The Scroll 6

Here's the next piece. I think it might be a little melodramatic. I don't know if it will make it to the final story. Tell me what you think.

* * *

At home, Gray refused help as he exited the car. He clutched his bag in a daze and followed Mr. Matheson to the guest bedroom where he’d be staying. Leslie watched him, eyeing his tense shoulders as he climbed the stairs. Savannah ran up the stairs after them, rushing past to her room and slamming the door. Leslie followed slower, closing the door to her room and finally changing out of her running clothes. She slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and descended to the kitchen. She got out a soda and sipped at the carbonated confection. So, she asked herself, what do you think of the new boy?

A soft noise behind Leslie startled her. She jumped, clasping at her glass. She spun around. It was Gray, holding his castaway clothes. She hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” said Gray. He looked at the clothes in his hands. “These clothes are dirty, and I didn’t know—”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Leslie a little breathlessly. “The laundry room’s this way.” Leslie led the way past the kitchen and into the adjoining laundry room. She took the clothes from Gray and placed them in the washer. She added soap and turned the knob, pulling it on. Gray watched in fascination.

“You’re not used to technology, are you?” said Leslie. Gray looked at her sharply. “Are you from one of those religious colonies, the ones that shun modern science? Not the Amish—you don’t dress anything like them.”

Gray’s eyes flitted around. They landed back on Leslie’s face. “Your father’s taking me clothes shopping. And…school shopping. He said to remind you that movie night’s tonight and that all homework has to be done before that.”

Leslie blanched. “Homework! I completely forgot! I was going to help Savannah with her science report. I’ve gotta go.” She ran halfway across the kitchen, skidded to a stop, and turned. “Have fun shopping.” Then she sprinted through the house and up the stairs to Savannah’s room.

Savannah opened the door at the sound of Leslie’s footsteps. “About time,” she grumbled. She closed the door behind Leslie.

Papers were scattered all over Savannah’s bed, all information collected over the internet about chameleons. Savannah pushed them aside and sat down. “I’m done anyway. I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” asked Leslie. Savannah didn’t answer. She raised her finger and stared hard at the door, listening. Mr. Matheson’s low rumble was heard downstairs, and Gray’s unfamiliar voice answered. There were footsteps, then a door closed. All was silent.

“Okay,” said Savannah, relaxing. “Now we can talk.” She tiptoed to her bedroom door and opened it a crack, peering out. She turned back to Leslie. “So, what do you think he is?”

“What do you mean?” asked Leslie.

“Gray. Alien or time traveler?”

Leslie put her hands on her hips. “He’s not either of those.”

Savannah raised a finger to her lips, tapping slightly. She began to pace across her bedroom floor. “He’s got weird clothes, which made me think alien biosuit. But he doesn’t seem to recognize technology like automated transportation or lights or—am I right in guessing washing machines?”

Leslie was silent.

Savannah continued. “Aliens would have all that, right? Unless they live in a utopianistic civilization where they have put off all those worldly things and are living simplistic lifestyles. But then why would they send someone here? And would they even have extraterrestrial travel capabilities?”

“Is utopianistic even a word?” asked Leslie, trying desperately to throw off the conversation.

“It is if I say it is.” Savannah continued without pausing for breath. “But if he’s a time traveler, where did he get those clothes? Is it a piece of lost technology that we had once upon a time? Something that allows for time travel? And why is he here now?”

“I think you read too many sci-fi books,” said Leslie.

Savannah turned sharply and stopped pacing. “And I think you don’t think enough. You think it’s just a coincidence that you happen to find a boy dying washed up on shore, that he just happens to have clothes that attaches themselves to people and repair themselves, and hardly lets his eyes off a thin wooden tube? And now that boy is our freaking foster brother, and we don’t know anything about him! What if he’s dangerous? What if he’s come to—I don’t know—take over?”

“Why does everything have to be science fiction and fantasy with you, Savannah?” cried Leslie, throwing up her hands. “Why can’t Gray just be a boy who lost his parents in a storm? Why can’t he just be attached to a little piece of wood that is all he has left of them? And why can’t you admit that you just got tangled up in his clothes? They didn’t attach to you. Stop being so stuck in a fantasy world!”

