Protector of Children - 1. Chapter 1: Protector of Children

Protector of Children

The old gods live: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. This must be understood, or nothing wonderful can come out of the story I am going to relate.

They were born in Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Greece; they arose in the Levant, Lascaux, and the Orient. They were born in the minds of pastoral peoples, of hunter-gatherers, of warriors. They have names: Set, Mazda, Zeus, Spider, Yahweh, Quetzalcoatl. We and our ancestors gave them Attributes, Aspects, and Authorities—and power. Some have disappeared; some remain. Of those that remain, some are stronger than others; some follow philosophies and creeds that are outdated, even repugnant. Some have taken on a life of their own as guardians of humanity, and especially of its younger, more vulnerable members.

Some of the characters in this story were introduced in “Nemesis.” You may find it useful to read at least a portion of “Nemesis” before reading this story. The link is http://www.gayauthors.org/story/david-mcleod/nemesis.

Each story in this “book” will stand alone; no “final” chapter is planned. The need to save and protect children is a Neverending Story.

I will try to reply to messages sent to boh.translators@gmail.com.

 

 

 

Chicago Kids Klub

 

The man pulled his cell phone from his pocket, looked around the warehouse to make sure his boss wasn’t watching, and then answered.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Culpepper. That kid of yours is in the laundry room with another boy. They were … well, they were doing what you said.”

“Thanks,” the man said. I’m gonna kill the little fucker, he thought.

“Boss? My kid’s sick. Gotta take him to the doctor.”

 

 

Gary

It has been nearly five years since I played for the Cubs, but some of the guys still keep in touch. Cyrus had been a buddy, but not a close friend, so I was a little surprised to get a call from him. Cyrus has a natural arm, and is one of the best pitchers in baseball. He also has a mean streak that plays out in fights on and off the field, which is why he is not a star.

Cyrus asked for a meeting. He didn’t say why, and I wasn’t comfortable enough with my new role as “Protector of Children” to try to read him, especially over the phone. I wasn’t even sure that I should. We agreed to meet for lunch near the ballpark.

Why would the guy who had received the ancient Attributes and Authorities (but not the Aspect!) of Artemis, Protector of Children … why would he take time out for lunch with an old friend, when abused children all over the world were each day dying by the hundreds? Two reasons, I guess.

First, I was new to the job and wasn’t sure what all it meant. It had been only days since Apollo had transferred most of his Attributes and Authorities to my friend, Caden, and some of the “leftovers”—the Attributes and Authorities once held by his sister, Artemis—to me. Second, I had promised my son, my soul-mate, my little boy, Nemesis, who—by the way—is also the god of retribution, that I would not burn out like my predecessors had, and that I would take time out for myself and for him. Third, I knew I wasn’t the only protector of children, just the “chief” one. I’d not met any of the others, but Dike promised that I would.

Dike? She’s the goddess of justice, and she’s Nemesis’s boss. She’s not my boss; however, she is one of the few remaining original gods, and a good friend. Finally, I had promised Nemesis that I would look for helpers, and something I didn’t understand made me think that Cyrus might be one. Yeah, that’s four reasons. Go figure.

 

Cyrus

I knew Gary was working with that big orphanage north of town: Erewhon, they called it. And, I knew he had some connections with Family Services. I was hoping that he might be able to help. If he couldn’t, I didn’t know where I would go. He was waiting outside Morty’s Burgers when I got there. I was surprised when he hugged me and slapped my back a couple of times.

“Cy,” Gary said. “Good to see you. I’d almost forgotten about Morty’s. Haven’t been here since you and I brought those two rookies here and fed ’em ’till they nearly popped! They were Jerry and Sam, right? Jerry’s done right well since he got traded to the Royals. Too bad Sam got injured; he’d have been good.

“It’s sure gonna’ be good to have one of Morty’s grease-burgers, again. How you been?”

That was Gary—like he was a historian and welcome-wagon put together. Always remembering the important things; always wanting to know about how you were doing. And always caring, not just asking.

“Been mighty fine, Gary,” I said. “How about you?”

“Better’ ’n spit,” Gary said.

See what I mean? That was what we used to say to one another, more than five years ago, and Gary remembered. I was feeling better already.

 

Gary

I didn’t try to read Cyrus, but I couldn’t help feeling what he was thinking. And, I saw in his thoughts that he had grown up since I had seen him last. He was mad about something, and he was going to see it through. But he wasn’t going to start a fistfight over it. He wanted to do it right, whatever it was. I also sensed that he thought I could solve his problem. That scared me, a little.

We ordered loaded burgers that were served on paper napkins already soaked with grease.

“Hey, Cy,” I said. “You reckon these’ll slide down okay, or should we ask for a side of mayonnaise?” That was one of the old jokes. We used to tease the rookies with it. Cy brightened some, but I knew there was still something bothering him.

So, I asked Cyrus what was on his mind. “… ’cause I know something’s on you mind, Cy,” I said. “You’re as nervous as a cat in an old folks home—surrounded by rocking chairs.”

Cyrus laughed. That was one of his old lines, and he appreciated that I’d remembered it. Cy got to the point.

“Gary, I’ve been coachin’ a baseball team for the Kids Klub on the South Side. There’s one ten-year-old who’s a natural … he’s got the best hand-eye coordination I’ve ever seen. He’s gonna be one hell of a pitcher, someday. I can’t wait ’till we get past T-ball and coach-pitch.”

Cy got a dreamy look in his eye, and I knew he was already clocking the kid’s speed … and counting the victories.

I nodded. There wasn’t any position in any sport that required a better athlete than a baseball pitcher, and if Cy said the kid was a natural, he was a natural.

“Problem is,” Cy said, “he’s started fallin’ down a lot. Leastways, that’s what he says when I ask him about the bruises on his face and arms. Can’t see any other part of him, but the way he flinches when he sits down, I’d bet there was bruises on his butt, too.”

I didn’t have to think for more than a second. “Somebody’s hitting him,” I said.

“That’s what I figured,” Cy said. “But I can’t figure out what to do. Thought, maybe, you’d know.”

It didn’t take any time at all for me to decide. “What’s his name?” I asked.

“Andy Short,” Cy said. “He lives—”

“Cambria Green,” I said. “The projects.” I didn’t wonder how I knew that; I just knew it, and knew it was right.

