Free The Siege by Alexie Aaron Page A

sniped.
    Murphy looked at the kid and saw a bit of Mia in him, the bit that was brought out by constant ridicule by your peer group.  He chose, instead of walking away and leaving the sensitive to stew on his own, to ignore the obnoxiousness and try to root out what was bothering the kid.  “You were looking for me,” he led.
    “Oh yeah, Ted called, and they wrapped the investigation.  He wanted to know if you were up for cutting some evergreens to make some garlands for the front of the farmhouse.  Cid’s gone out for some outdoor lights.  I mean, I think it’s a waste; no one drives by to see the house.  Why bother?”
    “Mia will see it. That’s why.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You make your house nice for the people inside of it, not to show off to the neighbors.  Christmas is about families, and we’re Mia’s family.  You too, if you stay.”
    “My ma is going to her sister’s in Florida for Christmas week.  I was going to have the house to myself, invite Richie over and marathon a few video games.”
    “Give Richie my best,” Murphy said formally.
    “You’re a wicked dude, Murphy.”
    Murphy didn’t understand how being courteous was being wicked, but he left the jargon of his youth nearly a century and a half ago.  Catching up to this era’s slang was too much trouble.  Plus, it kept changing.  Bad was good, now it’s bad again.  Fat is good, but calling someone fat is bad.  Brilliant meant smart and lame, depending on your tone.  He decided it was best just to keep his mouth shut.  Actions spoke louder than words, and his axe spoke loudest of all.
    Murphy turned to leave.
    Dave didn’t want to go back to the house and hang around Saint Cid, but he was lonely.  “You want some help?”
    Murphy turned around and looked at the boy.  “Boots, gloves, twine and sled.”
    “Sled? There’s no snow on the ground,” Dave pointed out.
    Murphy looked at the sky and said, “There will be, now get.”
    Dave took off running down the hill.
    Maggie walked up to Murphy and looked from him to Dave and back again.
    “He needs a firm hand, girl.  He’s a bastard.”
     
    ~
     
    Cid watched Dave’s progression up the hillside carrying the sled.  He’d insisted the boy take his backpack which Cid filled with twine, shears and a thermos of hot coffee.  When Dave asked why, he said, “Murphy doesn’t feel the cold or get fatigued.  This will help you keep up with him.”  Dave seemed to accept this.  He didn’t thank Cid; that wouldn’t have occurred to him.
    Cid was of a split mind when it came to Dave.  Sure, the kid was smart and had a lot of raw potential, but he was far from likable.  Burt had wanted a substitute for Mia, and she and Ted wanted to have a chance to try and save the kid, so they invited the former stoner into their lives.  He hoped that all concerned didn’t rue the day.
    “So lost…”
    Cid turned around. He thought he heard someone speaking in the barn.  He walked out of his apartment and stopped on the top landing to listen.
    “So lost, so lost...”
    The words were barely perceptible.  Cid’s overdeveloped hearing skills, from years of near blindness, picked up the words.  He moved quickly down the stairs and grabbed the parabolic dish and started the recorder.
    “They came for me, but I was not there, so lost…”
    Cid held onto the dish and followed it to where the sound was the loudest.  He stopped and put on the spectrum glasses he still carried in his pocket.  They hadn’t illuminated the poltergeists, but he found that it made seeing Murphy a bit easier.  He looked around him and saw a thick column of mist.  It seemed to generate from a crack in the floor.
    He watched the mist waver, and then it dissipated.  He stooped down and touched the crack in the floor.  It didn’t feel any different than the cement around it.  He put his ear to it, but there was nothing to hear.
    Cid got up and put away the parabolic dish, taking the