Burning Up

17 year old Truman possesses a power he doesn't understand, but learns it has everything to do with his mother's death.

                The voices were pounding, their babble incomprehensible and repressively significant.  I had to get them out of my head.  I shook my head, blinking for perspective.  To my left, a parking lot full of shoppers engaged in the ridiculous spectacle of back-to-school shopping, I turned my head to the right and smiled.  Some ignorant cook left his smoker on and unattended, without locking the regulator.  That’s just what I needed. 

I walked the fifteen feet to the steel device and ran my fingers along the clean, cold metal.  Well, not exactly clean, but the dirt and sediment has to be expected from being outdoors.  The gentle purr tells me that the gas is flowing to the chamber, creating the low heat necessary to create a succulent brisket which was wafting its scent throughout the area.  I opened the regulator fully and looked around me.  Being average is helpful when it comes to being inconspicuous.

I heard the whoosh that indicates gas is puffing instead of wheezing and the sweet, yet sour smell of liquid propane overflows my olfactory senses.  My right hand went into the left breast pocket of my black leather jacket and I finger my saving grace.  The little green Bic lighter has served me well and I can admit that it may be empty.  The smooth wheel squeaks as my sweaty thumb flicks it lightly.  I bent down and looked into the wood chamber, peering through the lighting hole.

I smiled, reached out and flicked the wheel.  The spark of flint dissatisfied me as I turned the wheel one more time.  This time, I had success.  The pulsating yellow flame danced in front of my eyes and the voices got louder; it’s time to end this.  I reached out and positioned the flame in the hole and wait for the end result.  Nothing happened and my day seems to be taking a turn for the worst.  These voices need to end.  I released the wheel and wiped off my hand on my jeans.  The wheel turned and the flint struck.  The flame dances and my reached out to the hole.  This time, a gentle breeze from the west pushed the flame into the chamber and the eerie yellow glow within is telling me that the voices were about to stop.

The swelling of the stagnant gas, warm from the smoldering wood, ignited quickly.  My eyes closed and the voices stopped.  Well, almost.  I hear one, the same one I’ve always heard, telling me what I always hear; only this time it made sense.  The woman’s voice called to me, “Tru, you have a gift and it isn’t your fault.  You were never the one to blame.”  The voice faded into the background, overtaken by thousands of voices calling for my attention.

Two large hands roughly grasped my shoulders and pull me back into the present.  Escobar, if his name tag was to be believed wore an expression of fear and outrage as he quickly looked back and forth between me and the charred wreckage of his smoker.  “You, child, what did you do to my machine?  You are so estupido!”  His right hand held fast and his left hand waved to something over his shoulder.  His dark brown eyes are burning like the charring wood that fuels my desires. 

I began to laugh as the thick, clopping sounds of what could only be a police officer’s shoes approached from the parking lot.  Closing my eyes helps me escape the voices, but only for a minute.  I had to open them again, and above me was Lieutenant Steward.  “Truman?”  His thinning brown hair flapped in the wind, like it had no desire to stay attached to his head.  Lt. Steward turned to Escobar and tipped his head back and this caused Escobar to drop my head onto the concrete. 

Ow.

I looked at my jacket, which I had to admit, I’m extremely grateful hadn’t been burned.  My right hand did not appear to have fared as well.  I must have underestimated the hole size, because I seemed to have developed an external tumor the same shape, size, color, and molecular makeup as my green Bic.  This would be some difficult s**t to explain to Dad.

My shoulders slumped, as much as they could when you’re lying on the concrete, and I looked at the smoker.  It looked great externally, but the surrounding area looked like a warzone; small chunks of wood and large flats of partially cooked beef brisket lay in the vicinity…Collateral damage for hearing her voice again.  It was worth it.

Sirens sound, quietly at first and getting louder as they came nearer.  The heavy crunch of thick-walled tires told me that the fire department was here and the paramedics shouldn’t be too far behind them.  Trusty Engine #9 came on the scene and Taylor Fitsh knelt next to my head.  “Truman, you really need to stop blowing s**t up!”  He smiled and shook his head, certainly stifling in a laugh.  He leaned in close and whispered, “This is going to be bad, and this was in public.  Tru, you need to talk to someone about your mother; blowing stuff up will only get you in trouble…or dead.  Do you think that’s what your mom wants?  To see you because you’re dead?”

I was laughing again, unsure why the world was hazy.  The b*****d made me cry.  I don’t talk about my mother...to anyone.  But, she told me more this time.  I did have a hard time believing that my gift was blowing s**t up.

The Spark Notes version of the next three hours was as follows:

-          I was booked as Truman Henry Chatman, male, white, age 17.  Crime: Arson leading to destruction of property

-          I sat in a cell with an overweight biker named Bug who was brought in because he wouldn’t leave an all-you-can-eat buffet after three hours.  He said he saw it as a challenge and that Great Dragon didn’t honor their side of the agreement.

-          An interview with Lieutenant Steward and Detective Story lasted for two hours and consisted of me shaking my head and telling them that they couldn’t understand what I did, much less the reasons for why I did it.

Three hours in a police station always sounded like they’d take the rest of your life to pass, but given the interesting conversation with Bug, my problems didn’t seem so bad.  At least, until my dad arrived to pick me up.

“Truman.”  His tone was as dulcet as a dog with your shoe in its mouth.  He turned to talk to Lt. Steward and sign the release papers.  “I’m sorry about this, Dan.  He’s still adjusting to his mother’s passing.”  Dad turned to me and gave me what can only be described as ‘the stink-eye’.  Who gives their kid the freakin’ stink-eye?

“No worries, Feebs.  I’m looking out for him,” Lt. Steward told him.  They both turned to look at me like I’m some sad puppy sitting in the gutter.  Dad thanked him and walked over to me.  “We’ll talk about this later, Tru.”  His eyes told me he’s serious…But, he’s never serious, or at least he never has been before.

I followed him to the car and let the Forest Air system gently rock my senses back to normal.  Something didn’t add up, my father has not put his seat belt on.  “Dad,” I began to chide him for not thinking about his safety when he interrupted me.

“God damn it, Truman!  Why are you doing this s**t?”  His eyes were still on the road, which appeared to be going by us well above the suggested limit of 35 miles per hour.  “I know that you’re upset your mother died, but killing yourself won’t make it better.”  He began to slow down, the tires gripping the road as we turned onto our drive.  The half-mile to the house passed with no word uttered by either my father or me. 

That doesn’t mean there weren’t voices.  I heard them, the entire time.  Do you remember that Jim Carrey movie, Bruce Almighty?  The one where he becomes God and hears people prayers and he invents “Yahweh” to answer all of the prayers?  I don’t have that luxury, plus these voices aren’t prayers.  I think…That is, my mother’s dead and telling me that I have a gift and it isn’t my fault doesn’t feel like a prayer.  And, they don’t make sense unless I do something stupid.  By stupid, I mean set stuff on fire; the bigger the blaze, the better.  Conflagrations seem to sequester individual voices the best. 

I started to hear them after my mom died, which was about four months ago.  I know, you probably think that I should have gotten over it by now.  But come on, how would you feel if you had random babble in your head that only made sense when you light bottles of Lysol on fire or blow up gas grills?  I have a flippin’ rap sheet, but I’ve never been charged.  Although, Lt. Steward appears to believe that because my latest issue happened in public, I’m certain to be charged and tried. 

I shouldn’t worry about that right now; instead I got out of the car and through the front door, not stopping until my door was shut.  The window was closed which meant that someone had been in my room.  I opened it up and looked at my space.  My desk was messy, clothes were all over the floor, and my top sheet was crumpled and at the foot of the bed.  Maybe it had simply gotten coldish today?

A door slammed in the distance, judging from the direction, my dad entered his study.  The great thing about Mom dying was that I don’t have to see him much. 

I walked to my desk and sat in the chair, letting the cool leather soak up the clammy feeling on my skin.  The desktop was somewhere among the crap that sat upon it, but I never feel inclined to clean it too often.  Besides, I knew where what I wanted was anyway.  My desk has a hutch and I didn’t glue it or nail it or screw it or whatever the hell it is you’re supposed to do to this sort of thing.  I stood up and gently tilted the hutch backward until my notebook came into view.  This book was where I’ve written down everything I’ve been hearing.  The brown journal was bound, not by spiral but by thread.  It was also bound to me by trust and the notion that only I knew about it.

My pants vibrated, and my phone rattled my change.  It was my friend, Jordan Trundle.  We’re best friends, I guess.  But, I don’t think I’m invested as deeply in the relationship as he is.  I answered the phone, “Hey, Jordan.”  He prattles on, something about his mother and father not buying him a new car.  His parents could afford it, but they preferred to shower their love on extramarital activities instead of the result of their relationship.  “…I can’t believe that they’re really fighting about this s**t.  I mean, people die every day and they have the balls to argue about the brand of pasta sauce we use?  What the hell is their problem?”  His pause led me to realize he had been talking.  I guess my friendly duties were requiring some sort of agreeable response.  “Yeah, Jordan, you’re parents are freakin’ nut jobs.” 

A sharp intake of breath occurred on the other end of the line, “Tru, those are my parents, man.  Show some amount of respect!”  He’s angry, that much was obvious.  His breathing was heavier and deeper, a trained response from running cross country.  “Tru, I just don’t get you anymore.  I mean, I get that your mom died, but being a perennial prick will not bring her back.”  His tone then lost its edge and a warm sincerity crept in.  “What did happen to you?”

“Umm.”  My eyes flitted around my room, searching for something to give me creativity.  My notebook sat staring back at me with the faded pattern of the last four months.  “I got arrested today.”  I sat upright, breathing hard as I realized that I had just told him the truth.  I think I let him in. 

“What the hell, Tru?  How did you get a rap sheet?  You’re practically a saint.”  Jordan was tapping something, probably a pencil against something.  That was his one vice, besides his persistence.

The static over the phone added a strange arrhythmic cadence to the sound of my breathing in my head and Jordan’s breathing over the connection.  “I, uh, I have actually been arrested three times.  But, I mean, come on man.”  The groan over the line told me that Jordan wasn’t amused.

“Damn it, Tru!  I’m hanging up.”  An almost imperceptible click penetrated the murmurs in my head as the dial tone took up where Jordan’s voice had been. 

I placed my phone on the desk and leaned back in my leather chair, pushing my hands into my eyes.  He just doesn’t get it.  No one has gotten it, but then again I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with the information.  My dad has his own demons and I can’t lay mine upon him.  Jordan, obviously, can’t get what I’m going through.  Thinking about this is nauseating.

 I grabbed my phone and went downstairs.  At the base of the stairs I looked to my right; the frosted, six-pane sliding door leading to Dad’s study was glowing.  I think that it was because of the fire, but the noise coming from the door sounds like he fell asleep to National Geographic.  I shook my head and walked out the door, taking the car key off of the table. 

Sitting in my dad’s car, I couldn’t help but feel confused about what I was doing.  Not the blowing stuff up part, I understand why I do that.  But, what was I doing now, at this moment.  Why am I sitting in his Infiniti?  My phone vibrated again and I raised my hips to grab it from my pocket.  I sighed.  It was Sadie.  “Hey, Sadie!”  I couldn’t help but smile when I said it.  “How are you?”

“Truman.  What happened today?”  Her voice wasn’t stern, but I could tell that delaying the subject wasn’t the brightest idea. 

“Uh,” Talking about my problem wasn’t very easy.  “What happened today?”  I heard a groan from the other end, “God, I’m getting pretty good at making people groan, huh?”  As the shame filled my cheeks, the voices got louder and I added my own maniacal laughter to the cacophony. 

“TRUMAN!” I think she echoed.  “I’m worried about you.  I’ve never seen you act like this before.  And I’ve seen you pretty damn messed up.”  Her breath caught, “I don’t know if I can handle you.”  The static that crackled was dull from the voices in my head, but the silence that was left hanging was deafening.

“Are you at home, Sadie?”  My voice was earnest, but the thought of being alone was more than I think I could handle right now.  “I’m coming over.  I’ll be there in like, five minutes.  Is that cool?”  I didn’t hear her reply for the voices in my head.  “Alright, see you soon!”  I hung up and sighed. 

The car started up on the first try and I began the two mile trip to Sadie’s.  I pulled onto Ellis Road and headed east, driving over Edgewood Road before I reached 26^th Street.  Sadie lives in a subsidized green home.  Her dad is a contractor and he wanted some special certification from the state that would save him money, and so he built a new house that was the highest-scoring Energy Star house that had ever been built in Iowa.  He then sold the house to the realtor who owned the surrounding land and was asked to build energy efficient homes on the remaining land.  He’s now worth four million dollars. 

I turned into the driveway and the accent lights turned on.  Sadie came out of the mud room door and got in the car.  She looked terrible.  Her light brown hair looked great, but that’s her pride so I wouldn’t expect anything less.  She looked at me with red-rimmed green eyes, filled with either confusion or regret.  “What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

Sadie narrowed her eyes and asked, “What was your first f*****g clue?  I’m worried about you, Truman!  You almost died today!”  This was scary Sadie.  “Tell me, if I’m not supposed to be afraid and worried, what the hell should I be feeling, Tru?  Tell me!”  A tear trickled out of her left eye, streaking down her freckled cheek, becoming lost on her neck.  I was becoming lost on her neck.  Her hand reached out and grabbed my chin, not allowing my eyes from descending any lower and instead making me meet her gaze.  The voices were restless, still indistinguishable but even worse because the feeling of shame was back.  “You don’t even care, do you?”  Sadie let my chin go and slammed her head against the headrest.  “Truman, you need to talk to me.”  She shook, trying to stop herself from crying.

“You know how my mom died?”  This was going to come out well.  “Of course you do, I’m pretty sure that the whole city knows about it.  But, anyway…When she died I have had problems…really, f*****g weird, problems.”  It was my turn to shudder.  “I hear things.  Voices, actually; I hear voices.”  The shudders stop, but the words flow out.  “I can’t figure out what they’re saying, it’s like being at a football game.  You hear screams and shouts, but they make no sense.”  I turn to look at her.  Her eyes are red, but the tears have stopped.  “Do you remember when I went to the emergency room last year?  In July?”  Sadie nodded and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. 