“How did you know?” Cy asked.

I thought for a moment, and remembered that I’d promised Nemesis I would look for helpers.

“Cy,” I asked. “Is there room in your heart for magic?”

 

Cyrus

Magic? I ain’t never heard anybody ask a question that peculiar and that serious since … well, since forever. I took the last bite of my burger to give me some time to think. Then, I looked hard at Gary.

“Gary, if’n I can help Andy, I’d make room in my heart for a … a G’mork. What do you mean, magic?”

I must have looked like a spot-lighted deer when Gary tossed a twenty on top of the check, grabbed my hand and suddenly we weren’t in Morty’s anymore. We were standing outside one of the high-rise-pile-of-shit-south-side apartments they called Cambria Green—the projects.

“Come on,” Gary said. “His father’s just gotten home.”

 

Gary ran toward the building, and opened the door without using a keycard. He pushed me toward the elevator. When we got on, he punched the “18” button. I didn’t wonder until later why we used the elevator when Gary had kind of zapped us to the building.

When we got off the elevator, I followed Gary down the hall to apartment 1821. Gary knocked at the door. There was the sound of a slap, and then a yell. I recognized the voice. It was Andy.

Gary pounded on the door. There was another yell.

Gary sort of waved at the door and it crashed open. By this time, I wasn’t wondering about anything Gary did. I just followed him into the apartment.

The boy’s father held Andy’s arm. The man raised his hand to hit the boy again.

“I warned you … you were not to see that little fag! Mr. Evans called me at work. I had to leave work because of you, you damn stupid little queer!”

The man’s hand started moving.

 

Gary

I grabbed the man’s hand before it could complete its arc.

“That’s more than enough,” I said. I twisted his arm. His pain caused him to release the boy.

“Cy? Would you take care of Andy, please,” I said, and then turned to the man.

“Spare the rod and spoil the child, huh?” I said. “Is that why you were hitting the boy?”

“Him and that fag friend of his—”

My hand across his face silenced him. I wanted to take his face off, and I really think I could have, but I didn’t. I didn’t hit him nearly as hard as he’d hit the boy, just hard enough to get his attention.

“We don’t say, fag,” I said for his ears only. Somehow, I knew that only he heard me, and that Andy didn’t. “And especially not to a child. Start over.”

The man looked as if he were going to object, but cowered when I looked hard at him. I wondered if my eyes sparkled like Nemesis’s and Dike’s did when they were pissed off. I knew I was pissed off.

“Him and his … boyfriend was kissin’ an’ playin’ with each other; I told him he wasn’t to see the little f… his little friend again. An’ I set the neighbors to watchin’ ’em. I got called at work …”

“So,” I said. “You decided to come home and beat him some more?”

“Yeah!” The man was defiant. “What else do you do with kids who disobey?”

“What about ‘raise not thy hand in anger,’ ” I asked, “or doesn’t that apply to children?” The man remained silent. I could hear Cy talking to Andy.

Cy’s voice was calm, which was more than I could say for mine. Cy’s voice kept me from killing Andy’s father, I think.

Cyrus

“Andy? Andy? It’s Coach,” I said. “You’re safe, now, kiddo. You’re safe.” I kept saying it, over and over. The kid didn’t know whether to hug me or run away from me, but something got through, and he decided on the hug part. Then, he started talking. He was crying so hard I could hardly understand him.

“Daddy hit me, Coach … Daddy hit me ’cause … ’cause somebody saw me and Jeffie … uh, in the laundry room.”

I’d heard enough of what the boy’s father was saying to know there was more to it than that. I thought for a minute, about how Gary had asked me about magic, and then sort of zapped us from Morty’s to Cambria Green. There was something might funny going on, all right, but I had a good feeling about it. And about Gary.

“You and Jeff … he’s your boyfriend, right? You was doin’ sex stuff, right?”

Andy got stiff and then started trembling, and then nearly collapsed. I knew he was afraid … and I felt that he was more afraid of what I’d think than he was of his father.

“Andy? It’s okay. I can’t make you believe me. All I can do is ask you, please, to believe me when I say it’s okay. Trust your old coach, please?”

That worked. “Old coach” was an inside joke on Andy’s baseball team: one of the kids early on had said something about how old I was … like I was 15 years older than any of the team members, and to a 10-year-old, that’s ancient. Andy caught that, and giggled. It was a soft giggle, and didn’t last long, but it was a giggle.

I pushed him out of the hug so that I could look at him. “Okay, Andy?”

“Okay, old man,” he said. He giggled again. Then, he caught sight of his father, and Gary.

“What’s he doing?”

Gary

I heard Andy’s question. What I was doing was reading Andy’s father, looking desperately for a reason not to kill him. I was looking hard for a reason not to take Andy away from him—as long as I could also find something to keep him from hurting Andy in the future.

I didn’t find it.

The man was a cesspit of religious fundamentalism—a corruption of the Judeo-Christian philosophy. Spare the rod was the least of the evils that governed his thinking. For a moment, I thought that might be an escape clause. If he had been brainwashed by fundamentalist parents, perhaps …

I looked deeper. Yes, he’d been reared in a religious home; however, he had embraced the fundamentalist zealotry when he was 18. He had done so from hatred, not from love. He believed it would give him power over others. He believed the crap about women being subordinate to their husbands. I shuddered when I saw how he had treated his wife, Andy’s mother, driving the woman into insanity and then suicide.

It had been his choice to adopt the fundamentalist dogma; it had been his choice not to look further. It had been so easy to accept the simplistic beliefs … and, when they hadn’t delivered what he thought had been promised, it had been so easy to take out his anger and frustration on his wife and, after her death, on his son. After seeing all that, it was easy for me to decide what to do. Still, I needed Andy’s input.

“Andy? I need your help,” I said. “Cyrus, would you bring Andy here?”

Cy nodded, and then did what I hoped he’d do: he picked up Andy and hugged the boy. Andy wrapped his legs around Cyrus’s waist, and pressed his head into the coach’s chest. Cyrus stepped toward the boy’s father and me.

I drew upon the power that had been given to me to calm myself, and to project reassurance to Andy. I took a deep breath.

“Andy,” I said. “Andy, I’m going to ask you a question that is probably way, way too hard. Still, I have to ask it, and I want you to think really hard before you answer. Is that okay?”

