The Energy

By Matthew Rasmusson

The epic tale of Milo Ives - a 17 year old boy.
Marred by a grave accident at a young age, Milo learns he has obtained supernatural powers over the elements of Fire and Ice; he also learns his fate is to act as a mediating force between the Gods who gave him his powers and the mortals of Earth, or face the unspeakable wrath of the Gods' purge.
Set in modern day, "The Energy" takes place all around popular locations in the United States, such as San Diego, Las Vegas, and Miami; But no matter where Milo goes, he will always have enemies to face, family to help, and a world to save.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483549460

Book preview

FORTY-FOUR

PROLOGUE

Milo struggled to focus in the haze as he pushed his shoulders off the floor, barely about to see as he struggled to sit up. Looking around in confusion, he took a few deep breaths, before asking drowsily, Why is everything gray?

Nothing responded. As Milo felt his vision sharpen, he searched for someone to talk to. Where am I?

Still silence. Walls began to materialize out of the smoky nothingness. As Milo focused on his immediate surroundings, he soon became familiar with his location.

I recognize this place.

Look, a deep familiar voice responded.

Milo had heard this voice in his dreams before, looking up, Milo spied a sign on the wall that read ICU.

I’m in a hospital? There was no answer. ICU?

Some muffled shouting broke the silence.

How did this happen? a different voice demanded.

It was an accident! I swear! a familiar voice replied.

What are these voices? Where are they coming from? Milo asked as he realized he was sitting in a long hallway, dim fluorescent lights flickering and reflecting off of the windows that lined the hall. Milo stood and tried to peer outside, but there was nothing but a clouding, swirling darkness. A loud crash caught Milo’s attention at the far end of the hall, where a set of swinging doors opened. A baby lay wailing on an examination table while a man wearing a white coat and surgical mask examined its limbs. Milo figured this man was a doctor. The baby appeared to be in shock, its arm and leg marred and bloody. The doctor struggled to wrap bandages around the flailing infant as two large security officers armed with pistols stood nearby, holding back a man dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. His hair was long and messy, his face wrinkled and twisted in anger, his eyes red and sagging from what looked to be a mix of disconsolation and insomnia.

No! You can’t take him away! Not after all of my work! the restrained man screamed wildly, tears flowing freely down his face.

Get him out of here! the doctor commanded.

What is this? Milo cried, though no one responded.

As the guards were about to escort the man away, the baby’s wailing escalated to a piercing level. The doctor doubled over in pain before collapsing over an instrument tray. The baby’s wails forced everyone to the ground before they ceased, and a still silence emanated.

How? Milo asked in a frightened whisper.

The baby shook slightly in its unconsciousness, surrounded by collapsed men: the long-haired man, who continued to scream bloody murder, the two security guards, now dazed and lying on top of the man they were restraining, and the doctor, who lay with his teeth clenched and his hands clasped over his ears, which were now dripping blood down his cheeks.

Who is this? Milo shouted, with no reply once again.

The baby suddenly began to rise, suspended eight feet above the ground. The doctor retreated to the company of the security guards and their captive. As the trio struggled to rise to their feet, they looked up in horror at the floating baby.

Is this? Milo asked breathlessly.

Here it is! Seal it off! ordered a voice from behind Milo.

Milo spun around to see a man dressed in black tactical gear waving at the other end of the hall, shortly after, a half-dozen men came storming around the corner, rushing toward the double doors. Milo quickly jumped out of the way, frightened of being trampled, but as the gun-toting men passed by him without a glance, Milo tried calling after them, Wait! What’s going on here?

No! You get away from my baby! the long-haired man yelled at the intruders.

The men stood strategically around the room, aiming their guns down nearby hallways, covering the exits, helping the doctor and guards to safety, and pinning the father to the floor.

Don’t you touch him! the father shouted, spit flying from his mouth as if he were a wild animal.

A white outline descended from the ceiling. A head, arms, and what looked like wings could be made out behind the operating lights.

What is that? an armed man shouted in disbelief.

Take it down! the command rang out.

Milo looked on in fright, every fiber of his being was shouting to run, but he stood frozen.

