Main Street, Ashton was a quaint part of town. It held tightly on to its old western motif and boasted a population of barely a thousand people on the weekends. I always thought Dad had succeeded in his mission to move us to the tiniest of insignificant towns and as far away from civilization as possible.
Mom loathed Ashton. In terms of suffocation, she often compared it to a python constricting her throat. I, at least, appreciated living by vintage shops like Victor’s, which happened to be the highlight of the town. Jessica and I had met there several times when we were hanging up fliers and at no time was it ever empty.
Outside, I picked up my bike, checked to make sure the mechanics remained in order, hopped on, and put my feet to the pedals. As I rode down the few blocks required to get to my destination, the late summer sunlight reflected off my spokes, making it difficult to read all the street signs or see anything along the lines of a landscape.
The street signs were one of the ways Dad used to coerce Mom into the idea of Ashton. Harkening back to her love of Alice in Wonderland, a Queen of Hearts Avenue led to the richer end of the community and a Little White Rabbit Drive led to the part of the population Mom always mused were doomed to be late everywhere they went. We lived on Hatter Circle ourselves.
As I neared Main Street, I could see the store was packed to capacity with people who must have traveled from all over the state, considering they almost matched the town’s population person for person. A line stretched from the front door all the way down the street. It seemed excessive, but I couldn’t imagine that all of them would deny a flier if I handed it to them.
I parked the bike in the alleyway between Victor’s and a small office and ran up to one of the eager customers: a man in a shiny, purple suit with his pale nose turned up so high he might as well have begged insects to fly in, assuming his blazing red hair didn’t attract them first.
I said, “Excuse me, sir? Sir?” as he swatted at me with one hand while protecting a large object the size of a phone book with the other. I tried again, “Sir? Can I ask you a quick question?”
He reluctantly lowered his gaze. Refusing to address me as anything more than an annoying pre-teen, he sighed loudly and said, “What do you want, boy? I have a very important schedule to attend to. Not everyone could be so lucky to hold my spot in line.”
I did my best to overlook his rude behavior. Considering most of the people in town were quite nice, I was certain the man wasn’t from Ashton. I said, “Everyone looks pretty excited. I just wanted to know who everybody is here to see.”
The man gasped in shock, causing a huge scene for all in earshot. He said, “Who is everybody here to see? WHO IS EVERYBODY HERE TO SEE? I would expect nothing less from someone obviously so uncultured.”
He centered himself like he had been preparing his speech all day. Proudly, he said, “Only the greatest mind of our generation. He is splendiferous, transcendent, even god-like and, of all of the fantastical places in the world, he chose this silly town to sign copies of his new book. Otherwise, I assure you that we would never be having this conversation. MARK. MY. WORDS.”
I took a few steps back. I studied the faces of the onlookers and discovered I was alone in thinking I had made a huge mistake choosing to talk to that weirdo. Each person was equally excited about the signing as he was and some of them were practicing their own monologues. I knew any second there would be a mob decision to take me back down the alleyway and beat me unconscious for invading their territory.
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the rude man clamped my mouth shut with his finger and thumb. He whispered harshly, “I will be damned if an insolent child continues to interrupt the memorization of what I plan to say to Darius once I’m inside. He truly is an extraordinaire. He is the extraordinaire.”
And with that, he faced forward and returned his nose back to its place as bug catcher. I couldn’t wait till one would fly in.
I snuck a glance at the book he had been clinging to so tightly. In big fancy letters it read: Dream to Dare by Darius the Dream Extraordinaire. The cover featured an African warrior dressed in a cloak, slaying a dragon that was flying above a woman sleeping peacefully on a cloud. A little ridiculous, I thought, but I figured if I were going to get the word out about Dad, the size and scope of Darius’ audience made them perfect for my goal.
I pushed my fliers out of my hands and into those of the waiting crowd. A few of them either handed the fliers right back or crumbled and dropped them on the ground. On the other hand, a few of the locals were nice enough to hold on to them, so it wasn’t a total waste.
