TITAN
Rose

Roselyn Foote stood outside the Alexandria Rink Center or “ARC” for short. She was indeed a redhead, as Drew described her, with long, thick, waist-length hair and fair skin. She was petite, standing at about five feet tall. Tiny, but shapely. She looked like women used to look before food became the devil and exposed ribs were all the rage, which is to say that Rose had hips. Classical beauty.

She fidgeted as she waited for Constance to get off the phone. Constance convinced her to dress like a fool and now she was waiting while Constance had phone sex with that tool, Drew. The sooner this was over, the better.

Constance was always introducing her to guys that she knew or friends of guys with whom she was hooking up. Rose might not have minded if there had ever been one worth meeting. Constance was her best friend and she was a sweetheart, but there were times when Rose wanted to wring her neck.

When Rose heard that Drew Goodson had a friend who wanted to meet her, she wanted nothing to do with it. Rose had never met Drew, but she had seen his picture and heard enough about him. The picture was fairly memorable because in it Drew was giving the most awkward “thumbs up” she’d ever seen. To say it was “unnatural” was a kind way of putting it. He was a big goof who, for whatever reason, could slide into Constance’s pants anytime. Maybe his weird mannerisms rubbed Constance the right way. He was probably like all of the other fake, slimy scumbags Constance dated. Whatever.

Constance and Rose had been best friends since the fifth grade. Their moms met at a PTA meeting and were friends ever since. Their dads hit it off, too, and they had cook outs on weekends. Rose had liked Constance, but she knew right away they weren’t the same type of person. Even in the fifth grade, Constance’s skirt somehow always ended up wrapped around her torso with her pink polka dot underwear out there for all to see. A slutty tomboy… But Rose didn’t have many friends, so she kept her mouth shut. It did occur to Rose that she and Constance would probably grow apart in college. Time would tell. But Rose wasn’t thinking about that right now.

“They’re comin’ out to meet us and we’ll skate for free,” Constance said. “Drew’s friend, Eric, is reeaaal excited to meet you.”

“Great.”

“Oh, C’mon!” Constance wore a faux frown that all but said: Aww, dat’s too bwad…

Does she have real emotions? Rose felt a frown she didn’t show. Her face didn’t change, however.

“Rosie, you never wanna meet any guys,” Constance said.

Rose crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I love meeting guys. But the ones you keep introducing me to wanna grab my ass two minutes in. Can I shake their hand first?”

Constance laughed, but Rose didn’t really mean it as a joke. Constance’s laugh was a gawky sorority laugh, but oddly genuine. “There. Be like that. You’re so funny sometimes.” She hooked her arm with Rose’s and they walked to the entrance. “Just don’t be too funny. Guys think girls who are funnier than them are D-Y-K-E-S. So, be cute; not hilarious.”

Now Rose laughed. Constance wasn’t always a ditz and Rose knew when she was playing with her. It helped her relax a little bit. This was why Constance was Rose’s friend and she felt a little safer.

The automatic entry doors parted and two boys in faded navy blue uniform tees and smudged khakis walked out. Well, only the tall boy’s pants were smudged. That was Drew; Rose knew it immediately. He was an even bigger goon than Rose imagined. He walked like an unbalanced robot with rubber for bones. Is that an attempt at swagger? The same weirdo grin from the photo was engraved on Drew’s face and she half expected him to throw them the thumbs up, too. But then Drew’s friend appeared from behind him.

Hey.

The other boy walked normal. It wasn’t exactly a swagger, but Rose got the feeling Drew’s friend was trying to be confident. She didn’t know how successful it was, but it was better than Drew’s gait. This other boy couldn’t have been more than five feet five or five feet six, but he walked about as tall as Drew.

This guy gets knocked down and he gets right back up. Rose didn’t know why she thought that, but she did. She knew it. She saw through his smile, too; it was the kind of smile you throw on when you’re nervous. Either that or the smile was covering something else up. He didn’t show it outwardly, but something was inside him hidden away. His smile was incomplete, which was how she knew.

