by Ryan Conway
SPENCER CALLAGHAN
THE FIGHT FOR HEAVEN AND EARTH
A FANTASY NOVEL BY
R Y A N C O N W A Y
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, works of art, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
SPENCER CALLAGHAN
The Fight for Heaven and Earth
Copyright © 2018 by Ryan Conway
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United States of America.
Dedication
For Kaeden, Alesha, and Saffanah, that you may find the courage, the wisdom, and the will to fight, overcome, achieve, and discover the most amazing things ahead of you.
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Graduation
Chapter Two: Special Visitors
Chapter Three: Party Crasher
Chapter Four: Hospital Visit
Chapter Five: Police Interview
Chapter Six: Campus And Coffee
Chapter Seven: Chinatown Troubles
Chapter Eight: Escaping The City
Chapter Nine: Xin Manor
Chapter Ten: The Research Center
Chapter Eleven: Shuttle Run
Chapter Twelve: Jiangshi
Chapter Thirteen: Wudang And Chinese Medicine
Chapter Fourteen: Knowing Heaven And Earth
Chapter Fifteen: The Tent
Chapter Sixteen: The City Under Sichuan
Chapter Seventeen: The Great Escape
Chapter Eighteen: The Drake Equation
CHAPTER ONE
Graduation
T he grounds of West Augusta High School were newly landscaped, and the flowering bushes, planted during the spring, were in full bloom. The scent of freshly mown grass lingered in the air. Signs and banners hung from the school building, and the decorated chain-link fences surrounding the campus bore the school colors, green and gold, and the school's mascot, a bipedal crocodile.
The school itself was mostly empty, though cars, trucks, and vans filled every spot in the neighboring parking lot. Small groups of people assembled on the pavement and walked across the schoolyard, toward the steep flights of bleachers surrounding the school's sports track and field. A small, makeshift stage stood at one end of the field, and over 200 metal folding chairs were arranged in a square formation, parted down the center by an aisle ten feet wide.
It was a beautiful, sunny day at the end of May, the perfect day for holding a graduation ceremony outdoors. Spencer Callaghan sat among the honor students of West Augusta High School, waiting impatiently for their graduation ceremony to commence. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the end of his high school career—but then, that experience was nothing new. Despite his scholastic aptitude and intelligence, he was notorious for his indecisiveness. He was uncertain about which career path to follow and what to study in college, but that wasn't unusual for a kid just graduating high school. Beyond that, though, he was inherently reluctant to make immediate decisions, routine choices, and even necessary judgement calls. The people who knew him best realized it was because he had so many interests that he couldn’t pin down just one and focus on it. Everyone else just figured he was flaky.
The only important life decision Spencer had ever made without a second thought was which college he wanted to attend. When he was a child, his parents had told him about Isaac Francis Claremont University in upstate New York, repeatedly lauding the establishment for its uniqueness and unconventional body of teachings. They'd even visited it once. Even though Spencer had been young at the time, not yet ten years old, he'd never forgotten how intriguing IFCU had seemed. He'd developed such a deep-rooted interest in the institution that he'd been wanting to attend ever since.
One of the reasons he didn't know how to feel about graduation was the fact that his parents were unable to be there and celebrate it with him. They'd been killed eight years before in a disastrous car accident about which questions still lingered, especially for Spencer. He wondered if the accident had been related to his father's work—if it had, in fact, been an accident at all. His dad's professional life was still shrouded in mystery. There had been a lot of speculation about the events leading up to the crash, and theories about it had circulated for years among his family. Spencer had always suspected some form of foul play; the car had been demolished almost beyond recognition. At their funeral, Spencer wasn't allowed a final glimpse of his parents, because it was conducted as a closed casket ceremony. His last memory of them was receiving their hugs and kisses before they bid him and the babysitter a good night as they left to attend some sort of dinner party.
Fortunately, Spencer was a remarkably adaptable child, which made major life changes less challenging for him than most. He'd lived with his Aunt Sandra and Uncle George in Augusta, Georgia since the accident. He still missed his parents daily, but they hadn't left him before imparting an influential amount of their knowledge and wisdom. All the discipline, ambition, and focus they instilled in Spencer had finally paid off, and the day he had long anticipated had finally arrived.
The character traits for which Spencer was most notable were fairness and empathy, even if both were in short supply as he impatiently waited for the guest speaker, a state senator, to quit talking. He was also unimpressionable regarding popular opinions and social trends—another reason he wasn't impressed by the politician—which enabled him to search deeper within his own convictions and empathize with others, a characteristic most people would rather marginalize and ignore in themselves. He didn't belong to any cliques and never had; he felt he didn't fit in with most groups, which he supposed was true of most teens at one time or another. That was probably the reason so many people gravitated toward him. On the other hand, those same character traits meant that he was a confirmed introvert. As friendly as he was on the surface, he cherished his privacy, and had never dedicated himself to school clubs, organized sports, church groups, or social events in general. He prided himself on being reserved and patient, which made him a great listener—but hated the fact that he was exceptionally passive and shy, which made him socially awkward at times.
