Breath of Divinity

It was almost noon when Timothy finally woke. He pulled off his blanket and stretched, his bones popping in an oddly satisfying way as he did, and he wondered briefly how he had ever managed to sleep through the racket being made outside. The early-summer sun was blazing through the half-drawn curtain, the neighbour’s lawnmower was on, filling the air with a loud buzzing, droning noise, and he could hear the sound of raised voices having a very heated argument just beyond his window.

Blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, he reached around for his glasses perched on his bedside table. They were large, black and broad, slashed with strokes of brown across the rim. He didn’t particularly like them, but his mother had insisted that he wear them, despite his numerous pleas to get one a little more fashionable.

With a small sigh, he fitted them onto the bridge of his nose and the room came into clearer focus. On the other side of the room he could see himself reflected in the dresser mirror, clad in a plain grey T-shirt that was too large for him and Spider-Man themed shorts.

A pair of dark blue jeans were strung across the door, and the table in the corner of the room had been haphazardly stocked with everything from clean (and potentially some dirty) laundry and a few books he had procured from the local library, which he had promised himself he would get a start on soon though had never gotten the chance. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t interested. He was, but he could not explain to himself why he hadn’t picked one up in all this time. He simply had no motivation to do so.

Tim climbed out of bed, stumbling a bit on the rugged carpet as the last vestiges of sleep left his body. He ambled downstairs into the living room, which was much darker than his bedroom, owing to all the curtains being drawn. Stifling a huge yawn, Tim moved towards the refrigerator, where a handwritten note had been pinned against the smooth black metal using a small magnet.

It was written in what was clearly hastily scribbled cursive, in the hand he knew as his mother’s.

Morning Tim. Sorry, I had to go in to work today. Vanessa had to take Eli to the hospital so I had to cover her shift. He hasn’t been well for a while and he collapsed earlier today. Hopefully it’s nothing serious. Dinner is in the fridge, you can just reheat it in the oven, and I left some money in the upstairs chester drawer if you need anything else. Oh and the chore list is on the counter, I know it’s the start of the holidays but please see what you can do.

A frown crossed Timothy’s face as he finished reading the note. Vanessa Wilson was one of his mother’s co-workers and her oldest friend. They had known each other since high school, and he and Vanessa’s eldest son Charles were also good friends.

Eli was his younger brother, and while not as close as he and Charles, he did quite like Eli. Hopefully it was as his mother had wished and it was nothing serious.

Tim’s eyes flicked back to the bottom of the note, then did a quick sweep of the counter. Sure enough, there was another note, written much more neatly and held in place by a small metal weight. There were twenty items in all, including stuff like: washing the dishes; scrubbing the sink; taking out the trash; doing the laundry; and watering the garden. Timothy set the paper down with a sigh and pulled out a bottle of milk and a half-eaten box of fruit loops.

So his mother had to go to work on an unscheduled day, and his father was out of town on a business trip. That left him alone, for potentially the whole weekend.

It wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened, but he couldn’t say it was something he enjoyed. Most other teenagers he knew would have killed for the opportunity to be left alone for the whole weekend, but Tim could never see the appeal. For one, it meant having to deal with lengthy chore lists like this. Tim sighed again, emptied the fruit loops into the bowl, and began to wolf down his breakfast. If he was going to tackle this list it would be better to get started as soon as possible.

And then, a truly strange thought crossed his mind as he swallowed another mouthful of cereal, one that had never occurred to him before. Perhaps a chore list like this wouldn’t have been as bad if he had had someone else to divide the work with. Being an only child had never bothered Tim before, but he couldn’t say that he wasn’t at least somewhat intrigued by the idea of having siblings.

“You don’t even know where you’re going, do you?”

“Of course I do. We just have to take another left here… Or is it a right?”

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” said Alan Whitmore, throwing one hand into the air. “I just need to take another look at the map, that’s all.” He pulled over and unfolded the enormous, ancient-looking piece of parchment he had stopped to review several times over the course of their three-hour journey. “If we just had a more recent map, we wouldn’t have had any issues.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely the map that’s the problem.”

