After the Calling

<<Madness: Part III

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Layne stepped out of the car and made his way into the city’s central park. Making his way along the littered paths he reflected on the visitors. The sarcastic frowner and his feisty dame had come at an inopportune time, as the repercussions of Sirian Sarke’s death had yet to unfold. The psychic community was in hiding from itself, and rightly so. This was not the time make new friends. However, the feeling of destiny that had encroached upon him the moment that Tobias had insulted him, of all things, was something he could not ignore. And while it could have been coincidence that Tobias used the words “sunrise” and “night” in the same phrase, Layne was convinced it was premonition. If only the source of that premonition wasn’t dead set on rebellion.

He ignored a group of green clad teens as they examined him from their perches on a park bench, whispering to each other as he walked passed. Layne had made this trip enough times for the local delinquents, who frequented the park after hours, to know not to quarrel with him. He was only slightly tempted to ask if they had seen the angsty pest whom he had come to retrieve, but he had his own methods of finding the boy.

Layne came to a familiar clearing and paused. In one quick movement he forced a small amount of energy through his fingertips, lifting his hand as his digits ignited. Had someone been watching, it would have appeared that his fingers had spontaneously burst into flame. With a snap of his wrist he tossed the flames to the ground, where they did not ignite their surroundings or extinguish, but rather, flickered, waiting.

He clucked to them affectionately. “Go find him,” he cooed, watching as the small flares zipped away from him, leaving small trails of burnt grass in their wake.

It wasn’t long before he felt drawn to his right. Following the sensation, it took all but a few minutes to find what he was looking for.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the teen flap and flail, slapping at the small flames that were singeing the hems of his jeans.

“Fucking hell, Layne! Put them out!” Jericho cried. Layne let out another chuckle before willing the flames to extinguish themselves.

“Fucking douchebag.” Jericho snarled, turning on his heel. “I just bought these jeans.”

“With your brother’s money.”

Jericho, leaned down to examine his burnt hems. “You mean the money that he gets from whoring out your girlfriend? Right, like I would touch that.” The tone of Jericho’s voice was malicious, and his comment was clearly meant to sting.

Layne bit down on his tongue to keep from reacting with the same hostility. “Jericho, lets just skip through all the crap and get out of here.”

“How about you skip all the crap and get out of here,” Jericho said stiffly, beginning to walk off, “And how about I go about my business.”

Layne couldn’t help but laugh. “Dude, you’re like 6 years old. What business could you possibly have?”

“Go ahead. Keep treating me like a kid. That’s totally gonna get me on your side,” Jericho called over his shoulder. “Good job.”

Layne, not feeling like a screaming match across the clearing began to following him. “Okay, okay. You’re right,” he said. “But if you want to be treated like an adult, you need to stop throwing these immature tantrums.”

“Getting away from that brothel isn’t me throwing a tantrum. It’s me trying to separate myself from all you assholes.”

“Jericho, whatever your opinions of how we… make a living… you know just as well as anyone else that we do it for your safety.”

“Pole humping, the last line of defense.”

Layne sucked his teeth. “Jericho, come on.”

“Just leave me alone, Layne!”

“I can’t do that,” Layne responded.

“Well, then you clearly have a problem.”

“I’ve got nothing but problems, kid.” Layne jogged to catch up with the teen and grabbed his shoulder.

“Let go of me!” Jericho said, violently shaking free.

Layne released him and sighed deeply. “Jericho, look, to hell with the club, to hell with me, Monroe, Mickey, your brother, to hell with everything. But don’t drop your mother. She’s done so much just to keep you safe.” Jericho turned away and crossed his arms, but didn’t walk away. Layne, sensing some leeway, pressed a little, “…if not for her, for the memory of your father…”

“OKAY! Layne, Christ! Overkill much? You see I’m standing here, don’t you?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Layne said, backing off. “Does this mean you’re coming back with me?”

Jericho, nodded his head in annoyance. “Let’s just go and get this over with.” He turned on his heel and began walking in the direction that Layne had come.

Layne smiled, but said nothing as he turned to follow.

As they approached the car, Jericho asked, “What the hell is so important that they sent you to round me up? I would have come back eventually.”

“We have visitors,” Layne explained. “Prophecy-wielding visitors.”

“Prophecies?!” Jericho stopped short. “No way, man.” He turned to make an escape back into the park, but Layne snatched him by his collar and yanked him back toward the car.

“Too late dude. You’ve already agreed to come back with me.”

Jericho struggled vainly against him, “Aw, man, I don’t feel like dealing with this crap! I should have know –”

“Shutitup. Shutitup.” Layne said, opening the passenger door and pushing him inside the car.

He grinned to himself in satisfaction as he walked around to the drivers side, looking forward to the groan-filled ride home.

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Madness: Part V>>