by Mark Wesley
They can’t hear me, Timothy thought. They’re going to swing that thing into this building again. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he exclaimed to Jane as he ran back towards her. “The door,” Timothy offered, looking towards the lonely exit. “It’s our only way out.”
“But’s that’s where the pirate is!”
Timothy didn’t like the choice, but it was the only opportunity to make it out alive.
“It’s that or stay here while this building is torn apart.”
Another loud eruption rang out, interrupting his argument. The sound pierced their ears as the building’s vibrations sent them both falling to the floor for a second time.
“I don’t know if this building can stand another one of those hits,” Jane agreed. “The door.”
Timothy stood up and approached the exit, reaching out towards the keyhole with the key in hand. As the opening began to morph and change shape to fit the key, the door suddenly swung open, knocking the boy backward.
“You can’t hide from us, Hornigold,” Tike said as he crept out of the dark opening and stepped towards Timothy.
Timothy moved back hastily, veering away from the man and positioned himself next to Jane.
“You can’t run, Hornigold . . . we’ll find you no matter where you go,” Tike added.
Timothy was startled to see Grackle coming up behind him. Looking about, Grackle, who now stood in the building, noted its condition and realized the predicament the two children had gotten into. “And where would you run to?” Grackle questioned. “Just give us the key and we’ll leave you alone.”
For a brief moment, Timothy thought about handing over the item. What do I need it for? he questioned. It’s only caused me problems.
However, these thoughts were quickly blown from his mind as the next jolt from the wrecking ball struck the building, shaking his every fiber.
“What was that?” Grackle shouted in anger as he tried to regain his footing.
“I don’t know,” Tike answered, still stunned with confusion.
“It’s a wrecking ball,” Timothy explained with haste.
“A what?” Grackle asked, seeking clarification.
“They’re going to destroy this building with us in it.”
“Then give us the key so we can be free of this place,” Grackle demanded.
Timothy looked down at the key in his hand with conviction. I can’t, he thought. I made a promise.
“Come on, boy . . . we can just take it if you don’t hand it over.”
With nowhere to run, and the pirates between him and the door, Timothy was at a loss about what to do.
“Enough of this,” Grackle sighed. “Grab ’em!”
With that command, the Anchor struck like a snake at its prey, taking Timothy by one arm as Jane stood by, helpless.
“Tike, let’s have that key.”
With Timothy securely held, Tike reached out, grasping Timothy’s hand.
“Let go of it, boy,” Tike ordered as he fought Timothy’s grip.
“You are worthless,” Grackle said, pushing aside the thin man. “I’ll do it meself.” However, Grackle faced the same dilemma as Timothy fought to hold onto the key. “So, that’s how you want it,” Grackle said with a smirk as he reached into his pocket and retrieved the jeweled pendant.
“That’s it, Grackle. Stick ’im!” Tike happily agreed.
Looking up at Grackle, Jane’s lip curled. Her eyes filled with anger as the rage of being bullied displaced her fear.
“I am never giving you this key,” Timothy shouted.
“Then I’ll just take it. . . .”
As the needle approached, Timothy squirmed, trying to break free from the vice-like grasp that held him.
“Ya ain’t gett’n da best of me this time,” the Anchor stated, squeezing ever tighter.
With only a whisper between the needle and Timothy’s arm, Jane rushed to his aid. Picking up a piece of rubble, she took a deep breath and steadied her aim. Anger and accuracy fueled the girl’s arm as she hurled the object at the pirate’s head. With a dull thud, the object struck Grackle square in the face, sending him falling backwards.
“Nice shot,” Timothy offered in amazement.
“You scallywag!” Grackle angrily shouted, tending to the new gash above his brow. “Yer gonna be shark bait real soon.”
Another monstrous eruption surged through the building as the heavy iron ball stuck again. The very floor they were all standing upon began to break up as cracks spread and holes consumed the building.
The floor under the Anchor’s feet began to break as it could no longer support his weight. With the foundation crumbling around him, the man released Timothy, swinging his arms back and trying to regain his balance. Like a newborn taking its first steps, the Anchor stumbled about, hoping to find solid footing. The floor beneath each step proceeded to give way, eventually collapsing completely and sending the man tumbling down into the dusty chasm below. On the precipice, Timothy watched with surprise and amazement, thankful he still had somewhere to stand.
As the steel ball swung back to give another terrible blow, bricks, concrete and other debris that had been precariously held in place now tumbled down all around them.
“Let’s go,” Jane yelled through the noise and commotion. “It’s falling apart!”
“Right. We don’t have a moment to spare.”
Rushing to the door as the floor broke apart around them, Timothy quickly placed the key into the door’s keyhole.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Tike said as he grabbed Timothy’s arm, stopping the boy in his tracks. “I’ll have that key.”
