Beasts, a monster with three heads, four horses, the Ark, Paper Clip, Mockingbird, Rainbow, drawings of spiders and a bunch of other symbols that I haven’t seen before. All of these things—I would never have thought a jazz-loving alcoholic would bury half of his life into this.
Doubt and skepticism begin to cloud my mind, and my conscious starts to belittle my father with thoughts of ill things that have never come to me before. Was he insane, deranged, paranoid? But suspicion leads to truth, and my father was not a deranged man, yet it seems that he was paranoid. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, since I have inherited his level of paranoia as well. I don’t know what these notes mean, but I know my father would have never hidden them by putting them in the ashes of the woman he loved, my mother. I also read a name that I saw more than once, a person named Bui Herring. My father mentions him throughout the papers, only in initials, but never says who he is.
One message was written out clear to me, like a personalized letter from a king with his royal seal on a wax stamp. It talked of a heist, not with guns and ski masks, but a heist of that which cannot be seen—the ether. Some sort of new technology would be commandeered with the power of the computer. The only time I saw a computer was in magazines and newspapers. It says here that the computer will double in power each year. The plan was to take action on a specific date, and it would take eight years to complete. All of the materials are written down, the places that needed to be occupied, the names of the people who need to be rendezvoused with and manipulated, and the amount of specialized people that needed to be used.
Was my dad a thief? Was this why he was murdered? Why he always stayed in the house and had the doors and windows barred like a fortress when we slept? Was this his life’s work, why he saved my life so I would follow in his footsteps? I only care about who killed my father, and this trail of breadcrumbs will answer all of my questions if I follow the trail long enough.
The next morning, I get called to the office in school. As soon as I open the doors to the office, the secretary is holding up the phone, suggesting the call is for me. I don’t know who this could be. I have no relatives and no friends outside of the Rose and Shady Oaks.
“Hello?”
“Is this the son of Magnus?” a deep and staticky voice on the other end asks.
“Yes this is, and how do you know my father? Who is this?”
“No time to explain. I only have a few moments.”
“Do I know you?”
“We’re very close, son of Magnus. But listen carefully. I’m here to inform you that the tide is coming, and beware, you have a traitor among you. It’s your—”
“Wait. What are you talking about? Who are you? Hello?” Too late, I’m left talking to the dial tone.
The tide is coming? A traitor?
I go through the rest of school, hiding the fact that I’m in total fear of everyone who isn’t my friend. “Mr. Jones! Pay attention!” Just my luck, I thought being in fear was bad, but it’s been trumped by the spite of a harpy.
After school, while waiting for the bus with Steve and Kim, they notice my blank face.
“Hey D, what’s wrong with you, man?” Steve asks, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Biel gave me a week of detention with her,” I say.
“Damn!” Kim replies, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I know. Detention sucks,” I say. “Kim? What’s wrong with your eye? It’s swollen.”
“Yes. Well, a bee outside stung me during lunch. It appears that I am allergic,” Kim says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Damn bees, their lives reflect our situation—we’re a bunch of mindless drones who work until we die. Protecting something that really doesn’t even care for us, but we protect it anyway because we have nothing else. But there was no bee that stung my friend. It was the fists of one of those heathens that have been pestering us for months.
Father always told me sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of the game. But love doesn’t permit me to be so cold. However, the cold of this place has soaked into my bones and corrupted my heart.
Pagan humans used to sacrifice their brethren to appease their gods’ lustful appetite for death and blood. No longer shall we be the birds whose lives dwindle on the appetite of their owners, waiting for the slaughter. This land isn’t pagan, and I’m no idolater. However, a sacrifice must be made to make my plan work.
Chapter 16: The Past. The Birth of the Son of Magnus
“Oh, my. I think it’s time!” she says.
“Really?” the man fumbles. “I’ll get the car ready.”
“Hurry Magnus, my water just broke!”
Panicking, searching the house for his car keys, Magnus dashes out of the house. He comes back and helps her to her feet, with the birth fluid dripping from her dress.
“Okay, hold on, my love. The hospital is only ten minutes away.”
Suddenly the phone rings. Magnus looks at his wife and then looks at the phone.
“What are you doing?” she shouts.
“It could be them,” he says in a concerned tone.
He sits his pregnant and ailing wife on the couch, then rushes to the phone.
“Hello? How did you know? Yes, any minute now. You snake! We had an agreement! Understood.”
He hangs up the phone and helps his ailing wife to her feet and to the awaiting car.
“Who was on the phone?” she asks.
“It was them,” he says with a sigh of discontent.
“What did they say?” she asks, ailing from birth pains.
“Everything is going to be fine, just as I promised. Now, let’s get you to the hospital to have our child, my love.”
Speeding to the hospital, Magnus pulls up to the receiving door, where, strangely, nurses and doctors await their arrival.
“How long has she been in labor?” the straight-faced doctor asks.
“About one hour,” Magnus replies.
