Migrators (36 page)

“And then one day a giant squid washes up on the beach and science has to revise its thinking. It happens all the time—just less often than it did a thousand years ago,” Bob said. “Maybe they built this whole mythology around a little nugget of a perfectly natural phenomenon. Once you strip away all that other window dressing, maybe the phenomenon isn’t that hard to believe. I’m curious to know what happened in that cabin.”

“I suppose it was the passing down ceremony,” Alan said. “It seemed like the same ceremony described in the book. The one that transferred the knowledge from Sophia to Marie, and Marie to Violet. When they passed the knowledge they had a wedding at the same time. They were there to transfer from Violet to Pauline, but I interrupted the process.”

“So they didn’t finish?” Bob asked.

“I don’t know. I guess not. You read the part about the bones?” Alan asked.

“Yes. It said that the bones of a practitioner must be kept safe from the migrators. I assume that’s why we found Sophia’s bones in that ceramic case.”

“Exactly,” Alan said. “It was like the ceramic acted as an insulator that they couldn’t get past.”

“But it didn’t say why it was important,” Bob said.

“Well, it was implied,” Alan said. “In the Mother’s Verse it said something like, ‘Keep safe the bones, away from migration. Keep safe the soul to aid the temptation.’ I don’t remember exactly. But, if I was reading it right, there was a part that suggested that if those phantoms fed on the soul of a practitioner, that the bones would lose their potency to bring the migrators to the surface again. That means that somewhere around here Buster’s mom must be in one of those porcelain boxes.”

“And Marie,” Bob said. “Don’t forget her. So your instincts were right—those things wanted to get at Sophia’s skeleton. You think that giving her remains to the migrators broke the cycle.”

“It’s a thought,” Alan said. “It certainly seemed to disrupt whatever they were doing. But it’s impossible to separate superstition from fact without more information.”

“Tell me what you saw in there,” Bob said.

Alan took a deep breath. He put his left foot up on his right knee. Even that small change in elevation helped the throbbing.

He told Bob the whole story, beginning with when he walked through the door and ending with his blind escape.

“I wonder if anyone else made it out alive,” Bob said when Alan was finished. “That whole cabin exploded in flame right after you stumbled out.”

“I’m not going back to find out,” Alan said. “Probably get arrested for murder.”

“Our fingerprints are all over that box,” Bob said. “Do fingerprints survive fire?”

“I don’t know,” Alan said.

O
CTOBER
30

A
LAN
OPENED
his eyes. The monster was still there. Behind him, Liz and Joe were pressed against the sink. The only thing between his family and the monster’s snapping jaws was Alan’s camera. He was swinging it, keeping the monster at bay with the bulky camera body. He had an idea—maybe the flash on the camera would blind the monster and he could sneak his family out the window or something.

Alan stopped swinging and brought the camera’s familiar weight to his hands. He flipped the switch with his thumb.

The monster inched forward. It looked like a giant dog crossed with a lizard. It growled and snapped its jaws. The monster’s rotting breath washed over Alan.
 

He triggered the flash. Nothing happened. Alan looked down at the camera and saw the crack in the display. His camera was mortally injured.

The monster opened its jaws impossibly wide, like a hippo. A hundred sharp teeth gleamed with white enamel.
 

The jaws closed on Alan’s hands.

“Alan, wake up,” Liz said. She shook his shoulder.

“What?” Alan asked.

“You have to stop reading that book every night. It always gives you nightmares.”

“I know,” Alan said. He flipped the pillow over and turned away from his wife. This hotel had puffy pillows. He couldn’t get comfortable with them.

“You might as well get up,” Liz said. “You said you’d take Joe to that breakfast place and I’m sure he’s already up.”

“Yeah,” Alan said. He drifted back to sleep.

“Alan!” Liz said. She laughed and hit him with her own puffy pillow.

“Okay, okay.” Alan said.

He slipped out of bed and lurched to the bathroom. The Kingston Village Inn was definitely more luxurious, but the American Suites room was nice and generic. There was no character and no history. It could have been anywhere in the country. Alan liked it much better. He brushed his teeth with one hand while he reached around to scratch his back with the other.

