Bradley Wallace’s mind screamed in silent frustration. He didn’t understand any of this, and didn’t have the time to learn more.
They had to save his parents. Why, a voice deep within him asked? Because they’re my parents, was the only answer he could come up with. And then there was this strange girl who appeared out of nowhere calling Whilly by name. He wanted to just scream and shout, but knew that would be childish, and she already thought too little of him as it was.
“I still don’t understand any of this,” he finally said, quietly, but with a desperate, underlying urgency that he hoped she would detect. But if she did, she gave no indication.
Ignoring his statement entirely, she replaced the crystal around her neck, and cast him a rather pleasant smile. “I suppose, all things considered, you’re probably the nicest Assistant Good Humor Man I’ve ever met,” she offered coyly, and he flushed momentarily with pleasure. But then she had to add, “Of course, you are the only Assistant Good Humor Man I’ve ever met,” and laughed delightedly at his look of consternation. Then she directed her gaze toward Whilly. “Fly, Dragon Whilly,” she told him, “You are needed elsewhere.”
Goodbye, Josette, Whilly replied, nuzzling her dirty face with his snout. She wriggled her nose at the tickling sensation, and laughed that airy laugh again.
“As for you, Bradley Wallace Murphy,” she said, locking her eyes on his and smiling a strange, secret smile, “we shall see each other again. And hopefully you’ll be more polite to me next time.” She touched the crystal with the tips of her fingers and laughed again at the look on his face before waving Whilly into the air.
Bradley Wallace clamped his mouth shut as Whilly leapt from the mountainside and flapped wildly out to sea. The storm seemed to have abated a little, but travel was still difficult for the dragon, weakened by his bout with Mauna Kea. And yet, his newfound power resuscitated him with each stroke of his leathery wings, and soon Whilly flew at speeds the boy never thought possible. None of this seemed possible. The image of the mysterious Josette played persistently before his eyes, and the sound of her airy laughter rang in his ears. Did any of that really happen? Was she real, or just a delusion conjured by his head injury?
So lost in thought did he become, that Bradley Wallace started with surprise when Whilly announced that Oahu could be seen in the distance. How long had the trip taken, the boy wondered, but Whilly didn’t know. Did I buzz out again, he thought, and Whilly answered that his mind had been closed since they left the volcano. Bradley Wallace shook his head to clear it, and sucked in a terrified breath as his squinting eyes sighted the tidal wave just ahead. Jeez! It had to be half as tall as the unfinished Sheraton, he realized with horror, and that made the wave some two hundred feet in height! It pushed on toward the distant shore like a giant steamroller, gathering momentum and additional height as it roared and rolled its way along.
“Whilly!” he shouted in terror, feeling for a moment that he might wet his pants. “There’s no way we can stop that thing! We’ll be killed for sure!” Josette was wrong. This freak of nature was much more powerful than even a dragon.
If we don’t try, Bradley Wallace, your family will die, Whilly reminded him impassively as they approached the wave from behind.
Man, that’s impressive, the boy suddenly thought, staring in amazement at the wall of water before him. It looked like the parting of the Red Sea in the movie “The Ten Commandments,” one of his favorite cinematic moments.
Then he mulled over the dragon’s words about his family. They may not be much, he realized, but they were the only family he had. And he supposed, what with the dragon’s newfound powers and all, they might have a chance.
“Do you think you can do it?” he shouted above the roaring water, which sounded like Niagara Falls.
Whilly appeared confident. I believe I can do my best and still get us away safely if it doesn’t work, the dragon replied honestly. His self-assurance filtered into Bradley Wallace’s doubting mind, and somehow made the impossible seem possible.
“All right!” he agreed, and Whilly instantly winged up and over the wall of water to race out in front of it. Bradley Wallace glanced back, and gasped aloud. It’s one thing to see such a massive wave moving away from you. But coming toward you? He might wet his pants yet!
“What do you want me to do?” he called nervously to Whilly, anxious to just get this over with.
Hold on and concentrate, just like at the mountain, Whilly answered. Remain with me at all times, and don’t let your mind wander or we’ll both go down.
