Awakenings Page 6

  “How will they take to you running through maidens and allies with your sword back in Aandor?” Symian said. “Perhaps we can run it through MacDonnell’s wench next, great warrior.”

  The swordsman was ready to run his accomplice through again when Hesz interceded.

  “ENOUGH!” he bellowed. “Guns are loud. They draw attention.”

  “This mission was a waste of time,” Kraten said. “MacDonnell is a pawn waiting for his pension.”

  Cal tried to get up and stumbled. Hesz put his foot on the officer. Hesz crouched low to look Cal in the eye and in a mocking tone whispered, “Is this lie you live so complete, MacDonnell, that you will die a stranger to yourself?” Frost clung to Cal’s cheeks and they turned numb. “Where is the boy? I promise your death will be quick.”

  Cal threw a right cross at Hesz’s face. The blow glanced off his jaw with little effect. It was like hitting a wall of bone. Hesz grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Cal went numb; Hesz’s breath was giving him frostbite and he couldn’t inhale for the grip. Cal kicked Hesz in the groin with little effect. The other two laughed.

  “If only his father could have seen that wench’s move,” Symian said. “What would his father have thought?”

  “You know Hesz’s grandsire was a frost giant, boy,” Kraten said. “The family jewels are recessed to keep from freezing.”

  Cal started to black out. He wished he’d had more time to sort things through … to say good-bye to Cat and Bree, to learn the mysteries of his past. So many things undone. He wondered if the blinding ball of white light flashing across the hallway was the gateway to the afterlife.

  2

  Symian screamed as the side of his face burst into flames. He covered his face with his hands, trying to smother the fire as blood poured from his eyes. The shock caused Hesz to loosen his grip, which allowed Cal to gasp a gulp of sweet air.

  An insight about frost giants danced beyond the reach of Cal’s mind. If only he could remember. Hesz and Kraten looked in the direction of the flare. They failed to notice the figure coming from the other direction. All of a sudden, Kraten’s head was introduced to the broad side of a Louisville slugger. He fell like a sack of bricks.

  Hesz hit the batter with a backhanded slap, which sent the man tumbling down the stairway. He turned toward the floating flare, which had subsided to mere illumination. A tall young woman with red hair held a ball of crackling blue-white light in her palm. Hesz released Cal and charged her. Cal leaned on the door frame and tried not to slip down farther as he watched the fight, unable to help. A devious smile graced the woman’s lips. She turned around, exposing her back to Hesz, then bent over as though picking up a penny. Hesz had nearly reached her when suddenly he went flying across the hall in the other direction, and smashed through the wall at the end of the landing.

  Hesz shook his head. He slowly got up and brushed the debris from his suit. He looked to the girl across the hallway with some understanding of what she had done. A murderous smiled spilled across his face. “Your bag of tricks is small, acolyte. Could they not find a grown-up for this mission? Or are all your sorcerers dead?”

  “They may well be, giant,” she answered, solemnly. “But you are one mage short at the moment, and all the dead sorcerers in Aandor are of no advantage to you right now.”

  Cautiously, Hesz stepped through the hole. He ripped off a large chunk of the banister to use as a club, and moved toward the girl. The woman stepped back into a defensive stance, her arms and hands raised, elegantly poised in a precise manner.

  The giant hesitated a moment … then continued toward the girl, raising his club, intent on creating carnage. As he did so, Hesz exposed his underside to Cal, who was still groggy on the floor braced against the door frame and trying to pull himself up. Then it occurred to the policeman, the thing that was just beyond the border of his thoughts a moment before; something about a nerve cluster. Cal braced himself against the door frame, gathered his remaining strength, and kicked upward, hitting Hesz’s external oblique muscle. Hesz let out an inhuman howl. He dropped his club and fell to his knees, clutching his side shaking. Pleased, Cal slumped back to the floor.

