Contractor (2 page)

with your own eyes, you’d think differently."

Xik waved a hand.

Blue sparks flew over Daniel like a

cloud of shimmering confetti. They settled on

his exposed skin, then vanished. Daniel

stiffened, then felt at his arms with his

fingertips. "…what the hell was that?"

"That spell will let you see through their

illusion. Nothing more."

"Right. Thanks."

Xik gathered up his puke-colored hat,

fixed it atop his head, and leaned out the

window. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"Are you sure that -"

"Positive."

"A good night to you, then." The eclectic

frog threaded its long legs back over the

windowsill, which was like watching a

multicolored toothpick jab itself through a

hole. In a flutter of white curtains, Xik was

gone.

Daniel sighed and sat back. His index

finger automatically started working at his

lock of hair. This was the weirdest dream

he’d ever had. Had he looked up something

on Wikipedia about frogs or top hats?

He rejected Xik’s offer more out of

spite for how inane it all was than anything

else, but the lack of information was a real

concern, too. Daniel’s goal of law school

might be uneventful, but he’d take boredom

over eternal suffering any day. Just look what

happened to Faust.

"Hey Danny!"

Felix burst into his room. His seven-

year-old brother dangled in off the doorknob

by his hands. The door’s hinges groaned and

creaked as they bore the sudden weight.

Daniel, having stiffened in alarm, sighed

back into his chair. "You’ll break it if you

keep doing that."

"Whoa!" Felix’s hands slipped off the

knob. He collapsed to the floor, then got to

his feet while Daniel laughed. "It’s not

funny!"

"Absolutely. Not funny at all." Daniel

forced his face to be overly-serious. "No

laughing allowed."

Felix folded his arms and tried to mash

his lips into a frown, but eventually a smile

broke through anyway. "Ok, I guess it was

kinda funny." Felix brushed his pants, then

his hair. Daniel’s hair was dark brown, but

Felix’s was a much lighter mix with plenty of

gold.
Brown from James. Gold from mom.

"Are you here to injure yourself for my

entertainment, or is there something you

wanted?" Daniel asked.

"Um, dinner’s ready."

"At least you would have broken your

neck for a good cause."

Daniel clicked the save button on his

computer and followed Felix down the

stairs. They clomped across the tile of their

kitchen. James, their father, busied himself

moving cooked food from the stove onto

potholders waiting on their square wooden

table.

Three sides of the table were set. The

fourth spot was empty. Plates and silverware

and napkins gave that fourth spot a wide

berth in the same way that pedestrians avoid

a ragged, smelly bum lying in the dark corner

of a subway. Something they’d rather not talk

about, not look at, and just altogether pretend

didn’t exist.

Daniel tried to ignore the way in which

everything was squeezed onto the other

three-quarters of the table. He inhaled the

scent of garlic bread that wafted out of the

kitchen. They’d had pasta and garlic bread

quite a bit lately—it was easy to make—but

that was fine with him. He would eat pasta

every day if he could.

They all sat down and scooted their

chairs into the table. There was a flurry of

clinks and slops as they doled out the sauce

and the noodles. "Are you working on

something?" James asked.

"You noticed," Daniel said. "Shocking."

"Well, you’ve been shut up there for a

while."

Daniel chewed through a mouthful of

spaghetti. "History paper."

"How’s it going?"

"Alright. I don’t think Mrs. Faldey reads

my papers anymore. She just stamps an A on

it and pats me on the head."

"She likes you, then?"

"I was the secretary of the school’s

history club. I’ve had her three years in a

row. She wrote one of my recommendations.

Of course she likes me." Daniel fixed his dad

with a look. "Guess you forgot?"

James turned back to his food. "Hear

anything from colleges?"

Daniel looked to Felix. His little brother

was obsessive about checking the mailbox;

he was at that age when he was willing to do

everything from fetch drinks to beat the

drapes for a little attention. "No letters,"

Felix said. "There was just this magazine

with a bunch of tires on the front. We always

get that one. Do they sell a lot of tires at the

store?"

"Apparently," Daniel answered.

James sipped his water. "Just junk mail,

Felix."

"I don’t get junk mail," Felix said. "It just seems like a waste of paper and stuff.

Why do we always get it?"

Daniel snorted. "The wisdom of our

child sage never ceases to amaze me."

"Hey, I was serious!"

"Everyone gets junk mail," James said.

"If they spray everyone with advertisements,

someone will be interested and buy

something. At least, that’s the idea."

"But it’s still wasting paper."

"I didn’t realize you were getting so

conscious about resource allocation."

"What’s allocation?"

"How things are distributed," James

said. "For example, I allocated myself a

heaping pile of pasta."

Felix smiled. "Oh. Well, we were

talking about recycling in class, and Mrs.

White said it was bad to waste paper and

water and things, and junk is always a

waste."

"Intelligent woman."

As Felix related the more obscure

details of his day at elementary school,

Daniel’s thoughts wandered back to the

magical frog-alien. He didn’t remember

waking up. Maybe he was just dozing in his

chair until Felix’s voice cut through.

Eventually, he finished his plate. His

eyes found the empty seat on his left. He’d

sat in the same spot at their table since he

was born. For the first sixteen years of his

life, that fourth seat had an occupant.

He’d never get used to the difference. It

was wrong.

