OK, now I’m caught up on posting chapters (but I’m still way behind on writing.) Oh, and I accidentally left off the first sentence of Chapter 7 when I posted it. I’ve fixed that.
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Chapter Eight
Sitting in the front passenger seat of the Minnow, Aidan stifled a yawn. It had taken him over two hours to get back to sleep, and it felt like his alarm had woken him almost immediately after.
Jessica pulled the car to a stop at the same place as yesterday.
“Out,” she said.
“But I’ll be late for Chemistry again.”
Jessica winced. “Mr. Carlson? Doesn’t his hand freak you out?”
“I think it’s kind of cool,” said Aidan. “Not the missing fingers. But even after that, he’s not afraid to keep doing chemistry.”
Jessica shook her head. “Figures you’d like him. Nerds of a feather.” She jerked her thumb toward his door. “Now, out!”
There was no point in protesting again. Aidan got out.
Jessica sped off toward school.
Shouldering his backpack, Aidan started walking toward the school.
“Aidan,” said a man’s voice beside him.
Aidan looked over and saw the stranger in chain mail walking next to him.
“Stay away from me!” shouted Aidan, and he began sprinting down the sidewalk.
Out of thin air, the stranger appeared five yards in front of him, and Aidan stumbled to a halt. How had the stranger done that?
“We have matters to discuss,” said the stranger.
“Matters?” Aidan said. “What matters is that you’re making me late for chem class.” He looked around–there were cars passing by, headed toward the school. The man wouldn’t try to kidnap him in broad daylight in front of witnesses, would he? Unless the man was crazy.
I’ll just walk past him, thought Aidan. He won’t do anything. Taking a deep breath, Aidan turned and began to walk around the man.
Reacting quickly, Aidan swung his backpack to knock the man’s arm away–and the backpack passed right through the arm.
Caught off-guard by the lack of impact between backpack and arm, Aidan almost lost his balance. When he steadied himself, he said, “You’re not real.”
The man looked at his own hand. “It takes some getting used to. I often react as if I can touch things.”
If he’s not real . . . Aidan felt a sudden emptiness in his chest. I must be going crazy, like Mom did. Jessica was right.
He opened his eyes. The man was still there.
Aidan looked past the man and focused his eyes on the school. He straightened his shoulders. It’s not real. It’s not real.
He kept repeating that to himself as he walked directly through the man in chain mail and continued on toward school.
#
The bell had already rung by the time Aidan got to the chemistry classroom. Students were bustling at their tables, involved in some sort of experiment. Mr. Carlson was writing on the blackboard, his back toward the class.
Hoping his tardiness would somehow go unnoticed by Mr. Carlson, Aidan made his way to his table and sat down next to Gwendolyn, who had prepared a beaker with some sort of clear liquid filling it halfway.
“Sorry I’m late,” he whispered to her.
She gave him a quick smile. “No problem,” she whispered back.
Mr. Carlson turned around. “Aidan. I was hoping I hadn’t scared you off of chemistry.”
The stranger in chain mail appeared next to Mr. Carlson. “Aidan, we need to talk.”
Startled, Aidan forgot to ignore the stranger. “What are you doing here?”
“A grave danger approaches,” said the stranger.
“We’re demonstrating what happens when you put frozen carbon dioxide into water,” said Mr. Carlson. “Watch!”
The stranger said, “I must teach you the ways of chivalry so you can fight.”
Aidan fixed his eyes on Mr. Carlson, who had a pair of tongs and was lifting a small piece of dry ice out of a cooler on his desk. He walked over to Aidan’s table and plopped the piece into the beaker Gwendolyn had prepared. Immediately it fizzed and produced a fog the flowed out of the beaker and then down onto the desk.
“So, Aidan,” said Mr. Carlson, “can you tell the class what’s happening there?”
Grateful that he had studied the night before, Aidan said, “The CO2 is changing directly from its solid phase to its gaseous phase.”
Mr. Carlson’s face broke into a big smile. “That’s exactly right. And that’s also the way they make fog for special effects in movies. See? Chemistry isn’t totally useless.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw the stranger shake his head and then vanish.
#
At the end of class, as Aidan packed up his things into his backpack, Mr. Carlson came over to his table.
“Aidan, could you please come talk to me after seventh period?” said Mr. Carlson.
