by Chris Miller
“I FEAR NO ONE BUT THE AUTHOR!”
The move was executed with precision, just like in the movies. The stall door exploded open with surprising force, and I jabbed the mop handle into the stall with a vengeance. What I found lurking behind the door was far worse than I ever possibly could have imagined. I was staring into the wide-eyed face of none other than Mr. Tanner.
He was seated comfortably on the toilet, reading a science magazine, wearing a pair of earphones and an expression that was priceless. Even though he did not yell, as many might have in that situation, I can honestly say it was the first time I had ever seen a look of shock on his face.
For one awkward moment we just stared at each other in silence. I dropped the mop, realizing I had just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. He was the first to speak, his dry monotonous voice as calm and steady as ever.
“Well, Mr. Brown, we meet again!” He raised one thick eyebrow ever so slightly and I knew I was in deep…deep…trouble.
In no time at all, I was whisked to our new principal’s office. “Sit,” Principal Strickland said, pointing firmly at the hard wooden chair in front of his desk. I snapped into the cold seat as quickly as possible, not wanting more trouble than I was in already.
Strickland motioned for Mr. Tanner to close the door. The principal’s office was frigid and very dark. The broad window that spread out behind the principal’s desk was heavily shaded to block out all traces of sunlight. The only light that remained was from the glow of his oversized computer monitor, which cast a very unflattering hue onto Mr. Strickland’s face.
I couldn’t help but compare how much things had changed since Ms. Pickler had been principal. Even though I had tested her patience at times, she had always been somewhat reasonable. Firm, but fair. Strickland, on the other hand, seemed to relish his power as principal.
As for the room itself, I hardly recognized it now. Before, the walls were painted bright yellow and decorated with family photos and teaching certificates. Of course, that was before Ms. Pickler decided to retire over the summer, leaving Destiny Hills in the lurch and desperate for a new principal. Unfortunately for the students, Mr. Strickland had answered the call.
He had a very different approach, to say the least. Being an ex-military man, he kept things in order and had little sympathy for mistakes. His simple decor was much more formal and functional: large desk, white walls, green metal file cabinet, wooden chair and air conditioning…lots of air conditioning. The room was so cold I imagined it could easily serve as a refrigerator.
A long awkward silence passed as Strickland flipped through a folder marked “Brown, Hunter” that had somehow already found its way to his desk before I arrived. I thought it best to remain silent and so I waited. At last he broke the silence.
“Explain yourself” was all he said.
I launched into the story about my mysterious stalker and how I ended up in the bathroom, mistakenly shoving a mop into Tanner’s stall.
“So you see, sir. It wasn’t my fault at all; it was an accident.”
“An accident? How curious. See, I’ve been informed that you don’t believe in accidents—that you had a problem with Mr. Tanner’s teaching this morning. Am I to believe that as unlikely as it seems these two incidents have nothing to do with each other? Hmmmm?”
I gulped. “No sir, they don’t.”
“Outrageous,” he said, leaving the word hanging in the air for a moment. “Let me remind you, Hunter, I’ve been a principal for fourteen years now. Just because I’m new to this school doesn’t mean I’m new at this game.”
“G-g-game?” I asked.
“Oh, don’t play games with me. I know who you are, Hunter—the perpetual goof-off who seeks popularity from his peers by arranging pranks at the expense of others. It’s pathetic really. In fact, based on your record, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long without a single suspension. Of course, there is always a first time for everyone.”
“You’re going to suspend me for this? But…I didn’t do anything.”
“Assaulting a teacher is a very serious matter, Mr. Brown. I can assure you I am well within my rights to suspend or expel you if I choose.”
Obviously my reputation as a prankster in school last year had done damage to my credibility—a fact I was not proud of.
“But I’m telling the truth, I swear. I saw someone in the hall,” I explained.
Strickland didn’t wait to hear me finish; instead he exploded. “Listen here, young man!” Strickland yelled, putting extra emphasis on the word young. “I have no time for your childish games. Imaginary stalker or not, I run a tight ship and I expect everyone to follow my rules. I do not tolerate this kind of insolence in my school. Do you understand?”
Miserable, I nodded, giving up any hope of being understood.
“Good,” he said, leaving a pause for thought. “Now for your discipline.” He clasped his hands together in front of his lips to consider his verdict.
There was a sudden knock at the door and a flood of light burst into the dark room, breaking his concentration.
“A word, Mr. Strickland, if you please?” a woman’s voice called from the doorway. I turned to see who it was but the light from the outer room only allowed a shadowy silhouette to appear. Her tone was firm but soothing.
“Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he growled.
“It’s about Hunter; it can’t wait” came the reply.
Mr. Strickland scowled and rose from his chair, none too pleased that his session with me had been rudely interrupted. The two spoke in hushed tones outside the door for a minute.
A moment later Strickland returned. He was in a noticeably different mood, almost cheerful. I hardly recognized the man.
“I’m terribly sorry for the interruption; it couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid,” he said. Then he continued, “What were we talking about again?”
“My discipline,” I answered sheepishly.
