Purpose (2 page)

Fear and sadness emanated from him like waves of heat off a summer street, yet when their eyes met, Gar froze. For the span of a heartbeat, he thought he saw something impossible.
“Him.” My “him.”
Then it was gone.

How could he see David in this kid? David died nearly forty years ago. Long before this one was born. Yet there was something.

Gar almost took the seat next to him, but the quick, furtive glance begged him to find another. The kid tightened his hands on the strap of the small bag between his feet. Gar paused to stare for a moment. The kid was nothing like David, and yet…. A rush of emotion seized Gar.
Emotion? Couldn’t be. How?

Gar blinked twice. Still unsettled, he walked to the other side of the door. The front row was empty, and it faced the kid.

Analyzing what just happened, it took him a moment to remember the sensation. Sorrow? Without looking up, he knew the kid’s eyes never left him. They were still watching, a fact confirmed when he raised his gaze from the floor to see the kid quickly turn away.

Now it was his turn to stare. Who was he? How was it possible for this kid to have any effect on him?

The kid peeked back at Gar but quickly looked down when their eyes met. He didn’t care if the kid knew he stared. What could he do about it anyway? No, that was wrong; it did matter. As unsettled as the kid was, he didn’t want to make it worse.

Gar’s brows pushed together in a frown. He tilted his head, focused now on the side of the door.
Compassion? Impossible.

Shaking off the effect, he noted that the cat-and-mouse game continued. This time, when the kid looked over, Gar smiled, trying to ease the tension. Even without seeing it, Gar knew it looked forced. The only smiles he wore lately were ironic, rueful ones that presaged some kind of carnage. A real smile was something he hadn’t done in years.

As expected, a wan, unfriendly smile answered his before the kid returned his attention to the unremarkable bag between his feet. Reading someone’s thoughts was one of Gar’s talents. All that was required was focus. Outside of fulfilling his “purpose,” however, he used it sparingly, especially if the person was an innocent. Doing it now would violate his ethics, no matter how unsettled the kid made him.

Several heartbeats passed before the kid tried again. This time, Gar opted for a more direct approach. “Hello.” Another attempt to reassure with a smile failed. It’d been so long since he tried to befriend someone.

“Hi.” One word and the kid turned away.

“Are you okay?” When the words left his mouth, Gar almost choked. Did he really give a crap?

“Fine.” Short, but telling. The kid didn’t want company.

The answer was not a shock. On this train, at this time, no sane person would tell a stranger, especially someone that looked like him, their problems. Then again, the kid wasn’t in the best frame of mind.

“I don’t bite. It just looks that way.” This time, he successfully got a hint of humor into his voice.

The barest whiff of a smile crossed the kid’s face, as if by acknowledging how he looked, Gar became a bit less scary.

So shy. So like David. Gar had to blink as a vision seemed to superimpose itself. No, that wasn’t right. David wasn’t shy. He was broken and hurt. They had tried to heal each other, but David was taken from him.

This wasn’t David. The whisper of pain in the kid’s eyes brought back the memories from forty years ago. Like a flame draws a moth, Gar felt the kid draw him closer.

The kid looked up, sad eyes staring, mouth parting slightly, then closing. Being socially awkward, Gar wasn’t sure if the kid wanted to confide in him, or just in someone. Someone, probably, and he was conveniently available.

Twice, he almost got up. He didn’t need the kid to tell him what was wrong. He already knew. Just like David, he’d been cast adrift by a cruel and heartless family. What he needed was a friend. Although Gar knew he wasn’t a good friend to anyone, he couldn’t resist the urge to help.

“Are you sure?” The humor in the kid’s face was mirrored by another smile. So cute, so innocent, so needy.

His resolve gone, Gar moved to a closer seat.

“Promise. Where are you headed? It’s not a good time for you to be in this part of town.”

“It’s no safer than for you.” The hint of bravado did not convince Gar he felt comfortable at the moment.

“I’m different.”
So very different
. “So, where’re you headed?”

Immediately, Gar tensed up. Why did he want to know?

“Dupont.” Vague, but enough of a hint. Gar kept his nod to himself. The kid didn’t trust him. Good, he just might survive.

