Evan Arden: Otherwise Occupied Part 7

"You're the only f.u.c.ker I know who has a choice and still takes the f.u.c.kin' trains."

I gave him a wave and a shrug as I headed off. Nick was already feeling up the chick's t.i.ts, saying something about how he thought he could paint her whole chest as a b.u.t.terfly or something. I wondered what he did when the chicks he conned called him out.

Maybe they never did.

Maybe he really could paint a t.i.tty-fly.

With my rifle in a bag up on my shoulder, I moved through the turnstile and jumped on the next Red Line train. I had a ways to go before my stop, and I found myself a seat near the back of a car, facing forwards. I hated it when there were only backwards-facing seats available. Sideways was all right, but riding backwards made me want to puke.

I really did hate that feeling.

Two nuns in traditional garb got on the train at the next stop, and I watched them carefully. I had been raised by nuns, and though most of them were pretty decent, the ones in power were just as corrupt as the powerful in any organization. It was a lesson I had learned firsthand at a very early age.

"You are turning into a charming young man, Master Arden."

"Thank you, Mother Superior," I reply with a smile. I feel no love for this particular woman, but I have a plan I intend to see carried out. "You know I have so many questions for you..."

It had taken months, but I had eventually worn her down. Found her collection of s.e.x toys and ultimately convinced her to let me out of that h.e.l.lhole as an emanc.i.p.ated teen. It was either that or I tell everyone about the Harley-themed vibrator in her top dresser drawer.

The thing was totally frightening.

These nuns didn't even sit down but got off the L at the very next stop and went on their way. Having them off the train made it easier to think of something else. I watched them walk off, which was when my eyes spotted something round and shiny down by the door.

A quarter.

Though I rarely admitted such things to myself, I had been doing a decent job of keeping a certain abandoned-in-the-desert brunette out of my thoughts. As long as I kept myself busy, I was fine, but every time I saw a f.u.c.king quarter, it was like it all came rushing back to me.

"Not going to do it," I told myself as the urge to pick up the coin washed over me.

A couple of college kids glanced at me and quickly looked away again.

f.u.c.king awesome. Now I was talking to myself right in front of other people. I stood up and got off the train at the next stop, walked twelve blocks, and then hopped on a bus instead. By the time I got back to my place, Odin was looking like he might actually p.i.s.s on the carpet.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I can't even blame work this time I was just f.u.c.king around."

He sneezed once and then stood by the door as I grabbed his leash. I took him out, then spent a few minutes rubbing his head before I left to meet Jonathan at the bar.

Sweet.w.a.ter Bar and Grill wasn't my kind of place at all big sports bar with a hundred TVs all around and guys with baseball caps serving your drinks. It was packed both with tourists and locals pretty much ninety percent of the time, which meant the bartenders never really had a chance to talk with anyone. They were quick with the drinks, but the place was just too crowded.

Jonathan loved it, but he was seriously into football.

It was the most convenient drinking place to my apartment, though, so I was there often enough. I recognized the bartenders immediately a girl I liked and a guy I hated. I couldn't remember the dude's name. I knew since the day the place opened he was far too busy to do anything other than smile politely and make sure whatever you asked for was poured efficiently.

Okay, so that was basically his job, but I liked a little more effort.

The chick was dark-skinned and had a huge mound of braids all over the place. I couldn't remember her name only that it started with a "T." She was a lot friendlier than the guy, and her smiles more genuine, but it was still the same "I'm too busy" vibe I got from the rest of them.

It was also a total meat-market.

Jonathan got up to smoke on the porch, and I held onto our ill-gotten table.

"Hi there!"

I only glanced at the girl as she sidled up to the booth where I sat. There was a huge line at the door, and I had seen her come in as I was entering. Of course, Jonathan had used some app he wrote on his phone to hack into the waiting list, and his name was up front as soon as a table became available, so we didn't stand at the door for very long.

She peeked over the back of the booth, probably making eye contact with the blonde who came in with her before focusing back on me. Her red-lipped smile only annoyed me as she moved closer, leaned over, and made the tops of her b.o.o.bs stick out of her shirt a little more.

"Watching the game?"

"Not a fan," I answered. I picked up the pint gla.s.s of whatever microbrew had been on tap and took a sip.

"What do you like?" She tried to give me what I a.s.sumed was her version of bedroom eyes, but I just couldn't be bothered. I wasn't looking to get laid tonight. If I was, and it was going to be her, I'd end up having to buy her drinks all night and spend nearly as much as I did with Bridgett.

"Go wait for your own table," I muttered just as Jonathan was getting back. The girl glared at me before stomping off.

"Hey, dude she might have had a friend!"

"So?" I countered.

"Even Nick would have helped me out there, bro!"

"Nick would have gone home with her and her friend."

"Point taken." Jonathan sighed, leaned back in the booth, and tapped his fingers on the table top rhythmically to the beat of whatever song was playing. "Didn't your mama teach you to be nice to girls?

"I don't even know who my mama is," I said as I tipped back my beer.

Jonathan laughed for a moment, and then looked at my face and the laugh died.

"Dude are you serious?"

"No clue," I replied. "Never met her. Don't even have a name."

"Man, I'm sorry," he said. "I had no idea, brother."

"It's okay."

The server came back and set his chocolate milk down on the table, and I snickered a bit.

Jonathan loved chocolate milk; he couldn't get enough of the stuff. He'd move over to booze soon enough, but he always started the night with a big gla.s.s of chocolate milk, usually ordered off a restaurant's kids' menu.

