Arthur’s gaze across that vast chamber and saw something in the king’s eyes that almost made him tear up—pride.
T HATsame evening as Jenny finished dinner and prepared for her nightly paper-grading ritual, she turned on the local news just to make sure the city was still there. Nowadays, with all the stupid decisions made by all levels of government, sometimes she wondered if the world really was coming to an end like all those idiot prognosticators kept saying.
Her thirty-two-inch flat screen powered up, and she set it to channel seven because she liked their anchors better than the other stations’. As she bussed her dinner dishes into the tiny kitchen of her small one-bedroom apartment in Torrance, she heard the first story being announced.
The local anchor intoned solemnly as though announcing an appearance by God himself, “Our lead story tonight is a strange one, as I’m sure you’ve been hearing all day. Has the legendary King Arthur returned from the dead, and does he at this moment roam the streets of Los Angeles collecting children? Here’s our own Helen Schaeffer with the details.”
On hearing the name “King Arthur,” Jenny quickly dumped her dishes into the messy sink and hurried into her living room just as young, vivacious Helen appeared on camera with the words “Live from Santa Monica Blvd” plastered dramatically across the bottom of the screen.
On the screen, Helen indicated the busy thoroughfare behind her. “As you can see, it’s an ordinary evening here on Santa Monica Boulevard near West Hollywood. But last night was anything but ordinary, as you’ll see from this amazing cell phone video captured by a local passerby.”
The scene cut to a video with rather poor audio of Arthur’s encounter with the two police officers. Because the audio was so poor, the TV station had put up subtitles for the exchanged dialogue. Stunned into amazement, Jenny slid down into her easy chair and gaped at the almost surreal footage unfolding before her. So caught up in the drama, she audibly gasped when the bullet bounced off Arthur’s armor. The tape came to an end, and Helen reappeared.
“As of this moment, King Arthur has continued to elude the police. According to authorities, he is wanted for “questioning,” only, which must be the understatement of the year. This is Helen Schaeffer reporting for—”
Jenny waved her remote and clicked off the set. King Arthur? Obviously some nut, she knew, and yet…. Wasn’t it just last month, or maybe the month before, that Lance had questioned her about King Arthur? Was he real? Wasn’t that one of Lance’s questions? She’d thought it odd at the time, but then Lance could be an odd kid. Now with this news story…. Could there be a connection?
She ran her hand through her wavy blonde hair, absently realizing that she needed to wash it. She also needed to talk with Lance as soon as possible. But how, since he never came to school? That newswoman said something about this King Arthur collecting children… could that explain why certain kids at MTS had been missing these past few weeks? Lance was the key, she knew. I’ve got to find him. These thoughts weaving their way through her head, Jenny set about listlessly grading her essays and preparing for the next day’s classes.
W ITHINthe Hollenbeck Police Station, Ryan sat pensively gazing at the TV, studying a freeze-framed image of Arthur from that cell phone video. It was evening, and the gang detail section was quiet. Too quiet, Ryan knew. There had been no more “tagging” for the past month or so and no major gang incidents. The calm before the storm, he suspected. Gibson entered and tossed a report on Ryan’s desk. The older man glanced up at his partner, gnawed pencil dangling from his lips.
“You still looking at that tape?” he asked. “You must have it memorized by now.”
Ryan leaned back in his swivel chair and held up a drawing of the A tag against the
T HATsame evening as Jenny finished dinner and prepared for her nightly paper-grading ritual, she turned on the local news just to make sure the city was still there. Nowadays, with all the stupid decisions made by all levels of government, sometimes she wondered if the world really was coming to an end like all those idiot prognosticators kept saying.
Her thirty-two-inch flat screen powered up, and she set it to channel seven because she liked their anchors better than the other stations’. As she bussed her dinner dishes into the tiny kitchen of her small one-bedroom apartment in Torrance, she heard the first story being announced.
The local anchor intoned solemnly as though announcing an appearance by God himself, “Our lead story tonight is a strange one, as I’m sure you’ve been hearing all day. Has the legendary King Arthur returned from the dead, and does he at this moment roam the streets of Los Angeles collecting children? Here’s our own Helen Schaeffer with the details.”
On hearing the name “King Arthur,” Jenny quickly dumped her dishes into the messy sink and hurried into her living room just as young, vivacious Helen appeared on camera with the words “Live from Santa Monica Blvd” plastered dramatically across the bottom of the screen.
On the screen, Helen indicated the busy thoroughfare behind her. “As you can see, it’s an ordinary evening here on Santa Monica Boulevard near West Hollywood. But last night was anything but ordinary, as you’ll see from this amazing cell phone video captured by a local passerby.”
The scene cut to a video with rather poor audio of Arthur’s encounter with the two police officers. Because the audio was so poor, the TV station had put up subtitles for the exchanged dialogue. Stunned into amazement, Jenny slid down into her easy chair and gaped at the almost surreal footage unfolding before her. So caught up in the drama, she audibly gasped when the bullet bounced off Arthur’s armor. The tape came to an end, and Helen reappeared.
“As of this moment, King Arthur has continued to elude the police. According to authorities, he is wanted for “questioning,” only, which must be the understatement of the year. This is Helen Schaeffer reporting for—”
Jenny waved her remote and clicked off the set. King Arthur? Obviously some nut, she knew, and yet…. Wasn’t it just last month, or maybe the month before, that Lance had questioned her about King Arthur? Was he real? Wasn’t that one of Lance’s questions? She’d thought it odd at the time, but then Lance could be an odd kid. Now with this news story…. Could there be a connection?
She ran her hand through her wavy blonde hair, absently realizing that she needed to wash it. She also needed to talk with Lance as soon as possible. But how, since he never came to school? That newswoman said something about this King Arthur collecting children… could that explain why certain kids at MTS had been missing these past few weeks? Lance was the key, she knew. I’ve got to find him. These thoughts weaving their way through her head, Jenny set about listlessly grading her essays and preparing for the next day’s classes.
W ITHINthe Hollenbeck Police Station, Ryan sat pensively gazing at the TV, studying a freeze-framed image of Arthur from that cell phone video. It was evening, and the gang detail section was quiet. Too quiet, Ryan knew. There had been no more “tagging” for the past month or so and no major gang incidents. The calm before the storm, he suspected. Gibson entered and tossed a report on Ryan’s desk. The older man glanced up at his partner, gnawed pencil dangling from his lips.
“You still looking at that tape?” he asked. “You must have it memorized by now.”
Ryan leaned back in his swivel chair and held up a drawing of the A tag against the
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