I turned away and peered out of the windshield.  “It was an accident.  My mom had just died, but she had made Dad promise to go on.  We had always had the barbecue on the weekend of the 4^th, and he promised that he would have the damn party.  He let me take charge of the grill and I lit it up.”  A smile began to creep on to my face.  This sounded so stupid, “This sounds so stupid.”  Damn, inner monologue fail.

Sadie was shifting, and her hand found mine.  “I was starting to forget what her voice sounded like.  I’d have given anything to hear it again.  I struck the match and I heard my name.  I looked around but there was no one coming near me or looking at me.  Seems as though I had made it up.  I dropped the match and the lighter fluid ignited and I heard it.  My mom said my name.”  I turned to face Sadie; her face was stony in disbelief.  “After the flames died down, I developed the noise.  It still’s present and annoying.”  Her hand was gone.  I was afraid that Sadie would leave next. 

Her deep breathing told me she’s processing.  I couldn’t tell if she believed me, but I couldn’t care about that, could I?  “Truman…I can believe you.”  My heart was dancing, as relief flooded over me.  I’m not sure where we’d go from here, but I needed to tell her everything.

“Sadie,” I began as I grabbed her hand.  Facing her, my dark brown eyes meeting her green; I breathed in deeply, “I hear my mom.”  “I understand,” she began, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.  “No, Sadie.  At first it was my name once, but then I was cooking at home and the pilot light went out and I lit it and heard her voice again.  She changed what she told me, she called me Tru.” 

“Everyone calls you Tru.  It isn’t a sign of anything, but you need to talk to someone else, another kind of person.”  Her loyalty was wavering as the voices calmed.

I started to laugh, “I want to, but I don’t think they’ll understand.  No one does.”  I realized how lonely I feel.  Even with Sadie, I feel alone. 

She squeezed my hand.  “Have you let anyone try?”  I turned to her and saw the twinkle in her eye.  Sadie was with me on this and I don’t think I could have been happier.  “Tell me what else has happened.”

“I’ve developed a potentially dangerous habit for blowing stuff up.”  Her eyes grew to the size of saucers.  “I took my dad’s shotgun and shot out gas tanks at Sun-Line and I’ve blown up propane grills.  They’ve tried to get me for arson, but I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone or damage property.  That was sort of collateral damage.”  I swallowed hard preparing myself for the latest misdeed.  “Today, I almost blew myself up, but it was worth it.  I heard her; I heard all that she had to say.  She told me that I had a gift and it wasn’t my fault.” 

Sadie said nothing, she did nothing.  Her eyes moved from supportive to disdainful; as though she was the one who had to live with what was happening.  Her hand left mine and the car door opened.  “Go home, Truman.  I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”  The gentle thud of the car door sealed her exit from my world as I watched her reenter her house.  The accent lights turned off and I sat in her driveway, hoping she’d come out believing in me. 

My cell phone vibrated and I looked down to see that my dad was calling.  I answered, “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”  He’s been drinking. 

“Why aren’t you home?”  His slurring made this comical, but I didn’t laugh.  I put the car in reverse and began the drive home.  “Dad, I’m almost home.  I had to see Sadie.”  I waited at the stoplight of Ellis Road and Edgewood, staring out at the construction across the street.  “Are you alright, Dad?”

He cackled and I can smell the liquor on his breath through the phone, “I’m your father!  You worry about nobody.  It’s my job to worry about you!”  Just like the pirate ship at Adventureland, his mood shifted 180 degrees.  “Be careful.  It’s just you and me, bud.  I love you, bye.”  Dial tone took over where he left off. 

I shut my phone and attempted to lessen the glob of voices ringing my ears when I heard a scream.  Above the fray, one piercing scream.  It modulated, shifting between male and female.  I shook my head as the light turned green.  It was a man’s scream.  It became my scream as I saw the headlights speeding toward the side of the car.  Silence.  Peaceful solitude.

Agony racked my body, but because of the peace it brings I don’t mind it.  The pain flows and ebbs as my mind remained unable to tick by each passing second.  The voices returned, but not as dense.  I can place them in my mind; Dad’s whispered worry to the doctor or nurse or janitor, whoever he might talk to, Sadie’s…I guess, whimpers-they pierced my conscious and it killed me not to reach out and touch her.  Lieutenant Steward visited too, but whether he was there for business or concern I couldn’t (and was physically unable) to decide. 

The sense of touch returned as a gentle hand tilted my head to my left and then back to the right.  It felt like a woman’s hand…it feels like my mom’s touch.  The world of black that I’ve inhabited, it can’t be called living, goes away slowly to the piercing white of my surroundings.  A groan escaped my throat as my vocal chords protest my body telling them to work.  I looked to my right and saw machinery far too complicated for me to comprehend.  A rustle of movement from the other side of the room caught my attention so I turned my head to find it.  I saw the door, but there was no one in here with me.  The only thing in the room that probably wasn’t here when I was brought in was a blue coat that lies rumpled on the floor. 

“Hey, you’re up.”  A soothing voice lilted into my ear and I looked to the door.  Sadie was there in the doorway, holding a cup with what I’d guess would be coffee.  Her hair was a mess and my mind began to worry.  She walked to me and pulled the chair to my bedside.  Sadie’s pretty, but I’ve never realized how beautiful she really is.  A kiss on my forehead heightened my senses a bit more but, surprisingly, no voices have returned.  “I’m going to let your dad know you’re up.”

Being the verbose man I am, I shake my head.  I like this.  Just me and Sadie, being together.  I licked my lips and decide to try talking again.  “Like…you…stay…me.”  I laughed.  That was a few steps past stupid.  “When is it?”  Her eyes widened as I realized that I must have said something cognizant. 

“It’s October now.  You’ve been out for a while.”  Sadie walked to the dry erase board and flipped the calendar to the previous month.  “You were in a coma for 19 days, 17 hours, 35 minutes and I’m sure that there are some seconds too, but I don’t the exact details.  How do you feel?”

My mind still hadn’t grasped the lost six weeks.  “Upset.”  This was true, I was feeling upset.  Only Sadie being there, holding my hand, kept me from being terrified.  Her hand tightened as a weak smile spread across her face.   “I’m getting your father; you two need to talk.”  She got out of the chair and left me, leaving the coat and the lingering scent of coffee in the room. 

The silence in my head was weird, but the room was emitting its own voices.  The steady beep of my pulse kept my mind in rhythm as the slow drip from my saline bag eased into my arm painfully.  The big needle was impeding the blood flow in my vein and it was really starting to freak me out.  The pain was just way too much to handle, so I grasped the plastic at the base of the needle and began to pull slowly.  My arm hair started to pull as the heavy tape relinquished its grip from my arm.  The needle wasn’t red, that surprised me, but it was much longer than I thought it would be.  Ouch.  One last pull took the device out of my arm and I held it up to look at it.  They’d never have been able to have gotten that thing in my arm if I’d been conscious. 

A new beeping sound began, much more similar to an alarm.  It was an alarm because a nurse ran into my room and took the IV from me.  “That needs to be in there, Truman.  Until you’ve got the strength to eat, you can’t have this out.”  Her mousy, brown hair hid her face as she leaned over my arm, painfully reinserting the IV in my arm.  She looked up at me, her blue eyes sympathetic.  “Your father and girlfriend are talking with social services now.  They’ll be in in just a few minutes.  Don’t fall asleep.”  She gave me a toothy grin and left.

I laid my head back down, trying to understand what the silence meant.  That’s the weirdest part.  They’re gone.  Footsteps approached in the corridor and I turned to watch the door.  Voices accompanied them as the door darkened and my dad appeared.  His short salt and pepper hair was sticking up every which way, and that made me laugh.  It was too short to be messed up.  He walked across the room and sat on the chair, crushing the blue coat like it never existed.  “Tru, you’re awake!”

“I think that’s debatable, Dad.”  I noticed his eyes are wet, but alive.  He looks energized, as though he had again found his reason for living.  The thought made me blush.  “How have you been?”

He smiled forcibly, the pain showing through his eyes.  “I thought I lost you.  If it wasn’t for Sadie, I’m sure that I’d never have made it long enough to see you wake up.  Your mom…I just couldn’t lose you too.”  A tear escaped as gravity or emotion won out.  A moment passed when Dad just stared at me, his eyes darting over my face as though he was trying to remember each feature of my face before he forgot.  “I haven’t been there for you, since your mom went.  But, Truman, that’s going to change.  I promise you that.”  He said that to me when we were waiting for Mom to wake up.  I didn’t think I could believe it now any more than I could back then.  But still, I smiled and nodded.

A woman approached, not much older than me, but she didn’t look like a typical hospital worker.  “Truman,” her voice was official.  She must’ve been new.  “My name’s Melanie, I’m with Social Services.  Lieutenant Steward felt that it might be good for you to speak to someone about how you’re feeling since your mother’s passing.”  Melanie’s features rearranged themselves into a smug face as it became obvious that she was impressed by her job.  I, on the other hand, was not. 

The next few hours were a whirlwind of action.  Being cognitively aware of your surroundings makes the time pass by more quickly.  Sadie stayed next to my bed, holding my hand and paying attention for me when doctors came in to squawk at me.  My neurologist came in and began to go over my x-ray/cat scan/MRI or whatever, but I could not focus on it.  He left and told me that the psychiatrist would have more information.  The idea of a psychiatrist was not something I’m particularly fond of, but with Sadie beside me I could handle anything. 

My dad came in last, getting my hopes high for being discharged.  “Truman.”  His fatherly tone had returned.  Sadie leaned over and kissed my forehead, the spot burning for a moment as she lingered.  She squeezed my hand and left me alone with him.  “Lieutenant Dann is coming to talk to you.  He needs a statement that he can give to the insurance company.”  I still didn’t have much of an understanding of what happened that night, I mean, I was in a car accident, but that’s it.  Lt. Dann appeared in my doorway, most likely listening to the conversation from outside of the door.  He appears smaller in here, the hospital.  Like most people, he must not approve of being in a place where life and death is a transaction.  My dad rose and bade me farewell with his hand.  “I’ll come to get you in thirty minutes Tru.  Thanks, Dann.”  He smiled at him and walked from the room.

Lt. Dann grabbed the chair and slid it so that he was facing me when he sat down.  Before he reached the cushion he removed the coat and laid it on the back of the chair.  “Truman, you’ve had a hell of a last six months.”  He let this hang in the air, making myself and possibly him uncertain whether it was a question or a statement.  Anyone with a pulse would understand that it was indeed a statement of fact.

“I guess that you could say that.  How’s the other driver?”  I wasn’t really curious, but it allowed me to dodge the inevitable questions about my role in the accident. 

Lt. Dann gave me a look of confusion, “There was no other driver. You were the only vehicle in the incident.”  He pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through it, stopping when he came to the page he was seeking.  “It says here, that at 10:34 PM you were crossing Edgewood Road via Ellis Road when you swerved.  Your vehicle crossed the oncoming lanes of traffic and struck the streetlight on the driver’s front quarter panel before hitting the berm of the construction site.”  He flipped the notebook sharply, the pages falling shut.  “Nowhere on the scene is there anything resembling another vehicle in the area.  In fact, the red light camera showed that there hadn’t been a car on Edgewood for almost 3 minutes before you had your accident.  What happened?”  His gaze wasn’t friendly, and I knew that he didn’t only mean what had happened that night. 

I worked myself up the bed, getting myself comfortable and sitting up.  “I don’t think I can tell you.  I mean, I can tell you, but it might not make sense to you.”  I couldn’t help myself, I laughed.  “It doesn’t make any sort of freakin’ sense to me.”  My throat was dry.  I swallowed and looked up.

“You need to try.  You damaged city property in addition to your dad’s car.  You can’t get off without making a statement.”  Wiping his face, Lieutenant Dann leaned forward, “Truman, make something up if you can’t tell me.  I need to write down something.”

I steeled myself, staring into his gray, blue eyes.  He was looking at me intensely.  I took a deep breath and began, “I hear things.  Not in the cuckoo crazy kind of hear voices thing.  But, like there are a hundred people in a small room, all talking at once.”  I stopped and listened.  No voices, no writing either.  “That night, I swear, I went into the intersection and heard screams.  One man and one woman, they were distracting me, but I know that I saw two headlights.  I saw nothing after that.”  My hands were shaking, my body was threatening to join it and I was starting to fear that Lt. Dann wouldn’t buy it.  I met his gaze and have to admit that fear welled up inside my gut.

He shook his head, slowly at first but adding more vigor as he continued.  “Damn it, Truman,” he exploded at me.  His eyes were wild, “I give you a damn out.  I have you wrapping your car around a pole on tape, which I can easily make disappear, and you tell me some stupid f*****g story about being potentially schizo?”  He made a noise of disgust.  “I’ll go with it because it’s all I have, but you owe me.”  Lt. Dann rose from the chair and left me alone in the room. 

I hate that man.  Part of me knew that he was simply doing his job, but he didn’t need to be an a*s.  The fatigue that had been settling upon me suddenly overtook me, so I closed my eyes.  The voices returned. 

 I opened my eyes; my dad was there with an arm around Sadie.  A new face was with them, an older guy who I’m guessing was the doctor was appraising me behind half-moon glasses.  He smiled, “I’m Dr. Oliver.  You’ve got a few things to learn before you sign out.”  He pointed at the door and Sadie shut it.  He reached out and grabbed my left arm.  “You’ve got a sprained left wrist.  I’m choosing not to give you anything other than some mild painkillers.”  He released my arm and walked to the other side of the bed.  “From discussing your interpretation of events and reviewing your MRI, I’m worrying about your mental health.  Melanie, with social services, is to meet with you on Thursday.  All you need to do is discuss how you’re feeling and she will refer to me her recommendation.”  His face shifted, taking on a sterner set of features.  “I do hope that you try, Truman.  This path you’re down is dangerous and won’t do you any favors in the future.”  With that, Dr. Oliver exited the room and left me, my father, and Sadie alone.

