Adermoor Cove: Atonement - 7. Chapter 7

Nora was still up when Carlos returned to the lighthouse. She was sitting in the rocking chair where Lane normally sat, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a mug in her hand.

He hovered at the bottom of the steps, uncertain of what to do, what to say. She was still a perfect stranger to him. Things had happened so fast since Lane had told him who she was there hadn’t been time to process that Lane’s mother, the woman sitting before him now, was here in Adermoor Cove.

“How is he?” Carlos asked. It was the first thought that came to mind.

“Sound asleep. I made some hot cocoa. It’s perfect on a night like this. Would you like some?”

Carlos grinned despite himself. Now he knew where Lane got his love for hot cocoa from. “Sure.”

She rose, with the blanket hanging from her shoulders, and led him inside the house. They walked straight into the dining room. Looking around at the floors and walls, Carlos never would have thought anything out of the ordinary had occurred. They sat at the breakfast nook across from one another. Now that there was time to think and breathe, Carlos was full of questions. There were so many things he wanted to ask about Lane but he didn’t know where to begin. Nora seemed to be able to read his mine because she smiled.

“When Lane was a boy he had trouble sleeping,” she said. “He would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because of nightmares. Craig, my late husband, would bring him out to the table and fix him hot cocoa. It always made Lane feel better. It always made him forget.”

“I’ve tried to imagine Lane as a little boy but I can’t picture it,” said Carlos.

“I know what you mean. He has always been an old soul, cheeky and stubborn as hell, so unlike anyone else I know. He’s always been honest, sometimes brutally so to the point that stings like a slap in the face, but loyal and fiercely protective of those he loves. I have a few snapshots from when he was a child. Would you like to see them?”

"I would," Carlos said, truly curious.

Nora turned to grab her purse hanging from the edge of the seat she sat on. She pulled out her wallet and slid a wallet-sized photo towards him.

The photo was of a young toddler, only a couple years old with a head full of thick black hair, a child untouched by eye makeup or tattoos. Even then his eyes seemed to stare intensely at the camera, as if challenging the person looking at the camera. One side of his mouth was curled in a sardonic, slightly mischievous grin.

"That's definitely him."

Nora laughed, tucking the photo back in its safe place. "Personality wise he hasn't changed much over the years."

"So when did he start…?" Carla waved a hand over his face.

"When he was thirteen. He started taking magic marker and drawing skulls on his arms and on his fingernails. He always listened to rock music, something Craig and he shared a taste for. I thought drawing the skulls was just an outlet for what happened with his father but it never went away. The next thing I knew he was asking me if he could get his eyebrow pierced. I told him no. So, what do you think the first thing he did was when he turned eighteen?"

Laughing, Carlos thought he knew the answer. God, it feels good to laugh.

"He's always been different," said Nora. "He was only ten when he told Craig and I he thought he was gay. He thought we would be upset but we already knew." She smiled sadly. "I know this might sound like a strange thing to say," Nora said, "but I'm glad you're helping him. Moira too. He needs all the help he can get."

"He's the one who's helped me," Carlos said. As he had with Moira, he recounted the events that had happened to him as a child and had taken place years later on Donovan Road and how Lane had saved his life. The hot chocolate helped to soothe the nerves in his stomach, keep him rooted to the present. Enzo’s death still felt fresh, a wound that hasn’t scabbed over yet. Nora took his hand and squeezed, her fingers strong and gentle at the same time. She conveyed her sorrow for him not with words but with her eyes.

“For better or worse I’m in this with your son, all the way,” said Carlos.

“You have no idea how much it comforts me to hear it,” said Lane’s mother. She rose warily to her feet. “I better go check on him - make sure he’s okay.”

Carlos shot to his feet. “I can do it. Really, it’s no bother. You sit down and rest. Better yet why don’t you try and get some sleep.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have a town you should be patrolling?”

“I’m not sheriff just yet.”

