STARSHIP FOR RENT

  STARSHIP FOR RENT

  BOOK 1

  M.R. FORBES

  CHAPTER 1

  Hospitals always smelled the same. The scent should have made me gag, but the odor crept up on me slowly. A harsh lavender trying to mask a whole building full of sickness, pain, and loss. Bleaches and sanitizers failed to hide lingering despair, and I guess an occasional bout of joy, which was the last thing I wanted to think about right now, and the last thing I was capable of feeling.

  All I noticed at first was how badly I trembled. My teeth chattered uncontrollably despite the heated air blasting from overhead vents. The thin gown draped over me provided no warmth, coverage, or comfort. They had taken my jacket, my jeans, and my Vans. Bandages had replaced them, wrapped tight around my forehead, arms, and knees where the glass had penetrated my clothes and cut me, still burning hot under strips of gauze and surgical tape. Good news, the ER Doc who’d looked me over had said. No broken bones. No internal bleeding or damage. I had made it through relatively unscathed.

  A miracle.

  No amount of shock could erase what I had seen. What I refused to face but couldn't escape. Mom and Dad were dead. Extinguished in a blaze of shattering glass and shrieking metal. Stolen by Death's cruel hand; the asshole was never satisfied. How many times had I played games with similar plots? Seen NPC families ripped apart by violence meant to inspire the protagonist into making an epic journey.

  It was too bad life didn’t come with a reset button. It was too bad I couldn’t just start a new game and play for a different outcome.

  Of course, that didn’t stop my brain from trying. As the accident replayed over and over in my head, I analyzed every millisecond, picking out every detail and processing how things had gone so horribly wrong. The most frustrating part was that I didn’t need a replay. I understood exactly how I had caused the accident. Dad’s distraction in questioning me placed the responsibility squarely on my shoulders. Asking about my day instead of watching the lights and traffic closely enough to have seen the SUV coming. His worry about my lack of outside interests rather than outside hazards had caused their deaths. Simple, mundane stuff leading to catastrophic results.

  I both loved and hated him for it.

  I loved them both.

  And they were gone.

  The thought sent me into a fresh round of tears. Burying my face in my thin pillow, I no longer noticed the smell, the burning of my lacerations, or the soreness of my muscles.

  I don’t know how long I laid there in my bed bawling my eyes out. Ten minutes? More? Time had become immaterial to me. Everything but my loss and grief was immaterial.

  A stout nurse with curly red hair stood at the edge of my bed as I finally lifted my head, the round of agony subsiding. I could see the compassion in her eyes, and feel it in her presence as she grabbed the thin paper blanket bunched at my waist and tugged it up to my chest before tucking it gently around me.

  “I’m so sorry, Noah,” she said in a nasally voice, tears coming to her eyes. Since they had brought me to St. Luke’s, the same place Mom and Dad worked, she probably knew at least one of them. "My name's Judy," she continued, refocusing on taking care of me. “We need to get you warm again. Your body is still in shock."

  Shock seemed almost like a reprieve, the only thing keeping me from all-out despair.

  "Can I get you anything? Some water? Maybe a snack or something warm to drink?"

  My throat closed at the thought of eating. I shook my head and turned away, gazing toward the window. Raindrops slid in crooked paths down the dark pane of glass. The weather had turned dismal, reflecting my state of mind.

  "Okay. I have a few other patients I need to check on, but I’ll come back when I’m done. If you need anything in the meantime, just buzz."

  I nodded without looking at her. She had started for the door when a rational thought finally made it to the forefront of my mind. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “What do you mean, dear?” She asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.

  “I won’t be eighteen until April.” As an only child, without my parents, and not yet considered an adult, my prospects seemed bleak.

  She made a face. “You don’t have any other family here?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure someone’s already working on it. They’ll send someone to talk to you when you’re feeling better. Just to try to rest. No one’s going to throw you out on the streets to live on your own, and you have enough to deal with right now without worrying about what comes next.”

  I nodded again. She lingered until she was sure I didn’t have any more questions before leaving the room.

  My eyes remained fixed on the window, watching the rain rolling down the glass and doing everything I could to focus on the present instead of the past. Or even the future. Easier said than done. My brain still wanted to replay those few seconds when my parents died, the guilt stabbing into me again and again like a knife.

  I once again buried my face against the pillow, struggling not to cry anymore. People would understand why I kept breaking down, but it made me look and feel pathetic. Weak. I didn’t have that luxury anymore. Maybe I should have been easier on myself. More forgiving. But the longer I sat there and stared at the rain, the angrier with myself I became. The only way I would get through this was with the strength I needed to find somewhere within myself even though all I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and hide from the reality of my loss.

  Twenty minutes passed before the latch on my hospital room’s door clacked as somebody pushed the door open. Expecting my attending physician or maybe Judy again, I drew a steadying breath.

  A policeman in full uniform entered the room.