Silence crept in, creating an uncomfortable tension which culminated in Sadie kissing my cheek and leaving.  My dad walked to my bedside and began to speak, “Truman…I…”  I cut him off, “Dad, you’re not responsible.  Not for my actions that night.  It was an honest accident that no one could have prevented.”  I stared hard at the foot of the bed.  I had not a clue what I might say or do to him if I looked him in the eye.  I was spared by the arrival of the head nurse with my discharge papers. 

“Truman, we are ready to go.”  Her voice was sweet, yet smoky.  The combination reminded me of my mother again.  “Dr. Oliver came in and told you to be aware of your left arm, right?”  She continued without waiting for a response.  “You had a mild concussion, but we can’t tell you not to sleep given your lengthy slumber…Alright, just be careful.”  She glanced up at me after signing the release papers with a flourish.  “If you develop any symptoms like, being dizzy or being overly emotional, come back to us and we’ll figure out what’s going on inside that head of yours.”  She smiled and offered the clipboard to my dad.  After signing, he picked up the blue coat from the chair and helped me get out of bed slowly.

A wheelchair greeted me in the hallway and my dad helped ease me into it.  I was wheeled outside and waited in the hospital atrium as my dad ran out to get the car.  Car after car pulled up to the automatic door, dropping off patients and picking up those discharged.  I hardly noticed any of them because I was distracted by what I saw across the street.  Fire Station #1 was across A Avenue and they were grilling.  Every time the door slid open, the sweet scent of bratwurst wafted in, making my mouth water.  I can’t even remember the last time I ate, so naturally I got out of the wheelchair. 

I stood and looked around, and nobody was paying any attention to me.  The door slid open and the warm air hit me like a fist.  For being mid-October it must have been twenty degrees warmer than normal.  This only made the smell of food stronger.  I began to walk out into the horseshoe when brownish reddish car pulled in front of me.  The driver’s side door flew open and my dad leapt out.  “What the hell are you doing, Truman?”  He slammed his door shut and ran around the car, “I told you to stay in the damn hospital!  What in the hell did you think you were doing?”  Without waiting for my response, he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and pushed me into the passenger seat.  Slamming this door, he walked around the front of the car and sat in the driver’s seat. 

“Dad?”  I had to ask rather tentatively because my father was rather ridiculous when he was mad.  His groan was his answer.  “Dad?  Can we stop and get something to eat?”  He didn’t answer me as he whipped onto A Avenue, away from the fire station.  He pulled onto the interstate without a word.  I needed to find another tactic.

We got up to speed halfway down the onramp and kept speeding up.  Once I looked over and realized that my dad was going past 70 mph, I decided to speak up.  “What kind of car is this?”  He blinked; his rage dissolving as he began to notice me for the first time in minutes.

“It’s a Kia.”  His speed began to slow again.  Victory.  “After you totaled the Infiniti, Randy said it might be unwise to have a high-risk driver on the policy with such a nice car.  So, I chose to get a not as nice car that they wouldn’t crucify my premium with.”  He rolled his head, “It has class-leading crash-test ratings.  I thought that might make lots of sense given your history.”  My dad looked at me.  A smirk began to creep onto his face.  “You said you were hungry…Do you want to stop at Hy-Vee and pick up a pizza?”

“Sure.”  My head hurt and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of the concussion.  The crackling ringing rang over the speakers as he called Hy-Vee.  After the Italian department answered he asked me what kind of pizza I wanted.  What the hell is this guy’s deal? 

Thirty minutes later, we swung around the corner of Edgewood onto Ellis Road.  Nothing about that night came back to me, but the fresh stoplight and new chain-link fence surrounding the construction site led me to see that something major happened there.  The final few miles to our house were filled with the sounds of NASCAR radio, the smells of buffalo chicken pizza and the discomfort accompanied with the voices that were returning to my head. 

Entering the house was uneventful.  I had the pizza, Dad had me and we made it to the kitchen.  We ate at the bar, using paper towels as plates because neither of us could remember where the plates were.  Sure enough, we found them after we ate we found them in the dishwasher.  I’d had enough for the day and went to bed.  Before I left, my dad told me he loved me.  I responded, “What day is it today?”  I’d guess that he was surprised by that question, but he didn’t let it faze him.  “It is Tuesday, Tru.  Were you wondering how long you had to get your story together?”  A*****e.

I went to my room and locked the door.  The window was closed, my bed was messy, my desk was covered and it looked more inviting than it ever had.  I kicked off my shoes and fell on the bed, wrapping myself in my blankets and top sheet before losing myself to sleep.  The voices were getting louder. 

Sleep was fitful.  In the past, the voices shut off as though REM was Chuck Norris.  This time the voices were background noise, creating a rhythm that ebbed and flowed drifting to and from sleep-land.  It pissed me off.  After six hours of trying to sleep, I got up and paced my room.  The blue numbers of my alarm clock didn’t help alleviate my stress.  Being up at 1:45 in the morning should be illegal.  I couldn’t think of anything productive to do, so I sat on my bed and stared out the window.  The darkness of the woods which surround my backyard was impenetrable, but it gave me something to do. 

I nodded off and sat myself upright, suddenly realizing that the blue coat was still in the car.  One voice in my head had leapt above the fray, repeating “The coat.  The coat has answers.”  It wasn’t my mother’s voice, but it sounded like a voice I’ve heard before.  It might have been Mr. Moviefone.  I glanced at my alarm clock again, 6:42.  At least I slept.  I got my slippers from under my bed and plodded down the stairs. 

My dad was in his study, reading the newspaper behind his heavy mahogany desk.  He glanced up, “Where are you going, Truman?”  He stood up and came out in the foyer as I grasped stupidly at the obviously empty tabletop. 

“Dad, where are the car keys?”  I had a manic edge in my voice and have to admit that I’d have liked to have looked in a mirror to see what I looked like.  “I need to get something out of the car.  Where are they?”

He stared at me like I was crazy, which was possible.  “I’ve got the keys, Truman.  Why do you need them?”  Dad was stern again.  What the hell was with this guy? 

“I need that coat.  There’s something about that blue coat that I need to see.”  I couldn’t really explain anything else about it, because that’s all I knew.

He laughed.  “That was your mother’s coat.  I brought it because I thought you might somehow come around if it was close to you.”  He stopped laughing and smirked.  “I guess it worked.”  He grabbed my shoulder and walked out of the house with me.  A loud clunk indicated the car was unlocked. 

I shook off his hand, probably a bit more aggressively than I should have, and walked over the car.  I opened the back door and grabbed the blue coat.  It smelled like my mom.  The sweet, cinnamon scent was bringing tears to my eyes, but the cold sharp wind could also have been the culprit.  I reached into the right pocket and was rather surprised when I found a note.

My initial reaction was to tense up and read it, but I wasn’t sure that I trusted my dad enough to do that.  I palmed the note and raised the coat to my face, breathing deeply.  The cinnamon was milder than it ever had been while she was alive.  I could only hope that my memories of her wouldn’t fade away as quickly.  “Do I have to go to school today?”  Obviously, my dad wasn’t paying attention as evidenced by the perfunctory “what” he grunted back.  “Do I absolutely have to go back to school today?”  I turned to face him, my eyes challenging him to deny my desire of staying home. 

He walked to the car and shut the door.  “No.  I told Doctor W to expect you for a half day on Wednesday.”  He began to lead to me to the house, shuffling me along like I was some 80 year old grandmother or something.  I shook him off and walked up to my room, leaving him confused on the doorstep. 

It was shortly after 8:00 which meant that Sadie was at school, but Jordan probably still hadn’t woken up yet.  I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t give him a call, so naturally, I do.  I dialed his number and waited for four rings…Five…Six.  Then, a click.  The doorknob hung up on me.  I sent him a text asking him to come over; I had to read the note but wanted him to be the first person to hear about it.

I set my mom’s coat on the back of my chair, taking care to ensure that it was flat and not folded upon itself.  My sweaty palms were starting to make the paper stick to my hand so I figured it to be only a matter of time until the paper was illegible.  I peeled it from my hand as I lay on my bed, honestly fearing what was coming.

The note was scratched on a torn piece of paper, almost in an illegible scrawl.  The words were on the paper clear as day, but the fog still hasn’t lifted from my mind.  The words don’t stick with me.  I can only think of one thing to do with the message, write it in my notebook.  I get up and clear a space on my desk for the book and lift my hutch.  The notebook is still there.  I opened it to the very last page; I don’t want anyone to chance upon it.  I need a pen, or pencil.  The crap on my desk is usually enough to make feel comfortable in chaos but it was legitimately pissing me off right now.  I stood up hoping to gain a new perspective on my situation when I get stabbed in the heel.  A pencil decided to make its presence known in the most painful way possible.

I reached down and picked the pencil up.  It was a Bic mechanical pencil.  Reading the name made my right hand twinge.  I looked down and saw the fun size candy bar sized part of scar tissue from where I vaguely recall having a lighter fused to my hand.  I look away and focus my attention on the task at hand.  Is that even a pun?  If not, it wasn’t very good. 

The note lay upon my notebook, waiting for me still.  I begin to write as the letters swim in my vision.  Doing this only by cognitive interpretation was pissing off.  “Truman.”  I said the word and my hand obeyed the command.  Maybe I’m on to something?  “Sorry-this-has-to-be-vague-but-I’m-here-to-help.”  Oh great, someone is here to help.  I digress, “You-won’t-need-to-tell-me-everything.  I-know-what-you’re-going-through.  I-know-how-to-help.”  The whole message seemed like a coded missive and was in danger of becoming the newest member of my trash colony when my phone beeped.  I hope its Jordan.

Being the genius I am, I piled all the s**t from my desk on top of my cell phone on the bed.  Retrieving it was simple, but I truly do like to complain.  I opened the phone and was bemused to see that it was from my father.  Why the hell did he not just traipse up the goddamn stairs?  I read the text, simply telling me that Melanie had called, and slammed the phone shut.  That was a ridiculous waste of our precious familial texts. 

I tried Jordan again, didn’t get a hold of him but I wasn’t hung up on either.  That was an improvement.  The clock said 8:56 which would mean that Sadie was in passing time, so I chanced a text.  After I sent it, I realized how ridiculous it was to have texted her that I needed someone to talk to given the fact that the note told me absolutely nothing.  

Time was clearly not on my side as I had nothing to do today and no friends willing to talk it through with me.  Being a Chatman, I did what every respectable male should be well rehearsed at, napping.  It must have been a few hours later, judging by the growling in my stomach that woke me, but I became aware of the voices in my head being far more rhythmic than I was used to.  It no longer felt like people were clawing to get my attention, but that they were working together.  I should have known that I was nuts because all it just was my incoming text notification. 

Sadie had texted me back, so had Jordan.  They both had said the same basic message that school was only in session for a half-day that being the reason why neither of them had returned my message yet.  Whatever.  I decided to take another nap, after I scrape some food together, of course. 

I tottered down the stairs into the kitchen way too fast; my head throbbed so badly that I had to slide across the wall to keep myself from falling over.  Dad sat with the paper at the bar and turned when he heard me tumble in.  “Hey, bud!  How are you feeling?”  His smile scared me.  All he’d done since Mom died has been drink and get pissed off at me.  Certainly he must work, but if he didn’t, that wouldn’t surprise me either.  “Melanie called while you were sleeping.  You’ve got a meeting with her at Hy-Vee tomorrow at 6 o’clock.”  His smiled strained, “Does that work with you?”

My internal scheduling system was still recovering from my short-term disability, but I’m sure there was nothing important that I’d be missing.  “No,” I said eloquently.  “I mean, I have nothing planned, Dad.  Why is it at Hy-Vee?”  That seems really f*****g weird.  “That seems really f*****g weird.”  Damn, inner monologue fail.

After a snort, of either derision or possibly playfulness, he told me that Melanie wanted me to feel comfortable and that Jordan had to work tomorrow.  Oh, I get to share with Jordan and a frackin’ stranger my problems.  “Sounds great!”  Not.  “I’m going to take a nap.  See ya’ later.”  I turned and walked back to my room, all too aware of the persistent growling that seemed to be growing with each passing second. 

Figuring a sudden loud burst of sound might provoke a parental check-up, I shut the door rather gently.  My bed didn’t appear too inviting, so I sat in my chair.  The past internal experiences that I’ve recorded lay open on my desk.  I started at the beginning.  Three pages in was more than enough.  All I saw was “Tru, Truman, Truman, Tru, Tru, Truman, Truman, it’s not your fault.”  Damn Family Guy.  My head began to spin, so I shut the book and placed it under the hutch.  The past six minutes were agonizing, but well enough to make the bed look nice again.  I took my body’s messages and laid back down.  The voices ceased the moment my head hit the pillow.

Have you ever been a recipient of 19 uninterrupted hours of sleep?  Take it from me, but it’s amazing.  I squinted at my alarm clock, 7:12.  Just in time to get up for school, I scrambled out of bed and leapt into the shower.  After the fastest 15 minute shower in history, I changed into something that didn’t smell like teenage boy and loped down the stairs, pausing at the door to wait for my dad to take me to school.  The study’s door slid open and my dad strolled in, looking fresh and energized.  “Hey, sport!  Ready for school?”  He smiled and opened the door, waiting for me to leave before he came out.  What the hell is he doing? 

The ride to school was numb, not because of the car’s handling, which was surprisingly supple but not floaty; but because my dad was in an unseen good mood, depressing and terrifying me at the same time.  He sang along to Elton John for the second time on the fifteen minute trip and I shuddered.  Was he doing this on purpose? 

We arrived at Kennedy High School shortly before first period started and I exited the car in silence.  I had nothing to say besides ‘wow’ and I somehow knew that wouldn’t come off very well.  Sadie and Jordan were waiting outside for me, sitting on the short steps by one of the brick columns.  They both rose as I woozily walked over to them.  “Hi, guys.”  My enthusiasm had calmed a bit, easily understandable given the car ride.  “Have I missed anything?”  My deadpan needed work, but they both understood my humor.  I think they did.

