Chapter Five: Brothers Schubaltz
"Karrlll…"
Startled, the older boy glanced down at his brother. "Thomas?"
"He didn't do anything," the little boy – Thomas – informed his older brother. "They ran away when he showed up."
Indignation faded, but Spike felt the suspicion in the older boy's hard gaze. "Then what was he doing next to you?"
Thomas heaved the sigh known to little brothers everywhere – the sigh that says the older brother is being stupid and dense and doesn't he know anything? Spike felt his lips twitch, remembering how many times he'd used that same sigh with his older sisters – absently, he wondered how many times Ed and Roy had locked horns in the same type of sibling rivalry.
"He was trying to help me." Dummy. Thomas pushed himself up off the pavement and trotted towards Spike's spilled grocery bag. "Hope you didn't have anything breakable in here, Mister."
"Spike," the raven corrected, carefully sitting up now that he was fairly sure he wasn't going to be attacked again. "Call me Spike."
To his surprise, the older brother – Karl – offered him a hand up. Before he could speak, Thomas yelled, "He's blind, Karl; he can't see you."
Spike scowled and grabbed hold of Karl's hand before the teenager could move it. "Blind, not helpless," he corrected, pushing himself up as the teenager pulled. Once he was up, he brushed off his clothes and accepted the grocery bag back. Even as he peered around, hoping his magic would light up his cane again, the older boy was scampering away to retrieve it.
Once Karl came back with his white cane, the two boys steered him back to the sidewalk and Thomas grabbed his free hand. "We'll take you home, Mister."
"Spike."
Thomas peered up at him, a flare of surprise surrounding him with Spike's emerald hue. "But you're a grown-up!"
"Grown-ups use their first names all the time," Spike informed the pair, grinning at their astonished silence. "My team, we always use our first names and nicknames with each other unless we got someone else listening in."
"Your team? What do you do?" Karl asked, cocking his head to the side.
A lump swelled in his throat, but Spike replied nonetheless. "I'm a cop."
They both stared at him, even stopping in their tracks. "But you're blind," Thomas blurted.
One shoulder lifted and Spike gestured with his white cane. "Wasn't always," he countered. "Not till this one subject managed to grab a flash bang off my belt. Set it off in both our faces."
The boys cringed, guilt wafting off them as they contemplated being able to see one day and losing it the next. "Will you ever see again?" little Thomas asked, impossible hope lilting his voice up an octave.
He swallowed down the lump. "Boy, I hope so, kiddo." I really, really hope so.
With his credentials established, the boys tugged him onwards – after a block or so, they started chattering at him, telling him all about their days and their lives and their friends and their hopes and dreams for the future. Spike listened closely, prompting them whenever they faltered, uncertain of his interest.
The older brother, Karl, reminded him of Wordy. A born athlete, the pride of his family, and very protective of his only sibling. Rather than letting his physical prowess swell his head, Karl appeared to be Thomas's constant protection and encourager. Even though it was plain that he didn't completely understand his little brother's interests, he was proud of Thomas's achievements and disdainful of the bullies in his brother's life.
Between Karl and Spike, it took a block and a half to get Thomas off the mundane, day-to-day subjects, but, once sufficiently encouraged, he was so much like Spike himself that the former computer tech was forced to avert his gaze a time or two, lest the boys see the tears in his eyes.
Prickly and sensitive to any criticism, Thomas found his value in the family's home computer and a number of robotics' kits that his parents had purchased for his latest birthday. He voiced his complete confidence that he could – someday – program an AI, which he'd already named Beek. This AI would be his constant friend and companion, standing in place of the classmates who constantly shunned Thomas for his odd interests.
A few careful questions confirmed Spike's suspicions that both boys were past their eleventh birthdays – given that both were quite confident and familiar with technology, Spike felt safe in concluding that they were techies to the bone. A bit of a shame or else he might've asked KITT if he wanted another friend; he had a feeling Thomas would be thrilled to meet a real AI. The raven put the idea at the back of his mind to mull over – despite his magical components, KITT already had two completely non-magical friends in the form of Stuart and his girlfriend Rebecca. What was one more, especially a young boy in desperate need of a friend?
The boys accompanied Spike right up to his apartment and even commandeered the convenience store bag so they could unload it for the former SRU constable. Spike heard the disappointment in their voices that there was so little in the bag and felt his lips quirk. Apparently, it was cool to hang out with a cop, even a blind one.
Leaning on his own counter, Spike settled his black sunglasses on the surface and quirked a brow at his helpers. "Remember, I didn't have you two along. I had to stick with what I could carry by myself."
They fell silent a moment, pondering his point. Then Karl suggested, "Maybe we can go to the grocery store with you."
The other brow rose. "That convenience store was pretty expensive, kiddo."
