Power Play

Mind racing, he thought of his father’s desktop Mac in his study. The trouble was, his study was an extra bedroom, and to get to it Philby would have to pass his parents’ bedroom. He doubted his mother would actually kill him, but he knew that to be caught was not an option.

Philby paced his room, frustrated and guilt-ridden. He stopped and looked at the lowered shade and thought about Hugo attacking him. His world was upside down: friends were enemies; family members were enemies. His only friends were asleep in their beds and would never wake up until and unless he Returned them. The success or failure of their attempt to free Amanda fell onto him. Their survival fell onto him.

Was he really supposed to just climb into bed and go to sleep?

As if!

He sneaked down the hall on tiptoe, a shaft of yellow light playing from his parents’ bedroom. His mother would be propped up in bed reading. He knew how difficult it was for her to get back to sleep. If he moved too quickly, she’d spot him. The trick was to slip by incredibly slowly, back to the wall so he could watch her. If she moved even a tweak, he’d jump across and she wouldn’t know if she’d seen him or not.

Step by step, his back to the opposite wall of the hallway, Philby edged into and through the patch of yellow light. He was right out where his mother could have seen him, but she never raised her head. At last-it seemed like several minutes-he was back into shadow and out of her sight.

He made it to the study door, and turned the handle incredibly gently to avoid her hearing.

Locked!

He didn’t know the door could be locked. He stared at it in disbelief.

“Not a chance,” she said.

He startled and nearly screamed. Didn’t dare turn around, but finally gathered the courage. She was in her pajamas, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“That you would even try this is such a disappointment. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking of my friends. I’m thinking of that time I was caught in the Syndrome and how awful it was on you and Dad. The hospital. Nothing working. They are counting on me.” He was a grown boy, he reminded himself, fighting back the tears. Embarrassed by them. “Do you know what that feels like?”

“I think I might have a slight idea. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a mother? To love another so, so much that you can’t breathe?”

“I cannot let them down. I will not let them down. I don’t care what the consequences are. It has nothing to do with Disney. Nothing to do with magic or entertainment. It’s about friendship, Mom. It’s about being reliable and responsible and all the stuff you and Dad preach but never let me live.”

He watched her nostrils flare, which was not a good sign. Most times, that was the signal the time bomb was ticking. But her eyes glassed over and her lips trembled and she moved toward him.

“You’re such a good boy,” she said, her arms outstretched. “I am so proud of you.”

“You…what?”

She embraced him in a way he’d never felt before. More than a hug. It felt like she might never let go.

“You’re so grown-up.”

“Mom?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was only thinking of myself. It makes me…I get so scared for you and the others. I never want to lose you. I’d never, ever, forgive myself.”

“But that’s exactly-”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. I understand.”

“You do? Seriously?”

“I want to help. I want to know everything. Everything, you understand?”

He nodded.

“Go on. Do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be along in a minute. I want to turn off the light so we don’t wake your father.”

* * *

“How’s it going?”

Jeannie Puckett’s grating voice. Jess had nodded off while sitting with her back to the wall next to the bunk bed. She blinked repeatedly while orienting herself. She immediately realized the impact of the dream she’d just been living. She reached for her diary.

“Give me a few minutes,” she said, her pen already at work.

She drew the picture in her head, allowing it to flow out of her hand rather than force it onto the page. It was almost as if the pen were alive and she was there only to keep it upright. Something miraculous transpired between her hand and the paper, a power far beyond anything she would lay claim to.

Lines appeared, like a gate or maybe the teeth of a comb. Shadows. Behind the teeth of the comb were bookshelves, or perhaps a bench. The pen kept moving. Jess looked for what was there, what was coming. A box- no, a window-in the center of the wall between the bookshelves. Or were the bookshelves church pews? Was the window really a frame hanging on the wall? Not bookshelves at all, but a cot or a bunk. A priest laying on the bunk. No, a woman. A bench on the floor between the bunks. They were bunks. Not a comb, but prison bars.

Her pen stopped. The woman sat up from the bunk and stood and crossed the far corner of the jail cell standing in the corner.

Jess tried to quickly sketch the woman in four postures-sitting, standing, crossing the room, standing in the far corner.

A woman in robes.

Maleficent. Smirking, but quickly losing it so that her emotions were unreadable.

The smirk lingered in Jess’s mind. She tried to sketch it. Couldn’t get it right.

Something else…something bothering her. Something about the way Maleficent had crossed the cell. What was it?

“Look at that!” It was Jeannie again.

It broke the moment. The images on the diary page were static again. Fixed. Unmoving. Jess worked to finish what little she could envision. She would have to get it to Philby by e-mail-and e-mail was a risk in Mrs. Nash’s house, like everything else that could possibly be fun.

Jeannie rushed to Amanda’s side. “LOOK AT THAT! What’s it mean?”

Jess collected herself and looked up.

Amanda’s arms were still by her side but her hands had moved, palms toward the foot of the bed. They were jerking ever so slightly like a crossing guard signaling a stop on the corner.

“She hasn’t done anything like this. Right? This is like totally new. Right? So what’s it mean?” Jeannie asked.

Jess shook her head.

“I have no idea,” she said. But in fact, she had a pretty good idea. She’d seen Amanda do that before. She’d even worked with Amanda so she could learn how to control it.

* * *

Standing twenty feet down in the mine, palms outstretched, Amanda scooped the air as if cupping water, and then threw her arms forward and pushed the water out in front of her as the alligators entered.

They lifted off the ground, their feet paddling the air. She pushed again, and the already levitated alligators sailed out of the mine tunnel.

“Come, boy!” she heard Finn cry out.

Pluto had been caught in the push as well. He’d traveled about ten feet and had fallen, sprawled on all fours.

“Run!” Finn cried.