Call Me Twice

Chapter 10: Missing Pieces

Link

I'd like to think my grandparents take it all very well.
"YOU CAN'T DO THINGS LIKE THIS!"
"School was out because somebody lost an arm—,"
"A classmate was killed," my grandfather says, gravely, as we file into the kitchen. Again. God I hate this.
"Oh, yeah, he died all right," I say.
"And Priscilla down at the drug store had a heart attack or something, two people died today," my grandmother says.
"Well not me! I was hiking with friends, and found a body," I say, "It was the middle of the day we were on a pleasant hike in a group, now I know that's not on the rules list that I didn't read."
"It absolutely is!" My grandmother points to a part of it.
"Wow, overly specific and a bit controlling, that's on me did not read it, feels unnecessary but continue," I nod, "I'm home now, shan't do it again, it was in the middle of the day you weren't meant to miss me—,"
"Sit down. We need to have a serious talk," my grandfather points at a chair, dramatically.
"I don't sit on command. I am not a dog. You can speak to me standing," I say, folding my arms.
"Link, we're only trying to do what's best for you—three people have died you can't be running around like this," my grandmother says.
"You clearly have no regard for the rules of this household. And you clearly need some boundaries, young man," my grandfather says.
"I have boundaries they belong to me, myself, not you. You're not my parents."
"It's very obvious no one has ever properly parented you," my grandfather says.
"Don't fucking go there," I shake my head, "You don't want to fuckin' go there."
"Watch your language," my grandfather says.
"We are trying to help you," my grandmother says.
"No, you aren't."
"From now on since you don't abide by your curfew, you will have no privileges, you can eat in your room, you can come and go from school and that is all," my grandfather says, "No seeing any of these so called friends. Not until you've fixed your lifestyle."
"That's not happening," I say, "I don't need any help what is it with the word lifestyle? I'm not doing anything. I am getting good grades—,"
"Do you care to explain these?" My grandfather sets on the table the two 'dirty' magazines I got from my father's room.
"You—went through my room?" I ask, surprised I'm surprised.
"Where did you get these?" My grandmother asks, "It's—sinful—,"
"I got those from my dad's room. Because I wanted to see his stuff," I laugh, "They aren't even mine, he made notes in them."
"You expect us to believe that?" My grandfather asks.
"They're dated forty years ago," I say, tapping the date in the upper corner, "Yes I expect you to believe I'm not casually reading forty year old magazines."
"I've searched your father's room as I did when he lived here—,"
"Wow, need to unpack that sentence but proceed—,"
"—I searched your father's room how did you find in what, under an hour, something I missed for forty years? You expect me to believe you walked in the room and immediately found wherever he'd clearly carefully hidden these? How could you do that?"
I bite my lip because the only explanation I have right now, is "gaydar" and I can't say that plus they don't know what it means plus it would not help.
So I settle for Serbian, "homoseksualne oči, I'm sorry I don't know the English word."
"You don't know English?" My grandmother, gonna cry again.
"I've been speaking in English this whole time," I say, confused as well.
"The fact remains you took them, without permission," my grandfather says.
"They are—so literally mine like anything of his, legally—completely mine, also it didn't leave the house. I looked at it," I say.
"It is not appropriate we don't tolerate this sort of media in our household. I realize you came from a very different, lewd lifestyle—,"
"That's good I'm gonna copyright 'the lewd lifestyle of the homosexual and his over educated son', got it—are you aware that's just a fitness mag it's not even porn? Like, did you look there are no naked people—,"
"No, I didn't look at it!"
"Then how did you know it was lewd? Could have been about the Bible—no never mind delete that bit it's a weak argument I've got a better one—,"
"Link, we know it's hard for you to adjust," my grandmother says.
"No, it's not. I need you to know I'm not even trying," I say.
"You're exactly like your father. This is why he met a bad end—,"
"Do you—not know how he died?" I ask, frowning, "He was murdered in a mass shooting."
"Which is the price he paid," my grandfather says, "We tried to help him too. He wanted to argue as well—"
"I'm so sure he did, all right, I'm out, you can't actually stop me from walking out that door—," I point at the door as I back up.
"Link, no, please," my grandmother says, starting to cry, "I lost your father, I can't lose you too. We just don't want to lose you."
"You're doing, such a poor job of that, then," I say.
The door bell rings. We all look at it it, equally surprised. I'm closest but step back so they can answer it.
"Hi, is Link home from school?" Hilda doesn't watch the news it seems.
"Hi, Link barely went," I say, waving as I casually get the magazines and stuff them in my bag.
"I'm gonna borrow him for a little bit, his mother is in town and she'd like to see him?" Hilda asks.
