Keanu
March 2009. Houston, Tx; USA.
The moon was a pure white disk, shedding silver light upon the earth below. Not a cloud obscured it, no whisper of wind blew. Everything lay still, dormant, as though the earth and trees all together held their breath, waiting for the blow to fall.
"There's a monster on the moon."
Keanu bolted out of bed, the harsh whisper still ringing in his ears. For a moment there existed only the sound of his ragged panting, before the gentle thwaf, thwaf, thwaf of the overhead fan returned. Other sounds followed slowly: the rustle of his bedsheets, a scrape of leaf against the window, the distant hum of traffic in the bayou metropolis.
Sweat sealed his sheets to his naked skin. Keanu shivered faintly, and pushed the bedclothes away. He began to swing his legs over the side of the bed, then stopped to stare the floor. His heart hammering against his ribs, he put one foot slowly to the bare wood, then the other. When nothing happened, he let out a shaky laugh and swiped his hand against his eyes.
"Idiot," he muttered at himself and groaned against his palms. Blindly, he reached for the lamp and his fingers tangled into someone's scalp.
Keanu jumped to his feet with a yelp, and stumbled about to stare at the empty air next to his bed.
Backing slowly from hit, he didn't stop until his back bumped the bedroom door. Nothing in the room moved, save the fan and the curtains swayed by the draft. He eyed them nervously, and dared to peer at the darkness beyond his bedroom window. The moon hung brightly beyond, visible through the naked branches of early spring.
Something giggled in his closet. Keanu thumped the wall until he found the switch for the overhead, and flicked it quickly.
"Just a dream," he reminded himself when the light reveled nothing but his plain, ordinary bedroom. With a shake of his head, he moved cautiously toward the bed. "Just a fucking dream."
He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep, and he'd never been one to fall asleep in class. These days he stared at the chalkboard, uncomprehending, as a teacher babbled on her lecture over the disinterested chatter of inattentive students. The only ones who cared were with him in the front row, listening as they scribbled notes. Occasionally they would glance at him, and when Keanu noticed he would wonder if they knew about his slipping grades.
Each class was the same, all blurring together until that final bell rang and he was freed to the mercy of the crowded school hallways. Keanu found his way to his locker by sheer routine and fumbled the lock open. Most of the locker was already filled with books and folders. He shoved his backpack on top of them, forcing it into place, and paused only to make certain that he had his keys and wallet.
With a promise to himself that he'd do his homework first thing in the morning, he slammed the door shut again and slid the bolt home.
"You look like hell," Johnson growled from his desk as Keanu walked into the Youth Link offices a quarter after four. Keanu glanced over the man's Cheetos-stained beater and bit his tongue.
"Sorry I'm late," he offered instead as he trudged between the dual rows of call stations to find his usual seat, "There was traffic."
"It's Houston; there's always traffic."
Keanu flopped into a worn out rolling chair. He felt Johnson's eyes still upon him, but he wheeled himself up to the desk proper and tried not to care. "I'm worried about you, Kenny-boy," the man announced a moment later. "Maybe you oughta sit this one out."
"I'm fine." Keanu spared a quick glance at Johnson in time to see the man shake his head. Johnson turned to face forward as his line rang. "Youth Link." Johnson's voice dropped into an indecipherable murmur from that point, so that only the person on the call could hear what they were saying. Glad for the respite, Keanu opened the weary log book on his desk and penciled in his arrival time.
He'd begun working as a volunteer for the Youth Link over two years ago. Though he’d been offered a paid administrative position when he’d turned sixteen, Keanu had rejected it--he preferred to work with the callers, and the paperwork he’d gladly do for free. That hadn’t stopped their boss from hiring Johnson, anyway. Staring at Johnson’s back, Keanu detested the ember of jealousy that still glowed inside of him. There was no reason for it, he knew, but it existed all the same.
His pencil tapped a tune-less staccato against the paper, his sight blurring the words into indefinable scribbles. A light lit on the phone switchboard and he grabbed the receiver. “Youth Link.”
“Hi...” The voice at the other end was familiar in its timidity. Keanu shut his eyes as the familiar, disturbing quiet settled into him.
“Hi,” he replied softly. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” they sobbed.
It was well past midnight when he hung up for the final time that night. Rubbing at his temples, he looked up to see Johnson standing over him. In another moment, Keanu had been shoved out the door, the office locked behind him. He snorted and trudged to his car, trying not to yawn.
"It was a dark and stormy night," Keanu muttered as he trotted up the driveway to his house ten minutes later. The sky rumbled above him. At the door he fumbled with his keys, found the right one, and twisted the lock open right before the heavens let loose.
Keanu shook his drenched head as he stepped inside and relocked the door. He pulled his jacket off and hung it by the door, then shook himself from head to toe.
