Triune Page 7

  But this... it was both exciting and terrifying. His mind worked overtime as he paced, trying to logic out how it wasn’t possible. All he managed to do, however, was logic himself into a corner with how it was not only possible, but real. His new reality. Their new reality. Himself and his brothers.

  With an aggravated sigh, he looked out the window again, this time across at the other buildings and the sky beyond, tinted with the beginnings of sunset hues. Barrett wondered when his time would come, torn between feeling like a new chapter of his life was opening up, and feeling like he was on death row. And he suddenly felt very alone. He needed to be with them, he could feel it in his bones.

  They all felt it, a subtle undeniable force, like gravity, like a black hole, like being in love, like the pull off the moon on the tides. A force pulling them together even more now than before, and pulling them along a curving path toward their destiny, the waypoints hidden behind the next bend in the road.

  Barrett dug his heels into the metaphorical dirt. There had to be a way he could stay... normal. Some part of his heart and mind knew better, but he was going to fight it, kicking and screaming. The life he’d built for himself meant too much, and people were depending on him for leadership. The San Francisco International Gift Fair was just a few months off, and they’d increased the size of their booth this year, so Mason Imports had to come up with an entirely new display. Signs had to be bought, product racks ordered, brochures designed, price lists updated, vendors contacted for extra orders for the “Cash and Carry” section...

  He let out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been keeping, and sat back down at his desk. The coffee wasn’t as hot as he liked, but it was caffeinated and normal, and he flipped through the files with a little more focus as the sky outside his window darkened into night.

  Mike left the appropriate messages on the appropriate phones as he said he would, and watched as the glass images turned from luminous and alive to dark and obscured, the lead outlines around the glass sections the only thing remaining to determine the shapes of the objects depicted there. A second night, and the skylight in his brother’s studio still hadn’t been fixed. He sat on the car seat bench and stared up at it, thoughtful. Brian came in the front door with a big bag of Mexican take-out, and they walked together into the small kitchenette at the back.

  “La compuesta!” Brian announced victoriously as he opened the take-out boxes and handed him a fork. Mike couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

  “They look like taco salads kind of.”

  Brian nodded. “La compuesta. The composite. It’s got a little of everything on a fried flour tortilla. See it at the bottom?” He pulled some of the food aside and Mike nodded back.

  “Looks great.”

  They dug in, grateful for each others’ company, and had soon demolished the food, washing everything down with orange Jarritos sodas in glass bottles.

  “You have no idea how much I missed food like this over there,” Mike finally said, leaning back in his chair. “And I get here, and not only am I coming out of that world and back to the western world, but now all this...” He looked back out into the workroom and realized, for the first time, that there were chunks of roof and debris on top of a piece that lay on the worktable below the skylight. Curious, he got up to investigate, and Brian winced.

  “Oh, right. Saint Joseph of Cupertino. Now he really needs work. I haven’t checked since...”

  Mike sighed as he looked at the severely damaged piece. It wasn’t like he’d meant to do it, but he felt horrible that he’d nearly destroyed such a beautiful antique window.

  “I want to make all this up to you somehow. I have some savings, so I can...”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll file a claim tomorrow, call it a break-in... oh... no, I can’t call it that, there’s no police report. Structural failure of the masonry...?”

  “Mason failure. That works,” Mike said with a humorless chuckle.

  “Hey, don’t be down on yourself like that.” Brian put his hand on his older brother’s arm and moved to meet his eyes. “It was a complete accident. Look, if you want to help, that’d be cool. I’d appreciate it. Before we can do anything else, though, we need to get some insurance photos and then organize the glass pieces in the racks so I can find what I need. Okay?” He gave Mike’s arm a little reassuring squeeze, and got a nod in response.

  “Okay. So... camera.”

  “Right.” Brian grabbed it out of his desk drawer and took some photos of the remains of the debris, the junk in the garbage can, the glass racks that were still in disarray, the damage to the Saint Joseph window, and finally the boarded up skylight. Mike watched him thoughtfully, his mind wandering to what kind of photos they could get from the air. At some point he realized Brian was watching him.

  “What?”

  “Nobody can see in. The windows are all stained glass, except that one panel,” Brian said, indicating the one small square with a nod of his head. It was near the top, and it was a bit of a relief from all the color surrounding it. One square of normalcy.

  Brian dimmed the lights a bit just to be sure, Mike wondering if he was thinking what he thought he was thinking, and set the camera back on the desk. Then he strode to the middle of the room, closed his eyes and took a breath, and brought his wings back out. They almost looked ghost-like in the dim light, almost like a trick of the eye, and the muted stained glass served as an eerily appropriate backdrop. Mike’s breath caught a little at the sight of his baby brother like that, and he could feel the pull of his own wings wanting to come out as well in response. A ripple of gooseflesh went up his spine.

  “Do it, Mike...” whispered Brian encouragingly. He could feel something coming from his brother like a light wave brushing over him, a need, an urge... but wouldn’t have been able to name it if someone had paid him.

