Fade (4 page)

"You deserve it after that last comment," Angela said, taking a deep breath. "Woo." She looked up at the honk of a horn. "Oop, that mutt's in the yard again."

"Maybe those crusty old farts next door would build the little shit a fence if your dad
nudged
it."

"Ha! You're so bad," Angela said.

"Aren't I?" She smiled. "Put the onions on a plate and the makings of our burger buffet will be complete, madam."

"Then I shall," she said.

Angela's father came in griping about the wandering Pekinese and Angela’s stepmother repeated her theory about giving the mutt a small flesh wound to send the neighbors a message. He didn't seem to have an opinion either way, and he
always
had an opinion. Then dinner began.

They had put two slices of cheddar on his burger—which was always a no-no due to his high cholesterol—but Angela's stepmom had insisted he deserved it every once in a while. On a normal day, he would have all but jumped up and down at the fact that the burgers weren't turkey, and the two thick slices of real cheddar, but he just sat, taking large bites. Just a small pile of the barbeque beans he always begged her to make sat on his plate.

They sat for three-fourths of a burger listening to Angela's stepmother talk about her friend's girlfriend getting drunk and making out with another woman and how everyone in the world knew except her friend. Then she began talking about their need for a new car, and that she had seen the exact one they needed to get, and that he would
love
the color, and how she would look
amazing
driving it. He nodded and grunted between bites. When she stabbed a few of the beans onto her fork, taking a breath, she found he had something to say.

"I didn't know you knew Gerry Jenkins," he said, casualness draped over the insecure question quite nicely.

Angela's stepmom stopped the fork midway to her mouth, just for a moment, then shrugged. "I know I've heard you talk about him. One of your clients, right? Why would I know him?"

"Oh," he said, seeming confused. "My secretary said she could have sworn she'd seen you getting in a cab leaving Fauzio's with him yesterday at lunch." His eyes were on his plate like this was merely a simple conversation, but his voice was becoming firmer, grimmer. Angela began to squirm, trying not to watch her stepmother do the same. He continued. "She asked me how I liked Fauzio's, because she assumed I must have been there, too."

"Well, this Jenkins guy must have good taste if he's seeing a woman who looks so much like me," she said, chuckling. Her laugh much less full of humor than earlier, Angela thought.

As she watched and listened, Angela saw a future without her stepmother acting as go-between with her father, winnowing the negative out of anything Angela had done, making her life as consequence-free as possible. She pictured no more giggling afternoons and plenty of brooding, angry dad. And she found herself talking. "Besides, your lovely wife checked me out of school at eleven thirty because, number one, she's awesome, and, number two, I needed an outfit for the party tomorrow night."

Her father looked up, baffled. Angela knew that her father knew that his much younger wife would lie to him just for the practice, but he trusted Angela. Her stomach churned. Angela knew her stepmother better than her dad. She knew that the woman had married her dad more for the size of his bank account than his winning personality. So, Angela had little doubt that she probably
was
at Fauzio's with this Gerry douche-nozzle and, she imagined, a lot of other Gerry-like people in the course of their marriage. But Angela loved her, and she loved Angela. Angela believed her step-mother even loved her dad in some messed-up way. Selfish, yes. But she didn't want things to change. Life was good for her.

"And, for the record, your daughter looks amazing in green."

Her dad smiled, confusion still heavy on his face, but relief blooming. "She's gorgeous like her dad," he said, now smiling.

***

The Wraith fell through the snapping, writhing portal. He, in point of fact, felt the impact of the ground as he slammed into it. The heat of the trees the portal had set on fire weren’t just temperature readings being fed into his brain. The trip had almost killed him. The technology which had become a part of his being had its drawbacks, but it protected anyone who used it from most things which would end them. Today, it had almost failed him. He wasn’t dead, but as he shivered in pain, he remembered how awful a thing it was to be hurt.

