“Beverly, I’m sorry, but there isn’t time for this. There’s been another break-in, at the…”
Charlie recognized the deep voice right away. It was Malcolm!
“I don’t care! I want some answers before you start ordering me and everyone else around! And why does your voice sound so strange?”
“Look Bev, I really am sorry. There has been a lot of popping to do lately. More than ever before. I haven’t even been able to get to Asia or Europe. It’s all been the States and Canada. Maybe my voice sounds strange because I’m so tired.”
“But why haven’t you called? Or answered my texts? I’ve been covering for you, Malcolm. You left me alone here to defend you and run things all by myself!”
“You’re the real leader here, Beverly. You don’t need me to…”
“Do not patronize me!” his aunt hissed.
Charlie jumped as a pine branch slapped at the side of the house and raindrops pelted the window above the front door. He wasn’t sure if it was the mounting weather, or Beverly’s anger that caused the noises.
“I’ve got a husband in bed upstairs, drugged out on painkillers, and a nephew who was attacked today…”
“He handled himself fine, from what I hear.”
“Attacked today,” Beverly continued, ignoring Malcolm’s words, “by a hospital orderly. These break-ins are happening more and more, and…”
“Beverly!” Malcolm’s voice barked, ringing with authority. “I’m cutting you off. I’m sorry, but listen to me. We do not have time for this. Someone or someones broke in to the Mossmans’ house tonight. You’re going to have to go over there and investigate with Daniel. They didn’t get anything, but it just happened, and there’s fresh evidence.”
“Why aren’t you going over there?”
“Because! As you so clearly pointed out, I haven’t been around to help. The community is going to get all worked up about me being absent, and demand answers. We need to act fast to get evidence. I’ll do damage control later. Plus, you and Daniel have been following all of this, and you know the wards and protections that are up now much better than I do. You’ll be able to figure out how they got in to such a well-fortified home. I’ll stay here and watch over Charlie and Randall.”
“What? But what if someone tries to…”
“I’ll call you, I’ll call Jeremy and Rita, I’ll bring in reinforcements. Now come on, get going. We’re losing precious time.”
Charlie held his breath, listening for his aunt’s response. At first, he heard nothing. Then, there was a quiet muffled sound, like an animal whimpering.
“I know, I know honey. You’ve been under a helluva lot of pressure lately,” said Malcolm, his voice tender. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ve been an ass. I promise when this is all over, you can call me every name in the book. I’ll make it up to you, really I will. But you gotta get going.”
“Alright. Let me talk to Charlie first. He’s heard all of this anyway,” replied Beverly, her voice shaky.
Charlie stepped back into his room and closed the door, embarrassed to have been caught spying on their conversation.
He walked into his bathroom and began to brush his teeth. Another branch slapped against the house, this time over his own window. Amos, who had been curled up asleep in the corner of Charlie’s room, got to his feet and hopped onto Charlie’s bed.
There was a soft knock on his door. Charlie spit into the sink.
“Come in,” he said over his shoulder.
His aunt walked into the bedroom. Amos hopped down from the bed and pressed into her legs.
“That’s a good boy,” she said, rubbing his fur.
“Honey, I know you heard the conversation below.”
“Sorry, I uh, I didn’t mean to…”
Beverly smiled at him, her teeth reflecting the light cast from Charlie’s bedside lamp.
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m gonna head out soon. I’ve got to meet Daniel at the Mossmans’.”
“Was anyone kidnapped?”
“No. They broke into Ginny’s bedroom, but she’s fine. She’s not popped yet. Her parents, however, are not fine. They’re really scared and angry. We’ll go over to investigate, but also to reassure Mr. and Mrs. Mossman that we’re doing all we can. Malcolm’ll stay here to watch over things. It’ll be better that way. The community is mad at him, so I think it’s better if he keeps a low profile for the time being.”
“Are you mad at him?”
