The Stone

the first chapter in a series i thought i'd take a long way...but it piddled out.

The Stone
ONE:

Seen everywhere, the wind, water, fire, and earth; the elements existing without rest. One cannot say that one can control them, although many have tried. How could it be done is the question at hand, and the question shall be answered.
About 44 years ago a young man lived amongst the people of Harlem. His name has never been recovered, from all accounts of people that know him. He always had a different nickname, living different places and going by different rules and terms of life. On this evening he was returning home from a long day working at a corner store. As he entered the house he noticed that the door stood ajar. Something odd to see, he thought as he stepped over the threshold. But he continued on to the kitchen to find some food, and upon doing so he noticed that the house looked a mess. Wine glasses were broken and the wine had stained the carpet, pillows were tossed everywhere, normally beautiful paintings were trashed and broken. Terror engulfed his senses, with haste he called out to his parents and hurried to their room.
There are those that believe death to be the worst sight to see, if it is fresh and still ripe in the air. But it came as only a surprise to this boy; he stopped as if hitting a solid wall as he also looked down upon the mangled bodies of his parents. A terrible scene it was as his eyes became glazed with a numbness he had never felt before. Massive gashes on their torsos were easily visible as well as blunt trauma on their skulls revealed a nasty image of a bloody brain. With as much effort as could be conjured he, the boy, keeled over and gave up his lunch to the floor. An obscenely large knife was at their feet, which he assumed was a machete.
As he picked it up for further examination he heard the distant sounds of police sirens. Good; he thought as he bent over to mourn for his family. In truth this wasn’t his real family, for he had never known them. These were his foster parents for 4 years. All of his 18 year life he had belonged to different sorts of people but none felt as though they had been really gone until now. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t as if this woman with a now nasty hacked up leg had given birth to him; she had just fed him and clothed him.
A screech of cars told him that the armed forces had pulled up to his two story apartment. It appeared that all was safe, and that he could help the police by saying what he had witnessed. His nerves began to straighten out, and his heart rate decreased. He began to walk towards the front door. Just as he reached the entrance hall to his home he saw something small whisk out of one of the policemen’s hands. It crashed through one of the windows facing the street. All too quickly it dawned on him that this was a gas grenade. He thrust his forearm into his face, using the sleeve to shield himself from the toxic fumes as he started for the door.
Why would they do such a thing to him? Wouldn’t they have just realized that the crime had already taken place and that the murderers had already left? Just as he got to the handle of the door something smashed on it shoving the young man backwards, causing him to tumble to the floor. Looking up through the gleam of dusk shining down on him, he could see the silhouettes of three or four men surrounding him. They stood surrounding him for a minute before slowly opening their circle. Another man almost materialized in front of him, he stood there over top of him, and appeared to be looking around. Then without warning, he took his hands from behind his back, he was holding something long. There was a clicking noise, followed by one last blinding light, and then SMACK. Lights out.
Our fallen child found himself awakening among stars and white blindness. A pulsing eradicated all possible thoughts from staying in his head as well as causing immense pain. It thumped and throbbed like the blood that surged through his body. With time and adaptation to the low lighting he regained use of his eyes. What he had first thought was a sewer turned out to be very little more.
It was a cell, no doubt about that, why someone thought it was fit for anything but a lab rat was something nobody could answer. Clearly any whisper of anti bacteria cleaners were silenced because he was sitting in a murky puddle of fluids (likely his own), with one singular light bulb above his head. It took him quite a while to jog his memory of the past events. As soon as he remembered though the thought of those crimson stained carpets with bits of… whatever strewn around the room and his guardians, the people that were there to protect him, dead and lying in front of him. An all too familiar feeling entered his body, the feeling of a serenity being taken from him, a feeling of unimaginable pain. It rushed through his senses once again and he dry heaved time and time again.
