The Warden's Son

by C. G. Cooper

  “Is he . . . going to die?”

  For a long moment, Mom didn’t move a muscle. I saw her eyes welling up, and her upper lip disappeared. “I’m so sorry, James. He’s such a nice boy.”

  I buried my face in my hands and let it all go.

  Somehow, Mom was suddenly at my side, pulling me into her.

  All my frustration, sadness, and regret came out.

  My friend . . .

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The smell of antiseptic and sickness slapped me in the face as soon as we stepped through the front doors of the hospital. I wanted to bolt from the place.

  Kenji was sitting up in bed when we got to his room. He looked like a thin piece of paper.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” he whispered, his voice nasal from the tube in his nose.

  His mother and father stood in the corner politely staring like I was supposed to say something.

  “How do you feel?” I asked, realizing how stupid the words were as soon as they came out.

  He shrugged. “The forest vampires got me before I could wield my enchanted stake. How’s school?”

  “Full of forest vampires.”

  “Mom, Dad,” Kenji said weakly, “could you give Jimmy and me a couple of minutes?”

  Mom smiled at Kenji’s parents. “Big important things to discuss. Can I treat you to some coffee?”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Kenji’s father. He said it like it was the answer to his prayers.

  I stood there awkwardly for a good minute.

  “You can come closer. I’m not contagious,” Kenji said.

  I came closer. The beeping machine was like an ice pick tapping on my head. I held off the cringe when I saw the tubes snaking from beneath the covers.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “What are they?”

  “Soul suckers. They’re draining my soul. I’ll need a spell to get rid of them.”

  “What happened to you? What do you have?”

  “It’s called leukemia. I’ve had it for a while.”

  “You never told me you had it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I should’ve told you.”

  “I said it’s okay.”

  “Please don’t be mad, Jimmy.”

  He grabbed my hand. I couldn’t look at him.

  “I’m not mad,” I said in frustration. Before I could realize what was happening inside me, the tears came. My breath hitched.

  “Look at me, Jimmy.”

  I was ashamed to look. I wanted to shake Kenji’s boney little hand off from mine and bury myself under a rock somewhere. When I finally looked up, I saw the opposite of what I expected. He was calm. Just like Carlisle. Serene. Ready for anything.

  “I’m almost out of hit points,” he said.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Kenji died on a Saturday. I remember because I was watching G.I. Joe. The call came first. There were hushed tones between Mom and Dad. They both walked into the room.

  “James, we need to have a word with you,” Dad said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I already knew. It was inevitable. No matter what Mom whispered about miracles every time on our way home from the hospital, Kenji had told me the truth that first day.

  I shut the TV off and sat calmly on the couch, my hands folded in my lap like I was about to hear a sermon.

  “Kenji died last night,” Dad said softly.

  I felt something tugging the corners of my mouth. I hated myself for it.

  “It’s okay to cry, son,” said the warden.

  I shook my head, fighting the tears.

  “He went peacefully,” said Mom, as if I had any idea of the significance of that. “He died in his sleep. There was no pain or anything.”

  The forest vampires, I thought. I’ll kill every last one of them.

  Kenji’s mom was waiting for me on our front porch when I arrived home after school one day. It was a week after the funeral. Tears filled her eyes when I approached, and she clutched her hands before her like I was her long-lost son or something.

  A brown box lay at her feet.

  “Hi,” I said, not knowing what else to say. At the funeral, Kenji’s mom looked like she was under a spell where she couldn’t speak or blink. Maybe she’d say something when they took Kenji’s body back to Japan for burial. Dad mentioned something about it being a great honor. I didn’t know about that. All I thought about was Kenji’s coffin being stuffed into the cargo hold of an airplane and strapped into place so it wouldn’t jar.

  “Kenji . . .” Her accent was thick. She struggled to find the words. “He . . . give you this.”

  She pointed to the box.

  “Thank you,” I said, and I bowed the way Kenji had taught me.

  Her gaze lingered on me for a long time.

  “Ma’am, would you like to come inside? I can get you something to drink.”

  She stepped off the porch. “Goodbye, Jimmy. Thank you . . . for being friend to Kenji . . .” She put her hand to her mouth. There was agony there that needed to be let-go but would not find release any time soon.

  That was the last time I ever saw her. She got in her car and drove off, leaving me with the brown box.

  When the car was out of sight, I opened the box gingerly. The waterworks came again. It had been a busy week for tears.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Jimmy,

  This stuff is for you. If I left it for my parents, they’d probably make a shrine out of it. We Japanese are pretty good at making shrines. Hey, that would be good for a future adventure. Pillaging treasure from a sacred shrine. I wish I could be there with you to play it.

  I’ve never had many friends. I think you know that. You are my best friend. You showed me that I’m not as weird as everyone says. Thanks.

