Protector of Children - 4. Chapter 4: Nothing is Certain but Death and Texas

Nothing is Certain but Death and Texas

Chicago, Illinois

Death

Gary was worried about Richard—the new Asclepius. Something was troubling the boy, something associated with death. Gary wouldn’t read him, but hoped that I could help. I joined them for a Saturday breakfast.

Richard had been right: Saturday breakfast wasn’t about a meal. It was about ritual and celebration. Gary had begun the tradition the morning after Nemesis had rescued Bobby, and Gary had learned that for a long time Bobby had eaten little except dry cereal. Gary promised himself that this would never happen, again. Even though Bobby was now a citizen of Erewhon, he was a frequent guest in Gary’s home. Bobby wasn’t present, today; still, Saturday was a celebration.

I thought Zhang looked at me a little oddly, until I remembered: I had been there. I had been there when the yakuza had cut Zhang’s throat all the way to the bones of his spinal column. I knew that Zhang had a role to play so I had reset reality until Asclepius could arrive and complete the healing. I had been there when the yakuza had stepped from the alley to see Richard holding Zhang. It was I they saw, standing behind Richard, and it was their fear of me that caused them to step back into the alley. I wondered, briefly, how I had appeared to them.

None of this helped me understand Richard; however, his own thoughts would be the key to understanding. I had seen them on that day, and I remembered. After breakfast, Nemesis took Zhang to the gym for their martial arts lesson. Gary pushed Richard and me from the kitchen, claiming there wasn’t enough room at the sink for help with cleanup. I didn’t waste time.

“It would have been a hard and lonely death,” I said.

Richard raised his eyebrow.

“You would have fallen into a crevasse. Broken limbs would have kept you from climbing out. Your foot would have wedged between two rocks, and you would have hung nearly upside down for hours until you no longer had the energy to breathe. You would have suffocated. It would have been very unpleasant.”

Richard turned white, and then began to cry. I grabbed him, and hugged him while he sobbed into my chest. He had seen not only the words, but also the-possibility-that-might-have-been-reality. Then, he asked me.

“How do you know? Who are you? Are you like Nemesis and Gary?”

I shook my head. “No, my job is much easier than that of the gods. It is my responsibility to be present for untimely deaths, and for especially painful or significant deaths. Yours would have been especially painful. And, I think, significant.”

I held Richard for a long time. He loves Zhang, I thought. They are matched. He can cry on my shoulder; he can relax in my hug. But, he cannot love me. That is as it should be.

I saw Gary standing in the kitchen door. He gave me a thumbs up, and retreated into his office so not to intrude on Richard and me.

Gary, too. He’s in love with Nemesis. Gary is my good friend … perhaps the only friend I have, really. How many other people in the entire world—human or god—would argue sports and play skee-ball with Death, and do it without fear or awe or … or condescension?

In Gary, I had a friend: the first in the centuries since I had accepted this role. I think Caden also would become a friend. Richard? He had a lot to work through first, but yes, he too. In time, I think Richard would become my friend. After centuries with out them, I was gaining friends. I would, however, like someone to love.

Third Rock Ranch, Near Silver City, Texas

Calvin

I shoved my feet into the boots and pulled the legs of the blue jeans down over them. Only dorks and stupid girls wore their blue jeans tucked inside their boots. I was a dork, according to most of the boys at school, but only because I was smarter than all of them put together, and they were too stupid to come up with a better nickname. I was also more of a cowboy than any of them. I lived on a real ranch. I did chores like taking care of cows and horses and, a couple of times a year, puppies. And, my cowboy boots had actually been inside the stirrups on a horse. Most of theirs hadn’t been any closer to a horse than the pony rides at the county fair. Speaking of which, my bull won a yellow ribbon at the state fair last month … in the adult division.

Sounds like a good life, doesn’t it? Most of it was, except for the dork part. Would have been better, except that my stepfather ran the ranch, and he was a real jerk. I think the only reason he let me go to school was that he was afraid he would lose control of the trust fund if he didn’t. For sure, he would have lost everything if people knew what all went on at the ranch.

