Wielder of the Gauntlets: Armor of the Fallen, #1

Part One:The Dream

Chapter One

Dreams are but a doorway to your heart.

#

Tim! Tim! Miss Andrews calls out. She knocks on the door to the boys’ dorm room and a young man in his early teens with long lanky arms and bleach blond hair opens the door.

Steven, is Tim in there?

I haven't seen him since this morning. Didn't you send him to get groceries?

I did. That was three hours ago and the van is back but I can’t seem to find Tim anywhere. I'll keep looking, but if you see him, let him know I have mail that came for him.

Will do, Steven quickly replies as he shuts the door in Miss Andrews face

Well don’t go out of your way to help me look or anything. Heaven forbid you have to come out into daylight. Miss Andrews shakes her head as she turns from the door.

Walking down the hallway to the stairs at the end, she descends down to the first floor and heads into the kitchen where several girls are busy cooking. The sounds of boiling pots and knives chopping fresh veggies mix with the banter and giggling of the girls in the room and bring a smile to the corner of Miss Andrews mouth. One girl, however, stands off by herself in a corner with her back towards the rest making it apparent she doesn’t want to join in with their conversations. Soon to turn 16, she’s the oldest amongst the other girls in the orphanage. Tall, with the sleek build of gymnast, her bright red hair glows against the off-white wall behind her like a bonfire in the middle of a snow-covered field. Miss Andrews’ smile fades at the sight of the young girl isolating herself from the others and a sigh escapes her lungs as she heads over to her.

You know, I think you would find much more enjoyment in your work if you joined in with the others instead of brooding in the corner.

The girl looks up from the tomato she is slicing to look out across the kitchen before returning her gaze back down and continuing to slice. I prefer to work by myself. No offense Miss Andrews, but I think most of them prefer that I work by myself too.

That’s nonsense Melanie and you know it, Miss Andrews replies.

Mel glances out the corner of her eyes to the left at a group of girls working on mixing ingredients into a large bowl. One girl, seeing Mel look at them, whispers something to the others. They all snicker and giggle secretively. Mel squints her eyes at the group and they quickly divert their eyes and go silent.

Right, Mel says as she picks up the cutting board and uses the knife to gracefully slide the tomato slices on to a plate. She turns to face Miss Andrews. Is there something you wanted? I’ve got a lot to do yet before dinner.

Miss Andrews gives Mel a watch your attitude young lady look before replying, Actually I’m looking for Tim. Have you seen him?

He got back about twenty minutes ago, but I haven't seen him since he brought in the groceries. I can go find him for you, Mel replies hopefully as she begins to take of her apron.

No, no. You said it yourself you have a lot of work to do. I’m sure I can manage on my own and I would hate to take you from your work, Miss Andrews replies with a sly smile forming on her face. "I’ll let you get back to it.

With that Miss Andrews leaves Mel to her work and walks out of the kitchen and into the main dining hall. The main dining hall then takes her to the main entrance hall of the Bradley Home for Youth. The orphanage consists of three wings. The left wing is the girls’ dormitory, the right wing is for the boys, with the main wing consisting of the kitchen, dining room, administrative offices, and an old stone church around which the orphanage is built. A group of young boys and girls are playing a board game on the floor in the main entrance way.

Did any of you see Tim come through here? Miss Andrews asks as she approaches the group.

He's in the chapel, a young girl replies as she studies the pieces on the board. Went in there about ten minutes ago.

Thank you Lacy.

Miss Andrews walks down the hallway that runs between two large stair cases that lead to the second floor of the adjacent wings. At the end of this hall is a stone wall that seems out of place against the plaster and drywall covered walls on either side of it. In the middle of the stone wall lies a set of massive oak doors that stretch from the floor to the ceiling twelve feet above. Miss Andrews pushes open the large door on the right and walks through into the chapel on the other side. Several rows of pews line each side of the old stone building. Large stone pillars run every fifth row supporting the large wooden beams of the ceiling. Directly in front of Miss Andrews runs an aisle of stone that runs between the pews and leads to an ornate pulpit sitting on top of a raised platform at the front. The stones of the aisle are smooth and worn from years upon years of feet beating and sliding across them as people enter and leave the chapel. Halfway up the isle a large stone cross is inlaid in the floor with the year seventeen ninety-two carved into the stone at the bottom of the cross. In a pew on the left side of the inlaid cross, a young man sits silent as a mouse with his head bowed reverently. Miss Andrews walks over and sits beside him letting several moments of silence pass by.

