Unravelling Zeke - Ranch Mosler, MO
Banner by aliensouldream
Title: Ranch Mosler, MO
Author: Gabi
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Z/C
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Zeke is kidnapped by grandma to spend the weekend.
Disclaimer: I own neither the rights nor the characters. If I did, Mr Tyler would be sporting a lovely new collar. I make no money. I have no money. Don’t sue me.
Note: beta’d by the wonderful Aliensouldream. I lurve you. xxx
Previous
Epiphany / Party & Boring / Plans / Casa Del Tyler / The Suit / Mom / Hate You / Meet the Connors / New York - Friday / New York - Saturday / New York - Sunday / Texting / The Deal / Complex / Snow / Pictures of You / A Connor Christmas / Missed This / Photogenic / New Years Eve / Trust / Saint Valentine / Spring Break / Calm / Storm / Stages / Whispers / Echoes / Stokely / I Love You / Mercy / Thrift / Messenger / Anticipation / So Talk / Sand / Insomnia / Penance / Signals / Murdock / Pilot / Concert / Midnight / Perspective / Lost / Nightmare / Seventeen / Open / Cosy / Friends & Enemies / Brandon / The Wait / Ten / Shirt / Shell / Shock / Promise / Bella / Fritz / Pills / Facade / Heir / Void / Smoke / Search / Silent / Gesture / Milton / Drive / Retrogress / Transition / Liberty / Exposure / Resolution / Blue / Mess-en / Sanctified / Delicatessen / Want You / Apologies / Active / Reputation / Confrontation / Frustration / Rebecca / Going Through The Motions
“Put your foot down.”
Zeke turned to eye his grandma incredulously. “I’m sorry, I misheard that. I’m sure you just said Put your foot down.”
She held her hands out towards the empty highway. “Open road. Open her up!”
Snapping a grin on his face, he hit the gas. The car roared as she accelerated over tarmac, growling and snapping at every gear change until they were doing a hundred and five down the empty stretch of highway.
This was what he was missing. An adrenaline rush he could control. The freedom of a long stretch of road so he could think. Or not think. He risked a quick sideways glance to his grandma. She was grinning.
Upon spotting distant cars ahead he slowly decelerated until they were back within legal limits behind sparse traffic. “Wow! That took me back.”
He raised his eyebrows with an amused smirk. “You? A motorhead?”
“Oh, your grandpa was. Got himself a Thunderbird back in the day. That car could shift.”
“You’re not allowed to race cars and break laws, you’re my grandma.”
“I wasn’t always your grandma. Don’t assume your generation created fun.” she said with a pointed finger. “Or sex.”
“STOP!” he yelled, laughing.
“What?” she innocently asked.
“You can’t say that to me! I’m… sensitive.”
She chuckled and tucked a stray hair behind his ear. “You always were.” she teased.
He tried to duck out of her reach and almost swerved the car. “You want me to crash this thing?”
She tucked her hands between her knees, but the grin remained wicked.
“Behave!”
~*~
It was like stepping back in time. From the long veranda, he entered the white walled hall with its dark wooden floors and the same russet, tread-worn, hall runner. He inhaled. It smelled like all his favourite childhood memories. The large mirror still adorned one wall making the hall look twice as wide, but the tacky deer head mounted with a barometer had long since been replaced with a plain barometer, back when he swung from the antlers as a young boy and brought it off the wall with a painful crash.
He could see himself now, running through the rooms and down that hall in his blue, flannelette footie jammies or in the jeans with zips on all the pockets that he thought he was ever so tough in. He smiled as the Sesame Street theme tune bubbled up from the recesses of his mind and firmly wedged itself between his ears.
The sound of rapidly clattering nails on a wooden floor alerted him to the presence of dogs. Two large bloodhounds raced into the hall to greet them. “Git!” his grandma commanded. “Bed.” Reluctantly the two dogs turned tail and skulked back down the hall. “That’s Bonny and Clyde. I’ll introduce you when they’ve calmed down, or they’ll be drooling all over you.”
“Okay.”
“Come on.” she said, taking him by the arm. “Let’s get you settled in then have a nice cup of coffee.”
Hitching his bag higher onto his shoulder he walked to the end of the entrance hall and into the large, high beamed living room. Again, nothing much had changed. The walls were still light cream. The floor, woodwork and beams that stretched high into the roof were natural wood. The large stone chimney housed a log fire which had always made the room feel cosy.
