Chapter 14

It was hard to do homework at the Carson home. Not because of his nosy elderly neighbor, Ms. Applebee, who battered her eyelashes at him while simultaneously peppering him with questions about his mom's whereabouts. Not because of the shouting from Mrs. Young as she threw her husband's clothes out on the front lawn whilst accusing him of cheating on her with his secretary (they would make up by the end of the day just to have loud sex with the windows open to repeat the process again the next day). And not because of the man who lived three houses down that ended up wandering around the streets at night in his threadbare bathrobe looking for his missing wife who, in actuality, had died four years earlier.

It was hard to do homework in the Carson home because Mittens wouldn't stop walking across Alan's notebook, sticking his butt up in his owner's face and then headbutting Alan when he wanted to be petted. Alan did his best to ignore him, pushing him away and trying to distract him with a toy but it didn't work and he found himself giving in. He always gave in and Mittens knew it.

"Okay, Mittens, I really need to get my history homework done," Alan said as he pushed the black cat away from his lap. Mittens stared at him. "Don't look at me like that, buddy. I gotta get a good grade." Mittens meowed and bumped his nose against Alan's open palm. He sighed and scratched behind Mittens' ears. He purred and pushed himself into Alan's palm. "You know, you're gettin' real spoil'd."

Alan pushed Mittens away and focused on his book again. At least, he tried to focus on it. He reread a paragraph about the Louisiana Purchase three times until his brain finally clicked long enough to move onto the next one. But even then the words seemed to swim and dance across the page. Fatigue grabbed at him, lulling him to sink into the pillows positioned behind his back but he forced his burning eyes to stay open. He was already behind in some classes and he wasn't sure how many more extensions he'd be granted. Okay, one more time. France controlled the Louisiana Territory and…blah, blah, blah…

Alan pushed the heel of his palm into his eye, yawned, and propped the history textbook up on his knees. Mittens curled up against his side, briefly stretching out his white paws. He leaned back against the pillows, tucking one arm behind his head, reread the paragraph, and then frowned. It was quiet. A tad too quiet. There was always some sort of noise in his home, usually attributed to his mother if she hadn't disappeared during the day. But she was there, passed out on the couch with Dr. Phil playing on the TV when he walked in after school but now he heard nothing.

Odd.

Eyebrows furrowed, he reached for the phone sitting on his bedside table and lifted it to his ear. No dial tone. He set it down and reached a little further to try the desk lamp. No matter how many times he turned the knob and got confirmation clicks the light didn't turn on. Dread landed with a heavy thud in his stomach. Shit. Shit shit shit!

In his haste to hop off his bed he sent his textbook flying one way and Mittens the other. Mittens landed on his feet and seemed to turn his nose up to Alan as he stalked out of the room. He barely noticed as he flicked on and off the switch for his overhead fan. Still nothing. "Fuck!"

He made the short trip down the hall and hurried into the living room. His mother still lay in the same position she was in when he got home, only difference was the spot of drool that had grown on their couch beneath her open mouth. The fan directed at her stood still by the couch and the tv screen remained blank.

"Mom. Mom. C'mon, Mom, get up," Alan said, shaking her shoulder. He dropped to his knees and waited, watching to see if her chest rose and fell with her breath. He pressed his lips together and swallowed the rising ball of panic in his throat. He tightened his grip and shook her harder. "Mom! Mom, wake up!"

She sucked in and he let out a breath. He dropped his hand and leaned back on his heels, watching carefully as his mother brushed her disheveled hair out of her face and blinked her bleary eyes up at him. "Hey baby," she slurred, reaching out to touch his cheek. He jerked his head away and her arm fell limp through the air. "What time is it?"

"'Bout four-thirty," he replied. "Mom. The power went out again." It killed him how easy the word 'again' came out of his mouth. When had he gotten used to the home being plunged into darkness? When had he gotten used to the idea that they may have hot food one night and then have to hastily dispose of the cold or frozen food the next?

"Huh?" She sat up and brushed the back of her hand against her mouth. She glanced down, readjusted her top, and let out a long breath.

"The power went out," he replied.