Beverly paused, looking down at the floor before answering. “Yes. No. Sort of. But he looks terrible, like he hasn’t slept in days, so I guess it’s hard to stay mad at him. He’s back, I’ve got this thing to do, and when it’s all over Malcolm and I can duke it out.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No. Stay here. You’ll be safer here.”
“It’s not that. I want to see…”
“No. Look, you were very brave today. You saved your uncle’s life. But Daniel and I need to do a bit of public relations with the Mossmans, not just police work. If not, the community might stage an uprising. It’ll be easier if it’s just the two of us.”
Charlie sighed, then nodded his head. “Okay.”
“Malcolm said he has some phone calls to make. He’ll be downstairs. We won’t be long. Two hours tops, okay?”
He nodded again.
Beverly looked like she was going to say something else, then changed her mind.
“Get some sleep. You need to rest up after today.”
She turned and walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Charlie sat down on his bed, then gave Amos a good head-scratching before turning off the bedside lamp and lying back against his headboard. Even though he’d taken a nap earlier, he doubted he’d have trouble falling asleep.
He watched the shadows of tree limbs scurry across the carpet, just like the tiny crabs at the bottom of the tide pools at Lincoln Park.
He wanted to remember what seemed like an important element from his dream earlier. Something about Mailman Bob? Diego in his underwear? The orderly? What had it been? He was sure that it was an important detail, but it danced just beyond the limits of his memory.
––—
“Hey kid,” a voice whispered. Charlie jerked awake, wincing at the crick in his neck from where he’d fallen asleep against his headboard. Light from the hallway shone in his eyes, making it difficult at first to make out the shadowy figure standing halfway in his bedroom.
“Malcolm! Hi. You scared me,” Charlie said, wiping at the stream of saliva hanging from his chin.
“Sorry kid. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake Randall.”
“That’s okay. It’s, uh, it’s good to see you.”
“You too. Sorry I’ve been gone so much.”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders, still not used to adults apologizing to him.
“There was another break-in? At the Mossmans?”
“We think so,” said the man, walking over and sitting down on the side of Charlie’s bed. Light from the streetlamp near the sidewalk outside illuminated half of Malcolm’s face. Raindrops dripping down the windowpane cast squiggly lines of shadow running over his left shoulder and across his collared shirt. Charlie’s vision was still too blurry from sleep to find evidence of the fatigue Beverly had mentioned.
“You aren’t sure?”
“Well, Daniel said that even though someone got through the wards at the house, no one was attacked. He wasn’t sure if it was a bungled kidnapping attempt, or if they were looking for something.”
His voice trailed off, and he sighed, looking down at the floor. “But we all do what we can, right?”
“Right,” Charlie said, not sure what Malcolm meant.
“I mean, we all do the best we can with what we’ve been given,” Malcolm continued, leaning in closer to Charlie. He had the sudden impression that the man was going to tell him a secret. Instead, he turned his head and said, “Come here, Am
os.”
Charlie heard the dog’s paws pad across the carpet. The mattress sank as Amos put his forelegs up on the bed.
“Atta boy,” Malcolm said, rubbing the dog’s back. “Atta boy.” Amos’s tail wagged as he rested his large head on the man’s leg.
Charlie watched as something seemed to pass over Malcolm’s face, the way the shadow of a cloud passes over the land below. Charlie’s nerves prickled on sudden alert, and a cascade of tingles showered down the back of his neck.
Malcolm blew out his breath, gritted his teeth, and made a jerking motion with his arms. Amos yelped once, then fell silent. The front half of the dog’s body slumped onto the floor and began to twitch and shake as if inflicted with St. Vitus’ Dance.
“What are you…?”
Malcolm’s hands clamped down on Charlie’s mouth before he could say anything more, and he felt something sticky cover his lips. Then the man pressed his knee against Charlie’s chest, pinning him down on the mattress. Charlie reached up to try and push Malcolm’s knee away. He heard a tearing sound. Before he could do anything else, Malcolm grabbed Charlie’s hands and bound them in the same tape he must have used on his mouth.
