The Gatekeeper Trilogy, Page 2

  We got the ball back with five minutes left in the game. Mercifully, the other team hadn’t scored again thanks to the fact they were now playing third and fourth stringers. So, it was time for the JV Vikings to make a game of it. Time to score some points. Make it respectable at least, right? Not so much. We couldn’t even manage that. Three straight sacks and a dropped pass later, I yelled at my offensive line for not protecting me and then yelled at Martin for dropping the ball as we headed back to the sidelines. My blood pumped so hard coherent thoughts eluded me.

  One thing did cut through my anger, however. The other team’s defense laughed as they strolled off the field. The loudest being number ninety-nine, the latest to flatten me with a bone-crunching sack the play before. I felt my left eye twitch as I hurried up behind him. I grabbed the back of his jersey and yanked him around.

  “Something funny?” I growled.

  The large boy sneered. “Yeah. You losers. That’s what.”

  “How ‘bout I wipe that smile off your face?” I planted both hands hard into his chest pads.

  I caught him off balance and he stumbled back a few steps.

  A shrill whistle sounded as a nearby ref rushed toward us.

  The defensive lineman returned the shove in kind before the ref could make it between us. I stumbled more than a few steps and found myself surrounded by his teammates. I was assaulted from all sides. I had no time to regain my balance before I was shoved again. I tried to push my way out of the knot, but I was clearly outnumbered and hemmed in. I reached out and grabbed the closest face mask. I yanked on it as hard as I could.

  More whistles screeched from somewhere outside the crowd around me.

  Anger boiled. Blood thumped in my ears. My vision narrowed to a tunnel and all I saw was the acne-covered face behind the mask I gripped. Hard green eyes stared back at me. Violence crept up in them and I knew the kid was close to swinging.

  Somebody yanked me by the back of my shoulder pads, but I kept a grip on the face mask. I wanted him to swing. Take the punch. Take it.

  A different face appeared between us. It was older with a slightly panicky look on it. I found myself focusing on a blotchy, purple birthmark on the left side of his chin. It moved up and down while the man yelled something at me.

  “Let it go!” His voice cut through the blood pumping in my ears.

  My fingers flexed open. I was immediately yanked backward. I stumbled out of the knot of people and fell to the field. Coach Graham loomed over me.

  “Get up and get to the sidelines!” he yelled, his face a brilliant shade of red.

  I pushed myself up and stalked toward a sideline. It was the numerous obscenities yelled at me that made me realize I was heading towards the wrong sideline. I turned the other direction while the ref called a personal foul penalty on me. Once on the right side of the field, I ripped off my helmet, turned, and flung it into the bench. Wrong move. Before I knew it, Coach was in my face, yelling. To say he yelled a few choice words would be a mistake. His words were anything but choice. He yelled at me for disrespecting the team by throwing my helmet. He yelled at me for not being a team leader. He yelled at me for my poor play. And when he was done, several very embarrassing minutes later, he sat me on the bench and sent my backup in to finish the last few minutes of the game.

  I sat hunched, my head hung. Nobody approached me. There was a halo of empty space around me that didn’t escape my notice, and a thought struck me. None of my teammates had rushed to back me up out on the field.

  ***

  A blanket of sullenness hung over the locker room like a dark cloud waiting to rain on us. My team changed out of their uniforms with only a few murmured words. Getting over the complete dismantling would take a while. Then again, what are teenage boys if not forgetful?

  While the others moved in the slow motion of defeat, I hurried to change. I had to get out of there. The weight of the depressing locker room pushed on me like a giant’s thumb. I knew I’d catch hell for skipping the coach’s postgame speech, but at that point I could honestly say I really didn’t care. My blood hadn’t stopped boiling and listening to Coach Graham talk about the “valiant effort” we had made out on the field just might have made me snap like a dried twig.

  “Tough game.” Jonathan bumped a fist on my shoulder while I bent over to tie my shoes. “You sure know how to get Coach riled up.”

  I stood and looked down at the short running back. “That wasn’t my fault.”