In front of him, two emerald glimmers shook their heads. "There's a grocery store in the other direction," Thomas explained. "Mom goes there all the time."
"Walking distance?" Spike questioned, surprised when both boys nodded. "You sure?" he pressed, nibbling a lip. "There's plenty of places that seem like they're within walking distance if you're in a car."
"We've gone there lotsa times," Karl reassured him. "Mom only takes the car if it's raining or she needs a bunch of stuff."
Although he was still rather dubious, Spike could tell his two helpers had their hearts set on more time with the blind cop. And while he wasn't very pleased with the label, he couldn't deny the tiny thrill in his heart that someone outside his circle of friends was willing to spend time with him. Even if they were only hoping to score points with their classmates, it was more social interaction than he'd had ever since that blasted dragon.
For their trip to the grocery store, Spike left his phone's navigation off. Useful as it was, so long as he had two young guides, he didn't need it. He did, however, insist on using his white cane, not allowing either boy to lead him around by the hand. Thomas was a bit disgruntled, but his brother shushed him, reminding him that 'Mister Spike' hadn't been blind very long and needed the practice.
The raven pretended not to notice the pouting until they reached the grocery store itself, but as soon as they were inside, he felt along the length of his white cane, finding the gaps that marked where the metal object could be folded up. It took a bit of work and gritted teeth as Spike fumbled his way through folding the cane into fourths; once he did, he gave the cane to Thomas and let the young boy take his hand.
Sensing the inherent trust in the gesture, Thomas perked up and tugged Spike after him towards the grocery carts. Karl stepped in before Thomas could collect one of the larger ones, reminding his little brother that they'd have to carry all their purchases back 'home'. Spike nodded agreement, forcing Thomas to redirect to a smaller cart. It was tall enough that the handle was right at Spike's waist or a bit above – at his dubious expression, Karl whispered that the cart had two small baskets and that their mother always grabbed one of the smaller carts when they came on foot.
Reassured by the explanation, Spike allowed the boys to guide him into the maze of aisles and clatter and food. Thomas rapidly picked out several items, chattering on about how Spike was better off with his choices instead of the other options on the shelf – that one was too sweet, another was too spicy, and a third was too bland.
"Slow down, sport," Spike urged. "What're you pickin' out for me?"
Reminded that the adult he was helping was blind, Thomas flushed and replied, "Chicken noodle soup."
Spike shook his head. "Nothing I can spill on myself, Thomas." He cocked his head to the side. "Nothing that needs a sharp knife, either, or that I need to put in the oven." He lifted one hand and wriggled the fingers. "I need to be able to touch stuff since I can't see it."
Two emerald glimmers glanced at each other in surprise before Thomas nodded solemnly and put his selections back on the shelf. "Can we get stuff for the microwave?"
The blind man tilted his head, considering. He'd been avoiding the microwave, since he couldn't see it. Lou had even told him, in an undertone, that the microwave's control panel was all smooth, with no indentations that a blind man might use to figure out which buttons he was pressing.
Reluctantly, he shook his head. "Sorry, sport; I can't see the buttons."
The brothers traded another glance and he could practically hear them thinking, trying their best to remember what their own microwave looked like. After a few seconds, they both wilted, realizing their companion was right.
"What are you eating?" Karl asked.
The former cop squirmed. "Lots of sandwiches," he admitted. If he ever worked up the nerve to admit he was never going to get his sight back, he knew there would be another huge period of adjustment as he was finally enrolled in classes for the blind and his friends submitted the necessary paperwork to get his apartment complex to trade out some of the appliances for handicapped-accessible ones. The worst, Spike knew, would be the training he'd need to relearn how to cook for himself – and there would probably always be things he couldn't make, ever again, simply because he couldn't see.
"Could Mom come over and help?" Thomas asked his brother, in that hopeful tone of 'Mommy can fix everything in the kitchen'.
Karl frowned, rubbing his chin – Spike suspected he'd picked up that habit from his father since he was too young to grow a beard. "We can ask, Thomas," he finally suggested. "But until she says yes, we can't get Mister Spike anything he can't make by himself."
Thomas heaved a sigh at this pronouncement, but nodded and tugged Spike's cart forward. The raven let the little boy take the lead again, trusting that Karl would rein his brother in if he started grabbing anything a blind man couldn't use.
But young Thomas's inventive mind was already hard at work. Rather than head for the deli meat, he worked his way to an area with pre-cooked items, picking out a selection of hard-boiled eggs and a small plastic container of shrimp. They went further, to a cooler area; Karl informed Spike that Thomas was picking out a medium-sized container of precut, mixed fruit – Spike requested a smaller size, knowing that store-bought fruit never lasted as long as it did when his Mamá cut it up.
