Will Wilder

by Raymond Arroyo

  “I’m so glad you’re alive. Dad told us he was going to have Aunt Lucille arrested if anything happened to you,” Leo said, nuzzling his face into Will’s side. He clung to his brother like a human fanny pack all the way down the center aisle.

  “You can let go now.”

  “I missed you.” Leo tightened his embrace. “I hit Elijah’s mantle on the water in the flooded room and saved Simon and Andrew.”

  “That’s great.” Will passed his two friends, who were sleeping in a pair of pews near the front of the church. “You’ve got to let me go. I can’t get into the Keep with you hanging on me.”

  Leo refused, holding fast.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it in,” Leo said, lifting his legs off the floor.

  Will elbowed his brother until the boy finally relented, releasing his grip.

  Leo straightened his glasses and continued excitedly. “You should have been here, Will. If I hadn’t saved Mom and Marin and your friends, you’d be in big-time trouble. That croc monster was going to eat the whole family. All you did was steal a relic. I smacked down a monster.”

  Provoked by his brother’s boasting, Will’s pride and his bottled-up fears rose to the surface. His face held a feverish glow. “Call me when you see demons, okay, Leo? You tell me the next time you see a man turn into a seven-headed monster—and all seven heads want to rip you apart. Call me when your knees are shaking and you’re so scared all you want to do is lie down and cry, but you still have to fight the demon,” he shouted. “Do you see demons, Leo? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO ANY OF YOU?”

  His face screwed up, turning beet red. He intently stared down at the reliquary in his hand, the natural color returning to his face. “I’m still supposed to be a kid, and I can’t be a kid for too much longer…because I am the only one who sees these things. I know what they can do.” Tears dropped from his eyes. Embarrassed, he swiftly retreated into the Keep with the reliquary.

  “I blame you for all of this,” Dan seethed, thrusting a finger at Aunt Lucille. “You’re…confusing him. Filling his head with y-y-your…ancient demon stories. I suppose you told him about the prophecy?” From her tightening lips he could tell that she had.

  “The Hand of Providence and Will’s vocation are not ours to control,” Aunt Lucille said, slipping her hands into her silk pockets.

  “You’re the one trying to—to—control everything—engineering it all. Jacob Wilder has become an idol to you. When are you going to let him go? Your father’s dead, and so is mine.”

  “It was Will’s decision to mount that donkey—which you rented, incidentally. Will found his own way into the Keep. He removed the relic of St. Thomas himself. I had nothing to do with any of it. I wasn’t even there—and neither was my father!” Aunt Lucille squarely faced Dan, her strawberry-blond curls quivering. “Did you see the weather today? The sudden flooding? Did you see the Fomorii crawling all over town? How do you explain their reappearance?”

  “Deb, we’re leaving.” He tried to gather the children on the other side of the church.

  Lucille pursued him as best she could on a pair of stinging feet.

  “You saw the Fomorii, Dan. I can see the fear in your eyes. You know the truth. Delude yourself if you wish, but don’t try to delude me.”

  Inside the Keep, Will returned the reliquary to the top of its elevated stand. He felt so alone, as if no one in the whole world could truly comprehend what he had gone through—what he had experienced. The proximity to raw evil had sapped his energy and left him weary. He wanted to lock himself in the Keep and never leave—to avoid all of it: the prophecy, the training, the demons. Unconsciously, he ran his thumbs over the inscribed circular base of the reliquary as if trying to release some secret it held.

  “Do not be unbelieving, but believe…” it read.

  Easier read than done, Will thought. How much easier it would be to believe if he knew the end. If he knew what monsters, what demons tomorrow held. But not even the prophecy gave him that knowledge. He stood before the reliquary, considering each carved word, while fear rose within him. “Do not be unbelieving, but believe…”

  When he finally emerged from the Keep several minutes later, Aunt Lucille and Dan were still going at it.

  “So moving a relic caused boats to sink? Caused a pier to collapse? Caused th-th-the river to flood? Really? You’ve gone off the deep end.”