He headed up the open staircase, whose handrail he’d often slid down backwards as a child. At the top was the short, railed balcony overlooking the living room that he used to lean over and give his grandma a near heart attack whenever she caught him. The doors at either end were bedrooms and the central one, the adjoining bathroom.
“Which one am I in?” he asked, knowing hers was the master bedroom downstairs.
“This one. Norm uses it on occasion, but I’ve given it a bit of a clean.”
It was the same room he’d always used on previous stays. Its light blue walls and sloping wooden ceiling adding more nostalgia to his senses. The front window was open a little, leaving the room fresh and clean. Dropping his bag on his bed, he went over to the alcove and knelt on the old wooden chair to check out the view. The veranda below hid some of her carefully tended garden, but the view stretched out beyond her drive to the fields and orchards and the distant town’s roofs beyond.
“Unpack.” she said. “Settle. I’ll put a fresh pot on for when you come down.” With that she left him alone.
He contemplated a cigarette whilst leaning out of the window, but lacking an ashtray he’d have to flick his butt out of the window and she’d probably kill him when she found it amongst her azaleas. Instead, he moved back over to the freshly made bed and began the task of unpacking his gear. His few clothes were packed onto shelves inside the small closet, the toiletries placed in the shared bathroom and the photo of himself and Casey placed carefully on the little bedside table.
With that taken care of, he headed back downstairs, through the living room and into the kitchen and dining area. “Wait there.” his grandma instructed. “I’m almost done.” Sitting himself at the dining room table next to the open kitchen, he looked around. The dogs were lay in their beds watching his grandma’s every move with blatant adoration. Light flooded in through the glass French doors beside him and lit the botanical display above a white cabinet. Mismatch framed photographs, paintings and drawing of flowers, leaves and butterflies. Place mats, bookmarks, magazine clippings, postcards all crammed together on the wall with more on the cabinet’s top. A bowl of petals, dried leaves, a floral swatch of fabric and a vase of fresh flowers that he assumed were from her own garden.
When he turned to see her struggling with a tray, he got up and hurried over to her. “Let me get that.” he said, easing her away from the handles.
“Ah, you’re a good boy.”
Even with his bad-boy image four hundred miles behind him, the praise still made him cringe and blush, but he took the tray over to the table, poured three sugars into his coffee, snagged a peanut cookie and sat down opposite her.
He knew there was a talk in the air. It was inevitable, but as he watched her show far more interest in her cookie than himself, a slow smile crept across his lips. “Is this one of those rare occasions where I get off lightly?”
“No,” she replied, still nibbling the peanuts off her cookie, “but you get to settle and enjoy a coffee before the interrogation begins.”
“Thanks. We can’t just get it over with?”
“Ack, settle. Drink. We have time.” She dunked her de-peanuted snack into her coffee. “Eat that,” she said, pointing to his own cookie. “or I will.”
He did as he was told.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to meet the horses soon.”
“Actually… I was thinking more of a smoke. Anywhere that won’t get me shot?”
She waved him off. “The veranda’s fine. There’s a chair or two out there.”
“Anything I can use for an ashtray?”
“Hmm…” she pondered, “I think I have something that’ll suffice.” He watched her rise and head back to the kitchen to root through a cupboard below the bread box.
Movement at the French doors startled him as a thirty-something woman in riding gear popped her head in and regarded him with the same shock. “Oh… I was looking for Cora?”
He smiled and pointed to the kitchen.
She hung by the large glass door and leant around. “Hi Cora. I just wanted you to know the boys are done and I’m nipping into town.”
“Okay.” his grandma replied, returning with an old saucer that she passed to Zeke. “This is my grandson, Zeke. Zeke? This is Miranda. She helps me with the horses.”
Miranda looked a little embarrassed. “Oh… I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’m filthy.”
His smirk got away from him.
“Pay him no mind.” his grandma said, “He was born smug.”
“It’s genetic.” he chuckled, “Nice to meet you, Miranda.”
“Likewise.” She turned her attention back to his grandma. “I’ll be back later to ride. Do you want anything while I’m in town?”
“No, we’ll be just fine, but thanks.”
Miranda nodded, flashed him one last embarrassed smile and ducked out, closing the door behind her. “Is she all there?” he asked when he was sure she was out of earshot.
“Don’t be cheeky. She didn’t expect a strapping young male at my dining table, that’s all.” She ruffled his hair as she passed and chuckled when he didn’t duck in time. “Come get your fix. I’ll sit out with you while it’s nice. Then I’ll introduce you to the boys.”
She opened the door and the two dogs bounded over to join them in the sun. He followed them out onto the shaded veranda that spanned two full sides of the house. “How many do you have now?”