The house was silent, save a dull chime of a clock from the den. Relying on the storm to cover his passage, Keanu slipped his shoes off and then carried them with him up the stairs. He tip-toed down the corridor to his room and slipped inside to shut it with only the barest whisper of sound. Breathing a sigh of relief, he set his shoes by his door and crossed the lightning-lit room, shedding his clothes behind him.
He mixed the shower temperature by route, and climbed in. It was hissing hot, but after a second under the spray it began to feel good. One by one his muscles relaxed. Keanu leaned against the cool tile and let the water beat upon his back.
Sometimes he’s just angry, you know. I mean, it ain’t his fault an all, it’s his job. He’s always sorry.
It’s just a feeling. Like a tug, says I should do it. But I can’t, right? I shouldn’t. My mom, my dad...it wouldn’t be fair.
What is fair?
It doesn’t matter.
A lump caught in his throat. He bit his lip until it bled, but still the quiet sobs came.
It was still dark when he jolted from bed. Overhead the fan circled in gentle thwafs, rattling softly against its anchor. Keanu scrubbed his hands through his short dark hair and cast a baleful eye at dark window. Outside, through the dark tree limbs, hung the full face of the moon.
He swallowed convulsively against a sandpaper throat, and winced. Sliding from between the sheets, he made his way to the door and slipped into the silent hallway. The marble tile was cold under his bare feet, even in the humid air around him. It had always surprised him, the heat here. From a distance this place looked barren, frigid.
The columns that rose on either side of him were cracked and he eyed them warily. A few tendrils of dust fell from the ancient beams, stirred by some draft he couldn’t feel far below. To his left were bushes head-high that blocked out any sight of the battle field beyond, but he could smell it: the raw, hot carnage of spilled entrails and festering wounds. Somewhere a horse cried out in agony. There was no sound of the men.
She stood before him on the stairs, long hair streaming around her like a living thing. In her hand a crystal glowed. A sliver of light appeared upon her forehead, opening like a sore. His fingers tightened upon his sword and he rushed for the sorceress.
Those eyes were so blue.
Keanu gasped and shook his sopping wet head. He batted the water from his eyes and reached, blindly, for the shower knobs. The water died with a squeal; he climbed from the tub upon weak legs and sat upon its edge for a long moment. It was only when the air conditioner kicked on that Keanu shook himself bodily and grabbed the nearby towel from its rack.
When he was reasonably dry, he tucked the towel about his waist and stumbled to the sink. Bracing his hands on the counter, Keanu stared for a long moment, uncomprehending, at his toothbrush. He must have fallen, or...or something, he decided after a long moment.
The mirror was covered in fog, and he wiped his arm against it to clear a space. Keanu stopped in reaching for his toothbrush to stare at the man-child reflected to him. Though the dark skin remained his, and the body lean and coltish, there was something wrong with his eyes. Leaning closer, Keanu inspected his irises and thought them to be a bit lighter than normal. He shook his head and stood upright.
With his teeth brushed and fresh boxers on, Keanu collapsed onto his bed and let the world melt away.
“Keanu.”
He groaned at the woman standing over him and buried his head a little further under his pillow. Abida grabbed it away and swatted him with it. “Keanu,” she repeated and tossed the pillow to the foot of his bed, “Get up. You’re late.”
“What?”
“Late. It is nine o’clock!”
The words hit home, and Keanu jumped up. He moaned, then, wincing at the bright sunlight streaming in his window, and fell back down on to the bed. “God.”
Abida ‘tsk’ed at him as she glanced about his room at the clothes he’d left on the floor. “You were late again, were you not?”
“No.” He rubbed his face and then peeked through his fingers at her.
The small, dark woman gazed down at him, an imposing figure despite her size. Her hair had been bundled back behind her hijab, a sure sign that she was about to leave the house, and she folded her arms across her matching sweater. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not. I got in early. I’m just,” a yawn, “tired. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Abida continued to watch him for a long moment. Keanu’s eyes dropped slowly to the carpet. Then, finally, she touched his hair and left him alone to dress. Minutes later, the front door shut, and her car started in the drive below. Keanu squeezed his eyes shut.
A shrill ringing in one ear tossed him back into reality. He lifted his head from his arms long enough to grab the phone and press the light upon the switchboard.
“Youth Link Hotline.”
He scrubbed one eye, cradling the phone to his hear with his opposite shoulder, and waited for the person on the other end to say something. There was breathing on the other line, faint instead of heavy, as though the person didn’t want to be noticed. Keanu frowned. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready to talk,” he said after a few minutes had gone by, “We're glad you called."
"Y'don't even know why..."
Something deep with Keanu seemed to go still. He dropped his hand as all tiredness faded from his body. “It doesn't matter, right now, where you are or how you got there. You called. That's the hardest part."
"Sure it is," the boy sighed. Keanu couldn’t escape the feeling that he knew this voice from somewhere. An old schoolmate? A neighbor? He didn’t want to think so, but the certainty was too strong. "That's the hardest part."
"Care to offer a different opinion?"
"Yeah, I do."
