Silver

“What do you think it all means?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Elliot replied, his eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. “It’s a riddle. Listen to this verse.”

Plunge by page the six of sword

Into these words by life or by death

To this: the one sworn and tried

May destroy the end in frozen breath

“The six of sword,” I said slowly.

“Spooky as hell,” Elliot laughed nervously. “They’re starting to rhyme—that’s always a bad sign.”

Desperately I tried to remember where I’d heard the peculiar phrases before, but the memory of it stayed out of reach like a dream.

Of course I had other things on my mind. Every afternoon at precisely four thirty I stood peeking through Latchley Junior High’s gymnasium doors with a view only Degas could have appreciated. I had just fifteen minutes to watch Michelle dance before I had to go to work, but wild horses could not have stopped me.

“You could just talk to her, you know,” Mr. Carter—Latchley’s physical education teacher—suggested as he walked up behind me one day.

“Talk to who?” I spat out, turning so fast I bumped the back of my head on the concrete wall.

“To the girl you’ve been staring at for the past few days.” He smiled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Girls aren’t as scary as they seem.” He patted me on the shoulder before walking away. “Now women,” he continued, shaking his finger in the air,” women are a different story.” His laughter disappeared with him into the teacher’s lounge.

Watching Michelle dance, I could not shake the feeling that if I were to enter her life we would both be headed down a path of destruction. I was completely infatuated with her and it was gruesome to my ego there was not a single reason she should return my feelings.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Mom announced after my grades began to slip due to my sudden lack of attention. “But you had better snap out of it.” She paused to look at me. “It’s that Elliot boy. I know he’s been filling your head full of nonsense.” Little did she know that even Elliot, with his defiant attitude and outlandish ideas, began to look at me as a person headed for real catastrophe.

He was convinced the break in at my house had been an evil spirit coming to collect its guidebook.

“I’m telling you…” he said in his most fearful tone. “I would be very careful if I were you. They might come back.” He insisted on keeping the book at his house, and I had the feeling he wanted an evil spirit to come snooping around.

Dad’s method for getting me to pay attention was much more direct; he locked away Legion of Few in his office at Young. Grades were serious business at my house, especially to Dad. “When those grades go up, you’ll get it back. Until then…” He let me fill in the blanks.

Like most terrible ideas, the plan was not premeditated. It presented itself as a moment of sheer opportunity while I was delivering the mail to Dad’s office. He was not there, so I placed his messages and letters on his desk. I noticed one of the desk drawers was open, and as I went to close it my eyes glimpsed inside and there it was: Legion of Few. I knew he would never miss it, and it seemed such a simple thing to reach in and grab it…

“Wait a moment,” Dad’s voice rang out from the adjoining lab, and then his footsteps moved closer as he walked towards the office. In a moment of panic, I slammed the drawer shut and crawled down underneath his desk.

Dad came in; I could see his legs as he walked behind the desk and hear him shuffling some of his paperwork. “Damned idiot,” he ground out, slamming something down above my head. Someone had made him angry. I hoped it wasn’t me.

He stooped to pick up a sheet of paper that had floated to the floor, his face coming into view for a brief moment before he stood straight again. I breathed out deeply. Finally he walked out to the lab again and began to speak.

“Stephen…I said all that I had to say in New Mexico. I want nothing to do with whatever twisted game you’re playing, and that’s the end of it.”

“Surely…” another male voice rang out, “…you do not mean to leave me to those…creatures. You know what I have promised them. Full access to Stacys V…and you know at what price. If I do not deliver I am finished.”

“That…” Dad said slowly, “is your problem.”

“You listen to me!” the man called Stephen rang out loudly. “This can be good for both of us. They will give us anything! Anything we want, if only we will cooperate!”

“Even if I wanted to—and I do not—my research is for the complete human physiology. I would have to start my entire experimentation over again for those…monsters. You are a scientist as well, and you know these things take years…decades…sometimes a lifetime to perfect.” There was a short silence before Dad spoke again. “Why on earth, Stephen, would you want them to have access to something so powerful? Stacys should be given to the world, not a select few, and certainly not to Sodin and his freaks.”

