ICARUS: Chapter 2

Sunset was almost over.

The last light streamed in through the taller window and splashed the kitchen counter. Icarus took another bite of cereal and crunched thoughtfully. Ten minutes. It had taken him ten minutes to shower. He’d make it longer next time. If he couldn’t take the deep end, he could handle icy water that froze his joints. He couldn’t drown in the shower. Nor could the beasties get him. But beasties didn’t exist, now did they.

Icarus’ mother slammed a white spoon into the freezing exhaust pot. The water kettle picked up the slack and began to hum. Icarus swiveled in a one-eighty from the window. “Mom.”

Ellena Vaughn turned to face her son and smiled tersely, brushing a wisp of strawberry blonde hair from her slender face. The kettle shrieked, and she turned hurriedly to pick it up, coughing into the hem of her faded T-shirt. That T-shirt had been his father’s. She made tea. Icarus set his bowl aside and licked his lips.

“Mom,” he said again. “You... wanted to talk to me.” He tried to look concerned. For her sake.

“Yes.” She turned around, clutching a canteen. “I want you to take Marcus down to the TR again tomorrow and take him around to the back. Justine should have a paper cup for you by now.” She closed her eyes and let the steam from her tea reach her nostrils. She frowned, opened her eyes, and grabbed a honey jar from the shelf behind her. Icarus nodded. “She should. Mom?”

His mother was dropping large dollops of honey into the canteen, stirring slowly, eyes closed. “Mom.” She didn’t answer, but dipped the spatula into the honey again. Icarus put his hand over his eyes. Right. September 20th. This wasn’t the time.

Icarus left his mother to drown her hauntings in honey and padded softly to the small space he called a bedroom. If anything, he should have given her a hug. Better just to go to bed. There were things to do, thoughts to eliminate, before the sun showed his face again.

Wind swept across the sand dunes outside. The windowpanes in the little room rattled, and Icarus leapt up expertly onto the low bed. It creaked loudly, threatening to snap under his weight. But those threats were empty. Icarus never listened. He bounced for a moment, kicking the blankets off, and then flopped onto his back. There was a fan on the ceiling. It didn’t work. Well, just barely.

So. September 20th. Icarus thought about wincing, but didn’t. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms up above his head. They hit the wall and he flexed his toes. Now was not the time to think about his little sob story. Actually, it was, but he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t going to wince either.

Kidding, his heart said.

The tears rose behind Icarus’ closed eyelids. Finally. Salty fluid slipped down his temples and into his hair. The moon yawned outside, and the wind was gentle now. This is my life, the sixteen-year-old told himself. This was his home. A little broken house perched on a cliff by the hungry ocean under a steadfast sun. A clinically depressed woman. Plus Icarus. The crashing salt spray. And the tackle shop. And the ancient skateboard ramp park. That place was covered in graffiti now. Icarus couldn’t decide whether he liked that or not.

This is my home. This is my life.

It was probably time to sprout his wings.

- - - - - -

Marcus loped behind a bare-chested Icarus, puffing under a faded cream sun hat. The nine-year-old blew out his breath in a sweaty moan. “Ica-RUS,” he panted. “I don’t want to see Justine. I don’t want to trade with old bloody basketballs.” He scowled and kicked a turtle that struggled across the cobblestone street in prime kicking range. Icarus rolled his eyes back into his head. “We’re almost there, Marc. Stop whining. And watch your mouth.” He took a left around the corner of a peeling hotel, passed a squatting grocery store - and ran slap into a small huddle of giggling ladies. Well. If you could call them that. Icarus knew these girls. They couldn’t be much older than he was.

One of them burst out laughing. She had pale brown hair that swung loosely past her hips, as did the rest of the girls.’ No fashion trend. Just... lack of a satisfying barber, maybe? Icarus had never been able to figure it out.

“Rus-rus!” The girl grinned. He blinked and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey,” he responded. The flock smiled and twirled their hair. Marcus looked up at Icarus curiously. “Rus-rus...” he muttered. He smirked and Icarus shot him a glance that wasn’t exactly friendly. He looked back up at the girls and flashed a casual smile. 

“Yeah?” Irresistible.

“Where are you going? Marcus? Is that you?” Marcus blushed and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Icarus nodded toward the Trading Rectory, squinting in the morning sunshine. “TR. Marcus has some basketballs to sort.” He punched Marc’s shoulder playfully.

