The Earth Bound

Copyright © 2020 by Luke Evans.

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Charlie’s Port

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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Cover design © 2020 Fiona Jayde / http://fionajaydemedia.com

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The Earth Bound / Luke Evans

ISBN Print: 978-0-9997510-4-6

ISBN eBook: 978-0-9997510-5-3

Printed in the United States of America for distribution in the U.S. / Canada / UK / Europe / Australia

Chapter I

Two Friends and a Psychopath

Rainy days are my favorites. They just have a certain calm to them. The sounds of raindrops pattering on the walls. The sight of water dripping down the windows. It makes the world outside look like a watercolor. I like watercolors. I like all colors, but them especially.

Daniel! my father yelled from downstairs. Are you going to school today or what?

I groaned. School. The rainy days would be all right if it weren’t for that little issue. I grabbed my backpack and went downstairs to find my dad in the kitchen but froze when I saw what he was doing. I raised an eyebrow. Pancakes?

His head swiveled my way. Yeah. I figured I’d make us some breakfast and drive you to school.

Uh, I was just gonna grab some toast and drive myself. I was honestly a little weirded out. My dad hadn’t offered me pancakes since I was like…eight. At my words, his smile fell a little.

Well, I just thought that maybe I could drive you.

I’ve had my license for over six months now, Dad. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself to school. With that, I grabbed a piece of toast and headed out the door. I didn’t even notice the disappointed look on his face.

I climbed into the front seat of my black Honda Accord and cranked it, but I stopped short when something caught my eye. Looking back at the house, something seemed to shift in the air. It looked vaguely like fog, only much too dark. Almost black. Like a giant shadow. Whatever it was, it was gone the second I blinked, so I decided it must’ve been a trick of the light or maybe the rain. I fastened my seatbelt and backed out of the driveway.

My parents worry a lot. Not that they think anything is wrong with me, even though there is. It’s just their nature to fret, I guess, and they have good reason to. While I drove to school, I thought about the last time my dad offered to make me pancakes. When I thought about it, I was actually seven, not eight. I remember because it was the same week the doctor called and told my parents I have Asperger’s Syndrome. I had trouble making friends. I never thought before I spoke. I fixated on things. He said that I would have difficulty communicating with people or conveying emotions or thoughts. I might develop unusual preoccupations or rituals and that I would exhibit eccentric or repetitive behaviors. Not the best week for the Cohen family.

Things were a little awkward at first but got really bad after Mom and Dad had the big fight. Neither was willing to be alone with the other for at least a month. It would either be hate-filled, fired arguments, or tortured, unbearable silence. Mom would cook dinner and then take a bath or go out; Dad would stay in his study and work; I would stay in my room and draw with my crayons. I always feel better when I’m drawing. I didn’t really understand what was happening. How could I? I was a kid. All I knew for sure was that something was wrong with me. And no matter how much my parents say that isn’t true, or how much Dr. Farrell says that isn’t true, that fact hasn’t changed. I’m different. I’m a freak.

Anyway, it happened on a Thursday morning. Mom was ready to drive me to school and Dad was late for work. He came barreling into the kitchen with his briefcase, his hair hastily brushed and clothes askew. He froze when he saw us. It was the first time all week we had been alone together. For one terrible minute, no one said anything. Didn’t know what to say. But I guess my dad figured that someone had to break the silence. The alternative was waiting for the tension to become so high that the three of us spontaneously combusted.

A-are you two going? he asked.

Yes, was my mom’s only reply.

Well…

I thought my dad was about to melt. I actually had the image of him melting like a Popsicle in my head the entire time.

Well, do you, uh, have to leave now?

We should if we don’t want to be late.

I’m pretty sure that the only thing preventing the pre-mentioned combustion was the subzero look my mom was giving my dad. It would only occur to me later that Dad shouldn’t be late for work either.

Well, maybe we could have some breakfast? I could make some pancakes or something—

You think that’ll help? she asked bluntly. My mom likes to cut to the chase. She always says that beating around the bush is cruel to you, the other person, and the bush. Do you think making some pancakes will make everything okay? Like the fight never happened?

Well what do you want me to do? he asked.

You know what I want, but you said it was stupid! Said it was ‘unnecessary’! Mom’s voice was still icy, but it was melting. Melting because of a fire blazing underneath the frost. Like actually treating your child like a person is idiot talk.