The boy’s eyes widened. I felt him thinking. In fact, I’m pretty sure the room got warmer from Andy’s brain working so much.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said. “I’ll think really good … is it okay if I ask Coach to help?”

“Not this time, Andy,” I said. “This has to come from your head and from your heart.”

The boy looked at me. It was almost like when Dike looked at me, and I thought for a minute his eyes might flash fire, but they didn’t.

“Is it something for me?” Andy asked.

I nodded.

“Okay,” the boy said.

“Andy, your coach and I can take you away from your father to a place where you can grow up without being hit, ever again. You would be able to be a little boy, one who has friends his own age. It’s a place where it doesn’t matter if you love another boy, or not.”

Andy blushed at that last part. I felt Cy hug the boy a little tighter, and knew, then, not only that it was okay with Cy, but also that he was the right person to be a helper. I paused to give Andy a chance to calm down and think.

“The only problem is … ,” I continued, “… that if you decide to go with us, it’s for forever. Andy, forever is a long, long time.”

“No!” Andy said.

I was shocked, until he finished his thought.

“I love Jeffie, and he loves me. I won’t go anywhere unless Jeffie can come, too.”

Cy and I exchanged stares. We both knew how much courage it had taken for a ten-year-old to say those words. Then, Cy spoke.

 

Cyrus

“Uh, Gary? I know who Jeff is … he’s one of the boys at Kids Klub. He’s an orphan. He’s allowed to come to the Klub because he was a member before his parents were killed, and the court ordered it and Family Services is paying for it. His foster home … he lives here in the projects, too. I’ve met his fosters. She’s okay; her husband don’t give a sh… don’t care. Well, if there was a way to get Jeff away from them … well …

“Dang it, Gary! I’m just a farm boy from Tennessee … you gotta figure this one out!”

 

Aiden

Garreth and Cyrus both looked surprised when I appeared. The little boy’s father was entirely too shocked to notice. His eyes were moving back and forth as if he were reading something, or watching a really fast basketball game. I figured that out pretty quickly. Apparently Garreth had fed back to the man’s mind some of the filth that was hidden under the surface. The boy—Andy—grinned when he saw me. I think it was the tunic I was wearing. What is it with the old gods that they wanted the little boys to wear tunics that didn’t quite cover their butts? I thought they took this Greek thing a little too far. On the other hand, I knew I had a cute butt.

“Garreth? My name is Aiden. Athena has bestowed her Authorities as patron of lawyers on me. And before you say anything, I’ll bet I know more lawyer jokes than you do … and I’ll bet I know more blond jokes than you do, too. So don’t start.”

Gary was smart—for a blond—and his surprise at seeing me had gone away. I could tell there was something bothering him, though.

“Give me five minutes, please,” I said.

“Mr. Culpepper?” I addressed Andy’s father, and snapped him out of his trance. “Mr. Culpepper, please come to the table.”

The man shuffled to the kitchen table. I pulled papers from my dispatch case and laid them in front of him.

“This one acknowledges that you’ve beaten your son and verbally abused him. This one acknowledges a restraining order, which restricts you from ever approaching within 1,000 feet of Andy or Jeff. This one accepts and acknowledges the order of adoption from the Family Court of Cook County … it’s dated tomorrow, but don’t worry about that.

“Sign them.” My voice was ice. Literally. I made him feel as if I were pushing an icicle through his stomach. The man took the pen, and signed. I opened my notary seal, stamped each document, and signed. Yeah, Aiden Smith, Sr. was a real person, and a real notary. He had been my father. He still was, sort of.

“Thank you, Mr. Culpepper. You will receive certified copies of these in the mail. Oh, $22.50, please, for notary services.”

The man looked stunned, and I thought Garreth was going to have apoplexy he was trying so hard not to laugh. I held out my hand as Andy’s father counted out $23.00. I reached into my dispatch case (there aren’t any pockets in a tunic), and handed him two quarters.

“Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

I turned to Garreth. “Gentlemen? If you are ready, Jeffrey is waiting.”

 

Cyrus

I had just about shit myself when Gary did that transporter thing from Morty’s to the projects. After that, it wasn’t quite so hard to believe he could blast open a door just by waving his hand at it. I didn’t know what he did to Andy’s father, but I figured that was something different, too. Then, this kid shows up, looking like he’s twelve or so, wearing an outfit that shows off half his butt and talking like a lawyer, gets Andy’s old man to sign a bunch of legal documents, and then tells us we need to get to Jeff’s place.

Gary grabbed my hand. Andy was hanging on to me. And we weren’t in Andy’s apartment, anymore, but at the door to a different apartment in a different building. The hallway smelled of urine and pot, filth and neglect, and roach turds. Yeah, I grew up in the South where there were two kinds of houses: ones that had roaches, and ones that were going to get roaches. I knew roach turd smell. Oh, and yeah, I knew pot smell too. Not going into that, so don’t ask.

Gary looked at Aiden, who just nodded. Gary knocked on the door. It was a polite knock. I looked at Andy, whose eyes were so wide I thought he would hurt himself. I squeezed him and whispered to him.

“It’s okay, Andy … I don’t know what’s going on, either. But I trust Gary, and you can, too.”

At first, Andy tightened his arms around my neck. Then he relaxed. I wasn’t sure he was trusting Gary, but he was trusting me, and that was enough, for then.

Mrs. Gordon, Jeff’s foster mother, opened the door. She reminded me of a lot of the women who lived where I grew up. She wore a cotton dress that had lost most all its color from being washed so much. Her hair was frazzled, and held in place with old-fashioned bobby pins. Her mouth was set in a hard line, with permanent wrinkles in the corners. Her skin was nearly gray from worry, hard work, and the wrong kind of food.

“Hello, ma’am,” Gary said. “I understand that Andy, here …” he gestured to the boy in my arms “… is a friend of Jeff’s. May we come in?”

The woman looked from Gary to me and Andy, and then back to Gary. I realized, then, that she didn’t see Aiden. Useful thing, magic, I thought.

Mrs. Gordon beckoned us in, and closed the door behind us. The stink wasn’t so bad in the apartment, partly because of the cooking smells that came from the kitchen. Partly because it was clean.

