Being Human (38 page)

One thought raced through my head. I, Tommy, would be no more.

The vision faded and I knew it was real. I felt it deep in my heart. A smile broke free and I lifted my face, feeling the cold rain pelt my skin. I laughed loudly, unable to stop myself. I laughed at the cold rain and the thick clouds hiding the sun. I laughed at the crowds that wanted Tommy dead and at the world that just saved him. I laughed until my sides ached, unable to contain the joy bursting in me.

“Thank you!” I cried at the sky. “Thank you!”

####

My name is Cyclop Blaine and I am a real person.

“
You are mine.”

I am a real person: heedless of a childhood spent under the supervision of an old man I only know as Master.

“
You belong to me.”

I am a real person: regardless of my teenage years bound by violence as the adoptive son of the Victory Street Gang's leader.

“
You will obey me.”

I am a real person: despite the visions I see in others' eyes. Snapshots of their futures.

“
You will cower before me.”

I am a real person: my life will be my own. I belong to no one.

“
You. Are. MINE.”

The funeral had the feel of a cocktail party, men in dinner jackets and ties, and women in low cut dresses speckled with jewelry. They clustered in groups, cocktail glasses in hand. Their voices were soft, as if afraid of waking the figure lying in the coffin at the head of the room. Mountains of white lilies surrounded the casket. Gold and wood gleamed under the soft light. The white silk lining the inside of the casket created a stark contrast with the stiff black wool the deceased wore. Every so often a person approached to murmur a farewell.

When the last wave of mourners receded back to the safety of the living, a small boy was left standing alone. Unlike the mourners, he wore a white one-piece that hung loosely over his frame. His skin was pale and he had white blond hair. He kept his chin tipped to his chest. No one paid him any heed.

No one except Antony Hammond. He watched the boy tiptoe towards the coffin. A pang of sympathy pierced his chest as the child leaned up, fingers clutching the edge.

“Please wake up.”

When there was no response, he pushed to his toes and reached out. He cried out in pain and protest as the widow of the deceased jerked him away from the coffin. A black veil covered her eyes, but not the scowl on her lips.

Antony felt another pang of sympathy for the boy. The widow would give him no comfort. She barely gave her own son a moment’s glance. Had she told him about the funeral? Antony doubted it. Then again, the commotion the teen would have caused was best avoided.

The widow’s contempt extended to the bundle in her arms. Instead of the gentle embrace of a mother, she held the baby away from her body and minimized contact. It confirmed Antony’s suspicions. His late colleague had a reputation for sleeping around. It seemed even in his last days, his nights had been spent in the arms of another woman as opposed to his wife. But Antony wasn’t too surprised, given his colleague married this woman for her money. Money he needed when he parted ways with Antony and the project they had been working on for almost twenty years.

“What are you doing?” Long red nails pinched the boy’s face. She forced his gaze to meet hers. His body went rigid and his eyes glazed over. It was like he was no longer there. The moment passed when he squeezed his eyes shut. A tremble rolled through his body and he looked disoriented for a second.

Once his body relaxed, he opened one eye, his voice curious, “Who was that man in the bed? It wasn’t Father. Will he wake up soon? I promise to try harder. He’ll be proud of me.”

She recoiled from him. When the baby in her arms fussed, she thrust it into another’s arms. “Get it away from me. Both of them. I will not care for these things. I refuse!”

Silence fell over the room. No one spoke up in defense of the two children. Even Antony remained silent. Eventually, conversation picked back up. The widow took the baby back, but the boy stood alone. He peered back into the casket. One last pang shot through Antony, this one piercing his heart. He turned away, ashamed by his cowardly actions, and left the boy to wait alone for his father who would never wake.

“Cyc… Cyc… Yo Cyclop Blaine!”

I blinked, coming from my thoughts and focusing on reality. My cousin Jaden’s brown eyes were full of concern. The look making made his usually carefree face crease with worry. Jaden and I weren’t biological cousins. As far as I knew, I had no living relatives. But blood relation didn’t matter to me. Jaden and the other members of the Victory Street gang had become my family the day the gang’s leader, Tyler Blaine, found me when I was five years old.

I would never forget that feeling the moment Tyler scooped me out of a dumpster and wrapped me in his thick, green jacket. All fear left my shivering body, replaced by warmth. Other gang members mocked Tyler, calling me a pet. They laughed at my mismatched eyes – one dark brown, the other light blue. I avoided eye contact, keeping my chin tucked against my chest. Looking into another’s eyes always brought pain and visions. At the time, I hadn’t understood why I saw what I did in other’s eyes. I still don’t understand, but with Tyler’s help, I learned to control the gift.

So to speak.

My green bandana wrapped sideways around my head to shield one eye. I tilted my cap down as well. Added precaution. Both eyes were needed to see the visions, so as long as I kept one eye covered, it was safe to look at others. I chose to cover the blue eye because it was the more shocking eye. Not sky blue or midnight blue, but light, almost white, blue which always made people take a third glance. The second glance was for my pale skin and white blond hair that made me look albino. And who knew, maybe I was.

“What up, bro?” I asked Jaden.

“Uncle Ty wants to see you downstairs. He got a newbie he wants you to look at,” Jaden replied, already leading the way.

I kept my face passive, but internally winced. When Tyler brought me home, there was little I had been able to do keep my gift hidden from him. The awe on his face always made me feel sick when I remembered. I felt like a freak, a sideshow to be gawked at. But there was a silver lining. My gift was valuable to Tyler, and a little pain was an insignificant price to pay to help keep the gang safe.

As we headed downstairs, passing the second story of the three-story house that was home, I heard at least three different beats blaring out of sound systems behind bedroom doors. One room had the door wide open, giving me a glimpse of my adoptive sister, Naomi, and what I assumed was her flavor of the week. She was eighteen like me, and had enough experience with men to last a few lifetimes.

