The Wanderer

By Todd LeRoux

Michael was known as the boy waiting to die in his hometown. No one ever said this to him, but everyone knew about his brain tumor, and they waited for the sad day to come. What no one, including Michael, knew was when he was injured in the car accident that killed his parents, the tumor changed to save his life. Now the tumor is changing again...one night, Michael learns how the tumor takes Micael's mind from his bed to a house where a killer is stalking a family. Michael is ripped from the nightmare of seeing a family killed by a madman. His grandparents race to his room when they hear their grandson screaming in the middle of the night. Weeks later, after another nightmare, Michael is taken to his Doctor. It was during this visit Michael and his grandparents learned the tumor had changed that it was now invading deeper regions of Michael's brain with thin tendrils. On the way home, Michael sees a road sign from his dreams. Wanting to show his grandson that it was just a bad dream, Michael's grandfather turns onto the road and drives to a farm. It was this one act of a loving grandfather that started a life of running from a mad cabal of billionaires who believe they have the right to rule over the world's people.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Todd LeRoux
• Release date: Feb 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781738317516

Todd LeRoux

Todd lives on the banks of the Miramichi river. After years of working away, he now enjoys his time at home with family and friends.

Book preview

The Wanderer

By

Todd LeRoux

I stood outside the house and watched the sun gently set behind the barn, its orange light hiding the dull paint of the old barn. I walked to the front door of the house. A home that once was filled with laughter, a home of love and dreams. Standing at the front door of this house, I looked back to the barn. Reaching around, I opened the door and stood with my back to the entrance. The heavy coppery scent of blood rushed out of the entrance surrounding me, and the smell soured my stomach. A shiver ran through my body. Once again, I was plagued by a vision. This wasn't the first time I had seen this family torn apart in my mind's eye. However, this was the first time I could smell the blood. The first time I could watch as the large puddles of blood seeped into the cracks of the hardwood floor. No one should have to see a family brutally hacked to death in their own home; no one should die the way this young family was going to. It wasn't like I could always see the deaths of others. Long before I started having visions, I remember my mother crying at a doctor's office, and my father sadly smiled at me. I could see unshed tears in his eyes. That day in the doctor's office is one of the strongest memories I have of my father. It is one of my only memory of that day, the last day my parents were alive.

I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and it was deep. The doctors told my Mom and Dad it was inoperable, and a nurse led me out of the office so the grown-ups could speak. My father asked what could be done to help me. I sat beside the door listening to the doctor as he told my parents to enjoy the time I had left. The doctor told them it would be fast when I started to go downhill.

My Dad asked, Will our son suffer?

There was a pause in the conversation then the doctor told my mother and father I wouldn't suffer. It will happen fast. I hate this part of my job. When it's time, Michel will have a seizure, then it will be over.

I remember the ride home that day; I remember the pickup truck as it ran the red light and hit my parent's car. I don't recall much from the accident. My next memory was being in the hospital. I remember hearing people saying what a shame I had a tumor. On the day we found out my young life was going to be cut short, some drunk hit my father's car. The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital as the nurses spoke of my parents. Laying in the hospital, I remember my Grandmother running down the hall. I could hear her crying as the doctor told her my mother, her daughter and only child, and her son-in-law hadn't survived the accident. I felt terrible for my grandparents. They also found out their grandson was dying the day they lost their daughter.

Something happened in the crash, and I was destined to die young. When the drunk driver hit my father's car, I was thrown across the back seat. My head hit the heavy door trim of the station wagon. My grandfather was a retired army colonel, a man who, even at my young age, I loved and respected with my whole heart. The doctor explained what to expect as my tumor grew. My grandfather stood stoically as unshed tears flooded his blue eyes. My grandfather held my Grandmother as she wept for her daughter and grieved for me.

Chapter 2

The day I left the hospital was an odd day. The doctors ran a final batch of tests. They thought by the time I could travel home with my grandparents, I would already be showing signs of the tumor. The fact I was normal, as they say, shocked them, so I was forced to suffer more of their poking and prodding. When I finally had enough of their needles, x-rays, and consultations, I threw a fit. My grandfather stood up. He walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

We are done here. He told the doctor.

We have more tests we want to run. The doctor answered as he stood.

My grandson and my wife have had enough of your guesswork. If you can't find out what is happening with my grandson by now, you have failed. When my grandfather finished speaking, he opened the door for my Grandmother and me. We left that day. I never saw those doctors again. Twice a year, I had to go to another set of doctors, and they would ask me some questions. Then I would have an MRI, and the doctor would let me sit in his office as I got older.