So I don’t treat him like a person then?

NO! You’ve been treating him like…like…

Like what? Come on!

Like a book. A really long book, and you want to skip to the end! But you can’t so you put it on a shelf and pretend like it isn’t there! She was yelling now.

It was me. They were arguing over me. They were both getting so angry, and I was so little, and they looked so big.

So what? You think I’m ignoring him, is that it?

Not ignoring him, Mom replied. Ignoring the problem.

My problem, I thought.

There is no problem!

Yes, there was.

How can you say that?

We’re his parents! There’s nothing wrong with him that we can’t handle ourselves!

Yes, there was.

I NEVER SAID ANYTHING WAS WRONG WITH HIM! Mom yelled.

Yes, she did.

BUT WE’RE NOT DOCTORS, NATHAN! YOU CAN’T SAY EVERYTHING IS FINE! she continued.

All I asked was if you wanted some freaking pancakes!

I had wanted pancakes.

Well we can’t solve it like that! she yelled. Just by sitting down and eating pancakes and ignoring it until it goes away. It’s not going to go away, Nathan! You heard what Dr. Farrell said. He lacks awareness of social norms—

I don’t care what that quack says, there is nothing wrong with my son!

Mommy, Daddy! I yelled. I couldn’t breathe. Please stop! But it was like they didn’t even hear me.

"Of course there’s nothing wrong with him, but there is a problem! He needs extra help that we can’t give him!"

He doesn’t need us to solve anything for him—

Yes, he does. He’s seven, he can’t fix it himself!

I felt tears coming on. It was my fault. They were fighting because I couldn’t fix this.

Please! I cried. Please don’t fight, I’ll do better! I ran and stood in between them so they would see me. To make them hear me. I’ll do better, I promise! It won’t happen again, please stop fighting!

They finally looked at me, like they were just now remembering I was there. They looked at each other with wide eyes for a moment. Then Mom took a breath, grabbed me by the hand and said, Daniel, honey, let’s go to school. She pulled me into the garage.

There was never another fight like that. Every now and again they’d snipe at each other, but other than that, they pretty much raised me in their own ways. It wasn’t for a couple of years that I would actually understand what the fight was about, and exactly what my condition meant, but the gist was still the same. I’m a freak. And my dad never offered us pancakes again. Until this morning, that is.

My eyes started to burn. I reached for a napkin from my backpack and realized that the car wasn’t moving anymore. A spark of panic ignited. Oh crap, I thought. Did I stop the car in the middle of the road? But wait. All the cars around me were stopped too. Was that the sidewalk in front of me? At some point during my flashback, I had made it to the school parking lot. How long had I been sitting there, lost in bitter memories? I got my answer when I heard the sound of the warning bell, signaling that I had five minutes to run to my locker and get to first period. Hastily, I jumped out of my Honda. But just as I closed and locked the door, I stopped cold. Literally.

An ice-cold sensation came over me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. Right down to my bones. It filled me with an overwhelming sense of dread, mingled with excitement and anticipation. Something very important is going to happen soon, it said. Something that will change everything. That’s what this feeling was telling me. It was saying that my life was going to change very soon. And it would never, ever be the same.

I shuddered because I’d never experienced anything like it before, but it was there and it was persistent. I couldn’t shake it, so I ran to my locker in the rain with that feeling stuck in my gut, then sprinted halfway across campus to make it to World History on time. Not exactly the best way to start out my day. I’m lucky that Mr. Clearwood is pretty lax about his punishments, because most of my other teachers would have sent me to the office for busting through the door at the last minute and falling to the floor. But all Clearwood did was tell me to take my seat. People were chuckling at my face-plant, and my cheeks burned as I stood up.

I hate people laughing at me. I feel enough like a freak already, and having people laugh and tease doesn’t help. My stomach swirled as I stood, and I felt my eyes burning. I started to panic. Don’t cry, I thought. Don’t cry! Dudes don’t cry. I hate people laughing at me, but I despise people seeing me cry. But sometimes I can’t help it. Just sit down in your seat, Daniel! Everyone was laughing now, and my legs didn’t seem capable of moving. Move, legs! What’s your problem? I looked at the jeering students for the only face I knew wasn’t laughing.