  “No?” A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “Whose was it, then?”

  At least a couple dozen things ran through my mind. Oh, maybe the offensive line I doubt could block a stampede of raging dust bunnies. Maybe the defense for putting up as much of a defense as a bunch of napping babies. Maybe it was the wide receivers who had more drops than a dubstep tune. Oh, and maybe it was you who couldn’t hold onto the ball. Those three fumbles didn’t help anything.

  That’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I shrugged. “Like you said, tough game, I guess.”

  I turned my back on Jonathan and fiddled with things in my locker until I heard him leave, bumping into a bench in the process. I crooked my head slightly to watch him walk away from the corner of my eyes. Once he was gone, I spun, quietly shut my locker, and hurried away. I slipped past Coach Graham’s office and out the door, making a beeline for my scooter across the parking lot.

  “If that’s how your games go, I might come more often,” a voice came from behind me. “I think your coach invented some new swear words in that little tirade.”

  I stopped and turned to find Brian Wallner leaning against the wall by the door. “Not now, Brian.” I headed off again.

  He caught up to me. “Aw, come on, Gaige. It’s just a game, right? That’s what you always tell me.” When he didn’t get a reply, he went on in his odd, lilting accent. “There’s always next week. Keep your chin up. Turn the other cheek. There’s going to be brighter days. Once you hit bottom, the only way is up. The grass is always greener on the other side. Wait. That one doesn’t really apply in this situation, does it?”

  “Is this really supposed to be helping?”

  “Hey, you know me. Always there for my buddy.” He punched my shoulder. “You look like hell, by the way.”

  I struggled with the urge to punch him back. Harder. In the face. I stopped to look up at him. “I just want to be left alone right now, okay? I’ll be fine. I need to cool off a bit.”

  Brian stared at my neck.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That vein in your neck pulses just like your coach’s.”

  I stared at him for a moment, grinding my teeth and imaging all the different ways I could inflict bodily harm. He looked back at me, his brown eyes twinkling with humor. I couldn’t say how much that pushed my anger to a new level. I turned and walked away without a word.

  “Oh, come on, Gaige. Where’s your sense of humor? It’s just a stupid game!”

  I climbed on my scooter. I could have told him it was more than just a stupid game for me. Ever since my parents’ accident, it’s all I had. Life started kicking me in the head after the accident and hadn’t let up since. But I couldn’t tell Brian that. It was none of his business.

  ***

  Time slowed to a crawl like a snail hitching a ride on a turtle’s back.

  Rain poured in streams down Gaige Porter’s silver helmet, dripping from his face mask. He peered into the dark depths of his teammate’s helmets as they stood in a huddle on the twenty-five-yard line, the muddy football field clinging to their cleats. Shadows gathered inside their helmets, hiding their faces from view.

  Gaige felt alone, though twenty-one other players sloshed on the field with him. He remembered a time when he had felt that alone. A hazy time not that long ago when he clutched a pillow, ignoring the hollow hand resting on his shoulder trying to console him.

  A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned. James turned to face him.

  “Good job, Porter,” he sneere
d. Two narrow eyes with yellow pupils slit like a snake’s stared at Gaige.

  He wanted to respond but couldn’t find the words. He thought he knew his teammate by the number sixty-two stretched across the jersey, but when he looked into the large kid’s helmet all he could make out were those eyes. Hate and resentment flowed from them.

  “Why do you hate me?” Gaige asked. He took a step back.

  Gaige turned and looked over the other team’s defense. The Brightfield Wildcats. He laughed. They had yet to stop his offense. His own defense hadn’t held up their end of the deal, letting their enemies pull ahead 46–42, but he wasn’t worried. All he needed to win the Colorado State Football Championship were the few seconds left on the clock. All he needed was one play, a fade pass to the corner of the end zone. The play was a staple in the Gate City Vikings offense, one he could execute with his eyes closed. His coach bragged that Gaige could lob a football into a five-gallon bucket from fifty yards out. Gaige believed him.