  Seeing him cemented all my agony at the rock bottom of my gut. I choked back the newest threat of sorrow and refused to get upset again. It was a promise I knew I couldn’t keep, but it helped in the short term.

  "Hello,” he said, stopping beside my bed and removing his cap, tucking it under his left elbow. The name under the badge fastened to the leather case hanging open over his belt identified him as Officer Duncan. "How are you feeling?"

  "How do you think I feel?" I snapped. Chilled and hollow and lost rolled together, hidden in my angry response. "What do you want?"

  His neutral expression collapsed. "I know it's tough. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you." He sighed, glancing down to gather his practiced speech. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Noah.”

  Hearing a total stranger say my name almost broke me. He shouldn't know it. Shouldn't be involved. This was too personal for pleasantries and procedure.

  "I hate to bring this up now," he continued. “But I need to ask you a few questions about the accident.”

  I froze in place, staring at him for who knew how long. I don’t think I even remembered to breathe. “What do you want to know?” I barely pushed out.

  “Normally, we wouldn’t need to do this,” he continued. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the man who hit you fled the scene.”

  “He did what?” I snarled, giving him what I knew had to be a scorching look. The raw emotion in my voice made it seem like I was mad at him. “He killed my parents!” Wrong. Lie. I killed my parents. He was only Death’s instrument.

  “He left the scene before we arrived. A bystander said they saw him heading south but lost track of him when you reacted to the tragedy. I really hate to be here like this, but I need to know if you saw the man driving the SUV. If you did, I need your statement while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

  “If it helps you find him, I’m glad to help.”

  “Thank you,” Officer Duncan said, putting his hand on the back of the seat beside my bed. “May I?” I nodded, and he sat, retrieving a pen and notepad from his shirt pocket. “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Sort of,” I replied, my mind reverting back to the moment for the hundredth time. At least on this occasion, I could do something useful with the data. “I didn’t get a good look at him when he ran the light. I only saw the SUV half a second before it hit us. But I saw him after he got out of the truck. Well, part of him. He had his arm over his face, doing his best not to look at us. I thought it was because he was ashamed, but now…maybe he didn’t want to be identified. Do you know who he is?”

  “No. The truck was unregistered. It may have been stolen. We’re still looking into it. What can you tell me about what you saw?”

  “He was young, or at least had a lot of brown hair with no grey or white in it. He had a square jaw, clean shaven. Caucasian.”

  “Did you notice any identifying marks on his hands or arms? Tattoos or scars?”

  In my mind, I watched him climb out of the car, arm in front of his face as he wandered away from the scene instead of toward the wreck he had created. “No. Nothing.” I paused. “He was a little overweight, or maybe he had a lot of muscle. I couldn’t tell, but he was definitely a lot more filled out than me, although that isn’t hard to do.”

  “What was he wearing?” Duncan asked.

  “A suit. Dark. With a red tie. He could have been an Uber Black driver.”

  Duncan finished writing. “Is it okay if I have an artist come up and take the description, too?”

  “I’ll do whatever you need to help you find him.”

  “Great. We might not be able to get Lindsey out here until morning.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. “Even though my injuries are all superficial, I don’t h
ave anywhere to go.”

  “You don’t have any next of kin nearby?”

  “No,” I answered, the same way I had Judy. A little calmer now, I offered Duncan more of an explanation. “My Dad was an only child. His father died when he was a kid. His mother just last year. Cancer. My Mom’s parents both live in Osaka. So does my Aunt Noriko. I might have some extended family in Germany. I don’t really know.”

  “But no one else in the States?”

  I shook my head.

  "Okay." Duncan scribbled on a new page in his notepad before looking at me again. "You're how old now?"

  "Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in April. It’s only six months away, and I imagine my parents had life insurance. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m not Child Protective Services, so I can’t speak to that with certainty, but in my experience the courts are pretty unbending on cases like this. The rules are the rules, and exceptions for one mean exceptions for many, and then the rules don’t mean anything anymore.”

  I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “You sound just like my Dad. Everything by the book.”

  Duncan looked back at me, sadness in his eyes. He must have read the panic tightening my face because he put his free hand gently on my shoulder. The compassionate act almost broke me again. "Don't worry. The system's designed to assist families in difficult situations like this and make sure everyone lands in the most beneficial circumstances."

  My throat constricted more. I didn't need reassurances or platitudes. Those belonged to someone else's nightmare instead of my new, devastating reality. And the "system" sucked. I had read enough online horror stories to know it failed way more people than it helped.

  I needed to talk to my parents. Have Mom stroke my hair and tell me we would figure things out together, one step at a time. Hear Dad promise nothing would really change. We would endure. Except I was the only one left. And endurance meant shouldering the full burden by myself.

  Duncan waited for a response I couldn't force. When the silence stretched too long, he slid a business card from his breast pocket and set it on the table beside my bed. "Call me if you need anything or have more questions. I’ll be back in the morning with Lindsey. And take care of yourself, son. There are always people willing to help if you let them, including me.”