Jordan smiled and clapped my shoulder, “It’s gonna be good to have you back, Tru.”  He began to lead me inside, “There was an assembly yesterday basically with the Wookie telling us all to leave you alone.  ‘Only ask if he offers to tell’, ‘Don’t make stupid comments,’ that sort of s**t.”  He smiled and opened the interior door, and in doing so almost let me get knocked over by the roar of the 2,000 students sweatily congregating in the front foyer. 

I stopped mere feet from the doors, the voices in my head seeming inconsequential compared to the dull roar or my fellow classmates.  On voice stood out, but I couldn’t place it.  I looked around, finally realizing that it was Mrs. Cessna the attendance lady saying hello.  I waved with a cheeky grin, beginning to worry if people were going to be weird like that all day.  It only took six hours to figure it out.

By the time I got to 4^th period, I’d endured unintelligible Spanish from the lips and tongue of Senora Bark, made fairly interesting by her newly dyed purple hair.  Mr. Cory prattles on about something philosophy-ish during Government, not the AP section I was signed up for but the one for normal people.  If the Constitution is as confusing as it seemed maybe we are doomed as a country. 

Concert Choir in 4^th period was my favorite class but it was at the most ridiculous time of day.  We come in, get attendance taken and then go eat, only to have our throats coated by the food and turn us into a chorus of “milky monkey-like smoking hacks” according to Mr. Ziegler.  It wasn’t all too weird; he did threaten to pop an ovary.  Ha.

 Miss Frye in World Humanities has always been my favorite teacher.  She loves you like her kid, but gets sorely disappointed in you like you’re her own kid too.  We read something about putting nectar in a strainer; I can’t bullshit this anymore.  I have no idea what the hell she was saying, the voices were getting f*****g loud. 

I had Happiness 6^th period; that’s a show choir, mind you, not some gay pride club or something.  I’d missed all of our vocal work, but knew the choreography so I danced while everybody else had to do both.  After about twelve bars, I sat down and fell asleep.  I was impolitely inferred to take my sleeping self elsewhere.  He was polite enough to let Sadie and Jordan leave to take me home. 

I got home and ambled upstairs, simply unaware of whether I actually gained anything by going to school or not.  It must not have mattered, because I was asleep with twenty minutes. 

Soft knocking pulled me back to the present, interrupting dreams about dinosaur pirates fighting with ninjas.  It was time to leave for Hy-Vee.  We drove past the new one, heading almost to Marion to meet Melanie and Jordan at the one by Lindale Mall.  As we walked in through the express door, the voices pulsated.  It hurt.  I’d never experienced pain from them before.  My ear drums felt like they were going to peel from my inner ear. 

A cool gust of wind blew in and snapped me out of my haze of pain.  Melanie stood smiling behind me.  “Truman!  It’s great to see you.”  She nodded to my father, “Phoebus.  I’ll take good care of him.  See you in an hour?”  My dad nodded and tousled my hair like I’m 6 years old.  The door opens one more time and as he leaves me in the store.

“So,” I muttered like a dumbass.  “I haven’t eaten much for six weeks; can I grab some Chinese food?”  I left before she could respond and thankfully Jordan followed.  I mooched a meal for cheap with his employee discount and took the Beijing chicken back to the dining and took a deep breath to steel myself before joining Melanie in the corner booth.  She had a laptop out and a surprisingly peaceful look on her face.  To put off the inevitable talk, I made a show about preparing my rice.  First, two packets of soy sauce followed by the imbibing of my pork egg roll, using the remaining cup of sweet and sour sauce in the rice.  I was out of ways to postpone.  Damn it.

Jordan sat awkwardly next to me.  We were best friends, but not lovers.  I was glad that he didn’t squeeze my leg or some other crap like that.  But, his presence calmed me down.  I speared a slice of chicken breast and dipped in my rice, popping it in my mouth and chewing stolidly.  I asked Melanie with a smile, “What would you like to talk about?”

She was still calm, not necessarily smiling but not disgusted or upset with our time so far.  “Have the voices returned?”  The damn woman stopped me mid-chew.  I struggled to swallow, getting pieces of the sticky rice stuck in my throat. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”  The words came out right, but I was still wearing my ‘oh s**t’ face. 

Her face changed instantly; no longer were her features soft and collected, they were on the road to enflamed.  “Truman, I know what you’re going through.  I don’t mean just with your mother, but with the voices.”  My face went from defiant to worried in a matter of two words. 

Jordan looked from Melanie to me and back again.  “Tru, you were serious?  I thought you were just making s**t up.”  His face was worried, and that worried me.  His next question was directed at Melanie, “Is he sick?  Isn’t that called schizophrenia or something like that?”  He’s a great friend. 

Melanie smiled and let a small chuckle escape, “He’s not sick, in the mind any way.  I can’t speak for him as a person though.”  A cheeky air of shitfulness came through her features. 

“I take offense that you’d even entertain the notion.”  Too late, Jordan was laughing, nodding his head.  He’s a terrible friend.  “If I’m not mental then what the hell’s going on with me?”  The edge of fear that was creeping into my voice was rather unbecoming and making me worried.

Her smiled was gone.  Melanie rolled her neck; each crack seeming to echo in the empty room.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “Truman, are the voices still a jumble that are a little steadier, or are they still random in intensity?”

Jordan shifted on the bench.  I could feel his eyes boring into my skull.  It felt as though he was aware of the gentle rolling waves of the cacophony buzzing in my head.  “They were sketchy until I was in the hospital.  Now, they’re like a beach.  They sound like waves crashing on a beach.  It’s nice like this.”  The voices quieted, not by much but enough for me to notice.

Melanie nodded.  “Good.  There’s a reason for it.”  She shut her laptop and folder her hands, setting them on top of the closed computer.  “I’ll bet that you were wondering why my computer was on and why I never used it?”  She raised her eyebrows as though daring me to answer.

I stabbed my fork down, apparently unaware that I’d eaten all of my Chinese food.  Damn.  “I didn’t know.  I’ve never talked to a shrink before; I’d assumed it was standard practice.”  I looked at Jordan and he didn’t disappoint with his agreeable nodding.  “Why?  Did I break it?”

“Yes, you did.  But, that was what I expected.”  She smiled and leaned forward, indicating that Jordan and I do the same.  “Are you familiar with the Gods of Olympus?” 

A snort of derision escaped before I could compose myself.  Instead of covering it up I followed that up with, “This is horseshit!  I was drug down here to discuss mythological creatures?  Come on, Jordan!”  I made to stand up, but he sat there with a look a fear on his face.  “What are you looking at?”  I turned to face Melanie but sat down quickly after I saw my reflection in the window.  My body was illuminated.  Melanie’s face was smug as I proved some point.  I set my hands on the table and chanced a look down.  They were angrily pink, like I had just put them into an oven for ten minutes.  I rubbed them gingerly, utterly confused by how it didn’t hurt.  My voice shook, “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Truman, you’re descended from gods.”  Her face was stony.  My eyes searched for some shred of sarcasm or uncertainty, but none existed.  “Your mother had the same gift and knew it.  She died because she tried to help herself before we could.”

I couldn’t believe this crap.  “Who are you then?  What are you then?”  The voices were getting louder.  My head was pounding; Melanie began to seem farther away.

“I am a Sybil.” 

What the hell is that?  “What the hell is that?”  I really need to figure out how to make my inner monologue become internal.  It’s starting to become a nuisance.

Shifting in her seat, Melanie sighed, “A sibyl is a priestess.  You’ve probably heard of oracles?”  Jordan and I nodded in tandem.  “Well, oracles get “inspired” and mumble cryptic bullshit.  My job as a Sybil is to take the stuff they jibber-jabber about and turn it into a prophecy.” 

My head swam.  The voices are growing, still in a rhythm, but swelling in volume.  Jordan leapt out of the booth next to me and ran toward the front of the store.  He returned with a manager whose eyes lit up and hurriedly unlocked the express door.  Melanie tilted her head and I ran out of the store. 

My vision swam as the voices grew louder.  Every swell was accompanied by a red haze passing in my vision.  The air crackled and I suddenly became aware of a sweet scent wafting toward me.  My breathing was nonexistent when Melanie told me to breathe.  It’s amazing how much better I felt after taking deep breaths.  The sweet aroma was intense, making the red haze seem yellow before suddenly turning blue.  The voices ceased, but one.  It was my voice, “Yellow…seek…shall permit…fingers…you…to…wish…what…to…understand…find…you…resist…afoot…temptation…to…destruction…allow…you…to…path…of”  Darkness returned.  Cold air burned my lungs as I took deep rattling breaths.  Jordan stood before me, his arms wide and face filled with fear.  “What happened?” 

He shook his head and looked behind me.  “Melanie, what was that?  Did he just make a prophecy?”  A prophecy?  What the well is he talking about?

A hand touched my shoulder.  “You’ve done well, Truman.”  Melanie was behind me, and I hoped she could provide some answers.  But, the answers have to wait. 

“I think I’m going to take a nap.”  I did.

The voices ceased, but images took their place.  I wasn’t sure whether I was conscious or not, but given the last memory I had, I’d say that I wasn’t valid.  A deep chasm was open before me.  The air was moist, with that same peculiarly sweet smell on the air.  I slowly turned around, becoming aware of the sounds of a small creek nearby and a small grove of eucalyptus trees.  The whole place smelled like a cough drop…Or Nyquil. 

The gradually dimming afternoon sun left me more aware of the shadows and I realized how little I knew about my surroundings.  A rustle came from behind me and my first instinct was that it was a snake.  But, I have never heard the sound a snake makes while slithering over leaves and there wasn’t a pile of leaves behind me.  S**t, that means that I don’t know what it is.  I took a deep breath, immediately feeling woozy.  With the rest of the world spinning, I decided to join it. 

What I saw behind me at the base of a jagged cliff may or may not have caused me to fall down.  A young man, only a few years older than I am, stood there.   His golden hair was curly, hanging loosely to the bottom of his ears.  He had an easy loping grace about him as he danced toward me on the balls of his feet.  The man’s eyes were alight, almost quite literally.  They appeared to be suns burning in his sockets.  As he approached, my throat tightened as I realized I wasn’t breathing again.  For being an involuntary reaction, I’ve had to think about the process a few times more than normal recently. 

“Who-Who are you?”  With breathing sustained, I found that my voice still existed.  Still, having air didn’t mean that I was aware that I’d said anything.  I slowly stood, taking in as much as I could about the man before me.  He was maybe 21, with a regal but playful air to him.  His fingers were tapping in rhythms not unsuited for piano.  Behind his shoulder a recurve bow was peeking with the requisite quiver of arrows visible over his other shoulder.  Suddenly my previous question seemed stupid.  What in the hell is this thing? 

I took a step forward, surprised to see that the other man did the same.  He was still smiling.  “I have been called many names.  Aegeletes, Lycegenes, Delius, Delphinius, Pythius…Are any of those familiar?”  My head shook, not out of fear but of negation.  “Perhaps you’d know me better as Phoebus, like the Romans knew me.  No?  Helios, then.  That was my favorite.  Your modern astronomers liked to think that the universe revolved around me.”  This guy was nuts. 

“What do you mean, ‘Romans’?”  I had a vague idea, but we couldn’t be thinking about the same people.  “Like, the Italian people…With a Pope and everything?” 

Snorting derisively, the man as he shook his head.  “Do they teach you children nothing in those schools of yours?”  He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder.  “You know who I am now?”  He smiled and looked me in the eyes. Suddenly I knew.

Apollo.  “Apollo,” I said aloud.  I rolled my eyes as I realized that my inner monologue failed, yet again.  “Why am I here?”  I gestured around me, looking past him and at my surroundings.  I again felt stupid for asking, “Am I here?”

Nodding, “I am Apollo.  With regards to your second questions, where would you think we are?”  He spun in a circle lifting his eyes to the twilight fused sky. 

I followed his gaze.  The stars were beginning to appear, slowly through the gradually darkening sky.  Smaller, nearer lights were tossing around intensely at the top of the cliff.  Torches, they must be.  I’ve heard the name Apollo before.  “Are we in Harlem?”  Fail.

He smiled.  “No, we aren’t in New York City…although; I do maintain a residence there.  Think back, Truman.”  His gripped tightened, only slightly.  I suddenly knew. 

“Are we in Greece?”  The excitement in my voice was evident.  “Are we on Olympus?  Is the smell in the air ambrosia?  Is this the river Lethe?”  I couldn’t hope to remember what questions I had asked past this point.  All I remember is stopping when Apollo’s hand left my shoulder and he began to laugh.  “Sorry.”

Apollo smiled at me and said, “You’d get along well with my sister.”  He sat down with his legs dangling over a ravine where the sweet scent seemed to be emanating from.  Patting the stone next to him, I joined him.

Instantly I was met with dizziness and crazy lights invaded my mind.  The voices were back, this time forgoing their rhythm and cadence for random jabbering.  Apollo waved his hand over the ravine and the voices stopped as did the sweet smell disappear. “Sorry, I forgot that mortals, even with traces of ichor in them can’t stand much exposure to the fumes.”  He stared over the ravine, looking at the grove of eucalyptus which seemed to shimmer in the growing moonlight.  “We’re related, you and me.”

It was my turn to snort derisively.  “Kind of how Julius Caesar was related to Venus?  I’m sure.”  I laughed but stopped quickly when I caught sight of his face.  “That was true?” 

He nodded, his golden curls bouncing.  “Our time is going to be brief.  It has to be.”  He turned to look at me.  His eyes were dancing like the sun, and I found myself unable to look away.  “Your mother is my daughter.”  He held his hands up to silence the obligatory question, “No, that does not make me your grandfather.  What that does mean is that there is a minor chance that you would inherit certain powers.  What’s strange about the powers you’ve obtained is the ability of sight.”

