The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  Chris turned towards her voice, his hands covering his face. "It’s going to kill you all! I can't stop it. I’ve got to get away from where I can remember things!"

  "Outside?"

  "Yes, anyplace! Help me Mom. Get me out of here! I can picture this hallway."

  "Okay, I'll lead you." Sharon grabbed his shoulder and pulled him towards the exit doors visible at the far end of the hall, glancing over her shoulder to see if Beth was following. Behind her, two nurses stood staring. Sharon heard them gasp as Beth staggered out into the hallway, blood streaming down her face.

  "Beth are you alright?” Sharon called, pushing Chris ahead of her.

  “Yes, but get him out of here. Blindfold him, Sharon." Beth yelled after her sister. "If he can't see, he can't do anything." Then she noticed the staring nurses. "Get some help! There's a man hurt in here."

  As she reached up with one hand to investigate her own injuries, Sharon and Chris reached the doors at the end of the hall, punched the exit-bar, and disappeared from her sight.

  SIX - SEVEN

  Sharon led Chris towards the front of the hospital, passing a crowd of nurses entering the wing for the beginning of their day shift. The blood from the cut in her ear was dripping steadily onto her shoulder and several of nurses tried to interfere with her flight, offering directions towards the emergency department. Sharon brushed them by with mumbled excuses and continued to urge Chris towards the safety of the front doors. She spoke as she walked, "We have never taken this way out of the hospital before, but I think it’s faster," she lied.

  Chris nodded, both of his hands still pressed to his eyes. As they passed by a wheeled fibreglass bin, its interior piled high with soiled sheets and bedding, she quickly bundled a sheet under one arm. "This way Chris." She pulled him towards daylight and the glass doors at the front of the hospital.

  "Don't take your car. I’ve seen it in my mind a bunch of times." Chris spoke quietly.

  Sharon nodded, she had already thought of that. She hadn’t had much time to analyse Chris' methods, but what he said was beginning to make some sense to her now. Chris had to picture the area or object as it actually was before he could enact change on it, he couldn't effect a change if the physical environment had altered. Unfortunately, he had an absolute recall of everything he had ever seen. She would leave her car in the parking garage. "Chris if I call a taxi, will you be able to harm it, even though you can visualize taxis?"

  Chris thought for a moment as Sharon led him over to a bench by the front walk of the hospital. "No. I’ve got to be able to picture the exact car. Besides I don't think it’d let me hurt myself...but I’m not sure."

  Sharon helped Chris onto a bench outside of the hospital, ignoring curious stares from passing pedestrians, "What is this it?" She asked already fearing the answer.

  "It’s that machine Todd and I found up at the camp. Uncle Charlie has brought it back to Detroit and it’s messing with the pictures in my head."

  "How can it do that?"

  "It’s faster than I am. It can change a picture before I get a chance to push it from my mind."

  "It caused you to wreck Dr. Murance's office?"

  "Yes, but it actually wanted me to wreck you, Aunt Beth and Dr. Murance. It wants to get me away from all of you."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I think it believes you’re a threat to me."

  "God! Chris, maybe we should go back inside. Maybe Dr. Murance can...”

  "No! The only way I can get back to being myself is if I get away from it. We’ve got to leave."

  "What do you want to do?" Sharon realized that she would have to take direction from her son, as at this point he knew best.

  "We have to leave Detroit. We’ve got to get far away from the city."

  "Okay. Wait here, I am going to call a...never mind there’s a taxi right now. Lets go!" Sharon grabbed Chris' arm and led him towards a taxi disgorging an elderly couple in front of the hospital. "Climb in." She helped Chris into the back, his hands still pressed to his eyes, and settled herself beside him as the driver put away the money from his last fare. "The airport." She said, through the plastic screen.

  "No problem lady." He put the car in gear, then turned to look back at the blood soaking into her blouse and the small child sitting beside her, his hands covering his eyes. "But you’re leaving the place where they fix that sort of stuff."

