The Eyes of Kid Midas (11 page)

"If I were strangling to death, Mom would shove spoons of Robitussin down my throat to make it all better," Kevin told Teri. "If I were drowning, Dad would say, 'No pain, no gain.' They never ask what's really going on. Don't they even care?"

"They care," whispered Teri. "But they won't ask because they're afraid of the answer."

CHAPTER 11

Life As We Know It

Kirkpatrick was back in school on Monday, as Josh Wilson had hoped.

Josh had avoided Kevin like the plague all weekend, and on that Monday morning he didn't wait for Kevin to show up at his door. He left early because he needed time to think things through without Kevin. . . . Kevin was getting creepy, and there were things going through Josh's mind that he wouldn't dare share with Kevin, even if he were his best friend.

The fact was, things weren't "right" anymore. Not just the things Kevin had been wishing for, but things in general—things all around. Ever since Kevin had found those glasses, the days had begun to
feel
strange, but Josh couldn't put that feeling into words—or maybe he was just afraid to.

So Josh went to talk to Kirkpatrick. If he could talk to anyone at school about such things, it was Kirkpatrick. He was the only real philosopheramong the Ridgeline Middle School teachers—he always seemed to have a keen interest in and an open mind to even the weirdest of notions. Besides, Kirkpatrick had started the whole thing. He was the one who planted the idea of climbing the mountain in Kevin's head, about as powerfully as Bertram had planted the pinecone in Kevin's mouth.

The first bell was still twenty minutes away when Josh arrived in Mr. Kirkpatrick's classroom. Kirkpatrick sat at his desk, with a red, sniffy nose, correcting papers and taking care of all the problems left behind by Ms. Q. He didn't notice Josh until Josh was halfway to the front of the room.

"You're early today, Josh."

"Yeah. Can I talk to you, Mr. Kirkpatrick?"

The teacher put down his pen and papers and looked up as Josh sat down in the closest chair. "Something wrong? Was it Ms. Quaackenbusch? Are other kids giving you a hard time?"

"No, nothing like that," said Josh. He was beginning to understand just what it was he wanted to ask, but how could he come right out and say it?

"Mr. K.," asked Josh, "how do you think the world is going to end?"

Kirkpatrick looked at him for a moment, and laughed. "I was expecting maybe girl trouble," he said. "I mean, don't seventh graders have enough to deal with without thinking about the end of life as we know it?"

He studied Josh and finally realized that Josh was dead serious. Kirkpatrick leaned back and ran his fingers through his uneven hair.

"I don't think the world
will
end, Josh. I don't think it
can."
He glanced up at the humming fluorescent lights and rocked a bit in his chair. "But when I was younger, I used to think about it a lot."

"What did you think about?"

Kirkpatrick shrugged. "A bunch of things. You know, nuclear war—someone turns a key, and poof, everything's gone. Sometimes I would wonder if there was really a great flood thousands of years ago, and if there might be another one. I would think about the dinosaurs and how they might have been wiped out by a meteor striking the earth—and wonder if it could happen again."

Josh felt the tips of his ears begin to tingle as if they were getting cold. There were times when he had thought about these things, too.

"But I don't worry anymore," said Kirkpatrick. "Now I just trust that those things won't happen."

Josh shook his head. "I don't think that's how the world's going to end." He leaned in closer as he spoke. "I think it's going to be a quieter thing. It's going to happen in a way that no one even notices anything is wrong. I think things are going to sort of . . . stop making sense . . . bit by bit. Things won't work right, people won't think right, everything's going to get all mixed up, until nothing in the universe works the way it's supposed to. . . . And then, everything will just . . . stop."

"The Dream Time," said Kirkpatrick, raising his eyebrows.

"The what?"

Kirkpatrick took on that knowing look of a shaman—as he had around the campfire two weekends before. "There are some cultures," he said, "that believe there will come a time when dreams cross the barrier into the real world, and the real world is dragged into an endless dream. All the laws of science and logic will break down into the chaos of nightmares. Pretty wild, huh?"

