A Dragon's Heart: (Dragons of Paragon - Book 1)

by Jan Dockter

  The car passed a rather large brick building with a clock set into its face. It looked almost like an old schoolhouse, except that it wasn't nearly well enough maintained to possibly house children. A flag hung above its main double doors and its lawn was ringed by ancient trees only just coming into their spring buds. Something about the place drew Ashe to it. She wished she could stop for a photograph or a quick sketch to remember it later.

  “Wanna watch a movie?” Peter asked, nodding his head towards an old movie theater they were just passing on the left side. The marquee had no movie titles up and there were boards in the windows.

  “I don’t think it’s open,” Ashe replied as it passed out of view. They could have communicated without words, but talking out loud required less effort. They also wanted to preserve the intimacy of their telepathic connection by not using it for mundane purposes.

  Peter shrugged. “Too bad. You don’t see theaters like that every day. When do you think it was built? The thirties, forties?”

  “You’re the expert on old things,” Ashe replied with a smile. “You tell me.”

  “I’ll ask at the gas station,” Peter said pulling into one a little ways up the street.

  Though not much more than scrap metal in appearance, Mark’s car was still chugging along despite the damage it had suffered in the crash. It seemed the man had taken good care of the places that mattered. Ashe got out of the car and stretched as Peter filled up the tank. She couldn’t see the brick building from where she was, but its image lingered in her mind. It could have been a government building or an old historical site. If they stopped here for a day or two for repairs, she might be able to convince Peter to indulge her in a little sightseeing.

  She turned away from the road and walked towards the gas station. The door opened with that familiar clatter of bells that all small-town gas stations seemed to have. There was an elderly man working the register who smiled at Ashe in greeting. She smiled back and approached the counter where there was a rack of tourist pamphlets. Ashe started leafing through them, curious about the brick building she had seen.

  “New to town, or passing by?” the man asked.

  For some reason the question gave Ashe pause. “Passing by,” she finally said.

  “Most people are,” the man reflected. “This town is too quiet for most folks. You’d think that would be a good thing, but I suppose not. The excitement of the big city must get into people’s blood, make them crave it like I crave my smokes.” The old man smiled in a modest way that made Ashe take a liking to him almost immediately.

  “I wouldn’t mind some quiet, actually,” Ashe replied.

  The conversation faded into a natural silence as Ashe continued to leaf through pamphlets. She found one containing coupons for fried chicken and another for an apple farm a few miles outside of town, but no mention of the building that had caught her attention.

  She asked the gas station attendant, “I noticed a brick building while we were driving into town from the south. It’s got a clock on it and huge trees in front.”

  “Ah,” the man said with a nod, “that’s the old library. It might be the oldest building in the town still standing. That, and the theater just down the street. But the theater’s been closed for years. Restoration’s in progress, only there’s not enough people to get the job done. It might be that I die long before I get to see another movie there.”

  Library, Ashe noted with interest as the man began to reminisce about the town’s old days. One memory seemed to lead to another and Ashe had to politely interrupt the man to ask him if there was an auto repair shop in town.

  “Ayuh,” he nodded. “Just down the street there. Closed on weekends, but it’s the only place we got.”

  It was Friday, and with the state the car was in Ashe doubted it could all be repaired in an afternoon. She could see Peter outside looking restless as he leaned against the hood of the car and watched the road. She knew he was eager to get going, but the car needed to be fixed and Ashe needed a rest.

  Ashe paid for the gas and went back outside. Peter wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her below the ear. “Ready to go when you are,” he said.

  Ashe leaned against him, comforted in his arms. “I was thinking we could get the car fixed up first. The man in the gas station said there’s a shop just down the street.”

  “It’s barely noon,” Peter replied. “We can still get a couple hundred miles in before the day ends.”

  “How far north do you plan to go?”

  Peter frowned.

  Ashe disentangled herself from his embrace. “Eventually we’ll have to find a place to stop, even if it’s only for a short time.”

  “We’ll stop when we find somewhere safe,” Peter said.

  Ashe knew that Peter was only being cautious because he loved her, but she couldn’t live on the road forever. Even with Landon dead, Peter was still afraid that something terrible would happen to Ashe if they didn't stop running. They still didn’t know if Landon’s clan, the Alilovics, knew of Landon’s death or the deaths of the others. They were running from a danger they couldn’t be sure existed.

  “I was thinking that maybe it’s time to stop running,” Ashe said recalling what the elderly gas station attendant had said. The theater was looking for people to help work on the restoration. Peter was more than qualified, having the physical strength of a man three times his size and the inability to grow fatigued. The theater could be up and running in mere weeks with Peter’s help.

  His face took on an apologetic frown that Ashe knew meant no.

  Please, she thought. No one knows us here. It’s safe. We can start to build our life together. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

  After not speaking to each other in this manner in a while, the connection Ashe felt upon doing so made her flush.