“You are such a dreamer, Harry. Who are you going to give it to…in particular? You have to start somewhere. The United States? Russia? China? When people see all that Stacys V can do there will be blood in the streets! Do it my way. We can make a profit and we do not have to take responsibility for the fallout.”

Silence again. I fidgeted constantly, not understanding what was happening. What was Stacys V?

It was quiet for some time, and then there were footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Dad spoke.

“I don’t have time for this, so I will only say this once more so that even you will understand. I want absolutely nothing to do with whatever mess you have gotten yourself into. Now get the hell out.”

“You will pay for this in ways you cannot imagine,” Stephen said. “They will come looking for you…after what you did. Stacys V is the only reason they’ve spared you this long. Sodin knows where you live…and so do I.”

A door slammed shut and I waited there, crouched under the desk for many minutes until I realized Dad had also left. It was nine o’clock and the third floor was shutting down for the day. I stood and walked out into the lab, then over to the door to pull on the handle. It was locked. I rushed over to the windows, but quickly noticed the security tags on every one; I knew better than to open them. I looked down to the parking lot below and saw Dad motioning from his car to the guard, Stanley, before driving through the checkpoint. The large steel gates closed behind him; he’d forgotten about me, or more likely, thought I had already gone home. Every light dimmed except the emergency lights, leaving me in semi-darkness.

“Shit!” I screamed into the room, slamming my hand down on the countertop. For fifteen minutes I walked around in circles, wondering how to get out of the lab. I thought about Dad opening the door in the morning and finding me there. I thought about what would happen when I didn’t go home all night. Mom would have a stroke.

The minutes ticked by.

After the initial shock of my entrapment, a creeping boredom settled in and the same two questions began to burn in my brain. What was Stacys V? Who was going to come after Dad? Deciding there was nothing I could do that would increase the trouble I had already set up for myself, I walked back into Dad’s office and began pulling out binders.

Elliot was wrong I thought; the break in had nothing to do with our sinister book, and everything to do with Dad’s business with the man called Stephen. I’d learned enough about the secondary filing system that after the fourth try I found a binder with information about Stacys V. It was mostly scientific jargon, but there was also a number on the bottom of one page that immediately caught my attention. StacV: 05171943. I had seen the number before, but I couldn’t recall where. They were so common to me, in fact, that I just sat there staring at the page, mentally going through lists of birthdays and phone numbers to find one that matched.

What happened next was so bizarre it completely derailed any thought of Stacys V or my being trapped for the night. I absentmindedly peered through the office door to the open expanse of the lab, and it took several moments for me to comprehend what I was seeing. Slowly I rose from Dad’s chair and walked towards the object lying in the middle of the furthest countertop. A numbing sensation began to seep into my limbs until all I could feel was the pulse of the blood slamming through my veins.

Lying there, without any logical reason for doing so, and without any help from me, was The Diabolus Ordo, flipped open as though someone had been reading it.

It had not been there before.

I knew this because Elliot had placed the book in his backpack before his mom picked him up that very evening. I had watched him do it.

There it lay.

I cautiously looked at every corner of the room, wondering who—or what—had put the text there. It crossed my mind that maybe Dad was doing this to scare me and teach me a lesson.

“Dad?” I said out loud. I walked back over to the window to see if his car had returned to the parking lot. There was only Stanley, sitting very still at his usual post. He seemed to be asleep.

“Dad?” I said again. “This isn’t funny!”

I stood frozen in place for a long time, staring at the book and trying to rationalize its presence in my mind. Finally, as though driven by something larger than myself, I walked over to the text and reached a trembling hand out to touch it. It suddenly slammed shut on its own, and then promptly disappeared.

“What in the world…” I said to myself in sheer wonder, my hand still outstretched.

“It sensed you did not need it,” a strangely familiar voice rang out behind me.

I turned to see a man standing there, dressed in a black old fashioned monks robe, with gray hair and penetrating eyes.

“Who are you?” I asked, quickly backing away. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The man smiled. “Neither are you. You don’t remember me?” he said advancing towards me. “I met you a long time ago…when you were just the forgetful age of three.”

“I don’t remember you,” I said truthfully. “How did you get in here?”

He only smiled. “Aren’t you curious about the book?”

Elliot would like to be here, I thought.

“Are you with Stephen?” I asked, grasping at straws.

