by M. P. Reeves
The next day had been a nightmare. The next week just as much. She had gone from one of the most popular girls at the school to the most whispered about and avoided. Well half avoided, half interrogated. Some apparently thought she was secretly an insane murderer like her now ex-boyfriend, others thought she was a poor victim.
Matt was one of the latter.
“Aren’t you curious? Just a bit?” He had pressed. She was not going to admit that she was indeed curious.
“There will be cops. We’re going to get in trouble.” Had been her argument. From there Matt had spent the greater part of physics class and study hall trying to convince her otherwise.
A sly smile on his boyish face, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischievous intent. “No, we won’t. And no there aren’t. There’s not much to stake out, I passed by on my way home last night. They evacuated the whole building under some gas leak worry after the blast.”
That had been the sentence she had finally relented on. Just one peek. Just one look. That’s it. Then they were leaving.
She had arranged a great cover story, Matt was taking her to a late movie. She had worn a black cardigan and dark jeans because it was in style, not because she had some sort of secret spy motive. Her mom had bought the whole thing with an eye roll about teenagers and poor decisions.
Now standing within the police’s do not cross line she felt her Mom’s words were probably more accurate than she had known. Sure there was the thrill of adventure, but in the forefront of Elizabeth Waters’ mind was a deep wave of confusion.
Richard Smith lived in apartment 2B. She knew this, not only from the directory listing, but because she had dated him. When he took her to the dance he had quite nervously insisted they stop by his mother’s place for pictures.
His mother had been a dream. A bubbly energetic woman whose aura seemed to brighten everyone’s mood. Mrs. Smith had nothing but praise for her son. Rick had politely put up with every compliment and snap of the camera, the perfect gentleman. Although they didn’t really click that night, mostly due to Mary’s jealous bawling, she considered him to be a dear friend. One who although was a little weird at times was great boyfriend material. At least that’s what she had thought. When the news hit she felt beyond hurt, betrayed. Not only by him, but by her own judge of character. How could a guy like that murder his mother? Set off a bomb in his own home?
That was the thing, standing there in front of apartment 2B, there was no damage. The steel door hung happily on its hinges. The welcome mat below was cheerfully unscathed ready to greet anyone who dared venture down the corridor.
Across the hall however, whomever had lived in 2C had a very bad night. The door to the apartment was flat out missing, the frame blown out with the wood edges blackened and twisted. In the dim light it didn’t look like a doorway, but the gaping maw of hell.
“Maybe the news was wrong?” Matt whispered, shaking the flashlight slightly.
“All those cops and reporters? Please...they found out what color shoes I wore to homecoming within fifteen minutes, I’m sure they can find the right apartment for their victim.”
“Put these on.” Matt handed her a blue pair of latex gloves. “So we don’t leave evidence.”
“This is wrong.” She hissed, putting them on anyway. Their intent had been to check out the damage and maybe look for clues to what could have caused someone as sweet as Rick to lose his marbles. After all, he had gotten a D in chemistry, how could he have built a bomb?
“Come on...let’s see what happened down there. Maybe he lured her into a different place?”
On unsteady feet Liz walked into the decimated apartment, staying as close as she possibly could to Matt without suffocating from his cologne.
There was evidence of an explosion in the kitchen area, cabinets literally evaporated by the door. In the living room though, was a scene that didn’t come close to the news story.
The walls were riddled with bullet holes. There were also deep gouges into the plaster. Three pronged claw like marks that tore through the bad paint job at varying heights; some up by the ceiling others down at about waist level. There was no domestic animal that came to mind that could inflict that kind of damage. Not to mention this building didn't allow cats let alone whatever did that.
Panning the room brought the flashlight's beam around to the only piece of furniture in the space; a broken desk chair. Bloody duct tape still clung to pieces of the wood that once comprised the arm rests and front legs. Oh no...no way...
With her gaze firmly locked on the red kissed silver strips Liz took a step forward. Her right foot caught on something causing her to fall forward in alarm. Heavy arms wrapped around her torso, helping her steady and lingered just long enough to make her feel awkward.
She pushed Matt away. “Sorry my foot caught on...what...what is this?” The flashlight in Matt's hand pointed down, the cheap linoleum showed evidence of the blast, but then above the burned torn squares were interlaced thick dark ropes that spread and interweaved around the space with little leaf offshoots.
Vines?
“I think we should go.” Matt’s voice wavered, the flashlight shaking.
Liz frowned at him, clearly from the way he had dressed up and slathered on fifteen pounds of Axe he had figured he could bring her here to get some sort of emotional reaction. Really, like she was going to make out with him in the ruins of her now-wanted-semi-boyfriend’s life? Whatever.
“Just a bit longer okay? This is really...weird.”
The light source continued to jump and bounce around making it virtually impossible for her to get a read on the rest of the room. Growing increasingly frustrated, she reached over and snapped the flashlight out of Matt’s hand. Watching her step Liz carefully made her way to the ruined chair in the space.
