Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (29 page)

When
the woman turns to lock the door behind her, Bobby can smell the
strong deodorant. He can see the white residue it leaves behind where
her top reaches her armpits either side.

“
Actually,
I was wondering if you can help me.”

The
intrigue piles her flaky skin into rolls that melt to leave patches
in places. Bobby takes her raised eyebrow as a sign to continue, so
he explains, hoping any lies will seem sincere.

“
A
family member brought a painting from here last week. It was of this
white house on a cliff—”

“
I
know the one. Is that your grandma? If she's not satisfied with her
purchase, I can always take it back.”

“
No,
it's fine. I am just trying to track down the artist. I loved the
painting, so was trying to find out more. I don't suppose you have
any more paintings by him, or could tell me anything else, could
you?”

The
woman smiles, but Bobby believes he can see disappointment behind the
friendly exterior.

“
Have
you searched online? I'm sure the artist will have a bio with all the
social media sites they have now a days.” After tucking the
keys into her pocket, she glances down the road as though he is
keeping her from something important.

“
I
searched, but found nothing. Do you know his name?”

Looking
Bobby square in the eyes, she sighs and lowers her shoulders.

“
I
don't know anything. Normally we have pieces shipped in, or I attend
auctions. But now and then a local will come in and inquire about
showcasing their work. Most are nothing special, but that painting
was magical,” she comments with a brief laugh.
“
The
guy dropped it off, but didn't leave a name or information. I went
out back to get the paperwork for him to fill out, but he was gone
when I came back.”

Bobby
scratches his head and follows her line of sight down the road.

“
Can
you tell me what he looked like?”

The
owner titters. “Sure. He was a handsome guy—dark hair,
about 5”10 with perfect green eyes.” When she realises
the words slipping from her mouth, she closes her lips. “Anyway,
I have got to go. There's somewhere I have to be, so if you'll excuse
me.”

“
One
more thing,” Bobby calls after her as she clops against the
pavement in her navy heels. “You said he was local. How'd you
know?”

“
Well,
he had a Coventry accent, so I assume he is.”

Bobby
watches the woman hobble down the road, then turns his attention back
to the window display. Cupping his hands to block out the sun, he
tries to locate anything similar among an abstract
Alice in
Wonderland
and other works of genius. Yet, nothing hits him like
the painting by this R. Kuffs.

Who
the hell are you?

•

While
he brushes the crumbs from his t-shirt, Bobby waits beside Benji's
door. His hand hovers over the handle, then draws away. He brings it
back to rest on the silver, then wraps his fingers around it,
believing he will enter this time. Instead, he withdraws and
continues into his bedroom.

“
Nice.”

“
It
might be easy for you to say.” Bobby closes the door and slings
himself onto the desk chair. The weight he slumps down seems far
heavier than body mass. “But it's difficult,” he says as
he faces the man propped against the headboard.

Gage's
feet spread over the sheets as he makes himself at home. Peeking out
from the cuff of his black jeans are white socks painted with grey
stains.

“
Open
the door, then get what I asked you to get. It sounds as easy as it
is.”

With
a huff, Bobby rests his fists against the table. When he notices he
is still holding a messily assembled cheese and onion sandwich, he
discards it in the bin without a second thought. He catches the
composed figure's reflection in the computer's reflection and scowls.

How
can he speak as though it means nothing?

“
It
isn'
t
nothing, that's the point,” Gage states as he pulls himself
into a sitting position.

How
does he do that?

He
watches Gage's pearl eyes glimmer as he tilts his head. He's waiting
for a reaction, or a retort, but when he doesn't find what he's
after, he titters.

“
If
it wasn't of importance, do you think I'd be here? You think I like
doing fate's dirty work because the puppets are too damn chicken shit
to take control, huh?”

“
Puppet?
I lost my brother!”

“
He's
not lost, he's in the graveyard,” the man retorts with little
emotion. “And he's been there long enough for you to do what I
expect of you.” The heartless manner in which the words come to
Bobby have him on his feet in an instant. Yet, the man leaning with
his elbows on his knees doesn't flinch. The guy is 5”10.
Underneath the baggy layers he wears, Bobby guesses he's built more
than he could ever hope to be.

So
why would he flinch?

The
cocky, emotionless
freak
could
lay him on his ass before Bobby has the chance to register what's
happening.

“
He
was my brother. Does that not mean anything to you?”