The guest speaker was winding down, finally. Spencer shifted in his seat and glanced down the row of chairs at his friend Blaine Jacobs, who was wearing his letter jacket under his graduation gown. Spencer smiled slightly. While he avoided organized sports, he was more physically fit than most of the jocks around him. He was ambidextrous, too, and exhibited excellent balance and agility while engaging in extreme sports. His favorite activities were surfing in the summer, snowboarding in the winter, and skateboarding whenever the weather permitted it. Unlike most endeavors, in which he was inhibited and overly cautious, he was fearless in stunt-related sports—though few realized it. Those and his three years of Tae Kwon Do earlier in his adolescence had left him physically and mentally balanced to an extent that was unusual for anyone, much less a high school boy. He'd only given up the martial arts because while he had demonstrated outstanding agility and balance performing katas, he lacked the confidence and aggression required to win sparring matches. He didn't mind risking himself, but he wasn't interested in hurting anyone else.
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br /> Perking up a little as the principal started to speak prior to calling graduate names, he rubbed his forehead, and hoped the faint twinge in his skull didn't herald something worse. Although he was in excellent health, he suffered periodic migraines and frequent smaller headaches. The peculiar thing about the headaches was their trigger, which was more psychological than physical. It wasn't related so much to stress or depression as it was to rhetoric and irrationality. Somehow, he was acutely aware of blatant false witness accounts, slander, false justifications, and even the myriad white lies that kept society running smoothly at other people’s expense. He figured the guest speaker had been just a tad too cheerful and promising about their prospects after graduation; but certainly more for political narrative than anything else. Par for the course; you didn't go up on stage and remind a group of hopeful young adults that they were graduating into an economic downturn, where few could expect to ever make much more than a living wage—no matter how true it might be.
Because his "detector" was always on, Spencer avoided network news and radio shows that were based on opinionated propaganda rather than substantial issues. Fiction didn't bother him, but political debates could incapacitate him with blinding migraines, often accompanied by nausea and vomiting. An honest disagreement or discussion was safe, but the more the talking points ventured from the truth or were predicated on false rationalizations, the worse his head hurt. Ranting and narrative-bending for the sake of social or political advantage, or just to slander someone, literally made him sick.
Spencer and his fellow seniors had taken their seats in their caps and gowns, anxiously awaiting for their cue from the faculty to proceed up onto the stage. The bleachers on both sides were jam-packed with proud parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and restless children, all waiting just as anxiously. The honor students wore gold sashes with their gowns and were located at the front of the line. At the very front of this group was Stacey Peters, the valedictorian, who would take the chair closest to the podium for easy access during introductions and speeches.
As the principal launched into his praise of this particular senior class, gushing about how it was the best he'd ever had the privilege of guiding, Spencer's head started to throb. He shook his head in aggravation. He'd never known Principal Briers—a man as prickly as his name—to look in favor on anything any of the students under his care ever did. Why couldn't he just shut up and get on with it? It wasn't as if the students and their families didn't already feel the excitement of graduation. Come what may, the seniors had reached a milestone in their lives—and from that moment forward, they were capable of molding their own futures into professional lives of their choosing.
The headache faded as Spencer felt a surge of genuine happiness. Like his physical attributes, his personality was well balanced; or so his friends and family claimed. Spencer, on the inside looking out, didn't know what the big deal was. But his fellow students admired him for his empathy toward others, especially those less fortunate than he. His sense of fairness and justice was even stronger. He despised false witness, no matter what his personal opinions of the victim happened to be. When someone lied for the sake of marring another's character, Spencer felt that was just as heinous as committing a crime—and his "detector" never let him miss such a lie.
Spencer had seen too many people with bad reputations sincerely attempt to turn their lives around and change for the better, only to be falsely and conveniently accused of wrongdoing in order to protect the reputations of the actual perpetrators. No matter the social strata that kind of slander occurred in, Spencer always tried to right the wrong when he could. He did so even at his own expense, to the point where people who knew him or his reputation were more likely to reconsider any circumstance if he spoke up.
Spencer's best friend and loyal confidant, Thomas Englewood, poked him in the ribs and murmured, "Dude. Stop squirming." Tom was smarter than Spencer; he was this year's salutatorian. Given his wealth of knowledge and sharp mind, he could easily have been the valedictorian, but for some reason he'd always seemed to hold back. Thomas was an energetic and jovial guy, a charismatic social butterfly on the surface; but Spencer had the privilege of knowing him on a deeper level. He was well-traveled for his age, and what impressed Spencer most was his body of wisdom, which seemed to surpass his years. He served as a positive role model for both his peers and underclassmen, and often acted as Spencer's moral supporter. Sometimes, he was even Spencer's protector. They'd first met during freshman year, when Thomas had come to Spencer's aid against a bully, using his wit to defuse the situation. They'd been best friends ever since.