She smiled gratefully. “Alright, then. Don’t hesitate to come and get me if you need to go. I’ll just be in the living room, sleeping on the couch.”

Carlos climbed up the stairs as quietly as he could. In the silence of the house each creak sounded deafening, setting his teeth on edge. Lane’s door was cracked open slightly. Inside Carlos could see the dancing lights of multiple candles. Lane was rolled over on his side, his back turned so Carlos couldn’t see his face, but he was shifting about, making a terrible moaning sound.

Feeling as though he was doing something forbidden, Carlos glanced over his shoulder to make sure Nora hadn’t come up the stairs after him, perhaps having decided she didn’t trust him. The coast was clear.

He slid inside the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The dim light in the room wrapped around him like a shroud. He slid his boots off and tiptoed his way across to the restless form moaning in bed. Gently, Carlos lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He reached out, caressed the back of Lane’s sweaty neck - his T-shirt was clinging to his flesh - and shook him gently.

Lane’s head swivelled around to face him, the eyes gleaming with terror. The terror quickly receded, replaced by recognition and then relief.

“Hey,” he said weakly.

“Hey,” said Carlos. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You were having a nightmare.”

“I’m glad you did.” Lane sat up with a yawn. “I was having the shittiest fucking dream. Or at least I think it was a dream...not sure. Where is everyone?”

“I took Moira home and your mother is asleep on the couch. Everyone’s okay, thanks to you.”

Lane frowned. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Lane looked down at his hands. “Fragments. Mostly from when I was under. But I don’t want to talk about it right now...I don’t know how to put it into words yet. You look tired.”

“I am,” said Carlos. He hadn’t realized just how tired he felt until Lane had mentioned i; it felt as if all the energy had been siphoned out of his body.

“Stand up,” Lane said.

“What?” Carlos muttered stupidly.

“Just trust me. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

Carlos couldn’t resist the teasing smile cast in his direction. The older Lane’s curl of the lips mirrored the toddler’s in the picture Nora had shown him. Once Carlos stood up lane came around to him and began to undress him. First he started with the belt, then the pants, then the socks, then the shirt, until Carlos was standing in his boxers. Carlos said nothing, too tired to argue or fight, but cooperated with Lane’s instructions and gentle prodding. Lane’s small, long fingered hand took his and led him onto the bed.

Carlos crawled gratefully underneath the blankets, laying his head on the pillow. He wrapped his arms around Lane’s cool body and pressed him to him. Immediately the familiar sense of safety he experienced whenever he was around Lane surged over him and he slipped into sleep.

                        ...

Lane on the other hand, could not go back to sleep. Despite the exhaustion he felt, and the pulsing ache in the center of his skull, he knew he had slept as much as he was going to for the night.

Before Carlos had woken him up he had dreamed of the two boys again. Dennis and Sam had been their names. Only it wasn’t a dream. It had been a memory, slowly rising through the surface, trying to break through the wall Nora had put up. But now he could remember it in all its terrible detail. He closed his eyes, conjuring up the morning.

They weren’t far behind - just a few yards or so. Close enough he could hear them snickering, talking about him. What a fag he was. He kept his eyes straight ahead, doing his best to ignore them, but their eyes bore into his back like needles.

They were walking through a street of residential homes, many of the homes worn from age and lack of care. He spied a mailman walking up and down the paths of houses, dropping off mail. The man nodded kindly at Lane and kept doing his thing. Surely Dennis and Sam wouldn’t try anything, not when there was a chance they could be spotted by an adult.

He was coming to the end of the street, where a crosswalk led to the next block. From there he could turn another corner and be downtown and hurry home to safety. He was tempted to make a break for it before the procession of cars started to pass by, so he could ditch the two high school boys, but the cars were speeding too fast, so he waited.

Dennis and Sam caught up.

“Hey fagget,” Dennis said, cuffing Lane on the back of his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, wasn’t meant to. Not yet. They always started out gentle, just trying to get a rise out of him, but then when he didn’t react, things always got rougher until they became painful.

