A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  Bradley Wallace sucked in a startled breath and John turned sharply to gape at the boy, but Mr. O’Conner held up a hand to ward off more questions, “Yes, I knew all about those escapades, too. However, I still somehow managed to be off searching for that mysterious monster you and Whilly had told me about while you were out getting shot, the very time you needed me most. My stupidity nearly ended your life before it could even begin.”

  “You’re not stupid!” Bradley Wallace blurted out impulsively.

  Mr. O’Conner smiled sardonically. “You always were my biggest fan.”

  The boy’s face clouded over. “Do you know who tried to kill me?”

  The old man frowned. “Yes, but we don’t have time for that right now.”

  Bradley Wallace could see the multitude of questions flickering across John’s clouded face, but his increased hearing easily detected the sound of heavy boot steps approaching along the corridor. His body felt electrified with power, and his mind seemed to be building to an explosive pitch. Only the talent for self-control he’d learned from Whilly kept all of it in check.

  “Why is Whilly dying?” he suddenly asked, knowing the answer was essential if he was to save the dragon.

  “Remember in the hospital, when you decided not to take any more drugs because you thought they might hurt you?” the old man asked hurriedly, also hearing the returning soldier. Bradley Wallace nodded, still not certain why he’d felt that way.

  “Whilly is a creature of the earth, of the purest form of nature,” Mr. O’Conner went on quickly, “almost living earth-power, and any kind of artificial substance, like sedatives, for instance, forced into his body can kill him if he isn’t strong enough to fight them off. I came here hoping to save him. But you’re the only one who can do that, Bradley Wallace.”

  “But why isn’t he strong enough on his own?” the confused boy persisted. “Because of the bullets?”

  The old man shook his head. “Because inside he’s becoming too human, and he thought you’d abandoned him.”

  Bradley Wallace’s mind was afire, and he leapt from the chair in frustration. This was all so much to absorb. “I don’t understand!” he practically screamed, just as a key turned in the lock behind him and the door pushed open.

  He turned, forcing control into his veins, as the carrot-haired soldier entered and handed him some old army fatigues and a pair of dirty black boots.

  “This smallest uniform I could find,” the soldier apologized formally. “But you’re a pretty big kid, so it should be close enough. The Colonel would like you to get dressed quickly and come with me.”

  “Where to?” John demanded suspiciously, leaping to his feet as though preparing to fight his way out.

  “To the dragon,” came the simple reply. The freckled face remained almost inhumanly impassive, rather like a mannequin in a store window.

  Bradley Wallace needed no urging to hurry. The power within was reaching the point where he soon would be unable to master it. What might happen then he didn’t even want to imagine.

  He practically ripped off the billowing hospital gown, embarrassed by his nakedness, but not pausing to worry about it as he slipped into the well-worn pants and heavy shirt. John’s mouth dropped open at seeing Bradley Wallace naked and he flushed beet red. The uniform fit awkwardly, but Bradley Wallace didn’t care. His only concern was Whilly, and the fact that he still didn’t know how to save him.

  “I’m ready,” he announced after he’d pulled the tight, cumbersome boots over his extraordinarily wide feet and stood to face the soldier,

  looking almost like a younger, more innocent mirror image. “C’mon, Mr. O’Conner.” He started for the open door.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the red-haired soldier politely told Mr. O’Conner, who had made no attempt to rise from his chair. “But the Colonel only wants the two boys.”

  “Yes, I know,” the old man replied immediately, without rancor or even a hint of surprise.

  Bradley Wallace whirled on the soldier angrily, eyes flashing bright red. But Mr. O’Conner rose quickly and moved to the boy in alarm, his own eyes seeming to flicker with an argent sheen.

  “It’s all right, Bradley Wallace,” he spoke reassuringly, and so calmly that the boy’s anger slackened a few notches. “You don’t need me for this.”

  “Yes, I do,” the frightened child pleaded, feeling more in need of adult guidance than ever. “I don’t know how to save him.” He looked on the verge of tears.

