Chapter 2
For two days, I stayed away from my studio. I did nothing but think of what had happened. I had no choice! I could not get it out of my mind.
Pictures did not just start moving! No one I had ever heard of talked to their drawings... and especially, no one had ever had them talk back! Well, except in fantasy novels, fairy tales, or maybe the movies.
But this was real life! I was living it, damnit!
I didn't really have anyone to talk to about all this. Honestly! It was not something you could bring up in everyday conversation, and not be labeled a nut.
I had not spoken to my parents in years, except to exchange polite Christmas cards with them.
As for my older sister, she was the cause of my problems with my parents, to begin with. As the older sibling, she had been the 'trailblazer'. She had screwed me over, but good, with her behavior.
She was five years older than I. When she hit puberty, she went 'around the bend', if you ask me. She would sneak out of the house, and bring boys to her room for experimental heavy petting. A few months later, that included having sex. She even 'experimented' with some drugs, right there in her room!
As a result, I was treated like a prisoner, even before I'd made it to high school.
What really hurt me the most was my parents' automatic distrust of me. They searched my room constantly. They monitored my phone calls, and implemented a strict curfew. They did drug testing on me regularly during the school year, and at least twice during summer months. I was, in effect, their prisoner. I had already been convicted in all but name. All this was thanks to my older sister, who had lived a wild and carefree teenager's life, a bit too well.
They took action, in my case. I came to dislike my parents, intensely. To this day, they never have understood why I dislike them. Some people are just dense, I guess.
So, I could not talk to my parents or sister about this... not at all. When I had moved, I had lost contact with my old friends... not that I'd had many.
Parents, again.
I wracked my brain trying to think of someone who might at least listen with an open mind. I came up with two answers. One answer was any one of the catholic priests in and around my neighborhood. The other was a writer who had liked the cover art I had done for him. He had actually taken the time to say so.
I had felt he was a little strange, to begin with. He was an elderly gentleman. He lived alone, in a large house in the mountains of Wyoming. I had met with him twice, while doing work for him.
He had liked my art, so had made a trip east to meet me. Normally, he was something of a recluse, and avoided people if he could. He had given me his phone number. He had asked me to call him anytime I felt the need of a friendly ear.
Well, if ever I needed 'a friendly ear', it was now. I went to my phone desk. I found my address and number book, for contacts. I looked up his number. Picking up the phone, I dialed his it.
"Hello?" a loud and gruff voice answered.
"Matt? This is Franklin Farrow. I was wondering if we could get together..." I began a bit hesitantly.
"Frank! How are you, boy? Doing all right? A meeting? Well, you would have to come out here for a face to face. I broke my damned leg a couple of weeks ago, and I don't get around too well, right now," Matthew Baxter boomed loudly.
That was just the way he was. He never spoke, he 'boomed'. He was as much larger in real life, as his characters were in the books he wrote. We talked for a few more minutes. I got his address, and directions on how to get to his place. I hung up, and called the local airport, to book a flight.
Matthew Baxter was a fantasy writer, and a damned good one. Four of his books had been turned into movies in just the last ten years.
He never seemed to be short of story ideas. At least every year, he churned out a new book. They went into hard cover immediately, and always hit the top of any list you care to name.
Since I had asked for a meeting, I felt it was only fair that I travel to him, especially when I thought of his broken leg.
I booked a flight to the main airport in Laramie, Wyoming. I got the package deal that included a rental vehicle, for the rest of the trip. Besides, I wanted to have transportation available at all times, anyway.
The flight out was pretty smooth. After I landed, I picked up the Jeep Grand Cherokee I had rented. After signing for it, I got the keys and loaded my bags into the back. I headed toward the mountains where Matthew lived.
Some hours later, I came into a little town in the mountains called Stockton, Wyoming. This was one of the landmarks that Matthew had given me. I needed to call him, though, as his instructions for leaving town had been a little vague. Thank God for cell phones!
"Matthew? Ok. I am in Stockton, but I need clearer directions, out of town. There are two roads going in the general direction you indicated," I said into my cell phone once he answered.
"Frank? Here already? Great. Stop at the Stockton Valley Market. I phoned in an order, and it should be ready for pick up. Don't worry about paying for it. It's on my account. Once you get loaded, take the street immediately behind the Market, and follow it out of town. Take the extreme right hand fork, when you get to the confusion point," Matthew said and hung up.