She is put on a gurney and rushed through the hospital doors while Magnus follows. They go up the elevator and arrive at the maternity room, where a blond man is waiting, wearing scrubs and a filter mask, but he doesn’t wear a name badge or stethoscope like the other physicians in the room.
“What is he doing here?” she asks her husband.
“He’s just here to give us his blessings, my love,” he says, grasping her hand.
Screams and wailing echo down the hall as she pushes and bears the pain of childbirth.
“Almost there, now push,” says the nurse, with Magnus holding his wife’s hand and wiping the sweat from her head with a damp cloth.
She takes a deep breath and pushes, yelling at the top of her lungs from the effort. Her screams of pain subside when the cries of a baby break through her noise.
The nurse holds the wailing child in her hands. “It’s a boy.” She hands the child to her.
“You did it, my love.” Magnus smiles as he stands by her side holding her hand and looking at the newborn baby.
The child opens its eyes and looks at the two of them.
“Such a beautiful boy,” she says. “He has your eyes.”
“Well, it seems he has both of our eyes,” Magnus says.
“What should we name him?” she asks.
“Let’s name him Aairyk.”
“A beautiful name, for a beautiful baby boy,” she says.
The blond-haired man standing in the corner looks at the thumb-less doctor and nods. The doctor then nods to the nurses, and they rush over to the gurney and begin to place the woman in straps that are fastened to the bed, shackling her legs to the gurney’s post. She looks around in confusion.
“Take him away, and her, too,” the doctor says, adjusting his glasses with his thumbless hand. “Prepare the child for surgery, and place her in a secure holding room.”
“Wait, what are you doing?” says Magnus, turning toward the blond-haired man. “We had a deal, you son of a bitch!”
Four broad-chested me
n wearing suits walk into the room and grab Magnus, wrestle him to the floor and pin him down as he continues to yell.
A nurse rips the wailing baby from his mother’s tight grasp and walks out of the room.
“My baby!” she screams. “Where are you taking my baby?”
“You swine!” Magnus shouts to the gray-haired man. “You will pay for this!” he shouts as he struggles with the huge men holding him down.
The two nurses then wheel his wife out of the room. “Magnus!” she shouts, “Don’t let them take our baby!”
“Please don’t take her! I will do whatever you want! Lara! Laraaaaa!” he shouts from the floor. ”You piece of shit,” he says, looking at the blond-haired man with a low angry tone.
“Now,” the man calmly says while walking over to Magnus, “it would be wise if you didn’t fight this. He wants her back. Did you really think you could have her? She served a purpose, and so did you. But you are a pawn. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that. Help him to his feet,” he says to the four men in suits. “She is gone forever, but if you value your life and hers, you will do what we say. The child will be in your care until he comes of age, and then you will be called upon again. Lara and the child belong to us.” Magnus lets out an oomph as he doubles over from a fierce punch to the stomach. The blond man grabs Magnus by the chin and picks Magnus up to eye level and speaks to him in a slow, gentle voice. “Do you think that is pain? You haven’t felt pain yet. Disobey us again, and you will forever be in agony. You will be rewarded for your tasks, but first you must obey. Yes, there it is. The eyes never lie. Your eyes speak of submission. Your eyes, they speak of compliance. Very well then.” He smiles, patting Magnus on the back while Magnus looks at him in pain and quivering eyelids. “Let’s get you home. There is much work to do.”
Chapter 17: Birds and the Bees, Part 2
The 4th of July is a big event in this Confederate state. Early Sunday mass was particularly abnormal, as Father Gilmore tells us the importance of the day of independence, how God blessed the Americans that fought for it, and of the pride of the South. He points at us—Steve, Kim, and me—and tells us how people like us should feel lucky to live in a great nation.
Mass ends and I see Father Gilmore, Joppy, and a man I’ve never seen before talking outside of the church’s doors. He’s tall and has a professional look about him, like he’s a politician or in law enforcement. He has square shoulders, and his suit fits him like a glove. No beard, just a mustache that looks like a shadow on his lip and a fatigue-colored eye patch. Pasty white skin like he’s never outdoors, probably just stays in a well air-conditioned building all day.
I tell the guys that I’ll catch up with them later, and then I slide around to the adjacent church wall and try to eavesdrop on the conversation. I hear Joppy bragging about how he’s keeping the children in line. Father Gilmore is talking about how he has a fresh shipment of cargo being delivered from a few new places. The unknown man says, “I will need two birds, both male. The elderly are getting restless in their old homes. We must keep our friends happy. Time for a new place to live.”
Still eavesdropping, I continue listening in on their conversation to try and figure out what they’re talking about.
“Hey, fuzz head, what’cha doing?” A voice from behind startles me. I turn around and it’s George the Queer, as I suspected. “What the hell are you doing over here?” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”
“George, why don’t you ever mind your own business? Don’t you have anyone else to pester?” I say, snarling my lip at his usual unexpected presence.
“No, I don’t. Ever since the boys left earlier this week to go and see their pa, I’ve just been wandering around.”
