The Blood Jewel (The Shomara Diaries Book 1)

by Carol M. Henderson

  “Speak up, Chad. Do you want me to come over?” In the background, I could hear him snuffling. Chad crying? Must be somethin’ pretty awful.

  “Chad, I can’t hear you. Can you come over here?” I asked. “We could talk in my dad’s woodshop. It’s warm and private.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’ll be there in ten.”

  In nine minutes and thirty seven seconds, Chad was standing on my doorstep. Without a word, he made a bee line for our woodshop, went in and shut the door behind us.

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked. “What’s happened? You were fine a half an hour ago.”

  Chad began by saying, “Well, Dad and I were on our way home, see? And Dad recognized somebody walking on the sidewalk across the street. He said he needed to go talk to this guy, right? So he parked real quick and got out of the car.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” said Chad. “And, well, I guess when he got out of the car, he must’ve dropped his cell phone ’cause it started ringin’.”

  “So?”

  “Well, at first, I just let it ring. But when it kept ringing I went looking for it. It was between the driver’s seat and the door.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I was going to take it out to Dad, but I couldn’t see him in the dark, so I decided I would answer it just like Dad always does. You know. All he says is, ‘Yeah.’ So that’s what I did. Just swiped it open and said, ‘Yeah.’”

  “Uh-huh. Then?”

  “Well, I guess the guy on the other end must’ve thought I was Dad, ‘cause he says . . .” Chad’s voice started to crack. “. . . Barry, he says, ‘Sorenson, we think the Mother Load is being moved. We need to grab it before anybody figures out that we know about it.’ Then he hung up, just like that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Chad dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. We were both quiet for a long time. Then, in an effort to get the conversation going again I said, “Listen, Chad. Didn’t you tell me once that your Dad had special military duties?”

  “Yeah,” Chad whispered.

  “Well, maybe this is one of those assignments,” I said.

  “I don’t think so, Barry.” Chad sniffled again. “My dad never messed with money and stuff.”

  “But what else could it be, Chad?”

  Then Chad couldn’t hold back his sobs.

  “Barry! I’m scared my dad’s gone bad! I’ve heard of retired military guys that go rogue. You know. After they leave the military, they use their skills to do illegal stuff.”

  I whirled around and stood in front of him. “Chad, you’ve been watching too many movies. Your dad would never do that!”

  Again, Chad was quiet. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I wish I knew, Barry. Sometimes I think I don’t even know my dad.”

  I feltfor my buddy. How many times I’d heard him say that he wished he had a dad like mine, one that stayed home for more than a month at a time. Now I didn’t even have a dad. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.

  I coughed. “Look, Chad,” I said. “This has to be one of your father’s special operations. You know your dad loves his country and his family. He would never betray it—or you. You know that. Ya gotta trust him.”

  “I dunno, Barry. I wish I could be sure.” Chad got up abruptly and left. As he walked away into the night, I could hear him sobbing way down the block.

  CHAPTER 19: THE CONFESSION

  “Failure to accept responsibility for one’s actions is like spitting into the wind.

  You always end up with slobber on your face.”

  ~Martin Moonglow When I woke up the next morning I had this nagging sense that something was wrong. Yeah, I know. Duh.

  “Hello there, Master Barry!” Martin said with a grin. Great. Just what I need. Mr. “Joy in the Morning.”

  I mumbled, “Mornin’” trying at the same time to focus my eyes on his face.Okay, I know there’s something I have to do. Drat. Why can’t remember? My head feels like a jumble of knots. Come on brain, pull it together. Rolling over, I made to get out of bed, and winced.

  “Aw!” I moaned. “My arm.”

  Then it hit me. Like a locomotive barreling through my body, I remembered. Today’s the day I have to tell Mom about the arcade. The accumulated misery of the last few days crushed me like an empty soda can. I groaned. Doomsday had arrived. Why do I suddenly feel like a rat has gnawed a hole in my stomach?

  “Martin, have you seen my mom yet?” I mumbled.

  “No, Barry, not yet,” answered Martin. “Are you okay today?”

  “No, I’m not okay,” I answered through clenched teeth. “My arm is killing me, and my stomach is in knots.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it, Master Barry?” Martin asked.Okay. Like, on the “Idiotic Question” scale of one to ten, that’s gotta be a seventeen . . . .