Then he looked at her. Into her eyes. Rose was a romantic at heart, but she didn’t believe in love at first sight. Butterflies in the stomach, sure. Kisses that curled the toes, sure. But love at first sight? Nah. It was too implausible.

This was close.

Maybe it was lust at first sight. His eyes were hazel behind stylish frameless glasses. He looked her over trying to be discreet, but his gaze finished squarely on her face and on her eyes. She might have been wrong, but she thought he liked what he saw. Lucky him, she thought, I do too. Let’s see if you’ll shake my hand or go for my pants…

Without realizing she was doing it, Rose arched her back and angled her shoulders back. She had breasts and dammit she was going to use them. Usually she shut down in situations like this, but there was something about this guy…

Rosie… that’s how a dirty girl thinks… The voice of Rose’s mother was clear in her mind. She shrank from it, but blocked it out.

Channeling her best Constance impersonation, Rose extended her hand. “I’m Rose. And who are you?”

Did I just say that? The voice had been hers and that was her hand sticking out in front of her.

Eric gave her a queer look and smiled. She had disarmed him. “I’m Drew’s friend. I’m Eric.” He leaned in closer to her, taking her hand and speaking low so only she could hear. “Look, I don’t know you, but I get the feeling this isn’t you.” He gestured towards Constance with a shift of his head. “I’m not interested in her.”

Rose found his eyes again. He was right. She couldn’t be, nor did she want to be, Constance. She eased her shoulders back to normal, relaxing her cleavage. A nervous chuckle escaped. “I’m sorry. Let me do that again. I’m Rose.”

* * *

The “Breast to Butt Ratio,” or the B/B ratio for short, is a way to objectively evaluate a girl’s breasts and butt comparatively. It wasn’t really objective, in fact it was about as subjective as it gets. It was Eric’s own invention and he was proud of it—you know, in a guy kind of way. If a girl was 70/30, it didn’t mean that she had a bad ass, but rather that her breasts were, comparatively, better than her ass. Usually, the ratio numbers totaled one hundred, but for some girls, the number could go higher than one hundred. But those were unique cases. For instance, Constance was a 70/50—her breasts were awesome, but her ass was great too. Limiting her score to the one-hundred-point scale would just be unfair.

Rose rated an impressive 50/50. It wasn’t a lesser score than Constance’s though, because as great as it was to have really good breasts or a really good ass, it was better to be proportional. That’s what Eric thought, anyway. Constance wasn’t ugly by any means, but she was fairly unremarkable—narrow, petite nose and thin lips. It was too bad for Rose that the B/B ratio didn’t factor in a girl’s face. Hers was perfection. Round with fiery bangs draped over her forehead, cute cheeks like a chipmunk, a button nose, and naturally pink, full lips. Eric wanted to kiss them right then, but then again, he thought that about every pretty girl.

Rose’s hand was soft and warm. She had colorful light blue nails with what looked like little faces painted on them. Or maybe flowers. But Eric wasn’t looking at her fingers. Instead, he was staring into her deep, green eyes. He was lost in them.

Rose’s gaze never wavered from Eric’s. She looked him right in the eye and it made him feel nervous. No girl had ever looked at him like that. Not even Melanie.

“Constance told me a little about you,” Rose said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. When she said ‘Drew’s friend,’ I got worried.”

Eric laughed. Drew rubbed everyone the wrong way, apparently. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

Eric and Rose glanced at Drew and Constance. Constance was in the air, in Drew’s arms, with her legs wrapped around his waist. They weren’t exactly kissing. It was more like they were eating each other’s face. Constance let out a desperate sigh and ran her hands through Drew’s hair.

Eric turned to Rose. “Well.”

A comforting smile brightened her face. “She does this all the time.”

“I see.” The uncomfortable silence that settled between them was made worse by what their friends were doing to each other. The distance between Eric and Rose seemed too close and Eric wanted to step back, but he was afraid of how it would appear. He gestured to a bench beneath the pine tree. “Wanna sit while we wait ‘em out?”