  “That relic should never have—”

  “The only relic here is you,” Dan exploded. “You’re the relic. You and your band of misfits clinging to the past. It’s a compulsion. Now you want to drag my boy into your madness. Aunt Lucille, y-y-you need help. Let’s go, kids.”

  Lucille had no more words. She’d been struck to the heart by the man she had raised—by the child she could still see in her mind’s eye racing down the stairs of her Victorian home, sitting in her lap, running delightedly through the halls of Peniel….

  Bartimaeus rapped one of his crutches against the side of a pew and rose to his full height. “Danny. Don’t you disrespect this woman. Ya hear me? I remember what she did for you—what we all did.”

  To avoid the heat of the conversation, Tobias Shen retreated to one of the side aisles and began sweeping.

  Will stood quietly behind a column in the shadow of the sanctuary, pith helmet in hand, listening.

  “This could be our last chance,” Bartimaeus continued. “That boy has the gift. So we either teach him to use it, or God have mercy on us all.”

  “Let’s go.” Dan shoved Leo out the back door of the church and exited. Deborah begged that they wait for Will and the two boys still napping in the front pews. She and Marin hurried down the center aisle toward the back of the church.

  On her way out, Deb grabbed Aunt Lucille’s hand, causing her to flinch at the touch. “I’m so sorry. You know he doesn’t mean it. By the way, you were right.” Deborah sidled close to Lucille. “There were two Bottom Dwellers in those chambers. I saw them. They were here in the church. What I don’t understand is Marin’s screams. Each time she screamed, those creatures were yanked backward in the water. She prevented Will’s friends from being killed. I’ll tell you about Leo and the mantle later….”

  “How do you mean, she kept them from being killed?”

  “When she screamed, and only when she screamed, the Bottom Dweller—that’s what it’s called, right?—backed off. Flew backward.”

  An impish smile crept across Aunt Lucille’s face. She took Marin’s little chin in her hand. “You’re a very special girl. And I am proud of you. Hard as they may try, don’t let anyone ever quiet that voice.”

  “I love you, Aunt Lu-silly,” Marin laughed, taking the woman’s hand.

  The smile vanished from Aunt Lucille’s face instantly. Her body visibly contracted. She gazed at Marin in awe as if the child had just insulted her.

  “What’s wrong, Lucille?” Deb asked.

  “Nothing, dear. I’m fine.” Though her look was pensive.

  “Bye, Aunt Lu-silly.” Marin blew her great-aunt a kiss and bounced out of the church, carefree as ever.

  “Let me go check Dan’s temperature. I’ll be back for the boys in a minute,” Deborah said, running into the sunlight after Marin.

  Bartimaeus tottered in front of Aunt Lucille, flashing nearly every glittering white tooth in his head. “So the child is a Summoner. Lord, Lord…What are the chances of a man having a Seer and a Summoner in the same household?”

  Aunt Lucille opened and closed her hands with ease. “She’s also a Healer. My hands, my feet—there’s no pain at all. I could feel the heat of her touch. It’s remarkable that Marin—”

  “What’s a Summoner?” Will asked loudly, stomping down the central aisle wearing a grimace.

  “You may as well tell him.” Aunt Lucille continued flexing her hands in fascination.

  “A Summoner is one who can call down the angels in times of need. The good ones,” Bartimaeus said. “So sis has got a gift too. Don’t that beat all?”
>
  Aunt Lucille directed Will to a nearby pew. She sat beside the agitated boy, training her deep blue eyes on him. “I know that look. None of us who encounters evil is left unscathed, dear. But you mustn’t cling to the terror or it will darken your days and cloud your future. Don’t fear what’s coming, Will. Light banishes darkness—always—and you will be given what you need when the time is right.”

  Will fiddled with the pith helmet in his lap, twisting the pelican medallion on the front. Nausea pinched his stomach. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do. It’s scary. I don’t want to see anymore….”

  “Be at peace. Don’t be afraid of the future; stay here in the present. Every gift, every calling, Will, is a burden. Within you is the substance to carry that burden well. I only ask this…” Aunt Lucille lowered her voice. “You must exercise discretion with those in the outside world; especially with your friends and school chums. We can discuss anything, particularly at Peniel. But don’t tell others about your gift or your sister’s. It could endanger you both, and people…well…they won’t understand.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will said.