  I ran my hands through my hair then pulled myself upright.

  “Guess I’m gonna have to face the music,” I whispered as I shuffled off to the bathroom. Under my breath I growled, “Where’s a Pied Piper when I need one?”

  I splashed some cold water on my face, and checked the dressings on my arm. I was already beginning to bleed through the bandages so I took the time to change them again.

  The sooner I get this over with, the better.

  When I returned to my room, Martin confronted me.

  “Master Barry,” he said, “One thing you need to know before you talk to your mother. You are not to tell her—or anyone—about your spirit sight. The Majesty was very particular about that when I last talked to him.”

  “This Majesty guy is sure pi . . . ,” I started to say.

  Martin cut me off. “Barry, I beg of you!” he said. “It’s not wise to cross the Majesty.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was already feeling like pond scum. “Relax. When I tell my mom that I went to the arcade she’s going to take a blow torch to my hide as it is. If I told her I was seeing weird creatures like you and Amelia, she’d haul me off to a shrink quicker ’n snot.”

  I gave Martin a pat on the shoulder. “You and the Majesty have nothing to worry about,” I said. Under my breath, I muttered, “I just wish I had nothing to worry about.”

  I dressed with great care. So this is what death row inmates feel on the day of execution. Dragging myself down the stairs, I slid into a chair at the kitchen table. Mom sat across from me nursing her morning coffee.

  “Good mornin’, big boy! Are you all ready for this day?” she asked.

  I started to talk but choked. Did I just swallow a pin cushion?

  Mom waited for a moment, then asked, “You feelin’ okay?”

  I blinked and said, “No. Uh-h . . . I mean, my pillow seemed lumpy last night. I didn’t sleep a wink.” Oh, way ta go, Barry.

  Another lie. Your pillow has nothing to do with you not sleeping, and you know it. Mom chuckled. “Well, if I remember right, Columbus brought that feather pillow over with him on the Mayflower. Would you like me to get you a new one today? We’ll give that ratty one a toss.”

  “Uh -h, yeah. Thanks, Mom,” I said. Why does she have to be so confounded nice all of a sudden?

  Mom cocked her head to the side. “So, do you feel like cinnamon rolls this morning, or do you want some scrambled eggs?”

  “I’m not hungry right now,” I said. At least that’s the truth.

  I saw Mom’s eyes fly open. Oo-ooboy. She’s onto me already. Before I could react, she reached over and put her hand on my cheek. “Now I know you’re not feeling well,” she said. “You never turn down breakfast.”

  I felt like I had a choke chain around my neck. C’mon. She’s waiting. Spit it out before you barf.

  “Mom, I’m okay, but . . . but I have to tell you something.” I saw Mom sit back and look at me, her face serious.

  “What’s that, Barry,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. Okay. Now or never.“Well, you know how you always told me you didn’t want me going to the video arcade?”
>
  “Ye-es . . . I’ve said that several times,” said Mom.

  “Um, well . . . uh . . . .” C’mon Barry. Out with it. “Okay, I’ve been going anyway, behind your back. You didn’t know.” I took a deep breath. Then I added, “I’m sorry, Mom. You were right. It’s not a safe place.”

  Mom was quiet for a full minute. I wondered what she was thinking. Probably planning several decades worth of slave labor between now and when I’m carted off to a nursing home.

  “Hm-m,” said Mom. “To tell you the truth, son, I’ve already known about this. Are you aware that Darla down the street works at the Chocolate Factory in the mall? She told me that she saw you down there a day or two ago. Came as quite a surprise to me, Barry. I have been wondering how long it would be before you told me the truth.”

  All I could do was just stare at her. She already knows! Now I’m boiled zucchini for sure.

  “Barry, how did you feel when you disobeyed me like that?” Mom asked.

  Lemme think. Um-m . . . peachy?

  I heaved a huge sigh. “Rotten.”

  Mom nodded. “I knew there was something wrong because

  you’ve been so grumpy lately. After what Darla told me, I suspected that your conscience was getting to you.” She was quiet for another full minute. Then she said, “Barry, you know that disobedience has consequences, don’t you?”

