Grace

14. Fire

Sage told Jordan he didn't have to go to school, but for some reason Jordan felt he had to go through the motions of living. So he went.

Later, when he looked back on this day, this first day after Caleb's death, and tried to piece together everything that happened, Jordan found he couldn't remember what he had done at school at all. He stayed in a daze all day, viewing the world through a kind of thick mist that shielded him from voices, jostling bodies, and odd glances. At some point he found himself standing at his locker, wondering what he had opened it for. Probably some school book or another. Mechanically he rummaged through his messy shelves, scanning titles. His eyes fell upon the picture Grace had drawn for him, carefully tucked between two of his textbooks.

He pulled it out and stood there staring at it, lost in some place deep inside himself. He couldn't say why this likeness of himself in grey lead captivated him so. He searched the eyes of the boy in the picture, wondering vaguely what Grace would see if she tried to draw his eyes now. Somewhere nearby were loud voices, loud and unpleasant, but they had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly a rough, hairy hand came down smack in the middle of the picture, knocking it from Jordan's grasp.

"What's this, a present from your girlfriend?" sneered Dylan, waving the drawing just out of his reach. Jordan noted with unease that Dylan wasn't alone- his minions were flanking him and the smell coming off the combined three was enough to make his hair curl. The minions guffawed loudly, as most cowards will when tormenting a weaker being.

"Give it back," said Jordan quietly, with the air of one who has ceased to care and speaks out of necessity.

Dylan half turned to his minions. "Duh, did you guys hear that? I think the little runt just squeaked."

"I don't want any trouble," said Jordan.

"Aww, he's gone all soft and goody-goody like his girlfriend," Dylan jeered. His minions snickered. "Let's see how he takes this!" And without warning, he ripped the picture in half. Then in fourths. And in seconds the three boys had torn Grace's masterpiece to shreds and reduced it to spit wads.

Jordan stood rooted to the spot. A tiny flame of anger started flickering in his chest, dispelling the fog. Not for his sake, but for Grace's. She had put so much of her time and effort into creating something beautiful, and they had destroyed it.

Very slowly, his fists clenched.

"Aw, look, I think he's upset," taunted one of the minions. Dylan grabbed a handful of slimy paper off the floor and shoved it into Jordan's face, knocking the smaller boy's head into the metal locker. "That'll show you to mess with me," he whispered hoarsely.

Anticlimactically, the bell rang. Kids poured into the halls and the three bullies dissolved into the crowd, leaving Jordan standing by small pile of wadded, saliva-coated paper. A few pieces stuck to his face. He hadn't the presence of mind to peel them off.

The tiny flame in his chest grew from a candle to a wildfire in two seconds. He threw off his backpack and slammed it into his locker. Then he plunged into the sea of teenagers, weaving around bodies, bumping into them and charging on without bothering to apologize, the blood rushing through his ears. He caught sight of Dylan's backward baseball cap slipping out of the door, and ran after it. The only face he remembered seeing was Grace's- at some point he passed her and her eyes got all big. Probably everything he had been through in the past two days was showing on his face.

"Jordan? What's wrong?"

Then he was out of the building, and there were Dylan and his minions lounging by the chain-link fence. One of them saw him and pointed. Dylan got a nasty look on his face. Jordan balled his fists for the fight, but the three boys turned and ran.

Enraged, Jordan ran after them, his feet pounding into the pavement. Across the street, down the sidewalk...the infuriating baseball cap always bobbing just ahead of him... through the Wal-Mart parking lot, dodging shoppers and cars, ignoring the screeching brakes and angry words... behind the building, in a back alley. Dark and smelly. Here the bullies halted and stood waiting for him.

There they were: the enemies. They were the cause of so much suffering. They had taken Grace's work and torn it to shreds. It was people like them who had murdered his brother.

Jordan opened his mouth, heard himself roar. Felt his muscles burn and his heart beat painfully against his ribcage. Like a wildcat he launched himself at the bigger boy. He heard Dylan's "oomph" as the wind was knocked out of him and the thud as they both hit the concrete. They rolled in the dust and the filth, grappling madly. Jordan's good fist slammed into Dylan's nose, his jaw, his eye- Someone kicked him savagely in the side. The minions. Huge hands grabbed him by the shoulders, arms, wrenching him off of his opponent. He struggled wildly, feeling no pain through the inferno blazing within him. Blows rained down on him from all sides. His nose was bleeding again, and he tasted his own blood.

His focus sharpened. He saw the anger clouding Dylan's face, saw the purple bruise that flowered around the bully's eye and the stream of red trickling down his upturned nose. He saw the individual bricks on the back of the Wal-Mart and the bits of trash littering the ground.

Dylan punched him again, on his already bloody nose. This time he felt the pain. It was like Dylan had smashed a brick into his face. He struggled again, weaker, but the two minions were holding his arms with grips of steel. He was defenseless. Dylan's leering, battered face was close to his. Jordan could smell his sweat, his rancid breath. He had to stand there, helpless, as he was punched mercilessly in the face, chest, stomach. His head snapped back and forth on his neck, and he wanted to throw up.

This is life, he thought in a sudden onset of clarity. The strong overpower the weak, and nature overpowers the strong. To live is to suffer and die.

He felt himself slipping away. The blows still came but he was once again dead to the pain. The grip on his arms relaxed. A rushing, black vortex opened before his eyes, sucking him irresistibly into its depths. Empty and dark.

He never felt his body hit the ground.