Her eyes slowly went around the small room, resting on the TV, the fan, and then finally the small alarm clock by the front door. It's face remained blank no matter how long they stared at it. She groaned and pressed a hand to her forehead, gave her head a shake, and then gasped. "Oh! The power went out!"

Alan forced himself to remain calm. "Yeah, Mom, I just said that. Didn't you pay the electric bill."

She wrinkled her freckled nose. "Yeah. I think so."

"What do you mean you think so? You worked double-shifts all last week, right? Where did that money go?"

Her eyes squinted in her attempt to concentrate. He was fighting a losing battle, he knew. She had little bursts of clarity but they were sporadic. She had more of them when he was younger but as he got older and she left him alone more often they went away. It was hard to tell when he was going to get his mom back. He missed her, missed her laugh and her smile and the fun they used to have together. An empty shell was better than nothing but even now nothing was beginning to look more appealing.

"Ohhhh!" A lazy grin spread across her face and she giggled. "Tony had picked me up and—"

"Great," Alan groaned, standing upright.

Just hearing Tony's name made his stomach turn, his lip curl, and his fingers clench. He was the latest in a revolving door of boyfriends and the latest in the line of siphons. They would be on their feet, caught up on their bills and even making some headway when she'd fall for one of their sweet words or charming smiles and they'd be knocked right back into their hole as her boyfriend took precedence. No matter how many times Alan tried to bring up his concerns to her she'd rebuff him and say "It's for real this time, baby. We're going to do so good. Not like your father. This one will last."

And it would, in the beginning. She'd dress like she used to, hum like she used to, be like she used to. There was a pep in her step and it would put a little balloon of hope inside him that he could only watch slowly leak air when she would fall into her same routines. Drugs would become her dinner of choice, alcohol her water, and Tony or Duke or Gavin or Bison—Alan still wasn't sure if it actually was that man's name—would become her new bedfellow to the point that they would great him at breakfast the next morning like he was their kid.

And they never lasted. Someone might cheat on her, steal from her, do her drugs, or, if she was lucky, she'd get some clarity and kick them out, declaring that she was done, she was going to get help, and they'd get better. And it never lasted.

"Baby, you don't understand," his mother slurred, her half-lidded eyes pointing in his direction. He wasn't sure she was actually looking at him. "He picked me up and said he was going to take…take me to the bank. He did. And I was going to go. But it was closed."

"Yeah, Mom, they tend to close at night," Alan commented.

She nodded her head rapidly, her curls bounced with each tilt of her head. "I know! I know! I saw that. And so…and so we came back here. And I was going to go to the bank the next morning. But then…but then Tony needed his car. He said it wasn't going to take that long. So I waited. And then…and then he called me. He was in jail."

"Fuck," Alan groaned.

"He needed me."

"Fuck! Mom!" Alan grabbed the back of his neck with his hands and began to pace. He concentrated on taking deep breaths and letting them out as anger coursed through his body, red-hot through his veins. "This is the second time!"

"Tony needed me," she stressed. "He…he can't help me if he's in there."

"Yeah? Well, what was he in for this time? Breaking his parole? Having a warrant?"

"No, no. He just…missed his court date." Alan threw his arms into the air, a laugh of disbelief pushing out of his throat. "It wasn't his fault, baby. He wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that's a fuckin' good reason."

"Don't talk to me like that! I'm your mother."

"Barely," he grunted.

She reached out of his hand, grasping it tightly in hers. They were dry and cold to the touch. "We'll be okay. It'll be okay. You have some money, right? You can just…help us out and I'll get back on track."

"I don't have enough," Alan replied. And he was saving it up for a birthday gift but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Get a job."

"I can't. I have school."

She frowned, her lips turning down into a snarl and threw his hand away. "Fine," she spat. "Fine. Don't help me. I don't need your help. I don't need you. I have Tony. You know you're…you're just like your father." She pointed an accusing finger at him. Her words struck him hard and he took a deep breath. It wasn't new but the pain never went away. "He didn't want to help either, the coward! He ran away. Well, sometimes you make me wish I could run away too. But I can't! Look how ungrateful you are. I do everything for you and this is what I get."

"Mom—"

"School. Pah!" She drew up the saliva in her mouth and spat it at his shoes. He pressed his lips together. Her accent got thicker the more worked up she became. "Don't understand why yer wastin' yer time with it. Yer not smart. Yer not gonna go anywhere. Yer stuck right here like the rest of us."