“And stop being so blind!” said Savannah. “Ever since Mom died, you won’t look at anything besides yourself and how you’re such a poor pathetic little girl. You think the world can’t change.”

“I think the world can’t change? You’re the one who hasn’t changed. You still act like you’re twelve. You still play make-believe, like that’s going to bring Mom back,” yelled Leslie.

“Shut up!” shrieked Savannah. She pushed Leslie out of her room and slammed the door.

“Great,” muttered Leslie. “Now I’m the bad guy.”

The Scroll 5

Here it is, the next section of my story. It's freshly written, just for you!

* * *

Mr. Matheson pulled Savannah and Leslie aside, walking past rows of curtained-off hospital beds. When they’d almost exited the Emergency wing, Mr. Matheson stopped. “Before your mother died, we’d thought about becoming foster parents.”

Leslie and Savannah looked up at him in shock. Neither of them had been told any of this.

“We wanted it to be a surprise, for you to find out after the months of paperwork and background checks but before we were assigned our first foster child. Then, two years ago…” Mr. Matheson stopped. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Mom died,” Savannah finished.

Mr. Matheson nodded. “I couldn’t go on with the registration. I did not consider myself emotionally fit to be a foster father. But now, with Gray’s situation, I feel we must let him come home with us.”

“So…” asked Savannah, “he’s going to be our brother?”

Mr. Matheson nodded. “I’d like you to think of him as family and treat him as such.”

“But what if Leslie falls in love with him?” said Savannah slyly. “That’d be weird, falling in love with your brother.” Leslie blushed and slapped Savannah’s shoulder.

“I’m not adopting Gray, not unless he wants me to,” said Mr. Matheson. “And I won’t get in the way of love if that happens.”

Leslie’s blush deepened. “Stop it,” she hissed. She continued, “All I did was save him. I’m not in love with him.”

Savannah shrugged.

* * *

I should not be here. That was the only thought running through Gray’s mind as he tried to listen to what Castillo was telling him. Apparently, boys did not become men here until they reached their eighteenth birthday. And, apparently, boys could not think for themselves until that time. He was to be put in the care of the Matheson family. Nice as they were, Gray could not allow himself to stay with them.

I should not be here. People are dying.

Castillo placed a paper in front of him. She asked him to read what was on the paper. Gray couldn’t. Their alphabet is strange.

Sensing Gray’s inability to read, Castillo explained the paper. It was just a form letting government officials know Gray understood what was happening and that he was being placed with a family. It was a polite way of saying, “We know you’re old enough to understand what’s going on, but we think you’re too young to take care of yourself. You’re still just a child.” She told him to sign on the bottom line.

Gray signed his name, the familiar characters comforting him. Castillo looked at the paper and frowned. “This is how you sign your name?”

Gray nodded. “That is my signature.”

Castillo took the pen and wrote something short next to his name. The letters matched the strange characters on the rest of the page. Then she left, taking the paper with her.

A nurse came in, pushing a chair with wheels in front of her. “Come on, it’s time for you to leave. You’re well enough to go home now. Just remember, keep it easy for the rest of the day, and drink plenty of fluids.”

Gray almost objected to sitting in the wheeled-chair but decided against it. He did need to regain his strength. The nurse gave him some privacy as he changed out of the flimsy gown into a short-sleeved gray shirt and thick black pants the man they called Gary Matheson had brought. He wished he was wearing his normal clothes, but they were still repairing themselves. Plus, they smelled like seawater.

The nurse re-entered, helping him into the wheeled-chair. She handed him a brown sack. Inside were his clothes and soul binder. He placed the soul binder around his neck and slipped the tube he must protect into the sack. The nurse wheeled him out of the curtained room.

Flameless lights shone from the ceiling, and beeps and buzzes sounded all around Gray. Don’t show your curiosity, he reminded himself. Act as though you belong. He clutched the brown sack tighter.

Matheson and the two girls were waiting by a pair of glass doors. Matheson smiled at him. “Well, Gray, I guess it’s time to go home,” he said.

Home. I wish this were home. Gray smiled and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Call my Gary.”