Daniel? Mr. Clearwood’s voice came through the roar. Take your seat.

What is the matter with you? Can you not hear them? Shut them up! My eyes kept scanning the students’ faces until I found who I was looking for. A pair of shocking silver eyes popped out at me. I knew those eyes all too well. I looked at the boy harboring them. The dark blond, butterscotch-colored hair falling by his ears. The lean build. Nico, I mouthed. He was my only hope. I kept my eyes fixed on him. His face was contorted in worry. He knew I was dying up there. This fear was paralyzing, and he knew it. Please help me, I thought. Help me, Nico, please. My panic was flooding me. Every laugh felt like a punch in the gut. Please!

Then my mind was overcome with a calm thought. A peaceful thought. I looked at Nico as it popped into my head.

It’s okay, the voice said. It was a powerful voice. My friend voice. I always called it that. They can’t hurt you, just sit down. It’s fine. This voice always came to me when I needed it. Always brought me strength and composure when I needed it most. I took a deep breath and forced my legs to move. That’s it. You’re okay. You’re almost there. I collapsed in my seat next to Nico. The class started to settle down, and so did I. Thanks to Nico. I know I should give myself the credit. My friend voice was technically my thoughts. But the thing is, it always sounded exactly like Nico. We’d been best friends ever since we were nine, when he saved me from total embarrassment on the playground.

Hey, he said. You okay?

I turned to look at him and saw his shockingly silver-gray eyes filled with concern. He seemed to be analyzing me. That’s the thing about those eyes. They make you feel like he can see straight through you. His entire body kind of gave off this I’ll be your friend vibe; light skin with rosy undertones, inviting smile. Even his clothes looked kind and non-threatening. Warm colors, modest style. To draw him, I would have to incorporate a lot of soft colors. But his eyes gave the whole image a tinge of lying to me is useless.

Yeah, I said. Yeah, I’m fine.

Nico sighed, like he was hoping I wouldn’t say that. No, you’re not.

Damn. I should have known better than to lie to him. Sometimes, I swore Nico Marshall could read minds.

Well, I will be, I said. That one was true. This kind of thing had happened before. I’d be fine. They’re all jerks.

It’s not just them, he said. Something else is bugging you, isn’t it? Nico never failed to surprise.

It’s…it’s nothing—

Daniel. He cut me off and looked at me with this look he simply loved to throw at me. A look that said you can tell me now, or I can figure it out myself. Your choice. He’d given me that look exactly forty-seven times before. I’d never once chosen the latter.

My…my dad, I began. He, uh. He offered me pancakes this morning.

Nico raised an eyebrow, but then a dawn of realization came upon his face. Oh, right. Of course Nico knew about that week long ago. He was my best friend. He knows everything there is to know about me. Dragged up some bad memories?

Yeah, I answered. But I’ll be okay.

You know it’s not your fault, right?

Yes, yes, so everyone loves telling me, I muttered.

Daniel, you can’t—

Mr. Cohen, Mr. Marshall. Mr. Clearwood’s voice broke us out of our conversation as our heads turned to him. Is there something you’d like to share with us?

We both stood up. Why does the universe hate me today? Nico smirked, which confused me a little.

Well? Clearwood asked.

I know I said that he was lax with his punishments, but if you talk while he’s trying to teach, he will smack you silly. If the school board would let him. If the school board would let him, I’m pretty sure he would string us up in the middle of the classroom while the other students watched, then let us hang there for a few days as examples of why you should respect your teachers.

I remained silent. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

No, sir, Nico said. As usual, he came to my rescue. We were just discussing last night’s homework. I swear, Nico was the most collected person I knew. Sorry if we disrupted class.

Well, just keep quiet and listen to the lesson. Next time, it’s detention.

Yes, sir. We both sat down.

So, what were you saying? I whispered to him.

Shh! he hissed. Didn’t you hear him? Nico didn’t speak for the rest of the class. I couldn’t blame him. He had a job. He couldn’t afford to miss a day because of detention. So, I tried my best to pay attention to the lesson. Not an easy task.