I blinked.  “What do you mean, ‘sight?’  Is it like foresight; can I see the future?”  I’m so confused. “I’m so confused.”

Apollo snickered.  “Your inner monologue needs work.  That’s irrelevant.”  He stood up and walked away from the ravine, leaving me to scramble after him.  “It is similar to the abilities my Oracle would possess.  Instead of using this ethylene vent,” he gestured to the ravine where I could just make out a pale green vapor emitting from the crack.  “You find your…’inspiration’ from fire.”  He stopped pacing and locked his eyes with mine.  “Truman, this is where it gets dangerous.  My Oracle would answer questions not for their own gain, but for those people whom they served.  You’re provoking the Fates, tempting them to cut your thread of life.  They’ve done it before, billions of times…Without provocation.  I’d recommend you allow your life’s natural course to take.”

I forgot to breathe again.  After he stopped talking, his eyes didn’t seem to dance anymore, instead they were threatening.  I broke the gaze and took deep, rattling breaths, aware of the voices on the edge of my consciousness or whatever it would be in my present state.  There was one question I had to ask, “Apollo, why are you telling me this?”  I tried to think of anything I knew about Greek Gods and their demi-god children, but I was drawing a blank.  “What am I supposed to do?”

Apollo’s being seemed to dim, as though his answer was causing him pain. He flickered like a light bulb about to burn out. As quickly as it started, Apollo appeared normal again. It was only when he began to speak that I noticed a change. “I can’t answer that.  You must figure it out for yourself.”  He turned quickly and walked toward the ravine.

His golden curls were getting brighter, just like the rest of his body.  I didn’t know why he was getting more golden, or whatever, but I wasn’t about to find out.  I turned my back to him and sat hard on the travertine limestone.  Ouch.  I tilted my head to look at the sky, but noticed that the cliff I was facing was glowing bright.  I turned back to where Apollo had stood moments before to find myself alone on the stone.  Damn.  I lay down and was suddenly aware of how tired I was.  The sky was no longer in the period of twilight, having succumbed to the temptation of nightfall.  My eyelids were growing heavier as I fought to stay awake.  I’ve always been terrible at winning things.  Sleep took me away quickly.

The world began to shake.  My eyes shot open to find Jordan on his knees at my head, “Tru?  Man, are you okay?”  Melanie stood behind him, seemingly unconcerned. 

I let the question wash over me.  Was I alright?  The last traces of orange were receding from the sky, confusing me.  The sky when in Greece had been dark.  The cognitive thinking required to understand how time was working was above my current mental state. 

“I’m fine.”  Jordan’s face told me that I shouldn’t be too quick to affirm that statement.  “What happened?”

He hesitated.  “Well, nothing much did happen.”  Jordan furrowed his brow, a telltale sign that he was giving this deep thought.  “You got hot, like literally hot to be around.  So, I got up and got Steve.  He opened the door and you ran outside and, I guess, you fell asleep on the ground.”

Melanie glanced around nervously.  “Jordan, you felt him get hot?”  He nodded in response.  Melanie rounded on him, “You mean to say that you were able to feel a distinct physical change in temperature while next to Truman?”  Her eyes were intensely focused.  Whatever she was hoping to uncover was obviously important. 

“Yes, I felt him get warmer.  It was like teleporting from Fairbanks to Hesperia.”  Jordan was irritated, unsure of why she cared about that. 

My head was swimming, “Jordan?”  I lifted myself onto my elbows and looked at him, “Where the hell is Hesperia?”  He smiled.

Melanie stepped forward, “Truman, it doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that Jordan felt you heat up.”  She grabbed my forearm and slowly helped me to my feet.  “I would like to know, however,” she looked me in the eyes.  “What did you see?”

My father drove up a few minutes later and fussily helped me into the backseat.  “Jordan’s going to stay the night.  Melanie’s request,” he added as an afterthought.  He strode to the front of the car and wiped off some sap from the hood.  Following his moment of OCD-ness, he got in the car and we drove away. 

We followed the light stream of traffic down Highway 100 to where it bisects with Edgewood Road.  The night lost its colorful sunset as we traversed the deserted roadway.  It wasn’t until we reached the bridge over the Cedar River that we saw another car. 

My dad flipped his blinker on and began to slow down to turn right onto Ellis Road.  “Hey, Truman.”  I didn’t look up but I could feel his eyes to pierce me in the rearview mirror.  “There’s a surprise for you at home.”  Hearing this piqued my interest.  His eyes were mischievous.  I don’t like mischievous people; you never know where they’re coming from.

We pulled into the driveway and pulled up in front of the door.  I unbuckled and exited the car.  Light came out from the front door and I looked up to see Sadie leaning on the doorframe.  Fatigue washed away as I ran to her.  I pulled her to me and hugged her.  Her honeysuckle shampoo flooded my senses and my knees began to feel weak.  Seconds, minutes, possibly or most likely hours passed until I realized that we were in our own little slice of the world that was impeding the movement of others in theirs. 

We released each other and went inside, followed by my father, Jordan, and Melanie.  Sadie’s fingers slid into mine as she led me into the dining room.

Once seated, a general layer of fatigue overcame the table.  My dad looked worn, but his eyes were alight.  He smiled at me, and for the first time since Mom died, it looked like he meant it.  My cheeks may have gone flush, but that was not the reason why I looked away. 

Melanie stood up and waited.  For what, only she could know.  After almost a minute she finally seemed satisfied with whatever reason she had for waiting.  After a deep breath she began, “We all understand why we’re here.  It has come down to us to protect Truman from Hephaestus.” 

What?  “What?”  I realized that I was standing now.  Melanie looked over Sadie’s head, her head tilted to the left.  “I understand that I’m descended from Apollo, but how does Hephaestus fit in?”  The voices began to talk again, keeping time together.  The throbbing rhythm was making it difficult to remember anything, let alone any mundane facts about Apollo or Hephaestus. 

“Truman, Hephaestus is the god of fire and metalworking.”  Melanie’s head was still tilted, but it didn’t seem like a condescending action anymore.  “What is confusing, to me,” she said as her voice showed her confusion, “is that nothing in historical texts speaks of animosity between Apollo and Hephaestus.”  Melanie sat down and groaned.  “How did I end up on the chair without a seat pad?” 

My dad raised a hand, “Can we get back on track here?  How does this help Tru?”  He shifted in the chair.  Darkness cast over his face, bringing pain onto his façade.  “I just can’t see him get swallowed up in all of this like his mother.”  His eyes flitted to mine.  They were full of sorrow and fear.

Melanie nodded.  She reached behind her, pulling out an iPad.  With a few quick swipes and taps, she laid it in front of her.  “These are a PDF version of the known Sibylline verses still remaining.  This is the best resource we have for finding a way to help Truman.” 

Uncharacteristically quiet, Jordan began to move.  “What is it we’d be looking for?”  He spun the iPad toward him.  Shaking his head, Jordan said, “I can’t understand how anyone can make sense of these.  They’re not even riddles, just statements basically.”  His frustration was growing.

Dad nodded, “Jordan, well I guess, everyone; prophecies were made often because of their nature.  They are simply musings about the future given a tumultuous event.  They couldn’t be transparent because there would be nothing learned for solving them.”  His knowledge was impressive sometimes.

Sadie put her hand on mine.  I’m lucky to have her.  She asked, “So, what exactly would make Hephaestus hate Apollo so much?  And, for that matter, what makes you think that that Hephaestus is behind this as a villain?”  Her face was scrunched up, like she was thinking hard.  And, let’s face it, she was probably thinking really hard.  My hand got tight as she gripped my hand; the force took me by surprise.

I looked expectantly at Melanie, but surprisingly it was Jordan who answered.  “Hephaestus was ugly.  The myth going around was that because Zeus “created” or whatever, Athena, Hera got jealous.  She decided that anything her husband could do, she could do too.  Only, when she first saw Hephaestus, the fact that he wasn’t perfect was too much.  Out of spite, she threw him off Mt. Olympus.”  He stopped and looked at Melanie.  Jordan’s eyes were wide.  He wasn’t used to knowing stuff, but I’d guess he was surprised as the rest of us when Melanie told him that he’d so far been right.  “Um, well, Hephaestus was the god of forges and metalworking.  I’m not sure how or why, but I’d imagine it was so he’d never have to be seen unless he chose to.  Although, how he got a babe like Aphrodite I’ll never know.” 

“Right, thanks Jordan,” Melanie said.  I thought she’d stopped him before he started talking about how hot he thought Aphrodite was.  Melanie began to drum her fingers on the tabletop, the clacking noise creating a counterpoint to the voices that were beginning to grumble in my head.  “I’m not too sure how helpful that these will be.  They’ve been destroyed once, entirely, and were rewritten by memory…ish.”  Her face showed her frustration.  “Who has an idea?”  Looking at the table, she saw at least me giving her a look that said “Oh, please!” 

Sadie was the first to recover.  She stood up from the table, “What’s the point in having you here then?”  Her green eyes had gotten darker, and they were even more beautiful.  It’s kind of weird to find yourself more attracted to your girlfriend when she’s angry, but hey, what can you do?  There was beginning to be tension in the room, but I don’t think it was from Sadie. 

“I think you should leave.”  Jordan had stood, moving behind me and pointing at the door.  “There’s nothing you can give us that we can’t find on our own.”  His face was pulled into a sneer, staring down at her like she was stuck on the bottom of his shoe. 

No one moved, maybe didn’t even breathe as Melanie stood up and walked out of the house.  The door slammed hard, rattling the windows, before leaving us in silence. 

The voices were louder, but not as discordant.  In fact, if I paid attention, they all sounded the same.  Just, each voice was saying something at a different time or using different inflections.  It was driving me nuts!  Nothing was easy for me.  Not since my mom died.  My mom…Dad had mentioned her having this “gift.” 

“Dad?” 

He looked up from his hands, “What bud?”  His face was gray.  He looked like he might get sick.

“How did Mom die?”  I asked the question that I’d asked a hundred times before.  Somehow I knew what the answer was going to be.

My dad leaned away from the table.  It looked like he was trying to get as much distance from me as he could.  “She was in a car accident, as you know.”

“But, why was she in a car accident?”  That sounded like a horribly stupid question. 

“She was in Wisconsin.  She’d gone to Green Bay, for work.”  My mom was a travelling nurse.  I knew that.  “She was coming home and was in Neenah at the time.  Her shift ran long and so she stopped for a burger and drove by the foundry.”  His voice shook.  I don’t think he’d shown this much emotion about anything in his life.  “The main exhaust line was getting cleaned at the time she was driving by, so they had smaller auxiliary lines leading the smoke and gases from the area.  Apparently, in the main line a spark came forth.  The whole thing exploded.”  He looked at me, his brown eyes red-rimmed.  “She blacked out, I’d guess because of the fire.  The car stopped in the street and she was hit from behind and pushed into an intersection.  All she would say was that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if you had the gift.” 

My eyes were sticky.  I’d begun to cry, not sissy-girl cry, but watery eyes with an occasional streaker cry.  With the back of my hand, I dried my hands the best I could.  While sniffling in my snot, I became aware of the smell of smoldering wood and ozone.  It was coming from below me.  Sadie backed away from me; her face was etched with disgust.  And, to be honest with you, I was pretty disappointed by it.

I glanced at my hand.  It was red, and appeared to be lit from within.  “Jordan?”

“Yeah, Tru?”

“Am I on fire again?”  The silence was reassuring.  I turned to look at him.  He nodded mechanically.  “Great,” I sighed.  “If you’d all excuse me.”  With that I got out of my chair and went outside.  The cool autumn air washed over me and sapped my strength.  After what happened earlier, I had an inkling that I was going to meet another one of my ancestors.  I just hoped that he wasn’t as cryptic as Apollo.  I lay on the grass and closed my eyes, immediately drifting from my conscious world to the reality of my otherworld.

The first thing I recognize is the dark smell of burning soot and scorching metal.  Groaning from the discomfort in my back, I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes.  Large men using heavy, antiquated hammers were beating red-hot metal against giant black anvils.  The one to my right picked up a pair of pincher looking tong-things and carried his metal stick to a large fire burning in the center of the room. 

I sat up and glanced around me.  It wasn’t lit well, but I could see around me as though it was lit like a football stadium.  There were ten or twelve big guys hammering metal around a giant bowl of fire.  In the fire, an iron podium rose up supporting a man that was at least twice the size of the guys who worked in here.  He called out orders, everything from “Curing the tips quickly!” to “How you like me now, Mom?”  In his hands was a large blue-white object that I couldn’t really see.  The color wasn’t due to its heat, but it crackled like it was electric.  The man turned around and his eyes found me.  “My boy!”

A smile lit up his face and I looked away.  He was disfigured.  As I turned my eyes back toward him I noticed that he walked with a limp and the reason was noticeable.  His right leg was at least two inches shorter than his left so when he walked it wasn’t really walking; it was like he stumped along.  The smile on his face was lopsided and looked painful.  I’d looked like that when I had a cyst once.  It wasn’t good.  Still, through the pain he continued to smile. 

“Stay right there, Truman!  I’m coming to talk to you.”  His voice growled through the tinny sounds of hammers striking metal.  He started to move and I wondered how he was going to get off of the podium.  He lowered a hand before him and the iron railing snaked out over the flames which stopped dancing below him and instead formed a staircase.  His first step made me catch my breath.  He was walking on the flames as the flickered, but didn’t dance.  It was as though he hadn’t taken away their flame-ness, but instead used them to help him as he needed.  That s**t was crazy.

As he got to the ground, the nearest workers stopped and bowed their heads.  They had to stop working to do this and by his sneer, the biggest guy didn’t approve.  “Those swords won’t shape themselves, men!  Do your damn jobs!”  They nodded in agreement, working rapidly as he walked by.  In the ten steps between where he had been to where I was, the closest worker had finished two swords and had already warmed up the iron for a third.