No natural lighting was visible into the cell so time was of no consolation to him but it seemed as though it had stopped. As if this box, this concrete kingdom (it said on the wall), was a lapse in time, where the wind stopped, and where thoughts and reality didn’t seem to matter. The only sure thing was that escape was not an option. In an empty concrete room comfort was also not an option but he did as best he could to lie against a wall. After his lids had just begun to droop a swift clicking noise followed by the only exit to his cell being opened notified him that his captors had arrived.
He slid his eyelids open just a slight amount, enough to barely see the man shut and lock the door. The stranger slowly lifted his pant legs and kneeled right next the boy. “Do you know who I am?” he asked in a cold tone. The boy gave no response but he lifted his chin only enough to get a good look at the face of this man. He was clean dressed, in a white suit, shaven, and wearing a pair of glasses that added a tortuous view about him; as though he enjoyed administering pain. His deep brown skin was the real thing matching his surroundings seeing as everything around was dark or dirty in a musty way.
“I said do you know who I am?” he repeated, clearly wanting an answer.
“Mmmhhmmm,” was the only response he got from the slumped boy.
“Well you ought to, I am the warden of this prison, the head honcho if you will. But I am much more than just the man holding you in this cage… I am the man that will show you hell. I’ll throw it in this cell with you and make it a cage match. One that never ends; not till you’ve had your last meal of your life, it’ll be right here too.” He picked up some dust of the dirt off the floor and slowly let it fall to the ground, sifting it between his forefinger and thumb.
The boy stirred at this,” What, you didn’t get the news?” the warden said in a comical tone like there was something hysterical about dying in a grey cube. “You’ve been sentenced to life baby, 25 to it. That’s a wrap, game over, the end…you get it. This cell is only temporary though, you’ll get to sleep with the rest of the ladies down in block number 4. “
“Life? What are you talking about?” It was now clear to the boy why he was in here. What was to become of his friends and his job? How could this young boy relinquish all hope of normal life to a place like this?
“What, you ask? You are stupid aren’t you? You were found at the scene of a two person manslaughter crime, bearing the murder weapon and you say you commit no crime?!?” the wardens face had drastically changed from cool and easy to concerned and awestruck, “You’re a fool if you think that you should be free to go. The investigators tell me they were your foster parents for four years, how do you go that wrong? How do you consciously do that to a human body? More importantly, how do you do that and say you’ve done no crime?”
“I did not kill them, which is what I’m trying to tell you. I came home from the corner shop, where I work, and I noticed the door open so I we-“
“Oh don’t give me some bullshit about; I’ve been set up it’s the truth,” he snarled while he imitated someone begging,” It’s been done.”
“Let me finish, I went inside and I also saw that it was a mess, so I immediately ran to find my parents and there they were…” a look not so sorrowful filled the boys face as he trailed off.
“You’re lying!”
“Why would I ransack my home?” The boy’s voice quivered and his face distraught.
“There could have been a struggle I’m not the murderer!”Roared the warden, leaning forward slightly.
“No.” The boy said this last word in such a way that the man in the suit couldn’t reply. He stood up abruptly and brushed his hands clean as he turned around. As if he hoped to wipe off more than the filth that filled the cell. He opened the door which flooded light in the room. Right before leaving he turned around, and said,” My name is James Naboom, and you have just made your first enemy in prison. And I’m the one that’ll fights dirty.” His upper lip was raised in such a way that you would assume him to be a close relative to a cougar or some ravenous animal. “Your new cell will be better than this; but not by much. And don’t think I’ll give you tea and scones just cause your innocent,” he said while using quote hands to signify innocent. “I know your type, you stay quite but still rebellious, don’t pick fights but let them come to you. Don’t think your some piece of hot s**t that pulls that off. I’ll drop you faster than you can blink because in here I own you. You belong to me and I tell you what to do, got that?”
The boy made an attempt to stand up and show that he had power but in standing up Naboom rushed over and kicked him right in the ribs. The boy slumped over, pain stuck in the lungs made him wheeze. “Where do you think you’re going big boy?”, the hysteria now resumed upon the wardens face, he stood up straight and walked out; leaving the door ajar for the guard to shut.
