Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon

by Brandon Berntson

Seth looked up. Albert and Eddie’s eyes widened. Malcolm raised his eyebrows. Kinsey wore a look of shock.

  “I just stood in the living room, watching her sleep,” he explained. “She passed out on the couch. I had a butcher knife. I wanted to make sure she never beat me again.” He paused, smiling. The smile frightened Seth. Was their companion going crazy? “I had the perfect chance, you know? No one would know. No one would care. I had the perfect opportunity. I wanted to make sure she never touched me again.

  “I went into the living room. I stood there just watching her sleep, thinking about how badly I wanted to kill her. I wanted to shove it right into her face, pin her to the cushions.” Kinsey winced, as if someone had slapped her. Gavin looked at her. “I could’ve killed her if I wanted to, I guess.” He stopped, breathing easier, and went on: “But I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I thought, ‘I’d better get outta here before I do something awful.’ I felt sick. I hurried downstairs into my room, grabbed my pack, and went to Eddie’s.”

  Around him, faces were stern, thoughtful, even appalled.

  Gavin looked at his friends. “Sorry,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. But it was weird. I hate her. I hate her, and I’m so tired. I shouldn’t have said anything. You guys probably think I’m a frickin’ wacko.”

  Albert shook his head. “I probably would’ve felt the same way.”

  They sat listening to the rain, and no one said a word.

  Seth looked at Gavin, wondering what was going through the boy’s mind. Despite everything, he was glad Gavin was here. Something was different about him, too. Maybe the pressures of home had finally lifted. Seth thought about what Masie had told him at the drive-in, about making memories. Maybe this quest was a good opportunity to do just that.

  Half an hour later, the rain lessened, tapering to a light drizzle.

  “Well,” Malcolm said. “We’d better get going.”

  They stood up, shouldered their packs, and began walking through the high, wet grass.

  Gavin remained behind. “Uh, guys!”

  The others stopped and turned. Gavin stood by the bole of a cottonwood, his face fixed on something in the tree. “You might want take a look at this!”

  Everybody looked at one another, then walked back to where Gavin stood. Seth hung back, and let the others go on ahead.

  Albert, Malcolm, and Eddie stood next to Gavin with Kinsey just behind them.

  “Seth,” Malcolm said, not taking his eyes off the tree. “You’d better come over here.”

  The clouds thinned, showing a hint of blue.

  Seth moved through the high grass and stood next to his friends. Malcolm and Eddie’s glasses had fogged up, beading with glistening drops of rain. Despite the covers of the trees, his friends, including himself, were soaking wet. Seth shivered.

  Kinsey looked at him and smiled.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” he asked, stepping closer.

  Malcolm turned and looked at him. He was smiling, too.

  “What the hell’s so funny?” Seth asked.

  Gavin stepped back. Eddie did as well, making a path for Seth, who stepped closer to the tree. Why didn’t anyone answer him?

  They were not looking at the tree, but at something inside the tree.

  Even Gavin, pained and bruised, smiled at Seth.

  The hole in the tree looked like the entrance to a cave. The excavation was slightly shorter than Seth. Fixed into the recess was a solid black sword and scabbard, the handle—a translucent, shimmering black.

  Seth looked at his friends and furrowed his brows.

  Bearer of the Black Sword.

  Malcolm shrugged and smiled even wider.

  Seth looked in the direction they’d come. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Ben was standing with his prominent orange, and black stripes against the lushness of the deep, green grass fifty yards out. The others didn’t even notice. Ben looked his way and nodded a single time.

  Seth turned and looked at Malcolm.

  “I think you’d better take it,” Malcolm said.

  Seth shook his head. “Uh…I don’t think so.”

  “He’s right, Seth,” Eddie said. “Quit jivin’ and just take it.”

  “Why me?”

  “You know damn good and well,” Malcolm said. “It’s here for you. So, quit messing around. Grab it, and let’s go.”

  “Yeah, Seth,” Albert said.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Malcolm laughed.

  “Go on, Seth,” Albert said.

  “Yeah, Seth,” Kinsey joined in. “Take it. Malcolm’s right. We know who it’s for. I don’t think Ben wants anyone else to have it.”