  Aunt Lucille lifted her father’s pith helmet, straightened the medallion, and placed it on Will’s head. He unexpectedly flung himself at his great-aunt, holding her in a long embrace.

  “Thank you, Aunt Lucille. Thank you—for being here.”

  As if that was his cue to move, Bartimaeus teetered over to Andrew and Simon snoozing in the front pews. “It’s wakey time, buttercups,” he bellowed. Trying to rouse the boys, he poked a crutch at them, with little effect.

  A great thud suddenly resounded through the church.

  Bartimaeus and all those not sleeping turned toward the sound. It was Tobias Shen latching the golden door of the Keep, sealing the St. Thomas relic away once more.

  “Safe and sound,” Shen said, patting the door. “All is as it should be.”

  “Not quite.” Aunt Lucille gripped Will’s bony shoulders. “Late Saturday afternoon, I want you to come to Peniel. It’s time for you to meet the Brethren.”

  Butterflies in his stomach, Will started to respond, but Tobias Shen interrupted. “He can meet the Brethren after he finishes his gardening duties. The big trees and little one still need your attention, Mr. Wilder.”

  A smirking Will accepted both invitations.

  The following Saturday morning, Will met his friends for breakfast at the Burnt Offerings Café on High Street. While chaining his scooter to the bike rack out front, he couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two old men.

  Lounging on the park bench in front of the restaurant, they flipped through a copy of the Perilous Times newspaper. A bloated codger with the wrinkled neck of a manatee, a toothpick just barely hanging from the side of his mouth, read to his pasty companion: “ ‘The injuries and fatalities have yet to be explained. While some eyewitnesses suggest they might have been alligator attacks, others believe them to be paranormal in nature.’ Oh, brother. Here we go. They always gotta interview the fanatics. ‘Alton Taylor, a member of the Full Holiness Church’—that explains a lot—‘who survived a mauling in the Perilous River last Tuesday’—blah, blah, blah—‘fervently believes that whatever attacked him was no animal, but a “creature with demonic characteristics.” ’ This paper has become a comic book….”

  “Stop reading that junk,” the gray man sitting at the other end of the park bench said, dragging on a cigarette. He wore a stained seersucker jacket and wheezed a bit when he spoke. “Sick and tired of those Holy Rollers myself. Always looking for some airy-fairy explanation when a simple one will do. A gator bites some folks, and we’re supposed to believe the devil is running around Perilous Falls? It’s nuts. Though if he’d fix this economy, I’d welcome the devil here myself. He could stay at my ex-wife’s house—he’d fit right in.”

  The big man in overalls giggled merrily, running a finger over the column. “Get this. They’re having a prayer rally down at the river to ‘remember the dead and beg protection against evil.’ Oh, these fanatics! It’s like a time warp. Why don’t they dig Jacob Wilder up from the dead and carry him around town? He used to go on with that demon stuff, remember?”

  Will quaked like a volcano on the verge of an eruption. He so wanted to confront the men—to loudly tell them what he had seen and knew to be true. But instead he pretended to lock up his scooter, while eavesdropping on their conversation.

  The hefty man continued. “Here’s the only good news in this whole story: ‘The mayor’s office is in the midst of an extensive investigation. Sources tell the Perilous Times that the mayor herself has assembled a list of suspects who she believes may be connected to the river attacks, the deaths, and the destruction of Gareb Pier. Suspects could be charged within a matter of weeks.’ I hope they include that Full Holiness Church character in their dragnet. The more of these extremists they lock up, the better.”

  “Every war ever started—all the problems of the world—was caused by some religious nut,” said the other man, a cigarette between his yellowed fingers. “Let ’em have their guilt trip. Don’t need nobody telling Harry Johnson what God’s saying. ’Less I hear him with these two ears, I’m not listening.” He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot.

  “Will-man! You coming in?” Andrew had stuck his head outside the restaurant’s glass door. “How long does it take to lock up one scooter?”

  The question caused the two men on the bench to focus on the squatting Will, who suddenly looked very guilty.

