“Good night, Landon, and I hope you’re ready for our session this Saturday. Don’t think because it’s the week before Thanksgiving that I’m going to go easy on you.” Dr. Brighton smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, professor,” Landon returned before continuing back to his room on the fourth floor.
Landon’s mind reeled; he couldn’t shake his professor’s unexpected reaction moments earlier. Dr. Brighton had confirmed Landon’s suspicions—Artemis was important. But why? And it was obvious to him now that continuing his search would be dangerous. Dr. Brighton’s reaction was one Landon had seen in movies and television shows. It was the one the character got when they learned they were looking into something they shouldn’t.
Once he was in bed and about to drift off to sleep, he hoped he’d convinced Dr. Brighton that his search was innocent. Just like those characters in the movies, Landon needed him to believe that it was just natural curiosity, and not the truth that he was searching for.
• • • • •
“Landon, I’m going to apologize now for what I’m planning on doing to you today,” Dr. Brighton said as they walked under their usual training arbor in the Secret Garden. The morning was cold and gloomy. A cold front had rolled in during the night, covering the sky in dark rain clouds. Streaks of blue light cracked across the sky. The stone under Landon’s bare feet felt cold and hard.
“What do you mean?” Landon asked, concerned.
“Well, it’s going to be painful, but I think that by the end of this session, we may uncover the root of your issues. Until you’ve confronted whatever it is that’s holding you back, I don’t think these sessions will move beyond what we’ve already accomplished.”
“I’ve tried, but I don’t know what the problem is,” Landon replied, desperately attempting to convince his professor not to cancel their sessions in the garden. He needed them. It was the one place he’d seen improvement in his abilities. If Dr. Brighton ended them, Landon was sure he’d be kicked out of the Gymnasium in no time.
“You see, that’s what I was afraid of,” Dr. Brighton said as he pulled off his coat and move to the edge of the creek.
Dr. Brighton raised his right arm, and out of the creek a group of small, smooth river stones floated into the air and began to hover above his outstretched hand. He looked menacing, and Landon was stricken with a paralyzing fear of what was to come next.
“I’m going to try something a bit unorthodox, but the concept is simple. All you have to do is stop the stone before it hits you,” Dr. Brighton said. “You stop them, the exercise is over and we move on with your training. If you don’t . . . then I hope you have a high tolerance for pain.”
Without warning, one of the stones orbiting above Dr. Brighton’s fingers bolted across the training ground and collided with Landon’s rib. The pain seared through his body, forcing out a guttural groan, but Landon became determined to prove himself to his mentor. I’ve done this before, he told himself. He’d stopped the books Brock threw at him in the Library. He’d only done it once, but . . . I’ve done this before.
He widened his stance, elongated his back and stretched out his hand, intent on stopping the next stone before it rocketed into his body.
Before he could blink, another rock flew through the air and blasted him in the stomach. Landon held firm. The impact made his entire body constrict as the pain surged through him, but he remained strong and unmoved.
Stones three and four made contact with Landon’s body with as much ease as the first two. With every stone, the pain became more and more unbearable. Landon’s face winced with discomfort, and his eyes welled up with tears, but he continued to grit his teeth, resolute to stop the next.
Soon Dr. Brighton started to ask Landon questions before sending the next stone toward him.
“What’s stopping you, Landon?” he yelled over the thunder.
Whack!
“I don’t know!” Landon had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out what caused the issues with his abilities. He knew there was something, but he could never pinpoint it. He’d tried everything—every bit of advice, every technique—no matter how strange—but nothing solved his problem. It was like a monster in his closet. He knew it was there, but it stayed hidden in the darkness, frightening but undeterminable.
“Yes, you do! Why are you holding back?”
The next river rock shot across the arbor. Landon watched it in slow motion as it came closer and closer. With every fiber of his being, he tried to muster his abilities and stop it.
Thump!
“I don’t know!” Each word became more and more forced as Landon attempted to fight back the pain, but some new sensation was beginning to build up in his abdomen. It was a sort of internal heat, a burning fire at his core. It felt strange, and Landon was afraid of it. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
“What’s stopping you?” Dr. Brighton asked again.
Poom!
“I don’t know!” Landon screamed. With every stone, the heat in his belly became more intense; he started to feel like he was getting ready to vomit.
Dr. Brighton stood across the arbor with new rocks from the creek floating out of the water to his hand. Landon was becoming noticeably more defeated. Soon he wouldn’t have the energy to continue.
Even with Landon’s looming failure, Dr. Brighton’s militant demeanor never changed. “Why are you holding back?”
“I deserve this,” Landon whispered inaudibly before his mentor sent the next rock. He wasn’t sure where the feeling came from. It was uninhibited and unexpected—a Freudian slip—but once he heard himself say it, he knew he believed it.
“I told you, all you have to do is stop one of them and we’re finished,” Dr. Brighton said. “Now, why are you holding back?”
The next stone collided with Landon’s left rib. The force toppled him over to the ground. Rain began to pour from the sky, soaking Landon and Dr. Brighton within seconds.
“Stand up, Landon!” Dr. Brighton commanded.
