“Mike? Mike?” he kept repeating tentatively.
Mike didn’t answer, he didn’t even turn around. He couldn’t. What would he do if he did? Something violent, he thought. And he didn’t really want to hurt David. David hadn’t even known of the clearing. Had he spotted Mike sneaking through the bushes? Mike didn’t think so. He had looked carefully, like he always did, before vanishing into the Drop. Of course there was the possibility that David had stumbled into the clearing, just like Michael had. But if that was so, why hadn’t Mike heard him? He hadn’t been that enthralled by the polyhedron… at least he did not think so. He would have heard if somebody went falling through the bushes and down the slope. But Mike had heard nothing so that had to mean that David had snuck in.
If David knew of the clearing, did that mean he also knew of the magic? Mike focused his eyes on the broken glass, trying to gain control over his possessiveness. He didn’t think anyone knew of the crystal except for him (and of course there was now David). The dodecahedron — Mike knew that was the correct name for it because he remembered hearing something about it in a math class — had been an exceptionally faithful soul. If it had known of anyone else it didn’t like them. Not in the way it had liked Mike. That was something Michael had sensed from the start.
“Mikey, please.”
There had been a pause in Michael’s thoughts and those two words had slipped pass his blockade. David was still there. He shouldn’t have been. Mike was still quite mad. So mad it took all of his willpower not to turn around and do something horrible to David, something he’d regret later.
In trying to control himself Mike’s body began to shake. It always did when he was trying to control his temper. Through the silence he heard David take a step back. That was a start, but what Mike wanted was for David to leave. He told him this but David still did not move.
“You better be going David,” Mike spoke for only the second time since the polyhedron had been shattered. David would have felt more comfortable if Michael had been yelling and screaming. He hated the silence and had used his own chatter to drown it out as best he could.
“You better go now David,” Mike said again. His body was still shaking but his voice was perfectly even. It had only been a statement, the words delivered in a voice that Mike had intended to sound light and casual but had instead coalesced into something sounding like a threat; and when you thought about it, it was.
Although David was behind Mike, thus hidden out of the redhead’s line of vision, Mike knew David had hesitated a moment then taken another step back. And then David again spoke. David’s voice came out small and tentative. It was thin and wavered rhythmically.
“I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean to break it. Honest.” There was a long, tension-filled pause and then David spoke again, his voice still thin and wavering with uncertainty.
“What was that Mike? Eh Mikey, what was that thing?”
Mike didn’t answer, but he turned his head as far to the left as he could manage so David got a perfect view of his face in profile. He had managed to stop shaking. Instead his lips were pressed together so tightly they were nothing but two thin, pink, parallel lines, rapidly turning blue.
The tall athletic boy didn’t like this; not at all. Mike wouldn’t talk to him, he only wanted him out of this place. And besides, even David himself wanted out, so why shouldn’t he go?
“Okay Mike, I’ll leave now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Mike didn’t answer and he didn’t move. Within a minute the sounds of David struggling to get up the steep hill came to him as if from far away. Mike knew those sounds well. They were the very ones he made when trying to grasp a tree root or a plant to aid in the climb up. The hill was steep and there wasn’t much of a path. There was, however a stone and a thick tree root jutting out of the ground, both juxtaposed in such a way as to be extremely helpful during the ascent. If you found those you were pretty much okay. He doubted that even if David did spot the root and the stone he’d fail to recognize their significance; but then again, maybe David would be able to see their value. After all, he had somehow found his way into the clearing. Surely he could find his way out.
Finally, faintly, barely audible, there was a huge sigh from David as he crested the top of the cliff; then the sandy scratching sounds of him shuffling along the dirt road. When the sounds could no longer be heard Mike waited another ten minutes and then allowed something within him to snap.
Two minutes later Mike was sitting by the trunk of a large tree. He had tried to push the tree down, then root it up, and then he’d attempted to rip away the bark. None of those had worked and now he sat beneath its shade, sobbing. Tears tracked down his cheeks in a nonstop flow. His fingers were sore and bleeding. The clearing around him was now as dug up and destroyed as a fourteen year old boy could get it. Some of the plants had been pulled out by the roots and the ones that weren’t had been torn and cleaved. A little of the hard and pressed dirt in the clearing now lay displaced in chunks. Mike had also tried to dig that up. He was, however, more successful with the softer dirt that embedded the plants along the perimeter of the Drop. All in all, what had once been a clearing was now cluttered with destroyed foliage. Despite the debris having been haphazardly cast about, the irregular shape of light and about a two centimetre ring around it, were completely untouched. Mike didn’t notice this, and if he did he surely had no idea as to its significance.
A series of choking sobs escaped him. They sounded as though he were bringing up his insides, but he did nothing to stop them. They continued to come out one after another, each one a little louder a little more violent. His tears were to mourn the passing of his friend. His only friend. David, he now thought, had had this planned from the beginning. If not, something like this. Mike was willing to bet that his ex-friend had somehow found out about the magic and felt some sort of resentful envy. Quickly Mike’s opinion on what had happened — that being David stumbling into the Drop accidentally — changed. Now, sitting with his face buried in the palm of his hands, Mike decided that perhaps it was time to get even.