He grimaced as he stopped in front of me, whether it was from the pain from the action or from seeing me more closely, I wasn’t sure.  “So, you’re Truman?”  It was a question, but his tone was filled with disappointment.  I remembered a time when my grandfather had said the same thing.  He’d had Alzheimer’s and didn’t remember me.  Not that I blame him though; I wasn’t the most impressive male subject in the world.  I barely stood at six feet and might have weighed 140 pounds after an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. 

I was pretty sure that I knew this man, well giant-man.  He was at least ten feet tall and must have weighed at least a metric ton.  “Hephaestus?”  He smiled again and nodded.

“That’s me.”  His smile became full of pride as he gestured around him, “Welcome to my forges.” 

Forges!  Of course, but he had them all over the world.  “Which forges?  Where, I mean?”  I must admit, seeing him bite his lip while he thought about it was reassuring.

He looked up and smiled again, “We must be in Sicily.”  Hephaestus stretched out his free hand and looked between his hand and me.  Reluctantly, I took it. 

Following his lead, I was pulled to the bowl of fire.  With another wave of his hand, Hephaestus calmed the flames and they became solid.  I followed them up and was a bit worried about the incredible heat that was surrounding me.  It was crushing.  Once on the iron platform, I was able to better see my surroundings.  These men working for him were not men at all, they were Cyclopes.  At least eight feet tall, they all appeared to be in serious need of a shower and I was glad for the smell of burning metal and earth.  Suddenly the platform shook.  It was built like a subway grate, with the underside lit up.  Down below was an enormous…being.  He, or whatever you’d call it, was blue skinned and constantly shifting.  The skin never changed color but the shape was fluid.  At one angle he’d be an enormous muscular man, the next a really round ball-ish looking thingy that would spin around, creating a vortex threatening to pull the platform down into his chamber.

“Nasty little thing, isn’t he?”  Hephaestus was staring at him with his hands on his hips, a patronizing smile on his lips.  This look didn’t appear to be painful, as though he got great pleasure with catching things.  “Typhon, that is.  Zeus beat him the last time we fought the Titans.  He picked up Mt. Etna and threw him under it.”

I looked away from Typhon.  “How come they put your forges here then?  Are you his guard?” 

He shook his head, “I’m not his guard.  Zeus simply thought that having the weapons maker for Olympus at ground zero would be safer than having me travel all the way from Athens.”  We stared at Typhon for a while longer, nothing being said between us.  The only sounds we heard were from Typhon spinning against the stone walls of his prison and the clanging of hammers on iron. 

“Why did you curse me?  My family, I mean.”  I had to know, and he owed me for it.

To my surprise, Hephaestus laughed.  “My boy, you can control fire.  You surely don’t think that this is a curse?”  My face told him that I, indeed, did find it to be a curse. 

“Because of you, my mother died.”  I was shouting now.  “How is that a gift?”

He put up his hands to stop me from continuing, and I have to admit that I was grateful for it.  The only thing I had left to say was just verbal vomit to fill the silence.  “Tell me, how is Apollo’s gift helpful?  Why did your mother not see that she’d die outside of those forges?”  The tone in his voice changed.  He sounded god-like, authoritative, almost as though he was challenging me to contradict him.  I wasn’t that stupid.  “Apollo, if anything, infringed upon my territory, kid.  You and I share a bloodline, that’s over one thousand years old!  He’s been in your family for only seventy years.  Sounds to me like I was here first.”  His eyes narrowed and not for the first time today, I was glad that he was wearing dirty goggles. 

“I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t think about it like that.  I just…”  I had to stop because I didn’t have a clue why I sided with Apollo.  Was Hephaestus right?  Yeah, he had to be.  Apollo told me that he was my grandfather.  My mom couldn’t have been a thousand years old, could she?

“That god has been a pain in my a*s since he was born.  If it wasn’t for me, his oracles would have died off ages ago.”  He swallowed hard.  “He’s my brother, Apollo.  I can’t stand to see him how he was when his temple was torched.  And to think, it was my domain that destroyed it.  I have to admit that I’m glad I could help.”

Wait, what?  I shook my head, “Hold up.  Are you saying that you became my long lost ancestor so that the oracle would one day rise again?”

“No.  Well, not at the time.” 

The god before me was confusing me almost as badly as Apollo had.  “Do you think that Apollo planned this?”

He shook his head.  “It had to have been coincidental.  My brother wouldn’t have done that to me.”  Hephaestus looked pathetic. He flinched and raised a giant hand up to his forehead. Another drop of water hit him square in the middle of his balding head. Looking up at the light filtering into the forge, a sudden dousing of water dropped onto Hephaestus. “Poseidon! Argh!” Turning to me, “If you ever have problems with a family member, I’d venture to guess that it’ll be him.”  Suddenly, the whole room shook from a deep source causing me to fall over and Hephaestus to flinch. It was only because of my proximity to the fire that I noticed he had dimmed and was now looking a bit more normal.

“Was that an earthquake?”  My arms were wound through the iron railing.  “What’s going on?”  Nothing was going on now.  The shaking had stopped.

Hephaestus rolled his eyes, “I’m almost done, father!”  He shouted into the sky.  Now I was started to get scared.  “Zeus has a rule about helping mortals, heroes or not.”  Sighing, he told me, “I’m not sure what Apollo has in store for you, but be aware that it won’t be easy.  Your mom’s death being in front of a forge was no coincidence, in my opinion at least.  Maybe it was the only way he could get you to become an oracle.  I don’t know.  But, I want you to remember: you’re a descendant of two gods.  Play around a little bit.  You might be better than setting stuff on fire and falling asleep.”  He chuckled and I couldn’t help but join him.

Maybe if Hera had taken a chance on knowing her son, she wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss him.  I kind of liked the guy.  “Thanks, Hephaestus.”  I stood up and brushed my hands on my jeans.  “Is there any advice you’ve got for me?”  My hopes must have been high because his answer left me a tad underwhelmed. 

“Yeah, don’t get too attached to your eyebrows.”  He placed a large dirty hand on my forehead and I instantly fell asleep. 

Gentle hands were shaking me.  Harsh yellow light flooded my eyes, distorting my view of reality even more than it already had been.  A face is silhouetted against the light, kindly dousing my face in shadow.  I blinked a few times and the face before me came into focus. 

“Tru.”  Sadie’s voice was anxious.  “Are you okay?”  She was kneeling beside me with her right hand on my chest.

I groaned and slowly sat up.  A pounding in my head filled the silence.  A stupid look must have crept onto my face. 

“What?”  Sadie seemed confused.  Her green eyes were dry, which I’ll admit made me a bit disappointed.  But, the concern was there in her voice.

“I finally got some useful knowledge.  I think.”  Footsteps to my left got my attention, bringing my dad and Jordan into view.  “Hephaestus is an ancestor.  Like, a long long time ago ancestor.”

“Was he from a galaxy far, far away?” Jordan asked.  His wide eyes and half-smile told everyone that he thought he had made a joke.  Apparently, our faces told him that he had failed.  “Gosh, just trying to lighten the mood.” 

My dad stepped forward, “Truman.  What did Hephaestus tell you?”  I’d like to think that he was enjoying this.  But, something in his face told me that he was worried he was going to drop out of my favor or something. 

A lump rose in my throat, “He simply told me to practice.”  I scrunched up my face trying to think harder.  “Something about me potentially being better than just hearing voices and blowing stuff up.”  Saying that out loud hit me as funny and, I’m sure aided by how tired I was, caused me to laugh. 

Sadie looked worried.  “Let’s get you to bed.”  She helped pull me up by the arms and led me upstairs. 

My room had a sleeping bag, my bed, and a cot set up.  As Sadie dropped me on my bed, literally, she told me, “Your dad doesn’t want any “funny business.”  She made a face at that last part as though it was painful to say.  “But, that’s okay.  I don’t want you to blow me up in the middle of the night.”

I don’t remember much else about that night.  Dreams never came, but the darkness was quick and long-lasting.  It wasn’t until I rolled off of my bed in the morning that I probably even breathed. 

“Ugh.  I’m gonna be feeling that tomorrow,” I said into my pillow.  Actually, it probably sounded more like, “Ugh, I’b koda be beveling vahd dobowo.”  Chalk one up for a good morning!

The sunlight was breaking through the window, warming my back.  I rolled over and let myself lay there.  Sadie’s hair was falling over the side of the cot, moving in time with my breath.  The silence in the house was almost deafening, but it only made me relax.  There were no voices. 

A soft knock came from my door and I got up and walked over, trying not to wake Sadie or Jordan.  On the other side stood my dad, carrying a small book on grills and lighting techniques.  He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of my room.  I shut the door and followed him to the backyard where six different grills sat unaware of the impending destruction. 

Each grill was the same, smoking softly with their lids on.  In the air was the faint aromatic of hickory wood, charcoal, and lighter fluid.  My pulse quickened as Dad sat there with his hand on my shoulder.  Crazy as it sounds, I was aware of the flames.  I could sense the fires as they swirled within the grills.  Thinking it made me think I was crazy.  Guess telling Dad why I wanted to not do this was out of the question. 

“Tru?  You need to learn to control your powers, or gift.”  Shifting his weight, Dad continued.  “I can’t lose you too.  Your mom wasn’t prepared for it, because she never had to be around it.  You can.”  Dad was pleading with me and under any other circumstances, I’d have thought it pathetic, but knowing how Mom died, I feel the same way.

“I know, Dad.”  Voices were stirring, not loudly yet.  I swallowed and they stopped for about two seconds.  Once I realized that they were there, I was conscious of them the entire time.  Rumbling, just out of earshot, but there.  “What did you have in mind?”

Dad let go and walked behind the grills.  “I’m going to close the vents on these, so the fire should die but the wood will continue to smolder.  What I was thinking was if you were able to tap into these voices, you could find a way to create enough fire to pop the lids off of them.”  He stared at the grills before him, scratching the back of his neck as he seemed to think about the situation.  “Although, maybe this is as ridiculous as it sounds.”

I had to give in.  “Let’s try it, Dad.”  A thought popped into my head.  “Where’s Sadie?  And Jordan, for that matter?”  My mind tried to play last night, attempting to recall either of them going home.

“They’re upstairs, sleeping.”

Oh, yeah.  “Oh, yeah.  I knew that.  Let’s go.”  I waited until Dad backed off a couple of paces and then I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.  Blowing s**t up is easy when you’re not planning on it, but let me tell you that it’s beyond freakin’ difficult to do when you want to do it.  “Ugh!”  This was so frustrating.

“What’s wrong, Tru?  You’re normally great at blowing s**t up.”  God, he was so my father.

“Thanks, Dad.  Not really helping though.”  I closed my eyes again, shutting the door to my mind in the process.  All I was aware of was the gentle rustle of the grass as it was gently moved by the mild breeze and the tinny purring of the crackling wood and charcoal.  Underneath it all were the murmuring voices.  Somewhere within there was my mom.  Harder, I listened for her harder.  My brain started to hurt and my legs felt weak.  They began to shake as I heard my name.  It wasn’t Mom, but a man’s voice. 

“The fire’s not the power.  Truman, the fire’s not the power.”  A loud pop caused my eyes to open.  The first grill’s lid was lying on the grass six feet away, a raging inferno burning within.  Breathing ability came back to me and I took a step back.  My eyes grew bigger and the remaining five grills’ lids blew off, the fires within roared beyond any volume that I’d heard before.

Dad was getting to his knees.  “Dad!”  Holy hell!  What did I do?  I screamed and ran toward him, the flames extinguishing immediately.  That was new. 

“Truman?”  My Dad was standing on the other side of the grills, swaying slightly but looking generally alright albeit toasty.  “What the hell was that?”  A stupid grin was creeping on his face, brought on purely from the power of the explosions.  He sank to his knees.  

“S**t!”  It would be a lie to tell you I knew who I was shouting that to, but as I got to his side Sadie and Jordan came running out of the back door.  Dad was dirty with soot and dirt on his face and clothes.  He was breathing heavily but generally well off.  “Are you okay?”

“Well, Truman…” He paused and looked up at me.  “For the number of times you’ve blown yourself up, I’d say that I’m not very good at it.”  My dad would be the guy to make a joke about that. 

Jordan and Sadie came up behind me.  “What the hell was that noise?”  Jordan’s voice cracked as he surveyed the scene before him.  “Did you seriously just blow up your father?”

“Oh, please.  I did not blow up my father.  Intentionally.”  That sounds good.

Sadie dropped to her knees at my dad’s head.  “Well, Jordan it seems that this is only collateral damage.  It can’t be that bad, right?”  She snapped her head up at me, giving me a glare that would cause a T. Rex to poop his pants.  “What the frack were you thinking, Tru?  You could have killed him!” 

“He was helping me!  I swear to God!  Or Gods?”  Honestly, even the simple things in my life were beginning to become ridiculously complicated.  “Dad came and got me up early and led me out here.  The grills were lit and he asked me to blow the tops off.”  Between Jordan and Sadie, they believed me not at all.  “Oh, come on!  You guys have to believe me!”

Jordan’s hands were on his cheeks, obviously trying, and failing, to calm himself.  “Why would you do that to your dad?  Anyone who was alive in the dining room last night would know that you can’t control this s**t!” 

“Hey!  I wasn’t the one who wanted to do this in the first place.  He woke me up and put himself in the way.”  My eyes started to sting.  I wished it was because of the smoke, but it wasn’t.  “He wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t end up like my mom.” 

Sadie breathed deeply.  “Well, he may look like barbecue but he has a pulse and appears to be conscious.” 

Dad’s eyes were slowly blinking, flitting around the yard like he was trying to figure out where the next attack was coming from.  “Truman?”  His voice sounded like a cracking log.  “Promise me I won’t do anything stupid like this again.”

“No problem, Dad.  Are you alright?” 

“I’m kind of hungry.  Does anybody want Jimmy Jack’s?”

We all groaned.  He would make jokes about being hungry for barbecue in this situation.  Carefully, Jordan and I helped him to his feet.  They were weak, yet he didn’t sway.  “Is it time for lunch?”