“Please.” His words were barely audible.
“Stand up!” Dr. Brighton’s voice, deep and imposing, resounded over the continuous rumbles of the rain and thunder. A sadistic passion burned in the back of his eyes. He knew he was getting close.
Landon staggered to his feet but remained hunched over in pain. He made himself straighten up and raise his arm toward his professor, biting back the agony that coursed through his body.
“Why are you holding back?” Dr. Brighton asked again.
Landon didn’t even answer, but just stood as tall as he could and choked down the fiery sensation that was beginning to spread through his body.
A stone blasted into his left shoulder. Landon stumbled backward, but he was able to keep his feet and remain upright. He limply held his arm in front of him.
“Why are you holding back?”
A rock collided with Landon’s abdomen again, forcing him to collapse onto his hands and knees. Amid the pain, he could feel the internal fire raging up inside him; his powerful psychokinetic abilities were moments away from breaking out of the cage he’d unknowingly built around them. The last time he’d felt that way was during his apocratusis. Landon feared what might happen next if Dr. Brighton hit him with one more stone.
“Stop! Please! I can’t control it!” Landon screamed through the agony. He clenched his jaw hoping to stave off the force he felt building up inside of him. “I can’t control it,” he forced out.
Dr. Brighton let the stones in the air fall to the ground and bolted over to Landon’s hunched body.
“Look at me,” he requested. He put his hands on both sides of Landon’s face and forced his head to look up at his. “Landon, this is what we’ve been looking for. What can’t you control?” Dr. Brighton waited for a respon
se but got none. “What can’t you control?” he repeated more forcefully.
“Myself,” Landon answered. “If you don’t stop, I’ll kill you . . . like her.” He dropped his head down between his shoulders. Tears flowed from his eyes and mixed with the streams of rainwater that ran down his face. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud. “I killed her,” he sobbed.
“Landon, look at me,” Dr. Brighton pleaded. “Who? Who did you kill?” He crouched down beside Landon. This was the purpose of the torturous exercise, and Landon needed to say it in order to confront his inner demons and accept his past.
“My mo-th-er,” he answered between sobs. Landon was broken, beaten to the point of total submission, but the fire in his core was beginning to subside. His body writhed with pain, and his heart ached with grief.
“No, Landon. You’re wrong,” Dr. Brighton said. “You didn’t do it. You are not responsible for what happened.”
“But I couldn’t control it. . . . I couldn’t stop.”
“No, you couldn’t. What happened to your mother is terrible. It was a terrible accident—but it was an accident. You have to let her go. There was nothing you could do. It wasn’t you who did it.” Dr. Brighton screamed to be heard over the deafening sound of the rain and thunder. “I saw what happened. I saw the pictures. It’s a tragedy, but you have to honor her by conquering your abilities. Use them—control them—so that something like that never happens again. We cannot dwell in the past. We must only look to the past for guidance as we press forward.”
“I never even said goodbye,” Landon said through his tears. “I was too scared. I just ran away!”
“Do it now. . . . Say goodbye now. . . . It’s never too late. Tell her what you need to say.”
“I don’t have the strength.”
“Yes, you do! I’ve seen it! Over these past weeks, I’ve seen how strong you are. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”
Dr. Brighton’s words struck Landon like a hammer to an anvil. He forced back his tears and managed to look up into the eyes of his mentor. They were sad and compassionate, glassy with water as tears slowly built up in his eyes.
“Tell her,” he pleaded. “Tell her. It’s just you and her.”
Landon’s eyes stung as tears started to flow once again. He lowered his head onto his arms. Dr. Brighton gently placed his hand on Landon’s back, and sat up on his knees, staring off into the sky as lightning flashed and thunder cracked overhead, attempting to comfort his student while also giving him some semblance of privacy.
“Mom,” Landon began, whispering the words to her. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mom. I couldn’t stop myself, and I don’t know why I ran away. Why didn’t I help you? Why didn’t I fight harder for you? Why couldn’t I have been stronger, mom?” Landon could barely speak through his violent sobs. “I think about you all the time, and read to you every night. I miss you so much.” The words forced their way through his cries, but his voice became stronger as he realized what he needed to do. “But Brighton is right. I have to move on. I can’t stay this angry with myself forever. I can’t! I have to accept what I did and make sure it never happens again. I’m going to make you proud, mom. I’m going to make this right. I swear I will. I’ll make you proud.”
Landon let out a few more tears before he forced himself to choke them back. He then pulled himself up from the ground and staggered to his feet. He was exhausted and drained, emotionally and physically. The pain lingered all over his body, and the cold rain made him shake incessantly, but Dr. Brighton was there to support him.
“Come on. Let’s get warmed up. We’ll stay in the pagoda until the storm blows over,” Dr. Brighton said as they moved down the path. “I’ll make us some tea.”
Dr. Brighton supported Landon’s trembling body as they made their way up to the third floor of the pagoda and he led him over to a large, fabric-covered couch, setting him down gingerly. He then wrapped Landon in a heavy woolen afghan before walking away and disappearing into a small kitchen hidden in the back of the room.
