The Architect

by J. D. Lander

  The Architect

  By J. D. Lander

  ©2017 J.D. Lander. All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  PART II

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  PART III

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  The Woods

  She swiftly ran, weaving through the trees like a needle through cloth. Her blonde hair lifted from her shoulders as she increased her speed. Her hands clutched her dress, pulling it above her ankles. The twigs crunched below the brand new, baby blue shoes she had bought to match her dress. The dress she fell in love with at the store her mom took her to. The dress she believed she could meet prince charming in. If she had only known then that this dress would slow her down while she was being chased through foreign woods by something she could not possibly outmatch but maybe, just maybe, out run.

  Her breath became rhythmic as she ran and ran. Her heart pounded in her chest as if trying to escape from the chamber it had been locked away in for eternity. She knew she had to run. If she stopped, life would be over. If she stopped, she would have to face the evil from her nightmares. The evil that people imagined existed only in fairy tales and large books. Somehow this evil had become real and chosen her, of all people, to hunt down. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tired. Her legs slowed like a locomotive pulling into a station.

  A root suddenly hooked her right foot, causing her to meet the ground like a fallen tree. Suddenly, the world seemed quiet. There were no leaves rustling or birds chirping. The sun’s rays struggled to pierce through the thick canopy overhead.

  She took in a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. She turned with all her might, ready to fight. In her mind, her strength would come from nowhere and she would defeat this evil. Her body would suddenly know what to do to defend itself and she would be victorious as if her animal instincts would surface. She would survive.

  He arrived. The skinny, greasy man had arrived. He didn’t seem tired. He sneered as if knowing he would win. He clenched a knife like a painter clutches a brush, ready to color his canvas.

  She balled her fists up and ran at him. He would not make the first move. He would not have a chance to think. He would not hunt her down. She would hunt him. This would not be the end of her.

  He stood there like a bullfighter. Her charge did not stir him in the least. He stood his ground. She swung her fist with all her might. This hit would have all her strength and will. The energy from her body would flow into this hit and take him down with one blow.

  CHAPTER 2

  Floating

  Floating, that is how Connor felt he moved through life. As if his life drifted above all others, disconnected. Sometimes, when he sat in silence, a picture of a kite would appear in his mind. The kite was always the same, red with a wooden frame, flying high up in the sky wavering in a gentle breeze. When life became rough and the breeze turned into a powerful wind the string’s slack anchoring him to Earth would increase. He would feel lost in the clouds unable to see what or who was anchoring him to the ground. There were times when people entered his life and he would feel the string pull him nearer to the ground. Sometimes he came so close he swore he could reach it, he could land.

  This feeling never lasted long. The person would inevitably tire of the kite and the slack would become abundant. When the kite flew higher into the sky Connor was never afraid of crashing. A normal person would fear crashing, someone who thought more rationally. No, Connor was afraid that if the string unwound too greatly the end would be reached and the untethered kite would float away into the sky, lost forever. Connor wasn’t a stranger to being close to the end of the spool. He had been there twice but somehow someone always reeled him closer.

  No two people are alike, he would remind himself. You are different and that makes you the same. Connor knew that everyone probably imagines themselves as something else at some point in their life. Right now, he was a kite and he was floating.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Boy

  Connor’s feet splashed through the puddles as he ran along the concrete path that connected the driveway to his house. In his hurry to get out of the rain he forgot to slowly shut the front door. A loud bang came from behind him as the door locked into its frame.

  “Connor, is that you?” His mother, Darcy, paused the knife midway through the carrot she was cutting.

  “Of course! Who else would just walk into the house?” Connor rolled his eyes as he took off his jacket.

  “I know my son doesn’t let the door slam so I thought it must be someone else.”

  Everyday when he entered the house after school she would ask the same question. He didn’t understand why his mother never assumed it was him; senior year of high school was approaching its end, after all. Today she was using the door as her excuse to get him to talk. Perhaps she was reaching out, hoping for a conversation to start. He continued across the living room and ran up the wooden steps, emitting loud thuds as he ascended. As he hit the top step he heard his mother shout, “Don’t forget to wipe your feet!”

  He continued down the short hallway and into his room, pausing for a second to consider the trail he left behind on the wood floors. The days of the carpet hiding the water marks were over. It will evaporate before she notices, he decided. He placed his backpack on the floor by his desk and then sat on his twin bed, nestled in the corner. Pulling off his wet socks felt gross as the damp cotton dragged across his skin. His face tensed as each article of clothing came off. Left with only boxers, he snatched the iPod from the nightstand and lay down on the bed hoping to dry. Staring up at the ceiling fan, he watched the blades spin. His eyes felt heavy as the fan mesmerized him, eventually caving under the weight. He had followed this routine daily through all of high school as he waited for dinner. Now the spring of brought the rain, the perfect weather for sleep.

