Chapter Nine: The Impasse

The aching soon faded. Vesavius awakened very relaxed and drudged in the kitchen.  His hair was a mess but his clothes had been changed. He changed them after his breakdown last night. It was not a pretty sight to reflect upon, but he did it and he would not deny his behavior. Something had changed upon awakening. He felt as if his mentality had differentiated. He had a different outlook on everything, He felt more powerful, initially, but no matter how powerful he believed he was, his power could not defeat hunger. 

He opened the fridge door, observing his mother’s seemingly lifeless body before finding some ham and honey. He went to the drawers to pull a pan to put on the stove. He oiled the pan and placed the slaps of meat down. Then he activated the gas’s flow on the gas range. He waited until the fumes entered his nostrils, eager to be identified. He clicked the ignition light several times, until he gave up. He clinched his fist, becoming not angered but quickly annoyed. The fumes presented themselves nevertheless. 

His eyes were lowered to watch the pilot light as he struck it again. There was not even a spark in attempt to light the flames. He switched off the gas, agitated furthermore. His left arm went up to rub his gritty chin in contemplation. Then he noticed his flames. Fire and ash stained his memories like the tattoo itself. He couldn’t even remember why he got it. He thought that maybe he saw it on a car’s side decal or something and under the influence of marijuana he got his work done. He shook his head from the memory of his tattoo’s first appearance and thought of the dollar that disintegrated within his grasp.

He had an idea. He turned on the propane, again smelling the hint of the fumes. He thought of Timlin and the anger he had within himself, adjusting it into the burning passion he felt last night. The summoning was simpler now. A flame quickly spouted from his palm, and an explosion enveloped his arms in fire! He began panicking, breathing heavily, but immediately he recognized that there was no agony beseeching his being. He closed his eyes and stopped his breathing, hoping that the flames would be doused as he opened them. He thought of the fire as his eyes closed. There was no pain at all, but he could feel the heat on his face. 

His eyes opened to an open flame upon the range and a normal hand that was stretched before him. It was weird, to say the least, for him to be so reactionless to what had just happened. His mentality matched that of a magister who had casted for several years. He went on cooking his breakfast and partially watching his mother roll around in the mess of glass bottles. Surprisingly, he felt no resentment towards her, but he did feel pity towards her once she rose up in consciousness and rushed to the bathroom. Her vomiting and crying could be heard from the kitchen. Vesavius, however, remained indifferent and ate of his breakfast meal. 

It was when she exited her room, a wet chin exposed and bed head galore as well, that Vesavius even gave her eye contact. He was shoving another fork full of food into his mouth when she asked.

“Where were you last night?” Here words were surprisingly attentive considering they were produced from drunken lips. 

“I took Timlin to the store,” His tone was unreadable. There was no emotion thrown into it and what emotion that attempted to present itself was washed down by the glass of orange juice swallowed after the answer.

“You weren’t back when I last checked. I woke up at six-thirty. You weren’t here then. I waited four hours for you! Where were you?” It was excitement that sharpened her tone.

“I told you, I took Timlin to the store. It took you four hours to get plastered, eh? That’s how much patience and restraint you have now?” He scoffed. “Heh, so pathetic.” And there was another drink to explain awkward silence.

“I don’t think you understand- I am-”

“No! I don’t think you understand! You don’t grasp the unmistakable pity that is casted and reflected through me! You! You had a chance with two sons, but your bitchy attitude fucked all of our chances up and now it’s too late you git! You can’t save any of us now! Even for Timlin it’s too late! The only way you can redeem yourself is through yourself!” Vesavius rose, pulling his jacket from the counter and quickly dressing himself. He did not mean for his voice to become so aggressive. 

“Excuse me!” Her tears masked her outrage and abashment. She was left aghast and speechless by the frank comment. “Where are you going?” She shrieked as his right arm grasped the doorknob. 

“I am gone! I am done! I am going to find things out for myself!” Vesavius opened it, feeling the heat trace his eyelids. 

“You can’t leave!” Her loose clothes were lifted by the bitter wind that reflected the moment’s attitude. 

“I am!” He was not even approaching his mother’s car. He instead gave up with vehicles; he walked past the road, his mother collapsing in their yard. He was taking his adventure on his two feet.

His mother cried, the saddest thing being that she had not yet noticed Timlin’s disappearance. She wondered why he wasn’t using his car and it all seemed to link together. His SUV was not among her car. She immediately rose to her feet in realization, sprinting to Timlin’s room, urging for his comfort. She entered, witnessing the destruction first hand. There were holes punched into the walls, the bed was flipped and she saw stains of ash where fires had been lit. She lay exactly where Vesavius had been, and she laid there for hours bawling. Her mood was immediately regretful, yet she drank once she left the spot of mourning. 

It was about one day later, the phone rang. It rang four times before withered hands lifted it from the hook slowly. Her lips were dry and dehydrated as was her entire being that had wasted its time staring at the blank wall that once carried pictures of a family that at first glance looked satisfied, but the truth was that the families fault lines had not yet been quaked upon. It was the quakes that cracked them and sent them away into oceans, forcing them to become separate nations, some nations succeed, some nations die valiantly, and some nations desperately forfeit.

“Mrs. Regina Vie Terros Knepler?” The voice was of a man who seemed to dress in a fine suit, sit behind a cubicle, and make several of these calls each day. It was very matter-of-fact and boring, overall.

It took her a moment to hear his words, but once she was reminded of what conversation was, she responded. “Yes.”

“I am your insurance agent, James Howard. I’d like to present that your son, Vesavius Knepler is at fault for the wreckage that happened the day before yesterday. We will not cover the damage, but can supply a rental vehicle.”

She smiled behind the phone. “Vex is gone.”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” He was skeptical, for he could since her chemicals’ alteration via alcohol, drugs, and sleep deprivation. 

“He’s gone. You ain’t getting no damn nothing from him.”

“Ma’am,” clicking of a computer’s keyboard was heard. “Can you tell us of his whereabouts?” 

“Nope. He left on foot, poor fool didn’t even follow the roads.”

The man was frustrated. He ran his fingers through his slicked back hair, destroying his collective appearance. Never had he handled a case like this. He had to report this to the local police department. The authorities could handle this, just as they had centuries before.