The girls were nodding sympathetically and batting their eyelashes. Icarus tried not to smile again. They really needed to go. He touched Marc’s arm and turned to go.

“Oh! Hey Icarus!”

“Rus-rus,” another girl corrected. They all giggled and swished their long locks.

“Rus-rus, there’s a party at the skater’s lounge tonight. I mean, it’s hardly a party, but Tony’s bringing ice cream. So that’s sort of a party.” More giggles.

“Cool deal,” Icarus said. He smiled again. They practically swooned. Marcus scratched his earlobe. And then, Icarus was jogging across the cracked, sandy cobblestones to a large warehouse that lay just a few short turns down.

He liked the Trading Rectory. It was big, bigger than any other building in the little town. He liked that. There was room to think. Plus Justine would be there. Justine didn’t smile. She didn’t really talk much either. But she’d worked there ever since her aunt had dropped her off in the fifteenth province six years ago as a scarred nineteen-year-old. She let Icarus go anywhere in the warehouse, really. Which was a big deal. He wasn’t sure if she simply favored him, or if she simply didn’t care about the potential consequences.

He turned again and ducked under a crumbling ledge jutting out from a nearby house, leading Marcus to the back of the warehouse. A wave of fresh air met his face as he looped around the building and reached the rusty door that led to the first level. You could see the sea from here. Just behind the warehouse was a convenient walkway that led all the way down to the beach. He walked to the edge of the sheer slope and inhaled. Deeply. As Marcus shuffled around the corner of the building, Icarus spread his bare arms like wings and let the sun’s rays dance on his uplifted face. He closed his eyes and laughed. There would be no thunderstorm today.

Not a cloud for miles and miles. Yet.

Marcus groaned and fell on his knees. Icarus lowered his wings and turned to the boy, who had fallen on his face in the sand. Icarus walked past him and tried the doorknob. Locked. “Marcus?” he said invitingly. The nine-year-old dragged himself up to a standing position, shuffled to the door, and knocked loudly. Icarus smiled and glanced back out to the ocean. Someone rattled the door handle from the inside. There was a click, and with a grinding start, the door swung open, to reveal Justine. At the sight of Icarus, she cracked the shadow of a smile, and Icarus grinned. She looked better, he thought. He’d told her to get more sun, and it looked as if she might have. The sad woman was twenty-five going on forty-three. Icarus got that.

“Er, Justine... This is Marc,” Icarus explained. Justine nodded. Marc looked suspicious. “It’s dark in there,” he said. Justine laughed, and shook her head. Icarus nodded at Marc. “It gets brighter. I’ve sorted basketballs too, remember? Now hurry, I’m coming back later to pick you up. And hey - don’t make trouble. Got that?” Marcus nodded and scurried inside. Justine held out a paper cup. She smiled. Icarus took it and thanked her. He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Icarus turned and frowned. He stepped closer. “Justine?” She looked concerned. “The REST,” she said quietly. “They were here again.”

“What?” Icarus asked. “Here? I mean - here?” That wasn’t good at all. He didn’t like the REST, and they tended to raze everything they dipped their fingers into. Justine shook her head, and her dark curls jiggled. “No, not here,” she said in her heavy accent. Her sad brown eyes searched Icarus’. “But - here. In the village unit. They were making marks on the beach. Down by the dunes. Near your house.”

Icarus bit his lip and folded his arms. “Ok.”

Nobody liked the REST. Nobody liked lab coats. Every since the United Ressurect’s failed waterborne toxin experiment had infected, and promptly killed thousands that lived on the shores of Icarus’ Sea, the people of Orsensburgue were not on best terms with the men in white. That was fifty years ago, but still. People had died, and families had been ripped apart. Nobody needed fish to eat anymore in the other provinces, and so they’d grown used to making due without. Business was sunk. Fifty years later, and the shoreline still winced.

Justine peered at him curiously. “Don’t you want to know more?” she asked. He shrugged. “I’ll look into it. Er, maybe. Ok? And I’ll tell you if I learn anything. If you want.” She nodded and closed the door.

Right. Well. He had bait to fill a paper cup with, and groceries to buy. He also had, apparently, a party to not go to, and a dangerous business to meddle in.

The day had only just begun.