Landing (24 page)

Chapter 36

Gabe’s memory of that night in
the warehouse is a wide, black hole, which Dr. Lee says is common in head-
injury patients. Gabe demands to know what happened. I assume Tarren will tell
him the whole truth of the thing, but just in case, I work on my own story. I
get my voice all in order—smooth, unruffled—and add some convincing smiles to
my facial repertoire. I know that Gabe deserves the truth, but this is about
self-preservation.

Next time Gabe asks, if Tarren
hasn’t already ruined everything, I’m only giving him sunshine and daffodils.
Honor be damned.

Tarren’s Story:

Grand found us…The escaped angel,
she told him where. There was no time, no other alternative, so I told Maya to
run while I held him off…Don’t look at me like that…You know why….Gabe…

You and Maya came after me anyway…I
don’t know how…An old abandoned warehouse complex in Texas…No, he hadn’t
started anything yet…I can’t, it’s not my story….Maya can tell you what
happened….Ask Maya.

She killed Grand…Yes. I saw his
body…Talk to Maya. She burned the whole place down with him inside, and then
she got you to Dr. Lee…You were, it was a close thing… Don’t apologize.

That’s it…Ask Maya. But Gabe, whatever
she tells you, just know that none of us should have gotten out of there alive.
She killed Grand and saved us both.

Maya’s Story:

He said that? You’re fucking with
me right? … Nothing about, never mind. Alright. What do you remember? …Tic
Tacs? No, that was, god, that was days before. Nothing else?....Okay, okay….No,
I’m just thinking about how to…No, I’m good. Here’s how it went down.

It was a dark and stormy
night…Nah-ah, my story. Pipe down. Okay, so it was a dark and stormy night.
Tarren and I were taking a pleasant stroll…If you must know we were exchanging
scrapbooking tips…God’s honest truth. Tarren is such a creative and passionate
scrapbooker. You should really read his blog…TarrensPicturePicnic.com. Look it
up…You? Doing what you always do, sleeping. May I continue?...

Alright, so Tarren and I were
having a most pleasant conversation. Suddenly, a dark shadow fell upon us. We
both turned in unison, searching the darkness. A streak of lightening tore
through the sky revealing the terrible figure of Grand standing in our path.

Without a moment’s hesitation,
Tarren whipped out his gun and fired. Grand was caught off balance. In those
few precious seconds, Tarren turned to me, and I saw in his eyes the noble
sacrifice he intended.

“No, I won’t let you do this!” I
implored him.

“I have no choice,” Tarren replied.
He got that look on his face, you know the one, where he’s like…yeah, yeah,
like that…and Tarren said, “Go to Gabe. Flee this land and never think of me
again.”

“You heroic fool!” I screamed at
him…Grand? He was, you know, gathering himself up for the attack. It all
happened very fast.

What could I do? I ran. Tarren and
Grand had a long and epic fight…I know, but I could hear it with my super
hearing. Just let me tell the damn story…I was able to get away. I picked you
up, and after some screaming and cussing on your part, we regrouped and decided
to rescue Tarren…Turns out you knew the whole time where…uh-huh….we’ll talk
about that later.

We both knew it was suicide, but
there wasn’t any other option. We were going. Together we drove out there…Yeah,
you tried, but I gave this really impassioned, glorious speech about how I was
part of this family now and I’d be damned if I let you rescue Tarren alone…It’d
take too long to repeat the whole thing, but it was really awesome. You cried.
I cried. We hugged it out.

We came upon this spooky, abandoned
warehouse complex. I swear as soon we both stepped out of the car, a wolf
howled in the distance. We armed ourselves to the teeth. We had guns strapped
to every limb, wicked looking knives, rounds of ammo hanging off our belts. You
even had a grappling hook gun…Oh yeah, we always keep one in the trunk, don’t
you remember?

So, we figured out which building
Tarren was in and got on the roof. I climbed and you used your grappling hook
gun. We crashed in through the overhead skylight, landed, and paused
dramatically while glass fell all around us like rain.

Then you turned to Grand, palmed
your Berettas, and said, “Let’s do this.”

What followed was the most awesome
fight the world has ever known. Chuck Norris was put to shame….Cross my
heart…The two of you were moving so fast I could barely track you even with my
super eyesight…Oh yeah, so many roundhouse kicks. In fact, I distinctly
remember that Grand threw a dagger at you, and you roundhouse kicked it away.
While you kept Grand busy, I went to Tarren. He was chained up. It was clear
Grand was getting ready to…Yeah. I picked the locks of his chains and started
helping him out to the car…Nope, you and Grand were still going strong. I’m
talking epic, epic, fight.

