The God Who Stood Alone

The boy sat in the back of the small cafe, a porcelain cup sitting on the table in front of him. Steam rises from inside the delicate, gold-banded rim, curling into the already smoky air and melting into it. The table was the size for two, round and made of exquisitely carved dark wood. An off-white tablecloth; not beige, but the kind of white which suggested it was meant to have remained such a color, changed by years of hastily-drink coffee and cigarette smoke. The chair under the boy creaked slightly as he leaned back, stretching his arms out behind him and linking them around the back of the chair seat. A shivering sensation rippled through his shoulder joins and a small, involuntary tremor crackled up his spine. Sighing slightly, the boy returned his arms to the table and wrapped one hand around the small cup. He didn't even like coffee. He had bought it only to avoid the stares of the shopkeepers who now worked away in the back, paying him no attention as they went about their daily chores.
The boy blinked once, turning his gaze toward the windows at the front of the shop. Through the rays of sunlight, which filtered somewhat hazily into the smoke-wreathed room, he could just catch glimpses of the world outside. A shadow passed the window, and the boy thought he saw a woman's face in it. The sun was a glowing circle in the corner of the window, causing sun spots to blink across the boy's eyes every time he caught it from the corner. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the sweet, rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. These were the kind of places he loved. He didn't smoke himself, usually – it was just one of the scents that he seemed able to drink into himself forever, resonating with something deep inside of him. Maybe, he thought, he had been a smoker in his previous life. He also loved the smells of gasoline, and pine sap.
He chuckled slightly. Apparently, his past self had had a pretty good life. Sighing deeply, the boy pushed his chair away from the table. It scraped across the wooden floorboard, the sound echoing through the empty cafe. Picking up his coffee cup, he carried it back to the counter and placed it there. Just as he was turning to leave, a young man walked through the double doors in the back of the room. He was wearing a white apron, with dark grey pants and a light gray undershirt. His hazel hair was slicked back, his skin tanned and sun-worn. He was handsome, and could be no older than sixteen or seventeen. He gave the other boy a smile, which wavered when he saw the still-full coffee cup.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his voice a pitch which didn't sit quite right upon the ears. Not unpleasant, exactly, but not the voice which he would have put to the boy's face. “Was the coffee not to your enjoyment?”
“No...” the boy trailed off slightly, and then shook his head slightly to bring himself back to reality. “No, sorry. The coffee was perfect. Just ... decided I didn't want it as much as I thought I did.”
“Ah.” was the boy's only response, taking the cup and pouring the brown liquid down the drain beside the counter. Placing it on the drying rack to the side to be washed, he turned back toward the boy waiting at the counter. “That will be $2.50, please.” he said blandly.
Reaching into his pocket, the boy pulled out some change. Picking out what he needed, he dumped the rest back into his coat pocket and pushed the remaining coins across the counter.
“Have a good one.” he said, turning toward the door.
“Have a nice day!” the boy called after him.
The heavy glass-and-wood door chime softly as he pushed it open, the melody waving him goodbye as he stepped out of the small cafe and into the open street. The sunlight found him immediately, soaking into his heavy, brown-wool coat and the shirt beneath, making his skin glow. The wind was brisk underneath the basking heat of the sunlight, cool and pleasant. Stretching his neck to either side, the boy turned down the street and began to walk. He had left his vehicle a few streets over, parked in an abandoned parking lot; no point paying traffic regulations if he didn't need to. He walked slowly, enjoying the simplicity of the morning. He thought about nothing as he walked, letting his eyes and mind wander where they would; the telephone poles, the painted wooden houses, the steel spire of some corporate office building rising in the background. There were a few high-rises scattered throughout the otherwise small-town feeling city, but they were mostly few and far between. The boy kicked a rock as he walked, watching as it skittered across the pavement and leaped out onto the road. Somewhere far off, he heard the deep roar of an engine start up and the low whine as it increased, and then faded away into further streets.
Reaching the parking lot where he had parked his vehicle, the boy walked along the chain-link fence until he found the opening. Using both hands, he pried the wire mesh apart and ducked through the opening. There was an entrance on the other side of the lot, but it wasn't worth the walk, most days. His feet padded softly on the asphalt as he made his way to his car, digging the keys out of his pocket on the way and unlocking it. He heard the distinct click of locks disengaging as he drew closer.
The vehicle was nothing special, if he was being honest about it. A small, black-painted Honda of one description or another. There was some wood paneling on the dashboard, and the interior was made of inexpensive gray leather. Pulling the door open, the boy crawled into the vehicle. Reaching out, he slammed the door closed behind him. There was a gym bag on the passengers seat, but he ignored it as he fit the keys into the ignition and clicked his seat belt into place. Raising one hand, he adjusted the mirror slightly. In it, for a brief moment, he saw his own reflection, and his breath caught.
