by Steven Novak
“Are we ever going to see you again?” Nicky asked timidly.
Letting the question rest in his brain for a moment, Fellow realized that he did not have an answer. While a large part of him wanted to see the children again, another part wished they would stay away. A major battle had been won, yes – the war though – the war was far from done. In their own world, far away from the death and sadness of war, they would be safer.
“I don’t know, kiddo…I’ll tell you what though…no matter what happens…I’ll never forget either of you. My people believe that every single thing in the universe was born of a single, solitary moment. Everything from the oceans to the trees to you and I come from the same place…that we’re all connected. This means that it doesn’t matter how far away we are from those we care about, we’re a part of them.”
Though the idea made Staci smile, she still cried.
Fellow pulled both children close, letting Staci sob into his shirt. He would miss them more than they would ever know.
“Alright! Enough with the wishy-washy, ya mooks!” Roustaf blared. “We’ve got to put a little hop in our get-a-long if we want to make it to the tunnels by nightfall. Everyone is gonna miss everyone, yadda, yadda, yadda, so on and so forth…does that about cover it? Good…let’s get going then…I haven’t cried since my pet Grog died when I was a kid, and I’m not about to let you scrubs break the streak.”
Everyone said their goodbyes and the two groups went their separate ways. Zanell, Pleebo and the children continued on for another day, until they at last located the tiny, barely noticeable puddle that had brought the children to Fillagrou.
Staring at the puddle disbelievingly, while shaking his head, Pleebo faced his sister, “Tell me again how you knew exactly where this thing was?”
Zanell chuckled softly, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. During the course of the journey through the forest, she had tried repeatedly to describe to her older brother just what it was like to have the Elder’s sight beyond sight, but he was not able to understand.
“Let me tell you, sis…it’s not going to be easy coming to terms with the fact that you’re an Elder…I mean, you’re younger than me.” Pleebo added jokingly. He glanced at the tiny puddle just beyond the tip of his long, flat toes and shook his head. “You guys really came here through this little thing, huh?”
Stepping beside him, Donald looked at the perfectly still water, the mid-day sunlight dancing across its surface.
“Yep, that’s the one,” he confirmed, mildly annoyed.
On the other side of this miniscule, nondescript, barely-there puddle was home. Donald had slowly started to resign himself to the fact that he was never going to see it again. He had come to terms with the idea that his family, his friends and everything he once knew was lost to him. Now, only minutes away from returning home, a part of him wished that he could stay, even if it meant spending the rest of his life fighting six-foot tall lizard-men with swords longer than his entire body.
Owen stepped beside Donald, gently dipping the tip of his sneaker into the puddle. “How do we know this is even going to get us home? The first thing I did after arriving here was dive back down and tried to swim back. Obviously it did not work.”
“The doorway will take you home this time,” Zanell assuredly told him. “It chooses to let through who it needs to let through, when they need to be let through. It’s just the way it works.”
“Wait a minute…that doesn’t even make any sense. How do you know that?” Owen asked, annoyed by the cryptic nature of her answer.
Zanell chuckled at the innocence of his question.
After trying to think of a simple way to help Owen understand, and coming up with nothing, she responded simply, “I just do.”
Before Owen could ask another question, Donald interrupted, “Alright then, that’s good enough for me.”
With a gentle shove, Donald pushed Owen into the puddle. Like a stone, the wiry boy sank underneath the murky waters and never resurfaced. The others stood staring at Donald, with a shockingly amused look on their faces.
“Oh come on…somebody had to do it. He would have stood here all day long blabbering on and on.” Donald chimed in, while backing toward the puddle’s edge.
Doing his best to maintain his veil of toughness, he lifted his hand, waving to Pleebo and Zanell. “Well, it was a blast meeting you guys, getting knocked around, punched in the face and having an arrow shot through my shoulder. I hope you understand if I don’t invite you to my mom’s place for Christmas dinner, though.” Leaping back, he fell in with a splash.