“Sure,” Rose said.

Eric let her sit first so he could decide the distance between them. He sat about a person’s space away, but he put his arm over the back of the bench closer to her. He hoped the arm would make him seem close without stifling.

“Where do you go to school?” It was the best Eric had.

“The Leslie School in Falls Church. It’s off Old Keene Mill.”

“Hey, we’ve played you guys in hockey.”

“Really?” Rose looked genuinely interested.

“Yeah. Last year, I think. Maybe it was this past fall. You ever go to the games?”

“Never been.” A sly curve climbed up her mouth towards her cheek. Sexy? Flirting? “But I’ll have to start going now.”

Eric couldn’t restrain his smile. “I’m not much to see. Third line and I’m stuck with one of the girls.”

“Oh, girls can’t play?” Rose said.

“Sure, girls can play. This girl, however, can’t. It’s like being tied to a corpse. I’m no all-star, but she’s why our line doesn’t get much playing time. Whenever she gets decked, coach goes nuts.” Eric felt more comfortable. What was once unfamiliar and scary became less so. Rose looked like she could hold up her end of the conversation. When she wasn’t talking, she was listening—really listening—and her eyes told you so. They were engaged. And beautiful.

While they waited for Drew and Constance to decouple, Eric and Rose discussed many things ranging from more hockey talk to college and finally to family. Neither of them noticed that they had been inching closer together all the time.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Eric asked. But he regretted the question. It was a bad road. She might ask next.

“Yes. A pair of little brothers. Twins. Nicky and Andy. They’re five.”

“Ouch.”

“They’re a handful. What about you?”

I knew it. Just lie. You do it all the time. It’s just easier.

“I, ah, well…” Eric’s hesitation ruined any chance of lying. He had to tell her now. “Kinda yes and no.”

Rose giggled. “How can it be ‘yes and no’? Is your mom pregnant?”

“No. I had a sister, but she died.”

Rose’s smile dropped. It was replaced with a look of surprise, shock, and sadness twisted up into one. Her hand clutched his arm. “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry.”

That something twitched inside of him again. He didn’t expect it. He let his guard down and a little piece of Sarah sneaked by. But he yanked her by the tail and stuffed her back inside. It wasn’t quick enough. Rose saw the brief flicker in his eyes.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that. I don’t think about her often. But yeah… she passed away almost ten years ago. Her name was Sarah.”

Rose’s hand tightened on his arm. The guy part of him took over and Eric decided to milk it. He always figured that Sarah wouldn’t mind.

“She was handicapped from birth. We took care of her for a long time.”

“Eric, I’m very sorry. If it’s okay, can I ask how old she was?”

Eric patted her hand, playing into her emotions. He was going to hell for sure, but if he got to ride Rose there, well, all the better. “Sure. She was sixteen.” This will get her. “My big sis.”

And it worked. Rose looked like she wanted to cry. But she probably remembered that she had just met him, because it cleared up. Rose seemed to choke it back.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Eric lied. “I didn’t mean to be a downer. Sometimes I tell people. Sometimes I don’t. But I usually don’t know which to do and I hesitate occasionally. That’s when the jig is up.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me. Must mean I’m a little better than the average person,” Rose said, trying to smile again.

“That or you’re hard to lie to. Maybe you’ve got one of those faces.”

Her smile grew. It brightened her whole face. Eric wanted to kiss her. Adolescent horniness wanted more. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Hey, jerkoff.” Drew called over. “C’mon, there’s only a little bit left in the skate session.” He turned and headed into the building with Constance on his back.

Eric offered Rose his hand. “Let’s go.”

She took it. “I’m not a good skater. Last time I did it, I was very little.”

Eric exaggerated a look at her height. “So… not so long ago, then.”

She tapped him, playfully. “Jerk. I might need some help.”

They headed for the doors. Eric glanced at her and said, “You can hold my hand there, too.”

For a few moments, Rose didn’t answer. When she did, Eric blushed. She said: “Good.”

