He'd been in front of the TV. Windred called from the kitchen and sent him for something; a hazy object of insignifiance, but anything to make her happy. He got to his feet and went to the garage, finding the house far too empty on his way there. When he pulled open the door he discovered why.
The faces stared at him from the gloom, lit only by a single bulb that illuminated just enough. The glint on the table. The depth in their eyes. He could feel the silence. He'd been young yet old enough to know.
A voice among them rang out sharply. "Martin," his father said from among them. "Get out."
Martin didn't budge. He'd seen the objects on the table.
"What are you going to do?" He asked.
Luke got up and moved toward him. "Martin. This has nothing to do with you." The rest of the tribe sat motionless. He would have found pity if he'd looked, but Martin didn't understand.
Martin stared up at his father, who never looked away, until the door closed in his face.
"Did you find it, dear?" Windred called from down the hall.
The murkiness shifted and lightened. Martin realized his eyes were open and there was no longer a closed door before him but a foreign ceiling. Not a nightmare for once, but a different memory nonetheless.
That had been his chance, he thought again. One of so many. He could have gone to the cops. Told them about the bullets on the table and prevented it. He could have stopped it all. Martin's eyes squeezed shut.
But theirs had been a different world, and there the law did not interfere with a beast's retribution. Younger Martin had understood that. Older Martin knew that that same sick understanding had doomed them. In his bed he turned to his side and waited for the darkness to seep into his eyes and into his head, to make him sleep again.
"So, our history project?"
Rose Voh stood at his locker and brushed her headfur from her face. Martin fumbled and nearly dropped his lock. Definitely just because he was still half asleep this morning. Definitely.
"Right, yeah," he said. He cleared his throat. "When do you want to do that?"
"Grumm and I usually study after school on Wednesdays before choir practice. You could join us if you're not busy."
Martin tried not to go cross eyed at that. In another life he'd have laughed at the suggestion until it hurt. But in this life, Martin swallowed and said "Sure."
Grumm was a mole that Martin just noticed at Rose's side, who waved cheerfully and said something in an accent so thick Martin had to think to understand it. He smiled back though, liking the laugh lines around Grumm's eyes.
He liked Rose's smile at his acceptance a whole lot more. She waited for him to finish dealing with his locker. "Great. What class do you have next?"
He told her and all three made their way through the hallways. Somehow the looks of the students were easier to deal with, and they came fewer and fewer. Grumm was in the next class with him and his welcome company held them over until lunchtime.
It was still sunny enough in the season for an outdoor lunch. Martin tossed his backpack and climbed up, joined before long by Felldoh.
"What do you do when it gets cold?" Martin asked. If he leaned back on his elbows he could almost bathe entirely in sunlight.
"Skip, or find a spot by the cafe somewhere. Dunno. They usually give me detention at lunch. They're leaving me alone."
"You're on the up and up." Martin bit into his sandwich. "D'you know more about that Brome kid?"
Felldoh shrugged and accepted a bag of chips Martin offered him. "Not really. Except he's from the richest family here. Why? Did he ask you to teach him karate next?"
"Heh. Just want to know what's up with him."
"Yeah. You thinking bullies too?"
"Definitely bullies." It had seemed like slightly more than that. Extortion, almost. Martin remembered the gist of the overheard conversation; they were waiting on something from Brome, and if his family was rich, it didn't take a genius to figure out what.
"I can keep an eye on him. See if anybeast is bothering him." Felldoh offered.
"Yeah. Thanks." It wasn't his business, Martin knew. But one thing had not changed: he could stand those who preyed on the small.
"How was therapy?" Manny asked.
"Sucked."
"The first sessions are always rough, I hear."
Martin rolled the pasta around. Therapy had consisted of him sitting in a chair while filling out worksheets and questionnaires, answering as flatly as he could, trying to give the therapist as little ammunition as possible. He wasn't making it easy and he knew it, but something in him couldn't turn the key and open the door again - he'd see into the gloom to the faces sitting around the table. Beau. Vurg. Denno. Dulam. Luke. He could not bear to speak that emotion. It was easier to settle on rage.
He shoved that down and instead forked more linguini and ate in silence. Manny's cooking was improving. The apartment was improving too: a furnished living room did as it promised and made the place look almost habitable. He had a television now and a couch, some books, the works. Enough to help him forget.
By design Martin didn't know anything about Manny, but he seemed like he could be a father; he had a caring streak in him. Certainly it wasn't witness protection protocol to have dinner with their charge a few nights a week. Ashamed and grateful, Martin resolved he'd make an attempt to be friendlier.
"I made more friends," he offered. "Rose. And Grumm."
Manny beamed. "And not in detention?"
"Not in detention."
"Attaboy."
"Is it cool if I spend Wednesdays at the library after school?"
Manny squinted at him in disbelief. "Is that code for something?"
"I'm literally going to be spending my sunny afternoons indoor at the library. With adult supervision. For a project."
"Go for it. Make sure to coordinate with me for your ride, though."
"My friend can drop me off," Martin said. "That's not against the rules, right?"