Well, like the last time, the tumor is still there and dormant. My doctor said.

Is there any chance of getting it out? I asked once.

Mike, if we were to operate, you would be left on life support for what would be a very short life. The tumor is located at the junction of three parts of your brain. It links the cerebral cortex, the parietal lobe, and the occipital lobe. What concerns me most is how it has linked itself to the pineal gland. So if we were to try and remove your tumor, we would be damaging too much of your brain. The doctor told me. I looked at my grandparents, then smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

I feel okay, I am getting high grades, and I have a great life; I think I'll just live with it, I said as my Grandmother hugged me. That night I had my first nightmare. I was thirteenth the night I woke up screaming, covered in sweat. I will never forget the nightmare. I stood in the corner of a living room of a house I'd never been in. A woman and man sat in matching armchairs enjoying a game show on television. Upstairs, a young boy slept in his bed. A night light in the room gave off a warm glow. From my point of view, it was like I turned and stared as a gloved hand pushed open the hallway window. I watched helplessly to call out a warning or to even move. I was forced to watch as a figure dressed in black walked down the house's stairs. I followed the black-clad man as he silently walked down the stairs. He stood watching the couple, then, as the game show ended, he moved. His first target was the husband. Watching as the killer used the blunt side of an ax to smash the husband's head in, I was shocked. As the wife and mother of the boy in bed started to scream, the killer turned the ax on her. The bladed side of the ax caught the young boy's mother just under her nose, decapitating the woman mid-face. I watched as the killer lay both his victims on the floor. He placed them so they held hands. Then I watched forced to watch as he walked up the stairs to get the little boy. Fearing the boy would die like his parents, I tried to look away. Some force held me. I had no choice but to witness the killer reach the child and break the boy's neck. At the sound of the boy dying, I came screaming out of my bed. Before I realized it, I was standing in the middle of my room, sweat rolling off my face and chest. My grandfather rushed in to find me shaking, drenched, and babbling about the family I had seen killed. My grandparents loved me; they worried about me and the tumor. They feared this nightmare was the tumor starting to grow again.

No, I don't think it's the tumor; I feel fine, no headaches, no vomiting, nothing like that. It was the dream. It was so real I could even smell the aftershave the killer had on. It was real cheap smelling stuff like your Sargent used to wear. I told my grandfather.

That was pretty strong stuff. It was just a dream; try and get back to sleep. If you have another, I'll call the doctor, and we'll have to do some tests just to be sure. As my grandfather stood to leave, my Grandmother came with a glass of warm milk.

Here, drink this and try to get some sleep. She said as I took the glass. I still remember the smell of the glass of warm milk and the smile my Grandmother would give me when she was worried. I saw that smile too many times as I grew up. I never realized how much of a burden my tumor was for her and my grandfather. I didn't have another nightmare for about two weeks, then I had the same one on a Saturday night. Like the first time, I came screaming out of my nightmare. Unlike the first time I had this nightmare, the killer turned and looked right at me. It was like the killer could see me, as well as I could see him.

That's it, Mike; we are taking you to see the doctor. My Grandmother ordered.

Yes, ma'am. That was all I could say in return. Sitting in the doctor's office, I came to know all too well. I listened as my Grandmother told my doctor about the nightmares.

Well, they could be brought on by any number of things. It could be video games. The doctor suggested.

He only has race car game., I will not have heedless violence for fun under my roof. Returned Grandmother.

Is there any stress at school, like a bully or girls? Do you realize Michael is a bit past the age for puberty to start? Considering the tumor and where it is, I was expecting he would enter that stage of a boy's life a bit late. So Mike, have you noticed any changes in your body? My doctor asked me.

I think so; my voice is cracking, I told the doctor.

Have you been having trouble at school, or is there a special girl? Dr. Kris asked next.

No to both of those. Michael knows better than to get mixed up with bullies, and as for girls, there is the Anderson girl. She is very well-behaved and a pretty little thing. As my Grandmother answered the question for me, I could feel myself blushing. I watched my doctor nod as he looked at me, then stood up and excused himself for a moment. When he returned to his office, an orderly followed him, pushing a wheelchair.

Well, let's get an MRI just to be safe, then we'll run a workup on your blood. My doctor knew I hated the blood work. He would often sit with me as the technician extracted vile after vile of blood from my arm.

