Damned If I Do

Memory

(This is kind of a filler chapter, it explains a little of who Fàelán is. I felt it would help a little, and set up for the next important chapter)

Alex awoke to the sound of her alarm. The continuous trill made her want to break it. Instead, she went with the less violent approach of turning it off. She sat up groggily, wiping at her eyes. Fàelán was gone and after five minutes of sleepily sitting, she got up and went to her closet. After dressing, she remembered what had happened the night before. The vision, the ghost boy Astor. The thing she soon realized was that it wasn't as horrible as she remembered. She wasn't as scared and definitely not as scarred as she was that night. Maybe it was the sleep? She thought. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.

She pounded down the stairs, shouldering her backpack and grabbing her jacket. Instinctively she headed for the door, but remembered that Fàelán might be going to school. She made a u-turn and headed for his room. She had time to check.

Opening the door to his room, she discovered it empty. Literally. He had only bare essentials. Clothes, a bed and a book to read. It reminded her of how a soldier lived. Old habits die hard, I guess. She left and walked to the kitchen where she smelled something sweet cooking. Pushing open the door, she found Fàelán cooking. She resisted the urge to laugh at the absurdity. War was cooking pies. He worked vigilantly, adding finishing touches to the tops.

"You know we have school right, pie man? Where'd you even learn to do that?" Alex said. He looked up, a sly and slightly embarrassed smile spreading across his lips. He wiped his hands on his apron.

"I know and my mom taught me how." He held up a plate of blueberry pie for her. She sat down and tasted it. It was by far the best she had ever eaten and soon she was wiping the remnants off with her fork.

"It's delicious. What's your secret?" she looked at him. He had removed his apron and cleaned up the counters.

"Would you believe me if I said love?" he asked.

"No, but it's a nice sentiment." She laughed.

"It's what my mom used to say." He explained. A sad look spread across his face. It was the same when it came to Alex and her parents. The only difference is that he probably had to see them weeping at his funeral. Watch them as they grew old and died. It was a sad thought. She decided to try and lighten the mood.

"So, Fàelán. What class are you joining?" he looked bored immediately.

"Could you believe Mr. Talbot put me in Junior class? He told them I was seventeen. I have to go through it all over again. He gave me some line about neighborly suspicions, though."

"About that... I've actually discovered that he most likely wants to get rid of us all day."

He laughed a little and washed the plates off. He put up the pies in the fridge, which reminded her to ask him later where he got the supplies. They headed out the door and down the long driveway towards the bus stop. The walk was mostly silent and the whole time Alex couldn't stop looking at Fàelán.

He walked weird, stiff but loose, prepared for anything. He wore clothes that were; well, functional and he had an authoritarian air to him. He really did resemble a general. Young, sure but a general nonetheless. They reached the bus stop and began waiting.

"So, Fàelán. What's with the whole pie thing? I thought guys from the 40s found cooking emasculating or something.." Alex asked. He smiled and gave a little chuckle.

"Well, as I said my mom taught me. She worked at a bakery and I helped her sometimes. I guess eventually I just really wanted to learn so she taught me how. She was always so hard working, you know? She never gave up and didn't take anything from anyone. My dad left her when I was young, so she had to support me on her own. It wasn't easy and I never had all the luxuries the other kids did, but we were happy." He looked sad but continued anyway. "She told me to always respect women, and to never fall for a gold digger or tramp. She said that many would use me and leave me so I had to protect myself." He laughed, thinking about a memory.

"She was always so adamant about me keeping the house clean and never making my wife or girlfriend do all the work. When I went to fight in the war she was so angry. She said I was so brave, and that I had a heart of gold but I was stupid running off to fight. I could tell she was proud though, that I was fighting for something. I had never once seen her cry until I was leaving for Europe. It was so strange, we always assume our parents are so tough and that they can't be broken." He looked down at the ground. "After she figured out I was dead, she just... shattered. She drank and hid away in our apartment. Stared at photos of me as a baby all day. I had to watch as she slowly drank herself to death, pleading for her to stop. Telling her I was here, but she never knew." Fàelán  was almost babbling now, but not crying. It was as if he had started something and he had to finish it. "The last day she was alive, she baked a pie. A blueberry one, they were my favorite. She overdosed on pills afterwards, leaving the pie untouched. I just wanted that to not be the last one she ever made." He looked close to crying.

Alex didn't exactly know what to do, so she hugged him. He accepted it, but didn't hug back. He looked down the road at the approaching bus. Alex grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the road.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You really think after telling me something like that, I'd let you go to school for eight hours? I'm not that mean, you need like, days of friend therapy." She looked at him with humor, even though she was serious. He looked thankful and smiled wearily.

"So, I'm your friend now?" he asked, trying to lighten the dark atmosphere. She punched him lightly on the arm.

"Nah, mister. Watch what you say or I'll throw you in front of the bus." She was actually warming up to him though, and was really happy to have a friend.

They sat and watched as the bus stopped, waited and drove off. Leaning back, they looked at the rising sun. Alex desperately wanted to tell Fàelán about the night before but something held her back. Instead she asked him about his name. He replied that his mother had deep celtic roots, and wanted an ancient Irish name. He said it meant "little wolf".

Alex decided to no longer go on a trip down memory lane with him. As it seemed everything was somehow related to his mother and her sad demise and she was already regretting upsetting him earlier. Awkward silence ensued until Fàelán broke it.

"What do you usually do now?" he said.

"I thought you'd never ask."

They walked back to the house and unloaded their packs. Behind the mansion was a dark and gloomy forest. She walked far into it, Fàelán following suspiciously. As they neared what he thought must have been the end, a small shed came into view. Alex's smile was that of pure glee. She opened the door and Fàelán saw what her smile was about.

Gleaming in all its glory with well-kept paint and polished metal was a motorcycle. Alex ran her hands along it, grinning madly. It was as close as Alex could get to the one her grandmother had taught her to ride

"Do you even have a license?" He asked.

"Of course, just what kind of person do you think I am?" She looked slyly at him.

She straddled the motorcycle and looked at him. "Are you coming?" He looked doubtful but got on anyway.

"It looks like you're stuck riding bitch." She said and handed him the extra helmet she had. He looked at her and back at the trees and the dirt road leading out of the woods. She turned on the motorcycle and it roared. He laughed at her actions, she was much more rebellious than he would ever be. Quite the opposite of his straight laced history.

He got on the bike, wondering where they were going. All he knew was that with Death and War on a motorcycle, it would be interesting.