Malevolent Nevers

Chapter One

The glowing theater marquee floated above the two shapes huddled together on the cracked sidewalk. The sign flashed, intermittently, the title of that evening’s featured horror flick: Glitter Zombies. The shadows beneath shivered in the frigid, midnight, fall air. It was far colder than a typical October month in Atlanta and probably didn’t foreshadow as much about the ugly days ahead as it should have. The teens, bathed in a starry-eyed enchantment cast by the other, were far too bewitched to notice much else.

Simeon Ward, a bit of chipped black nail polish still visible on one pinky, reached into the large popcorn bucket and picked at the remnants. His greasy hair, once blond, was dyed black, and he casually relocated it from one side of his head to the other. He was in the process of dislodging a kernel from between his teeth, when a car—covered in stickers featuring the logos of what appeared to be local bands—revved its engine as it rambled past. A face hidden in the gloom shouted at him from an open window.

Simi!

The car didn’t stop and he didn’t bother attempting a wave before it rounded the corner at the end of the block.

Who was that?

Simi turned and looked into the large green eyes of his girlfriend, Mags Downing. A couple of meandering dreads hung down in front of her face, just barely reaching the dark skin of her cheekbones.

No clue, Simi sighed. Some asshole.

He had no memory of the car, but it wasn’t a surprise to him he’d been recognized. Most people in this part of town knew him, knew Mags. Both had lived in the same neighborhood, just a couple of blocks over from where they were sitting, for their entire lives. Their houses, directly across the street from one another, made it easy for the two to regularly sneak out for late-night rendezvous, movies, and general insouciant shenanigans. They’d been doing so together for years, long before the official dating designation was ever uttered.

Feels like ancient history, man.

Yeah, she yawned. So, what’d you think? The movie, I mean. She reached out and snatched the last piece of popcorn before he was able. He squinted at her playfully and threw the bucket somewhere behind, vaguely in the direction of an overflowing trash receptacle.

Simi stretched his arms out in front of himself, the black jean sleeves of his jacket momentarily leaving his wrists exposed to the night. I dunno, he said, shivering. This one didn’t scare me. Not really. A few good jumps, I guess. But, mostly, I just thought it was kind of dumb.

Mags looked disappointed. Dumb? Come on, really? Maybe you’re just getting harder to scare. I actually thought it was pretty good. I mean the whole glitter thing was—

Awkward, he interrupted. And confusing. I didn’t get it.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Don’t try and analyze it, Simi. You always over-think it. Movies like this one are just supposed to be fun. What’d you expect? It was freaking called Glitter Zombies."

Simi played, absentmindedly, with one of her dreads. I don’t think I’m over-thinking anything. I just want to know why the undead were all covered in glitter and shit. I mean, what was that even about? What were they going for?

Dude, it’s art. You clearly just don’t know art when you see it.

He scoffed. "That was art?"

Mags smiled up at him. Mhmm, she said. A. R. T. She leaned her face upward and kissed him quickly on the nose. Art.

He shrugged. If you say so.

For a few beats after, both Simi and Mags sat in silence. He staring up at the stars, she staring up at him staring up at the stars. When his gaze remained fixed for a bit too long, and the lasting silence encroached on maladroit, Mags reached up and gently poked him under his chin.

Hey, she said. You okay?

Nope.

Simi didn’t look away from the sky. I’m fine.

Mags adjusted to get a better look at the contortion of his face. Look, Buddy, I know you better than anyone and I can tell you’re somewhere else right now. What’s up?

Simi hung his head in defeat. Mags always had a way of dragging it out of him and a knack for realizing when her first and only beau needed to talk. It’s just...

She finished for him. Him?

Simi nodded. "And her. Definitely her too."

Mags nodded. Anything new?

It’s never anything new, Mags. We keep doing this, having this same shitty conversation. I know you’re trying to help but it’s unfortunately never going to be new.

He shook his head. Another car drove by, this one hitting a small puddle that came close to splashing onto their outstretched sneakers. Neither flinched or was dislodged from their chat.

