Moon Spirit -- Chapter 1

Sparks Fly



MAX BERGER woke up drenched in sweat on the linoleum beneath his cot on the fourth floor of Gangren Center for Delinquent Youth. It was near midnight, and five other thirteen year-old boys slept on rusty cots nearby, all snoring and drooling onto bunched up pillows. Max lay under his, tangled up in a ball of blankets as if he had been wrestling demons in his dreams, which in a way, he had.

"Not again," he sighed.

Limb by limb, he freed himself and crawled out into a rectangle of moonlight shining through the single dirty window at the end of the room. After stretching his stiff legs and arms, nearly skeletal in the bluish light, he sat on his cot, bare feet on the cold floor. His fingers ran through his thick brown hair, slicking it back with perspiration.

Why was the moon always full when he dreamt of her? The feeling of holding her hand came back to him, and a smile lifted his lips as images of her filled his mind -- flowing blond hair, a spirit rippling with laughter, and sparkling sapphire eyes.

The dream always started out wonderfully. He and girl held hands and ran together over the soft while sand along the beach on a perfect, blue-sky day. Her hand felt warm and playful in his. Her laughter broke joyfully over top of the cresting waves. But then everything would change. They'd come upon an evil looking cave set into the jagged cliffs. Max's stomach would clench with fear at the sight of it, and he tried to hold her back, but off she would run, laughing and waving, quickly disappearing into the blackness while he stayed back, unable to follow out of numbing fear.

A moment later, she'd scream.

Max would start running, trying to get to her, but the sand rose against him so that he could barely move. When his effort finally brought him to the edge of the cave, the shadows through which the girl had ran were solid for him, worse even -- they were alive. They clawed at him and struck him. He wrestled and wrestled but only succeeded in getting twisted up in utter blackness.

And that's when he always woke up.

"Oghnshnnn...screw you..." a kid nearby nick-named Zippler muttered in his sleep, rolling over and filling the room with creaking-cot noise.

Max knew he should go back to sleep, but he didn't feel tired at all. He stood up to stretch again and noticed that a bandage on his thigh had come loose. He pressed it back in place, and his finger came away bloody. Ronald Spazinski, aka "Spaz," had stuck a skewer into his thigh during dinner earlier. No real reason for it. Spaz was six three and two hundred in fifty pounds, so he did what he pleased. And, for some reason, it really pleased him to hurt Max.

"Spaz, you Idiot," he hissed, wiping it on the tail of his orange Property of Gangren t-shirt.

Movement outside the window caught Max's eyes. The full moon, low on the horizon at this hour, filled half the frame. Two shadows were passing rapidly across its surface. They were too small to be planes and too big to be bats. 

"What the heck?"

Moving slowly and silently -- waking sleeping idiots could get you spat on or punched -- he made his way to the window. The rooftops of the slums of the great city of Warwick spread out before him, basking in the glow of the moon and the steel and glass skyscrapers in downtown. A thousand rectangles topped with smaller rectangles, antennas, wires, and an occasional clothes line or garden. Directly below was the back lot of Gangren, and a small green dumpster sat there, up against the barbed wire fencing.

Max had this desperate urge to be out there, watching the moon. But watching for what? It didn't make any sense. Nonetheless, a moment later, Max had lifted the sash and climbed out onto the fire escape. Very carefully, he climbed down the clanking, rattling metal structure, hating every ounce of noise it produced.

The last platform ended ten feet from the ground, and Max had to lower himself down with his arms and then fall seven feet and roll, which he did gracefully but with some pain from his wounded thigh. Limping toward the dumpster, he felt pleased with himself for being somewhat of a monkey when it came to that sort of thing. He was short and thin, but quick and agile. It was probably the only reason he was still alive at Gangren.

Thinking a good vantage point from which to watch the moon and midnight in the city roll past, Max climbed on top of the green dumpster. Shouts, sirens, and screams rang out from the slums few blocks away. The sour puke smell of the dumpster filled his nostrils with poison. Shivering in the cool fall air, he warily eyed every movement around him. A white plastic shopping bag dancing lonely circles in a breeze at the edge of Broadway Street. A black alley cat licking gore from its paws on top of a grease barrel. A rat scurrying along the brick wall. 

The silver full moon hung poised between two skyscrapers, and Max turned his face up to it. Images of the girl once again filled his mind.

"Who are you?" Max asked with a sigh.

She seemed so real in his dreams, so complete, he often wondered if he'd made her up or not. Perhaps he had known her for real at one point? Before the accident two years ago that left him unable to recall anything of his past? It was possible, that was for sure. If only he could remember her name!

