The Prince of Neither Here Nor There (14 page)

His mother released him and stood up. “I’ll get this mess swept up, then we’ll put on some hot milk.”

“Give it to him in a baby bottle, too,” Delia said, rolling her eyes. She left the doorway and went back up the stairs.

Brendan let his father help him to his feet. He still felt shaky.

“I should probably just get to bed, Dad.”

“Sit.”

Brendan looked at his father’s face and saw there was no escape. He pulled out his chair at the table and sat down as he watched his father fetch the milk from the fridge and his mother clean up the mess he’d made.

It seemed so real,
Brendan thought.
But it couldn’t have been. It was a dream.
He winced as the fabric of the T-shirt brushed against his chest. When his parents weren’t looking, he surreptitiously
⁴³
pulled the collar of his T-shirt down and looked at the space over his heart. Where his scar had been for all the years of his life, there was now a patch of reddened, irritated skin. The odd spiral scar was gone. He quickly covered up the mark again before anyone saw.

His father took a seat opposite him as his mother heated the milk in a pan. “We’re worried about you, Brendan,” his father began seriously.

“Dad, I’m fine! It was just a bad dream like you said,” Brendan insisted.

“I don’t know,” his dad said. There was worry plain on his face. “We’ve had a couple of calls from the school nurse. You had some kind of confrontation with a bully at school and you hit your head …”

“It’s nothing,” Brendan groaned, secretly cursing the kindly Mrs. Barsoomian. “I got tagged in the face in Murderball. And I banged my head on a door. Really. I’m just clumsy. You know that.”

His mother sat down, putting a cup of hot milk in front of him. Ever since he was a child, his mother had made him hot milk when he was sick or upset. He picked up the cup and blew gently on the surface of the milk, watching a skin form on the top. When he looked up, both his parents were looking at him with sober expressions on their faces.

“Oh.” Brendan suddenly understood. “Oh, no way! I’m not on drugs or anything. It’s not like that. Besides … how could I afford drugs on my allowance? Huh? Ha!” They didn’t find his joke funny either.

“What are we supposed to think?” his mother asked. “You’ve been behaving so strangely. And your father said you had some kind of episode at the concert tonight.”

“Episode? No! It wasn’t an episode,” he said hurriedly. “I was just … tired and … I don’t know.” He thought back to the concert and how he must have looked. If he’d been watching himself, he would have thought the same thing as his parents. “I was just getting into the music. Really. It’s nothing to worry about. I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to do weird stuff.”

“But we do worry,” Brendan’s father said. “It’s a dangerous world and we want you kids to be safe. You have to be careful.”

“I am, Dad.”

“Well, we still worry,” his mum repeated. “And we think it’s time you knew something. We wanted to tell you before but it never seemed like the right time.” She looked to his dad before continuing. “We’re concerned that some of these episodes might be subconsciously linked to this … situation.”

His mother fell silent. Brendan groaned inwardly. His mother had studied psychology and she liked to use it on him whenever the opportunity arose. Brendan steeled himself for her amateur psychoanalysis. His father reached out and took his mother’s hand, squeezed it. His mother took a deep breath and looked at Brendan.

“I want to say, first, that we love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, Brendan. You have made your father and me so happy in so many ways.”

Brendan was puzzled. “I love you too, Mum. And you, Dad.” Normally, not even Chester’s tortures would be enough to draw this admission from Brendan, but he sensed this was not like any discussion he’d had with his parents before. He knew this was a time to set aside his usual embarrassments.

“We have tried to give you a good home and a good family. We’ve done everything we can for you…” His mum faltered. “I don’t know how to tell you. But we want you to know the truth.” Her voice cracked.

His father took over. “Brendan, you aren’t our natural child. That is to say, you are our son. You are my son and I love you, but you weren’t born to us.”

Brendan stared in disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“We adopted you when you were a baby.” His mum blurted it out suddenly, her eyes full of tears. “You were so beautiful. Just a perfect little baby boy and we loved you immediately and we’ve never stopped.”