Like me, I knew my Grandmother hated sitting at home waiting for the news of all the tests. Then like so many times before, we would get a call from the doctor's office saying he wanted to see us. So again, we would all pile into the car for the two-hour drive to the office. I looked around the office as we waited for the doctor to finish with the folks ahead of me. I don't know why I would study the walls of this place; I already knew them by heart.

How was the drive up? My doctor asked as he opened the door for my grandparents and me.

The drive was fine. Looks like rain over the hills. My grandfather answered. As my grandparents sat in the offered chairs, I propped myself on the window sill the way I always did.

Well, let's get into it. The doctor said as he opened a file.

The tumor has changed. When my doctor started, my Grandmother gasped.

No, no, it has changed, not grown; there are tendrils. These tendrils have made their way deep into the limbic and pineal regions of the brain. Dr. Kris said. I stood when the doctor told my grandparents how my tumor had changed.

What does this mean for our grandson? My grandfather asked.

Well, I could give you the standard medical answer, filled with plenty of Latin words. The simple truth is we're not sure. We know the tumor has gotten smaller, slightly. I want your permission to send everything we have to a friend. He is at the very top of the field regarding this kind of thing. Doctor Kris asked. My grandfather looked at me with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile.

Well, Mike, what do you think? You want another saw bones poking around up there? My grandfather knew I loved it when he called doctors saw bones.

Really, what's one more, I answered with a shrug. I watched as my doctor smiled, shaking his head. My Grandmother snapped her purse shut as she stood as a sign the visit was over.

We will have some lunch before we head home, and none of that disgusting burger place you two like. We are going to have a pleasant meal in a nice restaurant. When she finished, my grandfather and I knew it was an order. I burst out laughing when my grandfather came to attention and snapped a crisp salute. My Grandmother looked at him and smiled as he held the door for her. We found an excellent Texas steakhouse and sat enjoying the atmosphere. It felt like my Grandmother and grandfather lingered too long over their desserts.

That evening on the drive home, I contented myself with reading the road signs as we passed them. Then I saw the road sign I couldn't forget. I almost leaped over the seat to read it a second time.

Granddad, the sign, stop! I cried out, panicked. My grandfather hit the brakes, bringing the car to a shuttering stop on the gravel shoulder. Before I could be stopped, I opened the car door and ran back to the crossroads.

My grandfather walked up to me as I stood looking at the sign panting.

Okay, son, what is it? What are you doing? He asked, his deep voice concerned.

My nightmares, this is the road, the house, the family lives on this road, I told him, then looked north along the road.

Well, it's not too late. Let's take a bit of a detour. I almost cried when my grandfather offered to drive up the road for a bit. My Grandmother wasn't happy about this detour, but she also knew it was something I needed to put the nightmare behind me. I watched as a farm came into view, the equipment parked in neat rows. Then I saw the name on the mailbox.

Here, this is the place; this is where my nightmare takes place, I said softly, real fear creeping into me. I shook with fear as my grandfather turned into the farm's driveway. I held my Grandmother's hand without realizing it as my granddad stopped our car behind a pickup truck.

I'll go and see if anyone is home, Granddad said, then stepped out of the car. My Grandmother and I watched as he walked up the three steps of the front porch to the door and knocked. I was waiting for a man or woman to open the door, then I would know my tumor was making me crazy. Instead, I watched as my grandfather knocked for a second time, then he stepped to a window and peeked in. My Grandmother and I knew something was wrong when my grandfather turned and yelled at us.

Stay in that fucking car; don't come out. Then we watched as my grandfather kicked open the house's front door from my nightmare. Seconds later, my grandfather ran to the car.

We have got to get the state police here. Was all he would say as he backed down the driveway. I watched as the house from my nightmare receded in the windshield as our car raced backward toward the road.

The state police came with lights and sirens wailing when my grandfather called them. He explained about finding the bodies of the family in their home. The captain of the state police was ex-military. He knew my grandfather was a retired colonel. Then two men showed up in a plain car. They wore suits and spoke to the captain briefly before entering the house. Moments later, they came out and nodded to the captain.

Sitting in the car, the men who came in the plain car ignored me.

Yeah, it's the same killer. He crossed the state line, which makes him our problem captain. One of the men said as he shook his head.

I hate to think we have this kind of sick bastard in our state, but I'm happy you don't have to deal with him. The bigger of the two FBI agents said to the state trooper captain.

