“I wanna go back, and do it all over; but I can’t go back, I know…” Eddie Money
At the moment he turned 29, Knight saluted himself with a Killian’s.
He was in a bar in Connecticut, miles away from Malcolm. He had said to Malcolm a couple of days before, “I need t’ go for a ride,” packed his bags for more than an overnight trip, and was on the highway so fast Mal’s head probably spun. After what had happened with Rosie, he needed to get away, be alone with his thoughts, his frustration.
Of all places, he had to come to this state. To this town.
“Last call,” the bartender said, coming over to Knight. Knight waved his hand, drank half of the red ale and said, “One last, an’ I’ll settle up.”
The bartender nodded, went to pull another draft for him. It was close to 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night – now Wednesday morning. He was born at 12:45 a.m. on April 17, and almost three years later, his father walked out on his mother, taking his brother and sister with him.
He looked up at the news that had been playing all day, about a bomb that had gone off in Boston. He scoffed, not for the first time, thinking that the world was full of heroes, but even they couldn’t stop a determined arsonist. Heroes of all stripes were out looking for these bombers: whether they be a group of men, a single man, no one knew. Some of the heroes he had heard of from nearby Paragon City, now deserted of all heroes after a devastating suicide bomb there, planted by some South Korean villain who died in the conflagration.
He got his tab, left a good tip, and went to his hotel room alone. He took out his iPhone and summoned up the Maps app, then sat down at the edge of the bed staring at the lines of streets. He knew exactly where he was. Where he was headed. Where he didn’t want to go. Then he looked at his bracelet, nodded, and realized he had to go there, maybe this one last time.
~~~~~
The retirement community of Northbury was not used to the sound of motorcycles in its streets, so people who were out on their front lawns, getting their flowers ready for spring, turned to watch the biker pick his way down different streets, searching. Some residents called, and soon enough, the golf carts were out, overweight security men trying to find the biker. They followed the noise. Then, suddenly, it stopped, but no bike was found.
Knight dismounted from Kitty, patting her gently on the gas tank, as he looked up the small patch of lawn to the house beyond it. Whirligigs turned in the light spring breeze, and a few garden scattered garden gnomes watched him with wary eyes as he walked up the rough-hewn cobblestoned walkway to the front door. A car was in the driveway, and he could hear children playing in the back.
He took a deep breath. Why did he bother to come here? He looked at his bracelet, glinting in the light. That’s why he came here. He rang the doorbell.
A couple of small dogs barked, and for a fleeting moment, Knight imagined himself shifting and tearing apart whatever yip-yip dogs came to the door. The front door opened, and a woman stood at the door, looking down her nose at him. “Can I help you?”
“Angie,” he said, knowing exactly who she was.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“Leo.”
The only noise was the dogs, two Yorkies, front paws up on the screen below, barking their little hearts out at the strange smelling man before them. Angie bent down to one of the dogs and picked it up, holding it protectively, yet the dog’s eyes glared at Knight, daring him. Knight glared back, and the dog scrambled to get down, not liking the predatory look in the man’s eyes. Instead of protecting its master, the dog ran to the other side of the door, trying to entice his companion to leave off.
Yet, throughout all this, Angie still looked condescendingly at Knight. “What. Are you doing here?”
“I came t’ see dad.”
“He doesn’t want to see you.”
“Who’s at the door, mom?” came a voice, and another man appeared behind Angie. This man had blond hair, just like him, except it was cut very short in an executive style and was starting to recede. His body was toned from a gym, but he wasn’t half as big or as buff as Knight.
Knight bristled, and not for the first time. “‘lo, Steve.”
“What do you want.”
“T’ see dad.”
“He’s not here.”
“I c’n see tha’.”
Steve pushed aside his mother with an “I’ll take care of this” look and opened the door, stepping out onto the small set of stairs. The old Knight would have backed up, letting Steve bring him down to the bottom of the steps. Instead, Knight stepped aside so they were both equal. In fact, Knight noticed, he was taller than the other man and much, much broader.
“You obviously didn’t get the hint when your mother died,” Steve said, as Angie backed away, shooing the dogs inside. “So maybe I need to say it simply for your brain to handle it.”
“She was your mother too,” Knight said.
Steve looked him up and down. “I’ve wondered about that.”
Knight glared, his hands balled into fists.
Steve noticed. “Are you going to change into a lion on me, and rip my throat out?”
“Where’s dad?”
“Why do you care?”
“Cuz I gotta tell ‘im some’in’.”
“You can tell me.”
“I don’ wanna tell you, cuz you’ll fuck’t all up.”
“No,” said Steve with a sneer, “I think you could do that just fine all by your–”
The punch seemed to come from nowhere, and hit Steve square in the jaw, pushing his head sideways into the side of the door, clanging it. Knight grabbed Steve by the front of his very expensive polo shirt and yanked him up, pulling him up to his eye level so that his feet left the ground about a half a foot. “Don’t you fuckin’ get me started or you’ll be a bloody smear on this here doorstep faster’n you c’n blink, you got it?”
“I’ll call the police,” Steve said.
“No, y’ won’.” Knight let him go with a brief shove. Steve held onto his jaw where the punch had connected.
“That’s all you understand, isn’t it? Violence.”
“I ain’ gonna get int’ an argument wi’ you,” Knight said, “cuz you’ll always win.”
Steve looked up, shocked. “What?”
“I know m’ limits, an’ you’re the fuckin’ lawyer’s aide.” Of course, Knight held back the part where he would call Steve a suck-up. “Now, where’s dad?”
Steve said, “He’s in UConn rehab center. He had a stroke a couple of months back.”
“‘s he okay?”
“He’ll probably never speak again.”
“Steve!” yelled Angie, “are you still out there with him?”
“Yeah, mom, we’re just getting reacquainted.”
“Don’t bother,” said Angie, “He’s not going to be here long.”
Said Knight, “She’s righ’, I ain’ gonna be here long.” He reached out with his hand, and Steve flinched, but Knight touched Steve’s jaw gently. “Better get s’m ice, ‘r y’r gonna have some ‘xplainin’ t’ do a’ the company water cooler t’morrow.”
Steve put his hand on the door. “I’ll give you a fifteen minute head start, but don’t be surprised if you see cops at the rehab center.”
“Yeah, thanks, love ya too.”
Steve flipped Knight the finger, and it took all of Knight’s control not to break it off.