Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

26 August 2030

18:54 QCT

The weary skyline of Queen's City comes into view through the dense fog of the evening. Substantial amounts of raindrops splatter against the windshield, and the wipers only have the ability to work so fast. In August, the nights aren't supposed to revert to darkness so soon, but the torrential downpour is catalyzing that transition. Though the glass surrounds and protects us from the rainstorm, I can feel the strident gales against the vehicle as it travels on.

I should keep my vision set on the road ahead of me, but for a moment it strays to the boy in the passenger seat. Clusters of his hair are deviated all over the place, covering the sunken sockets of his eyes. He rests the side of his head against the car door; something I have come to recognize as an indication of exhaustion or stress. When I discover him like this, it's accompanied with silence, taking away the obligation for me to speak, especially in the state he is in as of now.

Slater hasn't spoken since we dispatched from my house and we're a mere five minutes from his mother. I don't have a clue how this visit is going to go. The last time I saw Joanne, she gave me one sentence before flinging the front door in my face. It was about her son.

I can't begin to fathom what that boy is sorting out right now. I have felt plenty of grief over loss before, but this is something else. The deaths I have dealt with have been in the moment, hours or days after the fact. I lost my own father as an infant. But to have the ability to form a relationship with someone makes the casualty that much more traumatic. He was close with Calvin, and since his disappearance, he trusted that he was still alive out there. Ten years later, he uncovers the truth. And it's a stab in the heart.

When I stumbled upon him rummaging through Calvin's container of possessions, I wasn't angry with him. I watched how contorted his face became when he saw me staring. I have read that note over ten times, and I still have not been able to keep my emotions internal. That's my best friend who wrote that. But to Slater, that's his father.

Brick-traced townhouses line both sides of East Sands Road as soon as the freeway exits into the city. They are reddened by the rain, though the storm has died down since the buildings have appeared. I can see sidewalks slicked with puddles that are still filling, and rivers flowing on the pavement toward the nearest drain. I can hear the wheels of my car traversing through their path, sloshing water up against the door.

Slater finally lifts his head, swiping some of the loose hair away from his eyes. "So, was my dad always like that? Did he always think the Imperial Guard was bad?"

I shrug, pressing the brake at a traffic light turning yellow. "No more than the next person. The fact of the matter, Slater, is that everyone knows that being in the Imperial Guard is hell. The reason why we stay is to support our families, and that's it. If I could quit right now, I would. We know what we're doing is sometimes wrong, and with that mission, we certainly did. Your father took the words right out of our mouths."

I release the brake and continue down the road. We are swiftly approaching Slater's old abode. I can't tell how he's feeling about this, but I'll speak for myself and say that the nerves are spiked for this encounter. I'm worried for Slater. I don't know how Jo is going to take her son returning.

"What was my dad like? I mean before I met him."

I rest my elbow on the sill of the car window and grin. "Your father was something else. He had a big heart, except when it came to some Imperial Guard duds or drunk buffoons when we went to the bar. Never had an ill word to say about anyone." A twisted thought relays through my head. "For a while, at least. Things changed for us very quickly."

"What do you mean?" Slater sits upright in the passenger seat, with an amplification in the volume of his voice.

At the intersection of Tenth and Koa, I take a right. His home is down this city block. "Something else happened. The Imperial Guard played with our trust. Your father saw how they used us and shut off. He wasn't himself after that incident." There is an open slot between two cars on the curb, and I acknowledge it. "Unfortunately, the man you were raised by was not the same one I knew."

As I adjust my car to the parking space I picked, his eyes drop to the center console. "Oh." He looks through the rain-ridden window to his house and the walkway leading up to it. "I guess we're here."

"Hey, listen." I reach for his arm while he fidgets with his seatbelt. He can't just walk in there without any warning, especially after what happened the last time I spoke to his mother. "I don't know how this is going to go. Your mother can be unpredictable. She was quite unnerved when I told her about you when you were arrested."

My hand is within inches of the M on his arm. I want to let go, but something captivates me to its shadow. This is the closest I have been to the mark, and the longest I've embraced its proximity. My apprehension is slowly but surely dematerializing.

I release his arm and he draws it toward himself to continue unbuckling. "Please just be patient with your mother." He doesn't say another word as he swings the car door open.

We proceed toward the front door, white with the color draining with age. It was in this spot, ten years ago, where I notified Joanne Tross that her husband, Calvin, had taken his life in an act of guilt. I walked past Slater, seven years old and innocent, as he marked the ground we tread in chalk. I said hello to him with the underlying feeling that, in a few moments, his emotions will be altered forever. As it turned out, I was wrong.

I press the doorbell along the entrance, and I hear the ring ripple through the house. I'm almost certain that she's home. She works night shifts during the week and doesn't leave until much later. Not to mention that she is practically homebound now that Slater doesn't live in her house anymore. I wonder how she'll take that.