* * *

At the top of the hill overlooking the rink, two men sat in a red truck playing the card game “War.” But they were not actually playing “War;” they were watching Eric Steele and his friends. There was nothing unique or particularly striking about them. They could have been anybody and that was the point.

A camera mounted on the hood ornament of the truck in the shape of the Dodge symbol responded to the tiny joystick sitting in the cab where a cup holder might have been in another truck. The man in the driver’s seat thumbed the stick and zoomed in on the kids.

The other man spoke into a microphone in his collar. He relayed a dry account of the scene and asked for instructions. On the other end of the radio, the Shadow Man lounged in an office chair beside a small desk and a computer. He grinned. “That’s perfect. Find out who the others are and stay on him. We’ll stick with tomorrow’s meet and use the others if necessary.”

The other faceless man replied in the affirmative and ended contact. Radio silence was in effect until 2000 hours. They would receive further instructions then.

Meanwhile, Eric and the others disappeared into the rink. But it was no problem. The men in the truck tapped into the building’s security camera feed and watched things from there.

* * *

Everything was going right. Eric was saying all the right things. He was telling all the right jokes. And he was giving off all the right signals. He must have been; Rose was responding. Eric rarely knew what girls were thinking, but he had a good idea that Rose liked him.

It is easier to operate romantically when both people realize there is a mutual attraction. Meeting someone new is like being blind or engaging in submarine warfare. A lot of time is spent feeling out the space or learning where the target is. But it can be dangerous because no one wants to make a wrong move or say the wrong thing. However, if one or both people realize that the other person likes him or her, it becomes easier to maneuver. That fear of saying or doing the wrong thing eases because the other person is more likely to forgive a misstep if it’s made by someone they like.

Eric was usually quiet around girls at first. But Rose was disarming. She was very good-looking but not in an intimidating way—she was Girl Next Door Hot. Attainably hot. Beyond her looks, Eric liked her personality. She laughed at his jokes and his imitations, but not everything. She called him on the jokes that fell flat and spun them back. Rose challenged him.

Evening free-skate sessions were usually quiet. Eric and Rose almost had the rink to themselves. Folks coming home from work weren’t too eager to sweat a couple of laps around the rink after an hour in traffic. Drew and Constance disappeared into the hockey locker rooms which had locks on the doors. A few young figure skaters swizzled by and did spins at center ice. A mom and her young boys hobbled around the sides, clutching at the boards. And a father and son ran hockey drills in the far corner.

Eric and Rose circled and she clutched Eric’s arm. She wasn’t actually that bad of a skater, but kept falling into Eric. He steadied her every time.

“So, do you have a step stool in every room of your house?” Eric asked.

Rose feigned anger. “Do you?”

“Touché.”

“So when you’re not at school or here, what do you do?” Rose asked as she slipped a little and squeezed Eric’s hand.

“That’s kind of a weird way of asking about my hobbies,” Eric said. “Umm. I dunno, I guess I’m kinda boring. No… strike that. I’m a geek, I guess.”

“Ha. Why’s that?”

“Well, I like to read. I write. Um. I really like TV and movies. And not just as a lazy, “sit around” kind of thing, but I like the artistry behind it. Though, since I like movies like The Last Boy Scout and The Big Lebowski, I don’t know if it’s all about the ‘art.’”

“Never saw those.”

Eric glared at her. “You’ve never seen The Big Lebowski?”

“What do you write about?” Rose sidled closer.

“Nothing too serious. It’s really just to have fun. Not to publish or anything.”

“Yeah… but what’s it about?”

“Well, I made up this story about Star Trek where me and my friends are the characters. It’s fan fiction.” Eric cringed as he said it.

Rose laughed. “Star Trek?! You are a big geek.” But Eric could see she was just playing with him. And when he looked at her, he was starting to see something else in her gaze. Something more.

“Yes, well… it’s therapeutic,” Eric said. “That’s not all I write. I’ve got a few horror stories.”

