A Mirrors Beginning Read online

  “Hey!” John grabbed the shoulder of the heavier one of the bullies, jerking him backward. The other snapped his head in John’s direction, flaring his nostrils.

  “This doesn’t concern you,” he snarled.

  “Leave the kid alone,” John growled.

  The heavier kid swung at him. John ducked and the bully’s fist hit the locker. He groaned, shaking out his hand. John punched him hard in the gut. The bully wheezed as he held his stomach and fell to the ground. The skinnier teenager decked him in the jaw, knocking John into the locker. He brought his knee to his attacker’s sternum and clubbed him hard in the back. As he went down, John kicked him hard in the ribs. Both guys curled up in a ball to protect themselves.

  John wiped blood dripping from a cut on his lip, looking down at the younger kid. “Are you okay?”

  With big eyes, the boy nodded. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen. He had a terrible bowl haircut, khaki pants, and a blue button-up shirt which had been pulled out of his pants. John didn’t recognize him.

  Poor kid, John thought. Probably just started here.

  “Th … thank you,” the boy stuttered.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Caleb.”

  “Hey, Caleb. I’m John.”

  Caleb smiled gratefully as John pulled him away from the locker and picked up his book bag. The main office door several feet down swung open and the fat, balding principal walked briskly up to them.

  “Brooks!” He bellowed.

  “Mr. Pritchard, I can explain -”

  “Of course you can. You can always explain. In my office.” Principal Pritchard pointed his sausage-like finger toward the office. “Now!”

  John placed his feet on the principal’s desk while he was read the riot act. Mr. Pritchard knocked his feet off, sitting down on the spot where his feet had been.

  “I don’t get you, Brooks. You’re a bright kid. Why are you always fighting?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “You could have a future, but you’re just wasting away the brains God gave you.”

  “Then God should’ve given me weaker fists.”

  Mr. Pritchard narrowed his eyes, bending down to get in John’s face. John leaned forward, mirroring the sour look on the principal’s face.

  “It really is a shame. You have such potential.”

  “Isn’t it your job to unlock potential?”

  The smell of peppermint and tobacco filled John’s nose when Mr. Pritchard snorted.

  “Boy, one day, your mouth is going to get you into trouble your fists can’t fight your way out of. And then what?”

  “I’ll look back on this day with fond memories and wonder why I didn’t listen.”

  “Get the hell out of my office!”

  ~#~

  John kept his head down the rest of the school day. Back at the group home, however, he wasn’t so lucky. He entered the room he shared with three others his age and set his book bag down. He looked over to see his three roommates, Michael, Robert, and Russell, gathered in a huddle on Robert’s bed.

  “What are you guys looking at?” John asked.

  Their three heads snapped up and started shuffling around on the bed. “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.” John started over to them.

  “Seriously, man. Be cool,” Michael said.

  “I am cool. What are you up to?”

  Russell moved to position himself behind Robert. Michael pressed his shoulder into Robert’s, creating a united front so John couldn’t see what Russell was doing. He grabbed Robert by the collar of his shirt, throwing him to the ground. Michael tried to lunge over Russell but it was too late. John had seen what they were hiding. His drawing pad lay open on the bedspread. Colored pencils rolled on top of the paper, accentuating the marks they made on his picture.

  “You have no right!” John yelled, punching Russell in the jaw. He snatched the pad from underneath Michael. The top page ripped when Michael tried to stop him.

  Russell growled, knocking John off the bed. Before John could get to his feet, Russell was on top, wildly throwing punches. His nails raked against John’s cheek, drawing blood. The two teenagers rolled around on the bed, trading blows, until several of the employees came in and pulled them apart. John could feel his bottom lip and right eye start to swell. His knuckles were bleeding and his jaw hurt. His opponent was hurt far worse. Blood poured out of Russell’s nose. He had a cut under his left eye and his right was swelling as well. Russell was spitting blood out of his mouth by the time John was dragged kicking and screaming from the bedroom by three men.

  He was tossed in the group showers and the cold water was turned on. John tried to stand but one of the guards kicked him on the back of his knees, making him fall forward.

  “You stay there until you cool off!”

  John winced as the freezing water hit his face and knuckles. He growled but the guards shook their heads, crossing their arms over their chest.

  “Don’t even think about it, boy.”

  A few minutes later, he was given a towel to dry off and escorted to the director’s office.

  Chase Parker was a tall, thin man with beady brown eyes, a long, pointy nose and thin lips. He sighed as John was brought in and forced down into a chair.

  “John, why am I not surprised you’re here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fighting at school today and you immediately pick a fight --”

  “I didn’t pick a fight,” John spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Russell would beg to differ. He lost a tooth because of you.”

  “Good. He deserved it.”

  “Now, John. No one deserves to be hit.”

  “He ruined my pad!”

  Chase closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He swore under his breath, shaking his head.