Gary and Gray. I can’t decide if that’s ironic or not. Gray kept quiet as the nurse pushed his wheeled-chair outside, following Matheson. Rows of steel and glass carriages sat on a long black sheet of concrete. Matheson led the way to a smaller green carriage. Leslie opened one of the doors and Gray climbed onto the cushioned seat. Leslie walked around the carriage and got in opposite Gray, while Savannah and her father climbed into the front. The nurse took the wheeled-chair away.

Where are the horses? thought Gray. Matheson inserted a small key somewhere into the carriage and turned it. A rumbling filled the cabin of the carriage. Gray let out a gasp. Then, with a jerk, the carriage started moving. Gray clutched at his seat.

Leslie looked at him curiously. “Here,” she said. “Let me help you with your seatbelt.” She tugged at a long flat strap and placed it around Gray, latching it into a small metal clip by his waist.

Savannah turned around in her seat and stared at Gray with narrowed eyes. She knows, he thought. She knows I’m different.

The Scroll 4

Okay, I've finally written a good long section. It's quite a bit of setup, and I had to do a little bit of research on mundane things, but hopefully you enjoy it. Things will start moving more quickly soon, I promise.

"Enough talking and more writing!"

Fine, here you go!

* * *

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Then, there was an explosion of thundering footsteps, and Savannah yelled, “Dad! Dad! Leslie’s in the hospital!”

Leslie slapped herself in the forehead for her stupidity. “No, no, it’s not me. I’m not hurt,” she tried to tell Savannah. “I found someone.”

Savannah wasn’t listening. Leslie heard the low rumble of her father’s voice, then some scuffling sounds as Savannah handed him the phone.

“Leslie? Savannah said you’re at the hospital,” Mr. Matheson said.

“Yes, but I’m not hurt,” said Leslie, rubbing her sore forehead. “I found a guy on the beach—he’s about my age. He was out in the storm last night, and when the ambulance came I rode with them to the hospital in Moss.”

Mr. Matheson gave a long, pent-up sigh. In a calm, smooth voice he said, “I’m glad you’re okay. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Um, yeah.” Leslie looked over at Gray. He was still asleep, his mouth hanging open. Something clenched her chest. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you…bring some clothes, even just some sweatpants and a t-shirt? The guy I found hasn’t woken up yet. We don’t know who he is, or where he’s from, or if he has any family. He…he might need our help. And his clothes are pretty battered—he can’t go out like that.”

Mr. Matheson chuckled. “Ah, Leslie, you always think of others, don’t you? Okay, I’ll bring the clothes. Be there in a jiffy.”

Leslie hung up the phone and sunk into a chair next to Gray’s bed. Why did she want to help Gray so much? Was it because she found him and now she felt responsible for him? But she didn’t know anything about him. Wild thoughts raged through her brain. What if he’s a drug dealer, or a murderer? What if he’s part of some weird religious cult? His clothes are strange enough. What if I try to help him, and he steals everything I have and stabs me in the back? Or what if he kidnaps me?

Leslie’s mind froze. She could feel someone watching her. Slowly, she turned her head. Gray’s eyes were blinking blearily in her direction. Leslie blushed, as though Gray could hear all her thoughts about him.

“Who…who are you?” Gray’s voice slurred.

Leslie swiveled around in her seat. She stuck her hands between her knees. “I’m Leslie. I—I saved you.”

“You did?” Gray looked around at the white walls, the light blue curtains surrounding them, and the blinking computer monitors. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital. You nearly died.”

“I did?” Gray moved to comb his fingers through his hair, but stopped. He stared at the I.V. line inserted into the back of his hand. Still clutching the wooden cylinder in his other hand, he fumbled with the needle, trying to pull it out.

Leslie jumped up and grabbed Gray’s hand. “Don’t do that! You need that I.V. It’s um…to be honest, I have no idea what’s in it. I just know you don’t go pulling I.V.s out.”

Gray looked at Leslie. His eyes were brown flaked with gold. His lips were still blue. He relaxed and lay back on his pillow, letting go of the I.V. needle. With his I.V.-laden hand, Gray reached up and touched his neck. “Where’s my soul binder?”