  No, he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Seth wondered if he’d be remotely close to Kansas ever again. His friends were smiling, as if playing a joke on him.

  Demons on horseback, he thought. Tigers that talk. And yet, a simple sword fixed into a tree surprises you. Why is that?

  Seth smiled at his foolishness, stepping forward. He grabbed the sword and scabbard, pulling it from the tree. It was weighty, but not too heavy. He pulled the blade free from the scabbard, and noticed the blade was the same, shimmering, translucent black. In the light under the clouds, despite the absence of the sun, a deep, midnight blue—a flash of purple—shimmered within the blade. Seth looked at it for a second, then sheathed the sword.

  “A black sword for a white knight,” Kinsey said.

  Seth blushed.

  “Not what I would’ve expected,” Malcolm said, putting a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “It looks like things are making a little more sense, at least.” He paused. “Come on. Let’s get some ground behind us before it starts raining again.”

  Seth looked back, but Ben had disappeared.

  Helping him with the sword, Kinsey fixed it to his backpack where the hilt was visible just behind his head. Still, if he needed it, it would be awkward. The pack was too bulky, especially with the sleeping bag.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You are a man of mystery, Seth Auburn,” Kinsey said, and hurried to catch up with the others, who were already moving ahead.

  Seth didn’t feel as if he were a man at all, let alone one of mystery. The only man of mystery he knew about was Austin Powers. Soon, though, he caught up with the others.

  Albert turned toward him. “So, Your Majesty? What next?”

  “First thing,” Seth said. “No name calling.”

  “Fair enough, My Liege,” Albert said, clapping him on the back.

  Seth shook his head and decided to keep quiet.

  The mountains loomed another step closer.

  CHAPTER III

  Masie Auburn stretched, yawned, and rubbed sleep out her eyes. The tantalizing aroma of bacon was in the air. She was wearing a snug, white tank top and men’s boxers. It was, for Masie, the only way to sleep. Her mother had raised her eyebrows when they went shopping and Masie had picked out the boxers. “Do you have any idea how comfortable these are?” Masie had asked.

  “I don’t even want to know how you know that,” her mother had said, and Masie laughed and laughed.

  Framed pictures of Jeanie, Rheanna, and herself were positioned on the windowsill, on the wall, and by the vanity mirror in her room. Together, Masie, Jeanie, and Rheanna made faces, laughed, and hugged one another. The vanity held a wide array of brightly colored, girlish products. A poster of Jim Morrison wearing sunglasses and a denim jacket hung on the wall. His face took up most of the print. She liked The Doors, but she bought the poster because—in Masie’s opinion—Jim Morrison was one of the sexiest things to grace rock-and-roll history. Stuffed bears, rabbits, pigs, and other animals she’d accrued as gifts from previous boyfriends, birthdays, and Christmases, lay scattered along the room and across the bed.

  Her bedroom window overlooked the front yard and Montgomery Avenue, a cool, blustery day. The wind blew hard, and it was cold in her room.

  Yawning and stretching, she sto
od up, and stepped into the hallway, making the ritualistic stop to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, frowned at what she saw, then went into the kitchen.

  Her mother had the day off. She was preparing breakfast: French toast and bacon. She loved it when her mother didn’t have to work at the restaurant because—even though she was surrounded by food all day—she loved to cook at home.

  “Morning, Mom,” Masie said, and kissed her cheek. Samantha smiled. “Oooo, bacon and French Tizzle.”

  Samantha looked at her and rolled her eyes.

  Masie chuckled.

  “Is your brother up yet?”

  “I don’t think so. Want me to go rouse the little miester?”

  “That would be great.”

  Masie stole a piece of bacon on her way, took a bite, walking down the hallway, and opened the door to Seth’s room. His bed was rumpled but empty—the same clutter of toys and clothes on the floor. Masie frowned.

  She looked toward the bathroom but the door was open, and the light was off. Masie checked her mother’s room (not that she expected to see him there), but it was empty as well. She walked back down the hallway—her step quickening—and through the kitchen. She stepped out the back door. She didn’t think about it, at least not yet. The feeling hadn’t quite come over her. But soon (and it wasn’t long afterwards) panic clutched her chest.