“You from around here?” How stupid did that sound? If he wanted to act like a john trying to pick someone up, he was doing a great job. Why did it matter? When was the last time he cared about anyone?

Again, the kid hesitated. This time it wasn’t distrust; it was hurt. He stared at Gar, but his eyes didn’t see the man in front of him. They were far away. Gar felt the pain, knew he was hurting the kid, exactly what he didn’t want.

“Sorry, I’m bothering you. I’ll leave you alone.”

He pushed up with his right hand and stopped.

“Bowie.”

Afraid to look back, Gar slowly turned toward him. “Sorry?”

“Bowie, that’s where I’m from.” His voice had an urgent edge to it, as if he needed to get the words out fast. Gar felt like it was a plea to stay.

“I’ve heard of Bowie. Couldn’t find it without a map, but I’ve heard of it.”

They both laughed.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The hint of playfulness in the kid’s voice returned once Gar sat back down.

“Philadelphia.” He left out, “a lifetime ago, that’s where we lived.” “I’m from Philly. I live in Adams Morgan now.”

Moving away from talking about himself, the kid’s confidence seemed stronger. “What brought you to Minnesota Avenue?”

It took Gar a moment to understand the question. It was a reference to the Metro station where he’d boarded the train.

“Work.”

Tilting his head, the kid’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of work do you do there?”

Trying to keep things close to the truth, Gar said, “Security.”

“Dressed like that?” The small roll of his eyes said the kid didn’t believe him, not totally. “Do you have a locker or something where you change?”

“Something like that.”

They talked until it was time to change trains. Gar’s stop was one after the kid’s, if that was really where he was going.

As they walked up the stairs, Gar’s mind demanded to know why he’d stopped and talked to this total stranger. Long ago, he’d given up on trying to meet people. Love was hollow, meaningless. He couldn’t share who he was or what he did, so why get involved, only to see them leave?

More inexplicable, the kid was smiling, as if he enjoyed Gar’s company. But Gar knew there was nothing likable about him anymore. Dour, quiet, brusque, and blank were words that described him. He purposely kept his demeanor guarded and gruff to keep people away. Yet he was walking with “him” to the upper platform. Not “him,” Gar kept reminding himself.
The kid is not David.

David was tall and Mediterranean, an Italian boy from South Philly. Back when Gar still felt passion, that was his type. An athlete, David was, in a word, amazing. He turned heads when he walked into a room, but it was his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, that held Gar’s soul.

The kid was average, unremarkable, though not unattractive. But he had David’s eyes. More than once, Gar looked at them and swore they were the same, as if someone had preserved David’s and given them to him. “Him?” Gar didn’t even know his name.

His step faltered for a moment as he realized he was thinking about the life he’d abandoned all those years ago. How long had it been since he thought of David, remembered how it felt to be with him?

Quietly, they waited on the semi-crowded platform. A couple hours before midnight, and the crowds were starting to head north to the city’s nightlife. Mostly young professionals, but Gar noted the thugs mixed in. They were not going for the music and booze, but to prey on those who indulged too much in both.

The Red Line arrived. Almost full, now that the small crowd got on with them. Fortune smiled on them, as they found an empty pair of seats.

“At the risk of being rude…,” the kid started, but his confidence faded. When Gar nodded, he continued. “What’s your name?”

“Gar.” It wasn’t his real name. Who named their kid Gar?

“Gar?” His confused look quickly switched to embarrassment.

“Family name,” Gar said. His predecessors were his only family, in a twisted way. The last dozen or so “hosts” used it, so when he abandoned his old life, he started to use it too. “Yours?”

“Ryan.”

Gar detected a note of hesitancy. His words weren’t a lie, but something more was there. When Ryan’s hand crept closer to Gar’s leg, he understood.

Rather than let things go where it seemed they might, Gar changed topics. “Are you hungry?” He knew Ryan was, but would he admit it? “I need to get something to eat. I could use the company. My treat for keeping someone as scary-looking as me company.”

This time, Ryan laughed a real laugh. It made him less broken. “Um… well….”

Ryan was hungry and scared. No doubt, if Gar read his mind he would find he had almost no money. He was desperate enough that he was going to that part of town to find “work.” A flash of anger filled him. Anger? When he bit down on it, he realized it felt like David was sitting there talking about it.