Brendan felt a chill run through his heart. “I’m adopted?”

“Yes,” his father said. “It makes no difference to us, and it shouldn’t to you. You are loved here and no child has ever been more wanted.”

Brendan didn’t know what to say. He sat in silence for a full minute as he tried to find his words. Finally, he said, “Why are you telling me this now?”

His mother took his hand. “We were worried. You are our son in everything but biology. We were worried that you might be having problems that are due to your genetic inheritance…”

“Or even psychologically,” his father added. “Perhaps, on some level, you are aware that we aren’t your biological parents and you’re having … problems because of those suppressed feelings.”

Brendan didn’t know what to think. He looked away from his parents’ faces to the cupboards and the stove and the pots hanging above the sink. This was his home. He had never even dreamed that he didn’t belong here.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with the voice of Deirdre D’Anaan:
Now you will know your true nature!
He couldn’t get his head around it.

“Does Delia know?” he said at last.

“No,” his father said. “She was very young when we got you. We have never told her. We decided you should know first.”

Brendan suddenly felt angry. “Now? Now I should know? You’ve kept it a secret this long and you think telling me will help me in some way?” He pushed his chair back and stood, jostling the table and spilling his milk across the tabletop.

“Brendan!” His father stood. “Do not speak to your mother in that tone.”

“I won’t,” Brendan sneered. “If I ever meet her.” He instantly regretted what he’d said. His mother covered her face with her hands and began to sob. His father was at her side in an instant, encircling her shoulders with his arms.

Brendan felt so ashamed of himself. Why had he said something so cruel? She was his mother. She had always been there for him and now he had repaid her with cruelty.

“I …” he stammered. “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it. I—”

His father raised a hand and smiled sadly. “I know. She knows too. It’s all right. Just head on up the wooden hill now. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Brendan wanted to go and hold his mum and make her understand that he was sorry. Instead, he made his way to the loft and flung himself down on the bed.

“Who am I, really?” he murmured to the space marine in the poster on the ceiling.
Talk about the worst week ever. Maybe if I’d never made it to the end of the Murderball game, all of this wouldn’t have happened.
He thought it would take forever to get to sleep, but the concert, the bizarre dream, and the revelation had sapped him completely. He flung an arm over his eyes and fell almost instantly asleep, a sleep that was thankfully devoid of dreams.

⁴³
 
Surreptitiously.
How do you like that for a word? It means discreetly or sneakily. I could have just said sneakily or discreetly, but I didn’t, did I? Deal with it.

PART 2

Freaking Out and Running

Another Note from the Narrator

Certainly, not an elegant name for the next section but it accurately describes the action. Accuracy is important in narration. What if I’d called the next section

B
RENDAN
P
ETS A
L
ITTLE
D
OG

AND
E
ATS A
C
OB OF
C
ORN

Ridiculous, I think you’d agree! There is no petting of dogs (little or large) and no corn is present in the narrative. You would have been confused, angry, and upset. You might have come to my home with torches and pitchforks and taken your vengeance upon me. I wouldn’t enjoy that, to say the least. Especially since I just had some landscaping done on the front yard, and it would break my heart to have an angry mob trample my geraniums. (Or gerania? I’m not certain of the plural form of geranium. Still, it’s beside the point.) I don’t want you to wreak your revenge upon me for the inaccuracy of my section titles. (Of course, I doubt that you would be able to find my house, even should you raise a vengeful mob. I live in a subdivision of Helsinki and the streets are very windy. I’m sure you’d get lost and there’s nothing that takes the wind out of an angry mob’s sails like endlessly wandering around, searching for the object of their fury.)

Let’s move on. Brendan is on the verge of some big changes. He’s discovered some shocking facts about himself. These shocking facts are just the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid. It’s time to start freaking out and running.

SEEING THINGS

Breakfast was strained. Brendan’s parents tried to be hearty and upbeat, but he could tell they were worried. His sister was her usual sensitive self. Whenever his parents weren’t looking, she flipped him the loser sign on her forehead. His parents kept sneaking looks at him, as if they were expecting him to lose it at any moment.