“Horses?” She sat in one rocking chair and leant back. “Just the two Morgans now. Miranda helps me look after them in return for free stabling of her own horse.”
“Two? This place used to be teeming with horses and buyers.”
“I’m old, child. Two’s plenty for me to handle. And they pay their way. I still have interested breeders at the door.” She patted his thigh then dropped her hand to stroke her dog while staring out over to the many outbuildings with a content smile.
He settled back into his chair and lit a cigarette as his grandma gently rocked with her dogs beside her. He exhaled slowly; his head back, enjoying the tranquillity.
~*~
Donny and Dusty were almost identical, dark bay stallions. They were half-brothers of the same sire and were raised together from birth to ensure they remained tolerant of each other’s company as adults. Zeke learnt that they were often driven as a team, pulling her larger carriage. She also had a smaller, single axle one to take them out individually. They had a vast array of show titles between them.
“Do you ever ride them?” he asked while stroking Donny’s muzzle.
“No, my hips aren’t up to the stretch anymore, but they’re perfect gentlemen under the saddle. Miranda’s won several classes for me. You’re welcome to try them out.”
“I might.”
She regarded him in silence for a short time. “We could always harness them up. Take them into town for a visit.”
His hand stilled as he realised what that entailed. It took him a moment to answer with a shrug. “I dunno... Maybe.”
“It’s an exceptional means of transportation.”
He smiled then dropped his head, becoming serious all too quickly. “It’s not that, it’s… This is as close to home as I’m willing to get. This is my dad’s territory. Or close enough.”
She nodded slowly. “You’re afraid you’ll cross paths in town.”
“If we’re gonna cross paths… Charnwood’s the most likely place. I mean, it’s the closest real town to home. We used to go all the time. It’s his old stomping ground, ya know? If he’s gone back there...”
“It’s okay.” she assured. “I understand. I noticed you’d gone quiet as we neared the exit for Charnwood.” She stroked his arm. “Perhaps now’s the time for that chat, eh? Grab a coffee while we’re at it.”
Resigned, he nodded.
“If it makes you feel any better, the last time I bumped into your father in town, he was shopping for your eleventh birthday present. And so was I.”
He smiled as they walked back to the house. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t around though. He was there another two years.”
“And in those two years we never crossed paths except when planned. So it’s even less likely this one day.”
There was logic in that. “I guess.”
~*~
He cupped his mug in both hands at the dining table and stared blankly at the rising steam. His grandma’s bony old fingers curled around his. “Lou tells me you’ve been miserable since you returned from visiting Casey. What’s eating you?”
He shrugged as his mind raced for an appropriate response. “I don’t even know where to start.” He pulled his hands away to rub his face and massage his temples. “Just let me sort through the noise.”
“Too big a question?” She smiled warmly when he simply looked up at her. “Okay, let’s begin with an easier one. Tell me about Casey.”
“What about him?”
“Well, what’s he like? I’ve seen a picture, but you never really told me about him as a person.”
Zeke smirked. “Jealous, possessive freak. Evil mouth on him in an argument. No concept of ‘share’. And I love him.”
She chuckled. “He’s a catch.”
He grinned and dropped his head, gripping his mug in both hands. “Stuff’s different for him. Like… I had money and shit I didn’t need thrown at me, but I had no one around, so… I get this urge to share everything. It’s not buying friends, it’s… making the most of whatever I have, right? Casey’s spent a lot of his life having his stuff taken from him. He was bullied a lot, so when he has something, he’s determined to keep hold of it. People, money, objects, food. It’s just different conditioning. He’s getting better, though. He shares everything with me now.”
“And the evil mouth?”
“Again, it’s the whole bullying bullshit.”
“Language.”
He rolled his eyes. “I mean, he doesn’t have a lot of physical strength or presence, so it’s all mental with him. He can’t hit out, but he can lash out, quite viciously, with his tongue. A verbal attack is his only means of defence. It’s second nature for him, so when we argue, his instinct is to spit venom. Mine’s to get defensive and twist the emotional knife. We get stupid when we fight.”
“You could try talking instead.”
“Thanks for the tip, I’ll be sure to mention it to him.”
“Cheek.” She smiled and leant forward a little. “So does he have any plus points?”
He smiled at the spreading warmth. “He’s cute. Sees beauty in everything around him. He’s an optimist. And he’s strong. Mentally.” He stared at his mug. “Way stronger than me. He’s put up with so much and he just keeps fighting. He never gives up. He never backs down. He gets on with it, ya know? He went to school every day when he was being bullied. He stuck by me when he should have fled. He knew what to say when I’d lost all reason. He fought long after I’d given up.”