Beside me, Slater is warming his hands while staring at them. His arms are trembling, refusing to look up at the door to his house. If I were him, I'd be anxious too. When I was his age, if I was out past curfew for so much as five minutes, my mom would act as if I was kidnapped. But this is something way more critical. After hearing about how his mother isn't prepared to see him again after five months, he has every right to be nervous. I don't have the slightest clue how she's going to react.

The door jolts inward and halts after a few inches. I can see Joanne's wild, forest-green eyes through the dim opening. "What the hell do you want, Brian?"

"I have your son. We have some news." I turn to Slater, who peers up to me. "Let's talk."

Her gaze guides over to him, and then back to me. "He comes in, you stay."

"It doesn't work that way, Joanne. Either we both come in, or we leave."

The door slams, followed by some unbolting. Finally, we see Joanne in her entirety in the doorway. A voluminous sweater hangs low on her body, covering a majority of her slim hands. Her cheeks are gaunt, with her chapped lips protruding outward. Her slovenly, dust-colored hair is brittle, where several strands collapse just in me observing her pathetic state. Dark circles surround her eyes while glaring at me.

Without another word, Slater and I step into the living room, present as soon as one walks into the house. The space seems pretty tidy with pillows tucked into the corners of their brown leather couches. The carpet is spotless, not a speck of lint or insect in sight. The TV is playing some black-and-white classic; one that I recognize but I can't remember the title. There is a new painting on the wall, depicting a vast, arid desert, probably in Sabul. The scent of something tender yet nameless diffuses from the kitchen further in the house. The window behind the television, viewing the street we parked on, allows whatever daylight that remains to percolate into the room and onto the floor.

Something seems wrong with the Joanne Tross I once knew. I can recall late nights in the Tross household after a dinner party, where we would all gather in the living room to unwind. Alongside my wife, Abby, she would create a riot amongst us adults. She was a woman of leisure and camaraderie. Her image, to others, was something she coveted. She would prepare for our feast by leaving this house impeccable for when I brought my family up.

That last part hasn't changed. After the news about Calvin dropped, her personality twisted. Any thoughts of a party made her quiet and uninterested in everything, including her young son. She became a whole new woman; one that believed that the world was out to destroy her, and because of that, she denounced my family and I. After that, I never spoke to the Tross' ever again. Until this year.

Joanne takes her place at the single leather couch below the painting of Sabul. Adjacent to her seat is a loveseat, where I sit beside her son. He hasn't halted his quaking since we got here. I know she doesn't want to talk to me, but the only way we're going to get anything going is if I say something. That way, Slater can ease into speaking to his own mother.

But before I can initiate the conversation, Slater leans forward. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that Dad was dead? You made me believe he was alive this whole time. You lied to me."

She crosses her wrists over her knee, scowling at her son. She doesn't so much as blink. This isn't what I intended for this visit to involve, but whatever helps him unwind. He deserves to get some things off his chest.

"Do you want to know how I found out? Nobody had to tell me. I read his fucking suicide note, Mom. I should have found out the same day you did. You should have never just told me that he was missing."

"I did it to protect you." Joanne groans, rubbing her eyes.

Slater springs out of his seat with fists at his hips. "Yeah, fucking right! If I knew he was dead from the start, I wouldn't have spent the past ten years worrying if he was okay or not. I wouldn't have considered creating a search party as soon as I made it into the Imperial Guard."

His mother lifts her frail body out of the chair she occupies. "Slater John, I did not raise you to talk to me like that." She takes two fingers and jabs them into his chest. "And you joined the Imperial Guard even though I told you multiple times that I would punish you if you did? Your father is dead  because of the Imperial Guard!" She exclaims, leaning into him. "Who the hell do you think you are? Who do you take after?"

He presses his teeth against each other and I spot the bones in his wrist squeezing against his skin. "Do you think I wanted to join the Imperial Guard? I had no choice, but guess what, I'm alive now. I ranked fifth in my class. Can't you just be proud of me? Can't you be happy that I'm fucking alive?"

"You say that word one more time, Slater, I swear to God."

My hand grasps the arm of the sofa, intently observing their altercation. I have a sinking feeling about this, but Slater isn't my son. I have no right to critique Joanne on how she handles this situation. I know controlling Slater's temper isn't an easy task, but he tends to not get violent so quickly, which I can respect.

He cranes his head in my direction with a wry smile plastered on his face. He turns back to his mother, standing tall with his chest. "Which one, fu-"

Joanne raises her hand and lurches at her son's cheek. A shock oscillates throughout the room, and it's even strong enough to make me leap out of my seat.

I sandwich myself between the mother and son as Slater brings his hands up to his face. He whimpers, collapsing onto the couch to massage where his mother's palm made contact with him. I overlook Joanne as she backs away from me. Her mouth chatters, attempting to find any words that will justify what she did.

"Move! You heard him; I asked him politely to not say that word and he wants to be a smart-ass. He can't come into this house and act entitled."

"There is a difference between disciplining your child and purposefully striking him across the face." I perch on the couch beside Slater, and he glances at me. His right eye is watering under the eyelid to relieve the irritation of the smack and, probably, the snapping of trust. His abhorrent shaking returns.

