Fell of Dark (10 page)

The pigeon had disappeared. I couldn't speak, but I felt something on my tongue. A word?

It grew out of my tongue like a flower, or a blade of grass. It tickled the roof of my mouth. I couldn't bear it. When I opened my mouth, a feather, gray, an inch long, swirled out. The feather rocked back and forth, back and forth, and landed in my hand. I shut my mouth.

What was I to think?

I tried to keep my mouth shut, I tried, but my cheeks swelled with feathers. They tickled my throat, the roof of my mouth. My teeth. I blew out a mouthful, and they scattered over my head. The wind caught them. They collided, rose up, and fell.

More and more feathers. They swirled and tumbled. Feathers streamed from my mouth until they stopped.

This happened.

“You are a most unusual young man.”

Who said it?

The Architect? A Guardian? My Protector? Who?

“You shouldn't die. You should live. I will help you live.”

“Why?” I said it out loud. “Why? What will I do? What's my purpose? I'm nothing.”

“No.”

“I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing.”

I cried.

“I'm nothing. I'm nothing.”

Silence.

I wish all the voices I hear inside my head would melt down into one voice, a voice I can trust.

I shave. If I don't shave, I have this little beard and dirty mustache. Tufts of hair come out of my neck and one cheek. It's ridiculous.

I used Kulthat's electric razor one time without asking. He wrapped the cord around my neck and shaved part of my arm.

I once used Tillion's razor. The one she uses for her legs. She screamed at me. “It's useless. I cut open my ankle, you little wretch.” She sat me down and shaved my chin and lip and neck and cheek without using any soap and water. Against the grain of my skin.

I burned, and blood ran down my face and throat.

I don't like to think about my childhood. Until I was almost five, Kermit and Tatiana provided for me, loved me. Then everything changed. Salome's death. Poverty. My parents turning into demons that fly from their hell to punish and kill. The starvation and neglect.

I found a razor that took the old-fashioned double-edged blades. In the bathroom cabinet. It had a black handle. Kermit must have used it once. The first time I used it just with water and the old blade. A rusted edge. Mistake. Cracks, scratches, fire, and blood.

Late at night. My face hurting me. Hundreds of little cuts bleeding and burning.

How would I buy new blades and shaving cream? I couldn't ask Tillion and Kulthat. They would have said no to lending me money. I checked my room. I found sixty-three cents on the floor. Four pennies in my sock drawer. Sixty-seven cents. I needed a drink of water.

I crept toward the kitchen opposite Kulthat and Tillion's room. I crept, but Tillion still called, “Thorn?”

“Yes, ma'am. Just need a drink.”

Tillion came to the door in her robe. Disheveled from sleep and green light pouring out of her ears. “Come here,” she said and reached out her arm. I dreamed my mother, my real mother, would lend me the money to get what I needed. I wouldn't even have to pay her back. Or, better, she would get it all for me.

Not this, but something almost as strange happened. Tillion became Tatiana for a moment. My mother, Tatiana, put her hand on my head. “No fever,” she said, and kissed my forehead. She must have been in a dream. Dreaming I'm worth something.

“I just need a drink.”

I found Tillion's purse on the kitchen counter. I unsnapped it and waited to see if this tiny sound would bring the demons running from their hell-room. They didn't come. I took eight dollars, snapped the purse shut, and returned to my room. I forgot to pour some water.

The next morning, I stopped at the drugstore. I asked the employee where I could find razors and shaving cream. “You need it for sure,” the guy said.

I got angry. I said, “Nobody asked you.”

“Oho, little man. Keep your voice down. Aisle eight.”

I spent six dollars or so. I felt miserable. All day, my guilt and worry nauseated me. I left school wishing I could go somewhere other than home. I hoped Tatiana, or Tillion, hadn't missed the money.

Tillion, snow and fire and light, had missed it. She waited for me at the front gate.

Silence. Tillion and I walked five minutes without a word. Finally, she spoke.

“Eight dollars has real value to me. Eight dollars is food. Eight dollars goes to our rent.”

I said nothing.

“So what did you do with the money, Thorn? What could you possibly have needed it for? And why did you need it so desperately you had to steal it from me?”

“I didn't,” I said.

Tillion gripped my arm in her talon. She stopped me in the street. “You didn't take eight dollars from my purse?”

“No, ma'am,” I said. “I didn't.”

“A thief and a liar, is that it? A coward?” My mother buried her nails in my arm. “Open your bag.”

“What?”

“You say, ‘Pardon, ma'am?' You heard me, mister.” Tillion reached for my backpack. “Open it. Dump everything out.”

I did as told and turned over my bag onto the sidewalk.

“What did you buy? What did you buy?” Tillion searched all the pockets. Mumbling. She found nothing, no trace of her money, and she hesitated.

At this moment of hesitation, I knew I was safe. I guessed she'd already started to ask herself where she lost her money. How she could be so careless.

“I didn't take your money.”

Tillion, now Tatiana all over again, my mother, packed up my bag. “I'm sorry, Thorn, I thought—.” We walked. “But why were you so quiet?”

“I don't feel so good.”

The tone in Tatiana's voice, the confusion and regret when she apologized to me cut into my stomach. I felt sick with guilt. Even so, I wouldn't admit my robbery. I wanted her to think the best of me. No thief and liar. She put her wrist against my forehead for the second time in a day. Told me she thought I had a slight fever, and I felt a little better. I imagined staying in bed under her care for the rest of my life. She would bring me toast and ginger ale every so often.