Landon sat silent, shivering uncontrollably while staring at the wall. He hadn’t spoken a word yet; his fatigue and emotional exhaustion had left him numb and unresponsive. He didn’t even attempt to comprehend where he was. Dr. Brighton soon returned carrying two mugs of steaming black tea laced with soothing vanilla. Landon took the cup with both hands and sipped it. The warmth of the liquid coursed through his body; the gentle heat seemed to emanate from his core and delicately rise until it rested just below the skin. His muscles relaxed and he sank into the couch cushions.
When Dr. Brighton took his own mug of tea away from his mouth, he looked over to find Landon fast asleep, clutching his cup loosely on his lap. Dr. Brighton grabbed the cup, which sat on the verge of spilling its contents all over his sleeping pupil, and set it delicately on the coffee table to keep from waking him. The storm continued to rage outside, as strobes of blue light lit up the room and the booming thunder shook the walls.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THANKSGIVING
When Landon woke up, he was laying under the covers in a large bed. Sunlight streamed through the numerous windows along the wall, bathing the room in warm, bright light. He groaned as he lifted himself up. Every muscle in his body ached, but as he moved to the edge of the bed, he felt a subtle heat running through his veins. It wasn’t painful or overbearing, but more so like the heat of a furnace or winter’s fire, providing a calming warmth.
The trip to the window was slow and painful, and he soon realized he wasn’t in his own clothing. He was wearing a pair of white pants drawn around his waist and a blue cotton t-shirt. Where am I? he thought, but once he reached the window he realized he was still in Dr. Brighton’s Secret Garden. It took him a bit longer to realize he was in the pagoda, but he’d only ever been on the first floor, where it was open and empty.
Landon cautiously walked into the next room. It felt like walking out of his old bedroom in the city. Built-in bookshelves encompassed the room, broken only by the many windows that lined the walls. Each shelf was filled to the brim with volumes and volumes of books. Landon looked at the shelf to his right, moving his finger along the spines, nosily studying the library. Unlike his mother’s wealth of fiction, this collection contained ancient-looking editions of works by philosophers and scientists from the East and West.
The room had small figurines and items set up on tables and peppered between the books on the shelves. These appeared to be historical relics from around the world: ornate jade statues from Asia, painted vases depicting the stories of heroes from ancient Greece, sketches from the European Renaissance, Samurai weaponry and Roman coins. It appeared that every great civilization since the dawn of man had donated something to Dr. Brighton’s collection.
Then Landon noticed Dr. Brighton sitting on a dark couch. He was like a statue, poised with his elbow resting on his knee and his chin resting on his fist, a perfect representation of The Thinker. The image brought memories of his mother lying lifeless on the apartment floor with the replica of that titular statue beside her, covered in her blood. Unmoved and unaware, Dr. Brighton leaned over a chessboard, studying the game.
“Knight to a4,” he said with a raised voice.
“Queen to a3.” The voice that returned with the next move was feminine and coming from somewhere behind Landon.
He turned around to find a small door he hadn’t noticed earlier.
“Knight to c3 taking White Queen’s Knight,” Dr. Brighton said, triumphantly, after pausing a moment to contemplate his move.
“Pawn to c3, which should eliminate your . . . King’s Knight.” Sofia Petrovanya emerged from the door. She was carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches.
“Landon!” she exclaimed in surprise.
Landon hadn’t seen her since his orientati
on, and of all people, he wasn’t expecting her to come out of the small room he now understood to be a kitchen. She was more beautiful than the first time he’d seen her. Her ice blue eyes gleamed like gemstones, and her blonde hair hung casually in loose tendrils that cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face.
“We wondered if you’d ever wake up,” she continued.
“Landon’s finally up?” Dr. Brighton interjected from the couch. He’d taken his attention off of the chessboard and was leaning over to look at Landon standing in the hallway.
“Come. Join us.” Sofia motioned with her head toward the seating area, telling Landon he should follow.
Dr. Brighton slid over to make room for him on the couch. Sofia, after setting down the tray beside the chess game, sat in a chair across the table and started to pour tea for everyone and divvy up the sandwiches.
“Please eat,” she said after handing Landon a small plate with two egg salad sandwiches sitting on it. “You’ve been out for quite a while. I imagine you’re very hungry.”
Landon took the plate gratefully. He was starving and devoured one of the sandwiches, not taking a second to even taste the food. He almost could feel the physical sensation of the quickly chewed morsels fall into his empty stomach.
“So what happened?” Landon asked after swallowing down the last bite.
“After our session, I brought you here,” Dr. Brighton began. “It was the closest place for us to wait out the storm where we could warm up and you could rest a bit, but next thing I knew you were out like a light.
“I figured you’d nap for a few hours, but when the sun started to set, I wondered why you hadn’t woken up. I was afraid something was wrong so I asked Sofia out here to help me. She said you were fine, a little feverish, but fine, and she insisted that I move you off the couch and out of your wet clothes. So we put you in those and laid you in the bed. You’ve been there ever since and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up. That was three days ago.”
The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) Page 16