The puddle waters settled when Donald did not return to the surface. Tommy tapped Nicky and Staci on the shoulders. “You two go next.”
Staci approached the puddle first. She sat on the ground and slowly slid feet first into the water until her head was bobbing just above the surface. “Ooh, that’s cold!” She shrieked through clenched, chattering teeth. Pinching her nose and closing her eyes tightly she nervously added, “See you on the other side.”
After taking a deep breath, Staci slowly sank beneath the water.
Nicky went under much the same way, his tiny hand waving goodbye to no one in particular as he descended into the chilly abyss leading home. Tommy approached the puddle’s edge and stopped. As much as he understood that he could not stay in Fillagrou, the world waiting for him offered very little. Here he had made a difference. He proved to be something more than he had ever thought possible. He was needed here. Once home he would again be at the mercy of his father. Home would bring only suffering, hardship, frustration and a wealth of memories that the past week had helped him to momentarily forget. At home there would be no powers – at home there would be no way out.
As if she could hear his private thoughts, Zanell told him, “You’re needed there as much as you are here, Tommy…maybe even more.”
Moving closely behind him, Tommy could feel her long, bony fingers resting on his shoulders.
She softly whispered into his ear. “If you only knew how special you really are, Tommy Jarvis…on any world. The gifts you have, the lives you have yet to touch…rest assured that your life is an important one, even when it may seem exactly the opposite. There are different kinds of strength and power comes in many forms.”
Zanell gently squeezed his shoulders and for some reason the gesture made Tommy feel better. There was something in her touch, something in the way her fingers moved that convinced him she did, in fact, understand what he was feeling.
“Will I ever see you again?” Tommy asked quietly, gazing down at his reflection rippling across the water.
Zanell paused for a moment as a sudden jolt of images flashed inside her head. She knew the ending to Tommy’s story already. She had seen it a thousand times from a thousand different angles. She had analyzed the events leading to it and the consequences of it. She had immersed herself fully in its bittersweet nectar, allowing it to absorb into her every pore.
With a heavy head and warm heart she patted the boy’s shoulder gently, whispering into his ear so softly that her words caressed the folds of his brain, easing the burden he had carried for so many years on his young back. “Indeed, you will.”
When she stepped away, Tommy slowly lowered himself into the water. Floating neck deep, he looked one last time at Pleebo, Zanell and the unbelievable beauty of the alien landscape. Closing his eyes, he attempted to capture the image in his brain. He wanted to freeze this single moment in time and embed it forever, somewhere deep in his mind where he could visit it regularly, where he could call upon it when he needed it most. This place had changed him and like all things that have such a profound effect on a person, he was going to miss it.
Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Tommy slowly sank into the chilled water.
Pleebo’s familiar voice however, brought him back to Fillagrou one last time. “Hey, Tommy…”
Opening his eyes Tommy glanced at Pleebo’s rail-thin, pasty white body. Just beyo
nd his head, the sun cut through the tree line, casting long, beautiful rays of light across the forest floor.
“To think, I was thisssssss close to eating you guys after I met you.” Pleebo joked. “Boy, my face would have been red.”
Tommy chuckled while Pleebo laughed loudly at his own joke.
Once his laughter had subsided, he added with a heavy sigh, “Take care of yourself kid.”
After a brief nod, Tommy again closed his eyes, took a deep breath and disappeared below the surface. Two measly pockets of air bubbled after he was fully submerged and then it was over. Pleebo and Zanell stood motionless for awhile, staring at the tiny unassuming puddle longingly, occasionally smiling and breathing deep.
Finally Pleebo broke the silence. “So what now, ‘Nell?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? I thought you knew everything? I thought you could tell me what was happening on the surface of the sun?”
“Oh, I do…and I can…I thought maybe I’d leave it up to you, though. It would be nice if at least one of us was still able to enjoy the mystery of it all.”
Pleebo thought deeply about the offer. “Alright, then. What if I were to say that I wanted to climb that tree right there and lay in the sun until nightfall?”