We walked in, Sadie leading the way and getting the doors.  The den had a large leather couch which we laid Dad on.  He ‘oomphed’ when he fell back on it.  Hard to believe that someone had been blown up and it was only ten thirty in the morning.  Within five minutes, Dad was on his feet pacing and tooling around in the kitchen.  “I’m hungry and I want barbecue!”  Apparently he was in the belief that by shouting about it out loud, eventually we’d cave in and he’d get it.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that I would eventually give in.  By eleven we were on the interstate driving down to Iowa City. 

Sadie was driving with me in the passenger seat.  Poor Jordan, he was stuck with Dad in the back and Dad was singing.  That’s not to say he was a poor singer, on the contrary.  Dad has a wonderful voice.  It’s just that Sadie’s first order of business was to find the XM Broadway station and, let’s face it, who wants to listen to their Dad belting “I Feel Pretty”?  I can tell you, the answer is no one.

Sadie pulled the Optima into Jimmy Jack’s’ parking lot and shut the car off.  Dad was halfway across the parking lot before we even realized the car was off.  As the three of us walked in we found Dad jumping up and down in excitement.  “I’m getting brisket!  I’m getting brisket!  I’m getting brisket!” 

“Dad!  Settle yourself, now.”  Saying this through gritted teeth made me feel like a parent.  Let’s just say that I shut up fairly quickly. 

Sadie came forward and grabbed my dad’s arm.  “If you don’t stop jumping, I’m not going to let you have a cookie.”

Dad’s eyes got huge.  “Oh!  I want a cookie, too!  I’ll be good, I promise.”  He instantly stopped jumping and tried his best be calm, cool, and collected.  We ordered our food and sat down.  Sadie took Dad with her to get drinks and condiments, potentially making his day.

An hour later, Dad seemed subdued.  The paper remnants of his sandwich, cookie, and French fries sat in a crumpled pile on his dark brown plastic platter.  “That was tasty.  Was everyone’s good?”  Sadie, Jordan, and I responded affirmatively causing him to smile.  “Sorry I got so weird, guys.  The shockwave from those grills must have caused me to go into shock or something.”

Jordan muttered, “Or something.” Under his breath, he whispered, “Knocked yourself to Dipshit-ville’s more like it.”

“What was that, Jordan?”  Dad must have heard him. 

“Nothing at all, Mr. Chatman.  I was merely thanking you for being as kind as to let us drive your car to this wonderful dining establishment and granting us the pleasure of your company.”  I’d never seen Jordan’s cheeks that red.

Dad smiled.  “You’re damn right that’s what you said.”

Sadie and I didn’t even bother to try to hide our laughter.  We left the restaurant and drove back to Cedar Rapids, taking Highway 30 to 16^th Avenue and coming up the back way.  As we were making our way along the river, Dad asked me a question.  “What did you use as fuel for this, Truman?  You’ve never had this large of a reaction with fire before, was it your mother?”

I shook my head.  “Honestly, I’d never heard the guy’s voice before.  He just told me that my power wasn’t fire.  I’m still not sure what that exactly means.” Maybe it was being oblivious.  That would make sense.

Sadie took one hand off the wheel and patted my knee.  “We’ll figure this out.” She never took her eyes off the road but I could tell she was confident with her prediction. The twitch of her head caught my attention. “Tru?”

“What?”

“Do I smell barbecue, or am I going crazy?”

With a set-up like that, I had to take my shot. “Can’t it be both?”

The road ahead of us straightened out, prompting Sadie to glare at me. “Don’t push your luck, boy.”  I’ll admit it; I did cower.

The side mirror framed my father’s face and he appeared to be uncomfortable. “Dad, are you alright?”

He looked ahead.  I couldn’t see him but I knew his eyes were boring through the headrest. “Is it wrong that I kept some of my lunch?”

Sadie looked concerned.  “No, it’s fine.  We just were curious.”

Jordan looked down at the small brown bag on my father’s lap. “You really want to eat that?”

“I don’t plan on it. Why?” Dad moved the bag to between his hip and the car door. 

“I’m still a little hungry, but if you want it, I understand.” Jordan’s cheeks were blushing. Call it a testament to our friendship, but I could tell that without seeing him. It was the inflection in his voice that told me he was embarrassed. “Sadie?  Can we stop off at North Liberty and grab some Boscos at Kum-n-Go?”

Sadie looked at him in the rearview mirror. Speeding up, we passed the exit for North Liberty. “Sorry, Jordan.  It looks like we missed the exit.” Something resembling ‘crazy witch’ escaped his lips.

The next twenty miles were silent, only the rhythmic pounding from the tires rolling on the pavement creating any noise. As we turned onto Ellis Road, sirens and flashing blue lights were heard. They increased in intensity as we drove down the road.

Dad was the first to say what we all were thinking. “Please tell me those aren’t coming from my driveway.”

Jordan chuckled. “They’re not coming from your driveway.” Sadie turned the car onto the gravel path that led the short distance between the road and asphalt of our winding driveway. “They’re coming from the lawn.”

It was surreal. Light steam was rising from our backyard which strangely appeared to have a fire engine peeking from behind the house. A thin, middle-aged officer walked toward the car as Sadie stopped in front of the house. Dad slowly crawled from the backseat, clutching the bag of brisket like it would make him invisible.

“Is everything alright, Officer?” Dad was always good at trying to defusing situations. Take note, I said trying to not actually accomplishing the feat.

“I’m Officer Pierce.” Pausing as though he expected us to be impressed or something, the smug smile slowly slipped off his face. “Are you the owner of this residence? Phoebus Chatman?” He spat Dad’s name out short, like it disgusted him to say it.

“That’s me. What happened?” Dad started to walk around the house, making his way to the backyard.

Officer Pierce stomped after him. “Sir, you can’t go back there! It’s a crime scene!”

“Oh please.” Dad turned around, catching the officer by surprise. “This is my property. I paid for the land, the house, and everything. If I’m not allowed here, prove it to me.” That was a threat. One that Officer Pierce was not too keen on testing. He raised her eyebrows and continued walking. He rounded the corner and cursed. “S**t!”

I ran past the cop and turned the corner. Somehow the grills hadn’t been smoldering while we were gone. They must have flared up, igniting the embers and causing a mild grass fire. Surrounding the grills was an oval of scorched grass which was still steaming from the saturation required to put out the flames. Officer Pierce came around the corner a moment after Sadie and Jordan joined us.

“As you can see, we were notified of an out of control fire. Given the proximity and quantity of heat sources, I could only assume that you were burning back here.” Assuming an authoritative stance, he continued. “Burning is illegal within Cedar Rapids’ city limits. If you’ll stay right here, I’ve got a ticket for you.”

Greg Buelow, the fire chief, walked up to us. “Feebs, Truman.” Our relationship was weird. He was the father of an ex-girlfriend of mine, but he was also Sadie’s uncle. Needless to say, he saw far more of me than most father’s probably would like to see of their daughter’s ex. “What was going on today?” He folded his arms and flexed. Even with a decade out of the service aspect of the job, he maintained his impressive muscular physique. I was intimidated.

Dad stammered, he must have been nervous too. “We were cooking breakfast out here this morning. But, apparently we didn’t damper them very well.”

“Well, Mr. Chatman.” Uh-oh. “The lids were twenty feet away.” He gestured to the lids which were sitting all over the yard, at least twenty feet away from the grills. “And, we didn’t find any remnants of food. At all.” If you listened really closely, you could hear the air leaking from Dad’s story. It wasn’t very good, but at least he’d tried.

Officer Pierce came back. “Chief Buelow has decided not to press charges against you. You should be glad for that.” He thrust the ticket into my dad’s chest. “If I were you, Mr. Chatman, I would be very careful about how you handle yourself. This household contains impressionable young minds that are probably always looking for tips.”

That was it. “Listen here you jackass!” I couldn’t, but probably should have stopped myself. Now I found myself the sole recipient of Officer Pierce’s attention.

“Watch your tongue, Truman.” He stepped forward, attempting to intimidate me but only making me breath in his large man odor. To say that he needed a shower would be a gross understatement. In fact, I’d imagine that the stink wanted to leave him too. Once his gut hit mine he stopped moving forward. “I know you have most of the department fooled, but don’t think you can fool me. I know that this has something to do with you and your “problems”.” He did that stupid air-quotes thing around the word ‘problems’ like he even knew what I was going through. My eyes were watering from the overpowering stink. I had to step away. Smiling, Pierce walked away.

Somehow that prick of an a*****e felt as though he understood what happened, rather what was happening to me and my dad. Hell, I didn’t even understand what was going on with me and my dad. Time’s supposed to heal all wounds, right? I’m not sure if the wound left by Mom dying was the type that could heal or not. It wouldn’t appear to getting any easier, for me, but somehow Dad was getting through it. Or, he at least put on the face for me. Maybe as I long as he’s around, I’ll always have a way through.

The crews, both fire and police, began to pack up leaving in a loose motorcade as the smoldering ashes in the bottoms of the grills and the grass surrounding them began to smell. The rotting vegetation and charcoal was putrid and began to remind me of my…Well, I’d guess it was time spent, with both Hephaestus and Apollo. Sadie put her arm around my shoulder, the smell of her perfume, rather guys cologne that she wore wafting over me.

“Are you okay?” Her warm breath tickled my cheek. I tried to smile, but it was as convincing as Jim Parson’s on The Big Bang Theory so I nodded instead. She kissed my cheek, “I’m starting to wonder if the law enforcement agencies in this town have it in for you.”

“Truman?”

Admittedly, when in close quarters with a beautiful girl it makes little sense to turn quickly in the direction of someone calling your name. But, I never said that I was very sensible, so there. Needless to say some heads collided when I turned toward Dad. A rather short apology from me to Sadie later, I was standing before him. “Yeah, Dad?” I glanced down and noticed he was holding a small card in his hand.

“Do we normally get our mail this early?” He looked at his wrist. “It’s only twelve-thirty. Isn’t that early?”

Dad passed me the postcard. It was postmarked in gold, the stamping so light that it was pretty much illegible. The text below was written in the same colored gold, faint but shimmering. It was a neat, slanting cursive which looked elegant and effortless at the same time. “Truman- If you find yourself needing assistance, do not forget that help comes only to those who ask for it.” There was no signature except for a golden sun. Was this from Apollo?

“Who’s Apollo?” Dad asked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. You just said, ‘Apollo?’, like a little girl. Are you talking about the god Apollo, like the god formerly known as Helios, Apollo?” Dad was looking very excited.

Ignoring him, I turned the postcard over and was staring at a painting. There was a group of beings among the clouds. In the corner was the description. “Council of Gods, 1625. Giovanni Lafranco, Villa Borghese, Rome, Italy.”

“That’s amusing, Tru. You have gods who are supposedly capable of truly transcendental magic and he sends you postcard? Gotta be feeling confident, huh?” Dad’s voice was already a few steps past sarcastic. Still laughing to himself, he walked away. Digging a hand in his pocket, Dad fished out something small. It was a matchbook. He struck a match and used it to start the whole book on fire. “Truman! Come here! I’m gonna try and make some peace with these gods.” He dropped the lit book into the nearest grill and then began to unwrap the leftover brisket.

What happened next was both horrifying and fracking amazing. I groaned and the flames erupted, spitting green and gold sparks as Dad stood before them. Whether he was dazed or simply stupid was beyond me. My head started to throb. Mildly, the murmuring of voices started to become noticeable but by taking a deep breath and calming myself down, they started to quiet. The pain in my head was dropping. “Dad! What are you doing?”

Alright, it was mildly comical to see my dad with barbecue stains on his white t-shirt holding a few slices of meat in one hand like he was in trouble for midnight snacking. “I read it in a book somewhere. Supposedly, Greeks used to give a portion of their meals to the gods by burning it as sacrifice.”

I’d read that too. “You got that from some kids book, Dad. I’m sure they never did it in real life.” Gods, if I’d known what was going to happen next I’d never have said it, but my head throbbed as soon as the words were out of my mouth. If I wasn’t sitting here to tell you about it, I’d have guessed my head blew up like what happened to Bartleby in Dogma after God came down and roared or whatever she did. Alas, my head was still there. “Drop it in! Drop it in!” I didn’t mean to shout, but it got Dad’s attention. Once the meat hit the flame my headache passed. I was on the ground.

“Dude! What the hell?” Jordan was at my side, rather, under my side. From the way it looked he tried to catch me as I fell but only caught me with his left side and Earth. I’d give him an ‘A’ for effort. “What happened, Tru?” His blond was stabbing me in the eye.

Blowing the loose curls from my face, “I just pissed off the Gods. No big deal.”

Sadie reached down and pulled me up, getting some assistance from Jordan as he pushed. As I reached my full height I smiled at her. To be honest, seeing her laugh at me was a bit of a shock. “Truman, what happened to your face?”

My face? I ran my hands over my face, feeling my nose and smooth forehead before sliding down over the soft skin of my brow. Alright, I was horrified. It’s not like my looks are how I made my money, but Hephaestus proved to be right. And I had just spoken to him.

Dad caught my eye. He was squinting over Sadie’s shoulder. “Well, Tru. I’d have chosen a tattoo, personally. Even Whoopie’s got a problem getting people to accept her eyebrow-less look.”

The slider was open, so I walked in to the den. I sat on the first thing I could find, which was unfortunately a stuffed dog that promptly broke, sending me hard onto the floor. Ouch. Something had to be going on, with the Gods, I mean. People, demi-gods rather, don’t inherit these powers to simply have. In every story or myth that I’ve ever read they’ve used them for some sort of feat. Whether that feat was to save the world or protect my friends, I wasn’t exactly the most intimidating specimen to have led the quest.

The postcard was in my hand, a little brown around the edges and folded down the middle, but ultimately unscathed. Looking down at the gentle golden script, I opened it up and stared at the painting. Searching through the pantheon of ethereal beings, my eyes landed on one. On the left of the print was a woman standing above everyone, except for Cupid but he can fly so that disqualifies him. In her hands was a stick, with leaves on it.