“No…I am with you, young David. Always with you. I’ve known your father for many years. He’s a good man.”

“How do you know Dad?”

The man walked around to where The Diabolus Ordo had been, and waved his hand over the countertop. The book appeared once again. He smiled and sat on one of the stools.

“We have much better things to discuss David. Like why this confounded book keeps following you around.”

“It’s not mine…it belongs to a friend of mine.” I could feel the blood pounding in my head.

“That’s where you are wrong, David. It is yours. I placed it in your friend’s shop on purpose. It belongs to you, or at least until you become old enough to be responsible for it. Then you will belong to it.”

“What do I have to do with the book?”

“I did something…unethical,” the man said mysteriously. “But it is for the greater good.” He paused. “How do you know about Stephen?” he asked suddenly. “Have you been to Sodin’s compound?”

“I haven’t been anywhere…I overheard my Dad talking to…someone about it.”

He nodded his head. “Yes…yes…Stephen would come here like a beggar…that was always his way. As we speak there are great and terrible things being planned for him. Sodin is not one to be denied.”

It felt like a dream…like something I wouldn’t—and shouldn’t—remember tomorrow.

“I still don’t understand what all of this has to do with me…or with Dad.”

He continued to wave his hand over the book, and the pages flipped accordingly. “This book belongs to Lucifer,” he said calmly, as if he were discussing the weather.

I smiled with the absurdity of that single statement. “What?” I shook my head. “Did Elliot send you here?”

“It is of great truth and seriousness,” the man continued. “Lucifer has a Bible of his own…and this is it. It explains, in great detail, how demons and...otherworldly beings… can subject themselves to his favor. It is a very prized text, as you can imagine. I went through great lengths to retrieve it.”

“It belongs to…” I still smiled. This man had to be nuts. “And you’re giving it to me?”

“I’m loaning it to you,” he explained. “You see, David, in one month you will be thirteen years old. Your training should begin. Your father would not like it, but…you are destined to go on this mission. If we wait for your next milestone you will be unprepared for…”

“Wait a minute,” I said in defiance. “I’m not going on any mission. I have to go to high school…and then college.”

The man raised his bushy eyebrows, and then scowled. “I will put it another way. If you do not take this mission, you will find that every demon, every devil, every scary thing you have ever dreamed of in the middle of the night will come looking for you to retrieve this text. And you will not be trained to deal with them. I assure you that it would be a very short life.” He smiled sarcastically. “Too short for you to worry about high school, much less college.”

I stared at him for a long time before I spoke.

“What exactly is this mission?”

The man shut the book with a sharp wave of his hand. “Right now just training for the future. Training takes many years. You will be protected because you are the only one besides me who can open the book. If you accept the mission you will have further protection until your twenty-sixth year. If you do not…” he let the words hang on the air. “Do you still have the pendant?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I mumbled.

He smiled. “Look in places you have long forgotten,” he said. “You will find it. It will guide you until you accept what lies ahead.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Read this over and over again in the coming weeks. Memorize it. See what happens. It will help you understand what must be done.”

“What is it?” I asked, reaching for the paper.

“It is the translation for the first eighteen verses of The Diabolus Ordo. It explains what the book does and the only way it can be destroyed…and by whom.”

I looked at the paper and then at him. “You’re nuts if you think I’m leaving my whole life behind for a book…for some stupid mission.”

He seemed unaffected by my animosity. “Whether you train or not, you have thirteen more years before the mission begins. The reason I am here is…the next few weeks might be difficult. Around your birth date…” he hesitated.

“What?” I said urgently. “What happens then?”

He remained silent, his eyes glued to my own.

“Tell me!” I said. “It’s my life…tell me what’s going to happen.”

“Something. I cannot tell you how, but everything will become much more difficult for you. You have my protection, but there are some entities that know only you have access to this book. A few of them might…appear.”

“This is crazy. Why is the book attached to me?”

He got up suddenly. “There is no time to go into the specifics. I will see you soon. Only…know that whatever happens in the next few weeks, you will survive. You must. It is destiny.”

I turned away from him. “I don’t understand! How…” I turned back and he was gone. “Wait! What’s going to happen?”