Most of it, sadly, was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Months, maybe even years, on the street had left the kid hard, bitter. Keanu listened with tempered horror at the matter of fact recounting of being beaten, spat on, shamed. As he listened, Keanu picked up a pen and drew loose circles on one of the center’s hot pink flyers.
“Ya think you have it all behind ya, but then...there it is again, right’n front-a you. Don’t matter what way ya run, cause it’ll always find ya. Wear you down. Make you do it.”
“It makes you do what?”
“Whatever.” The kid laughed, like a rustle of autumn leaves. “Make you fight, make you leave, make you take something you don’t want. Sometimes its for good, y’know, knows kind of what it’s doing. Not always though.”
Keanu frowned at the sheet of paper he’d been scribbling on. What had been a nest of scribbled ink had turned into a shape that tugged upon his memory. Columns...
“You sound like this...feeling is alive.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe...”
A cold knife worked its way into Keanu’s stomach. “There’s a monster on the moon?” The whisper hung against his ear, even as it came out his mouth.
“Why did you say that?”
“I heard it somewhere before,” Keanu muttered.
There was a pause, a rustle. “Ain’t nothin up there but stars,” the boy muttered, finally. The line went dead. With the tone still ringing in his ears, Keanu set the receiver upon its cradle and balled the drawing into one fist. He looked up to see a hazy dawn outside the center’s doors, and Johnson asleep over his desk.
The sky was growing orange and his mother was sipping her coffee at the kitchen counter, reading the morning paper, when he slipped in the back door. Keanu stopped at the end of the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets, and stared at her.
After another careful drought of steaming coffee, Abida set her mug down and gave the paper a slight shake to loosen the crease at its middle. "I do not imagine that it is early for you, Keanu James."
"No, ma'am, it's not," he scuffed his toe against the tile.
"Mm." The oven timer dinged and Abida set the paper down to rescue a tray of muffins.
"So," she said when she'd shut the oven door. "Where were you?"
Keanu eyed the newspaper and considered lying. It was the first response of every teenager, he knew, but he'd never seen any reason for it. Until now. "With a friend," he stated and winced. It was stretching the truth, he told himself, not technically a lie.
Acid at the back of his throat told him otherwise, and he swallowed the sting of it. Keanu went to the cabinet to get a glass; milk sounded like a good idea right now.
"A night which lasted far too late," Abida leaned one slender hip against the counter and crossed her arms. Her eyes were like a hawk's upon the back of his neck, and it was all Keanu could do to keep himself steady. "Even for a Saturday. I do not like you to be out without informing us."
"I'm sorry, I should have called," he ducked his head as he dared a glance in her direction. The set of her shoulders loosened a little and she intercepted him upon the way to the refrigerator. Slim fingers took the glass from him, and she pushed him toward the counter with a gentle hand.
"Sit," she said and pulled the door open. "You will have breakfast and then sleep."
"Yes ma'am," he tried to ignore the rolling of his stomach and did as told, taking the end stool at the counter. "But...Dad doesn't like--"
"You will have extra chores this evening, to make up for it," Abida replied as she poured a glass of milk and retrieved the butter, "I will make your excuses for you this morning."
"Thanks." He took the glass and watched as she pulled a muffin from the tray to fix for him. Any other day he would have enjoyed being up early enough to get one fresh, today he wasn't sure if he'd make it through a whole one.
"Keanu." The boy jerked and looked up to see his mother staring at him with worry written upon her face. The buttered muffin was on a plate in front of him, and she frowned as if she'd asked his name several times.
"Sorry," he smiled a little and broke a piece off with his fingers to eat it, "I just...I'm tired. It was a late night."
"Hm." Abida resettled upon her stool and picked her paper back up. Keanu shook his head and forced down another bite of muffin, and then another, and another... When the entire thing was gone, he got up to clean his dish.
"I am worried,” his mother said as he finished, “You spent an inordinate amount of time at that Center."
"I was just--"
"I know what you 'you were just,'" she warned and lifted her gaze from the paper. "But that does not make me worry any less. You are only a boy, Ken, you must remember that."
"I do.” Keanu shuffled his feet and glanced behind him at the door. He tried not to feel the rock lodged in the bottom of his stomach.
Abida nodded. “Good night.”
“...night.”
He woke to laughter downstairs. Keanu groaned and pulled himself from the bed. The light outside was orange and with a start he realized he’d slept most of the day away. With care to be quiet, he hopped into an old pair of jeans and scooped a t-shirt off his floor to tug on over his beater.
Keanu paused by a hallway mirror only long enough to card his fingers once through his hair and then tiptoed down the stairs to the first floor.
The noise was coming from the study, just off the main hall before the family room. Keanu loved that room--it was filled with books, including a collection of antique Qur’ans, and an oaken desk that they kept polished to a shine. His mother had decorated it with Indian carpets, and two Victorian couches reupholstered with oriental silk. Despite this strange mix, or perhaps because of it, Keanu found the room delightful.
