Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Eleven
Lucas had spent the morning at the job
center, replying to every Help Wanted ad for which he seemed even
remotely qualified and then working on his resume. It was
appallingly short, of course, and there was no way to explain his
three year absence from the workforce without mentioning the thing
that was going to instantly disqualify him from almost every job in
town, but he did what he could.
That was what life was, after all. Lucas had
to keep trying because the alternative, while certainly attractive
to most of his mind, was still unacceptable to that damn lizard
brain that wanted him to survive. And whatever scrap of pride he
had left wouldn’t allow him to become totally catatonic. So, lizard
plus pride equaled effort, as pathetic as he knew his chances
were.
He spent the afternoon going door-to-door
from one business to another. He skipped anything retail, any
places where the only jobs would involve customer service. And he
skipped places that served alcohol, at least for the first round.
Maybe he’d get desperate enough to try them eventually, and it
wasn’t that he worried about his sobriety in the face of
temptation. The temptation to seek oblivion was there, certainly,
but he was pretty sure he could keep it under control. It had been
at its worst when he’d been spending time with his friends, and he
didn’t have to worry about that anymore. So he was confident he
could have a job that brought him around alcohol. He just didn’t
want to spend time with drunk people. They lacked control, and
Lucas needed as much stability as he could find.
So he marched himself to all the small
industries in town, found the garages and construction sites. By
the time businesses started closing for the day, his feet were sore
from more walking than he’d usually have done in a year, and he was
pretty sure he’d gotten no closer to a job. Half the people he’d
spoken to had recognized his name and known his story, and the
other half would figure it out soon enough.
There was a creek running through the
industrial area of town, probably nothing more than a drainage
ditch but with enough space to have sprouted some trees and weedy
flowers. And there was a patch of grass near a busy intersection
where someone had placed a bench. It was a poor excuse for a park,
but Lucas needed a break. He had to get back to the house in time
for dinner at six which meant he didn’t have a whole lot of time,
but he’d take what he could.
He was sitting on the bench, watching a
starling giving itself a bath in the shallows of the creek, when
three tall shadows spread over the grass in front of him. Three
men, he guessed, and they were standing right behind him. He didn’t
turn around.
“You enjoying the view?” Mikey somehow made
the innocuous question sound like a threat, and Lucas braced
himself. And since there was no answer that would satisfy Mikey
when he was in a fighting mood, Lucas didn’t bother trying to give
one.
“I’m talking to you, asshole!” Lucas was
ready for the shove and let his shoulder roll forward with it.
“Maybe he’s gone deaf.” Tinker. Damn. He and
Mikey tended to get each other riled up. It was all going to depend
on who the third person was.
And, finally, Sean spoke. “He’s not deaf. He
just doesn’t feel like talking.” It sounded good, like the way Sean
had been looking after Lucas for his whole life. Interpreting for
him, sometimes accurately and sometimes not. Sean was the buffer
that kept Lucas protected in a rough world, and Lucas had always
tried to be the same for Sean. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back
to that. Lucas didn’t move a muscle, afraid to dispel whatever
sense of forgiveness Sean might be experiencing.
Sean circled around to the front of the
bench, and the other two eventually followed. The sun was behind
their heads and Lucas had to squint to look at them. The angle
would be better if he stood, but he didn’t want to make any moves
that could change whatever careful balance they seemed to be
working on. So he sat and waited.
Finally, Sean said, “We should go have a
beer. We’ve been friends for too long.”
Lucas was about to agree. The invitation
hadn’t made it clear, but hopefully Sean had meant just him and
Lucas, without the others. Things always went fine when it was just
Sean and Lucas.
But maybe Mikey had realized the same thing,
because he stepped forward and growled, “You want to drink with the
faggot? You heard what the priest said!”
“I want to hear his side of the story,” Sean
said. “That’s all. You guys head on home. Me and Lucas will sort it
out.”
“Bullshit,” Tinker said. “He’ll just lie to
you. He’ll say anything to cover his perverted ass.” Tinker stepped
forward and leaned ominously over Lucas. “Did you get converted in
prison, Lucas? Did you come out of jail a fag?”
Lucas was tired. He couldn’t do this anymore.
It was no use trying to salvage things. He just needed it to be
over. So he looked at Sean instead of Tinker and he said, “I came
out of prison the same way I went in.”
Lucas ignored the other two and focused on
the man who’d been a brother and more to him. Sean’s face was tense
and pleading, desperately begging Lucas to not push, to not force
Sean to do something he didn’t want to. And Lucas knew with cold,
clear certainty that he couldn’t look at that face for the rest of
his life, couldn’t continue lying to everyone including himself in
order to maintain whatever the hell it was between himself and
Sean. He took a deep breath, and then added, “And you know it,
Sean. You’ve known it for a long time.”
There was more Lucas could have said if he’d
had to, but he’d known there wouldn’t be a need. Sean’s first swing
was wild and desperate, just an attempt to stop Lucas’s words.
Lucas could have dodged, but he didn’t, and Sean’s knuckles glanced
off his cheekbone and up over his forehead. Not enough strength to
do serious damage, but it got Sean moving, and as always, once Sean
started a fight, there was only one way for it to end.
Lucas didn’t even stand. He’d hurt Sean, and
now Sean was going to hurt him. It was only fair. But his inaction
seemed to enrage Mikey, who grabbed Lucas’s arm and heaved him to
his feet, then shoved him forward into Sean’s fists.
That was how it continued, for as long as
Lucas could stay upright. He’d take a hit, stumble backward into
Mikey or Tinker, get pushed forward into Sean. Lucas knew he should
fall down and turtle up, or at least raise his hands to protect his
face, but he didn’t. They thought he was a coward? Well, maybe he
wouldn’t fight, but he could at least take a beating. He could
handle the pain.
When he finally went down it wasn’t by
choice. Sean caught him under the jaw and snapped his head back and
the world got foggy and started to spin. There was a vague sense of
impact and when Lucas opened his eyes he was horizontal, staring
past blades of grass toward the muddy stream.
“Goddamn it, Lucas,” Sean said, and his voice
was strangely muffled. It sounded like he was speaking through a
swollen throat, but Lucas knew Sean hadn’t taken any hits. It was
strange, but Lucas’s brain was too addled with impact and pain to
give it much thought.
He saw feet walking away, and when they got a
little farther he could see that it was Sean, his head hanging low,
his step quick and desperate. Tinker followed after him, breaking
into a jog to catch up.
Only Mikey remained, so when the shadow fell
over Lucas’s face, he didn’t need to roll over to know who it
was.
“You’re a fucking faggot, Cain.”
Lucas knew it was coming, but he still wasn’t
prepared for the explosion of pain as Mikey’s booted foot landed in
the small of his back. Another kick was lower, hitting the muscle
of Lucas’s ass, and that hurt, but nothing like the first one.
There was a pause, and some part of Lucas’s mind replayed the scene
he’d seen countless times before—Mikey circling a fallen foe and
choosing the exact spot for his brutal kicks.
This time, though, there was the rush of feet
and legs appeared in front of Lucas’s eyes. “Leave him alone,” Sean
yelled. “It’s enough! It’s done!”
“He’s a fucking faggot,” Mikey insisted.
“He’s done,” Sean said. “It’s over.”
And then three sets of legs crossed through
Lucas’s line of sight, heading away, leaving him alone with his
pain. He let his eyes close and wished for oblivion.