Zachary Pill, Of Monsters and Magic Read online

listened intently. He had never seen his father like this. What had happened to the meek and mild man he had lived with his whole life?

  “With all due respect, Mr. Pill,” Vice Principal Galloway said, “this is the second time in two days that your son has been in the middle of problems like these.”

  Zachary was proud of what his father did next. He stabbed a finger up at the much bigger man’s nose.

  “You’re right,” Roger Pill said, “but my son has been the victim, not the bully! How many times has Zachary told you and your staff about problems only to have you believe the other kids? I think it’s time this school screwed its head on straight and realized what’s really going on here. I’ve sold you people a lot of office supplies over the years, and there’s always a line of students in the Principal’s office. It’s like a hotbed of…of…bad students!”

  So, Zachary’s father wasn’t exactly quick with words—but it was amazing to hear him talk back to anyone, forget a man twice his size! By this time, Vice Principal Galloway’s face had turned bright red. He looked like an overfilled water balloon ready to explode. Nurse Jacobs stepped between him and Zachary’s father.

  “All this talking won’t heal this young man’s injuries,” she quipped. “Zachary needs to see a physician right away!”

  His father’s eyes moved from the vice principal to Zachary’s swollen nose and sling-held arm. “You’re right,” he said with finality. “Mr. Galloway, we’ll discuss this at another time.”

  “Take it up with Principal Coldwell,” the big man said. He walked rapidly from the room, his heavy footsteps as angry as his last expression, and disappeared down the hall. Roger Pill nodded to the nurse and turned to lead Zachary out into the hall.

  “I expect to get a call from either your son’s doctor or a hospital this afternoon, Mr. Pill,” the nurse said. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to report this to the Child Welfare Department.”

  Zachary’s father nodded.

  “Someone will call,” he said then led Zachary down the hallway and out the front doors to the parking lot. “Stay off the grass,” he said to Zachary, “and don’t go near the trees.”

  Alarmed by the strange thoughts he’d been having about the spider plant, Zachary did as asked. He followed his father to the white company car but suddenly felt dizzy when they reached it. His vision had grown blurry.

  “You okay?” his father asked, using a surprisingly strong grip around his waist and on his good shoulder.

  “I don’t think so,” Zachary answered honestly. If it weren’t for his father’s support, he felt certain he would have fallen over. The throbbing in his head had gotten worse, and his broken arm felt like a thousand tiny soldiers were beating on it with hammers and swords. His body swayed to one side, but he couldn’t stop it. His father somehow held him upright while opening the car door and easing him onto the front seat.

  “Hang in there, son. Just hang in there. We’ll be in Chicago soon.”

  Chicago? Zachary thought through a pain-clouded mind. Isn’t that a long way from Boston?

  What happened next Zachary wasn’t entirely sure. His father seemed to suddenly become a racecar driver, dodging from one lane to the next, zooming through dozens of intersections, not seeming to worry whether the traffic lights were green or red. Dozens of cars screeched and slid at odd angles outside Zachary’s window as they soared through intersections. Gripping the dashboard with his one good hand, Zachary tried to make sense of their mad dash through the streets of Boston. He had almost convinced himself that it was all a nightmare when he began to hear sirens, lots of them. Shifting painfully to look out the side mirror, he could see at least four flashing blue police cars rushing up on them from behind. But his father wasn’t making it easy. Their car cornered violently every few blocks and several times Zachary felt certain they were going to flip over. His seatbelt and grip on the dashboard were the only things that kept him from smashing like a pinball into the windshield and against the door beside him. By this time, the city scenery was flashing past so quickly he had lost all sense of time or direction. All he knew for certain was that each skid or pothole rammed the bones in his arm together like branches in a hurricane, and each time it sent shards of pain straight to his brain.

  “Hang on, Zach!” his father said as they careened around one particularly tight corner. For a moment, the car tilted up on only two tires, but came back down as they fishtailed and straightened out again. The pain in Zachary’s arm made his teeth grind. Disbelieving, he stared in the side-view mirror as two police cars slid off the road behind them. One rolled upside down onto the sidewalk, pieces of wood and other debris exploding from the porch it struck, and the other slamming through a store window. Just then his father rounded another corner, hiding the accidents from view. After several more violent turns that forced Zachary to dig his feet into the floorboards and grip the dashboard like an emergency handle, they squealed to a stop in front of a cemetery gate. The sound of sirens seemed to have fallen behind.