  Boom, Boom. The door shook, jolting Connor from his nap.

  “Your mother has been calling you!” His dad shouted through the door.

  “I’ll be right down!” He hated being startled awake from his naps. It caused his muscles to tighten and ruined the feeling of relaxation that usually accompanies a restful nap.

  Connor dressed in a pair of navy blue gym shorts and an undershirt before stopping to assess his now messy light brown hair in the mirror. His blue eyes stared back at him and for a second he paused to appreciate them. Running down the stairs toward the dining room, the unmistakable scent of meatloaf overpowered him as he approached the dinning room table. Darcy claimed his father loved her meatloaf. Connor believed his mother liked making it on her lazy days. Either way, Connor considered meatloaf the equivalent of a vanilla sundae without toppings.

  Connor sunk into his chair, piled food onto his plate, and began eating. As he chewed he looked around the table. Sadness seemed to hide deep in his mother’s eyes. Even her dark brown hair appeared sad, as if hugging her shoulders for comfort. He imagined she was thinking of how quickly the meal would be devoured and how soon she would be cleaning their plates. At some point after Connor was born she started smoking and she believed it was a secret. During summer afternoons, Connor would hear the door
of the kitchen slowly creak open as she stepped out onto the patio. Then the stench of smoke would crawl up to the second story and creep in through his window.

  Connor’s father, John, ate fast, as if dinner were actually a race to see who could clear their plate first. With his slicked-back black hair and his suit, he could easily be mistaken for a mobster, though his physique would make challenging anyone a chore. He worked for large accounting firm in the city and every workday he wore a black suit with a colored, solid shirt. Connor always wondered why he never tried a gray or a pinstriped suit.

  “How was work?” Connor broke the silence.

  “I just worked all day and what do I do at work? Talk about work. I don’t want to come home and talk anymore about it.” John wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and headed to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a whiskey and then proceeded into the living room. Darcy’s eyes followed him until he was out of view. Her eyes remained unfocused for a moment until she looked down at her food and continued eating.

  Connor’s attempt at a conversation had failed like it always did. Was this how his mom felt when he arrived home from school? What else would he ask him about, the weather? Connor felt depressed sitting at the table in silence. He didn’t bother to finish eating. He took his plate into the kitchen, scraped it, placed it in the sink, and headed back upstairs. He could hear his dad chuckling at the television as he headed into his bedroom.

  After the door was shut, he pressed his back against it and suddenly felt the urge to cry. Crying wasn’t manly, he told himself. The sadness quickly transformed into anger and the tears welling in his eyes seemed to be reabsorbed. He walked slowly over to the window to appreciate all that spring brought with it. The sky was a magnificent pink and orange as the sun peaked over the treetops. The flowers in the garden appeared tired as they lay on their side after being pounded by the rain. Under one of the bushes, a robin had sought refuge from the storm.

  Scanning the tree line, he suddenly noticed a person just beyond the edge of the yard standing in the forest. It was a boy around his age, and he was staring back! What’s going on? Do I know him? The boy gently turned away and started walking deeper into the woods.

  Connor slammed his feet into his shoes and ran outside. He almost lost traction in the wet grass as he turned sharply around the side of his house. Running out of the house without telling his mother where he was going was not a good idea. Connor’s curiosity had for some reason overpowered his fear of repercussion. “Hey! Wait!” he yelled as he jogged towards the forest.

  Entering the woods, his eyes darted back and forth like an eagle searching for prey. Where had the boy gone? He walked deeper in to search for the boy. After a half-mile of trekking, Connor decided to head back before he lost the little daylight remaining. The crashing of the waterfall he often hiked to as a child could be heard up ahead. His clothes were splashed with mud from the damp forest floor. His pace hastened as he headed back to the house, attempting to beat the darkness. The woods he knew as a child would become unfamiliar in the dark and the creatures that never showed their face in the light of day would awaken.

  CHAPTER 4

  Another Day

  Connor woke to the sun in his eyes. It was 6:50 a.m., ten minutes before his alarm went off. He hated waking before his alarm went off. To him it was squandered sleep that could never be recovered. Today, for Connor, was like every other day. He jumped out of bed, brushed his teeth, showered, dressed, and headed out the front door. Connor never ate breakfast. If he did it would make him feel nauseous all day so he made it a rule to never eat before noon.

  The local high school, appropriately named Will Grove High School after the town, was only a couple of streets away. At the end of his road stood the local church, where it seemed everyone in town was a member. Connor was thankful he didn’t have to take the bus but secretly wished he had a car. Most of the seniors in his town had cars. They often passed him as he walked, looking free and in control. He hung his head as a guy in his grade rode passed, hoping he would go unnoticed.