Josh could feel his hands and feet grow numb. Kirkpatrick didn't know it, but he had hit the nail right on the head.
This
was exactly what Josh had been sensing. Everything was sort of . . . slipping away, and it was all because of Kevin and those awful glasses. Josh wanted to run home and take a shower to wash the feeling away. He wanted to slam his fist against the wall, just so he could feel it and know that it was real and not a dream.

"You think that could happen?" asked Josh. "The Dream Time?"

Kirkpatrick waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "Naah. It's an ancient superstition made up by people who needed to explain things. It's the same as believing the world is flat, or that the sun revolves around the earth."

"But the prophecy," said Josh, practically climbing out of his chair. "The legend about the Divine Watch—those people had to know something!"

Kirkpatrick leaned back and laughed again. "Is that what this is all about, the mountain?"

"The prophecy makes sense!" said Josh.

"Maybe so," said Kirkpatrick, "but I made it up."

Josh backed up until the hard wood of his chair pressed against his shoulder blades. "You what?"

"I made it all up. It was a good campfire story," said Kirkpatrick, a bit pleased with himself. "Too good, I guess."

Josh couldn't look at him now. "You don't understand. . . ." he mumbled.

"Sure I do," said Kirkpatrick kindly.

Josh couldn't let it go. There had to be a way to get through to him.
"Nicole Patterson is six inches tall!"
Josh blurted out.

Kirkpatrick thought about that. "Well . . . I never gave it much thought . . . but now that you mention it, yes, she is about the size of a shoe. So?"

"So, doesn't that seem strange to you?"

"Should it?"

Josh threw his hands up in the air.

Kirkpatrick began to tap his pen against his desk and chew on his upper lip. "Josh, . . . maybe you ought to go down to guidance and have a talk with Dr. Cutler."

"Why?" "Well, . . . obviously something is troubling yon. Maybe she could help."

"I'm not crazy!"

"No one said you were."

Josh stood up so fast the chair flew out behind him and fell to the floor. He headed for the door as quickly as he could, but before he left he turned back to Kirkpatrick.

"One more thing . . ." Josh kept his hand on the doorknob, as if touching something—anything— solid and real would give him the courage to ask the question he needed to ask and face the answer he knew he would get.

"How much," asked Josh, "is two plus two?"

Kirkpatrick looked at him, expecting there to be a punch line. "What's your point, Josh?"

"Just answer the question," said Josh.

Kirkpatrick shrugged. "Three, of course. The answer is three."

CHAPTER 12

Don't Touch That Dial

Rumor was that Hal Hornbeck lost it completely that same day, during fourth period. Not that Hal had ever been wrapped too tightly to begin with, but for some reason, he walked into his Spanish class and went totally loco. Everyone who saw it had their own version of the story, but everyone did agree on this basic sequence of events: Hal had walked into class, looking tired and confused. Then, for no apparent reason, he launched into a screaming fit and had to be dragged out.

Rumor also had it that he refused to say anything that made sense to Dr. Cutler, the guidance counselor. He just kept asking for Bertram, whoever that was, perhaps an imaginary playmate.

Kevin and Josh, who did not have Spanish class with Hal, heard all of this in passing, but didn't think much of it. They had enough concerns of their own.

Kevin and Josh also avoided Nicole Patterson tothe best of their ability, which might have been a mistake, because Nicole, who
was
in Hal's Spanish class, had the most accurate description of what really happened. Nicole claimed that Hal walked into the room, saw her, and began screaming at the top of his lungs. Everyone thought it was pretty funny that a clod like Hal could be frightened by someone as petite as Nicole.

During lunch, there was further talk about how Hal had gotten a zero on his first-period math quiz, but Kevin was too busy looking for his sister to care much about the current status of Hal Hornbeck's math skills. Kevin was hoping Teri had come up with some advice as to what to do about the glasses.

Teri did, indeed, have some advice.

'Take the glasses, and smash them with a sledgehammer," she said. "I'll do it for you if you want." That was easy for
her
to say—they weren't hers. She wasn't the one who
needed
them. She wasn't the one who got sick when the glasses weren't around.

"They can't be destroyed," said Kevin.

"How do you know? Have you tried?"

