Free Coping by J Bennett

ambulances. Some of those kids are gonna-”
    “Gabe, stop. We did what we could.”
Tarren’s voice is quiet, and his eyes are pinned to the rearview mirror, to me,
because the muscles are tensing in my body, and the song is calling, calling,
calling on the waves of Gabe’s glowing aura.
    “Tarren, that barn…” Gabe’s voice
cracks.
    “For her,” Tarren says quietly,
“stay calm for her.”
    “Oh,” Gabe glances at me in the
backseat. “Oh shit. Sorry.”
    “I’m…fine,” I manage through my
fused jaw.
    “I didn’t, I mean…god.” Gabe throws
his head forward and sighs. His aura is soothing out, pulling in close to his
body.  He gets back on the road, and we’re quiet again.
    As my mind shudders back to life, a
new stray thought slips through my weakened barriers. Not a thought really, a
sort of spark of conviction, which I study carefully. But it’s still too new,
too unsettling.
    “Maya, you okay? Can a Chuck Norris
joke possibly assist in any way?” Gabe is looking back at me, and he’s got his
elf eyes and mischief mouth all arranged into its usual cocksure expression.
“Chuck Norris can hot wire any vehicle simply by putting his hands on the
steering wheel and telling the car to go.”
    I sit up, wipe off my tears. “I’m
okay,” I tell him and try to mean it.
    “We should do something to
celebrate your save,” Gabe continues. “Just you and me. After we get back and
cleaned off, let’s break into a pound the next town over. Find you some mean,
grizzled big dog that no one would ever adopt.” Gabe’s aura jumps in short
little spikes. He’s lying, and I wonder what he’s really up to. “That okay with
you?” He looks at Tarren.
    Usually Tarren doesn’t like to
deviate from a plan or take any additional risk, no matter how small. Now,
though, he just seems tired. “Don’t get caught,” is all he says.
    Back at the motel, Gabe takes the
shower first. He usually sings, but today he is quiet. I remember how he slit
the throat of the angel Hendricks, how those bloody bubbles slipped out of the
angel’s lips just before he died. I wonder where Gabe puts these memories, how
he shuts them out so effectively.
    While Gabe is preoccupied, I walk
over to Tarren’s room next to ours. His shower is going too, so I wait at the
door.
    I carefully unwrap that spark of
conviction in my mind, feed it a few thoughts and watch it flicker into a small
flame. This night has forced me to confront the uncomfortable reality that me
and my problems might not be the center of the universe; that Ryan was not the
only angel victim, that mine was not the only life forever torqued and spun off
the blissful path of ignorance and happiness.
    There might just be other reasons
to fight besides getting revenge on Grand.
    Images of the barn, those filthy,
fly-infested stables filled with dead and dying teenagers, are crystal clear in
my mind, every single detail preserved within my enhanced memory. This is where
things are heading if the angels win.
    Tarren is quick and efficient as
always, in and out of the water in less than five minutes. I feel his energy
roiling hot and angry.
    This always happens when he sees
his scars in the mirror. Sometimes he will stop and study them. I know, because
I can feel his tortured energy pulsing through the entire house, and I caught
him doing it once—something we never talk about.
    I knock softly on his door. “It’s
me,” I call.
    “A minute,” he says, gruff and
distracted. His energy flattens down, and I marvel at how well he controls it
now. He’s a master of his moods, able to pack up his emotions and hold them
tight all day. The door opens. Tarren’s wearing jeans and a gray long-sleeved
shirt. His hair is wet and spikey like he just quickly rubbed a towel over it.
    “What is it?” he says. There’s a
new shadow of concern on his face, and for once I think I know exactly what’s
on his mind. He’s remembering how well I could feel those auras in the