  The woman approached Symian, who still lay on the floor holding his face and whimpering. Blue streams like ink from a busted pen flowed from his tear ducts. She pulled a small piece of the flare out from the larger ball, which crackled in her palm, and dropped it on the gray man. The residue on his skin caught fire, burning blue like a gas jet. Symian screamed again and tumbled down the stairs.

  “YOUR RACE WILL DIE, WITCH!”

  “Hey,” Cal managed, attracting his female rescuer. He pointed to Hesz. The giant had gathered the bronze swordsman and went through the hole he had made. They could hear his clanging as he flew down a rear fire escape.

  “We had the element of surprise,” she said to Cal. “I was able to incapacitate their magic user before they realized they were under attack. Only a fool stays to battle a sorcerer without protection. It’s best not to push our luck.” The young woman crouched over him. Her face was broad and her eyes were deep as fjords, repositories for all the deep mysteries of the world.

  The man with the bat rejoined them. He had a great welt on the side of his face. He reminded Cal of a young John Lennon.

  “Fucking shit! This isn’t worth having a place to crash!” he yelled. “I’m better off at a shelter! You never said we would be fighting eight-foot linebackers with fucking swords!”

  “Are you with Anti-Crime?” Cal asked. He could hear sirens approaching. He felt hot and groggy.

  “The troll bit him,” she said. “We have to treat the wound before it festers.”

  “Take him to the hospital! I’m done with this crap!” John Lennon insisted.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Erin?” Cal insisted.

  “Your partner? She’s on the second floor!” John Lennon said. “Both pieces!”

  “The hospices won’t know how to treat him. We’ll take him to my place,” the woman said.

  “No,” Cal said. His strength was draining every second. He struggled to talk. “Cat! Bree! They know where…”

  John Lennon found Cal’s wallet and revolver on the floor and handed them to the woman. “They know where he lives. We need to tell his cop friends and let them handle it.”

  She studied the wallet. “He has a woman and child,” she said, pondering. “This will cause problems for his family.”

  “Please,” Cal said, barely conscious.

  “Will they really go after his family?” the Beatle asked.

  “Anything’s possible,” the woman answered. “At some point maybe … if they’re desperate.”

  The sound of police running into the building echoed up the stairwell. Radios blared, footsteps pounded, threats were issued. Cal’s vision turned gray. The girl pulled an ornate compact from her satchel. Great time to do your makeup, Cal thought. Then everything went black.

  CHAPTER 4

  HARD-KNOCK LIFE

  1

  Daniel Hauer worked at his latest masterpiece: an ink drawing of the Green Lantern blasting away a Khund armada with his magnificent power ring. The hero’s primary weapon being in fact a ring and not a lantern never seemed odd to Daniel. What made a hero great was his strength of character; he must be a true paladin of virtue and honor. Although there were many manifestations of this hero, dating back to the 1940s, Daniel preferred the second variation, test pilot Hal Jordan. He suspected that other incarnations since Jordan had been designed by a marketing department that had read too much Spider-Man (a good character in his own right, but not appropriate for the Green Lantern).

  The ballpoint scratched a groove into the varnished wood as it traced the pattern of the lantern logo on the hero’s chest. As Daniel put the finishing touch on it, a gray shadow sprawled across his desk. The young man looked up into the dour face of Mr. Palumbo.

  “That’s a beautiful illustration, Mr. Hauer. Can you explain to the room
how this drawing relates to societal class structure in precolonial India?”

  Daniel glanced at his friend Adrian Lutz and flashed him a look that said, You should have warned me. Behind Mr. Palumbo hung a series of world maps showing the evolution of political boundaries over the centuries. Daniel locked on to India, circa 200 B.C., and called up the proper information from his brain.

  “Huh … sure.”

  “Really?” said Mr. Palumbo.

  “Yeah, see … Green Lantern is a Kshatriya warrior who takes his orders from the priestly Brahmans represented by the Guardians of the Universe on Oa. The Khunds are a warrior race trying to expand their influence, in much the same way as Alexander the Great. And this drawing is like … when the Indians fought off the Greek general Seleucus Nicator as he tried to invade Punjab.”