  "Just take us to the airport." Sharon responded, as she began to rip the sheet into lengths.

  The airport was crowded, early morning commuter traffic arriving for flights to Chicago, New York City and other large centres. Sharon didn't want to go to any other big city, even though she had been born and raised within the U.S.'s sixth largest. Now she was on the run, she could relate to the desperation and urgency criminals feel when fleeing the law. She wanted to go to some place wild and far away from civilization. A cabin in the woods, an abandoned mine, the top of a mountain, or some similar place where people and danger were far in the distance.

  She had made a rough bandage from the torn sheet and had covered Chris' eyes from just below his hair line to the tip of his nose as the taxi driver watched silently in his rear-view mirror. Then she had wiped the dried blood off of her ear and neck, and using the rest of the sheet, she made a shawl that covered her shoulders and upper body, cape-like, to the waist. She certainly looked strange, like a well-dressed hippie from the 60's, but upon reflection she didn't look a lot different than some of the more gaudily dressed women waiting for their own departures. "Is there any place special we should go?" Sharon asked, as she seated Chris in one of the plastic chairs lining the main departure hall.

  "No, it doesn't matter. Just get us away from here." Chris yawned, covering his mouth with his hand as he had been taught. "I can't sleep until we leave."

  "Okay, stay here and I’ll check what flights are available."

  Sharon moved towards the airline counters, pulling her credit cards from the hidden pouch in her purse. A habit she had got into years ago when she had been robbed of her wallet and credit cards by a boy with a gun not much older than her son was now. Since then, whenever she bought a purse, she cut a small slit in the lining on the bottom and slid her important credit cards and one fifty-dollar bill into the hidden pocket. To one side of the ticket counters was a bank machine and Sharon withdrew the four hundred dollars her bank allowed her to withdraw daily. She realized that money - cash - was going to be an absolute necessity until she knew where they were going to end their impromptu flight across the country. She would withdraw another four hundred dollars tomorrow and try not to use up her credit limit. She and Bob had bought a new sofa and chair only three weeks previously and had charged it on her VISA. The balance had not come due yet and she had less than a thousand dollar's credit available. Mentally she reminded herself to call VISA and up her limit. Then she allowed herself a bitter smile as she realized she was adapting to criminal life and methods of planning with some ability. Sharon turned to the airline counters and stood looking up at the departure boards. New York, Chicago, L.A., Dallas, Toronto, Atlanta, Nashville...Nashville, Tennessee! That's where Bob is - some place in Tennessee, anyway. He wouldn't be returning to Detroit for at least three days. Sharon licked her lips, thinking of the complications and advantages of contacting her husband. He could provide transportation, he knew the south as well as she knew Detroit, and they could live in his truck. They had done so before. The big double bed in the back accommodating both her and Bob with Chris sleeping in the fold down bunk above.

  She stepped up to the airline counter, "Two tickets for Nashville, please."

  The flight took just over two hours. Shortly after they took off, Chris reached up and pulled the bandage off his head, folding the white material neatly and shoving it into his pocket. "It's gone now." He said simply, looking up at his mother beside him.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. It was massively strong at the hospital. I could hardly think, it was so powerful. At
the airport it was a bit better and now it is gone entirely."

  "Are you going to be alright, then?"

  "I think so. Just as long as I don't go back to Detroit."

  "That was terrible, Chris. I didn't see everything you did, but you totally destroyed Dr. Murance's office. If that ever happens again I’m going to have to take you someplace..." Sharon stopped unsure of anyplace he could be sent, where he could be prevented from doing the same.

  "That’s the problem - isn't it Mom? Where? Where could I go that they would be able to stop me or help me? I don't think even Dr. Murance knew."

  "No. Maybe not...but what should we do?"

  "Let's go find Dad and stay away from Detroit. Maybe Dad will think of something."

  Sharon nodded. "I suppose there’s not much else we can do now. I don't think Dr. Murance will be too keen on having you for a patient any longer."

  Chris yawned. "Maybe nobody will."

