Elijah's Chariot (The Forgotten Children Book 1) (12 page)

A
distant crash brought Sean to a sitting position in his bed. At least, that’s
what it sounded like. He sat blinking, slowly turning his head from side to
side, trying to wake up. There it was again! It sounded very far away and
muffled, from somewhere below him. Daylight shone in through the window – the
curtains had not been drawn the night before. 

Sean
pushed the blanket off and swung his legs to the floor. He was still dressed.
In fact, he didn’t remember falling asleep last night. The last thing he could
recall was his father lying next to him, whispering something about Elizabeth.
But, what had he been talking about? And where were Thompson and Rohrstadt? Had
they –

Then,
suddenly, it all came rushing back to him: his father’s phone conversation and
trying to get through on the quickly deteriorating phone lines – the image of
Elizabeth lying on his parents’ bed, next to the still form of his mother, her
face cold and white.

Was
it a dream? His still sleep-blurred eyes rested on his father’s face, asleep in
the opposite bed. His glasses were in his hand, the blanket half-drawn over his
chest. His light-brown curly hair delicately framed his head lying on the
pillow. He was absolutely motionless. 

Sean
sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his father, afraid to move. He wanted
his father’s eyes to flicker open, for him to wake up and say something. He
didn’t want to have to lean over to check if he was still warm and breathing –
he wanted his father to get up and let him know that he was still there, still
alive and that everything was going to be fine, that they were going to get on
a plane and fly back home and that Mom and Elizabeth would both be there
waiting to greet them. 

Suddenly,
Sean jumped up from the edge of the bed and grabbed his father’s shoulder,
shaking him violently. Kevin’s eyes shot open and he yelled out “Wha…?”

Sean
quickly recovered from his surprise and wrapped his arms around his father.
Kevin rubbed at his eyes and patted Sean’s shoulder in confusion. “What’s
wrong, what happened?”

Sean
said nothing, but continued holding on to his father. 

- -

His
knuckles hit the door harder the second time. He paused and listened, looking
up at the room number on the door – he didn’t hear any movement from inside.
“Dad,” he called through the open doorway to his right, “still no answer.”

“Is
it locked?” came his father’s reply over the buzzing of an electric razor.

Sean
tried the door handle – it turned smoothly and he pushed the door open just a
crack. He peered through the gap, listening again for any sound, but still
nothing. He hadn’t heard anymore crashes that morning either and was starting
to think that he may have just been dreaming. 

Sean
found himself pushing the door open wider and stepping carefully into the room,
the thick mauve carpet crushing lightly under his white-socked feet. The
curtains were open too, bounteous daylight streaming in. The sky was a pale
blue, the first one that Sean could remember since arriving in Moscow only five
days before. Only five days… it seemed like so much longer. 

John
was lying on his back on one of the beds, his shoes still on and a blanket
pulled over most of him. Ralph Thompson was curled up in the armchair in the
corner, one of his feet resting on a stool in front of him. He cradled a pad of
graph paper in his arm and a black pen lay on the floor next to the chair. 

Sean
walked slowly over to stand beside John’s large, inert form. His eyes were
closed, his mouth open, his chest motionless. Sean stared, waiting for the
chest to rise, knowing in his heart that it wouldn’t. Finally, he turned toward
Thompson near the window.   

There
was a pot of cold coffee on the table next to the window, with several mugs
mostly drained. Thompson’s hair was wet at the temples and his collar was
unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest. His lips looked blue and cold. 

He
carefully pulled the pad out of Thompson’s grip. The first page was a brief
will, leaving everything to his sister in Illinois. The next page contained a
log – entries running down the page with the times next to them. Sean’s eyes
quickly scanned over them – most were about how his headache felt, how he was
trying to stay awake, how many cups of coffee he’d drank. The last was at 3:08
a.m. and was very brief: “Tired. Head’s worse. Coffee’s making me sick.” Higher
on the page at 12:53 a.m. was an entry in different handwriting: “Hi, this is
John Rohrstadt, guest writer and special invitee to Ralph’s all-nighter. I’m
very tired. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning!”

Sean
laid the pad on Thompson’s lap and left the room. Kevin was just splashing some
after shave on when the thirteen-year old walked back into the room and stopped
in the bathroom doorway. 

“Are
they in the room?” Kevin asked as he glanced at his son in the mirror. 

Sean
nodded, without looking back at him. Kevin paused and opened his mouth to ask,
but Sean glanced up quickly, then looked away again. 

Kevin
turned back to the mirror, twisted the cap back on his after-shave lotion,
smoothed his hair down in the back. “You ready?”

“For
what?” Sean asked morosely. 

“I
thought we’d go out and get some breakfast, walk around a bit. Looks like it’s
going to be a nice day. A little cold, but still nice.”

Sean
nodded and walked out to put his shoes on. 

- -

Bundled
up in their coats and scarves, they walked through the large, empty lobby. Just
as they reached the midpoint of the lobby, one of the large glass doors that
led to the street swung open. A small, middle-aged man with a black fur hat
entered the hotel, an olive-green knapsack slung over one shoulder. He was
staring at the floor as he walked, but lifted his head and stopped when he saw
them. His mouth fell open for a brief instant as they stopped, staring in turn.
Then, without a word, he walked past them as if they’d never been there. Sean
and Kevin stood and watched him make his way around the large armchairs and
couches scattered around the lobby and head down one of the spacious hallways
that led further into the hotel. Kevin looked at Sean and shrugged, before
pushing open the heavy glass door onto the street. 

