Ominous Odyssey (Overworld Chronicles Book 13) Read online

  "I've never seen a person so useless," she said to her husband. "He's supposed to be nearly twelve, but he looks eight." She turned around and looked at me between the seats. "What did you say happened to your parents?"

  I looked down. "I don't know, ma'am."

  "Don't know, or won't say?"

  "I was a babe when they died."

  Mr. Cullen chimed in. "The boy's slow in the head, woman. You're only confusing him."

  "Why else do you think they pay extra for his care?" She stared at me for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth the extra headache."

  "It's worth the few extra pints it buys us." Mr. Cullen snorted. "And it paid for your hair coloring."

  "True." Mrs. Cullen ran a hand through her white hair. "Perhaps we could train him to feed himself so we didn't have to take him everywhere."

  "Yeah. Maybe he's smart enough for that at least."

  I can feed myself. I wasn't smart, but I wasn't mental. The Lewises used to leave me and the others alone for days. We'd survived on bread, jam, and lots of cheese. Sometimes Mrs. Lewis even left food in the fridge when she and her husband left on their monthly holidays. Apparently, the government money was quite good for four children.

  The Cullens had been convinced from day one that I was unable to survive on my own. I would rather be left at their house than forced to sit in the car while they drove around and yelled at each other or left me outside while they went into the pub for hours.

  "I say we make him get groceries while we go to the pub," Mrs. Cullen said.

  "The boy can't tie his own shoe," her husband replied.

  She looked back at me. "He's not that daft."

  "I don't trust him with money."

  "We don't have to give him money. He can put it on our tab." Mrs. Cullen rubbed her husband's arm. "It'll give us more time in the pub."

  "True." Mr. Cullen's dark eyes found me in the mirror. "If you mess this up, boy, I'll make sure you don't ever forget it."

  I looked away. "I won't."

  A few minutes later, we reached Bedford. Mr. Cullen pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket. He got out and opened the rear door. "Clean off the bird."

  I walked around to the hood and looked at the dead animal. A little stream of blood dribbled from its beak and one of its legs was twisted and broken. I felt sorry for it.

  "Well, don't just stand there, boy!" Mr. Cullen nudged me with his elbow. "We've got places to be."

  With trembling fingers, I reached out and picked up the bird by a claw. Just touching something dead made me want to throw up again. I found a rubbish bin and dropped the bird inside.

  Mrs. Cullen got out of the car and gave me a sanitary wipe. "I don't want you touching our food with filthy hands." She inspected me. "Be sure to rinse your face. You've got sick on it."

  I nodded. "I will."

  She handed me a long grocery list in messy handwriting. "You are to purchase exactly what I listed. Don't you dare get a single thing more." She gripped my chin and forced me to look at her. "Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  Mr. Cullen stepped next to her. "We'll be back in an hour or two." He pointed to a nearby bench. "Wait for us there." He pulled back his sleeve and checked a large gaudy watch. Light reflected off the fake diamonds on the band. "Let's go."

  Mrs. Cullen touched the watch. "I love how it makes you glitter."

  He chuckled. "I reckon most ladies do."

  The pair climbed into the car. It puttered away, leaving a trail of dark smoke behind and vanishing around a curve.

  I looked at the list. Beer, pork, ice cream, frozen chips, frozen pizza, soda. I couldn't read the next two items. Mrs. Cullen had listed several kinds of pastries and other snacks. She had forgotten to write down eggs. I wondered if I would be in worse trouble if I bought them or didn't buy them. I knew I would be in trouble either way.

  There weren't a lot of people in the store. I walked around for several minutes and looked at the shelves. Bags filled with wonderful looking treats lined the aisle. One nice couple I'd lived with had let me have crunchy cheese balls. They upset my stomach, but tasted so good. Corn chips were another snack I'd eaten before.

  I found the cookie aisle and walked up and down for several minutes, wishing I could try one of everything. I was tempted to steal something. When I was seven, my fosters at the time, the Taylors, taught me how to nick small items and take them outside to their car while they distracted the store clerks. They even took me to help burgle houses since I was small and could fit through pet doors and small windows.