He approached the door on the balls of his feet, carefully skipping over a tile that he knew would squeak. The voices sorted themselves out: his mother and father, a British woman and two Japanese speakers for whom she was translating.
“We’re very honoured that Mr. Tanaka would include us in his plans,” Abida said as he reached the doorway. Keanu peeked around it to see his parents perched upon one of the couches.
An angel sat across from them. Her Asian heritage--Chinese, Japanese, Korean? he flustered--was undeniable, yet confused by natural-looking blond hair and blue eyes. When she smiled it seemed like sunshine embodied.
“Ishii Enterprises,” the angel corrected Abida with a gentle smile, “We are most honoured to have you with us.”
Of her two companions, one was equally lovely: a small, dark woman in a sharp business suit. She didn’t strike him in the same, stomach-lurching way and for that Keanu was grateful. The third was an older gentleman, balding and with generous laugh-lines about his eyes.
“If there is anything else you we can offer...”
The angel glanced toward the man on her right--Mr. Tanaka, Keanu assumed. After a short discussion in their native tongue, the angel offered Keanu a smile. “Another reason we brought these plans to you was that...well, Mrs. Nassar, you are well known for your charity work here in Houston. I thought that, perhaps, you may have some recommendations for an assistant whom could help me organize this event. We are having some trouble finding anyone with the right skills.”
“Hm,” Abida pursed her lips. “I’m afraid I’ve not had too much dealings with charity auction--most of my work is with relief operations.”
“I can.”
Five sets of eyes turned to stare at him--none of them mattered but the blue. “I know most of the other charities here, and a great many of the usual donors. While I do have school in the mornings, I get out earlier than most due to a free work period. I’ve also helped to organize events for Youth Link, where I volunteer, the local soup kitchen, and the Big Brother chapter.”
“Ah,” said his father. Rashad’s bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose a few millimeters as he cleared his throat. “You’ve met Allan, our eldest,” he said to his comrades, “This is our other boy, Keanu.”
“You have a very extensive portfolio, Mr. Keanu Nassar.” The angel inclined her head to him, an amused smile dashed across her painted lips. Beside her, the gentleman uttered a quick question. After a moment spent in their mother tongue, the angel nodded and returned her attention to his parents.
“He’s ambitious as well. This must run in the family?”
Rashad puffed his chest a little. “He’s a good lad. Bright, too. I’ve been meaning to put him to work as clek, but he’s more inclined to these matters.”
“Well.” The angel gave him a sidelong look. He didn’t know why, but even so calculating a look seemed friendly, somehow. “I think I’d like to take him up on that offer. If there is no objection.”
“None,” Rashad said immediately. Abida frowned and picked up the tea tray she had on the coffee table. She left the room quietly, at an even pace.
The three from Ishii Enterprises rose as one, and the angel moved forward to offer her hand to Keanu. He took it and jumped as a bolt of electricity sprang through his body, leaving him gasping.
“Keanu!” He shook himself as his father’s sharp voice hit home. The angel was still staring at him, all traces of amusement gone from her face. They were still holding hands. He dropped hers and backed away a pace.
“My apologies, ma’am...”
“Aino,” she corrected. “Aino Minako.”
“Ms. Aino.” He whispered. They left him in the study as Rashad saw them to the door. Their car roared to life in the drive outside. He turned and found himself staring at his reflection in the hallway mirror.
His hair was white as bone and blood soaked his battle torn armor. The illusion was gone almost as soon as it had been, and he was left a scrawny child in dirty pants and an old beater.
Rashad Nassar was not happy. Though Keanu’s “internship” had appeased him, somewhat, there was still a price to be paid for appearing bed-tousled before his father’s business partners. That was eked out in a stern dressing down and a Sunday filled with garbage, yard work, and cleaning his mother’s car. Keanu suffered through this in silence, trying to pretend that he didn’t notice Abida’s silence.
On Sunday evening, as he was getting ready to go to the Center, Abida appeared at his bedroom door.
“You are going to tell them to cut your hours back, yes?” Her hands clasped before her, and she stared at him evenly.
“I figure I can still work nights a bit. A couple days a week,” he shrugged, “After I find out the hours at Ishii.”
Abida pursed her lips. She closed the distance between them and touched a cold hand to his cheek. “No. You need to quit.”
“Mom!” Keanu frowned and pulled away. He grabbed his bag from the bed. “I’m not going to quit. They need me.”
“They have others.”
“Not enough. Not many. I can’t just turn my back on them, I gave my word.”
“You give your word for much these days,” Abida murmured. She shook her head. “This is too much for a boy your age.”
“I can handle it.” Keanu squared his jaw and for a moment their eyes locked. It was Abida who looked away first.
“If you are so confident, then I will allow you to try. If I see one sign that this is getting out of control--”
“What signs?”
“--grades slipping, a call from your school, another night coming in at three A.M. Any of these things. You must promise me that you will stop all of this immediately.”