Heart pounding in his chest, Lane kept his focus on the vehicles. Any second now they would be able to cross - but wait more cars were already coming around the corner.

"Hey, I saw you checking Mr. Fitz out in gym class. I bet you were thinking about sucking his sick, weren't you?"

How easy it would be to hurt them, to make them suffer. To make it so they could never hurt him again. He only had to think it to make it happen. But he knew his parents would never be okay with it, no matter what the circumstances were. They wouldn't understand. No one would.

"Hey I'm talking to you!" Sam shouted, getting angry since Lane wasn't giving him the reaction he wanted. Though they were only a grade over him they were much taller and bigger. They might as well be high schoolers.

Suddenly he felt hands grab his backpack from behind and use it to swing him around and throw him in the grass. It happened so fast the motion made him dizzy.

Dennis said something smart but whatever it had been, it was lost in the anger Lane had been trying so hard to suppress. Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward and shoved Dennis as hard as he could. Dennis, who had been laughing, almost fell on the ground. Now he looked at Lane, eyes slanted with anger.

"You fucking little queer!"

Before Lane could duck, Dennis's hand connected with his face. He was down on the ground again, seeing stars. The sun burned his eyes, blinding him. He tried to get up before the two older boys could start in but they beat him to it.

They started kicking him savagely, in the face, the stomach, back and groin. It was impossible to breathe, impossible to see. He felt as if his testicles had been kicked up deep inside him. Blood gushed from his nose. He tried to beg for them to stop, but they didn't. They laughed and jeered, having fun. He was a game, a pinata to them.

He prayed an adult would come and put an end to the pain, but none did. He was just beginning to think the two boys meant to kill him when he felt the tide rise up inside of him, awoken by a sudden flare of rage.

Dennis was thrown back by an invisible force, landing in a heap on the curb with such force he was knocked unconscious. All the fingers on Sam's left hand bent themselves unnaturally, snapping like twigs. He fell to his knees, shrieking in agony.

Lane slowly staggered to his feet, bloody and in pain. He could easily inflict more damage - God knew they had it coming. It was the thought of taking it too far that stopped him…

It didn't seem like something that had happened to Lane, but to someone else; and yet the memory was there, just within reach, as if it had never been gone.

He closed his eyes and imagined the feeling of the tide washing through him. Before, he had never been able to do it on his own - it had always taken the presence of his doppelganger. But now it came to him easily, summoned by his simply thinking of it.

He glanced over at Carlos. Fast asleep, snoring lightly. Good.

He focused on one of the candles and willed the tide towards it, forced it to wrap around the candle like fingers, and draw it towards him. Slowly, as if held aloft by an invisible string, the candle floated straight into Lane's hand.

A slow smile spread across his lips. I've never been able to do that before - not on my own.

He got up and put the candle back in its place.

The day of Vanessa Stanton's funeral was a sunny one, free of rain and thunder.

The funeral took place at Adermoor Cove's only cemetery. Lane was surprised at the number of people who had come to pay their respects to his aunt. His mother was there of course, as was Carlos, Moira, and Ted Magyer.

Most of the people who showed up he had yet to meet, however there were a few familiar faces: Scott and Anne Sterling, Lucille and Annabelle Farmsworth. Everyone who shook his hand and offered him their condolences seemed to have been connected to Vanessa in some vital way and he would never truly get the chance to understand how.

At least half the town stood around him, dressed in black. Apparently a funeral, just like church service, was an event not to be missed in Adermoor Cove.

The priest, Reverend Randall Tilman, read scripture in a resonant voice beneath a denim blue sky. Lane wasn't sure what chapter and verse he was reading from because he wasn't really listening. He just wanted the funeral to be over. It felt as if he'd spent forever putting it all together.

