He looked to Danny, who just put his fingers to his lips, warning Dillon to be quiet. Then Danny pointed to a pile of crates and trash in the corner of the room. Dillon watched and saw three armed men, and then three more joined them. They had the little girl, and it was clear they were preparing for something big. Dillon’s eyes were wide as saucers, but he didn’t want to look. Someone had to do something. Someone had to help the little girl, but there was no one there except Dillon and Danny, and Danny was a ghost!
“What should we do?” Dillon whispered.
Danny answered by shaking his head, reminding Dillon to keep quiet. Dillon could tell that Danny knew exactly where they were and exactly what would happen, but he didn’t know the rules of this nightmare. Could they be seen? Heard? Were they just observers? Participants? Dillon didn’t have a clue how this kind of thing worked, but he was sure he didn’t want anybody getting hurt. Danny put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder and moved him closer. Why Danny felt so protective of Dillon, he couldn’t figure. But Danny was sure he would die all over again to protect him.
Then there was a breeze again and Dillon breathed a sigh of relief. A door opened, and the cavalry arrived. The girl would be saved after all. Eight men in uniform were coming into the building and crouching low. They were armed to the teeth and wore the American flag on their jackets. Dillon nearly ran over to hug them.
Before anyone realized it, the kidnappers were on their feet, shouting and dragging the little girl out in front of them. The American Captain was shouting too and his troops began to move. Then someone threw a strange kind of glowing grenade. That was the moment one of the kidnappers leveled his weapon and fired at the one soldier with his back turned. The soldier had taken his eyes off the insurgents looking for orders; that was a mistake he could not afford. Then the man sprayed the room with bullets and the troops returned fire.
The soldier that was shot hit the ground hard and his buddies surrounded him as they fought. In all the commotion the little girl ran to the American troops and hid behind them. Within ten of the longest minutes of Dillon’s life, the American troops annihilated the insurgents and secured the area. Dillon was about to call out to them when Danny grabbed his sleeve. Danny shook his head and motioned for Dillon to wait. Dillon was pretty shaken, but he took pride in the fact that he kept his cool better than Danny did. Danny looked terrible; he even had tears in his eyes.
One of the soldiers carried the little girl out to a waiting truck and the others gathered around their fallen friend. Dillon leaned over to get a better look, and when they rolled the young man over, it was Dillon who lost all control. Before he could stop it, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from his chest. His eyes filled up with tears, and he could barely see. It was Danny, covered in blood and lying under a pile of rubble from the ceiling that had crashed around him. The Captain shouted an order as the ceiling began to cave in. The six remaining soldiers gently lifted Danny’s broken body and made it outside just as the building collapsed.
Dillon didn’t know what to do or where to look as debris began falling. Danny grabbed his hand and together they tried to run away, but Dillon missed his footing and fell. He kept falling and landed with a thud back in his dad’s apartment in his own room. The mattress was actually bouncing with the force of his landing.
October 1, 2011
Dillon sat up and looked around. He threw back the blankets to look at his hands and feet. He knew there was no way he could ever hope to explain blood on his hands and feet, and he hoped he wouldn’t see any. His father would flip out and have him committed for sure, especially after his behavior last night. The sun was coming up over the horizon and there was just enough light in his room to see.
“Oh, thank God,” Dillon muttered. His hands and feet were fine. Dillon was all set to try to convince himself that the whole thing was nothing but a terrible dream. He started to relax and unclench his fists. As he opened his left hand, he shrieked. There on his palm was a single word seared into his flesh: Living.
What the heck was that? Was he branded? Was he marked for something? He winced as he moved his hand, and he was glad his dad was still asleep. Now there was no way he could pretend that had been a dream and there was no way he could relax.
“Danny? Where are you? Oh please, Danny, I really need to talk to you.” There was no reply. Dillon got up and took a shower. His hand stung when the water hit it, but all in all it wasn’t too bad. He dressed and then sat in his room, staring out the window. He couldn’t bring himself to eat and he couldn’t face his dad. He sat there hoping Danny would come, trying to rationalize what was completely irrational. Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted his phone.
Tom was up early and smiled when he saw a text from Dillon. He hadn’t heard a word from him in a long time, and now here he was texting at six on a Saturday morning? Crazy, but still cool in a way. Maybe things could get back to normal between them. Tom texted back and even offered to come over with bagels.
Dillon didn’t know what to say. He knew he hadn’t been much of a best friend to Tom lately, and he wasn’t sure he should drag him into this, whatever this was, but he had to talk to someone: ideally, someone grounded in reality who could help Dillon hold on to whatever sanity and safety he had left.
Dillon offered to meet Tom at the bagel place on the corner and headed for the door just as his dad was getting up.
“Where are you going? We need to get ready for Connecticut,” Dillon’s dad declared.
“I’m meeting Tom for breakfast,” Dillon said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for your dog-and-pony show.” It sounded so much meaner than he meant it, but Dillon didn’t look back as he left.
New York was an amazing city; even this early there were people all around. Runners ran, dog walkers walked, and the street was filled with the smell of bagels and coffee. Dillon stepped around the pile of newspapers being dropped off at the newsstand and found Tom waiting for him at the Brew and Bagel.