  Unable to resist it any longer, Mike nodded and let his out as well, careful to avoid hitting anything in the studio – he’d already done enough damage. It felt good, and he marveled at all the sensations, new yet getting a little more familiar each time. His eyes met Brian’s, and they each saw something there that was deeper than before. A connection that was slowly becoming even stronger than the blood brotherhood they shared. At the same moment, they met in the middle of the room and embraced, both of them misting up a little. Finally, Brian spoke.

  “It’s dark outside. No one would see if...”

  Mike nodded. They had to do this. They had to fly. It was part of them now, not just physically, but as an urge that had to be fulfilled. One that couldn’t be denied, even if one were to attempt to dig in his heels, stick his fingers in his ears, and go about business pretending it wasn’t real.

  He’d gotten through five of the files on his desk and was reaching for a sixth when a sudden strange feeling came over Barrett that made his breath catch. It was a sensation that was half physical and half through his mind, an odd wave of... something... that stopped him in his tracks. He froze, wondering if he were coming down with something, but it wasn’t exactly like a fever chill. It was warm, like the first warm breeze of spring, and it moved around and through him.

  He put his hands on the desk to steady himself, eyes closed. The sensation got caught in that door that had opened up inside him, and it seemed through his closed eyes that the light had gotten a little brighter. Suddenly a thought struck him and he opened his eyes – what if others could see it? But as he looked down at himself, everything looked... normal. There was no unearthly golden glow coming from his chest or any other part of him. He turned to use the dark window behind him as a mirror, and to his relief there wasn’t even a stereotypical halo.

  “I’m probably too much of a bastard for that,” he muttered to himself with a smirk. With a long sigh, he got up from his desk and paced again, letting out the excess energy the only way he knew how. Whatever was going on, it was far too distracting for him to get any work done, that much he knew. He went back down, got in the car, and dro
ve to his half empty condo.

  Mandy had their cute 1920s bungalow in Willow Glen and half the furniture, which made the Blossom Hill condo he’d bought for himself after the divorce simply too large, Barrett was starting to realize. And as much as he liked modern style in the way of furnishings, there was something about the bungalow that he missed, and it wasn’t his wife. It was a sense of home. Barrett flopped backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d never felt more alone in his life.

  Together, Brian and Mike climbed up the ladder and onto the roof of the building, wings still out but tucked behind them neatly. The air had turned cool at last, but it was still shirtsleeve weather on a warm late spring evening. They surveyed the lights of the outskirts of town then, at some unspoken signal, they pushed off, Mike slightly in the lead. Higher they climbed, until finally they could see the entire city spread out below them, and the darkness of the hills and desert beyond. Wordless, they hovered effortlessly, each watching the other in the dim starlight, a backdrop of lights below like a second heaven.

  Barrett, still laying on the bed, reached up and opened the blinds above the headboard. He looked upside down at the stars, partly obscured as they were in the lights of the city, and found himself misting up a little. The stars looked more beautiful for some reason, and he wondered if his brothers were looking out at them too. He figured they probably were. That was just how they worked.

  Alone, he let the tears come, until finally he slept, still in his clothes on top of the bed.

  FIVE

  Morning saw them separated again. The two younger brothers had flown over to the roof of Mike’s hotel, then Brian flew back to his studio for the night, this landing much more successful than the one in the desert had been. It almost felt as if he were getting back on a bicycle after not having ridden one for about 20 years. A little bit of “wait, what do I do?” but mostly natural instinct and somehow a little familiar.

  Brian cranked up the music and dug into his work, now not just two days behind on the Saint Joseph window, but possibly weeks considering all the new damage it had endured, plus loss of materials to fix it. He’d called the church and explained that there’d been a mishap with his skylight that had caused some damage, and assured them that there would be no additional charge outside the original agreement. They were very understanding, and after the excitement of the previous night, he was in a great mood.

  Mike was looking at himself in the hotel bathroom mirror nervously, shirtless, gaze darting to either side. His wings moved slightly with each deep breath, and he was both watching them, mesmerized, and concentrating on feeling how they worked while checking the results in the mirror. If he was nothing else, he was practical and quick-witted, and knew that the secret to a successful operation was to use everything you had to your advantage and to keep a level head. And to do this, one had to be as familiar as possible with the tools one was given.

  He caught himself admiring the way the light reflected off his feathers and rolled his eyes. He wanted to stretch them out again, study them, use them... but he had an appointment later that day with his new boss in Sacramento. There wasn’t time, or the space in the hotel room.

  With a sigh, he put them away again and made himself some coffee while packing up his things, wondering what his new apartment would look like. A sudden yet subtle pang of regret ate at him as he thought about leaving Reno and his younger brother behind. The more he thought about his new desk job in Sacramento, the less he wanted it. He wasn’t in constant pain any longer, for one thing, and figured he probably shouldn’t have a cushy job like that at all, considering there were others worse off than him now. But what could he do about it? Go to the VA and tell the doctors what had happened and why he didn’t need the job any more?