That made Manny hesitate. "No, but… remember. No getting too close, okay? I'm sorry, but we want to keep you safe."
"Right," Martin said hollowly. "No close friendships."
"Sorry, kid."
"It's fine." Martin scraped the last of the sauce. He figured now would be a good time as any to ask. "When can I see my dad?"
Manny searched him and must have found something to pity. "I'll see if we can arrange a visit."
It would have to be enough. Martin ducked his head in understanding.
They finished dinner and washed up; Manny left and Martin remained. He flipped through tv channels before digging out his homework in defeat. He was a few reluctant sentences into an essay when his phone buzzed. It was from Felldoh.
Busy?
No, Martin replied. He drilled a hole into his phone with his eyes until a reply came.
Want to grab food
For some company Martin would eat himself sick.
Yeah. Where?
Thirty minutes later Martin was sliding into a booth whose seats must have been upholstered in the seventies. Country Kitchen was decorated like a rural grandmother's daydream, with wicker furniture and rustic accents. Still, it was nice. And best of all, it was open late on weekdays.
"I'm Keyla," said the cheerful otter across from him. "Hi, New Kid." The other otter beside him whapped him in the arm.
"And I'm Tullgrew." said the other. She turned back to her neighbor. "Don't be an ass."
"Can you guys not do this, like, all the time?" Felldoh grumbled as he ducked in beside Martin. But Keyla laughed and Tullgrew flashed him a smile, letting them know it was all in good fun.
"Ass is my middle name, actually," Keyla informed Martin seriously. Martin choked on his water as he joined the laughter.
"Rough. I sometimes go by Martin, if that makes you feel better."
Keyla fake-winced. "My sympathies, mate."
Tullgrew laughed and hit him again. "Please excuse this one. When he was little his favorite game was sticking forks in outlets. He hasn't been right since."
"It was like putting shape blocks in the right hole! So fun!" Keyla brightened.
They managed to smother the laughs as someone came around for their orders. Martin requested a side of fries: the cheapest thing on the menu. Old habits died hard.
"How's your dad?" Tullgrew asked after a little conversation. Martin cocked his head, eager to find out what he'd been too polite to ask.
"Doing better. He's a little frail still, but he's always been tough. He'll recover." Felldoh said tersely, drummed his claws on the table and cast about for a change of subject. "So you guys know the Voh family?"
"Who doesn't?" Keyla and Tullgrew nodded.
The squirrel shrugged. "Met Brome Voh in detention along with Martin here. Kinda think he's being bullied. Do you guys know who he hangs with?"
Keyla's eyebrows grew together in concern. "Huh. I don't really pay attention to 'im, mate, sorry."
But Tullgrew's eyes were wide. "Hey! That's who I saw the other day!" she turned to Keyla. "Remember when I said I saw a kid being shoved outside the bookshop? I couldn't remember what his name was, but that's the guy."
The rest were bewildered. "Really?"
"Yeah. When I crossed the street they were gone so I couldn't yell at them, but I definitely saw some weasel pushing a mouse around." She hissed. "Those Marshank folk. They're vile."
"The bookstore near the warehouse?" Felldoh frowned.
"Yeah, on the edge of town toward the highway."
Martin and Felldoh looked at each other. They hadn't actually expected anything to turn up, and yield only more questions.
Keyla laughed at them. "You guys are like the Hardy Boys. Gonna go investigate?"
"Maybe, yeah," Felldoh said between bites of Martin's fries.
Definitely, Martin thought.
"As for who his friends are," Tullgrew informed them, "I think I saw him at lunch with that other new kid. What's his name? Pallum?"
"Last year's new kid," Felldoh said. "A hedgehog."
"You know all that? You guys weren't kidding about this being a small town," Martin laughed. He tucked Pallum's name away for later.
Keyla leaned toward Martin beseechingly. "There's so little going on here that when a new store opens, it's all we talk about for weeks."
"Kill us," Tullgrew agreed. "If you're not into the sportsball teams your only other option is to watch paint dry."
"Only fun for the first hour." Keyla quipped.
"What was your old town like, Martin?"
Martin chewed on the last fry. He had the stock answers Manny drilled into his head. Still, what he said wasn't a lie.
"Small, too. Smaller than here. But I was always too busy running around to be bored." Martin couldn't keep himself from floating off to his birthplace, with its unforgiving shore and dizzying cliffs. He heard Windred call it cold and ugly; but Martin had climbed too many rocks until his fingers were numb and raced Timballisto back to the shore too often to find it so. There had been just a few shops and the general store. Martin had been born there and knew nothing else. He'd been happy, for a while.
If Martin had slipped away, none of his friends seemed to notice. Soon enough their chatter moved on to other things and for the first time in a good, long while, Martin felt a little like himself again.
When they parted ways he felt almost energized. Things weren't so bad. It felt good to have a plan where he could finally find some answers about Brome. Manny said he could maybe see his father, which Martin refused to be pessimistic about for once. And Wednesday he'd talk to Rose again.
For the first time in a long while Martin had something to look forward to.
