Relic (3 page)

“Yeah,” I said, “we weren't going to touch.”

“Sure you weren't.”

“We weren't,” Lisa said, backing me up.

“Fine.” The guard straightened up and looked at Colin. “You weren't going to, either, I bet.”

“No, I was probably going to touch it.” Colin smiled and looked back at the dinosaur and then muttered under his breath, “I'll have to wait 'til you leave, I guess.”

“What was that?” the guard asked.

Colin turned back. “Erm, nothing. How is this dinosaur standing up? I don't see any wires.”

“They're replica bones,” the guard said. “They're fastened together and then balanced the way a real T. rex would have been balanced.”

“So I could just give it a shove and it would topple over?” Colin asked.

“Hardly,” the guard answered. “It's bolted to the platform and there is metal running through most of the pieces, so unless you have a crowbar to smash the legs completely, I'd say you're not going to have much luck.”

Colin tapped his chin. “A crowbar, eh?”

The guard drew a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, then turned and marched off.

“He was friendly,” Colin said.

“Bobby, don't touch that!”

We turned toward the scolding voice—on the opposite side of the T. rex and through the skeleton, and saw a woman holding a porky little kid in her arms.

“But, Mo-om!”

“No buts, Bobby. You don't touch poop. I don't care how old it is. Let's go look at something else. Something clean.”

We stepped around the T. rex display and saw what Becky had been making such a fuss about. On a bone-white platform just a couple of meters to the right of the dinosaur was a dark gray blob, about two feet long and about half a foot across, which didn't seem large considering how big the dinosaur was. It looked like a giant golf tee dipped in concrete.

Becky was already there, snapping pictures and jotting down who-knows-what in her little notebook. She turned away and pretended she didn't know us when we walked up.

“I thought it would be bigger,” Colin said.

Lisa pointed to the sign beside the display. “It's five kilograms. That's pretty big.”

“I guess so.” Colin turned back to the dinosaur. “But look how big he is. His turd should be like the size of a truck or something.”

“Maybe it was the size of a truck,” Lisa said. “But that's all that managed to last over the past million years or so.” She gave her head a shake. “Are we really discussing this?”

Colin's eyes widened and he nodded down the atrium a bit farther. “There's the head.”

“And one of the monks,” Lisa said.

The head was on a podium, like the kind the principal speaks behind during assemblies, and covered in a glass box. And sure enough, one of the monks—the young one—was standing beside the head with his arms crossed over his chest, looking incredibly unfriendly.

“What are we waiting for?” Colin said.

Lisa shook her head and grabbed Colin's arm to hold him back as a couple wandered close to the monk and the severed head. The monk must've said something because both people suddenly took a step back, and the woman looked positively insulted. They shook their heads disapprovingly at the monk and abruptly walked away.

“I don't think he's there to answer questions,” Lisa said. “Maybe we should just keep our distance.”

Colin shook out of Lisa's grip. “No way. When will I ever have a chance to see a severed head again? Probably never.” He tilted his head toward another exhibit near the monk. “We'll wander that way and casually make our way over.”

We did just that—even stopping at a display called the Rube Goldberg machine—a huge pinball-type contraption—and playing with it for a few minutes, just to make sure we didn't seem overly interested in the head.

When we finally reached the Cambodian head display, we all responded with the same unimpressed expression: “Oh.”

I think we were all expecting something different. I thought it was going to be an actual severed human head. I thought it would be like the movies, that maybe the guy's tongue would be hanging out the side of his mouth or maybe his eyes would be rolled back in his head. But no, it was nothing like that.

There were three podiums. The first held a stone hand that looked like it should be holding something. The second, the one in the middle, had a bare foot, also carved from stone. And on the third podium was the severed head. It was about twice the size of a normal head and had a round face and a pleasant expression, as if the man hadn't been at all upset about being separated from his body. A small white card beneath it read:
Sandstone Buddha Head, Cambodia, 12th Century
.

