The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" (6 page)

He
had to knock a few times before someone answered. The person who opened the
door was a wretch. He stood there, proud yet shabby, with belly hanging outward
underneath his white cotton tank-top, the sleeveless kind of undershirt with
the scoop neck and large armholes, exposing his hairy shoulders and armpits.
His clothes were stained; some of his teeth were covered with black tartar
stain. His face was poorly shaved with patches of stubble remaining. I didn’t
like what I saw, so I took cover behind my grandpa.

‘What
the hell do you want, pig?’ the disgruntled man asked. He went by Dick, a name
befitting him.

‘Do
you have kids here?’ Officer Johnson asked.

‘Yeah,
but you should know I don’t like cops, especially cops that think they are
better than me, with that tone. You are lucky I don’t take you out with my
rifle for knocking so damn much. Now state your business,” Dick said with a
slur and the glossiest of eyes.

‘We’re
here because we believe that your kids were involved in an incident that
occurred about twenty minutes ago,’ Officer Johnson said, ‘Now you can bring
the kids out so that we can see for ourselves, or we can do this the hard way,
and I can bring you all down to the station.’

‘Looks
like you are going to have to do it the hard way,’ Dick chuckled and slammed
the door into the cop’s face.

It
wasn’t at all a surprise he was so belligerent. He was continually inebriated,
among other things. Dick and his family had lived there for such a short time
that we really had not figured them out or even known them by face. Regardless,
it all seemed that trouble was looming—very soon.

The
two cops had a quick huddle twenty feet away to discuss strategy, and then
returned. I watched as the cops walked up as if it was a raid on a druglord’s
house. Batons out, the duo looked like they were dying to use some excessive
force.

See,
my grandpa had a theory about cops. He called them monster-builders. He
believed that cops could turn the most docile-warmhearted person into a raging
and fire-breathing monster. He said it all starts with a belittling comment,
because few people allow someone to make them feel inferior.

There
were two cops about to engage a worthless junky, who probably felt inferior to
begin with. There were so many unknown factors behind that dilapidated white
door; it was the perfect cocktail for trouble. The door opened, and Dick’s eyes
widened in anxiety. Seeing the batons withdrawn and hovering near his face, he
knew the cops meant business this time.

‘Okay,
okay, don’t hurt me!’ Dick exclaimed in a high voice as he darted clumsily out
of the front door, holding his arms up in a sign of surrender. He stood limply,
expecting to be tackled any moment.

‘Everyone
in the house, out now!’ Officer Johnson bellowed in his best cop voice.

Five
second later, two boys sullenly emerged, their eyes darting about. One was Tim,
Dick’s son, and the other was…

‘Travis!’
I exclaimed.

The
other boy, Tim, a reedy teenager with a shock of thick black hair covering his
right eye, glanced nervously at Travis, then pointed at him with two hands. ‘He
did it!’

Travis
scowled, but did not rebut the accusation.

Officer
Johnson, eager to prove his badge, held out the baton and slowly pressed its
tip against Travis’ chest. Travis was no match for the six-foot-three-inch
police officer, who towered over him.

‘Well,
well,’ Officer Johnson drawled, ‘Travis Jackson, we know you down at the police
station. Boy, we do know you.’

‘Shaddup,’
Travis retorted listlessly, then froze in fear.

The
butt of the baton dug deeper into Travis’s chest. ‘That’s not what you say to a
police officer. Speak up, boy, what do you say? Huh?’

Travis
slowly raised his face to lock his gaze with that of Officer Johnson, his eyes
still expressing contempt. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

This
time, a sudden push onto the baton. Travis winced in pain. ‘Again,’ Officer
Johnson threatened.

Travis’
expression wholly changed. He looked like a scared 12-year-old, not his usual
sullen 15-year-old self. ‘I’m really sorry, sir.’