  The only possession John had, other than a handful of clothes and his school books, was the drawing pad. He kept it under his pillow. It was his only escape from the harsh realities of his life. He had been working on a comic about a boy who gets special abilities after being abandoned by his mother. However, the most recent picture wasn’t of his comic.

  The picture the three guys were messing with was one he had been working on for a few days. It was a family portrait of sorts. An image in his head of a six-year-old John, seven-year-old Logan and Seth, and a four-year-old Elizabeth. The four of them standing together. The only family he had left was in that drawing.

  And they had destroyed it with colored pencils.

  “I’m ready to wash my hands of you, boy. I’ve tried with you. I tried to show you a different way to be.”

  “I don’t want your way,” John murmured.

  “And what do you want? To die out on the streets with nothing but the shirt on your back? A shirt, by the way, I gave you.”

  “Only because the court ordered you! Don’t act so high and mighty.”

  “You should be grateful for everything I’ve done for you, John.”

  “Yeah, right.” John rolled his eyes. “Thank you for reminding me every day I’m nothing. Thank you for showing me time after time I’m worthless.”

  John kicked the chair backwards, storming out of the office. Hot tears stung his eyes as he ran down the hallway. No one was in his bedroom as he rushed in. The door bounced off the wall with a bang when he flung it open. He dumped his school books on his bed, stuffing what little clothes he had in his backpack. His hands shook as he picked up the torn drawing pad, collecting his pencils and placing it in his bag. He went into the kitchen, filling the bag to the top with whatever nonperishable foods he could find. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a leather jacket hanging on a back of a kitchen chair. He flung it over his shoulder and walked out of the group home with his head held high.

  Chapter Three

  Sunlight streamed through the dirty windows of the motel. Twenty-three-year-old John winced and covered his face with a pillow. After a few minutes of tryin
g to go back to sleep, he gave up. He ignored the protest of the naked sleeping woman beside him as he kicked back the covers, swung his legs over the side, and rubbed his eyes.

  “It’s too early,” she moaned into the pillow.

  It took John a moment to focus. The motel room reeked of booze and cigarettes. Static displayed on the TV. Clothes were strewn all over the floor along with beer cans. An ashtray on the table next to the bed was overflowing with used butts. He searched for his pack before finding one. John leaned back on the bed, lit up a cigarette and closed his eyes. The woman moaned again, draping her arm across his bare waist.

  What was her name? He racked his brain trying to remember. Cindy? Stacy? He shrugged. It didn’t really matter. He finished his cigarette, carefully slipping out of bed without waking her, and gathered up his clothes and a small duffel bag. John left her sleeping in the musty motel room, not bothering to leave a note.

  He slipped on his leather jacket and sunglasses as he met the cool morning air. A quick glance at the morning newspaper from a corner convenience store reminded him what day it was.

  “Monday in Cincinnati. What a bitch.”

  The clerk batted her eyes as she rang up his purchase. He gave her a phony smile as he pocketed a new pack of smokes and grabbed a coffee. John walked several blocks to meet up with a private investigator he had recently hired.

  “Do you have anything for me?” John asked as he slipped into the chair opposite of Roger Tatum.

  “That’s a fine how do you do. What, no good morning? How was your weekend?”

  “Cut the fucking small talk,” John growled. “Do you have information for me?”

  Roger sighed and shook his head. “Sadly, no. I had a lead on your sister but it ran cold. Last anyone seemed to have heard from your brothers, they were in some third world country.”

  “So you’re telling me I just paid you my life savings for nothing.”

  “Look, sometimes, people don’t want to be found. I told you not to get your hopes up.”

  Another disappointment. John shook his head as he left the office.

  This town was full of letdowns. The air around him seemed to stink with it. Broken dreams and beer bottles littered the ground, mingling with the gas fumes and failure. It turned his stomach.

  He managed pretty well on his own, working odd jobs to keep clothes on his back and food in his belly. His main focus had been on finding his brothers and sister, but that turned out to be a dead end. Wherever they were, he hoped they were all right.

  “Enough of this,” he mumbled. He was sick of Cincinnati and the heartache it brought. He walked up to the highway, sticking out his thumb. Eventually a truck driver pulled over.

  “Where are you heading?” the haggard looking older man asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, I’m headed to New Mexico.”

  “Sounds good to me if you’ll give me a lift.”

  “Climb on in.”

  John eagerly swung open the door and climbed into the cab. Cincinnati became a distant memory in the rearview mirror.

  He rode with the trucker to New Mexico, listening to the older man’s stories as he sketched on a fresh pad he had in his duffel. A week after arriving in New Mexico, John grew bored. Santa Fe felt too quiet and serene for him. He hopped on a cargo train headed for Nevada.

  Chapter Four

  “Wake up!” the guard bellowed at John, kicking the bunk he had been sleeping on. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  John groaned, rubbing his eyes. Surely he had to have heard the burly guard wrong. He didn’t have any friends.

  “Get up.” The guard shook the cot again.

