Science, Eternal Life, and a Traveling Circus 2

Chapter Two

Abraham sat against the steel-framed wheel of the notorious Drew Hughes' caravan, expression twisted in concentration and disgust and fascination all at once as he listened to the maundering of the great hero and marveled at how the slurring disgrace could once have been admired by thousands. Hundreds of fools still bore that mark of his; the same that Abraham himself carried.

"My-ahh head's gonn' explode th-thar..."

Hughes kept on muttering about the Tree Farm and a migraine and apologies and self-loathing curses and pity. Abraham watched his stumbling feet under the caravan. The man stood by his horse, which nickered and snorted with each dazed utterance from its master.

"Wh-Why am I going, Patriot? I'vvve lost my g-good sense."

Abraham impatiently clenched and unclenched his fist.

"Get on with it...," he urged under his breath.

Hughes' scuffed rubber boots tripped over each other. Miraculously, he regained his balance. He let out a pitiful moan and burst into loud and unflattering tears.

"I'm a worthless fleabag!" he bawled.

Abraham cursed and shook his head. He pulled at his hair and twitched at each caterwaul. He couldn't stand it. His shoulders grew stiff and he chomped on his tongue.

The has-been howled about himself and the child he'd abandoned. Pooh, pooh. The Tree Farm, Abraham was interested in. A pile of old ruins? Why did the man think them so important? But, the man eventually stopped letting out words at all. He choked over shoulder-shaking sobs.

Abraham dragged his hand down his face and drummed his fingers on his jaw.

"Enough!" he snapped, at the end of his wits. He jumped to his feet and marched around the caravan with his hands waving. "Pull yourself together, man!"

The drunk lifted his red face from his horse's flank and quieted. He sniffled and squinted at Abraham, but the clouds in his eyes concealed the guest's identity. He recognized the colors of Abraham's clothing. The purple, the black, the gold-yellow. His face scrunched up. "William?" He erupted again to tears and buried his face in the stallion's flank.

Abraham recoiled as if struck. The guilt from the betrayal of the good William Octienne sat uncomfortably in his poorly-nourished gut. He stepped nearer. When Hughes kept his head down, his shoulders heaving and shuddering, Abraham stepped even closer. He reached out for the blue bottle in Hughes' fist, hesitated, then snatched it.

Hughes reacted late. He whimpered and shook his head and stretched his arms out across the horse. His fingers wiggled, grabby. "G-Give it back!"

Abraham grimaced. "Eugh." The man was large, but there was nothing intimidating about him as he was. "Stay back, Hughes."

Hughes whined like a kitten. He turned his back and leaned his elbows over Patriot. He raised a bottle of whiskey to his lips and chugged as though it went down easily as water.

Abraham reached his fingers into the blue bottle and pulled out a piece of paper. He turned it around in his palm and studied it. Instructions. "Take one every two hours as needed. Take with food. Do not," he made a face and looked up at the man's back. "Bah! Do not take with alcohol!" He clenched his teeth and sharply exhaled. "How many of these did you take, you buffoon?"

"W-William, I've done surmthin' turr'ble," Hughes wept.

"Give me the bottle."

"Ehh?"

"The whiskey, dammit."

"W-William!" Hughes turned again, heavily leaned on his horse's back. "M-my tempurr, W-Will. I l-lost my tempurr with... y-your kid... th-the gurrl."