoughts floating
like weeds in the ocean. Perhaps that was the idea, make things
chaotic, hide the secrets in plain sight. Like a shredded document
thrown into the wind. It would take centuries to put it back
together. And the minders just kept blowing.

“Play a game with me, wonderboy, shall we?”
Pike smiled.

“You think this is a game, Pike? You’ve lost
your mind.”

“Quite right, you are. But if you want me to
tell you things, ole Pike will tell you things. Let’s play a
game.”

I snatched his neck; the knobby Adam’s apple
pumping up and down in my palm. “You tell what you’re hiding, you
filthy traitor. You know something about these… these
visions.”