Wind Catche

by Jeff Altabef

  Most of Roundtree’s blood has washed away, but crimson stains darken the dirt at the base of the maple tree. The stains cause me to shiver and remind me of the seriousness of our situation. This isn’t some adventure for children. These people won’t hesitate to kill us.

  I turn the handle to the back door, and it opens with a creak.

  Light flows through the windows in little streams. Dust particles swirl in the air.

  “What are we looking for?” Troy asks.

  I ignore him. He hates the silent treatment, and I’m not prepared to let him off the hook so easily, so I creep toward the living room in silence. Sicheii follows behind, a thin smile stuck on his face.

  The last time I was here, Troy almost died. I sneak a glance at him and shudder. For a second, I expect the van to pull up, but shove that thought from my mind. I have to be stronger than the van.

  I lift the charred hide I noticed the last time we were here and show it to Sicheii. “This was more than just an old painting. This had a picture of a Seeker on it, right?”

  He nods. “It was made around the time the Order was established. I bought it when it was brought into the gallery. I’m not sure what it meant. Roundtree and I prayed on it and even spent a couple of days in the sweat lodge, but the Wind Spirit failed to give us a vision. We were going to give it to you when you were ready.”

  “So that’s why they burned it. They didn’t want any evidence of a Seeker around.”

  At least one small mystery is solved. Still, it won’t help us find the Book of Gifts, so I move to the center of the room where Gold Tooth threw me to the floor and glance in the direction where I saw the twisted arrows symbol, but nothing unusual glimmers against the wall.

  Blood rushes to my head. I didn’t imagine the symbol. It was here! The room looks the same as it did the other day. There’s no sign anyone else has been here. No one could have removed it.

  Maybe I’m just not looking in the right place. What was I doing when I saw the symbol?

  I close my eyes and remember. Gold Tooth had tossed me to the floor. I stoop low, bending at the knees. The light reflects off a speck of silver in the corner of the wall. I smile and point. “Look over there, Sicheii. You’ll find the twisted arrows.”

  Sicheii glides toward the wall and swivels his head toward me.

  “Look close to the ground, right in the corner.”

  He stiffly squats and, after a few seconds, his fingers brush against the silver twisted arrows symbol. “Well done, Juliet. The Wind Spirit has spoken true.”

  Troy and I join him. He tries to pry open the wood paneling with his hands, but his fingernails slip against the smooth wood. “Get something hard, Troy. We need to break through the paneling.”

  Troy finds a heavy metal bookend on the floor shaped like a bison. He returns and bashes the bison against the cherry wood three times before the wood splits. Sicheii touches his arm to stop him, brushes away the splinters, and finds a small leather notebook hidden within a hidey-hole in the darkness.

  He smiles and lifts the leather notebook toward me. I hesitate for a second and sigh. I want this all to go away. The small notebook looms large. It’s real, and if it’s real, everything else is. I don’t want to touch it, but whatever this craziness is, I need to find the rest of the puzzle pieces, some of which are in this notebook, so I grudgingly take it from him. The cover has the same silver rectangle symbol for the Wind Spirit etched on it as the Book of Knowledge.

  I try to flip open the book, but it’s sealed with wax.

  “The Book of Gifts is only to be read by the Chosen. It has been sealed for over two hundred years,” Sicheii explains.

  “Terrific.” I use my thumbnail to cut through the wax and open the notebook. I expect to find pages with the unreadable symbols like those in the Book of Knowledge. Instead, the book is really a box, which holds a small crystal vial the size of my palm. I shift the box and a clear liquid sloshes to one side.

  “What’s this?” I ask Sicheii.

  The liquid inside the vial turns red and starts pulsing.

  My heart skips a beat and so does the red fluid.

  Each pulse of light from the vial coincides with my heartbeat. When my heart quickens, so do the pulses.

  “What should I do with it?” I ask Sicheii.

  He bends his neck back, closes his eyes and begins to hum, softly at first, and then progressively louder. After two minutes, he makes a loud popping sound, opens his eyes, turns toward me and shrugs. “I got nothing. What do you think you should do? You are Chosen.”