Suddenly I was sitting in Dad’s office with my face lying on the desk. I had been asleep. I lifted my head and looked around the office and to the clock. Ten thirty. I had been asleep for forty minutes.

Getting up, I walked out into the lab. There was no one there, and no book; it was all just a dream and I had to go home. I picked up the lab’s phone to dial Stanley’s post when I noticed that the far window in the corner of the lab was wide open. It had been pushed aside and the alarms had not gone off. The room was getting cold.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I walked over to the window and leaned out. There was a high roof for the second floor below, so I quickly crawled out, slid the window closed and hopped down. The thud of my landing must have jolted Stanley, his bright flashlight coming to rest on the window I had just jumped down from.

“Hello?” he said. “Who’s there?”

Barely breathing, I lay completely flat on the roof. After a few moments I could hear him walking around to the front of the building and away from me. I peered over the edge of the roof to see if there was anything I could climb down on. There was a gutter which tilted down at an angle to the edge of the building and then continued straight to the ground. If I maneuvered correctly it would get me there without much trouble. I heaved myself over the edge so I was facing the building. The chalky feel of the white bricks made my teeth grit as they sliced across my palms and went underneath my fingernails, and I felt the slippery metal pipe below me as I placed one foot solidly on the incline and then the other. Down I went, slowly sliding each foot a few inches at a time while holding on to the building. Just as I reached the edge of the building and put my full weight on the pipe to slide to the ground, a rusty latch broke loose and suddenly I was swinging through the air.

I jumped mid-swing. As soon as I hit the ground I hopped up again, despite the sting in my wrist and ankle, and ran towards the gate.

On the far side of the fence was an area where the ground sloped enough that there was a slight space underneath, just enough for me to crawl under. In mere seconds I was running down the slope on the other side, listening to Stanley’s questions float away on the cold wind.

The walk home was miserable because I had no way of knowing what awaited me. Too soon our house loomed in the distance, and I noticed immediately that Dad’s car was missing from the driveway. I wondered if he was out looking for me. The lights in the house were out.

Silently my key unhinged the lock to the side door, which led me through the den and up the stairs to my room. It was a welcome sight. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief and pushed off my shoes.

I was exhausted. My ankle and wrist hurt like hell, and as I looked in the mirror I noticed a glassy look on my face as if I had not slept in days. My dark hair was sticking in all directions and my eyes were bloodshot. I need a vacation from my life, I thought bitterly.

The reflection in the mirror also showed that The Diabolus Ordo was lying on my nightstand across the room. I swung around to see it with my own eyes, and before I could react, the sheets on my bed turned themselves upward, an unknown form clearly underneath. No longer in control of my body, I backed into the dresser so swiftly most of my belongings fell to the ground.

“Dad!” I yelled at the height of lung capacity, holding up my comb for protection. “Mom!”

A hand reached out from under the sheets; Mom’s face was suddenly visible. “Now you call for us,” she said testily. “How about ten minutes ago when you snuck in here from God knows where? What happened to your ‘Mom’ then?”

“Mom! You scared me!” I uttered in disbelief. “I thought…” I looked over at the nightstand and the book was no longer there. I was sweating and shaking with the insanity of it.

I had to be insane. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream at all. Maybe…

Mom said nothing but only sat there staring at the wild look that must have been in my eyes. I still had the upraised comb clutched in my hand. Finally she spoke.

“Are you on drugs David?”

“No,” I said.

“Because if you are, you can tell me and we’ll get you some help.”

“I’m not on drugs,” I repeated, lowering the comb, but still afraid to let go. “Mom….this is going to sound weird, but…” I thought for a moment. “When is my birthday?” It was the only question I could think of.

She sat there with a puzzled expression, then shrugged. “It figures,” she said. “Your Dad is probably on them too. He’s doing something he’s not supposed to.”

“My birthday?” I asked, raising my ineffective weapon once again.

“January 22nd, she answered. “And if you think you’re getting anything much after the way you’ve been acting…what is the matter with you?”

I stood there shifting mentally through what I knew to be the truth and what could not possibly be true. Had the book really appeared at Young? That would mean that it was all true…the strange man and his even stranger words. The open window…the book reappearing in my room…

“David?”

She was still there. “Where is Dad?” I asked to cover my inattention.