  I felt my chin drag on my chest. Now I’m in for it. She’s gonna grind me up for mincemeat.

  Mom took her time. Then she said, “Barry, I have decided to sell your bike.”

  I snapped my head up.

  “What!” I exclaimed. “Mom. Mom please! Make it some other punishment but not my bike. You . . . you can’t sell my bike!”

  “Well, son, now hear me out,” Mom said. “If it hadn’t been for the freedom that you had because of that bicycle, you would not have been able to go to the mall. As I see it, you had a privilege and you abused it. You used your bike to go places against my wishes.”

  I felt like I had been hit by a nuclear bomb.

  But Mom wasn’t through.

  “From now on, Barry, you will be taking the bus to and from school. Beginning today, you will report to me the minute you come in the door after school. Do you understand?”

  Okay, I knew a confession would be hard, but I never expected this. I kept my eyes trained on the floor.

  CHAPTER 20: THE GATE

  “At the right time and the right place, a new experience can open up a whole new world.” ~Martin Moonglow I was dumbfounded. How could she take away my bike! Not now, just when Chad was back. That bike was my pride and joy. I felt my whole life crashing down around me. What’ll I tell everybody? I’ll be a nobody again. All my hard work over the years to fit in with the guys had just been dumped into the trash bin. No more group rides with the crowd. No more races with Chad in the park . . . . And all because of a fewvisits to a video arcade. It wasn’t fair!

  “You haven’t answered me yet, Barry,” said Mom. I turned away so my mom wouldn’t see my rage. Then I growled, “Yeah, I get it.” Without another word, I got up and tromped upstairs to my room. Martin was there waiting for me, but I was in no mood to talk. Grabbing my books, I stuffed them into my backpack, slung my jacket over my shoulder, and ran back down the stairs. I punched open the front door and slammed it hard behind me.

  Martin did not follow me.

  When I got to the bus stop, I stomped my feet to keep the circulation going. Dang. It was way too early for the school bus. And, of course, it had to becolder than an Eskimo’s icebox out there. I pummeled my arms with my fists. Dag nabbit it! I couldn’t go back to the house now. But waitingfor a bleepin’ bus . . . this was so not-fun. I was turning into a block of ice. Gotta keep moving.

  I kicked a rock. It bounced onto the road and landed on the far side of the street.

  Wait a minute. If I took shortcuts, I could make it to school in fifteen minutes. I launched out across an open lot with a bitter November wind scouring my head. I yanked my jacket collar up around my ears. Blasted wind chill. I’ll be a hoar frost bunny before I get half way there. The more I thought about losing my bike, the more I seethed. The injustice of it all!

  Then an idea struck me. I stopped right in the middle of the field. Why should I go to school? What was the point? It was always the same boring brain mush every day.

  I slammed my fist into my hand. “I’m skippin’ school!” I shouted out loud.

  Then, through chattering teeth, I muttered, “Right, Barry Boy, and just where doyou think you’re gonna go?” I knew Icouldn’t just show up at any of my friends’ houses. They would all be in school. If I went back home my mom would tear into me big time. Mom didn’t have to be to work for another hour and the bank where she worked was not that far from the house. She could zip home on her breaks for any number of reasons. Nope. Going home was out of the question.

  Gramps!I’ll go over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Somehow, I’ll find a way to stay out of sight over there. Yeah. I am so out of here.

  Ramming my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket, I turned on my heels and set out at a brisk pace. Even though my grandparents lived just ten blocks away, I knew they were long blocks. It was a still a good twenty minute walk.

  My mind was racing now. I had never skipped school in my whole life. By the time I got to my grandparents’ house I was having second thoughts. Okay. I can’t knock on the door. Grandma will wonder why I’m not in school. If she calls Mom, I’ll get my hide nailed to the kitchen door. Nope. I’ll hunker down in Grandpa’s special room.

  I knew about Gramps’ secret hideaway out in his tool shed. He often snuck back there when he couldn’t take Gram’s nagging anymore. He had it fixed up pretty nice, too, his own TV, his radio, a stuffed recliner, and a bookshelf full of his favorite shoot‘em-upand-dead’ems. I just hoped the heater was working.

  I slipped around the north side of my grandparents’ house, the side that had only two small windows, and took the long way around to enter the shed. But when I tried the door, it was locked.

