A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER ELEVEN

Amiry Kinchell harped on Rogetta concerning the whereabouts of Thor. Evasive tactics propelled her paranoia as she pursued her quest with hospital staff on the wings of heightened anxiety. Her calls to the Institute were fruitless; Theogen was not available, and in his absence reared a void of information.

“No!” she screeched at his deflated demeanor, when Theogen entered her room. She remembered her presentiment. She knew what his sober countenance meant. Against the doctor’s orders, she was wheeled into Thor’s room. She left, drained, ashen, and ancient. Her premonition had imbruted its fruition.

The news was announced in the Institute classrooms by teachers trained to deal with grief. Three boys were reported to Theogen as inconsolable. Confounded Kyle staggered to the garden after class. Perplexity that Thor hadn’t shown for their promised race twisted to adversity. The effervescent senior, plunged headlong into comatose, cast a stern spotlight on his personal predicament.

The shock to Dov wiped his features blank. He sat frozen, not hearing a word subsequent to the bulletin. Ruslan was in disbelief, unable to register the pronouncement. Regarding Dov across the room who did not make eye contact, he rushed him at the end of class.    

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Dov fulminated, “Sorry! Sorry that you don’t know what to say, or sorry about Thor?”

“Both.”

“It’s not to me you owe an apology, if that’s what your sorry signifies. Apologize to him, though he would say there’s nothing to forgive. That’s who he is.”

“You mean who he was.”

Dov stared at him, stupefied by his insensitivity. “I’m not forgiving like he is. Is,” he underlined. “I won’t excuse your rotten lack of tact. Stay away from me. I don’t want to talk to you ever again.”

He about-faced and hobbled off, his limp prominent. Dov’s fellowship, hemmed with the steady support of his preceptors and Theogen, had laboriously mended the gash of his past umbra. The broadcast scissored the tender tissues of that embroidery. His nightmare-inflicted beatings resumed to haunt him. Visits to Thor were to commence the succedent day; his request was first on the roster. When he was summoned to a meeting by Theogen the next morning, he concluded his friend was dead. He sat in the anteroom, furious to find Ruslan. The fragile-appearing adolescent opposite him, he didn’t know.

Theogen walked out of his office. “Follow me,” he instructed the threesome, leading them to the garden. They sat in the grass near the fountain.

“What better place to mention Thor than this sanctuary. You’re his closest friends. Have we left anyone out?”

Flooding friction from the trio denoted discord betwixt the seniors atop disdain from the junior toward the older youths, but he was beyond petty spats. “Ah, I see. Kyle Balthazan, meet Dov Pendergast and Ruslan Arelius. You’re all signed up to see him. I’m enlisting your services as sleuths.”

“What?” voiced the three in unison.

“We’re chasing down any irregularities regarding Thor.”

The boys stiffened.

“Who’s we?” questioned Ruslan curtly.

“The museum director, Mr. Klingshire, and I. We’re referring to the quandary of his coma, gentlemen.”

Ruslan continued, agitated. “Sir, point of order. We’re not gentlemen; we’re boys.” 

Dov was aggravated. “He speaks for himself, sir, not for me.”

Kyle interjected, “Nor me, sir.”

“Understood. Grief makes men out of boys. Dismiss your grief, utilize your skills, and recapture your boyhood,” urged Theogen. “You’re excused from classes and assignments. Henceforth, your duties as detectives take precedence. Tune your keen faculties toward your friend.”

“How so, sir?” asked Dov.

“We’re overriding doctors who advise that I terminate his life support. Our mission is to save Thor. The situation is hopeless only if we cave. Open wide your senses to whatever you can grab as ammunition, no matter how insignificant. We are seeking missing pieces in this perturbable puzzle. Go grouped into battle, not singly, but with strength in numbers. Don’t store secrets and pacts that diminish your findings. We share information and analyze our arsenal together. Are you with me?”

Affirmation greeted his ears. 

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to your strategies.” 

“I don’t trust him,” uttered Ruslan upon Theogen’s departure. 

“Guess you forgot how ripe you were to turn Thor over to him for that medallion. No skepticism then,” reproached Dov. 

Kyle exploded in cynicism. “Some friends you are.”

Ruslan frowned, “What’s your claim to friendship?”

“None of your business, but it’s certainly better than yours.”

A hummingbird roosted on Ruslan’s shoulder. He shook it off, annoyed. The mulish creature would not be dissuaded and alighted on Dov.

“Stupid pest,” muttered Ruslan.

Dov stroked the calming critter, his hardness melting. “Enmity is not a trait of Thor’s, nor should it be ours. With obstacles aplenty to weaken us, let’s not be saddled with inane distractions. Thor merits a united front.” He extended his hand. “A truce to set aside grief and grievances.”

Ruslan and Kyle copied the gesture, dissipating the tension. The hummingbird settled on Kyle.