  Adrian rolled his eyes in disbelief. Giggles erupted throughout the classroom. Mr. Palumbo, aware that few students were as well read as Daniel, nevertheless was not going to suffer any excuse for ignoring his lesson.

  “I’m giving you a zero for the day. And, one other thing … all of your desks throughout the school are covered with these drawings. You’re destroying public property.”

  “Destroying? You can still use them.”

  More chuckles erupted.

  “One of your pictures ruined Katie Millar’s white blouse after she rested her arm on it,” Palumbo said.

  Daniel’s heart sank. Katie was one of the few kids to befriend him after he had transferred to George Fox Middle School two years earlier. They sat at the same desks in shared classrooms and left notes for each other (and the occasional test answers when one’s exam preceded the other). With the onset of acne and wet dreams, Daniel realized Katie was more than just a school buddy. Her skin had adopted a sweet fragrance, and he was extremely aware of her budding chest, especially when she innocently bent over in a loose top. He often woke up hard at the thought of her, something he wished he did not do because he was embarrassed to face her at school, but he didn’t have any control over it. Her eyes wandering toward older boys, especially with letters on their jackets, frustrated him, and now he was responsible for ruining her expensive clothes.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not the one you owe an apology. We’ve discussed your drawings at the faculty meetings. Principal Conklin made it clear that next time you were to be sent to his office. Since you are not prepared to take my lesson seriously, please leave the room.”

  Daniel packed his books slowly in hope Mr. Palumbo would change his mind. No such luck. All eyes stayed on him as he shuffled out the door. Standing in the empty hallway, Daniel wondered what to do next.

  Only 10:00 A.M. and the day was already a bust. If he went to the mall there was a chance he’d be caught playing hooky. Then, his stepfather would get dragged into this, a situation Daniel wanted to avoid at all cost.

  2

  Principal Conklin sat back in his ergonomically correct executive chair like a man who thought he ran the Seventh Fleet. He was in his fifties, wore a brown suit, and his arms were up and resting on his bald head, while his gut protruded like a Butterball turkey hanging from a sling. The leather squeaked as he rocked back and forth. Daniel associated the noise with a common bodily function.

  Plaques and trophies from a distinguished career as a high school athlete and medals from military service decorated the office. On the desk were pictures of the principal’s wife and his two daughters, who no doubt got their good looks from the other side of the gene pool.

  The man’s legendary gaze made you feel as though he knew everything you thought you’d gotten away with. As Conklin blustered on and on about school property and the taxpayer’s burden, Daniel considered his role in the scheme of life.

  Not to be a jock, cheerleader, metal head, or standard-issue redneck increased the odds that you were a school geek. Soon, everyone would know what had transpired in Mr. Palumbo’s class. That was all he needed in a school where he could count his friends on one hand. Then the words, “your father,” broke him out of his trance.

  “My father?” Daniel repeated, rejoining the discussion.

  “Yes, Daniel, your father,” Conklin drawled. “Since your arrival, fourteen desks have been mutilated thanks to your hobby. Your pappy will pay for the damaged desks so that the good taxpayers of Glen Burnie County can rest assured their money is going toward books and teachers, and not for repairing the hobby of a juvenile delinquent.”

  “It’s not like I took a hacksaw to those things. I can wash those drawings off with soap.”

  “Those desks have grooves in them ’cause of your ballpoint. Son, I look good when the school looks good.”

  “Look, I’ll never do it again, and I’ll pay for the desks out of my own money. I have a part-time job at Pathmark. There’s no need to bring my stepdad into this.”

  “I respect a boy that fears his father. Means there’s hope for you, son. Tell you what … can you give me five hundred dollars by Monday?”

  “Five hundred dollars? Those desks can’t cost five hundred dollars. Who are we buying them from, Dominic Tagliatore?”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Principal Conklin said.

  “Look, my stepdad’s been out of work for a while,” Daniel said. “I don’t want to add to his troubles. Can’t we work something out? I’ll throw in extra money … we can call it interest. You have my word.”