Within the next couple of days the boy found himself moved by none too soft guards to another cell. This one he found was deep within the prison walls with the rest of the inmates. Although it did give way to a much lighter and less moist and musky room it was still dimly lit. But in a total upgrade it did come with a lone mattress and a hole in the wall, leading to a pipe, no doubt for bathroom problems. He was allowed five times a day to leave his cell; three for meal times and two for recreation. For one of his recreation times he would walk around the courtyard area where all the prisoners came to play sports or to just relax outside. The boy avoided everyone and walked only around the various edges of the yard.
But while in his cell the focused on a new found art form; the kind of body and soul, called meditation. Most would call it unorthodox to suddenly pick up a new hobby, but his next door prison neighbor had told him about it. Said he called it some sort of relaxation, that if you tune out everything around you then what can you tune in to. So the boy gave it a try.
He sat upon the hard stone and focused on things like his full water cup, or a pile of dirt collecting in places around the ten foot cell. While he obviously could not move these things with his thoughts alone he would concentrate with the same mental picture of the cup levitating in the air, water and all. In the coming months he would become very skilled at this. Rarely leaving his cell now; he believed that the he no longer needed to exercise. Because in a sense; he had let his mind roam the earth from the first day he entered his cell.
One day while sitting upon the floor he looked outside his cell and found himself looking at none other the warden coming down the rows of blocks of cells. He walked leisurely, down the way, slowing at some cells to look in on one of his prized. He drew nearer to the boy’s cell. Attempting to ignore James Naboom he continued to focus on the dirt and dust. Just move forward a little bit. Just a little.
“Who the f**k do you think you are? I leave you be for a few months and look at what you’ve amounted to. You look like your trying to be a monk. Jesus, and what’s this?” he said once again wearing a clean grey suit pointing to the small mound of dirt on the floor,” get up. GET UP!!” This time he was angry, a small vein on his forehead pounded. You could see it like an underground tunnel, moving slightly when he spoke. Some of the other prisoners were trying to get a look at the ruckus. Naboom was standing in front of the boy’s cell.
“I have no intentions of getting up under your jurisdiction. Perhaps if you ask in a nicer tone then I can help you.” There was a clear change in tone by the way the boy spoke, but without a second thought, the warden had opened the gate and was upon him.
In between kicks Naboom managed to hiss out,” Get – the – hell – up – you’re – going – to – the – hole – now!”
The boy stirred from the corner in which he was beaten. Wobbling to his feet the boy stood. No stamina remained within him but still he managed to look James in the face,” Can you handle the truth?”
“YOU CAN’T HANDLE THIS!” Naboom bellowed at the top of his lungs and slammed a knee right into the already aching boy’s gut. The boy doubled over, every fiber of his soul wanted to lash out but he knew there was no chance. Raising his polished shoe onto the boys shoulder he leaned on it saying,” Where do you stand in this place.” And with that; he shoved the boy to the floor leaving him crumpled in a heap.
The warden slumped over, exhausted, on the cot. He stroked his shaved head with his hand, and in a quiet voice said,” The other inmates call you The Stone. What does that mean? Do you turn rock hard?”
Both the warden and Stone smiled but Stone replied, “No, it means that you cannot destroy me, and that I move for no one and nothing. You may accuse me of wrongs I have not done but I will not submit to them.”
“Don’t even make this some philosophical bullshit now; because you know it’s not. This is a simple case of manslaughter. The Stone may not move but from where I see it; it really isn’t supposed to.” A cruel sneer broke the solemn face of James.
“A stone can move by other means than man, warden, you know that.”
“We will see, we will see,” and with that, he left, stopping only to tell the guards to take the boy to the hole. An insidious place where Stone had first been kept, and now would return for a while it seemed. But to the boy, this would be a perfect opportunity to relinquish some of his newfound skills of meditation, if it could be called that anymore.