Although he had always spoken proudly of his father, whom Thomas described as a diligent, traveling physicist, Spencer had only ever met Tom's mother. He and Mrs. Englewood had moved into a house in Augusta the year before Tom and Spencer had met. Spencer thought Tom's mother was just as interesting and unique a person as Tom, who seemed even more well-travelled than her son.
Spencer's Aunt Sandra and Uncle George sat in the bleachers with their two youngest children, David and Sarah. Aunt Sandra and Spencer's dad had been siblings, and she had accepted the title of Spencer's godmother. The untimely deaths of his parents automatically left him in the custody of his Aunt Sandra, and he became a loved and accepted member of her immediate family. The inheritance money from his parents, to which he had no access until he was eighteen years old, was going toward his higher education. He believed it was what his parents would have wanted for him, and he also knew he'd likely go broke if he didn't invest in his future first. As willing as his aunt and uncle were to put Spencer through college with the rest of their kids, they were also extremely pleased with Spencer's decision.
At home his headaches often started while Uncle George was watching his preference of cable news; mostly groups of pundits with some politically radical and questionable, right-winged viewpoints. Some of them espoused pretty hard-core platforms, often arguing with even more irrationally radical and poorly spoken, far-left guests. Many people who criticized and opposed the network's “journalistic” methods accused it of being mostly filtered, oblivious, and xenophobic, but it aligned with Uncle George's worldview more than most other news outlets did. Spencer's older cousin, Michael, was a political science major in college; and when he had colleagues over for debate practice, Spencer often felt the onset of one of his headaches.
The family had no idea why debates and arguments caused Spencer's migraines, but when regular pain medication failed, they took Spencer to the hospital, where he received shots of prescribed painkillers on just about every visit. Spencer's interest in medicine wasn't limited to his bouts with headaches and receiving pills, though. He'd entertained the thought of making it a career, but wasn't entirely certain if that was the path he wanted to take. Getting accepted into Isaac Francis Claremont University was the primary goal of his educational ambitions at the moment, and he had already received his letter of acceptance.
IFCU had been on Spencer's mind for the last three years of high school. He was fascinated with medicine, mostly because it was a pure science. Even though the field had its share of unanswered questions and daunting scenarios, it wasn't opinion-driven—just cut-and-dried, fact-based problem solving. To Spencer, the body was like a machine; if something went wrong with some of the parts, there were rational ways to fix them. If a solution wasn't immediately obvious, then you turned to controlled tests until an answer was found. This made perfect sense to Spencer, and appealed to his meticulous nature. Best of all, the efforts and advances in medicine helped people recuperate from injuries, cured them of diseases, and saved lives. There was no sense of purpose more satisfying in Spencer's mind, yet he still wasn't sure if he wanted to become a doctor or researcher.
Spencer slumped in his chair, sighing. This should be a joyful occasion, but his parents weren't here… and he still didn't know why. No one would talk to him about the cause of his parents' death, no matter how hard he pushed; after eight ye
ars, it still bothered him. If they'd just tell him, maybe he could get past it, have a little closure. The best explanation for the car crash was road conditions or human error, but Aunt Sandra still suspected foul play related to Jason's career. Their car was discovered in a totaled heap in a wooded area fifty feet from a major highway. Some speculators believed the accident was the result of one of Spencer's parents drinking and driving under the influence… but that level of irresponsibility was out of character for both his ex-SEAL father and his traditionally-raised Japanese mother. Spencer himself believed it was something more diabolical, in part because of the abominable headaches he got when government officials and his father's "friends" tried to tell him otherwise.
Jason Callaghan had worked for a government agency, but it was never clear which one. If their death was related to his father's work, then why was his mother, Aiko, also killed? Collateral damage? That question haunted him. For so-called national security reasons, Spencer and the rest of his family were denied access to all but the most basic information regarding the case. At the age of ten, Spencer was already realistic about whether he would have been allowed any specific knowledge regarding what had really happened, but it infuriated him that his entire family was denied any details. What bothered him even more was that their funeral was a closed casket affair—so the last time he had physically seen his parents was ten days prior to the funeral. It took the government that long to release their bodies to their families… and Spencer wasn't sure that what they had buried had actually been his parents.
He closed his eyes. He could still remember what they were wearing the last time he'd seen them; they were dressed elegantly for the evening. The mild aroma of flowers and cologne emanated from them as they walked out the door. It was a comforting memory, and that's how he wanted to remember them. Usually, closed casket funerals meant that something terrible had happened to the deceased, so maybe it was for the better that Spencer hadn't seen them. On the other hand, he wished he could have seen them again one last time, regardless. Then, just maybe, he would have come that much closer to finding closure.