How did the Colonel and his family find them? One of the FBI asked.

Well, that's the odd part; the Colonel said his grandson had a nightmare about this farm, and they were coming here to show him it was just a dream. The captain told the agent.

That's pretty understanding for an old school hard nose colonel. One of the agents said.

Yeah, his grandson has a brain tumor. They were at their home after seeing the kids' neurologist. As they drove, the boy saw the road sign and damn near jumped out of the car. So the Colonel decided to humor him, and here we are. The state trooper captain told the agents.

I'd like to speak to the boy. One of the agents said.

Well, for that, you will have to speak to the Colonel's wife, the boy's grandmother. The captain said.

His grandmother, where are his mother and father? The taller agent asked.

Well, this will get you, the day the parents found out the boy had a tumor, and by the way, when the boy was diagnosed with his tumor. The doctors said it was terminal. They gave the boy six months, that was all. Well, the day they found out, a drunk ran a red light hitting the car and killing the boy's mom and Dad. As a result of the accident, the tumor changed, and everything stopped. That was ten years ago. Now the poor boy gets these terrible nightmares. The captain explained. I was tired of hearing them refer to me as the boy, so I opened the car door and stepped out.

As I stepped out of the car, the FBI agents stepped back; I was thirteen years old and six foot four inches tall in my bare feet.

Hello, I'm Mike, the boy with the tumor. I introduced myself.

Hi Mike, I'm Agent Boyals. Sorry, we didn't know you were there. The taller agent said as he shook my hand. The other agent introduced himself as Agent Crish.

Let's try to find your grandmother, we would like to speak to you, but we need her permission, okay. Agent Crish said. I followed the agents to where my grandparents stood. Once the FBI agents introduced themselves, they asked if it would be okay to come by the house and interview me.

That will be fine, gentlemen; I'll have coffee ready. My Grandmother said as she escorted me back to the car.

Sir, that sounded like we are the ones who will be answering some questions. One of the FBI said to my grandfather.

Oh, you will be agents. Better have the right answers. My grandfather answered as he followed my Grandmother and me.

The next day I stayed in my room when the two agents came to the house. They sat with my grandparents and asked questions about my behavior, friends, and grades at school.

My grandson is an A student; he has a few friends. Some boys pick on him with his tallness, but he just shrugs it off. My Grandmother told the agents as she served coffee.

Ma'am, we believe you. Mike seems to be a nice boy. How did he have a nightmare about an active killer we are hunting? Agent Crish asked. As I listened to the adults speak about how it was, I could see the killings of the family; I drew a face of what the killer looked like. Sitting at the top of the stairs, I held the drawing of the killer out so I could make sure it was exactly as I remembered. As I sat there holding the picture I drew of the killer who murdered the family, I knew it was right. The killer looked back at me from the paper. Standing, I walked slowly down the stairs knowing what I was about to do would bring more questions I couldn't answer. I walked into the living room and smiled at my Grandmother, then handed the picture of the killer to Agent Boyals.

Who's this son? Agent Boyals asked, looking at the picture.

That's the man I saw in my nightmare killing that poor family. When I told the agents I had drawn a pitcher of the killer, they sat up and looked at the picture again.

When you had your nightmare, could you actually see the killer? Agent Crish asked, looking at me.

Not the first time. It was the second time the killer turned, and I was looking at him, I answered. The two FBI agents looked at the drawing again. Agent Boyals stood up and placed his hand on my shoulder.

This was very brave of you, Mike. Thank you. They each thanked my grandparents for their hospitality and then left holding the picture I drew. That was it; for almost two months, life went on as it had for my grandparents and me. We never spoke of the family or my nightmares. I walked to school and home. Then one day, as I walked home with my best friend Charlie, we kept seeing the same tan car following us. My house was closer to our school, so we ran for it. My Grandmother met us at the door when she heard Charlie, and I thunder up the front steps.

Boys, what is this about? My Grandmother questioned as she held the door open.

There is a strange car following us. I panted. I watched as my five-foot-three-inch Grandmother stepped onto our front porch and stared at the tan car as it drove past.

It was that car following you? She asked.

Yes, ma'am, it was that car, Charlie answered.

It never came near, and whoever was driving didn't try to speak to us. It just stayed back about half a block. When my friend finished giving my Grandmother all the details of our walk home. She ushered us into the living room.