Just before I got to the door, you
called over your shoulder, “Get him out of here.”

“I’m coming back for you,” I cried.

You said, “Don’t.”

…Hold on, then I said, “I’m not
losing any brothers today.” And we looked at each other from across the room
and had one of our moments…No, everything was going in slow motion. We had
plenty of time for a moment.

But then Grand sprang out of
nowhere…I’m getting there. It was my fault…No, it was. Before I could get
Tarren to safety, Grand snatched me and put a knife to my throat. He was going
to kill me, but you tackled him. It was the opening Grand needed. He latched
onto you, drained you.

You fought like hell Gabe. Even in
the midst of the draining, you managed to pull out your gun and shoot him in
the head…No, I just burned the fucker. You’re the one who actually killed him.
Tarren got mixed up. You killed Grand, and then you collapsed…Yeah, your head.

Don’t worry, I stood over Grand’s
body and gave a noble little speech…You know, how Diana and Canton and Tammy
were avenged and could now find peace, shit like that. I didn’t have much time.
You were in bad shape. We got you to Dr. Lee. It was touch and go for a while,
but you were too strong to die. Too strong to leave us…

I don’t care what you think. That’s
what happened. You’re a hero. Deal with it.

Chapter 37

It’s a cloudless, beautiful morning
when I ride over to Dr. Lee’s cabin. The cold bites at my exposed skin, but I
don’t mind at all. It’s good to close my eyes for a couple seconds at a time
and to let the deep growl of the motorcycle climb through my body and shoo away
my thoughts.

I pull up to the cabin and check
that all the components of my fail-proof Gabe-smile-kit are still in order.

Francesca is in the kitchen, dicing
two bananas on a cutting board. She wears a pale pink terrycloth robe over
silky green PJs, and still manages to look effortlessly glamorous even though
her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail.

“Hi.” I jump up on the counter and
set my backpack next to me.

“When do you sleep?” she asks.

I shrug. “Is he doing any better?”

“Since yesterday?” Francesca dumps
the banana pieces into a blender and shakes her head.

“He’s been through a lot,” I say.

“He won’t talk to me, won’t even
look at me,” she sighs. “He doesn’t want my help with anything. No pain meds
either.” She goes to the fridge and pulls out milk, yogurt, and peanut butter.

I swing my legs a little. “He’s
still recovering.”

“Of course.” Francesca spoons
several large chunks of peanut butter into the blender and tops it off with
yogurt and milk. “But he’s different. He doesn’t laugh anymore. He had
this…this spark.” A faint chord of violet glows on the fringes of her aura and
then fades. She opens a cabinet and pulls down two large plastic cylinders.
“When he looks at me now, his face, it’s so, so…” Francesca puts both hands on
the counter. “Hostile.”

“He just needs time,” I insist.
I’ve noticed the same things, of course, felt the same heaviness gripping my
heart every time I searched Gabe’s aura for those sweet, gentle blue tides and
found only hazy grays. “Dr. Lee says that, physically, he’s better than
expected. Maybe even a full recovery if he doesn’t push himself too hard.”

Francesca dumps generous scoops of
the protein and vitamin powders into the mix.

“You’re right,” she says, and we
both pause through the loud whine of the blender. When she’s satisfied,
Francesca pulls off the lid and pours the concoction into two tall glasses.

“Here.” She holds a glass out to
me. “Bring this in to him. He needs to drink the second one in two hours. I’ll
be right out here if you need anything. Dr. Lee is upstairs.”

I jump off the counter and take the
glass from Francesca. Our fingers brush. The song plucks such lovely notes in
my brain. Francesca stares at the tight expression on my face.

“He’s so lucky to have you,” she
says.

“Actually, he’s not,” I reply and
turn away from her.

When I push open the door to the
spare bedroom, I’m surprised to find Gabe awake, propped up against his pillows
staring at his open laptop. I clear my throat theatrically and say, “Chuck
Norris could solve global warming if he wanted to, but he likes to see people
sweat.”

Badda Bing!

Gabe’s eyes stare at me from deep,
dark gullies in his face. He looks like he went through a couple rounds of
chemo and then decided, just for kicks, that a hunger strike would be a fun
idea. I stare at the stark jut of his collarbones beneath the white undershirt
that hangs like a tent off his shrunken frame, and I think about how hard he
worked to pack on muscle; how agile and quick he was.

