Duck Boy (28 page)

She and Uncle Edward moved very slowly as people ran helter-skelter around
them. Uncle Edward’s weight grew in Lindsay’s arms. She knew what it meant. They
needed medical help.

A long line of police officers blanketed the outside of the building,
collecting each of the escapees, rounding them up into the backs of several
waiting paddy wagons. An officer, with her gun drawn, approached Lindsay as she
hugged Uncle Edward.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” the officer ordered.

“We were the hostages,” Lindsay explained.

“I said, put your hands where I can see them,” the policewoman repeated.

Lindsay slowly released Uncle Edward and he slipped to the ground in a heap.
She raised her hands in the air.

The policewoman called another recruit over to carry Uncle Edward. The
second officer scooped Uncle Edward’s wilted frame from the ground. The two
officers escorted the both of them toward the vans.

Lindsay studied the burning building and remembered the man she had hit with
the bar, lying inside the building still. She turned towards the policewoman.
“There’s a man inside that room there. He’s unconscious.” The policewoman
called another officer over who was approaching the scene.

“You wanna check out that window over there? This girl says there’s a guy
inside and he’s unconscious.” He gave a nod and headed towards the broken
window.

“Let’s keep moving,” the policewoman said to Lindsay.

Aunt Shannon spotted Lindsay and Uncle Edward.

“Lindsay, dear,” Aunt Shannon squealed. “You’re all right.” She was weeping,
as she spoke. She grabbed Lindsay in a fierce, boney embrace.

“Edward, you old dog,” she said tenderly, putting her hand to his forehead.
“I’m so glad to see you.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the police officer said. “I have to take these two over
to Detective Garner. I need to make sure they’re OK with him.”

Larry was in his element. He barked orders left and right. One by one, each
of the kidnappers was brought to him. He scribbled some information and had
them put into several paddy wagons waiting in the building’s parking lot.

“We’ll sort this out back at the office,” he said to a handcuffed woman, who
was pleading with him. The policewoman escorting her hauled her away.

Larry saw Aunt Shannon with Lindsay and Edward and walked towards them,
waving.

“These folks are OK. You can let them go,” he said to the officers standing
by. Aunt Shannon held Uncle Edward’s hand awkwardly; Lindsay hovered next to
the two of them. “You must be Lindsay,” Larry said. Lindsay nodded.

Larry scanned the trio from head to toe. “Let’s get Edward to an ambulance.”
He turned to survey the building again. “We’ll talk when this is over,” he said
as he headed back to his command post.

Lindsay and Aunt Shannon followed Uncle Edward to an ambulance, where they
lay him on a stretcher and covered him with a blanket. The ambulance attendants
checked his vitals.

“This guy should go now,” the head attendant announced.

Aunt Shannon face turned gray.

“It’s just a precaution,” the attendant added, noticing Aunt Shannon’s
reaction. “Nothing life-threatening.”

Aunt Shannon put a hand to her chest. “I’m relieved to hear that.” She bent
over her husband of nearly forty-seven years, and smooched him on the lips.
“I’m sorry, Edward, but you deserved that one.”

Uncle Edward turned very, very red, but beamed.

Aunt Shannon looked towards Lindsay.

“Your dad is desperate to see you,” Aunt Shannon said.

“Sure,” Lindsay replied, in a distracted tone.

The ambulance driver wanted to leave, but Uncle Edward stopped him from
doing so. He asked the driver to keep the doors open and prop him up in the
stretcher.

“I’m going to wait for Steve,” he said to the driver. “He saved our lives.”

The three of them watched as the fire gorged on the building. Another wild
explosion blew through the back end of the building, and the building’s fate
was sealed. A firefighter held a megaphone up to his mouth and shouted to the
fighters around the building.

“It’s too far gone,” said the firefighter, “let her burn. Make sure vehicles
and equipment are clear, and spray the fire to contain it.”

Aunt Shannon, Uncle Edward, and Lindsay huddled in the back of the
ambulance, holding on to each other as police officers and paddy wagons slowly
cleared the scene. Larry finally left his command post and wandered over to the
group in the ambulance, huddled in blankets.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked.

“He lost his stone. He went back to look for it. Isn’t he out here
somewhere?” Lindsay replied, concerned.

“Not me.” Larry whipped through several sheets of scribbles on his notepad. “I
thought he was with you.” He looked up from his pad and shouted to a constable
who was coordinating the arrest efforts. “Hey, Cassandra,” Larry shouted. She
nodded, quit her conversation with a firefighter, and strode over to where he
was standing. “Have you seen anyone outside of the building since our last
batch?”

Cassandra shook her head. “We’ve got everyone, haven’t we? Except for John
Dee, the ringleader. We’ve identified all of the gang, except him.”

Larry’s face turned gray. “We’re missing someone. We’re missing a teenager
named Steve. Is there anyone else wandering around, someone we’ve missed?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Nope.”

“Can we get someone to check the inside of the building again?” Larry
pleaded.

“Not a chance. The fire-chief just told me that they’re just going to let
the building burn. The fire is too far gone—it’s too dangerous to go back in
there.”

“He lost his stone?” A look of panic twisted Aunt Shannon’s face. “He can’t
get out without his stone! You can’t let him die. He has to be around here
somewhere!”