“That's it?” Colin asked. “That's what all the protesters are shouting about? I thought it was supposed to be a real head.”

“I thought it would be creepier,” Lisa said.

I nodded. “Yeah, I didn't expect him to look so happy.”

The monk stepped forward, his hands hidden beneath the folds of his robe. “Are you done?” He didn't wait for us to respond before adding, “Good. Get lost.”

Lisa looked about as shocked as I felt. “W—What?” she asked.

“You heard me.” He spoke with an English accent, which was completely at odds with what the protestors had said. Unless my geography was really wrong, Cambodia wasn't at all near England.

“First of all, baldy,” Colin said, “this is a public place, and we'll stay if we want. And second, if you have a problem with people looking at your village's statues, maybe you should hire a lawyer.”

The monk lowered his chin and muttered something that sounded like, “I'm done dealing with lawyers.” Then he took an aggressive step forward. Now, Colin may be the movie buff in our little group, but I'd seen enough to know that monks can be trained fighters. I tried to step back out of striking distance, but my stupid leg didn't move as quick as my mind told it to, and I staggered. My arms flailed, my crutches clattered to the tiled floor, and I tipped backward.

This is going to hurt.

I clenched my eyes shut, preparing for the impact, only to feel someone grab me. I tried to spin around and regain my balance but only managed a half turn before my elbow struck something that I might have seen if my eyes weren't still closed. The impact felt softer than it should've, and when I opened my eyes, all I could see was orange.

I groaned, then blinked as a bright light flashed to my right.
I must've hit my head on the tiles
, I thought, still blinking. It took me a moment to realize that the orange mass I was lying on was really the monk. No sooner did that realization strike than Colin and Lisa were beside me, hauling me to my feet.

“Did he push you…or help you?” Lisa asked. “It happened so fast I didn't see.”

“I think he pushed him,” Colin said.

The monk sat up and rubbed a red mark on the side of his head. I figured it was probably from my elbow. There was another flash, this time on my left. A man, crouched low, snapped one picture after another. Then something else caught my eye. Another man. He was standing just behind a book display, and I only caught a glimpse of his face. It was just a flash before he pulled back into the shadows. But one glimpse was all I needed. I knew where I'd seen him before.

At the mall. He wasn't wearing his uniform anymore, but it was still him—the man in white.

 

Colin hauled me to my feet and handed me one of my crutches. I grabbed his shoulder both for support and so he'd know that what I was about to say was serious. “He's here.”

Colin blinked and then focused on my eyes. “What? Who?”

“The man in white.”

Colin blinked again and I remembered I hadn't told them about him.

“A guy from the mall—I think he might be following us.” I looked over Colin's shoulder and spotted the man standing beside the Rube Goldberg pinball machine. “There,” I said. I turned and pointed. “We need to find out who he is.”

“Probably a reporter,” Colin said with a grin. “Probably wants an interview.”

“That would be bad,” I said, reminding him that we'd agreed to keep a low profile so that we wouldn't draw any attention to the Society. “We don't need them having second thoughts about letting us join.”

The monk staggered to his feet and muttered something under his breath that I'm pretty sure wasn't English. I turned to face him as Lisa stepped beside him and steadied him.

“I'm sorry about hitting you,” I said. “It was an accident.”

The monk glowered and rubbed his temple. “Sure it was.”

I glanced back over my shoulder as the mystery man turned and casually made his way down the corridor toward the exit. “There,” I said. “There he is, in the blue windbreaker.” I looked expectantly at Colin and Lisa. Neither of them moved. “I can't follow him,” I said, gesturing to my leg. “C'mon, at least get his license plate number.”

Lisa nodded and bolted after the man.

“You can't let her go alone,” I said.

“I can't promise I won't give an interview,” Colin said with a grin before he spun around sharply and sprinted away. I hadn't moved my hand off Colin's shoulder quick enough and his momentum spun me like a top. I staggered back into the monk as he was fixing his robes; this time when we hit the ground, I heard something crunch.