The boys obliged, then tugged his cart towards an area with juice – once they described the options, Spike let them pick out an average-sized container of lemonade. On their way towards the deli meat, Thomas exclaimed and darted off, returning with a few bags of dried fruit. Two aisles down, it was Karl's turn to scurry away; he came back with several packets of tuna fish, each sealed in a pouch that was small enough for Spike to open by himself, yet big enough to contain enough fish for a meal.
They stopped in one more aisle to collect a fresh loaf of bread, then headed for the deli meat, all three well aware that they needed to be careful of how much they purchased since they still had to walk back to the apartment complex. With help from the boys, Spike managed to get a container of properly spicy Italian meat – a bit pricy, but hopefully well worth it. He vetoed the idea of butter – his friends could get that for him and keep it cool much easier than three people on foot, plus he knew he still had some in his refrigerator – but did accept Thomas's suggestion that they grab a bag or two of beef jerky.
With their cart growing full – almost too full for one adult and two children walking home – Karl suggested that they head for the checkout line, glaring at Thomas when his little brother started to point towards another aisle. Thomas glared right back, but subsided when Spike agreed that they had more than enough to get him through the rest of the week.
Properly assuaged, Thomas happily took the lead again, guiding Spike's cart down the nearest aisle, back to the front of the store and the checkout lanes. With the speed of a veteran shopper, the little boy picked out the shortest checkout line. Karl had to reach across the conveyor belt and grab a plastic divider, but once he did that, the two boys unloaded the cart, leaving Spike free to fumble for his wallet.
It took an embarrassingly long time to find the wallet and even when he had it in hand, Spike realized that he wasn't sure which internal pocket was holding his credit card. He waved the boys back to his side and handed the wallet to Karl.
Lowering his voice, he whispered, "There's a Mastercard in there, sport; can you get it out?"
"Sure thing, Mister Spike," Karl agreed. Next to him, Thomas leaned in, hoping to see a badge in Spike's wallet, just like the movies.
Spike rubbed his mouth to hide a smile at the youngster's antics. A shiver passed over his neck and he jerked up, eyes narrowing behind his dark sunglasses. The line shuffled forward as one customer left and the next one – a man – stepped up.
Emerald outlined the clerk as she turned to her new customer – and Spike saw her falter. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, fear oozing from her voice. "You aren't supposed to come here anymore!"
"Come on, Sherry, can't a guy go shopping anymore?"
Not when it more about the girl than the groceries, Spike thought to himself, quietly shuffling his two charges behind him; he ignored their puzzlement at his actions as he focused on the rapidly escalating situation in front of him.
"Don't make me call the cops, Edgar," Sherry warned. "Just leave your stuff right there and leave."
Restraining order – or about to have one – Spike calculated even as he wondered if he could bluff the man into leaving peacefully. He didn't have any weapons, but he did have his badge, tucked away in another pocket.
"You know, you always do this!" Edgar growled. "You're always tellin' me what I can do. I ain't never told you what you can do!"
That's a double negative, moron. Spike inhaled, lifting his chin and reaching up to take his black sunglasses off – thankfully, Thomas still had his white cane all folded up; maybe the subject wouldn't realize the 'cop' confronting him was blind as a bat.
Then he heard a rasp of metal against fabric. The terrified gasp of the clerk. Instinct screamed and he whirled, crouching over his two charges mere seconds before the gun came up and he heard it go off.
Author Note: And... We're off to the races! *insert rapid fire announcer voice, narrating the start of the race* : P
I hope everyone enjoyed Spike's two little shadows and their adventures in ordinary! We'll have to wait and see what happens next time... *evil author cackling*
Now, on the Real Life front, I have now set up and arranged a Developmental Edit for Small Beginnings, slated to begin in August. One important element of the Developmental Edit will be that the story coach/editor will include some next steps for Small Beginnings. She is recommending that I do my best to follow the traditional publishing route, especially since traditional publishing is still a powerhouse, even in these days of Indie Publishing.
As part of that traditional publishing route is the requirement that authors get accepted by agents. Agents are the gatekeepers to the traditional publishing realm, as most publishers will not allow authors to approach them directly. In order to approach an agent, I need two things at bare minimum - a query letter and a short synopsis. Of the two, the query letter is the most critical, because the query letter is my sales pitch and I've got seconds to make that sale. If the query letter does not present my book effectively, the agent will not give my book any more time or consideration. Period, end of story.
So I will be working on putting together my query letter and synopsis over the next month or so. If I complete them prior to the Developmental Edit, I can include them in the Developmental Edit. I have been told that the price likely will not change from what I've initially been quoted, so long as my submission stays within a certain word range. Seeing as that's the case, I might as well get the most 'bang' for my buck.
All your support and prayers have been much appreciated! I still have a long road ahead of me, but with God's Grace and support from my family and friends, I trust that the Lord will guide me to a successful publishing.