Dad mixed his mashed potatoes and peas with his fork, looking like a child uninterested in his food. He was on his sixth bottle of light beer and it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet—Link knew alcohol was his way of coping. Mom was sitting opposite him, taking delicate bites off the edge of her fork, not even so much as sparing him a glance.
And there Link was in the middle of the table, trying to find an engaging topic in a hope to spark some conversation. But he had already asked them both how work was, and the only exciting thing he did that day was watch a documentary on the ’95–’96 Chicago Bulls, so all the usual topics were run dry. Besides, he could never seem to get more than a sentence out of them both anyway.
“Salt,” Dad mumbled, never taking his eyes off his plate. Mom reached out for the salt shaker and wordlessly slid it across the table. She resumed nibbling at her food like a guinea pig. The silence that ensued was agonizing. A piercing sound louder to Link than any gorlac’s shrieking.
“So, your Mom and I have been talking,” Dad announced to no one in particular. Then his eyes drifted over to his son as if expecting a response.
“About?” Link asked, sawing off a chunk of the medium-rare steak and chewing it.
Dad and Mom exchanged a quick glance. Mom nodded slowly.
“We both have agreed that it’s time you return to school this week,” Mom said timidly, as if she was expecting a hostile reaction.
“All right,” Link said, shovelling another piece of meat into his mouth.
“That’s it?” Dad asked, bewildered. “Not going to put up a fight?”
Link put down his knife and fork and then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “What’s the use?”
“Lincoln,” Mom said, sighing, “we just want the bes—”
“You know what’s funny?” he asked, crumpling his napkin and throwing it on the table. “I think that conversation right there is the most you guys have spoken to me in the past month.”
“That’s not true,” Mom said dismissively.
“Isn’t it?”
Dad stirred in his seat, his gaze drifting to his son. “You know full well your Mom and I have been extremely busy at work.”
Link leaned against the backrest of his chair and returned the intensity of his father’s gaze. “So busy you’ve resorted to treating your son as if he were a ghost?”
“A ghost?” Mom rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Ever since the accident you’ve been treating me—”
“We are grieving parents,” Dad snarled. “How would you have us react? All chirpy like the Brady Bunch family? Our daughter—” He paused, took in a deep breath, and then took a mouthful of beer. “Your sister is in a hospital room right now, fighting for her life.”
“You don’t think I’m aware of that?” Link snapped. “You think that’s news to me? I’m the one who caused it. W-Why would I need a reminder of that, Dad?”
All of a sudden the room was filled with an all-too-familiar silence. It was almost as if the mere mention of Alex or her condition was taboo to them.
The way they’re acting is as if she’s already dead, Link thought.
He slammed his hands down on the table, causing all the cutlery to bounce. “Tell me I stuffed up!” he demanded, shooting out of his chair. “I want to hear you both say it. ‘I wasn’t looking, I pulled out of the intersection, I’m the reason she’s in the hospital room right now.’ Tell me I stuffed up.”
Dad stood up now, his eyes blazing. “Watch your tone.”
“I want you both to admit it,” he spluttered, ignoring Dad and turning to Mom. “I can’t deal with th-this silence anymore. I can’t.”
“This was an accident, Lincoln,” Mom said. “We’re not going to blame you for something that’s out of your control. What you’re feeling right now is remorse, guilt—and it’s completely normal.”
Dad rested his hands on the back of his chair and softened his expression. “All of us are grieving, Lincoln,” he whispered, almost as if he was trying Mom’s approach of lowering his voice. “Your Mother and I are both back at work, trying to take our mind off things. That’s why we thought it would be best to get you back in school, back to basketball—”
“It’s not that easy,” Link interrupted.
“Why, Lincoln?” Dad suddenly boomed, dropping the good cop act. “Why isn’t it that easy? What about your potential scholarships? Not showing up to school, practice, missing that many games. This is your senior year; you need to be showing these scouts what you're made of. Not lazing about napping all day.”
“We understand what you’re going through, honey,” Mom chimed in compassionately, “but we think it’s imperative you at least try and put this aside and focus on your future—as hard is it may be.”
Link rubbed his jaw, grinning at them in disbelief. “So, that’s what this is all about? My basketball scholarship?”