  He glanced at the scoreboard. Seven seconds left in the game. Plenty of time. Time enough for one pass that would make him the hero of the school. Of the whole town! Just one pass, one he had made dozens of times in practice and games. A fade pass to the left corner at the back of the end zone. Six points and the win.

  Gaige stepped to the line of scrimmage and scanned the defense just yards away before bending over the center, James. “Blue twenty-two!” he barked with another glance at the scoreboard. Twelve seconds to win it all. “Blue! Hut. Hut!”

  The football slapped his hands and he dropped back.

  One step.

  Two.

  Three.

  Stop. Set feet. Look right to draw the defense. Slide forward to avoid the rush from the outside. Look left. Twelve seconds? That’s not right. He let go a tight spiral to the corner of the end zone, dropping the ball over the receiver’s shoulder into waiting arms. Touchdown.

  No.

  The ball sailed past the receiver’s outstretched hands, landing harmlessly out of bounds. Time expired. Nobody moved.

  Time slowed to a crawl like a snail hitching a ride on a turtle’s back.

  Rain poured in streams down Gaige Porter’s silver helmet, dripping from his face mask. He peered into the dark depths of his teammates’ helmets. Shadows gathered inside their helmets, hiding their faces from view. Gaige felt alone. He remembered a time when he had felt that alone. A hazy time not that long ago.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. James faced him. “Good job, Porter.” Two narrow eyes with yellow pupils slit like a snake’s stared at Gaige.

  Gaige growled and felt something warm and wet splash on his hands. He looked down to find them covered in too red blood. James clutched his midsection, blood seeping between his fingers. Gaige looked back up to his teammate. The yellow faded from the bigger boy’s eyes until they were their normal brown again. The large boy blinked once and collapsed at Gaige’s feet. Gaige looked from the motionless boy to his bloodied hands and then to his other teammates. They stared back with yellow, slit eyes.

  A yell came down from high up in the bleachers. “You stink!”

  That one crack in the silence brought a flood of noise. One voice, one insult, became dozens and then hundreds until the deafening silence became a roar of boos. It rolled down on him like an avalanche.

  Gaige looked around helplessly. Anger rushed in on him. He’d had a great game! He’d had a great year! He’d had a great career! The team hadn’t had a winning season in fifteen years before he became their quarterback. All the major colleges were recruiting him and he was heading to the pros in a few years. All the scouts said so.

  He turned his back to the fans booing him, looked to his teammates for support. They knew what he meant to the team, he was sure, but they just shook their heads in disappointment, yellow eyes flashing in the murk. One by one, they turned and slinked off the field, James left lying in the mud.

  “Watch your back, Porter,” came a snarl from behind. Gaige spun to find himself standing alone on the field.

  The fans stomped on the bleachers. The ground shook and vibrated under Gaige’s feet. The chorus of boos flooded down from angry faces that blurred together into one mass of outraged humanity. He spun in a circle, looking for some glimmer of compassion for what he had accomplished, somebody who understood him.

  He spotted a girl in the crowd, her blond hair shimmering with a purple tint. She watched him with clear blue eyes, visible even from that distance. She didn’t boo or stomp her feet like everybody around her, just stared.

  He frowned. The booing crowd started to fade as he watched the girl. The air hummed and his vision wavered, like looking across a hot road, heat waves rising off the blacktop. But the girl remained clear, her blue eyes trained on him. His heart leapt to his throat as a shadow of complete black rose behind her. Gaige took a step toward her, but before his foot came down, the field took a giant leap out from underneath him.

  2

  Outbursts

  My body convulsed as I fell. I swung my arms out to catch myself, only to find a bed underneath me. My bed. My dark bedroom rang with a deep and absolute silence. I blinked a couple times, trying to adjust my eyes to the pitch black of night.

  “Oh, man,” I muttered, taking a deep breath and letting it out in the form of a monster sigh.

  My mind felt thick with sleep. It took several long moments to realize it had only been a dream. It left me shaky, my mind sluggish and buzzing like a bee caught in its own honey.