I tried to get up, but was tangled in the monk's robe, and he heaved on it, trying to pull the edge out from under me. I rolled once and then used my crutch to pull myself back to my feet. The crowd grew, and the camera flashes really started going nuts.

 

“I'm so sorry.” I reached out to help the monk to his feet only to stop short as a harsh voice shouted over my shoulder. The yell was followed by heavy footfalls.

I knew it was a guard, but before I could turn and explain, he tackled me. Bolts of pain coursed through my body as we hit the floor and rolled over each other. Twice. When the world stopped spinning, I was on my back, gazing dumbly through the atrium's glass ceiling, wondering where all the little stars had come from.

Rough hands hauled me to my feet and dragged me back to the severed head display, where the monk was being helped to his feet by another security guard.

“W—What's going on?” I choked out. I tried to shrug off the guards' hands, but they weren't having it. Their grip tightened. “Hey, let me go,” I said. “I didn't do anything.”

The guard on my right grunted. “That's not what it looked like to me.”

“Pounding on a monk,” the other guard muttered. “Pathetic.”

The monk rubbed the side of his head and glared at me.

“Pounding on the monk?” I was incredulous. “I wasn't trying to hit you.”

I remembered that Lisa and Colin had gone after the mystery man, and jerked my head around, scanning the spectators. I spotted them squeezing through the crowd, coming back to me. Lisa looked me square in the eyes and shook her head, indicating she and Colin hadn't caught up with him. Colin, on the other hand, was inching toward me, his gaze fixed on my leg. I glanced down and realized there was a trail of plaster chunks leading from where I'd been tackled to where I stood. At least a third of my cast was gone, crushed by the guard and reduced to shards. It looked as though my leg had been mauled by a pack of hyenas.

Colin nodded. “You really need to work on what
low profile
means.”

“It was an accident,” I muttered. Not that it did any good. One of the guards thrust my crutches at me and gestured down the hall. “C'mon, let's go.”

 

My mom spoke to Mr. Overton for nearly twenty minutes, at least ten of which were spent in the security office watching surveillance footage. I was brought in to watch it too, and I had to admit, it did look like I was pummeling the poor guy. But really it was just awkward movements because of my stupid cast.

They sent me back out into the waiting area, and when Mom came back, she handed me my crutches and led us to the car without speaking. The number of protestors had doubled, but they either didn't notice us as we left or they saw the murderous expression on my mom's face and decided not to chance a confrontation.

The young monk was around the side of the building, his head hanging as the three ancient monks talked to him with stern expressions. He glowered at me when we rounded the corner but turned away when one of the elderly monks nudged his arm.

I didn't even try to fight Becky for the front seat. She smirked but, to her credit, didn't utter a word. She was a brat, but not a stupid brat. She knew what my mom's cold expression meant: don't speak. My mom clearly had something to say, and snark from anyone in the car simply wouldn't be tolerated until she was done. When the doors were closed, Mom drew a series of shallow breaths and turned to face me.

“Mom, I just wanted—”

She held up her finger, cutting me off. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Not a word.” Long seconds passed before she seemed to relax a bit. “Dean,” she said finally, “that was unacceptable.”

“It was an accident.”

“I saw the footage,” she said. “You three seemed to antagonize that poor boy, and then…well, you saw it, Dean. You elbowed him in the head and practically tackled him.”

“You did?” Colin asked. He sounded more impressed than surprised, and I was pretty sure that if my mom hadn't been looking, he'd have raised his hand for a high five.

Lisa gave me a squinty-faced
You did that?
look, and I just shook my head.

“It was an accident!” I turned back to my mom. “I told you that already.”

“Didn't look very accidental from where I was sitting,” she said. “Lucky for you, Mr. Overton didn't seem to think it was on purpose. But to me, it looked like you were really going after him.” She took a breath and forced it out through her nose. “He's a kid too, Dean. He's probably not much older than you are.”