"Our lawyers—," my grandfather begins
"Absolutely must see my mother who I love and cherish so dearly," I say, basically cramming myself through the door like a cat.
"She's going to file for full custody, but for now you'll both get visits, the lawyers are working it out but it's best he gets to see her," Hilda says.
"God yes, thank you," I say, crawling out the door despite none of them moving to let me.
"We'll talk when you get back," my grandfather says.
"Hope not," I say, making finger guns.
I bolt to the case worker's car, relieved. I know I'm gonna have to go back at some point, but for right now I need the break. I was staring at Harper's body earlier I'm the first one to admit I'm not doing all right.
"So like I said, your mom got in a little while ago. She and her lawyers are ready to file for temporary custody, once she secures stable housing here in town it shouldn't be an issue," Hilda says.
"Good," I breath, slumped in the seat, "Where are we going? And how long do we have?"
"You're going to see her at her hotel, I'll come pick you up in a few hours."
"Okay," I sigh, rubbing my face.
The hotel is the only hotel in Pine Hollow, a run down little motel by the side of the highway. When we get there Greta is waiting leaning against a rental car. Hair cropped short, innumerable piercings in both ears, a heavy leather jacket and cargos, she's an unbelievably comforting sight.
I hop out of the car nearly before it's even stopped, to jog up to her.
"Hey why are you getting so tall, huh?" Greta asks, immediately catching me in her arms despite being a full head shorter than me.
"I missed you," I say, squeezing her.
"Sorry it took so long," she says, hugging me tightly, "Come on, let's go for a drive."
We get in her loaner car.
"Well? Do you have any news about my dad?" I ask, the moment we are in the car.
"Nothing you don't already know. Obviously the charges are bullshit. I've slept like, three hours in the last seventy two, they finally cleared my visa that's why it's taken—months for me to get back here. Also CPS doesn't like it at all that I'm not a citizen so embassies were involved. Long and short of it is, I'm cleared for residency now," she says, offering me a can of coke. I accept. "We're working on you, and your dad. Most importantly you can come live with me once I have stable housing which means a lease on a house around here, which won't start till the first of the month, so a couple more weeks. But till then I get ample visitation with you which means rescuing you from your grandparents."
"Thank god," I mutter.
"How bad is it?"
"Um, could be worse, I'll manage, they're not fond of me, but, they're mostly between freaking out that I look like dad, to freaking out that I act like him apparently," I say, "But not enough they're not gonna guess."
"Good," she says, leaning over to touch check a bruise on my cheek, "What've you been up to?"
"Oh um—a classmate died, so I was with a couple of friends today—I'm gonna go check on them after we talk, I actually wanted to ask you about that," I say.
"What?" She asks, frowning.
"Um—did my dad ever talk to you about ley lines? Or Satanism?" I ask, getting out the map, "I found this with his stuff—in his old room."
"Sebastian talked about everything and anything—he was happy to research and read up on just about any subject," she says, shaking her head, "He probably did bring it up at one point but he shared favorite conspiracy theories and ancient civilizations like most people do tv shows."
"I think—there might be evidence of a cult here. Or something. The cops named my dad and a couple of other people as always getting lost or wandering around in the woods. If maybe they uncovered something, that might be why he saved this map. And it might mean nothing but it also might be really significant right now—because one of my classmates died under—mysterious circumstances," I say.
"How mysterious?" She asks.
"He disappeared on Monday in the early hours of the morning—with no reasonable explanation he was going home, he'd talked to me and other classmates beforehand he was sober, and in a fine mood. We found his bike here, on the ley line. And then we found his body here—where the ley lines intersect," I say, showing her the map.
"I don't necessarily believe ley lines hold any magic power, but that hardly matters when other people think they do," she says, studying it, "If a cult or someone puts faith in all this—,"
"Then they might have used Harper as some sort of sacrifice. I find it really odd his body was five miles off the road—,"
"Right on a ley line intersection point, thing, no that could be a coincidence but," Greta shrugs, "Possibly not."
"Did my dad ever mention a Yule Davis?" I ask.
"No, but again Vuk would know more about this than I do. All I know is, Sebastian's high school friends mostly quit talking to him after he came out," she says, "But he never mentioned them beyond that."
"Doesn't matter, they probably don't even live in town anymore," I say.
"If this is devil worship, or something along those lines, you need to be careful," Greta says, "Cults are scary and their hold over a community can be really strong. Police might not be willing to go against them."
"They don't want to investigate Harper's death, because he had a history of reckless behavior, drug use, that type of thing. But I spoke to him hours before he died and so did his girlfriend, he was planning to head home, whatever happened to him—he had no idea it was coming," I say.