He ground his teeth. “And if I don’t?” Abida’s sharp, black eyes met his again. A chill ran down his spine, and he ducked his head. “Yes, mother. I promise.”
“Good. I shall hold you to this.”
She swept past him, the soft silk of her scarf brushing his arm. Keanu waited until her steps dwindled down the hall, then ran to his car.
Ishii Enterprises was housed in a brand new brownstone office building just outside of Montrose. Keanu had expected a glass skyscraper--this had trees, and grass, and was freshly painted a warm adobe colour. The inside was just as welcoming: brilliant landscape paintings, flowers, and a smiling woman behind a large, marble-topped receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, I’m here to see Ms. Aino,” he told her. “Keanu Nassar.”
The secretary nodded and after a short consolation with her intercom, she waved him on through to the elevator. “Fifth floor, second office to the right.”
Keanu nodded and hefted his schoolbag onto his shoulder. The elevators were at the end of a long corridor lined with offices, photos and more paintings. There were no posters indicating what the company did, or showing off past accomplishments like most other office buildings he’d ever been in--not that he could think of any sort of poster a security company might post.
He punched the button for the fifth floor and hummed along to the soft pop playing on the speaker until the doors opened again. Her office door was open and he could see her from the halll, her golden hair spilling down her shoulders as she typed furiously on a laptop. Keanu’s sweaty hands twisted the strap of his backpack. Pausing at the door, he forced one of them to disengage and rap against the jamb.
Aino looked up and flashed him a smile that only seemed half forced. She gestured to the seat across from her desk. “Ah, Mr. Nassar! And much more rested I see.”
Keanu took the offered chair and settled his bag between his feet. “Yeah,” he breathed and chuckled at himself. “Sorry about that, the other day, I was...”
“I’m only teasing,” Aino replied with a cheeky wink. All traces of her discomfort had disappeared causing Keanu to wonder if he’d just been misreading. “I’m glad to see you! I was just beginning to take a look over the locations...” She paused, then looked at him, “Why don’t you bring that chair around so you can see? We have a few lists to go over as well, and then I can show you the phone systems.”
He got up and drug a chair to her side of the desk. His skin tingled at the idea of being so close to her, but the sight of spreadsheets and price lists and inventories soon threw all other thoughts from his head. There was a battle plan to be made.
The ground underneath his feet was uneven, mushy. All around him the word registered in metal clangs and clacks, the moans, and screams. A horse ran past him, its entrails streaming between its legs with its rider’s legs tangled into them.
His arm moved of its own accord, the heavy sword slashing and jabbing; men fell at his feet like broken dolls. He didn’t know how long ago he’d last seen his companions--minutes, hours, days? The field was a blur of silver regalia, he alone a rock of earthen green in the enemy’s ocean. Yet the tide did not drown him.
There was a life line of energy that fed him, starting from his boots and travelling up into his arms. It beat back all weariness, all complaint. He could live forever.
Then it was over. There was no more silver in sight, but no green either. The field was a mass of dead and dying.
He looked down, to the ground which fed him, and met the eyes of the man he was standing in.
The nightmares came with every close of his eyes. Every night, every stolen nap, every time he rested his head upon his desk and hoped to god that no one noticed--those eyes were there, watching him. They were different shades of blue--cornflower, pale as a robin’s egg, deep as Sapphire, clouded with death--but all accusing.
“You’ve been coming in here a lot lately,” the girl behind the Starbucks counter smiled. He offered her a ghost of the same and his debit card. She handed over a cardboard try of lattes. “That’s what... every day for two weeks now?”
“My boss likes your coffee,” he shrugged. “It’s an addiction, you know.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We like seeing you,” she replied with a wink. When she handed his card and receipt back, there was a phone number scrawled upon it. He tried to put a little more effort into a smile and carried the drinks out the door.
Aino was on the phone when he got back to the office. Whatever was going on it didn’t sound pleasant; she tapped her pen in furious procession upon her desk, glared at the phone as though it would care, and didn’t once look up at his entry. Whomever she was chewing out, she was doing so in Japanese and Keanu didn’t understand a word of it. He set her latte before her and took his seat to the side.
She grabbed it, chugging it despite the heat during an intermission in her lecture. Then, after a few final words, she dropped the phone back on the receiver and put her face in one hand.
“Are you okay?” Keanu asked, looking up at her.
“I’m fine.” Aino replied, offering him a smile with her eyes still closed. She took another sip, then fixed him with her beautiful, cornflower blue stare. “How about you, Mr. baggy eyes?”
“Golden,” he replied around a yawn. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”
She didn’t say a word to that, but Keanu thought he saw a small frown. He picked up another stack of papers and took out his cell phone. He had acquisition calls to make, and a band to book. Besides, he rationalized, he could sleep over the weekend.
