Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine (6 page)

Except I fell asleep and woke up late the next morning without any answers.

I jumped up from bed and went into the hallway. Mom and Dad's door hung open. The sounds of someone showering emanated from the bathroom. I went into the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal, staring at the trashcan overflowing with beer bottles. I cursed myself for falling asleep. Something was definitely going on with my parents. Usually they made me sick by kissing all the time and saying lovey-dovey stuff. Now they were making me sick with worry. I had to find out what in the world was going on. Captain Tibbs hopped onto the table and meowed. I gave him some milk and figured I'd also need to buy him some cat food so he wouldn't starve to death.

Dad emerged from his bedroom as I finished breakfast. His tired face looked almost inhuman. In fact his skin had a bluish hue and his eyes—usually a dark hazel like mine—looked pale as arctic glaciers. He zipped up a hoodie and made for the front door.

"Where are you going?"

He jumped a foot into the air and spun to face me. He apparently hadn't noticed I was sitting there feeling sorry for myself.

"I have to run an errand. I'll be back soon."

"Where's Mom?"

He stared blankly for a moment before answering. "Work."

"On a Saturday? Don't you guys usually go for hikes on the weekends?"

He shrugged and gave a smile that never warmed the icy blue in his eyes. "Duty calls." He grabbed the doorknob. "Oh, and take the trash out when you have a chance."

I stared at the door as it shut behind him, my mouth hanging open. Yeah, right. He could clean up his own beer bottles. And forget sitting around. I wanted answers. What the hell was wrong with him, and was he wearing blue contact lenses? After grabbing my jacket and pulling a ball cap low over my face, I dashed outside. Dad hadn't taken his car. I ran to the nearest crossroad and looked down the narrow sidewalks, spotting his figure a few blocks down near the small shopping center where Mom used to take me to get my hair cut. I hadn't let that old barber touch my hair for years now. It would totally ruin my long elf warrior 'do.

I jogged after Dad. Maybe he was going for a haircut. But when I arrived at the stores, I found him sitting in the Laundromat of all places. Like the other businesses in the old strip mall, long plate-glass windows yellowed with age offered a view inside. A flickering neon sign advised passersby it was open twenty-four-seven. I edged to the end of the glass and peered inside. Dad sat, one leg crossed over the other, watching a couple of gray-haired women as they tossed clothes inside a washer and gossiped.

He continued to watch them even after they took adjacent seats and pulled out smartphones to show off pictures, from what I could tell. Did my dad have a fetish for old ladies? Was he a stalker?
Gross!
My social life was in the toilet and my parents had gone completely off the edge. I was so screwed.

Thirty minutes later, Dad stretched, stood up, and left. I hurried into the barber shop next door so he wouldn't see me. Old Larry, the barber, stopped shaving some poor kid's head with a pair of clippers and gave my shaggy mane a hungry look.

"Justin Case? I haven't seen you in years, boy. Looks like I'll need to haul out my dog hair trimmers to get through the mess on your head."

Dad trotted past outside. I hid behind a magazine and pulled the ball cap lower. "Thanks, Larry, but I think I changed my mind."

I stepped outside and watched Dad jog toward home. All sorts of horrific nightmares danced through my mind about why he'd gone to a Laundromat without laundry to stare at old women. No wonder he and Mom were having problems.

I wanted to jog after Dad but in my physical condition I wouldn't make it more than a few feet before oxygen deprivation dragged me to my knees and murdered a few million brain cells. I had a flashback to my fight with Nathan. It was a wonder I'd made it to the janitorial closet and back without passing out. I entered the front door of my house and found Dad chowing down cereal. His skin looked perfectly normal again. He glanced up with lively hazel eyes. "Why didn't you take out the trash?"