When we first found you on the doorstep, you did nothing but cry and cry, she reminisces. We tried everything we could think of to get you to calm down but no matter what we tried you just wouldn’t stop. Finally, afraid that you would soon starve because you wouldn’t even stop crying long enough to eat, we brought you in here to pray for a calmness to fall on you. We had no more passed through the door when you stopped crying and gave us the biggest smile we had ever seen. She hands him an envelope addressed to Timothy Bradley. I've watched you turn into a fine young man these last twelve years and for what it's worth, I’m very proud of the young man you’ve become. She gives him a kiss on the head then leaves. Tim opens the envelope revealing a plane ticket inside.

#

Clang . . . clang. A young boy stirs in his small bed and rolls over. Clang . . . thud . . . clang, clang. Again, the boy stirs, opens his eyes for a second, then settles down and begins to drift back to sleep. Clang, clang, clang . . . thud, smack! This time the commotion is loud enough to rip the boy from his adventurous dreams. He throws off his sheets and dangles his feet out over the side of bed and listens. The clanging of two pieces of steel being hit together breaks the silence of the night once again and his feet make little pat, pat sounds as he lowers himself to the floor. His little four-year-old legs move awkwardly in their drowsiness as he walks over toward the bedroom door. The hard wood floor creaks slightly as he goes as if to ask him why he is up so late. He opens the door just a sliver and peeks out into a long narrow hallway. He listens.

Clang, clang, clang . . . clang, thud, crack! He jumps back from the door at the noise but remains there only a moment before proceeding out into the hallway on the other side of the door. He goes cautiously, his legs now more awake and steadier, keeping tight to the picture covered wall on his right. He spares a few glances at the pictures here and there as he goes till he nears the end of the hallway and it opens up into a much larger room. He pauses and listens. This time the loud CRACK of splintering wood roars through the silence and is quickly followed by a muffled thud of something hitting the floor. He peeks around the corner into a well-furnished living room, now too afraid to move any farther. It’s dark, but there is just enough ambient light in the room for him to make out some kind of object on the floor were there shouldn’t be anything. He looks harder, keeping his pale blue eyes from blinking as he strains to see in the dark. The object rises and moves slowly toward him. As it draws closer, he is then able to see it for what it is. An adult.

No, not just an adult but someone familiar. This is an adult he should know, that he does know. Daddy? It's no use; it's too dark to make out the person's face. Fear takes full hold of him as the tears begin to roll down his cheek. He wants to go to the adult lying on the floor but fear freezes him in place as the person continues to crawl towards the hallway. A few feet from where the boy stands, the adult collapses and goes completely still. The boy stares at the motionless body on the floor till cold night air hits his face, causing the wet streaks of his tears to chill and him to look up. Where is the air coming from?

He looks over to where he knows the front door of his house should be shut and locked for the night. The opening gives him a clear view out into his moonlit yard. Is the door opened? No, not opened—completely gone. Broken into hundreds of pieces that now lie across the living room floor. A moment later a dark outline of another adult shaped figure appears in the door way. The sight of this dark figure sends a chill straight down the boy's spine. Tears start flowing with no remorse, making his face grow even colder as the night air continues to pour into the house and across the floor to hit him unapologetically. Not being able to bear the sight any longer, he looks away, burying his face in his hands. After a moment of gathering his courage, he peeks through his fingers back towards the doorway. The dark figure is gone. Lowering his hands, he again looks down at the body on the floor. Cautiously he tiptoes towards the prone body in hopes of getting a better look at who it is.  The boy only makes it a couple steps when the floor creaks behind him. His spine tingles at the sound and he slowly turns to look behind. The silhouette of the dark figure from the doorway is standing there no more than two feet behind him. The boy tries to scream but nothing comes out. He tries to run, but his legs will not move. The dark figure reaches for him . . .

Tim shoots straight up to a sitting position in bed, pulling the sheets with him. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he takes a minute to compose himself and look around to see if he has woken anyone else up. No one stirs. They all must be used to it by now, he thinks. The clock on the stand next to his bed reads 3:38 a.m. Well, my sheets are soaked with sweat and I'm wide awake now. No sense in lying back down. As quietly as he can, he swings his feet out of bed, grabs a pair of socks from his drawer and puts them on, then sliding into his shoes he heads out the door of the dorm.

