Christopher's Song (Indefinite Hiatus)

Chapter 8

"Think, Daniel," Ethan said. "Let's close our eyes and try to re-enact the scene. Maybe we'll come up with a clue."

Both boys closed their eyes and concentrated. The keys were wobbly when I put mine in the book. Daniel remembered. It must have fallen out when I put it under the pillow.

But where? Ethan asked. We've searched this place from top to bottom.

I know, but there just isn't any other explanation. I can hear Mom calling. I can see the book in my hands as I go towards the bed. Both keys are there. How could it not be there now unless it fell out? I don't know of anyone else with powers who could have moved it, do you?

Their silent conversation was suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a herd of elephants on the stairs.

"Incoming!" Greg shouted as he threw the door open and started into the room with the other two guys from the band right behind him.

Seeing the chaos, Greg stopped abruptly, causing a domino effect when Michael slammed into his back, and Jesse careened into Michael.

"What the?" came the sound of Jesse's muffled voice as he got a mouth full of Michael's T-shirt clad shoulder blade.

"Ow," Michael shouted, elbowing Jesse with one arm and shoving Greg with the other, causing the band to end up in an unseemly heap on Daniel's floor.

Michael was the enforcer and protector of the group. He didn't look all that impressive with his stocky oriental build, but he was as strong as an ox. He worked out regularly and had learned Ju Jitzu from his Dad at a young age. He didn't have much chance to show off his muscles at the keyboard, but when the band played he wore muscle shirts most of time anyway. It was sort of his signature, even in mid-winter. He would give the girls a wicked grin, and as he played, he would toss the straight black bangs that hung down over his eyes. At 5'10", he was still a pretty imposing figure, even if he was built like a box.

Jesse was the runt of the group, weighing in at 125 pounds and barely reaching 5'6". He was a wiry breed, a combination of French and Native American known as Métis. Although he shared Michael's dark eyes and hair, he didn't share Mike's easygoing disposition. He made up in temper and pluck for what he lacked in height, appropriate for the band member responsible for hitting things throughout practice; Jesse was their drummer. He was already on his feet, fists clenched and his black eyes shooting sparks when Greg said, "Hey, Dudes, what happened here? Hurricane Jennifer blow through after we brought you guys home or something?"

The mention of the twins' Mom seemed to deflate Jesse, who slumped from his fighting stance, and the sparks in his eyes fizzled to fear. He remembered Jennifer's shocked face when they dragged the twins in the night before. He didn't really want to deal with an irate woman. His Mom's tirade about him turning out just like his no-good, drunken, sot of a father was still ringing in his ears. So he was glad to hear Daniel say dryly, "Hardly. I dropped my favorite pick, you know the one made from tortoise shell that Mom brought me from Hawaii. We were looking for it."

Nice one, Ethan pathed. You are getting entirely too good with making up these lies. You're going to become a conscienceless psychopath soon. He flashed Daniel a picture of himself holding a chainsaw, a wild look in his eyes.

"Well, I didn't find your pick, Bro," Jesse said. "But I did find this little key thingy on the stairs," he finished holding out the object that had caused the whirlwind in the first place.

How in the world did it get on the stairs? Daniel sent as he took the key from Jesse's hand, pretending disinterest. "This looks like the windup key to a music box. Maybe Mom dropped it. I'll give it to her later," he said aloud, sticking the key in his pocket as he heard Ethan's silent answer. Your guess is good as mine, but at least we have it back.