Exhausted from performing my prepared speech to each person, “He was a good man. Bring him home,” I decided to take a break, assumed a spot at the back of the line, and waited my turn to enter the store.
As I was catching my breath, a hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me around. The owner of the hand, a middle aged black man dressed neatly in a shiny pitch black business suit, said a friendly “Hello.” I noticed a pin on his right chest pocket that featured a paintbrush painting a portrait of the world. I said what anyone else would say in that situation, “Cool pin.”
He took immediate interest in the fliers, saying, “What are these things you are handing out, my boy?” He smiled as he grabbed a few out of my hands. “Reese Quinn, hmm? Sounds like an important man to me. This is your father, I take it? Looks like an honorable man.”
I nodded my head yes, feeling elated someone else was taking an interest in the search besides a few older couples who probably didn’t really know what I was carrying on about.
I said, “He was a good man. Bring him home.”
He placed his hand on my back, “Say, why should we not go inside and spread the word out about your old dad? I love adventures. I am sure it will be an easy time finding an interested party to help us out.”
I said, “Really? I mean, you are actually going to help?”
He pulled me past the waiting line, saying, “Why not?”
The heat of the crowd’s glares crawled up my neck, and I was surprised when their rage switched to shouts of joy when they looked over my shoulder and saw who was helping me inconvenience their day. I peered at the man to see if he was doing something to entertain them. Their stares were beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.
I attempted to pull away, saying, “Should we be doing this? I mean isn’t there someone signing autographs inside? Honestly, I can wait. No one cares enough to help anyways—”
A member of the crowd ran out of the pack and knocked me out of the way to shake the man’s hand. It caught me off guard until I saw the big poster hanging from one of the bookstore’s windows. Everything from the brown mocha skin, to the black suit he wore matched the man in the poster to my friendly helper. I already thought he had a magical air about him, and now he happened to be the man everyone came to see.
“You are Darius?” I said.
He laughed a big, boisterous laugh. I was already nervous, considering I was not familiar with the guy, and it was bad enough that he stood just over six feet tall, but his personality made him appear twelve feet taller. I was an ant in a giant’s kingdom.
He said, “It is a rare find when I go on tour that I meet someone who does not know who I am. I find it quite refreshing. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr.?” He reached out his hand.
I shook it, unable to control the look of surprise on my face. There was still hundreds of people waiting to meet him and he had come up to talk to me to deal with my problems.
“Alan—Alan Quinn,” I responded modestly.
Almost on queue, the whole crowd rushed to him, blocking any through traffic on Main Street. I would have been swallowed up if Darius hadn’t maintained his tight gr
ip on my shoulders. Once again, I was thankful.
Darius raised his right hand and gently waved it around the crowd to signal a perimeter. When they finally settled down, he made an announcement. His voice as smooth as silk, the crowd captivated, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, before your eyes stands Darius the Dream Extraordinaire and I DARE. YOU. TO. DREAM.”
A loud, girlish scream rose over Darius’ voice in the back of the fan fare, “Darius! DARIUS! OH MY GOD, DARIUS.” I did not have to look over the masses to figure out it was the snobby ginger man I had talked to in line.
Darius continued, “Quiet, my children. You have come here to honor me and my exploits. For that, I cherish you wholly in my heart of hearts.”
The crowd cheered in hysterics.
“I, however, have arrived with a stronger motivation that I would love all of you to hear.”
The snobby man waved his hands wildly over his section of the mob, “Tell us what it is. I’ll do anything you ask. OH MY GOD, DARIUS.”
Darius placed his hand against his right ear and pretended to wait for everyone’s answer. He said, “If I am not mistaken, I do not think anyone wants to hear.”
The crowd screamed. I ducked my head due to the people overload. Darius said, “To help this boy find his father. What could be more magical than that?”
Painful groans swept the crowd. Darius lowered one of his hands under my chin and lifted my head. He whispered in my ear, “They will come around. Let us head inside.”
He guided me all the way past a pyramid made of copies of his book and directly to the signing table that was decorated with minatures of planets. A poster of a cloud was just above the table with handmade lightning bolts hanging over it. It was beyond gimmicky, but I appreciated it.