  Sharon ruffled his hair as he yawned, leaning up against her side.

  "Did anyone get hurt?" He asked, as he moved his head back against her side so he could look up into her face.

  "I think maybe Dr. Murance did, but I don't know how badly."

  "I told everyone to get out of there. I knew I was going to do something real bad to that office."

  "Yes, I know. I guess at that time we still didn't believe you could do all the things you did."

  "I knew I could." Chris answered weakly, leaning his head against his mother. "What are we going to do after we find Dad?"

  "I don't know, Chris. I want to talk with your father, but I also want you to do some thinking as well. We aren't the type of people who can run away and hide. Not forever anyway. I’d like you to come up with some suggestions."

  "I want to go to sleep."

  Sharon smiled, "Yes well, you don't need to try and make any suggestions right now. Go to sleep, but think about what we should do, when you get the chance. Okay?"

  "Okay, I will." Chris sighed, closing his eyes.

  Sharon sat in her seat, her arm draped across the small frame of her sleeping son. She too was tired, but at the moment worry and concern had overcome that need. She was making a list of the things that she would have to do on arrival in Nashville. She had never been to Nashville Airport although she had been to the Nashville once before with Bob in the truck. Her only recollection of the city was her surprise at how modern it was. Not homey or country-looking at all - despite its reputation as the country-music capital. It was a big, concrete city. She decided they would get a hotel as close to the airport as possible. Once in the hotel she would phone Bob's trucking company, back in Detroit. Bob phoned in his location at least twice a day and she could leave a message with his office to have him call her at the hotel. By then she and Chris should have got at least four or five hours sleep and could arrange to meet Bob, wherever he happened to be, hopefully someplace close to Nashville.

  Yes, that would be perfect. Meet Bob, explain their predicament and get help for Chris down there. She would phone Beth too, as soon as she had talked with Bob.

  She closed her eyes, her hand still protectively covering her son, feeling his chest rise and fall softly as he slept. Clothes - she would have to get some clothes for them both, and with that thought she too slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ONE

  Beth slid out of the taxi in front of her own house, a white dressing obscuring most of the right side of her forehead. Only four hours had passed since the disastrous events at Saint John's, but as she walked up the sidewalk to her home, her mind ached with the knowledge she would be greeting her husband whose memory she had grieved and cried over for two endless days. She felt the quick beating of her heart and a hollow ache in her stomach as she reached the top of the steps. Pausing for a moment to straighten her hair, she opened the front door.

  Charlie sat comfortably in one of the plush living room chairs and at the sound of her entrance, he turned to face her, pausing momentarily, before his face broke into a smile of welcome.

  "Charlie!" Beth yelled giving way to her emotions as she rushed forward.

  Charlie heaved himself to his feet, "Beth." He breathed, moving towards her to wrap his arms around her, hugging her tightly. Then raising one hand to the bandage above her eye. "What happened to you?"

  "I’ll tell you about it later." Their mouths met and she kissed him longingly. "Oh, Charlie, it's good to have you back. I was so worried."

  “I guess it’s not my time yet.”

  “Oh Charlie!” She held him tight. “I almost died when I heard your voice over the phone and all those other poor people...” Beth didn’t finish, just content to hold him close.

  "So, what happened to you?" Charlie asked, touching the bandage over her eye.

  "There was an accident at the hospital and I got cut above my eye."

  "At the hospital..." Charlie stopped speaking for a moment, his eyes glassy. "Did Chris get hurt?"

  "Chris?!" Beth jerked her head up in surprise. "How did you know he was there?"

  "We called the McCarter's house to see if you were there and we heard he had gone to the hospital."

  "What? How could you have called the McCarter's home when..." She stopped as she noticed a man sitting in an armchair on the far side of the room. "Who are you?"

  "Beth this is Harry Summers." Charlie announced, "He’s the helicopter pilot who flew me down here.”

  Beth nodded. "But, why is he here?"

  "I told you, he flew me down here, now he needs a place to stay for a couple of days."