Why didn’t I say anything? Mostly because I was afraid of what Fred—that was the stepfather’s name—might do to my mother and little sister. And because of what he would for sure have done to my little brother.

Mother and Fred didn’t get along any more. It had started when she had been diagnosed with a prolapsed uterus. Fred figured that if he couldn’t have sex with Mommy, he’d have sex with me.

Please don’t judge me … I know a lot more now than I did when I was ten; and Fred knew even more than I did. I was really afraid he would hurt Mommy and Susan and Casey. So, I did what he told me to do.

The past couple of months, Fred started acting like he wasn’t interested in me … and started looking at Casey, who was twelve. And Susan, who was only eight. I didn’t know much about girls, then. In fact, and you’ve got to keep this secret, I didn’t know what a prolapsed uterus was, except that it pissed Fred off. I just figured that if Fred fucked Susan or Casey he’d really hurt them because they were so little.

I was right.

Two of the horses had to be shoed and the blacksmith was due around mid-afternoon. I had chased the horses down. (That was the fun part of the job: I rode Silver, the big stallion.) I was bringing them into the barn when I heard a whimper, and then a scream. It was Casey, and it was coming from the hayloft. I dropped the reins and scrambled up the ladder.

Fred was lying on top of Casey. I had been where Casey was often enough to know exactly what was going on. I didn’t need to see Fred’s naked butt pumping up and down, and I didn’t need to hear Casey’s crying to know. I grabbed a pitchfork and ran toward Fred.

He must have heard me, because he turned around and looked up. He grabbed Casey and rolled over. He held Casey in front of him. Before I could stop, I stuck the pitchfork into Casey!

I was paralyzed, and that’s all Fred needed. He grabbed the pitchfork, pulled it out of Casey, twisted it around, and stuck it into my stomach.

At least, that’s what I thought he did. Until I saw this guy standing beside Fred and holding onto the pitchfork.

“Not their time, Fred,” the guy said. I couldn’t quite figure out his voice. It sounded like he was standing at the bottom of a deep well, and his words echoed all the way to the top. It was like he was standing somewhere in my head, too, because I understood all the words, even with the echoes. Weird.

I ran to where Casey was, and realized that there weren’t any pitchfork holes in his tummy. I looked at the guy.

“Not his time, Calvin. However, it is Fred’s. Please don’t look.”

Naturally, I did. Looked, that is. I think the guy knew I looked, but he’d warned me, so I guess he figured it was on my head. He picked up Fred like he was a wisp of hay, and threw him over the edge of the hayloft. There was a really satisfying thump when Fred hit the barn floor.

“Calvin?” the figure said. “Casey isn’t going to remember any of this. You shouldn’t, either. But you will. I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry?” I said. “Sorry? Who are you? How did you … do what you did to Casey? Why did you kill Fred? Oh, and where did you get those boots? They’re rad!”

Death

“You may call me Uncle George if you like. And, the boots were custom made for me in Tombstone, Arizona. About 1870, as I remember.” I looked at the boy as I spoke.

There was something about this kid that called to me. Yeah, he was cute, but that wasn’t it. When he asked me about the boots … so soon after seeing me toss his stepfather over the edge of a hayloft … and when he didn’t flinch when he saw that his little brother wasn’t hurt, after being stabbed with a pitchfork … I realized there was something special about him.

“George,” the kid said. “Uncle George.” His voice was calm. (See? I said he was special. He heard the 1870 and Tombstone, but they didn’t faze him.) “Right.” He drawled the word. “You weren't there a minute ago; then you were. Casey was hurt; then he wasn’t. Fred was fucking my little brother in the ass; then, Fred was dead. I think you owe me a little more than just, George.

“Oh, and the truck you hear? That’s the blacksmith. He’s probably going to wonder why Fred’s dead.” The boy giggled at his own rhyme.

“You take care of Casey,” the boy said to me—ordered me! “I’ll keep the blacksmith in the front of the barn. We’ll worry about Fred, later.”