“Andy,” the woman said. “Jeffie’s in his room. He’s been crying since he got home. What happened, honey?”

Andy froze. I murmured to him, “It’s all right, Andy. She knows. You can tell her. You can tell her everything.”

Andy looked at me. Somehow he knew that I knew the truth. That was more than I knew at that moment, and I figured I’d better talk to Gary as soon as I could.

“Mrs. Gordon, Jeffie and me, we’re … boyfriends. My father caught us kissin’ and doin’ stuff in the laundry room. He ran off Jeffie, and took me home. He was beating me when Coach and his friend showed up.”

I had been right. Mrs. Gordon knew that Jeff was gay … or thought he was. At ten, I don’t know if anyone can really be sure. Anyway, she shooed Andy off to Jeffie’s room, and asked Gary and me if we’d like tea.

“I’d offer coffee, but we can’t afford it any more. The tea is Lipton, stretched out with some herbs I grow in the window sill.”

 

Gary

“Mrs. Gordon, I think we’d all like that. First, though, I’d like you to meet the third member of our party. Aiden, show yourself, please.”

Aiden faded in rather than appear suddenly. Mrs. Gordon stared for only a second before getting out another teacup for him. She didn’t seem surprised. I couldn’t help but wonder at how strong a person she must be.

“Aiden?” I said. “You seem to be in charge of paperwork and making sure things are legal. We need to talk about that, by the way.

“For now, what needs to be done?”

“Mrs. Gordon?” the boy said. He pulled a paper from his dispatch case. “Here is a court order cancelling your guardianship, and relieving you of responsibility for Jeffrey.”

He paused. “You know that the money you’re receiving from the city will stop, immediately. Is that going to be a problem?”

Mrs. Gordon showed a flash of humor when she answered. “You’re a boy and not much older than Jeffrey. Do you think I could feed you for $200 a month?”

Aiden giggled, and then nodded, and reached into his dispatch case. “A few minutes ago, I earned $22.50 on Andy’s behalf. I’d like you to have it.” He counted out $22, and added two quarters. I reached for my wallet, but Aiden stopped me with a thought. It’s not the money, it’s a symbol of thanks for what she’s done for Jeff. She’ll remember the gesture, and she’ll remember Jeff, and she’ll be a good foster mother to the next child that comes along.

I had to bow to the superior thought processes—of a twelve-year-old—and resolved to keep in touch with Mrs. Gordon. I did, after all, promise that I’d look for helpers.

 

Cyrus

We thanked Mrs. Gordon for tea. She gave Jeff a kiss on his forehead, and then shooed us out of the apartment.

Outside the door, Aiden handed me a bunch of papers. “Cyrus, you are now in loco parenti de facto and de jure of both boys.”

He saw my pole-axed look, and explained. “It’s a final adoption, with no appeal. The judge knows that your job requires travel, and has accepted Gary’s agreement to provide care and supervision of the boys when you are out of town.”

Aiden looked at Gary. “You’ll need to sign here …” he pointed to a paper … “and here.” He looked at me. “And you … here, and here.

“I’ll waive the notary fees in this case. You’ll receive certified copies—”

“In the mail. Yeah, I understand,” I said. “Who are you, really?”

 

Gary

I grinned at that. Cyrus, the farm boy from Tennessee, was challenging someone I knew to be a spirit or a demi-god, while I was okay with waiting a day or so to figure things out. Something had wakened in Cyrus. His feistiness was there, but it was under control. I was happy to see that.

The boy, Aiden, was dumbstruck. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he could catch his breath and answer.

“My name really is Aiden. Aiden Smith. My father is a judge. He’s also a Notary Public. I’m really Aiden, Junior. I kind of borrowed his notary seal, but it all works, really!”

He seemed to be trying hard to impress us with that. He looked from Cy to me and back again. His face was set in a please believe me look. Cy and I both nodded.

“A couple of days ago, I was out on the Navy Pier. Way after hours. I was … thinking about … things … then, this really scary-cool woman with a shield and sword and helmet … kind of offered me a job.

“I wasn’t sure what to do. I mean, who’s going to offer a 12-year-old a real job? But she did, and she made sure I knew what it was and how important it was.”

 

“You were on the Navy Pier? And you were wondering about things?” I asked. “Do you know what a trope that is?”

“What’s a trope?” The boy seemed genuinely puzzled.

“It’s an over used plot device in literature. I can’t count the number of stories that begin on a pier, especially the Navy Pier in Chicago, that involve cute boys about to kill themselves.”

 

“You think?” Aiden said. His blush told me that my “think” was right. He’d been planning to kill himself when Athena had approached him. “I mean, you think I’m cute?”

I laughed. “Yes, Aiden. I do … and so will my son, Nemesis. That’s something else we need to talk about.”

Aiden allowed as how he had to file papers and get certified copies made, but if it was okay with me, he’d come over, the next day.

I turned to Cy. “There’s a lot of things we need to talk about, too. How about you and the boys coming home with me. I know you don’t have a place for them, yet.”

Cyrus looked only a little better than a spotlighted deer, but he nodded.

 

Cyrus

I thought Gary might pop us to wherever we were going next, but we took public transportation. As long as we were on the bus or the El, Gary held onto Jeffie, and Andy held onto me. I kept watching the two boys, and saw the looks they were exchanging. They would look out the window, or something, and then slowly turn until their eyes met. Then, they’d giggle, and quick look out the window, again.

It had taken a lot of odd things to get us to this point. Convenient thing, magic, I thought. again. And something that these two seem pretty comfortable with. I just wish I were …

We got off the bus and walked a few blocks toward the lake. Andy grabbed my right hand. Jeffie abandoned Gary for me, and grabbed my left hand. The doorman at an apartment building sort of saluted Gary, and held the door for us. He didn’t seem surprised to see me and the boys, even though we weren’t dressed for so fine a place. The boys were wide-eyed and a little scared when a glass elevator took us up high enough to see the lake and the Navy Pier. I thought of Aiden, then. Andy and Jeffie caught sight of the Pier. I don’t think either of them knew what it was until I said something; then, they squeezed my hands. I squeezed back with what I hope was reassurance.

A boy was waiting in the open door. Another 12-year-old; this one was wearing school clothes. He ushered me and the boys in. I glanced back to see him stand on tiptoe to kiss Gary. Gary caught my look, and blushed. I just grinned.

