Jesus Christ Was an Only Child

by infamouslastwords

Chapter Two

Malachy stares at two eyes under dark eyebrows, lidded and shadowed; hair cropped close to the scalp, jaw set and defined, looking properly out-of-place in the same clothes he had disappeared in a year ago to the day. Malachy sees the padlock and key necklaces around his neck on their separate chains—over his shoulder, the drawers of his desk are dislodged and upturned.

"You're wearing…." He motions to his chest, immediately regretting breaking the silence. Luke still regards him, a small flash of defiance sharpening his features.

"Yeah, why aren't you?"

Hand on the doorknob, he thinks of the things he could say. All of them escape in one rush of an exhale.

"Luke. I tried," leaning into it. "I did. And then I just couldn't, anymore."

"Is that so?" His arms are crossed, tones chiming damper than what Malachy remembers. Everything seems more sodden than what he remembers. "Tried what, exactly."

"I," but falters. Those eyes are suddenly back, the body attached to them lying in his bed the same way it had been, he had been… "I don't know," truthfully. "But I tried."

Luke is completely still on top of the mattress. Malachy has never seen him sit tight so long during words, the action jarring. It frightens him.

"Luke," and there is no meaning behind the name. There are no connotations for Luke's jittery fingers to coil and convert, no shaking knees to relieve feeling. The old energy is either gone or dormant, hiding behind flat black eyes under flat black brows with flat black buzz cropped so close it's alien. "I'm a tampon." He walks close, just as close, reaches out. No more space.

Luke snatches the chain away when Malachy's fingers work at the clasp. The ex-convict stands, one fluid motion jangling metal and bones alike. He looks down his cheekbones at Malachy, breathing through his nose, front to front.

"Why d'you want it now, Mal?"

Malachy ignores this and tries again, but Luke swings the charms so they thump hollowly behind his back, between two shoulder blades.

"Because I'm back?"

Malachy's eyes get hard. He snarls, "Because you were gone."

Luke blinks; their bare feet are touching sides. Slowly, he reaches up behind his neck and brings the padlock in front from above his head. He holds it out for Malachy by the separated clasp halves.

"I was gone," he says. Malachy takes the two halves and makes them one, holding the chain tight in his hand. "Where's my warm fucking welcome?"

They stretch out their arms and embrace like brothers. It's short, but Malachy can feel the empty space between Luke's shoulder blades where his t-shirt sinks down to meet spine. The barrenness of his body worries Malachy; he realizes now his friend had almost disappeared. He might not know how half-gone the old other already is.

Throwing himself back down on the bed, Luke flips onto his stomach. Hands propping up his chin he asks, "So, what're we up to?"

Malachy watches feet kick back and forth in the air. "Well, I've got A-levels."

Luke's movements falter, and he rolls his eyes slightly before turning onto his back. Malachy moves to start picking up his desk drawers where important revision papers lay scattered, getting used to the weight of the charm against his chest. As he bends, it keeps in line with the floor like some anchor, like some leaden reminder. He remembers why he stopped wearing it.

"Fine. We can do whatever later," Luke sighs, examining the beds of his nails in the light coming through the high window. "Did the Titanic get boarded up?"

"Not exactly…" Malachy stops to watch his friend again. "But, do you really want to go back there, man?"

Shoulders shrug. "Yeah, why not."

Malachy bites his cheek, entertaining the idea of lighting another cigarette if the pack weren't in his gym bag downstairs. "I dunno, I haven't been into much of that. Gotten out of the habit, I guess. With my ASBO and A-levels, I haven't been into much of anything lately."

Luke laughs. "It's like riding a bike, yeah. Easy to pick back up again. I have faith in your ability."

"It's just—" Malachy shoves his hands into his jeans, then goes over to his window to open it. He busies himself so he doesn't have to look at the eyes of the phantasm on the bed, a shadow of himself but himself nonetheless. "I wasn't expecting you to want to get involved in all of that again. I thought you'd want to get on a track, or something, you know like choose a school and—"

"And what, get stellar marks like I used to?" he comments, derisive.

"But you could try again. I mean…" Malachy stops. "Chris is gone, Luke."

Something happens in the way Luke looks out from behind black eyes; Malachy sees them upside down, full of malice and mirth for some frightening fraction of a second. It hits him now, fully, that Luke is back, but not as he was before. Clothes the same, mind different; struggling past the quicksand past he had to drag himself—is still dragging himself—through. Some survival evil running through his veins.

"Stop talking about the future, man."

Quietly, "Okay, I'm sorry."

Time regurgitates itself and the look is gone. Nerves normal, Luke shifts his gaze back to something, nothing, non-threatening. Malachy still feels the tightness in him like a clenched fist.

After a minute, Luke starts to check the messages on his phone with an absent hand. "Anyway, have you heard from Michelle?"