It was all I could do not to gape at his sudden transformation. Maybe he'd taken to wearing colored contacts so old women would like him better. Creepy couldn't even begin to describe this situation. After I dumped the bag of sour-smelling beer bottles in the large stinky garbage can outside, I went into my room and stared at the wall. Mark and Harry hated me. There was no Kings and Castles tournament today. Katie despised me. My dad was stalking little old ladies, and my family was falling apart. Hopelessness welled in my heart. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I jumped up and went into the bathroom, splashed my face with cold water, and dried it off. My trampled history essay sat atop my computer desk so I grabbed it and averted further misery by typing it out on my computer and polishing it until I looked up from the finished product hours later and saw the sunlight outside my window was long gone. Captain Tibbs had curled up in his now-usual spot on the desk and watched me through heavy-lidded eyes as I stretched. I scratched him behind the ears. He meowed.

"You're my one true pal, aren't you? You'd never abandon me."

He purred, which told me in no uncertain terms that he'd be my true friend to the end no matter what obstacles life threw our way.

The garage door opened and shut. Keys clattered on the kitchen counter. I cracked open my bedroom door and found Mom in the hallway with her back to me, staring at a picture on her smartphone. I strained to make out details. It looked like a little girl with bright blonde hair in pigtails. I crept forward. A creaking floorboard betrayed my presence.

Mom stuffed the phone back into her purse and wiped tears from her face as she turned to face me. "Hey, son." She pressed a hand to my forehead and did her usual mumbling routine.

As the tingle faded from my forehead, I took her hand and looked into her deep blue eyes. "Mom, what's really going on?"

She smiled and brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face. "Just a rough spot at work." She patted the top of my hand with her other one. "Nothing to worry about. I need you to be strong and brave for me and your father."

"You know me," I said, flexing my non-existent bicep. "I'm the
man
."

She kissed me on the cheek. "That's my boy." Mom turned to the couch and stared at Dad's slumbering form. A new cluster of alcohol bottles had sprouted on the coffee table. Vodka had joined the beer posse. Mom's hands clenched into fists and I feared she might attack him. Instead, she took deep breaths and went into their bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

I sat outside her door and listened until she cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, Mom took me to brunch, a family tradition that didn't have quite the same meaning when Dad was still passed out drunk on the couch from the night before. Still, I hadn't seen Mom much lately and I jumped at the chance to spend some time with her although I would never admit it—even under torture—to any of my friends.
Oh wait, that's right—I don't have any friends.

Mom asked me about school, my friends, and a million other little things I really didn't want to talk about since the epic pile of fail in my life was expanding exponentially. I did tell her my grades were great—the single bright spot in my existence.

"You know how much I love you, right, Justin?" she asked out of the blue.

"Of course, Mom." My face flushed with heat and I looked at the cute girls sitting a table over from us to make sure they hadn't heard. I pushed my empty plate away and stared at the puddle of syrup where once a stack of blueberry pancakes had been. "I just want to know what's going on with you and Dad."

She sighed and stared dejectedly at a happy nuclear family eating their brunch with big grins, giggles, and cheerful banter. "I feel like such a failure," she said after a moment. "I'm failing you. I'm failing your father. And there's nothing I can do about it." Tears glistened in her eyes.

I grabbed both her hands and squeezed. "Mom, don't say that. You're not a failure. You and Dad are the best parents I could ever have. You're a great mom."

She sniffed and smiled. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do. I know I'm not the best son in the world, but I love you guys so much even if I can't say that around my friends."

A laugh broke through her tears. "Teenage boys." She sniffled, wiped her red nose with a napkin, and took another look at the laughing family across the room. "Sometimes there are things in life we have to do. Difficult decisions that hurt so much it feels like no matter which choice we make, it's the wrong one." She turned her eyes on me. "No matter what happens, Justin, know that I love you. Even if you hate me one day and refuse to ever talk to me again, just know that I understand. And I will never blame you for it."

"What would you ever do to make me hate you?" Worry gripped my chest with icy fingers.

"Things happen, honey. People change. Life doesn't always give us a choice."

Much as I wanted to dispute her, I knew it was true. But nothing could ever make me hate my mom.

I gripped her hands. Looked into the deep ocean blue of Mom's eyes and at the fall of a soft blonde lock across her face. Dad always fussed over that lock of hair, saying it couldn't behave as he pushed it behind her ear. I think he loved that rebellious strand because whenever it fell across Mom's face just so, he'd stop what he was doing and stare as though she was the only thing that existed in his universe. I'd thought my parents were one of the rare couples that had found true love. With everything that was going on now, it seemed I was wrong. The thought made me incredibly sad.