  But there was something else wrong. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. It felt like something had just happened and I missed it. Like everything had been going completely crazy right up until I had woken up and, at that moment, it all stopped and I was left out of all the fun. Always late to the party.

  I rolled to the side, ignoring a pang of soreness between my shoulder blades and looked for the clock on the nightstand. The usual bright red numbers were gone, giving me the only clue I needed as to the cause of the unnatural silence. The electricity was out. It’s easy to forget about all the electricity humming around an average home until it’s gone, leaving a profound and very noticeable silence.

  I fumbled through the drawer in the nightstand by my bed until I found the watch I never wore. It was a birthday gift from my grandparents before they died, so I didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. I clicked the button on the side to illuminate the face. The digital readout changed to 5:31 a.m. as I stared at it with blurry eyes. I dropped it back into the drawer and rolled onto my back with a loud groan. I couldn’t think of anything worse than waking up before the alarm. No matter how hard I tried, with only an hour before I had to be up, I knew I would never fall back asleep. Besides that, for as long as I could remember I was never able to sleep in a silent room. I always needed some kind of noise like a fan, radio, or TV to sleep. Just thinking about it made the silence push in harder on my eardrums.

  After a few moments of staring up into the dark before dawn, wondering if my ceiling was still up there somewhere and silently debating the inevitable, I rolled out of bed. There was a flashlight in my dresser but remembering the layout of my room was a problem. Of course, I knew where all the major stuff was like my bed, dresser, and nightstand. It was the unknown variables that worried me. All the things with evil corners I had casually discarded. I hadn’t owned any Legos since I was little, but I imagined a stray leftover lurking somewhere on the floor as I pulled myself from bed and stepped gingerly in the direction of my dresser. Somehow, to my relief, I managed the trek without stepping on anything sharp.

  It took a minute of rummaging through the top drawer to find the flashlight nestled under a pile of matchless socks. I flipped the switch on the side, surprised the cheap thing managed to work, much less produce enough light to navigate around without stubbing a toe or causing other bodily injury.

  I pulled the bedroom door open and stuck my head out to find the rest of the house just as dark and silent as my room. I headed down the hal
l.

  I paused briefly at the first door on the left. Aunt Stacy’s room. I heard muted rustling from the other side. The light from her much stronger flashlight slid out from the gap at the bottom of the door as she moved around. The bright light mocked my weak, wavering beam.

  A few more steps down the hall and I stopped at the door on the right. The room on the other side was quiet. The power outage hadn’t woken my mom. No big surprise really. It’d take an earthquake to wake her.

  The flashlight’s beam wavered, threatening to die a dramatic death as I hurried down the hall and took a left into the kitchen. Hey, if I can’t sleep, I might as well eat, right? The beauty of a gas stove was the ability to cook even in a power outage. I frowned as I shined the light around the kitchen and sighed. Too bad we had all electrical appliances.

  My heart jumped into my throat when the weak light crossed a face in the darkness. I took an involuntary step back, swinging the flashlight back to the face. I swallowed my heart and blew out a breath. “Mom, what are you doing up?”

  I shined the light at the table. A deck of cards lay spread out in front of her.

  “Are you playing Solitaire in the dark?” I asked.

  Of course, she didn’t answer. I pulled a chair out from the table and sat across from her. She flipped the cards over, oblivious to whether I shined the light on them or not.

  “These cards are worn.”

  Her unexpected words surprised me. She had moments of lucidity, but they were few and far between. She held up a card with faded and ragged edges, her eyes never leaving the layout on the table. The card was the four of clubs. My eyes shifted to the tattoo on the inside of her wrist, a black spiral that started at the center and looped out three times before it ended abruptly and cut back through the spirals in a straight line. It was her only tattoo. I had asked her, of all the tattoos she could have got, why that one? She just shrugged and said she liked it. That was before the accident.

  “I thought you liked that deck, Mom,” I said.

  “They’re worn.” She laid the four of clubs on the five of spades.