Malcolm stared down at Charlie as if from a great distance, as if Charlie were nothing more than a piece of lint, down on the carpet near his feet.
Charlie’s mind spun with panicky questions. What was happening? What was Malcolm doing? What had he done to Amos?
He wriggled on the bed, trying to kick himself free. But Malcolm leaned over him, pinning Charlie to the bed. He then turned to the window and mumbled several Words. A loud pop sounded in the air, accompanied by a flare of white, as brief and sudden as a camera flash. The windowpane opened by itself. A sleek black shape slunk into his bedroom, followed by another.
Charlie recognized the woman with the tightly wound black curls as the one who had broken in several weeks ago. Her jade green eyes glowed in the half-light. She smiled at him.
“No!” he tried to yell, but the tape at his mouth muffled the noise, diffusing it to a low grunt.
The other shape, much lower to the ground, came closer to his bed. Charlie could make out pointed ears, then the unmistakable muzzle of a large German shepherd. And not just any shepherd. Charlie would have recognized the steely glare of the eyes anywhere. It was the same dog who broke into their house in Clarkston. It stared at him, as if daring him to speak through the tape.
Charlie attempted a scream, then strained underneath Malcolm’s weight, trying to scramble to the far side of the bed.
Unable to do anything, his mind ran with more thoughts. Why would Malcolm let that woman into his bedroom? Doesn’t she work for Grace? And why the dog? Why would he…?
“Hello boy,” a voice said near his ear. Instead of the German shepherd, Charlie saw the tall man with the blond hair bending over the bed, the same man who had pummeled his mother in the heat of their kitchen. “You sure are a feisty one, aren’t you?”
The man smiled and ran a hot, dry finger along Charlie’s cheek. Charlie jerked his head away from the man’s touch.
Malcolm rose and stood next to the man and the woman. All three adults looked down at him. Charlie felt their cold, neutral stares. He wanted to run, to kick them, to find the Words to send bolts of light and bedroom furniture at them. He ran through the exercises Rita and Daniel had taught him for fighting off attackers. But none of his lessons included what to do when you were completely subdued. All he could do was kick and wiggle.
“Handle those feet,” the Dog Man said. Charlie heard more tape being ripped. He watched as Malcolm yanked the covers off the bed.
The woman leaned down over his legs. She turned her head and looked at him, holding up a large pair of scissors.
“Go ahead, gay boy. Kick me and give me a reason to cut you.”
Charlie froze. She ran loops of tape around his feet.
“Let’s ride,” the Dog Man said. Fingers dug into his skin as Malcolm slipped his hands beneath Charlie’s arms and the woman picked up his feet. Together they carried him over to the window.
Where were they taking him? What about…
Charlie suddenly remembered Randall. Where was he? Had Malcolm done anything to him? If he had so much as touched his uncle, Charlie would make the man pay.
He swiveled his hips, managing to bunch up the lower half of his body and kick his feet hard against the woman’s shoulder. She fell back with a groan, letting Charlie’s legs slip to the floor. He pushed off the ground, driving Malcolm back against the wall, relishing the sound of the air being forced from the man’s lungs.
Something hard struck Charlie in the head. Light, as intense as a doctor’s scope, shot behind his eyes. A crunching pain made his vision blur and his body slacken. The last thing he remembered was the Dog Man peering closely at him with a strange smile on his face, then the vague sensation of being passed through the windowpane and slung over someone’s shoulder. Then, nothing.
Chapter 76
Charlie came to, lying on his side, surrounded by a thick, moldy smell.
He moved his head, then wished he hadn’t. Pain bit at his forehead like teeth, and for a moment he thought he would vomit. Then he panicked when he realized that his mouth was still bound with the tape. Vomiting would make breathing impossible, and would most likely choke him to death.
He sucked air through his nose and tried to hold his head steady. His heart slammed in his chest like a gorilla against the bars of its cage. Before he could even form a plan, instinct kicked in, and he found himself emptying his mind the way Beverly had shown him. Almost imperceptibly at first, he could feel his heart beat slow to a steady thump thump thump in his throat.
