Raphael's Dragon

Chapter 2: Lost

Saturday, April 16, 2005.

Mozzie scoffed at those who sweated away in gyms instead of partaking in the simple pleasures afforded by a promenade on Manhattan's broad boulevards. You'd never catch him on a germ-ridden treadmill.

The day ahead was full of delights. Lunch with the suit and the space suit. Neal and Richard would probably be there too. Then the telescope workshop. All those young, eager minds. One of the children reminded him of himself at that age. They needed custom T-shirts and hats, of course. He'd speak with Janet about it on Sunday.

It was unfortunate she needed to work tonight, but they'd make up for it the next day. They'd already made plans for an early morning bird walk in Central Park to search for spring warblers. That evening, they had tickets for a performance of a Julius Caesar revival. Janet knew the costume designer and was eager to see how the costumes looked on stage. He was also curious but was much more interested in having a toga party with Janet afterward in her apartment.

Mozzie gazed around the street. What should his destination be? The garden at St. John the Divine Cathedral, perhaps. He'd check on the roses to see if they'd begun to bloom.

He hoped the walk would bring clarity to Gordon Taylor's offer. The job was enticing, but he'd miss the opening of Neal's art exhibition. He'd already seen all the paintings and Neal said he understood, but still ... As Neal's advisor in all matters, shouldn't he be there?

Mozzie stopped by the Britannia building on West 110th Street for a moment as he considered his options. If he went to Paris, he could pick up that dragonfly brooch he'd seen. It would make the perfect gift for Janet for the six-month anniversary of the day they met. That had been the night of El's debut performance with her community theater group. Janet was now starring in Mozzie's production. Two lovers intertwined. Their destinies must have been written in the stars.

Buzz.

"Not now, little friend." Mozzie waved his hand in front of his face. "I already know you need to be protected. Go inform someone else."

The bee apparently didn't realize that Mozzie was the champion of all things bee-related. He could still hear it.

Buzz.

Mozzie stopped in his tracks. Was the bee trying to give him a message? He'd long suspected an extraterrestrial connection.

"Come back, little bee! What are you trying to tell me?" Confound it. Had he missed his chance for first contact? He peered around anxiously to find his elusive quarry.

Buzz.

Mozzie looked up and stared in shock at the sculpture over his head. The bee could land inside his mouth and he wouldn't care.

He heard footsteps, but the passersby would simply have to walk around him. He was on the cusp of a major discovery.

"Hey!" Mozzie struggled to remove the bag that had been slipped over his head. "Help!" he yelled. "Unhand me!"

A sharp prick on his neck. What was that? A needle?

His heart sank to his feet. Had it been sterilized? Germs! He swayed in horror. Countless germs assaulting his body ... and then ... time ran more slowly ... He was drifting ...

* * * * *

Neal arrived at Watson Hall on the Columbia campus to find Richard already at work in the adjoining studio. And not just Richard. Practically every other studio was occupied as well. The end-of-year exhibition was less than two weeks away. The final panic-filled countdown had begun.