  The entrance to the school was bigger than most despite the school’s small size. There were three sets of glass double doors with a glass walkway above. To the right of the doors were stone steps leading up to an exit. The stone steps wrapped around a fountain with a statue of a woman kneeling in the water holding a flower. Connor had never once seen the fountain turned on. Was it the result of a budget cut?

  The senior class size was roughly a hundred people. He knew everyone in his class because at some point through the years he had shared at least one class with each of them. Not to mention youth soccer, little league, even a turn at gymnastics. The composition of the class didn’t change much. No one really moved away and only a few had joined. Their town was only an hour north of New York City, nestled in between the Black Rock Mountains and the Hudson River. It was an ideal small town for raising a family, if you don’t mind sheltering your children from the real world. Housing in his town was rare to find. His father had told him it was because of the great school system, but Connor always felt there was more to the story. Instead of trying to go unnoticed, he walked down the prototypical pale blue, locker-lined hall; today Connor was searching for the boy he had seen in the woods the previous night. Could he be a new student? His searching also reminded him that his best friend Alice was still absent recovering from a cold.

  Alice could only be described as enchanting with her blonde flowing hair and deep blue eyes. Everyone in town knew of her. She was Senior Class President, center forward of the girl’s soccer team, and besides her looks she didn’t need anything else. Connor was average in practically every way and Alice was anything but average. Perhaps the most appealing trait about Alice was her lack of caring what anyone else thought. Maybe that was part of the benefit of having so much confidence. Most of the time her opinions didn’t severely differ from the towns’, though, so it never appeared to cause much trouble for her. Connor had met Alice in religious education class during their middle school years. Although they were seated next to each other, they rarely interacted. Connor knew plenty of guys from school that lived just down the road but none of them clicked with him the way Alice did. This year he had started to distance himself from them due to his increasing deviation from normal. He didn’t believe they could understand his problems.

  This distance, however, didn’t benefit Connor in any way. Without his friends constantly surrounding him, Connor had more time to himself to think, which only led to depression. Alice’s involvement in after-school activities kept her somewhat unavailable during the week so he began living in his troubled mind.

  Between each class bell, Connor scoured the halls for the boy, but there was no sight of him. As classes progressed through the day, his excitement in searching for the boy faded. The school day ended and Connor was disappointed for some reason. He questioned why it mattered so much to him to find this boy. Was he trying to prove he wasn’t seeing things? This boy had disturbed his usual routine and kept his mind out of the dark places it often went. Could this boy help in some way? Did he not live in this town? Was he different too? Why did he feel drawn to follow him into the woods?

  On the walk home, Connor dragged his feet on the crumbling sidewalk in frustration. He found himself growing more upset as he thought about it. The mental relief his mind received as a result of seeing this boy was now over and soon he would be back in his room alone. With his house only a few hundred feet away, he passed by the church. As he approached his pale yellow house he noticed someone standing in his back yard. Was his mother gardening? Usually at this time she was at the grocery store picking up last minute supplies for dinner. There was no way to tell. Darcy always parked her car in the garage to leave John room in the driveway. Connor continued toward the house and could not see clearly who was in his backyard. Then the figure came into focus. It was the boy. Instead of standing in the woods like the past night, the boy was in the middle of the backyard.

&nbs
p; The boy was definitely around Connor’s age, as he had first thought. His hair was brown and very short. The sun reflected off his pale scalp. His eyes were dark brown and his height seemed average. However, his frame was much more muscular than Connor’s. There was nothing to learn from the boy’s clothes. They were simple. He wore dark blue jeans and a plan olive V-neck t-shirt. Those not paying any attention would have glanced over him. The woods behind him seemed to match his unremarkable clothes.

  Connor noticed the boy didn’t move away as he slowly approached. He just stared straight ahead at Connor as if investigating him as he approached. Connor felt goose bumps run along the back of his neck despite the sun striking down on him. He stationed himself just a few feet from him.

  “Can I help you?” Connor stated at a barely audible level. He meant for it to come out with some authority. This yard was his and he was speaking to an intruder. For some reason, however, his words seemed to slip passed his lips and fall like lead weights to the ground.

  “I don’t know.” The boy replied as if the answer was acceptable. He continued to just stare.

  “What’s your name?” For a moment Connor forgot why he approached the boy and caved to his curiosity.

  “Adam.” He replied with no change in his demeanor.

  “Well Adam, why are you in my back yard?” Connor often repeated names. It was a way to help him remember but also allowed for correction in the case of mishearing.

  “I came to see you and ask why you are different from the others.” Adam stated monotonously.

  “I’m not different. Why do you say that? What made you think that?” Connor’s voice became frantic and defensive.

  “You are different. I’ve been watching you to figure it out but I’m still not sure.”