  I wasn’t sure if I was going to say the next part. But I’m dying, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

  Speaking of games, I know you think the thing with Bruce is a game, but look at me. Kids can die too. I don’t want you to die, Jimmy, I want you to grow old and wise. I want you to do whatever you want to do in life. You’re smarter than you know. You’re smarter than your dad gives you credit for.

  Well, that’s it from me. Maybe one day we’ll play the next adventure up in heaven. To tell you the truth, I’m a little scared. Not a lot. Just a little. We, Dungeon Masters, must face death with bravery, and that’s what I’m going to do.

  I’ll be okay. I promise.

  Take care of yourself, Jimmy. And don’t ever forget me.

  Your friend,

  Kenji

  Chapter Sixty

  You ever feel like someone left and took a bit of you with them?

  I don’t think Kenji intended it to feel that way.

  I stared at the letter and his near-perfect penmanship. Even sick, he could write more neatly than I could entirely healthy.

  The letter felt false, like it was someone pretending to be Kenji. I’d say, “Liar, show me the real Kenji.” It wasn’t fooling me.

  But the letter was all I had left. I was scared to let it go. I thought maybe a wind would come and carry it off along with my memory of Kenji. I clutched it tightly, feeling the paper crinkle under my grip.

  It wasn’t until a week later that the import of what he’d written finally hit me. Kenji’s saying that I was smart started something of a chain reaction. Whether it was the fact that I finally understood my potential, or maybe I wanted to take up where Kenji left off, I don’t know. After he died, I did everything I could to get the best grades possible.

  It wasn’t easy at first. But like learning how to fly fish, soon it became a rhythm, a habit. My brain got used to the challenge. I like to think that I channeled a part of Kenji for that.

  That’s when I knew what he’d done. I’d learned about talismans on one of our D&D campaigns. Ever the crafty wizard, that letter was Kenji’s talisman of great wisdom for me, and it h
ad kicked on when he died.

  I got all A’s after that.

  Even through the tragedy that lay ahead . . .

  Chapter Sixty-One

  The days and weeks after Kenji’s death were the calm before the storm.

  When I wasn’t studying, I was hanging out in the greenhouse with Carlisle. Sometimes Larry came and sometimes not. It didn’t matter one way or another to me. I found I had a new appreciation for my little brother. It was as if death had darkened all unimportant areas of life and illuminated only the important ones.

  One day, I was trying to memorize the correct order of events leading up to the American Revolution when the bat phone rang in the kitchen. That was the direct line to the prison, used only in case of emergencies.

  “Warden Allen,” I heard Dad say. No more from him. Then the purposeful stomping from the kitchen to the bedroom and out the front door.

  I went to my parents’ room. Mom was reading in bed, blue curlers in her hair.

  “Mom, is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, James.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She looked up from her book. “Your father says it’s fine so—“

  The wail of the prison siren told us another story.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Three prisoners were missing. That meant lockdown.

  Dad rarely wore a gun, but he wore one now. It’d been his father’s and his grandfather’s weapon before that.

  I’d asked him once if guns ever go bad.

  “Not if you take care of them,” he’d said. He cleaned that weapon every week. More if he spent time on the range. He cared for it like a baby bird dropped from the nest.

  The night dragged on, and I continued with my schoolwork. Lockdowns weren’t frequent; nevertheless, we’d been through our fair share—no big deal. Nine point nine times out of ten, an escapee wanted to get as far from the prison proper as possible. The chance of these three coming to our house was slim to zilch. Still, it didn’t stop guards with guns showing up to watch the house.

  Mom put Larry to bed and checked in with me.

  “How much more do you have to do?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Trying to get ahead.”

  She kissed my cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

  She’d made it sound like she was going to sleep, but I knew better. She never slept when there was a prison emergency. Even though we might be safe, that didn’t mean Dad was. The gun on his hip suggested the possibility that he might have to use it.

  “He’s okay, Mom,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, caressing my hair. I saw the worry stamped on her face.

  The American Revolution sucked me in for another hour. By the time I finished, I could barely focus on the page. Words squiggled across the white surface like eels slithering back to sea.

  “No more,” I said, tapping out.

  I stretched all-the-way-back, leaning my chair on the back two legs.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw a man in tattered prison overalls, standing in the doorway, gun in hand, staring right at me.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” the inmate softly said. He didn’t have any front teeth. There was something in his other hand, and he noticed that I noticed.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, displaying it. “Just a key.”

  “What’s it open?”

  His hand swiped across his top lip. “Doesn’t matter.” He looked left and right and took a step into my room. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  I know you probably think I was bonkers-brain. A ten-year-old kid is supposed to be scared of a stranger in his house and now in his room, right? Well, yes. Anyhow, I’d been through a lot by that point. My nerves were burned to the base, cauterized from feeling real fear.