‘That’s
better,’ the young cop said, finally withdrawing his baton. He nodded to
Officer Carruthers. ‘Search the house for weapons.’ Officer Carruthers strolled
into the house and disappeared out of sight, while Office Johnson started
questioning the man Dick and his son, Tim.

Travis
stood alone, seething. His eyes conveyed pure hatred. He lipped to me, ‘I know
your secret.’

He
had that same sinister look upon his face that he did that day on the stairs at
the Red Bricks. He knew about the amulet. I figured he saw it at the cliffs
before Jason died.

The
mere presence of Travis brought to mind the tragedy that transpired at the edge
of that cliff two years prior.

Every
time I closed my eyes to envision or imagine Travis, I could only see Jason’s
hand disappearing over the edge of the cliff. Selfishly, I savored seeing
Travis being cut down to size by that police officer. But I couldn’t openly
display my mirth in front of Travis. I was worried he would steal my amulet
just to get even.

‘You’re
free to go,’ Officer Johnson gruffly informed Marv and me.

‘What
will happen to them?” Marv asked.

‘We’ll
give Mr. Jackson a warning.’

‘Anything
further?’

‘No.’

I
burst in. ‘Travis is not going to jail anytime soon, is he?’

The
young cop’s dismissive glare told me all I needed to know. ‘Come on, Ted,’ Marv
said as he pulled me away.

Once
back home, I thought about the ramifications that may have followed. I sat
there all shook up on my grandma’s comfy couch, with my mind racing. My grandpa
put his hand on my shoulder and unintentionally startled me.

 ‘Ted,
we did the right thing. Those clowns created trouble for themselves. People
like that don’t belong here. So don’t dwell on it. What is done is done.’

I
showed gratitude to my grandfather with a hug, something that was indeed
awkward. My grandpa was a man who didn’t like to show affection, but he was
intent on sharing wisdom.

 ‘Grandma
is going to be furious when she gets home,’ he said. ‘Really, you will learn
Ted, that there isn’t anything you can do alone to stop someone who wants badly
to do wrong. Heroics are reserved for certain people. Here’s something to think
about. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. The only thing you can
control is what you do in that moment. How will you act or react? That’s it. We
did the right thing with the punks next door. That is all we can control. What
happens next, that is out of our hands. Trying to control the future is like
trying to control the Mississippi. No matter what, that damn river is going to
flood. Unless everyone tries to stop it.’ Marv turned up the TV and continued
eating his milk and cookies. I put a lot of thought into that analogy over the
years—hours of thought.

My
grandpa lost his finger when he was eighteen while working a conveyor belt at
his old workplace, Universal Mill. He was inspecting the rapidly revolving belt
when someone called his name. When he absent-mindedly responded, the belt
latched on to the sleeve of his shirt, then his index finger. This finger was
ripped off right at the knuckle. Whenever my grandpa pointed at something, it
looked like he was giving it the middle finger.

My
grandpa was devoted to science. He was a graduate of some important technical
college in Massachusetts. He would sometimes have fellow alumni over to ramble
and reminisce of experiments or fraternity pranks. They would laugh and squirt
coffee out of their hairy nostrils from some of the wild tales. 

After
the accident, Marvin left Universal Mill and found a job at a major scientific
lab in town, working in the adhesive department. His job was to create
adhesives that could be used for multiple applications. He did a lot of his
research at home, and he allowed me to sit by his side for the experiments. At
times, it seemed he was working on more than just adhesives in his makeshift
lab.

‘Theodore,
why don't we take a break from the television. I want to show you something.’

That
night he was giving me lessons on chemistry within the stench of his
carcinogen-clouded basement.

Chemistry
was an extremely tough subject to grasp at that age, but he explained it in a
way that I could understand. Marv mostly went over protons, neutrons, and
molecules with me. It was all fascinating.

My
grandfather's lab was a few hundred microscopes and Petri dishes short of
professional. He was more of a scientific hobbyist studying in the basement.
Most of his research was theoretical. It seemed that for every one experiment
that he neatly explained and summarized in his notes, there were ten more
experiments that he left half-complete.