Nothing new, he confirmed. "Hate that she’s gone. Hate that she left me with him. Hate him. But, what’re you gonna do?"

Mags sat up and interlocked her hand with his. They each wore a matching neon green cord around a ring finger. It was a childhood memory, a shared carnival trinket from a local fair long gone. Years before, each had placed the identical prize on the hand of the other in jest. Neither one had ever removed theirs. Though the rings themselves were fading and fraying, Simi and Mags’ recollection of the moment was as brilliant as ever.

When was the last time you talked to her?

Simi hung his head between his knees. Weeks ago, he said. She’s too busy, gallivanting around the world with that old, rich, silver-spoon. Too busy to talk. Too busy for her son.

Mags kissed his hand. "And... him?"

Simi laughed. Who, my dad? She nodded and he continued. Ah, he’s the same. Trying, I guess. But, as you know, none of this is really his jam.

Mags rolled her eyes at him. "This? You mean, you? You’re his son. You’re his only jam."

Simi kicked a crushed can he’d been toeing out into the road. Yeah, well. He’s still adjusting to being a functioning human again. Being a father’s still a ways off. You know that.

Do you?

She bit her lip, unsure of how far to press. And... the functioning adult stuff. That’s going—

It’s going fine. I mean, he’s stayed sober. Nothing’s changed there. Just passed a year. But, I’m sure you—

Oh, yeah, I didn’t forget. That’s so great, Simi. Really, it is. I hope you realize that.

Simi half-heartedly bobbed his head. It is, he hesitated, not wanting to downplay his dad’s success. "But I can tell it’s still a struggle for him. He’s still... rough. In more ways than one. And I can tell he just wants her to come back so he can take off and do his own thing."

Mags wrapped an arm around Simi’s shoulders and squeezed. You don’t know that. It’s just taking him some time. He practically had to start all over and hit the ground running as a father to a seventeen-year-old—

Look, he interrupted. That’s entirely his fault. No one told him to leave us. No one told him he needed to spend my entire childhood in pubs and at blackjack tables instead of with me.

Mags squeezed harder. I know, she said. "I know. Trust me. But, he is back. He came back. He wants to be a part of your life."

Simi stood up and puts his hands in his pockets. Mags didn’t move and still sat looking up at him from the pavement. I guess. But, would he have if Mom hadn’t decided to suddenly jet across the globe? Not like he had a place to stay anyways. She gave him a temporary roof over his head and a spot to park his truck. I hate to even suggest it, but—

Don’t, she stopped him. Don’t suggest it.

The marquee flickered once more, winking at the lull in their conversation. Simi paced a couple of times behind his girlfriend and was about to speak when a pair of headlights rounded the corner onto their street. The high beams flashed repeatedly and, even before the rusted seventies-era Ford came to a screeching halt, both Simi and Mags knew who it was.

Here we go.

Simi turned his back to the vehicle and Mags stood up to greet it. Reflecting the purple Glitter Zombies lettering, the passenger side window squealed as it was manually rolled down. A completely bald head, also catching a bit of the glow from the signage, poked itself out.

There you both are, he said. Been driving around for the past hour looking for you two. You know it’s after midnight? The man didn’t seem at all worried, only mildly annoyed.

Hi Abe, Mags said informally. She’d known Simi’s dad, at least in theory, since she was just a kid. We decided to catch a late movie.

Abel Ward smiled warmly. No biggie, he said, in his best cool-dad attempt. Should have figured. He glanced at the back of his son. Hi, Simi.

"Why don’t you use your phone? Texting is like a thing now, Abe."

Abe’s expression darkened. Hearing his son calling him by his first name was not a preference. Look, I’m sorry. I left it back at home. I’m going to get better at that. I promise.

Simi shrugged and walked over to the door. It groaned as he pulled it toward himself. Mags, having participated in the familiar song-and-dance many times before, hopped in first. Once she was settled in beside Abe, Simi followed and slammed their only escape shut.