I stared at my phone after it went dead. Damn! The man was very pre-emptive, to say the least. Still, he was the only one I felt anywhere comfortable to talk to.
I didn't really want to talk with a priest, as I would have to show him what was happening. That could well lead to much more than just theological problems, for me. Roman Catholic priests were not being portrayed well, just now, anyway.
I stopped and picked up his order. It turned out to be nine large bags' worth. I had to wait for the dairy, cooler, and frozen items. They hadn't pulled those, yet. So much for 'ready to go'. I signed for them, and then a guy to helped load it all into my jeep.
It was only an hour and fifteen minutes further up the mountain to Matthew's place, but it was a climb, the whole way. I turned off at his road... ahh, umm... his 'driveway'.
It was not that inviting to look at, but at least it had a sign. It was a dirt road in very poor repair. I bounced my way through the potholes and rough patches of road, and pulled up to his place some minutes later.
His place was big, actually. Bigger than one person needed, but then, when you had his kind of money, you could buy and live where you wanted. Everything seemed, well, huge. I wondered about that, as the front door opened.
Matthew Baxter, his crutches under his arms and his left leg in a cast from ankle to mid thigh, crouched in the doorway.
"Well, don't just stand there gawking. Get my groceries in here, boy," he bellowed, and hobbled off.
I chuckled to myself. Crotchety old bugger. Still, I liked him.
I always had, even when I had first met him. It took me ten minutes to unload all nine bags, and twenty to put the stuff away, under his direction.
"Good job, boy. Now, then, why don't you put some water on to boil? We can have some of that tea you like so much," he said.
I must have looked surprised, because he chuckled.
"I remember from that snooty restaurant, where I had that book signing gig. You drank tea. I forget the brand you mentioned, but I picked up several different ones. Tea is ok, but if you want a drink with kick, try an Irish coffee. Now there is a man's drink," he said, smacking his lips.
After we got the tea made, we settled down and drank a cuppa. He waited for me to start.
Now that I was here, I was a bit hesitant.
I was going to sound like an insane mental case, at first.
I just knew it.
"So. There it is," I said, finishing my little tale of woe with a gesture towards the sketchbook. "That's the sketchbook. The picture is inside it. I detached the book from my sketch board, and brought it with me. I have been afraid to lift the cover of the book, ever since my last experience with it."
He hadn't said anything. He had just puffed on his pipe, looked at me, and looked up at the ceiling. Finally he put his pipe down and into its holder, which I had fetched from the fireplace mantle, in his living room.
"Well... Let's open the thing up, and see what happens. If you saw and experienced what you said, and I will see it, or there are several other possibilities... It won't work now that I am with you, which might mean it lasts only a short time, or that it is personally tuned to you... or, the 'whatever it was that activated it', has departed from your drawing, now that it and you are no longer at your home... or...
"It could mean you've gone round the bend," he added with a big grin.
I sighed. He was a strange man.
He was physically big. His voice was big and booming, and his home reflected his bigness. It was built big! Huge timbers held up the roof. The roof was angled sharply, to handle any snow loads I could imagine. Huge flagstones inlaid in the entire living room floor, and an oversized fireplace lay at one end of it. I had not seen much of the rest of the house yet, but it seemed logical that it was built the same way... BIG!
I licked my lips, which were suddenly dry.
"Don't dawdle, boy. Open it up, and see what there is to see," he boomed out, watching me.
I flipped open the sketch pad which had scared me so much. I looked at the last picture I had drawn. Once again, it had changed. This time, it showed the wizard in a garden setting. Even as I watched, it shifted and blurred. The figure in the drawing turned towards me.
I heard Matthew mutter something, and was amazed. I couldn't understand his mutter. I glanced at him, and his eyes were riveted to the sketch as it moved. Then the figure was facing me, silently.
I could still feel that connection. It was not gone at all. I told this to Matthew who just grunted and nodded. He was still watching the drawing that, once again, had come to life.
"I had almost given up hope that you would return. I feel badly that I have frightened you when last you visited me. I had not realized the newness of your magic. I am sorry for having yelled at you," the sketch told me.