“Huh?”

“My soul binder…” Gray repeated, but before Leslie could ask for more clarification, his eyelids fluttered closed and he fell asleep.

Awkwardly, Leslie moved his arms back under the blanket. She sat with her chin in her hand, watching him, waiting for him to wake up again. A nurse came and went, checking on Gray’s I.V. and readjusting his blankets.

Leslie started to doze off when the blue curtains parted in a whirl of movement, startling her awake. Savannah stood clutching the curtains. She glared at Leslie. Then she rushed forward, flinging her arms around Leslie.

“You scared me so bad, you idiot!” wailed Savannah. Then she peered over her shoulder. “So that’s the guy?” Savannah let go of Leslie and approached Gray’s bed. She crouched and stared at his face, frowning.

“Yes,” said Leslie.

Mr. Matheson entered. He was tall, and Savannah had inherited her dark curls from him. He was in a business suit, and Leslie realized he had been getting ready to do a little weekend work when Savannah had called Leslie. He was accompanied by a Hispanic woman in a sharp suit dress, her long black hair cascading down her back. Mr. Matheson asked the woman, “What is going to happen to him?”

“We’ll have to wait until he wakes,” the woman said with a slight accent. “Then we’ll be able to ask him about his relatives. There’s been no missing persons reports filed for a boy named Gray, first or last name, matching his description.”

“Why wait?” asked Savannah. She poked Gray repeatedly in the shoulder.

“Don’t—” began Leslie, but it was too late. Gray stirred and opened his eyes.

“Ow…” he began. Then, he noticed all the staring faces and fell silent.

“Mr. Gray,” the Hispanic woman began, “my name is Angela Castillo. I’m with Social Services. I have a few questions for you.”

Gray just stared at her.

“First off, what is your full name?” Angela got out a small notepad and a pen.

“Gray.”

“Gray what?”

“Just Gray.”

Angela stared at Gray, nibbling the end of her pen. Leslie got out of her chair and whispered in Angela’s ear, “I think Gray might be part of one of those weird religious cults. He has weird clothes like that. So maybe he doesn’t have a last name.”

Angela nodded and wrote in her notebook. Leslie sat back down. Continuing, Angela asked, “And how old are you, Gray?”

“Seventeen.” Leslie sat up. That was only one year older than her.

Angela scribbled in her notebook. “And where are your parents, Gray?”

Gray remained silent, staring straight ahead. He clutched the wooden cylinder in both hands. Finally, slowly, he said, “They’re on the Other Side.”

Tears swam in Angela’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. How long have they been…on the Other Side?”

Gray looked at her. “How long have I been here?”

Leslie’s heart jumped into her throat. His parents had been with him in the storm, and he’d lost them. They were dead. Leslie swallowed a sob.

“You were found just today,” said Angela.

“So, just today,” said Gray.

Angela looked away. Once she had composed herself, she turned back to Gray. With a heightened air of professionalism, Angela Castillo asked, “Do you have any relatives we can contact?”

Gray shook his head. “No.”

Angela wrote furiously in her notebook. “Then you are considered a ward of the state. We will take care of your medical bills from today and look for adequate foster care until you reach the age of—”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Matheson interrupted. “May I talk to you outside for a moment?”

Angela’s head whipped towards Mr. Matheson. “Of course.”

Mr. Matheson and Angela left the room, the curtain swinging behind them. Leslie could hear the soft voices of other people speaking to their loved ones on the other side of the curtains. She turned back towards Gray. He was fast asleep, again.

“Wow,” said Savannah. “He sure falls asleep fast.”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Give him a break, Savannah. He nearly died today, and he lost his parents.”

“Doesn’t seem very upset about that.” Savannah looked like she was tempted to poke him again, but instead walked over to a brown grocery sack sitting on a metal counter. “What’s in here?” she asked.

Leslie shrugged her shoulders. “Probably his clothes and stuff.”

Savannah stuck her hand in the paper sack and pulled out Gray’s shirt. She examined the brown-green fabric. “Weird. Hey, didn’t you say this was all torn up? It looks perfectly fine to me.”