“Discipline? Why on earth would you need that? No, no…a boy like you just needs a little guidance from someone who can help you make good decisions. That’s why I’m making a suggestion for you.”
He scribbled something barely legible on an orange sheet of paper and slid it across his broad oak desk.
“Here you are. I really think you could benefit from a visit with the school counselor. She can do wonders, that woman. I’m sure you’ll find her insight to be enlightening. Think you can handle it?”
“Sure,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. Since when did Strickland care about what I thought?
“All right then, off with you! Your friends will be wondering where you are by now,” he said with a wink.
I embraced my freedom and bolted for the door as fast as I could. That room gave me the creeps and the chills. I couldn’t wait to get out.
Entering the outer office, my pace only slowed long enough to take a quick look around for whoever had freed me from the discipline of Mr. Strickland.
The only person in sight was Ms. Trudy, Strickland’s secretary, who was wearing earphones, humming a show tune and typing feverishly at her computer. She seemed completely oblivious to my presence as I exited the room. Not wanting to risk the chance of getting called back, I quickly ducked out into the hall and made my way to my next class.
Chapter 4
Sheppard the Shrink
The remainder of my school day flew by without incident. Rumors of what I had done to Mr. Tanner spread quickly. By lunch nearly everyone in school had heard one version or another of the story. To some I was the freak with the mop, to others a hero. I wanted to tell them the truth about what had happened, but I had to face the fact that nobody would believe me if I did. Besides, in the end I knew it didn’t matter what I told them anyway. Now, I was more worried about what I would tell Mom.
Stopping by my locker to collect wha
t I needed to take home with me, I found an official looking note stuck to my locker door. Printed across the top were the words, “From the Desk of Ms. Sheppard,” with a campy image of our Destiny Destroyers’ school mascot at the foot. The handwritten note in between read:
Hunter, I spoke with your mother earlier about this morning’s incident. She agreed to allow you to attend an after-school counseling session. Please meet me down in counseling room, B-10. Ms. Sheppard
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said aloud after reading the news. This day was going from bad to worse. Then again, it was the school counselor who bailed me out of Strickland’s discipline. I at least owed her one for that.
Slinging my stuff back over my shoulder, I re-read the note.
B-10? Where was that supposed to be? Basement level?
As far as I knew, the school had never made use of the basement for anything but storage. But, when budgets get tight, pretty much anything goes, I figured. Taking the hall to the staircase I followed it down to the basement doors. I knew that in the past these doors were always locked, but today the CUSTODIAL STAFF ONLY emblazoned doors had been left ajar.
Even before entering, I could smell the distinct mixture of cleaning solvents, rubber and aged dust. I choked a bit on the smell as I peeked in, more uncertain than ever that I was even looking in the right place.
If you have ever been in a basement storage facility, then you know what I saw under the dim fluorescent lighting: rows and rows of shelving stacked high with equipment and supplies; plumbing pipes and air ducts running across the exposed ceiling; access to water heaters and air-conditioning systems. It looked like a high school basement, except for the plastering of “feel-good” inspirational posters framing one of the doors in the back wall. B-10. Bingo!
A poster taped to the door greeted me with the message, “Change can be beautiful!” and featured an oversized butterfly newly emerged from its cocoon as its spokes-bug.
Oh, spare me, I inwardly groaned. The cheery butterfly took a few raps between its eyes as I knocked on the door.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
No one answered, but the door did open slightly, giving me a peek at Ms. Sheppard’s accommodations. The warmly lit room revealed walls painted in soft shades of green, which served as a backdrop to a series of gently curving, hand-painted messages on topics like “Respect,” “Decisions” and “Trust Yourself.”
“Hello... Ms. Sheppard?” I called tentatively into the office as I entered. Plush, padded carpet and a sweet, pleasant aroma were the first tips that this was no ordinary office. Whatever utilitarian function this room had served before was lost in the transformed tranquility that now occupied the space. Four overstuffed chairs and a pair of cubed end tables were arranged perfectly amidst a modest garden of potted plants, living quietly in the corners.
It was remarkable how much sunlight seemed to fill a room set partway underground. The overall effect was quite calming. Oddly, for being an office, there was not one filing cabinet, desk or even a stapler to be seen. Quite a stark contrast from Mr. Strickland’s “strictly business” office.
My gaze landed on a silk cloth, partially covering a glass ball set in the center of one of the end tables. I figured it was a fish bowl though why it was covered I hadn’t a clue. Curiosity got the best of me and I wandered over to take a closer look while waiting for Ms. Sheppard to appear.
A most unusual sound caught my ears as I neared the bowl. I heard a rumbling tone, like the purr of a cat. One thing was clear, whatever lay beneath the silk was no fish. I lifted the corner of the cover just enough to peek beneath it. The glass walls of the orb were thick and tinted, obscuring whatever hid inside. The purr grew louder as I gazed into the ball, straining my eyes to see through the darkness.
Nothing was there, but the sound continued. It was almost as if the ball itself was purring.