The radio was on low, but Simi could hear the twang of a banjo quietly welcome them to the awkwardness of the tiny, crammed, cab as his father’s truck lurched away from the curb. Bluegrass music, the constant soundtrack to Abel Ward’s plodding, frequently disappointing, career as a parent played them off into the night.

As they slowly moved away from the theater, Simi mumbled under his breath. One of these days, it’s gonna fall right off of its hinges into the road.

Abe squinted. It was late and he was very tired. The door?

Yeah, Abe. The door. Obviously.

Abe laughed, nervously, inexpertly attempting to maneuver around the tension oozing from his son. Well, she’s lasted this long, hasn’t she? He smiled at Mags, looking for some support, but she shrugged. It was clear she didn’t want to get in between them, even though she physically was. But, you’re right. Definitely gonna be a lot of work to get her back into tip-top shape again.

Simi didn’t respond. He only stared out his window. The ride, fortunately for them all, would be very short, but Mags still chose to fill the delicate silence. She almost always did.

"Hey, thanks for the lift, Abe. By the way, you should totally check out Glitter Zombies, it—"

That’s okay, he chuckled. I’m good. Not exactly my jam, if you know what I mean.

Simi and Mags both exchanged glances. Abe was vaguely aware the two were making eyes at one another, but he ignored it. They usually were.

A minute later they braked in front of Mags’ home, an elongated squeal accompanying their arrival and no doubt alerting the neighborhood of the late-night return. The kids got out and Abe pulled his aging truck into a driveway across the street that—technically speaking—belonged to Simi’s mother, Tammy. Abe’s ex-wife.

‘Night, Mags, he whispered as he stepped out of the truck. Simi—

I know, Simi hissed. I’m just gonna say goodnight. I’ll be right in.

Mags grabbed Simi’s hand and the two walked to her front door. They both waited for Abe’s back to turn on them before leaning in for a quick kiss.

Okay, okay, she poked him in the chest. Enough for tonight. I’m sure my dad’s awake, staring at us out of his bedroom window.

Creepy, Simi smiled.

They hugged and, before she reached for the doorknob, Mags breathed through her teeth, I hope you two have a good night. Remember, give him a chance. He’s building himself back, one piece at a time.

Simi didn’t respond, but his longtime girlfriend opened the door and disappeared within. Turning back to his own home, he could see the living room lights were on. His father was already inside. Unlike most dads, he undoubtedly wasn’t ready for bed. Abe Ward was a certified night-owl; there’d be a good chance he’d just want to talk about things and hang out once he found himself alone with his son for the evening. But Simi didn’t want to talk. He had no interest in hanging out. He just wanted to sleep.

I don’t owe you shit, Abe.

Simi took another deep breath of the surprisingly chilly nighttime air and started his long trudge across their very small street.

Chapter Two

Abel Ward stood with his back toward the large bay window in his ex-wife’s living room. If he’d turned, with the curtains spread wide, he’d have been able to see Simi and Mags across the street saying their goodnights. He wanted no part of any sort of accusation that he was spying on the two or not properly giving them their space. Kids need their space. He likely would’ve just headed upstairs to avoid the risk entirely, but he’d made it his mission to be around for Simi each night, once his son finally came home. For that reason, he lingered not far from the doorway, intentionally keeping himself turned away from the tableau outside.

Just to be on the safe side.

Everything with Simi was like walking on eggshells, (wobbling, already-cracked, eggshells) all while wearing an oversized pair of military-grade combat boots. Or, at least that’s how it felt to Abe. His son bristled with each attempted sign of affection, with every seemingly harmless joke his father tried out. But none of that was a surprise, not to Abe. All of it, he conjectured, was warranted. All of it was the fault of one Abel Ward.

Every goddamn minute of it. I own this.

And he was honest with himself. He couldn’t say for sure what the end game would be with him and Simi. It wasn’t clear, and likely wouldn’t be for some time, if they’d ever have a typical father-son relationship. In fact, he was betting they never would. Abe kept telling himself that if they, at least, could be friends and talk, if they could one day easily converse with one another, he might be forced to accept it.

Let’s see if we can even get that far, though. Baby steps.

