03: George – New Dawn, New Day

.

.

George loved a dawn run by the sea. The rising sun rendered the world in serene hues with golden highlights while the breaking waves calmed the heart and stilled his mind. Solitude, focus and the steady drum of foot after foot in the twilight allowed his dreams to linger, setting a peace of mind before the plans of the day took hold.

Or at least it was true on most days. Most days he had more to wear than a bag clutched over his balls.

A tank rumbled past on the Promenade and he ducked behind a short dune to catch his breath and bearings. He’d run hard, as close to the shoreline as he could without setting foot in the water, keeping a distance from the high ground of the city, away from prying eyes and the surprise military invasion.

The beach formed the southern half of the circular Shipyard Island and coupled with icy, cement-like sand, doubled his journey time, but at last George reached the block he wanted. Finding the condo he needed, he hissed a soft “yes” as there, one floor above the door, Holden’s light was on.

George charged towards it, or as close to a charge as his frozen legs could give. The stone steps from the beach to street burned his soles and the air did likewise to his chest. When he reached the promenade he staggered across the road, fell through the glass doors of Holden’s lobby and collapsed.

He wheezed against the elevator until the lung stabbing pain of each breath eased off. He’d made it, running the scenic route around six blocks in single digit temperatures, in nothing but his birthday suit, and not a single person had seen him.

Ding! 

The elevator opened and George stepped back. A confused postman stepped out. They sidled past each other, avoiding eye contact, and George’s numb fingers fumbled with the buttons, losing his grip on the backpack. The postman looked down and winced.

George turned red as the door closed. “Hey, it’s, uh, it’s really cold out there.”

…

A minute later he stood outside Holden’s door. Holden had made it clear on past visits the door would stay shut to all but four hard knocks and nothing more. Do it my way of you want me to open up. He’d bought a two-dimensional herring-shaped doorbell and painted it bright red to drive home that point, giving unobservant visitors something to focus on. George had taken months to get the joke.

 When the door did open, it was slow and silent on well oiled hinges. Holden peered out from behind the chain, swept the corridor with his eyes and frowned when they landed on George.

“Can I assume this is the result of a spectacularly good night out?” he said, looking George up and down.

George shook his head. “Please tell me you have coffee and an electric blanket.”

“Now’s not the best time. Try me again in an hour.”

George sagged. “Aw, come on, it’s like minus a hundred out here.”

“You should have worn more layers.”

“Just let me in!”

Holden sighed and unchained the door. George barged past to hug his radiator.

“You best have a good story to tell.” Holden said. “I happen to be in the midst of breakfasting a delectable fair maiden and I don’t want my reputation soured by some bleeding twit with no decorum.”

“Trust me, pal, I’ve got one. George said. Then looked down. “Bleeding?”

“Your feet. You’ve left a trail of red prints right to my door. I do hope nobody’s following you.”

George pulled a small sliver from his foot. It was mercifully numb from the cold. Several more were embedded in his soles.

“It’s just glass.” he said.

Holden took a closer look. “No, it’s shell. You walked barefoot on the beach at this time of year? That’s not sand out there, my friend. It’s all crushed seashell and coral.”

Holden dragged him to the bedroom and pulled out a first aid kit and some clothes. All George had was a pair of boots and his tool belt. His phone, keys and after-bathing, pre-sleep comfort loungers were still back at Rhea’s, along with the rest of his stuff. Holden left him to it.

George’s senses un-numbed as he climbed into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, both too large. He could have gone without his sense of smell returning, though, at least until after he’d left the apartment. The air was a stale haze of cheap cigars and other sickly scents. If the cops patrolled with sniffer dogs, Holden’s door would’ve been marked first for a dawn raid.

He joined Holden in the kitchen and immediately gagged on an attack of black smoke. Flames burst from a frying pan filled with charred strips of what he could only assume was once bacon. Holden ran past and pushed a window open, leaving the pan out on a ledge. When the room cleared and the coughing subsided, a petite redhead waved from across the breakfast table with an amused grin on her lips and tight leather plastered to her skin.

Red hair and leather, George noted. Definitly Holden’s type.