  “What do you want?”

  “You’re Carlisle’s friend.”

  “Yeah.”

  He stifled a nervous laugh. The prison siren blared again, and the inmate’s eyes flicked to the window.

  “I don’t have long.”

  “What do you want?” I asked again.

  “They say you’re a good guy. Someone we can trust. Is that true?”

  I shrugged.

  “Here.” He set the key on my desk and backed away, careful to show me that he meant no harm.

  “What’s it for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I looked down at the thing. “Well, what am I supposed to do with it?”

  There were shouts outside.

  He crouched down and went to the window. “Shit. They know I’m here.”

  I had so many questions. Only one popped out of my mouth. “How did you get in here?”

  “The others distracted the guards.”

  “The ones on the front porch?”

  “Uh, huh.”

  I could see he was gearing up to run. His breaths came like a runner digging in at the starting line.

  “Let me help,” I said. “Are you Carlisle’s friend?”

  He straightened up at that. “Of course.”

  “Good. Then I’ll help you.”

  Don’t ask me why I said any of what I did. Don’t ask what made me think that helping an escapee was anywhere within the realm of sanity. I was beyond sane.

  “But you’ll have to hold on while I talk to my mom first.”

  I went to my parents’ room.

  “I heard guards outside talking. They may have found the guys.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “Still though, no going outside.”

  “I won’t. I’m going to bed.”

  I went back to my room, to the grit-covered inmate that was hiding in the shadowed corner.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  He nodded. I thought he might lose his nerve.

  “Okay.” I went to the window. Perfect timing. Two guards walked by. I raised, then tapped on the window as loud as I dared. I didn’t want Mom to hear.

  Both heads snapped my way.

  “I saw them go that way.” I pointed back toward the other houses on the reservation.

  They didn’t hesitate. One spoke into a walkie-talkie, and the other guard shifted his shotgun from a cradle to a ready. Then they were gone.

  I looked at my inmate. “It’s as easy as that.”

  “Thanks,” he whispered, a smile was trembling at his lips.

  “No problem.”

  He was just through the door when he turned. “There’s about to be hell around here. Keep your head down, kid.”

  I nodded, not having any clue what he was talking about. But his tone suggested that he fully believed whatever it was he’d alluded to.

  I heard the front door open. I had to strain to hear the inmate’s footsteps creep away.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I was suddenly thirsty as all get out. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Half of it was down my throat when I heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun. Then a second boom.

  I froze, blood pounding in my ears.

  I heard Brady Bruce yell, “I got him!”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The escape ended that night. All three inmates were dead. In the history of Dad’s storied tenure, that had never happened. There’d been suicides and accidents. Not to mention the guy that was hiding in the trash. But three dead in an escape attempt made national news.

  “You’re staying home from school,” Dad said when he finally came home. He was still wearing his sidearm.

  “But I want to go to school. We’ve got a test— “

  His finger pointed like a spear. “You’re staying home. News vans are coming, and it’s going to be at least two days before those idiots leave us alone. Till then, you’re to stay put.”

  No sense arguing about it. Dad was in one of those moods. Dark as a snake pit.

  The news vans showed up around
lunch, and the mayor showed up right after that, followed by the governor. I watched the unfolding circus from my bedroom window.

  Dad stood in the middle of it all, the face of the prison. Cigarette after cigarette came out and puffed their way to death. The Feds showed up too and caused a real commotion. The news people shuffled around like pecking hens.

  Mom and I watched the news. Dad looked a lot older on TV.

  “Unfortunately, all three inmates were killed in their escape attempt,” he said, face stern. Eyes directed at the camera. “In the attempt, no civilians were harmed, and not a single inmate made it outside the prison grounds.”

  Dad always said that it was the town’s biggest worry. Chances were slim to none that an escaped convict would do much harm in the city the prison resided. What civilians don’t realize is that the worst they can expect is a stolen car and a few busted windows. Other than that, escapees want to go as far as possible and keep on moving.

  “My staff is in the midst of a thorough investigation. No stone will be left unturned.”

  Dad went on; only I wasn’t listening. “No stone left unturned.” That thought tumbled down my subconscious. Would any of those stones build a path back to me?

  “James.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I asked if you wanted grilled cheese for lunch.”

  “Oh. Yes, please.”

  I wasn’t hungry, and I wasn’t thirsty. Electricity buzzed through my veins. I did not need grilled cheese and iced tea. Specific steps were required, and that included my next bonehead move.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  I finally went back to school on Wednesday. I spent it in a dizzying bout of concentration catching up on my missed lessons.

  I found Carlisle speaking with my dad when the bus let me off in front of my house. The sight of Carlisle and the opportunity to tell him about the key and my plan sent my heart racing.