Uh-oh. He must be in trouble for being late. Aidan nodded.
#
After second period, Aidan put some of his books in his locker and took out what he needed for his next two classes. When he closed his locker door, he was surprised to see Gwendolyn standing next to him.
“Hi,” she said.
“Uh, hi.” His heart started racing.
“Do you have time to talk?” she asked.
“I . . . sure.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes looked directly into his. “Do you believe in fate? That people can be drawn together as part of some greater plan?”
“Maybe,” said Aidan. “You think fate wanted us to be lab partners?”
She shook her head. “This is serious. You and your people are in danger.”
Aidan squinted at her. “My people? What danger? What are you talking about?”
A hand clapped on Aidan’s shoulder. He turned to see it was Earl.
“Pressure of high school getting to you already?” asked Earl.
“What?” said Aidan.
Earl grinned. “Talking to a ghost? Or just yourself?”
Aidan frowned. “I’m talking to . . .”
Before he could finish the sentence, Gwendolyn’s shape grew taller and wider. Her clothes transformed from a pink blouse and blue jeans into chain mail, and her face morphed into that of the stranger.
“I told you we needed to talk,” said the stranger.
Gritting his teeth, Aidan said, “I don’t want to talk to you!”
“Sorry, A,” said Earl. “Didn’t mean to bug you.”
The stranger disappeared.
“Not you,” said Aidan. “I . . . Just forget it.
#
At the end of the school day, Aidan went to the chemistry classroom. Mr. Carlson was the only one there, sitting at his desk stirring a liquid in a beaker set on a stand over a Bunsen burner.
“Mr. Carlson?” said Aidan.
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Carlson. “Have a seat.”
Aidan sat as his usual spot.
Mr. Carlson turned down the flame on the Bunsen burner, then looked at Aidan. “You’re a bright young man. You could learn a lot in my class.”
“Uh, thanks,” said Aidan.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends, but you can’t keep coming late to class.”
“But it’s not my fault,” said Aidan. “It’s my sister–I have to ride with her.” He hoped Mr. Carlson would take that to mean that his sister brought him late, so he wouldn’t have to explain that she kept making him walk the last half-mile.
Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Carlson looked at the ceiling. “Jessica Macarthur?”
“Yeah, that’s her,” said Aidan.
Mr. Carlson nodded. “Not my best student, I’m afraid. But you could be.”
Aidan sat up a little straighter. “I could?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Carlson. “You just need more structure, more discipline in your life. You ever take any martial arts training?”
Aidan shook his head. “I’m not really into fighting.”
Mr. Carlson leaned forward. “It’s not about fighting, it’s about discipline. You learn to focus your life, get rid of distractions.”
Getting rid of distractions sounded like exactly what Aidan needed. “So you think I should take karate or kung-fu?”
Nodding, Carlson said, “Or fencing. I was a fencer, myself, back in college. You know anything about swords?”
Aidan’s hand reached up to touch the place where he–or rather, the King Arthur he had dreamed of himself as being–had been wounded by Mordred’s sword.
“Not really,” said Aidan. “My dad’s a history professor, and he has some swords at the museum. A new one–well, it’s old, really–came in to the museum last night.”
Mr. Carlson raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. I’ll have to take a look sometime. Anyway, think about what I said, and try to be on time.”
“I will,” said Aidan. He grabbed his backpack. “Thanks, Mr. Carlson.”
“See you tomorrow,” said Mr. Carlson.
#
The man who now called himself Melvin Carlson watched as Aidan left. The classroom door closed behind the boy.
Carlson reached out and took the beaker from over the Bunsen burner. He held the beaker up to the light, examining the violet liquid still bubbling within.
Perfect.
He lifted the beaker to his lips and tilted it up. The potion felt like it was burning his mouth and throat as he drank it, but he knew the pain would be temporary. He felt a surge of energy through his whole body.
“That’s better,” he said. Focusing the power within him, he spoke one word: “Home.”
His body turned to white smoke and then faded from the room.
NOTE: This chapter is a rough draft. You are free to comment if you wish. However, by commenting on my work in progress, you are agreeing to give me all rights to any suggestion you make. This means I can use your suggestion without any compensation to you in any way, shape or form. If you do not wish to agree to that, keep your suggestions to yourself.