Will Wilder #3

by Raymond Arroyo

  “I have wondered that.” Then conscious that he had said too much, he retreated to formalities. “How do you know about the prophecy? Who are you?” The woman clucked her tongue and retreated to the fireplace, saying nothing. Baldwin tossed the spear against the doorjamb in disgust, as if it were suddenly on fire, and pulled at the cabin door. “I can’t hurt the boy.”

  “Then you hurt yourself. Imagine where Will Wilder will take your community. Let your mind wander to the troubles he will bring as he grows.”

  His head aching, Baldwin grit his teeth and yanked again at the door, which refused to yield to him.

  “Have it your way,” the woman said quietly. “You’re free. Perhaps I’ll take my own trip across the river someday soon—let your Brethren know about our little visits. They’d be fascinated to learn how their noble vicar spends his free time. Or I could always have a chat with little Will Wilder. Tell him all about Baldwin’s visits with the Witch of Wormwood.”

  The door flipped open. Baldwin glared at the shadowy figure in the corner of the smoky hovel. He snatched the spear and bolted from the cabin without another word.

  * * *

  In the Peniel community room, Abbot Athanasius intently read a column in the Perilous Times, surrounded by his fellow brethren playing board games, reading, or in the case of the rotund Brother Amalric, arranging stamps in a thick leather binder. Athanasius adjusted the half-glasses at the end of his nose and cleared his throat in a way that let the others know he was concerned about something.

  “What’s up, Abbot?” Brother Ugo Pagani honked in his best Bronx library whisper. He was pinning rare insects to an absolutely frightening shadow box. “You’ve been clearing your throat for about ten minutes, so it’s either postnasal drip or a beast’s in your bonnet. I’m guessing it’s the latter.”

  Snapping the paper, the abbot shot Ugo an irritated look. He carefully refolded the newspaper and hung it on a wooden dowel in the corner. “There was a grave robbery at the de Plancy Cemetery. I suppose these things happen. But usually there are missing articles, not missing bodies.”

  “Maybe somebody wanted a couple of gold fillings and left their pliers at home. Popped the carcass in the car and made a house call.”

  “Have some respect for the dead, Ugo.”

  “You know I’m kiddin’,” Ugo said, driving a pin through a hard gray insect with two talons and eyes like red marbles. “The body snatching is weird.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” the abbot said. “Why don’t you and Tobias go down there and investigate. You’re the scientist of the community. Let me know what you discover. And lie low.”

  Ugo closed the lid of his shadow box. “Lie low? It’s a cemetery, Abbot. The residents probably won’t be paying us much mind. Do we have to go now or can we go tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow will be fine. But don’t make assumptions about the residents there. Someone is disturbing graves and stealing bodies. I’d like to know why.”

  “Can’t you just wait for the next news report like everybody else?” Ugo asked. The abbot shook his head slightly and vacated the community room.

  * * *

  Squatting behind some brush along the riverside of Wormwood, the white-haired woman in green and her dog silently watched Baldwin place the spear in his flat boat and paddle back toward Peniel. The golden growled from the back of his throat. She scratched behind the dog’s ear.

  “I worry about going back to the other side too. But we may have to, Raphe. This one’s up to no good. We’ll have to watch him—and keep tabs on that old hag.” She didn’t dare say anything more. In silence, she checked the rotten roots and dead branches surrounding her for any movement and listened for the dangerous clicks and growls she knew all too well.

  Will shut the door to his room and stared at the book bag in the center of the carpet. He paced around it the way a starved mouse might consider a hunk of cheese on a trap. He had been wanting to touch the relic in the bag since he got home, but between dinner and homework, he hadn’t had a moment.

  The football tryouts on Monday afternoon weighed heavily on Will that night. He barely picked at the taco and rice dinner that his mom had made just for him. The idea of confronting Caleb and his crew on the field ruined his appetite and actually made him a little nauseous. His only consolation was the thought that he might be able to balance the scales with a little supernatural assistance.

