I.
Hogarth was shivering. He wasn't sure how long Dean had been gone, he only knew that it was dark and that the lighthouse beacon had suddenly flashed on. The boy grasped his arms as the trembles came and he realized as his body quaked that his helmet and jacket were missing. He couldn't bring himself to move and go find them. Somehow his teeth chattering, the cold, stark wind on his face and the clear, starry night were just what he needed; Hogarth was awakening.
"Here, son." A man placed a heavy jean jacket with corduroy lapels around his shoulders.
"Mr. Langley?" The words misted out of his lips like the air itself did. It was indeed very cold out. Hogarth hung his head and huddled under the material that weighed him down; in an odd way he liked the heaviness. Peter Valentine Langley hauled Hogarth up into his arms without a single comment. He carried the boy up a spiral of metal stairs, his big boots rattled them loudly.
They even sounded violent. Hogarth was content as he closed his eyes and smiled: Big, heavy, loud, metal... Metal. That thought alone was enough to cause a grin to spread across his face.
"What you smilin' about?"
The critical voice caused instant disappointment.
"Where am I?" Hogarth's eyes opened and he stared up at a white ceiling blankly.
"Lighthouse," Pete told him. He pulled a dripping wet cloth out of a basin, wrung it in his big hands and slapped it across Hogarth's face. Drops flew everyone. The lighthouse attendant adjusted something in the center of the circular room and then went to gently wipe Hogarth's slathered skin. "You caused quite a scene, young man." he mentioned. "Did you know that?"
His face tingled warm. Hogarth didn't answer.
"Answer me when I talk to you, son."
"Yes sir," he said automatically. He was beyond emotion. "I'm sure I did."
"You sure did," There was no humor in his words. He kept his eyes down on the water.
Hogarth didn't move. He didn't even breathe.
"Inhale, exhale." Pete's young charge complied. "You sure weren't nice to that ol' beatnik friend of yours, a real nice guy from the looks of it." Hogarth breathed louder. "There we go," At first Hogarth thought it was in reference to his breakthrough but then he heard the whistle of a kettle.
"You got coffee?" He felt awful as he muttered it.
"You got tea," A thick, warm mug was placed in his hands. The despondent boy's eyes widened and he gazed down at the heated green beverage; he pleaded for somewhere to put it. "Y'know son," Pete took the blue ceramic by his fingertips and placed it on a round wooden folding table. "It aint right what you done." Hogarth thought he meant Dean. "The way you run off. Lotta good people, honest people and low down and dirty people alike been lookin' high and low for ya. At the good Lord's will, you ended up in my keep, crossin' those miles just like our 'ol robot done."
"I'm sorry."
Pete filled his own cup to the brim, he never took his eyes off his work. "Gonna man the post."
Hogarth laid back against the surprisingly comfortable lumpy bed. While Mr. Langley continued doing his work in quietness, occasionally humming a gentle tune, Hogarth let the thick bumpiness of the pillow settle around his head. He turned his face towards the moon and stars, gazed for a bit at the wobbly silver streak made by the huge circle, and finally fell asleep with an eye on him.
...
After some delicious scrambled eggs and bacon - and some last minute advice on taking better care of his late father's missing gear - Hogarth was nearing the railroad tracks that would lead him to home. His mind was free and clear even as he took the same route he and the Giant had days earlier, was nearing the place where the tracks would be reconstructed and was heading in the direction of the very place he had fled yesterday. And yet, he still couldn't feel anything. The will to flee was gone... but so was the will to do anything. He was just at the divide in the trees when he heard a voice calling out for him. Hogarth froze, his hardened heart began throbbing.
"Hogarth!" Annie Hughes shouted.
The boy escaped up a tree and watched as his mother passed. She went deeper into the forest. Her calls weren't as choked and panicked as Hogarth's had been but her tone couldn't conceal the pain in her voice. Somehow her cries fell like soft thuds against Hogarth's eardrums, hurting only his now pained hearing. Every voice; nagging, crying, condemning, deafened him. Once he thought it was safe, Hogarth climbed down the tree and started for his sun-splashed residence.
To be continued...
