Allie's War Season Four (8 page)

“...Before, in D.C., I think he was mostly afraid,” Jon repeated. “Terrified, really....like out of his head with fear. Now he just feels like this is all he has left. Like he’s going to do this if he has to crawl naked over glass, and no one had better get in his way.”

Jon hesitated, still thinking aloud.

“...I think he wants this done so he can go back to trying to reach Allie...to staying with her.” Glancing at Balidor, Jon remembered himself when he added, “I know he’s spending a lot of time in there with her already...but honestly, if Cass wasn’t in the picture, I don’t think Revik would leave Allie at all. I don’t think it’s even about the kid so much,” Jon added, feeling weirdly guilty at saying it aloud for some reason. “...Or maybe I just can’t feel that part on him as much, maybe he’s shielding his feelings around that more. I mean, I know the kid matters to him. But I think he’s obsessing on taking out Shadow and Cass more than anything...maybe Cass in particular. Maybe he thinks it’s too late to save their kid, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s just too much to think about, given everything...”

Balidor nodded. Jon saw something shimmer briefly in the other’s eyes, even as a pulse of grief left the older seer’s light.

“I see,” was all he said.

Jon wondered just what it was that Balidor saw, apart from what he’d said.

Just then, Revik’s voice rose, audible through the speakers mounted on either side of the glass panel.

“No, goddamn it! Look at me! Look at what I’m doing right now...”

Jon watched Maygar’s face screw up in concentration, even as he balled his muscular hands, standing almost as he were bracing himself to be hit by a steel ball.

“No!”
Revik snapped.
“You’re looking at the wrong goddamned structure...”

He smacked him again with his light.

Or Jon assumed he must have, because Maygar flinched visibly, almost like he’d just been punched in the face, even though Revik hadn’t moved. Maygar gasped a little, too, straightening before he wiped a trickle of blood sliding down his face from one nostril. Without doing much more than wiping it on his jeans, Maygar nodded.

Revik barely seemed to notice any of it.

“Yes,”
the latter said, a few seconds later.
“That one. Now sequence it the way I showed you. You can’t tense up over all of them, all at once...it’s about flow. It’s about letting the structure do what it wants to do. You want to be conscious of it...but a light touch...really fucking light...”

Maygar nodded again.

He took it all without complaining, Jon noticed. The hits, too.

Jon had been a little shocked by that, truthfully, given what he remembered of Maygar and Revik’s interactions in the past. Still, Jon had seen Maygar hanging around Allie’s room on the upper floors, too, and not only once. He knew Maygar’s feelings towards his father’s wife weren’t entirely neutral, either, despite how much he and Allie used to argue, too, and despite the crap Maygar pulled on her, trying to “claim” her from Revik before Allie and Revik could consummate.

Of course, Maygar hadn’t known Revik was his father back then. Jon had a feeling things would have gone down very differently, if either of them had known.

All of that seemed so long ago now. That happened in Seertown, when Vash was alive, months before Jon even started getting to know Dorje. That was before Revik and Allie truly felt married, before any of them had any idea what that would really mean. It was before they knew about Shadow, before C2-77 killed off most of the world.

Cass had been with them.

Jon, Cass and Allie still spent just about every day together back then, often in that crappy room Jon and Cass shared next to Allie’s in Vash’s compound.

Pushing the memory aside, Jon clenched his jaw, fighting to suppress the feeling that wanted to rise in his chest, something a lot closer to rage than the grief he’d been feeling seconds before. Maybe, under the circumstances, that wasn’t such a bad thing, either.

He was still standing there, fighting with memory, time, feeling and whatever else, when Balidor touched the link in his ear, speaking aloud to the man on the other side of the glass. His message was brief, but Jon found he understood it at once.

“Nenz,” Balidor said. “It’s time, brother.”

Revik looked towards the window.

For the barest second, Jon saw him in that stare.

Then the mask fell back over his angular face. He nodded, combing long fingers through his black hair, his colorless eyes trained on nothing at all. Jon noticed he still wore the ring Allie had given him, the one their father had left behind when he died of M.S.

Revik’s words vibrated through the small speakers.

“Practice what I showed you,”
he told Maygar.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Two at most.”

Maygar’s brown eyes sharpened as he glanced towards the window.
“What is it?”
he asked Revik.
“Are they going to try that thing, and––”

“We’re done,”
Revik cut in.
“Keep practicing.”

Without another word, he walked directly for the cell’s door, not looking either at the window or back at his son.

Disengaging the lock on Tank-Jr’s sealed door with one hand, Balidor leaned over the microphone to the room’s speakers.

“We’ll let you know,” he told Maygar, his voice somewhat kinder than Revik’s had been.

Looking back towards the window, Maygar nodded, a faint pulse of gratitude in his eyes. The younger seer began to pace then, his eyes concentrated as he receded back into the Barrier, undoubtedly to practice whatever Revik had just spent the last few hours yelling at him and hammering on him to learn.

