Lucky Me
Chapter 077
"So are you still upset?"
Scott opened his menu so hard I was afraid he was going to rip it in two. Oh-kay, I took as a 'yes'. Actually that was a very face-slapping yes.
Chris had his arms crossed and face turned away like a regular pouting brat. We were down in the hotel restaurant trying to order breakfast. Scott probably found it extremely hard to order without talking.
"Has he been like this all night?" I asked in a chilled voice.
"Do you ever remember me and him getting into an in-depth conversation?" Chris replied as smooth as ice.
"No, but then again, I doubt you are capable of meaningful conversations." Chris rolled his blue eyes.
"And like you are? Besides rolling your eyes and glaring at me, do you really ever say anything 'meaningful'?"
I was looking the other direction and feigned ignorance.
"Did you say anything?"
Throwing up his hands in irritation, he huffed.
"You have the attention span of a humming bird on cocaine!"
Scott snorted with a laugh.
That got both of us looking at the adult of the group.
Was he siding with Chris?
It was around eleven and my stomach knotted up so tight in my body I felt like it was going to turn into a black hole and eat me alive. We were in the downtown area; I recognized the salon where Heather used to work. Mrs. Bertty, who ran the beauty salon, was always nice; she's the type of grandmother figure I could only dream of having.
My old high school, abandoned and forgotten for the summer, was next on the 'tour'.
Then there was the park where I had purposely lost my sister when she 'accidentally' rammed her bike into my leg.
And the old church where-where the funeral service for my Dad was held.
"Are we there yet?" Chris moaned.
"Almost. It's the third house on the left down Byrd street."
"Byrd?" Scott repeated.
"It's not like I could have told the future. It's just one of the coincidences."
"Right."
When we pulled up to the old, two-story house, my breath caught in my throat. It was almost just as I remembered it. The only differences were that there was no Darcy on the porch, no mom fussing at Darcy on the porch, and no Dad's truck in front of the garage. There was nothing but an empty shell of a house now with a 'for sale' sign stuck in the lawn.
We parked, and both guys were very aware of me because I was very aware of them. I gave a nervous smile and opened the car door. No need to just sit in the car staring all day, now, was there? Of course, Chris couldn't help himself and decided to take out whatever frustrations he had on me.
"A baby blue house with green and yellow shutters," he stated flatly and then looked over at me (who was very, very annoyed with him at this moment) "This is like hell done in pastels."
"So my parents weren't exterior designers, so what?"
"Were they also blind?"
I gritted my teeth and Scott suggested we take this inside before anyone saw us (or before powers became involved). Chris had the intelligence to ask how we were supposed to get into a locked-up house and Scott merely nodded at me and I smiled. I had snuck out of this house a million times. I knew every way in. I just hope I remembered them.
There were three doors: the front, the back, and one of those miscellaneous doors that were in a weird spot for no real reason. The weird, pointless door had a horrible feature. No lock. Weird, yes, but what can I say? It was a blessing in disguise.
But, after ditching Chris, I didn't want to go in first. Instead, I quietly asked Scott to follow me (maybe if I offered him an X-men-Scooby Snack?). I headed along the path I had taken two and half years ago. Down to the old lot where the old tree house had been—to the place where Dad died.
It's amazing just how strong memories get when you go back to where you made them.
It was horrible. Some type of Catch 22 if you asked me. It was a nasty glitch in the memory to remember the bad and the good, but mainly the bad. It just made me want to have amnesia.
I frowned at that thought.
"Where are we?" Scott asked innocently enough.
"This is where-" I choked. Where was all my wit and sarcasm now? I guessed after flinging it at Chris all day long I'd run out of acid remarks. So, what was a smart aleck to do when cornered with a jab? Tell the truth. I feel so naked without my sarcasm. "My dad."
I guessed by the way he stopped for a fraction of a second and sucked in a breath he understood what I meant. The tree house was even more dilapidated and looked as if someone had been throwing cannonballs through it for entertainment or something.
It maybe had one nail to lose before collapsing into a pile of firewood.
Seeing as how someone finally scraped the mold off their brain and took down the wooden planks the kids usually used to get in the old tree house, I had to ask for Scott's help.
"Be careful. You have any idea what Jean would do to me if I broke you?" He asked after I shimmed into the tree house.
"Now you're just tempting me to get broken."
He either groaned or was doing an impersonation of a creaky door.
My heart sank. I knew it! I was a closet masochist! I lived for pain! I'd hurt me if I thought it would do any good. Why did I want to go back there? The place where I had been such a stupid kid? Looking over the small space my mind reeled in fear.
