The Custodian, Ch2, Part 2

The Custodian

Ch 2, Part 2

He stood and turned away, facing the jagged wall of slimy rock and Calysta knows what else. He needed a moment to compose himself, to think of just the right way to do this. He saw what looked like a spot of darker brown than the rest of the wall and walked over to it, taking a closer look.

“It’s blood.”

He spun around at the sound of the kid’s voice, the boy watching him intently.

“I examined it in detail last night. It’s just blood,” Calton said in slow whisper.

Gallard walked over and crouched in front of him again, then thought better of it and stood. He wished he could just undo the restraints so the boy didn’t feel so vulnerable, but the old man had the damn key.

Calton’s eyes cast down for the briefest of moments. “How long do I have? Can’t track the time in here.”

“Eleven days”–he swallowed the bile in his throat and took a deep breath–“I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell him he was working on a plan to get him out, but he didn’t have a plan other than making the kid run, and he didn’t see him doing that.

“Sorana…. Tell her that I’m all right. Just that. And Greer–“ Calton dropped his head, his hair hanging over his eyes “–tell her he chose it for himself.” The kid looked up at him, face controlled again, almost serene. He had always wondered when he’d spy on him sparring how someone that young learned to not show anything on his face. It had taken him forever to learn to control his own expressions and it felt odd that this young kid did so with ease. The kid was still waiting for him to acknowledge his words, so he nodded and crouched in front of him again.
The boy looked at him expectantly for a long moment, then shook his head. “I don’t have anybody else I want to say anything to, and I’m not all that interested in anything you came here to say. You can go now.”

Gallard felt a sharp ache in his chest. He swallowed. The boy’s eyes were down again and he was glad he wasn’t watching him now. He lowered himself to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. They’d be eye to eye, if the boy chose to look at him. A part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

“I spent eight cycles in this place when I was your age,” he started.

The kid’s head jerked up, a look of surprise on his face, but he didn’t speak.

“I did what you did, Calton, only back then, a sponsor, if powerful enough, could buy out your sentence. I got lucky…. The boy I had to fight–he wasn’t a friend or anything–but I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t talk myself into it. Anyway. They didn’t execute us then, just kept us here until we went insane or died. I don’t know what they did with those who broke…. I spent a lot of nights in here wishing they had just killed me, Cal.” He gasped at letting his nickname, the one he only used with himself or Lyx, slip out like that.

“Sorana and Greer call me Cal,” the boy said in a strange voice. “How did you know? Were you spying on me?” His voice rose, and he didn’t blame him for the anger he could see in his eyes.

He shook his head. “No. Well, that’s not exactly true. I never spied on you, but I did watch you.” He stopped, took a deep breath and locked his eyes on the boy’s. “You are my son,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. The kid stared at him, openly, unblinking, something of hatred or hurt passing through his eyes, but for whatever reason, he could see that the boy believed him. He stood and turned away.

“Get out.”

He froze.

“Gallard, Sir. If there is nothing else you need from me, I’m asking you to please leave. I can’t make you go, I know that, so I am asking you, as someone condemned to die has a right to.”

He turned to face him and the boy’s head was down on his chest, the kid breathing fast, hurting. He walked over, feeling the kid go rigid in front of him. He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, squeezing into them through the thick fabric of his coat. Calton kept himself very still not fighting him, not looking at him either, and he couldn’t take it, this boy dismissing him.

“I’ll get you out of here. I’ll find a way to help you run, I swear,” he said quickly and crouched in front of the kid, so he could see him.

The boy shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. I’m not running from what I did, I won’t.” He sounded angry now, angry at him. The kid looked up, his whole face tense. “How many have you killed?” His voice cracked. “Answer me!”

“Fifty eight,” he whispered. “I killed fifty eight boys, Calton.” They stared at each other in silence for a long time after that. He could see the anger replaced by something akin to hatred, disgust maybe on his son’s face. He felt the skin of his own face burn, but he didn’t feel he had the right to hide now.

“My mother…. Who was she?”

He couldn’t tell him that, not if the kid never got to see her. It wasn’t his to tell either, and he couldn’t do that to Lyx, not when she couldn’t defend herself. He shook his head.

“You can’t tell me or you don’t know?” the boy said through clenched teeth.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

The boy sighed. “Alright. There isn’t anything left for us to talk about. I ask again that you please leave.”

He flinched at the harshness in the kid’s voice. “You look like her. Always did. You have her face, and–“ He stopped himself, afraid of making it worse between them.

“And what?” The boy stared at him.

“Her courage, Calton. You have her courage. I can’t tell you anything else, as it wouldn’t be fair to her. I can’t tell you because you will think of her in a way you shouldn’t, in a way you’d be wrong to, and I don’t have enough time with you to explain it right.”