  “You going on a safari, son?” the fat man asked, staring at Will’s pith helmet.

  “No.”

  “Mikey, Mikey,” the ashen Harry Johnson said, swatting the arm of his bench mate. “You wanted Jacob Wilder back from the dead. Somebody heard you. There he is! Hat and all.”

  Will angrily stormed into Burnt Offerings, leaving the old men guffawing on the street. The restaurant had the feel of a sprawling French provincial cabin with bowed wooden floors, low-beamed ceilings, and wall-sized fireplaces in every room. Will and Andrew headed to the back of the restaurant, where they always met for Saturday breakfast.

  “Did you know those guys?” Andrew asked. “Was one of them the Captain?”

  “No. Forget about the Captain. There was no Captain.”

  “You told us there was a Captain.”

  “Not now, Andrew,” Will said, approaching the table.

  Cami looked steamed before Will even said a word.

  “I’d ask how you are, but you must be fine because you’re late,” Cami said, legs crossed, flipping her ponytail with an index finger.

  “So, I guess this means you don’t want to hear the good news,” Will said, raising an eyebrow at Cami. “That’s fine.”

  “Come on, Will-man, what’s up?” Andrew asked, taking a seat.

  “Leo’s arm is healed, and my mom and dad said our trip is back on! We’re going to Florida!” Will beamed.

  The boys high-fived across the table. Will glanced over at Cami, who he knew was trying to hold back a smile. He picked up a menu and coolly began studying it. “So, what are we having?”

  “Oh, I already ordered for everybody,” Simon said. The stark white thumb outlines burned onto Simon’s cheeks during the Undercroft adventure were still visible. “Rhonda’s bringing pancakes, muffins, and eggs for you all. Gluten-free, peanut-free pancakes and muffins for me. Fries on the side for Andrew.”

  Rhonda Blabbingdale, a cousin to Simon’s father, Judge Blabbingdale, owned the restaurant. Six months earlier she had invited Simon and his friends to her café for a complimentary Saturday breakfast. She meant to have them in for just one Saturday, but the kids never stopped coming, and Rhonda was too polite to send a bill to the table.

  Simon leaned over the table, his intense eyes jumping behind the rectangular frames of his glasses. “We need to get our stories straight. My father has been asking all kinds of questions. Especially abo
ut the thumbprints.” Simon flexed his thumbs and manically pointed to his cheeks.

  Andrew said, “My dad cornered me too and asked—”

  “Just a minute, big boy,” Simon said, interrupting. “If we don’t get our stories straight, it will not be good.” He fell into a panicked whisper. “There are criminal cases moving forward—that’s what my father told one of his clerks on the phone the other day—criminal cases! Your aunt Lucille, the yard guy at the church, and some other people are going to be named. We can’t be involved. I can’t be involved. So we’ve come up with a story. Muttonhead—you’re on.”

  Without a word, Andrew shoved Simon off his chair.

  “Totally unnecessary,” Simon complained from the corner, straightening his legs and his shirt. He quietly repositioned his chair between Cami and Will.

  Andrew explained. “Look, Will, we decided to tell our parents that we were helping you plant trees in the churchyard. After we planted for a while, we all strolled down to the river to soak up some rays.”

  “That explains the burn on my face.”

  “He got that, Simon,” Andrew said, striking the table. “So we need you to go along with this, Will-man. Technically, it ain’t a lie. We did go to the church to help you, and we were by the river. We’re just leaving out the breaking and entering, destruction of property, the croc monsters, water flying in the air—which I still don’t understand—and your parents.”

  There was a pause at the table as the food arrived. Andrew shoved four fries in his mouth at once. Simon sneered at him.

  “What? I’m hungry,” Andrew mumbled in response. “So can you agree to the story? You don’t think your parents will go all state’s evidence on us, do you?”

  “My parents won’t say anything,” Will said.

  “What about the Captain?” Simon gnawed on a petite brown muffin.

  “There was no Captain,” said Andrew. “So he won’t be talking.”

  “I knew it,” Simon exclaimed triumphantly. “Imaginary friend! Imaginary friend! Will has an imaginary friend.”