“That idiot should never have been the group’s mage,” Cal said with the sureness of a military commander. “No matter who his father is.”
Seth’s headache grew worse, a pressure behind the eyes that felt strong enough to evict his orbs from their cavities.
“The duke would have sent his whole family across if it were possible,” Lelani said. “There was a time limit and some concerns as to how many souls could be safely navigated through universes at one time.”
“To save both sons, the duke jeopardized the life of the one that mattered,” Cal said.
“We don’t know for certain that Seth is…”
“And the team… all those people…,” Cal continued, lost in his anger.
“Rosencrantz cast that recollection spell across the planet,” Lelani said. “It’s too late for Fronik, but as of this moment, those who are still alive are waking up from a long dream. Now at least they know they might be in danger. If they are true to their oaths, they will attempt to find us.”
The more Seth listened to their conversation, the more it drove the point that he had ruined all these people’s lives. Fronik and Tristan were dead. So was his roommate, Joe. How many more were dead because of his mistakes? Was the infant, his possible half-brother, dead, too? Seth always hoped to reclaim the life his amnesia stole. He never imagined there’d be a day when he’d prefer to have his memories begin the day the fire killed his parents. At least in ignorance, the only life he knew to have ruined was his own. He didn’t want to hear anymore about his screwup.
“I don’t remember any life in another world,” he said, in a raspy voice, revealing he was conscious.
“That’s because of the shield protecting you,” Lelani said. “Even Rosencrantz had trouble pulling you into his spell.”
“Lucky me. What I need is a shield to protect me from traveling companions talking shit about me when I’m sleeping six feet away. Ben has eight bedrooms, you know.” Seth glanced over to see their reactions.
Cat looked into her cup as she stirred her tea and Lelani processed him with a detached look. Cal looked fit for murder.
“The captain wanted you in plain sight,” Lelani said.
Just then, Ben and Helen walked in from the beach holding freshly caught fish. The sun was past set, a faint line of yellow lay on the horizon, blending rapidly with the rich indigo sky. “Hiya, folks,” Helen said. “Got us some dinner fresh from the backyard.”
“We’ve already imposed enough,” Cal said. “We should go.”
“Go? Where?” Ben asked. “It’s dark back in those woods up north. I doubt you’d find your car before you froze to death, or worse, maybe run into a gnoll that you missed. Stay the night.”
“Ben, you’re an angel,” Cat said. “We accept.”
“But-” Cal started.
“But what?” Cat cut him off. “Rush back and freeze in the woods? We need sleep.”
Seth could tell who wore the pants in the MacDonnell clan. They’d stay the night.
He retired to the patio, then onto the beach, and used Ben’s campfire to light a cig. The fish were cooking on a spit above the fire, rubbed in spices and salt. They smelled good. The beautiful scenery and the fire’s gentle heat conflicted with his feelings. He headed back into the kitchen. The group around the table ceased their conversation on his approach and remained silent, as though they had run out of words.
Seth exited through the kitchen portal and entered the trailer in New York State. The winter air was more simpatico with his mood. There, among the books and periodicals, Seth sat on the precipice of two worlds. It occurred to him a cigarette among so much yellowed paper might not be prudent. He went outside, where his breath painted a frosty path before him. The winter stars were bright in a way they could never be in Manhattan. Tomorrow would be a new day, but Seth could not escape the nagging revelation about his true nature. He was a loser in two universes.
He had always blamed his nature, admittedly selfish, on his abandonment-on his lack of a loving family. He just assumed no one cared enough to come find him. Life had dealt him a fucked-up hand, so what did he have to be happy about? His dead roommate was right-Seth never put his neck out for anything or anyone. After all, if he didn’t try, he couldn’t fail; and if he never tried, he could never be disappointed. But the last forty-eight hours changed all that. He was a screwup preamnesia, too. He came from a place where he was a part of something bigger than just himself, where he had history, and even this hadn’t prevented him from committing a horrible mistake.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Ben said, coming out of the trailer. He hung a camping lantern on a hook by the door and approached Seth.
“They’re not worth that much,” Seth said.
“How can anyone look at a sky like this and wear such a sour puss?”
“Today I learned that I hurt a lot of people. A helpless baby was lost because of me. Three people are dead.”
“That’s pretty rough.” Ben prodded a fallen branch with the tip of his boot. He considered Seth’s confession.
Vocalizing his blunder made it more real. Seth couldn’t remember the last time a mistake bothered him so deeply. He couldn’t remember the last time he apologized for anything.
“Did ya mean to do it?” Ben asked.
“No!” That sounded more certain than Seth felt. How could he know for sure?
“Then, do better tomorrow.”
“Easy to say. I’m not good at…” Seth lost his train of thought. He didn’t know what he was trying to convey. He was not even certain about his own mind. He was emotionally detached from the events he witnessed, yet felt the remorse of failure. Remorse, like an unchallenged muscle, atrophies without use. It’d been a long time since he’d truly been sorry for actions of his that caused others pain. His role for the life that he knew was that of “the abandoned angry guy,” who watched others get the breaks they took for granted. The world had always been in the position of owing him. Until today.
“I’m not good at anything,” Seth finally said. “I’m not… good.”
“Good?” Ben looked at him as an art teacher studies a student’s work. “What the hell is ‘good’?”
“You know… ‘good.’ As in, ‘not bad.’”
Ben shifted like a welterweight, ready to go ten rounds. “No one knows what ‘good’ is. The concept of good is subjective.”
Seth wasn’t buying it. It trivialized his self-revelations and smacked of pop psychology. His silence must have broadcasted this to Ben. The old man retrenched and took on a more learned demeanor that belied his working-class facade.
“Look, son, there was this incident back in World War Two. My unit was ordered to take the town of Bernay from the Germans, see. We were a bunch of scared punks, bragging about women we didn’t have and money we’d never earn. What did we know about anything? In the hoopla of a firefight, some young local farm kids got killed. It didn’t take long to figure out our bullets killed them. Those Nazi cowards used them as shields. One young boy had his beautiful blue eyes blown out of his head. That boy’s face still haunts me today, clear as the day it happened. His eyes looking up at me from the dirt, accusing me of killing him. We were ready to give it up right then. I thought of turning my pistol on my own head a couple of times. How could I go home, face my parents, my brothers and sisters after that? When we won, the townsfolk surrounded us with cheers and beers. No American soldier left Bernay a virgin. But I didn’t feel like a hero. I didn’t feel ‘good.’ None of us ever talked about it. Just kept it in, the shame, the guilt. Took me years to move beyond that day. I still look at my own kids sometimes and shudder. What if one of them got shot? There but for the grace of God…”
“Great story, Ben. Really cheered me up.”
“Don’t be a punk-ass,” Ben said. “We didn’t set out that day to do a bad thing. That mistake didn’t represent my character, I know that now. But at the time I was too close to see it. Give it time, Seth. The past can drag you down like an anchor. It’ll drown you. But the days ahead are unwritten. They’re full of potential. So whatever you think good is, fix it in your head and work toward it.”