The white figure extended its arms, and a blinding light shone out from the baby. Milo heard excruciating screams between gunshots as the light travelled up the hall toward him. Milo screamed himself as the white-hot light engulfed him. Everything went white. As Milo tried to look around, everything vanished. His breathing became more erratic. The only thing he could hear was a distant beeping as everything faded to black, the beeping growing louder and louder.

You’ve slept long enough, that strange voice said, fading away.

Who are you? was all Milo could ask.

A loud screech jarred Milo awake.

CHAPTER ONE

Milo sat up in bed and panted for a few moments as his alarm ruthlessly assaulted his eardrums. Another night, another crazy, senseless dream: it was the third dream like that he’d had in a week.

Stupid alarm. It’s going to drive me crazy, Milo hissed as he rolled out from his covers to halt the high-pitched and deathly screech.

With a shallow sigh, Milo rose from the bed, stretching his tired, achy muscles. It was seven in the morning, time to grab the clothes he had laid out, run for the shower, get dressed, and stress about the school day that was greatly overshadowing his birthday.

Milo strolled out and walked the short distance down the hall to the bathroom. After shutting the door behind him, Milo quickly stripped off his underwear, plopping them next to the clothes he set in front of the door. Spinning around, he reached into the shower and turned the knobs to get the water flowing, then retreated to the sink while the shower warmed up. Looking up, Milo inspected himself in the mirror, running a hand through his messy, thick brown hair. He turned his chin to the side, marveling at his peach fuzz and scowling at the acne that lightly peppered his jawline. He leaned in to inspect his eyes—still the light shade of hazel he had inherited from his dad—and grimaced at the dark rings that hung under his eyelids.

I’ll catch up on sleep when summer vacation starts.

Milo sighed as he stood up straight, examining his slender torso, his skin lightly tanned, and realized he couldn’t even see the top of his head in the round mirror.

At this rate, I’ll be seven feet tall by my twenties.

Milo leaned on the sink and took a good look at himself,

Seventeen … last year of being a kid, Milo said.

Milo noticed the edges of the mirror were becoming foggy; the shower was certainly warm enough by now. Milo reached into the medicine cabinet to his left and retrieved his toothbrush and then his toothpaste from a cabinet below the sink. He prepped his brush and quickly stepped into the shower. Milo brushed his teeth as hot water streamed down his chest and dripped down his long legs. Milo let his sight adjust to the dim light coming through the thick shower doors, the smooth wall tiles glistening with beading droplets and steam, the smooth porcelain hugging the soles of Milo’s feet.

I wonder what kind of presents I’ll get today. I hope there’s ice cream cake. I wish it wasn’t Monday. Oh well, at least I’m getting to go up to Disneyland on Saturday. Hopefully I won’t get a lot of homework.

As the water sluiced the oil from Milo’s hair, he scratched his itchy, dandruff-ridden scalp. He sighed deeply as the water alleviated his stiff muscles.

Maybe Dad will finally get me a new bed like I’ve been asking for. Oh please, be my present this year.

Realizing how much time he was wasting, Milo stretched to turn off the relaxing stream. He dried off, put on deodorant, dressed himself, pulled a comb through his thick hair, and stood ready to venture out into the cold hallway.

As Milo left the room, however, his left ankle and hand began throbbing vigorously, spurring a piercing pain throughout his leg and arm. The pain shot up through his body, paralyzing him and spiking his blood pressure. Falling like a stone, Milo managed to yelp, Dad! before he collapsed, blacked out, and started seizing.

A nearby door opened, and Milo’s father stepped out of his bedroom. He was wearing an old bathrobe that was missing a lot of the lining and had numerous burn holes from both fires and volatile chemicals. The deep gray robe mostly emphasized the graying hair on the scientist’s head and face. He rubbed his eyes and combed his long hair back with his fingers before reaching for his glasses. When his blurry eyesight focused through his spectacles, he jumped back in shock.

Oh, damn it! Not again. Not again! Christie! Get the fosphenytoin! We got another episode!

A shrill voice screamed, Oh no! Where did we put it? What did he say?

Does it matter? I said to get the case. It’s in the closet as always!

No need to yell, Richard! Christie replied as she rushed into the hall. Here, she said, handing him the brown-stained, vanilla-colored case.

God, we haven’t used this in years, his father commented. Last time was—

His twelfth birthday, his mother said sullenly.