“How about we save the sarcastic quips for after we reach our destination, huh?”

Jonathan folded his arms and stared out the window at the neighborhood beyond. They were completely lost. Several times he had asked his father if he was completely sure they were on the right path, and whether it wouldn’t be more sensible to ask for directions instead of following a map that looked as old as time itself, but his father had brushed aside each interjection, stating confidently that he was positive they were on the right track. Now they were pulled over on the side of the road in a town they knew nothing about.

At least it looked pleasant. The houses here were rather small and square, but the lawns were well kept and the paint jobs were fresh and aesthetically pleasing.

Quite a few people were outside, some simply lounging on their porches, others carrying out an array of different tasks like mowing the lawn, washing cars or conversing with neighbours.

“Ah, I’ve got it!” said Jonathan’s father. “There. We are currently… in a town called Fleming Crescent. Kind of a silly name, don’t you think?” He grinned, clearly hoping to find some kind of mutual enjoyment to break the tension, but Jonathan merely stared at him. His father cleared his throat and continued, “The place we’re headed is called Wetland Heights. It’s about another two or so hours from where we are.”

Jonathan groaned. “Dad, I’m starving. If we have to spend another few hours in this bucket of bolts, can we at least get something to eat first?”

Alan Whitmore sighed. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Well, there’s a burger shack nearby.”

“How do you know there’s a burger shack here if you’ve never been here before?”

Jonathan pointed outside, where a large sign hung to their far left, where the words “Leroy’s Burger Shack” were written in large scarlet lettering.

“Oh.” Looking embarrassed, Alan waved a hand at his son. “You go on. Bring me back a cheeseburger, I’ll wait here and try to figure out this map.” He handed his son a few bills and Jonathan exited the car, glad to be back in the cool, fresh air.

It was the start of the Summer holidays and his father, who had been dropping hints in the weeks prior that he wanted to spend more father-son time together, had finally popped the question of going for a brief camping trip in a nearby town. Most unfortunately, Jonathan’s own friends all had plans to travel for the break, or had engaged in other activities that would take up most of their time. Besides, a part of Jonathan — a part that had been firmly quelled by the awful turn of events that had taken place recently — had been in agreement with his father that they had certainly been drifting apart what with his extremely demanding job and Jonathan preparing for his end of term tests. So he had agreed, and three hours earlier they had packed their bags and drove off into the early morning sun.

Neither of them had had any idea that the next three hours would include a series of back-to-back inconveniences, like running out of gas on the highway despite the needle very clearly pointing at F when they had driven off; getting stuck in a gas station line for nearly forty five minutes; the trunk randomly bursting open and spilling most of their supplies onto the road; and, most recently and most irritating of all, discovering that the road they had intended to take was blocked and having to resort to the dusty old map in the dashboard drawer to find a new path to take.

All in all, it certainly wasn’t anything like either of them had expected. Now they were pulled over in this quaint but strange little neighbourhood, which despite never setting foot in this place before, felt slightly nostalgic.

It was like the face of someone he had known fleetingly in youth, that had changed due to the passage of time, but still bore resemblance to the people he once knew. But he didn’t know any of these people, and that he knew for a fact given how some of them were staring at him. He had observed this kind of behaviour before, how people often reacted to outsiders, but being on the experiencing end was far worse. The way they were looking at him, it was as if he was something unpleasant they usually found stuck to the bottom of their shoes that had gained the ability to walk. Jonathan turned away, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the ring on his finger as he walked.

It was a small hoop of solid gold — real gold — with a tiny sapphire twinkling in the center.

It had once belonged to his mother, who had passed it onto him when he was younger, several years before she passed away. He had worn it ever since. It gave him a sense of security; he couldn’t explain it, but the way he felt when he wore it was similar to the few times he remembered being wrapped in her arms, as if she was still there beside him. Jonathan chuckled as he remembered when he had once tried to barter the ring for a new action figure and his mother went ballistic.

Jonathan had never seen her so angry before, not even on the occasion when he had accidentally taken a baseball bat to the brand new TV they had bought only three days prior.

Since then, it had almost never left his finger. As far as he was concerned it was as much a part of his body as his arm was.