"So who raised ya?" Jon asked. "Your dad?"

"Nope. Never met him either."

"So who then?" he pressed a bit. "I mean, if ya don't mind my asking I ain't tryin' to pry or whatever."

I sipped, considered, and then downed my beer.

"I was raised in a convent."

"With a bunch of nuns?" Jonathan laughed loudly. "Are you serious?"

"Why do you ask me that?" I looked over at him as I drained the rest of the beer. "When do I bulls.h.i.t you?"

"I get ya," Jon said with a nod. "I just didn't know."

He pulled another cigarette out and lit it right there in the bar. I raised an eyebrow.

"If they b.i.t.c.h, you'll be able to order another beer."

I shook my head slowly and stared at the top of the table. I inhaled deeply, and wondered if taking up smoking again might help me sleep.

"So what was that like?" Jon asked.

I considered for a moment again and figured what the h.e.l.l? My shrink was only interested in the war s.h.i.t and had yet to get around to the "tell me about your childhood" s.h.i.t. He was far more interested in how I was tortured as a prisoner.

I was still pretty sure the f.u.c.ker was writing a book.

"Pretty f.u.c.ked-up," I answered honestly. "I was the only guy there except for the one priest who came by every Sunday for Ma.s.s."

"Seriously?"

I rolled my eyes at the word.

"Sorry, bro, it's just habit. So how'd you end up there?"

"No one would ever really tell me," I answered. "When I got older, I figured it was one of the nuns, and they just didn't want me to know which one. I tried to figure out who it might be, which is when I started watching everyone around me really carefully. I thought if I could read their body language, I'd be able to figure out which one was my mom."

"Did you figger it out?"

"Never did," I said. "Learned a lot of other s.h.i.t."

I laughed.

"There was a girl there named Marie." I recalled the heart-shaped face of the redhead. "She was a couple years older than me, and she'd been sneaking out of the convent at night to meet up with some guy. I found out, and she offered to f.u.c.k me to keep quiet."

"Did you take her up on it?"

"That's how I lost my virginity!" I exclaimed with a grin.

"Ha! Ha!" Jon laughed. "That's custom!"

I finished up my beer, and Jon clacked his fingernails against his chocolate milk gla.s.s.

"I might be able to find out," Jonathan said quietly. "I mean, they gotta have a birth certificate on file somewhere, right?"

"I have doc.u.ments signed by the Mother Superior as my legal guardian according to the State of Ohio," I told him.

"What's the date on it?"

I glanced up at him and narrowed my eyes.

"My birth date," I said. "May fourteen."

"Are you sure?"

The server interrupted us at that point, and we ordered a round of the same microbrew. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes and thought about it. The idea that the date I had always a.s.sumed was my birthday might not be what I thought it was p.i.s.sed me off.

I had to know.

"Okay," I said, "see what you can dig up."

"No worries, bro," he replied. "I'll see what I can find on the interwebs."

When we parted ways, I slowly walked between the buildings to get back to my apartment. I pa.s.sed the drunks and the tourists without a glance, my head focused on two different memories.

One was the time I flat out asked Mother Superior if she knew who my parents were, and the look on her face told me she did, even as she lied about it. I reminded her about that particular commandment, which earned me a full day of prayer to reflect on my sins.

The other memory was Lia.

Again.

Her body, her voice, her eyes when she glanced back at me before boarding a bus to Phoenix it was stuck in my head on repeat as I reached my apartment and took Odin out for a late-night walk. She was stuck in my head when I lay down to sleep as well, but the dreams I had were of a different sort.

The girl is young, maybe seven or eight years old, and she's wearing a long robe, but isn't yet old enough to be required to wear the hijab, the traditional women's scarf, around her head. She watches me from a dark corner as I struggle with the ropes around my wrists.

It's taken hours to shake the bag from my head, and my eyes are still adjusting to the light.

"Salam," I croak from my dry throat.

The girl's eyes widen, but she doesn't come closer or reply. I'm not sure what I would do if she did say something back I only know about a dozen Arabic words, and I'm not about to embark on a long conversation. I focus on her eyes, but she keeps looking away. I nod towards a large barrel.

"Ma?"

Her eyes dart off to the side to the barrel of what might be water, but she doesn't move. We go back and forth for several minutes, and she finally goes a little closer to the barrel as she watches me. She reaches for a little cup, dunks it inside, and comes back with her fingers dripping water.

"That's it," I whisper. "Ma...min Fadlak."

She gives me an odd look, and I realize I've addressed her as a man, but I can't remember how to say "please" to a female, and I think she has the idea anyway. My p.r.o.nunciation is presumably atrocious either way.

She takes three steps towards me before a man comes around the corner, immediately begins to scream at her, and she drops the cup into the dry sand. The precious water is soaked up by the sand immediately.

I woke in a cold sweat feeling thirsty. After stumbling into the kitchen for water, I was completely unable to get back to sleep at all. The girl's eyes as the man surprised her, picked her up, and carried her out of my sight made my heart pound in my chest.

My memories of her were clear, though I never saw the girl in the compound again. I had no idea what happened to her or what kind of trouble she might have been in for trying to help me. I'd caused so many others, at that point, to die on my watch. I never found out if I had attributed to her undoing as well.

The idea haunted my thoughts regularly. What if she was punished for doing what I asked her to do? What would her punishment have been?