Xander snapped the phone shut, but the booming laughter continued.
An engine growled outside, rising in volume. David ran to the window. Taksidian’s Mercedes bounced out of the rutted drive into the front yard. It slid to a stop.
“He’s here!” David said.
“Let’s go!” Xander ran into the hallway, turned into the living room.
Now David did grab his brother’s shirt. He pointed. “The sliding glass door!”
They ran to it, tugged, tugged. Xander flipped a small lever on the handle. It still didn’t budge.
“It’s barred,” David said. He had his hands on a metal rod that ran from the rear of the door to the frame. “It must be locked too. Or welded.”
They spun around.
Across the living room, the front door’s dead bolt rattled.
“Go!” Xander said. He shoved David toward another short hallway on the opposite side of the living room from Taksidian’s office.
“No,” David said. “The window!” He ran toward the bedroom. The bolt snapped open, and David realized he didn’t have time. Taksidian would grab his legs as he slithered out. He knew panic was jumbling his thoughts, making him confused, but there was no reining them in now.
He spun around. Xander, thinking David was half out the window by now, darted into a room and slammed the door.
David shot to the nearest door in sight: a narrow pantry off the kitchen. He yanked open the door, stepped inside, and pulled it shut.
The darkness was complete, as though a shroud had dropped over him. Wind swirled up from the floor. He felt the walls closing in on him. The floor under him shifted.
He knew this feeling! The linen closet portal did this. But . . . but . . . here? How?
Wait!
He grabbed for the door handle. It was gone.
His fingers slid along cold, wet rock.
CHAPTER
fifty - one
THURSDAY, 6:18 P.M.
Xander pressed his back to the door. He squeezed his eyes tight. His lungs pumped in air, pushed it out. His heart was a fist pounding into his throat.
Please, Lord, let David get away. Let him be outside and running away right now.
Something banged against a side wall. The front door, he thought.
He opened his eyes. No light at all. He considered where he was in the house. To the right of the front door, if you were looking at the house. He was in the room with the bricked-up window.
He reached behind him, felt the door handle. A button in the center. He depressed it. A simple lock, but something.
The room hummed. Either a fan was on or there was some serious ventilation in the place.
He had to find a weapon. Scissors, a piece of wood, anything. He raised his hand to the wall, searching for the light switch.
What is that smell? he thought. Sour, rotten.
His fingers found the switch. He flipped it up.
The walls were painted black; the ceilings and wooden floor, bright red. Hanging on the wall where the window used to be was a costume consisting of a woven shirt and a skirt made of strips of leather, each tipped with a metal triangle. Over the shirt’s sleeves were mounted iron armguards, scarred by the blades they’d parried. A short, black leather sheath clung to the wall near the top of the skirt. The knife or dagger belonging to the sheath was missing. Rips and cuts disfigured the shirt; maroon stains bordered and spread out from each rent.
The other walls contained similar artifacts: a sword, a shield, spears, a bow and arrows, a tattered banner, beads, jewelry, metal and wooden face masks. Small lights set into the ceiling shone on the items, museumlike.
Despite the abundance of weaponry, Xander felt no joy, no relief. Only terror. For his eyes had settled on an object in the center of the room. It was lighted from all sides, as fine statues are. Rising from a short pedestal, the sculpture was somewhat circular, like a pillar. But it was rough, with parts jutting out.
Parts, Xander thought. Body parts!
Arms, legs, ears, fingers—all cobbled together to create a monstrous monument to death. The stench; the unmistakable decay that had laid claim to various limbs; the evidence of tissue, muscle, bone within each visible stub: Xander knew without doubt that this was no fabrication; each piece had once belonged to a living human.
Beside the horrific pillar was a stainless steel table on wheels, like the ones on medical shows. A scalpel, paintbrush, and bottles rested on it. And something else.
Not wanting to know, needing to know, he stepped closer. Before he realized it, he was leaning over the object on the table.
It was a finger. White as Carrara marble. The flesh had shriveled, leaving what amounted to bones and knuckles encased in wrinkled skin. The fingernail gleamed.
Xander knew it was Jesse’s.
The door behind him banged open.
Xander spun. He reversed away from the figure stepping in: Taksidian, a smile on his face, a knife in his hand.
Xander’s heels hit the pedestal.
He toppled backward into the pillar.
CHAPTER
fifty - two
Darkness. David might as well have been blind.
He felt the walls around him. They were cold and wet. And he could touch them on all sides. Not much larger than a casket standing on end. Gravel crunched under his sneakered feet. It shifted easily, making it difficult to stand.
The air was humid. He smelled nothing but his own sweat.
Where am I? How could Taksidian’s house have a portal? This isn’t possible! This isn’t happening!
He struck the wall in front of him. His fist cracked into it with a thud. No give. No echo of sound on the other side.
He patted the walls. He didn’t find a door handle or hinges or cracks. He reached up. There seemed to be no top. A foot over his head, a stone or brick protruded a few inches from the surrounding surface. He pushed it, pulled it, tried to make it wiggle. It was solid.
