Chronicles of Jonathan Tibbs 1: The Never Hero (9 page)

He headed to one of the parks near his house, a large community field where a neighborhood soccer team was out practicing. He quickly worked up a sweat, circling the field. The exhilaration of movement, the throbbing of his heart and the quickness of his breath felt novel after such a long stretch of stagnation in a dark bedroom. Briefly, he stopped worrying if he was being stalked, watched from afar by some blond man in dark clothing. It was a fleeting distraction gained only from the act of engaging in something that required him to pay attention to what he was doing.

When the thoughts started to leak back in, he let his legs pull him into a sprint and ran as hard as he could, and the effort pushed them away again, but only until the need to breath overcame the desire to forget.

As he paced to a stop and put his hands on his knees, the rush and energy of the run started to fade with the slowing of his pulse. He started the walk back to the house, in a better mood than he’d started with.

His mood stayed positive until he stood in front of the house again. Immediately he felt uneasy. Nothing was blatantly wrong. There was no blond man holding a syringe staring out the front window, but Hayden’s car was gone.

Dammit Hayden
.

It wasn’t like him to be untrustworthy.

Jonathan stared at the house. He wondered, really considered, if he was going to stand outside just to avoid being alone inside. The answer was simply no. Whatever normal was going to be, he wasn’t going to set the bar that low. He could spend weeks being afraid on the inside; he’d endure that, but there was no way he was letting his behavior be governed so drastically.

He hesitated a bit longer, but eventually he opened the front door and walked in.

The scene in the house was surprising, if not of a horrific nature. There was a child, maybe six years old, sitting pretzel style in the middle of the kitchen floor. The boy had a small pile of toy vehicles in front of him. They were pouring out of an overly colorful and hardly functional looking child’s backpack on the ground near him. The kid had singled out two cars. He was pushing them in circles around him as though they were having a race. He made sounds of tires peeling out and vehicles ramming each other for effect.

Jonathan was disturbed for a moment, not by the child, but that the kid sat on the linoleum where he’d lost so much blood.

“Hello,” said the boy, looking up at him, “I’m Jack.”

The kid was smiling at him. The innocence of it brought Jonathan back to reality. Jack had short brown hair and a thin frame. He seemed alert, aware, like Jonathan’s presence was an exciting turn of events. It was sad, Jonathan thought, but even the presence of this child in the house gave him comfort, it was better than being alone. Still, who was Jack and why was he sitting in Jonathan’s kitchen?

“Hello, Jack,” he said politely. “I’m Jonathan.”

Jonathan looked around the room again and searched for an explanation for the kid. When he didn’t find one, he spoke again.

“Those look like some cool cars you’ve got there. I used to have ones just like them when I was younger.”

“Yeah? I like cars, but I like motorcycles more. I can’t wait till I can have one. I mean a real one, not one with pedals,” Jack said.

“I have a roommate who likes motorcycles. He has one. Maybe you can come see it sometime,” Jonathan said.

Jack’s eyes grew wide.

“Speaking of roommates,” Jonathan said, “have you seen a big man with a beard around here today?”

“Yeah, he left in a big hurry,” said Jack.

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “Did he say where he was going?”

Jack thought about it for a moment but shook his head no.

“He might have told my sister.”

Jonathan realized then that he’d heard the sound of water running from the upstairs bathroom. Had Hayden somehow managed to invite two neighborhood children into the house, then leave, in the span of Jonathan’s half hour jog? Was he trying to show him what it was like to babysit someone?

A moment later, Jonathan heard the bathroom door open followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. An attractive woman was suddenly in his living room. When he looked into her eyes she appeared to be as confused as he was.

The woman’s face said she’d been put in a strange predicament, but was just choosing to take it as it came. Jonathan was not a good judge of age but she had to be in her early twenties. Her hair was a dark auburn and long, down past her shoulders. She had on jeans and a white tank top, and what looked to be an expensive camera hanging from a strap around her neck. As she made her way over to him he tried not to be so transparently distracted by the way she walked. His mind had gone blank in an effort to focus his eyes in appropriate places.

She was too pretty to just be in his house like this. It made him nervous; not nervous like when he thought about being followed by an inhumanly strong blond man, but the good kind of nervous, the kind that made him worry he was about to say something stupid, the kind that made him worry he might be on the verge of blushing and she would know his thoughts.

“Make a new friend, Jack?” the woman said.

The little boy nodded.

When she reached Jonathan she put her hand out, close enough now he could see the blue of her eyes.

“I’m Leah. We’re neighbors,” she said.

Jonathan took her hand, he was about to respond, but before he knew what was happening she drew in close to him. He tensed excitedly as she was suddenly whispering in his ear, “Hayden promised you wouldn’t be creepy.”

When she pulled back, she smiled. Thoughts crashed through Jonathan’s head as he tried to decipher the meaning of what she had said. Had he been leering at her?