As I extended a finger to tap the side of the glass a startling pair of giant blue eyes suddenly opened before me, hovering within the darkened orb. I pulled my finger away in fright. The eyes were glowing with a light all their own, watching me as if they could see into my soul. All at once I wished they had never opened.
“Mine,” a raspy whisper resounded in my ear. I had seen enough. Dropping the silk cloth over the orb, I turned to leave just as the door to the room shot open and a short woman stepped in boldly.
“Ah-ha! There you are,” the woman said, startling me in the process. “I’ve been looking all over school for you. I thought you got lost so I stepped out to check upstairs. I’m so glad to see you made the effort to come.”
She was a petite lady of Asian descent, smartly dressed in a professional skirt and blouse. Her straight black hair was loosely pulled back into a sort of low, twisted ponytail held in place by a set of ornamental sticks. The trendy look was completed by a pair of sophisticated, rectangular glasses tinted slightly pink.
“Hello, Hunter,” she continued, turning to me in greeting and thrusting out her hand. “I’m Ms. Sheppard, the school counselor, but you can call me Connie.”
“I’m Hunter,” I replied a bit sheepishly as we shook hands, realizing she had already said my name. “Nice…uh…office you’ve got here.”
“Office? Oh heavens, no. Wouldn’t that be nice?” her light laughter filled the room. “I’d love to do away with my desk, believe me, but it tends to be a necessary evil for me to do my job properly.” She held her hands out, “This room is our Serenity Center.”
My blank stare prompted further explanation.
“It’s sort of experimental right now, hence the odd location, but the concept is to have a room set up to provide reflection time for students I’m counseling—like an oasis. How often do we make poor decisions when we are under stress?” She smiled confidently in answer to the rhetorical question. “Please have a seat and we can get started.” She closed the door and indicated for me to take my pick of the chairs.
As warm and inviting as the place seemed, I couldn’t get over the feeling that I was still being watched from beneath the silk. As a result, I ended up picking the chair closest to the door. Ms. Sheppard took a seat somewhat opposite me, arranging a notebook and file folder on the end table next to her. Once everything was in order, she neatly crossed her legs, clasped her hands and began in a calm, steady manner.
“So, Hunter, I’ve been made aware that you had a bit of a rough morning today with Mr. Tanner. I would really like to hear your side of the story.”
If I told the truth, my side of the story would make me sound like a lunatic. Nervous about how I should respond, I lowered my eyes and found myself staring at my shoes for answers.
“I… It’s just complicated” was the best I could manage as an explanation, remembering how Strickland had responded to the truth.
Ms. Sheppard gave a knowing nod. “I understand, and when life gets complicated things get all out of whack, don’t they?”
I nodded uncomfortably, choosing not to look up at her.
“Still that was no reason to attack Mr. Tanner,” she scolded.
“It wasn’t about Mr. Tanner,” I clarified, looking up at her for the first time since we had met. “There was…someone else.”
“Okay, can you give me a name?”
I shook my head. I could only imagine what kind of name a mysterious agent of the Shadow might have been given. I wasn’t even about to bring up all of that with the counselor. Instead, I only shared the basics. “I thought it was someone else in the bathroom.”
Putting down her pen, she looked me straight in the eye. “Hunter, let me remind you that this is a safe place to talk. What you say in here stays in here. It’s just you and me. I’ve heard and seen a lot of things that are probably stranger than what you have to say.”
“I doubt that,” I replied, unconvinced that she could possibly understand.
“Fair enough,” she concede
d. “Then how about I go first?” She cleared her throat. “I believe there is more to our existence than meets the eye.”
Something about the way she chose her words and her careful delivery of them struck a chord with me. Not willing to completely trust her yet on this subject, I pressed her further.
“Like what?”
“Like other forces at work in our world that we don’t always see. I believe there is another realm of reality that many people never realize is there. How is that for crazy talk?”
“Well, it’s certainly not going to make you very popular with most people,” I quipped, thinking of how my biology class would have responded to her.
She laughed in agreement. “True, but being labeled a shrink doesn’t do much for me either.” I tried not to smile as she poked fun at herself. Taking a more serious tone, she followed up by saying, “So then, do you think I’m crazy?”
“Not really. There might be something to what you’re saying.” I was actually more intrigued than my casual response revealed.
“Good,” she said, smiling sweetly and changing positions in her chair. “Then we’re on the same page. So how about that crazy explanation of yours now? I’m listening.”
“Alright,” I nodded, feeling a little more at ease with how she might receive what I was about to share. After taking a deep breath, I began slowly describing the disturbing events involving my mysterious attacker. Ms. Sheppard didn’t blink once, but continued to nod understandingly as she intermittently added notations to her paperwork whenever something piqued her interest. One thing led to another and, before I knew it, I had shared more about my experience in Solandria than ever before. After I had finished, she gave me a reassuring smile, “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I guess not.” I let out a breath in relief. It actually felt good to have someone listen to my story, to all of it, and not doubt me for once.
“Tell me, Hunter, have any of these individuals—this Evan or the Codebearers—contacted you since you returned home?”
