Here you guys go… again.
HEY. HEY YOU. You should listen to Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller while you read the first part. (If you can find it.) It's the music playing on the turntable. (Trust me, it is.)
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Chapter 5 – Smoke Rings
To Kevin, the smell of cigarettes always held a small resemblance to that of peanut butter. The stench of the things, twisting through the air disguised as smoke, would rise to the ceiling and waft about aimlessly, giving the lighting a hazy feeling. And today, in the otherwise dim study of Lee's father, the fog was particularly thick. Kevin inched his way across the dusty wooden floorboards, peering through the intricate woodwork that framed the windows for some sign of daylight. He had spent the day in his temporary room thinking about the letter he had read. It took him several times to comprehend it, as he was either in shock or in a daze. Finally decided that he had to act upon it, he had pushed off of the sagging mattress and slide down the stairs quickly, with no regard for his safety; it was an old house, after all, and like most of the two story homes in the village, the stairs had no railings of any kind.
When he skid to a halt outside of the circular doorway, he took enough air into his lungs to deprive a small country for a week before parting the beads and curtains. Inside of the study, through the haze of smoke, Kevin could hear trumpets playing on a scratchy record, most likely turning slowly on the turntable that had always fascinated him when he was younger. The crackling of the old serenade seemed to be the only thing that welcomed him to the room; from behind a large thick desk, a man sat comfortably in a tall chair facing away from him, toward a wall of old rotting books. The smell of their yellowing pages blended with the smoke and completed the illusion that Kevin had just wondered into the 1930's.
He stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. Lee and Mariah's father had always been a stern man, finding solace only in books describing the world he had grown up in. He was old enough to be Kevin's grandfather, but then, the generations in Lee's family had always been older by a decade then Kevin's. Tracing his fingertips through the smoke, Kevin pushed himself onto his tip toes and cleared his throat.
"Elder?" He asked, his voice shattering the serenity of the room. The figure shifted, slowly, now aware of the boy's presence. In his own time, the man turned and directed his eyes down at Kevin. In his grip was a stark white envelope, opened but still seemingly unwrinkled.
"Eh-yes?" He asked, turning fully now and adjusting the small glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. He was a large man, with jet black hair that halted only to the approaching grayness of old age. He had a strong chin and a defined nose, and about his thick eyebrows, that pale pink scar intensified his facial features. He cleared his fault as Kevin rolled back onto his heals and pushed the envelope forward hesitantly.
"This arrived this morning, sir. It was… directed to me. And I-I don't know what to make of it…?"
As the Yin elder took the thin package in his hand and looked it over, Kevin shot a glare at the floor before swiping it away. He had given thought to what he wanted to say, but it didn't seem to fit the urgency he was feeling. The silence that ensued was broken only by the skipping of the old record, still twirling under the brass arm of the turntable. Taking a deep breath, the man looked over the rim of his glasses at Kevin.
"Am I right to assume that this was sent by the man who had you shot only a year ago?"
Kevin paled. As the very mention of the Incident, he would normally fall quiet and avoid the subject completely, but hearing it from this man… Stiffly, he nodded, hating himself for how scared he looked. The man looked back to the cardstock in his hand and, with his right, brought a cigarette to his lips. Though it appeared home rolled, and likely had no modern toxins in it, Kevin still had to stifle a cough when he blew a thick smoke ring into the air toward the boy. Thoughtfully, Mr Yin motioned for Kevin to come toward him.
Moving reluctantly around the desk, Kevin stood beside the chair and bowed his head a little. It was rare for Lee's father to pay Kevin any attention, let alone this.
"I'm glad you showed me this, my boy." He started, "It takes courage to face the matter this soon. But we mustn't lose our heads over it; it won't help any. Here, take this…"
Turning in his chair once more, he plucked a book from the shelf by its tattered red spine and passed it to Kevin. "The second I mention this to my wife, she'll spin into an outrage of panic. I suggest, for your own benefit, that you retire to your room and read while I take care of the matter. At least that way you don't have to-" He paused, groaning as he heaved himself from the chair and began to move around the desk, Kevin following closely, "-hear about what happened again and again."