“Strength of character, they call that.”
“Oh, he’s a character all right.” The brief smile faded. “I miss him.”
“And that’s why you’re miserable?”
“It’s more than that. I’ve got a lot on my mind and… everything’s different now. Feel’s wrong.”
“What does?”
“Everything.” He shrugged. “My life’s stalled. It’s not stopped, it’s just… not moving. I’m stuck.”
“How so?”
“Checkmate.”
“Checkmate?”
“This whole thing with my dad. It’s not the same irrational panic that drove me away in the first place, but… I’ll never know. I faced my fear of him and for what? I’ve no idea where he is. I never will. I’ll never know if he’s right behind me. I’ll never be free of it. Checkmate.”
“That’s no reason to put your life on hold.”
“I’m not. But… It’s like having some disease there’s no cure for. I’m stuck with this. It’ll always be there.” He shrugged again. “My life’s off-kilter.” he tried to explain. “It doesn’t feel right. I should never have left Casey the second time.”
She nodded contemplatively. “How long before you see him again?”
“Eight days. Couple of hours.”
She smiled at this. “He must be quite the Boy Wonder to have you in this state over eight days.”
He didn’t share her humour. “Separation anxiety. I mean, it’s not as bad as some have it. I don’t have to call every hour, but… I dunno. Having people around me’s helped. I’ve had to tone it down around them. I’ve had distractions. I’m not destructive or anything, like last time, just… low. Consistently low.”
All evidence of her humour had dissipated, leaving a slight frown. “Destructive?”
He fidgeted with his mug while he tried to think of a way to explain it without coming over as psychotic and worrying her. “We split up for just over a week a while back. I didn’t even know we’d split until he tried to give me all my sh… stuff back. He’d been real vicious in an argument and I mean vicious. Mentally, I wanted to throttle him, but emotionally…” He swallowed and gripped the porcelain a little too tightly. “I had to let my head take over, cos if I listened to my gut I’d have been on my knees begging him to take me back. I was trying to be rational. He’d be safe from my dad, he’s coping at school… but it left this enormous vacuous chasm in my life that I needed to fill. I filled it in the worst of ways. I don’t deal with separation.”
Her hands found his again, offering warmth and comfort. “Is this just with Casey?”
He kept his focus fixed firmly on his cooling coffee and slowly shook his head.
Her fingers tightened over his as she sighed hard. “You know what you need?”
He looked up, awaiting her answer.
“Do you remember the deli on the corner of Maine and Drake? All those filo pastries with almonds and honey glazing? I need one of those. I think you do too. I’ll pick up more chickpeas while we’re there, we can have falafel for dinner.” She nodded to herself. “Yeah. We’ll find something tasty.” She raised her eyebrows with a smile. “You feeling brave?”
He let out a long breath. “I dunno.” If he went to town today, it would be the biggest step yet towards facing his fears. Maybe. Facing the guy in the diner was pretty huge. But this was less than six miles from his home town. He’d recognise places, recall memories. His dad would be very much with him mentally if he dared to face it.
There are two routes back to Casey. The easy one. And the quick one.
“You know what? Screw it! Let’s go.”
~*~
He’d been quiet on the drive over. They’d taken her big blue Caddy and with the window down, she’d let him smoke through his nerves. Now he sat in the passenger seat outside the deli warily eyeing everyone around while he geared himself up to opening his door.
He remembered Maine street well with its banks, jewellers, delis and stores. There was one old bookstore that always smelled musty, the door jangled when you entered and its dark, book lined recesses were like another fascinating world for a small child. Then there was the bank whose window poster had once offered a high interest if you deposited a thousand dollars a month. He’d balked, looked up to his dad and incredulously asked “Who has a thousand dollars a month?” His dad had merely chuckled and continued on to his own bank.
His dad was very much with him now. “This is harder than I thought.”
“It’s just door to door. Take your time. If it’s overwhelming, you can wait in the car.”
Wait in the car like a fucking pussy. Door to door. What? Five feet? Six? He closed his eyes, breathed deep and threw his door open.
An all new wave of nostalgia hit him when he entered the deli. Except now he could see over the glass counter. He remembered the days when Mr Levi would have to lean over it to offer a gratis Chupa Chup whenever he visited with his grandma. The fridge opposite the counter was new, but the space at the rear of the deli still looked the same with its shelves of goodies and stuff he couldn’t pronounce at the time, let alone spell.