It hung on him, like a jacket. A black

jacket. It was soaked through, damp, and it

chilled him to the bone, sucking the heat out

of him in the way wet clothes do when worn

too long. No matter how long he stood in the

sun, it wouldn’t dry. The zipper was chained

shut around his neck, and trying to pry it off

only hurt his hands.

There was a pause in the conversation.

"How was work?" Daniel asked. He didn’t

really care all that much about the answer. It

was just to fill space. Keep his mind off a

vacant chair.

"It was work," James said.

"How about your old position?"

James set his forearms on the table. He

looked away, then rubbed the back of his

neck. Just from that, Daniel knew what was

coming.

"They passed me up for an outside hire,"

James said. "No big deal. We still have

plenty of money from the insurance.

Wherever you go, it’s taken care of."

"I’m not worried about getting taken

care of by you," Daniel said. James was

silent. Of course he was. "You said it was in

the bag. Your boss said it was in the bag."

"Daniel," James started in a lecturing

tone, "Arnold doesn’t make all the decisions.

Sometimes -"

Daniel narrowed his eyes as his father

rattled off a list of the usual excuses. James

had been clinically depressed for over a year

and a half. He barely had the motivation to

feed himself for the first few weeks. It was

only the past few months that he’d finally

stuttered back into the world; he was

fortunate his old employer was willing to

give him another shot.

"I’m lucky I kept my job at all after the

layoffs," James was saying. "There’ll be

other opportunities."

Daniel stood and slapped his hands into

the table. The dishes rattled. Felix and James

both jumped. They sat there, looking at him.

In his mind’s eye, Daniel saw himself

screaming his head off. Daniel had been

sixteen with a five-year-old brother, and his

dad checked out of life because he couldn’t

take the strain. The fact of the matter was that

his dad didn’t get the promotion because he

couldn’t be trusted, but he buried that under

excuses—along with every other fault he

had.

Daniel felt the frown twist on his face.

James had barely acknowledged Daniel’s

existence because he was too busy moping

for months on end, and now this crap, asking

him about his paper, pretending he gave a

shit as if they could forget it happened and go

right back to some sickly version of normal.

He wanted to shout it all at the top of his

lungs. He wanted to throw it back in his

dad’s face.

But Felix was sitting right there. Daniel

took a long, deep breath. "…I gotta write my

paper."

He tried his very best not to stomp up

the stairs—and then he was in his room. He

kicked his door shut, then fell into his chair

and balled his hands into fists.

His anger was justified. It had to be.

Daniel had loved her every bit as much as

his father did, but for Felix’s sake, he pulled

it together and kept going. Meanwhile, James

fell to pieces.

Did Daniel get an apology? No. Did

James admit he crawled into his room and

left them to themselves for two years? No.

How about when Daniel had to quit

everything he did after school to make sure

Felix got home in one piece? Or how

Daniel’s part-time job was the only income

they had until the insurance finally paid out?

And absolutely nothing on how Daniel

sacrificed his grades to make sure Felix had

enough to eat, no, that wasn’t worth a

mention. He might not get into college, but

hey, James didn’t care enough to bring it up.

Guess it wasn’t that important.

Daniel slammed his hands on the arms

of his chair. They stung and throbbed from

the strike, but he barely felt it. His teeth

ground together in the back of his jaw.

Nope. None of that. Just right back to

normal. That other stuff never happened.

Besides, at the end of it all, they got lucky,

right? There would be other opportunities.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to

break something. And he loathed the little

immature part of him that wanted that,

whining and waving its arms because the

world wasn’t right, because the tree fell the

other way. Tough shit, kid. Get it together.

Daniel inhaled deeply, sucking in the

scentless air of his bedroom. He went to his

closet.

His mother’s cello was still there,

leaning against the back corner. She’d

always said she’d give it to him one day.

Technically, that day had come, but he still

thought of it as hers.

He put a hand on the head of the black

case. Dust coated the plastic shell. Playing

used to be fun. He felt like everything came

out when he moved the bow over the strings,

as if he was turning something inside himself

into music.

The thought of hearing the instrument

again made something dark and cold tighten

around his heart. The black jacket almost

crushed him.

He closed the closet and sat back in his

chair. The world was never fair. He knew

that more than anyone. But he couldn’t get

used to it.

It was off. Wrong. All wrong.

****

Daniel dropped his pack next to his

locker. If he was totally honest with himself,

he’d been a little worried that blue sparks

would come snapping off his eyeballs when

he looked in the mirror that morning. But his

hometown, Aplington Ohio, was just the

same boring town as ever. His hair was the

same dark brown, his face was still cut the

same way, sharp lines and thin jaw. Felix

still got excited over his Reese’s Puffs.

James still took his coffee black.

Everything was the same. The same. The

same.

Part of him had wanted that crazy dream

to be real. He hated himself for believing it

had happened for even a second. Hate, again.

Infantile pettiness he couldn’t get away from.

The frustration grated on him like nails on a

chalkboard.

Daniel had just withdrawn his hand from

his locker when it slapped closed. Metal

slammed against metal like a gunshot. A

second slower and one of his fingers would

be broken.

Kyle leaned against the shut locker. His

red mohawk was styled up above his head

with what must have been several handfuls

of gel. It looked like the end of a crusty

broom used to sweep up blood. "Hey