Toy Soldiers

by Dabeagle & Ryan Bartlett

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Chapter 7

Harlequin

Saturday I lay awake, thinking of Tim and Samantha. I hoped she was as good as she seemed, for I believed Tim deserved the best. When I looked on him, and found myself reminded of Kelly, I wondered if Kelly would have been like Tim, had he the chance. I wondered if he'd have been more interested in my pallet than Tim was. I was suddenly tense as I felt air displace in the room – a lumpy figure pushing the quiet door open.

“Only chance, Pat. Go back to your room,” I said. I didn't expect him to listen, so I was already coming to my feet.

“Fuck you. His mouth is mine, and anything else I want.” He tried to snarl, but he didn't quite succeed. He raised his fists and pulled his head down like a turtle retreating into its shell. It effectively cut off the carotid to me, although that hadn't been his plan. He rocketed a fist towards me, and I deflected it without thought, brought my hand forward flat and struck him in the solar plexus, leaving him gasping and falling to the floor.

The sound of him hitting the floor wasn't tremendously loud, but fat ass was at the door in a suspicious amount of time. I narrowed my eyes in the sudden glare of the overhead light, and Cass was sitting up in bed.

“What the hell's going on in here?” Gary said, noting Pat gasping on the floor.

“You knew,” I stated.

“Knew what? What did you do?” His knee bent to see to Pat, but my anger was stoked. I stepped, swept his bent leg and snared a handful of his hair.

“Ah! Let go!” He twisted, and a chunk of hair came out in my hand. He rolled up into a defensive posture, and I took another step. “I'll call the cops!”

“Do,” I stated. “Then let's tell them how you allow Pat to sexually assault other members of the residence. Why? Can he have money? Or do you watch? That's it, isn't it?”

“The hell you say,” Gary breathed, pushing to his feet. “Shame you kids are so liable to off yourselves.” So saying he bull rushed me, but I sidestepped, dropped low and tripped him up. He fell before reaching the windows, and I was on him, pulling his head back and putting him out by pinching the carotid. It was a useful move, and it saved me from having to kill.

“Cass, I need something to tie him down with.” He was up and running from the room. Pat sat up, and I held a finger out to him. “If you have any brain left in your head, you will not move.”

He didn't.

Cass returned with duct tape. I used it to bind Gary's arms, hands and legs. While I did so, I instructed Cass to contact the police. As I waited for their arrival, I knelt down next to Pat. He shied away, lesson learned.

“The police will be here shortly. Gary won't be back. You had best be truthful.”

Malcolm arrived along with Mrs. Klein. All three stories matched in terms of Gary’s scuffle with me, and he was removed from the home in handcuffs. As I suspected, Pat had been assaulting Cass on Gary's behalf; the pervert had been watching the assaults. The entire house was awake and in protest – not due to loyalty to Cass, but from simple rebellious desire. Mrs. Klein re-established control over the course of an hour or more and got the residents back to bed. With the light off once more in our room and only moonlight filtering through the blinds, Cass's voice drifted across the room.

“Thank you, Harley.”

“You're my friend,” I stated.

“Can I...” he didn't finish the question but crossed the room and threw his arms around me. I returned the gesture, awkwardly. He sat next to me on the bed and sighed.

“No one ever stuck up for me before. You don't know how good that feels.”

“I do.” I replied, thinking regretfully of Hunter and Sage.

“How'd you get those?” he asked, pointing to the various scars on my torso. I glanced at him, seeing a waffled section of skin on his shoulder.

“How did you get that?”

“Dad got pissed one day, held me down on a waffle iron.” I pulled my eyes away, thinking of the pain. “I was ten when he did it.”

My floodgates opened, and I told him about Green Squad. I told him about Hunter and Forest – Derek! - and Kelly. I told him I could remember being ten. I could see the candles – and I wept.

Cass patted my shoulder and then looped his arm behind me. I felt foolish for crying, but the circumstances were extreme, and I found that, despite the improvement in my circumstances, I was missing my squad. Brunswick was my oldest friend. India was still finding his groove and Sage...

“No offense, Harley, but your story sounds like bullshit.”

I pointed to a pucker low on my abdomen. “Knife,” I said. I pointed to various slices on my arms and shoulders, repeating, “Knife.”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, tracing the scars. I pointed to one by my right shoulder. “Bullet.”

It tingled as his fingers moved from one scar to the next, probing them as if they might flake off like paint. He flattened his hand and felt each inch of my exposed torso, stopping on each raised scar.

