A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  He considered feigning illness, but decided his father would see through that. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he felt certain Jack was doing this deliberately, to deny his son that final half-hour he so desperately needed. As Friday drew near, the boy’s anger and resentment toward his father even surpassed his depression and sadness. But of course, Jack remained oblivious.

  Although Whilly didn’t like the sensation of anger in the boy, he preferred it to the lifeless depression, which had been all they’d shared for

  weeks now.

  He suggested they use the mind-link method of watching television, like they’d done at the May Procession last year. But Bradley Wallace angrily pointed out that he could never play golf and watch TV at the same time without acting really weird. And he was under enough suspicion in the mental stability department already.

  And so it came to pass that, after years of loyalty even in the face of parental disapproval, Bradley Wallace never saw how “Dark Shadows” ended. It was simply gone. And somehow, not actually seeing it end made the reality that much harder to accept. It was like refusing to believe a loved one died because you didn’t actually attend the funeral. It left him feeling empty, and such emptiness is worse than unhappiness, because it can never be filled. From that day forward, Bradley Wallace could never bring himself to even watch a game of golf, let alone play one. His father had turned him against the sport he so hoped Bradley Wallace would come to like. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

  During all this time, Bradley Wallace had not heard from Mr. O’Conner, but until nearly the end of March had been too depressed or preoccupied to notice. He suddenly realized several days before “Dark Shadows” was to end that the old man was late resuming his rounds. Of course, the weather was still very erratic, but Mr. O’Conner should have at least let him know when they would be starting. So on the Tuesday before April 2, Bradley Wallace hopped onto his bicycle and pedaled up into the hills to the old man’s “Psycho” house. He was surprised to find the structure locked up and Mr. O’Conner apparently away.

  But he was even more surprised by the gardens surrounding him. Everything was reborn. Flowers, trees, plants of all shapes and sizes, all of which had lain twisted and dead two months ago had now sprouted and blossomed and sprung into full multi-colored bloom.

  He gaped at the perfect rows of healthy poppies, and honeysuckle, and violets, and snapdragons looking as alive as could be. And they weren’t new plants, either. That was the really astonishing part.

  He inspected them closely, and everyone had been here on his last visit - he recognized certain unmistakable shapes and positions. Two

  months ago every plant and tree in this garden, which now startled him with its compelling beauty, had been stone cold dead. The effect of standing on that porch, surrounded by the lush gardens, after what he’d seen a scant two months ago, was decidedly eerie. And what had happened to Mr. O’Conner?

  After returning home from the golf game on Friday, Bradley Wallace immediately retreated to his room to lick his wounds. He was so angry he feared what he might say to his father at any given moment. By dinner, he had settled into a deep sulk, and even devils’ food birthday cake with chocolate frosting couldn’t lift his spirits. He went to bed that night without even visiting Whilly because he knew the dragon would tell him what happened on “Dark Shadows.” And he really didn’t want to know.

  And then he had a dream.

  He saw the soft, delicately pretty features of Josette, who he hadn’t seen even in dreams since that night in the forest with the beast. But this time she looked different. For a brief second, Janet’s features appeared to be superimposed on those of Josette. But then they were gone, and only Josette’s face remained visible. He could see her expression perfectly. She wasn’t smiling this time, or even smug. She was terrified, calling out to him to save her. She wanted him to save her? That didn’t seem quite right somehow, but she continued begging him to come, that they will kill her if he doesn’t hurry.

  Most of his dreams were hazy and indistinct, but this one was crystal clear, and he knew exactly where Josette was -- St. Raphael’s, gagged and bound to a desk in Mr. Baldie’s classroom. She appeared to be alone, so he didn’t know who “they” were. But he sensed the presence of others, and knew they would indeed kill the annoying girl if he didn’t arrive in time. She cried out to him again, and that’s when he woke with a start, drenched with sweat and shivering from the cold.

  That dream had been so real. Too real. And then he knew. It wasn’t just a dream; it was Josette’s cry for help. She really was in danger, and he had to save her. His subconscious voice advised caution, but he was too frantic with worry to heed it. Josette was in danger, he knew that much. And he had to save her, just as she had saved him in Hawaii. He had to.

