Max Baker: Guardian of the Ninth Sector (4 page)

A second before the impending impact, Max’s instincts took over.  He leapt as high as he could into the air; his hands were once again radiating with the bright blue light.  He placed one of them unconsciously on the hood of the car, using it to lift his legs higher in the air to avoid the brunt of the collision.  Instantaneously, the car stopped. Max tumbled head over feet, landing in a pile in the center of the street. 

The engine had died the moment Max had touched it.  The air was quiet and still as Max lay on his back in the middle of street.  He looked over his feet at the motionless car. The only sound he could hear was his skateboard rolling slowly down the street toward the yard ahead.  Over the top of his feet, Max could see smoke rising from under the hood.

Max heard the car door open, and he knew he couldn’t wait there any longer.  He hadn’t come this far to get caught.  He got to his feet hastily, leaving the skateboard behind, and booked it the rest of the way across the street, ducking behind the house on the corner. 

“Wait,” he heard the man call out to him.  There's no chance in Hell that's going to happen, Max thought as he continued to run as fast as he could.

Max navigated his way through one neighbor’s yard to another, slowly making a path to his house.  Once he was in range of his house, he found a spot at the top of a hill in his neighbor’s backyard.  From this vantage point, he had a view of his entire surroundings.  If he was still being followed, Max could spot him from half a mile away.

Max waited in the neighbor’s yard for an hour, watching quietly.  He had to make sure that his chaser hadn’t tracked him to his home.  He wouldn’t enter if he knew it would jeopardize his mother’s safety.  In the cold, bitter air of that December night, he waited.

It was close to 1:30 in the morning when Max finally left his hiding spot in the neighbor’s bushes and snuck around to the back of his house.  He entered in through the back door to the kitchen. 

It was dark inside the house with the exception of a light that flickered in from the living room.  He knew what was waiting for him in that room.  He had seen this scene many times before.  His stomach knotted up uncomfortably.  He would save that room for last.

He took his time checking the locks on the windows and the doors.  Systematically, he checked them all.  He spun the mini blinds shut above the kitchen sink.  He closed the curtains in the dining room.  He jiggled the doorknob that led out to the garage.  As he stood in the entrance to the living room, he took a deep breath and then entered.

He didn’t know what was worse, being chased by some random stranger through the night or walking into his living room to see his mother passed out drunk in the recliner.  If he had to be truly honest with himself, he would take the former rather than the latter any day of the week.

Max surveyed the room to find that his mother had been a busy woman.  Evelyn was unconscious in the recliner just as he had predicted.  Her arm hung over the side of the chair, and an empty bottle of gin was grasped loosely in her hand.  The bottom of the bottle balanced at an angle and slowly danced against the beige carpet below.  Next to her, on an end table between the recliner and the couch, were three plastic bottles of tonic water – all of them empty.  They surrounded a clear drinking glass, filled just slightly at the bottom, and a small saucer with a slice of half eaten birthday cake. 

Max sighed deeply and took off his coat.  This was not the first time that he had to play caretaker, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.  His mother had been a heavy drinker for as long as he could remember.  She had been a functional drunk though, and she had always been able to provide for the two of them.

As he stood over the small woman sprawled out in the recliner, he looked down with disdain.  He hated her in moments like these.  It took everything in his being not to scream at her.  It took every bit of self-restraint not to grab her by her shoulders and shake the comatose woman.  He wanted to ask her what her problem was, and why she chose to live in this misery.  He wanted to ask her why she couldn’t be there for him every day, like she was this morning.  He wanted to ask her if she even loved him a tenth of what she would have if Aiden hadn’t died that night. 

Instead he knelt down beside her and began untying her shoe laces.  He carefully slipped the worn and tattered cross trainers off of her feet and placed them by the chair.  Her socks were tattered and covered in holes, and he could see the rough calluses of her feet underneath.

As he removed the empty liquor bottle from his mother’s hand, he saw the corner of a small blue book peering out from underneath the couch.  He knew what the object was before he picked it up.  His mother had hid it in the small area between the recliner and couch.  She used the end table as a way to guard the book, to keep it hidden.  He had no doubt that Evelyn had been ‘reminiscing’ her way into a stupor tonight.  He reached down and pulled the book from underneath the couch.  The cover read:

The Story of Us

A Baby Book for Twins

He tossed the book onto the couch and sat down beside it.  The television was muted, and on the screen was some infomercial advertising a product that looked like an alarm clock that would remove dents and scratches on your car.  At least that’s what he could gather in the three seconds he spent paying attention to it.  Max frowned and turned it off.

He turned to his mother who was snoring lightly.  She sat slouched in the recliner; her mouth was agape with a small string of drool running from her lip to her shoulder.  She looked so old to Max. The bags underneath her eyes were accentuated by the mascara that had leaked down her cheeks; his mother had always been an emotional drunk.  Her sandy blonde hair was pinned to the top of her head in a makeshift bun that looked more like a rat’s nest. 