“Those names. They were your...”

“Squad. We're all named for shades of green, because sooner or later we'll go under the green.”

“What green?”

“Grass.”

He thought about that for a minute. “Harley...you only told me about dead guys, then. Wasn't there anyone left alive?”

“Yes. Yes,” I whispered. “Brunswick. Celadon. Little India. Sweet, sweet Sage.”

“I don't know if I buy it all, but I believe you do,” Cass said. Yes, perhaps it was best he not believe. “Was Sage your...boyfriend?”

“Sage? No.” I shook my head, perhaps more to prove it to myself than to him. “Sage was younger; he needed protection. I...there was too little that was wonderful in our lives. Sage was wonderful. Sparkling. I would never do that – I was supposed to protect him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was...he is,” I amended, “alive. Somewhere. I hope he's safe and that he's found peace. Perhaps one day he can find love, as well.”

“Dude, I don't care what you say, you loved this Sage guy,” Cass said with a chuckle.

“I never said I didn't!” I protested.

“Well, when I asked about him being your boyfriend...”

“I would never take from him! I never took from anyone!” I said firmly.

“Hey, I don't know what you think boyfriend means – but in my world? It's a boy that you can kiss and do stuff with and who wants to kiss and do stuff with you.”

I looked at him uncertainly. “Oh.”

“So, did you want to kiss Sage?”

Oh.

Two of us had survived from that original class. The rest of Green was younger, but with the lack of the ability to tell time, it was hard to say just how much younger. We trained against two other squads, Red and Blue. One brute on Red was simply bloodthirsty, R-718. Sometimes he'd go into a frenzy and beat someone to a pulp. Other times it was humiliation, dominance.

Some new members, like Forest – no, Derek, can't forget. His name was Derek. I had watched over Derek; he'd been more fragile than some others. Sometimes the drugs worked better to block our past, to make our adjustment easier. Despite that, I still remembered being ten.

Sage had been another. I tried not to think of Sage often, missing him as I did. When he arrived he was just another scared boy, one who had to be told to stop crying. He was blond and green eyed, reminding me so strongly of Kelly that I sometimes called him that when I was tired. He was one of the few beautiful things that hadn't withered and died by the time we broke free. He'd shared my pallet for a long time, after Hunter had left for his failed upgrade.

Sage had been a true friend, and I had watched out for him and, though he might not have thought so, he for me. One severe training session the bizarre occurred. We were in close combat melee. The fight had dragged too long and mistakes were being made. We held our own against Red, not giving ground, but we were spread out across a training ground with many obstacles and assisting one another was difficult.

I had just defeated my opponent and moved around an obstacle and kicked a helmet. Glancing down my blood ran cold to see G-327. Sage. I moved recklessly around the obstacle to find R-718, helmet off and suit opened to reveal a bloated, rapidly engorging penis. At his feet was Sage, face bloodied and suit unzipped to the waist. He was moving slowly, groggily. Enraged at the damage to his exquisitely charming face – the waste of destroying beauty – I attacked.

Rolling, I came up with a straight punch aimed at the gut. R-718 had felt me coming, however, and I dealt him only a glancing blow. He pulled back his foot and stomped where my knee had just been, but I had already moved. R-718 was all force. All I could think was that he'd gotten a lucky hit on Sage, agile as he was. From my prone position I kicked at his ankle and heard it pop inside the suit, and he let out a savage roar and he staggered and turned, trying to fall on me, to pin me. Instead his nose exploded in a spray of red blood and destroyed cartilage as my foot connected with his face.

I glanced at Sage, saw his chest rising and falling, blood smeared on his face, and I began to kick R-718 until his exposed genitals might not even be useful for passing water. Turning to Sage I dropped to my knees. His face, his beautiful face...

I felt unstable on Sunday. I had never broken down as I did with Cass, and that only urged me onward in my resolution to leave and to do it soon. My only worry was, should the Corporation track me this far, would they interrogate those I'd known? What might they do to Cass? I had no doubt, once finished, they'd put him under the green grass. Like Kelly.

The house, too, was unstable. There was a power vacuum that no one was willing to fill. Mrs. Klein had gone home, exhausted and knowing a background investigation on Gary would now take place. Another staff was running the show Sunday, but I was unable to muster much in the way of interest. I ate, at Cass's insistence, but I found not even my book could distract me. My mind roiled with thoughts of fallen squad mates, of shadows in my memory of the time I was ten. Thoughts of Tim and now my responsibility to Cass for unburdening myself of something I hadn't realized I was carrying.

