Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,7
speak at length about their childhood mothers and lament the fairy mother who first cast them away. Most scholars believe this to be the primary source of the changelings hate and taste for suffering, the psyche’s embodiment of a child who so loved its mother that it returned from death, only to be turned away and replaced by another, better child.
CHAPTER THREE
THE BOY COLBY’S CHANCE ENCOUNTER
Colby Stevens was nothing special. Neither unattractive nor unlikable, he lived a life that had gone relatively unnoticed by even his closest relations. He lacked neither talent nor intelligence—simply opportunity—and it seemed, even at his young age, as if he were destined to live out a life of mediocrity amid the tract-home sprawl into which he was born.
But at the age of eight years and three months, Colby Stevens would make the single most important decision of his life, a choice that would not only forever change his life, but alter the destinies of countless others for years to come. He was the most dangerous sort of creature, a wily and precocious child, clever beyond his years, happened upon by the wrong sort of man. But on the eighth year, second month, and twenty-ninth day of that life, he was still a relatively unnoticed burden, seemingly destined for nothing—something which made him a particularly strong candidate for what this stranger had in mind.
Colby had no friends and no prospects to speak of. He was a carrot-topped little boy, a mess of shaggy tresses and freckles, who wanted nothing more than to venture out into the woods—an undeveloped plot of land no more than half a mile wide that, to an eight-year-old, gave off the distinct impression of being a forest. Clumps of tangled brush, fallen logs, and the occasional abandoned tire lingered around a copse of trees where Colby imagined all manner of fairy, dragon, and unnamed adventure—rather than the pale stone strip mall everyone else saw waiting in its future.
But today it was a magical forest and Colby couldn’t wait to explore its wonders yet again. So he tore down the stairs from his bedroom, his feet slamming the steps. Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud. His hand caught the end of the banister and he swung around, sliding across the hardwood floor in his socks. For a moment he felt as if he were flying.
“What in the happy hell are you doing?!” his mother yelled from the couch. “Can’t you see Mommy has a headache?” Colby’s head sank low, his ears almost meeting his shoulders. He whispered.
“Sorry, Mommy.”
His mother glared at him as he shuffled warily into the living room. She was lying facedown on the couch, her bathrobe tied loosely around her. Sylvia Stevens wasn’t an old woman, but she carried herself that way, always ill in the morning, groaning as she moved. At twenty-seven she felt as if she’d seen it all. Married early, kid soon after. She hated every minute of it, and it showed in the premature crow’s-feet growing around her young eyes. She reached over for her glass and pulled it to her lips without looking. Dry as a bone. She sighed deeply, frustrated by this latest tragedy, reaching for the orange juice she had at the ready.
“And where are you tearing off to this morning?” she asked, barely paying attention.
“Mommy, it’s two o’clock.”
“That may be,” she said, pouring half a glass of juice, “but where are you going?”
“Out to play in the woods.”
“All right. Do you have your watch?”
Colby smiled proudly, as if he’d just handed his mother a report card lined with straight A’s. He stuck his arm all the way out, showing her his watch—a gaudy piece of molded plastic crap made in Taiwan, painted to look like a cartoon character from a long-since-canceled television show. He’d gotten it by way of a fast-food kid’s meal and considered it his proudest possession. After all, Mommy always looked to see if he had it on. That meant it must be special. She smiled, nodded, and put down the orange juice.
“Okay, now I don’t want you home till after five, you hear me? Mommy needs her quiet time alone.” Sylvia picked up the bottle of vodka next to the juice, filling the other half of the glass with it. Colby nodded. “Now you be careful out there. I don’t want you coming home early bleeding from your head, okay? Be safe.”