“Lilian.” She said, holding out a hand. “I’m a friend of Holden’s.”

George hi-fived her palm. “I bet you are. I’m George. Holden’s my youth offenders mentor.”

Holden set three bowls of grey mush down and joined them.

“Lillian here is indeed a very good friend.” He said, pouring her a glass of juice. “An angel of mercy in my otherwise dreary existence.”

George poked his bowl. “Your oatmeal looks like it’s past due.”

“The bacon and I had a minor dispute at the cooking stage, so this is all I can offer. And it’s not oatmeal, it’s Human Food. Like dog food, but for people.”

George took a bite that squelched under his tongue. “Tastes like bad pancake batter.”

“And yet unlike that staple of breakfast treats, you’ll not find yourself hungry again in a mere five minutes, having the correct nutritional balance sustaining your bodily systems at an optimized level of performance until your next meal.”

George glanced at Lillian. “Can you understand him when he speaks?”

“Mostly?” She half shrugged.

Holden poked George’s face. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods this early, eh? Marital strife? Trouble in paradise? You didn’t forget your anniversary, did you?”

George shook his head. “Neighborhood took a hit an hour ago.”

“Hit?”

George nodded. “Army showed up to kidnap someone. Girlfriend’s street went boom.”

Lillian pulled out her phone and loaded the local news. “Today? Are you sure? Was anyone hurt?”

He stole Holden’s orange juice and recounted the previous night, from his rude awakening to the soldiers and gunfire. They listened in silence to how Rhea’s neighbors were marched from their home at gunpoint and laughed at his narrow escape from Cheppard, and the resulting nude sprint around the beach.

Lillian grasped George’s hand. “Make sure you see she’s alright, George. Women appreciate care like that. And give her this. Take them together.”

George looked at what she’d palmed him. “Gum?”

Lillian grasped his hand again. “It’s not gum. Just trust me, take them at the same time and take her straight to bed.”

“You do know he’s supposed to report any drugs I’m using, right?”

Her grip tightened and her face paled. Holden then added his hand, too. George expected him to take the gum strips. Instead he pried Lillian’s phone away.

“Well that’s unexpected.” He said, and tilted the screen to face them.

“Wow.” George said. “The ex.”

Another petite redhead stared back from one side of the tiny screen, a downtown scene superimposed on the other.

“Oh, her.” Lillian said. “Chloe Harrods.”

“Heralds.” George said.

“Yeah. Her.”

“You know her?”

“No. It’s just everyone thinks I stole my look from her. Like I chose to be born with this hair.”

“And your faces.” Holden said. “You could be twins.”

“Twins with the weather girl?” She scowled. She then tilted her head at George. “Wait, ex? You dated the weather girl?”

George shook his head. “Not me, your very good friend here.”

“You?” she glared at Holden. “You dated the weather girl?”

“That was long time ago. Now she’s a reporter.”

“The now reporter who looks like me.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Yes she does! Holden, don’t tell me I’m a rebound?”

Holden drew his ear closer to the phone. “Quiet, she’s saying important words.”

“…for the new power station in preparation for the centennial tomorrow. The surveying architectural team were baffled by…”

George slammed his spoon down. “The Centennial’s tomorrow?”

“I’m guessing today, since this is yesterday’s news.” Lillian said. “What’s a sentinel mall?”

Holden growled but didn’t look up “It’s the hundred year anniversary of the city. We have to work on it. Shush.”

She snorted and tapped her phone in his hands. “So, who broke up with who?”

Holden ignored her and turned the volume to max. She turned it the other way.

“Who broke up with who?”

He sighed. “It’s whom. And I did. She used me like a springboard to get cozy with the head of some foundation we have contracts with. Landed herself a job reporting on their tech work.”

“The Kinsley Foundation?”

“Kinsley, that’s the one.”

“She works for the Kinsley Foundation.” Lillian said. She frowned and stared out the window. “So she’ll… I see. She’s a survivor.”

“She’s a what now? Hey, What’s the matter? Me and the Chlo-clo ended months ago.”

Lillian shook her head. “Fuck. I thought this was going to be a fun memory. I really did.”

She fell silent. Chloe’s voice filled the room from the tinny speakers.