Refraining
in his place on the bed, Gage tells Bobby to sit. Yet, despite the
knowledge of how this will end and the consequences as a result,
Bobby proceeds to edge closer. He moves closer to Gage until his
trainers hit his cotton toes.

Running
over Gage's fingers and knuckles are faint red trails which disappear
beneath the hoody he wears rolled-up to his wrists. Bobby has always
wondered what they symbolise, but cannot bring himself to ask.

Sensing
his curiosity, Gage joins his fingers together in a calm manner to
suggest he is careless to the outburst and his questions.

How
is it acceptable to know everything about a person without sharing
any of yourself?

With
one furrowed brow decorating his chiselled face, he regards Bobby. He
waits for the emotions to subside, but when they don't, he isn't
surprised.

“
I
loved him. No, I love him,” he corrects. “If I go in
there, then all those walls I have built up come crashing down. Don't
you see that?”

Pacing
backwards across the striped mat, he holds his head close to despair
before the man surprises him with an admission.

“
I
know, okay? I know what it's like to love and how it feels when that
love is taken from you, but that is the point.”

“
What
is? What's the point to any of this? Cut the crap and tell me what
I'm going in that room for and what this all means.”

“
I
cannot divulge any more information than I already have. This is just
as much a journey for me as it will be for you. However, I can tell
you I once had a family, too.”

“
Once?
Are they dead?” As Bobby lets the question slip from his mouth,
he halts the fruitless pacing and stares at Gage.

At
the moment, he appears much smaller with an almost child-like quality
about him. Gage doesn't reply, but continues to sit with his head
lowered, making Bobby realise he was hoping to avoid this
conversation.

Does
he have a loving side after all?

“
Take
a seat,” he says as he motions toward the desk chair.

While
he composes himself, Bobby's eyes drift toward the box on the bedside
table where he left it this morning. He pulled it from beneath the
bed and looked at the contents with bitter reverie after the dream.
He was content being in his nappy as the youngest pirate to walk
Devon's North Coast.

Gage's
eyes drift toward the shoe box with the photographs stuck to the
cardboard. Leaning over, he plucks a shell from inside. He holds the
spiral shell to one ear and listens to the chatter resonating from
inside. Bobby's head fills with images of him doing the same on the
beach after Benji found it.

Gage
pulls it away and stares at the tendrils of burnt sienna over its
beige and white exterior. Bobby finds it too easy to replay Benji
raising it to his eye for closer inspection with the sun beating on
his back.

“
Holds
memories, hey?” As Gage runs the shell along his skin, he
savours the item's texture. It seems to mean something to him, yet he
remains stoic on the surface.

Bobby
nods, but Gage already knows the shell holds memories.

Why
else would I keep it here?

Bobby
wouldn't be too shocked if Gage could preview his memories within the
confines of his own head. If he can read minds—as he must be
capable of doing—then why not memories too?

“
We
don't have these where I come from. Well, I heard they exist in some
parts, but I've never seen them with my own eyes. My mother once told
me about shells scattered along this glorious stretch of beach that
travels for miles. She said they shine like the stars in the night
sky. Our beaches are dark, not gold like here.”

“
Your
mother?” Bobby spits the words out in disbelief and has to
refrain from spreading the shock over his features. All the time he
has known him, Gage has not once spoken about his family. In all
honesty, Bobby didn't believe he had any, especially someone as close
as a parent. It's strange he could come from somewhere where natural
reproduction exists instead of manufacturing people in a lab. Sure,
he may look normal in appearance to anyone, but he is anything but
normal. What other person has eyes without pupils that leak blood
instead of tears, or can appear as if by magic?

It
isn't possible.

Gage
glances up then. For a moment, Bobby believes he means to tell him
all about family life back on
Krypton
, or wherever the hell he
originates from. Instead, he frowns in dismissal of Bobby's question.

“
I
have blissful memories of what was, and what still is, even if time
and injustice altered it. But it isn't about me, not yet. Sometimes
you must remember that no matter how difficult it is to relive those
memories, at least you have them. You held on for as long as they
lasted.

“
Life
is like that one tiny grain of sand in among the trillions upon
trillions of others—it gets trodden over and washed away. You
are only one of many. This shell is what the wall around you heart
becomes as you come back time and time again on life's multiple
journeys. It appears hard and difficult to break, but someone can
crush it in one meaningless act. Then it shatters as though it is
nothing.”

Bobby
slips a tongue over his lips to add moisture to the dry and cracked
slithers. With the philosophical statement made, he settles back in
the desk chair.

“
What
happened?”