Whether Revik noticed or cared at that moment, however, Jon had his doubts.

The door had already closed behind the tall Elaerian, sounding off a dull clang as he left the room, as well as likely everyone associated with it, far behind.

4

THE GOLDEN OCEAN

January 11, 2003

San Francisco, California

I JERK OPEN the door, all ready to grumble and bitch at her after I peer through the keyhole and see who it is. It’s three a.m. I have to work the next morning, and I’m tired as fuck, having spent far too long and consumed too many beers at Gecko’s already.

Once the latch comes off the lock of the old-fashioned door, and I swing it open, I freeze, however. All my annoyance falls away, the instant I get a good look at her face.

“Cass.” I grip the door, staring at her. “God. What happened? Who did that to you?”

“Let me in,” she begs. Tears run from her eyes, running her already smeared make-up, making her sniff. Her nose runs, too, already swelling from the bruise I can clearly see, where it almost looks broken. It might be broken but I can’t tell for sure. I watch, shocked, as she wipes the latter with the knuckles of her bruised hand, wincing. She only manages to smear the blood trickling from her nostrils in a long streak to her ear.

“Please, Al...let me in, quick! Please!”

I stand aside at once, and she practically sprints into the small living room of my one bedroom apartment, huddling in the middle of my hardwood floor, which is rug-less and stained with candle wax and a previous tenant’s dripped ceiling paint, where he must have been too stoned to remember to lay out a tarp. Leaning out the doorway, I peer down the steps of my walk-up apartment building, listening.

I don’t hear anything at first.

“Oh, please close the door!” she pleads. “Close it, Allie! Please! Don’t let him see you!”

Even as the words leave her mouth, pounding starts on the glass of the outer security door at the bottom of the stairs. On the other side of that fist, I see a figure I recognize, even through the warped panes of glass between me and his shadowed form.

“I see you, bitch!” His muffled, slurred voice erupts through the wood and glass. “I see you! I call you mother. I know you, Alyson...you a whore, just like her! I make you sorry! Tell Cassandra come down here right now! Right now!”

“I’m calling the cops!” I shout down the stairs.

“You don’t dare call the cops!” he says in his heavily-accented English. “You call the cops, you be sorry, little girl! You be very, very sorry!”

When I don’t answer, he pounds on the door again, harder, shaking the frame.

I wince, conscious suddenly of my neighbors. Before any of them can open their doors, I retreat into my apartment, closing and locking my own door and putting on the chain. As soon as I finish, I fumble my headset off the table by the door and begin fitting it over my ear. Before I can finish, Cass lunges at me, grabbing at my hands.

“Allie, don’t!” she cries out.

“Don’t?” I stare at her, at the bruise under her eye that is already starting to swell. “Cass, you have to. This time, you
have
to.”

“You can’t call the cops on my
dad,
Allie!” she pleads.

Her words hang in the air.

Somehow, she manages to remind me of my own father, maybe just with the depth of her emotion, even though my dad couldn’t have been more different from the man pounding on my door from the street, barely able to stand from cheap whatever-the-fuck he drank, probably wine mixed with whisky or something equally noxious. I bite my lip, shaking my head.

“Seriously, Cass. Listen to yourself. Or fuck, go look in the mirror...”

“It doesn’t involve you!”

“It does!” I snap. “Anyway, he’s threatening
me
now, Cass. You heard him!”

Biting her bruised and cut lip, my best friend stares at me, her brown eyes filling with tears. “Please, Allie. Please don’t call the cops, okay? They might deport him. You know they might...and then my mom’s screwed...and my little sister.”

I continue to stare at her, fighting what I want to say.

We’ve had this conversation before, of course.

We’ve had different permutations of this conversation over and over again, pretty much since we were in grammar school. So I already know this is like a blind spot in her, something she can’t or won’t see, can’t think rationally about, can’t talk about, or even seem to comprehend...even when it stares her right in the face. I know that shouldn’t matter on some level, whether she “gets it” or not. I know he could kill her one of these times. I know it doesn’t change anything really, whether or not she understands, but it makes me hesitate anyway, if only because she’s my friend, and I know how I’d feel if someone I loved decided they knew better than me, about my own life. About someone I loved.

I know what Jon would do.

I know what my mom would do, too, although their two responses would be diametrically opposed. I don’t agree with my mom’s reasons for staying out of it, which seem hopelessly dated and screwed up to me...but I’ve also never really believed in doing things regardless of what others want or feel, not when it pertains to their life. I’ve never been able to draw black and white lines in the sand, unlike my mom, who would have said it was none of my business, or my brother, who would have called the cops without a second’s hesitation.

I look at Cass instead, see the fear in her eyes, the pleading.

I can still hear the pounding on the outside door, even with both doors closed.

I consider calling Jon, but that would be the same as making a decision to call the cops, only a more cowardly way of handling it, by pushing it off on him.