There was a shiny box in the corner, not far from the make shirt entrance I wiggled through.
It didn't look like it had been there for long, maybe a few days, because the pink, shiny ribbon was slightly matted but didn't have any bugs or dirt piled up on it. Scooting over to the box, I found a plain looking gift tag, flipping it over I read it and my blood shrank away from my heart and decided to throw a party in my feet.
The little address card read, 'Kookie'.
Why, if that had freaked me out, did I open the stupid thing?
I pushed the goofy, pink ribbon aside, but before I could open my 'gift'— there was a distracting noise.
The sound of about ten thousand bolts of electricity ripping through the air would be a good distraction for anyone.
"Kerry, get down here, now! That came from the direction of the house!" Before I was even down, Scott was tearing through the field. I clutched the package close to my chest, dropped to the ground, and started to run in after Scott.
By the time we reached the back of my old house, there was nothing to be seen or heard.
That put me on high alert.
We crept along the back, Scott going into full Cyclops mode.
"Stay behind me." Typical man, thinking he had to protect the 'little girl'.
"I'll go around front, you cover the back. Stay alert, we don't know what to expect."
"What if he just saw a rat and got scared?" I questioned, and it was a reasonable assumption if you asked me!
By the dead-serious frown Scott gave me I didn't think he thought so.
"Just do it." Ohhh, he's going to be in trouble when Nike shoes finds out he stole their slogan (I was nervous okay!).
He disappeared around the side of the house, and because no one had ever had the energy to oil the door, I heard the screen door being creaked open, and then it whined shut. Perhaps I should have warned him about the talking door?
Like a good little chickadee, I waited for him to come out the back door, a signal, or something.
Uh, Scott never told me if there was a signal I was supposed to watch out for. Oh great. I was going to end up dead because I was too dense to ask for a signal!
So very Kerry.
BAM!
A gun!?
Now, like most morons you see in the movies, yes, I moved closer to the house. Just as I swung open the back door – WHAM!
Me and some unknown body went flying backwards into the yard.
Whoever it was that used me as a landing pad needed to stop being so freaking friendly with the Burger King and kiss up to a head of lettuce (not to mention some toothpaste). Grunting, I went to shove the guy off of me but my luck held strong and he came to before I could.
"M-mutie!" Okay, that word meant no more nice Kookie. I tucked my legs between our bodies and pushed hard sending him on his return flight back toward the house. He hit the frame of the house with a crack that made my stomach say 'oh, that's going to linger'.
There are just some sounds that are so unique no one could ever mistake them for something else. The sound of Scott's eyebeams was one of those noises. I thought there might be more men, and when guns went off and the kitchen window exploded from two men flying through it (not by their choice) I was certain there were more creeps lurking around.
I know, I know, I should have struck a pose and come off as threatening, but something about seeing the little black arm bands with 'F.o.H.' embroidered on it had me ready to wet my pants or have a heart attack.
Scott could continue having a blast (don't kill me because of the bad pun); I was having a heart failure (less messy than wetting one's pants I assure you, less embarrassing as well).
Because one of the guys who had come through the window was a face I recognized.
It was George.
And for those who have faulty memories, that guy haunted my dreams—a gun, my dad, a shot, and a screaming girl.
Staggering backwards, mouth open and my hands doing this weird shaky thing like the time I accidentally took a swig of Dr. Hank's coffee (ugh, I was like a bee on crack for half the day after I did drank it Honestly, I was trying to dive bomb people when Mr. Warren was showing me air maneuvers. Eventually, he ended up throwing me into the swimming pool to calm me down).
"Ugh, muties…" George muttered hotly, right as I was taking a step back and heard a crunch from under my foot. Glancing down, I was surprised to see the forgotten package from the tree house. The guys on the lawn weren't moving too quickly and I was experienced enough to know how to run…er, fight.
Snatching up the package, I opened my wings and with one quick flap, I was in a tree. Perhaps a little less gracefully than I should have been, but I was up there and out of trouble for the time being.
George.
I. Hate. That. man.
I never took my eyes off the murderous, heartless coward as my fingers fumbled with the package. I felt the note first and flicked my eyes to it long enough to read it before settling on hawking George again. He was getting up and cursing dumb people in general (nice to know he didn't have it against only mutants).
I almost fell out of the tree.
Apparently I didn't read the back of the note, because when I flipped the card over there was the word 'revenge' neatly penned.