Darius took a seat in a large leather chair behind the table. He called one of the associates over who bolted in our general direction. Darius said, “Find my clever friend another chair like my own, could you?”
The associate’s face reddened, “That is the only chair like that we have.”
Darius stared directly into his eyes with cold anger.
The associate replied, “Yes, Darius, sir. We will get right on it,” and had two other associates get a regular chair together that they stacked a few pillows on. I would have been happy just to have a seat but that worked fine. I assumed my spot next to Darius and waited for the signing to begin.
The tension hanging in the air with the large crowd outside was nothing compared to the lucky people that were allowed to enter Victor’s first. They anticipated Darius’ autograph by licking their lips like wild beasts ready for the kill. I worried they were going to attack me at first oppurtunity.
Each customer in the store, mad as a bull in Pamplona, held their merchandise for Darius to sign. Darius shrugged their intensity off with class and inserted a flier into each one of their books. It was easily the nicest thing a stranger had ever done for me, so why did I feel like there was a catch? The air about him gave me the uneasy feeling I had known him all my life.
“Why was he so familiar?” I wondered.
I shifted my attention to one of his books lying on the corner of the table to clear my mind. The ridiculous cover broke up my worries like they were made of styrofoam. I could not help but burst into laughter once I realized it was Darius on the cover lifting the massive sword over his head in preparation of decapitating an evil dragon before it could chomp down on the damsel in distress. I wished my dreams were that cool.
Darius signed a few more copies. He said to me, “What is so funny, little Quinn?”
I gazed at the cover again, “Your book cover. It reminds me of some of the silly stories Dad used to tell right before he disappered—or ran away.”
“It is not so uncommon for a group of friends to have the same kinds of dreams,” Darius mused. “Every picture you will find in there is a drawing of an actual dream I have had.”
“Friends?”
“Did I say friends? I meant fellow—people.”
He was not the best actor. I could not decide if he was one of those play it for the cameras kind of guys who did anything to impress fans or perhaps he truly meant every word he spoke. Darius’ way with words was a clear indicator as to why he had such a large following. I still couldn’t put my finger on why he chose Ashton of all places for his book signing.
While Darius was too busy recounting a few of his legends to his fans, I sifted through the book. I almost had a heart attack when I got to the dedication page. In big letters and unmistakable print, it read:
For Reese Alan Quinn
A true collaborator, A true visionary
I had heard of coincidences, but that one grabbed the cake and threw it out the window. That book was either dedicated to my father or someone else on this planet had his full name and his affinity for dreams.
The few pages after the dedication were even weirder. There were photos of Darius leaping off the Hindenburg before it went up in flames, others of him having a sword fight with Adolph Hitler, and one other of him riding a giant whale I assumed was supposed to be Moby Dick. Perhaps they were just dreams he’d had and maybe then I would understand, but I could not place my finger on the picture located at the bottom right corner of the last page.
An ancient looking photograph, too realistic to be photoshopped, had a young black boy in overalls, maintaining an emotionless expression. I had taken enough history classes to know the photo had all the signs of the days of the earliest cameras. If you moved you got a blurry picture. Was it a picture of Darius? Doubtful. It would have made him easily a hundred and fifty years old, but curiosity overcame me.
I said, “Mr. Darius, uh, sir?”
He ignored me, saying, “I think this is going quite well, son. Fans are getting signed copies of my book and the word is getting out about your father. If victory had a name it would be Victor’s Books and Coffee.”
I grinned weakly and drew his attention to the photograph with some well timed elbow nudges. Not wanting to sound like a total idiot for thinking otherwise, I asked him if he was related to the boy or if it was one of his dream portraits. He delivered an ice cold stare, sending a chill up my spine. It even frightened a few of the people standing in front of the table.
Then he laughed until he coughed. He said, “Honestly, this is my Great Great Great Grandfather, Fredrick. It may be a hard part of my ancestry’s past, but it is better to reflect than to ignore. It is one of my most frequent dreams, you know?”
“You look just like him.”
