Chapter 60m: Precognizance

As the car slips in the slurry for a moment, I can only groan in annoyance whilst struggling to right the thing in the correct direction once more. Leave it to Mother Nature to toss this extra obstacle in my path for the monthly emergency call that has me driving down into whatever crappy neighborhood my callee calls in from.

Ugh. I could be sitting at home, in my nice, warm sofa. With a cup of hot cocoa. And whatever soppy drama it was that Bea wanted to watch tonight.

But nope, the plans have changed.

Why is it always these low-budget neighborhoods that end up at the bottom of the priorities of the few hard workers the borough employs?

It is probably their damn bosses. Nobody in a managerial position with the government lives in these kinds of areas. The pay might not be good, but it is enough to escape a place like this.

Those workers are likely on snow truck duty this time. During storms they end up having to clear the fallen trees and branches off the roads, and when it floods I've seen them assist the firemen on occasion. It's got to be a thankless job; nobody ever happy you are there but always upset you took ages to get there.

Nevertheless, we're getting there. I can see the gym complex in the distance, and not too far away from it I see the one that wrecked my movie night.

Alas.

A short honk gets his attention as I drive up, although the light beams probably would have done just fine. Still, now he knows it is me, and he does turn around.

He doesn't approach though. He's not crying; good I suppose. It would have been a first for him to show that. And I'd have to question them to be acting tears, given how much Meredith Meadows has been bragging about his talents.

Fine, out into the cold I go.

The cold snowflakes immediately hit me in the face, and I can only conclude that the heater in my car does actually make a difference, even if I still felt like I was freezing in there.

One more case of hindsight making one count their blessings.

"What's up, Cain?"

I'm not going to bother sounding all cheerful. He won't buy it any more than I believed his progress at the Institute.

"The place is closed."

I repress my urge to roll my eyes. With a snow storm like this, what'd you expect? They've been yelling it over every radio and television signal since early morning to stay in and not go out unless strictly needed.

"Yes it is. And that is the reason you finally decided to call?"

The annoyance slips into my voice unintentionally, but it is likely for the best. He's more likely to communicate when he's agitated.

"What else do I have your number for, Mark? To have a chitchat over fucking tea and crumpets?!"

He lashes out vehemently as he moves up close to me, the typical behaviour of an angry bully wanting an excuse to hit stuff. Or to have his ego supplemented to a level he reckons is a minimum for a human being to look in the mirror with.

I raise my hand, shaking my head slightly while looking him in the eyes.

"This is not how we talk, Cain. You asked me to come, and thus I'm here in this godforsaken weather. But if you don't calm down and rinse out your mouth this instant, I'm leaving. I'm here to help you, not to be your verbal punching bag. Understood?"

His eyes combatively find mine. I don't care; I've seen eyes like those on some true muscleheads, and even they I didn't flinch.

"So. What is it?"

I continue to meet his gaze, and I can hear his knuckles cracking in his fist.

"I'm sorry, Marc."

The relief inside of me escapes in the form of a smile as I pat his shoulder, pulling him along. "Come, let's talk in my car. It's just as cold, but at least it is out of the wind."

I make sure he actually comes to sit in the car before I move over to sit back inside myself.

Ahhh. The one degree of elevated temperature truly does make a difference.

"So do you want me to throw some potshots out like usual, or are you in a sharing mood tonight?"

I joke slightly to take away the razors edge that is the silence that rules the innards of this vehicle. The streetlights just barely show me his eyes as he glances over, and what I find there is a mix of anger and hopelessness.

"It's not working anymore."

Okay. That is sharing, but bloody hell, I might as well make some potshots when you share this little about your problem.

"What isn't working anymore?"

"Exercise."

I stare at him in the darkness before uttering a sigh.

"Okay. So what you mean is that the crutch you cheated the tests with isn't working, and that you are back at zero. Right?"

His head turns, his expression filled with pain and anger. Ah dang, I should not have said that.

"Are you going to fucking gloat, Marc? Well good job! You figured it out! And now you are getting to tell me 'I told you so!' and boy, doesn't that feel absolutely great? To point out how you failed at your damn job at fixing me?"

Yeah. I should have seen that coming. As always, he's looking for a fight with anyone who will take the bait.

"No, Cain. Why would I? I've wanted you to heal. Healing kids like you is the reason I went to work in a place like the Institute as opposed to some university career filled with theoretical and philosphical mumbojumbo."

It is key to mix the personal with the compassionate. To become a face as opposed to a title. To be Marc and not the Doctor Therapist. Some of my charges cross the hurdle in the first minute, and then there's those who never breach it.

As for Cain, I am not even sure if I am a face or a title to him. His emotions and state of mind might be as clear as day, but the way he is always on his guard with everybody just doesn't let people in to see the real him.

"Maybe you should have."

His response is as combative as ever.

"Then you wouldn't have called my number tonight. Where would you be then, I wonder?"

He sighs softly. The answer takes a while, but eventually, it does come in a soft, evasive tone. "One of three places. The hospital because of frostbite. The morgue because of hypothermia. Or jail because I smashed his fucking face in the right way this time."

I struggle to contain myself here; he doesn't seem to be lying and this gives me cause to order a mandatory hold on the boy for further counseling.

But that would probably just close him off again, and we'd be back where we started when we met a few years ago. Minus the clean slate; I'd be tagged as an antagonistic, not-to-be-trusted traitor at the very least.

He is finally opening up. I can't waste this. No; I need to capitalize on this. But how? I can't let him have an excuse to push me away now that he finally took the step to admit he needs help.

"Cain, you are a bright kid. You know that you've given me enough reason to take some very drastic measures. But I want to work with you; but that takes you working with me, too. No more bullshit like back in the Institute, okay? Just your full effort for your future. No lies and no deceit."

Once more, I can hear his knuckles crack as he balls his fist, but this time, the same sound is not nearly as menacing sounding. This time, it is the sound of inner conflict.

'Can you do that, Cain?'

It is not a sentence I speak, but it is the one I am thinking. And I am going to wait until he answers it, even if I have to wait all night for him to get such a promise to cross his lips.