New sights were revealed to the young man as he was dragged back, outside into the bitter cold of night. Useable the last time he was retrieved from this concrete kingdom, it was no more than a single stone box, with one solid steel door containing no openings. An all too familiar scent filled his nostrils as he neared it. It was clear that nobody really went in the vicinity of the place if it could be helped. A gravel path gave way to a discolored muddy puddle that seemed to have compiled from fluid under the door. The trails his feet created gave way for the liquid to seep in them, like small rivers; formed to trickle away the pain and disillusions of men.
The guards held Stone backwards so he never got a good look at the front of the box; though he expected it to be quaint. Memories returned as the sound of clicks and creaks told him that the door was opened, and in one swift throw he was plunged into the darkness. The singular room was much colder than before. It made concentration much harder. Without any way of seeing his surroundings he relied only on touch and feel. Compiling what little dirt he could scrap up he made one pile. It wasn’t much but it was all he needed.
The night was the day as the day was the night. Stone learned to call this box home as minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. With no better way of spending his time Stone quickly became adept to shifting the earth around him. It had begun as if someone had breathed on the mound, but eventually it would actually leave his hand clear of any dirt. Slowly he found that he could make the mound disperse, which wasn’t much but it was a start. He scooped up the dirt into the palms of his calloused hands and let it sit there, feeling the pulsating of his energy flow in waves from the utmost middle of his chest. Presuming this to be the resting place of his soul his energy coursed through his palms into the lump of dirt and WOOSH. It had sprayed against the wall, all of his concentration broken he gathered up the dust and dirt to try again.
Over and over again this process occurred. Right as it seemed that he would control the earth, the earth controlled him. When the guards brought him his one meal everyday it was accompanied by a cup of water. Although he was practically dehydrated by the time he got this glass of water he still managed to attempt the same process. First putting the full cup of water in his hands and beginning to focus. The water would tremor and occasionally froth from this raw energy. But in the end, it would splash and he would lose half of his precious resource. Stone didn’t even think about trying the same process with the liquids around the clogged drain in one corner due to the likely hood of where they originated.
At one point Stone considered giving up the whole thought of controlling these elements, for as far as he knew, nobody had done such a thing before. On what he believed to be his final day of trying it happened. It was not much more than a droplet of water but it was more than ever before. Surges of energy, pounded through his body faster and faster while he held the cup of water. Every thought and feeling cascading from his head flowed directly to the water. The young man assumed that it would yield only an explosion so he prepared by squinting awaiting a splash in the face. But it did not come. It felt as though the waves of energy had slowed, not to a stop but to a point of feeling; to where he could feel himself making them move. And as he opened his eyes he could feel a part of this newfound energy release upward just slightly. And he knew, it was motion, a drop of water had left its contents and was now hovering in the air.
He set down the water cup and began carefully moving the drop around. It was if he no longer needed his eyes. The room was clear, he could feel the earth a few feet below the concrete floors and he could feel the cup of water along with the mound of dirt. Using his hands he began to push the water drop around in the air. With little effort; he could simply put his hand nearer to the droplet, and like two opposite magnets he could feel it move away. After a while he could cup his hands together and make it spin very fast. It whisked around so fast that he thought it would hurt his hand if he touched it but he kept it under control.
Stone could pull his hands apart and stretch the drop into an extremely thin line and bend it ever so slightly. But over time he worked up no more than a couple of ounces of water. He started over again with his dirt pile this time, (taking a break from water). But still, although it was a breakthrough, he still could only move a small amount of the pile. It was very different than with water though. He found that it took much more of his energy to penetrate all of the earth. But it also could be formed differently too. He could turn this powered crumbly soil into a hard rock sphere that would most definitely break bones if hurled hard enough. He even tried throwing it through the air, purely with energy, and heard a loud cracking sound as if he had chipped away at his human bird cage.