  With a derisive chuckle, he sipped at his hotel coffee and looked around to be sure nothing was left behind. Before he left Reno, he had one important stop to make, and swung by the front desk to get directions.

  Barrett had awakened hours earlier. He’d always seemed to need less sleep than his brothers, and in fact less sleep than most people. He usually felt great on about six hours, sometimes a little more or a little less. His rumpled clothes from the night before were in the hamper, and he was showered, shaved, and had on his usual compliment of moisturizers, cologne and just the right little touch of styling product to keep his slightly wavy hair under control. It felt like a power tie day, and without realizing the connection he chose a silk one depicting the stained glass windows of the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite, which in turn depicted California Indian basket designs. It radiated confidence and an appreciation for native art, without being too busy. It matched his light summer suit well. No vest today.

  He was doing an admirable job putting the past two days out of his mind by focusing on his morning ritual almost to an obsessive extreme. Nails neatly trimmed, not a hair out of place, a simple breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice, CNN on the television in the kitchen.

  The rental car attempted to mock his sensibilities, being connected to his trip to Reno as it was, so he dropped it off first thing and took a taxi back to his condo. From there, he got in his comfortable and familiar Lexis and drove to the office, parking in his normal spot, taking the normal elevator up to his normal office and sitting in his normal leather chair behind his normal walnut desk.

  He’d forgotten the feather in his pencil cup, and his stomach dropped when he spotted it there, kicking him out rudely from the careful little bubble of normalcy he’d been forming around himself for the past four hours. Barrett took out his favorite pen and tucked the feather in his desk drawer, out of sight, out of mind. The phone rang and he looked at it like it was a traitor, but then noted that the number was not one of his brothers. After a deep breath, he answered it, glad for once to be discussing a particularly hairy order from Cairo.

  Mike arrived at Saint Mary’s Hospital in his own rental car, and managed to eventually find a parking space after circling the lot several times. He smirked a little to himself as he headed for the doors, thinking how much faster and easier it would have been if he could have just flown there. His wings agreed and seemed a little closer to the surface.

  “Roberta Hall, please?”

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No ma’am,” he replied steadily, meeting the receptionist’s eyes with confidence. “Turns out I’m the guy who saved her life.”

  The woman’s brows lifted a little. “You’re him? The soldier she mentioned? From the plane?”

  He smiled a tiny bit. “Yes ma’am. Lieutenant Michael Mason, US Navy. I’d like to have a word with her if I could.”

  “This way, please.” She led him to one of the rooms, which fortunately only contained Roberta and some flowers besides the usual equipment and television. No other visitors. The woman looked over at them from her bed, then her eyes widened.

  “You...”

  Mike smiled wider and nodded.

  “He’s... this is him!”

  “Hey, if you could keep this private...” he murmured to the receptionist, who nodded.

  “Believe me, we don’t need any reporters hanging around disrupting things. I won’t say a word.” With a smile, she left them alone.

  “Ma’am.”

  “Call me Roberta, please... come sit down.” She motioned toward a chair. “They’re kicking me out at three today, so I’m glad you came by before that. Thank you. Every single minute I thank God for you. You saved my life.”

  Mike blushed a little and sat next to her, taking her hand. “Right place at the right time.”

  “Truer words were never spoken. What’s your name?” She squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes, almost as if searching for something.

  “Michael Mason. Call me Mike, though, all right?” He couldn’t help but smile a little. She looked so different now that she was cleaned up and bandaged, but her bright blue eyes were the same. They seemed to see into his soul. He almost felt like he knew what she was looking fo
r.

  “You were my guardian angel.”

  He chuckled. “Something like that. For right then, anyway.”

  “I thought...” she said, then stopped. There was that searching look again. The hair on the back of his neck stood up a little as he became more sure.

  “Thought you saw something?” Her eyes widened and she nodded. Mike just kept looking at her evenly, deciding. “What exactly did you think you saw, Roberta?”

  She looked him over briefly, then looked back to his face, breaking into a nervous smile. “Nothing. It just sounds stupid. I’m sorry.”

  “Try me.” He smiled a little, gentle and kind, and squeezed her hand encouragingly. She laughed softly

  “For a second it looked like you actually were an angel. With big, dark, beautiful wings. But then, I had just fallen out of a plane,” she said with a chuckle. Mike smiled at her the same, nodding.

  “You can keep a secret, right, Roberta?”

  She creased her brows but nodded. “I’m pretty good at that generally, yeah. Why?” Now it was her turn to get gooseflesh.

  Mike stood up and pulled the curtain around her bed. There wasn’t much room, but he figured he could do it if he were careful. He put his finger to his lips, then carefully unfurled his wings for her. She was literally gobsmacked, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes huge, unable to do anything but stare and gasp. He nodded, kissed her on the forehead, and put them away again. Roberta eventually remembered to breathe.

  “Our little secret,” he said. He didn’t know why he’d felt compelled to show her, but something told him she needed to see it. Mutely she nodded, still stunned. “So yeah. For that moment, turns out I was,” he said with a little soft laugh.