Kevin clutched the book to his chest and nodded furiously, thanking the elder before scurrying back up to his room. Shoving the heavy door closed, he sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. Several moments of silence moved by before he heard a muffled "what?!" from below. Shuddering, he looked toward the book. Its cracked cover revealed chipped black symbols, reading out Medical Discoveries of the 20thCentury.
"Great." He muttered, glaring at the floor once more.
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The six legs of the sugar ant worked over time to escape the offending end of the broken twig. Left and right, turn back the way it came, than turn again; nothing worked. Max stared down at it with absolutely no interest and adjusted how he was holding the stick, tapping it against the cement wall beside him. He didn't look up as the wooden planks of the bench shifted beside him.
"You okay, buddy?" Tyson asked, eyebrows drawn together with concern. The blond sighed and allowed the ant the right to live before sitting back around and placing his hands in his lap, the cast on his wrist scratching the bare skin of his other arm.
"Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little shaken up."
"Yeah." Tyson agreed, nodding, "Being blown up isn't fun."
Max couldn't help but laugh. Looking over at his best friend, he did nothing to hide his toothy smile, which acted as an introduction to a fit of immature joking and laughing. For about five minutes, the pair disrupted the three other people sitting in the hospital courtyard until a shadow fell over them and shot a spike of cold up their spines.
"We're going." Kai said evenly. Without another word, he turned and began to walk down the path toward the parking lot, leaving the pair to exchange a glance before hopping up and following after.
"Seriously, is he ever going to get over his car?"
"Tyson, he just did all the paperwork to get us out of there. Don't be a jerk."
"Yeah, well," Tyson muttered, "It was just a car. It's not like he poured his life savings into it or something."
Max sighed and quickened his pace, prompting Tyson to do the same. Making it to the parking lot, Kai was just closing the driver's side door to a sleek black SUV, seemingly direct off the assembly line. The two followed suit with Max sitting shot gun and Tyson behind him. While they rolled out of the lot and onto the busy road, Kai sighed and flexed his fingers around the steering wheel.
"I have something to tell the two of you."
"What? Did you finally develop a skin condition because of the facepaint?" Tyson asked from the backseat, sitting up a little. Struggling not to laugh at his own question, he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth while Max just rolled his eyes. Kai snatched up a tin of mints from the center consul and chucked them backwards, beaning Tyson in the forehead.
"Ow! Hey, what the hell?!" He barked, gripping his face. Max shushed him.
"What, Kai?"
The Russian sighed and coasted into the next lane without signaling. No one else on the road seemed to care.
"I received a letter today from Matherson."
Max blinked and turned his full attention to Kai at these words. From the backseat, Tyson groaned and rubbed his forehead.
"Who?"
"James Matherson." Kai said in a more even tone, narrowing his eyes. "The man who was behind the Incident."
"The one who worked with Dickenson?" Max asked. Tyson's hands dropped to the sides of his seat as he pushed himself upright.
"But he's in jail!"
Kai sped up just a little bit and clenched his teeth. "Not anymore. He's the jerkoff who blew up my car."
The two others fell silent, suddenly aware that they were on unsafe ground. After a long pause, Kai growled something beneath his breath and relaxed his grip on the wheel.
"He's demands that we all go to some god forsaken state park in the US. And I don't think we have a choice."
Max looked down at his casted arm, aware now that it was Matherson who caused it. Stiffly, he adjusted his gaze out the window and watched as a cluster of small black birds erupted from where they hid in the grass of the field beside the road, fluttering into the air.
"Why not?" Tyson asked, anger starting to reveal itself. Kai looked at him in the rearview mirror.
"I'll give you the letter when we get back to my place."
"Kai," Max started slowly, looking toward him, "what about the White Tigers?"
With the exception of the gentle hum of the engine and the rolling of the tires over the asphalt outside, there was silence. Slowly, Tyson sat back against his seat, looking at Kai just as hard as Max was. The elder kept his eyes on the road, and his face almost blank. Then, after the numbers on the digital clock changed three times, he spoke.
"He's already there."
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Go, Kai, go! You hold that grudge, girl, you can do it!
Kai: You are by far the strangest thing I have ever come across.
Max: YOU BROKEDED MY ARM. WHY YOU DO THIS, WOMAN?!
Muah: For laughs, mostly. It'll be a handicap later on in the story, too.
Max: T_T