  "Can I help you?" asked a young clerk.

  I turned to him. "No thank you, sir." I showed him the paper. "I have a list." He must think I'm trying to steal something.

  He smiled. "Any cookies on the list?"

  "No, sir. Afraid not."

  "Well, let me know if I can help you find anything." He walked away.

  I looked at the list again and decided to start collecting the items. Since I knew the Cullens wouldn't be back for a long time, I went very slowly and read the ingredients on some of the packages. Most of the food contained a lot of ingredients with very long names I couldn't pronounce. I didn't know if that was good or bad.

  The soda drinks were last on the list. I picked up a pack of Mr. Nutter's Orange Delicious and put it in the cart.

  Contains Element ZR Thirty. Boil to powder. Applications include rocketry, explosives, sweetener. This random thought surprised me so much I stumbled backwards and knocked over a display of Mr. Nutter's Angel Biscuits. Where did that thought come from? What was Element ZR Thirty? I realized another patron was staring at me and pushed myself back to my feet. It took several minutes to reorganize the pastries. I noticed angel biscuits were on the list, so I put two bags into the cart.

  No more strange words popped into my mind as I finished shopping. By the time I had everything bagged and ready to go, it was dark outside. The clock in the store showed seven in the evening. My stomach rumbled and hurt. I knew I couldn't stand inside for long without looking suspicious so I rolled the cart outside to the bench and sat down.

  A few minutes later, it began to rain. I quickly got up and pushed the cart back under the eaves. The plastic bags protected the groceries from the water, but my shirt and hair were wet. I folded my arms tight and shivered. My stomach made a funny noise to remind me how hungry I was. I did my best to ignore the hollow feeling. I'd survived it many times before. It wasn't any different now.

  Still, I wished I'd stolen a cookie or two.

  The store closed two hours later. The young clerk who'd spoken to me earlier saw me on the way out.

  "Where's your parents, lad?"

  "They'll be along soon," I said.

  He looked at his watch. "You've been out here for two hours. Do you have a phone?"

  I shook my head.

  "Do they?"

  I shrugged. "I think so."

  He shook his head. "Bloody wankers." The clerk held up a finger. "I'll be right back."

  "Please don't worry." I forced a smile. "I'm fine."

  He didn't say anything else and went into the store. A few moments later, he returned with a plastic bag. "There's leftover chicken and bread from the deli inside." He held it out to me. "I know you must be starving."

  My smile turned genuine as I took it. "Thank you, sir."

  He looked very troubled. "Your parents aren't right in the head leaving you here like this. Are you certain they're okay?"

  I nodded. "They went to the pub."

  His face darkened. "To the pub?"

  "It's okay, sir, really." I didn't want him finding the Cullens. They would be furious with me if he made them come get me. "They probably got a flat tire. I'm certain they'll be along soon."

  The clerk ran a hand through his hair. "I hope so, lad." He nodded toward the bag. "Now, eat up. I'd wait with you, but I have to pick up my wife."

  "Thank you, sir." The aroma drifting from within the bag made my stomach rumble
with anticipation. "I promise I'll be okay."

  "I hope so." He gave me one last look and then got into a small car and drove away.

  I opened the bag and looked inside. A plate with two legs of chicken, potatoes, and two slices of bread was inside. I removed the food. There was a small paper bag underneath the plate. I sat down on the walkway and put the plate on my crossed legs. I took out the paper bag and looked inside.

  Cookies.

  Another smile found me. Some people were so nice. This was the most wonderful gift in the entire world. Cookies were like large edible coins you could use to pay for smiles. Perhaps one day I would make my own cookies. I would find people who looked sad and go up to them and say, "Please, don't be sad. Here, have a cookie. It will make you feel better."

  The person would smile and the tears would vanish.

  I ate the chicken, the potatoes, and the bread, saving the cookies for last. I had the chocolate chip cookie first. A buttersnap and an angel biscuit remained. I decided to eat the buttersnap next. Through the grocery window, I looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven. I didn't care. I still had two cookies.