“Don’t twist our words,” Dad said seething. “This is about what’s best for you. We’ve always wanted what’s best for you. This scholarship will pave the way for your education and—”
“Don’t give me that,” he said. “You don’t give a damn about my education.”
“Excuse me?” Dad asked, his bushy eyebrows knitting together.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of sad, Dad?" Link asked, scoffing. "You trying to live your childhood dream through me? It’s not my fault you couldn’t make it big.”
Mom looked at him up and down tentatively as if she didn't even recognize her own son. “What has gotten into you?”
Link clamped his jaw, trying to suppress all the emotions swimming up to the surface. He was embarrassed. Embarrassed for lashing out at his parents. Embarrassed for what he had done to his sister. So embarrassed with himself it was a struggle to look at his reflection for any longer than five seconds.
Link turned his back on them and walked towards the staircase.
“Lincoln where are you going?” Dad shouted. “This conversation is nowhere near . . . .”
His voice trailed off as Link stepped into his room and locked the door. He almost did a complete 180 when he spotted Xavier sitting in a roller chair across the room. The man in the fedora hat was certainly making himself at home. Xavier’s legs were crossed relaxedly, and he was wearing his signature crooked smile, grey overcoat and fedora hat.
Link was tempted to throw something at him, but he was confident he knew what the outcome would be. So instead, he walked across his room and started sifting through his drawers, paying Xavier no mind. If he had learned anything those past few days, it was that it was best to treat him like a fly on the wall.
“Wow, that was heavy,” Xavier said, attempting to look sympathetic. “I overheard the whole thing. Want to talk about it, kid?”
. . . An annoying fly Link just wanted to douse in several cans’ worth of insect spray.
Xavier raised the brim of his fedora hat and cast Link a long, calculated look with his abnormal, ice-cold eyes. “Hmm, judging by your recent behaviour I’d say there’s definitely an underlying problem. But. What. Can. It. Be?”
Xavier rubbed his jaw, studying him like a psychologist would a patient. “Help me out here, Hunter; let’s both try to shed some light on this. Work out what forces are powering these sudden whirlwinds of emotions that, one by one, are slowly wiping out your loved ones . . . .”
Xavier continued to prattle on as Link slammed shut a drawer and started fishing through the next one, trying to think of anything but his annoying voice.
“Is it the resentment you feel being projected by your parents?” Xavier asked teasingly. “Or perhaps the emotional turmoil you’re experiencing being responsible for the car crash?”
Link didn’t answer either of his questions, but after a few seconds, Xavier giggled knowingly. “Oh wait, I’ve got it! It’s my riddle, isn’t it? It’s doing your head in. I would give you a hint and help you out; but you see, according to you, I’m just a monster who abuses his powers when he should be helping people.”
Finally, Link found the little orange canister he was looking for, but his heart sank when he shook it and realized there were no pills left. He groaned and pegged the canister across the room.
“I’m out; get me some new ones, Doc,” he said as he collapsed into the bed and stretched out his limbs.
Xavier scoffed in reply. “What do I look like? Your drug dealer?”
“Well, a fair few mobsters were drug dealers back in the 1920s; weren’t they?” Link said, feigning a look of deep thought.
Xavier straightened his tie and smiled crookedly, seeming pleased Link was finally talking to him again. Link had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since Xavier had given him the riddle.
“This, my friend, is not a mobster get-up,” Xavier said, “I’ll have you know this attire was all the rage back then.”
“So were bell bottoms in the seventies,” Link said, “but you don’t see anybody wearing them now.”
Xavier exaggerated a hearty laugh that lasted for several minutes, wiping away an imaginary tear underneath his eyes when he had finished. “Oh man, I haven’t laughed like that in a while . . . Good looking and witty; you’re the ultimate package. Nadine’s got herself a keeper. Oh, and FYI, that canister was filled with multivitamins, not sleeping tablets.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Don’t get mad at me,” Xavier said, taken back. “I’m just looking out for your health. I noticed you hadn’t been eating the recommended two servings of fruit a day so I took matters into my own hands." He smiled at Link cheekily. "Your skin has been glowing ever since.”
“Just what’s your deal?” Link blurted out, rolling on his side to face him. “Because I’m really racking my brain trying to figure this out. Just what exactly do you get out of torturing me?”
Xavier sucked air through his teeth. “There you go again, throwing around that T-word. How is this torture? We’re having a nice civil conversation with one another.”
