Dunne stumbled as Thad walked him to the limo. His heart pounded, and nervous chills flashed through his body. His mouth went dry, and his palms turned wet.
There she was. Right in front of him. The actress who'd played Kitty Willow. Kitty Willow.
"Dunne Sullivan," said Thad. "Meet Hannahlee Saylor."
Dunne frowned as Thad pushed him toward her. He recognized the woman, but not the name. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Saylor." He extended his hand. "Or should I say Ms. Caprice?"
The woman smiled and shook Dunne's hand. "Lianna Caprice was a long time ago." Her voice was so familiar, deep and velvety, yet cracking with age on the lowest notes. "I go by Hannahlee Saylor now."
Dunne shivered as he held her slender hand. Until now, she had never been quite real to him. An image on a TV screen, she might as well have been a goddess, transfigured in distant cloud tops and rainbows.
Dunne held on to her hand for an extra moment, aware of nothing but her face, her presence, her touch. Her blazing green eyes, locked with his.
Finally, Thad broke the spell. "You two will be spending a lot of time together. We need you to find the ultimate Weeping Willows authority."
Dunne let go of Hannahlee's hand. He suddenly felt self-conscious and broke eye contact with her, too. "Who's that?"
"Cyrus Gowdy," said Thad. "Maybe you've heard of him."
Of course he had. "The creator of Weeping Willows."
"Bingo," said Thad.
Dunne combed his fingers through his thin, sandy hair. "But no one knows where he is, right?"
Thad shrugged. "You see our problem."
"He's been off the grid for what? Five years?" said Dunne. "Is he even alive?"
"He's out there somewhere." Hannahlee said it definitively.
"There are more rumors than you can shake a stick at," said Thad. "But we think there's some truth to them. We think he's hiding somewhere in the Weeping Willows fan underground."
Dunne scowled. "There's a fan underground?"
"Is there ever!" Thad rolled his eyes. "Which is why we need you two. Kitty Willow herself and the writer whose books have kept Weeping Willows alive all these years. You'll have instant entrée with the fan community."
Dunne rubbed his chin. "And you want us to find Gowdy why, exactly?" He had a thought, and his hopes and dreams took a sudden nosedive. "Do you want him to write the screenplay?"
"No, no." Thad chuckled and thumped Dunne on the back. "But he is the only one who can save the movie. We need him to sign a release."
"What kind of release?" said Dunne.
"In Gowdy's original contract, he signed over everything to Halcyon Studios...almost," said Thad. "But he still has right of refusal on future Willows projects."
"Like movies," said Hannahlee.
"See where we're going with this?" said Thad. "No signed release from Gowdy..."
"...no Weeping Willows The Movie. Got it." Dunne nodded and clapped his hands together. "So when do we start?"
"Show him the flyer," said Thad.
Hannahlee slid a folded sheet of pale blue paper out of her pocket and handed it to Dunne. It was an ad for the "25th Annual Willowcon" in L.A.
"The world's biggest convention for Weeping Willows fans," said Thad. "Might be a logical place to start, eh?"
"This is tomorrow," said Dunne.
"Then that's when you start." Suddenly, Thad shot his hand in the air. "So can I get a 'Hey now, hero?'"
It was the most famous catch phrase from Weeping Willows. Dunne knew it well, but he hesitated. Meeting the piercing green gaze of Hannahlee, he felt exposed. As if she could see through to what he really was. As if she knew he was as far from being a hero as anyone could get.
Because the truth was, Dunne's wife and baby daughter had died because of him. Because when a murderous gunman had broken into their home, Dunne had been too scared to fight back. He'd been too much of a coward to fight for his family's lives.
The truth was, Dunne was the opposite of a hero. But he said it anyway, to placate Thad. To move forward with this chance to turn his life around.
This chance for him to change.
"Hey there, hero." Dunne said it half-heartedly.
"What're we fightin' for?" said Thad.
"Love and justice," said Dunne.
"You're darn tootin'." Hannahlee frowned at Dunne as she said it.
*****
Chapter 2
Barcelona, Spain - November 1883
I am at a crossroads when he enters my life.
A year and a half ago, a bishop laid my first stone. In the time since then, I have grown; workers have dug and lined my foundations, sprawling over this space in the heart of the city.
It is a fitting spot, as I am meant to become that heart...beating with the rhythm of the faithful, given over to love of God and His creation. Everything about me is intended to express that love for as long as I shall stand.
Yet I do not love God. I know nothing about Him, and I know nothing at all of love.
At least until today.
Today, I see the newcomer for the first time. My patron, Señor Bocabella, walks him around the cavity of my foundation, describing his vision of me with grand sweeps of his hands.
The newcomer weaves a vision with his hands, too, but the pictures he draws in the air are much different than Bocabella's.
I overhear Bocabella call him Gaudí.
"To craft a fitting tribute to Our Lord, we must use His language." Gaudí sweeps his arm overhead, taking in the bright blue sky and shimmering sun. "The language of Nature."
Stern Bocabella grunts and nods. "You are a true believer, Señor Gaudí, and your ideas are inspired...but I am not sure that is enough."
Gaudí drops his arm and shrugs. "What else do you want from me? Spinelessness? Blind obedience? Perhaps your last architect would have lasted longer if he had had more of these."
"Let me tell you what I think of Señor Villar: he is nothing like you."
"I'll give you that." Gaudí rubs his bearded chin. "I am even more stubborn and less cooperative than he...at least when I am right."
"Which is always." Bocabella says it with a sly half-smile.
Gaudí chuckles. "Perhaps we do understand each other."
As they walk onward, I wonder if Gaudí will get the job. I wonder if he will build me. I wonder if I want him to.
