I shook my head and nearly cracked a smile, although clearly now was not the time for humor. “The dog was alive?”
Jesse nodded.
“I saw the HowlSage pick the thing up and toss it across the street like a baseball.”
“Yikes,” Jesse said.
“Yeah. I was watching this dog run across a lawn when suddenly the HowlSage appeared.”
Jesse rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Let’s do another circle around the town, but if we don’t see anything, I think we should head back. McGarrett has to be told about someone giving something to the HowlSage.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you ever read The HowlSage Haunting?”
“No.”
“Well, you should,” Jesse said. “Let’s do a few loops around town, and see if any of the streets or houses look familiar.”
Our tours around town proved to be of no value and we returned to The Pink Hippo where I shared what I saw with McGarrett and Ike.
McGarrett shook his head. “This hunt will be far worse if there is a human involved.”
I scowled in confusion.
“Haven’t you ever read—?” McGarrett started to ask.
“The HowlSage Haunting, I know,” I finished for him.
“I was actually going to say, the section on Human Interaction in the society’s hunting manual?”
I shook my head. “No we haven’t gotten there yet.”
McGarrett frowned, “It wouldn’t hurt you to read ahead you know.”
I felt a guilty pain in my gut. I hadn’t really given this training thing one hundred percent commitment.
“I need to call headquarters and let them know about your sighting right away,” McGarrett explained.
“Wait, there’s more,” Jesse said. “The flying creature attacked us.”
“It was a lot larger than I’d originally thought,” Jesse said.
“I thought it sort of looked like a dragon, but it never shot fire or anything,” I added, but no one seemed to care.
Mr. Riley shook his head.
“Do you know what—” I started, but was cut off.
“No time now, I’ve got to report this.” Clearly, he knew something about this beast, but wasn’t ready to share with me.
I looked at Jesse, but he shook his head.
Ike gave me an odd stare and winked. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the workshop.
“I’m going to make the call now.”
I started to lift off the jet pack when I remembered the beast piercing my shoulders with its claws. I tried to get a good look at the wounds. I didn’t see any blood, or rips in my shirt. I felt around with my fingers, pressing where there should have been sore tears in my flesh, but there was nothing.
I was sure the flying thing had wounded me. I remembered the pain, the loss of feeling in my hands and arms. I’d been sure that the nerves in my arm had been severed.
I asked Jesse to look. He didn’t see anything, either.
With McGarrett on the phone and our bodies aching, we decided to go relax until he needed us. We knew we would not be headed back out tonight. So we headed to the swimming pool and hot tub.
The pool was original to the hotel’s first days; there were very few of its kind left in the world. Decorated with thousands of small tiles in ornate patterns, it was a long rectangle, creating the perfect canvas for the jungle mosaic across its bottom. Several pillars rose from the middle of the pool to support a domed roof high above.
The hot tub was large and square, easily fitting twenty people if you wanted, its middle sported a half-submerged hippopotamus, which was pink in color. The hippo sported bubble jets, one of which was comically placed near its butt. It so happened that this jet also turned on first, so for at least a few seconds it looked as though the hippo was breaking wind. I almost could picture the builder rolling across the floor of his home, laughing in hysterics at his crafty inside joke.
Jesse and I swam several laps in the cold, refreshing waters of the pool, and soon our relaxation turned into competition. We were racing across the pool, freestyle, then back stroke, then butterfly. 100 yards, 200 yards, 300 yards. We were exhausted when we finally pulled ourselves from the pool.
I laid back, my chest rising and falling with every deep breath. I could hear Jesse next to me, heaving.
“Jess?” I asked.
“What?” he responded weakly.
I turned my head toward him, “Have you ever seen a girl, and known right away you liked her?”
He didn’t laugh, which I’d expected him to do. But he didn’t say anything for a good minute. When he looked at me, he looked sad.
“You know, Tay, I actually have.”
“What happened?”
“When I saw her something would come over me. She seemed to glide past as if walking on air, her hair glowed golden, and her eyes sparkled. Regardless of where or when I saw her, I could smell roses…” Jesse’s voice trailed off as he looked toward the ceiling.
“Did you ever—you know—talk to her?”
“Sure, and I was so nervous when I did, all I could say was, ‘Hollow.’”
“Hollow?”
“I meant to say ‘hello,’ but it came out ‘hollow.’”
I laughed inside, careful not to let it out for Jesse to hear. He was actually for once being serious, and it just so happened to be for something I actually wanted his advice on. “You didn’t give up, did you?”
He turned and looked at me in the weirdest way. His eyes shimmered as if he was going to cry, and he stared at me longingly.
“No, of course not,” he smiled at me proudly. “You know me better than that. I’m Jesse Rivers, girl glue.”
“Did you say girl glue?” I asked.
“Girl glue, that’s what they called me at school.”
I thought it a weird nickname, but I suppose it sort of made sense. The back of his yearbook was always filled with lots of comments from girls, and he had had many a girlfriend.
“So what’d you do next?”
“Well, I waited for her outside school one day, and when she came out, I broke into song. I knew she liked Baylor McLaw, so I sang her latest love song.”