He opened his eyes, and for a moment thought that his eyelids had also been taped shut. He was lying somewhere completely dark. No light creeping under a doorway, no window high up letting in sunshine. He stopped to consider what time of day (or night) it actually was. And he wondered just how long he’d been in this place.
He wasn’t sure how big it was, but it seemed to him that there were walls nearby.
Doing his best not to move his head, Charlie took inventory of the rest of his body. Tape on mouth: check. Hands bound behind back with tape: check. Deep pain in shoulders from hands behind back: check. Feet bound by tape: check.
‘Well, it could be something else besides tape,’ Charlie thought. ‘I mean, can I even see anything? Maybe it’s rope.’
A useless thought. Who cares if it’s rope or tape? The important thing was that he couldn’t move his hands; couldn’t find the Words that might let him unleash his craft and save himself.
Is that what it was down to? Saving himself? Saving his own life?
He remembered Malcolm’s quick arm movements, and the way that Amos had fallen to the floor. Had he killed the dog? Or only knocked him out of commission? His gut clenched, imagining Amos dead.
Then he thought of Randall, lying in his bed, sleepy from his pain medication. Had Malcolm done something to his uncle? Had he hurt him? Had he killed him?
His thoughts exploded into a starburst of anguish.
“If you even touched him!” Charlie tried to scream through his taped mouth. He strained at his bindings and shook his head as panic and helplessness overwhelmed him. Several long stretches of time followed, where physical torment and emotional agony took him, as if he were being dragged along under the surface of a raging river. No air to breathe, slamming into unseen boulders, jerked about in competing currents.
Empty your mind, Charlie. Beverly’s voice called from somewhere on the river’s bank.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t…if he…if he hurt Randall…I…Amos…I can’t…Randall…no…no…no…”
More moments passed, with Beverly’s words bubbly and gargled as they bounced along the surface of the angry water above his head. He tried to reach for them, but they slipped away. More agony. More time passing.
Yes, you can. You can, Charlie. Empty your mind. Th
e words were clearer this time, but he still couldn’t grasp them.
He was sure he was going to die. There was no air to breathe at the bottom of the river. Just sediment and water, rushing over him, drowning him.
Something that sounded like his own voice, but colder, more detached, reached him.
What’s done is done, Charlie. If Amos and Randall are dead, then there’s nothing you can do about it. You have to calm down so you can think things through.
The voice’s chill passed from his scalp down his back, to the bottom of his feet, sobering him.
What it said was true. Even if the truth was terrible. Even if it was beyond imagining. There really wasn’t anything he could do about…he wouldn’t let himself think about it anymore. He had more pressing needs to attend to.
He waited, letting his mind empty some more, letting himself relax.
He waited until he stopped shaking, until he could breathe almost normally again.
Better. Not great, but better.
‘Okay Charlie,’ he said to himself. ‘Think things through. Try to figure out what’s going on.’
And with that thought, an image of Malcolm arose in his mind.
‘Good. Now what do you think is going on with him?’ he asked himself.
Malcolm. Charlie pictured the man in his mind’s eye, sitting on the bedside with the reflections of raindrops running across his face.
Malcolm. The man who was the community’s main trainer. Who traveled the world, popping young witches. Whom Beverly leaned on for leadership and emotional support. He had encouraged Charlie to be true to himself if he wanted to become a full-fledged witch. The irony of it all made him want to scream.
No. Now’s not the time for screaming. That can be later. Just keep going.
A traitor. Charlie could barely get his mind around the idea that Malcolm had double-crossed Beverly and everyone else. How could he do such a thing? Didn’t he know how bad Grace was?
Charlie couldn’t make sense of any of it. Had Malcolm been on Grace’s side all along? Had everything been a lie? Why would he have encouraged Charlie to be brave enough to admit that he might be gay? Why would he have brought all the kids up to his cabin to train them to use witchcraft if he was a sellout? Why would he have popped the kids in the first place?
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories) Page 44