  “Thanks.” I frown. “I think I’m supposed to drink the fluid. The pulsing light seems connected to me.” I lift the box with the tiny bottle close to my face. No design graces the surface, just the smooth edges of the vial and the pulsing light from the liquid. There’s no top, so how am I supposed to pour the liquid out to drink it?

  “Let me try the potion first,” Troy offers. “It might be dangerous. Coyote is a trickster. This might be a trap.” He sticks his right hand out, palm up.

  I swing the box away from him. “You had your chance to protect me. You should have considered that before you lied to me.” He steps back as if I had slapped him.

  I reach into the box and lift the vial with the tips of my fingers. When my fingers touch the glass, the pulsing stops, the fluid turns blood red, and the top of the bottle disappears.

  Everyone makes life-changing decisions. Sometimes you don’t realize how important the decision is when you make it, like when my mom slept with Ayden. She didn’t know she would become pregnant, yet it happened anyway, and her life was forever changed. Other times, you know the importance of the decision before you make it, like when Sicheii injected me on the day of my birth. This is one of those times. I decide to be bold and bring the edge of the vial to my face, feel the smooth surface against my lips, and tip it upward.

  The liquid is thick and syrupy and tastes like roses. Upon contact, my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and the back of my throat all freeze. I swallow and the frigid sensation spreads throughout my body.

  I start to shiver. The cold threatens to overwhelm me and I crumple to the ground. A million tiny bees sting my insides at the same time, and I squeal.

  Everything changes.

  I have only been in the ocean once, when I was eight. Mom and I stopped in Santa Monica before going to Disneyland. I wore a pink two-piece with Little Mermaid characters on the bottom and seashells on the top. The air smelled of salt water, suntan lotion, and fun. People laughed, music played from a nearby portable radio, and a man sold ice cream from a box he had strapped over his shoulders.

  I stared out at the waves, lost in the beauty of the ocean when the man called out, “Ice Cream!” I turned and saw a boy my age race toward him with money squeezed tightly in his fist. He stumbled on the sand and face planted. I looked at my mom, who was frantically pointing toward the ocean. I turned and a wave blasted me in the face. I flew backward, tumbling along with the wave and sand and seashells, drinking in the ocean water in gulps. As suddenly as the wave hit me, it receded, taking water and sand and shells with it. A moment later, Mom grabbed me. I’ll never forget those two feelings—the first, a sudden explosion of energy and the second, a draining sensation as the wave retreated.

  The same thing happens now. A million thoughts and images flash through my mind, flooding me with energy much like that wave. Then the energy leaves me just as suddenly as it came. The crystal vial drops from my hand and rolls toward Troy along its side until it clunks against his sneaker.

  The bottle has turned black and has cracked.

  I close my eyes and my world turns black as well.

  I wake and find myself in a well-worn leather chair, Roundtree’s ravaged living room scattered around me. Troy stands close, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes full of worry. He shifts his weight from leg to leg.

  “I’m all right,” I say, my voice husky as I rub my aching head. Stars float in front of me, and my min
d feels sluggish as if it’s working with a few seconds delay.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” Troy asks, his voice sounds as if it passes through a tunnel.

  “It’s obvious what happened.” Sicheii smiles. “The Wind Sprit blessed Juliet. She is the Chosen and will deliver us.” His voice is wrapped tight with confidence and years of certainty.

  A weird sensation rifles through me like someone is tickling my brain with a feather. I shake my head, clear my vision, and chase the stars away. “I’m not sure what happened. One minute, I was freezing cold, the next - stinging pain everywhere, and then I was flooded with... thoughts.” I don’t know a better way to describe the rush that whipped through me.

  “Thoughts?” Troy asks. “Do you remember them?”

  I frown. “Some of them.” I rub my eyes. The tickling stops and my mind clears.