She wore a light green sweater with a slight V-neck; a gold locket that Max had given to her for a birthday present hung around her neck.  Inside the locket was Max’s third grade school photo; it was her favorite because of the red and gold suspenders that he had worn that day.  Her jeans were tattered and frayed at the bottom.  This woman was surely not his real mother, he thought to himself.  His mother had been replaced, and an empty shell now sat before him. 

He picked up the baby book from under the couch and let it fall open onto his lap.  Inside, there was a picture of his mother looking happy and young.  She was sitting on a bench; children flying kites were frozen in time behind her.  Her stomach was large and round like she had eaten a watermelon whole; however, the rest of her body was small and petite.  Her smile was wider than Max had ever seen it.  She was gorgeous.

His father sat beside her on the bench, his arm resting over her shoulder.  Max had only seen Colin a few times. Every time that he had found the book, he would stare at the photo, carefully examining the similarities between him and his father.  He knew that they shared the same eye color and that Max also had his nose.  He had his mother’s cheeks and forehead.   

She had kept the book hidden from him since he was young.  He remembered that he used to look through it often.  It was only when he had begun asking questions that she started hiding the book.  He remembered that he would ask his mother where his dad was, and she would always tell him that his father was part of some big secret operation, and that one day he would come back for them.  He remembered being five or six when his mother drunkenly confessed the truth.  Colin had left because he couldn’t deal with losing his son.   He couldn’t stand to look at Max anymore, because it constantly reminded him of the night they had lost Aiden.  The truth had destroyed Max, and he remembered crying for days.

Max knew that some kids wished for money for their birthday, or for a brand new car, hell just a car period.  He knew that some of them wished for stupid things like video games or a television.  He also knew that he wasn’t the first kid to grow up without a father, or the only kid to ever grow up in the aftermath of some tragedy.  But if he did have just one wish, it would be for his brother and father to be here.  He knew that it would be impossible since his brother was dead, but he still held out hope that one day this estranged man, who shared the same blue eyes, would find his way back home.  Deep down he thought that his mother felt the same way; however, she had forbidden Max to ever speak or ask questions about the man.

Max peeled the plastic sheet protector back from the cardboard and peeled the photograph out of the album to examine it more closely.  There was a mixture of resentment and sadness as he stared at it.  He looked over every minute detail, trying to absorb as much of the photo as he could, and soon felt the lump in his throat begin to swell.  He felt the warm liquid begin to gather around his eyes.  It stung at them as he tried to fight it, as he did his best to prevent this moment of weakness.  The tears breached the edge of his eyelids and plummeted down his cheeks.  Quickly, he wiped them away and took a few deep breaths.  He would not allow himself to be weak. He would not allow himself to become his mother.

He flipped the photograph over. Written in black ink was his mother’s beautiful penmanship:

And underneath that, written almost illegibly in blue ink:

Below that was a crudely drawn smiley face.  Max couldn’t help but smile back at it.  He could only assume that it was his father who had written that, and to have something more than just a photo was more than he could have ever asked for.  He now also knew why his mother hated when Noah called him Maximus.  He remembered Noah calling him that a few years ago. She had freaked out on them, screaming obscenities, and then locked herself in her bedroom.  Max had ended up staying with Noah that night.

Max laid the photo aside and pressed the plastic sheet firmly at the corner to seal it.  He placed the book back underneath the couch and began the process of straightening up the living room.  He threw the empty bottles of gin and tonic water away and then took the empty cup and saucer to the sink.

When he returned to the living room, he took the photo of his mother and father and carefully placed it in his pocket.  Max then flipped off the overhead light.  It was quiet and dark; the only light was coming from the pale moon outside.  It barely lit the room, and his mother looked strange and distorted lying in the shadows. 

Max made his way to the window that looked out into the front yard and checked the desolate background for any signs of the stranger.  Everything seemed silent and motionless behind the paned glass.  He closed the blinds and checked the front door.  Using the light from his phone’s LED screen to guide him through the darkness, he made his way toward his room.

Max stripped off his clothes and crawled into his bed.  He was exhausted and hoped that sleep would come easy.  He thought about the stranger that had chased him.  He still had no clue as to why it had happened.  He thought about the blue light that had illuminated from his hands.  He contemplated telling Noah about it, but he wondered how he would even start a conversation like that.  In the final moments before he fell asleep, he thought about Kennedy.  He remembered that only a few days before the blow out between the three of them, she had told Max that no matter what they would be friends forever.  Seconds before drifting off to sleep, he tried to remember why she had said that last part.  He tried to stay awake for one moment longer, fighting to remember that last moment between Kennedy and himself.  He tried with all of his might, but he could not hold it off any longer. Sleep washed over him taking him far, far away.