  “Danielson & Derek Memorial Park,” read a large black & white plaque on one of the cemetery’s iron gates.

  Zachary had the fleeting fear that he was dying, but who ever heard of dying from a broken arm? Then there was also the damage done to his nose and the back of his head. Even then, he couldn’t be dying, could he? He tried to rub the painful pins and needles under his sling, but just touching the swollen flesh was agonizing. Car chases and injuries obviously didn’t mix very well. He fought back tears that had been threatening to come ever since they left the school and yearned for his mother to appear. He would happily have curled into her lap until the pain went away. Before Zachary could shake the thoughts of his mother, an elderly man appeared on his father’s side of the car. He wore a black suit with a bow tie and a hat that reminded Zachary of limousine drivers he’d seen on TV. As his father rolled down his window, Zachary realized the sirens were getting louder!

  “Better make it quick, Mr. Pill,” the elderly man said. He tipped his hat and peered in at Zachary. His smile displayed dozens of gold-covered teeth.

  Zachary was both fascinated and repulsed at the same time.

  “Where can we catch a ride today?” his father asked. “We have to get to Gefarg’s.”

  Confused, Zachary struggled to understand. Why would anyone catch a ride in a graveyard? Were there bus stops or car pools at a cemetery? And why had his father been in such a mad rush that he was willing to get arrested?

  “Try the Verra Family tomb at the north corner,” the doorman said. “And you might want to step on it. They’re right behind you.”

  Suddenly, the large metal gates hinged inward, and his father gunned his engine. A second later they were soaring dangerously fast through the narrow cemetery roads. Zachary glanced back in time to see what looked like dozens of blue lights flashing at the gates that had already closed again. Multiple sirens pierced the air.

  They were going to be arrested!

  Beautiful lawns and trimmed shrubbery blurred past as they zoomed along the tombstone-lined roads. Zachary’s arm ached miserably and his head felt even worse. In one way, he was glad they were going too fast to read the names on the tombstones because he had an irrational fear that “Zachary Pill” might be imprinted on one of them.

  After a harrowing series of zigzagging turns, they finally came to a jerking halt on the grass behind a stone mausoleum, his father’s apparent attempt to hide their car. Even though the sirens were growing louder, Zachary glanced all around and couldn’t see any signs of blue lights. He turned to ask what they were doing—just in time to receive a puff of white powder in the face.

  His eyelids slid shut.

  5) Hospital Fears

  Zachary vaguely remembered being carried up a set of stairs, but when he came to full consciousness he was slouched low in the back seat of a car. His nose, arm and the back of his head all throbbed with agony. He could hear raucous sounds of traffic and looked past his father’s head to see tall buildings
moving past the windows. Pushing himself painfully to an upright position, he could see gray curls cascaded down from under a bright red baseball cap in the front seat. A certificate with a picture of a smiling older man hung next to the driver’s sun visor. They were in a cab. Remembering the hair-raising journey from the school to the cemetery, Zachary thought it was probably wise his father wasn’t driving.

  “You’re awake,” his dad said.

  Zachary grunted. Realizing he had been drooling, he wiped his mouth. “What happened?”

  “’Guess I’m a little rusty with the sleeping powder,” his father told him. “How do you feel?”

  “Like my skull’s filled with bulldozers.” Even as he said it, he felt his neck bending with the weight of his own head. He forced it upright. All his muscles felt tired. “Sleeping powd―”

  “Right here is good,” his father said, interrupting him. He leaned toward the driver. “Drop us right here.”

  “Sure,” came the driver’s deep voice. He stopped the car and turned to wink at Zachary, his yellowed smile splitting several days of beard growth. He held out his hand so Zachary’s father could stuff several bills into it. “Thank you for riding with me.”

  “Keep the change,” his father said.

  He helped Zachary out of the car and barely had time to shut the door before