  Conklin considered the offer for an eternity. Daniel sat there tense, wishing for the words “it’s a deal” to come out the fat man’s lips.

  “I have to submit a budget by Wednesday. I can’t take a chance that you won’t make due. Everything’s got to be by the book.”

  “But if you’d just—”

  Conklin hoisted himself out of his chair and opened the door. “No means the same now as it did five seconds ago. I’ve got to know for sure where the money’s coming from. Now get on, go to your next class.”

  The boy left the office uncertain of what to do next. If a bolt of lightning had hit him right that second, he would have considered it a stroke of good luck.

  3

  Daniel liked stocking the aisle ends at Pathmark. In addition to the unobstructed view of the cashiers—of which Katie Millar was one—he usually stacked the sale items into intricate patterns, a more appealing labor than just placing boxes on an aisle shelf. He designed the stacks so that there would never be too many extractions from one area, thus bringing the construction down. Daniel employed pyramids, helixes, double helixes, and a few shapes of his own invention, which he was unaware that engineering students spent entire semesters on. The patrons deconstructed these temples of frugality without realizing they were part of a preordained strategy.

  Daniel finished setting up boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios just as Adrian polished off his third low-fat ice cream sandwich.

  “Your shift’s over,” Daniel said. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to watch me work?”

  “Nope.”

  Daniel glanced at register three where Katie Millar scanned items and made small talk with the locals.

  “Well, go home or something,” Daniel said.

  Adrian looked like the Antarctic explorer whose mission commander just ordered him to go for a stroll in the middle of July. Daniel glanced out the store’s big front windows at the clear night sky, but from his expression it was obvious Adrian saw a blizzard.

  “I ain’t botherin’ no one. So what happened in Conklin’s office?” Adrian asked, changing the subject.

  “He slung some bullshit. No, that’s not right … first he bored me to tears, then he slung the shit.”

  Daniel thought about the actions that led to his predicament. The real world vanished when he drew pictures. His mind took him to better places, where the lines between good and evil, right and wrong were crystal clear. It was like stepping into a different universe.

  “The school’s going to tell Clyde he owes them five hundred dollars for the desks,” Daniel said.


  Adrian perked up. “No! Can’t you talk them out of it?”

  “Only if I come up with the money by Monday. How much you got in your pocket?”

  Adrian checked his pockets. He looked like a lost cause with crumbs on his lips and collar and cream dotting his ample chin. Daniel rolled his eyes.

  “Hello … sarcasm,” Daniel snapped, handing his friend a napkin.

  “Oh,” Adrian blinked, “no need to get snippy.”

  “Sorry.” Daniel stole another glance at Katie. She saw him, smiled, and waved before resuming her scans.

  “Conklin always hires his cousin to do carpentry jobs,” Adrian said. “Guy can’t keep regular work ’cause of the hooch.”

  “Alcohol seems to screw me no matter who’s drinking it,” Daniel said.

  “Spend the night at my house,” Adrian offered. “You can walk home with me.”

  Daniel cocked a suspicious eyebrow at his friend. “Not for nothing, Ade, but you wouldn’t by any chance be in trouble with them Grundy boys again?”

  Adrian’s face dropped all pretenses. “They got it in good for me, Danny.”

  “Take a swing at them for once, Ade. Jeez, you outweigh both of them by twenty pounds.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know why I get so scared. My feet don’t move. I feel heavy, like in a dream when you can’t run.”

  Daniel felt a momentary disgust toward his friend. If only his own problems came in the stature of the Grundy boys.

  “Ade, what are the odds that the Grundy boys are lying in wait for you, tonight?” Daniel asked. “They’re probably home tonight watching WWE SmackDown. I think their aunt’s in a cage match.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Why are you so sure they’re looking for you?”

  “I didn’t let them copy off my math test.”

  “You suck at math.”

  “I got a C plus. They didn’t do as well. Like it’s my fault they’re stupid.”

  “So, let them cheat.”