When Reverend Tilman said his final bit and closed the funeral, everyone approached Lane to give their final condolences. Lane nodded, shook hands, said thank you, and went through the emotions. Inside he felt nothing but resignation. Before leaving, he looked at the beautiful coffin made of oak he had picked, festooned with red roses and white lilies.

The grave where Aunt Vanessa would be buried had already been dug. Her tombstone was in the shape of the lighthouse Lane was living in now; it was the first major thing he'd paid for with the inheritance. Now he walked back to the wrought iron gates where Carlos and Nora were waiting. Moira had already left with Red to be dropped back at home.

"I have to go too," Carlos said to Lane. "I have to take care of business with the mayor. I can come by later if you want."

"Okay, sure." Lane hoped he didn't sound too hopeful.

Nora and he went back to the house. Nora said she wanted to take a bath and then she would figure out something to whip up for dinner. She hugged him. "The funeral was beautiful," she said. "You did an amazing job putting it together."

"Thanks, Mom." He smiled feeling strangely melancholy.

She had just reached the top of the stairs when her cell phone, sitting on the coffee table, began to ring.

"Would you mind bringing my phone up here?" Nora asked.

"Sure, Mom." As he grabbed the phone off the table he caught a glimpse of who was calling. Julian? he thought. Who's Julian?

Nora was standing by the bathroom door. Lane could hear water running in the tub. She frowned down at the phone when he handed it to her.

"Who's Julian?"

"None of your business," she snapped reproachfully.

Lane grinned mischievously. "Is he a boyfriend?"

She glared at him before turning into the bathroom and closing the door in his face.

Almost an hour later Nora came out onto the porch in a different outfit, a towel wrapped around her head like a turban. Lane was sitting in the rocking chair, his favorite spot.

“Julian is a friend,” she said after a moment. When she looked at him there was an odd expression Lane couldn’t place.

“Just a friend friend or…?” Lane let the rest of the question hang.

“I’m not sure what he is. I don’t want to go into all the details because I’m your mother, but we’ve been seeing each other for a while. He’s made it quite clear how he feels about me but I’m afraid to move on...especially after what happened to your father.”

“What did Julian want?”

She sighed. “Just checking up on me. He didn’t say it but he’s wondering when I’m going to be home.”

Lane stood and joined her at the railing. “May I offer some of my infinite wisdom?”

She arched an eyebrow, smiling cautiously. “If you must...but tread lightly.”

“After Charlie died...” He paused as if something had caught in his throat; it was the first time he’d mentioned Charlie since Nora had shown up a week earlier. “After Charlie died and I ran, I did my best to keep to myself. Wherever I went, whatever job I was working, I tried to keep to myself. In doing so I became isolated. I began to feel like I was stuck on an island, like a ghost. I did it to try to keep everyone around me safe. But it didn’t matter what I did. Someone always got hurt.” He shook his head. “But with Carlos and Moira...and you coming for the funeral...I realize I can’t be alone anymore. You shouldn’t be either. Do you care for Julian? Honestly?”

Looking uncomfortable, Nora nodded after a moment. “I do.”

“Then go to him and say so. Move on from what happened to Dad. You’re not stuck like I am.”

Tears glimmered in Nora’s eyes. “Oh, Lane...I can’t just leave you here to fight this thing on your own.”

Lane hugged her. “You can,” he whispered, “and you will. You saw what happened earlier, you see how dangerous it gets here, and it’s only going to get worse. I’d feel a lot better if I knew you were far away from the island, where you can’t be hurt. So if you want to truly help me then go back to Indianapolis, to Julian.”

Nora stepped back, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “I must be the worst mother.”

“No, you kick ass. You raised me, kept me alive. No one else could put up with what you’ve had to.”

“Damn straight,” she said with a weak chuckle. She nodded again. “Alright, I’ll go back to Indianapolis. But I’m going to worry like hell about you. And I’m going to call you...every week. I love you...you know that, right?”

“I know you do,” said Lane. “I love you too.”