His brown hair was growing long and unruly, though it had not reached any length yet. It was still short enough to become a tussled mess on top of his head, thrown into a frenzy by the wind. His eyes were the color of dark coffee, deep and thoughtful. His skin was sun-darkened, his eyes narrow and constantly shifting. They seemed interested in everything the world had to offer; as though if they paused for a moment, they might miss something spectacular. His face was rounded, but angular around the jaw and ears. Today he wore a white t-shirt, dipping toward his chest at the neck in a V-shape, a heavy jacket of brown felt-like material, and a pair of jeans so worn with age they seemed more white than their original dark blue. There was an earring in his right ear, a tiny silver ring that hugged the bottom of his ear lobe, and a wooden ring on the middle finger of his left hand. He still remembered his cousins words as she had handed it to him:
“Show this off to anyone who makes you angry.”
He grinned slightly at the memory as he pulled the stick-shift into drive and pressed down lightly on the gas. The car rolled away across the parking lot, paused at the mouth, and then turned out onto the street. The boy drove expertly, an experienced driver even at eighteen. His thumb tapped lightly on the leather steering wheel as he took another corner onto the street which would take him out of town. He let the sun lead him, driving into the glowing distance. He passed a blue sign, the large white lettering spelling out: 'You are now leaving Windiago. Have a safe day!'.
As soon as he passed the sign, he pressed his foot down firmly. With speed surprising for such a stocky frame, the vehicle leaped away under him. The roar of the engine drowned out every other sound as he drove.
The sun was in his eyes, but he left it there; enjoying the feeling of the light brushing his nose and cheeks. Warmth spread through his neck and chest, seeming to warm him from the inside out. He could practically feel the thin speckling of freckles appearing across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, brought to the surface under the light of the sun. He smiled, exhilaration sweeping through him as he drove. This was it, he thought; this was what he had been made for.

Amadeus spun as he stumbled backward, trying to throw the figure off of him even before he saw what it was. The darkness of the house spun around him, and he could feel the panic rising in his lungs. Then, there came throughout the house the most unexpected and pleasant sound: laughter. Amadeus froze for a brief second, and then looked downward as he stabilized himself on the backs of his feet. Wrapped around him, large blue eyes sparkling with laughter, was a girl. She was petite in the very sense of the world, everything about her small and willowy. Her eyes were the largest thing about her, staring up out of a face which could have been carved from marble. Sunken cheeks, large pins, and a button nose which scrunched up into a ball as she smiled up at him.
“Hi Amadeus!” she grinned, “I scared the hell out of you!”
“Yeah.” he breathed, leaning back against the wall as the girl untangled herself from around him and took a step back. She came up to the height of his chest, her small frame wrapped in a deep green dress. The patterned fabric brought out the green inside of her eyes, turning them the color of the ocean. Her hair was a mass of blonde curls on top of her head.
“Yeah,” he repeated gently, staring down at the smaller girl. “What are you doing here? You know ... you know this is my house, right?”
“Aw!” she sulked, her light pink lips curling down slightly at the edges. He could never tell if she was wearing lipstick, or if her lips were actually just that color. By the way they glistened in the dim light, he guessed they were painted today. “Don't be like that, Amadeus. Laurence wouldn't take me to get ice cream, but he said you would! He said you were a sucker for cuteness, or something dumb like that.”
Amadeus chuckled deep in his stomach; the sound of loving relief growing too strong to be held inside of him any longer. Breathing out through his nose, as if in irritation, he reached out a ruffled the girl's thick blonde hair. She grinned up at him. If sunlight had a face, he thought, it would be Calypso's.
Calypso Devores was sixteen years old, with eyes that said her mind was more inclined to be twenty-six. He could lightly smell the scent of bubblegum wafting from her through the air, and he grinned as she stared up at him pleadingly.
“Oh he did, did he?” Amadeus asked, turning away from the young woman and moving toward the bar. His sock-clad feet padded softly on the dark, expensive hardwood as he made his way to the bar and lifted the hatch. Letting it fall closed behind him, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the young girl lifted herself into one of the tall, rotating bar stools and leaned her elbows on the counter. Resting, as she was, on her arms, the palms of her hands pushed up her cheeks until they resembled those of chipmunks. Pulling open the mini fridge, Amadeus reached inside and grabbed a Coke. “I don't know, Cal. I'm pretty busy today. Besides, didn't we go for ice cream, like ... two days ago?”
“Yep.” she agreed happily.
“I have a lot of work to do, Cal. You're welcome to hang out here though.”
“You're lying.” she said instantly, crunching up her nose in a smile which was monstrously adorable.
Leaning across the counter, Amadeus cracked the top on the Coke can and took a sip. Then he set it on the counter and pushed it toward Calypso with one hand. She clicked her manicured nails against the side of the can, but did not drink. Her brilliant blue eyes didn't leave his for a moment. They were triumphant; not in the way of Laurence and his own, but with a subtle, almost impish triumph that rang through every fiber of her being and silently screamed to be heard.
“Oh?” Amadeus raised one eyebrow, snatching away his can and leaning back against the counter behind him. He could feel the hard, curved edge of the counter pressing into the area where his spine met his hips, the feeling pleasant. “And how do you know that?”