Dillon put his left hand in his pocket and winced. There was an awkward silence at first, and then Tom smiled.
“So, you still like garlic bagels? Personally, I don’t know how you eat that first thing in the morning, but what do I care? It’s not like I’m gonna kiss you.”
Dillon laughed and headed for the counter. Tom really was a good friend. Five minutes later he had his garlic bagel, Tom’s cinnamon and raisin, and two coffees light and sweet. When he set the tray down on the table, he hoped Tom wouldn’t see his hand.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Dillon began and then he realized he really didn’t know what else to say. Dillon smiled to himself as he imagined saying something like So, here’s the thing. I’m seeing ghosts, having out of body experiences, and coming back maimed. Yeah. No way. So instead he just looked at Tom and wished for the old days.
Apparently, Tom did know what to say. “What is it, Dillon? I know you're weird and all, why not? We're all weird, but something is happening to you. Holy smokes! You’ve even got a gray hair!”
This was news to Dillon. He knew about his hand, but turning gray? For Pete’s sake, he was only fifteen! Dillon reached for his hair before he knew what he was doing; by then, it was too late.
“What did you do to your hand?” There was real concern in Tom’s eyes as he put down his bagel and grabbed Dillon’s hand to get a closer look. The word was seared into Dillon’s palm and stretched from his knuckles to his wrist. “Living? I don’t get it. Why would you have yourself branded like this? What are you involved in?”
There was no way around it now. Dillon would have to come clean.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“I do. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.” Tom stared intently across the table.
Dillon told Tom about the guitar and then about Danny. He told him about the notes and the blood on his hands. Then he told him about the nightmare, or whatever it was, and how he discovered his brand that morning. When he was finished, Tom pushed
back from the table and said, “Let’s go.”
Before Dillon could ask him where, or tell him that he had to get back to his dad’s place, Tom was up and out on the street. Dillon caught up with him as Tom entered the subway station.
“Wait up. Where are we going? I need to get back to my dad’s. He wants to go get a pumpkin or something.”
Tom glared at Dillon. “Pumpkin picking? Really? You're having all kinds of paranormal experiences and now you're getting branded and pumpkin picking is what’s on your mind? That proves it. You need me. You are nuts!”
Tom and Dillon boarded the Number 4 train heading uptown. Dillon was glad he didn’t have cell service underground. It gave him time to figure out what the heck he was going to tell his dad about not going to Connecticut today.
They boys emerged onto 125th Street with the sun in their eyes and the wind at their backs. Dillon texted his dad that he was sorry but that he really needed to be with Tom today, and he felt better thinking that at least on some level that was the truth. Besides, it was a whole lot simpler than telling his dad he just wasn’t ready to meet his girlfriend, and unbelievably simpler than trying to explain the rest of what was going on.
Tom walked with purpose and seemed to know exactly where they were going. They hailed a cab, and before long they stood before the gates of Manhattan University.
“What are we doing here?” Dillon wanted to know.
“We are doing some research.”
Spending the day in the library was almost as unappealing as spending the day pumpkin picking, but Dillon didn’t say a word. He did, however, breathe a big sigh of relief when they passed the library and kept right on walking. Tom rolled his eyes. He never understood Dillon’s distaste for libraries; the library was a great place to meet girls. If Dillon had known where they were going, he would have developed a whole new appreciation for the wonders of the library and the relative security of a place bound to be deserted on a Saturday.
The Northern Building, as it was currently known, was humming with activity. Desks were being moved in and so were countless boxes and machines.
“It’s just about finished now, so everybody’s excited to move in,” Tom said with excitement in his voice.
“I don’t get it. Where are we?”
Sounding more like a tour guide than a teenager, Tom began. “The Northern building is the new interdisciplinary science center at Manhattan University. This is the place to start to figure out what is happening to you.”
Dillon looked as confused as ever, but his friend didn’t seem to notice. “This is the place where they finally acknowledge that science is science; not biology, chemistry, or physics, but all science. One discipline will never figure out all the answers. Every discipline explores a piece of the universe.” Tom was getting more and more excited as his inner nerd was revealed. “But the only way to unravel all the mysteries is to put aside the differences long enough to study the common ground that overlaps between the different areas. That’s what this place is all about. Studying the universe from all perspectives, not just one angle at a time. Get it?”
“No, not really, but I’ll take your word for it. This is relevant to us how?” Dillon didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he really didn’t have time to congratulate Manhattan U. on its new cross-curricular approach to the universe.
“They are studying single-molecule physics here—you know, where quantum physics meets biology? Come on, tell me you don’t see it now.” Tom was getting exasperated. He took Dillon’s hand and spelled it out for him. "You, a living being, i.e., biology, are crossing into other dimensions, i.e., quantum physics, and undergoing some sort of fundamental change as a result, i.e., chemistry, you idiot!”