Well, happy five-year anniversary, Milo, his father mumbled as he took a syringe from the case. He poked the needle into a small vial, drawing up some of the medicine, and flicked the tube to get out the air bubbles before holding Milo down and injecting the fluid into a vein on Milo’s arm.

Meanwhile, Milo had gone into a deep, vibrant dream. He stood in the darkness.

He’s not prepared, a voice said, echoing.

Milo could not see anything. The voices continued to clamor in the darkness of his mind.

We don’t have a choice. He’s late enough as it is, another voice said.

Who’s there? Milo shouted.

Are you saying we’re running out of time? the first voice asked. When nothing responded, the voice continued, No, it can’t be.

Yes. It will happen now or never.

Who are you? Milo shouted.

Now, now, young one, we’ve yet to be introduced, but your time will soon come, the second voice echoed toward him.

Oh, God. Am I going to die? Milo screamed.

That we will have to see.

Milo’s vision went from black to white. He felt a heavy pressure on his chest, and a large gasp of air filled his lungs. As his vision focused, Milo blinked at the bright flashlight shining in his eyes.

Oh, thank God, Christie mumbled through her tears, bending down to hug Milo.

Milo looked around and saw he was outside of the bathroom, lying on the floor. Looking up, he saw his father kneeling beside him, his hand rubbing his brow.

What happened? Milo asked, breathing heavily as his mom squeezed his chest.

You had another episode, Richard said.

I thought we’d lost you, Christie sobbed.

It was that bad? Milo asked.

You were unresponsive. We were doing everything to bring you back, Richard answered.

Did you call 911? Milo asked.

Absolutely not! Richard shouted, standing and storming away.

Richard! Christie yelled after him.

"You know for a fact that I refuse to put you in the hands of those bumbling swine! I can treat you. They can call CPS all they want! You already know the story, Milo!" Richard babbled.

Milo remained silent, his face red from asking such a stupid question.

"Richard, that’s not fair! Milo didn’t know any better, and that piggy bank was worthless to you anyways!"

Richard looked at Christie with a look of pure scorn. Christie returned the look as she held Milo close to her. Richard shook his head as he continued ranting.

"It doesn’t matter. No doctors! I’m not giving those rats another opportunity to tell me that I’m negligent! You were hurt, but now you’re better, right, Milo?"

Yeah, Dad, Milo softly answered, though he honestly wasn’t sure.

Good, now, get your backpack. You’re going to school, Richard commanded, irritation heavy in his voice. He slammed the door as he walked back into his room.

Richard, Christie called after him. She gave Milo a forlorn look as she helped him to his feet. Don’t make him wait, she warned.

Looking at the time, Milo saw that he was not only late for school, but his dad was late for work. Running his hands through his hair, Milo knew his incident had landed him in trouble, and that his birthday today was bound to be anything but happy.

CHAPTER TWO

There was no one at the student drop-off when Milo arrived at the parking lot. Richard had managed to get Milo to school nearly an hour late.

Straight home after school. Don’t talk to friends. Don’t stay for clubs. You go straight home.

Great, I get to walk home? I could’ve easily driven myself, Dad.

And have you seize on the road? I don’t think so.

Yeah, because me seizing while walking is such a better alternative.

We are not arguing about this here! Now get your ass to class, or I’m grounding you.

Happy birthday to me, Milo mumbled as he climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and half-jogged onto campus.

Just as he was about to reach for the door to his math class, the bell rang, signifying the end of first period. Milo sighed, knowing he’d be marked down for his absence, and turned back toward the small quad, letting his classmates pass by him as they made their way to second period. As the eager and laughing students rapidly overtook him, a voice rang out across the quad.

Milo!

Milo looked up to see Phil running over. When he reached him, he slapped Milo on the backpack.

"¡Feliz cumpleaños! congratulated Phil. He was a goofy sixteen-year-old who had been Milo’s friend for nearly ten years. He was bigger than Milo, but not taller, smiling constantly behind wiry stubble and his dirty blond hair. Phil threw his arm over Milo’s shoulders as they strolled to their next period, Are we still going to the Disneyland on Saturday?"

Hell, no. I had another ‘event’ earlier today. I hadn’t had one of those in God knows how long, Milo replied.