“Hey, Dad,” Joe said.

“Whuh?” Alan asked through his toothpaste.

“Look.”

Alan looked at his son. Joe smiled, revealing fangs.

“I’m going to be a vampire. Mom got me a cape, and I’m going to put some blood in the corner of my mouth.”

Alan leaned down to spit in the sink.

“I thought you were too old for costumes.”

“I’m not too old for scary costumes that get me candy,” Joe said. “Mom said she would take me to the neighborhood near her office tomorrow night. There’s a lot of houses there.”

“You’re going too,” Liz called from the other room.

“I don’t have a costume.”

“He said he doesn’t have a costume,” Joe relayed to his mom.

“That’s okay,” Liz said. “He doesn’t need candy.”

“Why don’t you go get dressed,” Alan said to Joe. “We’ll go out to that breakfast place you found.”

Joe gave him one more fang-smile and then retreated to his own hotel room.

On the other side of their hotel bed, Liz was doing her morning back stretches next to the window.

“I’m going to talk to him about changing schools,” Alan said.

“You want me to come too?” Liz asked.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just broach it today and then we can discuss it as a family later.”

“You think it’s okay to leave the choice to him?” Liz asked.

“I think it’s unfair to not give him a voice. That doesn’t mean we can’t influence the decision.”

“But if we think it’s dangerous for him to be at the old school, I don’t know why we would give him a choice at all.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s dangerous.”

“When are you going to tell me everything that happened the other night?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know that I should,” Alan said.

“I don’t understand,” Liz said.
 

“I know,” Alan said. “Give me a little while to think about it, okay?”

X • X • X • X • X

“You don’t like your pancakes?” Alan asked.

“I guess,” Joe said. “I mean they’re good, but I’m not hungry.”

“Are you feeling okay? When we left the hotel you said you could eat a horse.”

“I have a little headache I guess.”

Alan pushed his empty coffee cup to the edge of the table, hoping for a refill. This was another nice thing about American Suites—there was lots of stuff you could walk to. Sure, you had to walk alongside major roads without sidewalks, but there was a whole development full of big stores and right next door to that a cluster of small businesses. Joe had spotted the little breakfast place on one of their outings.

It was just the kind of place that Alan and Joe liked to go. It was a little one-story building, the size of a small house, that had been gutted at some point and filled with a cozy little diner. Joe and Alan shared a tiny booth where the benches were painted plywood covered with handmade cushions. The table was a chunk of recycled countertop and was bolted to the wall so securely, you could have set a car engine down on top.

“Can I warm that up for you?” the waitress asked.

“Please,” Alan said.

Joe rubbed his forehead.

“I want to talk to you about school, Joe,” Alan said.

Joe looked up briefly and then his eyes found the table again.

“We know you’ve had some problems adjusting, and some conflicts with some of the kids.”

“Only a couple,” Joe said.

“Sure,” Alan said, “but significant conflicts, especially with Polly.”

Joe nodded.

“We’re wondering maybe if that school isn’t the right fit for you.” Alan paused. He expected a big fight. “You have a couple of other options. We could try homeschool for a little while.”

Alan let that statement sit for a second.

“You could still do sports with the other kids. We could pull you out at Christmas break or even in November if we want—we only have to give them ten days notice.”

“You would teach me?” Joe asked.

“Yes. I would teach you when I could. There are lots of online resources. We can learn some of the stuff together. I’ve forgotten more than I remember about history, so a lot of it would be new for me as well. Your progress is measured by standardized tests, so we’ll know if you start to fall behind.”

Joe nodded. He used both hands to take a big sip of his water.

“There’s another option, of course. If we wait until the new year, we could enroll you in private school. There are a couple of excellent ones close to the house. I would drop you off in the morning and pick you up in the afternoon. They would definitely offer you an opportunity to excel. Small classes and individual learning plans make sure that you’re challenged.”

Joe nodded.

“Joe? Are you okay?” Alan asked.

“Can we go, Dad? I don’t feel good.”

“Sure,” Alan said.

He dropped a twenty on the bill, grabbed their jackets, and herded his son to the door. In the tiny parking lot, Joe hunched over and stared at the asphalt for several seconds before he could walk.