“How should I know? He called an hour ago saying something about a meeting. You know how he gets with work. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him about you, which brings me to the main point of this conversation.” She got up. “You’re grounded.”

After she left, I sat on the bed and thought about the last words the monk had said to me.

It is destiny.

Michelle took the initiative. Mom’s tirade and grounding had made it impossible for me to work or watch her dance after school, but nothing has ever been—or ever will be—invented to stop the inevitable.

Mom pushed her head around my bedroom door.

“You have company,” she chimed, a smile on her face. I knew it could not be Elliot, who only brought groans and frowns at my house.

“Hi,” Michelle said softly as she stepped around the corner. Her hair was straight and loose around her shoulders and was much longer than I expected.

“Her mom had an errand to run and ballet practice was cancelled so Michelle here thought she’d visit for a while.” Mom was transparent. From her point of view Michelle came from excellent stock and was a perfect start for my journey into the world of sugar and spice.

“Do you mind?” Michelle asked. “I could have gone with my mom, but I thought…”

“Well of course he doesn’t mind,” Mom interjected. “You just make yourself at home. If you need anything I’ll be right downstairs.” With a parting glare in my direction, she backed out of the room.

Suddenly the room was too small, and for several moments we just stood there looking at anything but each other.

“Sorry,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “Let me clear a place for you to sit.” She smelled like soap and bubble gum. “It’s not usually so messy in here.”

“Really?” she said in an amazed voice. “My brother’s room was dirty all of the time.” She sat down on the chair and wrinkled her nose. “Except his room didn’t smell as nice as yours.”

I laughed, sitting on my bed. “How is your brother doing…Scott? How does he like college?”

Her face lost its smile. “He’s okay…I guess…busy. My parents went to see him.”

I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. “Is your father still mad about dinner that night? My dad doesn’t usually bring out the shotgun the first time around.”

“No…” Her face still held its seriousness. “Dad’s a little pushy sometimes, but he’s over it. He has too many other things to worry about right now.” I could tell she was annoyed. “So you’re an only child,” she said, suddenly standing to walk around the room.

I nodded. “It’s really boring. Sometimes I wish…”

“Is your Dad really as rich as they say?” she asked without looking at me.

I was stunned. “What?”

“Rich,” she said pointedly. “Does your Dad have a lot of money?” She was now staring at me and wringing her hands. A strange anxiousness filled the room.

“Well…he’s not really rich. Most of his money is in Young. We don’t have a lot of extra…”

She started pacing, and it was clear she was not listening.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Does he have a lot of connections? I mean, if you got into trouble, your Dad could get you out of it, right?” Something was really upsetting her; she looked like she was going to cry.

I went over to my dresser to grab my box of Kleenex just in case, closed the door and then sat back down. “I think you should sit down,” I said. She came over and sat next to me. She was crying, so I handed her the box.

“Okay,” I sighed. “Let’s start over. What happened?”

I knew something terrible must have happened; she did not seem like the type to cry on a whim.

“I think…” she began, “…do you know anything about meth?”

“Like the drug?”

She nodded. “It’s really what I came here to ask you. I figured your Dad might know something.” She crossed her legs underneath her and looked at the floor. “Scott’s on it. That’s why my parents are there. He’s getting kicked out of school.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know much about it, but I’ll ask my Dad. Maybe he knows someone who can help Scott. I’m sure…”

She shook her head. “Please don’t tell him it’s for Scott. My parents would kill me if they found out I told you.”

“I won’t tell him.” I would have stood on my head if she asked me to. “With the way I’ve been acting, I’m sure he’ll think it’s for me anyway.”

She finally smiled. Despite my best effort I could no longer control my inclination. I reached over and gently brushed the hair out of her face. It felt like silk.

“Try not to worry about it, okay?”

She grabbed my hand and held it. “Okay,” she said, her green eyes luminous. “Thanks. You must think I’m a wacko, asking you about your father’s money! I’m such a freak.”

“You are definitely not a freak,” I said. “I’ll ask Dad…everything will be fine.”

Suddenly the door swung open and Mom stood there staring at us with two glasses of iced tea in her hands. She immediately noticed Michelle had been crying and glared over at me.

“David Young!” she screeched. “I cannot believe you are making her cry already!”