He scampered down the ladder. I stood there, wondering just what I had awakened.

Calvin

When I got back, the guy who called himself Uncle George was playing what looked like mumblety-peg with Casey. The blacksmith had finished shoeing the two horses, but hadn’t even looked in the direction of Fred’s body.

“He’s gone,” I said. “Casey? Are you okay?”

Uncle George waved his hand, and the knife Casey had tossed into the air stopped—frozen in midair. “It never happened,” the man said.

“Casey was never raped. At least, there are no physical signs and Casey has no memory of it. You saw it; you remember.”

He plucked Casey’s knife from mid-air, folded it closed, and handed it to me. Then, he asked, “As I said, you shouldn’t. Who are you?”

Whoa! This mystery guy was asking me who I was?

“I live here; Casey is my brother,” I said. “Fred the dead was our stepfather. Who are you?” I asked.

The guy chuckled. “That’s a fair question. Calvin. I’m sorry, but I can’t answer it.” He looked like he meant he was sorry. Then, he disappeared … just wasn’t there.

Well strike me for a rattlesnake, I thought. Then, I woke up Casey who thought he’d fallen asleep in the middle of chores, and who didn’t see Fred lying at the foot of the ladder, just like the vet hadn’t.

It was later that night when the hands found Fred. The sheriff came out, and so did Doc Severs, but there weren’t any question. Fred had fallen to his death. So tragic. Susan and Casey and I acted sad. So did Mama … but I was pretty sure she wasn’t, really, and I know for sure I wasn’t.

Now, I needed to get hold of this guy who said he was Uncle George.

Who was he? He’d fixed Casey after I was pretty sure I’d killed him. Then, he’d killed Fred. Lowest common denominator: death. And, he was more than a hundred years old. The guy was Death. The person you usually saw in the black robe with a cowl hiding his face … and a skeleton hand and a huge, old-fashioned scythe. Crap! I thought. How am I going to find Death?

At first, I thought I should hang out around the cemetery or the funeral home. Then I realized how stupid that would be. According to the Google search engine, more than 150,000 people die every day. That gives this guy less than a thousandth of a second for each one. And, I knew he’d spent most of the afternoon with Casey. Something didn’t add up. Still, I knew he was Death.

So, I thought some more. There was no reason Death needed to be at every death, only the important and interesting ones. Or, like he said, when it wasn’t someone’s time. Whatever that meant. So, where did that leave me?

Nowhere. I was so frustrated, I lay on my bed and started crying.

“Calvin? I’m really sorry.” It was that voice from the bottom of the well, again. “I don’t know what to do. Will you help me? Please?”

I looked up. The dude with the 1880 cowboy boots was sitting on the edge of my bed. He held his hand over me like he wanted to touch me, but was afraid to. He looked thoroughly miserable.

“Uncle George!” I said. And then, I really started crying. I don’t know why I was crying. I wasn’t sad … in fact, I was really happy. I sat up and grabbed him and held on like I wasn’t going to let go. And, I wasn’t. I had found him, and there was no way I was going to let him go … at least until I found out some things.

I looked up, and felt that Uncle George was really happy … happy for me? Happy for himself? Happy because I was happy? I wasn’t sure, but for now, happy was good enough.

“Calvin, do you know how much I missed you? Do you know how much I wanted to be with you? Do you know how much …” Uncle George paused. I knew what he was worried about.

“Uncle George, I know who you are, and I know why you want to be with me, and I love you, too, and I want to be with you, always, and I missed you and I love you and I want to know everything …” I wrapped my arms around him and, before he could stop me, kissed him … on the lips.

I thought I was going to melt into a puddle of Jell-O on his lap. And, then, I felt him: he was afraid he was going to do the same thing.

“Calvin,” he said. “I … I’m centuries older than you … I can’t love you like I do …”

“Well, if you’re centuries older than me, then the age difference doesn’t make any difference.” I was absolutely sure of what I was saying.

Disclaimers and Notes: Well, Jell-O is a trademark, and property of its owner.