 

Nemesis

I caught Cyrus’s thought—that I was Gary’s son, and how did he have a son as old as I looked. I figured whatever Gary wanted to tell Cyrus was up to Gary, so I behaved myself. After Gary told me everybody’s name, and I shook hands with Cyrus and the two boys, Gary asked if I’d take them to shower and find some clothes for them.

“Their stuff will be here, shortly,” he said. “Jeffie’s clothes will likely be clean; but Andy’s, probably not. Let’s see, it’s your turn to do laundry, right?”

I grinned. The first time I did laundry, I put liquid dishwasher soap in the machine. It was a mistake, really. Gary had just laughed, and then shown me what to do. Then, it became like breakfast: we shared chores. I asked Gary, once, why we didn’t have a maid or cleaning woman. I mean, he was rich enough. Gary’s answer taught me something important.

“Couple of reasons. First is that a lot of what I do … you, too … is stressful. I can work off a lot of stress scrubbing a floor. I know, you like to sweat at the gym, which is why I don’t ask you to scrub floors. As long as you’re working off things, whatever works for you is okay with me.

“Second is more important. We were told we were gods, but we’re still human. A little hard work will help us remember that. If we ever get so far away from what real people do—what they have to do—we’ll lose our humanity.

“We don’t have to get up every morning for school or work. We don’t have to worry about where our next meal is coming from. We don’t have to sell our bodies for sex so that we’ll eat, tomorrow. We need something to ‘ground’ us.”

 

Cyrus

Andy and Jeffie were reluctant to let go my hands, but Nemesis did something, and they perked up. I figured, then, he was like Gary and Aiden. Whatever that meant.

Gary made a pot of coffee. As soon as he’d poured a couple of cups, we sat at the table. By then, I was pretty much calmed down.

“Cy, I know you saw things today that might be hard to believe,” Gary said. “You said you could make room for magic. Can you also make room from trust? I want you to trust me about things that are as big and important as … well, as that World Series ring you’re wearing.”

That was one heck of a thought. It had taken the Cubs over a hundred years to win a World Series … and it had been the year that Gary had been called to service in the Army, and had gone to Afghanistan … after helping us win the Division. He should have been there, and he should have a ring, too. Then I realized what he was saying: what he was doing, and what he wanted me to do were so important, that he didn’t miss the ring.

I looked real hard at Gary, and then, I took off the ring and put it in my pocket. Gary got this shocked look on his face, and then he smiled. He smiled, but I could see a couple of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“You do understand, don’t you,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t need an answer, but I nodded, anyway.

“You asked me if there was room in my heart for magic,” I said. “Then, you did that Star Trek thing without the sparkles, and took us from a restaurant near the ballpark to one of the south-side projects. I didn’t have time, then, to wonder, because you rushed us into the building and…

“Speakin’ of which, Gary, why didn’t you just take us to the apartment? Why’d we have to take the elevator?”

Gary had been looking at me; he turned to face the window and looked out over the lake.

“Gary?” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “I screwed up … it was my first time …”

Then, Gary took over the story.

“A few months ago, Nemesis was given the Attribute, Aspect, and Authority of a Greek god—the god of retribution. I got some of the same a few days ago when Apollo—he was one of the original gods—decided to die, or move on to somewhere we don’t understand. He gave most of his power to a fellow named Caden Hopkins. You’ll meet him soon, I suspect. However, some of Apollo’s power went to me. I got the job of protector of children, and what goes with it. I’m not sure, yet, what all that means, by the way.

“When you called me this morning, it triggered something. I knew it was a call for help. But, I also got the feeling that you might help me.

“I promised Nemesis that I would look for helpers so that I wouldn’t burn out like the old Apollo and, probably, the old Nemesis burned out. That’s why I asked you about magic, and why I let you see the magic that we—Nemesis and I—can do.”

 

“Well strike me for a rattlesnake,” I said. “You and your boy, here, you’re gods or something? And you need help from me? A farm boy from Tennessee? I’ve seen everythin’ now.”

“I don’t know if we’re really gods,” Gary said, “but we do have the powers and responsibilities associated with the elder gods. There are some of them still around, too. We’ve worked with one: Dike, goddess of justice. We also know a guy who’s the spirit of law, and one who is the avatar of death. Mars, the god of war, is still around. So are Zeus and Athena.”

“And you and I met Aiden, today.” Gary added. “He’s apparently another one of us.”

Since I’d grown up just outside of Nashville, I knew more than the average country boy about Greek gods. The replica of the Parthenon, built for an old world’s fair, was a tourist attraction—and a destination for school field trips. Still, it took a while for me to settle what he was saying with what I knew … or, with what I thought I knew. So, I just nodded my head, and took a sip of coffee. And then another one. Finally, I knew I had to say something.

“Gary, I told you I could make room in my heart for a G’mork. Do you know what that is?”

Gary shook his head.

“It’s an evil wolf-creature in a movie I saw as a kid: The Neverending Story. I loved that movie, because it showed that no matter how bad things were, the things that were good would win. I also kind of fell in love with the idea that kids—like Bastian and Atreyu—could be heroes.

“I’d much rather make room for something good, and for a couple of kids, than for a G’mork!”

 

About that time, Nemesis came back with Andy and Jeffie. They were wearing what looked like new school clothes: cargo shorts, collared shirts, knee-high socks, and cross-trainers. Neither of them were the same size as Nemesis, but all the clothes fit. They both ran to me to collect hugs and began babbling about their baths.

“You should see Nemesis’s bathroom …” Andy started.

“His bathtub is big enough for three people …,” Jeffie continued

“ … more like five people,” Andy interrupted. “And …”

“…he’s got lots of clothes …”

“ … and all of ’em are new …”

“Slow down!” I said, and then chuckled so they wouldn’t think I was mad at them.

They both opened their mouths, and I was afraid we were in for another back-and-forth, when the doorbell rang. Nemesis skipped into the living room to answer it.

 

He came back leading two men in the uniforms of US Marshalls. They each pulled a large suitcase on rollers.

“Sir,” one said to Gary, “the boys’ belongings. Will there be anything else?”

Nemesis whispered to me, “Look at them out of the corner of your eye.”