Leslie came over and felt the fabric in between her fingers. It was smooth, almost like silk. Savannah was right—there were no tears or holes. There weren’t even any seams. Leslie pulled out the pants. Just like the shirt, it was in perfect condition and seamless.

Leslie peered into the bag. Gray’s moccasin-like shoes were still in there, as well as a leather-strap necklace with a black stone carved in the shape of an animal. Leslie reached her hand in to pull it out—

“Hey! Get it off! Getitoff getitoff getitoff!” screamed Savannah.

Leslie spun around. Savannah’s hand was inside the shirt. She shook the shirt, and the fabric flapped back and forth. Leslie grabbed a part of the shirt and tugged. It stayed in place for a moment, then suddenly slipped off Savannah’s arm.

Savannah stared at her hand, then at the shirt. “It grabbed me. I swear, that shirt grabbed me.”

“Nonsense,” said Leslie, but she hurriedly stuffed the shirt and pants back in the brown sack. “You just got tangled up in it, that’s all.”

A nurse burst into the room. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Yes,” said Savannah at the same time that Leslie said, “No.”

“No,” Leslie repeated. “My sister was just playing around and got tangled up in some cloth.”

The nurse pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Don’t touch anything. And don’t scream unless it’s an emergency. We have some real patients to take care of here.”

After the nurse left, some chuckling sounded from behind Leslie and Savannah. They turned. Gray was awake and was laughing at them. Savannah put her hands on her hips. “Well, so nice to see you’re feeling so chipper.”

Before Gray could respond, Mr. Matheson and Angela Castillo returned. “Well Gray,” said Angela, “it looks like you’ll be going home with the Mathesons for the time being. Greg Matheson has agreed to be your short-term foster father while we perform an investigation.”

Brainstorming

I am sorry for the long wait for the next segment of "The Scroll." To be honest, I've been thinking about the story a lot, but not writing.

I have been brainstorming.

One very essential part of writing is brainstorming. This allows the writer to make sure the story works correctly and that there are little to no holes in his or her work. As for me, I do a lot of the brainstorming in my brain, keeping it there for future reference. I do sometimes write down outlines and character profiles to help me keep things straight, but often I just keep it in my head. Which could prove to be a problem if I ever get Alzheimers or a brain injury affecting my memory.

Here are some things I have been brainstorming over the past several days (no details):

The rules of magic. Yes, this is a fantasy. No, this is not sci-fi (though some parts of the rules of magic may seem like science fiction, and science versus magic will play a part in the series (yes, series)).

Character development. Will Savannah always say random references to fantasy and science fiction novels, or will she be more of a walking encyclopedia on the subject? I'm leaning more towards encyclopedia. Which means I've got some reading to do.

Logical plot development. I have now put Gray in the hospital. What about insurance? What about Child Services (he's still a teenager)? There are certain things that authors can do to bend or twist the rules of life, but they all have to be within the realm of believability. The reader has to be able to "suspend disbelief," and too many logical fallacies will ruin this suspension.

Order of revelation. This is going to be a bit of a mystery, a bit of a quest, and a bit of "running for your life." In what order do I want to reveal things, when do I want to reveal them, and when I reveal them do I want to let the reader know everything?

Villain development. Who is the villain(s)? What is their agenda? Why do they act the way they do? (You have not yet run into any villains) Will all of the villains come from one side of the path? (remember my pathway reference at the beginning?) Just thinking about this helped me get rid of one logical fallacy and develop a whole backstory for a specific character.

Order of events/what events will or will not happen. I want this to be a four-part series with each story interconnecting with the other. This is going to be an epic voyage for Leslie and Gray (and Savannah, though in a different way). I can't let everything happen in the first story, but I can't leave important information out.

So, though I have not written much, I have been thinking a lot. Here's to posting the next segment of "The Scroll" in the next couple of days!

The Scroll 3

The sound of wheels crunching over sand reached Leslie’s ears. She looked up. A white jeep with California’s state park seal on the side was making its way down the beach. Leslie jumped up, brushing sand off her clothes and the side of her face. Waving her arms, she shouted, “Over here. We’re over here.”