“…while the president is treating the appearance of the pyramid as a publicity stunt, it’s mysterious appearance on the White House lawn has highlighted serious security gaps…”

“I need to go.” Lillian said.

Holden stood. “Hey, stay today. Come join me at the Centennial party. There’s a boring video we have to sit through but it’ll be fun after. And you’re no rebound, just a fine grower of quality copper hair, of which I happen to hold a particular penchant for in my hierarchy of eye attracting desires.”

“Speak English!”

“I just have a thing for redheads.”

Lillian took a deep breath and chewed her lip. “Look, Holden, I probably should’ve said this earlier, and it might come as a little bit of a shock, but I’m getting married this afternoon.”

Holden’s smile froze.

George froze mid spoon.

“Hang on.” Holden said. “I misheard–“

“I’m getting married.” Lillian interrupted him. “This afternoon.”

The room fell silent.

Until Holden dropped his spoon.

His mouth floundered. A tense few seconds passed before he closed his eyes, placed her phone on the table and slowly aimed an accusing finger at her face.

“Say that again, love?”

“I’m getting married. At three.”

“One more time!”

“Look it’s kind of hard to explain. You see, my son’s an archeologist, or at least he will be once he graduates.”

“And a hearty congratulations to your son,” Holden said. “Now one of two men I wish you’d mentioned before. Any others you’d like to spring on ol’ Holden while you’re at it? Got some hidden weekend lover stashed away somewhere?”

“I think that’s you.” George interjected.

Holden shot him a glare but Lillian stood and placed her hands on his cheeks. She turned his face back to hers.

“My son wants me to come live with him,” she said. “But there’s strict protocols about who can go, and the marriage is one of the ways around that. You see, he has this soldier friend who’s single, and I’m meeting him for a lunch date today.”

Holden pulled her hands away. “Oh, a lunch date? How innocent. What is it, your first time with him unchaperoned?”

Lillian looked away. “It’s sort of my first time meeting him. Ever.”

Holden sunk back in his chair. “I honestly wasn’t expecting that answer.”

She picked up her phone and took his picture, a side portrait frowning into middle distance. She traced his jaw with her fingertips as she passed.

“I’ll treasure this, you know. I haven’t had a weekend like this in a long time.”

She held out a hand to George. “And it was nice meeting you. Good to get a glimpse into Holden’s real life, even just a little.”

George had apparently failed to blend in with the background.

“Sure.” he said, shaking her hand. “And nice meeting you. And congrats on your marriage. I think. Best of luck.”

Behind her, Holden let out a cackle. His face curled into a lopsided smirk and he reclined back with his chest puffed out.

“So am I right in my suspicion this is nothing more than a marriage of convenience?” he said. “That you could come back for more of the ol’ Holden Love at a later date?”

Lillian nodded. “It is, but I can’t. I’m leaving tonight and I won’t be back again.”

Holden’s face and chest fell.

“Oh, don’t pout like that!” Lillian said. “You look like you’re mourning.”

“Can’t think why. So this is a goodbye, is it?”

“Goodbye, Holden.”

Lillian closed the kitchen door behind her. Neither man said a word until the front door clicked shut as well. Then Holden flopped forward and buried his face in his bowl of Human Food.

“George?” his muffled voice said.

“Buddy, I’m so sorry—”

Holden cut him off with a raised hand and pointed to the door.

“What the fuck just happened?”

…

Holden didn’t say another word after breakfast. He rinsed his face, grabbed his jacket and tool belt, and stormed out. George followed at a distance.

Outside the condo, a mob beat on a lone tank. It had churned their road to rubble and dented two cars, instilling the required levels of outrage for the locals to overcome their unease and lash out. Despite its armor and armaments, the angered residents swarmed it with rolling pins and walking sticks and whatever else they could find. The soldiers screamed for backup.

Holden ignored them. He kept a brisk, focused pace and stormed six blocks in uneasy silence. When they reached Cheppard’s chapel, he screamed at the sky and punched a hole in the noticeboard. 

“Feel better?” George said, standing out of lashing range.

Holden rubbed his knuckles. “It’ll do ’til we drink later. Now talk me through what’s goes on here.”