“Really?” Rose jerked to a stop and almost brought them both down. “I love scary stories. Scary movies, too.”

“You kidding? That’s great. My old girlfriend used to hate ‘em.”

“Well, that’s dumb. Scary movies get your blood goin’, ya know?”

They looked at each other for just a moment. Just a glance. But it was there. They wanted to jump each other. Eric cleared his throat. “Yeah. I know.”

And it was over. They went back to skating and for a few moments didn’t say anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable though. They were mulling over what that look meant. Their individual sexual intelligence divisions were pouring over the data and coming up with similar results.

Eric knew what that look felt like to him. It felt like the opposite of Melanie’s gaze, which froze his soul. It was like the look Melanie used to give him. Before. But Rose wasn’t Melanie. No, she was a different animal indeed. Eric found himself wondering what Rose’s orgasm would sound like. Then he wanted to find out for himself. For as romantic as he wanted to be, he was still a seventeen-year-old boy.

“Do you have a date to the prom?” Rose blurted.

“No. No, I don’t.”

Rose’s self-assuredness crept back. “Too bad, ‘cause I do.”

Eric’s tongue froze and all the surplus comfort he’d been feeling slipped out of him down to the ice. He looked at her. Whatever she saw on his face brought a smile to hers.

“I’m kidding.” She grinned and her cheeks flashed red. Rose jabbed him on the shoulder.

Eric breathed a big sigh without realizing he had held his breath. It was followed by a relieved smirk. He shook his head. “Bitch…”

“Ya big meanie,” Rose responded, jabbing him on the arm harder. His muscle tensed against her fist. She liked it. He liked it.

“You oughta get worse. That was low.” Eric didn’t stop smiling. “You should go with me to make up for it.”

“Go where? To the prom? We just met…” Eric sensed she was joking, but he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to show up to the prom with Rose Foote on his arm.

She went on, “Besides, maybe I wanna ask you.”

“Impossible. You’re a girl.” Eric laughed. He dodged her jab, but regretted it as her miss threw her off balance.

He caught her. She pressed against him with her feet barely on the ice. At such an odd angle, Eric thought he would have had to strain to hold her up, but she weighed barely anything. Either she was really light or he was getting stronger…

My fingers punched into cinderblock…

His diversion in thought evaporated when he realized he was holding her. Rose’s arms were pressed between them and his were along her sides and around her shoulders. She looked up at him with palpable trepidation. He wanted to kiss her. He thought that she wanted him to.

But he didn’t. Something wouldn’t let him. As the coldness slithered inside him, he had a good guess what it might be. Still, he had to recover or he’d never get the chance to make up for his hesitation.

“So, will you go with me?”

“Yes.” A flicker of something he couldn’t read passed through her eyes. Disappointment? Relief?

Eric stood her back up. “Good, I’m glad I didn’t have to drop you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“How do you know? You just met me. I could be a big jerk and you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

* * *

Eric thought about Rose all night. She had stirred something inside of him that had been bitter and cold for some time. Not exactly his heart, but that too. No, it was more like his spirit. He felt like frozen meat just about to thaw. No softness yet, but the ice was cracking.

He never thought he had been depressed, though he might have been. Tim and Nancy Steele were “can-do” types, who forbade the word “can’t.” To them, depression was something that could be overcome by pure will. People who got “depressed” were weak and just needed to pull it together. Because they were his parents, that attitude rubbed off on him. He never gave in to thinking he was depressed. Though, sometimes when he saw commercials about depression, some of the symptoms seemed to apply to him: lethargy, loss of appetite, feeling like he could sleep for days, etc. In fact, right after the breakup, Eric had felt those symptoms for sure.

Rose’s presence, gaze, voice, and interest in him shined through the darkness inside. There weren’t any florescent lights on in there yet, but a few candles now burned. Despite the cliché and the melodrama, he felt alive. All because of a girl named Rose.

If things didn’t work out with Rose, it would be okay. Eric knew that. But the fact that she was interested in him and responded to him showed him that Melanie hadn’t been a fluke; other girls could like him too. He could be loved.