The boys he was talking about are the Dead Ends, who went with their estranged granddad to see their incarcerated father at the state prison. “And you got me a week of detention, you blabbermouth. And where in the hell is my ten bucks? I could kill you for that, you know,” I tell him.
“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he laughs.
“Well, get lost. Go and mind your own business.”
“Hey! Who the hell is over there?” I hear Joppy screaming from around the corner as he must have heard the chatter of George and me. George goes one way and I go another. I run through the grove and through the back door of the cafeteria, hearing kitchen aides and cooks screaming at my intrusion.
I make my way all the way back up to my room and peek out of my window. I can still see the long shadows being cast by the midmorning sun of the four standing together whose bodies were obstructed by the building. The shadows disappear a short time after my eavesdropping fiasco. I stay in my room for the rest of the morning until lunch. Kim and Steve must still be together downstairs in the wreck. It’s safe for us not to be at full strength since the hooligans are gone for a while.
Meeting up with the boys for lunch, I tell them what I had heard between Gilmore, Joppy, and Mr. Unknown, and Steve decides to have a crack at Kim.
“They’re probably eating kids. Kim, watch out, Asians eat cats over in Asia, but over here, Americans eat Asians.” Of course, Kim didn’t get the joke and becomes so upset at Steve that he starts speaking Japanese, cursing until he’s red in the face for Ron saying that he eats cats. These guys will never take anything too seriously unless it smacks them right in the face. I guess I should blame my foresight on the countless books I have read over the past four years. Either that, or I have an uncontrollable state of paranoia. Being chased, even while I sleep, and being double-crossed all of your life can do that to you.
It’s around three o’clock and we are outside enjoying a Sunday without a feeling of paranoia.
“Hey boys!” the pesky George says from a distance, waving his hand.
“What does he want?” Steve says with a look of discomfort on his face. Steve dislikes George even more than I do. George makes his way over to us, probably just to stir our nerves.
“So, are you guys friends with the brothers?” George asks.
“Hell no!” Steve says. “I don’t like any of ‘em and their cousins too. They’ll be in the slammer, just like their old man. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, ya know.”
“Steve!” I say, nudging him with my elbow to his back. “Nah, man, we don’t really have a problem with them. We just stay out of each other’s way, to be honest.”
George pesters us for a few more minutes and then leaves. I tell Steve that he’s stupid for saying what he said about the brothers and he’s going to start an unnecessary beef. George is a blabbermouth, and what comes out of his mouth is twofold of what really happened. He’ll turn a molehill into a mountain.
My last day of a weeklong detention is today. I’m doubly happy about it since I don’t get to be in the presence of that witch for another week or so.
“Get your math book out and open your book to chapter five,” she says as soon as I step foot inside the detention classroom.
Surprisingly, hell is empty today. Guess I’m the only kid she can torment this afternoon. In fact, I didn’t see anyone throughout the entire school except for the guard at the main door and one lonely groundskeeper outside.
“Where is everyone, Mrs. Biel?” I ask, looking about the room.
“Who cares?” she scolds. “Just worry about yourself. You’re staying an extra thirty minutes today because the bus won’t be here until two thirty. So just deal with it,” she says, looking into her notes while sitting at her desk.
I reply with a sarcastic “Sure,” and she gives me a scolding look like she wants to eat my kidneys.
The clock moves at a snail’s pace as time is distorted by boredom. It feels like I’ve been in this room for over three hours, but the hands have barely moved. The room is at a deafening silence. Maybe this is what dying feels like, cold and silent. I can hear the second hand ticking and it sounds as loud as a gavel being slammed by an angry judge. I could hear the wood settling under my feet, creaking and moaning
against nails and screws that fasten the planks to the foundation, and the humming of the lights over my head. A fly buzzing around the room sounded like a fleet of WW II prop fighters. I could even hear the water in pipes behind the wall as it hits the elbows and bends around the corners and under the floor.
She looks different today, a little less evil than any other day I’ve seen thus far. Makeup is applied very meticulously yet subtle, accentuating her facial features. A light rouge on her cheeks, a bit of eye liner and soft colored lipstick and her hair is not in that usual ugly mess of pins today, but up in curls that fall slightly below her ears. She even has on a new set of glasses, and my nostrils can taste a hint of perfume. She looks—beautiful. Maybe she’s going on a date with her husband when she leaves here and she had gotten ready earlier so she wouldn’t waste time after she left babysitting me in detention. Maybe her husband is a punctual man. I think I’ll find out.
“So, Mrs. Biel,” I say as I lean back in my seat and prop my elbow up on the backrest. “Your husband is a very successful man, is he not?”
“What does that question have to do with math?” she snaps. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
“Well, I’m done with my assignment. We have more than an hour to kill, so why not talk. It seems like ever since the first time I walked into your class, it’s always been negative energy, ma’am,” I say.
“Yes, he’s a very successful investment banker, and maybe one day, if you could stop slacking, you could be just as successful as him.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but if he makes all of that money, why are you teaching in a dump like this? Shouldn’t you be teaching at a university or something?”
Chess Players: Atlantis and the Mockingbird Page 11