George shrugged. The chapel was flooded with guests, far more than it was built to take. Although it stood on the promenade where devout tourists could find it, it was almost a parody of a real parish in size. Its congregation spilled out to the streets.

Rhea stood in its arches, leaning on the closed doors. She sipped coffee from an oversized cup in the background while her father and two overwhelmed officers failed to quell the rising mob. Around the corner, more cops cordoned off her road with yellow tape. Glass still lay shattered and scattered across the churned surface, and everything that could have been was knocked to the ground.

Kids filled the sidewalks, half dressed, half uploading footage while their parents screamed down their phones for reassurance from insurance companies.

“Just another day in paradise.” George said.

Holden huffed and waved over the crowd. “Morning, Pastor Cheppard!”

Rhea’s dad looked up and waved back.

George turned away. “Don’t call him, you idiot! What if he recognizes me?”

“I thought he didn’t see your face?”

George peeked over his shoulder. Behind her dad’s back, Rhea blew him a kiss.

“Seriously?” Holden said. He shook his head. “You still haven’t told him about you two?”

George sighed. “Don’t start. She was nagging me about that this morning.”

“Then you might consider growing a pair, my friend. You’re almost twenty-one.”

“According to the ID you sold me, I was twenty-one two years ago.”

“A classy girl like that won’t wait forever. And of all the dames in all the world, how’d you end up screwing a pastor’s daughter? And Joseph Cheppard? Joe shepherd, holy man. Your boss, and a man I wouldn’t put it past to get that god of his to curse you for sullying his only child.”

“We work for O’Toole Construction & Engineering.” George said. “Name’s just coincidence.”

“The O’Toole family changed their name in the last world war so the business wouldn’t suffer. They were German.”

“And what, the Shepherd was chosen from above?”

“Ask the man yourself. He’s coming over.”

Cheppard and Rhea finished with the police and made their way through the crowd. She waved to George, who took a step back, but Holden draped an arm on his shoulder to help ground and reassure him. He grounded George hard.

“Mr. Crayson, good morning.” Cheppard said, shaking Holden’s hand. “Ghastly way to start the day. Look at all this destruction and violence. I don’t know how these warmongers sleep at night.”

“I can imagine.” Holden said. “George has been telling me about it all morning.”

Cheppard stretched a hand out to George. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken directly.”

“George Travers.” George said, shaking back. “I’m Holden’s, I mean Mr. Crayson’s, TA.”

“TA?”

“Teaching Assistant.” Holden said. “And a fine one, too. Has a good head on his shoulders, and those are pretty strong as well. Biologically speaking, he’s a fine specimen.”

Cheppard nodded to George. “And a firm handshake to boot. Sounds like you’re doing an exemplary job turning your life around.”

George shrugged. “Yeah, well, when you’ve hit rock bottom…”

Holden nudged his ribs and smiled. “I’d be lost without young George. Not only is he physically capable, but he has the respect of the whole class. Keeps them in line while being respectful. The kind of young man you hope your little girl meets one day and brings home. Maybe even marries.”

Rhea spluttered into her cup.

Cheppard turned. “Are you alright, dear?”

She nodded and wiped her mouth with a sleeve. George kicked Holden’s ankle.

Holden bent to George’s ear. “I just lost a good woman. I’m not letting you make the same mistake.”

He straightened as Cheppard turned back.

“Do you live locally?” Cheppard said to George. “I thought I knew everybody on the street.”

“No, I live near East Bridge. Wrong side of the tracks.”

“But you were telling Mr. Crayson about the mess when you arrived?”

George froze.

“It’s not just here.” he said quickly. “It’s across the city. There was a tank getting mobbed by Holden’s place a few minutes ago.”

Cheppard’s eyes widened. “Across the city? Why that’s terrible! Something must be done.”

He asked Holden about his contacts in the news and George took a step back while Holden explained Chloe’s career move. Rhea bit her bottom lip to hold back laughter and wiped a tear from her eye, doing her best not to make a sound behind her dad. George just glared.

“George?” Holden said. “Look after the pastor’s little girl for a minute. We’ll fetch the students.”