His father was off early to the coffee shop. His sister also left for a volleyball practice before school. Brendan was relieved to have a chance to talk to his mother alone. He waited until she came downstairs in her work suit. She was gathering up her notes and stuffing them into her briefcase when he finally worked up the nerve to approach her.

“Mum?”

She stopped what she was doing but she didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I was mean last night,” he said softly.

She looked up at him then, her eyes bright with tears. “I know. It’s a lot to accept. Maybe, we shouldn’t have told you … but we were worried about you.”

“Mum, I know,” Brendan said. “I’m sorry I’ve been weird lately. I guess it’s just hormones or something. I want you to know that you are my mum. No one else. That will never change.”

She started to cry, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight. “I’m so glad you said that. I always want to be your mother. I don’t regret anything.” She pulled away and looked up into his face. “I know what you’re thinking—why tell you now? Well, there is another reason.”

Brendan felt a lump form in his stomach.

“While you were out last night, a woman came here asking for you,” his mother told him. “She said she was a relative of your father’s …” She paused and frowned slightly. “Your biological father. She wanted to see you.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her the truth,” his mother said. “You were out with your dad. She said she would wait. I told her that wasn’t acceptable. We would have to talk to you first before you had any contact with your biological relatives.”

“What did she say to that?”

“It was weird,” his mother said. “She didn’t say anything for a long time. She just stared at me. It was kind of scary. It felt like she was barely restraining herself from physically attacking me.”

“Did you call the police?” Brendan asked. “She sounds a little crazy.”

“Not yet,” his mother said. “Your father is going to talk to our lawyer today, to see what the legal implications might be. That’s why we felt we had to tell you. We didn’t want you to find out from anybody else.”

Brendan’s mouth hung open in shock. Strange people claiming to be his relatives? His dream? Greenleaf and Kim conspiring? There were so many strange things happening to him. He’d forgotten to ask his father about the music on his iPod. He’d have to do that tonight when he got home.

“What did this woman look like, in case she tries to talk to me?”

His mother frowned. “That’s another weird thing, I can’t really remember. I only have a vague impression that she was tall and her hair was blond. I’ve been racking my brain but I can’t come up with anything else. Maybe she scared me worse than I realized.”

“Did she give you a name?”

His mother shook her head. “No. When I asked for it she said, ‘Your
people
will know it soon enough.’” She shivered. “The way she said it was so, I don’t know, vicious. I was pretty frightened. I was glad when you guys came home.”

“If she comes back, you should call the police.”

“I will. You be careful, too,” she said and kissed his cheek. “And about everything else … your past history. We love you. I know there will be difficult things for you to deal with but as long as you remember that, we’re going to be fine, understand? We just have to keep talking about it, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, a lump forming in his throat. “I’ll remember.” He kissed her cheek and set off out the front door.

Dmitri was waiting at the corner of College and Crawford. Brendan was glad to see him today. He was glad to see anyone normal.

“Did you get the calculus homework done?” Dmitri asked.

“No.” Brendan groaned inwardly. “I just fell asleep last night. I didn’t get to it. I’ll try and do it during my free period. Is it hard?”

Dmitri pursed his lips. “You can copy mine if you want to.”

They walked in silence for a couple of blocks. Brendan was wrapped up in his thoughts of last night’s dream. It had seemed so real. Deirdre D’Anaan sitting in his living room with the vines choking his family. Then there was his parents’ revelation, and the weird visitor. Had the woman at the door been Deirdre D’Anaan? No. Not likely. She was onstage at the time. So now there were two strange women to deal with. It was all too much. He needed help.

“D,” he said finally, “what do you think about dreams?”

“Dreams? Like while you’re asleep?”

“Yeah. What are they? Do you think they’re important?”

“Important?” The smaller boy shrugged. “I don’t know. Some people think that your dreams are your subconscious mind processing what your waking mind takes in. Your brain is like a computer, and when you go to sleep it continues to process data in a random fashion.”