Mike thought for a moment; then for another; and then he panicked. Something this simple would usually come to him with brilliant speed. Not that he contemplated acts of revenge that often. As a matter of fact this was the first time his conscious mind had ever suggested such an idea. Perhaps that was the reason. He hoped it was. Of course this had happened before. An innocent recurrence was what it was. But he didn’t have a cold. He felt healthy and alive and ready to think up an absolutely genius plan for revenge. He’d probably use one of his mind games, that way he’d get entertained as well as even. But for some reason he couldn’t think of any; not one.
Mike sighed, got up, and thought that maybe he’d have to go to the library and take out some kind of book. He stopped. His breathing stopped and he could have sworn his heart had skipped a beat, perhaps even two. What was that he’d just been thinking? He played back his most recent thoughts. Had he been planning to borrow a book from the library on mind games? Not only were mind games a hobby of his, they were his specialty. That, added to the fact that it had been a long time, not since that faithful night when he had first tumbled into the Drop, since Michael had had to look up anything in a book. So absurd was the thought that under other circumstances he would have laughed; or so he convinced himself now.
Mike’s heart began to pound a little faster and his breathing once again picked up. His mouth was turned down to form a frown of disappointment and as Mike stared at the clearing, without really seeing it, he wondered what was going on.
He was too weak for this. What had happened to his simple life of …knowing things? There, he’d said it. “Apprehend” had never really been the right word. To apprehend was to gather clues and formulate an educated conclusion. He did no such thing. He just knew. Ever since that night…. Mike had known all about nuclear energy and everything pertaining to it. He had known of the stars, and he had known anyt
hing else he needed to know — never really knowing he knew these things until it was called for. So where was it now, this knowledge? That was one thing he couldn’t understand. Suddenly, the thought of going without his gift — and in a certain light that was exactly what it was — was frightening. Was this a sequelae of his past illness? It was a possibility. This had never happened before his cold, although then he would have killed to have his gift taken away…. To be Normal. But isn’t that the way the old saying went? You didn’t know what you had until it was gone.
He sighed again. He’d have to look for one of the books his father was always buying him. Hopefully he’d be able to find a math one. He’d flip it open and see if he could do a few problems. Nothing fancy, he’d keep it basic.
Mike sighed again and began the difficult climb up the steep hill. He had to go a few feet before he’d be able to grasp hold of the rock or the branch. As he pulled at the roots of one of the large leaves a dull pain danced beneath the flesh of his hands. At first Mike thought he’d been cut up a lot more than he had originally suspected, but when he looked down at his hands he saw that, in total, there were only three gashes.
The number was small, the cuts were fine, but thy were also very deep. Before Mike’s eyes the gashes turned into red slits as they quickly filled with blood. There were other scrapes and scratches crisscrossing Mike’s palm, but he thought them not as serious as the other three.
Two of the three were on his right hand. One was in a straight line that ran horizontally across his middle and ring finger. The other cut was diagonal, looked to be about two inches in length — starting at the pad of his finger — and dominated his pointer finger. Examining this cut brought his attention to the very fine scratches on the highest, flesh covered parts of his thumb. He didn’t know exactly where he had gotten them from, but he was willing to bet it was while he’d been tearing up the clearing. Unwillingly Mike glanced up the steep hill and wondered exactly how he’d make it up.
“Well you know what they say,” he spoke to himself in the empty clearing, “no pain, no gain.”
The boy again started up the hill, squinting in mild agony as he went. After a short while he was relieved to find that the pain was quickly becoming easier to bear, having subsided to a dull throb pulsing through both his hands. By the time he reached the top of the Drop — and was thrust into surprising daylight to which his eyes took a few moments to adjust — Mike was faced with one more problem: What would he tell his mother?
The boy was looking, once again, down at his cut, bleeding, swollen hands. Getting home before his Ma would be easy; he didn’t think that much time had gone by. But even after washing up, the gashes would still be noticeable. Bandaging was also a must, as several of the cuts still had not stopped bleeding, and bandages would be a dead giveaway that there was something amiss. There would be a dozen unavoidable questions to be answered, including where he’d been. His excuse for that one was simple and already thought up. He’d say he’d gone out with David. That was believable, especially since David wouldn’t be around to be questioned — at least Mike hoped not. He didn’t want to see David until he thought of a plan for pay back. He ignored the nagging thought that if his ability to know was in fact gone, he wouldn’t be seeing David for a very long time. Feeling utterly defeated in every way Mike headed up the dirt path towards his home.
Mike would have been relieved at the short amount of time that he had spent in the Drop if he hadn’t turned onto his street to see that his mother had returned home. He had been gone under an hour — about fifty minutes — and within that time his mother had realized she’d forgotten something, or so she would tell Mike.