“You didn’t.”
“Sure did.”
“And?”
“Well, let’s just say, I still have a one hundred percent record of getting the first date.”
I laid my head back. A lump had formed in my throat. Did I have enough nerve to sing? Could I actually carry a tune? And how was I supposed to know what kind of music the girl would like if I didn’t even know her name?
I heard Jesse’s wet footsteps heading toward the hot tub, so I got up and followed him.
We broke into a fit of laughter as soon as the jets came to life, because so did the hippo. Bubbles were blasting out in an angry stream. I laughed until my gut hurt.
Finally, I sat back in the hot water to contemplate my girl situation and the song. Jesse’s eyes were closed, and I thought I’d asked enough for tonight. It’d been a good talk, the most serious we’d ever had.
When we were done, we changed and headed back for the workshop. I found Ike sitting on the steps of the inn. Jesse continued on, but I stopped to find out what the boy genius was doing. After all it was October and cold, and Ike wasn’t wearing his coat as usual. Another example of street smarts versus book smarts.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He sighed, but didn’t say anything. I could tell he wasn’t in a good mood.
“Dude, it’s cold out here. You should go inside, or get a coat or something.” Realizing I sounded a little too much like a mom, I added, “If you get sick, we won’t have anyone to keep our gear in repair. And I need my stuff to work when I fight.” It was an OK recovery. Not the best, but decent enough that he’d buy it.
He nodded and stood.
“What’s wrong, why are you acting so bummed?”
His lips pursed together and his eyebrows narrowed
into a scowl. “You left.”
“What?”
“You weren’t in the workshop when I came back.”
“So?”
“I said, ‘I’ll be right back,’ and you left.”
“Oh…Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Of course you didn’t. I’m invisible when he’s here.”
Now I was confused. Where was this coming from? “Who is ‘he’?”
“Jesse! Your best friend!” Ike turned and stormed up the stairs of the inn, disappearing behind its doors.
I thought about going after him, but decided against it. Was he jealous?
I shrugged it off and headed for the workshop.
Chapter Seven
October 8th—Sunday
I slipped on a pair of pants, put on a white tee, and made my way downstairs. I was thankful that today there would be no hunting. It was Sunday, and today was our day of rest. Mrs. Riley still liked to cook, but it was never work to her.
The smell of bacon and eggs reached my nose before the elevator doors even opened. Like a zombie in a trance, my legs pulled me to the table. McGarrett was sipping coffee and Ike was waiting patiently to eat. Jesse came in shortly after me, wearing jogging clothes. He’d been out for another run.
Mrs. Riley joined us and McGarrett blessed the meal. As was the rule, we couldn’t speak of work, so I couldn’t ask about my dream, nor could Ike fill me in on whatever he had gone off to research last night. I’d realized much later in the night that Ike was probably upset about me going swimming, because he’d gone to discover something on my behalf. I’d try to make it up to him later.
After breakfast I changed into my Sunday best, a dress shirt and khakis. These clothes were not stored in my bedroom, but instead kept in a closet near the laundry, where Mrs. Riley pressed them before every use and kept them smelling fresh.
Something about the teen boy smells that my room possessed might leech into the clothes. I didn’t think my room smelled, but I guess I’m just used to it.
The drive to the church was quick. Ike and I rode with Jesse and Mr. and Mrs. Riley took the Rolls. He’d tried to convince his wife to ride in the motorcycle’s sidecar, but she had politely declined.
The church service always seemed the same. No offense to the pastor, but there was such a regimen to Sunday.
Greet.
Pray.
Sing several hymns.
Announcements.
Pray.
Offering.
Special song, a duet or solo usually.
Sermon.
Pray.
On occasion there might be an altar call, or communion, but for the most part every service was the same, at least to me.
Ike always took lots of notes and I listened as best I could. Most of the other kids chatted with each other, texted, or played games. I knew from my interactions at school that several of them didn’t really live the life you’d expect from a so-called Christian. Ask any one of them about their extracurricular activities and you’d understand. I guess I had little room to talk; my prayer life had really dropped off after my dad fell. And I suppose I wasn’t one hundred percent focused on my spiritual walk.
Frankly, I was mad at God, I was mad that He’d taken both my parents from me and then turned around and expected me to fight for Him, to risk my life. How was that fair?
I shivered. It felt as though someone was hovering over my shoulder, listening to my thoughts.
Regardless of my current emotions, I believed. I’d asked Christ into my heart, and I had the assurance of where I was going. But supposedly most of these other kids had as well. They certainly didn’t act like they were Christians. Were they going, too? I mean, what does it really mean to be a Christian?
Jesse jabbed me in the side and whispered, “You look distracted.”
I was, but I didn’t want to tell him why. “Oh, yeah. Just thinking about last night,” I lied.
He nodded and continued to listen. His Bible was open in his lap, but I never once saw him look down at it. He was just staring at the pulpit.
After church, we went to the park and ate a picnic lunch that Mrs. Riley had packed. The weather was warm and sunny for October.