“Yes, but you see, this weird thing keeps happening to me. Every time I fall asleep—”
“Oh, wait, don’t tell me,” Xavier said excitedly, straightening up in the chair. “You keep entering the fantasy land you and your sister created?”
“Good guess,” Link said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now tell me why you’re doing this. And if you say ‘you’re not ready’ I swear to God I will—” He breathed out through his nostrils, trying to contain the rage.
Xavier smiled to himself knowingly. “Careful, Hunter. Curiosity is a dangerous thing. I heard it killed a cat once.”
“And I heard ambiguity killed a dog.”
Xavier pretended to look taken aback. “Are you calling me a dog?”
“If the shoe fits.”
Xavier stretched out a leg and then looked down at his foot, creasing his brow in thought. “What size is the shoe in question? I’m a nine myself.”
Link reached for his iPod on the bedside table and then rolled over to his opposite side, concluding that talking to him was pointless. He jammed the headphones in his ears and clicked play on a new album he had downloaded. But two minutes into the song, an annoying voice spoke over the track.
“Psst. Whatchu listening to?” Xavier whispered.
“Really?” Link moaned, smothering his face with a pillow. “You’re even in my headphones now?”
Link thought back to all of Xavier’s abilities—the ones he knew of, at least. He could disappear at will, conjure entire fantasy worlds and throw them right in the brink of them, create embers from his fingertips, transmit his voice through Link’s headphones. He seemed to have a never-ending list of tricks and gimmicks.
“What exactly are you?” Link asked, casting him a wary glance. “Are you a… Are you a demon or something?”
Xavier held a hand up to his mouth. “Well, I never.”
“Answer.”
“No, I am not a demon,” Xavier said. “I’m much, much, much more powerful.”
“Lucifer?” Link asked, feeling stupid.
“I promise you, Hunter, the only time I possess a pitchfork is when I’m doing my gardening,” Xavier said, snickering. “You humans and your ideologies.”
“What are you then?” Link asked, grating his teeth together. He was getting sick and tired of Xavier never answering his questions directly.
“Y. N. R.,” Xavier said.
“What’s that?”
“An abbreviation.”
“For?”
“I’m not allowed to say. I don’t want to anger you.”
You’re not ready. Link closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately to stop his chest from heaving. I’ll give him one thing; he certainly knows how to wind me up.
“Why,” Link groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enlighten me, please. Why are you allowing me to be in this world as well as Nocera? Why not put me in a trance with Alex? Just give me something—anything—to go on. And if you tell me I’m not ready one more time, I swear to—”
“Because you intrigue me, kid,” Xavier said, plucking a cigarette out of its packet and jamming it in his mouth. “Does that answer your question?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Xavier shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” He wheeled the roller chair over to the foot of Link’s bed, his face suddenly full of intrigue. “Do you really think you can save her, Hunter? Wake your dear sister up from her trance?”
It was hard for Link to determine if Xavier was genuinely interested in his response, or if he was just trying to stir him up. So, Link decided it was best to tread lightly as to avoid falling into one of his traps.
“You’re asking me a question now?” he said casually. “Maybe it’s my turn to be ambiguous.”
“Just answer the question, smart Alec,” Xavier said, lighting his cigarette. “It’s my job to be sassy and quick-witted, not yours.”
“No, I don’t,” Link said grimly.
Xavier cast Link a disappointed look, took a puff and then exhaled the smoke through his nose. “How very unfortunate.”
“I don’t think I can save her . . . I know I can,” Link said, meeting his freakish eyes. “And I know that’s exactly what you want to hear, because you’re twisted. You want me to fight back, resist, make things interesting. But I don’t care; I’ll give you what you want. But I’ll tell you one thing, and you better listen up closely: No matter what you throw at me, or what obstacles you put in my way, I will bring my sister back to this world. Mark my words.”
“Is that so?” Xavier asked, pretending to look impressed.
Link nodded. “Put a thousand Kilaydises in front of me and I’d kill them all for Alex.”
“That’s the spirit, kid.” Xavier blew a stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth and gave Link what appeared to be a genuine smile.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Link said, fluffing up his pillow and wriggling himself underneath the blanket, “I think I’m running late for my first class at the academy. Oh, and I have this rather annoying riddle that needs solving.”
“That you do,” Xavier said, smiling admirably. “That you do.”