  Sicheii leans forward, his voice breathless with anticipation. “Did the Wind Spirit show you the rest of your gifts?”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Sicheii. It only reveals the gifts my body is ready to accept.” I’m not sure how I know this but I do. Part of me is amped from the fluid, and the other part is scared like I’m a child who learns how complicated and unpredictable life really is for the first time.

  I glance at Troy. I’m still angry with him, so my tone is frosty. “Toss me that bison you used to break the wood.”

  He retrieves the solid brass bookend from the corner of the room, dusts off a few loose splinters, and hands it to me. I concentrate on the muscles in my hand, wrist, and arm. I feel nerve endings fire and direct the energy to my hand. When power pulses through my fingers, I wrap them around the head and bend it back as if it were made of tin.

  Troy’s mouth drops. I flip the disfigured bookend back to him and beam a full-faced smile.

  “How did you do that?” He tries to bend the head back, but as big and strong as he is, the head is stubborn and stiff and stays in place.

  “I can direct the energy in my body to specific muscles, strengthening them. It acts like a weird energy funnel. I must have tapped into that ability when I bent the ring in the van to escape.” I shrug, but my legs buckle, and I plop down onto the leather chair. “It must take a little getting used to.”

  “What about the Seeker? What are we to do about him?” Sicheii asks.

  “Avoid him. He is extremely dangerous. He will be tall and beautiful and will have gifts also—strength, speed, the ability to read people, and the power to move objects with his mind. I’m warned to avoid him until I retrieve the Book of Wisdom. He won’t hesitate to kill me.”

  “What’s the Book of Wisdom?” Troy asks.

  I glance at Sicheii, and his body goes rigid. “I don’t know, Juliet. I’ve never heard of another Book.”

  “It is the third and final Book. It completes the story and tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Why didn’t the Order know of this book? Where is this book hidden?” Sicheii scowls, his eyes narrow, and the muscles in his jaw clench. Indignation flows from him. I sense emotions faster than reading thoughts. The stronger the emotion, the easier for me to read, and Sicheii is pissed. He feels betrayed.

  “The Wind Spirit meant no slight against you or the Twisted Arrows Order by keeping the third book secret, Sicheii.” With strength now returned to my legs, I rise from the chair and step close to him. I take his large, calloused hands in mine. “You are most trusted by the Wind Spirit.”

  I make this up because he needs to hear me say it. I just now realize how much he has sacrificed to keep the Order’s secrets. His entire life has revolved around those secrets. He could have had a different life, one far from here. He has kept things from me, important secrets, but he did it to protect me, to keep me safe, to let me satisfy the destiny he believes I must fulfill. Unlike Mom, he acted out of pure love and obligation. He deserves to believe he has done the right thing. I can’t change the past, so I forgive him and give him the present.

  “Only I can find the third book. When I’m ready, its location will be revealed to me.”

  Sicheii nods. The tension releases from his jaw and his body uncoils.

  I feel someone approaching like a psychic radar system. Every living animal casts off a certain spirit energy. The human spirit is different from other animals, and each individual human spirit is further distinct from other humans like fingerprints. If I concentrate hard, I can identify a person by their spirit energy. It’s another gift.

  I look toward the back door. “We have company.” The spirit energy flows toward me like a fog rolling over a lake.

  Sicheii glides toward the window and peeks out.

  “It’s Lisa,” I say, as her face appears in my mind.

  A second later, she swings open the door and bounds into the room, sweeping her eyes over Troy and me. She glares at me, but the expression is only fleeting as her eyes search out Sicheii. Apparently I’m not the only one who holds a grudge.

  “Jake, we have a problem.” Dark circles smudge under her eyes, and small lines crack from the edges of her lips.

  “What’s wrong?” His boot crunches a broken picture frame as he steps toward her. The photo in the frame shows Roundtree sitting on a rocker with a young girl in his lap. Even though she is young, I can tell the girl is Lisa.

  “It’s Summer.” Lisa brushes her straight black hair from her face and pushes it behind her shoulders. “She’s gone missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “I tried her cell phone, and she didn’t answer. I drove to her house to check on her, but she’s gone. Ayden doesn’t know where she is, and he’s worried. He hasn’t seen her since this morning when she went to the store.”