  Mr. O’Conner grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, his face hard and unsympathetic. “This is no time to act like a child, Bradley Wallace!” he snapped sharply, his words stinging the boy like iodine on an open wound. “You’ll know exactly what to do in there as long as you stop thinking about it!”

  The frightened boy shook his head from side to side in frustration. “If I stop thinking about it, how am I gonna know what to do?” he insisted with a child’s need to have everything spelled out precisely.

  Mr. O’Conner sighed a trifle impatiently, knowing that time was quickly running out for the dying dragon. “How many times have I told you, boy - trust your heart! Now get going!”

  It was his mistake that placed the boy and dragon in this predicament in the first place, the old man knew, and yet there was nothing he, himself, could do to rectify his error. It was all up to Bradley Wallace. As the old man stared evenly at the boy, he realized with an uncharacteristic upsurge of emotion, that he loved Bradley Wallace perhaps more than anyone else he’d known in his long life.

  “Will I see you again?” the boy asked meekly, thinking the old man was mad at him. He was still too young to realize that his aged friend was really angry with himself.

  “Of course,” the old man replied with more confidence than he felt, once again wishing he had the ability to see into the future and discover how much harm his error might cause.

  Bradley Wallace nodded and half-turned toward the open door. But then he turned to grab the startled old man in a tight hug before breaking free and dashing out into the corridor. John followed quickly and turned to stare into Mr. O’Conner’s craggy, worried features. The soldier slammed the door with a loud thud and the old man’s troubled expression was lost to view.

  Almost giddy with power and fear, Bradley Wallace tromped after the soldier and a suspicious, wary John, the heavy boots making him feel as though the corridor was made of quicksand.

  Bright, crimson light limned the edges of the closed door directly ahead, and the boy stretched out his mind to connect with Whilly. But the two were already so close to being one that there was nothing to find but himself. He quickened his pace.

  “Hurry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. John turned to offer him a look of encouragement, but it didn’t help. The three stopped just outside the glowing door, where an anxious Dearborn and another man awaited them.

  Upon seeing the colonel and the man beside him, obviously some kind of medical person because of his white smock, John leapt forward angrily to confront them. The soldier pulled his gun, and Bradley Wallace stared blankly at the closed door.

  “What have you guys been doing to him?” John demanded accusingly.

  The white-smocked man bristled with indignation. “If you mean the dragon, we’ve been trying to save its life!”

  “Yeah, by druggin’ him up and stuff!” the boy retorted, recalling what Mr. O’Conner had said about Whilly. He hated these men for the authority they represented, and for the fact that they thought they could just push everybody around because they were the army. He glared at the soldier’s gun, but made no threatening moves.

  “The dragon was hurt when we brought it in here,” the man snapped irritably, like a doctor whose diagnosis had just been questioned by a layman. “How else would you expect us to heal it except with drugs?”

  He obviously didn’t expect an answer, and John didn’t really have one. He hadn’t understood all of the exchange between Mr. O’Conner and Bradley Wallace, especially in regar
ds to how the boy could save Whilly. Frustrated because he had no reply, John cast his glare upon Bradley Wallace, as though his ignorance was the other boy’s fault.

  Bradley Wallace didn’t even look at any of the others. His glowing eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “I’m going in now,” he said simply and evenly. He took a step forward, but was stopped by carrot-top’s hand on his arm.

  The boy whirled, blazing vermeil anger that startled the young soldier and sent him reeling backwards a few steps. Dearborn quickly held up a hand to the young man to stay back, and gestured for Bradley Wallace to proceed.

  The boy turned back to the door and, with an almost imperceptible push of his mind, flung it inward violently. He stood transfixed, bathed in an eldritch yellow-orange light that spilled blindingly from the expansive medical clinic within. John stepped to his side and looked into the room, marveling at the magnificent light and feeling as though he was seeing a glow from Heaven itself. He gasped aloud.