  Will threw himself on the floor and unzipped the side compartment of the backpack. He carefully pulled out the chain attached to the silver locket. It glimmered as it came into the light. He didn’t want to touch the talisman holding Samson’s curled locks for fear that it might blow up his fingers or something. The hair looked so ordinary under the glass, he wasn’t even sure it still possessed any real power. For a brief second, he thought of putting it down. But curiosity, as it often did, got the best of Will and in an explosion of confidence, he pulled the chain over his head. Crouching on the floor of his room, he waited for some surge of power, some sensation to confirm the potency of Samson’s locks. His wait lasted about thirty seconds.

  Will’s heart suddenly felt as if it were enlarging. Heat filled his chest. The blue button-up shirt he wore tightened around his torso and arms. He ran over to the mirror in his bathroom. He wasn’t the Hulk, but he was a little beefier than he had been seconds earlier. Will undid the strained top button of his oxford and peered inside. His chest was ripped. Wide-eyed and eager to test his strength, he reached down for the metal trash can in the corner. It was stainless steel with a hard bottom. He held it in his two hands and applied the lightest pressure. CRUNCH. The thing collapsed like a paper cup. Tugging at the sides, he tried to return the can to its original shape, but his adjustments only made it worse.

  “I’ve got to be careful with this,” he said, delicately placing the warped can back in the corner. He ran into his room and tried to think of another way to test his power. I could lift my bed or the dresser. That’s it. I’ll try the dresser. What could go wrong? As he reached under the chest of drawers, shattering plates and yelling from downstairs stopped him.

  Opening the door to the hallway, Will leaned on the door frame and listened.

  “What is wrong with you, Deb?” his father, Dan, shouted uncharacteristically. “Those were my mother’s dishes. I’m trying to help.”

  “You’re not trying to help. You’re trying to control. That’s what you do. You have to control everything,” Deborah Wilder ranted.

  “Most people would welcome their husbands helping with the dishes.”

  “Not when their husbands turn their music off.” The music blared again. It was the incessant beat of Cassian that Will had heard at the park and that his mother had played throughout dinner. “I am more than capable of stacking dishes without your help—and don’t touch my music.”

  “You…you broke that dish on purpose,” Dan stammered.

  “Now you know how it feels when someone takes it upon themselves to ruin something you cherish.”

  “I turned down a song. What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with me.”

  Will scurried down the staircase and poked his head in the kitchen just in time to see his mother slam the dishwasher shut. “It’s all yours. Stack them to your heart’s content,” Deb spat at Dan. “I have some work to do.” She stamped down the hall into the den and without looking back added, “Don’t touch the music volume, Dan. I’m listening. Leave it alone.”

  Will’s dad stood beside the counter looking as if he had been punched in the belly. He was clearly thrown by Deb’s change of mood. Her explosive anger and sharpness were out of character. She had taken to yelling in recent days, something she rarely did before—and then only in extreme circumstances.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” Will asked.

  “Your mother is under stress or…I don’t know, son.” />
  “She was in a daze yesterday too. At the concert in the park she was totally out of it.” Will had an idea. He reached for the volume knob on the speaker beneath the kitchen cabinet and turned it off.

  “Turn it back on!” Deb bellowed from the den. “What did I just say?!”

  Will quickly turned the volume up.

  “That’s weird, Dad.”

  “I know.” Dan removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “She’s attached to this Cassian guy’s music for whatever reason,” he whispered. “She’s been talking about him since Friday. She says it’s calming and freeing.”

  “Doesn’t look too calm or free to me,” Will said, surveying the dish fragments on the kitchen tile.

  “Just give your mother some space. She’ll be back to her old self in a day or two.” Dan squatted and began picking up the broken dishware. Then having caught sight of Will, he stopped. “You could use a haircut, son. Getting a little shaggy.”

  Will hadn’t realized that his hair had grown by half an inch and his formerly straight hair had a touch of curl to it. “I guess you’re right,” Will said guiltily, catching his reflection in the kitchen window.