Twelfth birthday, Phil said. The two began walking along the hallways of the high school, among the thin saplings, the careless litter, and the patches of chewed gum.

Thanks a lot, Milo said, rolling his eyes. And now my dad won’t let me drive his car, or even my car. Damn things like this happen, and all hell breaks loose. I had just gotten back to stitching things up since the last time, being able to drive and sleep over at other people’s houses, and this goes and blows a hole in everything.

That’s tough man. It really sucks, Phil said.

I’m the epitome of unfair treatment. Ever since the day I was born, the world’s been against me. I’ve been fighting against my chances of survival and the reign of my parents. At least you have a future.

The trees rustled slightly, catching the boys’ attentions for a split second. Don’t kid yourself, Milo, Phil said. You’ve got as much of a future as I do.

Right, what day is it?

Uh, Thursday?

No, it’s Monday. You sleeping okay, buddy? You haven’t been this delirious since last summer when you got second-degree sunburns, Milo joked.

Nah, I can’t sleep since the sun turned my arms into glowsticks.

The two shared a laugh and walked toward their next class.

You do the history homework? Milo asked.

You mean the one you forgot to tell me about?

You start that crap again, and I swear…

As the boys walked, some figures argued in the trees.

He’s obviously ready. We should initiate him now! a deep voice commanded.

No, you fool. He still believes the seizures are just random occurrences, not our signals, said a more sophisticated voice.

We should just send the message louder then.

Are you daft? Two seizures in a row could permanently scar his abilities.

We have to do something, the deep voice said. The events are falling into place sooner than we planned. If we do not act, we might end up losing him in the process.

Can’t we at least wait until he is more apt?

I’m afraid not.

Until he leaves the school.

Not even that long.

Dear Zeus! You’re going to kill our new—

Sh! You know we’re not meant to discuss that on the human front. One foul ear catches that information, and we’re sent to Hell faster than you can say ‘end of,’ well, you know.

The larger figure slipped from his perch, causing the branch to rustle. Milo and Phil stared up at the tree.

Good job, now they’re looking straight at us! the sophisticated voice cried.

Calm yourself. You know too well that mortals can’t see us directly.

Well, let’s position ourselves. You better not kill this kid, or it’s all on you.

Relax. I am completely sure of this. It will happen today.

The figures disappeared from the tree as the weather began to turn malicious.

Milo shook off an uneasy feeling.

Richard sat in an empty conference room, rubbing the bridge of his nose and inhaling deeply. His clothes felt heavy on his body, and his back ached in a deep, localized pain. His appetite soured as his mind drifted to the taste of Excedrin, and his head rush made the room start spinning.

He planted his hands on the table, rising from his seat quickly as he expelled all of the air in his lungs in a rigid sigh. Staring down, he turned his head to the phone at his right, supporting himself with the reserves of his energy. Feeling himself beginning to struggle against his frail body, he slowly reached for the call switch, hesitating above the glowing green button. Turning his head away as if he were placing his hand into a steel trap, he let his arm go limp, cynically pressing the button with the weight of his fingertips.

The machine hissed slightly, and the ringing tone began, ominously filling the room with a low murmur, then suddenly the tone was broken.

Yes, sir? answered a meek, kind woman on the line.

Patch me through immediately.

Are you certain, Doctor Ives?

Just patch me through.

Right away, Doctor.

The man sat with his hands covering his eyes. The light of the conference room had begun to induce a migraine. The time ticked sluggishly, the air was dense, and the weight rested on the doctor’s heart as he sat. The silence was broken by a deep, brooding voice with a Southern accent and an acidic tone carved into its every syllable. The sound made the doctor cringe in a pain, as if he had bitten down on a mouthful of glass.

You’re one helluva piece of work, Doctor. I thought we had a deal, me lettin’ that little brat of yours live so you’d do what I say.

Richard was rigid with futile fury.

Let’s not be rash here, Johnny, Richard managed to articulate through his clenched teeth.

First of all, and I’m not repeatin’ myself anymore, I told you to call me ‘Sir. Second, you’re twistin’ my arm with your defiance, and I’m not about to stand by and let you do it. This was our deal: You deliver me the goods, I sell the goods, and in exchange, I call off my ‘pals’ from ‘accidentally’ gettin’ in a car accident with your little kiddo on his mornin’ commute."

