The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(37)

I could not help but be disturbed by how easy it was to tear someone from his or her life, and remove them from existence. Before I drifted into a deep sleep that night, I had one last realization: I had to exercise caution on both sides—good or evil. I had no desire for deletion.

I lay in bed. I heard the sound of my grandpa’s television. Its dialogue of witty repartee reverberated within the air-vents leading up to my room. As I heard familiar lines from a movie I had seen long ago, I had to see what he was watching, so I ran downstairs.

“My grandpa was really pleased to see me, despite the late bedtime. He beckoned to an empty worn sofa and begged me to stay up a bit. I politely protested, I, but when I sat down, there was no way I was going to leave. The intriguing scenes of that black-and-white Moroccan movie had me. I spent the rest of my night enjoying a classic with the company of a wise man.”

As I gaze at my tablet, my head aches from hours of listening to my voice as it slowly became hoarse. I cannot help feeling useless. What am I doing? I remind myself that what I am doing is important, and the best parts are yet to come. Why stop?

I drink, swishing some of the water around, letting it slide down my throat rather than gulping it—I savor it. There is nothing wrong with gargling a bit of water. My lips make contact with the rim of the cup—cracked, scaly, and blistered, they press against it.

I swallow what insignificant amount of water remains after a good gargle and swish. I sigh as I lick my just-moistened lips, and trudge on through my bad storytelling.





9 THEODORE: DANGLING





“The next morning, I woke up and snapped to my feet. I had that feeling again: the presence of someone. Prying eyes were watching me, and my amulet started to glow faintly but ominously. Even though Zane had my best intentions at heart, I still felt troubled.”

The house was abnormally quiet and echoed every move I made; the crack of my joints, or the shuffling of my dirty callused feet across the wooden floor. Usually, I heard the background sound of the news echoing from the radio in the kitchen or my Grandma’s rocking chair, creaking as she rocked with a word-find booklet in hand.

I had my blanket wrapped about my body like a cocoon, and grasped it firmly to avoid any cold drafts as I straggled through the house. I shed my cotton chrysalis and searched the whole house as if I was in a SWAT team about to engage in close quarters combat. The entire house was empty. My eyes darted about, betraying my apprehension.

I looked through the window at the backyard. As I saw a revolting sight near the wood-line, fear gripped my heart. I gasped; surely I did not see what I thought I had just seen.

Sticking out, behind the shed in the backyard, two sets of legs stretched out on the grass. The accompanying feet were concealed by rose bushes.


‘Grandma! Grandpa!’ I screamed as terror threatened to throttle my throat. I panicked and ran through the porch, and bolted down the downtrodden steps. In my haste, I tripped over the steps near the grass, dropping to all fours. A couple of my fingers sunk through the ground and my fingernails were caked with dirt.

When I arrived at the shed, I found lifeless and eyes peering upward at the clouded sky, those of my grandma and grandpa. Horrified, I rubbed my eyes for tears, but nothing was there. I pulled my curled hands away from my eyes. Marvin’s face suddenly changed to the actor’s from the black and white movie that I had watched last night. With a wink, he turned his head to me and said, ‘Here’s looking at you, Ted.’

I heard a twig snap behind me. I turned, and my eyes were staring down the barrel of a forty-five caliber pistol. The handgun trembled in the hands of none other than the person who desired me dead, Travis Jackson. His eyes were those of a demon’s. Grinning malevolently, he pulled the trigger. POP! I winced and closed my eyes when the gun fired. No bullet exploding into my skull yet. I opened my eyes again, and saw a tiny black flag extending outward from the barrel of the gun that read in white letters, you are dead!

I awoke, sweating. It was a dream.

My neck was incredibly sore. I sat up to catch my breath and rubbed my neck.

I looked down toward my feet, and I found a present. A perfectly wrapped gift lay upon the ground next to my bedpost. On the gift lay a tag that read: Open now. Was I still dreaming? It was not Christmas, not by a long shot. Excited, I opened the present. It was a brand-new pair of basketball shoes: magnificent and top of the line.

They didn’t feel like regular shoes. When I lifted them out of the packaging, they must have weighed twenty-five pounds each. I used both hands to pull them out one by one. I fumbled and dropped the second shoe, and it slammed the wooden floor with a large bang.

‘Is everything alright in there?’ my grandmother hollered from the living room.

I yelled back and told her everything was okay. It was a good feeling to hear her voice after that nightmare. I sat there, contemplating whether I should trust that gift. I was afraid that if I put them on, my feet would explode. It was time to consult my on-board nanocom. I lifted my hand and from my palm appeared a tiny hologram. I studied the image intently: yes, futuristic, awesome shoes much like mine, but completely different in concept. The holographic shoes appeared to be made of metal. Not only that, mechanical components adorned these shoes. I had to communicate with Nezatron directly in thought to be sure of what I had in my possession.

I emitted a thought. Nezatron, this is Theodore.

‘Theodore? This is Nezatron. How can I be of assistance?’ he asked over the nanocom.