The Lightwielder Files

Chapter 2

“What you want isn’t going to happen!” Malcolm said his voice a near growl from what Max could decipher.

“Just think about it”, the girl said but Malcolm turned away and nearly ran into his van. Max caught up with him and went into the van. 

“You okay dad?” he asked. 

“Yes, just fine.”

Max could tell by the way it took three tries to get the key into the ignition that things were not fine.

Max tried another approach. “Tough job.”

“No, something up with the fuse box. It looks like a bunch of teenagers live there on their own.”

“And the girl.”

Malcolm turned to him with a chilling slowness. 

“What about the girl?”

“Nothing dad. It’s just you seem to know her.”

Malcolm rubbed a hand down his face, his eyes fixed firmly on the red light in front of them. 

“What makes you say that?”

“She told  you to think about something.” Was his dad serious? He was hiding something. “I heard you you know,”

“Good to hear your hearing is perfect.” Then he looked at max and frowned. “But perhaps not perfect enough. I told you to keep your jacket on in the sun.”

Max had had enough of all this, it was getting on his nerves more than it really should have. 

“Dad, enough about the jacket. Did you even hear yourself?” Max said. “I’m roasting half the time.”

“It’s not that warm”, Malcolm scoffed. 

“You’re acting like something bad would happen if I went in the sun, and I don't think it’s my complexion.”

Malcolm was silent. Finally, Max had caught him in his own web.

“You’re right. I have been ridiculous.”

Glad we agree, Max thought.

“But I have my reasons.”

Then it hit Max like a ton of bricks. “This has nothing to do with mum does it?”

Max could see his dad’s hands turning white as he gripped the sterling wheel in a lethal grip as they sped back into their neighborhood.

“Why do you say that Maxie?”

Max wrinkled his nose. His dad always called him Maxie when he was emotional, and he always got emotional when talking about his mother. 

“Mum died of cancer.” It was the truth as Max knew it. Well, as much as Max was able to piece together from what little he was told from his dad and other family members which he hardly ever saw. 

“Was it skin cancer? Is that why you don’t want me in the sun without a coat?”

That was the only thing that made sense, the only thing he would and could accept it if he never mentioned it. 

“Yes it was”, Malcolm replied. 

Max’s breath caught in his throat. So it was true but then that honey-thick feeling came over him again and his body called out that his dad was lying. But he didn't say anything, the honey feeling was making him tired very tired. When they got home, Max jumped out of the van without a word to his dad and trudged back inside with his own key, and holed himself into his room. 

He went to the window and did something he had never done before. He opened it, and let the sunlight in like his dad told him not to do. 

 The feeling was thicker more, constricting his chest, immobilizing him but at the same time, it felt familiar. 

He touched a light ray and it danced along his fingers. It was like he was controlling it.

Even it wasn’t true and was a trick of the light or his eyes, it was a nice thought. The sun took his mum away from him, now he controlled it. 

Satisfied with what he was not sure of, he closed the blinds, shutting out all the light. The feeling gone, he took off his shoes and went into the kitchen for dinner. 

Dad was in his office, he could hear him behind the door. Max didn't know if he should apologize for being so harsh with his dad but then decided against it. He wasn't the one keeping secrets. 

  After eating some left-over ramen and two chocolate muffins, he went back into this room to read. When it was late, he showered and got ready to sleep, or really read in his pajamas in bed. 

He knocked on his dad’s office door. 

“Night dad”, he said. 

“Nigh Max”, his dad called back. Strange, Mac though. His dad usually said goodnight to him face to face, or to Max’s retreating form. Maybe talking to him about his mum’s death had rattled him to the core.

Max didn't have that much memory of his mother. She died when Max was three, and all he could picture of her was the hint of tangerine, a twinkling smile, and arms that hugged just tight enough, nothing concrete. 

  Max fell back on his bed and pulled out his bookmark from his copy of Unwind. He wasn't in the mood to read. It was just too hot. He turned o his desk fan, but that just blew the heat around. He groaned. 

“I’ll live”, he said to himself, then opened his window. Thankfully the sun had gone down, illuminating the sky in purplish pink hies that were slowing dissipating into navy.

He took off his shirt for good measure, and lay back on the bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.