I looked towards Matthew. He was looking totally neutral.
"Did you hear that? He apologized for scaring me during our last conversation," I explained to Matthew.
"No. I heard nothing. I think his conversation was specifically directed to you. Ask him if he can include me," Matt said.
I did as Matt had asked, and shortly a connection was established with Matthew, also. He indicated that he, too, could now hear the Wizard.
"You must be cautious as to how you use your magic, here. Unless you have very good control, the unexpected often happens with those who try to use magic. Remember that magic is totally literal, here. What you exactly ask for, is exactly what you will get," the Wizard in the sketch was saying.
"Well, I have never experienced 'magic', as you call it, before. Contacting you, a couple days ago, was a first for me," I responded.
Matthew, the Wizard and I, all talked for about an hour. 'The Wizard' had a 'public use' name. It was Garretti, and that is what we called him.
We talked for a long while, the three of us. We learned a lot about what Garretti and his kind believed, and about the magic that they used. It started getting dark in the kitchen. Matt had me turn the lights on. Garretti did not comment on the lights. Apparently, artificial light was common in his world.
Finally, after another hour, Garretti said he had things he had to do. He said he needed to prepare for a trip to King's City. He said that while it was good to speak with us, he had to go and make ready.
"Yes. Our boy, here, has to be about making supper for the two of us. It was an honor to meet and talk with you," Matthew boomed out gently.
I echoed this.
Then, for the first time that I had ever noticed, the picture froze. Something seemed to SHIFT out of it, and it became totally inanimate. I looked at it carefully, and wondered how that had happened.
"Well! I would say that you are playing with a full deck after all, my boy. Interesting ability you have. I think we should talk a little about it. But, let's save that conversation for after supper, shall we? I'm in the mood for pasta. Don't forget to make some garlic bread," he said loudly as he got up.
Retrieving his crutches, he hobbled out of the kitchen.
I stared after his retreating form, and started laughing. I guessed I was elected to make supper. I got up and snooped through cabinets and the counters that were in the kitchen, as well as a big walk in pantry. I soon had a pot of water on to boil, with egg noodles cooking in it. A large skillet had hamburger meat browning. When it was cooked, I added a large can of 'ready to eat' Cream of Mushroom soup to it.
I found a loaf of bread, sort of like 'sub sandwich' bread. I buttered it and added garlic. I toasted that in the oven until it was a golden brown. It was a quick meal, and was not hard to prepare.
Matthew had hobbled back in, just before I was done. He said we would eat in the kitchen. As there was just the two of us, there was no sense in opening up the dining room.
I nodded and found plates and silverware. I laid out two places. I lifted the pan, in which I had mixed the pasta and sauce, and served us. I placed the homemade garlic bread on the table between us, and we were set.
"What spices did you use?" Matt asked me.
"None, really. I wasn't sure as to what you liked, so didn't add anything," I answered.
"Boy, you have a boring meal, here. You need to add spices to give it body and life," he said in that huge voice I was slowly getting used to.
I sat my fork down, and looked at him.
"Why do you keep calling me 'boy'? I'm a grown man in my twenties. I have been on my own, since I turned eighteen," I said in exasperation.
"Boy... Frank... I'm sorry you feel I am talking down to you. To me, you're a boy. I am in my late seventies. I'll be eighty soon, and everyone who is thirty or forty years younger than I am, seems to be a boy or girl, to me. No offense is intended, you know. It's all a matter of perspective," he boomed, and chuckled.
I nodded. I could easily understand that. Almost eighty? Damn! He seemed a lot younger than that to me. He still had a full head of hair (though it was white), and didn't wear glasses. He was a towering presence at six foot six. There was hardly a line on his face. Even with his broken leg, he seemed to be as permanent as the mountains where he had built his home.
Damn! He had aged well!
"Listen," Matthew boomed, "I think we should get started on a little experimenting. Soon as you finish the dishes, get all your drawing stuff together. We'll see if we can find exactly what you can do with this 'magic' you seem to have. We will get a start on it, anyway."
Having said that, he got up and hobbled out of the kitchen.
"Ok. This 'telling me what to do' is getting a little old, now."
I was a bit annoyed as I went to take care of the dishes, though actually, I really liked the old coot.
Edited by TeNderLoin