  Flinging back the covers, Bradley Wallace leapt from the bed and frantically pulled on the clothes he’d left hanging over the back of his desk chair - short sleeve knit shirt, cords, a heavy jacket, and his new pair of sneakers (he’d outgrown the others) - faster than a fireman on call. He urgently called out to Whilly with his mind, waking the dragon from a deep slumber. Meet me in the street out front, it’s important!

  Whilly knew the boy wouldn’t call this late for nothing, and arrived at the street almost immediately. He knelt down, and Bradley Wallace jumped up onto his back, filling him in on his dream as the dragon took wing and soared swiftly toward the darkened streets of downtown San Rafael. Whilly had his doubts about this midnight excursion, but kept them to himself. The boy was obviously determined to go, and wouldn’t believe there was nothing wrong without seeing it for himself. It had only been a dream, after all, and an unusual one at that. Something about this dream troubled the dragon, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Seeing Josette’s terrified visage once more, Bradley Wallace kicked the dragon in the flanks, urging him to go faster. Whilly stopped his thinking and concentrated on flying.

  St. Raphael’s at night looked even more gloomy and desolate than it did during the day. The high chain link fences and barred windows gave the place a distinctly prison-like physiognomy.

  Whilly set down in the largest play yard, and Bradley Wallace jumped to the ground on top of a hopscotch grid. Only the pale, listless crescent moon hanging in the sky broke the pervasive darkness. The silence was so intense as to be oppressive, and Bradley Wallace suddenly realized how alone he and Whilly were out there. He glanced nervously about the deserted school grounds, and knew he was afraid.

  Where did you see her? Whilly asked, his voice penetrating the boy’s mind so unexpectedly that Bradley Wallace nearly screamed aloud with fright.

  “Don’t do that!” he whispered sharply.

  I’m sorry, Whilly apologized. But which classroom was she in?

  “Mr. Baldie’s,” the boy replied at once. That part of the dream had been crystal clear.

  Perhaps that’s what bothered Whilly about the dream, that it had been so clear. He didn’t know for certain about human dreams, but his own were convoluted and disjointed. Nothing so precise as the one Bradley Wallace described. He almost advised caution, but didn’t want the boy to think he didn’t trust or believe in him. So he kept silent.

  Bradley Wallace started slowly toward the 7th/8th grade building, Whilly close on his heels, like a boy and his dog out for an evening walk. The silence nearly stifled Bradley Wallace, and he wished Josette would cry out or something. But then, she might be in imminent danger, he realized, and quickened his pace. Whilly had to literally force back the words of caution that sprang to mind. Something wasn’t right here. He could sense it.

  Bradley Wallace slipped carefully along the side of the building, Whilly following as stealthily as a cat. The corner was a few feet ahead, around which they could be seen from Mr. Baldie’s windows. Unfortunately, if someone were watching, he’d be seen no matter how carefully he turned that corner. And if he took the time to find a better way to approach the classroom, Josette might be dead. That thought impe
lled him forward quickly, and he rounded the corner.

  He stopped dead, eyes fixed straight-ahead, fear clutching his heart, his legs frozen in place. Two figures stood before him, shapes, actually, for no features were visible in the darkness. They were the biggest shapes Bradley Wallace had ever seen, almost as large as the creature from the forest. And though their faces were couched in shadow, the guns they held in their outstretched hands were all too visible.

  And then, in a moment that seemed frozen in time, one of the guns went off with a deafening retort and a tiny flash, just like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Bradley Wallace was flung backward, pain ripping through his chest and digging deeply, searingly into his body. The bullet passed through him completely with a splattering of thick, viscous blood and he sprawled heavily to the ground. The shock and pain were so complete that Bradley Wallace didn’t cry out, or even make a whimpering sound. He lay dazed and confused in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

  He suddenly caught sight of Whilly bounding forward to aid him, and his frozen vocal chords thawed. “No!” he cried, waves of searing pain coursing through his body and nearly driving him into unconsciousness.