The door creaked open behind him and he stiffened. He heard Simi drop his keys into the small, rainbow-colored, ceramic bowl. Abe always assumed it had been made in elementary school art class, but his memory from that era of his son’s life was foggy, at best. The initials ‘S.W.’ were scratched, clumsily, down the side facing outward. As Abe was opening his mouth to greet his son, Simi picked up a cell phone from beside the bowl on the antique buffet table. The freshly awoken screen illuminated the teen’s face in blue light and he spoke first.

Here’s your phone, he said. And it looks like you’ve missed, damn, like nine calls tonight.

Abe crossed the living room and gently took possession of the device. Huh? he said, immediately scrolling. Who would be calling me at this hour?

Simi shrugged and walked into the kitchen, only partly interested. Abe heard the fridge door open and then slam shut shortly after. Funny thing is, only one of the calls was from me.

Abe squinted at the eight other missed calls. Though many people often suggested he acted younger than most his age, the weakness of his vision revealed the truth behind the nearly fifty years he’d been alive. Interesting, he mumbled.

Simi grunted through a gulp of milk, likely straight from the carton. When Abe didn’t continue, Simi wiped the mustache from his upper lip. Well, who was it?

Abe shook his head and lowered himself to the couch. Not sure. Not someone from my contacts. Just a Foxborough number.

Simi finished drained the milk carton and then placed it onto the counter. Foxborough? As in—ah— 

Massachusetts. Yep.

They both were motionless for an instant. Eventually, Simi broke the silence. Isn’t that where you grew up?

Abe was nodding, staring off somewhere Simi couldn’t himself see.

Weird. Any idea who it could be?

Abe continued looking ahead. His gaze was stuck on a deep crack that was slowly making its way across the wooden mantel. It was widening, he’d recently noticed, expanding with the winter or from water damage, or perhaps due to some other cause entirely. For some reason it started, right then, to bother him, and—in that moment—with his cell phone glowing between his hands, he could oddly focus on nothing else.

Gotta fix that, he suddenly mumbled. You know, before your mother gets back.

Simi followed his father’s eyes to the fracture across the room. Um, what? You mean... he walked to the fireplace. This thing? He pointed to the large spider-webbing fissure that spanned the length of the beam just above the open mouth of the hearth. This thing? It’s been like this forever, Abe.

Abe scratched at his freshly shaven dome, slowly returning to the land of the living. Really? Looks like it’s getting worse, to me. In any case, I’m gonna see what I can do about it.

Simi rolled his eyes and turned himself toward the hallway. He began walking to his bedroom at its end. Alright, well. I’m tired, he paused before adding, uncouthly, See ya.

Night, Abe called to Simi’s back. A door opened and closed gently, in response.

Well, so much for being around tonight.

He looked down at his phone again. It was after midnight, but a few of the calls had come in within the hour.

Eight.

Despite the time, someone was (desperately?) trying to reach him. Someone from his hometown, a place he’d managed to stay clear of, and detached from, for nearly thirty years. Just before his twentieth birthday, he’d hitchhiked down the East Coast, intending to never look back. To never return. There’d been too much pain and not enough joy. As it turned out, moving south hadn’t cured the majority of his ails. If anything, it’d merely relocated them to a warmer climate.

He unbuttoned his red flannel and pulled it off over his head. It might have been Georgia-cold outside that night, but inside was as Georgia-warm as ever. He flapped the Atlanta Falcons t-shirt he was wearing a bit to cool himself off and, after a brief hesitation, tapped the number appearing eight separate times on his call screen.

Apprehensively, Abe brought the phone to his ear and listened.

Riiiiiing.

He breathed in through his nose.

Riiiiiiing.

He released the air building up in his lungs.

Riii—

Hello? a sleepy voice answered from the other end of the line before the phone could fully toll a third time.

Abe, who’d been in the process of taking another, anxiety-quelling breath, felt himself almost gag on his own oxygen. It’s, uh—I mean, this is—

Abe? the voice nearly whispered, itself sounding almost out of breath. Abel Ward?