The
sun had melted most of the morning frost on the grass in front of the large
statue across the street. The silver-colored statue was of a young man and
woman striding forward, side by side, holding a hammer and sickle. Their
youthful faces were full of hope and strength, entirely heedless of the fall of
the soviet empire they symbolized, and equally as unaware of the devastation
that their country was currently undergoing. Sean thought they looked very
lonely perched high above the world – entirely untouched and unconnected to
anything but each other. 

Kevin
and Sean stopped at a convenience store near the metro station. Kevin calmly
strode behind the counter and pulled a couple of boxes of Swedish Muesli off
the shelf and retrieved a liter-size box of milk from one of the freezers. They
found some plastic bowls and spoons in another kiosk – luckily the door was
open and they were able to help themselves. They walked around the empty
outdoor market, peering at other kiosks full of foreign CD’s, stereos, clothing
and videos. They dropped off their bowls and utensils in a garbage can when
they were finished. 

Both
father and son walked in silence for several minutes, keeping their hands
buried deep in their pockets and their heads turned toward the ground to
prevent the cold air from sliding up over their zippered collars and reaching
their necks and chests. Sean wasn’t sure where they were going, but assumed
they were probably just walking. He’d been on a few long walks with his father
before. He’d usually ask Sean to take a walk with him when he wanted to talk to
him alone, away from Elizabeth’s inquisitiveness or his mother’s helpful suggestions.
Sean remembered that they’d taken a long walk one winter evening in Pasadena
when he was trying to decide whether to play soccer or baseball. Another time,
when Sean had been sent to the principal’s office for fighting with a couple of
other boys during the third grade, they’d walked through the entire
neighborhood and into the next. His father had begun that time by talking about
young male aggression and the need for winning peer acceptance. His calm and
reassuring, but ambiguous tone kept Sean confused for most of the time as to
who his father was referring to exactly – him or the couple of boys with whom
he’d been fighting. Sean finally had to say that they were just fooling around
when one of the boys had accidentally kicked the other too hard, which started
off the whole brawl. That had seemed to pacify his father. 

They
were approaching an upward slope as the road turned into a bridge over a thin
waterway that ran through the neighborhood. Sean noticed again how dirty the
streets were in Moscow, especially with all the piles of snow collecting mud in
the gutters. He wondered if all cities that had snow were that dirty during the
winter, or just cities in Russia. 

His
father suddenly started speaking. “When I was getting ready to ask your mother
to marry me, I had to walk around the block about five times before going to
knock on her door – I was so nervous. Walking always calms me down, it helps me
think better. Talk more candidly. She didn’t know I was coming over that night,
I’d told her I had to work on some things late. She was surprised when she
answered the door and I told her I just wanted to go on a short walk. We ended
up walking around the block another five or six times before I drove her to our
favorite park. ” 

He
smiled, looking at the river under the bridge as they walked. “But, when we
were walking, I kept running out of things to say, I was so nervous. All I
could think about was the ring in my pocket and what I was going to say to her
and how she was going to react. I hoped she didn’t notice how nervous I was –
she did most of the talking.” Kevin looked over at Sean and smiled. 

“It
ended up turning out okay though. She told me later she could tell I was
nervous and that she knew why. But, she didn’t say anything about it then. She
just let us walk and waited for me to do what I had to do.”

They
crossed over the bridge and continued past a couple apartment buildings, their
dark brown brick corners towering a couple hundred feet above the road. Kevin
was clapping his gloved hands together, trying to keep the circulation going.
The air was sharp as it came into their nostrils and over their chapped lips.
It was much colder than it had been since they’d arrived in Moscow. 

“I
think on our way back, we should load up on some food from that market and take
it back to the room. We might grab some more clothes and coats for you too. I
saw some that would probably fit you back there.”

Sean
didn’t reply, just kept walking beside his father down the street, leaning
slightly into the soft wind, trying to stay warm. “Maybe we can find some
flashlights and matches and stuff like that. Maybe some camping type equipment
– sleeping bags, tents. I’m not sure what kind of stuff they have here, but we
should be able to put something together for you. I’m thinking your best bet is
going to be to get out of the city as soon as possible, maybe find a small town
and set up camp in some nice, warm house. Wait a month or so – however long it
takes this place to warm up before you try going farther.”

Sean
still didn’t look at his father. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold wind blowing
in his eyes or thinking about waiting out the spring chill in some Moscow
suburb that was making him tear up. He already knew the answer to his next
question, but he had to ask it anyway. Not because he wanted his father to
console him, but because he just wanted to say it, wanted to express the fear
and the loneliness he already felt as they walked around the empty streets. 

The
aching feeling in his throat got worse for a second when he first tried to
speak, but he finally forced it out. “Where are you going to be?”

“Oh…”
said his father in a long, slow exhale of breath that formed a cloud in front
of his face. “I’ll be around, you know.” Kevin continued strolling, his gaze
fixed on some distant point ahead. 

“I
think this is probably just going to have to be your own adventure, Sean. I
think you’re ready for it, we’ve taught you some good stuff, I think you can
handle yourself on this one,” said his father casually. 

Sean
stopped walking, staring intently at his father. Kevin halted after a few paces
and turned back to look at his son. The boy could feel the anger and grief
filling his throat and head, threatening to spill over at any moment and erupt
from him in a pitiful wail of tears. As he clenched his mouth tightly shut to
prevent any sound from escaping, he looked into his father’s eyes. And there he
saw the same tears, the same anger and pain at what they both knew was coming,
but that neither could prevent. But, in his father’s eyes, Sean also saw the
acceptance – Kevin’s resignation to the knowledge of what was going to happen.
And, he saw his father begging him to understand and to be strong – strong
enough for the both of them.