My thirteenth birthday loomed, and every day I looked at the calendar and tried to remember what the monk had told me in Dad’s laboratory. One thing I could not forget was that something was supposed to happen around my birthday. It did not sound like something good, and my anxiety began to get to me.

He said he knew my father, but I knew better than to ask Dad. The monk also mentioned he’d met me when I was three. Try as I might, I could not remember him…but then it had all been just a dream anyway.

Or was it? One thing I knew for sure: The Diabolus Ordo had appeared that night in my room and disappeared again. I’d seen it with my own eyes and no one was going to convince me otherwise.

I had to figure out what was true.

I decided not to tell Elliot anything yet, because he would blow the entire thing out of proportion. It was best to keep it to myself until I could figure out the situation in my own mind.

Dad, too, was a man possessed. He was working on a new drug—more than likely Stacys V—and if I did not rise at the crack of dawn or wait up until after midnight when he came home, it was impossible to talk to him. For two weeks I was unable to keep my promise to Michelle.

Finally the storm broke, and I came down to dinner the day before my birthday to find I could still claim ownership of a father.

“I have great news,” Dad said, smiling and clapping his hands together. “In three days I will go in front of a panel to explain my need for further research on several of the new drugs we’ve been working on. If they approve we will be given a grant which will allow us to expand Young!”

“That’s fantastic!” Mom said immediately, smiling. “I’m very proud of you. I know how hard you’ve been working on this and you deserve it. Maybe now you can join the living again!”

“Well…” Dad began. “The panel requires a bit of travel.” He leaned back and tented his fingers. “I’ll be gone for a few days.”

Mom leaned back as well. “How much travel?”

“I have to go to Geneva.”

“For heavens…Switzerland, Harry?” I could see Mom’s mind working. She was exasperated at the thought Dad would be let loose so far away without her guidance to keep him in line.

I, on the other hand, was thinking solely of myself. “Can I go?” I asked out loud before my mind could process the words. Maybe if I get out of town things will get back to normal, I thought. “I swear on Mom’s unbelievably delicious mashed potatoes that I will never do anything wrong again in my entire life if I can just go on this one trip.”

“Absolutely not,” Mom answered. “Not only because you’re lying about my mashed potatoes, but you have school to think about. Your slacking has left you far behind as it is.”

Dad continued to kill my enthusiasm. “Sorry David, but you can’t go anyway. I’ll only be gone long enough to attend nonstop meetings, and I won’t have time for anything else. If they ask me back I’ll stay longer and we’ll all go.” He smiled. “Besides, you have to stay here and look after your mother.”

“Switzerland…” Mom said thoughtfully. “How are you going to invest the money if you get it?”

“I thought you would never ask,” he said winking. “But first I have to have some of your unbelievable delicious mashed potatoes.”

Later that evening I was finally able to speak to Dad. I found him in the basement preparing for his trip.

“If you’re coming down here to ask me if you can go, the answer is still no,” he said before I even hit the bottom step.

“I wanted some advice about something.”

He smiled, but did not look at me. He was furiously writing notes on a steno pad. “I think I have more terrible news for you son. If this is about Michelle Brummel I assure you I know even less about the opposite sex than you do, but…if you still want to risk it…I’m all ears.”

“It’s for a friend…” I took a deep breath. “It’s about crystal meth.”

The pen stopped.

“What?” he said, turning towards me with a serious look I had not seen on his face since the break in. “What about it?”

“I have a friend who…what does it do to you?”

“Nothing good…that’s for sure.” He leaned against the countertop. “Just so I don’t have a heart attack, this friend isn’t really you, is it?”

“No Dad…it’s really, truly not me, but I promised this person I wouldn’t tell and I can’t break that promise.”

He stared at me for a moment. “Okay…fair enough. To be honest, I don’t know that much about it. I have several colleagues who have studied narcotics all their lives…like Walter Bingman. They would be able to give you a better look at the consequences involved. Is this friend in trouble?”

I nodded. “He’s getting kicked out of school.”

“Wow,” Dad exclaimed. “If your friend is really serious about getting help he’s going to have to drop the anonymity. In the meantime, I’ll get some pamphlets from Walter. He’s going to go berserk when I tell him someone your age is hooked on meth. I don’t know how long I could hold him back.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll try to convince him to get help,” I said, knowing I hadn’t helped Michelle very much. As I headed back upstairs, Dad called out my name. I turned around.