He could harden this element into any shape he saw fit, while still being able to hold it midair or anywhere. Stone began to work with the water again, this time going all in and risking his own health. He would take his glass of water and turn it upside down. Every time he could sense a sinking sensation like on a sudden drop; and every time, the darkness got no lighter when he longed for sunlight and the feel of cool air. Whatever water he could catch in midair before it fell would be what he would drink. But he could still practice with what he dropped. No longer needing to worry about getting a wet smack in the face he could levitate as much as a cup or two of water in the air. He even began to think of escape, though it would be tough. He slowly saw that he could form the dirt into more than cubes and spheres, but in fact weapons, small daggers and knives.
Two weeks had passed since he had felt the tingling sensation of fresh air rolling off of his cheeks like the water on rock. Stone could feel his powers enhanced now. As if he could feel ever vibration of a footstep outside his cell. And he could just barely pull the earth beneath him upward, but he was not yet strong enough to move the concrete out of the way. Plans were swimming around in his head. Plans to escape and plans to kill, to kill to escape, that was the only way.
After another day of practicing controlling how stable his water movements were Stone was just thinking of curling up in his corner when he felt the vibrations. One or two people were quickly approaching. He assumed guards but it wasn’t mealtime already? He still had some of his water left from yesterday’s provisions. Seconds later the anonymous figures were at the door and the cell door unlocking could be heard, closely followed by an enormous flood of white light that hurt his eyes so bad he instantly though he’d become blind.
With a deep loathing, un-soothing voice entered his hearing, “Good evening.” And with a thundering crash fist collided with temple and Stone went tumbling onto the floor. “It’s interesting. You see; I made a bet that you’d be begging to get out of here after the first day. In fact, I bet a hundred dollars on it. Seeing as how I lost I owed three separate guards one hundred dollars. So you won’t mind if I’m a bit mad.” And with that James Naboom proceeded to kick Stone in the ribs, a clear cracking sound resonated in the stale cell air, and suddenly breathing became extremely difficult for the boy.
“The Stone does not break. Nor will it give in to your silly whims,” said the boy through gritted teeth, he was clearly in immense pain.
“Oh you’re not still on that s**t with meditating are you? I thought you could get a hold of yourself in the hole down here.”
Trying to maintain what little dignity he had left while balled up in pain on the floor Stone whispered, “I have seen more in here, in the darkness, than you have seen in all of your life.”
For some unknown reason he sounded different, as if a boy born in the world of today had drastically been born again. Not as someone with all knowing power. But someone who had taken a step back from the single being that is Stone and looked at everyone else through the eyes of no one, un-biased and free.
James Naboom however, upon hearing this reached a whole new level of hate towards Stone. It took him a while to control his urges to kill him right on the spot. He forced himself to look away from Stone; it was all he could do to grind his teeth and to clench his fists so tightly that it cut his palms. A single bead of blood fell from his hand and landed on the floor in a plop. “You know nothing; you’ve sat in the f*****g dark for two weeks. And what? Now you’re the right hand man of Buddha? If this is some way of proving that you can stand up to the challenges in prison then stop now. Because you have absolutely no idea what I can unleash on you.”
With all this anger controlling the warden he hardly took notice that the blood drop seemed to be reforming and floating just an inch in the air. But it made no difference. The warden turned to look at the boy again and then rushed him. He made a series of quick blows on the face. A mouthful of blood filled landed in coagulation on the smooth concrete floor. Stone was conscious now, but he was not going to give in; he merely got on his knees and started groping the wall, looking for a handle where there wouldn’t be one. While he was leaning against the wall, almost standing, he began to think that James had grown tired and decided to stop. This was not the case; all of his muscles locked in a fury as though he had been struck by lightning. He had thought that the limit had been reached before but whatever new tool of treachery was in play now had easily broken that thought.