Come on John, Richard began, then amended, Sir. Milo had another episode earlier today, and I couldn’t avoid the traffic due to it, and I missed sending off the package. Your goods are ready. I can easily get them sent to you later today.

You’re lucky my client’s a patient man, Doc. Otherwise, we’d be havin’ a very serious conversation.

So I can get it to you later?

Yeah, lucky you. Hey, one more thing, Rich.

Ye-yes, sir?

You’re out of second chances, Sir said deeply and coldly. One more mistake, and you’ll have less to worry about in your life.

Richard couldn’t let out more than a stunted breath.

Oh, and wish Milo a happy seventeenth birthday for me. Make sure I don’t have to drop by with a surprise party for him. Sir chuckled, and then the laughing was cut off by a loud bang. The call ended, the a few clicks sounded for a minute, and there was silence once again.

Richard sat limp, eyes brimming with tears. He sat still for ten straight minutes, thinking nothing, saying nothing, not blinking. His breathing was choppy. His first movement was to remove his glasses, letting them fall from his hand onto the hard table. He met his hands with his face once again. The blood seemed to be gone from his entire head. His cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his neck, his chin: he felt detached. He felt dead as he just sat there, contemplating his next moves.

CHAPTER THREE

You sure you can’t talk with your mom or anything? Phil asked.

Oh, you know I’ll try, Milo replied, eying his cell phone before replacing it in his pocket.

Your dad was that pissed?

I had a feeling that he was only trying to revive me so he could choke me out again. Milo looked at the ground.

Jeez, man! He saved you at least!

I’m starting to think that excuse is losing its luster.

Hey, cheer up, man. You’re just upset ‘cause your dad’s a bit on edge. Talk to your mom, set things right, and we’ll be up in Anaheim come Saturday. You’ll see.

Milo sighed, forcing himself to accept Phil’s view. As he looked up, Milo caught sight of a few arguing teens. As he stopped to listen in, Phil followed suit. Before they could hear anything, one of the boys pushed the other to the ground, and a fistfight broke out. Students began flooding the large quad, surrounding the two brawlers. Milo and Phil, being two of the tallest boys at their school, looked on from a distance.

8:10. Phil peeked at his wristwatch. And the punches fly. Korshwo probably hasn’t even finished his coffee yet.

I’m calling expulsions, Milo replied.

Out of the nearby walkway came a golf cart, speeding to the scene of the incident, with a campus aide and Principal Korshwo inside. Two more aides and the campus police officer were sprinting behind them. Milo and Phil watched as they rushed into the circle, tearing bleeding teenagers off of each other and handing them over to the aides. As Korshwo shouted for everyone to return to class, the mass of students dissolved back throughout the campus.

What a bunch of idiots, Phil said, turning back toward his next class.

I wonder what it all was all about. Milo joined him.

Something trivial, at best.

How do you know?

Because what do we have to fight for? Is there anything in our lives that is that important? I doubt it.

Milo stared off down the hall, thinking.

Hey, you coming? Phil called out, a few steps ahead of Milo.

Yeah, Milo replied, as he caught up with Phil.

The two friends reached their next class and proceeded with the day as normal: chemistry, English, break, Spanish, art, and lunch.

As the lunch bell rang, Milo returned to the small quad to meet up with his friends. Remembering Phil’s words, he pulled out his cell phone.

Milo sighed deeply as he dialed his home phone number, hoping it was his mom who picked up at the other end. Milo hit the send button, and the ringing tone began.

Maybe Mom will be a bit more level-headed; I can salvage this, I couldn’t reason when I was twelve, but maybe I could sway her to let me go this weekend, maybe…

But as the sixth ring sounded and the answering machine played off its message, Milo cut the call off sharply, he had accepted that he was back at square one once again. Regaining himself, he strolled over to Phil, standing in his normal spot in the small quad.

Hey, dude, Phil said.

Hey. Where are the others?

I think they’re hanging out in the library.

Oh, I guess we could go join them then?

Sure thing, but first, you need your gift. Phil reached into his backpack.

My gift?

Yep! Here you go! Phil pulled a piece of paper from his backpack.