After we’d finished, Jesse lay back on a blanket, earbuds in, listening to tunes as he drifted off to sleep.
The Riley’s were sitting up at a pavilion talking to some other townspeople. I recognized the mayor and his wife, Chief Rutledge, and another husband and wife who had visited The Pink Hippo a few times before, the Friggs.
Ike and I decided we’d head down to the skate park. I’m pretty decent on a board, and Ike’s good on his blades. However, the ankle twisting incident a few days ago stopped me from any skateboarding. Instead I decided to sit and watch, maybe give a few pointers to Ike. I knew that spending this time alone with Ike would make up for last night’s frustration, and if I had a chance I’d ask him about what it was he’d looked up.
To my surprise and I suppose delight, the girl from the first night of the hunt appeared.
She was riding along on a bike and stopped on the path no more than twenty feet away.
Was this my chance? I stood and took a deep breath, trying to gain enough courage to shout to her.
I saw her look back and wave to someone.
My heart sank as the person she waved to came into view. A boy her age, maybe a little older, came riding down the path. He didn’t have a helmet on; she did. And he looked, well, cool. My belly churned. Competition with a boy I don’t know for a girl I don’t know. Yeah, that’s normal.
She took off before the other boy could reach her. I heard her laugh as she disappeared down the trail into the woods. The boy stood and then hammered on the petals, cycling as fast he could. As he passed he turned to look at me, but his face was shadowed under a hood.
“Ouch!” I called as something hit me in the shoulder. I looked down to see a pinecone.
“You missed it!” Ike yelled. He was rolling toward me, hands on hips. “Dude, I did what you told me and this time I didn’t fall.”
I smiled. “Sorry, man.”
“What were you looking at?” he asked.
“Just a girl.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah, the one I told you about. She was just here.”
He looked around and then back at me curiously. “Tay, I think you’re seeing things. It’s just you and me.”
“She rode off into the woods on her bike,” I said.
“Oh, well, do you want me to skate after her?” he asked.
“Nope, she had someone with her.” My voice sounded down, more so then I intended. But I had remembered the boy with her. Obviously, she was taken.
“If you’re that sad about her leaving, I really will go after her.”
“It’s not that she left, it’s who she left with,” I said, looking toward the woods.
“Who?” he asked innocently.
“Some kid.”
“A boy?”
“Yeah.”
Ike’s voice suddenly sounded chipper. “Well, maybe he’ll be your friend too!”
He really didn’t get it. It’s what made him so refreshing at times, and annoying at others. In this instance, it was the former. I forced a smile and we went back to our picnic area.
Jesse was asleep on the blanket, but Mr. and Mrs. Riley were sitting on a bench swing nearby, talking. The others had left.
Chapter Eight
October 9th—Monday
School.
I never looked forward to school before, but now that I was on the hunt it was worse. How was I supposed to concentrate?
I sat there watching the second hand on the clock slowly tick by. Why they even included this hand on clocks I’ll never know. Especially in schools. The number-one thing kids want when they’re in school is to be out. So it’s like these clocks were made to torture us.
I decided I needed to use the restroom, so I raised my hand and got the pass. Really, I just needed to stretch my
legs in the hall. The teacher, Mrs. Diordean, looked annoyed, but I was annoyed at learning about Greek mythology. I mean, seriously, you want to waste three weeks of my life teaching me about some fake—immoral by most accounts—myths. Why?
So I stepped into the wide green and white halls of David Louis High. The school had been named for a town founder.
I went to the bathroom, and then detoured to the library before heading back to class. I needed a bit more fresh air. Besides, the librarian is pretty cool, I knew I could loiter a bit without drawing any suspicion. I stopped by a newly-added section of graphic novels, for research of course.
I fingered the spines; none seemed to jump out at me. Maybe I’d go further into the library, see if I could find anything on monsters—one of those old classics, like Frankenstein or Dracula.
This part of the library consisted of floor-to-ceiling shelves, tightly packed together in rows and all butted up against a cold brick wall. You were lucky to squeeze between the shelves and were in trouble if someone came into the row after you. There was no way to get out.
I found the section titled Classics; our librarian had arranged the library shelves in his own easy to find categories. Some made sense. Others, like Blues, not so much. As far as I could tell, this was just a collection of books with blue spines.
I found Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and slid it off the shelf. There were actually two editions—an illustrated and non-illustrated. I, of course, took the one with pictures. Easier on the eyes.
And then I noticed an eye looking at me. Gray—no, blue-gray. I couldn’t be sure, but a moment after I looked up, it disappeared.
Who was looking at me?
I slid my body down the tight aisle and peaked around the corner and down the aisle the eye had been in.
No one.
Nothing.
I looked around the library’s lobby of overstuffed chairs and wooden tables.
The librarian, Mr. Skogerboe, sat at the main desk, a newspaper hid his profile from view, and a cup of coffee was in his hand. Two kids sat at a far table—both had headphones on, neither looked like they’d moved for a while. Another kid sat at a computer, but he was a bit rotund, and just by looking at his body, the eye didn’t seem to fit.
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