A Path of Oak and Ash (2 page)

3

In the history of birthdays, Richard Smith had previously placed his fifteenth somewhere in the top five. Not first by any means. No other year could compete with his ninth, the wonderful year his mother had surprised him with a trip to Disney World. It wouldn’t take the second spot either, that was reserved for the sleepover party he had at their old home on his thirteenth. That evening won silver through gallons of soda and campy horror movies, surrounded with friends.

This year his celebration had been scheduled to be uneventful, but pleasantly so. He had woke early this morning to his favorite breakfast of biscuits and gravy with an ample side of bacon. His teachers throughout the school day had wished him well with a smile and gone light on the homework, even his classmates had given him a nod in acknowledgement of his special day. He had dinner with his mother and been sent out for ice cream. 

From there he took a trip down the rabbit hole which he had equated to a bad dream. 

A delusion from too many sweets or a scary movie. Had to have been. There were no giant birds or men-in-black in real life. No bombs, no death from above. Just scraping by, going to school and surviving. It had only been a dream.

Something he would be inclined to believe if he wasn’t laying in a bed fit for a king in a place he had never seen before in his life. 

He was unsure of how he came to be here.  In fact, he had expected never to open his eyes to the living world again. Had even accepted he was headed to the ever after alongside his father and grandparents, all those people whom he had been told loved him but he had never met. Instead he found himself quite alive, his heart beating along without apology, eyes working in a haggard fashion. All in all he awoke slowly, fighting a strong headache and a sore back. Attempting to take a deep breath brought a sharp pain to his abdomen, so instead he took shallow pulls through his nose. The air was surprisingly fresh, carrying a twinge of jasmine rather than the musty odor that accompanied mold.

There were two queen beds with expensive linens decorated on each side with matching nightstands, a dark wood armoire - which probably contained a television across from it, soft gold damask wallpaper between the white painted crown molding and the baseboards, thick ivory drapes and a shade on the long window at the back of the room, a black sofa chaise and a small breakfast table where a large man in a dark grey suit was currently seated.

His first thought was that his man was powerful. Either in business or otherwise, he had that aura about him. Be it the shrewd look to his pale blue eyes or the way he sat straight in his chair, he was one in command of his surroundings. His second thought was that this man was handsome, even offputtingly so.  The kind of face that gave much trepidation before approaching the individual with a hello, not that Rick was in the mood to greet anyone.

Instead Rick screamed for help at the top of his lungs.

"Stop that."  The tall man spoke quietly, raising just two fingers on his left hand before folding his digits in his lap. 

Rick was suddenly calm, emotion washing over him in inexplicable waves. His frightened sound ceased of its own accord, mouth shutting while the tense feeling that had been building in his arms and legs dissipated. The panic was gone.

The stranger pointed to the chair across from him, clearly ordering him to sit. A mandate he had no desire to follow and yet his legs complied regardless. With a slight limp his traitorous limbs took him from the comfortable bed to the stiff backed chair. Although he knew he was in pain, he felt none. The blissful haze made him believe he had been drugged.  Again.

"Well I was just kidnapped by a stranger."  The misplaced comfort he felt allowed him to speak freely.

A deep throaty chuckle followed the shake of his head.  "I'm not a stranger.  I'm your uncle."

"What?"  That simply wasn't possible.

"Erik Slaine, at your service."  Erik held out his hand, waiting for Rick to accept it. His open palm hung there in the air between them, the light reflecting off the gold cufflinks on his black tailored shirt. 

Rick knew he had no family besides his Mom. His grandparents had died before he was born, his mother had no siblings, and his father was dead.  Still, she had never made mention of his father’s kin. Was it possible?  No.  She would have told him, she wouldn’t keep something as important as living family members a secret from him. 

Rick shook his head. This guy had to be a nutter, yet he did not feel as though he were in any immediate danger. 

Which made absolutely no sense. Had to be drugs.

"Let me go.  Please. I won't tell the police."  It was more of a conversational remark than a plea, stated as one may ask to pass the salt at the dinner table. Whatever this man had drugged him with made his bare skin feel like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.  The invisible comfort made him want to take a nap. 

No, he had to get out of there.  He had to get home.  He was feeling off, worried, and yet worried wouldn’t be quite right word for it.   At the moment he honestly felt no pressing concern for anything.

"I don't think you'll want to go anywhere near the police."  Erik, if that was his name, grabbed a rolled copy of the evening edition from the nightstand by the bed.  Unfurling it slowly revealed a headline that took Rick’s breath away.

Teenage Terror!  Boy shoots mother to death, bombs found.

Below the headline was his class picture from this year. He remembered putting on that navy blue polo style shirt and fussing with his hair for all of ten minutes that morning, walking into the cafeteria and taking his place in line, even the sound of the photographer’s voice enthusiastically asking him to smile.  His mother had loved that picture, she had gone on and on to all that would listen about what a handsome son she had.  He would blush every time she did that, but secretly appreciated her affection.

She can’t be gone,
he thought. Rick couldn’t comprehend life without her.  He forced himself to read the small times new roman print beneath the picture, desperately searching for some indication that this was a joke or a misunderstanding.

The actual article was appalling.  The reporter had interviewed his best friend Matt, who referred to him only as a nice kid. His teachers who had called him both odd and quiet. His neighbors, the kindly old couple, now spouted venom claiming his mother’s lifestyle had been questionable, shouting and loud crashes coming from the apartment at all hours.  The police stated the suspect set of some sort of building wide booby trap, charges that exploded in a abandoned apartment down the hall, confirmed by bomb making materials found in his apartment by the police.  Richard Smith was currently considered to be armed and dangerous.  If sighted people were to notify the authorities immediately.