Milo took the paper and studied it. On one side, there was a semi-realistic drawing of Milo, riding on the back of an anthropomorphic dragon. On the back of the paper, there was a note: Happy Birthday, Milo, you silly bastard.

That’s pretty cool, man. I like the dragon, Milo said.

Anything else? What don’t you like about it?

Looking closely at the picture, Milo asked, Why did you draw me with offset eyes and a huge forehead?

Dude, realism.

Milo rolled his eyes, he chuckled at Phil’s artwork as Phil stared back at him with that goofy smile he always had. Milo threw his arm around Phil’s shoulders and led him this time.

"Let’s go meet up with the others, you crazy bastard,"

You got it, bruddah, Phil said, laughing.

That was the epitome of friendship, walking through those halls, careless and elated. There were no worries, no difficulties. Everything about that moment was unimportant and comfortable, as Milo and Phil joined up with their group of buddies in the library. Milo beamed at the coordinated Happy Birthday! his friends cried as he took a seat and smiled wide as his friends began handing over their presents to him.

Up in the rafters above the library, the same two figures loomed, observing Milo.

This is great. We should go for it! the deep voice exclaimed.

Here? In front of his friends? Are you trying to alienate him in plain sight? the sophisticated voice argued.

This will happen. You do realize that?

I don’t see why it has to happen this very moment!

The larger figure paced away, frustrated by his colleague’s bullheadedness.

Why can’t we contact him when he reaches home? Why must we be so rash with these critical messages?

Because this is ideal. We don’t know what’ll happen when we send the signal. We need witnesses to aid him.

His parents would be just as ideal as his classmates!

You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you? the deep voice threatened.

You aren’t—

You’re going to make me call her down here, aren’t you?

You wouldn’t dare! The shrill voice became defensive.

It’ll only take a minute, but I can guarantee you, if she’s brought out of a trance, you’re going through that ceiling. The larger figure pointed down at the weak ceiling panels on which the two gingerly stood.

The smaller figure seemed to bide his time.

I can be back in a minute. The larger figure turned away.

Wait! I’ll concede, but at least give me a bit of consolation.

I’m listening.

Wait at least until his last class. Then you’re free to do as you wish.

Very well. I can abide by those limits. Let’s get into position.

The two figures vanished, off to scout Milo’s classrooms.

CHAPTER FOUR

Milo sat in his sixth-period classroom. He had no real interest in history, and his teacher’s lectures seemed to be bouncing off of his forehead no matter how intently he tried to listen. Milo sat slumped forward at his desk while the mysterious figures loomed over his seat.

All right, here is the opportunity. Let’s take the chance.

Here? Now? Around all these people?

If the mortals are as foolish as Milo is, they will only believe it’s his condition acting up again.

This still does not appear to be the prime location to attempt this.

Enough talk. We begin now!

The specter waved his hands and thrust his arms directly down toward Milo.

Milo’s face began to twitch uncontrollably. Milo groped at his cheek and attempted to quell the tick. As he touched he face, Milo felt an underlying burning on his left arm. Gasping in pain, Milo gripped his left arm, gaping at his burning arm. The skin on his hand began to turn red. Thinking it was a circulation problem, Milo futilely shook his hand, but the color only deepened and turned into deep scars resembling heavy burns.

Milo next realized his ankle hurt and lifted his left pant leg, revealing the same type of scars as on his hand. Neighboring students noticed immediately and began to become uneasy. Milo’s teacher noticed next.

Do we have a problem, Milo?

Well, Ms. Shawna, Milo said through his panting. I don’t know what’s happening!

The scars began to glow a dim red, and Milo became subjected to excruciating pain. His screams of agony caused students outside to rush to the doorway, and another classmate quickly dialed 911 on his cell phone.

Milo’s pain proved too much for him. Not again, he breathed as he blacked out, crashed to the floor, and began convulsing.

The specters argued above the scene.

Now you’ve done it! This is bad. I’m going to help. The smaller figure prepared to swoop down.

No, you are not! The larger figure said, grabbing the shoulder of his companion, Give my ability a chance to get Milo acquainted, and then, if things go bad, then you can jump in. The last time one of us became visible in front of mortals, it caused witch trials.

Oh, please. That was almost three hundred years ago!