“I’m going to call your mom to come pick us up,” Alan said.

“Okay.”

Alan patted his son on the back and they stood while Alan waited for Liz to answer her phone.

“You didn’t eat anything else this morning, did you? We had the same thing for breakfast. I wonder if you’re coming down the flu or something. That’s why they have these breaks in October, I guess. They have to break the flu cycle somehow. But you had your shot, didn’t you?”

“What’s up?” Liz asked over the phone.

“Can you pick us up? Joe’s not feeling well,” Alan said.

“Dad, I can’t see right,” Joe said.

Alan rubbed his son’s back. “He says he can’t see right.”

“Where is that place? Behind the movie theater?” Liz asked.

“Yeah,” Alan said. “Just take a left immediately before the parking lot and then take your first right. You’ll see us. I’m the tall one, and Joe is the green one.”

Alan smiled and coaxed Joe over to a little patch of grass. If he was going to throw up, it might as well not be on the asphalt.

“Okay,” Liz said, “I’m at the gas station now, so I’ll be…”

“Dad?” Joe asked.

“Hold on,” Alan said into the phone.

Joe collapsed.

X • X • X • X • X

“Joe, if you take a left at that desk, you’ll find a couch and a TV and an Xbox. Is he allowed Xbox?” the doctor turned to Liz.

She nodded.

“We’ve got at least three or four games out there. I’ll be done with your parents in a moment.”

“Okay,” Joe said.

Alan watched his son walk down the hall. Joe was looking better, but not by much. The doctor had introduced himself, but Alan couldn’t remember the name. It was on the outside of the building as well.
 

Something like Ambroccia, or Andoccia? Are those names?

As he closed the door behind Joe, the doctor’s face changed. He lost his don’t-scare-the-child face and dropped right into his straight-talk-to-adults face. His mustache and frown made him look like Wilford Brimley.
 

“You want to have a seat?” Dr. Wilford asked.

Liz sat on the rolling exam stool. Alan sat in the chair with the wooden arms. Dr. Wilford leaned back against the counter.

“So no listlessness, nausea, or vision problems before today?” Dr. Wilford asked.

“No, not that I can think of,” Alan said. “He’s been going to school and hasn’t complained of any of those things.”

“What is it?” Liz asked. “You clearly have something in mind.”

“What I have in mind is a trip down to Portland on Friday and a contingency plan,” Dr. Wilford said.

“How do you mean?” Liz asked.

“Well,” the doctor said. He paused before he continued. “I’d like to get an MRI. There’s a chance that it will come up clear and you’ll come home. Then we’ll start looking for another explanation.”

“But you think you know what the MRI will show. Just tell us,” Liz said. “What’s the contingency plan?”

Dr. Wilford nodded at Liz for a second.

“There’s a chance that the MRI will show us a medulloblastoma, producing intracranial pressure. That means that there may be a tumor that is blocking his fourth ventricle and causing fluid to put pressure on his brain.”

“A tumor,” Alan said. “Cancer?”

“If we see that tumor, then we’ll want him in surgery before the end of the weekend.”

“Then we’ll take him right now,” Liz said. “Why would we wait? Let’s get this over with so we can eliminate this possibility.”

Dr. Wilford shook his head at the idea.

“When I stepped out earlier, I was checking on the schedules of Portland, Boston, Manchester, and even down in Connecticut. Friday is our day.”

Liz turned to Alan. She took his hand in hers.

“What are the odds that this medullo-thing is the problem?” Liz asked.

Dr. Wilford looked down for just an instant and then locked eyes with her. “Given all his symptoms, I’d say it’s a definite possibility.”

“Give me a percentage,” Liz said. “Give me a number.”

The doctor didn’t flinch. “More than fifty percent.”

Liz turned to Alan. “We need to take him south. We’ll go to Virginia or New York, Alan. What’s the best hospital there?”

“The surgeons will come to us,” the doctor said. “After the MRI in Portland, if necessary, the surgeons who specialize in this type of surgery will join us in Boston for the procedure. We don’t take any chances with this kind of procedure. These are elite surgeons.”