The steady light focused on it, she caught the reflection of metal in the debris. Various scalpels were buried under the wood and vine. Her gut wretched, had Richard brought his mother to this room and tortured her? No. He couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have. Rick had saved her life once. She couldn’t believe someone like that was capable of torture.
But how well do you really know someone Elizabeth? She thought of all those other news stories. The man who kept a woman locked in his basement for a decade. None of his family members or friends had suspected anything either. Perhaps her denial was just a stage of grief.
Standing in the middle of that horrible place her shoulders sagged. Maybe she hadn’t known him at all. Maybe. He had done this. Her arms fallen to her sides, she closed her eyes in the dark. Not wanting Matt to see the tears streak down her face. With two deep breaths she regained her composure.
When her eyes opened she saw the light had fallen on a deep hole on the right wall, one decorated by a climbing vine. The only place on the walls where the foliage moved up.
She squinted. It looked like there was something in that hole…
“Liz come on....we really got to go.” Matt had started whining, his feet slowly backing up to the doorway.
“One more minute...” Mind reeling, she approached the crevice like it was filled with poisonous snakes. Anything could be inside there. Another bomb, a body part, a weapon. Crouching down, the flashlight illuminated the broken plaster and old wooden wall beams behind the drywall. In that thin valley of shredded wires and rotted wood was a green leather bound book. The cover was damaged-probably from the explosion-and embossed in a weird language she didn’t know.
“What is it? What did you find?” Matt whispered loudly from a distance.
Gently Liz took the book out of its secret place, shifting the weight from her hand into her purse. “Nothing.”
Standing, she brushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes. Her curiosity had brought no answers, only more questions.
With a curse, she looked to her wayward tempter. “Let’s get out of here.”
6
When Carrick came to he was in incredible pain. The kind of allover body ache, sweats
and nausea that typically accompanied influenza. The room spun, breathing hurt, lifting his eyelids felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain. He thought he was in a bed, there was something soft on his bare legs. Funny, he did not remember stripping off his clothing.
He groaned, trying to sit up but could not find the energy. The movement caused his stomach to protest, his head tipped off the side of the mattress, although it ended in nothing but dry heaves.
Towards his feet the surface of the mattress shifted, someone must have sat down.
“What’s wrong with me?” Carrick managed to mumble to whomever was around.
“It’s all that junk you eat,” his uncle's voice. “Right now it is your system is purging it. All the dyes, artificial preservatives, processed elements.” Carrick managed a groan in response, rolling onto his back. Movement threatened to send him into another round of dry heaves. Erik laughed, placing a cool damp cloth on his nephew’s forehead. “It’ll pass in a day or two.” The druid sat next to him in silence for a while, the trill of a bird echoed somewhere in the distance. It was a pretty, sing song voice. The kind he’d heard in early spring when they’d lived in the Midwest. For a moment he lost himself in the repeat sound of the call. Focusing on that light trill rather than his pain.
A weight lifted from the bed, heavy footfalls drifting away. “When you’re up and about we will work on your induction.”
“My what?” He rasped, the reverent way Erik spoke of it made it sound like a ritual of some kind.
“Be at ease, my pedagogical abilities are above reproach.”
Carrick tried to ask another question, but found himself fighting back another round of dry heaves.
“Rest now. I will check in with you on the morrow.”
His body compiled, drawing him back down to the temptation of sleep.
“Why are you crying honey?” Richard looked up to find his mother standing over him, blocking out the sun. He couldn’t see her face but he imagined it, those wide dark eyes that were always so warm and kind. A smile on her face, always a smile when she looked on him. Taking a deep breath to stifle his tears, Richard held up his tiny hands. In his delicate grasp was the bird’s nest that had fallen out of the tree.
“When I threw my ball I hit the nest down. I broke it and now they’re going to die their mama is gonna leave them” His little voice squeaked while he spoke, the weight of his action heavy on his little heart.
“Oh Richard honey, shhhh. Don’t worry your little head about it. Let me see.” His mother stretched out her long slender hands, nails painted a light pink for the spring. Carefully she took the birds nest from him, examining it closely.
“You know, mothers won’t really leave their babies.”
“But I touched them.”
“Doesn’t matter. A mother will always guard her young, even if you touched them.” “Well Miss Bethany said”
“You pay no mind to what Miss Bethany said my little bear. She means well but she doesn’t always know.” His mother stood, stretching her long arms up she put the nest back in the tree, her long floral skirt catching in the light breeze.
“There, no harm done. Mama bird will come home and life will carry on. Life always carries on my little bear.” Richard nodded as his mother scooped him up into her arms. “Come now, let’s go get you a snack. I bet some Oreos and milk will make my little man smile.” Calming in his mother’s arms Richard buried his face in her hair. The soft waves a blanket for him, the scent of her perfume vanilla and coconut filling his nose.
She walked across the grass slowly, as not to jostle the lad in her grasp. When the pair hit the steps, Richard heard a soft trill behind them. Turning his head slightly to the left, he looked out at the old Aspen tree in the yard. A cardinal hopped along the low branch by the nest, not a red one but a brown one. A mother bird.
