On my way home, I zoom through empty streets that used to have a decent amount of foot traffic just a week ago. The well-to-do Seattle citizens sure consider it advantageous that the presence of hookers and drug peddlers is on the decline. The authorities must be doing something right, for once, right? Well, think again. The cure is certainly worse than the disease. I don’t have to think too hard to know where these people ended up.
I park my bike, rush up the porch steps, open the door and skid to a stop in the foyer. With a deep breath, I turn to the entrance mirror and run twitchy fingers through the flat mess in a vain attempt to get rid of my helmet hair. Not that it makes much of a difference. I’m wearing my leathers, anyway.
“The hell with it,” I mumble as I start to turn for the kitchen, which is when I notice the finger marks around my neck. I swallow, feeling the ache deep in my throat. The sight makes me want to kill Ape Man all over again. I cringe at my cavalier thoughts. Death should never be the butt of a joke, even one nobody gets to hear.
I zip up my jacket all the way to the collar to hide the marks. My hands shake. I don’t need this family stress right now. I could have been killed tonight. My nerves are shot. But what choice do I have? Besides, I’ve promised myself to try. For Dad. It’s what he would expect of me, if he was still with us. I brace myself for Mom’s murderous blue eyes and Luke’s “I don’t mean to be such a good son” expression.
I picture them waiting for me in unprecedented mother/son bliss:
“Oh, Mom, you’re such a good cook.” Yum, yum.
“Well, thank you, son. I’d cook an orca whale for you, if you’d ask me.” Blink, blink, charming blue eyes.
What I get when I step into the kitchen is nothing like that. And I mean: nothing like that. Instead, I find mom sitting at the table by herself, staring at the flame of a half-spent candle, her eyes rimmed in red and smudged mascara. Untouched food platters are expertly positioned behind empty porcelain dishes and wine glasses I didn’t know we owned.
I freeze and look over my shoulder, wondering if she has noticed me, if there’s the slightest possibility I may sneak to my room without finding out what happened here. I take a step back.
Mom’s chair scrapes across the tile floor. I wince and look back. She’s staring straight at me, her expression a petrified mask of disappointment.
“So finally someone shows up.” She barely looks at me as the wavering flame of the candle holds her attention.
“Uh, sorry. I ran into a bit of trouble,” I say, my tone as apologetic as I can manage—which isn’t much in this strained relationship.
“It’s always the same with you, Marcela. Nothing is ever as important as what you want.”
“I guess that’s why you have your model son now,” I say, matching her bitterness.
Her eyes twitch visibly, then her gaze falls on a bowl of mash potatoes in an oddly repressed expression.
“Wait …” I look around. “He’s not here, is he?” I want to laugh, but even I’m not that heartless. “He’s not here and you’re giving me a hard time about being late.”
She lifts her nose defiantly, but says nothing.
“At least I showed up,” I say. “At least I remembered and would have been here earlier if I hadn’t been delayed. Did he even call to say he wasn’t coming?”
“I’m sure he has a perfectly good reason.” Her tone is a weak parody of the one she was using just a moment ago.
I doubt Luke has been attacked by Eklyptors. He’s only in danger of being assaulted by blonds and brunettes with well-proportioned limbs, and not ape-like creatures with a proclivity for strangling.
Mom lets out a heavy sigh. “I want so badly for us to be a family, a real family. I’m trying. Is that so bad? I know I’m not perfect. I have my faults, but no one seems to remember I have feelings, too.”
I blink, taken aback by this unexpected, candid moment.
Have I disregarded her feelings? My insides twist into knots, because I know the answer is yes. I’ve been too busy being jealous of Luke to remember that all I’ve wanted from the beginning was for us to be a family. Guilt straddles me like an expert jockey.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” My voice breaks, but my sincerity is clear enough. Mom gives me a sad smile and something passes between us through a connection I thought had died forever. I smile back and take a step forward, a step in the right direction.
“It would be a shame to let all this good food go to waste,” I put in.
We don’t say much after that, but the fact that we get through an entire meal without a mean word gives me hope for that family I’ve been craving.