Gary thanked them, and I kind of squinted at the men. Men! Not like any I’d ever seen. Green scales? By that time, they were gone. I looked at Nemesis.

“Did Andy and Jeffie see that?” I demanded.

Nemesis looked shocked. “Of course not,” he said. “I’m just 12, but I’m not entirely stupid!

“They’re messengers of the gods. Scions of Hermes. They do some stuff for us, but most of the time, they work for Dike.”

 

The suitcases held the boy’s clothes and schoolbooks and, in Andy’s case, a picture frame with a photograph. He clutched it to his chest, and smiled.

 

Gary

Nemesis had taken Andy and Jeffie to the hotel gym. There were things for kids, including batting cages and a swimming pool, and a quick phone call made sure the boys would be watched and entertained. Not that I was worried. After two nights ago, when he and Apollo had rescued children from a fire, Nemesis had come fully into his power. Anyone who tried to mess with one of the boys would find himself … well, being turned into a pile of ashes was perhaps the best he could hope for.

Cy and I needed the time.

We talked a lot about gods and G’morks, about grief and goodness. We came to the conclusion that somehow, Good would win over Evil, even though we knew that sometimes, it didn’t look that way.

 

“Cy? I told you I promised Nemesis I would look for helpers. You’re already one, you know, and even if all you do is take care of Andy and Jeffie, you will have done more than most people would.

“But, I’ve got to wonder. When we were in Andy’s apartment, I was about to kill his father. I mean literally kill him. And, I could have done it and I know I could have gotten away with it. But, something I heard in your voice kept me from doing it.

“If I’d killed him, I’d have gotten rid of an evil creature, and kept him from ever hurting another child. I’m hoping that the court orders that Aiden had him sign will be enough to keep him from ever hurting a kid, again.

“Whatever you were thinking was what let him live. But I don’t understand why you had so much to do with all that.”

 

Cyrus

“Gary, there’s a lot of things I don’t understand. First of all, I’m not sure why I called you in the first place. I read the papers, and I know you’ve got something to do with an orphanage, and I figured you knew something about kids in trouble, but I could have just called FPS, and they’d have found Andy’s bruises and taken him away lickety-split.

“Why did I call you?”

Gary opened his mouth, but I held up my hand.

“Why didn’t I go absolutely ape-shit when you … what’s the word you used? … translocated us to Cambria Green? And then blew open Andy’s apartment door like the Big Bad Wolf would have given his soul to do? And when Aiden showed up. And the rest of the day, for that matter?

“Why did I know that Andy was trusting me? Why did I know that Jeffie’s foster mother knew he was gay? Why did I know that I could trust you?”

 

“There’s only one answer. In The Neverending Story, the Nothing was about to completely erase all that was good, when Bastian made the wishes that restored the Kingdom,” I said.

Gary looked puzzled.

“You’ve got to watch the movie,” I said. “For now, trust me on this … like I’ve trusted you … Sometimes, wishes come true. I saw that, today.

“Gary, I’ll never have kids of my own … there’s a gene in my family for cystic fibrosis. It skipped my generation, but I would never want to pass it on. I’ve wanted kids, so bad. When Aiden said that Andy and Jeffie were my kids? That was the best thing that could have happened. Not just for me, but for the boys. I think their wishes came true, too.

“Now, I’ve got to pay that back.

“You’ve got your helper.”

 

Aiden

I translocated to Garreth’s apartment on Saturday morning at 9:00 AM. I figured that they would be in the middle of breakfast. In fact, I was kind of counting on it. What I wasn’t counting on was hostility from Nemesis. He was standing at the stove, cooking bacon and sausage. He stared at me, and I saw sparks come from his eyes.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” His voice was flat, but it had a lot more sizzle than was coming from the bacon.

Oh, shit, I thought. He’s a real god … all the powers. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, trying to sound sincere (something that’s hard for a 12-year-old with a soprano voice, especially when it squeaked like mine just did).

“Sir, I’m Aiden. Garreth said he wanted to talk to me.”

“Oh! You’re Aiden. Gary said … Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” Nemesis said. “I was rude … there’s no excuse, really. Uncle George pops in all the time. Uncle Caden and Uncle Cyrus will probably start doing it, too, as soon as they figure out their powers. Oh, Uncle Cyrus doesn’t know yet that he’s got powers. Please don’t say anything. Gary said you were going to visit. He just didn’t say when. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Um, you’re really cute, too. I was probably a little jealous …”

“Wow, you think!” That was a pretty stupid thing to say, actually. I guess I was too impressed that a principal god like Nemesis thought I was cute … and that he was jealous of me … and that he’d actually apologized to me. Maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did.

“Gary’s with Cyrus … in the hotel. Gary and Cyrus, and Andy and Jeffie, will be here for breakfast. My job is the bacon and sausage.” Nemesis giggled. “Gary won’t let me do anything that involves flour … not since I managed to get it all over me and Caden. We cleaned it all up, but Gary still knew.”

 

The next thing I knew, I was sort of slumped in a kitchen chair, and Nemesis was bending over me.

“What happened?” he asked. “You kind of got pale, and your eyes rolled back and I caught you just before your head hit the floor.”

 

“Um, um …” I must have sounded like an idiot.

“When did you get your powers?” Nemesis asked. Like Gary, he was smart.

“Three days ago?” I said. I know, I talked like a stupid girl, and made the sentence into a question.

“Three days ago! And Gary’s already got you working!” Nemesis was angry: his eyes were glowing.

Cool! I thought. I wonder if I can …

“It’s not his fault, really,” I said. “Athena …”

Nemesis pulled a couple of soft drinks out of the refrigerator and popped the tabs. He gave me one. “I’m not supposed to have sodas this early, but I think you and I both need a little caffeine and sugar. Tell me.”

 

Nemesis

I almost wish I hadn’t asked.

Aiden … that’s his real name, by the way … Aiden’s father was a judge with ambition: he planned to become a state legislator, and then governor. Talk about irony: he was the chief Family Court Judge of the county … and maybe the worst father in Chicago.

Actually, that last part isn’t right. He never hit Aiden; he never forced sex on his son. He just ignored him, especially after Aiden’s mother died.

Aiden was unhappy. And he’d broken curfew a couple of nights ago, and stayed on the Navy Pier after closing time. He was standing near one of the railings, wondering if he jumped if he’d really die, when Athena had walked up behind him.