The jeep pulled up next to Leslie. A state park ranger, with his funny wide-brimmed hat, jumped out of the jeep, followed closely by two paramedics carrying a stretcher board. The paramedics knelt next to the boy. One paramedic started taking the boy’s vital signs as the other took medical equipment out of a pack.

“He’s alive,” the first paramedic said. Suddenly, the boy moaned, his eyelids fluttering. “He’s conscious. Sir, can you tell me your name?”

The boy’s head rocked back and forth. Leslie tried to move closer, but the ranger stopped her. The boy’s eyes opened briefly. “Gray,” he croaked. “My name’s Gray.”

The paramedic smiled, relief evident on his face. “Okay, Gray. I want you to focus on my voice. Keep talking to…” Gray’s head fell to the side, his eyes falling shut. “Gray, stay with me….He’s unconscious.”

“Let’s get moving,” the second paramedic said. The two paramedics stripped off Gray’s shirt, tossing it aside. Leslie picked it up.

Gray clutched a long, thin wooden cylinder in his right hand. The paramedic tugged at the cylinder. Suddenly, Gray’s eyes flashed open. He gripped the cylinder, his knuckles turning white. “N-no,” he gasped. “Don’t.”

The paramedic dropped the cylinder. “Okay, okay. You keep it.”

Gray collapsed on the sand, falling unconscious once more.

The paramedics wrapped Gray in a blanket and carefully lifted Gray onto the stretcher board, strapping him in place. They lifted him into the back of the jeep. Leslie started to follow them, but the ranger stopped her. “I’m sorry, miss, but you need to go home.”

Leslie glanced from the moustached face of the state trooper to Gray’s unconscious form. “Please,” she said, her voice quivering. “I need to know what happens to him.”

“Come on, officer,” the first paramedic said. “She saved this kid’s life. Besides, when he wakes it’ll be comforting for him to see someone his own age.”

The ranger frowned, but nodded. “Fine, come with us.” Leslie sat in front of the jeep with the ranger, while the paramedics perched in back with Gray. They made their way up the beach past the dunes to the parking lot, where an ambulance sat waiting. The paramedics transferred Gray to the cot, piling more blankets on top of him and fixing an oxygen mask to his face. Leslie scrambled into the crowded back of the ambulance.

It was the longest ride of Leslie’s life. There was no hospital in Half Moon Bay, so the ambulance screeched to the next town. Throughout the ride, Leslie watched as the paramedics worked over Gray, who was turning a color that matched his name. They placed heated compresses on his chest and neck, piling blankets on top of him and making sure the oxygen was running.

“Core temperature at ninety-three degrees,” one paramedic said.

Leslie was sure that wasn’t good.

Finally, they made it to the hospital. There, Gray was whisked away, leaving Leslie to wander through the Emergency Room’s waiting lounge. She paced back and forth, nervous for Gray. She didn’t even know why—she didn’t know the guy, and he definitely wouldn’t remember her when he woke up.

Finally, a doctor in a white lab coat came for her. He led Leslie to a small windowless room packed full of machinery bleeping at Leslie and showing numbers and graphs she didn’t understand. Gray was asleep on a white cot. His face had been washed, and some of the salt had been brushed out of his hair. It was brown with sun-bleached streaks.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Leslie.
The doctor nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. This boy had a severe case of hypothermia, probably from being out in last night’s storm. If you hadn’t found him, the next person to cross his way would probably have found a corpse.

“As it is, we’re going to run a warm saline solution through his blood to help raise his body temperature. After that, we’ll give him fluids and other nutrients to bring him back to normal. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Thanks,” said Leslie. The doctor left, leaving her alone with Gray. She sat in a small chair next to the cot, wondering what she would say when he awoke.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang. Leslie jumped. She’d forgotten all about her satchel on her back. She fished the phone out of her bag in a matter of seconds and answered the phone. “Hello?”

Savannah’s angry voice answered. “Where are you? What part of five-mile nonstop run don’t you understand? You said you’d help me with my homework! What’s with you? Have you gone all anti-social with me too?”

Leslie put a hand to her forehead. Savannah’s science report. She’d completely forgotten. “I’m sorry, Savannah. It’s—I’m in the hospital.”