His fingertips touched a loose item on top of the protruding stone. He picked it up and shook it. He knew the rattling it made. It was a box of wooden matches.
Yes!
He gently pushed the inner tray out from its cardboard sleeve. He withdrew a stick, identified the match tip, and struck it against the sleeve’s side. It sparked. He tried again. The matched flared, settled into a flame.
The walls were as he had imagined: gray squares—blocks, probably—ten inches to a side. They appeared to be resting against one another with no mortar between them. They glistened with moisture, but he couldn’t see where the water was coming from. Scratches ran vertically in the center of each wall, from head height to chest.
The flame touched his thumb and fingertip. He dropped the match and licked his burned skin. He lit another.
He looked up to the protruding stone. It was nothing more, just a workman’s error, it seemed. High above, the ceiling appeared to be a single slab of granite. Dangling from it by something he couldn’t see was a lantern.
Another yes!
He stretched, tiptoed, but his fingers were still a hand’s length from the bottom of the lantern. He shook out the match before it could bite again. Struck another.
He turned and confirmed that the walls were unbroken by doors or openings of any kind. The gravel shifted. He fell into a wall, straightened. He squinted into the darkness below. The light faded before reaching the floor. He bent down.
A skull’s eyeless sockets stared up at him. He screamed and dropped the match. Before it flickered out, he saw that the entire floor was covered not with gravel, but with bones. Leg bones. Arm bones. He caught a glimpse of a rib cage and a spine. Most of the ones still whole enough to recognize lay around the outer edge. The rest had been ground and broken into dust and small fragments.
Crushed by how many feet? he thought. How many people had been trapped here? How many people had contributed their own bones to the floor?
He pounded on the wall. “Help! Help me, please! Xander!”
His eyes stung. He wiped at them, smearing tears.
“Help!” he yelled. “Can anyone hear me?”
He fell back against a wall, lifted his face, and screamed.
NOT THE END . . .
WITH SPECIAL THANKS TO . . .
SLADE PEARCE, for being David: you rock!
NICHOLAS and LUKE FALLENTINE (again): you guys are great
BEN and MATTHEW FORD, insightful readers and my new friends
ANTHONY, my son and most fervent fan
JOEL GOT LER, my wonderful agent
The rest of my family, for letting me be a kid again
LB NORTON, JUDY GITENSTEIN, and AMANDA BOSTIC, editors extraordinaire
The terrific team at Nelson: ALLEN, JOCELYN, JENNIFER, KATIE, MARK, LISA, BECKY . . .
And my readers, for letting the King family live!
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. Keal talks about doing what’s right. How do we distinguish right from wrong? Have you ever done something you thought was right, only to find out later it was the wrong thing to do? What did you do about it?
2. If you could go back in time and change something in the past, what would it be? If you could meet anyone from history, who would it be? Why? What do you think you’d learn or gain from the experience?
3. The Kings have faced all sorts of dangers and endured all kinds of injuries, yet they keep pressing on—all for the sake of rescuing Mom. Have you ever wanted something so badly, you’ve continued going for it, even when it seemed everything was against your getting it? From where did you find the strength to carry on? What was the outcome? Have you ever given up and then later wished you hadn’t?
4. To stay in the house and find Mom, the Kings are learning to be tough and figure things out. Can you see ways in which each of the family members has changed since coming to Pinedale? In what ways? What situation have you gone through that changed you, how you think of things, handle things?
5. Clayton is a typical bully: he made fun of David in class, threatened to beat him up, and chased him through locker 119 into the house. David finally got the upper hand, scaring Clayton and taking a picture of him crying. But in Timescape , David tries to make amends. Why do you think he tried to make peace with Clayton? Have you ever been picked on by a bully? What happened? What do you think is the best way to handle bullies? Have you ever been a bully yourself ? How did it make you feel?
6. David and Xander often gear themselves up for action by saying “Strong and courageous!” This is an exhortation used many times in the Bible, such as 1 Chronicles 22:13: Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged. What is your favorite Bible verse? Why? Do you have any saying you tell yourself when you have to do something brave or difficult?
7. Xander wants to press on despite being exhausted. Do you agree with Keal’s argument that sleep isn’t a break from going after a goal—it is an essential part of achieving that goal? When was the last time you were forced to sleep even though a strong desire to do something made you not want to?
8. What do you think Taksidian is doing that caused the destruction of Los Angeles—and presumably the rest of the world? What can the Kings do to prevent it? The Kings finally go on the offensive to protect themselves from Taksidian. Why do you think Dad went along with Xander’s plan to tail Taksidian? Do you agree with the saying “The best defense is a strong offense”? What does that mean to you? Give an example of a time when you went on the offensive to defend yourself.
9. Which one of the “worlds” the Kings have visited so far is your favorite? Why?
GO DEEPER
INTO
THE WORLD OF
the
dreamhouse kings
ROBERTLIPARULO.COM/BLOG
BOOK 5 IN THE DREAMHOUSE KINGS SERIES
COMING
JANUARY 2010
Robert Liparulo, Timescape
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