Prodigal Blues

"He awake?" asked Arnold.

"He is now," said Christopher.

"How'd he get all that blood on him?"

"I told you guys once already, he got a nosebleed while you guys were sleeping back there.  We need to get him cleaned up.  Any sign of Rebecca yet?"

"Yeah, I think I see her."

One of the side doors opened and she climbed in, carrying several large plastic bags from various shops.

"Get everything?" asked Christopher.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that."

"Sorry."

"You'd better be.  Jeez, asking me if I remembered everything."  I wondered if it was cold out, she was trembling so.

I came fully awake when something wet and cold and reeking of alcohol began ru

"I don't know," I whispered.  She cleaned off my cheek, then leaned up and kissed me there.

"You're a good guy, Mark.  If I was ten years older, you might be in trouble."

I smiled.  "You're really sweet, you know that?"

"Of course.  It's nice to know you have good taste.  Make sure you tell Tanya for me that she'd better keep you happy; I just might come calling in a few years if she doesn't."

"Oh, she'll love hearing that."

It took the whole container of wipes and at least half of another one to get all the blood and other liquids cleaned off.  Christopher was standing outside, leaning against the front of the bus, smoking a cigarette.  Rebecca handed me one of the large plastic bags.  "New pants and a new shirt.  You can change in the back seat.  I'll sit up here, but I won't promise not to look."

I tried remembering where I'd heard someone say something like that before, then decided it didn't matter.  I fumbled my way into the back seat where Arnold helped me get out of my soaked clothes and into the new ones.  My ruined jeans and shirt went into a trash bag that Arnold tied off and stuffed under the seat.

"I almost forgot," said Rebecca, tossing a small package over her shoulder.  "Your new socks."

I finished changing, then used a few more sanitary wipes to clean my shoes; thankfully I'd worn a pair of work boots on the trip and they were dark enough that whatever blood remained on them was hardly noticeable.

"Might wa

"My work here is done," she said.

"Thank you."

"Here," said Arnold, shoving something that looked like a wallet into my hand.  I flipped it open and saw my driver's license through the plastic window of the only pocket; on the other side of the wallet's interior was a bright pointed gold badge that identified itself as belonging to a U.S. Marshal.

"Is this thing real?"

"You bet," said Arnold.  "Grendel had a lot of co

"Just make sure that when you flash that thing," said Rebecca, "that you cover up as much of your license as you can.  The idea is for them to only see the picture of your face and the badge."

"Are you alright?" I asked.  "You're shaking like a leaf in the wind."

"I'm okay.  I guess… I guess it's just finally hitting me that… we're all going home, y'know?"

I squeezed her hand.  Her skin was slightly clammy.  It must have been both chilly and damp outside.

Christopher pulled open one of the side doors and examined the scene before him.  "He looks good.  You give him the wallet?"

I held up the badge, making sure that my thumb and fingers covered everything on the license except my face.

Christopher nodded.  "That's exactly the way you need to hold it.  Make sure you remember that."

"I could go to prison for the rest of my life if I get caught."

"Yes, but you're not going to get caught.  I have magic powers.  All who ride in this bus will be protected."

"Man's got a line of bullshit three miles wide and twice as deep," said Arnold.  "If I could lay it on like that, I'd be a star."

Christopher snorted a quick laugh.  "Does anyone need to go to the bathroom or dance a jig or get anything before we head out?"

Everyone shook their heads, then looked as one toward Thomas, who had fallen back asleep.  He even hummed in his sleep.

Not looking away, Christopher whispered, "You got everything he'll need packed up and ready to go?"

Rebecca did not look away from Thomas, either.  "Yes," she said, with a deep and profound sadness.

Arnold cleared his throat.  "Should we, uh… should we wake him up now or wait until we're—"

"Wait," said Rebecca.  "Please.  Please wait."

"I second that," said Christopher.  "All in favor."

Everyone raised their hands.

Christopher pulled in a breath, held it for a few moments, then let it out in a quick, hard burst.  "Well, hell's bells, people.  I never thought we'd ever be doing this."

"Me neither," said Rebecca.

"All in favor," Arnold said.

Everyone raised their hands.

"Who calls shotgun?" asked Christopher.

"Me," replied Arnold, and we all took our seats.  Once back out on the highway, Arnold moved to start the CD again but stopped when Rebecca said, "No music right now, okay?  I don't much feel like it."

Arnold shrugged.  "I guess I don't, either."  He sat with his hands folded in his lap, the quiet and ever-attentive student who everyone suspected was the teacher's pet.

After a while, Christopher broke the silence.  "Well, at least we won't have to worry about him messing up at line 757 again."

Arnold shook his head.  "He never could get that right."

"Line 757?" I asked.

"Beowulf," said Rebecca.  "It was Grendel's bedtime story.  Every night after he chained us back up—after we'd done our chores for the day, tending his gardens and all that—he'd pull up a chair in the middle of our room and have us recite it to him, begi

"'Then Hygelac's brave kinsman called to mind/that evening's utterance," I said, "upright he stood,/fastened his hold till fingers were bursting./The monster strained away; the man stepped closer.'  'Beowulf and Grendel Wrestle', right?"