Off in the distance, the clock tower in Post Office Square chimed, making midnight official. Max sighed. What was he doing out here?  Although a better question was what he doing here at all? Gangren life was a blur of violence and random acts of stupidity. Where had he been before? His life felt truncated, cut off at age eleven since everything before that was a dark void. The doctors had called it the worst case of amnesia they had ever seen. His history had just been totally wiped out.

He glanced back at the six stories of molded cement that was Gangren. 101 Essex Street, just ten blocks from bustling downtown Warwick. A giant tombstone with steel doors and narrow slits for windows. No trees. No plants. No grass. Just split tarmac, chain link fencing and lots and lots of trash. Max couldn't imagine a more desolate place to live. 

"Hell on earth for unwanted kids," that's what his frustrated case worker, Mr. Braun, had called it when he gave Max the bad news about the court's decision two years ago. Max remembered with sadness that there had been talk of a foster home in the suburbs, but apparently the judge felt the crime Max allegedly committed too serious for such kind treatment. Mr. Braun said hope still existed, but Max felt sure hope was dead, buried next to justice.

At least in his dreams with the girl, he ran across tall wind-swept grasses by the sea, atop a cliff under bright blue skies, with the air smelling of surf and sand. Hard to believe that his life sucked so badly that a dream of a girl and some sun was the only thing keeping him going.

It didn't help that he wasn't exactly Gangren material by nature. Not only was he kind of small -- shorter by a head than most of the other kids -- but he didn't have bloodshot eyes that sent out danger signals either. That really helped. In fact, the nurses at the hospital had called him a "rusty, blue eyed charmer." Great. All being charming got him here was beaten up and, well - skewers stuck in his thigh. Oh well. He was a mink amongst hyenas, an artist amongst thugs, a -- 

-- Movement to his right startled him, and out of pure instinct, his fists shot up. "I'll hurt you back!"

The official greeting of Gangren -- I'll hurt you back.

A second later, Max laughed. Only a cat, a mangy looking black alley cat picking at an old tuna can on the ground. It pulled back and stared at him with eyes reflecting flashing red lights on the tall buildings.

"I won't hurt you," Max said, certain other kids at Gangren had tried. The cat slinked off anyway.

Max turned back to the moon and closed his eyes, letting himself move just a little toward sleep, not enough to fall off the dumpster, but enough so the world grew weird around him. Strange thoughts flooded in -- a bicycle riding up the side of a building -- a clown dipping his hair in cheese  -- flashing white lights and crashing sounds and -- Wait!

Max threw his eyes open. "No freakin' way!"

Up in the air about one hundred feet, a spectacle was taking place -- a battle between two floating creatures, one glowing white and one dull green. Max blinked his eyes, thinking he must be asleep. Still there.

Clash!

Their swords came together and a spray of silver sparks shot out into the night.

Max pushed hard on his puncture wound. Pain shot up his leg, but the battle continued. He WAS awake!

Crash! Crash! Crash!

A volley of blows filled the night with fireworks.

Closer now, Max could see the two combatants were a strange lizard-like creature, sort of an alligator with long arms and wings, and a girl. A pretty girl with long flowing hair and dazzling sapphire eyes.

His girl.

She was wearing a flowing dress and all of her -- every inch -- glowed like moonlight.

But, she hadn't been glowing or flying in his dream?

Clash! Clash! Clash!

Should he call to her? Was he supposed to do something? Worse part of it was, she was losing the battle. The lizard thing was much more skilled and much more powerful. Her parries were growing slower and her strikes less forceful. If the battle continued much longer, she'd lose. Max couldn't allow that!

A sudden, wild inspiration struck him and he reached down to get a pickle jar sitting on top of the dumpster. Taking careful aim, he threw it hard. Good shot. It struck the lizard thing on the head, well, actually it passed right through, but that was enough. The creature stopped and looked down, seeming horrified that a human had dared attack it.It's eyes flashed red, and Max  feared that he had done a very stupid thing.

But the gap in attention was all the girl needed. She spun in a graceful back flip, like a dolphin flipping in the water, and brought her sword around hard. It went right through the creature's skull.

Boom! The creature shattered into a cloud of dust like a sack of flour struck by a cannon ball.

Max recoiled and covered his eyes. When he looked back a second later, the girl was floating toward him. Her eyes were just as he had seen in his dream, only set into a face that was perfectly white, not deathly white, but pristine -- sapphires on snow.