Aiden had seen a light, and figured it was a cop with a flashlight. He was about to rush the railing when somebody put a hand on his shoulder.

“Aiden?” It was a woman’s voice, but it was iron wrapped in velvet. “Aiden, before you die, I have something for you to do. If you want.”

 

Aiden

“I thought I was going to poop my pants! The way she said that, I knew that if I went over the railing, I would die. But I also knew that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to die.

“I turned around, and … please don’t tell anybody … but I … well, I didn’t poop my pants, but I pissed myself.

“There was this lady standing there. She was like ten feet tall, and she glowed! And, she was wearing a helmet like the Roman soldiers? This red plume, you know? And carrying a shield that was almost as tall as I was, and wearing a sword that could have cut the pier in half!

“I figured, then, that I had jumped, and that I was dead, and that she had come to take me to Hell for suicide. But, she smiled, and I felt better than I had since … since Mommy died.”

 

I started crying. Nemesis grabbed me, and hugged me, and we both cried a little. Then Nemesis gave me a kiss on my cheek. That made me feel good enough to tell him the rest of the story.

“She took my hand, and we weren’t on the pier, any more. We were somewhere in Chicago. I could see the Tower. There were boys, hanging around. I watched cars drive up, and heard the boys talk to the drivers. They were offering …”

I looked at Nemesis. “You gotta promise not to tell …” He nodded.

“They were offering sex for money.”

“I know, Aiden,” Nemesis said. “I know.”

“Then … I don’t know where all we went. I almost threw up a couple of times. There were kids being beaten; there were kids up to their waists in mud and muck in some kind of mine; there were … kids making sex movies; there were kids with stomachs sticking out … and I knew it was because they were starving. And I don’t mean Africa … they were here, close. It was awful!

“Then, we were back on the pier. She started talking.”

“She said that she was Athena and that she was the patron of lawyers. She said she needed a helper, someone to take care of some of the children we had just seen. And, it had to be someone who could get into the Chicago court system.

“She asked me if I wanted the job.

“She didn’t tell me that I’d have powers, but I figured that she’d help. I was wrong. She gave me powers and then left me on my own.”

“That’s what the other Nemesis did to me,” Nemesis said. “I kind of know what you mean.” He giggled, and I felt a whole lot better.

“So, I went home and got my father’s Notary stamp, and yesterday, when I heard Gary thinking he needed a way to take care of Andy and Jeffie, I got my father’s secretary to type up a bunch of papers, got him to sign them, and … somehow, I was there where Gary was when he needed me to be there.”

 

 

Nemesis

I had a bad feeling about one thing Aiden said: the description of the boys, hanging out, offering to sell themselves for sex. I had been there … on both sides. It was a memory I thought was gone but, somehow, it came back. That meant that I would need it, and soon. I shuddered.

Gary came in the front door, followed by Cyrus and the two boys. Andy and Jeffie ran to Aiden for hugs. Aiden looked a little funny at me, like he was wondering if it was okay for him to get hugs, and not me. I smiled. Gary is mine, and that’s all that counts. I don’t know about Cy, and I sure don’t know about Aiden, but wherever he can find happiness, that’s okay with me.

 

Nomos and Leroy

 

Nemesis

Gary asked me to make extra bacon and sausage, and then got to work on the pancakes. He told Aiden that they’d talk after everyone was fed. That seemed to be okay with Aiden, and was for sure okay with Andy and Jeffie. I cringed a little when I realized that they were probably like Bobby: accustomed to nothing but dry cereal for breakfast. Gary’s blueberry pancakes would be a real treat for them.

I had put the last of the sausage on paper towels to drain when Nomos and Leroy popped in. Gary hadn’t said who the extra bacon and sausage were for, but I wasn’t too surprised. I skipped over to Leroy for a hug and a kiss.

Uh, oh, I thought. That wasn’t much of a kiss. What …?

“Leroy?” I whispered.

“Um, what?” he said.

“You know damn well what!” I said, still only for him to hear. “That was a just friends kiss; who are you saving the good ones for?”

He giggled. And then looked at Nomos. Like I said, before, Leroy is too black to blush, but I knew that’s what he was doing.

“Leroy! I’m so happy! Does Gary know?”

“Not yet … wait … he and Nomos are talking. I expect he knows, now.”

 

Nomos’s job was the law—all of it. He had been chasing Jack the Ripper, and caught him. Seems The Ripper had moved to Chicago just before Nomos had. For various reasons, including the primitive treaties of the 1880s, Nomos had dealt with that individual, himself. After that, he’d been a regular Chicago policeman for a hundred years or so until Dike had convinced him he needed to focus on crimes against children.

Like Gary and me, Nomos had been overwhelmed with his job. When I had recruited Leroy, Nomos had been happy to make the boy his helper. I say helper rather than “sidekick,” because of the poor image portrayed by contemporary comic books, especially those involving a bat-like person. Helpers to the gods are partners, not subordinates.

 

Mrs. Gordon

 

Gary

Cy was turning into a problem. Wait, that’s not fair. I had created the problem when I showed him the magic that I could do, and then didn’t contradict Aiden when he made Cyrus the foster father of Andy and Jeffie. If I’d been thinking a little better, I would have asked Aiden to just assign the boys to Erewhon until we could figure things out.

I found out, too late, that for as smart about the law as he was, Aiden was as impetuous as the average 12-year-old. On the other hand, the more I found out, the more I realized that Aiden had been right.

Now, I had Cy living in a suite at the hotel until I could get an apartment for him and the boys. And, when the team went on the road, I would be responsible for the two boys. Fortunately for me, they and Nemesis seemed to get along pretty well, and Nemesis looked like he could take over as their big brother when Cy was out of town.

 

Still, it was a precarious situation, and one that needed a permanent resolution.

 

It was Jeffie who came up with the answer.

The kid was smart, and was a vacuum for knowledge. He read, constantly. I caught him reading the back of the Bisquick box one morning at breakfast. Nemesis understood, and made sure that Jeffie had as much access to the internet as was suitable for a ten-year-old. What we didn’t count on was Jeffie reading the obituaries in the Chicago paper.

“Mr. Gordon’s dead.”