Yes, and since then, the mortals have made advancements in medicine. Just let the doctors do their job.

It was fifteen long minutes before the paramedics were able to get Milo into an ambulance and drive him away.

What’s his status? an EMT asked his partner.

Not good. His BP’s dropped after a massive rise. That caused his blackout. The seizure, I’m not sure, and check out this scaring, The paramedic motioned to Milo’s arm. I’ve never seen anything like this.

That makes two of us. He has one on his leg too.

Poor kid. It says it’s his birthday today. The paramedic referenced his school chart.

Crap luck for this kid.

High-pitched beeping sounded from the heart monitor.

He’s crashing! We need to get him to an ER now! Speed it up, Danny!

Shut the hell up and let me drive! came back from the driver’s seat.

Get his shirt off. We’re going a thousand volts.

Right off the bat? You’ll fry him, man!

We don’t have a choice. He’ll be DOA if we don’t hit him hard fast.

One paramedic excised Milo’s t-shirt, and the other rubbed the paddles of the defibrillator together, the charge growing.

"Thousand volts. Clear!"

The shock woke Milo straight away, gasping for air. Gah! Where am I? Where’s my mom?

Milo, you’re in an ambulance. You need to lie back, relax, and take deep breaths from the mask, OK? one paramedic calmly answered.

Just get my mom, Milo sighed out as the blackness overtook him a second time.

His BP’s dropped again. We can’t do that to him again. Hurry it up, Danny! the paramedic yelled.

The ambulance sped down the highway, sirens blaring. Milo lay like a corpse, his head bobbing sideways at the driver’s every move. His breathing was unbearably minimal as the air pushed its way into the mask and would not be taken. The act of breathing became too difficult for the weak boy. Milo felt himself fall into a dark, lucid state in which he could feel himself wandering aimlessly, falling into every pit, running into every wall. As Milo struggled to traverse the maze, the two figures stood, looming, ready to initiate Milo for their mysterious purpose.

In the conference room, Richard still sat, his palm covering his eyes, still conscious but not moving. The silence was broken by the ring of the intercom. The man almost jolted out of his chair. He rushed over to the speaker and pushed the green button forcefully. A woman’s authoritative voice came over the speaker.

Mr. Ives?

Yes, who is speaking? Richard asked.

This is Mrs. Madison. I’m the principal at Saint Hills High.

All right, what do you need?

It’s about Milo, she stated with a dire tone.

What? What happened?

There was an accident in his class. He’s just left with the paramedics. We’ve informed your wife, she’s on her way to meet them at the La Mesa Critical Trauma Center.

Richard’s face went blank, his eyes wide and intense.

Mr. Ives?

Johnny, Richard muttered. I swear, if you’ve hurt him, this will come to your doorstep faster than you could ever imagine.

Richard ran from the room, leaving the phone off the hook.

What? Mr. Ives? Hello? Anyone there?

CHAPTER FIVE

Milo wandered in the darkness. He was alone. He could not speak. He could not hear. He had no clue where he was, and he did not know where to go. The thought crossed his mind that he should give up.

I did not believe you to be this corruptible, a voice echoed out.

What? Milo gasped, only then realizing he could speak again.

As Milo A. Ives, the son of Richard C. Ives, the famous metaphysicist, I’d expect you to have more aspiration and drive, the voice taunted him.

Milo recognized the voice from somewhere, a man with the guttural, dictating, guiding voice, that of a familiar leader or of a grandfather.

Who are you? What do you want from me?

Who am I? That question is not important at the moment. The voice paused. But what I want from you, that you will soon find out.

What do you mean?

I mean by the method of your thought process that quitting was one of your options highly troubles me, Milo. I know things that you have yet to come across. I’ve experienced the events you’ve yet to experience numerous times, and I can tell you now that quitting, from here on out, will never be an option for you. If there ever comes a time where you’ll willingly lay down and die like a coward, well … Let’s say that more than you will be lost.

I don’t understand. How do you know so much about me? How do you know my destiny?

Destiny? The voice chuckled. If there is such a thing, let me give you your taste of ‘destiny,’ mortal. The voice vibrated in a low laughter as it faded.

What did he mean by that?

"This!" a voice rang in his head.