“Oh,” was all Dillon could manage before Tom was off again and heading into the building. Inside there was the smell of drying paint, new carpet, and old coffee. Dillon was surprised at how well Tom seemed to know his way around until they came upon an office door. The name read Thomas J. Thurgood, Sr., PhD. Tom’s dad worked at Manhattan University. If he had thought about it, Dillon was pretty sure he used to know that, but most of the time “Tom’s dad” was just the guy who liked pizza and drove them to the movies, not some hotshot research scientist at a big time university.
Tom didn’t even knock; he just walked right into his dad’s office and sat down. His dad nodded and smiled at them as he finished up on the phone. “No, no, no. We need the delivery by tomorrow at the latest. Yes. I realize tomorrow is Sunday. That’s why I want it delivered today. The Board of Trustees is touring this facility on Monday morning and I promise you they will not be happy when I tell them the reason they can’t see the Molecular Motion lab is because your company screwed up.” He winked at the boys and waited. He was clearly enjoying his job. “Okay, great, I’ll see you this afternoon.” He hung up the phone and gave the boys his full attention. “Hi guys, what’s up?”
Tom shut the door. “Go on, show him,” he urged Dillon.
Dillon swallowed. Maybe this was a mistake.
“Don’t wimp out now,” Tom scolded. “Dad, something really weird is happening to Dillon. Check out his hand.”
“Dillon?” Dr. Thurgood said.
Reluctantly Dillon held out his hand for Tom’s dad to see. “Mr., uh, Dr. Thurgood, you have to understand. I didn’t do that to myself. I know it sounds crazy, but I woke up this morning with that on my hand.”
Dr. Thurgood’s eyes snapped up to meet Dillon’s. It was clear he was caught somewhere between disbelief, concern, and excitement. He turned up his lights and put Dillon’s hand under a magnifying glass.
“Extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it. Dillon, there are three things I want you to remember from now on. One, I believe you. Two, it may take us a little while, but we will figure this out. And three, you can call me Thomas.”
“Cool. Can I?” Tom wanted to know.
“Definitely not. You can call me Dad, or I guess 'Your Highness' is also acceptable,” joked Thomas Thurgood.
It was the first time in a long time that Dillon actually felt relaxed. For the second time that day, Dillon did what he had thought he never would: he told the whole, mind-blowing story to Thomas. Somehow the act of saying it out loud seemed to make the whole thing more real and more manageable. It helped a lot that Thomas just listened. He only interrupted Dillon to clarify a point for his notes, and then he went back to his writing and nodding. When Dillon finished, the room was quiet and the sun was high in the sky. By now he should have been on some farm in Connecticut searching for a pumpkin, but instead he was in Morningside Heights, at Manhattan University, searching for answers.
“Did you kids ever notice that the word university has an awful lot in common with the word universe?” Thomas said. “Seems to me that you have come to exactly the right place to figure this out. We are bound to get at least halfway there, and as for the other half, well, we’ll just see.” The boys didn’t know what he meant by that, but right now, even half an answer sounded good to them.
“The first thing we need to do is to get you a complete physical, Dillon. I know what you say is really happening to you, but we will need to prove it, and the first thing we need to show is that you are a normal, healthy kid. We need to contact your parents. Your mom is a nurse, right?”
Dillon felt sick. If his parents got involved, they would flip out for sure. There would be no medical tests; they would just have him committed. “Please, Thomas, there must be some other way. I can’t tell my parents yet.”
Thomas Thurgood put his hands on Dillon’s shoulders. “Let me talk to them. We can’t do this without their consent, and from the sound of things, your mom might be glad to make sure you are really okay after that whole bloody hands incident.”
Dillon hated to admit it, but that actually made a lot of sense. Still, he didn’t want to tell his parents. Thomas opened his office door and motioned to the boys.
“After you, gentlemen. I think we should stop for pizza on
the way to your parents. This isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have on an empty stomach.” Thomas called both of Dillon’s parents on the way to the pizzeria. They were pretty worried, but they agreed to meet an hour later at his father’s apartment.
Tom’s dad loved pizza as much as Tom and Dillon did and they polished off a whole pie in about twenty minutes. Dillon tried to stall when they were finished eating, but Tom and his dad were all about getting it done. They grabbed a cab downtown and soon arrived at Dillon’s dad’s apartment.
They rode the elevator in silence and all Dillon could think was that things would never be the same again. From today on, Dillon was sure his mom and dad would never look at him the same way.
When the door opened, Dillon’s mom rushed to him and gave him a big hug. He could see in her eyes just how worried she was. His father stayed on the couch, but it was clear he was definitely upset. Dillon guessed he was probably annoyed about not spending time with his girlfriend.
“Maggie, Ryan,” Thomas began, “I really appreciate the chance to talk to you today. The boys came to me with something this morning and I believe they really need our help.”
Dillon’s mom and dad looked at each other. “Go on,” his dad said.
“Look, anyone who has lived in this world longer than a few minutes knows it is an unpredictable and crazy place. There is a lot we can understand and control, and a lot that we can’t. Dillon seems to be going through something that we are only just beginning to discover and simply don’t yet know much about.” Slowly and gently, Thomas relayed to Dillon’s parents all the things the boys had told him. When Ryan discovered that Maggie knew about the bloody hands, he looked hurt, but he wasn’t angry like Dillon expected him to be.
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