  Peter replied. We just got here. We don’t know anything about this place.

  The weekend, that’s all I’m asking. It would be the longest we’ve ever stayed in one place. If you want to leave after that, I won’t say anything. I’m tired, Peter. I’m not used to this life.

  Peter’s expression softened and he smiled. “Okay. We’ll stay.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The sound of saws greeted Peter as he approached the doors of the old movie theater. A man on a ladder outside shouted something down to him but he couldn't hear it over the buzz of machinery. The sound cut out and the man got down off the ladder. He was wearing thick denim overalls and heavy work gloves. Peter hadn’t expected to stay in town this long, but here he was looking for work. The town had a quiet charm about it that made Peter think that staying here a few months wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Ashe had sure taken a liking to the town in the three days he had promised her.

  “You must be Peter. I’m Greg,” the man said in a thick southern drawl that seemed out of place this far north. He offered a hand and Peter accepted it without hesitation, glad that the man had not opted to remove his gloves before shaking. The thick fabric hid the coldness of Peter’s hand from being noticed.

  “Good firm shake,” the man nodded. “You look well enough built. Do you have any experience with construction?”

  “Some,” Peter replied. He didn’t add that he had built an entire house during the turn of the century, the one that the man in front of him had not been alive for, which still stood today.

  The man grunted. “Good enough for me. You’ll find Jerry inside. He’ll answer any questions you have. You’ll start tomorrow, but feel free to look around as much as you’d like. The theater’s a beaut even in the state she’s in now.”

  The man returned to his work, leaving Peter to his own devices. Peter gazed up at the fat incandescent light bulbs lining the outer edges of the marquee for a while before going inside. The wide atrium was little more than a hollow shell of its former self. The gold gilding on the doors leading into the main theater was mostly stripped off and the chandelier that hung in the center of the room lay in a t
angled heap in one corner. The concession stand running along the right wall was mostly covered in white sheets that looked ghostly in the gloom. Still, Peter could imagine how beautiful it must have been in its heyday. It had been decades since he had been to a theater like this. It brought back old memories of nickel jukeboxes and air raid sirens, the war. Peter shook his head. Where he was, in the present, was all that mattered.

  “Your eyes will get used to the dark,” came a voice from across the room.

  Peter noticed a man had entered from a side door. Of course he could see everything clearly already despite the lack of light but could not say so to his new acquaintance.

  “Jerry, right?” Peter called back.

  The man approached him. He was middle-aged, but with deep laugh lines on his face that aged him prematurely. He had a wiry build and seemed quite at home in the dark, dusty theater.

  “Glad you decided to help. Maybe we can finally get this place opened again after all,” Jerry said with a smile.

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Peter replied.

  “You staying in town long?” Jerry asked.

  “At least until the theater’s finished,” Peter said. “I need the work,” he added.

  Jerry scratched his chin. “Well it’s a good thing you’re from out of town. None of the locals want to have anything to do with the place. In a place as old as this, bad memories tend to stick along with the good ones. Seems all the people can recall are the bad ones, though. But if we can get the theater up and running again, I’m sure everyone will come to see this place as something good after all.”

  Peter wanted to ask if something had happened there to cause the people of the town to want to avoid it, but a crash came from somewhere in the back disrupting their conversation.

  Jerry made a face. “That’ll be the pulley system above the stage. Darned ropes keep slipping and knocking over paint cans. I’d better go back and see what the damage is this time.”

  “There’s a stage?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah,” Jerry replied. “They used to do live plays here as well as movies. The screen comes down from the ceiling when a film’s on. That is, once we get the pulley system figured out.”

  With that, Jerry left for the main theater and Peter followed. The rows of seats had been gutted, the hardwood floor below them looking raw and barren without them. Jerry had already made it onto the stage and was wrestling with a length of rope. There was no wonder the man was having so much trouble; the stage itself was littered with construction debris. Peter saw that there was a lot of cleaning up to do before they could even think of starting to rebuild. He wondered if Jerry and Greg had even done work like this before.

  As Jerry banged around on the stage, Peter walked slowly around the outer edge of the room following the line of gilded trim that ran about waist high down the length of the wall. He wanted a sense for the space, its dimensions, and just how much work needed to be done. He stopped when he reached the raised wooden platform of the stage where a dark stain marred the flooring below. It appeared as though a can of wood finish had toppled over here, a deep red mahogany that looked like dried blood. Peter noticed several darker spots in the wood flooring in other places. Though he knew better than to think it was actual blood, it gave Peter a sense of foreboding. What exactly had happened here to cause the town to abandon the theater?

  There was another crash from the stage and a curse, and Peter shouted up, “Do you need any help?”

  “No, no,” Jerry yelled back from somewhere behind the curtain. “You don’t start work here ‘til tomorrow. There’s no need to rush.”