  “Maybe she’s just running errands and the battery on her phone died,” Troy says.

  My stomach lurches and a dark feeling drapes heavily over me, squeezing my chest and throat. “Mom always carries a back-up battery just in case work calls. Something must be wrong.”

  Sicheii rubs his hands through his long white hair. I have never seen him do this before. He is uncertain.

  “Do you think the Seeker has her?”

  He glances at me. “It’s possible. I asked her to leave town, but she refused to go without you.”

  My heart lumps in my throat. The last time I saw Mom, I was angry with her and tossed her from my hospital room. I still want to be angry at her a little longer for keeping those letters secret, but now I’m terrified that she might be harmed and I’ll never see her again. For sixteen years, it was just us three. My hands go numb when I ask, “What did you do with Ms. Arnold?”

  “We’re holding her until we decide what to do with her.”

  “We’d better hurry.” I march toward the door. Moving makes me feel a tiny bit better. When I think of Gold Tooth and Slicked Back Hair with my mom, my hands ball into fists. I need to act and Ms. Arnold is the only loose thread we have.

  “We’ve got to find Mom. I won’t let them have her.”

  Fear comes in many flavors. I seem to have experienced them all in the past few days: fear for your life, fear he won’t love you back, fear you won’t belong, or you will mess up, or get in trouble, or can’t help a friend when she needs you. I thought the fear that raked through me in the van was the worst until now.

  Now that I’m afraid for my mom, I realize there are worse fears still. Some people become paralyzed by fear, unable to think, move, act. Not me. Fear propels me. It couples with my anger and forms a turbo boost.

  We split up in two cars. I drive with Sicheii, and Troy goes with Lisa. We head to Old Town where our investigation into the murders began. Sicheii parks the SUV in the back of the parking lot farthest from his gallery and we start on foot. We avoid his gallery just in case the Seeker has people watching it.

  I walk beside his long, loping strides. He moves briskly, but not hurriedly. Only those who know him well would notice the tension in his jaw and the urgency in his eyes.

  I study those we pass: dozens of tourists,
one with a brand new cowboy hat with the tag still dangling from it, another one who’s sunburnt and carries a shopping bag from the authentic boots store. Still, I have to wonder if any of them work for the Seeker. The voice in my head tells me to be wary. He will have resources, perhaps unlimited wealth.

  We scoot down Front Street, which runs parallel to Main Street. The buildings are all made from brick just like those on Main Street. The art galleries and restaurants are similar in appearance, but not quite as upscale or large. When we pass 2nd Street, we take a left onto 3rd. The neon sign for Aunt Maye’s Big and Tall Western Outfitter greets us. Sicheii presses the button to J. Dent’s apartment and the buzzer rings almost immediately to let us in.

  Sicheii takes the stairs one at a time. He moves stiffly as he pulls himself up by using the handrail. I don’t know exactly how old he is. I guess I should, but I don’t, and for the first time, he seems aged. His energy is waning. The events of the last few days have taken a toll on him. He needs rest.

  Lisa stands in the doorway and holds the door half-open. Sicheii nods, and she steps aside.

  Jane Dent’s apartment looks the same as I remember. Only this time, her son, Doctor Dan, slouches by the windows, peeking through the curtains. He wears blue jeans and a blue check collared shirt that balloons slightly at his midsection and falls untucked below his waist.

  He turns toward me as I follow Sicheii into the apartment. He grins, but the smile is forced. His mustache and beard are gone. “Nice to see you again, Juliet,” he says.

  I glance at him and the photograph on the mantelpiece. Now that the truth is out, the resemblance is obvious. I should have realized it before. “I see you’ve shaved.”

  He touches his chin. “I only wear the beard and mustache when I don’t want to be recognized. It’s an abundance of caution after all these years, but old habits linger.”

  I remember the pained expression on his mother’s face when we questioned her. “Does your mother know you’re still alive?” I scan the room, expecting to find her.