The Eye: The Messenger Series, #4

By C Amon Trant

Who should Toby believe?

His eyes and ears, or his parents and doctor?

Then someone stuck a slip of paper to the kitchen wall and did a lousy job painting over it. He peels away some paint, finds his name and,

                  Memories lost, and prizes found.

                 A favored seat, our secret ground.

                   Western start, eastern found.

                The Number 12, indeed, profound.

Why is that his handwriting?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C Amon Trant
• Release date: Dec 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201169008

C Amon Trant

C. Amon Trant is a retired physician, son, brother, husband, and -as his granddaughter so eloquently puts it- "GaGa." 

Book preview

Part One

1

The air was wrong.

Toby tried to breathe, but something blocked his throat.

Hold still, said a female voice.

Blind and thrashing, he tried to claw away the blockage, but something bound his hands.

Something heavy lay heavy on his chest.

Pull it, said a male voice.

Pain erupted in his throat.

He gagged, and the pain grew worse. He tried to inhale, but his throat swelled shut.

The coughing and barking were horrible, but when he sucked in harder, sweet air filled his starving lungs.

Each succeeding breath grew easier, but he still couldn’t talk, move, or see.

Keep the racemic epi nearby, said the male voice.

Odd beeping, buzzing noises bounced all around him. Vapors and aromas assaulted his nose.

Something pulled the tiny hairs on the side of his head.

Please hold still, said the female.

He tried to fight them off.

Hold still, sweetie, Mom said.

Mom? He sounded like a frog.

Oh, thank God. Her voice cracked.

Mom! He tried to sit up again, but something heavy pushed him down.

Easy, son, Dad said. Lay back.

Something yanked his eyebrows, and a blinding white light made him blink.

He saw colors, then shapes, and finally found a familiar face.

Tears streamed down Mom’s face.

Dad wore his ‘Dad being strong’ mask.

Both looked exhausted.

A nurse walked past his bed. Sunlight streamed in through some windows to his left. Several people in scrubs crossed the room like some random dance.

Something started beeping off to his right, and the young nurse silenced the offending noise with a touch.

Toby looked from his mom to Dad and back.

Where am I?

In the hospital, Mom said.

Where?

She looked confused. In - Florence?

What... What happened?

You don’t remember the accident?

He shook his head.

You and Chase were driving to the store, Dad said. Someone ran the stoplight at Five-Points.

The information seemed to seep slowly into his mind, and almost as an afterthought; he said, Wait. Chase... He okay?

Banged up, but he’s fine now.

Toby looked around. Where is he?

Mom touched his arm. He wanted to stay, but he had to get back to school.

Toby looked down and saw his bandage on his right leg below the knee. He looked at Dad.

Broken leg. They had to put in a rod.

The words didn’t register, so he just nodded. When did I get back?

From... the operating room?

No... He almost blurted out Dúnbarnaugh.

He looked around again.

From where? Dad said.

No one was close enough to overhear them, but he kept quiet. He tried to point toward the Amulet around his neck but noticed his hands tied to the bedrails.

He looked at his parents.

You kept trying to pull out the breathing tube, Mom said.

The nurse untied the straps, and he slipped his strangely thin arms free of the leather straps.

He put his hand on his chest.

His gaze darted from one parent to the other. Only then did he notice the absence of the Call.

Where’s is it?

What? Mom said.

"What do you mean what? He waited for the nurse to get out of earshot and whispered, The Prime."

They looked at each other.

The Prime what? Dad said.

Stop playing.

Mom looked at Dad, and her voice cracked. Is he okay?

What’s wrong? said the nurse as she came back to the bed space.

He’s asking for something called the Prime.

Mom!

Prime what? the nurse said.

Toby looked at the nurse and said, Sorry. It’s okay.

No worries. They heavily sedated you for a long time.

How long?

The nurse went back to checking pumps and entering data.

Toby looked at these strangers, who looked and sounded just like his parents.

What’s wrong with you guys?

Toby, we’re fine, Dad said.

No one spoke.

You had us so scared, Mom said.

How long have I been in here?

Almost two weeks.

What?

You were in a coma.

Mom put her hand on his pale, thin arm and said, You’re just a little confused. It’s okay.

Seriously, where is it?

Where is what?

"The Prime?"

His parents shared a look, and Mom’s eyes welled up.

Why don’t you describe it? Dad said.

What are they doing? Toby’s gaze jumped from one parent to the other. His mind was blank, but he remembered his proof.