It was in the same type of handwriting as the last note I had gotten with the dead birds.
Another zap and grunt of pain reached my ears.
Scott sounded like he was wrapping things up pretty fast. George was on the move, and I could only guess he was looking for me as he crept closer to my tree perch. His hand wrapped around the handle of a handgun.
Not this again. I finally reached into the box and pulled out what was inside. Whatever it was, wasn't light.
A gun.
I became solid lead.
There was a small gift-note-type thing taped on the barrel's surface.
'To you, compliments of fortu…' then it just turned into illegible scribbles. My world went gray as the only thing which was colored was the flowery note on the black and gray gun.
Mr. Bishop taught me about the basics of weapons back in New York. The most important thing was the safety and bullets. There were two or so shots left in this one. At the snapping of a twig somewhere below me, everything became colored again, and clearer.
Whoever it was that knew so much about me, knew the truth about my dad's death—even had the gun for crying out loud. It felt as heavy as a bowling ball in my hand, and the person who took my dad away was walking aimlessly beneath me.
Temptation was a sweet, strong drug to have to fight.
If one even tried to fight it.
We quickly left after Scott took care of the gang members. After which an 'anonymous caller' tipped off the police about some vandals who broke into an empty house who were armed and dangerous, oh and some of them might need medical attention. They, you know, 'fell'.
Scott kept asking if we were okay. Chris' pride was bashed pretty hard due to being knocked out cold in the first round, but he proudly reminded us that he'd taken two of the eight men down with him. I was shaken up, but otherwise okay. I should have known something like this was going to occur. It would be too easy for something in my life to go right and accident free.
Tucked between my waist of my jeans and the curve of my spine was a little present I took from the scene. Scott didn't know and neither did Chris. It would remain that way. No need for them to think less of me and my choices.
Not wanting to have another run-in with the morons from the depths of Washington, Scott quickly drove us back to the hotel, told us to wait, try not to make a spectacle (such an old man word), and then drove off like he'd just called Jean fat and she went all crazy on him.
No, he drove even faster than that. He drove like he had called Miss Rogue fat.
Deadly and stupid. This was how fast he drove off without us in the car.
"What's wrong with you, bird brain?" I now knew why Mr. Warren disliked all the bird references. They got so old so fast and show a complete lack of creativity. I mean at least Bobby-Jerk had the decency to think of 'fuzzy bat' at one point and time. Of course I hit him so hard upside the head after that comment he probably had memory loss and forgot what he said.
"Nothing's wrong," I replied smoothly, turning to go to my room.
He groaned. "Oh come on."
I thought was his problem with me, because I wouldn't 'come on'. I shut the door on the grumbling boy and flung myself down on the bed (face first since I didn't know if falling on my back would set off the gun, effectively shooting myself in the butt no less).
I quickly removed the weapon from where I had hid it on me and flipped it on the bed beside me. The only thing I could do was stare at it. My heart was empty or overloaded, I didn't know which. It just felt like a cookie tin without anything but empty wrappers and crumbs.
The safety was on, which was a good thing.
After all there was still one round left.
Two days later, Scott thought it was safe enough for us to actually leave the hotel rooms and adventure out to the graveyard. I felt dread creep over me. In my suitcase, wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil and clothes was the gun. Yes, I was perverse enough to take it back with me. It wasn't out in the open or anything; it was safely stitched into something, which might be hard to believe that I could sew anything.
At any rate, we were once again on the road in a new rental car because Scott, being the nervous kind, thought "they" might be looking for the type of vehicle we had been using on the day we went to the house.
"It's a precaution." He clarified when Chris and I both asked him why.
"It's paranoia," I corrected tonelessly. It wasn't that he didn't have a reason or right to be a bit uptight (okay, a bit more uptight). After all, he was the one who zapped, punched, kicked and did other bodily harm to a bunch of guys. Men, much like my dad, who I never would have thought of laying a hand on a few years ago.
So much can change in a few years—or in one day.
My mood must have shifted substantially because Scott asked once again if I was okay. The biggest smile spread across my face and I nodded like a little kid who just polished off a lollipop the size of my head.
I was glad I didn't have breakfast as we pulled up to the cemetery. No one was there, thank goodness. Not that we looked like grave robbers or anything (all though Chris had gone with his all black wardrobe again) but I just felt better knowing no one would be there.
It had been a while but you never forget where. I don't think anyone could ever forget where. I made a beeline straight for the marker. Scott followed me and Chris wondered off in a different direction. This was probably with Scott's threat of any vandalism done and he'd personally train Chris in all areas of his life for the next two weeks. If Chris survived the first day.
