The Broken by Sean Michael Frawley

your grandmum at home sipping tea again before you know it."

  43

  Raythuse

  Later the same evening, Link, Ayden, Celia and Mr. Hartkins huddled together in the mashed-up remains of the kitchen. Celia and Ayden found two stools that were still intact. The rest stood around the island.

  Mr. Hartkins handed Celia a plate with two slices of pepperoni pizza. "Celia, I've phoned your parents, but there's no answer. Any idea where they might be? Is there another number where I can reach them? It's getting kind of late," he said as he peered past the silver strips of duct tape he had used to patch up the kitchen window.

  "You're welcome to stay, of course, but won't they be worried? I'd hate for them to find out about the attack from the evening news. In a small town like this, a home invasion by a polar bear has got to be newsworthy."

  Celia held a cool glass of lemonade in one hand and her pink cell phone in the other. "I'm not worried," she said as she pocketed the phone. "My mom knows where she can find me. As for my dad, he's out of town on business. I have no idea where." She reached for a packet of cheese and sprinkled it on top of her pizza. "I'm sure he told me, but he's gone every week. Always someplace new. I haven't paid attention in, like, forever."

  "But what if your mother doesn't have our number? Will she be upset if she comes home to find you missing?" Mr. Hartkins asked.

  "You honestly think my mom doesn't have your number? You have met her, right?" She took a bite of pizza.

  "True." He nodded, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You're probably right. I just don't want her to worry."

  "She won't. Anyway, I left a message on her cell phone ages ago. She'll get it when she checks her missed calls. Her phone is always off when she's on the course. Says it has to do with golf etiquette or something. Don't know, don't care." Celia took a bite of pizza. "She thinks it's fine to whip out a phone and gossip with a friend while driving eighty miles per hour in a three-thousand pound piece of machinery, but heaven forbid somebody interrupt her backswing." Celia rolled her eyes. "What about you, Mr. Hartkins? Do you like golf? Personally, I think it's a lame sport for people who can't run fast enough to play anything else."

  Link's dad looked uncertain about when to respond. Every time Celia paused, she would start talking again before he had the chance to say anything. Link found it amusing to watch somebody else deal with her for a change. He listened to Celia chattering away as if nothing had happened. She certainly was amazing.

  Tom, on the other hand, hadn't said a word since Dansby's departure. He sat stoically on the living room couch and stewed. Occasionally, he took a sip of tea from his over-sized coffee mug. But mainly he just stared at the smashed remains of the television, a faraway look in his eyes.

  Link found it hard to care what Tom was thinking. He'd been a jerk since the moment he had arrived. Still, to be fair, no matter how Link traced the series of events back to the beginning, he found only himself to blame. If he hadn't moved here...if he hadn't found the camera...if Tom had been the Chosen and not him...if he hadn't pissed off Fade...none of this might have happened.

  Link gritted his teeth and sat down next to Tom on the couch, debating what to say. What do you tell a guy who has just lost his grandmother? After a while he gave up trying to find something relevant. "Anything good on?"

  "Funny," Tom said and took another sip of his tea.

  Link noticed for the first time how dirty Tom was. His jeans were badly ripped, his shoes were scuffed, and his shirt had a large, greasy stain on the side. Was that dried blood on his arm?

  "Feel free to use the washroom, Tom. There are some fresh towels in the linen closet next to the towel rack."

  "What's the point?"

  Finally Tom was speaking a language Link understood ? depression. After months of practice, sitting in almost the same place as Tom, Link knew exactly what to do: change the subject. "Who is Max?"

  "They won't stop, you know. And they can be anything, anywhere. How do you fight that? You can't. That's how."

  It was quickly apparent to Link that cheering people up wasn't one of his not-so-superpowers. And even though Link hated to admit it, Tom was right. They were all doomed. It was only a matter of time. Soon he too found himself staring at the fractured glass of the TV screen. Tom had been right about this as well. For some reason it was oddly comforting.

  Then, without warning, Tom's melancholy shifted, and he flew into a rage. "If you weren't such a klutz, maybe we'd still have the camera. None of this would have happened if it weren't for you!"