He
had wonderful drawings. He told me that he was onto something big.  On his
desk, I saw a paper that read,
Metalons
. As I thumbed through the
diagrams, he quickly snatched the papers away from me. 

‘No,
no, don’t worry about these, Theodore. They are far too advanced and secret,’
he said and continued to put away the drawings of the mysterious objects, ‘Hold
on tight to your dreams, my boy, because one day, you will see an adhesive
scientist transform into a Nobel Prize winning hero. Okay, run along to bed.’

‘Please,
Grandpa. What are metalons? It said in your notes that you thought they were
fireflies.’

‘Okay.
If you insist, but you must promise me that you will not say anything to
anyone. Promise?’

‘Yes,
sir.’

‘You’re
right. At first, I thought they were fireflies. One evening, when I couldn’t
stop myself pruning my rose bushes, it was getting dark out. I noticed a glow
from one of my roses. I could see a glow, nothing more. It seemed to be a very
strange firefly, because it didn’t fly like one. So I brought the rose inside,
extracted this object from the rose, and examined it on a slide.’

‘What
did you see?’

‘I
am not quite sure yet. It seems mechanical, but very small. I am not sure what
to make of it all, but I am learning more and more everyday. Okay, that’s
enough. I need to get some work done in private. Get to bed, mister.’

‘Yes
sir.’ I had my fill of science, for now anyway. I jogged up the brightly
painted hardwood stairs leading to the main level and continued to my room to
get ready for bed.

In
the very early morning, while it was still pitch dark outside, I awoke to use
the bathroom. My mouth was dry, and my tongue was rough against my palate. My
grandparents’ wooden floors creaked at every step I took. I tensed as every
creak threatened to invade the silence of my slumbering elders.

Whenever
I stepped away from the rugs, my sweaty feet created instant surface tension as
my soles flattened, one at a time, on the varnished wood floor.  Each time I
lifted a foot, I created a “blup” sound as the water seal peeled off. When I
reached the bathroom, I gently turned the knob before I shut the door, to avoid
the sharp click of the latch springing out. There was no avoiding the noisy
flush down the toilet.

In
my grandma’s house, it was a rule to flush, no matter what. I dragged down the
lever of the toilet, and as the water coursed throughout the old plumbing of
the house, echoes reverberated within. I grimaced. Exiting the bathroom, I
opened the door and listened for any sign of disturbance. I could hear three
rumbling black-lung hacks from my gramps and a rolling swish of the blankets,
to my relief, but there was no stirring.

I
decided to grab a couple of cookies from the kitchen. They were enclosed in a
ceramic rooster next to the sugar. I grabbed a couple of them and headed down
to the basement to snoop.

The
nicotine-saturated basement was dark and cold with a hint of dampness, there
was a single adjustable coil light situating a beam upon a microscope at the
sewing table. My grandpa showed me how to use a microscope on numerous
occasions, and I used it a lot myself for my homework for high school biology.
I walked toward it and fought off a cobweb that dangled from the ceiling.

I
looked through the microscope to acquire an image. I realized the light beneath
was turned off, but right on the slide, there was a mysterious ambient light.
It was if something was calling out to me.  Not needing to turn on the
microscope light, I increased the magnifying power further, and strangely, the
light emitted grew larger. I adjusted the microscope’s power to the highest
setting, and through the lens, I saw something magical.

It
was definitely something technologically advanced. I watched as tiny ice blue
laser light beams shot out in all directions from the bizarre object. It was
almost like the light show effect commonly associated with that gaudy disco
ball. My amulet turned cool and blue, tingling against my collarbone. The light
began to pulse and flash.

Was
it communicating with me?

Just
as my curiosity peaked, I heard a car buzzing about the roads outside. I looked
out the window, wondering if it was the cops again. When the car zinged into
our driveway, I heard the pattering of steps, a bang, and the shattering of
something.