  Dear God.

  She had seen him the night before, just before bed. To her, it seemed only minutes ago.

  Samantha raised her eyebrows, watching Masie the entire time.

  The wind was bitterly cold, more than Masie had expected. It cut to her bones, and she rubbed at her arms. “Seth!”

  If he were in the meadow, she would’ve seen him. The grass swayed, but her little brother was nowhere to be found.

  This is how Sadie disappeared. His folks got up and found him gone. The police were called, and…

  Seth wouldn’t have been so careless.

  Would he?

  What makes you think he had a choice?

  Masie suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Her heart quickened. She went back inside.

  “Masie?” her mother asked.

  Masie looked at her mother, opened her mouth, then closed it. Her ability to speak had abandoned her. She shook her head.

  Samantha Auburn—single mother of two—forgot about breakfast, left the pan to smoke on the stove, and repeated the ritual her daughter had just performed.

  After several minutes, she called the police.

  Deputy Anders picked up. “Gee, that’s funny, Mrs. Auburn. You’re the third person today to report a missing child.”

  ii

  Deirdre Lolly hadn’t reported Gavin’s disappearance. He vanished all the time, and when he got home, he was to going receive a chastisement to put every previous beating to shame!

  For Deirdre Lolly, it was the last straw.

  She hadn’t noticed him gone until late that afternoon. She had to admit, she was shocked, even impressed by the sonofabitch’s courage. Two days ago, she’d pulverized him to the brink of death. The beating alone should’ve been enough to keep him bedridden. Apparently, she hadn’t done enough. But she would make sure this time. Oh, yes. She’d make sure he never walked again.

  When she didn’t hear the television downstairs, or the creak of the stairs, Deirdre decided to investigate. Not finding him in his room, her fury took over, and she was seething…something akin to…

  A dragon.

  She was going to brandish him good! She’d double the size of his wounds! Make him bleed, cripple, torture, and abuse him until he begged for mercy. Ah! But even then, she’d continue the barrage, the pinwheels of destruction.

  Deirdre patted herself on the back. Being able to administer those bruises took talent. She hadn’t thought herself capable of such damage. She was a good, proud mother, administering discipline where Gavin needed it most.

  Did he realize what he’d done, how furious he’d made her, what was going to happen, what she planned to do?

  Deirdre smiled. If it could be said, rings of smoke puffed from her nostrils, a dragon breathing in its fury.

  She sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. Her legs were crossed, one swinging violently over the other, waiting for Gavin to come home. He would come home; he always came home, and when he did…

  She couldn’t wait! All the bloody things she would do to him.

  She smiled, lighting another cigarette. Deirdre reached out and grabbed the cocktail glass off the coffee table. She’d replenished it with straight vodka over ice. Before gulping it down, her eye caught a glimmer of something on the floor.

  Deirdre reached down, picked up the butcher knife, and leaned back against the sofa. She turned it over in her hands. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why a butcher knife was lying on the floor, let alone why she’d grabbed one in the first place…

  iii

  Five children had turned up missing in one day. From Eddie Higglesby’s house, the call had come in from the boy’s mother, Jane; from the Papal residence, the mother had also phoned in. From the Auburn residence, the same. A distraught father had called from the MacKay household, reporting his missing daughter. Another (not a phone call, but a personal visit) came from a weary old man, telling the sheriff about the disappearance of his grandson.

  Frank Allen Bimsley wondered how many more calls there would be, or if the count would level off at five.

  Bimsley had paid a visit to the MacKay residence already. The young parents had confirmed a shortage of food as Kinsey had—for whatever reason—raided the pantry. Had she been planning a trip? Bimsley had asked. The parents shook their heads. They had no idea.

  At the Papal residence, Albert’s dad said a rifle was missing from his gun case. Also missing were two fishing poles, a sleeping bag, and Albert’s backpack.

  Rifle, Frank thought? Fishing poles?

  Had the kids planned a hunting expedition?

  The old man, Algernon Alister, reported Malcolm’s absence, but hadn’t known enough about the kid or his room to know if anything was missing. His bike was gone, and that was about it.

  Frank was now standing in front of the Auburn residence in the cold rain. He walked up to the door and rang the bell.