Zanell smiled at her brother sweetly. “I’d say it was the best idea I’d heard in a very long time.”
*
*
CHAPTER 62
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE…
*
The playground was quiet. Empty chain swings softly swayed back and forth in the summer breeze as the sun began its slow descent over a row of houses off in the distance. Weird little Tommy Jarvis was kicking at sporadic patches of grass sticking through the concrete of the sidewalk beneath his feet, on his way home from an hour of after-school detention. For a month and half, the trip home required a different route than it had before. Not long after returning home from Fillagrou, Tommy and Nicky had been placed in the care of a foster family on the opposite side of town until the State’s case against their father came to a conclusion. Their foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Williamson, were nice, older people, in their late fifties and early sixties respectively. They ate dinner at the dining table every night and insisted on lights out no later than nine. Edna Williamson liked to sew in her free time, while Ed enjoyed puttering around the backyard, never really getting anything of significance accomplished.
Ed and Edna – rest assured, the inherent comedy of their names was not lost on either of the Jarvis boys.
The Williamsons were normal, quiet people who led a normal, quiet life. While they seemed to have taken a liking to Nicky, his weird older brother was a nut they had yet to crack.
They were good people, though, and they were not giving up.
No concrete conclusions were ever really drawn by the authorities as to the whereabouts of the children for the week or so that they had been gone. The children had all agreed to lie, to claim they had spent the time wandering the woods together, like a weird mass-runaway cult. Only Owen Little had actually told the truth. In the end, it did not make any difference because no one had believed a word of his insane story of lizard-men, castles and underground cities dug by hand. In fact, the only thing telling the truth had accomplished for him was convincing his father that he needed therapy. He had been going twice a week ever since.
Tommy thought about Fillagrou since returning home more times than he could count. Often at night, he found himself wide-awake; memories of Pleebo or King Walcott made him grin for no apparent reason whatsoever. He missed them. He missed them a good deal and he wondered how they were doing. How was the war going? Were they alive? Were they dead? Were they hungry? The unanswered questions constantly gnawed at his brain like tiny bugs eating him from the inside. Two weeks after returning home, he had walked to the stream and dove in the water, just to see what would happen. Of course nothing did. Edna had made him dry off in the backyard that night when he returned home so that he would not drench her freshly-cleaned carpet.
Passing through the intersection of Beeker Avenue and Jefferson Street, Tommy readjusted the new backpack the Williamsons had purchased for him a week ago. It was a good backpack, sturdy construction, solid craftsmanship; the likelihood of it ripping anytime soon was small. After reaching the Neilsons’ house on the corner of Cherrywood Lane, he came to an abrupt stop. The Williamsons’ home was only a few blocks away – a single right turn, and he would be there in no more than ten minutes. He would no doubt be greeted by the confusing, tasty odor of whatever lavish, strange smelling meal Edna was cooking for dinner.
If he chose to turn left, the street would take him to his old home and to his father. Not a single day passed by without thoughts of his father entering his mind. When the authorities asked Tommy about the drawings they had found in his tree fort, he answered honestly. He gave the full story, with all its grisly details to a mousy, young-looking blond-haired counselor, very nearly bringing her to tears. He was not sure why he had decided to suddenly speak up. For years he had lied for his father and took the abuse; he had been alive but found little pleasure in life.
Maybe Fillagrou had changed him. Maybe he was different now – or maybe the time had just come.
When the authorities had arrived at the house to remove him and Nicky, to place them in foster care, it was a big spectacle. Neighbors watched from their porches, or hid behind the drapes in their living rooms. Gossipy chatter passed from one home to the next, into stores, businesses, and schools. Everyone knew at least a little of what had happened. Suddenly Tommy realized that everyone was looking at him differently. He had become a sideshow attraction - the poor boy everyone pitied. To this day, Tommy hated seeing the looks on their faces but he understood that it was an unavoidable result of everything that had happened.
He could deal with it, because he had to.