Immediately, he recognized the hushed, gentle, tone. It was one he hadn’t heard since before his southerly departure. Her voice still held the grit and the gravel he’d known and laughed with and—

D? he stammered.

He could sense tears on the other end of the line. Happy ones. Hey, you. Long time no—

Daisy is everything okay? It’s so late. I can only assume—I mean, is everyone—

He listened attentively as Daisy Peltzer, an old friend—

She was more than a friend.

—sighed deeply.

It’s Elma, Abe. She’s... well, she hasn’t got long and... well, she says she wants to go over some things.

Abe looked up at the wall clock hanging in front of his face. It was almost 1:00 am and he was talking to his high school crush for the first time in decades. There were more than a thousand miles between them, but the urgency in her voice, and the fluttering in his chest, forced him to disregard the hour and the distance.

What kind of things?

Chapter Three

This is some bullshit, Abe.

Simi stood in the doorway to the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging from his incredulous sneer. His father lingered awkwardly in the hallway with one hand in a pocket and the other holding a steaming cup of morning coffee. His head drooped toward the floor.

I know how much this sucks for you—

"Oh, do you? Do you really? You just expect me to—what—just say ‘peace out’ to my life, my friends, my girlfriend? What about school? You do know I still go to school, right Abe?"

Abe lifted his head incrementally but didn’t quite manage to bring his gaze to eye level. Hey, if I had another choice, I’d make it.

Simi spat into the sink. When he returned to face the doorway, he noticed Abe eyeing the lightning bolt tattoo on his bare chest. Simi made no attempt to hide it and instead barreled forward in pleading his case.

"See, but you do have another choice. You really do. We don’t have to pack ourselves into your old-ass truck and drive all the way up the East Coast, thousands of miles away from Mags—"

Actually, it’s more like one thousand. Just over a thousand or so.

Whatever, Abe! Holy shit, what’s wrong with you? I mean, you get what I’m saying right? Simi stormed past his father, intentionally bumping shoulders with him as he moved into the hallway. "We do not, I repeat, we do not need to do this. Who is she again?"

She’s my great-aunt.

And why haven’t I ever heard of her before?

Abe sighed deeply. He leaned back against the wall behind him and looked up at the glass sconce above his head. A moth was flittering into and around the lit bulb. Simi’s voice jarred him out of his temporary trance.

Hello? Earth to Abe? He was standing inside of his room, pulling a black t-shirt—with a grinning skull emblazoned in the center of it—over his head. Are you even listening? This is such a ridiculous thing you’re asking of me. At the very least, you could wake the hell up and pay attention for once.

Abe straightened and faced his son, a wisp of strength revealing itself on his prematurely aging frame. There’s a lot I’ve failed at in my life, Simi. There’s this like, fantastically long, dumb list of things I should have been better at. Things I should have taken the time to talk to you about and teach you. Where I grew up—our family— would’ve taken a long time to go over. And time is just something I’ve never had much of with you.

Simi threw himself down into a desk chair in front of a computer monitor. Abe could just barely make out the game he was playing. Some sort of RPG where the participant had to do battle with an army of disgusting alien creatures as they burst through purple orbs that littered the ground. He’d seen Simi playing before but never dared to show interest or even attempt to ask what it was.

From the corner of his eye, without removing his gaze from the screen and the violet glow reflecting in his pupils, Simi could see Abe slowly entering the room. Yeah, well. All that’s your fault. I shouldn’t have to suffer because you’re deciding now it’s time to play catch up. I have a life and was doing just fine until you came back. His fingers flicked, mindlessly, at the buttons on his keyboard. I’m not going.

I don’t want to spend time with you in general, never mind all the way up in New England.

Simi, Abe started awkwardly, not having much previous experience putting a foot down with his teenager. I’m sorry but, we have to. She’s dying, my Aunt Elma, and there’s no one else—

Simi didn’t look up. "I told you, I’m not going. Sorry to hear she’s on the way out, but I don’t even know her. Besides, she’s one hundred and five years old. She’s lived a good, long life. Sounds like it’s her time."

Abe grunted and Simi could tell he was winning. There