Part of chapter 1

Caylor's story.

 

“Excuse me, ma’am, I think I’m lost. Could you help me?” The tall, red haired, woman, turned to see a small boy of about ten staring up at her. She swung her fancy scarf over her shoulder and turned to face him. He appeared to be on the verge of tears and his blonde hair made him look angelic.

                “Oh, of course sweetheart, how can I help you?” She rolled her R’s as she spoke. “Do you know where your mother is? Or do you know her phone number?”

                “No…” He hesitated. “All I know is my address. 2586 Hawthorne Lane, Los Angeles, California, 90250.” He quoted as if saying it by memory.

                The woman smiled. She knew where that was; after all it was one of the most sophisticated parts of town.  This little boy must be very upstanding to live there.  She leaned down and ruffled his hair, noticing that he had a lock of blue hair hidden under his bangs. Odd, she thought, but pushed the notion away.  She hustled him into her shiny, silver convertible and, with thoughts of a reward in the back of her mind, drove off towards 2586 Hawthorne Lane.

 

*****

Caylor Morgan waved goodbye with a cheerful smile as the silver car drove out of sight. As soon as her vehicle was out of sight, he turned away from the large house he was in front of. He messed up his hair until the part was back to normal and the blue streak could be clearly seen. His jacket came off and he smudged some dirt on his face and rolled up his jeans part way. A few more touches and Caylor looked like a completely different person. Gone was the innocent smiling ten year old and replacing him was a scowling, hardened street boy of twelve. Caylor walked out of the expensive neighborhood glowering at the large houses he knew he would never be able to afford. He broke into a run as he stuffed a small item into his pocket.

               

After three hours of walking across town Caylor reached familiar territory for him. With several glances around him he slipped into an alley and opened his stolen prize. A bulging wallet full of random junk, but most importantly to Caylor, one section was chock full of money. He was just opening another section when his unusually sharp sixth sense perked up. Seconds later he heard a well known voice behind him.

                “How’d you do today Shotgun?”

                Caylor slowly turned to see a tall, black haired boy, testing his knife on his thumb. He grinned slyly at the younger boy and moved a couple feet closer.

“Look Stol, I thought we agreed I could keep what I got now.” Caylor tried, “You don’t need it and I do, besides I’m not relying on you to help me anymore.”

                Stol leaned against the alley wall and stared hard at Caylor.  “But don’t you remember Shotgun? I taught you everything you know. Without me you’d still be beggin for money rather than conning people out of it. I gave you style and you owe me.” He advanced on the small blonde boy. “Now pay up or you’ll pay in more ways than one.”

                Caylor’s large, grey blue eyes darted around looking for an escape route, but even his very keen vision couldn’t see a way out this time. Reluctantly he handed Stol the wallet.

                “There, now will you promise to leave me alone?”

                “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t, we’ll just have to see how much you got here…hey, what’s this you got here? There ain’t no money in here Shotgun…you…hey! Hey you get back here you little punk!” He ran after the boy, who had just disappeared around the corner with several large bills hanging out of his pocket.

                Caylor ducked into a small, dark shop breathing hard. He backed up until he was hidden behind a shelving unit and watched as Stol raced past looking into every shop window with an evil glare.  Just as Caylor breathed a sigh of relief a deep voice from the back of the shop startled him so that he nearly keeled over from fright.

                “You need a place to hide boy, you better find someplace else. I’m not having any street fights take place in here. Too many breakables.” The voice came into the dim light and revealed itself to belong to a large man with bushy grey hair and a deep frown. Caylor looked around him and gasped in amazement. There, on the shelves, were the most intricate, glass figurines he had ever seen in his life. Now, he hadn’t seen hardly any glass figurines at all, but even he could tell that these were something special.

                “I-I’m sorry sir, I’m not hiding, but…these are amazing. How do you do that? They look so lifelike it’s….” His voice trailed off as he noticed a small silver case in the back of the room. As he walked over to examine it, he felt a strange tingling in the back of his mind, and it wasn’t just from the man’s eyes burning into his skull. Caylor reached down inside the velvet lined box and pulled out a ceramic miniature. Instantly he felt that he could never leave it to gather dust in that shop. That was the start of his collection of gryffins.

 

              Stuffing his leftover money into his pocket Caylor turned a few corners and walked up the stairs to the gloomy apartment he shared with his father. Impossible though it seemed, sometimes he could sneak in through the creaking door and old floorboards without his dad noticing. This was not one of those times.       

“Caylor, is that you? Where you been boy?” The gravelly voice came from the kitchen.  Of, course, Caylor thought sarcastically, where else would he be on any fine summer evening. Trying to act casual, he strolled into the room where his dad was lounging in a beat up chair. An open box of loaded pizza sat on the table with a can of Root Beer. He was lucky his dad didn’t drink alcohol, but in his opinion eating too much and being a spendthrift was just as bad.

“I was just doing some odd jobs for people, you know, cleaning out their cars and stuff.” Caylor hoped his dad wouldn’t catch the hidden meaning. “I made some money. It’s only like a hundred bucks, but it’s enough for a couple of meals or whatever. It’s more then you make at least.” He scoffed at his father. The big man rose from his seat speaking ominously.

“You just be grateful you have a home with me rather than in one of those foster families. Do you think they’d let you have freedom? Would they let you learn how to earn money for yourself? I don’t think so. Now why don’t you just go to your room and think about how you could learn to be thankful for what you have instead of whining about what you don’t.”

Caylor stormed out in a huff, slamming the door to his room after him. His bed squeaked as he lay back on it and stared at the cracks in his ceiling for the millionth time. This time however they seemed to swim before his eyes and form the shape of a gryffin. Weird, he thought, however it caused him to remember the small sculpture wrapped in brown paper in his pocket. He pulled it out and set it on the bed while he searched for a place of honor to position it. There, next to the picture of his mom, on that small shelf that had been nearly empty for so long. Well, now that he’d taken care of that, Caylor thought to himself, he could relax finally. It had been one of the busier days for him today, though not totally un-routine. All except for that peculiar little shop. Then he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of gryffins driving shiny silver cars.

Reviews

[Mandi]

Darcy, you're a very good writer. i have some pointers for you but i don't have time to tell you them now, but you shocked me. You can really put words together and I enjoyed this story. can't wait to read the rest! love you!