"What if we try to destroy them and they destroy us instead, in defense?"

"You're talking like the thing is alive—it's just a pair of glasses."

Kevin didn't answer her, and his silence made Teri shudder. "Then we'll bury them," said Teri, "where no one will ever find them. You, me, and Josh together—okay?"

Kevin squirmed his way out of answering her. If she had made this suggestion the night before, when he was weak and vulnerable, he would have gone out with her in the middle of the night in his pajamas, and buried them halfway to China. But that was then. Now Kevin had a better idea, one that he was certain would work just fine, although he wasn't about to tell anyone. He would keep wearing the glasses, but learn to shut up.

Kevin was reminded of a diabetic kid he knew. The kid went to class, played sports, had fun—was normal in every way. The only thing was, he had to have a shot of insulin every day, for the rest of his life.

That's how it would be with Kevin and the glasses.

What's the big deal?
Kevin told himself. He had worn glasses every day for as long as he could remember. So now the rest of him needed glasses as much as his eyes did—what was the difference, really? He could grow used to keeping the glasses on and keeping his mouth shut, the way the diabetic boy got used to his insulin shots.

Kevin was thinking about this when suddenly his crystal-clear world became blurry once more.

Kevin didn't see the face of the kid who stole his glasses—but by the shape lumbering down the hall, he could tell who it had to be.

Hal Hornbeck.

Hal didn't taunt Kevin—he didn't play keep- away, or bullfight, or rodeo. He simply took the glasses and just kept on running until he burst out the side door of Ridgeline Middle School and disappeared.

Kevin scarfed down a slice of pizza, practically inhaling it.

"I'm so dumb!" said Kevin. There was no argument from Josh and Teri, who were sitting across from him at the pizza parlor. "I should have known," said Kevin. The fact was, Josh should have known, too. There were, after all,
four
of them there when Kevin found the glasses, and now that Bertram was out of the picture, it left three— three boys on the outside, looking in on a world going crazy. No wonder Hal had screamed when he saw Nicole. They should have known!

It may have taken Hal most of the day to figure out what was going on, but when he did, he didn't waste any time. Kevin, Josh, and Teri had immediately taken to the streets to find Hal, but he was in none of the usual places. He had simply vanished.

"More pizza!" said Kevin.

"You've already eaten an entire pie," complained Teri. "If you don't stop, you're going to hurl."

"More pizza!" demanded Kevin. He was hungry, and the more he ate, the hungrier he got. Even though his stomach was stuffed and he felt like barfing, he was still hungry.

"Maybe it's better this way," offered Josh.

"Are you kidding me?" said Teri. "Do you really want Hal Hornbeck using those glasses? If you thought Kevin was a screwup, can you imagine what things would be like with
that
pus-head running the show?"

Josh sank in his seat and gnawed on a crust.

Kevin inhaled the last slice on the table, then looked up at Teri and Josh with tired, sunken eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick," said Kevin.

"I'm not surprised," said Josh.

"No," said Kevin, "that's not what I mean. . . ."

Both Teri and Josh were looking at him now, and they were beginning to understand what he meant. The glasses had been gone for just a couple of hours, and already Kevin was looking bad. His eyes were dark, and his skin was pale and pasty. Soon he would start shivering. What came after the shivering? He didn't know, because Kevin had never let it get beyond that—he had always put the glasses back on. But now he couldn't. How bad would the sickness get? How bad
could
it get before . . .

Kevin put down his crust. "Pizza's not going to help, is it?"

They all knew what had to be done.

"Where would you go," asked Teri, "if you were Hal Hornbeck and had a pair of magic glasses?"

When the question was asked in that way, the answer came quickly and clearly, bringing on a powerful dose of hope.

Hal had done what most kids in town would do under the circumstances. He had gone to the dentist.

Public-access cable took in the video dregs of the universe. Would-be talk-show hosts and local crackpot prophets teetering on the edge of lunacy found a happy home on Channel 92. There were long hours of town council meetings, high school sports recorded on home camcorders, and
really
bad dance recitals. Basically anyone who could afford ten dollars a minute could have his or her own local television show.