by Sean Cullen
“Whatever. So what do we do now?”
Harold frowned and thought for a moment. “We wait.”
“For how long?” Dmitri asked. “It’s getting cold out here.”
When they left the mainland, it had been a sunny if chilly day. Here on the island, the weather was different. Grey clouds were gathering and the air was far colder. It was almost as if the island had its own weather system, distinct from that of the city across the channel. Somehow, it felt unnatural.^ 42 The prospect of hunkering down in the deep cold didn’t excite either of the boys.
“I don’t know. As long as it takes,” Harold vowed with grim determination. “He has to come back this way to get to the ferry, so we watch the road.” He pointed a chubby finger. “There!”
And so they found themselves in the clump of juniper bushes when Brendan emerged from behind the Community Centre. Harold was relieved. He’d been hungry before they’d begun their stakeout. Now he was positively ravenous. Sitting still in the cold and damp had only made his discomfort worse.
“Look at him,” Dmitri said. “He isn’t wearing his jacket.”
Harold grunted. It was true. Brendan walked along with his coat tucked under his arm and his school bag over his shoulder. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, though the temperature was well below freezing. The sun was just about gone and it was getting dark. He walked up the road toward the boys’ hiding place. They sat very still, trying not to breathe.
Brendan came even with them and stopped suddenly. Harold and Dmitri sat stock-still, willing even their heartbeats to silence. When Brendan started talking, they thought he had discovered them. But then they realized he wasn’t talking to them.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brendan said. “I just got lucky. I doubt if I could surprise her like that again.”
Who was he talking to? He was alone, wasn’t he?
“All right! All right! I’ll put my coat on. There’s no one to see me. After that workout, I’m sweating like a pig.”
Harold and Dmitri peered through the branches of the juniper bush and watched as Brendan dropped his bag to shrug on his coat. His head steamed gently in the cold air. His hair was wet. What workout was he talking about, and who was he talking to?^ 43
Then they saw the bug.
“What is that?” Harold whispered in amazement.
The bug looked like a big hairy beetle, kind of a cross between a housefly and a bumblebee. Its shiny wings hummed as it hovered in front of Brendan’s face.
“Oh, sure,” Brendan laughed. “And who’s going to see me out here? Never mind. I’m gonna be late for dinner. Let’s get going. Climb in.” Brendan held his coat pocket open, and to the watchers’ amazement, the bug thing flew in. Brendan started off down the road again.
They waited until Brendan was a safe distance away before starting off in pursuit. The gathering darkness made their task easier. They crept from tree to tree, keeping Brendan in sight.
“What kind of bug could that be?” Harold hissed.
“Insects are not fond of the cold,” Dmitri whispered back. “I must admit I’m stamped.”
“Stumped.”
“Right.”
They were surprised when Brendan turned away from the road to the ferry terminal.
“Where’s he going?” Dmitri asked.
“I don’t know,” Harold whispered. “Just keep quiet.”
They came to the spot in the road where Brendan had turned off. The snow was uniform and white. There were no footprints or any other indication that Brendan had left the road at that spot. Harold looked off into the darkness.
“Are we sure this is where he left the road?” Harold whispered.
“I think so,” Dmitri said uncertainly. “But where are the footprints?”
They heard the unmistakable sound of Brendan’s voice in the trees calling, “Wait up!”
“Come on,” Harold hissed. They set off in the direction of Brendan’s voice, torn between speed and stealth. The snow helped dampen the sound of their footfalls.
“Look!” Harold said, pointing to the ground in front of them. Brendan’s footprints were now easy to see. They led toward a cluster of birch trees. Obviously, the tracks had been there all along, but for some reason they’d been unable to see them. “Why couldn’t we see them from the path?” Harold whispered.
“Very weird,” Dmitri agreed.
“This whole island’s a little weird,” Harold said.
The boys entered the stand of birch trees in the deepening gloom. Their breath puffed out in huge clouds. They moved as quickly as they dared, finally emerging from the trees to find themselves at the edge of the lake.
Ice had formed along the shore. There was no sign of Brendan anywhere. The only sign of Human habitation was a rickety old wooden dock that jutted out into the gelid^ 44 black water. Like a stumpy finger, it pointed toward the Toronto skyline glittering in the distance.
“Where did he go?” Harold asked in complete confusion.
“Where could he have gone?” Dmitri shrugged. “There is nowhere to go. He vanished like a thin hair!”
Harold was about to correct Dmitri again when a female voice did it for him. “It’s thin air, you geek.” Harold and Dmitri spun around to find Delia Clair standing at the edge of the trees. “And why am I not surprised he gave you the slip?”
“What are you doing here?” Harold demanded. “You were spying on us!”
“And what were you doing following Brendan?” She let that question hang in the air. Harold and Dmitri hung their heads sheepishly.
Finally, Dmitri said, “We’re worried about him. He’s been behaving kind of strangely.”
“We wanted to find out what he’s doing,” Harold added. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”
“Maybe he just realized you two are the biggest losers in the universe?” Delia suggested. Harold clenched his fists but said nothing. “You guys are pathetic spies. I’ve been watching you for at least an hour and you didn’t even know I was there.”