“We’ve covered the ground completely. I don’t think a single person escaped
from here on foot. Anyone we haven’t found has to be inside the building. I’m
sorry,” Larry said quietly, his eyes focused on the ground. “Look at the building.
There isn’t much more we can do.” As he spoke, a large section of the building
collapsed into the flames.

Lindsay looked towards the flames. “Let’s look for him around the building.
He might have got out from somewhere else—you might have missed him!” she said
to Larry. He dropped his head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s possible,” he said quietly. “We keep
careful counts of everyone in situations like this. If he wasn’t with you, and
he’s not on my list, I’m certain he’s still inside the building.”

Lindsay nodded slowly.

“You mean he’s probably dead,” Lindsay said, as tears began to well in the
rims of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Larry replied. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Aunt Shannon stood and began to take strong strides towards the building.
“If you’re not going to do anything, Larry, I will,” she growled. Larry grabbed
Aunt Shannon’s wrist. He held on to her hand until she collapsed on the ground,
in tears. Then he helped her up and placed her in the back of the ambulance.
Lindsay got in beside her and slid her arm around Aunt Shannon’s shoulders.
Uncle Edward, strapped in his stretcher, let the tears roll freely down his
dirty, tired face.

After several minutes of silence, Aunt Shannon spoke. “You’re right, Edward;
alchemy is too dangerous. I hurt another person. I quit.” She sunk her head
into her hands, as the fire raged in front of her.

Chapter 22

A week and a few days later, once the firefighters had gone through most of
the remains of the building, the police department issued a report saying that
they had found human remains in the fire. The remains were burnt beyond
recognition. The report concluded that Steve and John Dee had died in the fire.

Mr. Best flew back from his business trip to arrange a memorial service for
his son. The only time available was in the afternoon of December 24th,
Christmas Eve. Doug Best was nothing more than a ghost—shelled, empty, vacant.

“The body is sown in dishonor; it is raised in honor and glory,” said the
pastor, quoting from the Bible. “It is sown in infirmity and weakness; it is
resurrected in strength and endowed with power. It is sown a natural body, it
is raised a supernatural body.”

The pastor paused and gazed around the room. The chapel was packed with
students, friends, and family. This case had caused the biggest ruckus the town
had seen for quite some time. The local paper told the story of Steve’s daring
and courage, calling him a hero. Many turned out to pay tribute.

The chapel was decorated in a minimal way. In front of the pulpit, on a
small table, stood a small vase. The vase contained a single red rose. The rose
and the vase together represented Steve’s life, replacing Steve’s body—no one
had found a trace of it in the charred remains of the building. They found
human remains, but none that clearly belonged to Steve.

The pastor hovered over the vase as she spoke. “And when this perishable
body puts on the imperishable, then shall be fulfilled the Scripture that says,
Death is swallowed up in victory.”

The pastor’s words sounded hollow to most people in the room. After all, once
a person dies, what are the chances of a person coming back to life? The
service felt heavy and final.

The service concluded, and Lindsay, Aunt Shannon, Uncle Edward, and Mr. Best
returned to the Best house to eat supper. No one spoke. Though the weather was
bright and cheery, despair smothered the whole house.

No one realized that events during the fire had taken Steve on a much
different course.

Chapter 23

As the fire raged, and Steve attempted to lead any pursuers away from
Lindsay and Uncle Edward, he found himself deep inside the building. A huge
explosion burst through a part of the building, throwing him back several feet.
He landed heavily on his back in the middle of ceiling tile, broke through the
tile, and fell towards the floor. He landed on his heels and toppled backward
against the wall, smashing a huge hole in it. Surprised to have survived the
fall, he stood up and began to retrace his steps, looking for his Benu stone.

He returned to his most recent hiding spot, the room with the metal cabinet
overlooking the hallway. People ran helter skelter through the hallway looking
for escape routes. A layer of smoke floated below the ceiling tile. Screams and
shouts. He scoured the metal closet where he’d been hiding. Nothing. He rifled
through the coat pockets and threw his coat into the room in case he’d left the
plaque underneath it.

He fought against a growing sense of panic as he tried to remember where
he’d last used his Benu stone. He hopped onto the table, popped out the ceiling
tile and scanned the tiles in case it had fallen out while he’d been in the
ceiling system. The hallways of the building were empty now. Smoke billowed up
the hallway. Steve barely noticed. His mind retraced his steps.

Steve followed his pathway back to the janitor’s closet and scoured his
hiding spot there. He shoved cleaning supplies out of his way to get a good look.
Nothing.

The lab!

As he hurried back to the lab, flames licked the bottoms and corners of
several walls.

He tried the lab door. It was locked.

I used my stone on this lock!

He peered into the window. The room was filled with smoke. He couldn’t see
anyone. Pulling a fire extinguisher from its place on the wall, he drove the
bottom of it through the door’s glass. He had to bash the window several times
to break through the fine wires embedded in the glass before he could put his
arm through and open the first door. A whoosh of air blew past Steve towards
the hungry fire. He stepped between the doors.

The smoke in the lab thickened. Across the hallway, behind him, a portion of
a wall fell over and belched a ball of flame across the hallway. Steve saw the
flame moving towards him and ducked. The flame poured through the door’s
smashed window and over him. He stood and stepped through the room’s inner door
and moved through the lab, scouring the floor for the stone. He opened a few
cupboards, because he’d forgotten exactly where he’d hidden when he was in the
lab room. Then a flash of memory.