The Wisherman (8 page)

"
Settle down everybody. This will only take a minute. The boy looked out over the dining hall again, as if he were a king surveying his lands.

"In honor of our new students here, it's that time of year again. What time is it?" He stomped on the table.

"I SAID, what time is it?" The boys sitting to either side of him slammed their fists on the table.

"MILE TIME."

"WHAT TIME IS IT?"

"MILE TIME."

The boy standing suddenly looked sharply t
o his left where Oliver, Paul, and Malachi sat. "Tonight. You'll know when."

He sat down abruptly, just as Charlie and a number of other primly dressed women stormed into the dining hall.
Charlie scanned the dining hall, and her face changed from outrage to confusion as the boys at the center table sat quietly, exchanging glances and smirks with one another.

Footsteps approached Oliver's table hard and fast.

"Boys, did you see what the commotion was all about?" Charlie stood above him, her face bearing down like a slow moving storm. Oliver opened his mouth, but as he did, he felt an almost supernatural sensation on the side of his face. He averted his gaze around Charlie's form to see the boys from the center table staring hard at him. The boy who'd stood on the table stared hardest, his face impassive.

"Uh no, I didn't see anything." He stuttered. Charlie narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sure? What were you doing then?"

"Eating. He just got here. He hasn't had real foo
d in like three days." Paul piped up enthusiastically, although he quickly withered under Charlie's gaze.

The sensation of
burning stares on the side of Oliver's face subsided, and as Charlie stalked away, his eyes found those of the boys at the center table. The brown haired boy's lips were turned up into a small smile and he whispered something to those sitting next to him before returning to his conversation.

"Initiation ritual, you think?
I’m not going to do it." Paul said, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, to both Oliver and Malachi's disgust.

"I wonder what it involves
." Malachi muttered, darkly. The boys finished their dinner without another word, eventually shuffling off into one of the large, glass study rooms on the second floor of the dormitory. Each floor of the dormitory was home to one of these glass study rooms, and Oliver found them to be the most beautiful part of the dorm so far. He could look out the large glass windows and see the nearby valley below for miles.

Paul sat on the edge of the study table, legs dangling, and Malachi leaned against the window sill, his dark brows furrowed as per usual.

"How long have you guys been here?" The question had been lingering in Oliver's mind ever since his sudden re
-acquaintance with Paul and Malachi.

"Same as you, really."
Paul shrugged and looked over to Malachi.

“A couple days. Malachi got here first.” Malachi nodded, his eyes wide as he began remembering.

“It was exactly how I told you. They put me in this van, and we drove for a long while, only stopping for food and water. I didn’t think I would ever get out again.”

Paul nodded in agreement, and swung his legs forward. “I miss my mom. Do you think we’ll get to talk to them again?”

“Our moms?” Malachi snorted, though his face drooped. “I think we’re in jail and we’ll get our one phone call.” Malachi said quietly.

“This is a pretty nice jail, though. We’ve got a buffet.
We have beds.”

“At what cost? I didn’t do anything to deserve this.” Malachi moaned.

Paul looked sideways at him, eyes narrowed. “You had to do something.”

“Well, what did you do?” Malachi countered.

Paul whistled. “What didn’t I do, man?
I guess I have an addiction to doing what’s all wrong for me. It’s like I freeze up and decide that I want my life to be worse off. Some part of me goes yeah, this option looks really good, like it’ll get me somewhere, and I’m not going to do it! It’s not even fear, because I would know what that felt like.

As if he’d gotten some sudden, quiet, encouragement, Paul raised his voice and puffed out his chest proudly
. “I want to be here. I want to do better. Don’t you guys?”

“You don’t get it. I was doing just fine.” Malachi insisted. “I was just walking back home from school.”

“They arrested you for going home?”

“Okay, so I was skipping.”

Paul smiled a knowing smile.

“That still doesn’t mean they had the right. I just didn’t do school well.
I just ‘couldn’t keep my mouth shut.” Malachi finished the sentence in a high pitched voiced. Oliver and Paul laughed.

“Is that what your mother sounds like?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah, doesn’t yours? Always telling me what I’m doing wrong.”

“No.” Oliver thought back to his mother, quiet, frazzled, with a pencil tied in her hair.
Her eyes were never much of a giveaway about how she felt. “My mother never says much at all. She certainly didn’t tell me I was coming here.”

“See, that’s what I’m
saying
! Since when was it legal to just ship your kid off somewhere?” Oliver shrugged, the familiar sadness returning as the officer’s words returned to haunt him.

“I wonder if my mother is better off without me.” He thought aloud.
Oliver’s words hung in the air, as all three boys contemplated this, unwilling, and unable to break the silence. Some minutes later, enough time for contemplation, Paul piped up about food, and he in Malachi were soon engaged in a lively discussion about the delicacies of the dining hall.

But for Oliver, the small innocent thought, just one seed, had taken root. He had wondered if
his mother would be better off without him as if it were a question at all. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother would be better off with a son who could turn dreams into nightmares, with just a touch of a finger.

“What did you do anyway?” Malachi broke away from what was surely a riveting conversation about cafeteria food.

“I’m telling you about my life and I have no idea what you’re in for.” Paul’s eyes darted from Oliver to Malachi and he grabbed at his shirt collar.

“
I mean, it’s not like you killed anybody right?” Paul shot Oliver a knowing look, which only intensified the feeling that Oliver was a deer caught in the headlights of a particularly aggressive driver.