“Sure.” George said. “No problem.

Cheppard followed Holden, and as soon as both were out of sight, Rhea leaned in for a kiss. George was unprepared, but quickly returned it. She tasted of chocolate.

“Well,” she said, breaking away. “You finally met my dad. I think he likes you, especially now you’re dressed.”

George snorted. “Enough for his little girl to bring home?”

“And marry?”

“Fuck off.”

“But after last night, maybe you should call round and introduce yourself properly.”

George nodded. “Fine.”

Rhea smiled. “And I guess you’ll need these.”

She sifted through her pockets and pulled out his phone, keys and wallet.

“Oh, you beauty!” he said. He held her cheeks between his palms and kissed her nose. “You lifesaver.”

“So do I tell my dad we’re officially an item or will you do it?”

“Ooh, let’s see. Who should break the news to the holy man, his loving daughter or the ex-con?”

She made a face. “Juvie isn’t prison, and you’re in the rehab program. He trusted you enough to find you work, and he just heard high praise for your performance.”

“There’s a big difference between hiring a drudge and letting him date your family. Face it, in the eyes of someone like him, I’m trash.”

Rhea wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re a gentleman and I’m going to make daddy see that. You proved you’re the man I always knew you were this morning.”

“And here I thought I was just your badboy phase.”

“Actually, so did I.”

He squeezed her gently. “Fine. I’ll swing by later and let your dad know what’s up, and if you just happen to record everything so the cops can identify who killed me, all the better.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d say that.” Rhea said. “There’s something I want to tell him as well.”

“Anything he says can and will be used against him in a court of law.”

Rhea bit her lip. “I’m, uh, late.”

“Late for what?”

George blinked. Oh, late.

“Okay.” He said. “Well let’s just wait a few days to see what happens.”

“It’s been six weeks. Nearly seven.”

“Might not mean anything.”

“Five weeks might not mean anything. Anything over six is something we need to check out.”

“Then let’s get some medical expertise on the matter.”

“I called my doctor before breakfast. We have an appointment.”

George raised his palms and took a step back. “I meant getting a piss stick from the pharmacy. You couldn’t wait ‘til after work to tell me this?”

Rhea shook her head. “I was trying to tell you this morning. I wanted to tell you last night, actually. I… I want to keep it.”

A sharp call turned their heads. Holden waved from the corner of the street. He and Cheppard had a dozen apprentice builders in tow.

“Oh, look. My future father-in-law’s back. Let’s go break the news.” George said. “I bet he’ll be overjoyed. Hey, he’s a pastor. We can book the church for our wedding at the same time as my funeral, because he’s going to fucking kill me!”

“George…”

“No, don’t say it. Congrat-you-fucking-lations. Great way to trap a husband.”

He turned before she could say any more. Cheppard and Holden gave him a friendly nod, and he gave them a grunt in return. Rhea scowled and threw the last of her coffee at his head, but a stray breeze flew it over the crowd and Cheppard gave her an outraged glare. He didn’t notice her smile was gone.

George took charge of the other students. “We’re going to West Station, then the Power Plant.” He said. “If you don’t know the way, follow me. If you do, follow me anyway. We’re on a schedule.”

Cheppard nodded his approval at Holden. “Quite militant, your boy. Shows discipline. I think there’s hope for this lot yet. My daughter on the other hand seems to be getting out of hand as of late. I’ll have to nip that in the bud.”

Holden patted him on the back. “Relax, Pastor. We’ve both been there and we turned out alright.”

The two adults followed the younger group to the station.

“Oh, I expect more than simply alright, Mr. Crayson.” Cheppard said. “I want to impart the importance of striving for excellence, to be the best they can be.”

“And I’m sure she will. Must be tough, hearing these kids gripe all day. That’s not a job I’d volunteer for.”

“Yes, but she can’t be their counselor if she can’t control her own impulses, and I can’t show her favor just because she’s my daughter.”

Rhea trailed back while her dad and Holden put her life to rights and George led the apprentices uptown. She slowed, letting the gap between them widen, keeping her head down and shuffling at her own pace, lost in her head and alone in her thoughts.

Behind her, more tanks rolled onto the scene.