“Oh yeah?” Harold retorted. “What are you doing here? I suppose you just happened to take a trip to the island in the freezing cold?”
Delia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m doing the same thing you are. I’m trying to figure out what Brendan is up to.”
“Spying on your own brother?” Harold shook his head. “That’s pretty low.”
Delia grabbed Harold by the front of his jacket and pulled him close until she was staring into his eyes. “He isn’t my brother. Not really! And I want to know what happened to me. I think he had something to do with it.”
“What do you mean, what happened to you?” Dmitri interjected.
“I mean… ” she stopped. Disgusted, she let go of Harold and turned away. “Never mind.” She started to walk back into the trees.
“Is it about the day you lost?” Dmitri shouted at her back.
Delia froze. Slowly, she turned around and looked at the two boys. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Is it about the day you lost?’” Dmitri watched her face. She didn’t speak.
Harold jumped in. “We lost a day, too, a few weeks ago. We just can’t seem to remember anything about this one day.”
“We believe Brendan had something to do with it,” Dmitri added.
Delia stared at them. At last, she whispered, “Why? Why do you think he’s involved?”
“We can’t be sure,” Harold said. “It’s just a feeling we both have. And, well… ” He hesitated, his hand resting on his book bag. “I have these pictures I drew.”
Delia’s eyebrows rose. “What pictures?”
“In my sketchbook.”
Delia grinned a hungry grin. “Let me see these pictures.”
Later, they sat in a cafe drinking hot chocolate and comparing notes. On the ferry from the island, Delia had pored over the bizarre sketches that Harold insisted he’d done but couldn’t remember drawing. They showed Brendan flying with birds, and an old man with a grizzl
ed face and a slouch cap. There were pictures of a magnificent but terrifying woman with fierce eyes. Her hands were alight with some form of energy. On another page, weird creatures that seemed to be half man and half dog slavered and snarled.
Delia was captivated. “If you’d seen someone like that, you’d think it would stick in your mind.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to make sense of what they’d seen so far.
“I’ve been following him for days now,” Delia said at last. “I even followed him when he was Christmas shopping.”
“What did he do?” Dmitri asked.
“Went Christmas shopping,” Delia snapped sullenly.
“Nice work, Sherlock,” Harold scoffed.
“Why don’t you just shut up?”
“Please!” Dmitri interjected. “Let’s not fight. We have to figure out what’s going on.”
“Okay, so we all agree,” Harold said. “Something weird is going on and Brendan is at the centre of it. So what do we do?”
“We keep doing what we’re doing,” Delia announced. “Only now, we join forces.”
“Join forces?” Harold repeated, mystified. “You’d work with dorks like us?”
“Though it makes me dry-heave just thinking about it, yes. Three heads are better than one. We can cover more ground this way. Coordinate our efforts. Are we agreed?”
Dmitri and Harold exchanged a glance. After a moment of silent communication, they nodded.
“Okay.” Delia smiled fiercely. “There are two conditions.”
“What?” Dmitri asked.
“One: I’m in charge.”
“Okay,” Harold conceded. “The other?”
“You guys gotta get some deodorant. Really!” Delia grimaced. “I mean, come on. Grow up.”
“One question,” Dmitri said.
“What’s that?” Delia asked.
“What’s deodorant?”
“Are you kidding me?” Delia snorted.
“Yes,” Dmitri answered and grinned.
^ 42 Of course it’s unnatural. It’s the beginning of the Ward that will shield the island from Human eyes during the Clan Gathering. Duh!
^ 43 These days it’s hard to tell who is mad and who is talking on a cellphone. It’s not unusual to see people walking down the street and talking at the top of their voices to no one in particular. It used to be that you knew such a person was mad and they were best avoided. Now, people have these little ear thingies and they’re most likely holding a phone conversation, closing a big deal or planning dinner. I long for the old days when you knew whether a person was mad. Sometimes, just for fun, I put a little ear thingy in my ear and walk up and down the street saying strange things like, “Tell them we need it delivered to Atlantis by noon tomorrow!” or “The bears were completely covered in electronic strawberries!” I find it very liberating.
^ 44 Gelid means on the verge of freezing, for word fans out there.
PART 3
Preparation
Another Note from the Narrator
Well! If you like stories full of mystery and excitement, this is your lucky day! Brendan has once again surprised everyone with a new ability, but his friends and his evil sister have formed an alliance to spy on him. What a tangled web! What intrigue! What a twisted tale!
Certainly, Harold and Dmitri are more worried about their friend and less bent on his destruction than Delia is. They’ve all lost a day of memories, and one can sympathize with their confusion and desire to figure out what exactly happened to them on the fateful day that disappeared. I’d be worried if I lost a day, wouldn’t you? I mean, anything could happen in twenty-four hours. You could eat a bag of worms, dance naked in a shopping mall, grow a moustache and shave it off, mail it to your parents, and grow another one. I have done all these things, but I have the pleasure of remembering them: that’s the difference.