  “Thank you,” I replied meekly.

  He waited another handful of seconds for me to say something more. When I didn’t, he slipped the pad and pen back in his pocket and got up. “I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said before turning and slipping out the door. I listened until his heavy footfalls faded and the door finally eased closed behind him.

  Glancing out the window again, I decided I couldn't stay in bed another minute. I shoved the blanket away and dropped my feet to the cold tiled floor. Shivering, I stood and went to the window, my muscles already sore enough I shuffled along like an old man. Rain continued streaking the pane, denying me a clear glimpse of the city beyond. The melancholy weather perfectly matched my mood. I laid my forehead against the cool glass as reality threatened to suffocate me.

  I’d sworn I wouldn’t cry again. I knew it was a lie then. I proved it now.

  I'm not sure how long I stood there struggling to breathe between guttural sobs. Somewhere in the deluge, I became vaguely aware of a repetitive buzzing against the room's side table. The notification tone echoed from my phone, forgotten since the accident. Wiping my face with my gown, I crossed back to the bed. As much as I wanted to forget the world, the world hadn’t forgotten me.

  There were two missed calls and a handful of texts waiting when I unlocked the device. All from Tyler Kent. We had four classes together, but our friendship to this point had remained mostly confined to school and group projects, and online, where we were both members of Stinking Badgers, our eSports team.

  We shared a lot of interests, yet remained just shy of being truly close friends. Probably because of me. If I would let anybody past my normally stoic defensive perimeter, it was Tyler. But right then my walls felt dangerously fragile. I had to gather my fortitude not to shatter when I responded.

  I opened Tyler’s texts instead of listening to any voicemails, reading the last one first:

  I saw what happened. I know ur not ok. Nobody would be after that Im so sry Noah. If u need anything Ill be there.

  My entire body shivered as I read the message. Tyler had been at the scene during the accident? The odds weren’t that far-fetched, we lived within a half mile of one another, but still…for some stupid reason, I felt embarrassed that he had seen the family car get creamed.

  Had seen my parents die.

  My fingers quivered as I typed an honest response. I had never been so real or so raw with anyone but my parents. But Duncan was right, there were people willing to help. I hoped Tyler would be one of them.

  Not ok doesn't begin to cover it. I can't process that they're gone. I wasn't even hurt. Just some glass cuts. It doesn't feel real.

  He answered back less than a minute later.

  Are u at St Lukes

  Yes.

  Im on my way

  The reply stunned me. Sure, Tyler was nice to everyone. But driving halfway across town late on a school night exceeded simple kindness for someone whose house I’d never even been to. I could refuse his offer just as easily over text. But having even one person nearby suddenly sounded a lot better than full isolation. I needed that lifeline more desperately than expected.

  You don't have to do that.

  ik c u soon

  Out of habit, I exited the messaging app and started browsing social media posts. I didn’t get very far before realizing that someone had already linked a police bulletin about the accident with the rumor that my parents and I had been involved. Someone else had commented that they’d heard my parents were dead. Despite my experience online, the speed at which the news traveled still took me by surprise. Seeing further comments from classmates who barely knew me was more than I could take. My finger poised over the power button, prepared to shut it all out again. Then Tyler’s contact image popped onto the screen. An incoming call instead of another text. I took a moment to gather myself before tapping to accept, taking a deep breath to steady my voice.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, Noah. I hope it's cool I called instead of sending another text. I'm pulling into the lot right now. Are you in the waiting room, or⁠—“

  “No. I have a private room. I…” I froze, struggling with the decision of how far to trust Tyler. “I’m so damn alone.”

  “I hear you. Look, I know we’ve never been besties outside of school or beyond the Badgers, but none of that matters right now. I’m here for you, man.”

  I could have cried again. Instead, I laughed softly. His smooth tone flowed like milk chocolate, rich and soothing. The absurd imagery made me chuckle despite the circumstances.

  "Yeah, I appreciate that more than you know. You really didn't have to come all this way though."

  “Uh-huh,” he replied. “I’m already here. I might as well come up.” He killed the engine, his door creaking open a second later. "I'll be right there."

  The call ended before I could argue further that we weren't truly friends and that he didn’t owe me anything. He had inserted himself into my tragedy because he cared. However the connection manifested hardly mattered. I couldn't deny the comfort of simply knowing someone gave a damn.

  Whatever happened next, at least I wouldn't have to endure it alone.

  CHAPTER 2

  Judy's distinctive voice preceded her into my room as she opened the door, a swole teenager trailing right behind her. His brown hair stood up in messy spikes while a hoodie hung over down to black cargos and unlaced high-top skater shoes. “Noah, you have a visitor.”

  Tyler Kent shifted the cardboard drink carrier into the hand bracing a grease-stained paper bag and offered me a sympathetic grin. "Hey, Noah-san. I come bearing gifts.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, despite the pervasive tightness in my chest. “Tyler. I…I don’t know what to say.”