At long last it ceased. Pressed up against the wall but now standing Stone turned around, what he saw made his spine shiver in fear. Small white, crackling orbs flurried around in the hemisphere tip of a staff. Clutched in the hands of the warden, it crackled once more before extinguishing itself. If Stone had seen the staff when it wasn’t in terror mode he would have thought it was just a beating stick. But it was much worse, small engravings had been carved into the stem of the staff. Its color seemed to be a deep red with hints of black and ash color underneath. The only logical explanation for the crimson color was blood. But the engravings were much too detailed to see in the dim light.
“Let me introduce you to the Boom stick. Named after its inventor naturally, you’ll kindly glance at the intricate detailing around the carving, ”James said in a sarcastic tone like a TV salesman,” These are all original engravings of past victims to the Boom stick, and the varnish is also a contribution made by all the recipients of the Boom stick.” The warden had once again, regained composure and was toying with the boy. “Why fiddle with piles of dust and water when you can have instant gratification from something like this,” continuing his sales pitch, “But sadly folks, this product is on sale for a hefty price….”
He let this phrase hang in the air before adding,” Now I know that’s a little expensive but I speak as an eye witness when I tell you, this will free your soul. It’s worth it the amount.”
Still unclear what this tool was the boy opened his mouth to ask what but was interrupted before he could start,” Are you still skeptical? Well let me show you the force of the Boom stick,” James jeered as he made a swiping motion with his thumb the bright lighting resumed snapping at the tip. He thrust it into Stone’s upper arm and like clockwork; everything in his arm stiffened and became useless to move. The flashing flickered and highlighted a cruel look of satisfaction and victory on the warden’s face while he watched the boy suffer.
All Stone could gargle out while even his mouth seemed unable to move was” ……..stop……….please.” But it was no use; Naboom continued prodding in various places each becoming more painful than the previous.
At long last, James ceased his torture. Scorched, burned, and scared, Stone was defeated, with very little life left in him.
The warden strode up to Stone and stood so he looked directly down on the boy. He spat on him and said with no remorse,” It looks as though the Boom stick will have one more engraved on its shaft.” He took a long look at what was left of a young man and then started to turn and walk out of the cell. What he hadn’t noticed was that a small pile of dirt had formed a thin but sharp arrowhead shape. It slid along the floor, following, it followed Naboom’s left leg until he reached the door. Then it rose off the ground to mid-thigh level. Just as Naboom had turned the key to the lock; the arrowhead whizzed through the air and pierced James’ leg. He collapsed on the stone and it buried itself all the way in his leg. His fall was all the time Stone needed, Stone struggled to stand and struggled even more to run to the door. He heard the guards run to the door, but he was there first. Thrusting all of his weight against the door, Stone flung it open and burst around the now tumbling guards.
The door gave way to a grassy slope, not too steep, but still unforgiving. Stone hobbled down the slope found that he was in luck. They were on an island and the water was about a hundred meters away. While he ran he could hear the distant squabbling of Naboom….”Get that sneaky f**k right now! How did he get passed all three of you, he was half dead!”
He may have escaped but he definitely wasn’t safe. This next part would be the hardest yet. For this; he would have to make the water support his weight. He drew near to coast and felt something nick his right arm. A sniper bullet had just skimmed his forearm and started to bleed. Attempting to ignore this pain he reached the coast, without a second thought he jumped. For a second it seemed as though he would plunge into the cold waters. But no, he forced all thoughts out of his mind and found the place of tranquility, the surges were massive and as he landed on the water he found that he could continue running. So he did, and it was no different than on land. If anything, he became aware that he could propel his feet higher so he did a sort of lunging run. But if his foot missed the area he was supporting then Stone would find himself with a mouthful of water.
He stopped after a while, his lungs bursting, and turned around to see his pursuers not on the shore shouting obscenities at him. In fact, they were nowhere at all. They must have given up, he thought. So he slowed his movements, first going at a mere jog but then starting to walk. It felt good, (disregarding pain), to be out of a damp cell and into an open, icy fresh surrounding. This escape had given him power over the elements he never thought he could achieve. Let alone in so little time, but it seemed as though pushing his abilities to the limit gave way to new things, a second wind perhaps. But the feeling was short lived.
