The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(7)

“The bark felt rough against my feet. My clumsy forearms scraped from the trunk, adding to a collection of wounds that symbolized my childhood fun. The tree was covered in green lichen.”

Lichen. I am reminded of my training in the Valeon Galaxy—the planet Tritillia. That place was covered in lichen.

I need more water, and this time I should bargain some more out of them. I pace across the room, trying to muster up the moxie to make the request. My feet pass over a couple of loose pebbles. I pick them up, polish them off with my damp shirt, and swallow them. They barely make it to my stomach.

Today I would rather spend energy trying to pass stones, than go hungry. Some of the guards are starving me, and the warden is kept in the dark of these misdeeds perpetuated on me.

“Guard, I need some water in here. If you want me to go on through the day, I will need more than yesterday! Guard!”

“Prisoner, number eight-six-seven-five, open request, guns at the ready—over,” he says, mimicking the trained request protocol. “Get in the static position, prisoner.”

With the absence of the warden, there is excruciating inconsistency in how they address my basic needs. I hear the plop of a filled paper cup hit the floor. The vault closes, and my control is wavering.

I run over to the water and drink it, lapping it up like a dog on all fours. I stop, because I want to ration this water. I place it in the corner next to my mats to prevent it from falling, and I pick up the tablet to continue.

“Where was I? Oh yeah, the tree near the courtyard of the apartment complex—the oak. It was a beast. I was now at the top of the tree, nearing the apex, and could see beyond the Red Bricks. The amulet shone even brighter the higher I went. For the first time ever, even in living daylight, it hurt my eyes to look directly at it.”

Now, I was stable and secured between two thick branches. My thoughts of the extraordinary amulet were interrupted by the sound of a dispute coming from Travis’s apartment, through his screen.

The screen was duct-taped to fix a large hole. I could only see the outline of their bodies through it, because the sun was blinding and the screen’s mesh obscured my view.

The voices escalated in intensity and volume, as if a fight was building up. Despite the amulet being the object of my intense fascination, I could not ignore the urgency of the situation unfolding several feet away from me. One voice was Travis’s for sure, but there was a man angrily out-shouting him. I looked in their direction and squinted my eyes to see further.

I saw something that was etched upon my mind forever. It was weird to be a witness to something so private, so shameful that you knew you were not welcome to watch. The man, whom I assumed was Travis’ dad, was smacking Travis’ face! Shocked, I covered my eyes with my hands and leaned against the tree.

‘I hate you!’ Travis yelled to his dad.

I had to see more, and even though I was sick to my stomach with what I was observing and hearing, my curiosity prevailed. I edged closer.

They say curiosity killed the cat. It appeared as if that was going to apply to me too.

I lost my balance.

With a loud creak, the branch cracked beneath my feet. In an instant, my body was flailing out of control. I felt a blow to my leg, then arm, and shoulder, as I struck branches on the way down. I landed on the grass below with a thud. I rolled around in the grass as I struggled to block the scream that was desperate to emerge from the back of my throat.

I felt like I was inside a submarine with a marching band. The horizon spun, and my vision was littered with swirling blues and blacks. As I stood up, I felt nauseated. I walked unsteadily toward the park bench, crunching the dried-up crabgrass as I did so.

Unable to keep my balance, I stumbled. I braced for my fall by extending my arm downward, but my elbow easily collapsed during the jolt on the ground. Every sound was amplified, and my head was like a speaker ready to explode. I laid my body upon the sun-warmed concrete and blacked out.


It was about seven minutes later that I was awakened by a garbage truck lifting the dumpster behind me. My head felt like it was bashed with a baseball bat, or the butt stroke from a rifle. I pulled myself together, and I thought about what I witnessed. My instincts were correct. From my memory of Travis being smacked across the face by his dad, I recalled he had a look on his face that defined pain. He was in misery, because he was abused like me.

I felt shaken. The return to my apartment only required a forty-yard walk to the door and an ascent of three flights of stairs, but it seemed like the longest walk ever. I was dizzy and still seeing stars. My mouth was dry.

I had to cup my palm over my eyes to block the sunlight, which was searing my brain. I knew what I saw, but I could not distill my scattered thoughts into a clear image. The fall had struck the exact memory from my mind. Once inside, I staggered up the stairs, and gripped the rail to hoist myself to the next flight. In passing, I saw Travis and Jason, who were descending the stairs.

They didn’t even seem to care for my bedraggled appearance. ‘Hey Theodore,’ Jason said, ‘You want to hang out with us?’

‘I can’t. I don’t feel well,’ I said.

Travis chimed in and said, ‘I saw him falling from the tree through the window of my house.’

Jason swiveled his head to face me, and for once, showed concern on my behalf. ‘Are you okay? We can hang out some other time.’

I told Jason I was fine, and he carried on past me down the stairs, while Travis hung back slightly. Travis had a menacing look in his eyes that momentarily terrified me.