Some of you may think it’s a little harsh to insist that Delia is bent on Brendan’s destruction. All right, maybe his sister is not evil in the strictest sense. There are many gradations of evil. At the top of the Evil Food Chain are the Evil Dictators who hold their people in an iron grip of fear. Below the Evil Dictators are the Criminal Masterminds who plot the downfall of society to advance their own evil agenda. The next tier is the Corrupt Official who exploits the public for his or her own evil gains. Then there is the average murderer, although murder is hardly average. Finally, there is the Big Sister bent on destroying her sibling in retaliation for the borrowing of a sweater unasked or in revenge for an imagined slight.
Of all of these, the Big Sister is the most unpredictable and terrifying. One may never know when one will become the target of her wrath. One must cringe through life in a constant state of ulcer-inducing fear.
I remember once, when I was twelve, I accidentally spilled a glass of milk on my sister’s favourite woollen skirt. She accepted my apology after a massive tantrum, but she never forgot. It took her twenty years, but in the end she got her revenge. She had me pantsed at the altar on my wedding day. She then posted the pictures on a website she created, entitled www.youruinedmyfavouriteskirtyoulittlecreep.com.
I never saw it coming. I’ll never live it down. I thought she’d forgotten but she hadn’t. Big Sisters are like elephants… with access to the Internet.
MUSIC
Brendan made it home late for dinner. He needn’t have hurried. A note was stuck on the fridge: his mother was out Christmas shopping, his father working an evening shift. Of his sister there was no sign. He was glad to have the house to himself. His mum had left a pan of lasagna in the oven. Peering in at the expanse of cheese and noodles, he was suddenly aware of how desperately hungry he was. Happily carving off a chunk, Brendan sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy a solitary meal. He was sore from the sparring and a bit light-headed. His mind was spinning with thoughts of how he’d broken Saskia’s circle and managed to knock the formidable Warp Warrior down.
Somehow, I did it. I have to figure out how to do it again. He tried to force his mind to recapture the feeling he’d had when the warp had taken him, but his tired mind rebelled.
“This is hopeless,” he said aloud to the empty kitchen. “I can’t do it!”
“Sure you can!” Charlie’s voice answered. He whirled, knocking his chair over. Charlie was leaning in the kitchen doorway, smiling cheekily. “What is it we’re talking about, exactly?”
“What are you doing here?” Brendan demanded. “How did you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked.” She walked over to the table and pinched a lasagna noodle between her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Tasty.”
Brendan snarled and snatched the plate away from her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.” Charlie shrugged. “What will you do about it?”
Brendan carried his plate to the counter. He plunked it down and turned to snap an angry retort at Charlie, but she wasn’t there. He looked around in confusion and then saw that the basement door stood open.
“No way!” Anger flushed through him. “That’s my dad’s place.” He stomped across the floor, fists clenched, and headed down into the cellar.
When he got down to his dad’s music studio he found Charlie playing a song on his father’s electric guitar. The original 1952 Gibson Les Paul was his dad’s pride and joy; he’d found it at a flea market and had lovingly restored it. Brendan would never have dared to touch the instrument for fear of damaging it in some way, but here was Charlie, uninvited, handling his father’s prized possession. She sat on a stool with her back to him, her attention focused on the guitar. Her dark hair, he noticed, was set differently today. Normally, it was teased up into a rooster’s comb, held in place by glamours or more mundane hair products. Now it hung in a curtain around her pale face as she concentrated on her fingers. Brendan was on the verge of yelling at her for coming down here and handling his dad’s stuff, intruding on his family’s space. But just as he opened his mouth, she began to
sing and his anger was forgotten.
At first, he couldn’t understand the words. They were just sounds, surprisingly rich and plaintive. Brendan had always thought of her as a young girl, a teenager like himself. Now, listening to the emotion in her voice, he realized she was old, centuries old, and she’d seen a great deal of joy and sadness in that long span of time. She sang in French. Brendan had never been any good at languages, but as he listened the meaning began to come clear to him. The song was melancholy and reached into his heart, touching something inside him.
This world is not for me.
I am just biding my time.
One day I’ll be set free.
And my spirit will climb.
There’s a place I need to go.
But I don’t know the way there.
Someday I’ll find the road.
It may take a while but I don’t care.
I belong in the stars.
I belong in the sky.
Won’t be long ’til I’m up there.
Won’t be long ’tilI fly.
And I’m gonna find you.
And I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of my tears at an end.
And I’m gonna find you.
I’m gonna hold you again.
And I’m gonna tell you.
All of your tears are at an end.
Charlie’s voice trailed off. She played a last lonely note that hung in the musty air of the basement. Brendan felt he could almost hear her breathing, the beat of her heart. As she turned her head, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Oh! Allo,” she said softly, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Have you been standing there long?”
Brendan shook his head. He couldn’t trust his voice not to crack. Finally, he said, “You’re a good singer.” He felt like an idiot saying that, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He was undone by her sadness.
“You were crying… ”
“Just the song. It made me sad,” she said evasively.
She placed the guitar on the stand and arched her back like a cat, stretching her arms above her head. She looked perfectly at home with herself, perfectly beautiful. Brendan longed to be like her. She saw him looking at her and smiled again. “What?”
