Where We Belong
"Do you think they're still mad at me?"
Raz' voice is quiet, mousy. It tickles Augustus' ear. If the wind had blown, he isn't sure if he would have heard him. The critters in the surrounding forest of Whispering Rock are far louder than Raz. The chirping song of the seagulls echoing from the lake beyond the rocky tunnels has more verbosity than his son.
They're sitting on tree stumps adjacent to each other. Fireflies and lamp posts sway in the humid, gentle breeze, providing enough light that the crescent moon cannot. It's enough illumination for Augustus to properly see Raz' face, his downcast eyes and mouth, the rigidity of his spine, and the way his gloved hands clutch the uneven edges of the stump.
"Of course not," Augustus croons. "Confused and worried, yes, but I don't believe they're angry any longer."
Raz glances at him. "'Any longer.' So, they were."
Augustus purses his lips. He hunches forward, resting his arms on his bony knees. Clasping his hands together, he says, "Yes, Razputin. It's true, but it came from a frightening thought. There's no telling what could have happened to you if you didn't make it to Whispering Rock."
When Raz' eyes widen, he bites back a remark. The truck driver could have been a serial killer. Sugarcube could have been run over, leaving Raz as a smear in the middle of a dark road. There are countless possibilities for what could have happened, a few involving psychics of a cruel degree, not the kind folk who inhabited the campgrounds.
"Well, still, what did they say?" Raz asks, rubbing his arm. "I know Dion and Frazie probably didn't take it well, right?"
He's not wrong. They had taken Augustus' fireside stories about psychics to heart. They believed his every word about their cruelty and murderous ways. They had killed his father and left his mother homeless. Psychics had also cursed them to drown in water, so whenever Raz spoke highly of them, they reiterated Augustus' words. Their arguments, heated and bitter, only ceased when Augustus affirmed the older siblings were correct, deepening the wedge between Raz and the Aquatos that he, himself, had placed.
When Dion and Frazie realized Raz had taken Sugarcube, Frazie became a mess. She had stormed around the tents, almost pulling her hair out, as if she was more concerned with the horse than her brother. But when her voice hitched on a hiccup, and she buried his face in her hands, Augustus knew his daughter was grieving a loss deeper than herself. Dion's outrage was palpable. He had cussed Raz under his breath, kicking aside wooden boxes, hissing that the family had been abandoned by one of their own. He had only stopped when Nona took him aside in the caravan, and Augustus listened when Dion wept into the quilt she crafted for him, guilt gnawing at Augustus from every angle.
"They didn't, but they'll understand. We can talk to them together and help them see what I see now," Augustus promises, and he digs his chipped fingernails into his calloused palms. "I was wrong to let the three of you argue so terribly. I shouldn't have been so blinded by my own fears that it alienated my son from his family."
Raz tilts his head, his expression neutral. He is normally like a book, open and readable, but Augustus cannot tell what he is thinking. Instead, he huffs out a sigh and asks, "What about Mom?"
Donatella had screamed behind her hands when it became clear Raz was missing. She had buckled to her knees and let panic consume her. Her face quickly became stained with mascara dripping down her high cheeks, the prima donna of the circus nothing more than a woman mourning the loss of her son.
"She wasn't angry at you. It was my fault, and she said as much," Augustus says, remembering how she feverishly accosted him for the prior evening's incident when he tried comforting her, "She thought she lost you forever because of what I did to you in front of everyone."
Raz stiffens. "Dad, it's-"
Augustus speaks over him. "When I saw that pamphlet, I was afraid and let that fear turn to anger. I shouldn't have torn it to pieces when it meant so much to you, especially when this camp was definitely the best place for you to be all along." He shifts off the tree stump and kneels in front of Raz. He locks eyes with his son. "I'm sorry, Razputin. I made a terrible mistake the other night, and I've been making terrible mistakes with you for a very long time."