Tim turns left and heads down the hallway toward stairs leading to the first floor. It’s early enough in the morning that no one should be up but he still goes cautiously being careful not to make any noise. Harder than you think when adrenaline is still coursing through your body making your limbs feel all jittery. Once down the stairs, he makes his way into the main wing and heads for the chapel. As he approaches the chapel entrance, he remembers how Miss Andrews said that the old stone church was the first building that was built on the property and that when the Bradleys bought the ground, they had the orphanage built around it. It would be hard to distinguish it from the rest of building to anyone looking from the outside. As Tim approaches the huge oak doors that guard the entrance, he takes one last look behind him, then goes in. He walks up the center aisle past the rows of pews and over the inlaid stone cross. When he reaches the pulpit at the front, he goes right, past an organ that hasn’t been played in years, towards a door somewhat hidden beside the choir loft. Through this door and up a set of spiral stairs, he climbs towards the top of the bell tower. Once at the top, a short ladder takes him through a trapdoor into the fresh night air. Tim comes up here often whenever something is bothering him or if he just wants to be alone to think. It seems like he has been visiting this place more this year alone than he has the whole time he has lived here. He walks around the old bell and climbs over the short stone wall that makes up a railing around the bell. He looks out over the surrounding town for a moment. The sound of early morning travelers heading to work is just starting to echo through the buildings from the highway nearby. Tim takes a deep breath and dangles his feet over the ledge as he sits. That dream, he thinks to himself. It's always that same dream.

The screeching and crash of the trapdoor being flung open snaps Tim out of his thoughts and almost causes him to fall over the ledge. He springs to a crouching position and peeks over the top of the short wall. Mel’s head pops out of the hole with a devilish smile stretched across her face.

Do you always have to do that? Tim asks, a little out of breath and shaking again from the sudden adrenaline rush.

Of course I do. replies Mel as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Besides, if not me, it would just be someone else. You're too easy a target.

How did you know I was up here? Tim asks as he turns and sits again.

I was raiding the kitchen for a late—or would it be early—snack when I caught a glimpse of you go by. Where else would you be going at four in the morning? asks Mel as she scales the wall and sits beside him. The dream again?

He nods.

I told you all that spiritual mumbo-jumbo Pastor John fills your head with was gonna give you nightmares.

It's not mumbo-jumbo, Mel, it's truth. I wish you would let me—

Yeah, yeah, I know the story, Tim. God made man, then cursed man, then sent his Son to save man . . . blah, blah, blah. I just don't buy it. I don't know how you can—

Can we not argue over this now? Tim interrupts.

Sorry. I know the dream bothers you and I shouldn’t make fun. But you have to admit that the dreams didn't start until after you were ‘born again,’ as you call it. Mel gently puts her arms around Tim and gives him a comforting hug. She notices a few tears streaking down his face.

It's not just the dream, Tim says after a few moments.

You mean your uncle popping out of nowhere after all these years? I’m no child phycologist, but I would think you would be thankful that after all this time he was able to track you down. Most here would give just about anything to be part of a real family.

The corner of Tim's mouth raises into a slight smile. Yourself not included in that; I take it.

You know I don't play well with others, Mel says.

You don’t say, Tim replies as he recalls the last couple that had an interest in adopting Mel. I swear I can still smell a hint of burnt rubber whenever I go by the restrooms.

Mel and Tim both chuckle before Tim continues, I know I should be thankful and I am . . . I guess. It's just, why did it take so long for this uncle of mine to find me? Why now? And right after I start- Tim cuts himself off like he caught himself about to say something he didn’t mean to. He stands and steps over the wall to go over to the old bell that hangs at the top of the tower. He rests his forehead against the cool metal and gently hits it with his fist making a dull ring vibrate out from it. Mel takes a new postion sitting on top of the railing wall.

There's more going on in that head of yours than just the dream and your sudden, out of the blue, uncle isn't there? You know I can tell when you’re hiding something.

Something is happening to me. I don't know how to explain it but-

Let me guess. Voice changing, hair growing in weird places? Hey, some guys are just late bloomers.

Tim turns, jaw squeezed tight and eyes full of daggers. I'm serious. He turns back to the bell and rests his head on it again. "I dropped a jar of jelly at the store today and as it fell, well, I don’t know how to describe it. I felt this sudden rush of heat, like a rush of adrenaline only much more intense. As I watched the jar fall it was like, like time slowed. The jar fell fast at first but as I watched it and the feeling rushed through me, it began falling slower and slower till it almost looked as if it was just hanging suspended in midair.