A small humming, skimming noise resounded all around him, and it only grew louder. Stone quickly checked his surroundings, and once again, Naboom had found a way to make things worse.
Stone could see that four zodiac boats were closing, coming from the far side of the island. He could make out three to five men in each, with James Naboom’s boat riding front and center. James was calling out to the fellow boats; giving orders. Stone could see the same determined and maniacal face, this time with giving of a flicker of pain. One of his pants legs was bleeding profusely.
There was no outrunning these vehicles, so he would stand and fight. Earth was nowhere to be seen or felt so he would have to use water alone. He made sure he had a substantial space to stand before he raised two small water spheres, about the size of a ping pong ball, into his hand. Giving them room to move, he held his hands apart from each other and made the balls spin. The whirled faster and faster, and finally, Stone took aim and let one fly.
It swirled through the air and pelted the second boat’s driver right in the chest. The force blasted him clean off the boat, and another minion was forced to take the wheel and turn around to recover him. James only took one look at the lagging boat before putting on an extra effort of speed. With his free hand he was holding his Boom stick, popping and crackling he pointed it right at Stone.
Stone had to use every ounce of his power now, he raised four more bullets of water into his grasp and made them all blur before his eyes. He threw his arms forward and all of them swooshed away, all but one hitting their mark. That took out one full boat, still leaving three.
He now focused on raising something a little more powerful. Stone raised a ball of water the size of a tire and started to make this one spin, he could only make it spin in place, but it was big enough to sink any one of the boats. He channeled the orb until it was directly over one of the boats, and let it fall. Two of the men it the boat were smart enough to bail but others were not and they, along with the boat, sunk altogether.
Incapacitating that boat had taken some time and now the remaining two boats were very close. He would not have time to take them both out. He started grasping low, as if he was grasping the water right in front of Naboom’s path. And right then, he pulled up with both arms, raising a sheet of water. The warden was able to steer clear but the ladder boat was not so lucky. It collided with it and sunk without a sight.
James was now within range of him but he did not attack. He simply circled the boy and grinned. The Boom stick was now raised high in the air, grasped in Naboom’s powerful hand. And just like that, Stone realized what he was going to do. Naboom started bringing the snapping, lightning end of his weapon to the water lapping the sides of his boat. Careful not to actually touch the water’s surface Naboom called out,” You’ve made it this far, why stop now? I don’t know how you’re standing right there or how you escaped for that matter. I left you dead on the floor, and then I somehow get stabbed? But look where we are, and look at what’s in my hand. You can’t escape.”
“YOUC AN NEVER HOLD ME NABOOM! I HAVE CONTROL OVER THINGS YOU’VE NEVER IMAGINED!” screamed Stone, the water had begun to vibrate around them both like a gale wind was blowing right on them.
“Of course I can hold you,” Naboom said, a flitter of fear rising on his face,” you are no God. Just put your hands in the air, slowly, and you won’t have to feel my Boom stick.”
Stone paused for a minute before responding, a sureness in his voice when he did,” Okay warden, I will do as you ask.” And with that, Stone turned his hands, limp at his sides, into fists. A smile broke his face, just a small one to scare the one off James’. And then, with no time to respond, he threw them straight up.
James had not been expecting what happened next. He saw Stone, and then he found himself twenty feet high in the air, supported by a pillar of water. He felt one last powerful rise, and then he fell. Naboom grabbed the sides of the boat and held tight. He landed hard, his boat filling with water. In all this time he had not kept his eye on the boy, and sure enough, while he looked around, the boy was nowhere to be found.
The warden restarted the boat and attempted to wring out his soaking wet white suit. He rounded some of the men in other boats and headed back to the prison. A manhunt had begun.
End of Chapter one.