A few minutes passed before he could stand, the systems which held him just out of phase with the physical world coming back online. He was confused, then angry. The constellations above him weren’t foreign. The air was a too familiar combination of hydrogen and oxygen. He’d been told that Jonas had escaped to some other world years before through one of their portals. But this was still Earth. He had not traveled across the galaxy to where this Jonas was, he had risked his life only to be moved some random distance across the damned Earth.

It was then that the Wraith realized how silent his sensors were. The Wraith were known as spies, masters of the Golems, and for being very good at getting information from the enemy. But in the years since losing the war they served the degrading role of simple alarm systems. The biological signature of those humans born with special abilities was usually easiest to detect. At any given time, dozens of signals appeared on his radar. Here, there were none.

At first, he believed there must have been more damage to his system than he had imagined, but the diagnostic disagreed. Also, the air might have been familiar, but the pollutants from years of war were non-existent. Although unconvinced he was where he was supposed to be, he still did what he had been told to do. He went back to the spot where the portal had opened and dropped a small, circular object onto the ground. It would take some time, but it would work to stabilize the connection so the rest of them could travel there in safety. They could see the mistake for themselves. If  Jonas were here, he would find him and any others who came with him. Capture them. He set off from the spot, sure his messy arrival would attract unwanted attention. Even with his damage, it still did not take him long to put miles between himself and the portal.

As he came into a clearing, he saw a single house sitting alone in a pasture. A light shone through a large picture window in the front of the home. An aging man and woman were unmoving figures on a couch. The Wraith decided they would make fine sentinels as he recuperated over the next few hours. As he approached the white house, one distant and weak signal appeared on his sensor for a moment, then vanished. He smiled, still unsure of what was going on, but quite sure that he would find a way to enjoy it.

FOUR

W
hen Cynthia saw her across the parking lot the next morning, Jan was pale and frowning. She worked her way over after taking a breath. Her own face was puffy and sagged with a frown. She wore no makeup and her usually styled hair hung in long, messy trails of black. Cynthia stood next to her friend for a few moments before speaking. “Sorry.”

Jan said nothing.

“Really, really sorry.”

“Where?” Jan said.

“I just lost track of time and—”

“
Where
were you?”

She shrugged, lowering her head like a scolded dog, and spoke in what amounted to a whisper. “Joey’s.”

The books Jan held hit the ground like the clap of a discharged gun and then she went off. “I knew it was some crap like that! You were going on a frikkin’ jag while you were supposed to be with me!”

“I
am
sorry. I got attacked after sch—”

“I worried about you for…
wait
, what?” Jan asked.

“Look, it’s not an excuse. I screwed up. But, that homeless dude that’s always around ran at me. Freaked me out.”

Jan was quiet again, looking away. “That’s
not
an excuse.”

“It’s not.”

More quiet. “You suck.”

“I do.”

“Fine.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, Jan.”

“…I choose to believe you this time.”

“Sorry… really.”

Quiet. Jan’s smile was weak. “Quit groveling, it doesn’t become you.” Her eyes cut to Cynthia. “Are you okay?”

Cynthia tried on a similar smile and picked up Jan’s books. “Guy really freaked me out, sweety. I never get that messed up.”

They both stared into the parking lot, trying to get over the hill of the moment. Cynthia started to speak, but something caught her eye and she turned.

“What?”

“Don’t know. That was weird. Looked like something flew by.”

“Birds fly by.”

“Nah, bigger.”

“Drugs make you see things fly by.”

“Hush.
I’m just crazy
,” Cynthia said.

“Strong possibility.”

“True.”

All at once, Jan frowned. “Listen, this isn’t revenge or anything, but,” Jan hesitated, “Dalen Young.”

Cynthia sighed in the most dramatic way she could muster, and smiled, bigger this time. “Are you finally going to tell me what you have against him?”

“I don’t want to—
wasn’t going to
—but I’d want you to tell
me
.”

“Okay.” Cynthia flushed.

“Because you’re like my sister,” Jan said.

“Absolutely.”

“I just feel so selfish telling you this.”

“Just do it. I trust you.” Her stomach tightened.

Jan let out a long breath, eyes on the ground. “The day before he asked you out, I heard him…
damn
,” she looked over her shoulder at nothing, rolling a pebble with her shoe. “I heard him asking about you.” She turned, looking at Cynthia, eyebrows pushed together.