*     *     *

At first sight of Thor, Kyle clutched his abdomen and ran to the bathroom. Dov and Ruslan kept abreast, wordlessly watching him convulse in vomits. The trio reclined in the corridor afterward. 

“Kyle, you’re sick,” stressed Dov.

“I am.”

“You should tell Theogen,” advised Ruslan.

“He knows the truth.”

Ruslan shot back. “What truth?”

“About me. It’s our secret.”

Dov remarked, “You trust him.”

“With my life. Let’s get back to Thor. I’ll manage.”

The boys perused their fallen friend, engulfed in hospital paraphernalia, recumbent on a specially-tailored cot to minimize bed sores. Profuse tubes ran from him to sundry contraptions, his legs girthed with thick padding connected to equipment that induced circulation.

“Look how dim the lighting is, designed to discourage scrutiny,” commented Dov.

“The same with this stuff to obscure him from view, the multitudinal attachments, coverings, raised bed railings. He’s practically hidden,” observed Kyle.

Ruslan snickered, “You suspect the life support machines? These invasive inventions of subterfuge are the plugs the doctors want pulled.”

Irritated Dov stepped up to the plate, batting a snide retaliation, “You’re chomping at the bit. Would you rather do the job?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you forgotten our treaty? We’re here to help him.”

The reprimand from Dov set Ruslan afire. “I pledged to play this juvenile game, but don’t assume I bought this clever ruse.”

“What clever ruse?” demanded Dov.

Ruslan lay bare the caricature of a covenant. “Theogen’s chicanery to make Thor’s death palatable to us.”

“What an insult!” Dov was livid.

“Don’t you taste the sugarcoated pill to digest his loss? We’re singled out for that reason.”  

Dov snorted, “You’re wicked.”

“No, pragmatic. Are you that daft to dream he’s coming back?”

 Kyle’s clumsy attempt to mediate served as a scathing admonishment. “Shame on you! How sacrilegious! Bickering in his presence like he’s a corpse. What if he’s listening? Have you thought of that?”

Ruslan absent-mindedly seized Thor’s hand with astonishing roughness, treating it like a prop in his sarcastic speech. “Listening? That’s ridiculous.”

The bald gruffness appalled the two boys. Up to this point, they had not dared to touch Thor.

Dov grimaced, “Careful, Ruslan. Be gentle with him.” 

    “Gentle? His hand is lifeless. He doesn’t feel anything.” Nasty tears shattered his angry face. “I’m not to blame for this. He had a stroke.”

“No one’s blaming you, Ruslan,” Dov said evenly, cautious not to provoke what loomed as a dangerous confrontation.

Scary was Ruslan’s rapid decline into the derogatory, his saturnine squeeze on Thor tighter. “I get your acerbic glowers. Don’t deny you’re damning me for his death.”

Aghast, Kyle shrieked, “Put down his hand! You’re hurting him! He’s not dead!”

Ruslan reeled with animus at the outburst from Kyle, “He’s not? Take his hand and repeat –” Ruslan gasped with a whiplash jerk of his unhinged head fixated on Thor’s wrist. “Baptism of fire,” escaped his lips.

Not his friend’s wrist did he see, but his father’s on the night of his capture. A night of trauma that held no hint of recall for seven years returned with astounding celerity. The startling cessation of motion, an animate entity petrified in an instant, widened eyes glazed in a world of his own, was a stunning sight, as chilling as Thor’s predicament.

“What’s wrong?” chorused Dov and Kyle posed in judicious distance.

Rooted to Thor’s wrist, pinned to his terrifying past, Ruslan darted a scowl to silence them. Treating Thor as hallowed ground, he turned over the lifeless limb, the tiptoed-touch in his tenderness advertised the magnitude of his reverence. He traced the tiny circular imprint on the underside, a vestige of the ruthless republic’s glowing rings. What had erstwhile been shrouded in multiple accouterments was faint, but germane to those with prior knowledge of the source. Few fit into that bracket; Ruslan was one. In a guarded guise of his rigid gait, he peered around the premises, pretending to tidy the trappings and strappings overwhelming Thor. His diligent dedication to speed his deliberate discovery paced him toward a rummage reckless frenzy, vying to outstrip his devout vigilance to a sacred purpose. Dov and Kyle shrank to the perimeter to provide him unobstructed room to roam.

Ruslan indicated Thor’s remaining wrist, his two ankles, and his neck, delineating the telltale scars with a detailed detachment, while the quizzical companions marinated in mystery. Amidst his strict examination, he lapsed with a dramatic deviation. Registering the significance of the stigmata, he knelt and kissed Thor’s check, whispering in his ear the muted apology he prayed his pal would hear, “You kept your word. You didn’t hurt us. Please forgive me.”

Upon completion of his discreet inspection, Ruslan adhered to a systematic replacement of covers and pads over the marks that matched his dad’s.

“We’re done,” he announced, piloting the squad out of the ICU.