The dragon suddenly turned sharply around and halted in mid-air, hovering steadily above the churning, roiling ocean a few feet below. Bradley Wallace cried out in horror at the roaring mountain of water bearing down on them at tremendous speed. Whilly paused barely a split-second before taking off with blinding speed in a circular path just above the water level. Around and around the dragon flew, at speeds so great Bradley Wallace couldn’t even see anything clearly. His head spun in dizzying, nauseating circles, but his grip never faltered. Nor did his concentration. He felt Whilly inside his mind and soul, tapping his essential energy, and the effect was debilitating. But he hung on nonetheless.
A giant whirlpool began to form directly beneath them as Whilly continued to circulate the water like a washing machine agitator turning in the same direction. Around and around the dragon whipped, whirling the water faster and wider with each circle. Very soon Bradley Wallace lost sight of the whirlpool’s edges as it spread outward from their central position. It must be huge, his muddled, spinning brain told him excitedly. Maybe this could work after all! He hazarded a cautious look straight down, and gasped. A monstrous, yawning hole of churning seawater spun downward so far that Bradley Wallace felt certain it would take him all the way to the bottom should he be unlucky enough to fall in. He pulled his eyes from that compelling sight, and then the wave hit.
The impact knocked the wind out of Bradley Wallace’s chest with a massive whoosh and tore him from Whilly’s back in a tremendous surge of water. He tried to call out for help, but his mouth only filled with briny, sandy water. And then he was turning.
With a stabbing sense of horror, Bradley Wallace realized that he’d been caught by the whirlpool, and it was sucking him inexorably down.
Frantically stroking and flailing with his arms, the boy fought desperately against the powerful maelstrom he’d helped create, the sound of rushing water almost deafening. He kicked and struggled his way to the surface, but his frenetic gulps for air only resulted in another mouthful of the briny water.
He was pulled beneath the surface again, and felt the powerful arms of the whirlpool drawing him ever downward. His struggles grew weaker as the strength ebbed from his aching muscles, and the little air in his lungs bubbled from his mouth. He was actually watching his own life force bubble from his mouth and float up out of sight. Air! He needed air! Whilly! Help me! But he only spiraled further downward, further and further from the surface and all hope of survival. So this is how it would end, he thought, images and memories flashing instantaneously before his eyes like a supersonic movie. Just as darkness closed in on his mind, Bradley Wallace felt himself suddenly rising, and hoped he was going to heaven.
While Bradley Wallace had been at the Big Island battling Mauna Kea, Katie and a group of other youngsters had been fighting to save the fresh water koi from the salt water infestation caused by the wildly violent sea. They had been able to get some nets from Wendell and scooped all of the fish from the dirty, salty pond, first placing the fish into fresh water-filled plastic trash cans and, when those ran out, into the Murphy’s bathtub, without Marge’s knowledge, naturally. Oblivious to the impending tidal wave, the dauntless young people, under the supervision of head groundskeeper Gilbert, succeeded in draining the pond, despite the fact that its built-in drainpipe refused to operate. Gilbert located a small pump, and the dauntless group pumped the dirty water up and over the wall into the churning ocean. Th
ey also formed a human chain, one person scooping out buckets of the salt water and passing them along a line of people who dumped each bucket over the wall. Between the buckets and the pump, the pond was soon emptied of seawater.
The pond was scrubbed and hosed out before being refilled with fresh water, and then the rather agitated fish were returned to their home. A number of the large, colorful fish looked as though they might still die of shock, but most of them would survive, thanks to their human saviors.
Katie looked up after depositing a large calico into the fresh water, and saw Bradley Wallace standing behind her. His clothes were soaked and filthy, and his eyes had a glassy look to them. But none of this mattered to the angry girl, who had been laboring unceasingly for hours to save these valuable fish. She was tired and irritable, and determined not to let her brother get away with not helping.
“Where have you been?” she demanded angrily. “We’ve been fighting all afternoon to save these fish and could’ve used your help! And where were you, probably off daydreaming again!”