Milo’s eyes widened as he looked around, but there was nothing. Then he saw it, a small glimmer of light in the distance. As he looked toward it, it appeared to be growing, approaching him. When the light moved near enough, a blinding glare escaped the large opening it had formed. Covering his eyes, he walked toward the opening, now growing brighter with each step. Milo saw through his fingers that a doorway had formed inside the light. When he had gotten close enough, the light immersed him. At first feeling red hot, Milo clamped his eyes shut, but then he felt the cool of a heavy breeze lapping up against his arms and face.

Opening his eyes, Milo stood awestruck. He stood on orange sherbet-colored clouds, the sun shining at sundown with planets orbiting above him. Rearing up, he saw it: the utopia. The high, vertical, gilded stone gates accompanied by walls of shiny marble and domed towers stood out against the burning orange orb of the sun. The white marble pillars and windowsills featured an antique shade of gray, while the marble adorning the front gate sat dressed in vibrant robes of dark green vines and jewelry of gold trim. The outstanding feature, however, was the temple that towered above the city, its countless steps beckoning those to come and honor the summit and the secrets nestled within.

A nice way to end up, don’t you think? the man’s voice said.

Milo felt a presence behind him and wheeled around to see a man wearing a white robe with gold lining the sleeves, hem, and collar. He was as tall as Milo but much bulkier. He had black, slightly graying hair and a black beard, all neatly groomed. On his fingers were large rings with large, matched stones. The man’s face had the look of experience, flawless in definition except for a slashing scar running along his left cheek that contrasted with his haughty grin. He appeared to be the nurturing, grandfatherly type. His words made Milo relax.

This is what awaits you, Milo.

Wait, if this is Heaven… Milo grew sullen. Oh no. I’m dead. There’s so much I haven’t done!

The man began to chuckle loudly. Heaven? You’re not even close.

So, wait. What is this?

This, my boy, is the location where the gods meet on official business. This is Priso.

Priso, Milo repeated. Wait, ‘gods’?

The man chuckled again. Yes, gods, and I’m one of them. You may call me Brutus.

Right, Brutus. Why am I here?

Brutus looked down sullenly. Milo, from the time you turned a year old, your fate has not been at your discretion.

What do you mean?

I mean that, since the accident, the gods have taken an interest in you, seeing as your birth and the accident occurred upon the nearing of the intermortal trails, an event that only occurs every millennium.

What kind of interest?

I was getting to that, Brutus said coldly. The gods desire you to be our path to the mortals on your planet.

So, I am the middleman here?

Basically, yes.

But I don’t understand. I don’t remember an accident that would bring this on me! The only thing that happened to me when I was one was when I dropped a piggy bank on my foot.

Brutus seemed startled at this. Oh, Milo, you’ve a lot to be informed of and nowhere near as much time required. Let your mind go blank, Milo, and I will return you to that day.

Milo was doubtful, but he succumbed to his instinct and deemed Brutus as trustworthy. Milo’s mind went blank, and he felt himself slip back into darkness. When he could see again, he was in a dark room, lying on a bed. Looking at the clock, he saw it was 6:45.

It must have all been a dream, Milo thought, but upon closely inspecting himself, he found he was fully clothed. Suddenly, the door opened. Milo took cover behind the bed and realized he was in his parents’ room.

"No one can see you," Brutus said.

Relieved, Milo stood up and looked toward the door where light was shining in. Milo realized that the atmosphere was completely black and white, like on an old television set. A small child stumbled in, while a strangely familiar voice could be heard yelling excitedly outside the room. The child wandered toward the cabinets on the left side of the bed.

So, if this is the past, this must my parent’s room, and those must be where the piggy banks were.

Milo neared the child as his young doppelganger attempted to reach for the cabinet doors.

This is where I drop the bank on myself like my parents told me. I knew what I was talking about.

This thought was immediately replaced with surprise as Milo saw the cylinder appear from behind the door of the cabinet.

Wait, that isn’t a piggy bank. What the hell is that?

The cylinder toppled from the cabinet and shattered on the ground. A bright white liquid escaped from the cracks in the container and spilled onto the child’s leg. Milo stood in shocked silence, staring down over the scene. As the child wailed out in agony, flailing on the ground, his hand came into contact with the liquid, burning