Cynthia nodded.

“He said,” her voice took on a goofy, male-like timbre, “
Hey, man, what’s that girl’s name? You know, the one that’s always hanging out with that fat Goth whore.
”

Cynthia reached out a hand and Jan frowned, her face pale again, eyes empty. She rested the hand on Jan’s shoulder, dropping her book bag, and said, “You’re not fat.” With that, she turned toward the flock of students nearer the school.

Her head was a metronome, searching for him. She picked him out, standing next to the cafeteria entrance, talking to a group of friends. Dalen saw her as she approached and he smiled. His smile faded at her demeanor. He was just starting to ask her if anything were wrong when she latched onto his shoulders and kneed him between the legs. He bowed forward. Everyone turned at his loud groan. “Bitc—” She interrupted him, pulling his head into the other knee, feeling the inside thigh of her stockings rip and his front teeth dig into the flesh. She groaned and he promptly hit the ground. “My friend is not a fat whore, you prick!”

Finished, she began to limp away, shrugging off the hands of his friends who had been trying to pull her away from him. She was through. She had avenged Jan. She owed her that. Jan jogged up, several feet away now, hands out, fingers splayed, a huge smile on her face. Cynthia approached her, gritting her teeth. “You are
not
fat.”

“Damn straight, sis!” She clapped a hand onto Cynthia’s shoulder and flipped the group off who were still calling out names at Cynthia and helping Dalen up.

Then came the inevitable consequences. An adult voice rang loud over the murmuring and laughing of the crowd. “Cynthia Cole!”

Cynthia sighed, held out her wrists to the teacher like he meant to arrest her. He pushed her arms down and roared at her, “What was that about?”

“He called my friend a name.”

The teacher looked at Dalen Young, whose white shirt had a bib of deep red now, and then at Cynthia again, pointing her toward the office. “Principal!” He yelled, so angry that his mustache seemed to tremble.

Cynthia dropped her shoulders and started to the front door of the school. One of the girls, she thought it was that cheer-bitch, Angela, called her a stupid whore-face as she walked by. Cynthia thought about making today a two-for, but her knee hurt like hell.

“Mr. Young! Clean yourself up and see me,” the teacher said. Cynthia looked over her shoulder at Dalen, who seemed dazed but managed to be standing on his own. He was pulling at teeth with his thumb and forefinger to see if any of them might be loose. She smiled and her knee hurt less.

***

“That’s because she
is
fat,” Angela said. “She wants to cry about it, push away from the table, bitch, is what I say.” The two girls sitting on either side of the tall redhead laughed. “I’m so serious.”

The bell had rung, but everyone was still waiting on Mrs. Bule to get there, which was fine by Angela. She was just seven short periods away from freedom and a kick-ass party. Everyone was talking about it, but not
everyone
was going. It was Thursday and they had their curfews to think about. This was what she liked about going to parties thrown by people who were past the thumb-sucking, my-parents-might-come-home, high school stage, like Michael. Their testicles had dropped, they had their own place, and they could dance and drink as long as their free hearts desired.

The dark-haired girl sitting to her left responded, “I think he deserved a kick in the balls for even liking that skanky girl.”

She barely heard her friend. “Yeah.” Angela frowned, then smiled. “Oh. I forgot to tell you I’m so going to Michael’s party with Nathan.”

“Awesome,” the girl on Angela’s right chimed.

Lefty made a squealing sound: an E that went on too long. “He is so damn hot.”

“He is so damn
lucky
,” Angela laughed.

Righty slapped her hand, then frowned. “I wish my mom was as cool as yours. She
still
won’t let me go.”

Children
, she thought
.
“Yeah that sucks,” Angela said. “Too bad for you your mom’s a bitch.” She laughed. Righty and Lefty laughed right along.

“Angela.” Mrs. Bule’s voice was exhausted and more than a little angry. “Outside. Right now.” She beckoned her with a blur of fingers and walked out of the classroom.