"Did you get your homework done?" His mother asked as he bumped his sneakers off on the back stoop. Keanu sighed and scratched his sweat-ichy hair. The Saturday afternoon sun still beat down heavy on the backyard, despite it being early February, and he felt chilled in the air conditioning. Closing the door behind him, Keanu stretched and hooked joined hands behind his head.
"Yes, ma'am, I got it done," he called back after a moment.
"Do not take that tone with me."
Abida didn't argue, however, and he sighed relief through his nose. From the couch, his brother, Allen, snickered. Turning to face him, Keanu raised a brow and took a few steps toward the sofa. He didn't dare sit down--not with the sweat making his shirt cling to his body--but he glanced at what his brother was watching. Some stupid MTV thing. "You still watch this stuff?"
"It's brainless," Allen shrugged. "Trust me, you need that ever so often."
Keanu snorted.
"So," Allen continued with a conspiratory smirk, "You wanna go out with me tonight? Some friends and I are hitting that new club--"
“I have work, Al.”
“Right, right. The Center. How could you give that up for a night?” Allen shook his head. Keanu narrowed his eyes; he’d have tried more, but he’d learned long ago that nothing good would come of hitting his brother, not even in play. Unlike Keanu, Allen was tall and muscular, not at all like any stereotype one normally associated with accountants.
"People need help."
"I guess," Allen shrugged and turned the TV off. He scrubbed Keanu's hair on his way past and tossed the remote at him. "Take a shower, you smell like a sewer."
Keanu caught the device. He held it for a long moment, watching as his brother disappeared up the stairs, then chunked the remote at the couch. He didn’t notice the TV snap on as he marched away.
There was something giggling in his closet. Keanu stared at the door as imaginary flickers of light played over his vision. His eyes were dry and scratchy, his head felt like a pillow, and the goddamn closet wouldn’t stop giggling.
“There’s a monster on the moon,” it told him.
He growled and put a pillow over his head.
Every time he turned in his homework he just got more to do. That used to seem normal, some small part of his brain informed him. The rest was just angry.
He stuffed the new papers into his bag haphazardly and slung it over his shoulder as the bell rang. Pushing past the other students, he was the first out the door and to his locker. “What’s your problem?” one of the cheerleaders snapped as he shoulder-checked her in the hallway.
“Fuck off, that’s my problem,” he snapped. A nearby teacher turned to stare.
I try so hard to do what they want, to be the person they want me to be, but it’s like they never even notice. I’m invisible. I’ve been invisible for years. What would be the difference if I did it?
Keanu jolted into consciousness. The phone rang again and he grabbed it. “Youth Link Hotline,” he mumbled into the receiver.
“Check again, bro.”
“Allen?” Keanu yawned.
“Yeah. Where are you, bud?”
The boy frowned and sat up to stare at his steering wheel. He glanced around, blinking as the world sorted itself out into the orange cast of sunset. The tiny, familiar parking lot of the Center was filled by his car and two of the other volunteer’s vehicles. Other than him there didn’t seem to be anyone about. “Uh, work. Sorry. What’s up?”
“Really now? Cause they called me. Said you didn’t turn up for your shift.”
“Fuck,” he spat and reached for the book-bag in the passenger seat.
His brother laughed, “Wow. That was new. When did you start doing that?”
“You say worse.” Keanu took the key out of his ignition and opened the door. Why they hadn’t bothered checking the parking lot, he didn’t know. Johnson probably couldn’t be bothered to get up off his fat ass.
“Yeah, but that’s me.” There was a rattle of paper on the other side. “Just be glad they didn’t call mom. So where are you really?”
“I’m at work.” He slammed his car door and threw his bag over one shoulder.
“You’re two hours late, how did--”
“Look, I fell asleep okay? Is that a crime now?”
“Hey, that isn’t like you. That’s all I mean by this, a’ight? I’m just worried.”
Stopping before the double doors of the building, Keanu sighed and nodded. He scuffed his heel against the pavement. “Yeah. Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.”
“Oh yeah?”
He pursed his lips and shrugged, though his brother couldn’t see. “It’ll sort itself out or something. Just need more sun, maybe.”
“Alright. Well, I’ll see you this weekend, maybe? You’re not over at Ishii on weekends, right?”
“Right. But I still have--”
“The Center. I know, I know. Dude, you really need to take breaks sometimes, yanno. You can’t keep doing this.”
“I’ve been doing this for three weeks, I can finish another two of it.” Keanu shook his head. “Look, I’m already late. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Right. Bye.”
Keanu hung the phone up and headed through the double doors. Johnson was already staring at him, looking fit to kill. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Keanu went to take the bull by its horns.
It was always hard to argue with him. For starters, the man was completely unreasonable.
He stood with his peers beneath the dais, looking up at their fuming Liege. Though he didn’t see their faces, he could feel them at his back--their presence, united in this moment--was a comfort. For once it was not he, alone, who cautioned their lord against his lunacy.