Joanne sneers. "Oh come on, you're in the Imperial Guard now. You should be able to take a hit."

With his teeth jittering against each other, Slater peers up at his mother. "Mom, why did you do that?"

She folds her bony arms over her chest. "You think you can just betray my trust like that? I can't be alone, and I've been alone for the past five months without you. You're so selfish, running away without ever thinking about me, or anyone else for that matter. I need someone else in this house. When you left, my whole life turned to shit. You ruined my life." Her feet move toward us ever so slightly. "You have always been your father's son. Careless, disrespectful, and dull-minded. You never worry about what anyone else thinks because it's all about you. When you were on the run, did you ever once think of me? I nurtured you from the moment you were born, through your father's death, to now. I gave you everything, and you never considered how I felt."

For a moment, his trembling ceases and his jaw tenses. "You know, Mom, not everything is about you."

She staggers backward, near the front door. "Get the hell out of my house."

"What?"

"You heard me. You aren't welcome in this house anymore."

"But Mom, I'm your son!" He points to himself, heaving.

"Not anymore. You are worthless to me. I didn't raise you to join the Imperial Guard. Now get the hell out."

There's no turning back now. We both extend our legs and make our way to the front door that she guards. Her squinting gaze remains on her son, who leads me. She opens the door, and Slater steps down onto the walkway with his head to his neck. I, on the other hand, stop on the mat before the doorway.

"Slater, go out to the car. I'll be right out." I command, shutting the door to conceal Joanne and I from the young man. I can hear the rain trickling down the walls of the house, drowning out the drama in whatever movie is playing on the TV in the living room.

I can't bring myself to look that woman in the face. What a disgusting human being. First, she strikes her son across his face, putting him on the verge of tears, and then she scolds him for not being tough enough to take it. After that, she admits that he is the source of all of her problems, which leaves a sense of guilt distilled inside of him. The last thing this family needs is someone else feeling remorse. Whatever happened to people taking responsibility for their own issues without blaming others, especially their own son?

"What the fuck is your problem?" I confront her, my face a foot from her skeleton skull. "You don't have any clue what that boy has been through, and you have the audacity to tell him that he's worthless and unwelcome in his own home."

"Worry about your own children, Brian, and I'll worry about mine."

"Oh, no. You can't tell me to take care of my kids when you lack the capability to do it yourself. Slater has been away for only a few months and it's as if you forgot how to treat him with respect."

"If he disrespects me, why should I respect him?"

"Because he's your fucking child, that's why. He looked up to you and trusted you all throughout his life, and you have to show him what respect is."

Joanne shoos me away, turning her back to my rage. "Whatever you say. Just leave me alone."

"Slater was emotionally and physically tortured during the ranking. These damn kids wouldn't leave him the hell alone. He had to make his own friends, ones that wouldn't turn their back on him. Ones that care about him regardless of what he does." I feel my legs navigating toward her, but it's not my choice. "Kids tried to kill him during his tests. Someone snapped his wrists to try to make him fail. If that doesn't disturb you, then I'm convinced that you lack a heart."

I fiddle with Calvin's tags in my pocket but do not unravel them. "You know, Joanne, you and I clearly aren't seeing this situation eye to eye. I haven't seen my son in nearly five years. If he strolled up on my doorstep one day and told me everything that happened to him, I wouldn't hesitate to invite back into my house. Do you want to know why?" I seize her wrist and swing her around to face me again. "It's because he's my son. I raised him on my own since he was thirteen, and in what sick, putrid, and inexcusable circumstance would I deny him?"

"Well guess what, Brian? He's not my son anymore."

I dispense her arm from my grasp. I don't want to hold onto such a vile and disgusting creature any longer. "I'm sure Calvin would be so proud of him." I crinkle my nose and start for the door. "You don't deserve that boy."

I twist the knob to the front door, peering back at her, standing cross. She snickers. "You're leaving so soon? Aren't you going to beg me to take him any longer?"

On the steel door frame, I turn to her. "No. He's coming with me. You are never seeing that boy ever again." With that, I jolt the door shut, sending a disturbance throughout this god-forsaken house. May I never lay my poor eyes on it ever again.

As I step down onto the walkway, I notice Slater in the passenger's seat of my car with his head rested against the window. He has every right to be upset about the events that just transpired. I couldn't imagine being disowned by my mother in the situation he's in. That slap to the cheek must have felt like a screaming bullet.

My hand finds my pocket again, and this time, I pull out Calvin's dog tags. The eagle has faded away, and there's no light to reflect off of the plate. I peer up at the sky, where the rain appears to have vanished momentarily. My eyelids curl over my eyes. Thunder rumbles overhead.

"Calvin, if you are listening to me, please give me your guidance. I am appointing myself as Slater's guardian. I need your strength and compassion if you can find it in yourself to spare. I promise that I will protect and love him as if he were my own. I swear, I won't let anything happen to him. It's a tall order, taking care of your son, but with you looking down on us, I believe he'll be just fine."