Chapter 3

The Shadow’s Message

Without thinking twice, I took off in pursuit. Moments later I was staring down an empty side hall—the quick-footed thief had vanished! Or he would have if not for the sound of a familiar creak followed by a slam. My attacker’s attempt to give me the slip had just been foiled by the men’s bathroom door.

If not for the fact that this individual had shadowed me for weeks, I probably would have walked away. After all, it was just a backpack and there was little of value in it other than barely average grades. But instincts told me there was something more behind this stalker—he had been planning this for days. If I didn’t confront him now, I might never get the chance. Besides, showing up to class without a bag or books would just mean more questions, and right now I needed answers. This mystery had to be solved.

I paused as I reached the bathroom door. Then, taking a deep breath I slowly pushed it open, being careful not to let the hinges squeak.

A collection of crumpled paper towels littered the orangey-brown tiled floor just inside. The unpleasant smell of musty porcelain filled the air. Quietly, I slipped inside. Taking cover behind the protective wall that kept the stalls and sink area out of sight, I listened carefully for any movement.

Drip, drip, drip.

One of the sinks had not been shut off completely and was allowing a drop of water to escape every other second. But I thought I could hear something else between the drips; quiet, slow and steady. I swallowed hard, finally recognizing the sound. It was breathing! I was definitely not alone. Easing my head out around the wall, I slowly scoped the scene.

The window was securely shut—there was no other way out. Wherever the thief was, he was hiding nearby.

Spotting a mop in the corner by the door, I quickly formed a plan. I’d just step out and give the coward a surprise attack of his own.

Putting on my bravest face, I did just that. My voice echoed off the tiled walls, “Hey, punk! Is this what you were looking for?” I brandished the mop as deftly as I would have a sword.

The lack of any response unnerved me a bit, but I tried again. “Playing hide-and-seek now? Aren’t you a little old for that?”

This time, a response did come, but it wasn’t a voice. The lights above the sink flickered and dimmed. Something seemed to be sapping the very energy from the room.

The door to the first stall squeaked slowly open, but there was nobody inside. There, on the floor beside the toilet, my backpack lay slumped open. Above it a message was written on the stall’s wall in wet black ink, reminding me of the black blood that once ran through my veins in Solandria. The message was followed by a serpentine mark—the mark of the Shadow.

Death to Codebearers §

Any bravery I had mustered quickly gave way to a gripping fear. Clearly, my stalker had vicious intentions.

The mop clattered on the floor where I dropped it. Scooping up my bag, I turned on the spot and headed straight for the door. I pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. I yanked harder but it still held firm, as if an invisible foe was holding it shut. My fear swelled to a new high with a sudden realization: this was no prank.

This was the work of the Shadow. They had come for me.

My plan seemed so foolish now in the face of this. I had walked into a trap! I had no weapon—no means of defending myself against the Shadow. My heart began to race at a near-panic pace, and my imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what kind of creature lay in wait for me.

The exit was sealed. I had no choice but to face my invisible threat. That is when a passage from the Author’s Writ suddenly sprang to mind: “By his fear a man appoints his master.” Those words rang true inside me, giving me courage. Though the odds were not in my favor, I could not let this enemy master me. I was a Codebearer! I served the Author!

Emboldened by this thought, I took up the mop once again. Gripping the wooden handle tightly in my sweaty palms, I knew there was little hope it would actually help, but at least I’d go out with a fight.

I resolutely made my way into the open again, every muscle tensed. Nothing moved. Scanning down the row of stalls, I took note of the handicap stall in the far corner. It was the only one that was shut. That was where the Shadow hid—behind that door. Even now I could hear its slow breathing coming from that corner. It was waiting, perhaps watching me from a crack.

If I had any hopes of surviving long, I would need to hit it fast and hard. I needed to gain some kind of advantage by creating surprise. I closed my eyes one last time, gritted my teeth and swallowed hard. Then, in a full-out charge at the stall, I aimed a flying kick at the door and screamed at the top of my lungs:

“I FEAR NO ONE BUT THE AUTHOR!”

The move was executed with precision, just like in the movies. The stall door exploded open with surprising force, and I jabbed the mop handle into the stall with a vengeance. What I found lurking behind the door was far worse than I ever possibly could have imagined. I was staring into the wide-eyed face of none other than Mr. Tanner.

He was seated comfortably on the toilet, reading a science magazine, wearing a pair of earphones and an expression that was priceless. Even though he did not yell, as many might have in that situation, I can honestly say it was the first time I had ever seen a look of shock on his face.

For one awkward moment we just stared at each other in silence. I dropped the mop, realizing I had just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. He was the first to speak, his dry monotonous voice as calm and steady as ever.

“Well, Mr. Brown, we meet again!” He raised one thick eyebrow ever so slightly and I knew I was in deep…deep…trouble.

In no time at all, I was whisked to our new principal’s office. “Sit,” Principal Strickland said, pointing firmly at the hard wooden chair in front of his desk. I snapped into the cold seat as quickly as possible, not wanting more trouble than I was in already.