The man above was scowling. One of his companions whispered that there was hate in those deep blue eyes, and he trusted that opinion though he wasn’t sure as to why. Hate, where once there had only been love.
“A monster?” the man sneered at them. He shook his head, and his laugh was demonic. “Tell me, are you children again to bring me such stories? I’d thought you smarter than all that hearsay.”
“My Lord, if you would only listen--”
“I will listen when the lot of you speak sense,” the princeling snapped. “Obviously, I have spoiled you with informality. From this moment on you will respect your station and mine. We are not equals, nor have we ever have been.”
Though insulted, he did not move. How could he? The uncomfortable reality was that the words were true. Truth did not stop the lurch of his stomach or the acid burning at the back of his throat.
Keanu reached for the toilet handle and flushed the remains of his lunch away. He groaned as he sat back on his knees and swiped his wrist over his mouth. When his stomach settled upon itself, he found his feet and lurched to the sink to wash himself.
There was a knock at the door. “Keanu?” Johnson asked.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
He opened the door onced he’d finished at the manager frowned down at him. “Boy, you get your ass home. Now.”
“I’m fine, I can still--”
“No you fucking well can’t.” One meaty hand grabbed Keanu’s shoulder and pulled him out of the bathroom. With a hand to his back, Johnson guided Keanu toward the doors. Other volunteers looked on with mixed amusement and concern.
Keanu growled and dug his heels in. “I am fine, dammit!”
“Right. And when did you start cursing at people?”
“About the time you started pushing me around,” he snapped back and shoved the man away.
Johnson, mountain that he was, didn’t move an inch. The man shook his head. He grabbed Keanu’s arm again. “Boy, you do not want to start something with me today.”
Something ignited inside of him, like burning insects crawling beneath his skin. Keanu batted Johnson’s arm away and struck out with his other hand. His palm hit squarely against Johnson’s chest. The man flew backward, tumbling over one of the desk stations, taking a phone and desk chair with him.
There was silence in the office, but for a single ringing phone line. Keanu grabbed his bag, picked up his keys off the counter, and ran from the office.
His phone rang before he was two blocks away. Keanu ignored it. He kept driving, unsure of where he was going, until he ended up at a gas station somewhere toward Sugarland. It was dark, pitch black, outside and there was no one about but he and the attendant. He stood outside the pump watching as the numbers spun upward and listening for his phone to ring; it hadn’t in hours.
The dial stopped, and he put the nozzle back on its mount. He was turning to open the car door when a flash of pink caught his eyes. Dropping to a stoop, Keanu scooped up a little ball of neon pink paper that had fallen against his toe. It was a Youth Link flier, he found with a twinge of guilt. About to throw it away, he turned it over and his heart skipped a beat.
There was a drawing on the back--a scribbled ink rendering of columns against a black sky. He felt a chill pass through him that had nothing to do with the spring wind. Crumbling it once again, Keanu tossed it into the nearby garbage can and climbed into his car.
The phone rang.
He grabbed it and put it to his ear. “Youth Link Hotline,” he answered, and winced.
A rasping, familiar voice replied: “Help. I need help.”
Keanu stared at his steering wheel. He reached for his key, then, and fired the ignition. “Where are you?”
This was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Of the four street lights erected along that particular stretch of urban Hell, only one was working. It lit the area around a derelict phone booth which Keanu wouldn’t have thought to be functional had he not just gotten a call from it. There was no one there now, save a stray cat pissing on the lamppost.
Keanu parked halfway down the block and killed the engine. His hand darted to the passenger seat to grab his cell phone, which ran almost the second he had touched it. He stared at the caller ID--Aino, Minako. They’d called his boss?
He got out of the car with a growl. Though he wasn’t sure what good it would do were he mugged, Keanu stuffed his keys into his pocket and took another look around. There wasn’t much of anything around--a bunch of old warehouses, some graffiti, old trash.
He squared his shoulders and shuffled toward the lamp post.
The alley reeked of rotting garbage and piss. A dumpster, near the street-end of the blind, light-less tunnel, was over flowing and wriggling with cats, rats, or maggots. The humid air carried the stench as well as the ocean carried drift would; Keanu’s eyes pricked with tears, and he shoved his arm against his mouth to fight the rising sickness.
It was almost enough to make him turn back.
A moan from the other end of the alley glued him to his course. Keanu peered into the void created between the dark, decrepit buildings. This was the perfect setting for a mugging, his mind informed him. If he should step into the alley, his rational half continued, he was certain to be set upon by hooligans, his money taken, and keys swiped. If he were lucky he might get away with a few bruises.
The moan sounded again. As though a string deep inside his chest had been tugged, Keanu’s feet plodded past the reeking canister of human filth, taking him with them.
“Kid?” he hissed. His voice died against the wet, clinging air. Keanu almost chocked on the taste of it.
Fighting sickness with all his might, he stared blindly into the inky black and willed the darkness brighter. Fire ants marched beneath his skin. To his surprise, it seemed to work.