  “Drat it all!” I growled, yanking at the handle. The whole world was against me today. As I stood there, I started to shiver again.

  “Sheesh! If I don’t exercise I’ll freeze solid,” I muttered.

  First, going behind the shed, I set my backpack down away from my grandmother’s eagle eye. My grandmother can walk by a window and catch even the smallest detail out of place. My backpack would give me away in a heartbeat.

  To stay warm, I jogged in place for several minutes and slapped my hands together. When my hands turned red and puffy I had to stop. But now, at least, I had some circulation going. I found an old stick lying under the hedge that grew around the perimeter of Gramps’ yard. I picked it up and, stepping behind the bushes, I walked along the fence letting my stick clack the boards as I went. It was an old trick I had learned years ago. It seemed to settle my nerves. Rickety-rack, rickety-rack, rickety-rack. Think, Barry, think. Rickety-rack, rickety-rack, rickety-rack, rickety-rack . . . thud.

  Thud? I stopped and stared. What was that? I scanned the fencing, but I couldn’t see much of it. Grandpa’s old fence was shrouded in thick ivy.

  Now, I admit it. I love mysteries and there was something peculiar about that fence. I began pulling away some of the old vines.

  “Criminy. This stuff is tough,” I muttered, breathing hard. “Gramps, you need a weed whacker back here.”

  Finally, I could see what had caused the thudding sound. It looked like an old gate. I pulled at my lip. I’ve been scraping along this fence for years. How come I’ve never found this gate before?

  I wanted to open it but a there were still a lot of dead brush in the way. I blew on my hands to warm them up. “Here goes,” I said and tore into the shrubbery with a vengeance, whipping up my anger over Mom’s heavy-handed verdict that morning. The fence was so overgrown that I worked a good quarter of an hour before I could see the entire gate.

  “Whew! What a
mess,” I said, puffing hard. Then I stood back to get a good look at it.

  The gate was beautiful in a weird sort of way. I mean, it was a work of art. But it looked so out of place in Grandpa’s ordinary fence. The more I brushed the weeds and dust away, the more I could see that the piece was expertly carved. I ran my fingers over the lines—trees, lakes, deer, wolves, and bears—all created with great precision. Wow. I doubt even my woodshop teacher could turn out something this amazing, I thought to myself. Toward the top, hovering above the scene I could make out a strange bird, sculpted to look like an eagle but with a magnificent, feathered crown and a long, flowing tail.

  I scratched my nose. Why had such a fancy piece been built into this plain old fence? And why let weeds cover something that belonged in an art museum? It made no sense.

  I wondered what was on the other side.

  I scanned the gate for a way to open it. I found a rusty latch but when I lifted it, nothing budged.

  “Yuckers,” I muttered. “I need some kind of tool, something hard to wedge into that crack.” Walking a little ways along the fence, I spotted an old metal brace located high up on the support boards. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was a bit warped, but it would work. Back at the gate I used a rock to ram the brace into the small crack between the gate and the fence. Then, with all my strength, I pushed sideways on the metal brace. The gate began to move, creaking and groaning on rusted hinges.

  In a few minutes, I had opened up a gap just wide enough for a leg and an arm. Worming my chest into the opening, I finally managed to squeeze the rest of my body through. The moment I cleared the gate, it shut behind me with a loud clang.

  At first, all I could see was dense shrubbery. But I followed the light filtering through the leafy canopy above until I stepped out into blazing sunlight.

  I could not believe what I saw.

  “Whoa! Some backyard!” I whispered.

  I was standing on the edge of a hill. The valley that stretched out before me was, well, like a picture right off a calendar.

  This can’t be real. I rubbed my eyes. In all my life I had never seen such lush landscaping. Rolling hills of jade-colored velvet stretched out for miles, giving way to dark, rich forests that nestled at the base of purple-hued mountains. There was even snow on the mountain tops. And was that a river wandering across the plain? I couldn’t make it out except that hundreds of flowering bushes seemed to be blooming along its banks, a garland of flowers flung across a bed of green silk. (Okay, who says poetry is dead?) But I figured there was a river when the flowering trees ended at a cliff and a stunning waterfall tumbled into a deep emerald pool below.