Chapter Books

Timmy hears things that no one else hears. Is he going crazy or is there something out there? If something is out there why doesn't anyone else hear it?

All work herein is Copyrighted and may not be distributed or published without the prior consent of the author. Copyright 2006, 2007. Kim Bentz. All rights reserved.

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Kim Bentz, Writer and Photographer, living in Viriginia (Washington, D.C. metro area). Graduate of Colorado Springs Christian School, Student at American Military University. Government contractor by day. 

Kim lives with her husband of 30+ years, nearly 2000 books, a great collection of jazz records, and thousands of photographs taken all over.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Days quickly became weeks, and Timmy’s progress was of great concern to all. Magda wracked her brain for a new way to work with him. He was fine if others sang with him, or if they surrounded him, but the moment they ceased their external music, he was enveloped by outside music and would sit entranced or furiously scribbling notes on paper.

If they sang to him, he ate and slept, but in silence they lost him again. The school had turned on its ear for other students, but this seemed to require more, and the difference was so profound when they sang to him that Magda wanted desperately to help him.

While the older students took turns singing with Timmy through the afternoon, Magda gathered the teachers, her husband and son, and a few older Listers who had flown in to help. The professor shocked them when he appeared in jeans and a denim shirt, apologizing for being caught gardening.

Puzzled glances shot around the room as people murmured the same questions. 'Did you know he gardened' and 'Isn’t it a bit early for gardening?'

Magda watched them all for a few moments as they greeted one another, waiting as the hushed conversations slowly ceased and attention focused on her. When she had their full attention she leaned forward, bells tinkling as she clasped her hands in front of her. Her eyes went round the room, meeting each person’s gaze.

“I think you all know how things are going with Timmy. What I have gathered you all here to discuss is ideas on how to break this deadlock we are in. First, I want to tell you that I see greatness in this boy. I believe he has an important job to do and we must help him so that he can discover what it is. I believe he is vital to all of us.” As she talked her hands grew animated, bells tinkling as she gestured.

“If we have to continue what we are now doing we must have outside help. The school cannot continue as we have been doing for much longer. Not only has the education of many of these fine young men and women been delayed, but we are growing weary.” She paused dramatically. “The heart is willing but the flesh is weak.” At this she sat back, her purple and gold outfit somehow not clashing with the fire engine red chair on which she sat.

Silence ruled and Magda did not break it, merely waiting with an air of expectancy. Though some of the others shifted uncomfortably, she never moved a muscle except to turn her head. Her intense gaze met the eyes of each person. Most quickly looked away. The professor, she noted, was scrutinizing those gathered as well.

“Ah-herggh.” Walter cleared his throat. “What is our primary goal here? Is it to help Timmy or is it to get the school back to normal as quickly as possible?”

Clara quickly and breathlessly blurted, “Of course we have to save the boy. Do you remember Samantha?” There was a collective gasp of pain as each one remembered the student who had been lost to them just two years before. The memory was still vivid in each mind.

“No one vants vhat happened to Samantha to happen again. Vhat ve are asking is vhat is your commitment to saving him? Ve cannot save the boy if ve are not all committed to doing so, and that is not something that ve can decide for you. Ve cannot ask you to continue to set aside your own schooling, your own teaching, your own students unless you villingly choose to do so.” The professor stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Small bits of dead grass and dried leaves came off his shoes and from his clothes and hair leaving a small trail behind him.

Magda spoke quietly but intensely. “No one will blame or shame you if you feel this is too much to ask, but to proceed, whoever is involved must be 100% committed…” she paused, “and we must have a new plan.”

The discussion went on through the dinner hour. Staff brought food and wine. The food remained largely untouched and the wine soothed voices tired from talking. No one noticed the dishes being cleared and fresh glasses being set out.

It was late when Clara made her hesitant suggestion. “Should be call Benedict?” A hush fell over the room as nervous glances passed back and forth. “I-I m-mean, isn’t th-this the kind of situation which he would want to know?” Clara ducked her head, hiding behind a curtain of her own hair as she sank deep into the cushions of the couch.

Magda looked at the professor. He nodded. “We have already done so. He is on his way.”

Silence hung heavily in the room.

Eric, one of the youngest teachers, asked quietly, “Shouldn’t we wait for him before deciding what to do?”

“Oh, we are going to do whatever is in our power to save the boy, but we need to know who is with us and we need ideas to try. We want to develop a plan before Benedict arrives tomorrow.” All eyes turned to Magda. The professor once more stepped back, watching them all, gauging their reactions.

“Who will help?” the professor asked. One by one each hand went into the air. Even those not presently teachers at the school pledged their support. That decided, the brainstorming of new ideas lasted into the wee hours.

Magda rose abruptly. “I fear I must go get some rest my friends. I must be with Timmy in just a few hours and for that I need some sleep. You are welcome to stay if you like, or we can take this up again in the morning. Good night.” She strode down the hall, bells tinkling in her wake.

Most of the group left shortly afterward, but Walter, Eric and the professor stayed, their heads bent together, pen flying across the page as they formulated a plan from the ideas set forth. When the sun rose it burst through the window across the sleeping forms of the three men, each head at a near impossible angle in their respective chairs.


Blogger Beth said...

Continues to grab me.

12:38 PM  

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