Stupid. His eyes were adjusting, that was all it was...but there were walls once again, where there hadn’t been a moment before. A pile of what looked like trash huddled against the back corner. The smell of piss grew stronger the closer he came to it.
Keanu stopped in front of the heap of cloth, plastic, and human skin. He reached out a foot and nudged it.
One bony hand disentangled itself from the sopping wet rags to push at his hi-top. Keanu’s lips drew back into a sneer. Quickly he schooled his features and crouched before the boy.
A pair of hollow, green eyes met his own. Suddenly the alley was bright as day. Keanu could see the red-black skin around the boy’s eyes, the bloody mess of his nose, and the scrape on his chin. If that was what his face looked like, Keanu didn’t want to see the rest.
Grasping the boy’s shoulders, Keanu rubbed them--only to feel the boy flinch beneath his palms. Despite that, the kid’s face remained expressionless, hard. The string that had guided him now turned to stone. It rolled itself into a hard knot and settled at the pit of Keanu’s stomach.
“I can save you,” he offered slowly, “if you want me to.”
Silence rang through the alley, as oppressive as the heat. The boy’s jaw tightened, his lips drawing into a deep set frown. For what seemed an eternity, Keanu watched unspoken thoughts play across the boy’s face.
His hand lifted, then, and Keanu took it. He hefted the boy to his feet and drew one arm under the boy’s shoulder. Without a word, they limped toward the car. The single, stuttering lamplight that lit the street seemed to urge them onward. As Keanu drove away, he saw it gutter in their wake.
The boy’s name was Nicholas Doyle. He was a year younger than Keanu, but had been on the streets for three. They sat in a Burger King on the outskirts of Tomball eating cold onion rings and talking. If the employees thought this unusual they didn’t say anything, and no cops had yet come to claim them.
“Gonna be on my ass any minute,” Nick mumbled around an onion ring. He was staring at the table still, as he had been since they’d gotten there. Keanu pursed his lips.
“But you didn’t do anything.”
“Sure.”
“You said you didn’t,” he reminded the boy. Keanu ignored the unsettled feeling of his stomach and reached for his drink. “They were already... so there isn’t any evidence.”
“Y’think they need evidence? I’m a nutter.”
“No, you’re not.”
Nick lifted his head and their eyes met. He leaned forward, and though his face was devoid of emotion, his voice shook as he asked “and if I said I still see her?”
“Beverly?”
The boy’s gaze shifted, ever so slightly, to Keanu’s left. The hair on the back of Keanu’s neck prickled as a breath teased his ear. Slowly, he turned to look at the empty air beside him. “You’re not crazy,” he murmured again and shifted further into the bench seat. He gulped. “Not crazy at all.”
They both jumped when his phone beeped.
Keanu grabbed it, well aware of Nick watching his every move. You have one new message from Aino.
He hesitated, then punched the ‘OK’ button.
Are you OK?
Keanu closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief over the stab of shame in his gut. He began to type in a message, then shook his head and phoned her instead. It rang only once.
“Keanu?” Aino asked. She never called him that.
“I’m fine,” he replied, “They called you?”
“Your mother is terrified,” the woman accused and he imagined he could feel her glaring. He didn’t like that being directed at him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think they’d involve you.”
“Well I’m glad they did! I had no idea how hard you’ve been pushing yourself--what were you thinking doing this?”
“I was handling it,” he growled.
“I’m sure,” she spat back. He could hear a faint clacking noise behind her--her heels as she paced, no doubt. “Handling it like you do everything else, I expect. You’re not immortal, you know, or infallible.”
“No more so than you are.”
“You need to go home, now. Or at least call! You can’t just go running off and scaring everyone like this.”
“Why not? People do it every day.” Keanu glowered at the table, well aware of Nick still sitting across from him. He looked up at the other boy, taking in the marks on Nick’s face, the line of his gaunt cheeks, his scraggly hair. “People slip through the cracks every day. They get lost, confused, hurt--and all because no one gives a shit about them, no one takes a minute to just listen to them, talk to them, believe them. They get written off as ‘crazy’, as inconsequential. But y’know what--they’re not crazy. We’re not crazy. And we’re not inconsequential.”
“I never--”
“You did! You always have. You sit up there on your high horse looking down on all of us little heathens scuttling about in the muck. If you think we never heard the things you said, you’re wrong. And I’m tired of being seen as less than. I’m tired of being the errand boy, waiting on your scrap of kindness. Fuck your princess and fuck you.”
Keanu hadn’t been aware that he was shouting until he closed his phone and turned it off for good measure. The employees and what few other patrons the restaurant had at midnight were all staring at them. Nicholas, however, seemed unmoved.
The other boy grabbed their tray and stood up. He dropped the trash into the garbage, and took the keys from the table. “Let me drive a bit, huh?”
Keanu nodded. They left before the manager could kick them out. A short stop at an ATM later, they didn’t look back.