He pulled down his gown and pointed to the Triskelion, the Mark of the Messenger.

What about this? Toby said.

What about it? Mom said.

You don’t remember?

Of course we do.

Finally. Where is it?

His parents shared a look.

Stop doing that.

We’re trying to understand, Dad said.

Toby again pointed at the circular scar.

What about it? Mom said.

How did I get this?

You fell, Dad said.

No.

She nodded. In Kindergarten.

No, I didn’t.

Toby, it’s okay, Dad said. You’ve been through a lot. He reached over and put his hand on Toby’s arm.

Yanking his arm away, Toby looked at Mom and said, How did I get this?

We were living in Kentucky.

Wilmore or Earlington?

Wilmore. You were playing on some old monkey bars when a support snapped. You fell and landed on the metal stump.

He tried leaning closer and whispered, Why are you doing this?

Doing what?

The nurse cleared her throat. Sorry, but I need to change his bandages, said the nurse to his parents. I’ll call when I’m done.

2

He had to calm down . If they insisted on playing dumb, there was a reason; they would tell him everything when they could.

But why were they hiding from the Prime? When things got this bad, they left-

Oh.

They couldn’t run.

After a supper of Jell-O, broth, and tea, a technician wheeled in a machine with several cables and dozens of wires.

I’m here to do your EEG, she said.

He followed her directions and held still.

The tech spent an eternity gluing the 22 metal electrodes to his head and positioned a camera at the end of his bed.

When she finished, she said, Sleep well.

Really? he deadpanned.

Between the concert of monitors, the chorus of people, that hospital smell, the constant light, and the new glued-on decorations, he didn’t expect to find comfortable, much less sleepy.

The following day, a different tech spent at least twenty minutes removing those same electrodes, along with too much of his hair.

After rounds, the doctor transferred him to a regular room out on the floor, and for the first time, they let him sit in a chair, with his broken leg propped, next to a window.

He looked southward over the flat countryside of eastern South Carolina. He could see part of the airport off to the left and a sliver of the small downtown area to his right. The trees were all deep green, but the grass showed the usual patches of late-summer brown.

He heard a knock on the door.

Can I come in? Raymond said.

Toby sat taller and said, Hey.

Raymond, the Tester of Dúnbarnaugh, looked older - must be the coat and tie.

May I sit down?

Toby pointed toward a chair.

I hear you’re feeling better.

I guess. Toby held his gaze and waited for Raymond to explain.

Leg hurt?

Not too much.

Raymond glanced up at the bandage. Headaches?

Getting better.

Raymond nodded.

They sat there in silence.

You need anything?

Toby held his gaze; shook his head.

Okay. Well... He stood up. I guess I’ll be heading back.

To where?

Conway.

That right. Toby watched Raymond’s body language but found nothing but Raymond’s confusion.

Why wouldn’t it be?

Toby narrowed his gaze, leaned closer, and said, How’s Teacher doing?

Which teacher?

They still couldn’t talk.

Toby silently mouthed, I understand.

What?

I understand, he whispered.

Understand what?

You don’t want to talk.

He sat back down. About what?

About — you know.

I don’t understand.

Teacher?

Which one?

Your Dad.

Raymond blinked. He does not teach school. What about my dad?

He doing okay?

Um, yeah. Why?

Just curious.

You’ve never met my father.

Except he trained under Teacher for months. Was the room bugged?

Why are you asking?

Why are you here?

Raymond just looked at Toby for a long second, his forehead furrowed. Your Dad asked me to check on you.

You drove from Conway to check on me?

No... Oh. Your Mom said those drugs did a number on you. Your dad and I work at the same company, right? We planned and installed the HVAC system for a factory going up near Conway. We ran into some snags, and your dad had to stay down there to get the team back on schedule. I had to come back to the primary office, so he asked me to stop by.

Toby nodded. Does the word ‘Tester’ mean anything to you?

Depends. What are you testing?

Never mind.

3

Toby went to physical therapy the next day, but they still wouldn’t let him bear any weight on the leg. The therapist, who must have been a Marine Corps drill instructor in another life, made him climb out of the wheelchair and walk with his crutches.

His arms looked so thin. He nearly fell just from the weakness.

After lunch, the drill sergeant had him back in therapy. By the end of the second session, he could hobble ten feet before getting winded.

The doctor declared him ready to go home the following day, with several weeks of physical therapy and multiple follow-up visits with ortho and neurology. They wheeled him to the front door, and Dad pulled up in their car.