She flopped against the couch and glared at him. He briefly closed his eyes and then set his jaw. He moved past her, back to his room, and grabbed his bag and his school books, and went straight for the front door. All the while he could feel his mother's burning gaze on his back but he didn't turn around.

Just another day in the Carson house.

He set out on the street, his bag slamming against his side with every angry step he took. Before long he'd made it to the nearby convenience store and once he stepped in past the doors he felt the tension melt off his shoulders. He lifted his jaw in greeting to Gus, the attendant with hair dotting from his mouth down the front of his neck. Gus lifted an eyebrow and stood straight from where he hunched over the counter reading a worn copy of American Rifleman magazine.

"Need the back office?" he drawled, his voice low and lazy like a soft moving stream.

"Nah, man," Alan replied, shaking his head. He motioned to the phone with his fist still covered by the pocket of his jacket. "Can I borrow the phone? Gotta make a call."

Gus pushed the phone towards him. "Power out again?" Alan didn't reply as he jabbed the buttons on the phone. Gus licked his finger and grasped the corner of the magazine to turn the page with a snap. "Is everything alright over there, Hoss?"

"Just peachy," Alan replied, holding the phone up to his ear. He leaned against the counter as he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. He reached out to the little carousel that sat on the counter and grabbed a Slim Jim. He waved it in Gus's face. Gus gave a noncommittal shrug in return. Alan tore open the package and took a bite of the chunk of dried sausage as he waited for the line to pick up. He huffed and slammed the phone down. "Fuckers," he muttered. He took another savage bite out of the Slim Jim and rubbed his face with his hand.

"Look, Hoss, you can stay as long as you need," Gus commented. "Get some homework done. Take some stuff back if you need to."

Alan's mouth twitched in the corner. Discomfort tossed and turned in his stomach, making it difficult for him to swallow. "Nah, man, you don't need to do that. We're fine."

Gus looked him in the eye. "You've been wanderin' 'round here for seven years. And ev'ry time you tell me you're fine. I can see you're not. I insist. Go study and when you're done take whatever you need, bring it back to your momma." Alan opened his mouth but Gus held up his hand to stop him. "You'll insult an old man if you say no."

Not knowing what else to say, Alan uttered a quiet "thanks", grabbed another Slim Jim, and went to the back room to try and study. Emphasis on try. Between his growling stomach and the residual flares of anger he couldn't concentrate. His mother's words echoed in his mind and stabbed him in his heart. Yer not smart. Yer not gonna go anywhere. Yer stuck right here like the rest of us. That couldn't be true, could it?

Yeah, school was harder for him than, say, the next person but just because he learned a little slower than everyone else didn't mean he was wasting his time. Did it? He clicked his tongue. How many nights of frustrations were there as he just didn't get what his teachers tried to explain to him? Too many. Studying did nothing but made him feel as if a cloud pressed down on his mind, so, whenever a test came up in history or science he'd wing it; if he sat the test at all. The grades he got back were the grades he expected and yet, somehow, he'd still move on. Until it caught up to him and he was told to repeat his junior year.

He tossed down his books. What was the point? His mother clearly didn't think he was worth anything and neither did his teachers. Why did he even bother? Why did he put so much stress on himself when he was only going to end up a failure? The tracks had been laid out for him a long time ago, what was the sense in trying to deviate from it now? He could still hear the hushed whispers and feel the critical stares of his classmates when he showed up to elementary school with pants too short so they exposed his ankles, holes dotting his shoes, and a ravenous hunger that couldn't be satiated.

"Poor Alan," they seemed to say as they shook their heads, "poor, pathetic, Alan."

The words were all but thrown at him whenever he caught the disapproving look Mrs. Mason threw his way when she thought he wasn't looking. The way she watched him as he and Mickey played in the backyard as kids, the way she wagged her finger in his face when he tried to get a second piece of cake from one of Mickey's birthday parties, the way she looked down at him from the rim of her sunglasses when Mickey invited him to their Country Club, and the way Mrs. Mason would not-so-subtly imply that Mickey needed new friends while staring him down across the dinner table when he was invited over.