The line to Leroy’s Burger Shack dwindled slowly. There were only two workers at the front, who looked extremely harassed, darting back and forth into the kitchen as angry customers hurled curses after them. The Shack itself was nothing special, small and shabby, with a dull paint job and furniture that looked as old as the map his father was still struggling to read. But the food smelled delicious. Finally, after what felt like hours, Jonathan was at the front.

He quickly scanned the menu and made his decision, placing his order for a regular Number 1 combo and a cheeseburger as his father had requested. While the cashier entered the order details, Jonathan felt a strange prickling feeling on the back of his neck, the same kind one sometimes had when someone was glaring at you from behind.

Jonathan turned around — and sure enough there was a man on the other side of the glass, looking in through the windows. He was wearing a black leather jacket, with a head of bright brown hair cut taper style, and a pair of pale blue eyes so bright they may have been cut from real aquamarines. He was looking right at Jonathan, those unnaturally bright blue eyes fixed in an eerie, unblinking stare.

“Sir?” said the cashier, not even bothering to hide his exasperation. “Your receipt?”

“What?” Jonathan started, wheeling around. “Oh, yeah. Sorry I just — I saw some guy staring at me.”

“What guy?” sighed the cashier.

“That guy.” But as Jonathan looked around, he saw that the man was gone. “But… he was right there…”

“Sure he was. Next in line!”

The cashier thrust his receipt at him and someone shoved him aside as they pushed to the front. Jonathan moved to the other side of the room, awaiting his order, glancing back outside to see whether or not the man was still out there. But he didn’t reappear. At last, his number was called and the server provided him with a large brown paper bag with a giant L that had a smiling face. Jonathan left the Shack at high speed and hurried into the car.

“Just in time too! I finally figured out the map! You okay, Jonny?” His father peered at him, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, handing his father his burger. “Can we take these to go please? I don’t like this place.”

Mr. Whitmore clearly had more questions, but didn’t pursue the matter. Instead he kicked the engine into ignition and the scarlet Honda shot off down the road, a slight rumbling sound emanating from the underside of the vehicle.

Timothy ripped off his gloves with a loud snapping sound and tossed them onto the dining table, sinking heavily into one of the chairs. He poured himself a glass of water and sighed, then glanced at the chore list. It had taken him four hours, but he had finally completed most of his tasks. The dishes were washed and stacked away, the living room had been tidied, three loads of laundry had been washed and folded, and even the garden had been pruned. He was exhausted.

Sweat trickled down his face and his chest was heaving. It was the same set of chores that he did everyday, but regardless of how much practice he had they still had the same effect.

Absentmindedly he removed his glasses; sweat was beading onto the lenses. It happened for just a brief moment, but the instant the spectacles were removed from his face he heard a soft rushing noise, like something small and unseen was whooshing past his ear. Aside from when he had to sleep, there were very few times where he needed to remove his glasses, but whenever he did there was still a slight but noticeable difference. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he felt lighter somehow, as if a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying had been temporarily lifted from his shoulders.

For a few minutes he sat there, staring through the window and listening to the neighbours still arguing. They had been going at it since the moment he had woken up, pausing here and there and then resuming with even more passion. From what Timothy could gather, the “nephew” that had moved in a few weeks ago wasn’t really a long lost family member.

An intricate array of swear words had just crossed the air when he saw something else that made him hastily put his glasses back on. A car was coming up down the street, but the way it was moving… something was off. It was swerving from side to side, movements jerky and erratic. The car struggled up the road for a few more seconds, then came to an abrupt halt. Two people emerged from the vehicle, coughing, as black smoke billowed up through the windows. One of them seemed to be rather close to Timothy in age, give or take a few years. He was tall and lean, with dark brown hair pushed back across his forehead and a fierce scowl on his face.

The other seemed to be his father, although there wasn’t much resemblance between them. The man was blond and curly-haired, with deeper-toned skin and a rounder jaw. But then again, Timothy thought suddenly, what did he know about genetics? If someone saw him and his father side-by-side they would probably have thought the same thing.