  “All right, already,” John grumbled.

  John set up on the bunk, rolling his head until the muscles in his neck popped. He stretched and yawned, clearing the sleep out of his eyes. He scratched his scruffy face as unruly copper hair fell into his eyes.

  “I’m up. What do you want?”

  The heavyset guard grinned, showing off a row of yellow teeth. He walked over to the door of the jail cell, yelling at another officer. A thinner guard rounded the corner, escorting a man John had never seen before.

  “You know the drill, Brooks.”

  John rolled his eyes and held out his arms, putting his wrists together. “Is this really necessary? I’m hardly dangerous.”

  “Tell that to the man you nearly beat to death.”

  Handcuffs were slapped on his wrists and he was dragged into an interrogation room. Sitting at a table was a plump man with short light gray hair and brown eyes. He smiled warmly as John was shoved into a chair.

  “Am I supposed to know you, old man?” John asked.

  “No.” The stranger shook his head. “We’ve never met before.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  The stranger placed his hands on the table. His brown eyes seemed to dance as he looked at John.

  “My name is Charlie Westlake. I am the … director of a large organization.”

  “Good for you, Mr. Westlake. What does that have to do with me?”

  “Please call me Charlie. Right now, absolutely nothing. Hopefully, soon, it could mean the world.”

  John snorted. “What’s a matter, Grandpa? Did you forget to take your medicine today?”

  One of the guard slapped John on the back of his head. He balled his hands into fists and growled.

  Charlie raised a hand, waving off the guard and shook his head. “None of that is necessary.”

  “What is it you want?” John questioned.

  Charlie bent down, picked up a briefcase and placed it onto the table. He popped the lock tabs, pulling out a thick file.

  “You certainly are an interesting man, Mr. Brooks,” Charlie said as he opened the file.

  “Name’s John,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the table.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, son.”

  “If that file is what I think it is, yeah.”

  “Drunken disorderly, theft, under the influence, drug charges, and assault. Your record is hair-raising.”

  John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, refusing to look at him. A finger tapped the table in front of him.

  “You are so much more than this file, son.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You are. In your twenty-five years, you’ve lived more than most people do who live to be in their eighties.”

  “Does that include you?”

  Charlie chuckled. “John, you could live to be one hundred and not see all that I have seen.”

  A jolt ran down John’s spine at Charlie’s words. John snapped his head up, looking at the other man with curiosity.

  “What is it you want with me?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh, no. No way.” John scrambled away from the table. “Last time someone said that to me, I ended up spending sixty days in county.”

  “Not far from where you are right now, but I can assure you my offer is legal.”

  “Yeah? Is that why you’re sitting here in a Las Vegas jail cell?”

  “What would you say if I could expunge this?” Charlie tapped on the papers in front of him.

  John blinked several times, his jaw hanging open. Charlie chuckled again. “I see I have your attention.”

  John nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “Right now, the offer is this. I’ll pay your bond and you’ll walk out of here with me.” Charlie’s tone was suddenly serious. “We’ll go someplace to talk privately. If you don’t like what I have to say, you’re free to go.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” Charlie nodded. “And if I don’t like this deal, I’m free to go? No questions asked?”

  “I give you my word.”

  John leaned back in his chair, studying the older man. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about Charlie said he could trust him. His instincts had always served him well. He leaned forward, extending out his hand.<
br />
  “All right, Charlie. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Charlie smiled as he shook John’s hand. “You won’t regret this.”

  ~#~

  John was nearly giddy as he changed out of the gray jumpsuit and back into his normal clothes. He tucked his white tank top into his faded jeans, pulled on his boots and slid on his well-worn leather jacket. The guard sneered at him as he handed John his old duffel bag. He breathed deeply as he stepped outside into the fresh air for the first time in a month. A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  “My car is this way.”

  John nodded, following Charlie to a sedan. Thousands of questions ran through his mind as they drove the Vegas Strip. John’s eyes widened as Charlie pulled up to the Mandalay Bay Hotel.

  “Are you kidding me?” John asked with his face pressed against the passenger window.

  “When I travel, it’s always in style.”

  The concierge bowed his head as they passed. “Mr. Westlake.”

  “Who are you?” John inquired to Charlie as they walked to the elevator.

  “Son, the answer to that is rather lengthy.”

  “And quit calling me son.”

  “Does it bother you? I figured you would prefer that to ‘boy.’ But I can stop.”

  John glared at him as the elevators doors closed. They went up several floors in silence.

  “Ah, here we are,” Charlie said as he pulled a black key card out of his back pocket and opened the door.

  John apprehensively stepped inside. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor next to a pair of twin beds. Charlie sat down on a gold and maroon bedspread, looking at John intently.

  “All right, what’s this about?” John inquired, sitting down on the opposite bed.

  “What I am about to say is going to be hard to hear. You’re going to think I’m a ridiculous old man, but I assure you, it’s the truth. It’ll save us a lot of time if you just believe me.”