As Mr. Clearwood droned on about Constantine and the Byzantine Empire, I looked out the window next to my desk overlooking the sidewalk next to the building. I caught notice of someone walking in the direction of the attendance building. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t seem like anyone I recognized from school. His hair was dark brown and fell past his ears, down his neck. There was something strange about him. He walked slowly, like he wasn’t really going anywhere, and I felt this strange sense of…familiarity. Like I knew the guy. He also gave off this weird energy. Even through a glass window and brick wall, I felt the heat of his body as if he were standing inches away.

My staring was interrupted by the sound of the bell. Everyone got up and moseyed to their next class. I looked back toward the guy but he was gone. Strange. When I looked down to grab my stuff, I saw that I had a pen in my hand, and on my paper I’d drawn something in the margins. It didn’t really look like anything, just this kind of cloud shape. It was dark and seemed to be swirling and coalescing, with little tendrils of darkness snaking out from it. I got a sort of chill from it but shook it off and crumpled up the paper. Shaking my head, I gathered my things and left. Nico caught up with me in the hall.

Like I was saying, he picked up as if nothing had happened. You can’t blame yourself for the way you are. You were born with your condition.

Yeah, and because of it, I have no friends other than you.

Oh, come on. Hayley’s your friend.

Hayley’s nice to me because she’s your girlfriend.

Not true!

If you hadn’t started dating, she never would’ve spoken to me, and you know it.

Hey, he exclaimed. What do we say about that whole ‘little spot in the background’ mindset of yours? I used to tell Nico I felt like a little spot in the background of everything. There and visible but not really noticeable or important. He never let it go.

It’s all in my head, I mocked.

That’s right, and don’t be such a smartass! The warning bell went off again. I gotta get to woodshop, I’ll catch up with you at lunch.

Okay, I said. I marveled at the fact that, no matter how crappy my day was, Nico could cheer me right up. But I hated complaining about my parents to him. I didn’t really have any right, considering his own home life. See, Nico’s mother is sick. She has a really serious brain tumor. She’d been sick for three years before she had this huge stroke that left her brain-dead, and she’s been on life support for almost five years. Despite the doctor’s insistence that it’s time to pull the plug, Nico and his dad are adamant about keeping her as is until they find a way to make her better. His dad is like an advertising exec and makes plenty of money, but with hospital bills, house bills, food, school, and everything, Nico has had to work ever since he was twelve to help get money. Luckily, he’s tall and big, so he managed to convince his boss at the coffee shop that he was fifteen. Nico acted fine about it all, like he accepted the situation, but at times I could tell how much it hurt him. Like whenever I went with him to visit her in the hospital, even I couldn’t help but notice the pain in his eyes.

It occurred to me that if I didn’t get moving, I’d be late for second period, and Nico wouldn’t be there to save me. With a sigh, I sprinted to British Literature. Fun.

Fun isn’t exactly the right word. But I suppose the class could’ve been worse. I managed to survive physics and Spanish, but all day I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen soon. Something huge. Whatever it was, I tried my best to shake it off by fifth period.

Today was a special day. The second Wednesday of the month. Which meant I had to go to the school guidance counselor to talk about my feelings, give a rundown of how I was coping with my condition and give a tearful confession of my inner turmoil. But before all of that good fun, I’d have to wait outside Ms. Fairchild’s office with the other depressed kids. And of course, I’d sit alone, dying slowly of discomfort until she called me in to finish me off. Honestly, it was a pretty inspired form of torture.

I walked into the front office and shuffled toward the bench. I stopped short when I saw who was sitting there. Leo Rivers. Only the scariest kid in all of Spirit Ridge.

He moved here that summer, so he’d been going to school for a few months. People feared him from day one. He wears all black, loose-fitting clothes, and his hair is this flat black color that looks like soot. It’s unruly, as if he long ago decided that brushing it was too much of a hassle. It falls down almost to his eyes, which (surprise, surprise) are black. Obsidian. Stony, hard, and cold, almost like he has coals for eyes. Everything about him is black, except his skin, which is shockingly pale alabaster. It looks like pure snow against the rest of him. I could draw him easily with only blacks and whites. Tall and gangling, Leo Rivers is a scary dude.

