Chlorine Halos

Judgments & Jackets

Though her gray-eyed gaze remained focused on Maestro's scathing stare, the color was enough to send a surging anger to my fingertips, forcing them into fists, clenching tighter as the image of two eyes, peering over a picket fence, drilled deeper into my mind, leaving a wake of sounds—the echoing groans of my father. That picture swirled around others: a red flannel shirt, crumpled up and lying in the dew-soaked grass; an unbearable anguish, coursing through the veins of the man, who became blurry with his intentions; a crystal chalice, which silenced the pain with an unanswered question.

"Thomas, we need to talk," Jake said, slowly taking a step forward.

"There's nothing left to say," he retorted, crossing his arms as he drew a deep breath.

Ruth cleared her throat with a certain authority. "You need to hear her out, Thomas."

"What? I don't need to do anything—not for her," he said before locking his stare, once again, with Jake's. He enunciated, "I don't owe you a damn thing."

Her eyes fell to the ground as Ruth stepped in front of her and tapped Maestro's chest with her forefinger. "Do I owe you anything? I mean, I'm guessing you didn't come all this way to partake in turkey season. And as I recall, you're not a very good shot anyways." She wrapped an arm around Jake and brought her closer to him. "Bury the hatchet or bury the chances of getting me to help you."

"But, Ru—"

She quickly made a zipping gesture with her thumb and finger, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear it. Say what you need to say to her. And then, do yourself a favor and listen."

Maestro's nostrils flared while a long exhale bottled up any further verbal exasperation. Fully knowing there wasn't an alternative, he followed Jake down a dirt path, which meandered through the tall pines.

Blue gently tugged on Ruth's corduroy coat three times. "It's really, really, really great to see you, safe and sound. Safe. Very safe, very sound."

"I'm very, very, very happy to see you, too, Blue," she said as her stern expression slipped away, leaving a wide smile. "And it's really good to see you as well, Avian. Come on inside, the both of you."

Walking through the doorway, an incredibly conservative, compulsively neat lifestyle became apparent. Perfectly folded, crisp, white sheets with a floral pattern hugged the corners of a twin bed, pushed underneath one of the cabin's two windows. Across the room, a wood burning stove sat in the corner, next to a slim, doorless cabinet, stocked with canned goods, all labels meticulously facing forward. The black dutch oven on the bottom shelf appeared to be the only piece of cookware, though a large assortment of knives and cleavers, arranged by size on the tabled butcher block, more than made up for the shortage.

Ruth sat down at the table, picking up a knife. Placing the point on the smooth, wooden cutting surface, she slowly spun it by the hilt. "Oh, how rude of me—are Jasper and Jaime with you? They are welcome."

The invitation threw me off-balance. "Wait. Can you see them, too?"

"No, not at all," she said, shaking her head. "But, I can see that you're not quite a hundred percent yet. How's the memory?"

Before I could answer, an eerie mist slid between the cracks of the cabin's far wall, fading into the outlines of two men, who took a step into a clearer definition.

"It's impolite to leave a lady's question in the air," Jasper stated.

Jaime nodded. "He's right, mijo."

"Um... it-it's getting there," I said, stumbling over my own questions, running through my mind. "And, uh, they're both here now."

"Well, hello, gentlemen," Ruth said as she scanned the length of the room.