“We’ve got a problem.” Gabe’s voice
is dry and crackly from the feeding tube, but I can hear hints of his real
tones coming back.

Problem?
All sorts of
terrible thoughts stampede through my head. Another seizure? Some new malady?
Oh
god, he remembers what happened at the warehouse.

“It’s an angel thing,” Gabe
clarifies. “Well, sorta an angel thing. I want to show you and Tarren
together.”

I hide my relief. Only an angel
thing.

“Has Tarren been here?” I ask.

Gabe looks at me. “Just the once.
I’m guessing you threatened him with decapitation if he didn’t.”

I sigh. “Gabe, he’s just…”

“Tarren,” Gabe finishes and shrugs.
“He was the same way when Mom was sick. Are you two getting along?”

“As well as we always do,” I
answer, which isn’t true. Since our conversation in the kitchen six days ago,
Tarren and I have both been trying to out-avoid each other like it was an
Olympic sport. I’m still going to figure out a way save him—somehow—but it’s just
that…well, I need to concentrate on Gabe first. That’s not an excuse; it’s
pragmatism. Tarren would appreciate that.

I plaster on a big smile. “I have a
magic trick for you. Want to see?”

“Do I have a choice?” There’s a
weary edge to Gabe’s sarcasm that I choose to ignore.

“Of course not. Okay, so, der iz
nathang in my hands, yes?” I have no idea what type of accent I’m going for.
“Ah, but wait.” I give him my jazz hands and even make a little loony sound
effect as I slip the backpack off my shoulders. “Dadadadada dum!” I unzip the
bag and pull out Sir Hopsalot, thoroughly bathed and with his no-kill bandana
firmly in place.

“Ta Da!”

I hand over the terrified rabbit,
and try not to notice the deep scarlet that stains Gabe’s aura around his ribs
as he reaches out and pulls Sir Hopsalot to his chest.

“Hey buddy,” he says and smiles,
just a little. He ducks his head, and I see the bald patch behind his left ear
where Dr. Lee had to put in a row of staples.

“But that’s not all,” I say a
little too loudly. “The real trick is that he didn’t even pee on anything else
in the bag.” I pull out Gabe’s lucky hat and his duster. Four trips through the
washer and a bottle of stain remover later, there’s not a single spec of blood
left on the coat. I lay these both on the bed next to him.

“Well?” I demand.

Gabe keeps one arm wrapped around
the rabbit. With the other he reaches out and touches the coat. His energy,
that grizzled gray shroud, snakes with red.

“Maya,” he whispers, “why won’t you
tell me what really happened?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. The
only thing that matters is that you’re okay.” My hands search for something to
pick.

“Did I…” His eyes are so big, so
afraid. “Did I mess up?” Gabe’s voice cracks.

“No! No, no, no, no, no.”
The
only mistake you ever made was trusting me.
 Right then and there, I almost
tell Gabe the truth, I really do, but something holds me back. A small part of
it is about protecting him from having to carry the burden of those things I
said, the terrible, violent scenes that never seem to stop reeling through my
head at night. Most of it, though, is my own cowardice. I can take Tarren’s
suspicion, his doubt, but not Gabe. I need everything to be exactly like it was
between us, otherwise I think the song will drown me.

“What happened to my clothes?” Gabe
asks.

“Huh?”

“What happened to the clothes I was
wearing?” He looks down at Sir Hopsalot and methodically scratches the rabbit
behind its long, floppy ears.

“Your coat is right here.”

“The rest of them.”

“We had to cut them off, to put the
heating pads on you. Gabe, why does it matter?”

“Why did you let her see me like
this? Take care of me?” He won’t look up.

“Who, Francesca?”

“Why, why, why?” he whispers.

“Gabe, you were drained. We
couldn’t bring you anywhere else. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” he croaks and
then clutches at his ribs as red swells through his aura. Sir Hopsalot shoots
out of his grip like a rocket and scurries under the bed. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind
following the rabbit’s lead.

Gabe’s shoulders heave, and I feel
so helpless to sooth him. If only he had a thorn in his paw that I could pull
out, a scratch I could clean and bandage, something, anything but these
strange, terrible storms that hide inside his mind where I cannot protect him.

“I want to go home,” Gabe says in a
small voice that cuts me into pieces. “I just want to go home.”

After some tense negotiation, we
come to an agreement.

***

Francesca is worried. Dr. Lee is
furious. I tell them that Gabe’s made up his mind.