He believes it's an apology that needed to be said much earlier. While he had acted out protection, he had instilled a great, powerful terror in Raz. That fright had pervaded so deeply for him to believe Augustus wanted him dead. It wasn't at all true, but the fact remained that Raz' interpretation of his behavior created a scourge in his brain that wickedly emulated Augustus' greatest fears.
Augustus sucks in a shaky breath. "I have a lot to make up for. I was afraid, but that impacted you in a way I could've never foreseen, and I want you to know that I've always loved you. I could never want you gone, my boy."
Raz doesn't tear up, nor does he quiver. With a smile, he holds out his arms, and Augustus embraces him. They tightly cling to each other, Augustus breathing in the lingering stench of the pepper on his son's coat. He strokes his back, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering how long it had been since he last held Raz. The distance between them had grown too great, but in a single night, they had come together again, no longer plagued by differing beliefs or tension.
Augustus feels Raz' arms shift, and he releases him. He sits down next to Raz, keeping his arm around his shoulder. A question comes to mind just as he goes to ask for more details about Raz' many encounters. "I'm curious. How did you get that pamphlet? It's not like we serve them at the popcorn stands."
Shrugging, Raz replies, "Okay, this is gonna sound weird. A bearded guy came to me after the show and handed it to me."
Augustus arches an eyebrow. Suspicion spreads through him, but he retains his neutrality. Now isn't the time to pry for more details. He'll let that conversation happen later, and he makes a mental note to invest in security cameras in case that stranger ever arrives at one of their shows. He'd like to have a very strong word with him.
Raz' breath hitches. His brow furrows as he mumbles, "I mean, thinking over what you said, if things had gone badly, then, well, I could've ended up as a brain in a tank." He chuckles. "Guess that would've made your 'psychics bad' spiel right in the end."
The corner of Augustus' lip raises. "But you didn't, and I wasn't right at all. Instead, you saved everyone, and you showed everyone in this camp what you're made of, son. You were better than those agents. Even when you were brainless, you certainly did more than what those counselors could do in that state."
The compliments instantly make Raz brighten. He doesn't scratch his neck or let out a bashful giggle. He swells with pride, and his smile forms dimples in his cheeks. Raz had saved everyone, even the culprit responsible, and to think it had all happened in just over a day.
"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he brags, polishing his knuckles on his chest. "Wait 'til the others see what I can do. They're gonna flip! I bet I can make Dion flip when he's confused!"
"Indeed. Learning so many psychic powers is impressive, too," Augustus adds, rubbing his hands together. "Tell me, what are those, eh, green ones again? The things that make you disoriented?"
"Confusion grenades," Raz says, and he swipes his hand behind his head. A cylindrical, green grenade appears clenched in his fingers. He pulls the out clip and chucks it toward the forest across the path. A puff of green smoke plumes in the immediate area, and Augustus chuckles, watching squirrels run in circles, chittering and falling over their pilfered acorns.
They allow silence to come over them. The chattering of the forest fills their ears from the growling of distant cougars to the nearby hum of the GPCs. Raz rests his head on Augustus' chest, who notes it feels far heavier. Augustus wonders if its weariness or the dramatic boost in psychic abilities that had increased the heft, chalking it up to the former. He pats Raz' forearm and peers through the trees, breathing in the scent of wildflowers, wondering what could have been if life had taken a different path.
But he's with his son, and it's all he needs. Raz is safe. Psychics had protected and nurtured his boy. And while their family might not fully understand, not with Augustus' drastic change of perception about psychics, he knows what needs to be said.
"Everything is going to be fine, Razputin. We'll tell the family the whole story, and won't they be proud of what you've accomplished?" Augustus squeezes Raz' hand and lowers his voice. "I know I am. I'm very, very proud of you, and I've always been proud of you."
With a suppressed yawn and snicker, Raz whispers, "Thanks, Dad. I'm proud of myself, too."
As Raz nods off, Augustus does his best not to cry. He fights the mixture of emotions from spilling out and worrying Raz. He simply holds him closer, thankful the worst hadn't come. And when Raz falls asleep, Augustus carries him in his arms back to his bunk, feeling it was the best place for him after all.