Tommy had not seen Staci in weeks. Like everyone else in town, her parents had felt sorry for the Jarvis boys but wanted their daughter to have nothing to do with them. They convinced themselves that Tommy had brainwashed her, tricking her into running away. After going so long without seeing her face, Tommy realized that he missed her more than he had ever imagined he would.
As happy as he was to finally be away from his father, despite the new problems that came with it, Tommy missed his home. For every awful memory his father had burned into his soul or left clearly visible on his skin, there were equally beautiful memories of a time before his mother had died – of Christmas mornings, and bedtime stories, and laughter.
Home or the Williamsons – left or right? For little Tommy Jarvis, neither direction seemed fully appropriate.
“Hey, Tommy!” The voice came from somewhere behind, off in the distance. Tommy recognized it in an instant. Low, but squeaky, it was layered with a sticky-thick, oiliness, “Hey! Weirdo! Ya, I’m talking to you, freak! Where do you think you’re going?!”
Nathan Gallagher - it had to be Nathan Gallagher. Nathan had been one of Donald Rondage’s goons for years. Recently, though, he had branched out on his own.
Lowering his head, digging his chin into his chest, Tommy started walking as fast as he could, away from the voice.
“Hey, get back here, loser! Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you!”
Despite the fact that he was moving at an extremely brisk pace, Nathan must have been moving faster because his voice was quickly getting closer and louder.
Nathan came to a sliding stop in front of Tommy, the tires of his bike skidding on the sidewalk, leaving black streaks across the top of the cement. “I said…where do you think you’re going, weirdo? No one told you that you could leave, so where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Tommy froze as two more bicycles skidded behind him, killing any ideas that he might have had regarding retreat. He was surrounded by three foul-mouthed teenagers, hungry to pick on him for no other reason than the fact that he was different. Tommy chu
ckled to himself. How little things had changed.
Stepping off his bicycle, Nathan let it fall to the ground
Quickly he moved to within inches of Tommy’s face, his stringy blonde hair hanging over his eyes like a big dopey dog. “You’re new to this part of town, weirdo, so maybe you don’t know that this is my street. If you want to walk on my street, you’ve got to pay the toll.”
Nathan was trying his best to look intimidating, and to most other fourteen-year old children, he no doubt did. Weird little Tommy Jarvis, though, had seen it all. After abusive fathers, giant snarling beasts, and creatures four times his size wielding weapons covered in blood, a fifteen-year-old with a pimply face and braces simply was not going to have the same effect on him.
“Answer me, loser, or I’ll beat your ass worse than your daddy does!” Nathan screamed, shoving Tommy hard in the chest. The blow caused Tommy to stumble, crashing into the bicycles of Nathan’s goons, who instantly shoved him back toward their snarling, foul-mouthed leader. Soon Tommy was being pushed back and forth between the three laughing buffoons, his body bouncing from one angry set of hands to another like a hot potato. Out of nowhere, Nathan delivered a stiff right to Tommy’s stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath from Tommy’s lungs, almost causing him to topple onto the concrete. Three months ago, Tommy would have allowed his legs to give way. Three months ago, he would have curled up on the cement and done his best to absorb the punishment.
Unfortunately for Nathan and his friends, this was not three months ago – nor was this the same weird little Tommy Jarvis.
Gritting his teeth, Tommy pulled the muscles in his legs tight. His hands curled into fists, his body lurching forward at full speed, smashing into Nathan’s midsection and sending the pudgy brute on the grass. The other two goons were on him quickly, punching and kicking at whatever part of Tommy’s thrashing body they could. Absorbing the blows, Tommy managed to push one of them onto his fallen bicycle. The boy let out a yelp as the pedal dug into his spine, sending a sharp pain cascading throughout his lower body. The other boy landed a stiff right to the side of Tommy’s face, catching him completely off guard. One of Tommy’s legs went limp, dropping him to one knee. His head was spinning. The pain in his jaw had spread to his ear but Tommy ignored the feeling and regained control.