Timothy stood his ground as the bony man attempted to control him. As the two struggled, Jane looked out of the large hole that was now in the side of the building. She could see the great iron ball reach its backward pinnacle and start along its forward path towards the building. In a moment, the ball would come bursting through, finally crushing them all.
“Timothy!” Jane yelled as she realized the inevitable. The girl, still fueled with rage, tipped the scales again. As if possessed by a wild animal, she attacked, striking Tike hard with an aggressive shove. Unable to maintain his clammy and pathetic grip on Timothy’s arm, the pirate went toppling over.
Without a second to spare, the boy and Jane leaped into the open door as the iron ball came crashing into the building one more time. The explosive strike sent debris flying all around as a cloud of dust consumed everything
Finding themselves back in the hotel hallway they’d just come from and on solid ground, Timothy and Jane tried to regain their senses.
“I don’t think they’ll be chasing us anymore,” Timothy offered.
“No, they won’t. But what about the other one?”
Timothy stepped to the stairwell door and pushed it open.
“He’s not here,” the boy said.
“Then where did he go?”
“I don’t know. But it looks like they’re all gone.”
Allowing herself a moment of relief, Jane noticed Timothy’s condition.
“You’re covered,” she explained as she stopped Timothy and tried to brush off the dust that disguised him.
“So are you,” he added as he began to knock off the dust covering her.
“What now?”
“I guess we go home.”
“And what about the big, bald guy?”
“Hopefully he won’t be a problem.”
Jane and Timothy made their way down the stairs and to the lobby. Cautiously retracing their steps, they returned to the heavy-set man’s apartment. Knocking on the front door, they both waited anxiously, unsure what to expect.
“He’s not here,” Jane decided.
“Maybe I can break it down.”
Timothy took a step back as he lo
wered his shoulder to take aim. In a ramming motion, his shoulder struck the solid wooden door with a dull and painful thud. “Ouch!”
“You OK?”
“I think so,” Timothy answered, holding his limp arm.
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to break it down.”
“We have to get in there. It’s the only way I know to get us home.”
“I have an idea . . . follow me,” Jane said.
Taking off down the stairs, she led Timothy around to the back of the building.
“There,” she said, pointing up to the fire escape. “We just have to climb up to the apartment and hope the window is open.”
“Yes,” Timothy answered, nodding his head.
“Do you think you can manage with your arm?”
With a smirk, Timothy answered, “I’ll be fine.”
Standing on his shoulders, Jane reached up and pulled down the starting ladder. The two proceeded to climb up the fire escape, looking for the correct window.
“Which one?” Jane asked.
“It was on the third floor . . . so it’s got to be that one up there.”
Looking in through the window, Jane and Timothy attempted to recognize the apartment and the closet door.
“It’s this one,” Timothy exclaimed.
“Are you sure?”
“I am pretty sure. Look . . . it all appears like what I remember.”
“Is it locked?”
Timothy pushed on the window.
“No. It’s open,” he answered with surprise.
The two snuck inside and over to the closet door. Timothy took out the key in his pocket and placed it in the keyhole.
Back in his bedroom, Timothy knew what had to be done.
“We have to destroy this door.”
“Why?” Jane asked.
“The pirates will be able to see it and find us if we don’t.”
“How?”
“The same way they were able to track us . . . they have some kind of magic.”
“OK . . . so we destroy this door. But this isn’t the one they came through to find you, is it?”
“No. Not this one,” Timothy mumbled, acknowledging Jane’s point.
“So, won’t they just use the door they used originally?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think they can see it anymore.”
“Why? Why can’t they see it, Timothy?”
“They . . . ,” Timothy paused.
“They what?”
The box, Timothy thought, realizing now how they’d found him this time. The box was a beacon.
“It was the box,” he answered.
“I don’t know what that means,” Jane replied.
Timothy nodded, acknowledging Jane’s complaint as he tried to collect all the thoughts that were swirling about him. “The box. The one you brought over . . . over here.”
“You mean the package that got accidentally delivered to my house?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
“It was some kind of signal that led them here.”
“How?”
“The witch I saw . . . magic.”
“A witch? You haven’t said anything about a witch!”
“She’s the one who sent it. I don’t know how it works . . . but for a split second, no, not even a second—like a microsecond, a moment that was so short and yet so burnt into my mind—I saw her.”
“This witch?”
“Yes. As soon as I touched it, I saw her. I felt that she knew where I was.”
“Touched what? The package?”
“Yes . . . the moment I touched that box, I got this feeling that sort of manifested as a clear image. Remember as soon as I took it from you, I almost fainted?”
“That’s when you saw her? When you almost fainted?”