“Afternoon, Mrs Mosler.” the clerk greeted.
“Afternoon, Saul. This is Zeke, my grandson.”
The man offered his greeting, which Zeke returned before wandering off towards the crammed shelves at the back. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Reliving my childhood.” he replied.
~*~
He woke at six am, as usual, after taking far too long to find sleep the night before. After his conversation with Casey, who’d shown cautious optimism and made him promise to be careful, his mind had churned incessantly. He’d still woken at six after less than five hours sleep. With his grandma yet to rise, he’d made himself some cereal that he’d eaten while he waited for coffee. He’d taken his mug outside while he’d smoked and watched the dogs go about their business in the large stable yard.
He’d been flicking through channels for over an hour now, relaxing on the pale, floral armchair. He had no idea when his grandma usually arose, but being a long-term ranch owner, he figured it wouldn’t be this late. It was seven-thirty and his mind was beginning to nag. He made her a coffee and took it to her room. He knocked twice and called. “Grandma?” He listened to the silence for a minute and knocked a little louder. “Grandma.”
“Hmm?”
“I made you coffee.”
“Oh… um… Come in.”
Remembering back when he could open the handle with his chin when his hands were full, he smiled and pushed the door open. She’d sat up a little against the white pillows in her nightgown with the sheets pulled high. Not yet fully alert and with her hair sleep-tussled, she looked older and frailer than he liked. He locked it down and offered her a bright smile. “Can’t have you enjoying your sleep when I’m awake and bored, so… I made you a coffee.”
She returned the smile. “Just here, on the coaster.”
He placed it where instructed and sat on the edge of her bed. “Need anything else?”
“Just the bathroom.”
“Can’t help you there.”
She chuckled, wrinkled but bright eyed. “Are you thinking of riding today?”
“Probably. But I need to run an errand first.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I need to do something in town.”
~*~
Carson Mills retail park lay approximately half way between the relatively busy town of Charnwood and his old house. Just under three miles from home, it was where his dad bought most of their groceries and pretty much anything else they needed. They only really went to Charnwood for visits to the bank or for more select items that weren’t mass produced. Sometimes his father would drink in his favourite bar there, just off Drake Street.
Zeke used to ride to Carson Mills on Sundays on his bike to tear around the parking lot and build bike ramps from old crates and bits of board that were easy to salvage from the back of the stores if you could climb. There were a couple of other kids who’d regularly show up and help him build courses. They all thought he was the shit because he never got caught shoplifting the snacks he shared with them and he was too fast on his bike whenever security got curious.
He sat in the GTO amongst other parked cars and stared over at the Barnes & Noble a good fifty feet away. His window down, he smoked while he contemplated what it was that was preventing him from getting out of the car.
At fifteen, he’d been a kid with balls of steel. Running drugs, door to door through the ghetto, late at night and never backing down to men that other kids his age feared. He’d been sheltered by naivety. He’d learned some pretty tough lessons in his life, but he’d been lucky that the majority of his mistakes had been learned in hindsight. By looking back and thinking ‘Christ, was I that stupid?’.
He wasn’t so naïve anymore and that was the difference. But he was still the same guy. The same kid who’d carried a grand’s worth of drugs and a gun every night. The same kid who’d pulled that gun on some tough-guy who’d tried to fuck him over. It had swayed the argument and the guy coughed up the full, pre-agreed amount for the bag Zeke had delivered. Stupid, yes. Tough? Fuck yes. No fear.
Now? Now, he remembered fear. The fear he once naively thought could never touch him again. He’d been beaten half to death by his own father. What could anyone do to him that hadn’t been done before? What path could he take that didn’t end the same way? He’d be dead at nineteen. No consequences. No fear.
Now there were consequences. There was a future he wanted. Now there was fear. His father was somewhere out there and quite possibly here. But he was alone now. The same lone wolf he’d always been and that’s how it had to go down. This had to be done alone. No Casey to fear for. No family to worry about. Just him and his mission.
He got out of the car.
Immediately, his gut clenched, his pulse raced and his heart thumped heavy in his chest. He was still afraid. But he was moving his life the fuck on. He could get shot right now. But like they say, he could be hit by a bus tomorrow or ran the fuck over by a drunk driver before he got to the door. However long it took to reach the end of his life, the outcome wouldn’t change. He’d die at some point.
He entered the bookstore unscathed and headed straight for the help desk. “Excuse me? Would I find phrase books in the languages, or the travel section?”
He was getting on with his life.