"Damn, it's pretty typical. Minorities, those from sensitive groups, women, don't get the same resources. Once again life's not fair. However, I know I'm not gonna stop you from asking questions, but I am saying call me okay? It's not fair your friend died but we don't want you dead and he wouldn't want that either," she says.
"I'm being careful, we're being careful, I promise," I say, quickly, "I haven't told dad, I haven't talked to him since it happened."
"Yeah let's not stress him right now if it's nothing, hopefully he'll be out on bail soon," she says, pulling her backpack up front.
"Let's hope. Do you know anyone who knows a lot about ley lines or any mythology associated with it?"
"Yeah, I can probably think of someone. Off the top of my head it's usually more modern belief systems we're not talking any actual mythology as such more urban myths if that makes sense? So if I had to guess you're looking at something along the lines of devil worship," she says, sorting in her bag, "Here, take this."
"What is it?" I ask, as she hands me a dagger in a leather sheath, "You seriously think I'm going to pick a fight with a vampire or something?"
"I seriously think, religion has meaning because we believe in it, not the other way around, and in my experience cultists and weird types tend to be very intimidated by ceremonial daggers, this one happens to be consecrated, and loud chanting in another language I recommend Latin. They think you're cursing them. If all else fails use people's belief systpems against them. You got Christians you pretend to be possessed, you got devil worshipers you start reciting as much bible as you can. They tend to freak," she says, shrugging, "I'm not suggesting you go confront anyone. I know you're smarter than that. But if Sebastian encountered the same cult forty some years ago, and you said people already recognized you as his kid, well, I would not put it past the weirdos to hold the sins of the father against you."
"I didn't think of that," I say, turning it over in my hands.
"Yeah, well, let's hope I'm paranoid for nothing. But. Until you're back with me and your dad, I want you to be careful, okay? I'd highly recommend saving investigations until then?" She says, cocking her head, "You know I'm good for it."
"We found the body, at this point it's gonna be just asking the odd question, really, it's over," I say, shrugging, "I'm just going through my dad's stuff and maybe trying to see if we can narrow down suspects as to who killed Harper. That's it. I confront murderers with my dad."
"Yes, family policy, take Vuk to all murderer confrontations because he is ten times more scary than any murderer."
"He really is. The prison guards were afraid of him."
"Of course they were! He's fucking terrifying!"
"He really is," I laugh.
"We've gotten like, five stolen artifacts back that way because I just have him start questioning people and then they confess to everything because his eyes stare through your soul," she rolls her eyes dismissively. "All right, do you want to go get dinner? And then anything else you need?"
"Yeah, let's get dinner," I say, looking out the window at the dim twilight, trees soft and black against a darkening sky. I shiver at the thought of that forest.
"There's a cafe up the road, and then we've got another hour, do you want to see a friend or anything?" She asks, nicely, glancing my way.
"I don't know—I'm sorry to drag you away from work like this," I sigh.
"Hey, no, you are not sorry. None of this is your fault okay?"
"You came back to save me from my weird sort of grandparents," I sigh, "And if they do catch me then you'd be safer on another continent."
"No, listen to me, look at me Nicky, absolutely none of this is your fault, okay?" She says, looking over at me, "You did not ask to be born. You are not responsible for any of this. Your dad is. And I am. Because one day he called me and said 'so you remember that thing we agreed was morally questionable and definitely illegal and a bad idea? I'm going to do it anyway because as it happens Sebastian was 95% of my impulse control'. To which I said, 'well you're not fucking doing it without me,  it won't work otherwise because Sebastian's bitchy genes would never miss the opportunity to make me violently ill for the better part of a year'. And now we have you. Our decision. Not yours."
"Okay," I say, laughing a little. They have both told that story and it is always identical dialogue so I fully believe that's what they really said it's completely in character of how they talk to each other. "And for the record, I'm glad you did. I'm not glad of the trouble I cause, but I'm happy. And it wasn't morally questionable."
"Ah—technically using someone's DNA without their consent is a moral grey area, and Sebastian, was of course deceased so, ergo we had like a three hour debate on the ethics of that. However, I figured it was fine because Sebastian never actually was able to deny Vuk anything he really wanted to do and he wanted you, so," she shrugs.
"Huh, I wouldn't care if I got cloned again. I'm dead what do I need my DNA for?"
"I mean, yeah. Also after that time you set a Klan member's robes on fucking fire, Vuk and I were like, yeah Sebastian would want this to be happening," she laughs.
"I stand by what I did but I admit I should not have had a lighter at age four."