  As Jerry clearly had his hands full in the main theater, Peter decided to go down one of the side hallways to continue his exploration. Maybe he could find some clues on his own. The hallway he chose happened to lead back into the staff rooms. The hallway was musty and narrow, most of the doors lining it locked tight.

  A notice board of sorts had been tacked up beside the door to the manager’s office. Among outdated ticket stubs and an employee shift schedule which had yellowed to an alarming degree was a flyer for a town meeting to discuss a “plague of indecency” in the town and how to stop it. It sounded like something out of the 17th century when witch hunts had been in vogue, and it gave Peter an uncomfortable feeling. Though the flyer was thirty years old at least, Peter doubted that public opinion could change all that much in such a span of time. His new neighbors might be more religious than he felt comfortable with. He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to join them in church on Sundays.

  At the bottom of the flyer was an insignia that Peter thought he had seen somewhere before. He might have come across it in one of Professor Sharp’s old books. It also could have simply been the town seal. He tore off the flyer and stuck it in his pocket. He would try to identify it when he had some time.

  Peter continued down the hallway, trying the doors as he went. The previous owners must have locked up the place before abandoning it to rot from the inside. At the last door before the hallway dead-ended, he felt a sweeping sick feeling as he touched the doorknob. He let go of it in fright as his stomach swooped and his head went fuzzy. He never got sick, at least not in the conventional sense, unless he had drunk some bad blood or been in the presence of religious artifacts, certain herbs, or pure silver. He didn’t expect any of those things to show up in a place like this. He steeled himself and put his hand back on the doorknob, feeling once again that rushing sickness that both baffled and scared him. He forced himself to push through the feeling. This door, unlike the others, was not locked. Peter needed to know what was inside that was affecting him so badly.

  “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Jerry’s voice echoed down the dark hallway and Peter let go of the doorknob as if it were burning hot. Immediately the sick feeling fled him as if it had never been there in the first place.

  Jerry’s arms were stained a bright red and his coveralls were splattered with more of the same. It looked almost as though he had ripped a man apart with his bare hands, but the smell coming off him was of paint not blood. He must have had a hell of a time cleaning up the stage.

  Jerry chuckled at the look of surprise on Peter’s face. “You can take it easy. I was only joking with you.”

  “What’s in that room?” Peter asked.

  Jerry gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. “Nothing the new guy in town need concern himself with.”

  Peter wondered at the oddness of this statement as Jerry started guiding him back towards the main theater.

  “Anyway, we won’t have you working back here. There’s a lot of live wires and rusted pipes, and until I can gauge your skill in those departments I think I’ll keep you out front where it’s safer.”

  They had made it back out into the atrium where Greg was setting up scaffolding against one wall to work on the ceiling detail. Jerry shook Peter’s hand and Peter could feel the dried paint cracking against his palm.

  “You’ll learn your place here,” Jerry said with a seriousness that Peter didn’t know that the man was capable of expressing. The handshake was hard, like that of a man trying to establish his dominance. Peter wasn’t sure why Jerry would be posturing like this all of a sudden.

  Jerry let go and Peter’s hand came away with chips of red paint stuck to it. Immediately the man’s expression brightened again. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he said.

  Peter tried to shake the odd feeling that clung to him as he left the theater. He had promised Ashe that they could stay here for a few months. She needed some stability in her life and their relationship needed it as well. He couldn’t uproot them again without proper cause to. It was probably nothing, but he had to find out exactly what had happened at the theater before he could feel comfortable staying here much longer.

  Ashe sat at the front desk of the library feeling a little self-conscious in her new work clothes. She had on a crisp new blouse and smart black skirt and though her color palette was dark as usual, she couldn
’t help feeling a bit confined by the new dress code. It was a small price to pay, however, for the privilege of working in such a beautiful building. It was as grand inside as it was outside, its architecture speaking volumes of the long history of the town. She had been lucky that there had been an opening for her here. The library didn't seem to have many patrons and there was little use for more than one desk clerk. The wide middle-aged woman who occupied the desk with Ashe had left her post around mid-morning and hadn’t been back since. It was nearly noon now.

  The front doors opened with a bang and a young man strode into the atrium. He was well-built and his longish blond hair was pulled back from his face in a bun. He couldn't have been much older than Ashe and she took immediate note of the handsomeness in his features. She immediately looked away. Her heart already belonged to Peter.

  The man took little notice of her as he went around the front desk and commandeered use of the unoccupied computer. His familiarity with the place suggested he was an employee, though his appearance did not seem in keeping with the library’s dress code. His denim shirt was far too casual and his boots looked like the kind meant for riding motorcycles with. He frowned and scratched his jaw, apparently not liking what the book database system was feeding back to him.

  “Um, excuse me. Do you work here?” Ashe said.

  The man’s blue eyes caught hers and he smiled. “I suppose I should be asking you the same question.”

  “Sorry,” Ashe replied, suddenly feeling like she had been rude. “It’s just, it’s my first day here and I don’t know everyone yet. I’m Ashe.”