Strickland motioned for Mr. Tanner to close the door. The principal’s office was frigid and very dark. The broad window that spread out behind the principal’s desk was heavily shaded to block out all traces of sunlight. The only light that remained was from the glow of his oversized computer monitor, which cast a very unflattering hue onto Mr. Strickland’s face.

I couldn’t help but compare how much things had changed since Ms. Pickler had been principal. Even though I had tested her patience at times, she had always been somewhat reasonable. Firm, but fair. Strickland, on the other hand, seemed to relish his power as principal.

As for the room itself, I hardly recognized it now. Before, the walls were painted bright yellow and decorated with family photos and teaching certificates. Of course, that was before Ms. Pickler decided to retire over the summer, leaving Destiny Hills in the lurch and desperate for a new principal. Unfortunately for the students, Mr. Strickland had answered the call.

He had a very different approach, to say the least. Being an ex-military man, he kept things in order and had little sympathy for mistakes. His simple decor was much more formal and functional: large desk, white walls, green metal file cabinet, wooden chair and air conditioning…lots of air conditioning. The room was so cold I imagined it could easily serve as a refrigerator.

A long awkward silence passed as Strickland flipped through a folder marked “Brown, Hunter” that had somehow already found its way to his desk before I arrived. I thought it best to remain silent and so I waited. At last he broke the silence.

“Explain yourself” was all he said.

I launched into the story about my mysterious stalker and how I ended up in the bathroom, mistakenly shoving a mop into Tanner’s stall.

“So you see, sir. It wasn’t my fault at all; it was an accident.”

“An accident? How curious. See, I’ve been informed that you don’t believe in accidents—that you had a problem with Mr. Tanner’s teaching this morning. Am I to believe that as unlikely as it seems these two incidents have nothing to do with each other? Hmmmm?”

I gulped. “No sir, they don’t.”

“Outrageous,” he said, leaving the word hanging in the air for a moment. “Let me remind you, Hunter, I’ve been a principal for fourteen years now. Just because I’m new to this school doesn’t mean I’m new at this game.”

“G-g-game?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t play games with me. I know who you are, Hunter—the perpetual goof-off who seeks popularity from his peers by arranging pranks at the expense of others. It’s pathetic really. In fact, based on your record, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long without a single suspension. Of course, there is always a first time for everyone.”

“You’re going to suspend me for this? But…I didn’t do anything.”

“Assaulting a teacher is a very serious matter, Mr. Brown. I can assure you I am well within my rights to suspend or expel you if I choose.”

Obviously my reputation as a prankster in school last year had done damage to my credibility—a fact I was not proud of.

“But I’m telling the truth, I swear. I saw someone in the hall,” I explained.

Strickland didn’t wait to hear me finish; instead he exploded. “Listen here, young man!” Strickland yelled, putting extra emphasis on the word young. “I have no time for your childish games. Imaginary stalker or not, I run a tight ship and I expect everyone to follow my rules. I do not tolerate this kind of insolence in my school. Do you understand?”

Miserable, I nodded, giving up any hope of being understood.

“Good,” he said, leaving a pause for thought. “Now for your discipline.” He clasped his hands together in front of his lips to consider his verdict.

There was a sudden knock at the door and a flood of light burst into the dark room, breaking his concentration.

“A word, Mr. Strickland, if you please?” a woman’s voice called from the doorway. I turned to see who it was but the light from the outer room only allowed a shadowy silhouette to appear. Her tone was firm but soothing.

“Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he growled.

“It’s about Hunter; it can’t wait” came the reply.

Mr. Strickland scowled and rose from his chair, none too pleased that his session with me had been rudely interrupted. The two spoke in hushed tones outside the door for a minute.

A moment later Strickland returned. He was in a noticeably different mood, almost cheerful. I hardly recognized the man.

“I’m terribly sorry for the interruption; it couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid,” he said. Then he continued, “What were we talking about again?”

“My discipline,” I answered sheepishly.

“Discipline? Why on earth would you need that? No, no…a boy like you just needs a little guidance from someone who can help you make good decisions. That’s why I’m making a suggestion for you.”

He scribbled something barely legible on an orange sheet of paper and slid it across his broad oak desk.

“Here you are. I really think you could benefit from a visit with the school counselor. She can do wonders, that woman. I’m sure you’ll find her insight to be enlightening. Think you can handle it?”

“Sure,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. Since when did Strickland care about what I thought?

“All right then, off with you! Your friends will be wondering where you are by now,” he said with a wink.

I embraced my freedom and bolted for the door as fast as I could. That room gave me the creeps and the chills. I couldn’t wait to get out.

Entering the outer office, my pace only slowed long enough to take a quick look around for whoever had freed me from the discipline of Mr. Strickland.

The only person in sight was Ms. Trudy, Strickland’s secretary, who was wearing earphones, humming a show tune and typing feverishly at her computer. She seemed completely oblivious to my presence as I exited the room. Not wanting to risk the chance of getting called back, I quickly ducked out into the hall and made my way to my next class.