  The eerie light emanated outward from the exact center of the room, where Whilly lay sprawled on the floor of the biggest cage John had ever seen, the door of which hung slightly ajar. The dragon’s eyes were tightly closed, and John couldn’t be sure the magnificent creature was even breathing. This was the first time he’d actually seen Whilly, and John now fully understood why Bradley Wallace had gone to so much trouble to save him. The dragon was incredible, glowing effulgent red and radiating pure power! He glanced enviously over at the other boy, whose entire body was glowing in equal proportion to that of the dragon. John knew he should be afraid, that he was seeing something supernatural and almost unimaginable, but all he felt as he watched the pulsating Bradley Wallace step forward toward the cage was an overpowering serenity, and a fierce need for Whilly to survive.

  Like a conjunction of flaming stars, Bradley Wallace moved closer to Whilly, stepping into the cage and mixing his radiance with the dragon’s until the two were one. Boy knelt beside dragon, and tears began dropping from his eyes onto the still form. Please, God, John silently prayed, for the first time really meaning it, don’t let them die.

  “Whilly,” Bradley Wallace spoke, his voice breaking along with his heart, “Whilly, it’s me. Bradley Wallace. I’m here. Don’t die, please don’t die. Whilly, you’re the only friend I have. We belong together. Forever.” He stopped, the tears flowing more rapidly, his words having no appreciable effect. The dragon remained unmoving and Bradley Wallace felt the power ebbing slowly away. He was too late.

  John stood beside Dearborn and the other man, his own eyes brimming with tears. He, too, felt the dragon slipping quietly away from him. Then one tear-filled eye caught sight of a small object on the examination table beside the cage, and he instinctively moved toward it. Without really knowing why, he lifted the tiny music box and opened the ornate lid. Josette’s theme, which he’d heard so often in his head, now filled the room with its tinny melody.

  And then Bradley Wallace stopped thinking with his mind, and felt completely with his heart. He knew what to say, and he finally said it. “I love you, Whilly,” he spoke quietly, fearing he was still too late. Like when Barnabas finally realized he loved Angelique, and she died before he could tell her. “I love you. I never said it before because I was afraid. I was always afraid deep down that you might leave me some day. I’m sorry, Whilly. I’m sorry I doubted you.” He buried his face in the deep folds of Whilly’s neck, his body wracked by sobs of pain and remorse.

  There was a moment of expectant silence in the room, filled only by Josette’s music box replaying her theme over and over again. It appeared to the spectators that they were too late, after all.

  Then there came a slight stir beneath Bradley Wallace, but his pain was so great he failed to notice. The massive head shifted slightly as life and energy crept slowly back into the dragon’s glowing form.

  Whilly’s thick eyelids fluttered weakly and then popped open, but the bereft child remained oblivious. Then he heard that unmistakable voice in his tortured mind.

  What took you so long, Bradley Wallace? it said feebly, and Bradley Wallace jerked his head up in surprise. He saw the open red eyes and felt overcome with joy.

  “Oh, Whilly, you’re alive!” he cried ecstatically, “You’re really alive!” and grabbed the huge creature around his thick, scaly neck and simply held on.

  John watched the reunion with more happiness in his heart than he thought possible. He glanced down at the music box in his hands and wondered if his playing it helped revive the dying dragon. He hoped so.

  I thought you’d forgotten me, Bradley Wallace heard as he lifted his head and swiped at the tears of joy streaming down his cheeks.

  “I couldn’t find you, Whilly,” he tried to explain, “And they wouldn’t let me out to look.” He paused momentarily, hanging his head in shame. “I only doubted you for a minute.”

  For just a moment, as each struggled with wild, uncertain emotions, their hearts and spirits overlapped in a total eclipse of love. And then the mutual halo of light surrounding them began to fade, and they partially separated into their individual selves.

  Bradley Wallace felt the receding power as much of Whilly’s essence flowed back into the dragon’s weakened body. Whilly struggled to gain his feet, but the sedatives twisted through his system like embalming fluid, and he dropped painfully back to the floor.

  I’m sorry I lied to you, Whilly said, and Bradley Wallace knew his friend was referring to the secret visits to Mr. O’Conner.

  Bradley Wallace shook his head, grinning happily. “It doesn’t matter. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.” He again hugged the dragon’s neck tightly, still weeping tears of jubilation. He didn’t even feel embarrassed for crying.