This is the crossroads I face: I need someone new to bring me to life. Someone who will not hold me back. Someone who will give voice to the greatness that gestates within me.
Is he the one? I wish I could tell—but for now, his true potential lies as hidden as my own.
"What if I told you I had a dream?" says Bocabella. "A dream that I should hire you?"
"I would say that the only dreams I live by are my own." Gaudí smiles and parts from Bocabella, strolling to a section of the knee-high stone wall rising from my foundation. He crouches, black frock coat brushing the ground, and runs his hand along the row of granite blocks.
I gaze up at him as he touches me. His bright eyes blaze in the sunlight like twin blue flames, piercing the dusty afternoon air with unusual force.
He startles me with the strength of his stare. For the first time, I feel as if someone is looking directly at me—not at my foundation, but my true self, my spirit.
Mesmerized, I watch his every movement and expression. I cannot look away.
And then he does something no one else has ever done to me. Something extraordinary.
He tells me a secret. He whispers it so that I alone can hear.
"I will make of us a cathedral like no other."
That is what he says. "Us," as if somehow he intends to build himself, too.
His hand is warm on my granite. He smiles, and something quickens inside me. I know that I will never be the same.
"Well, Señor?" Bocabella's sharp voice breaks the moment. "Will you humor me? Or shall I summon the next candidate? Have you turned your back on the Holy Family of Our Lord?"
Gaudí pats my wall...and winks at me. I realize, as he pushes himself to his feet, that I do not want him to go.
Turning, he brushes the dust from his hands. "Congratulations," he says. "You're hired."
"I'm hired?" Bocabella laughs. "And what will you pay me, jefe?"
"Grief and insubordination," says Gaudí. "Struggle and strife and pain. Endless controversy. And genius. All the ingredients we need to exceed our limits.
"And if we are lucky, I will pay you one thing more," says Gaudí. "A prayer for all Barcelona...all Catalonia...all mankind. A prayer so huge and lasting and wild that God Himself will not wish to look away from it."
"Your ambitions match my own," says Bocabella. "Very well. I will go to work for you."
"And I will build your cathedral," says Gaudí. "I will build your Sagrada Família."
My spirit soars as he says my name for the first time. My mind rushes with excitement at the thought of us two working together in days to come...of him lavishing his attentions upon me. Teaching me to fulfill our mutual dreams.
I cannot imagine what he will make of me, but somehow, I know it will be grand. Somehow, though we have only just met, I trust him without reservation.
Somehow, I know that this was meant to be.
What happens next? Find out in Day 9, now on sale!
*****
About the Author
Robert T. Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics, essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. His young adult urban fantasy novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, won the Forward National Literature Award and was named one of Booklist’s Top Ten First Novels for Youth. Simon & Schuster, DAW/Penguin Books, and DC Comics have published his work. He won the grand prize in Pocket Books' nationwide Strange New Worlds contest and was nominated for the British Fantasy Award. Visit him online at www.thefictioneer.com. You can also find him on Facebook and follow him as @TheFictioneer on Twitter.
*****
E-books by Robert T. Jeschonek
Fantasy
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Warning! Do Not Read This Story!
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Playing Doctor
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Serial Killer vs. E-Merica
Something Borrowed, Something Doomed
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Teacher of the Century
The Greatest Serial Killer in the Universe
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The Shrooms of Benares
Universal Language, A Novella
Superheroes
6 Superhero Stories
7 Comic Book Scripts
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7 Comic Book Scripts Strike Again
A Matter of Size
Forced Retirement (Forced Heroics Book 1)
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Heroes of Global Warming
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Young Readers
Dolphin Knight, A Novel
Lump
Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
Tommy Puke and the World's Grossest Grown-Up
*****
Now on Sale from Robert T. Jeschonek
A Young Adult Fantasy Novel That Really Rocks!
One of Booklist's Top Ten First Novels for Youth
Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare—just ask Idea Deity. He’s convinced that he exists only in the pages of a novel written by a malevolent author . . . and that he will die in Chapter 64. Meanwhile, Reacher Mirage, lead singer of the secret rock band Youforia, can’t figure out who’s posting information about him and his band online that only he should know. Someone seems to be pulling the strings of both teens’ lives . . . and they’re not too happy about it. With Youforia about to be exposed in a national magazine and Chapter 64 bearing down like a speeding freight train, time is running out. Will Idea and Reacher be able to join forces and take control of their own lives before it’s too late?
School of Rock meets Alice in Wonderland in this fast-paced, completely unpredictable novel of alternate realities, time travel, and rock ‘n’ roll. If your favorite band does not exist . . . do you?
"Overall, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist is a wacky and enjoyable trip...full of intriguing, imaginative concepts that keep a reader hooked." –Thom Dunn, The Daily Genoshan
"This first novel has all the look of a cult fave: baffling to many, an anthem for a few, and unlike anything else out there." –Ian Chipman, Booklist Starred Review
"Chaos theory meets rock 'n' roll in adult author Jeschonek's ambitious, reality-bending YA debut." "...this proudly surreal piece of metafiction could develop a cult following..."–Publishers Weekly
"Reading this reminded me of authors like Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman…" –BiblioJunkies
Now Available from Graphia Books!
Order now from your favorite bookseller.
*****
TIJUANA, MASSACHUSETTS
Copyright © 2013 by Robert T. Jeschonek
www.thefictioneer.com
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Ben Baldwin
www.benbaldwin.co.uk
Published in April 2013 by Pie Press by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved by the author.
Originally appeared in Mirror Shards Volume Two, Black Moon Books, 2012.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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