To be fair, Oliver knew the question would come eventually, but he hadn’t thought about
that day
in several days. It had almost been a luxury of sorts, all the new things that were going wrong. The handcuffs, Matron Charlie, and a new school. In so readily accepting everything that had happened, Oliver had allowed himself to forget the reason he was here in the first place. The burning secret that followed him everywhere he went, even in his dreams. He could get away from his father, he thought darkly, but he could never get away from himself.

Malachi stared expectantly at him, while Paul bit his bottom lip, evidently anticipating some kind of throw down.

“I was getting into trouble at school, and at home. I guess my mom thought it was best for me to be here.” The words sounded hollow, even to Oliver’s own ears. Malachi’s face fell, and Paul settled back onto his spot at the window sill, looking considerably less anxious.

“Sorry, it’s not really a great story.” That much was true, Oliver thought bitterly.

Malachi pursed his lips.
“You know, my mother always said I would end up in here. That I talked too much for my own good. Always had to be right, and that would lead me wrong.” Malachi made exaggerated air quotes. “But I told her that it was more than that. It wasn’t that simple. I can’t just stop talking.”

Paul laughed, shortly. “My mother has a solution for that. They grow on trees.
Man, I miss her. She would love that I was here.
Learning how to be a 'disciplined young man'. I can't wait to go back home. She won't even recognize me after I've been here for a few months.” Oliver thought back to Dean Tenbrook's tour, a dark thought forming on his lips. But before he'd had the chance to speak, Malachi had clapped Paul on the back.

"I bet she'll be proud."

The three boys spent the rest of the evening going over schedules, silently wondering what the next day would bring them, no one wanting to jinx their first day with silly expectations and hopes. The occasional low cheer filled the air as the crossed compared classes. Oliver had the first half of the day with Malachi and Paul and the last half with upperclassmen. "I bet those classes are much harder." Paul remarked, confidently as he looked over Oliver's schedule. The evening ended on a slightly nervous note, which each boy departing to his room with a wave, as if to say
See you on the other side
.

Chap
ter 5

A jarring sound, like that of ten thousand horns pulled Oliver from his dream in such a manner that his heart nearly jumped from his chest. The previously dark bedroom was flooded with bright, blinding light.

"Wake up!” A voice said.

Oliver rubbed his eyes, yet he still couldn't fathom what he was seeing.
As the shock of the light slowly faded, Oliver surveyed his room. On the other side, his roommate was yanked up and directly in front of him, a boy with a dragon mask leaned down. His face came within an inch of Oliver's and Oliver could feel his hot breath on his cheeks.

"IT'S TIME."

Twenty minutes later, Oliver was running naked through the woods. As he did, he couldn't help but wonder if this was one of those pivotal moments in his life. He remembered briefly the drug free advertisements on television, where the camera would slowly pan up to the face of a drug using teen, with the bold, black caption "Is this where you want to be in ten years?” He could admit pretty easily that at no point in his life had he ever planned or expected to be in this situation. The thoughts quickly disappeared as he heard howling in the background behind him, and he quickened his pace, jumping blindly over branches. It wasn’t until this very moment that Oliver had felt awake and an active participant in his life.

"Start running." Dragon Mask screamed, and the wispy baby hairs framing Oliver's face literally stood on end.
  He had rushed to grab a pair of pants and a shirt, but before he could, he found himself being thrown from his room with Robert in tow. There they had stood, freezing in the dormitory halls in just boxers before a mob of boys wearing dragon masks jeered them out the front door. The air was crisp and he and Robert had jogged alongside each other for a few moments before the mob of dragons showed up once more, jeering and yelling and Oliver found he had lost track of his roommate.

The full moon followed him as Oliver ran deeper into the woods. He was at once struck by the disappearance of the footsteps that had forced him from his room. The only footsteps he realized were his own. The howling too had grown distant and weak. At this realization, he stopped and put his hands on his knees, panting. He did not know how far he'd run
. The trees, shrouded in darkness and crystallized dew from the cold New England night all looked the same and even they shivered at night.

Oliver walked along the closest thing resembling a path. The path, or rather an indentation in the dirt wide enough for two feet, lead far off into the distance, winding into the darknes
s. Oliver followed, legs suddenly aching as the adrenaline from earlier in the night wore off.

“Robert?”

His question was absorbed by the sounds of night, and in response, Oliver only heard the gentle rustle of the nighttime creatures. He continued on, feet slipping on the uneven path as he made his way towards the distant lights of Delafontaine. The lights glowed with the promise of home, though despite walking in their direction, the lights never seemed any closer. Instead, forever just out of his reach.

Having decided that enough was quite enough, Oliver’s legs began to cramp. He leaned against
the nearest pine, and jerked his hand back immediately when he felt the sharp grooves beneath his fingers. Oliver ran his finger along the trunk of the pine, realizing that the grooves formed a pattern. He peered closer, using his fingers to start at the top of the pattern. He drew his finger down and across and down again. “H”, he muttered. Next, he traced three sideways bars and one vertical bar connecting the three. “E”. Oliver’s finger shook as he put it up to trace the next one---one vertical and one horizontal bar, “L”. By the time he’d finished tracing, Oliver’s finger was shaking so violently that he had to grasp it with his other hand. Because there, carved on the pine, was the word “Help”.

If Oliv
er had screamed, he was certain that it would have simply been absorbed by the blackness surrounding him on all sides. Despite his protesting limbs, Oliver found himself moving along the path towards Delafontaine with a quickness that could only be inspired by the worst kind of fear. This was the fear that ate away at you. Not the obvious kind, like clowns and small children. This was the kind of fear that rises up and takes a part of you, because it was already in you. It knew you from the beginning and was waiting for the perfect opportunity to remind you that it was still here and that it was coming for you.