"Probably shouldn't have let you play with that, mistakes were made, I am not a baby sitter. Whatever, Vuk came and scared the police into leaving us alone it was completely fine," she says, dismissively.
"Were you sick, having me?" I ask, quietly, tugging on the seatbelt as it cuts into my neck. In truth we don't talk about that aspect of our relationship much because once my dad was giving us some DNA speech and told us we might have minuscule amounts of the other's DNA in us due to blood exchange before birth, and we both said 'EW' in unison because we're very mature.
"No, I was completely fine, I was like 'huh, maybe Vuk is right and this one won't be bitchy and sarcastic maybe that isn't genetic' and then you learned to speak and I was like, oh yeah."
"Yeah it's there. I'm an asshole," I nod.
"And sadly we can't tell anyone that being an asshole is inherited."
"No we'd all be arrested. But it's a break through."
"Really it is."
"And if and when we all do get arrested I think we should tell them like 'hey we know you're mad, but apparently being bitchy and sarcastic is genetic might want to look into that, stop people from breeding if they answer seven out of ten questions sarcastically'."
"Something like that would be good yeah, I think we should, you have it covered," she says, tugging on my sweatshirt. I grin.
"There's the smile, all right," she smiles too, "It's been six months I missed that smart mouth."
"God, I would too."
We both laugh.
"Do you ever think it's funny that given the number of, I'm just going to go with remote villages, previously hidden temples, and bat infested caves, you and I walk into, and my dad by association because he doesn't 'trust us to exist' or something, do you ever think it's odd given our general lifestyle that more than likely we are gonna be arrested and killed for the one minorly technically scientific fou pas, my father committed mostly alone?"
"Yes! We have done so much more interesting things and deserve to die in much cooler ways yes it makes me mad daily that I'll probably wind up in prison for just that," she says, exasperated.
"I know, it's super wrong, like that pisses me off, as much as the part where they cut me up."
"I really don't know why you think your dad wouldn't trigger a nuclear apocalypse to prevent that."
"He can't do that," I laugh.
We both sit there for a minute then look at each other.
"Oh my god do we think he can do that?"
"Maybe??"
"Do you think we should ask him??"
"Are we going to be comfortable with the answer??"
"I'm not comfortable now!"
"Yeah but if we ask him, consider, if we ask him, he's gonna say something like," she imitates his thick Serbian accent, " 'I have contingency plans for every eventuality, do not concern yourself I will protect the child'."
"Yeah, and that would upset me more, but—,"
"He probably does."
"He probably does, yeah."
"And if we don't know we're absolved."
"Yeah exactly."
She turns into a small barbecue diner type place. I don't know it looks red neck but I am hungry. But there are cop cars in the parking lot.
"Is it too much to hope they're here to eat too? Or they'll still serve us?" Greta asks, parking at the edge of the lot and climbing out.
"Definitely," I say, a bit bolder than before because I recognize all the cops now.
"You want to find out anyway?" She guesses.
I nod. It's a small town. I'd really like to know what warrants three squad cars at this time of the evening at an otherwise quiet diner.
"Officer Brett," I say, walking up to his car. He's writing on a pad and leaning on the hood.
"Link, you get around don't you? Is this your mother?" He asks.
"Yes," Greta says, before I say something idiotic like: "See grandma? You do look young!" 
She hits me on the back of the head. I grin. We're only twenty three years apart. She was doing her Ph.D. when I came along, and she tends to look young for her age so it's valid enough to question it.
"She's back from a work trip," I simplify, "We were hoping to get dinner—what's going on?"
"Joe, who owned the diner. Fell into the frying vat, face first," Officer Brett says.
"That—doesn't sound accidental," Greta says, frowning.
"He and the kid working the register were the only people here. We'll do a toxicology, probably fell asleep, could have been drinking. Old Joe was a drinker," he shrugs a little, not too concerned.
"Huh, thanks," I say, as we back away.
"Well, that's odd," Greta says, as we climb back in the rental car.
"More than a bit, that's not easy to do accidentally, even drunk," I say.
"No, not fatally, the moment you touched the grease you'd jerk back—you'd be burned but—,"
"But not dead," I say, "Um—there's a burger place in town. I can direct us to it. Then do you mind dropping me off at a friend's house? I want to talk to them before tomorrow—,"
"Without the likes of the Ramos' listening over, yeah, sure thing. I can tell your case worker to come and pick you up from there," she says.
"Thank you, Greta," I say, "And for the dagger."
"Try not to need it, okay Nick?" She asks, glancing over me, "I know you want to find out the truth but that's not worth risking your life."
"I won't. I'll be careful, I promise," I say, knotting my fingers around the dagger's sheath. I also hope I won't need it.