Bradley Wallace stared back uncomprehendingly, neither seeing nor hearing. Then blackness replaced what little awareness he possessed, and he collapsed in a heap at his sister’s feet.
John Wagner sat bolt upright in bed, a piercing scream ripping from his parched throat. He’d been trapped in a furnace, or something like a furnace, where the raging fire seared his lungs and scorched his bare skin. Then, with hardly any transition, he was plunged into swirling seawater that seemed to grab hold of his legs and suck him down beneath the surface, trying to drown him. He struggled in vain as the air gradually left his burning lungs, and woke up screaming.
His mother burst into his room and anxiously asked what was wrong.
Perspiration soaking his pajamas and hair, the obviously terrified boy threw his arms around his mother in an oddly touching, childlike manner, and Joan reacted with motherly instincts, which she hadn’t lost after all. She simply held him, and spoke soothing reassurances into his ear, just as she’d done when he’d had nightmares as a child.
But what was happening to him now, she wondered as she gently rocked him back and forth in her arms? Everything had seemed fine since school let out. No more nightmares, no more sulky silences. He’d been back to his usual arrogant, resentful self. Not pleasant, perhaps, but normal for John. Now, it seemed, everything was starting again. But what did it all mean? What was so troubling her son that he awoke in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder?
He refused to say anything in response to her questions, or perhaps he didn’t even hear them. As she gently laid his head back against the damp pillow, he stared up at her without actually seeing, almost as if he’d become catatonic. She asked him again if he was all right, and this time was rewarded with a very faint, murmured, “I’m sleepy.” As his eyes closed, she moved quietly to the door, more than a little afraid that her son
had suffered come deep psychological trauma that might eventually go beyond her ability to deal with. And just as he dropped off to sleep, John mumbled something else, something totally incomprehensible to Joan. He said, “They’re dying.”
CHAPTER 10
“So Many Questions”
All he could see was blackness, blackness deeper and richer than he’d ever known. Occasionally a face floated in amongst that sea of black, sometimes recognizable, sometimes not. His mother drifted in and out; so did his father and a very frightened Katie. But there were also other, unfamiliar faces hovering above him, with pallid, contorted features that resembled Dracula going for a potential victim’s throat, and those faces disturbed him; no, scared him. His head was aflame, and he desperately needed air. The blackness spun round and round, just like the whirlpool, and he struggled and fought to escape that darkness before it pulled him under completely. But he was weak, and the blackness was strong. The more he battled, the weaker he became. And the blackness increased in pitch. He was losing. Then he heard voices, distorted and far away, yet vaguely familiar.
“Is he going to be all right?” That sounded a little like his mother.
“He has severe pneumonia, Mrs. Murphy, and his condition is highly critical.” That was Dracula’s voice, cold and clinical and death-like.
Why couldn’t he open his eyes? Or were his eyes already open? And why couldn’t he talk to them? What a strange dream.
“He’s gonna die, isn’t he?” A small, girlish voice. Frightened. Katie? Naw, it couldn’t be her. She never got scared.
“Of course he isn’t,” answered a new voice. His father, this time. Everyone’s present and accounted for. No, someone was missing. Oh, why couldn’t he think clearly?
“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Murphy.” Dracula again. “It’s a possibility.”
What is?
“Oh, my God,” his mother’s disembodied voice exclaimed fearfully, and then it sounded like she started crying. What for?
Hey, Mom I can hear you! He tried to shout. But no sound came. Nothing came except disconnected thoughts. He obviously wasn’t dead because dead people couldn’t hear things. Could they? And he couldn’t die anyway because there was someone else he was supposed to take care of. Someone? Whilly. Of course! Where was Whilly? Why wasn’t Whilly there? Why couldn’t he feel the dragon in his mind? He searched through the blackness, fighting to control the fire in his brain just long enough to . . . momentarily, the darkness parted, engulfing all the disjointed faces and swallowing the hollow voices, and there was Whilly! Somewhere. A cave? Was that it? The dragon was sprawled lifelessly on the misty ground. Whilly, wake up. What was he doing? Suddenly the image vanished, but not before the boy realized what was happening. Whilly was dying. And all because of him. No!