Francesca loads up my backpack with
gauze, calorie-dense liquid shakes, and morphine, while Dr. Lee barks
instructions at me. Keep him hydrated. Check his blood pressure before and
after every meal. If he starts seizing call immediately, etc…

I try to convince Dr. Lee one more
time to take the money Lo gave to me, but the doctor waves away my pleas with
evident disgust.

Gabe comes out of the bedroom. He’s
managed to get his coat on, though his face is pale and rigid with pain. I wish
I’d thought to bring him shoes. I also wish he would let me drive the truck
over. Gabe walks to us, trying his best to mimic a normal gait. Watching his
fragile aura flag, every last bit of me wants to offer an arm for support or,
hell, to just pick him up and carry him all the way home.

“Thank you,” Gabe says formally to
Dr. Lee. He doesn’t look at Francesca. “For everything.”

Francesca bites her lip. “We’re
glad that you’re feeling better,” she says.

Dr. Lee scowls, and the creases dig
so deep I wonder how his face doesn’t collapse into itself. “Don’t you ever,
any of you, do this to me again. You want to get yourselves killed, that’s your
business. Don’t turn an old man into an undertaker for those who should long
outlive him.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabe says. “I wouldn’t
have dragged my sorry ass in here if I’d had any say in the matter. I won’t
ever bother you again, I promise.”

“That’s not what I meant boy.”

Francesca throws me a pleading
look, like somehow I should do something. I give them an impotent shrug that
says,
he probably doesn’t mean that.

Gabe walks stiffly to the door,
swings it open, and steps outside without looking back.
 

“He promised to take his pain
meds,” I say to Dr. Lee and Francesca, and then I follow Gabe.

Outside, the wind has sharpened its
edge.

“Gabe, let me go get the truck,” I
tell him.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, but I can
already see how much even these few steps have cost him. I’m so afraid that the
wind will blow those delicate shades of gray and red right off his body.

I stuff my backpack into the bike’s
saddle bag, kick one leg over, and hold the bike steady as Gabe mounts behind
me. He takes his time getting on the back, and I grit my teeth while I listen
to the swift gait of his heart, the short, pain-laced breaths that he tries to
hide. He scoots close behind me. Now my heart is pounding too, because as his
arms slip around my waist, his energy laps against my body. The energy I can
still taste when I close my eyes.

The energy that is as much a part
of me now as it is a part of him.

“I guess this makes me your
motorcycle bitch,” Gabe says in my ear.

I shiver and cover it up by revving
the bike to life. “Are you sure about this?” I ask him over the growl of the
motor.

“Yep,” he says, though there’s
almost no pressure in his grip.

“It’s not too cold?”

“It is if we just sit here.”

I ride us as slow as I can down the
path, keeping the bike up and balanced as we putter at the speed of a golf
cart. Every bit of me is cringing at the feel of Gabe’s energy and longing for
it, weak as it is.

All these memories foam inside my
mind, spilling out behind us into a murky river that threatens to capsize our
little bike. I look into the side mirrors and see Ryan’s half-lidded eyes;
Amber’s broken corpse; Jane’s beautiful, anguished face; Tarren gazing into the
cracked mirror that tells the truth of his scars; Gabe crawling toward his
brother, reaching out; Grand’s haunting words, “Did you think they were your
only brothers? Your only family?”

My one escape is to look forward,
but to what? Thorny brambles reach out to ensnare us. Tarren’s masked face;
Gabe’s muted energy and hollowed eyes; the hunger clawing at my brain each and
every god damn second of the day; that strange blond angel and his mysterious
smile out in the world somewhere; a mission that, for all the wounds we’ve
taken, keeps calling us back to the battlefield.

Gabe and I round the bend, and I
can see our house in front of us. Such a shabby little home. The gutters are
rusted. One of the pegs in the front porch banister is missing. The whole thing
needs a paint job.

We’re all still alive
, I
remind myself. It was a hell of a landing, but we’ll pick ourselves back up.
These wounds will scab up and heal.

We roll up to the driveway. I put
down my feet and cut the engine.

I look back at Gabe. His breath
curls out of pink-tipped nostrils. He stares at the house, and a tender
expression breaks across his face. That deep trench between his eyebrows
soothes away, and in his aura I catch a flicker of blue. Gabe’s blue.
True
as true.
The rabbit peeks its head out of the collar of his coat and sniffs
the air.

Gabe shakes himself, looks at me,
and smiles. It’s a real smile, which makes me smile.

“Home sweet home,” he whispers.