He smiled. “Please try and get some normal friends, will you?”

He was one to talk, I thought.

Two days later he left for Geneva. It was Friday and Mom was in a continual state of panic. It was also two days since I’d turned thirteen, and because nothing happened I convinced myself the episode with the monk at Young was truly a dream and I would put it out of my mind.

I was back on track at school, and Dad returned Legion of Few that morning. Mom agreed to ‘unground’ me and I was able to resume my obsession with Michelle’s dancing. My life was normal—at least as normal as it could be—once again.

The red headed buffalo was back. As I approached the back side of Young’s building I noticed Tom and several of his friends were loitering, all of them laughing and holding up what looked like shiny sticks. As I moved closer I realized they were spray painting something on the white stonework.

Tom noticed me approaching. “Hey, idiot, come look what I have to say about you.” They all moved to the side, and there, sprayed in red letters were the words: DAVID YOUNG IS A CUPCAKE. This was in reference to my obsession with chocolate cupcakes, which I brought to school nearly every day. The Brick must have noticed and decided it was something hilarious.

The intelligent thing would have been to find Stanley and let him be a witness to the damage done. The problem was my temper. I stared at the wall, not offended so much at the words as the nerve of the idiots who had done it. My Dad worked all of his life for that building, and I suddenly had the thought that the monk had been right: something was going to happen. I was going to have to kill Tom Deming.

“Where’s your little ballerina?” Tom continued, enjoying the anger on my face. “Did your Dad hire her to show you her cupcakes?” The buffalos laughed. I retreated, and his voice carried on the wind. “Don’t run away cupcake!”

I said nothing in return, but walked to the back where Stanley had his post. He was not there so I walked into the checkpoint and retrieved his nightstick, which as far as I knew had never been used. Its luck had run out. I hid it beneath my coat and walked back to the side of the building where Tom and his friends stood.

I would try reason first. “Go home, Tom,” I said quietly. “Your probation officer won’t like that you’re out this late.”

Tom’s eyes went murderous. “What did you say to me you little punk?”

His bravado gave me second thoughts; he really was a powerhouse of intimidation. “Look Tom, I don’t want any trouble. Just go home.”

“Screw you, you little fruit. Obviously you didn’t learn your lesson the last time I kicked your ass.” They began to surround me.

“Maybe he needs a reminder,” one of them yelled out.

The first set of hands that touched me did not belong to Tom. I pulled out the nightstick and jabbed the perpetrator, who was standing behind me, on the forehead. He let go immediately. On the backswing I struck Tom on the temple as hard as I could. The two of them fell to the ground. The other three began backing away as I swung my weapon wildly. The one kid I’d jabbed on the forehead was making a lot of commotion, but Tom didn’t move. There was blood on the side of his face.

“Man…you’re crazy,” said one of the standing three before they ran off.

Stanley heard the noise and came around to find me looming over a deathly still Tom with his nightstick in my hand. In what seemed like moments an ambulance had arrived, and I was loaded in the back of a police car. The workers at Young were sticking their heads out of the windows to witness the spectacle. I was glad Dad had left that morning, but I could only imagine his disappointment in me when he returned. He wanted me to defend myself, but maybe I had gone a little far. I’d probably given poor Tom a concussion, or worse, and all because I couldn’t control myself.

Mom’s fury was palpable when she got to the police station.

“I don’t even know what to say, David. When your father gets back…I can’t even tell him, although he’ll hear about it anyway. The Demings are probably going to press charges. Is this the kind of life you want to lead? What the hell were you thinking?”

I was let go into her custody, and that night passed in silence. Mom would not speak to me unless it was unavoidable. I’m sure she really didn’t know what to say. Later that evening we learned Tom was going to be okay—besides a massive headache—and the Demings were not going to press charges. This was due more to the graffiti on Young’s wall than any concern for me.

The next morning I sat down at the breakfast table and to another dose of Mom’s silence. She turned on the television for the Saturday morning news, and almost immediately there was a special announcement. The anchorman’s familiar voice rang out across the kitchen.

Dad’s plane had gone down. No survivors.