  But the dragon’s innate animal instincts had been aroused by the attack on his friend, and Bradley Wallace could only lay there and watch helplessly as Whilly rounded the corner with an earth-shattering roar of outrage. A blinding, deafening barrage of bullets met the dragon’s advance, and at least five or six shots pierced the softer tissue of Whilly’s stomach area, almost as if the shapes knew exactly where to aim. The dragon flinched and fell back, crashing heavily to the ground beside the boy.

  And then Bradley Wallace’s mind exploded with rage, and he lost control. “No!” he screamed again, and instantly the two shapes were ablaze with an all-consuming fire of the boy’s creation.

  As they staggered around in their death throes, the flames cast a decidedly evil glow all about the deserted courtyard.

  Bradley Wallace’s eyes burned brighter than his victims, burned with pure hate. He wanted them dead, and watched with pleasure the bits of burning flesh that peeled off and fell to the asphalt like tiny pieces of cloth. Even the charnel house stench filled him with satanic joy. They attacked Whilly, and they would pay dearly for that! He increased his power, and the twin funeral pyres surged with renewed strength. In mere moments nothing remained of the shapes but charred ashes and a few blackened bones. But even then Bradley Wallace refused to release the fire, his hate so powerful he was determined to eliminate every trace of these murderers from the face of the earth.

  They’re dead, Bradley Wallace, Whilly’s voice finally managed to penetrate the boy’s enraged mind. But I’m alive.

  Hearing those words, Bradley Wallace instantly released the power, and the fire died. Numbness spread across his chest, and the pain became more a memory than a reality. He wanted to sleep, but knew he couldn’t. Whilly. Where was Whilly? Turning his head slowly to his right, Bradley Wallace spotted the supine form of the dragon a few feet away. He dragged himself painfully to his friend’s side.

  “Whilly,” he cried, “Are you all right? Oh, please say you’re all right!”

  I’m all right, came the reply, weak, but clear, as the dragon

  slowly raised his head to look at Bradley Wallace. I think.

  The boy gasped aloud. Even in the pale moonlight, he could see the dragon’s entire front was covered with shiny, oozing blood. Oh, God, what have I done, he asked himself desperately? This is all my fault! “Oh, God, Whilly!” he exclaimed fearfully, “You’ve got blood all over you!”

  So do you, Whilly replied, fixing his keen vision on the boy’s bloodied chest.

  “I’m okay,” Bradley Wallace insisted, fighting down a wave of dizziness. “Can you stand up?”

  I think so. Bradley Wallace could feel the effort required for the injured dragon to rise from the pool of blood into a sitting position, and groaned with pain. Whilly’s chest, stomach, and forelegs were glistening with blood. Looking down at his own chest, the boy saw thick, sticky redness plastering his shirt and jacket to a hideous, jagged hole. He felt sick, and started to cry.

  “Oh, God, Whilly, you were right,” he blubbered uncontrollably. “You thought something was wrong, I saw it in your mind. I should’ve listened!”

  And I should’ve said something, but I did not, Whilly replied, his breathing heavy and uneven. *It’s too late to worry about our mistakes now. We have to get you to a doctor.*

  “Me?” the nearly hysterical boy wailed, “What about you? Oh, God, Whilly, you can’t die! Please don’t die!”

  It takes more than a few bullets to kill a dragon, Whilly told him, but the evident weakness of his thought transmission told Bradley Wallace that the bullets had struck some vital areas, and without proper treatment, the dragon could die. Climb aboard, Whilly prompted.

  “No!” the overwrought child shrieked, shaking his head emphatically. “You’re too weak!”

  Don’t argue with me, Bradley Wallace! Whilly said sharply. I can carry you. Now get on!

  Bradley Wallace knew he was badly hurt, but his only concern was for Whilly. He knew the dragon was weak, but he was weaker, and didn’t

  possess the strength to argue. He didn’t know what else to do, anyway.

  Slowly, pain lancing through his body with every movement, Bradley Wallace crawled to the dragon’s side. The climb up onto Whilly’s back was torturous for both of them, and Bradley Wallace nearly passed out several times. Hang on, Whilly told him, and lunged painfully upward.