The clock said 9:00 am; the thermometer said 96F.

They helped Toby slip into the back and positioned his leg on the hot vinyl seat.

As they drove into traffic, Toby took in the sights of Irby Street, but his mind raced with questions.

His parents weren’t talking. Was the car bugged?

You comfortable? Mom said.

Yeah.

You’re quiet. Hurting?

No.

What’s wrong, sweetie? she said in her faintly accented contralto.

Nothing.

As they left the downtown area, they turned down a street Toby didn’t know. Where are we going?

We need to stop by the church, Dad said.

What?

The Peoples family had always avoided that kind of contact: you have to lie when people get too close, it’s easy to forget which lie you told to who, and it’s easier to leave when you don’t have to say goodbye.

He’s been a tremendous help to us during these hard days, Mom said.

He? Toby waited for more information, but Mom said nothing.

Who are we going to see?

Who... She seemed to catch herself. "Brother Janus?

Toby waited for more details, but she said nothing else.

Dad turned a corner and drove into a dirt parking lot. The building was smaller than a warehouse, larger than a storage shed, and was not a church in its first life.

Do you remember? Mom said.

He shook his head. Sorry.

That’s okay. We’ve had wonderful times here. It’ll all come back.

Toby climbed out of the car, navigated the gravel, and hobbled up the ramp.

The single room had about fifty empty folding chairs in neat rows on the gray concrete floor, facing a pulpit and baptismal font.

Sister Jennifer, Brother Jackson, said someone from the kitchen area to the right. His accent sounded English, but with long, round R’s came from Cornwall. His clothes and sparse beard gave a college student vibe, but his crow’s feet suggested closer to 40.

He hugged Mom and shook Dad’s hand.

He turned and said, Brother Tobias, you had us all so worried. He gave Toby a bear hug that lasted exactly long enough. His cologne, a mossy, woody scent, reminded Toby of incense.

Brother Janus grabbed one of the folding chairs. Sit down before that leg throbs.

And as if on cue, it did.

4

The next day began like most before his parents told him about Dúnbarnaugh and Amulets. He woke up to the sound of cicadas enjoying the temporary cool.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, letting the tonal mixture enclose him in a cocoon of sound. He hoped other thoughts would stay away for a little while.

He threw on a pair of baggy shorts and a black tee shirt later.

His arms shook as he approached the stairs. Placing the crutches down first, then his good leg, he descended with the speed of a soap bubble.

By the third step, he was getting good, and by the fifth step, he was fantastic - until he slipped.

His bad leg landed hard. He expected agony, but the pain was merely severe.

As the discomfort eased, he continued down at his original pace.

How’s the leg? Mom said as he lowered himself into a chair.

Not too bad, which was true enough, this second.

You want something for the pain?

He wanted to say yes, but the drugs made him constipated. Not right now, thanks.

He poured some standard corn flakes into a typical bowl and poured a volume of ordinary milk.

Mom was shucking corn for canning.

And when Mom does perfectly normal Mom things, speaking with her South Carolina accent, something was scary wrong.

Was this place bugged, too?

He ate in silence, hoping to glean more information, but then remembered: he’s supposed to have amnesia. He could ask anything, even his name, and they’d answer.

Mom, where is Chase?

Her hand came to her mouth, and then a look of realization crossed her eyes. Do you remember him going to Francis Marion?

He nodded.

Do you remember him transferring to The College of Charleston?

He shook his head.

A summer session started a week ago, and he didn’t want to leave while you were still unconscious, but the doctors said it could be weeks. Her voice broke.

After a moment, No one knew anything for the longest time. Then she smiled. And then you came back to us. I called Chase right after you woke up. He is so relieved.

Why?

He blames himself.

Was it his fault?

No. The other guy ran a red light.

Toby took another bite of cereal and, after swallowing, said, The other driver hurt?

I hope so.

Why?

Her eyes narrowed. He ran the red light, critically injured you, and then drove off. She mumbled something under her breath and took out her anger on an ear of corn.

How long was I out?

Two weeks.

And where did we live before here?

She stopped. You don’t remember?

He did, but he was testing her.

What do you remember? she said.

Maryville.

That’s right.

And we lived in Chicago when I was very young, right?

She nodded.

They can talk about some things. Where was I born?

You don’t remember?

I’m not sure.

You’re not sure?

He shrugged one shoulder as he