  Dan resumed his glass collection and said quietly, “Is this the worst music or what?”

  “I can hear you, Dan!” Deb yelled from the other room.

  Will nodded his head without a sound and quickly raced up the stairs. Marin’s and Leo’s heads were protruding from their bedrooms.

  “What’s wrong with Mommy?” Marin whispered in a way that could be heard down the block.

  “She’s fine. Just needs some alone time probably,” Will said unconvincingly.

  Leo frowned at his brother. “If she keeps screaming like that, we’ll all need some alone time.”

  * * *

  In class on Monday morning, Caleb Gibbar gripped the desk across the row from Will with quaking hands. Without much prodding, he could have ripped the desktop off its metal base and flattened Will with it.

  Mrs. Belcher had sprung one of her pop quizzes on the class. Her question was straightforward: “What were the events that started World War I and II? This is for extra points.”

  When no one raised their hand, Will did.

  He was in the middle of discussing the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria when Caleb snarked beneath his breath, “You talk like you were there, Wilder.”

  Will’s friend Andrew, who sat behind him, whispered, “Let it go, Will-man. Just keep doing your thing.”

  But Will refused, and for a split second glared at Caleb. He then turned to Mrs. Belcher and in the sweetest voice said, “I don’t want to hog all the time. I think Caleb wants to finish the story. Go ahead, Caleb. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take over.” He smiled a syrupy smile at Caleb.

  Andrew sat back in his chair and smacked a palm on his forehead. “Here we go again.”

  That’s when Caleb white knuckled the desk. “Uh…uh…I don’t have nothing else to say,” he muttered.

  Mrs. Belcher, a thin woman with probing gray eyes, walked down the aisle to Caleb’s desk. “You might have more to say if you did your home reading. See me after class, Caleb.”

  The bell rang and the room exploded with the clamor of books slamming and bags zipping.

  “See you on the field, big guy,” Will said, bolting down the aisle.

  “Oh, you’ll see me,” Caleb said to himself, watching Will leave. “You won’t be able to miss me.”

  “Why did you have to set Caleb up like that, Will-man?” Andrew asked, catching up to Will in the hallway. “That was not cool.”

  “You didn’t hear what he said. He’s a jerk.” Will headed toward the locker room.

  “This isn’t going to help you with the guys on the team.”

  “Ask me if I care,” Will said, pulling the pith helmet brim over his eyes.

  Cami and Simon dodged classmates until they reached Will and Andrew.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Cami asked, grabbing Will by the arm. “You know Caleb didn’t have a clue about those wars.”

  “And what’s going on with your hair there, Curly?” Simon asked, tilting his glasses for a better view of the curls beneath the pith helmet.

  “It’s growing, okay?” Will stopped and faced his friends in the hallway. “Back off, guys. Caleb jabbed me and I jabbed back. It was nothing. He deserves to be embarrassed.”

  “Maybe it’d be best if you didn’t try out for the team today,” Andrew warned. “Caleb’s going to be good and ticked after talking to Mrs. Belcher. It could get ugly on the field.”

  “You’re right”—Will smiled—“ugly for him. See you later, guys.” With that, he pushed the bar on the metal door and exited the school.

  Cami remained behind with Andrew and Simon. “Will is losing it. He’s delusional.”

  “For a kid who’s about to get slaughtered, you’ve got to give him points for confidence,” Simon squawked in his high-pitched way.

  “I can’t stay to watch the tryouts. Text me what happens, Simon. The only thing I’m happy about is: you’ll be out there with him,” Cami said to Andrew. “He’ll need some friends on the field.”

  “He’ll need an ambulance,” said Andrew before breaking into a sprint for the door.

  “Wait up, Lummox,” Simon said in gangly pursuit. “Should I get some bandages from the school nurse?”

  * * *

  As Will closed in on the locker room, a vaguely familiar voice called out to him. It was Renny Bertolf, pasty as ever, waving a bony hand in the air. “Today’s the big day, huh? Are you ready? Do you think you’ll make the team?”