  The wounded dragon flew fitfully, agony wracking his massive body with each erratic sweep of his powerful wings, and Bradley Wallace experienced fully every stab of his friend’s pain. He fought down the giddiness threatening to take him, determined to stay alive so Whilly would stay alive. They had to make it home. They had to get help.

  John Wagner shot up in his bed, a bolt of excruciating pain ripping viciously through his chest, his scream of surprised anguish just barely held in check. The pain became a slight numbness that filled his senses, and John knew something terrible had happened. But nothing was clear. He hadn’t even been dreaming this time. Fear filled his mind, and he suddenly heard a strange name echo through his mind, a name he’d never known before: Whilly.

  Whilly lay sprawled out across the cold, metallic floor of the water tower as Bradley Wallace reclined against one curved wall gazing fearfully at the weak and bleeding dragon. Whilly’s normally raspy breath came in short, course gasps, and his usually vibrant red eyes had taken on a dull, lifeless cast that terrified the boy.

  He knew it had been sheer strength of will, and concern for him, that had driven Whilly to fly all the way back here. But the effort had taxed the dragon’s remaining strength, and Bradley Wallace knew he couldn’t last much longer. He felt suffused with love for his friend, and knew that Whilly must love him, too, or else he wouldn’t have sacrificed so much to help him. So why had neither of them ever said it? Now it might be too late.

  Using his mental link with the ebbing dragon, Bradley Wallace examined the extent of Whilly’s injuries.

  Five bullets had found their mark, piercing the softest areas and lodging firmly in the muscular torso, two dangerously close to the

  slackening heart. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Bradley Wallace slid to his friend’s side and gently cradled the massive head in his lap, as Whilly had so often done with him. His teardrops rolled onto Whilly’s upturned face, and the dragon focused his glassy eyes upward at the weeping boy.

  No matter what happens, Bradley Wallace, he transmitted weakly, Believe in yourself. Trust your heart. The thought was growing faint, the dragon’s energy ebbing fast.

  “I’ll get help,” the boy choked, determined to save his friend. There was so much they still hadn’t done together, so much they hadn’t said. “You’ll be okay. You have to be! I’ll get help. I’ll get Mr. O’Conner.” Oh, God, please be home, Mr. O’Conner!

  Thank you, the dragon mur
mured, as though from miles away. Then his eyelids fluttered shut, and the massive body went still. Terrified, Bradley Wallace knew he didn’t have much time. Whilly had lost too much blood. Setting the unconscious dragon’s head gently down onto the metal floor, Bradley Wallace painfully removed his blood-soaked jacket to use as a pillow. Something caught his eye off to the left, and he reached into the semi-darkness to clutch tearfully at the familiar object. Josette’s music box. Sadly, he wound the handle and opened the lid, setting the tinkling music box beside Whilly’s ear, hoping the beloved tune might comfort his dying friend.

  Fighting back the tears, Bradley Wallace mustered his strength and forced himself to his feet. Dizziness swirled about him, stars danced wildly before his eyes, and he very nearly went down. But he fought the weakness back. He had to hold together, he had to find the strength. At least until he’d found help for Whilly. Oh, Mr. O’Conner, you have to be home . . .!

  His mind in a daze, Bradley Wallace really wasn’t certain exactly what he did after staggering away from the tower, or even how he did it. Something drove him on ceaselessly, a strength of will he never knew he possessed, and the next thing the boy realized, his bike was laid out on Mr. O’Conner’s front porch and he was pounding weakly against the ponderous oak door. He didn’t even know how much time had elapsed since he’d left Whilly, but the blood on his shirtfront had caked to a sticky, mud-like consistency. He thought he might be sick.

  The silence around him was complete, and Bradley Wallace groaned aloud. Mr. O’Conner wasn’t home. There wasn’t anyone to help him now. He felt despair wash over him, and knew this would be the end. The old man had been his one hope. He simply didn’t have the strength to go anywhere else. Suddenly something stirred within the darkened house, and the boy’s heart leapt. A moment later he heard a muffled voice from inside, the most wonderful voice in the world!