First love is the best and worst love. Everything is new. Learning the tingles and heat of touch is exhilarating and intoxicating. As a child, the mind is focused inward. Psychologically, children are very “me” centered. It’s only in adulthood that real appreciation for the needs and wants of others becomes important. A step in that process is falling in love. Your thoughts turn outward towards someone else. Instead of thinking only of your own well-being and wants, you become concerned with another’s. The happiness you want for yourself is wanted for the others too. In fact, you want them to have it more.

Happiness only multiplies when that person loves you back. When he or she wants for you what you want for them, it’s a true connection. True love. It is in that wanting, that yearning, that you want to touch the other person. They want to touch you. Not just to feel good, but to be close. It’s innocent. There is no perversion. Touching is not obscene or sexual. As the feelings of love are explored, so must the focus of that love be explored to discover one another and, in turn, discover yourself.

There is risk, though, especially with first love. The potential to let it fill you up completely and consume everything you are is ever present. As with bathing in warm water, one slight twist of the dial can burn you up or freeze you cold. For Eric, he knew both. Innocent love was gone from him. He knew it once. He remembered it with fondness and with bitterness.

Once it’s gone, love becomes something else. Something new, yet familiar. But for Eric, it was just gone. Everything that had happened. Everything that was said. His emotions—his self—had been through the wringer. And in that childish way, he thought he couldn’t be loved. Some might say it was “irrational fear,” but fear is never irrational to someone who feels it. In this case, he had help. Some things his mother would say sometimes…

You’re gonna be a pretty lonely guy!

It’s no wonder you’re gonna end up alone.

And that’s why you’ll die alone.

Eric thought he was meant to be alone. Maybe because his mother had said it so often. But Melanie really planted the twisted seed. When he was with her, it was like proving his mom wrong. The fact that she was with him—that she loved him—meant he wouldn’t be alone. But when that ended, when it crashed down from the sky, he feared that his mom had been right. You’re gonna end up alone. Love became twisted together with his fear and, like that first love, consumed him. He stopped fearing loneliness… he just believed it.

Those who know you best—who love you—have the power to hurt you the most. Melanie did. Because she knew him so well and completely, her eyes were like guns and her words like bombs. They ripped him apart.

Rose…

Just thinking about Rose made Eric smile. She was more than just a girl. She was proof that he wasn’t meant to be alone. When there had been only Melanie, he suspected that it was a fluke. A cruel trick of fate. But if Rose could feel for him too, then so could anyone else. If he had been attractive and cute and funny to both Melanie and Rose, then so it could be with others. Rose was a sign. A ray of light signaling the end of his pain.

Eric fell into sleep thinking of Rose. Thinking of what could be. Dreaming what Rose might look like naked. Hoping he would get to see…

…and ignoring the pain beginning to burn again in his gut. Thinking of Rose made this easy to put aside.

* * *

Eric and Drew had the same lunch session on Friday, Eric’s birthday. It was lucky because they didn’t normally share the same lunch session on this day in the schedule, but Drew’s teacher cancelled class. They sat towards the middle of the table with Will and John’s “posse.” Eric and Drew were mostly left alone. John was writing physics formulas on the tabletop in ketchup, trying to prove a point to Will on the previous night’s homework. Will’s counterpoints were in mustard.

“You liked her then?” Drew asked while eating brie for lunch. His mom always gave him eclectic lunches.

Eric wished he could hide his exuberance better. “Oh, yeah.”

“She liked you, too, Chief… as Gibson would say.”

“It’s strange. I felt so comfortable with her. She had an easy way about her.”

Drew laughed. Eric instantly regretted his choice of terms, but he laughed too.

“Not easy that way, Douche. But you know.”

Drew nodded and pulled out some cheese Goldfish. “Constance wants to double date,” he said, speaking with his mouth full.

“I’m up for it if you are.”