Start your homework, boys. I'll get a snack for you both. Sitting on the floor with my best friend, we did as we were told and started our homework. My Grandmother brought our snacks and then headed back into the kitchen. I could hear her on the phone. I knew she was talking to Charlie's mom. She was worried about him walking home alone. So they decided we would walk my friend to his house, just to be safe. I listened as Grammy made a second call. I knew my Grandmother was a Veteran of foreign war hall. My grandfather volunteers at the hall almost every day. He helps men and women fill out paperwork to get the maximum benefits they deserve for their service. I still remember him telling my Grandmother there was too much bullshit from the cowards in Washington.

They send us over there to impose their will, to stop the insurgents. Our boys and girls get torn up, and when they come home, the politicians have this maze of bureaucratic paperwork. The most frustrating part is the spineless jellyfish we elect can't even navigate all the bullshit themselves. I remember my Grandmother sitting beside him on the sofa. She looked at him and smiled, then told him to get up and do something about it; the next day, he started at the VFW hall.

My grandfather came home and looked in on Charlie and me before he went to the kitchen. Charles's Dad was a marine. He was sent over to some country to stop terrorists. Charlie lost his father five years ago, and a roadside bomb killed him and three other marines. My grandfather did all the paperwork for Charlie's mom; he wanted to make sure Charlie and his mom received all they could. Now, every time Charlie met my grandfather, he would stand, shake his hand, and thank my grandfather.

Heard you boys had a bit of an exciting walk home from school, Granddad said.

Yes sir, a tan chev followed us from the school to the house, I reported.

Well, Charlie's mother is worried, so we are going to walk him home, then come back here and talk about this. The two agents you met last month will be here. They want to talk about this car. When my grandfather said the two agents were returning, I looked at Charlie. I could tell he wanted to meet real-life G-men; I couldn't blame him.

I'll fill you in on the way to school tomorrow, I whispered.

You better, Charlie whispered back.

It felt nice being out walking with my grandparents and Charlie. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn golden, and as we turned the last corner, Charlie and I stopped. Parked about halfway down the block was a tan chev. We could make out the figure of a man sitting behind the wheel.

That's the car! I blurted out as my grandfather bumped into me.

Stay here. He ordered, then started walking towards the car. We watched as my six foot two retired army special forces colonel grandfather broke into a jog for the vehicle. The man behind the wheel of the tan Chevrolet started his car and reversed fast down the block. Then at the intersection, the driver made a J turn and sped off, leaving my grandfather in the middle of the street.

Let's get you home, Charlie. Then we have a long hard talk to the agents. From the look on my grandfather's face, there was to be no discussion tonight. On October 25, the week before Halloween, agents Boyals and Crish arrived at my grandparent's house at six pm. Again I was sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to what the adults had to say about the tan car.

Sir, seeing what is going on here and that Mike's life could be a stake here. I want you to have a special protection agent watching the boy if it alright with you. Agent Boyals told my grandfather.

This had better not interfere with Michael's schooling. My Grandmother added. Sitting at the top of the stairs, I smile., I loved my Grandmother. Even as worried as she was about my health, school trumped it all. The agents and my grandparents spoke for quite a while; it was all about the picture I drew them. I became bored with it all and decided to go to bed.

Chapter 3

Idon't know how long I was asleep when another nightmare crashed in on my dreams. Like the first time, I found myself standing in the corner of a room; I could not move. All I could do was watch. I couldn't call out a warning. A young boy was sleeping in his bed, a night light giving off a warm glow. A black-gloved hand opened a window down a hallway. Just as the first time I saw him, the killer walked to the child's room and checked on the young boy. Then he slowly made his way down the stairs, and before I could see anything, I came screaming out of my nightmare.

My grandfather, along with agents Boyals and Crish, ran into my room. I was standing in the middle of the room, my pj's soaked and sticking to me. Sweat streaming down my face, I couldn't stop shaking from the terror of seeing the same killer again. My Grandmother ran past everyone standing in my room and hugged me.

Oh my god John, he's soaked and shaking. When my Grandmother spoke, my legs gave out, and I fell to the floor. Worried about my state, my grandfather and the agents picked me up and carried me to their car. Agent Boyals used his emergency lights to clear traffic as he rushed me to the hospital. Agent Crish stayed at the house to make sure it was safe and to wait for the protection agent to arrive.

That night at the hospital, the doctors ran tests. All they could think was that my grandparents should limit my physical activity. Agent Boyals looked at the doctors and then at my grandparents.

"Excuse