“Mom!” He called out, despite being so close to her.
“What sweetheart?”
“Look!” His little arm shot out, pointing towards the tree.
“I told you. Mama Birds will always come back.”
When his eyes opened Carrick still had the scent of vanilla in his nose. His chest tightened from the realization it had only been a memory. He had half expected to wake up in robot pajamas, laying on the blue baseball covered sheets that had decorated his bed when he was five, a glass of water waiting for him on the nightstand and a catcher’s mitt illuminated night light in the far corner of the room. Just in case he had a bad dream.
Even though it was a good dream, it had been bad. The realization that she would never hold him again, or comfort him made his eyes water. His skin shivered from a cold sweat, his stomach remained in knots. Laying there in the blackness he could not distinguish the pain of her death from the pain of the transition. In the end, he realized it didn’t really matter, physical or mental the pain was there all the same.
Mom...
He shut his eyes tight. Carrick was indeed far from home, wherever his uncle had taken him, laying in the dark of the night. The best he could do would be to surrender to sleep, praying that he would find himself yet again in a pleasant memory. Free of pain, free of worry.
“You should not have brought him here!” A raspy voice chastised, startling him. Forcing his eyes to open Carrick scanned the space for the source, finding no one in the immediate room. There was a flicker of candlelight flowing in from the room beyond the wooden door.
“I could not leave him to die by the hand of Lorcan’s minions.” That was Erik's strained voice, the tone Carrick found himself using when trying to keep his temper in check.
“The boy is not one of us, he is tainted by the human world. A half breed.” Someone exhaled sharply, cursing.
“He is part of us, to leave him would leave us without a piece of the whole. He will be a druid. He will follow the path. Brannon-”
“Brannon is not here. Do I need to remind you I sit in the seat of the Awenydd?”
“A temporary burden placed upon your shoulders.” Erik stressed the word temporary, rolling it over his tongue like he was describing a fine wine. "One I allowed you to bear."
"You insolent-"
"I am the second son of Osin, do not forget that."
“Very well. I put this on your head Erik, if he falls...so shall you be cast, regardless of your lineage.”
“He will not fall. By the blood in my veins, he will not fall.”
A dry reedy chuckle echoed through the cracked doorway. “Time will tell I suppose. He wouldn’t be the first of the Elder line to disappoint.” With that a door beyond his own opened and shut. Carrick wished to leap to his feet, to go demand of his uncle what dinosaur had the nerve to refer to him in such a way. Only a wish, the weakness in his form left him bedridden, forced to return to sleeps deathlike embrace.
It was a good many hours later before Carrick began to feel a bit surer of his stomach. Shortly after the pains had subsided he began to get restless. Sitting up with a groan, he cracked his back and took inventory of the room his uncle had given him in the warm daylight.
It truly was beautiful in its simplicity. The floor was wood planked, the walls likewise. Set into the deep toned natural grain appeared to be a large circular window, framed with deep bronze toned shutters that had been engraved in a circular pattern of vines. Across from the bed where he lay was a desk and chair carved from driftwood.
Lifting the blanket he found he had not been imagining things the previous night. He was, in fact, naked as a newborn. Still the urge to explore overruled any sense of propriety. Wrapping the blanket around his waist, Carrick pivoted his legs off the side of the bed. Testing his legs, he found his balance off. His muscles felt very weak, like he had just finished the mile test in gym class. Slowly, Carrick stumbled across the flooring toward the window and lifted the latch, opening wide the shutters.
The view beyond was breathtaking.
It was a city built into the forest rather than over it. Buildings stretched between trees, within t
rees, bridges and paths connecting them. Walls made of leaves and carved stone, flowers planted in circular patterns decorating the window bays of the buildings, vines stretching out in all directions. There were some human elements, sculptures placed around the cityscape, carved torches lining gray stone pathways on the forest floor below. Wooden benches placed along the edge of the river that flowed to the east of his uncle’s place.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” A small red bird flitted by the window.
“Nothing like I’ve ever seen.” Carrick leaned back in, turning to face his uncle. Erik looked as he had remembered along the beach, his long sleeveless cloak almost brushing on the floor as he walked towards him. “How high up are we?”
“What you call three stories or so.” Erik stopped in the center of the space, leaning on a wooden carved cane that stabbed into the animal skin rug under his feet. With his left hand he pointed towards the armoire in the corner of the room. A brushed red chest inlaid with angled decorative lines. “There are clothes that should fit you in there. I’ll give you a moment to freshen up while mid meal finishes.”
“What happened to my old clothes?”
“I removed those filthy rags from you before the sweats started and burned them.”
“You didn’t have to burn them.” His mother had bought him that outfit before his freshman year of high school.
“I did, do you know what disgusting chemicals were lurking in that fabric? Humans use everything; Formaldehyde, caustic soda, sulfuric acid, urea resins, sulfonamides, halogens, and bromines. All without a care as to how it impacts the body. Neurological disorders, sudden infant death syndrome cases from antimony, skin conditions, all manner of self-inflicted aliments.”
“Oh.” Gross.