“That’d be cool. S’been awhile since we could do that,” Drew said. There was no malice behind the remark, but that was an example of why others didn’t like him much. That remark, harmlessly intended, cut deep. Drew meant it matter-of-factly, but such was his way. For Drew, his statement was true and because it was, no harm should come of it. Eric had learned, however, to let those quips slide by.

“Believe me, I know.”

“You’re in luck, too, ‘cause she liked you as well. Constance said she was blushing the whole way back.” Drew popped a few more Goldfish and dropped to an almost conspiratorial whisper, “You know… from what I hear, you may be able to get something out of this. You know? Maybe a ‘handy.’”

“A ‘handy’? What’s that?” Drew gestured a jerk-off motion as an answer. “Ah.”

“Melanie was a big prude about stuff like that… well, insofar as it concerned my parts. She didn’t mind a friendly rub, herself, though,” Eric said. He made fun of her whenever possible to cut down on the hurt of her memory and to act like he wasn’t bothered. It didn’t really matter since most everyone knew he’d been ripped apart.

Drew chuckled. “I never got that. You were together for like three years and you got nothin’. What’d you stick around for?”

For as good a friend and support as Drew had always been, there were things about Eric that he just didn’t get. He probably never would. That he would even ask frustrated Eric. The answer should have been clear: I loved her. But no, as far as Drew was concerned, you cannot fall in love at fourteen. What age had to do with it, Eric wasn’t quite sure.

“She took it slow. The promise of more, I guess,” Eric said, half-lying. Loving her was the truth, too, but he did get strung along hoping for coital interaction.

Drew shook his head. “Waste o’time, I guess.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” But he didn’t quite believe it.

“Well, from what I hear, Rose hasn’t been deflowered yet, either. Fresh meat. Ya know?”

“Ha. Aren’t I fresh meat, too, then?”

Drew shrugged and balled up his lunch bag. “I guess. That’s trouble, too, but damn if it isn’t”—he clapped his hands—“tight.”

Eric smiled, but he liked Rose. He felt a faint flicker of anger at Drew for referring to her crudely. Inwardly shrugging, he thought ah well, it’s what guys do. That didn’t quite make it okay with him, but he was able to put it behind him.

“Wanna do it tonight?” Drew asked.

“I can’t.” Jim didn’t want Drew to come along, so Eric lied. “My parents are taking me out to dinner for my birthday.”

“Oh, cool.” Drew acted like he’d known all along. Eric knew he forgot. “I’ll give you your present tomorrow then.”

Eric nodded. “Thanks.” He wondered what Drew would come up with at the last minute. By the following day, he wouldn’t care.

* * *

Old Town was a stretch of city in northeast Alexandria, along the Potomac River, where the Founding Fathers probably used to stumble drunk out of the bar to their horses. Now, it was a residential area and a tourist trap. There were restaurants, ice cream parlors, coffee shops, little boutiques, and, of course, the waterfront dock. River tours left the dock periodically.

Typically, the area was dominated by families—though by dark, young couples owned the streets. Since Northern Virginia was rife with chain restaurants and shopping malls, Old Town was a nice alternative. Near the waterfront, the streets were paved with cobblestones and rustic-looking wood plant holders lined the walks.

Eric took it for granted. As a boy, his dad took him into D.C. and all around the area. They visited George Washington’s house, Fort Hunt Park, all the various monuments in D.C., Ford’s Theater, the Tidal Basin, and the Smithsonian. Old Town was one place Eric hadn’t visited often. Growing up, Tim Steele avoided going places with heavy traffic if he could avoid it. The few times Eric and his dad had been, they had walked through after trekking the Mount Vernon trail that extends from Crystal City to the Mount Vernon estate along the Potomac. Eric remembered the view of the river and the time he spent with his dad more than the Ben & Jerry’s.

Now that Eric was older, he appreciated Old Town and the rustic waterfront. All of Northern Virginia was like one big metropolis. He lived in what he thought of as “urban suburbs”—he called it this because the suburbs were supposed to be outside of the city and peaceful. There was little peace or quiet in Alexandria.