"I couldn't have...I didn't..."  The last thing he remembered was being tied to a chair and screamed at by those men in suits, and then there was that giant bird…

He thought of the last conversation he had with his mother.  Such a simplistic exchange really, the kind families had every night.

“Pepperoni?”  He had hoped, it was his favorite.

“Of course.”

“Sounds awesome.”  And it was, she made two hand pressed thin crusts loaded with the perfect amount of cheese and pepperoni.  He finished an entire pie by himself.  One of the first nights he remembered feeling stuffed in a long time.

“Look what I made.”  Mom chirped from the kitchenette while he was stuffing down his ninth slice.  With a spin, she revealed a two tier chocolate cake smothered in dark frosting.

“Chocolate cherry?”  He asked, based on the little red fruits circling the top.

“Your favorite!”  Her face immediately fell, despite her happy tone.

“Oh drat, I forgot to grab ice cream for your cake.” 

Rick smirked, as much as she got on him about his chores it was refreshing to see that forgetfulness did kind of run in the family.  “I can grab some from the corner store, while you do dishes?”

“That’s sweet of you.”  She handed him a five.  “Here.”

“Be back in a few.”  Sneakers on, he left their apartment, taking the disgusting stairs two at a time down to the main floor.

He had never made it back.

"It is a lie.  A lie to make you wanted by the people in this country.  It is their tactic to have all available eyes looking for you.”

“How…how can anyone do this?  How do they even pull it off?”  The moral issue was explainable by evil intent, the execution of such a lie boggled the mind.

“Fifty years ago there were hundreds of independent companies across the globe in the media industry.  Now?  Now you have maybe six conglomerates total with ownership of assets that produce, sell and market news.  Smaller number increases the ability to disseminate false information to the masses.  Information, not always utilized for the purpose of enlightenment but for the agenda of a select few.”

"But why? Is my Mom really...dead?"  Rick’s eyes watered, the black and white portrait on the paper blurring.  He could care less at the moment about corporate consolidation the only thing on his mind was his mother.  Hints of vanilla and coconut filling his nose in desperate nostalgia. 

The calm felt just moments earlier was gone, replaced with bottomless sorrow and rising fear. 

Be back in a few. 

Such poor words to part on. He didn’t tell her how much he loved her or that he would miss her every moment from now until he died. He hadn’t thanked her for her years of love and care, for all the sacrifices she had made for him, for the joy they had shared and the tears. He hadn’t said…anything really.

That fact alone made him want to wretch. His stomach flipped, as though it were desperate to comply.

"I do not know,” To his credit the stranger’s voice carried genuine empathy, “it is best to assume the worst. For that I am sorry." 

No.
  Rick refused, simply refused to believe she was gone.

A loud caw came from the window causing the boy to jump. An enormous bird had perched on top the side table beneath the long window at the back of the room.  A beautiful creature, one found in magazines not in cities.   The look of the bird reminded him of an American Bald Eagle, but its coloring was a mixture of gold and light brown from head to toe.

It was the same one that attacked those men who had grabbed him. 
That bird can’t be real...

"Ah Arcedes!  Glad to have you back my dear girl."  As though she had understood him, Arcedes let out a caw and tipped her head.  Erik went over to the window and ruffled the bird’s feathers atop her head, similar to how one would pet a dog.  The bird let out a trill of approval too dainty to fit its large size.  Erik spoke softly to it for a moment in a language Rick didn’t understand.

"None of this is real...I lost my mind, killed my mother and now I'm in a mental institution dreaming of a strange man that talks to birds.  Or could it be that I am dreaming.  Yes, that’s what it is; I should never have eaten that leftover takeout for lunch."  Rick muttered, desperately wishing he would wake up.  He closed his eyes, focusing on a singular thought.

Wake up Rick Wake up!

Instead he felt a sharp quick pain on his left forearm.

“Ow!”  His eyes flipped open, Erik was standing inches from him, his mouth pursed into a thin line. 
Did he just pinch me?

"I'm sorry to tell you this is very real Carrick."

"My name is Richard.  Richard Smith."  Rick snapped back at him.  Erik sighed, shaking his head slowly. "This must be some sort of misunderstanding maybe-"

"No. It isn't.  Carrick is the name your father bestowed upon you the day you were born.  You are Carrick Slaine, son of Brannon Slaine Elderwood."

"My father died before I was born.  He wasn't there."

"Aye he was, and he was so proud to have such a healthy son."  Erik took a deep breath, his deep blue stare leveling on the boy. "Shortly after you were born, the life you were to live was too much for your mother to bear.  She stole you away in the night, bringing you here to grow up as an ordinary American child.  Your father, despite the deep pain it caused him, let her.  For he too knew his life was dangerous, and you were so small, so defenseless.  Over the years he has bade me to watch over you at times when we could find you, especially when you are out and about in public." 

With those words, Rick realized he had seen this man’s face before.  Although it was very different.  It was the eyes, those piercing blue eyes that gave Erik away.

Rick had left school in a good mood.  Riding his bike home along with Matthew Dickinson who was in an overly talkative mood.  His good humor had persisted until they decided to grab their after school snack from the convenience store.  Rick went for the classic combination of Dr. Pepper and Snickers while Matt grabbed a slice of pizza from their bakery. After checking out with Lacey, the college student who always wore too much makeup and kept her hair in a ponytail, at the counter they had gone to collect their bikes out front.  Only to find a homeless man in his mid-forties leaned up against the building not far from their wheels.