This man was scary even on vacation!
There we stood sooner than I wished it.
Zachariah Foxx D'mon. Beloved Husband, Father, and Son.
I felt the tears start to pull. Bending down, I started to scrape away the overgrowth of grass and other vegetation. Here he was, just like he had been.
No dumb GraveWorm or whatever to make him a puppet of destruction. Dad was still gone or as the pastor had put it 'in a better place.'
There was no describing what it felt like at this place. Everything seemed so pointless. Of course, whenever my mind blanks, that's when I got a song stuck in my head.
At least it wasn't 'The Song That Never Ends'.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, hoping somehow he heard. "I should never have brought you here. You have enough problems without adding me to the mix." I was sure by then Scott realized I had been either talking to him indirectly or both him and Zach directly. Who really gave a feathery forehead?
"I know you didn't ask for the job." I kept staring at the chiseled word 'Father' on the marker. "I didn't think I turned out according to anyone's hopes." Brushing the grass softly the tears slowly made their way out of my eyes. My shoulders sagged and my heart became a puddle of useless ash as the sun's light cast Scott's shadow over the tombstone.
"Everything I've done was to try and make you proud. But I guess no one can match up with your high standards. Did you really think I could do it?" I definitely wasn't talking to my biological dad anymore. It was all Scott. "Sometimes it—almost seems that you don't care but then everyone says I'm crazy because you do."
I heard Scott make a noise, sort of like shifting from foot to foot. I didn't mean to make him antsy. I didn't even realize that this was what I wan—no, needed to do. How the heck was I supposed to know? I couldn't diagnose a cold much less the dramatic dynamics of my head.
"I can't do anything right, can I? Nothing can make what I have done right." I gritted my teeth. "Nothing can be forgiven. I don't want them to be forgiven." Okay, this was now 'inner-Kookie' talk coming out in all its grimy glory. I shook my head trying to get the skeletons back in their padlocked closets.
Standing up, I wrapped my arms around myself since it was suddenly cold. Over my shoulder, in my peripheral vision, I studied Scott. His face was blank of emotion. Perhaps he had one of these talks to a tombstone before. Probably Jean's. Of course they could start a museum for that lady's grave markers.
"I always thought he'd be there," I managed out in a soft murmur. "If I had only known…"
What I wanted I wasn't sure, but my heart melted (considering it was ash, would seem nearly impossible). Scott taken two steps to stand at my side and put an arm around my shoulders and drew me to him. That was the only invitation I needed. My response was the curl into him and bawled.
"Those questions won't get answered," Scott spoke into my hair. I was crying on his shoulder and he allowed it while holding me in a protective hug. "At least not by me or you. You can't save the past." His voice was heavier, like it was trying not to break down right along with me.
Perhaps he was more human than I gave him credit for.
A lifetime could have snuck by without my realizing it. I kept my head on his shoulder long after the tears had dried. Scott didn't push me away or move. He must have had a lot of practice with emotionally unstable females. Maybe it was just these types of situations he had known for too long.
The roller coaster week was too much for me. I felt safe at that moment. That was all that mattered right? Feeling safe and protected by the person who I kinda considered your dad?
Not a new one, just someone who I looked up to. It's so hard to explain.
So the Kookie way out of it, was to just not explain it.
Once I finally did release the poor, soaked man (who had been wearing a suede jacket which was now sporting a dark spot about the size of my fist on the shoulder-egads, didn't he scotch guard that thing?) I sniffled and stayed next to the grave a few more minutes. Talking in my head, having a feeling my dad could hear me without my verbalizing.
As we started to leave, Chris came jogging up to us and for once knew not to say anything. He even agreed to go start the car (anything to escape the odd air around Scott and me).
Scott looked down at me.
"I didn't want to risk the chance of ruining your home memories." He frowned a second later, "but it seems it was unavoidable."
My heart tightened as I looked back in the direction of the cemetery gates.
"You couldn't have." I could just feel the huge question mark being shot in my direction. "My home's in New York now, isn't it?"
I expected to see him nervous or looking away, instead Scott back with a pleased soft smile on his lips.
"And I want to go home now," I gave a finally thought and glance in the direction of my hometown. This was really going to be it. No more Acola, Washington. No more haunting past, well, there would be but hopefully there wouldn't be any more sanity-questioning nightmares. I had finally taken care of that nightmare.
I turned and gave a Scott a smile, "Dad."
