chapter two

The sun was dressed in gold, allowing the horizon's crease to permeate a summery glow. The black sedan stumbled across 5133 Crimson Drive, a flatline street that introduced the lazy neighborhood Castor lived in. There was always a sense of eery quietness at Crimson Drive. One that allowed for anything to happen and for many mouths to remain sealed. The best that the neighbors could do when anything remotely bad happened was stick their nosy beaks at the window and then close their blinds. Castor recalled two years ago when three young girls mysteriously died at someone's house and no one bothered to testify about what happened. He wished he had seen it, but he was at school. To this day it mystified his mind as to what was the cause.

Their house was only two blocks away, crammed in between two stock built ones that faced the street mindlessly. It was midsize, garmented in age, and wore a beaten down attire of wood and a grimace of worn roof tiles, slanted windows, and paint that looked scratched in. Castor's mom always talked about getting a new house but for some reason, she always remained paralyzed in this neighborhood.

The car parked roughly in front of the garage and then the house's eyes flickered open, illuminating two people in the kitchen.

"I left some dinner for you in the microwave; pork roast with macaroni and cheese. I have to go to work in a few ok?" said Castor's mom.

Castor's mom worked as a night nurse up at Columbus Hospital. This was the usual routine for Castor. He usually ended up spending the rest of the day by himself until the next morning. At this time of year, most kids would be out enjoying summer vacation with their parents, but Castor usually dreaded it, and as it turns out, nothing would be different this year.

Castor nodded, but his eyes were downcast. "Have a good day at work then."

Castor's mother gave Castor a hug, and as they were embraced, Castor could see a tiny portrait looming in the back. To Castor, the portrait could only whisper one thing to him; abandonment. It was a portrait that reminded him of a family that once was.

It displayed a blossoming couple with a young woman carrying an infant in her hands. She had streaming black hair accompanied by watery gray eyes. Standing amiably next to her was a budding man with a stock built body, scruffy beard, and messy black hair. Castor hadn't seen that man for years, and that portrait was the only reminder that he existed. Sometimes he would ponder aimlessly as to why his dad had left them, but then he would find himself completely fueled up in fury.

Castor noticed how hot his hands were. He thought back to what Zade had told him earlier at the bleachers today. It clung to his head like adhesive. "...the boy doesn't even have a dad." Maybe things would've been different if he did have his dad around. Maybe not. But despite the circumstances, he couldn't unravel the curly truth of where his father actually was and what caused him to leave. The thought always hung in the back of his brain like an anchor.

"Try not to have too much fun without me and-" There was a deadly pause that filled the air. The type of pause that produced a disturbing uncertainty inside of Castor.

Castor's mom stopped in her tracks and started screaming. Her whole body burst into flames, and the ground around her began to get licked into a sniper of fire. The wailing body was being grilled alive as the house trembled in awakening horror.

"Mom!" Castor shouted, watching the horror linger in front of him, and entangle him to the spot.

He couldn't move, but he knew he should, pretty soon enough. It was all too surreal for Castor to take in, like he was watching a nightmare unravel in a horror movie, as he watched his mother being engulfed in the flames. Something had happened, and this time Castor knew he couldn't be the cause. Could he? What if all along he had accidentally spawned this?

Castor shook himself out of his trance and ascended up the stairs. Pretty soon the fire would snake its way up there as well. He had at best thirty seconds or less to muster his final goodbye or he would encounter the same fiery fate. Could he have prevented this? Or worse, was he truly the cause? Some murderers weren't capable of acknowledging their victims. Could that be him?

Was what occurred at the bleacher repeating itself? Maybe, or maybe someone else had done this. Perhaps someone had attempted to terminate their lives on that very spot. Castor shook all the thoughts that were flying through his head like a jet.

With welling tears, Castor glanced at the lifeless black body on the ground. He stood there again, entranced, unsure of what to do, and quelling on as to why fate had given him the middle finger this time. Some odd fantasy told Castor that she would come back. That the black body was just a mirage.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds passed. Castor was still statued up at the staircase. The house was still on fire, and her mom was still gone. The fire had begun to eat up the nose of Castor's shoes, and it would have risen up to his ankles had it not been for two hands that grabbed him, and luggage him upstairs.

The man was in his late twenties with long blonde hair and a restless face. To Castor's utter surprise he had been wearing a black cloak.

"You!" Castor squawked.

"Me," he said rather nonchalantly, as he swept Castor up the stairs. He opened the door to a bedroom, and hastily opened the window. A sudden wind introduced itself into the room blowing, and howling as the cloaked man heaved the kid to his shoulder, and skillfully flew down to the ground.

He let go of Castor who at this point was showered with fright and confusion.

"Who are you? What did you do to my mom? Bring her back! Bring her back!" Castor protested.

The black-cloaked man known as Chord had already accepted that being passive wasn't going to be useful in this situation. It was a terrible place and time to be, and it could only be awarded with honesty.

"I can't," said Chord. "Your mom is dead."

"You're a liar!" shouted Castor, tears sputtering up uncontrollably. Castor tried to choke out the next words as best he could. "How can she be-how can she be dead? Without a warning. Without a goodbye."

Chord gently touched the kid's shoulder. "Some things take time to understand. But trust me you'll get your answer. For now, you'll have to come with me."

"And if I don't?" Castor asked brittlely.

"Well seeing as you have no other parental guardian to look after you, I'll be forced to send you to child protective services. Sounds like fun doesn't it?"

"You. Them. I don't see the difference," said Castor. Obviously, he was putting up an act, and Chord could automatically see through that permeable barrier.

"I came to you didn't I?"

Even so, leaving his old home behind, leaving his old life behind, wasn't something Castor was expecting. In a way, summer vacation wasn't turning out as he expected it to be. Fifteen minutes ago, Castor was in the car with his mother mulling about his miserable life at school, but that seemed petty now. It appeared trivial because deep down he would trade in his ghastly life to see his mother again. But it was too late.

"Stick with me for a while, you'll be fine." Chord said.

"Do I have a choice?" asked Castor. It wasn't a question.