Through the day I tottered back and forth, debating if I should take Cass with me when I left or not. Should that be his choice? If it were, it should have to be an informed choice, and I would have to tell him more. Most certainly I'd put a target on his back already, though he was blessedly unaware. For his part, Cass was acting in a very familial way toward me – something more than relating to me as a defender.

I'd resolved to tell him what the situation was on Monday evening. However that was pushed to the back of my mind as the school buzzed with news that there had been an attack of some kind the night before. Not having cultivated any other acquaintances, it took me much of the day to realize Tim had been targeted and possibly Samantha as well. While I'd found it odd that I hadn't seen Tim in the morning, since he could have had appointments or something equally mundane, that now took on a sinister edge as I wondered where he was and what had happened.

My only route was through Marissa, but she was missing as well. That only fueled my nerves to fear. It was a long dormant experience, that fear. I'd long since come to accept I'd lose squad mates, but Tim and Cass weren't that – they were fragile and beautiful and needed protection from brutish things like myself. In a way, I thought randomly – something else I don't do – that I'd been a fool to think that Tim would have ever wanted me in his pallet.

Instead I was left to suffer. Tuesday they were all still missing from school, but the whispers had become more intense, the gossip so juicy it was dripping and the students unable to resist repeating every scrap. I tried to filter out the details of the attack, because there was no way to verify those. What I did retain was that Brent Mullaney had gone after them due to his assertion that Samantha was his property.

Wednesday I asked Cass to point out Brent to me, which wasn't difficult. I'd seen him before, but dismissed him as worthless. My assessment was correct, but he was also dangerous, if any of the rumor was to be believed. Cass was also worried for Tim. In the end it was Cass who found out where Tim lived, going to the office and stating that he wanted to mail a get well card. After much debate the old lady behind the counter gave him the address with the admonishment that he not say where it had come from.

Taking Cass's information, I looked the address up on the computer at school, and as soon as the lights out order was given, I was preparing to venture out.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked in the dark.

“I'm going to check on Tim,” I replied. I knotted my sneakers.

“I want to go,” Cass said and sat up in bed.

“Cass, I need you here,” I told him. “I can't be sure of my being able to return here without you to run cover.”

“What are you talking about?” Cass said suspiciously.

“Bed check. Your bed is close to the door. Pillows and blankets will convince them of my form. But yours would be impossible. Additionally if you were to sit up and complain, perhaps being afraid of who was coming in, then it draws attention away from my bed and that I may not be in it.”

“I hate how you're always right,” he huffed.

“I'm not. I've simply been thinking this through. I promise to pass your regards on to Tim, should I be successful.” So saying I raised the window nearest my bed and crouched on the sill. “Cass, close the window behind me. Don't fall asleep; I need you to open it when I come back.”

“Okay.”

Pivoting I launched myself at the nearest tree branch, allowing myself to go with its swaying under my weight and then walking to the trunk, hand over hand. From there I climbed down quickly and took off through the dark streets to Tim's address. I followed the instructions I'd memorized and soon found myself facing the address. I walked around the home, assessing entry points and trying to determine where Tim would be. There were lights on on the ground floor and the flicker of a TV. The second floor had only one light on. It was not bright, perhaps something that provided just enough to see by.

I circled the home for upwards of thirty minutes before things went dark downstairs. Upstairs rooms lit up and I was able to see taller, older people – Tim's parents – in silhouette. I mentally checked those rooms off my list. I waited twenty minutes after the last light had gone out and then shimmied up the roof pillar and up onto the small roof covering the front porch. I sprawled on my stomach in case the metal wanted to make noise and spread my weight as much as I could. I slithered to the window with the dim light and peered in.

A bathroom. I waited, hearing nothing. I stood, the latch was turned halfway and I pulled up on the window, watching the lock shift subtly. I pushed down and the lock moved back a fraction. Moving the window frame up and down the lock slowly moved back until it was unlatched. As I pulled up, the light came on and I pulled off to the side, hoping to have not been seen. I waited, heard someone passing water and then the flush of the toilet. The light went out.

Unless Tim had a male sibling, that was either him or his father. I lifted up on the window frame and slid the pane out of my way. I slipped into the room and stopped to listen for movement. Hearing nothing I slid the window closed, and stepped softly into the hallway. I glanced towards the direction I guessed the parents' room to be in and saw two doors. Glancing back towards my left I saw two more – however, one was slimmer than the rest, and I assumed it to be a closet. I moved left and saw, conveniently, a plaque on the door reading 'Timothy' in a flowing script.