“Well,” the girl's grin grew so wide it looked like it might split the confines of her childish, porcelain face, “for one: I have these.” the keys jangled as she lifted them above the lip of the counter, dangling from one finger. Amadeus eyes widened as he saw them, and one hand instinctively went to the pocket of his coat. Sure enough, his fingers felt only silk padding. He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking back to the victorious girl. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, watching him with an amused sort of interest. “Number two: you're drinking Coke.” she said the final word almost as an accusation. “You never drink anything but rum, unless you're going to be driving. And third, as much as I hate to say this: Laurence was right ... for once ... you're a sucker for cuteness, and this” she framed her face with her hands, the car keys jingling as she did so, “is cute as hell.”
“Modesty is the greatest of tributes.”Amadeus chuckled.
“The highest order of modesty is truth.” the girl replied, and Amadeus was suddenly taken aback by how mature the young girl in front of him was. “Besides” she continued, without pause, “I don't care what you have to say. I have these.” The keys jingled more violently this time as she shook them. “Later!” The young girl shifted forward and hopped off the stool, taking off toward the door with short, determined steps. Amadeus' laughter chased her as she walked toward the door.
“You don't even know how to drive a car.” he laughed, raising the Coke can to his lips and draining it. The action left him feeling slightly dizzy.
“Laurence taught me!” she called back, her hand wrapped around the door handle. She turned back to face him, one eyebrow raised in a gesture that reminded Amadeus strikingly of himself. “You coming or not?”
“And you can drive stick?” Amadeus asked, his voice victorious.
“Yes.” came the girl's unphased reply. “Three.”
“You can't count me down from three, Calypso. I'm not fourteen any more.” he poked the girl playfully with his words.
“Two.”
He raised one eyebrow back at her.
“One – bye!” The young girl pulled open the door and ducked outside.
It crashed closed after her, with the distinct rattling of glass and wood. Amadeus lounged back against the counter, confident that the girl would be back in the next moment. She was stubborn – possibly, he thought, the most stubborn person he had ever met – but she was not stupid. She had no license; she was fourteen.
That had always been Calypso. She had been born Elizabeth Brewer Devores, but that girl had died years ago. It had been somewhat like the transformation of a bird into a phoenix, one consumed in flames and burning until there was no other option: death or rebirth, that was all that was left. Amadeus would never know what had pushed the tiny girl so far, twelve years old at the time. He would never know what corner his little sister had crawled off to and died, or who the girl who replaced her was. Sullen looks were replaced by warm smiles, quiet apathy by mischievous laughter; a shadow into a beam of sunlight. But none of this had been the larger change. The most groundbreaking change, which her psychiatrist had no explanation for, was the curiosity. It was incredible. Before the age of twelve, Elizabeth had cried and done make-up. They were her only talents, and though she held them closely and with passion, they were all she had. Calypso, on the other hand, was a creature born of inquisitive eagerness; a kind of hunger for learning that was almost terrified people who did not understand her. Sometimes, Amadeus thought, he himself thought he did not understand her.
It was the strangest transformation; if he believed in magic, or spirits, or divine will, he would give the explanation purely to such a thing. But he did not. One moment, Calypso had suddenly walked into their kitchen in his sisters place. To say she wore the other girl's face would have been an insult. Elizabeth's listless, sullen eyes, caught somewhere between past and present; Calypso's radiating blue fire so fiercely he saw his mother's face burning from across the room. An iron bar had replaced the swooning willow which had made up the girl's spine, and she never let her chin dip below her neck. That was the day she had snapped their father's wrist with a fire poker and found a job at a bookstore in town. That was the week where she ended up kicked out of school for telling her science teacher he was wrong, and then proving it. That was the month that she took up fishing and poetry, engineering and ballet. That was the year she had won the fishing competition and laughed in the face of the boy who called her a whore, that was the year that she had set off fireworks in her bedroom and lain on her bed as the brilliant explosions of color stained her walls black. That was the year that he had watched his sister shake off her shadow and step out into the light.
The rumble of the car engine snapped him out of his memories. He paused, one hand hanging inches from the top of the counter, and his eyes locked to the front door. She wasn't going to do it. There was no way she was going to...
Amadeus grabbed the lip of the counter barricade and heaved it upward, breaking into a run for the front door. His feet pounded on the hardwood, and he broke his momentum with one hand as he careened into the door and stuck his feet into his shoes. His black coat flapped behind him as he stepped out of the door and slammed it closed behind him, the reverberation of wood meeting steel echoed by the click of automatic locks engaging. Running into the driveway, he pulled up short and stood staring at his car. Calypso sat in the passenger seat, her feet kicked up onto the dashboard and her cellphone held to her ear. As she saw Amadeus, she shot him a wicked grin and spoke earnestly into the phone.
“I'm so sorry, Madeline. I have to go now. Yeah. My big brother's taking me to get ice cream. Okay. Yeah, bye. Talk to you later, sweetheart.”
The young girl tossed her cellphone into the dashboard slot and returned her eyes to Amadeus. The wind was brisk, ruffling his hair where he stood in the driveway. Finally, he sighed deeply and approached.
She had him.