  "Knock it off, Watcher," Celia interrupted as she walked into the room. "It's not Link's fault. I'm sorry about your grandmother, but you're being a ninny. If you have to find someone to blame, blame Raythuse." She sat on the chair and placed her drink on the floor beside her. "Do you have any coasters, Link?"

  Link looked around at what remained of the living room. "I don't think a tiny water stain would really matter at this point. Besides...Tom is right. What if Raythuse comes back? Maybe you should go to the neighbor's until you have somewhere else to stay."

  Unfazed, Celia said, "Why do you assume Raythuse is a guy? Doesn't it depend on the body it chooses? I mean, say it picked a woman's body, should we rename it Rayetta, or Raye-Raye? Or is Raythuse the name no matter what? I guess one name would make more sense. If Raythuse kept changing bodies, it would be pretty confusing to change names as well."

  "What am I talking about? Celia threw up her arms playfully. "Raythuse has to be a guy. Polar bear, mangy mutt, those aren't chic outer garments in any modern culture. So last century. Any self-respecting girl-Skia would know that. Assuming Raythuse was in charge of wardrobe, I think it's safe to assume he isn't a woman. Maybe if the monsters had attacked us in a nice leopard print, then maybe-"

  "Do you ever shut up?" Tom sounded mad, but even he was unable to maintain a straight face as he listened to Celia prattle on. He leaned back and tried to hide his smile. It wasn't easy to stay mad at Celia for long, even for Tom.

  Celia did the same thing she always did when someone was being mean she ignored them and kept on talking. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of silence whenever I choose to be quiet, just as I am perfectly capable of wearing shades of neon yellow. The fact that the good Lord blessed me with enough sense to avoid such things doesn't mean I'm not capable."

  "You? Capable of silence?" Tom queried.

  For the time being, the mood in the room relaxed. The future was bleak, and a part of Link still worried about what had become of Mrs. Kidacki and whether or not Panch would pull through. And yet, as he listened to the spirited banter between his two friends, he realized something. Something that, should he live long enough for it to matter, he would try his best to remember the next time despair threatened to swallow him whole. Isolation and anger, even if they were justifiable, did not contain an ounce of the healing offered by laughter and friendship. Maybe he wasn't the Chosen because of anything special he possessed within himself. Maybe the reason Link was a Chosen was because of the collective abilities of the people around him, the people he cared about.

  Link felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down to find his baby brother.

  "Where Daddy?" Ayden said.

  "I thought he was in the kitchen with you."

  What was up with people lately? Didn't anyone know it was rude to leave a room without saying something? Link was uncertain whether such behavior truly constituted a breach of etiquette, but after the events of today, he figured it should.

  Interrupting a heated discussion about the gender bias of mythology between Tom and Celia, Link said, "Excuse me, guys. I'll be back. I need to talk with my dad for a minute."

  Both Celia and Tom nodded curtly and continued their argument.

  After finding nothing on the main floor, the two brothers headed upstairs. When they reached the top staircase, Link heard the faint murmur of their father's voice but could not hear anyone's response. Link assumed he must be talking on the phone. r />
  He quietly pushed open the door to his father's room so as not to disturb his father's conversation. To his surprise, his father was not on the phone as he had expected. Instead, he was kneeling on the soft carpet next to his bed. His forehead rested on a checkered coverlet. His eyes were clinched shut, and he was speaking downward as if he were addressing a bug on the floor.

  "Please, Lord. Don't take my sons from me. I'll do anything you ask of me. Just keep them safe. Please. Don't make them endure what their mother went through. Take me instead. I'll do anything you want. Anything."

  Link took a step back, trying not to make any noise. This was definitely not a conversation he wanted to be a part of. All he had to do was close the door without his father noticing, and he could pretend that he'd never heard a thing.

  He took another step but before he could reach the door knob, Ayden released his hand, ran over to their father, and draped himself around his father's shoulders like a shawl.

  "Don't," Link hissed as he tried to catch him. But it was too late.

  His father looked up, surprised. "How long have you two been listening?" There was no trace of accusation in his voice, only concern.

  "Long enough," Link shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "You know more about what's going on than you're telling us, don't you?"

  Link's father rose to his feet and lifted Ayden onto the bed. Then he sat down beside him and patted