Outcast: A Novel Part 4

I pulled down 1957.

But I couldn't find him.

And then I remembered.

He said he'd dropped out: "End of last year."

Which meant...

Which meant he thought he was still in 1956.

Except that it wasn't like he had amnesia or anything, and it wasn't like he was some guy who'd been in a coma and woken up over fifty years later and didn't know when it was.

Gabe looked like the Gabe in the pictures. Except his hair wasn't all nice and neat. Aside from that he looked like he was still in high school. Gabe didn't look like he was...I did the math...in his early seventies.

Oh my G.o.d.

He was old.

Except of course he wasn't.

But he should be.

Oh my G.o.d.

So I stole the yearbook and ran home. Well, ran and walked, it was a longish way home. But I walked really fast when I wasn't running. Anyway, that doesn't matter. Point is I got home as quick as I could.

Mother's car was gone. She'd probably gone to get her hair done. It made her feel better to do something like that when Daddy left. Distracted her. It was good to know she'd be gone for a couple hours. I wouldn't be as paranoid going to talk to Gabe.

"Hey Was it capable of feeling ak, sweetheart." It was the first thing he always said after I took the gag out of his mouth.

"I brought some cereal."

"My favourite part of the day. The part when you feed me." The same joke. Except a little more resentful now. Still I gave him a few mouthfuls and he took a swig of water obediently.

"You had enough? You need to...go?" It was probably the most embarra.s.sing part about having a prisoner, taking Gabe round back of the shed, holding onto the rope like he was a dog. It was the most risky thing too, worrying if someone would see, if he'd try to escape. But he never did. Why didn't he? What was he playing at?

But Gabe just shook his head, and I was relieved. I really wanted to just blurt it all out, everything I'd discovered, but I wasn't sure how he'd take it. If he'd even believe me. That's why I'd also brought today's newspaper with the date, my yearbook from when I was a freshman, and a laptop, all still hidden in the bag in the corner. I thought he'd think the laptop was pretty cool. Well, at least I would have, if I'd come from the past.

I didn't know where to start so I just did what I always did, said exactly what was on my mind. "You think it's 1956, don't you?"

He gave me that look he always gave me when he thought I was nuts.

"'Course I do. Why." He didn't say "why" like a question. It was almost like a threat.

I took a deep breath and pa.s.sed him the yearbook, open to his picture. "This you?" I asked him.

He looked at it. "Yeah."

It was him.

Oh my G.o.d.

"Okay, so here's the thing then." I got up and grabbed the bag, returned and sat opposite him. "This is today's date." I pulled out the paper and handed it to him.

Gabe put aside the yearbook, which was tricky, seeing as he still had his hands tied up, and took the newspaper. He stared at it. For a really long time. He looked up at me with that look again, then he grinned.

"Nice try," he said tossing it to the side.

What? "No, seriously it is. I mean, think about it." I scooted closer toward him, and he raised his eyebrows. "You mentioned Mr. Anders was your princ.i.p.al, you mentioned all these teachers I'd never heard of. And then Mr. Hope. Mr. Hope who came to the school while you were there, but who retired while I've been there. All your teachers are there in your yearbook, and all my teachers," I pulled out my yearbook, "are in mine. Look."

I'd marked the page already. He held the book open in his hands and stared. He stared and stared. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until he looked up at me, his eyes wide, and said, "Holy s.h.i.t."

"Mr. Hope. He's way older, but it's him. It's totally him. You see it right?"

Gabe nodded and let the yearbook fall out of his hands.

"See? You aren't from this time."

Gabe kept staring at me. I suddenly didn't feel like saying anything anymore, didn't feel nearly as excited. He looked...well, he looked frightened. No, not frightened. Terrified. And I'd gotten so used to his c.o.c.ky confidence. All at once I started to feel scared too.

"I...uh...I brought you this to show you...I thought you might think it's cool..." I pulled out the laptop and set it up to the side so we could both a good thing?"1Bsi look at it.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?"

"It's a computer."

"That's a computer? You're pulling my leg."

"No...I'm not..." I turned it on. As I showed Gabe different features, things like the DVD player and some Photoshop, I glanced at his expression. He was in awe. It also seemed like it all might be a little much for him. Probably good I wasn't connected to the Internet, that might have been one thing too many for an introduction. This maybe hadn't been such a good idea after all. I turned it off and pushed it to the side.