  “I think I might. We’ll see.” Will stopped for a second. He felt sorry for the scrawny kid, who was all alone. Glancing over Renny’s sweatered shoulder, Will checked for the approach of Caleb or his pals. “How are your classes going? Are you making friends?”

  “Nope. I don’t think the kids here like me.” He stared at the ground, pushing long, weedy hair from his eyes. “I’m trying. I’m kinda—you know—shy. I’ll be watching your tryout. I really hope you make the team.”

  “Me too.”

  “Is that bully Caleb going to be there?”

  “He’ll be there.” Will smiled at the boy. “Make sure you stay for the whole tryout. It’ll be fun for us.”

  “For us?” Renny asked, brightening.

  “Just watch.” Will winked at him and ran into the locker room.

  Most of the team had assembled on the field while Will quickly changed into uniform. Andrew yelled into the locker room: “Will-man. The coach has already called your name. I told him I wasn’t sure you were trying out, kinda hoping that you’d drop—”

  “Oh no, I’m ready,” Will said, snapping his helmet into place.

  Somehow Andrew thought the uniform seemed to fit him better. “I’ll try to stay close to you in case there’s trouble or anything.”

  “It’s okay, big guy. I’ve got a plan.” Will had that look in his hazel eyes and the mischievous grin that usually preceded buildings crumbling, water rising, or monsters appearing from nowhere. Before Andrew could recover from the look or muster a response, Will clapped him on the shoulder and marched out the locker room doors. Even with the pads on, Andrew felt the sting of the friendly blow. He rolled his shoulder a few times, grimaced, and followed Will onto the field.

  “Gentlemen, those are the two teams. Caleb, you’ll be quarterback of the A team. Sam, you’ll be quarterback of the B team,” Coach Runyon barked at the boys on the field. “Mr. Wilder. B team. When I call roll, you’d better be on this field in uniform, son.”

  Several members of the A team (including Caleb) and a few of the Bs sniggered.

  “It won’t happen again, Coach,” Will said, rushing to join his B teammates.

  “Better not.” The coa
ch blew the whistle, and the teams separated for stretching and then the kickoff.

  The kick to the B team was high and Andrew easily caught the ball. He ran about three yards before a tidal wave of opponents smashed him to the ground. Will was shocked by the power and aggression of the opposing team. “You all right?” Will asked Andrew as the pile atop him scattered.

  “After I find my right leg, I’ll be fine.”

  “I thought I told you not to come back, Wilder?” Caleb called out as the lines re-formed, his nostrils flaring. “Last warning.”

  Will said nothing and looked away.

  After the spike, Will ran into the backfield. The ball came sailing his way. He reached up and…nabbed it before running as if he were on fire. “Guys!” Caleb yelled, pointing to the boys nearest Will. Suddenly three huge boys closed in on him. Will didn’t change course; he didn’t duck to the right or the left, but ran straight toward the rushing players.

  They extended their arms and prepared to knock the much smaller boy down. This coordinated approach had stopped guys four times Will’s size.

  Will pulled the ball to his chest and went straight at them. The first opponent leapt at Will, arms open. Before the kid knew what had happened, he was on his back near the sideline. The second and third boys flanked Will, hoping to tackle him from both sides. Will threw his right shoulder toward one guy and his left to the other. The boys went flying backward like they had ropes tied to their torsos. He didn’t stop to check for damages. Will ran all the way into the end zone until he heard the whistle blow. Coach Runyon was beaming, scratching notes on his clipboard.

  “Go get ’em! Whoo-hoo!” Renny Bertolf yelled in his raspy voice from the bleachers. Andrew, like the rest of the team, was slack-jawed. Even Caleb watched the scene in shock. He tore his helmet off for a clear view of just what the heck took out his three strongest teammates. They were still splayed out on the field, rubbing their respective backsides, elbows, and shoulders.