Abandoning his books, Alan dug through Gus's desk until he found what he was looking for. Marlboro's weren't his go to brand of cigarettes but they'd have to do. He removed one, grabbed the lighter that sat next to the carton in his desk drawer, and slipped out of the convenience store when Gus's back was turned. He didn't need to add Gus to a long list of people he disappointed.

The initial drag of the cigarette made Alan close his eyes and savor the nicotine rushing in through his body. He leaned back against the brick of the building, feeling it scratch his back through his jacket. He slowly blew out the following smoke and watched it curl and dance in the sky before disappearing. The smell, thankfully, covered up the scent of the nearby dumpster. Right where I belong, he thought with a wry smile.

He brought the cigarette back up to his mouth and took another drag, his mind moving back to his mother. How could she just spend the money they needed on some douchebag that was sure to leave her high (quite literally) and dry when he squeezed all the use out of her? It wasn't as if it grew on trees. The only money he had he saved up were from birthdays and Christmases thanks to his grandmother; it wasn't as if businesses were hiring seventeen-year-olds without experience.

He blew out another breath of smoke. He missed his grandmother. She came around to Texas once every few years. She smelled like cinnamon and Lysol and had a smile like sunshine and a hug like a thick blanket. He'd never been allowed to see her simply because she was his father's mother and anything with that side of his family were off limits. He knew next to nothing about the Carson side of his family, only that none of them seemed to want anything to do with him. Maybe if they stepped in he and his mother wouldn't be going through their third round of having the power shut off on them.

His dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the tip of his shoe. Passing along blame wasn't going to do him any good. It happened; the power was off, now it was time to regroup. They always found a way to bounce back before. But it was getting tiring having to slam into the dirt over and over again just to pick himself up and prepare for the next inevitable fall. When were they going to be cut a break?

He trudged his way back into the store and into the back room. He forced himself to work through his homework; the answers weren't the most complex and some even took some time to get to him but he was done with it and didn't have to deal with it. It was one less thing to worry about.

He stuffed his books back into his backpack and paused to gear himself up to return home, to go back to the cluttered floor, the stacked crusty dishes in the sink, the stale scent of cigarette smoke, and the underlying odor of the litter box. If he was lucky his mom had passed out again. His weary body couldn't hold up to another fight against barbed words.

He left the back room and slowly roamed the aisles, keeping his head down as he passed a woman rocking a fussy baby as she looked between two different brands of formula and a tall, scruffy man as he perused the selection of alcohol. Alan grabbed a bag from the front counter and picked up some items as he did one more sweep: a half gallon of milk, some tins of cat food, a few cans of soup, some bread, some rice, and a few potatoes. His stomach growled and screamed for some of the junk food he passed but he forced himself to keep moving. He never took too much and he never left with too little, he always took just enough.

And, as he always did whenever he showed Gus what he was taking, Gus would go back around the store and take a few packages of pre-built sandwiches, cookies, and a container of fruit to add to the bag. And, as he always did, Alan would avoid his gaze and mutter a quiet thank you.

"Listen, Hoss," Gus said before Alan could move away from the counter, "I know things are tough, but I only have one thing to ask of you. Okay?" Alan nodded. "Don't give up on school. Whatever you do. It's your one-way ticket to the world and that's invaluable. You're worth sumin', no matter how your life makes it seem you're not. And if you need a job or sumin'…I can whip something up for you. Alright?"

Not knowing what to say, Alan nodded again, took his bag and left. Before he knew it he was back home; it was like he blinked and time sped right by him. As soon as he opened the front door—after jiggling the key in the lock a few times as he always had to—he flipped the light switch again just in case. Still nothing. The room had been overtaken by shadows and if it weren't for his mother's snores he wouldn't have known she was still in the room.

He set the bag down and carefully moved into the kitchen. He dug around the messy drawers until he found a few candles and a lighter. He set the candles around the living room and tended to his mother. He brushed her hair out of her face, straightened her clothes, propped a pillow under her head, rolled her onto her side, and covered her with a blanket. She wouldn't be up again until morning.