He’s been arrested twice for vandalism, is rarely seen without a cigarette in his hand, and teachers have found booze in his locker three times. But the thing about Leo that sends most people running in the opposite direction is the look he always has on his face. As if his face is a big lump of white coal that will blaze like an inferno if hit with a little spark. That’s the part that would be difficult to capture on paper. The intensity of his sensitive and dangerous eyes. I would probably go with a charcoal drawing. On the nose? Maybe. But it would capture the whole thing a lot better. Maybe all black and white, but fiery red for the eyes. That would be cool.

Seeing him, my blood ran cold. I really, really didn’t want to sit there with him and wait for Ms. Fairchild to call one of us in. I looked to the other bench, and there sat a beautiful girl with wavy golden hair that came down to her elbows. Her skin was flawless with a peaches and cream complexion, picture-perfect teeth, and heavily lined hazel eyes with thick mascara. She was dressed in trendy clothes, like she had just walked off the cover of a fashion magazine. Any drawing of her would probably have her posing like a model. She was certainly slim enough to walk down a runway. Her name is Natalie Duke. The richest and most popular girl at Spirit Ridge High School. Popular in the Mean Girls kind of way, though, where no one really likes you but everyone secretly wishes they were you. She was applying makeup. Then clicking her tongue, removing it and reapplying.

Who to sit with? Natalie was looking a lot better than Leo. I was less likely to get burned with a cigarette lighter. But what would I say? Silently praying to die seemed like a good option. I would have to sit down at some point. Or I could just stand until Fairchild came to get me. My legs were already locking up in terror, though, and I really didn’t want to face-plant twice in one day. But then another person caught my eye. A girl with bright emerald eyes. Oval face, light-olive skin, and a mane of curly black hair. More of an athletic physique than Natalie. Strange, considering I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen her exercise. I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved to see Hayley Rutter in my entire life. The second I saw her claim a spot on the bench next to Leo, I muttered sold and sat next to her but on the side away from him.

Hey, I said.

Her bright green eyes turned my way.

Hey, Hayley said with a smile. You too?

Yep, I said dryly. Can’t tell you how glad I am you came in.

Because your alternatives are Spirit Ridge Barbie or Frankenstein’s felon?

I chuckled and smiled sheepishly. Natalie and Leo both shot glares at us, and my stomach dropped.

Oh, come on, Hayley whispered. You can say it. I won’t tell.

I guess, I said uncomfortably. Maybe…

That’s Hayley for you. She won’t hesitate to tell you how she feels right in front of your face. And she will force you to do the same. The only thing she’d never say to me is the real reason we’re friends. She would never admit it to save her life, but she only talks to me because she’s madly in love with Nico. Otherwise, she never would’ve taken notice of my existence.

Man, I hate guidance counselors, she said. They bring us in here and they talk to us like broken toys that they’ve been hired to fix. I mean, I once walked into a guidance counselor’s office, and she said she was going to ‘work on me.’ Work on me! What am I? A Buick? Like she was going to fix my ‘emotional problems’ with power tools. I swear…

We talked like that for a while. Or, she talked, and I nodded along, smiling and laughing when appropriate. Being around Hayley is slightly similar to living the Fourth of July every day. Always noise and excitement, and every chance someone might get a third-degree burn. Her color scheme consists of black leather jackets with some kind of party color underneath, almost always with a profane or dirty slogan on it. To her, the school dress code consists mainly of fashion tips, not actual rules. Fashion tips she prudently ignores.

To draw her, there would probably be sparks flying in the background with a lot of sharp accents. It would give off this air of I will do whatever I want. We kept talking until Leo was called. I turned to Hayley, expecting some comment about Fairchild coming out with no eyebrows, but her expression had turned grave and she was staring at the door.

Hey. Hayley, are you okay?

She snapped out of her trance and looked at me. Yeah, totally. But she definitely didn’t sound okay. Then she did something I did not expect. She glanced at Natalie, who’d looked up from her cell phone to look at the door. Her expression was identical to Hayley’s. They exchanged a knowing look, and all of a sudden, the air shifted. Like there was this invisible barrier between Hayley and me that connected her to Natalie. Something passed between them. Something that worried them both and kept me on the outside. Just like always.

A wave of bitter resentment filled me. Daniel Cohen, always just outside the group. Forever out of the loop. Never anybody’s first choice. NO! I thought. Stop it! No self-pity. I hated feeling sorry for myself. Shut up and deal. That was my motto. Bottle