“Yes. I could see her. I could see that she could see me. It all occurred at the same instant. It was this dark feeling, and now I know it’s what allowed them to find me.”
“Then we have to destroy that package.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But she’ll know where you are,” Jane declared. “These pirates could be coming right now!”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? You just said that package is a signal. She knows where we are,” Jane replied with a look of worry about her face.
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s how the signal works.”
“Then how does it work, Timothy?”
“I am not entirely sure.”
“Timothy. You’re saying I don’t know, I think, I am not sure a lot right now.”
“Jane,” the boy answered, trying to steady the conversation. “I am sorry. I wish I could explain it better, but . . . it’s a feeling. A strong feeling. I am pretty sure the box was a beacon, but it only produced some kind of short signal. Only once and now it’s out.”
“Yeah, but if they know where we are, can’t they just come back?”
“Not really. It’s like a light in a lighthouse. A ship at night can’t see land if the lighthouse’s light goes out.”
“So, this box was the lighthouse?”
“I think so, and now it’s out.” Timothy tried to sound convincing. “She can’t see us anymore.”
“But you only think so?”
“Well, yes. But, It’s more than that. It’s deeper than that.”
“I sure hope you’re right,” Jane offered, shaking her head.
“I think I am,” Timothy answered with a level of optimistic confidence. “Look, I’ll try and explain it better . . . but first, we have to destroy this door.”
“OK. Fine. Let’s destroy the door and that package.”
“Agreed.”
The boy ran downstairs to retrieve an axe and an electric screwdriver from the garage. Carefully placing the star bit that stuck out from the tip of the drill, Timothy pulled the trigger, and with a revving noise, he rapidly removed the door from its hinges. Like quarters dropped into a laundromat washing machine, each screw backed out and fell to the flooring, making a small tapping noise.
Taking the door downstairs to the backyard, he swung the sharp metal edge like a woodsman and chopped the object to pieces.
“Help me put this on my burn pile.”
“Seriously? I think it is pretty destroyed.”
“I want to make sure.”
Jane and Timothy gathered the pieces of the door and hurled them onto the leaves piled in the backyard. Realizing one solution to this problem was missing, the boy ran inside and returned with a box of matches. Dragging the thin splinter along the sandpaper edge of the box, Timothy lit the match. He held the tiny item between his thumb and index finger, then gently tucked the small flame into the pile, making sure the leaves caught fire. The two stepped back and watched as the feeble flame turned the heap into a blazing bonfire
“There . . . they shouldn’t be able to see it now,” Timothy said.
“Yes. That door is definitely destroyed. Now the box.”
“I don’t think we should touch it.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t think it’s safe.”
“We have to get it on this fire.”
“I have an idea.” Timothy ran back inside and grabbed the long tongs by the fireplace. Using the tool, the boy grabbed ahold of the box and rushed it outside. Standing over the fire with arms stretched out, he dropped the package atop the flames. “There,” he said. “We should be safe now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Filled with exhaustion and a sense of relief, the two watched as the flames gently devoured the pile, releasing a cloud of smoke into the evening sky.
“What now? What do we do now?” Jane asked.
“Food?”
“You’re hungry?”
“Yeah . . . all that running got me drained and hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Yes. I mean no . . . I mean—I am tired, but I guess food isn’t on my mind.”
“OK then, what do you want to do?”
“I just want to go home. I need to lie down and rest. Wrap my head around what just happened.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Then, let’s go to my house. I don’t feel safe over here.”
“Sure. That makes sense.”
The two, wracked with fatigue, walked across the street. Jane paused momentarily as her hand reached out to her front door handle. “I don’t know if I’ll ever open a door the same way again,” she observed.
“I know how you feel.”
Shaken from the experience, they entered Jane’s house with slight caution, not entirely sure what might happen as they walked through the entrance. Jane proceeded into the living room, followed by Timothy, who was now driven more by hunger than fear.
“Can I make myself a sandwich or something?”
“Sure. Go ahead, help yourself. I just need to lie down for a while.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that. You want anything?”
“No. I just want to lie down.”
Timothy began to walk to the kitchen as Jane found the sofa, letting her head fall into one of its tacky throw pillows.
Stopping at the kitchen entryway Timothy looked back. “Where are your parents?”
“Oh. They’re not here. Out of town for the weekend.”
“So, you’re all alone?”
“No. You’re here. . . .”
“Yeah, but only for now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t stay over.”
“Sure, you can. I don’t think either one of us should be alone.”
“I mean, I’d like to,” Timothy responded awkwardly as any teenage boy might. “But . . . I don’t want to leave my parents alone.”
“What are you worried about?”
“What if something happens?”
“You said it wouldn’t. You told me we’re safe,” Jane insisted, feeling her heartbeat beginning to rise again.