  The door opened and a frantic mother in her early forties greeted him. “Hello, Sheriff.”

  Frank nodded.

  She was attractive, he thought, but her green eyes were wide with worry. She looked pale and with good reason. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail. When her daughter came into view, Frank could see the resemblance, despite the opposite eye and hair color.

  “Mrs. Auburn,” Frank said, taking off his Stetson and rubbing his fingers along the brim.

  “Sheriff,” Mrs. Auburn said. “Come on in.”

  He was used to it—the frantic worry—the constant phone calls. Today, however, he came to conclusions not to worry.

  Not yet anyway, Frank thought.

  He stepped into the house and nodded at the woman’s daughter. During the next several minutes, they related a similar story to what he’d heard already: missing child, searching the house, calling the police.

  When Frank asked Mrs. Auburn and her daughter if they noticed anything missing, they shook their heads.

  “The reason I asked,” Bimsley said, “is that other kids are missing, too. Seems they all planned a camping trip or something. Food, camping gear, hiking boots, backpacks, stuff like that. All missing. Did Seth mention a camping trip to either of you?”

  “No,” Mrs. Auburn said. The daughter shook her head.

  “Do you mind if I check his room?” Frank asked.

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Auburn said. “Go right ahead.”

  The woman’s hands were shaking. She led Frank down the hallway, motioning him to Seth’s bedroom, everything a young boy’s room should be. A Spider-Man poster hung on the wall above the bed. Toy airplanes and action figures were scattered along a desk and below the window. A Den
ver Bronco poster took up a spot on another wall. The bed was unmade, the room in disarray with clothes on the floor. The dresser drawers had been rifled through and left open.

  “Does your son own a pair of hiking boots, a backpack?” Frank asked.

  “Hiking boots, yes,” Mrs. Auburn said. “Seth never wanted a backpack for school. He said it made him feel dorky. The boots should be in the closet.”

  Frank paused and pointed to the closet. “Do you mind?”

  “No,” Mrs. Auburn said.

  Frank stepped toward the closet. He nudged a tennis shoe aside with the toe of his boot and opened the door. Rummaging through for several minutes, he found no winter gear at all. Frank nodded to himself. “No boots, no winter coat.”

  Behind him, mother and daughter exchanged a glance.

  “Mrs. Auburn,” Frank said, “I have the names of the other kids who all turned up missing. The MacKay’s said their daughter had a crush on your son, and that he talked to her sometimes on the phone. She is one of the missing. If you happen to know—by any chance—that these kids got together previously, it would be a big help.”

  Mrs. Auburn nodded. “Of course. Of course.”

  Frank reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small notebook, lifting the cover. “Eddie Higglesby,” he said. “Malcolm Alister. Albert Papal and Kinsey MacKay. Those names mean anything to you?”

  Mrs. Auburn shook her head, brows descending. She looked like she was on the verge of screaming, as if she wanted to know those names, and that if she were any kind of mother at all, she would know them. When Bimsley looked at the daughter, however, he noticed something else. Her eyes (he still hadn’t caught her name) were wide in surprise.

  “Yes!” she said.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes!” she said again, her excitement growing. She turned to her mother. “Those were the kids we went to the drive-in with the other night, Mom. They were there. All of them. They went with us!”

  “Excuse me?” Frank said.

  Mrs. Auburn looked as though she were about to come unglued if her daughter didn’t start explaining herself.

  The young girl, (Frank started to think of her as Miss Auburn) looked at Bimsley, turned to her mother, then looked at Bimsley again. “We went to the drive-in,” she explained. “Just the other night. We wanted to get out. So Jeanie—that’s a close friend of mine—came by and picked up me and Seth. We went to pick up Malcolm at his house. When we got to the drive in, all the other kids were there, too, except for Kinsey. Seth said she couldn’t go. But Eddie was there. Malcolm and Albert. And there was another boy…Gavin. Gavin Lolly. He was there, too. Seth said he met them all at school, that he was worried about Gavin, something about his mother. But you didn’t say his name. Maybe he’s still home. Maybe Gavin knows something! Oh, Mom!” she said, turning to her mother. “What do you think they did? Why did they go off together?”