The carpeted stairs gave way to smooth, cool wood on the ground floor. Sneakers squeaked as we made our way through the dining room and to the kitchen. There, five men were gathered along one side of the kitchen table. Each donned green bandanas on various parts of their bodies. Only one sat, my adoptive father, Tyler. He was positioned at the center of the table, his hands folded near a gun. A gold ring, embossed with diamonds, shone on one hand. His ebony hair was braided into tight cornrows along his skull, and muscles bulged under his green shirt. A scar ran along the right side of his face, dangerously close to one brown eye. Confidence and power oozed out of him, silently declaring him the leader.

Opposite the five men, a lone man stood. His head swiveled to Jaden and me as we entered. A scoff broke free, defiance blazing in the man’s eyes as he gazed at me. “I heard rumors there was a white boy hanging out on Victory Street.”

I ignored the newbie, turning to my father and the other men. My adoptive brother Darryl stood behind and to the left of Tyler. I noticed him watching me with worry. My stomach clenched and I forced my focus to Tyler.

“You wanted to see me, Pop?”

The newbie barked a laugh, doubling over. His white teeth shone against his light chocolate skin. “Pop? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Tyler didn’t acknowledge the newbie’s comment. At his nod, I moved to face the newbie and adjusted my hat and bandana. The newbie watched me with an amused look, his comments mocking.

“Boy, you need some sun, you whiter than a polar bear. Maybe get some colored contacts too because that is one freaky eye you got. What? Are we gonna have a staring contest? I blink and I’m out?”

Pain throbbed to life as I stared at the newbie. Images surged from his eyes, surrounding me and blocking out the kitchen. They were moments frozen in time like a snapshot. Only these images weren’t of past times, but of the future yet to come. I focused on stilling the barrage of images so I could examine them closer.

Each snapshot contained the newbie. The newbie alone on a street corner at night. A van approaching him. A shadowed figure in the van talking to him. A flash of gold. My body tensed at the police badge. The newbie was a snitch. Tyler would not be happy.

Suddenly, the images flickered like a light going out. They vanished, replaced by a lone snapshot: A gun pressed to the newbie’s head. The hand holding the gun wore a gold and diamond ring.

I tore my gaze away from the snapshot and turned to Tyler. I kept my eyes cast down and muttered one letter, “S.”

Tyler’s face darkened. “All right, get out of here.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I whirled on my heels, heading for the door and leaving Tyler to deal with the newbie. Pain continued to pulse as I jogged through the house. I resisted the urge to grip my head or show any signs of pain. Only a few select gang members knew of my gift and all of them were back in the kitchen. Tyler wanted it to remain a secret from the majority of the gang. It would be dangerous if the knowledge got out. Rival gangs would want me, forcing me to use my gift and not caring about the pain it caused. I’d be a puppet to them, not a real person.

Like I had been to Father.

Twilight was setting in as I stepped outside. The sky above was clear, no stars dotting the darkening blue. Their light was too weak to compete against the city lights. A hint of warmth lingered in the air and a soft breeze brushed against my skin. I hurried down the porch steps and ducked around the side of the house.

I leaned against the wall, staring at the vast expansion of city lights. I’m a real person, I reminded myself as I massaged my temples. Not a puppet or a thing, but a person. Growing up, Tyler always treated me like a son, like there wasn’t anything extraordinary about me, or I didn’t stand out like a sore thumb when the gang gathered. I was a member of the gang and family – a real person.

A gentle touch froze me momentarily. I sighed, dropping my hands, but kept my gaze averted from the person. “Shouldn’t you be inside with Pop?”

Darryl didn’t remove his hand from my shoulder. His gaze roamed over what he could see of my face. “I was worried about you. I know it hurts when you have to look for a long time.”

I tried to shrug his hand off, but he held on. “I’m fine.”

Darryl sighed. I sensed an argument coming, but different words left his mouth. “I miss you.”

Now I really tried to shake his hand off. “You shouldn’t. It’s over and it’s better this way.”

He continued to hold on, adding his other hand and pulling me against him. He leaned close to my ear. His breath was warm and caused a shiver to roll down my spine. “I don’t want it to be over between us.”

My chin dropped to my chest and I melted into the heat of his embrace. It’d be a lie if I said I felt nothing or it didn’t hurt worse than the pain of my visions to keep him at arm’s length. But I knew what the future held for us – or more appropriately, what it didn’t.

Darryl was the first friend I made when Tyler first brought me home. He never shied from my pale skin or strange eyes like our cousins had at first. We played guns and gangs together, pulled pranks, and snuck down at night to sit on the stairs and watch TV when we were supposed to be sleeping. He always knew about my gift and the pain it caused. He worked just as hard as I did to make sure accidental eye contact was never made.

Then one day, while playing video games, he set the controller aside. Cupping my face with one hand, he lifted my bandana away. I saw one, quick glimpse of the future. What I saw took my breath away.

“You want me?”

I could barely believe it. For years, my feelings for Darryl had been morphing from friendship to attraction. I longed to admit my feelings to him, but I was scared. Not only of Darryl, but everyone else as well. In the gang, homosexuality was something to be disgusted with and mocked. I was terrified of losing the only real family I had ever known.

We kept our relationship quiet, finding stolen moments to explore each other. Not with sex, but with words. For hours, we’d hide away, holding each other and whispering our hopes and dreams. I admitted I just wanted to be normal, no more gift or pain. Darryl admitted he wished he was someone else’s son. Members feared him the way they feared our father, and no one wanted to risk earning Tyler’s wrath. Together, we pretended our dreams were reality, escaping for a few precious hours.