VLADJI and the Avatars: Family Matters

Chapter 6 - We Have a Discussion Over Dishes

"So you know the boy who chased me out?" Achmed asked me while we were doing dishes. Mom had assigned me to them, because she loved making my life miserable. Achmed had sneaked into the kitchen to help me, mainly because Mom had turned him down. I wondered what reason Achmed might have for wanting to help me – he'd never volunteered for chores before – but I was grateful for the assistance.

I'd just mentioned the reason for my reaction to Achmed's description of his unlikely savior – sort of. I'd only gotten to the part of him being an acquaintance of mine. Given that what happened to him was a threat VLADJI dealt with in resolving, I figured my brother needed to know the truth. And hey, now was certainly as good a time as any.

Pop had taken Knuckles into the parlor to discuss something. I didn't know what, but Pop had given me a look and said, "a little business matter," when I asked. I guessed Pop had taken a shine to Knuckles when he walked in and wanted to hire him. It would not have surprised me. Knuckles' strength was at least marketable – there's always a need for someone to lift heavy machinery. (And no, I was not going through that again.) Besides, if the place caught on fire, he'd be quite handy to have around. At least to rescue people from it, anyway. And I knew Knuckles was too sensible to set the place on fire on purpose.

"Yes," I said. "He's a friend of mine." I decided to go with friend, even though Amos was a pain and it was quite generous – assuming it was, in fact, Amos we were talking about.

"Hold on." Achmed quickly set one of the dishes he'd dried in the cupboard. Perhaps he'd sensed I was about to discuss something major, and he didn't want to drop it. "He's your friend? And what about Knuckles?"

I shook my head incredulously and grabbed a cup. One dozen more and I'd be done. "What do you mean?"

I wasn't joking. Achmed could have meant that several ways: Is he a friend, too? Or How do you know him? Or What is his thing with you? But Achmed went for a tack that was a horse of a different color.

"There's something about him... he's like, different. Not the Rock or John Cena different, but –"

I chuckled and shook my head again. "Just how many boxing matches have you been watching?"

"Three this week. But don't tell Pop."

"Understood, Squirt." I began scrubbing the inside of the plastic cup. I imagined it was Mom, and I was scrubbing the dirt off her hollow heart.

"Something's weird about him, though. I know, he doesn't even look human at all, but... is he a messenger?"

I laughed. "What?"

"A messenger? From Allah?"

Oh, boy. Here goes, I thought. "Promise not to react?" I asked. "Not to freak out, not to call me crazy?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Just promise."

Achmed nodded and put a fist over his chest. "Promise."

I rinsed off the cup in the other sink and set it in the dish drainer.

"You mean... is he an alien?"

That cracked me up even more than the previous suggestion. "Not necessarily. He's actually... he's an avatar."

Achmed glanced at me blankly. "What's an avatar? Is it like John Cena's clone?"

"Achmed, Achmed, you're going to send me into a fit with all that. More like a superpowered, sentient being all his own. He's created from tech and magic –"

Achmed frowned. "How is that possible?"

"You probably shouldn't ask. But it gives him some advantages – he's stronger and faster and tougher than most humans. In fact, I think he'd cream the Rock in a fight. He kind of has to be, though."