  Why do I feel so strange, Bradley Wallace? Whilly asked anxiously after the boy released his neck. He tried again to stand, but

  tumbled back to the floor with a hollow thump.

  Bradley Wallace jerked a thumb back at Dearborn and the other man, who were staring wide-eyed at the scene. “They put all kinds of drugs and stuff into you,” he explained, adding reluctantly, “But I guess they were only trying to help.”

  John scowled at the notion, but remained silent. He felt so wonderful inside that words failed him completely.

  I’m too weak to fly, Bradley Wallace, the dragon apologized, casting a frightful glare at the two men and feeling what he could only describe as anger. Dearborn and the veterinarian nervously stepped back a few paces, eyeing the massive, squirming dragon warily.

  “Don’t worry,” Bradley Wallace assured the dragon with an affectionate slap on the side, “You’ll get better now that I’m here. And I’ll get you out.”

  He stood and took a step toward the cage door, but Dearborn moved faster, leaping to the steel-barred door and slamming it with a tremendous clang, simultaneously turning the key and slipping it from the lock.

  Temper flaring, John started forward to intervene, but was stopped by the red-haired soldier shoving the muzzle of his gun hard into John’s chest. John fumed in angry frustration, but stayed where he was.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Bradley Wallace, his own anger rising again.

  And he was still not emptied of all dragon-power.

  “You can’t keep them locked up here!” John challenged fearlessly.

  “I’m sorry, boys, but we can’t allow the dragon to escape,” Dearborn said in that quiet voice, almost apologetically.

  “He’s much too valuable to risk anything happening to him,” the white-smocked man informed them smugly, his bravado returning now that both boys and the dragon were under restraint and couldn’t hurt him.

  “And so, my boy, are you,” Dearborn went on, shaking his head in amazement. “Anyone who can do what you did at the Golden Gate Bridge is more valuable than any weapon this government has ever created.”

  Bradley Wallace’s eyebrows shot up, then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who told you about that?” he demanded, deciding he could probab
ly like Dearborn under circumstances other than these.

  Dearborn shrugged. “We still don’t know. An anonymous informer. Sent us some film of the incident that prominently featured you. Told us about the dragon, too, and where to find him. The Pentagon is quite interested in both of you and the mysterious power you seem to wield, and wants to study you.”

  “No!” was Bradley Wallace’s instant answer, his anger increasing. “I’m not gonna let you guys experiment on Whilly and me like we’re freaks or something.”

  Dearborn frowned. “My superiors aren’t going to like that. They would have liked your permission.”

  Bradley Wallace gripped the cold steel bars of the cage and rattled them so violently that the white-smocked man stepped back fearfully. “I told you already, you’re not gonna do anything to either of us. Whilly’s leaving with me.”

  Dearborn could feel the love between this boy and his dragon friend, much like his own son and the family German Shepherd, and it was with a definite feeling of sadness that he shook his head. “I’m afraid not, son. We can’t let either of you go free.”

  “Why not?” John demanded, still held firmly at bay by the soldier’s gun. “They wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  Whilly turned his head to watch John with interest, his mind still befuddled from the drugs.

  “I think you boys are old enough to figure out why,” Dearborn answered, turning back to Bradley Wallace. “Both of you pose a very real threat to national security and this government has an obligation to protect its citizens.”

  “Whilly is not dangerous, and neither am I!” Bradley Wallace snapped, rattling the bars again and beginning to feel very claustrophobic. “We wouldn’t hurt anybody, just like John said. Besides, we were doing fine till you guys showed up!”

  “Your loyalty is commendable,” the diminutive colonel commented sincerely. “But I’m afraid you must stay. You will also remain, John, until we determine if you pose a safety risk, as well. Those are my orders. I’m sorry, boys.”

  Bradley Wallace shook his head, beginning to feel his power building in intensity. “No, you’re not. You’re not sorry at all. You and Dr. Frankenstein over there just can’t wait to cut up Whilly and find out how he works. You just don’t want him free because he’s different, and people don’t like anything that’s different.”