Part 2...August

DING

Normally, the gentle crispness of the bell that announced entry into the Knights and the Page was a welcome sound. It signaled a break from the usual monotony of the day and typically ushered in people who shared common interests that sparked animated discussions. But today, today of all days, that bell seemed like the headsman's axe falling toward a condemned man's neck.

"Of course, of course someone would come in right now," he thought sardonically, "of all the days I decide to try that triple layered burrito". Looking nervously at the bathroom door as he fumbled to get himself situated and presentable to the customers. He checked his watched as he frantically washed his hands. "1:43? No one ever comes in at 1:43, even in the summer time." He held a personal belief that comic book buyers don't awaken until at least 2:00 in the afternoon. Sure some folks came in during the morning to get a jump on a particular new comic release, while others may stop by during their lunch breaks to pick up that last minute birthday gift. But the early afternoon was normally like kryptonite for the usual nocturnal comic book enthusiast.

He hurried out of the bathroom and made his way through the rear storage room. He deftly wove through the boxes of merchandise and packing materials. He knew this storage room better than his own home. However, this was probably more a function of his mother's continual desire to rearrange the furniture than some innate navigational ability. He nearly crashed through the rear door into the show room in his haste.

With the rear door still ajar he quickly scanned the show room. A figure stood waiting at the cashier's kiosk. Mr. Kavanaugh. Here again.

"Hey Mr. Kavanaugh," he said with a smile, "Sorry for the delay, I was uh, stacking some boxes". Kavanaugh gave him a slight nod.

"Hello August. Has it arrived yet? I was in the area and decided to drop by and check."

"I'm sorry sir, still not here" August answered politely. Kavanaugh stopped in nearly everyday. He had placed some special orders in and was awaiting delivery. Occasionally, manufacturers of collectibles or private sales auctions would only send their wares to a business address. Knights and the Page often worked as an intermediary to allow these special transactions to occur.

"OK, I guess I'll try again later in the week," Kavanaugh tapped the cashiers kiosk lightly with his left hand. August had always wondered how Kavanuagh had lost his arm but thought it was much to impolite to ask out right. Though he saw and had spoken with Mr. Kavanaugh numerous times, by no means did he think they were familiar enough to pose such a question. August would often let his imagination come up with different scenarios that would claim Kavanaugh's arm.

August's favorite conjuration molded Mr. Kavanaugh as a dashing super spy cavorting all over the world in search of terrorists. August mused that Kavanaugh had lost his arm during a wild snow mobile chase through the steppes of the lower Caucus mountains. Kavanaugh was working secretly with the British S.A.S. as a military attache from the U.S. Army.

Kavanaugh certainly looked the part of a steely killer, at least according to August's standards. August imagined that super spies were not muscle bound behemoths capable of wielding a Gatling gun and rocket launchers in each arm, rather they were unassuming, regular looking men in nondescript clothing. Average looking men whose clothing hid their war hardened physiques. Kavanaugh certainly fit this mold. August always thought Kavanaugh had a steely look, like there was a rage boiling underneath that calm exterior. August nearly laughed beside himself and thought, "Kavanaugh is probably an IT guy, he probably sits at his desk and stares into a computer monitor all day".

August on the other hand would not have passed any initial physical testing whatsoever. He was still hoping to grow out of his childhood awkwardness. He always hoped for another growth spurt to push him over six feet. His slender five foot ten inch frame was a liability in high school, but now compared to the more heavily muscled men that attended his college, he looked weaker and more boyish than ever before.

Kavanaugh had crossed his left arm across his chest and absently tugged at the empty jacket sleeve. If he still possessed two working arms he probably would have crossed them. August thought he registered a flash of impatience sprint across Mr. Kavanaugh's face, but it was quickly masked by Kavanaugh's bland expression.

"Till next then August," Kavanaugh said mildly. He dropped his arm back to his side releasing the loose sleeve. August watched for a moment transfixed as the sleeve swung back slightly like a pendulum as Kavanuagh wheeled around to exit the store. When August peered up to watch Mr. Kavanaugh leave only then did he notice a girl standing near the door. A rather attractively shaped girl he noted. A very pretty girl he spied. A girl much to pretty to be in a store like this. She seemed to hesitate briefly as Kavanaugh passed her on his way to the door.

August noticed that she had looked away briefly when Kavanaugh strode past her, it was as if she wanted to be sure not to stare at the sleeve where only a ghost of a limb remained. The bell signaling a breach of the door seemed to rouse here from a trance. She looked up at August and then took a step in his direction.

She was much too pretty for a place like this he thought again. She must be wanting to buy a gift for her boyfriend. Or hopefully for a younger brother or cousin, though August held little hope that that was the case. He watched her cross the room with a steady gait. She walked confidently and with an undeniable grace. To him she was like a queen crossing the threshold of the throne room hording he admiration of all of the courtiers.

He could actually picture her in that setting. With a high backed gown adorned with jewels and baubles from the very corners of the world. Her hair tied up resplendently reminiscent of English or French royalty in the days of Elizabeth or Marie Antoinette. She cradled a gilded scepter in the crook of her arm. She waved a gloved hand sewn with a very soft egg shell colored fabric. He nearly laughed out loud in spite of himself. He really had to get his imagination in check.

Time seemed to slow as she made her way towards the register kiosk towards August. There was something familiar about her, yet completely foreign at the same time. Her chestnut colored hair was loosely pulled back into a ponytail corralled by a dark green band. A few strands floated freely across her brow before she instinctively swept them back behind her ear. August's eyes couldn't help trace the path her fingers made as they slid past her neck after she completed the motion of clearing her face of the wandering strands of hair.