"Why...?" Gabe stopped.

"Yes?" I asked quietly. The mood in the shed was somber.

Gabe looked at me with that penetrating gaze of his. "Why doesn't this scare the bejebus out of you?"

"Well, for one thing I'm not sure I've ever had a bejebus to begin with..." Stupid joke, Riley. Honestly this really isn't the time. "And second, well, when you've spent most of your life dealing with angels and stuff, you get used to weird things happening."

"Angels."

"Yeah."

Gabe leaned back against the wall. "Tell me the story again."

"About you?"

"Yeah. You said something about shooting me in the face."

"Yeah."

"Tell me the story again."

So I told him the story again. This time with a lot more detail, as much as I could remember about what he'd looked like before, about the timing of everything. When I'd finished, he just sat there, thinking.

"I just don't remember any of it," he finally said. "Not that night. Not the fifty years that've pa.s.sed."

"What do you remember?"

"I remember I was walking home. It was late. I was drunk. I'd gotten into a fight. I remember...feeling dizzy. I thought I blacked out, happened a lot, been drinking a lot this summer. Then I woke up here."

"Where's your home?" He had a home. Of course he had a home.

"East. On the edge of the bayou. Just me and my ma..." He stopped. "She's dead."

I looked at him, not really sure what to say. "I guess...I mean, yeah, she would be. I'm so sorry..."

He looked at me funny for a moment and then gave a wry laugh. "Yeah, I guess she would have been by now, yeah. But no. No, she died couple months ago, reason why I left school. Well, one of the reasons."

"You mean in 1956."

Gabe stopped.

"You said a couple months ago. But you meant 1956."

"Well, for me, sweetheart," he sounded angry, "I mean a couple months ago. Sorry that I'm not all used to the time traveling thing yet."

I felt stupid, and insensitive. "I'm sorry, Gabe..."

"This is off the wall."

"It is."

We sat in silence some more. There was a lot to process. Suddenly the magnitude of everything came into focus for me. Gabe had had a life back in 1956...well, okay, if he was telling the truth about who he was, and it just seemed like he was. Still there was a part of me that couldn't totally believe him. There was a part of me a lot of time, felt that thought maybe this was an angel taking the form of some kid from the 50s, though why an angel would do that, I had no idea.

But I'd seen him. He'd had wings, and he'd come at the time of the Taking...

"Could be a good thing," said Gabe suddenly.

"What would be?"

"Could be kinda interesting. Get a chance to be a new person."

"I guess..."

"You don't think so, sweetheart?"

I shrugged. "I guess it could be kind of interesting, yeah. But I think we need to focus more on figuring out what happened to you, whether you are an angel or not, and most importantly why people are being taken."

"Especially your Chris guy."

"Yes, I have a vested interest, I know that, but we could still totally..."

"All this talk of 'we,' sweetheart. Seems to me, you're making all the decisions."

"Gabe..."

"Look, you've still got me tied up in your shed. Why don't we figure out a way to fix this situation before we figure out all the angel stuff?"

"I..."

"One day at a time. Right now, maybe you could let me go?"

I looked down.

"You are going to let me go now, aren't you?"

"I don't know if I can. You could be lying."

Gabe sighed hard. "You've got the d.a.m.n evidence in that yearbook that I'm not."

"I don't trust angels."

"Which is kind of bulls.h.i.t because I thought angels were usually considered the good guys."

"Not these angels."

"Thought everyone in this d.a.m.n town worshipped these angels."

"Well, I don't!"

"And what makes you so special, sweetheart? You know something they all don't know?"

"Yes!" I paused. "I mean. No." Why'd I say that?

"What do you know, dollface?" His voice was softer. He seemed to believe I knew something when I didn't. I didn't know anything. I just had always felt something was off.

"I don't know. I don't know anything. I just know you can't be trusted. And anything that'd take a little boy from his parents..."

"Who's this?"

"Jonah Robinson. A kid. He was taken last week. Look. I want to believe you, I really do. Heck, I really want to like you, you seem nice enough..."

"You've got to learn to trust people."

"Well, you are an angel..."

"I feel so special."