Chlorine Halos

Doubts

As Riley processed her own surprise of her parents' presence, my bafflement made off with all my charged emotions. This couple, who drifted in to my aid and floated out into something I could only recollect as terrifying, reappeared with an urgency, shrouded by mystery.

"What are you doing here?" Riley questioned in confusion. Her curiosity quickened the pace of her inquiries. "How do you know Avian? How did you find us? What happened to your clothes?"

Her mother, covered in flakes of ash and smears of soot, had rips in her lavender linen blouse and stains of grass, mud, and char on her khaki pants cuffed above her ankles. She took smooth strides to Riley and gently cupped the sides of her daughter's face. 

"Breathe, darling," she said calmly. "We will clear up what we can when we can. But right now, we all must be off." Peering around Riley, she fixed her deep blue eyed stare on me and tucked her frazzled golden hair behind her ear. "Avian, my name is Ruth Monroe and this is my husband, David." She gestured to the grossly intimidating figure at her side.

David's clothes were in the same condition as his wife's. His pastel open-collared, button-down shirt had tears around the pocket and at the sides. His sleeves were rolled up past his muscular forearms and his pinstriped pants had a similar palette of colored stains. He had a receding hairline which led me to believe even his brunette locks were afraid of his piercing icy gaze and stern features. His voice thundered his instruction, "Get in the flat-bed of the truck. All of you. Now."

Riley, Oz, and I immediately obeyed the command. Without saying anything, Oz voiced his worry to me with a wide-eyed glance and a furrowed brow. Sharing his concern, I could only respond with a bite of my bottom lip and a weak shrug. The three of us piled in the back of the large, ruggedly designed pickup. I felt it was a fitting choice for David; however, Ruth slid into the driver's seat. Before closing the door, she looked back to Riley, "We'll come back for your car when we're done." With the slam of the door, the three of us exchanged a series of befuddled expressions.

As the truck started our escorted trek to an unknown locale, Oz, sitting underneath the window of the back end of the cab, ripped through our conversational mute. "What did she mean when she said, 'when we're done'? You know, this is the kind of stuff that happens right before someone gets buried in the desert."

Riley, across from me, nearly catatonic, replied with a monotone voice, "Desert's too far. They'd probably use the Gulf."

"What?!" Oz and I cried in unison. Riley snapped out of her stillness, but shared our off-centered reality.

"Guys, I have no idea what's going on," Riley said tensely. "My parents are never like this. They're restaurateurs, not assassins." She hung her head as she fumbled with the pleats in her skirt, then shot up with a straight posture. "Avian, how do they know you?"

I leaned forward and rested my elbows against my thighs as I fanned away the fog of the hazy happening. "Before I was washed down the river, I was on a hillside. I was hurt. They were helping me. Then, there was a loud boom. Some kind of explosion."

"Explosion?" Oz interjected. "Like the one nine years ago at your house?"

"Oz, I don't remember this explosion you're talking about," I explained with frustration, which heightened into unwarranted anger. "There's only one explosion I can remember and it's the explosion that happened on that hill!" I gave a lengthy sigh, knowing the outburst was unjustified. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do with all this."

"It's all right, buddy," Oz said, showing the acceptance of my apology by nudging my foot with his. "Truth be told, I am happy just seeing you alive. It's unbelievable. I am so thankful for this and you should be, too. You're here now and we'll face all this other craziness together." Oz looked over at Riley and said teasingly, "That is if her parents don't kill us first."