“Um. Hi, Jonathan,” he said, stuttering a bit. “I meant, I’m Jonathan, and yes, I mean no, I’m not. Creepy that is.”

She was still smiling at him, and he realized she was playing with him.

He cleared his throat. “Did Hayden say why he left in such a hurry?”

“Not really. He promised that he’d be gone for less than an hour and that he needed someone to stay here with his roommate while he was out.”

Jonathan looked at her like it still didn’t add up.

“So how do you know Hayden?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t actually. I just moved in next door a few days ago. Jack and I were out in the front yard. I was taking some pictures of this interesting little nook we share. Your garden is beautiful, by the way. Anyway, when Hayden came out of the house, he said there was an emergency and that he needed someone to watch his roommate until he got back.”

Leah looked at Jonathan with a curious tilt of her head.

“I realize now he was playing the vague pronoun game because I thought for sure he meant the girl I’ve seen coming and going.”

Jonathan was embarrassed now, and he felt it showing on his face. This was bad nervous, and if he ever needed a reason to get over his fears, he’d found it. For a moment, he worried he might have to explain why a grown man would be afraid to be alone in his own house. Or worse, he wondered if Hayden had left out the part where she might be acting as a temporary deterrent to Jonathan’s would be attacker.

“Well played on his part,” Leah said. “But hey, I’m new to the city, so I guess this is one way to meet people.”

Jonathan had to wonder what had gotten Hayden so desperate to find him a baby sitter that he tricked their neighbor into it. It must have been pretty serious, especially if he had continued with it once he’d noticed how stunningly attractive she was.

He looked up and realized Leah was still looking at him with that curiosity she had before. She looked like she was struggling within herself to ask a question, then finally decided to take the chance that it might be taken as rude.

“So, what’s the story then? Seems a little odd that you need someone to watch you,” she said, quickly adding, “I understand if it’s none of my business.”

Jonathan, still embarrassed, looked down at the floor. Pleading the fifth was tempting. There really wasn’t any good way to spin the truth, no way he wouldn’t come off looking fragile at the least. He decided to just be vague, it had worked for Hayden, and it was better than telling her that her little brother was sitting where he’d woke up in a puddle of his own blood last week.

“I recently had an episode, got attacked in the house. It rattled me a bit,” he said. “My roommates got a little protective. You really don’t need to stay if you’re busy, I’ll be fine.”

She gave him a look of sympathy, then leaned in again to whisper. He liked it when she did.

“Um yeah, Jonathan,” she said. “Sounds like it’s time to nut up a bit.”

When she pulled away he could see she was playing again and he smiled back.

“Nut up,” he repeated.

The first day back to campus, Jonathan felt like he’d arrived late to the movies. He paid attention, but wasn’t sure there was enough time left in the quarter to learn all that he’d missed. Still, the distraction was worth the effort. After classes were over, he showed up for his first shift at the hardware store.

James Fletcher, his boss and the owner, was an older man who had lost his hair long ago and wore nothing but blue collars. His wife had passed away some years earlier, and as a result, he didn’t have much in life other than his business, his employees, and a smoking habit he was no longer trying to be rid of. He often said he smoked half as much when his wife was alive because she wouldn’t let him into bed smelling like an ash tray. He hadn’t expected to see Jonathan so soon.

“What got you up off the mat so quick?” he asked. “The way your roommate described things I thought I might not see you for a few weeks.”

“A pretty girl told me to, well, to be brave,” Jonathan said.

Mr. Fletcher thought for a moment, looking Jonathan over, then chuckled. He’d have likely laughed out loud if Jonathan had used Leah’s exact words.

“Yeah, that’d about do it, wouldn’t it?” James said. “Still kid, you let me know, if you need any time off, people need to take their time with these things.”

Jonathan nodded.

The shop had missed him. Mr. Fletcher’s other part-timers had covered some of Jonathan’s shifts but he got the impression that his boss had covered the brunt of his absence. James said he came from a time where men “worked for a living” and didn’t much care for what he referred to as Jonathan’s generation’s “pussy footing around.” He never put Jonathan in the
pussy foot
category, because of all his employees Jonathan got his work done and never complained, always staying until the job was finished.

“So tell me more about this girl you got busting your balls.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“Guess I’ll have to wait until there’s actually something to tell,” he said.

“Bah,” James said disappointedly.

“Speaking of women, how’s your mom taken all this?” James asked.

Jonathan looked away.

“I haven’t told her,” he said.

A time passed and James finally nodded sympathetically.

“I get it, Jonathan,” he said.

James turned away then, returning to the cash register and leaving Jonathan to work. He felt gratitude as he watched the old man walk away. It was the first time that particular disclosure hadn’t been met with, at least, a look of disapproval. It occurred to him that James was the only person he knew who’d lived through a war. Maybe that was why Mr. Fletcher, more than anyone else he knew, could understand.