She wore a plain black t-shirt, that seemed to fit her quite well by August's estimation. The neckline was elongated and revealed about half of her shoulders, but didn't dip to show any indecency. The t-shirt sported the words "Scooter's Vacation" in vivid neon green near the bottom left side of the garment. August reckoned that "Scooter's Vacation" was a name of a band he wasn't aware of. Not that it wasn't a stretch that he wouldn't have recognized that band's name. August ruefully admitted to himself that the shirt's "trendiness" itself was enough to remind him of his status in the presence of such royalty.

His moment of self pity was rudely interrupted when he suddenly realized that she was standing in front of him. Her mouth opened ever so slightly, as if she was about to speak but then stopped herself.

"You look familiar. Do I know you?" Her voice was firm and self assured, it didn't contain the shrill emptiness that August was half expecting to emerge from her soft lips. August let out a strange gurgle in response. "You idiot!" He thought, make words! Speak! He commanded himself.

"Um, do you go to State? Maybe I've seen you on campus." He hoped he sounded manly. She looked at him and titled her head slightly to the side.

"No," she shook her head, "I just graduated from Northwest High this past May. But I'll probably be going to State this fall. I was hoping to go out west for college, but that didn't quite work out." August noted that her voice trailed off, he could sense a sharp disappointment with the probability of her attendance at State.

"My cousin Charlene went to Northwest, maybe you know her?" August suggested. This girl standing in front of him did look like the type that would run in the same circles as Charlene. They seemed to be dressed the similar and they would have been in the same class. August hoped that Charlene wasn't an antagonist for this girl as that would have probably derailed any future conversation. Girls were quite catty that way he thought. But, a small smile emerged from the girl's face.

"That's it! I went to prom with Charlene. Were you our limo driver?" August subconsciously winced at the comment. His uncle, Charlene's father, ran a successful taxi and limousine service here in town. Initially his uncle had built his empire around a busing service that would shuttle drunken college students from bar to bar. From there his uncle had broadened his service to a small fleet of taxis and airport shuttle services. To earn some extra money to finance his own addiction to comic books and memorabilia, August sometimes worked for his uncle as a driver. While he didn't really like being a chauffeur, he was proud of achieving the additional licensing it took to become a commercial driver, not that it aided him in getting girls to notice him.

Sadly for August, his uncle was an staunch opponent of nepotism and whatever raises or special privileges other nephews may have received by working for their uncles, didn't apply to him. It was obvious to August that Charlene would be taking a limo for her prom. He had specially requested that he not be her driver for the evening even though his uncle has specifically asked if he could do it. His uncle, ever the miser, had even suggested that August take on the duties of the chauffeur for Charlene's party pro-bono, as a prom gift for her. When August didn't respond to this suggestion his uncle laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. "He was just joking," August repeated in his uncle's words in his head. Yeah right.

August had not gone to his prom. Nor any school sanctioned dance or party for that matter. It wasn't that he wasn't bereft of friends, he had a few, he had just made the conscious decision not to put himself further into harms way. While humans had conquered near space, invented an immense communication platform like the Internet and were making impossible advances in nanotechnology, the common high school outsider was still getting ridiculed by those of a higher social caste. They way it has always been and forever will be he though. August could only imagine those lowly Medieval castle scullery boys who longed to become knights getting teased mercilessly by the children of the gentry.

August peeled back the pages of time and in his mind spied on a scrawny boy scrubbing furiously at the mud caked on the floor of the castle's great hall. Fresh from a woodland hunt the young boys of the Baron come striding in. Still amped up from the falconry and boar hunting they proceed to taunt the poor kitchen boy. The oldest of the three kicked the wash bucket across the hall spilling all of the soapy water. The racket caused by the careening bucket draws the head maid into the hall. The young kitchen boy is relieved to have some reinforcements. "She'll set them straight", the kitchen boy thought, beaming at the idea of these three getting an earfull from the head maid. The three children of nobility froze in their actions and looked expectantly at the head maid.

Unfortunately for the young kitchen boy, the head maid didn't berate the young nobles for the additional mess they've made. She nods to them courteously then turns to the kitchen boy full of righteous anger. "I send you in to clean the mud and all you do is create even more mud!" she screams at him. The three young nobles skip away in glee as the young kitchen boy sinks further on his knees.

August shakes his head to clear the thoughts and looked up to see pretty girl looking at him curiously.

"I said, you were the chauffeur right?" She asked.

"Oh, yes, that was me," August said with a weak smile, "I sometimes work for Charlene's dad. My uncle", he added shrugging.

"But some other driver picked us up, it wasn't you." August assumed she was just trying to be friendly, she was probably trying to butter him up to get some kind of discount or something.

"Yeah, I uh, I had another group to pick up so they got another driver." He didn't want to admit that he had actually faked illness so that he wouldn't have to return and pick up Charlene's group. The last thing he needed to see was how much fun the group had had. A man could only take so much evidence of his own futility.

"What can I do for you?" August tried to regroup, and wondered if he had sounded a little too harsh. Apparently the girl hadn't noticed if his voice had changed at all. She looked down at her hands which contained a crumpled piece of paper. As she bent her head down the loose strands of hair she had swept back escaped and cascaded back down her face. August fought the involuntary urge to fix it for her. He could have sworn that his hand had jerked up on its own accord to smooth back the hair and to gently graze her neck. "What is wrong with you!" He screamed furiously to himself.

"I know this is going to sound strange," she trailed off for a moment, "but I need help finding my brother."