  "I see." She looked up into Charlie’s eyes. "What’s going on?"

  "Nothing. Nothing at all." Charlie responded. "Harry needs a place to spend a couple nights. After all he’s never been to Detroit before and doesn't know his way around. I didn't think you’d mind, after all it’s only for a couple days."

  Beth looked first at Harry then at Charlie. Their eyes were upon her face, waiting for her reaction.

  Then Harry pushed himself up and out of the chair, a slow smile creasing his lips. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Harry Summers and I appreciate the offer your husband has made. I ‘d like to stay here only for a couple days - no longer.”

  Beth automatically took his proffered hand, her eyes moving back to Charlie’s face, his welcoming smile still locked in place. A small chill ran down her spine as she noticed his eyes. Wide and round. No continuity between the smile on his lips and his eyes above. She withdrew her hand from Harry’s grasp. Both Chris and Todd had been dramatically changed from some mysterious force at the mining camp. During the small hours of this past morning she had learned much more regarding the specific mutations that had transpired within her nephew. She wondered what else had occurred at the mining camp, after she left. This person with his arm still around her shoulders looked like her husband, but his mannerisms were distinctly strange.

  "Okay, I guess." She stepped back as Charlie’s arm dropped to his side. "I'm famished do you want something to eat?"

  "That’d be great." Charlie replied. "And after lunch we’ve got a surprise for you."

  "Yes," Harry added, "something you will surely like."

  Beth brushed by Harry on her way to the kitchen, her pulse racing. Something was wrong. Drastically wrong. Charlie would never invite an overnight guest to their house without checking with her first. And he hadn’t even asked about Todd - their son, still laying in a hospital bed. Instead, he had asked about Chris’ welfare. She opened the fridge where she had stored a casserole she had made the day before and placed it in the microwave. How had he known Chris was in the hospital? There had been no one home at the McCarter’s after the three of them had rushed to the hospital early in the morning. Something was definitely wrong here.

  She placed three plates on the table and then walked over to the doorway leading into the living room. Harry and Charlie were sitting silently at the other end of the room. "Charlie, who did you talk with when you phoned the McCarter's
house?"

  Charlie's head snapped up to look in her direction as she spoke, apparently unaware of her return to the living room. "What was that?"

  "Who answered the phone at the McCarter's house when you phoned there this morning?"

  "No one, there was no answer. Then we phoned the neighbours. They told us you had all gone to the hospital because Chris was acting strangely."

  "Who did you phone?” She paused for a moment thinking, “the Baxters?"

  "Yes, I think so - is that who we phoned Harry?"

  "Yes, the Baxters."

  "By the way, where is Chris now?" Charlie asked.

  "I’m not sure," Beth lied, "he seemed fine, so I expect he has gone off to school." She returned to the kitchen and moved over to the microwave, pretending to check on the meal. The Baxters...her sister didn't have any neighbours with the last name Baxter. And how did Charlie know Chris was no longer at the hospital? She walked over to the back door and opened the inner wooden door, and then checked the screen door to ensure it was unlocked. What was she going to do? She felt like running, but what was she running from? From Charlie, her husband of fifteen years. How could she even think that? The man whose life was so intertwined with hers. The father of her son. No, she wouldn’t run. But the way he spoke was so detached and composed - almost alien. And his lies...Charlie had told a few untruths before, but nothing as transparently stupid as his lie about her sister's neighbours. Something was definitely wrong with him.

  "Beth, why don't you come out to the garage and take a look at what we brought for you?" Charlie asked from the kitchen doorway.

  Beth turned automatically towards his voice. "What is it?"

  "It’s a surprise. Come on and take a look." Harry brushed by Charlie and walked directly towards her, his lips drawn back in a teethy smile. Beth stepped backwards, away from his advance and felt the cool glass of the outside door press against her back. Her hand fumbled for the small aluminum handle as Harry stopped three feet in front of her... and opened the connecting door to the short hallway leading to the garage.