I paused and assessed the house once more and, hearing nothing, pushed the door handle down and stepped into the room. I had no sooner closed the door when Tim's frightened voice called out.

“Who's there?” The voice was odd – Tim's, but there was something wrong with it.

“Harlequin,” I whispered.

“Harley? What are you doing here?”

I crossed the room in the dim light afforded by the unshaded windows. I knelt by the bed and looked up at him. There were bandages on either side of his face – that explained why his pronunciation was odd.

“I heard the most terrible things at school. I was worried for you. I had no way to contact you, so I had to come see you. Cass sends his love. What...happened?” My eyes were drawn to the bandages. Were they concealing minor damage, something that would heal and disappear? Or had Brent done something more?

“That's nice of you to worry. I'm still kind of worried, too.” Tim said.

“Why?”

“I'm afraid he'll come back.”

“Tim. What happened?”

“Samantha called me Sunday evening. She was upset. Brent had called her and told her she was his. Told her,” he sighed deeply, “that he knew she'd been out with me.”

“And?” I prompted.

“And...I went over to try and comfort her, soothe her, you know?”

“Of course.” It was what he'd do.

“When I got there, he was waiting. He was arguing with her on her front porch. He cracked me good in the face and took us both into the woods by the side of her house.”

“And then?” I asked, my anger building.

“He,” Tim's breath shuddered and he wiped a tear. “She told him I was beautiful inside and out, not like him, and she'd never date him.”

“She is correct,” I replied.

“He said,” Tim's voice dropped down to a whisper. “He said...he could fix that. Harley...he beat the crap out of me, and I couldn't stop him. I could live with that, everyone loses fights. But then...”

I reached for his face, slowly, fearfully. He flinched and then held still as I pulled up the tape holding the bandage to the left side of his face and lifted it slowly, gently. My lips drew into a hard line, trembling. Rage swept through me. A horrid tear ran from his lower jaw up to his prominent zygomatic bone. His physical beauty had been stolen – ripped from him.

“Oh, Tim. Your beautiful face...” I pushed the tape back into place.

“Not so much anymore, right?” he said, turning from me and letting tears fall.

“Your beauty is far more than your face,” I told him firmly. I sat on the bed and used the tip of my finger under his chin to guide his eyes back to me. “The reason you are beautiful on the outside is because of your inner beauty. It is why, even now, your sister is still the second most attractive twin.”

“That's...Harley...” He tilted his head forward and I let him rest it on my chest while I pressed my hand into the back of his head. My rage was ignited, however, and I knew this could not go unpunished. Even so I stilled my muscles as Tim's body shook with silent tears. I stayed quiet, letting him take comfort in my presence as I'd done for new squad mates for as long as I could remember.

Finally he leaned back, lying on his pillow. “Thanks, Harley. I really needed that. My friends have been by but...they are all just...I don't know. They don't really understand. I don't feel so bad, now – for a few minutes anyway. I told you I'd have to call you if I needed an ego boost...”

“And I told you to feel free. I know you, Tim. I can see who you are. I call it beauty – it's the same word I apply to fragile flowers, stained glass windows and rows and rows of books. Books get creases on their spines from being read, but they are unchanged inside. You are still you, and no one can take that from you.”

“Thank you, Harley.” His lips twitched and he sighed. “You know, when you say that...it actually makes me believe that Samantha was honest when she said she won't break up with me.”

“Why would she?”

“I thought she might...you said I was the best looking guy in school, right? I figured, not anymore...”

“If you'd have had me, I'd have been yours no matter what. As it is, I will simply be your friend.”

“Everyone should be so lucky. Hey, if she dumps me, want to date?” he chuckled.

“Tim, you mentioned that you were worried Brent would strike again, yet you still wish to date Samantha?”

“I was laying in the hospital and feeling sorry for myself, and you know what?” His lips twitched again, and I realized he wanted to smile but wasn't able to. “I thought to myself, what would Harley do? My answer was that you wouldn't give up. So I won't.”

“That's a foolish assumption,” I said seriously. “You have to assess the positives and the negatives, and there has to be a gain – something that makes the goal worthwhile.”

“She's worth it, Harley. I can feel it.”

I stared down at him and felt a stirring at his valiant, yet silly, decision – and I felt pride in his character. There was no choice. I had to back him up.

“Tim,” I said softly. “Tell me where I can find Brent Mullaney.”