"Hey buddy, c'mere," Alan said once he spotted Mittens lurking by the couch. He picked up the cat and held him close to his chest. Mittens purred as he went back to his groceries and carried them into the kitchen. He set Mittens down again and unloaded the bag. He grabbed the can of cat food and a can of soup, opened both, and sat at the table. Mittens immediately started gobbling up his food whereas Alan took his time eating the cold soup from the can. "We're going to have to find money somehow. Or else we'll wind up on the street." He glanced into the living room and stared at the back of the couch and then sighed. "Do you have any ideas, Mittens? Keep in mind, selling my blood is out of the question."

Mittens turned away from the can and batted Alan's hand. He laughed and scratched behind Mittens' ears. "Can't get into the fishing business either. Sorry, buddy; I know how much that would appeal to you. Besides, I've always thought I'd be a dolphin trainer at SeaWorld or something. And you can't eat the dolphins."

As he took another bite of his food his mind turned to the rubber octopus he had stashed in his room. Over the years he'd tried to get rid of it but, in the end, he couldn't let it go. He remembered the day he got it; it was before his father left, back when they were a proper family.

His father had burst into his room and helped him get dressed and in the car before he was fully awake. His mother peppered his cheeks with kisses as she buckled him in and told him that they were going to go on an adventure. That was enough to keep him wide awake and look around at everything that passed his car window. When then they arrived and he saw the giant killer whale on the entrance his eyes widened and he wanted to see everything. No matter where he pointed his parents would take him. They went to Discovery Point, Penguin Encounter, Flamingo Cove, and Sesame Street's Bay of Play. But the Aquatic Touch Pool was his favorite part; in fact, a few times his mother said, he practically dove into the water to get closer to the animals. She had to keep a tight grip on him to be sure that he didn't wander off or drown. Every time he'd glance back at his parents to be sure they were seeing what he was seeing, they'd smile back at him. And, at the end of a long sugar-filled day, as they made their way out of the park his father stopped at a gift shop and told him to pick out one toy.

"Pus, Daddy! Pus!" Alan chirped, pointing at the orange octopus near his head.

"This one?" his father asked while pointing at a stuffed killer whale.

"No, Daddy! Puuuuus!" Alan leaned over in his father's arms and grabbed the toy he wanted, cuddling it close to his chest with a sleepy smile. "Pus."

"Ohh, the octopus! Good choice, Al, good choice."

Alan smiled and snuggled against his father's chest.

Then, a year later, he woke up one day to find his father halfway out the front door. When he asked where he was going his father replied with a little smile, "I'm just…going out for some ice cream. I'll be right back, buddy."

And he waited and waited and waited. And his father never came back. When his father left, he didn't just take himself out of their lives, he took their light, joy, love, and hope along with him. Alan still hasn't forgiven him for it.

Alan dropped his spoon in the can and pushed it away. As if sensing the distressing memories bouncing around in Alan's head, Mittens planted himself on Alan's lap and began to playfully nip at his fingers. "I wish it was just you and me," Alan muttered to the cat. "Things would be easier."

a/n: I told you we'd get more into Squid's head; hope you enjoyed this chapter flashback into this life! Or not, his life's not exactly pretty. To understand why he's Squid we have to understand what happened to Alan first and because Louis Sachar gave him the barest of bones of background (which I'm totally not bitter about), I filled it in for him. Thus part two of Inconsolable has begun! Hope you're all ready for the ride! Please read and review!

Review Replies

Ineedaname: Thanks so much! I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying this story and that you're enjoying Mickey's character. As I started back into the Holes fandom and thought over her plot I realized that not everyone would adapt to being at CGL right away and I highly doubted a girl would adapt to the conditions let alone being around a group of guys that appear nice but she has to remember that are there for a reason much worse than her. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. Thanks again for the review!

LittleBlueSweater: Ah, man, when I start making people sacrifice their sleep is when I know I've made it! Lol. Thank you so much for reading my story! So long as there are people out there who read this and take something away form it I'll continue to write it. Thanks for the review! Hope you have a nice day too!

ThornNB: We all should just give her a big group hug. She totally deserves a break. Now, how long that'll last is a whole different question. That's the reaction I was hoping for, haha. Just wanted to bring in a bit of suspense. Though I would have put up some sort of warning for that just in case. Thanks so much for your kind words and your review!

~C.M.