Timothy shrugged and returned to his seat. Whatever was happening outside wasn’t his business. He had just pulled the chore list back towards him and was doing a quick review of the ones he had left over when he heard something that shocked him more than anything he had heard from his arguing neighbours all evening: the doorbell rang. Bewildered, wondering who would possibly be at his door at this time of day, Tim got to his feet and strode towards the door, then pulled it open.

“Hi,” said the very man he had just watched emerge from the broken down car, smiling rather awkwardly. “We were just having a bit of car trouble. Do you mind if we borrowed your phone for a bit?”

“Uh,” Timothy spluttered, his eyes moving from the father to his still-scowling son, whose arms were folded and whose eyes were glaring at the house further down the street. “Y-yeah, sure.”

“You’re a godsend,” said the man, clasping his hands together briefly. He wiped his shoes on the doormat and entered along with his son, who was still staring everywhere but in front of him. “I don’t even know what happened. One minute everything was going fine and the next, the damn thing starts billowing up smoke.”

“Yeah, everything was going so fine, wasn’t it?”

Timothy looked up to see the boy’s father shoot him an angry glance, but the boy didn’t look at him. His eyes were still sweeping the entire room.

“Here you go.” Timothy handed him the wireless receiver.

“Thank you,” the father said, and as he dialed a number he continued, “We were just heading out for a short trip but I guess the universe had other plans. Oh I’m sorry, here we are barging into your home and we haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m Alan Whitmore, and this is my son Jonathan. ”

“I’m Tim,” he said. “Tim Bryant.”

The father stopped abruptly, finger frozen above the dialing button. He looked up, a very strange expression on his face. “Bryant? You wouldn’t be related to a Tony Bryant, would you?”

“Yes, actually. He’s my dad. Are you a friend of his?”

Mr. Whitmore paled. His son cast a glance at him, eyebrow raised. The man smiled and hastily returned the phone. “You know what, thanks for your help but never mind, I think I know what the problem is. Come on, Jonny.”

“Wait what, but you just said you didn’t —”

“I know what I said, but I’m saying now that we have to go. Once again I appreciate your help, Tim, but we really should be moving on.”

“Uh — sure. Yeah, I’ll tell my dad you stopped by.”

“No! I mean… that’s not necessary, I’ll reach out to him.”

“What is the matter with you?” said Jonathan. “Why are you acting so weird?”

Tim had to commend his bravery — he could never have spoken to his parents like that.

“We don’t have time to argue,” Mr. Whitmore insisted. “Let’s go!”

Jonathan opened his mouth to argue some more, but before he had even got the words out, something strange began to happen. For the first time Tim noticed a small gold ring at his finger, topped with a chink of sapphire that was glowing. No, not glowing, it was pulsating, blinking brighter and brighter like the indicator of a car.

“What the —?” the boy gasped, flashing his hand furiously. Timothy gasped too, then realized that another pulsing light was flashing in the room, this one scarlet — and coming from his own glasses. He noticed it as he looked into the mirror beside him, the small studs around the rim flashing. Without thinking, Tim threw off the glasses, which landed with a thud but miraculously did not break.

The glasses stopped glowing, and so did the ring. And for the first time since his guests had entered, the son looked directly into Tim’s eyes.

They did not speak, but instead gaped at each other, jaws hanging open.

“This is not good,” Mr. Whitmore mumbled, and they both turned to look at him. “This is not good.”

“What are you talking about?” his son demanded. “What is going on?”

“Your questions are going to have to wait, Jonny. We need to leave now and get somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” Jonathan’s face was a mask of sheer disbelief. “Safe from what?”

“I’ll explain later, for right now —”

But Jonathan turned on his heel and sank down into the dining chair that Timothy had been sitting in only a few minutes ago, crossed his arms and glared at his father. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

Mr. Whitmore and his son stared daggers at each other. Timothy’s eyes swiveled from one to the other, neither one appearing to relent any time soon. But at last, Mr. Whitmore let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but we’ll have to skip over a few details. I don’t have the time to tell you the whole story. Pull up a chair too,” he added, looking at Tim, his expression deathly serious. “This concerns you too.”