  It was just after two in the morning when I heard the familiar puttering of the Cullens' car. I finished the last morsel of my buttersnap cookie as the auto screeched to a stop in the parking lot. Mr. Cullen staggered out of the car and walked around to open the boot.

  "Get the groceries in the car," he said in a slurred voice.

  I pushed the cart to the car and put everything inside.

  He shut the trunk.

  "Did he get eggs?" Mrs. Cullen shouted out of the window.

  Mr. Cullen looked at me. "Well, did you?"

  I nodded.

  "And the bread?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He made a noise like a horse snorting. "I'll be right back, dear. Got to relieve myself." Mr. Cullen ambled drunkenly around the corner of the store and up to the bushes. He returned a moment later. "Why aren't you in the car yet, boy?"

  I hastily climbed into the back.

  "How's my little golden goose doing?" Mrs. Cullen said. Her cheeks were very pink and her breath smelled quite fierce.

  I decided not to answer. Sometimes when she acted like this it meant she really wanted to pick on me. Since she was drunk, she might find something else to amuse her.

  Mr. Cullen dropped into the driver seat. The car rocked back and forth for a moment. He made a horse snort again and reached into his front pocket. "Where the hell are my cigarettes?" He looked around the seat but didn't find them.

  "You probably dropped them in the bushes," Mrs. Cullen said.

  He looked over his shoulder at me. "Boy, go look for them."

  I climbed out of the car and walked to where I'd seen him vanish a moment ago. As I searched, I noticed my shadow dancing on the ground. It was strange because a moment ago there hadn't been any light on the side of the building. I looked back and saw something bright in the night sky. It grew brighter, closer, and larger. It looked like a fiery meteor.

  "What are you standing there for, boy!" Mr. Cullen shouted out of the car window. "Find my cigarettes!"

  I nodded, but couldn't turn away from the falling star. Windows shattered and the air rumbled as it streaked low over the town. It seemed as if it would fly right over us, but at the last instant, it veered sharply downward. With a horrendous crunch, it smashed into the car. A blast of hot wind knocked me backward into the shrubs.

  Bits of metal and glass flew through the air. A tire bounced past. I felt something under my hand and picked it up. It was Mr. Cullen's pack of cigarettes. I stood and walked toward the parking lot. Of the car there was little left except a few stray bits. Primarily, there was a large black crater in the middle of the parking lot.

  "Well, I suppose that just happened," I muttered. Today had been the day. I sat down on the walkway, took out my remaining cookie, and nibbled at it.

  Conrad Edison Chapter 2

  I almost ran away.

  Unfortunately, I knew from previous experiences that trying to live on the street would be much worse than living with another foster family. I didn't like the idea of returning to the orphanage, but at least it was safe. Perhaps they'd find me nice people to live with who wouldn't die around my birthday.

  Like Cora died.

  We walk down the street looking for a new grocery store so we can steal food.

  "Stealing isn't right," Cora says. "But when you have nothing, it's sometimes a necessity."

  I look up at her and nod. She'd dyed her hair a darker color, but I couldn't tell what it was.

  A homeless man begs for coin.

  Cora reaches into her small purse and frowns. After a moment, she removes a pound and gives it to the man.

  "God bless you, young lady." He tucks away the money.

  As we walk away, I say, "I didn't think you had any money."

  She smiles. "That was almost the last of it." Cora kneels in front of me. "Always help people if you can, Conrad. Good karma is priceless."

  I felt a tear trickle down my face. I balled up on the ground and tried not to cry. Karma had not treated Cora well. She'd died like the rest.

  I spent the rest of the night sleeping in a chair at the police station.

  "Time to wake up, Conrad."

  The familiar voice jerked me awake. I sat up and saw Mr. Goodleigh leaning over me. He smiled pleasantly. I had seen the look enough times to know he was amused. I suspected the misfortunes that found my foster parents entertained him to no end. He was always the one to collect me in the aftermath.

  I stood and felt my pocket for the remaining bit of angel biscuit I'd saved for breakfast. It was still there.

  "I have finished the paperwork." Mr. Goodleigh motioned toward the exit. "We can go."