Jeffie’s announcement caught us all by surprise. I remembered that Jeffie’s foster mother had been Mrs. Gordon. Nemesis had no idea what was going on.

“How is Mrs. Gordon?” I asked.

Jeffie looked at me like I was nuts. Pretty stupid question on my part, I realized. I changed it.

“Would you like to visit Mrs. Gordon?” I changed the question to one that made sense. And added, for Nemesis’s benefit, “Mrs. Gordon was Jeffie’s foster mother before he came here.”

Jeffie nodded.

 

Mrs. Gordon looked around the apartment. The few things she would be able take with her were in a couple of ratty suitcases and cardboard boxes. She’d have to leave most of what she owned. She couldn’t afford help to move anything. With her husband’s death, the lease had been vacated, and she was no longer welcome, even in the projects.

At least, I wasn’t fostering anyone, she thought. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like for a child to be forced onto the streets.”

She looked around the apartment to make sure that nothing important had been overlooked. Then, she smiled. Five figures appeared in the kitchen: Gary she recognized, as well as Cyrus, Jeffie, and Andy. The fifth one looked a bit like that little lawyer, but was someone new.

“Hello, Mrs. Gordon,” Gary said. “We just learned about your husband. Please, accept our sympathy …”

Mrs. Gordon smiled. “Mr. Gordon and I had gone our separate ways years ago. We stayed married for convenience. I will miss what he once was, but not what he had become.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot even offer you tea …”

 

Gary

Even in her current circumstances, Mrs. Gordon was thinking of others. Even had I not known about her, before, this would have sealed the deal.

“Mrs. Gordon,” I said. “I need your help. So does Cyrus. And …”

I took a deep breath. “… so do a bunch of kids. Would you be interested in, well, continuing and growing your role as a foster mother?”

Mrs. Gordon smiled. “You know that I figured out you boys were something special. I think you’re asking if I want to be part of that?

“You bet!” she said. Andy and Jeffie were the first to welcome her onto our family: they ran across the linoleum floor into her outstretched arms.

 

Cyrus

I had told Gary that I was going to quit the team to be a full time daddy for Andy and Jeffie. Gary said he would help me get a job, and we’d talked over a lot of options.

Since I had adopted Andy and Jeffie—actually, since Aiden had made me their father—I could not be an employee at Erewhon. “It wouldn’t be fair to the others,” Gary had said. “You couldn’t be around Andy and Jeffie, who had been adopted, and other kids who were hoping to be adopted.”

I made the mistake of making a joke out of that. “Well,” I said. “What if I adopted the lot of them?”

I realized what I’d said when Gary looked at me … hard … like I had seen Nemesis do … with his eyes glowing.

“Oh, shit,” I said. Then, I said, “Gary? I meant that. Not the ‘oh shit’ part. What I meant was the ‘adopt them all’ part.”

 

Gary

Actually, Cy had played into something I had been thinking about for a while. It was the idea of breaking up the dormitories into smaller groups of boys … in a house that looked like a home. It would help get the younger ones adopted, I thought, if potential parents saw them in a home-like setting rather than the more institutional setting of Erewhon. And, it would provide surrogate parents for the older boys who were hard to place—the boys who would probably never be adopted. The first of ten houses just had been built on the edge of the Erewhon grounds. I think a lot of people thought I was going to move into it … I didn’t disabuse them, since I wanted this to be a surprise.

There would always be a place for the dormitories, if only because the number of kids needing our help kept going up while the money kept going down. The dorms and dining hall provided economies of scale that we would lose in the houses.

Dike had told us that our civilization was breaking down. There were a lot of bad things going on. On the other hand, so much of the government was so corrupt that we could get away with doing good things that would have been unheard of, before. It took only the signature of Aiden’s father—and a bunch of the boy’s notary seals—to get a dozen Erewhon boys adopted as Cyrus’s sons. It took even less to get Mrs. Gordon certified to be their “house mother.” Yeah, we were mixing apples with oranges, but we were also doing our damnedest to protect these children from the coming chaos.

 

Cyrus

Gary had convinced me that he and Aiden, and later Nemesis and the others, were old gods. It took a lot longer for Gary to convince me that I had been given some of the same powers. Gary tried to explain it, but he was out of his league.

“People gave the old gods their powers,” Gary said. “We inherited some of them. It looks like you’re getting some, too. I don’t know from where, and I don’t know whose, but you’re becoming like us.”

“Gary,” I said. “I told you I grew up near Nashville, and I know more than the average redneck about the Greek gods.

“The way I figure it, people are worried about where the world is going. They see what you are doing. They see the good that Erewhon is doing. They believe in what you are doing. And that belief gives you power.

“And, ’cause you’re unselfish in that like everything else, you’re passin’ it on to me.

“You know,” I said. We may actually have a chance.”

 

 

Notes and Disclaimers: Please remember that this story takes place in a world that may be like ours, but which is not. It touches our world from time to time. Ideas, knowledge, occasionally diseases and people, may move from one world to another when this occurs. Some things, including the Obama administration, may reflect our world with lesser or greater accuracy. Some things, like Cambria Green and Apartment 1821 therein, exist only in this other world, although they may have analogues in ours.

In our world, Lipton, Cubs, Royals, Star Trek, probably World Series, and other things mentioned are trademarks and property of their owners.

Our world contains a Jessie Ventura. He may or may not be the same as the one in Nemesis’s world.

The “spare the rod and spoil the child” quotation is in the public domain. [“He who spareth the rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him correcteth him betimes.” (Proverbs 13:24)] However, this is not the worst of the related quotations. It is far overshadowed by this verse, “Withhold not correction from a child: for if thou strike him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and deliver his soul from hell.” (Proverbs 23:13-14) That’s clear enough, isn’t it? If you really want to get sickened, consider this web site: http://www.tldm.org/news6/child.discipline.htm.” There are many others like it.

The quotation, “raise not thy hand in anger” does not appear in my bible; however, there are many verses warning against anger. Here’s one: “A man of wrath stirs up strife, and one given to anger causes much transgression.” (Proverbs 29:22)

If you recognized the first few sentences of this story as having been borrowed from Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” then you probably know that it, too, is in the public domain. Someone once said that that little book had done more good than all the sermons in all the pulpits of Christendom. IMHO, that’s an indictment, not praise. Still, it’s a good story; just don’t fall for it.