After brunch, Mom went back to work. Dad wasn't at home when I walked in so I pilfered some money from the shoebox with their stack of rainy-day funds in it and treated myself to a day at the movies so I could ignore the loneliness crushing my heart.

Monday, the day I'd been dreading more than any other, arrived and the anxiety in my chest was palpable: a living malevolent creature with claws in my guts, my heart, and my limbs. I couldn't think straight. Dad was asleep on the couch and Mom had already gone to work when I got up. As I opened the front door, Captain Tibbs jetted between my legs and raced into the yard.

"Are you leaving me?" I asked.

He gave me a curt meow.
So long and thanks for all the fish.
Then he trotted away into the neighbor's hedge.

"Thanks for abandoning me in my time of need," I said.

A faint meow from the other side of the hedge was all I received in reply. Now I really was friendless. I took in a deep breath to ward off the crushing pain in my chest and decided to take Dad's car. The school bus would be a pure nightmare.

Every head seemed to swivel my way as I walked into school. I avoided the gymnasium like the plague. In homeroom, Jenny directed a gleeful smile my way and shook her head.

"I'll give you this," she said. "When you screw up, you go for broke."

Annie laughed. "Epic meltdown, dude. God, I love this drama."

I tried to smile. "I got a little drunk."

"A little?" Jenny smirked. "Katie hates your guts. You got a lucky punch on her boyfriend and then called her a tramp on Facebook."

"Yeah, well I guess I won't win Mr. Popularity this year."

"More like Mr. Infamous."

Annie giggled. "Mr. Douchebag."

"I was super drunk," I said, the desperation plain in my voice. "I don't even remember writing that stuff. Can you help me out with Katie?"

Jenny gave me a "yeah, right" look. "I'm not helping you, Mr. Creep." She and Annie turned their backs to me. Fury roared like an inferno through my chest and into my head. I wanted to pick my desk up and slam it on the floor. Scream to the class that I wasn't a loser. The room wobbled and a wave of dizziness hit me. It would make perfect sense if a blood vessel decided to explode in my head right that second as the universe executed the final punch line to my joke of a life.

My vision blurred and I winced in anticipation of another headache. Instead, the room snapped back into focus and my head only tingled for a split second. My hand hurt, however. I was clenching something painfully tight. Upon closer examination, I realized I was gripping the snapped-off corner of my desk. I hastily tossed it into my book bag before anyone noticed the vandalism.

I must be going insane.

The bell rang and I jetted out of there.

At lunch, I discovered how Andy Dudowitz, the obscenely fat kid felt. He and his palpable body odor had a table in the corner all to themselves because nobody wanted to be within smelling distance of him. I couldn't find a seat. Everyone locked me out with angry glares or derisive laughs. Even Andy shook his massive head when I looked his way. Mark and Harry shot dark glares when I glanced in their direction. I was positive even the lunchroom ladies would reject me at this point.

One of the Goth guys motioned me over. I figured they were going to invite me then diss me at the last minute, but anything was better than standing alone in the middle of the lunch room. The Goth girl was with them. She had enough metal piercings in her nose, mouth, ears, and tongue to construct a battleship. Next to her sat a short guy with a hazardous amount of eye shadow and a red Mohawk flopped over to the side. I stared at them for several seconds before deciding I wasn't getting a better offer.

I sat uneasily next to the girl. If she sneezed, the flying metal would probably kill me.

"Hi," she said. The trailer hitch in her mouth clacked against her teeth.

I lost my appetite.

"Screw the system, dude," said the Goth guy who'd invited me over. "I'm Ash Falls." He pointed at the Goth girl. "She's Crye Rayne, and that," he said pointing to the Mohawk guy, "is Nyte Cradle."

"N-y-t-e," Nyte said.

I'd already figured out how to spell their names since Crye had written them in depressing Goth letters all over a notebook titled
Poems of Dark Souls
.