• It had been a relatively nice day, the hot July weather perfect for a walk around the city. Riehl had enjoyed his day with his mother, she had even been smiling and cheerful which was a plus for Riehl. His mother was usually so depressed and quiet; she always looked like she was ready to cry even on the verge of smiling. So to see a bright wonderful smile on her face, without a trace of tears, was a treat for Riehl even better than the strawberry ice cream he had bought and as they waited to cross the street; Riehl licked his ice cream happily. The whizzing of cars was deafening as it always was at the busy cross section; Riehl's hair fluttered in the breeze made by the passing vehicles. With a smile he turned to his mother to ask her about dinner when, with something akin to wonder he watched her step into the busy road...

    And promptly get run down by a Greyhound bus.

    Riehl was vaguely aware of the screams of the woman beside of him, or the man just a few feet beside of him vomiting violently, or the fact that his ice cream plummeted to the ground and landing with a soft plop.

    And all Riehl could do was stare.

    On the day of his mother's funeral, nobody came, well somepeople came but Riehl was in no condition to notice them. His mind had sunk into the safe waters of numbness and calm as he stared at the closed casket ahead of him.

    It was closed due to the fact that the bus hadn't left much body to be buried.

    Riehl couldn't help but wonder where his friends were...and he forced himself to think for a moment. They were...uncomfortable with dealing with problems other than their own and had figured that Riehl would be better off solving the problem himself. This was just another one of those many, many problems.

    As more and more people came, Riehl shook so many hands in the space of one week. He was half surprised when he remembered that, no; he was not running for mayor, he was burying his mother. A tragedy covered up by warm smiles and one hell of a bizarre commentary.

    'Alma was such a gentle woman, such a shame...'

    'I'm so sorry for your loss Riehl, it must be hard dealing with this. Here, this cake is for you...Ooh do stay safe.'

    He was almost sick, whether it was from the sympathy food or the smell of fresh clay and dirt, he didn't know.

    A smooth expanse of white marble sat regally in the grass, the words ‘Alma Michele Nicholls' engraved on the plain white tablet with a generic angel taking up residence on top of it. Riehl stared at it with dispassion, honestly he thought the damn tombstone was more depressing than the body buried before it. He wanted to take a chisel to it and chip it down to rubble, but Riehl had been raised a good boy. Riehl didn't go around defiling graves.

    It was then Riehl started having a massive series of chest pains and searing headaches that left him bed-ridden and virtually immobilized for weeks.

    Talk of the block was that he was touched and Riehl was starting to believe them himself, especially when his father arrived to take him home.

    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    Riehl sat outside of the doctor’s office, staring at the outdated selection of magazines the waiting room had to offer. Not that he was going to read them, or anything; it was just something to keep him occupied as his Dad argued with his doctor. Apparently Rhodes Soto, author-slash-free lance writer, was his Dad.

    Until three weeks ago he didn't know he had a Dad, other than his obvious existence of course.

    He could hear them yelling and covered his eyes with a pale, weary arm.

    "Personally, I... Well, I must say. I'm a bit surprised he hasn't dropped dead yet." The Doctor began, his voice holding a believable amount of amazement.

    "Oh for crying out loud, you can't be serious." his Dad snapped, he could almost see the man rolling his eyes. "I don't know anything about the boy, nor do I want him living with me."

    "But Stress cardiomyopathy is very serious Mr. Soto, and it would not only be illegal, in this case, but terribly, terribly unwise to leave him alone. After two attacks already, it would be a grave mistake to leave Riehl to fend for himself. What he needs, sir, is a change of scenery. The air in the city is not healthy enough for him. Get him away from all this. Let him start over. He might surprise you."

    Riehl heard the-man-called-Dad sigh in an irritated manner before murmuring some form of agreement. At least, Riehl thought it was agreement...he couldn't tell. They had sedated him and it was already too much of a hassle to think sober. His thoughts and the world in general where in a whirl like a mad kaleidoscope. Under any normal circumstances, Riehl would've thrown open the door with a triumphant cry and would have proceeded to curse the living hell out of his Dad. He would've loved to do that.

    “Alright. Thank you, Dr. Gordon.” He murmured, as he exited the doctor’s office. Rhodes Soto was a scruffy looking man, hell, Riehl though he was homeless at first. He stubble and his hair looked like a rat’s nest, his clothes looked like they needed a good washing but he was too lazy to care. His face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl/glare as if the world had angered him somehow.

    Riehl looked more like his mother, with his pale features and slightly girly face and long black hair. The only thing he and his father had in common was their eyes. They were a light caramel, like burning sugar, and right now those eyes he shared were focused on him in annoyance.

    “Come on, kid. Go get your stuff. I’ve got to get home and finish my article.” he said, his voice rough like he smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. Riehl could only nod and follow the man; after all he was his only family now.

    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    Fox Dale was a large housing complex, a two-hour drive from the city. Riehl felt a lick of rage build up within him. His own father was only two hours away and didn’t even come to visit him? The rage soon quieted into blissful numbness again as his Dad pulled his car into the driveway of his new home. Where all the other yards were neat and clean, their grass cut so perfectly you could measure it with a ruler; his dad’s was wild and weed choked, a lonely elm tree loomed over the house. Rhodes got out and looked at the U-haul filled with Riehl’s stuff, technically some of it was his mother’s; he wouldn’t leave it behind no matter how much Rhodes protested.

    Rhodes looked unsure of what to do with Riehl, and Riehl didn’t feel like helping him. The older man grimaced and shooed him away.

    “Go on, I don’t need you in my way while I move this stuff inside. Go make some friends or whatever it is you do.” Rhodes snapped.

    “…Okay.” Riehl said, his voice a little husky from days without use, and obediently trudged away. He couldn’t help the people staring and pointing at him and ignored them. Riehl put in his headphones and turned the music up. Classical music blared from his CD player, Fugue in D minor by Bach. It was then Riehl found a bench and plopped down on it, comfortable in his music and his numbness.