“That’s an olive branch.” Dad’s finger tapped the woman I’d been staring at. “It represents peace. Given the painting, I’d assume that to be Minerva, the goddess of wisdom. Makes sense though, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The wisest action is the diplomatic action. Romans were very war-like and so were their Gods. Having one of the Triad holding an olive branch, representing peace would encourage people to sort out differences without resorting to violence.” He paused. “Give it here.” I passed Dad the postcard and moved to stand beside him. There was something about the sigh he released that made me wonder if there was some private moment I was intruding on.

“Are you okay, Dad?” Okay, so I’m not the most intelligent person all of the time, but even I should have understood that something was gnawing away at him. Well I may not have picked it up right away, but I knew what the cause was. “Is it Mom?”

Dad turned his head to me and smiled. “This was our first big trip. Rome, I mean. The Villa Borghese houses an amazing art gallery and this is painted on the ceiling in the largest salon.” With his finger, he traced a line through all of the Gods. “Your mom was probably the only person who didn’t think I was crazy for being so fascinated by the Ancient Pantheon. If I’d known at the time that I was involved with a demigod it would have probably made more sense, but she was different and liked to share the experiences with me.”

After a moment I felt like I had to say something. “Well, I’m interested in anything you can offer or share. Cause, unfortunately, I know nothing about this stuff.” I looked over his shoulder, trying to keep my voice as interested as I could make it sound. “What’s this triumvirate thing you were talking about?”

Should have known that saying something stupid would bring him back to Earth. “It’s not the triumvirate, Tru. That was how Republican Rome operated. The Triad the Romans worshipped was made up of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva.”

Those names meant almost nothing to me. “So, who is Jupiter, who is Juno, and who is Minerva?” I knew that I should have been paying attention to things.

Dad wiped a hand over his face. “Jupiter is the king of the sky and is worshiped as the ultimate deity. If it helps, he was pretty similar in nature as Zeus from the Hellenistic Pantheon.”

“The what?”

“Really, Truman? How about Greek Pantheon-you know what I mean if I say it that way?” He was getting really irritated by now. I felt it wise to not speak and I instead only nodded. “Good, so the wife to Jupiter was Juno who was not similar in many ways as her Greek counterpart, Hera. Juno was incredibly important to the Roman people, acting as the protector of the State.” Dad sat on the couch, placing the postcard on its arm as he turned to face me. “Minerva, well she’s harder to pinpoint. Most people equate her to Athena, but she wasn’t nearly as warlike as her. In fact, Minerva was the patron of poetry in the Roman Empire and often worshipped by artists. Okay, this is turning into a history lesson.”

“Well, history is my favorite subject.” Dad smiled. He knew that for sure; it was the only class I could scrape an ‘A’ out of without resorting to bribes or fake collapsed lungs. “So, what next?”

The slider opened and Sadie walked in with Jordan behind her. “Sorry to interrupt guys, but Chief Buelow left. He told us to tell you that he’ll be contacting you sometime next week.” She said the last part to Dad, somewhat timidly truth  be told.

“Oh, for crying out loud! A man can’t even light his own yard on fire without someone wanting to press damn charges! This country’s ridiculous!” He was up again, pacing back and forth. “Truman. Demigods have, historically, not been able to directly contact any of the Gods with intent of receiving assistance. It seems that most often, the meetings were entirely at the leisure of the God or Goddess. The only way this helps us is,” Dad started talking really deliberately, “is if the Gods hear our distress and reach out on their own.”

Of course, being the hopeful people we are, we stood around staring at the ceiling for what felt like twenty minutes waiting for something to happen. The heat began again, mildly. Actually, if I hadn’t been starving at the moment I’d probably not have noticed that I was even warm. Only, the difference with this one is where it was hot. Because it seemed like the smart thing to do, I turned my hands over trying to see if there was any change in color or if I was wearing my flamey-fur. “Jordan? Am I on fire?”

He snapped out of his hopeful staring to blink at me. A smartass smirk slowly crawled onto his face. “Truman, you are not in a state of conflagration.” His delivery reminded me of an old-time news reel announcer.

“Thanks for the sarcasm, jackass.” Now I don’t normally swear, but I do for Jordan. Anything to make things more real for him. After I stopped talking I realized where the heat was coming from. It was in my gut, not like the actual stomach but like, on top of my diaphragm I’d guess. The heat was strong, forming an almost perfect sphere and mildly pulsing as I thought about it. There wasn’t pain from it and I hadn’t expected there to be. However, it seemed to have come from nowhere, only appearing after I thought about contacting a God. Maybe…?

“I’m going to do something that may or may not be really, really stupid. Just sayin’.” Apparently my truthfulness wasn’t as appreciated as I’d hoped. Sadie was looking at me with an expression normally reserved for the guy who walks downtown giving out expired coupons for chicken sandwiches. Dad and Jordan seemed to be a bit more apprehensive, or anxious. I get them confused. They were worried, but not for what I said, but almost more about what the result was going to be. I was on the same page.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In my mind, I could see the pulsing yellow light just beneath my rib cage slowly getting bigger until it filled the whole cavity. Then, when it seemed to get physically hot, I released my held breath. The light exploded up and down my arms and legs, warming me as my eyes remained shut. I felt a smile spread across my face. Nothing else seemingly happened, not shifting of the Earth or random noises. In fact, it got quieter, if anything. Opening my eyes proved something though. Wherever I’d been, wasn’t where I was now. The company I’d kept wasn’t who I was with now. In short, things were different.

All around me trees bent in the light breeze. It was cutting softly through the warm October afternoon, keeping me in place and my eyes from opening.

“Alright, boy. Settle down.” The rough voice caught me unaware. Flinching eliminated the warmth I’d been enveloped within, yet I was aware of the tiny ball of energy which resided somewhere deep within me. It was my ground, what I could hold on to. Because, from what little I could gather from my surroundings, I’m not at home anymore. Looking down I realized that my fists were clenched. My arms were raised with my palms skyward.

The tall man to my left was massive. By that, I mean he honestly took up an inordinately inhuman amount of space. His skin was white, glowing from within yet still appearing to be disgustingly unhealthy. There appeared to be hair covering his scalp, although the dark shadows of his cloaks hood made it almost impossible to tell. “Who are you?” Being brash was pretty much the only technique I had for getting information. It wasn’t terribly effective, but my results were usually pretty satisfactory.

First, I received a smile, the thin blue lips rolling away from his large white teeth. They looked like Chiclets, well smaller Chiclets given the huge proportions of the strange man. He stood and rose to his full height, scaring me. He hesitated. “You don’t know who I am?” The cowl of his cloak was shaken from his head as I got a better look at his face in the filtered sunlight. In full view, his face was something I could have done without seeing. My blood turned cold at the sight of his dark, sunken eyes. Never in my life, have I ever a seen a dead body, but this man was my general perception of what one would look like. “I can’t believe that you don’t know who I am.” His voice was gradually rising in pitch, the timbre shaking off the sleepy-like grog. He sounded familiar, but I was sure I was wrong.

I took a breath, opening my mouth to speak, but hesitated. “No, that can’t be right.” The air surrounding me seemed to get a chill, but the man never appeared to notice.

“Yes? Just, come out with it.” His hands went to his hips as he began to pout. “It’s not like anyone knows who I am these days.” Red began to color his colorless cheeks, making him look like an angry snow cone.

“I don’t actually know who you are. But, you sound an awful lot like James Woods.” Luckily for me, Family Guy finally paid off. To my relief, the stranger laughed. Not menacingly, but kind out of joy.

With every deep raspy laugh, my heart would stop until he began again. “Oh, kid. You’re something else. Can’t believe that you think I’m James Woods.” I began to tell him that I knew he wasn’t James Woods when a large hand appeared in front of my face. “I know, you don’t think that I’m actually James Woods; only that I sound like James Woods.” Grinning, he moved his hand away from my face, leaving a stench of death and damp, dank earth. Wait a minute…

“You’re not, like, Hades-are you?” He hadn’t laughed in a while and my heart still hadn’t begun to beat in what seemed like three hours.

“No, I’m not “like Hades”.” Laughing again, he swished a hand in my direction, once more waving the disturbing scent of death and middle earth at me. The giant stopped laughing. “I am Hades.”

Now, I’ll offer you up a piece of advice: do not under any circumstances ask what I did when you’re in this same situation. “Oh, Gods. I’m not related to you, am I?” The silence on his end had me wondering if dying here, wherever I was, would kill me in the real world.

“No, we are not related. In the way you’re thinking anyway.” Hades turned and walked away from me, sweeping around the yard. “I’m here to offer you a deal.” Spinning around to face me, the black cloak whirled around him. Standing in the sunlight, it was a fair bit easier to see his cloak. I wished I hadn’t. The agonized faces of what I can only assume to be the damned were contorted along each fold of the cloak. It would only seem like a punishment to be part of the cloak for the God of the Underworld. Shiver much?

“A deal? Why would I need a deal, especially from you?” I’ll admit it, that wasn’t fair of me. Maybe he had a deal which I’d find interesting or at least alluring. Heck, he might even entice me to take it. But, I’ve read enough mythological fiction to know that Hades doesn’t just help people because he’s that nice. “What kind of deal?” It’s not fair to treat him with pure skepticism…Right?

“Sit down, my boy!” Gesturing with his right hand, I felt myself scoot backwards on a puff of air, traveling for five feet before an aluminum lawn chair caught me behind the knees forcing me to painfully sit. Across from me, he had conjured up a throne made of skulls and other bones that I didn’t really need to see. The Lord of the Underworld was draped across the seat, using one armrest as a footrest and the other as a backrest, looking like I stumbled into his apartment. “Your mother had a terrible accident. That’s how I came to be in possession of her.” A pause followed with him looking at me, almost like he wanted my permission of acknowledgement before continuing.

“Okay?”

“Right, your mother died because she had a gift. Actually, she had two gifts but was really only aware of one of them. Yet, the second one that she was unaware of was more like a nasty wart that only seemed to be irritating when it wanted to be.” He trailed off, leaving me to sift through the random spewage that had come from his mouth. “Great, look at me, I’m rambling. No, your mother died because I made it so. I needed her, more specifically; I needed her to have renounced her gifts so that you could have them. You are what I wanted. She didn’t need to die.” My face must have had a look of “What?” etched on my face. “I’m going to give you a few minutes to let that sink in.” Hades snapped his fingers and the wind shifted. The light of the sun grew more intense as the wind relentlessly battered me, stabbing me with its long, flowing fingers.

“Alright, times up!” A clap of his hands and time slowed.

My breathing was slowing down too. Yet, my heart was hammering so hard that I was sure I’d break a rib or collapse a lung or something. “You killed my mother?” Inside of me, the small ball of energy got hotter, never gaining size but increasing in heat. It began to be unbearable as he spoke to me.

With his hands up in front of him he tried to defuse my anger. “Oh, please! If you want to be mad at somebody for her death, be mad at Hephaestus. It’s not my fault that she was so susceptible to fire.” The red rose back into Hades’ cheeks. On his cloak, the faces were silently grimacing in pain that appeared to be worse than anything they’d previously known. “You are going to be used, Truman. Not just by me, but by everyone.” He hesitated, “Apollo’s gift of sight to you, is abnormal because you’re not a woman. Men, they, we, whatever. Men don’t see things as rationally as women, which is why he always chose them as vessels for his spirit. But, you’re different. Hephaestus, well I’m still working on how that one operates. You see, he’s never on Olympus when we meet there nor do I look for him.”

“What’s the point?” Again, my awesome skills of gentle questioning were shown. “Hephaestus is angry; his mind has to be anti-Hera after what she did to him. How can he possibly see clearly?”

“Wait, who said anything about seeing clearly?”

I opened my mouth, but bit back my question. “I’d-well, I’d just assumed that he’d need to counter the fact that I was a guy to help me overcome that problem with Apollo’s gift.”

Hades laughed. “Truman, listen closely and think hard. How many men, in all of history, do you think have ever had the sight?” He kicked his feet from the armrest, sitting forward with his hands on his knees. “Don’t you think that there’d be some sort of record?”

“But, they were just myths.” That’s it, just say it more and you’ll eventually believe it. Doesn’t work that way in real life.

“Are you saying that Caesar was a myth? Or Socrates for that matter?” He raised his eyebrows at me. Something almost human passed over Hades’ face. “What do those two people have in common?”

I thought hard. “The prophecy about Caesar, and the Ides of March. That led to his downfall.”

“Yeah, how about Socrates?”

“The Oracle declared him the wisest man in Greece.”

Hades smiled and leaned back in his chair. The obsidian glinted as the sun passed overhead. “Are you going to tell me that both of those men did not exist?”

Part of his argument was becoming clearer. Oracles, in their nature are powerful, not because of who they are, but what they do. Even more, for what they get people to do. “Well, sir.”

“Sir? Do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?”

“The problem with Caesar and Socrates is that they were arrogant. Each of those men heard the prophecy and then used it to undermine the Oracle. That seems to be a case of people making their own problems, to me anyway.”

Nodding, “I can understand that, Truman. However, when your dad and you are training, remember who makes the final move. You do.” Hades stood, the throne and lawn chair evaporated. “I’ll give you one more piece of advice before you go. Oracles who tried to change the prophecies they made were almost always met with disaster.”

He began to walk away, the pale white skin’s glow turning an icy blue. “What about those who didn’t?”

The light blue eyes danced, almost like little flames in their sockets. “Does anyone know?” Something like a grimace came over his face as he sulked off. The scene changing as he disappeared in the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

My backyard began to reform with the circular scorch marks appearing first, followed by the house and then my father, Sadie and Jordan. They were in conversation, still sitting on the various locations in the den.

Dad was the first to say something to me. “What do you think, Tru? Can you figure out what it means?”

It hurt to say it, but the truth prevailed. “No, I can’t.”

 

 

Author's Note

There are problems in this story, some problems that I'm attempting to remedy in another draft. If you have ideas on where I've completely failed (or mildly done so) let me know.