“Seriously, no strings. Order what you want. I’ll pay.” Checking to see if anyone could see, Gar pulled out a thick wad of bills he had taken from the guilty. “I just got paid.”

At the sight of the money, Ryan’s eyes got slightly wider. Whether he knew it or not, Ryan licked his lips. The small reaction made Gar laugh, enough for Ryan to realize what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, refusing to look over. “Thanks, I’m fine.”

Cursing his lack of social skills, Gar grabbed the first bundle of bills he found in his coat pocket. “Here.” He took Ryan’s hand and shoved the money into his palm. “Don’t sell yourself tonight.”

Shock, then shame flashed across Ryan’s face. Alternating his gaze between the money and Gar, he couldn’t speak. It was more money than Ryan could make in a week on the street, with none of the risk.

Using the silence, Gar got up and stood near the door.

What the hell was he thinking? There was a reason he was alone. He was bad for people. He had no business making the kid’s life worse.

The one time Ryan looked back, the look of shame for what he’d tried to do stung Gar. At least he kept the money.

The second stop was his, or it would be if he was really going there. When he got up, Gar’s stomach twisted. Was he still going to sell himself? The urge to read Ryan’s mind almost overpowered his ethics, but he abstained.

Ryan peered back, gave Gar a small smile, and walked out of his life. Watching him head for the escalators, Gar hoped he was wrong. His face showed gratitude, not triumph. Poor kid. Gar hoped he found some peace.

The chime rang, telling everyone the doors were closing. Gar was still watching Ryan walk away when he nearly doubled over. A sensation similar to what he felt when an innocent died struck him so hard, he gagged. Only this time it wasn’t the same. No one had died. Last time he felt this….

“Ryan!” The scream was blocked by the doors. The entire car turned, stared, then went back to what they were doing. Another raving idiot on the Metro.

Last time he felt this, felt it this intense, someone was
about
to die. Now, after decades, he understood. It was not a call for vengeance. It was a warning.

When the train lurched forward, panic gripped him. He needed to get off the train.
Now!
Pressed against the window, he saw four thugs walking behind an oblivious Ryan.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was such an idiot! Ryan had let his guard down because Gar gave him that money.

The train started to pick up speed, forcing him to focus. By now, most everyone was ignoring him. Some watched, but he “suggested” they look away, and they did. Using the moment of pseudo-invisibility, Gar ran to the door between cars. Two from the end. Damn!

Forming a mental image of a Metro Transit cop, he touched the small box on his belt. When he emerged into the next car, he could tell from the reaction on people’s faces, they saw an officer, not him.

Thankfully, this car was nearly empty, so no one stood in the aisles. Running as fast as he could, weaving around the poles, he quickly covered the seventy-five feet to the back door. Watching the platform disappear, he tried the door. Locked!

Of course it was locked. What had he expected? Too bad. His need was too great. Gar bunched his muscles, yanked with all his strength, and tore the door from its hinges.

Tossing the twisted metal aside, he ignored the screams of shock from those watching. The clarion ring of the alarm sounded throughout the car as the smell of brake pads filled the air. Not waiting for the train to stop, he leapt down, rolling once to break his momentum.

Behind him, he heard the car grind to a halt. Had he stuck around, he would have heard the angry shouts of people who realized their trip home had just gotten complicated. He didn’t care. Something bad was about to happen to an innocent kid. A little discomfort on their part was acceptable.

Sprinting, he covered the distance to the platform in less time than the train took to leave. Still too long. Ryan and the others were gone. He startled the few people milling about when he ran the length of the tracks, back to the escalator Ryan had used. The press of bodies was too thick. Too many would get hurt if he forced his way past them.

He leaped up from the tracks and ran faster toward the moving stairs. Bypassing the crowd, he used his momentum to leap toward the railing, fifteen feet above. Clutching the black metal tube, he swung himself over, nearly knocking over a half dozen people.

“Police, move aside!” His shout took a moment to register, but people quickly moved from his path. After vaulting the fare gates, he made for the escalators leading out. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too late. These were among the longest in the system, and if Ryan hadn’t walked up, he just might catch up.