  I nodded and followed him outside to the old but pristine black car he drove. It looked like a London taxi, but was much larger. I climbed into the back seat and closed the door. Mr. Goodleigh got behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled onto the road.

  "Mother will be pleased to see you again," Mr. Goodleigh said. "And just in time for your birthday."

  "I will be happy to see her too, Mr. Goodleigh." Due to the bad things that happened to my fosters, I was always at the orphanage for my birthday.

  "Tut, tut," he said. "Since your foster parents are dead, Little Angel Orphanage is once again your home. I am no longer Mr. Goodleigh to you."

  "Yes, Father."

  His gaze met mine in the rear view mirror. I looked down.

  "What did I tell you about looking away, Conrad?"

  With difficulty, I brought my eyes back up. "To never look away."

  "It is a sign of utmost disrespect, son."

  "I apologize, Father." I forced myself to look directly at his reflection.

  He nodded. "Much better." Mr. Goodleigh began to chant one of his favorite songs as he drove. The words were in a foreign but pleasant-sounding language. I tried to make out the words, but as usual, they slipped away from me no matter how hard I tried to listen.

  I fell asleep during the ride as I normally did. It seemed impossible to keep my eyes open for longer than a few minutes after Mr. Goodleigh began singing. A bump in the road just outside the main gates woke me as it had many times before. Tall black iron fences connected to thick gray-stoned walls on either side of the road. The wall surrounded the estate.

  Brickle Brixworth, a giant of a man, stood on the other side of the gate. He nodded once at the car and, with a mighty tug, pulled open the heavy iron. Brickle was a groundskeeper, a guard, and even a farmer all rolled into one. I'd seen him tending to the animals, weeding the garden, and repairing the house. Once, he'd fended off a burglar by picking him up, carrying him outside, and hurling him over the front gate.

  Mr. Goodleigh nodded at the groundskeeper as we drove past. Brickle nodded back. Once we were through, he closed the gates.

  The driveway wound through a wide pasture. Horses and cows grazed in the distance. There were s
heep on the farm as well, but they were confined to other fields. The tall gray manor appeared in the midst of tall oaks at the end of the gravel drive. It was not a huge building, but contained thirty-three bedrooms and a large nursery in one wing. Chimneys rose from all sides. The building made an L shape where the residential quarters met with a common room connecting to a large kitchen.

  Mr. Goodleigh pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked in front of the door. A pleasant looking woman stood on the front steps. As usual, Mrs. Goodleigh styled her hair in a tight bun and wore a dark dress. Mr. Goodleigh exited the car, walked around it, and kissed his wife on the cheek. The pair looked at me expectantly.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the car door and climbed out. "Hello, Mother." I dropped to one knee in front of her.

  "Hello, Conrad." She held out a fair-skinned hand.

  I took it and kissed each knuckle. "I ask permission to return to hearth, home, and kin, Mother and Father."

  "With open arms, we welcome you," they said in unison.

  I stood. "Thank you."

  Mrs. Goodleigh inspected me. "You look no worse for the wear. I suppose that will be less work for the doctor tomorrow."

  "As you say, Mother." I was surprised that tomorrow was my birthday. It hardly seemed a year since the last one. The weather didn't seem warm enough for it to be June again already.

  "Twelve years old," Mr. Goodleigh said. He shook his head. "Perhaps this time will be the charm."

  "Perhaps." Mrs. Goodleigh didn't look convinced. She turned and stepped inside the manor.

  I followed them into the empty common room. At this time of afternoon, the other children would probably be doing chores on the farm. I knew not even this day would pass before I was expected to do a share of work. Whether that meant cleaning bathrooms or polishing the wooden floors, I didn't know.

  "Your bedroom is ready," Mrs. Goodleigh said to me. "You will find your work clothes in the chest of drawers. Put them on and go to the farm. There is a patch of weeds that needs tending."

  I nodded. "Yes, Mother." I walked up the wide wooden staircase to the second floor and followed the hallway to the sixth door on the left. A bare metal bed frame sat in the middle of the small room. I unfolded the worn, striped mattress and struggled to put it on the bed. When it toppled onto the frame, the metal feet shifted a fraction, leaving a tiny scar in the wood.