“Whilly!” he screamed aloud in his wild delirium, the first word he’d spoken in two days. “Whilly, please don’t die!”
And somewhere, somewhere far, far away he heard those voices again, just tickling at his eardrums. Who’s Willie? The voices murmured their confusion, and then the blackness wrapped him in its peaceful blanket once again. It was very peaceful, this blackness, wasn’t it? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay, just for a while, until the fires in his brain and chest (especially that one!) burned themselves out. Sure, why not? Just for a little while. Other faces danced before his eyes - Barnabas and Quentin Collins, Angelique, Josette. But wait a minute. That wasn’t Josette, was it? Not the Josette. This face looked too young. And then it spoke, and Bradley Wallace heard a voice cut through the fog of his feverish delirium, a gently scolding, but familiarly smug voice. That girl!
“Honestly,” the voice said, “Are all Assistant Good Humor Men so clumsy?” He could almost see the girl shake her head in dismay. “You should never have fallen off Whilly’s back. Then none of this would’ve happened.” The voice sighed exaggeratedly.
The haze surrounding that disembodied face began to dissipate, and he could see her more clearly now. “Josette?” he croaked, not certain he could trust his eyes.
The girl’s soft features moved closer as her spring water eyes gazed down at him with obvious concern. Her flaxen hair was dry this time, and hung loosely about her shoulders and back.
She almost looked pretty, he thought. For her.
“Don’t try to talk,” she whispered soothingly, touching a soft, white finger to his dry, cracked lips. Her touch felt velvety and nice, like a fresh rose petal, and a sudden short, but definite, surge of energy coursed through his veins.
“Are you real?” he stammered weakly. He had to find out about her. He had to learn the truth.
“No,” she answered lightly, teasingly. “Now you go back to sleep, silly, so I can make you better.”
“Better?” The blazing fire felt so numbing.
“Well, I can’t very well let you die, now can I?” she teased again. Then she snorted with anger. “That would suit his plans just fine. In fact, I bet he’s the one who caused—“
“Whose plans?” he asked, cutting her off, and struggling to move. If he c
ould just sit up. If he could just see clearly. But she placed a hand over his mouth - her touch was so light - and gently eased him back down.
“You and your incessant questions. Just be still and be quiet.” Her voice sounded exasperated, but he could tell she wasn’t really angry. He watched dully as she pulled something into his line of sight, something dangling around her neck. It looked like . . . the crystal! The mysterious crystal!
“Now just lie there and don’t move,” she continued soothingly, rather like a dove cooing. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Now she sounds like a doctor, he thought, just before they stick you with those needles. But then her crystal began to radiate bright blue effulgence, and the blackness closed over him once more.
When he finally awoke, Bradley Wallace found himself stretched out in his bed in the familiar surroundings of the Murphy’s hotel room, a group of anxious faces staring down at him as though he were the first panda born in captivity. There was his mother, father, Katie, and even the Grogans. The fire seemed to have gone out, but his head felt like a construction crew was working inside of it, and his chest ripped with pain at each intake of breath. Despite the dull ache running through his entire body, and a general, all-around weakness, his stomach felt growlingly empty, and the blackness was completely gone.
“I’m hungry,” he whispered hoarsely, his throat still parched. The tense faces broke into wide smiles of exhausted relief.
His mother bent down to the bed and hugged him so hard it hurt. But at least he wasn’t dead. And that meant Whilly wasn’t, either.
For the next several days, someone was constantly hovering over him, especially his mother, no doubt fearing a relapse, and it seemed as though his every wish was granted without question. He considered his parents’ attitude, and decided they must feel guilty and were trying to make up for it, now that they had a second chance. He figured to enjoy it, because once they realized they weren’t going to lose him, they’d go back to treating him like normal. But whatever the reason, his mother’s ministrations, or his desire to be with Whilly again, Bradley Wallace grew progressively stronger each day.
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