The boy nodded and it surprised him, this small kindness.

He ran his hand through his hair and down his neck, rubbing at the knot of tension in it. The kid watched him, wordlessly, not moving anything at all. There was something of a monk in the way he held himself, a quiet acceptance of discomfort, and it made him want to grab him and shake him out of it, make him want to fight.

“How will they do it?” the boy asked in that strange, quiet way.

“Don’t!” he snapped at him, regretting the sharpness of his tone. He couldn’t tell him, couldn’t talk about it to anyone, least of all him. He wasn’t giving up on him yet. The boy watched him carefully, his face tense. He could see a vein pulsing at his temple, as the kid clenched and unclenched his jaw. He stayed silent, hoping the boy would drop it.

“Tell me. I know you’ve seen it before. I have the right to know what is expected of me.”

Gallard felt sweat drip down the back of his neck and wiped at it with his hand. “You need to let me help you get out of this. You’ll never have to see me again or talk to me if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t expect you to, but please, let me help you. I have to help you.” He looked at the boy, hoping he’d see it in his face that he was begging, that this wasn’t some game to him, or whatever the kid thought him capable of.

“No.”

“What do you want, Calton? Do you want to die?” His hands shook in frustration. He laced them behind his back and leaned in closer to the boy’s face.

“If I were free right now, I think I’d want to kill you, sir.” Cal said it slowly, punctuating each word, eyes locked on his. He meant it, and he felt he deserved it well enough, but it still made his guts clench.

Gallard walked to the door and pounded on it, the old man throwing the door open after just a few seconds. Son of a bitch must have never quite left then. He hoped they’d been quiet enough to where they hadn’t been overheard, or all of this was already over.

“Unstrap him.”

The guardian looked up at him, one sheepish glance and dropped his eyes. “It’s not advisable, sir.”

“I’m not asking for your bloody opinion. Do it, and then leave us. I don’t want you anywhere near this room!” He turned and walked away to the far wall, watching as the old man did what he asked. Calton stayed in the chair, unmoving, his eyes on him, calm, cold somehow. He waited until he no longer heard the shuffling footsteps of the guardian and for a few minutes after that and then walked over to the boy, stopping just a few steps away from him.

“Stand up, Calton.” The boy stood, hands in fists at his sides.

Gallard reached into his back pocket and pulled out his short knife, the boy’s eyes darting to it, his face tensing. The knife’s worn handle felt warm in his hand. He flipped it and offered it to Calton, hilt first, keeping his eyes on the boy’s. “I can’t quite free you, but I will make it easy enough for you, if that’s what you want,” he said as calmly as he could. He moved another step closer and nodded to the kid to take the weapon.

The kid winced and shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not what I meant…. I meant I would challenge you, if I were free to do it.” The kid seemed embarrassed, not quite looking at him now.

“All right,” Gallard said, meaning it. “Challenge accepted. On your terms, whenever and however you want.”

Cal looked at him and laughed, a strange, no humor in it laugh, as if he were mocking him. “I don’t believe Calysta will put you and me in the same place in my next life. I don’t believe there is a next after this. I don’t think you do either, so don’t worry. You’re safe from me. Now please, go.”

He dropped the knife back into his pocket and nodded to the boy, knowing that he wouldn’t get anywhere with him today. The old man, too, would likely show up to check on them any second. He tentatively reached for his jacket and pulled it off Calton’s shoulders. The kid kept his eyes down and he let him be. He was almost done adjusting his uniform when he felt the kid looking at him again. He stooped low and the boy’s eyes were strange, the way Lyx’s eyes were when he’d give her money after their infrequent nights, as if in that moment she’d felt trapped, helpless. Maybe she had.

“What is it, Cal?” he asked, without thinking. “Calton,” he corrected himself.

“If I asked you to come back in a few days, would … would you want to? I know you’d do it, out of guilt or whatever you are feeling, but–“ the boy stopped and shook his head, not looking at him “–I need some time with all of this. I need a few days.”

He reached for him, couldn’t help himself, the boy’s naked shoulders stiffening under his hands, but he held on. “I’ll come back. Of course I’ll come back,” and he had to run from him after that. He lunged for the door, pressing his palm to the sensor on it over and over again, hoping the old man didn’t take too long to get there from wherever he was.

The doors swished open almost immediately and he knew then that the old man stood just outside the door this whole time. He hoped they never got loud enough for their voices to carry through the thick wall of glass. But he couldn’t deal with it now. He had to get away from this cell, from this whole bloody place. And more than anything, he had to see Lyx.

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Here are links to previous chapters of this story, in order:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 2, Part 1

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