After helping Mom with the dishes, I enter my room and close the door behind me. Luke is still missing and, after the last hour with Mom, I’m even angrier at him. It’s only been a month since Luke moved in, but I think—for his part—the rose is way off the bloom. Not that I can blame him. Mom has been extremely overbearing, expecting him to abandon his previous social life for his newfound family, more specifically his new mom. Now, more than ever, a serious chat between us is in order. He has to make an effort. He will make an effort. He’ll get a taste of black belt if he doesn’t.
I wonder where he is, though.
More out of habit than anything else, I log into my computer and check Luke’s email. I hacked into his account two weeks ago and have been monitoring his every move, hoping not to catch him in any illicit activities that may mark him as a spy, as James suspects. So far—to my relief—I’ve observed nothing but normal jock/popular guy behavior. I’ve told James that much in countless emails, but no matter how much I assure him he’s wrong, his decision to keep me out of IgNiTe hasn’t changed, that’s assuming he’s even had time to think about me.
I browse Luke’s inbox, sifting through what is mostly junk mail from sporting goods stores. A read email from almost an hour ago catches my eye. The “Subject” reads: “We need to meet NOW!” Clearly, the culprit for his absence.
Clicking it open, I read the message while holding my breath. Dread fills me every time I do this. I don’t want one of these emails to prove James right. I don’t want to find out that Luke isn’t the brother I’ve longed for, or that he’s a monster with a plan that somehow involves my family. Because, in spite of everything, I still feel a connection with him, something unique that I can’t explain.
Luke,
Meet me at the same place as last time. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Don’t make me wait. I promise you won’t regret it.
Xoxo,
Zara H.
Really? What is this? A booty call? This girl is desperate.
She has been trying really hard to get Luke to succumb to her charms. I think this is her fifth email. I don’t know. I’m losing count. I followed him to what may have been their first date. She was all over him, flipping her blond hair right and left like she was trying to shoo away flies or something. Luke, for his part, couldn’t have looked more disinterested, which was kind of a shocker given his philandering history. Still, her emails keep on coming and I’ve no idea if he’s rising to the challenge—pun intended—or blowing her off. Either way, she’s definitely a non-suspect. She’s just another horny admirer, ready to offer all her physical goods to the handsome jock who seems determined to taste every pretty girl in school.
Just to be on the safe side, though, I pick up my phone and go to my “Find Luke” custom app. Just yesterday, I swiped his phone while he was showering and installed a small Objective-C program that gives me access to his GPS. It took me days of surreptitiously looking over his shoulder to get his passcode, but I managed. Now, I’ll be able to know exactly where he is at all times.
When my app opens up, a red balloon marks the spot on the map. I zoom out and see that he’s in Belltown in some nightclub called Shadowstorm. Figures! Why didn’t he tell mom he wouldn’t be here and would be shaking his booty along with some ditsy blond instead? He can’t be this callous.
I rub my brow and take a deep breath, trying to keep the budding anger in my chest from climbing into my head. Something needs to give! James can’t keep me away forever with this bogus reason. I’m tired of stalking Luke all over the city just to find that he has another date or has been invited to yet another party. It’s a waste of time. I could be helping IgNiTe, hacking systems for intelligence against Eklyptors, going on missions to destroy their fertility clinics. I was helpful last time, wasn’t I? I could also be training, meditating, getting my infectious agent, the damn parasite living in my brain, to cooperate with this telekinesis absurdity, which is as useful as a gun with disappearing bullets.
A quick buzz from my cell phone pulls me away from my mental rant. It’s a text message.
He’s at Millennium Arcade, probably playing pool. A smile creeps to my lips, which turns back into a frown when I see Luke’s email staring back at me from the computer screen.
“Screw you, Luke,” I say, locking the desktop and jumping to my feet. He seems to be the source of all my headaches lately. It’s time I stop wasting my time with him. There have to be other ways I can help IgNiTe and prove to James and the crew that they need me back, that I can be useful.
For now, though, all I need is a hot cup of java … and an equally hot boyfriend.