Driving in Old Town was different, too. There were fewer assholes. Or at least, the assholes had to pay better attention. There were so many pedestrians, bicyclists, and cars that running stop signs and ignoring turn signals just wasn’t workable.

Eric wondered why Jim wanted to meet in Old Town. They never really hung out there. In fact, Eric could only think of one time. In fifth grade, the morning after a sleepover, Eric’s dad had taken everyone out for breakfast. Back then, there was a little diner run by “mom and pop” along King Street near the river. Eric ate so much French toast that he felt sick. He could remember the bulging, heavy lump in his gut when they left. Jim had wolfed down a stack of pancakes like they nothing. He said he could’ve eaten more, but he clutched his stomach all the same. Of course, when Eric’s dad offered to get everyone ice cream, they weren’t so full anymore.

Eric found a parking spot towards the end of Duke Street but thought it looked too small to fit his mom’s Durango. But as he passed by, he realized he could work it out. Once he parked, Eric glanced at the clock; it was 6:46. He unfastened his belt and stepped down from the driver’s side. A funny thought occurred to him. You were born at 6:47 p.m., his mother’s voice. After eighteen hours of pushing your melon head popped out…

I’ll be eighteen, officially, in less than a minute.

He shut the door, beeped it, and slipped his keys into his jacket pocket. Eric started along South Union Street towards the Starbucks, where he and Jim agreed to meet. He was happy that Jim was able to be home for his birthday. Eric had missed him more than he cared to admit. His absence couldn’t have come at a worse time. Eric just hoped things hadn’t been too bad for him…

No.

The pain was back, but now it was different. Eric couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew this would be worse—WAY WORSE. The dull buzzing one feels in the back of their throat when they’re about to throw up throbbed all over his body.

It’s in my bones… I want to scratch it out!

He felt the scalding sensation building up again inside of him. Something hard slammed his knees—the street—and his arms wrapped around his torso like that trick where you’re making out with yourself. Only this was no trick. Eric’s fingers dug through his jacket and into his shoulders! Blood seeped between his jacket and shirt, and beneath the shirt down his chest and back. But he didn’t feel it. Nor did he feel how the blood sizzled as it coursed down his body.

Eric looked up for… something. ANYthing. He wanted help. He needed help.

What’s happening to me?!

His throat was coarse… did I yell that? “Ooohhhhhhhwwww GOD!” It was all he could think to scream. He passed out. Tendrils of curling smoke or steamswirled up from his body.

Eric lay in the street, unmoving, as liquid fire scorched him from the inside. Fate’s cruel way of saving him from worse.

* * *

The Colonel’s two men in the truck were too slow. They saw Eric go down in the middle of the street, but some good Samaritans got to him before they could. The first guy, some blonde-haired hick in a Hawaiian shirt, turned the smoldering kid onto his back and came away with a third-degree burn on his hand. He screamed, of course.

Now cell phones were out and everywhere. 911, emergency. They couldn’t get him. Too many people and too many phones. Fuck. The McNulty kid was dead. He fucked it up. The boss was right, they had waited too long. Now it was happening.

The driver spoke into his collar radio, “Vulture, this is Possum. We have a problem. The Chimera just went down in the street. We think it’s happening. Too many eyes on the scene, however, and locals have been called. Kid’s going up like smoked pig.”

“We’ll prepare for Beta. Track to the hospital and see if Chimera cannot be reacquired there. Wolf will pick up Beta at the coffee shop. The procedure will begin soon, unless you retrieve. Understood?” The Shadow Man’s said. His mirthless grin could be felt through the radio.

The driver nodded to his partner and replied in the affirmative on the radio. Outside, the blonde-haired tourist clutched his red, scalded hand and blubbered.

“Serves him right, fuckin’ pussy,” the man in the passenger seat sneered.

“Monitor the police band. We’ll try and get the drop on the hospital location. Lil’ shit won’t slip away again.” The driver started the engine and waited for his destination.

It would all be over soon.

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