At the sight of the sagging green car Mike felt his body instantly covered with a film of cold sweat. At first he thought that he was in such a cycle of mental anguish that he could be hallucinating but really a manifestation of such an image in his mind’s eye would have to be classified as a Waking Nightmare. He got a good grip of the flesh beneath his plain t-shirt and pinched it as hard as he could. When he began to bite his lower lip, resisting the temptation to let out a cry, he let go. The car was still there. Not only that, it was closer. His feet had kept moving, slowly, begrudgingly, in the general direction of Home, and the car had kept coming nearer still. He was almost to the driveway on which the tired green car slumped when a simple thought came to him. It was something that would have instantly occurred to him if in his usual state of mind, but amidst the turmoil of despair and anger and general emotional fatigue, it had taken a while for the idea to rise to his consciousness: All he had to do was turn around and leave.
“Of course,” Mike said aloud, a grin creasing his face. “What a simple idea. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”
The redhead didn’t answer that question, not consciously. He already suspected why he’d had difficulty thinking up that one, and didn’t want to dwell on it now. The first thing he had to do was turn around and get out of there. He started to do just that. Having now a concrete plan and plenty of motivation his legs began to move with surprising agility, feeling much lighter than they had since leaving the Drop. He had taken three steps in the opposite direction when the thought that maybe he had heard something came begrudgingly to him. But that couldn’t be. It was probably another excerpt from the Waking Nightmare. Two of his bony, scratched fingers griped the flesh on his forearm and began to pull. His grip tightened and the boy felt that at any moment there’d be blood; there was already excruciating pain. But before the blood came there was that sound again, and Mike felt he had to turn around and confront it or he’d have twice as many questions to answer.
“Mikey,” the high, whining voice called again.
He turned and sure enough there she was. In her hand his mother held a pile of colourful folders. Those caught Mike’s eye first and he thought them to be the thing she had forgotten. The files were over-stuffed with papers whose torn and crumpled edges jutted out.
“Mikey, there you are. I thought you had no plans.”
“I went to meet David at the school.”
She moved as though to look behind him then asked where David was.
“I missed him. He probably came here looking for me and of course I wasn’t home.”
“Oh,” she frowned. That was also about the time she noticed her son’s clothes. They were torn and dirty and looked as though they’d been kicking around for years. He was sure the same went for his face — except for the parts that his tears had washed clean…. (How embarrassing.)
Now Mike began to panic. He had planned to say he and David had been together and they’d gone butterfly hunting or something just as ridiculous. She would have believed that. His mother would have believed anything in which David had been the bad influence.
After a brief and uncomfortable silence she finally asked the dreaded question, “What on earth happened to you?”
Mike licked his lips and tried to recall ever being in this sort of position. Nothing came to mind. “Well,” he began in a light way. “I’d bumped into David this morning when I was out buying the milk. Remember, you sent me out to get some milk?”
Mrs. Gregory nodded her head slowly.
“Well, it’s like I said, I bumped into David. He ran up to me just as I was leaving the convenience store. Speaking of which, Mr. Martin says ‘Hi.’”
His mother nodded her head again and Mike thought to ask her if she shouldn’t be getting back to work. At the last minute he reasoned that it would only sound suspicious, given the current circumstances.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I saw David and he told me that he’d seen a bunch of men at the Drop. They’d asked him some questions about these kids. I suppose they’re missing. Heard anything about missing kids, Ma?”
His mother shook her head this time. She was already getting suspicious and Mike had yet to think up a story.
“Well there are some kids missing, at least that’s what David and I think. David says the m
en didn’t tell him anything about it. So, when I couldn’t find David up at the school I decided to go by the Drop. There was no one there so my next thought was to go onto the camp grounds and look for him, maybe ask about the missing kids. I figured one of the campers was bound to know something.” Mike stopped and looked at his mother. Although that was the end of the story he had thought up so far he knew there’d be yet more questions requiring yet more creative thinking. His mother looked back at him as though she were waiting for him to say something else. He couldn’t blame her, her original question was still unanswered.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Well,” he paused and put a thoughtful look on his face, “yes,” Mike finished quickly.
“How’d you get so dirty?”
Mike’s hands were in his pockets, hidden from his mother. For that he was glad and decided to replace David with somebody else.
“Oh yeah,” he said in a genuine voice of recollection, “I met this kid. The rest of his family had gone into town. Actually that’s everyone but his big sister. He didn’t have anyone to hang out with so I offered to keep him company. We went butterfly hunting.”
“Butterfly hunting?”
“Well, yeah. It’s this game he made up. We have to try to catch butterflies in the woods. We could also hunt for bugs. I found a whole swarm of beetles under this rock.”
His mother put on a disgusted face, but Michael pretended not to notice.
“After a while we got to chasing this bird — I told him it was a bad idea but the kid insisted he wanted to try and catch a bird — and I guess that’s about when I got dirty. Seven year old boys aren’t that fast, but they’ve got a lot of energy. Birds are fast and they’ve got endless energy. Between them both I could barely keep up.”
“Sure… Aristotle,” his mother replied.
Mike thought that she looked disappointed, but then that may have been his imagination. It didn’t matter. Mike didn’t want to dwell on the subject for another second and tried to change it.
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