I pulled the book in closer to study the outline of the boy’s face and matched it with Darius.
He just chuckled, “I believe so, too. Fredrick is an unsung hero of sorts. He is quoted as having sworn to his slave owners they could rob his people of their freedom but never of their dreams. It is a motto I strive by.”
“So, I was looking in the book and—”
“And?”
“Did you know my father?”
He winked at me, stood up, and announced to the crowd, “Autographs will be on hiatus until this afternoon.”
Most of the crowd pouted, coupled with some words Mom would never allow me to say. The guy in the purple suit had to be dragged out of the store kicking and screaming by a few associates after he drove his entire body into the book pyramid in protest.
When the store cleared out, Darius and I watched a few store associates scramble to get the store clean for another round of pandemonium. Awkward did not begin to describe how I felt.
Darius turned to face me, “I am going to let you in on a little secret. I caught wind of your father’s disappearance a few days ago and requested my tour be moved to Asht
on. He is, if you have not guessed, an old friend.”
He continued, “As you can see in my book, your old man and I have known each other for quite some time and I would be lying if I said I did not know who you were when I met you today. You might say I have been a vital force in the survival of your family even if I have not seen them up close in some time.”
“You are my Dad’s employer?”
“I prefer colleague, but employer has a nice ring to it. We have put in a lot of field work together over the years, generating lucrative results. That is, until he met a group of paranoids.”
I mouthed the words under my breath: dream chasers.
“Is that what they called themselves?,” Darius smirked, “I am the only one that stood up to him when he started talking about the—how should I put this?—the dream world. And why should I not have? His imagination is what got me into writing and I have a lot to thank him for, which, under better circumstances, I would be doing today.”
I hoped he wouldn’t notice my eyes glazing over from ingesting the new developments. What were the odds I would walk into Victor’s the same day the man who had financed my family for years was having a signing?
Darius opened his book to the middle to show me a chapter labeled Draio. He said, “All that talk aside, his babbel about his dream world inspired this chapter.”
The pictures on the page depicted ancient, mystical dragons breathing fire and other clichés dragons are known for, but the fire wasn’t burning anything to the ground or creating horrific chaos for anyone around.
The flames were creating castles, plant life, and producing a magnificent sapphire sky. Whenever fire came to mind, I imagined poor people and animals losing their homes and the sadness that followed. The pictures only made me think of one word: magic.
Darius pointed to the text, “It is an interpretation, of course. Your Dad told me about this particular dream and I added it to the book like I always do,” he straightened his suit jacket. “Alan, I want to try an experiment.”
“What sort of experiment?”
He winked again, “Some secrets are not meant to be passed on, but I assure you it will not only reveal the location of your father, but it may also prove Draio is a real living and breathing entity. What do you say to that?”
I looked into his eyes lamely, “I thought you didn’t believe him.”
Darius insisted, “A theory remains a theory until proven valid. What do you say to a little bit of adventure?”
Just glad there was someone out there as interested as me in finding my father, I considered shaking his hand on it. I said, “Maybe Mom would be happy to see a familiar face.”
His eyes were a shade tragic, “I am sorry?”
I said, “It’s a small town and the nearest hotel is miles away. Is this experiment something we can do at my house?”
He nodded. His voice a little shakier than it had been, he said “I suppose that would be a nice venue for such an experiment. I-I assume your mother will be there?”
I said, “Would that be a problem? You got her that piano. I just thought—”
He resumed his cool nature, “Yes, indeed. That will be fine.”
I hopped up from my seat, knocking the pillows over in the process. I said, “Ok, I will let Mom know you will be over for dinner?”
Darius bowed from his spot, “Would not dream of missing it.”
Quickly, his attention turned to a specific corner of the room. His face filled with alarm, I looked over my shoulder but saw no one there.
I said, “Are you alright?” but received no response. “I’ll be going now.”
He shook his head slowly like he had seen a ghost, but I shrugged it off on my way out the door. Like I said, he wasn’t a very good actor.
The Silhouette (Alan Quinn and the Second Lifes) Page 2
