Jesse James and the Dragon's Egg

A Stranger Comes Home

Thunder. It was going to rain.

It was growing twilight and the lazy summer sun reached down for the treetops. Thick clouds rolled in from the east, coming on an unseasonably cool breeze as Jesse biked up to his house. Al was restless in the duffel bag, peeking out over Jesse's shoulder as he coasted up to his driveway.

"Mom?" The house was dark. By now it was nearly dusk, and not a light was on in the house. Jesse's mom hated to be in the dark.

"Mom?" She must be back at work. That had to be it. But she hadn't even tried to call him after he had run away. Maybe she's out looking for me.

"Hey, Mom?"

He found her in the kitchen. He was just about to go upstairs when he heard a dish rattle. Another followed that, and then another. "Mom?" Al pushed his sleek head from the pack, sniffing the air as the boy walked into the kitchen.

She stood over the sink. The water was running, and she appeared to be doing dishes. The sun was setting fast, and it had grown so dark now he could barely make out her form, or that there was a watery sheen on the floor and a faint smell that reminded the boy of cats.

"Mom?"

He walked slowly and carefully across that slick kitchen floor. The sink was overflowing, and there was water everywhere, all over the counters, on the table, the cabinets, everywhere. And the smell. The awful, lurid smell. His mother moved dishes back and forth between the double sink, randomly, mindlessly, staring out the window. Al was halfway out of the duffel bag, his front half perched on the Jesse's shoulders, growling.

"Mom?" Jesse reached out to touch his mother's shoulder. She blinked and turned her head, slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep. She didn't look at her son so much as through him. Her skin had a strange, unnatural sheen.

"Mom, it's me, Jesse. Are you okay?" He was tremulous and Al grew ever more restless on his shoulders, growling and hissing. Jesse laid his hand on her shoulder. "Mom, please say something."

"I don't even know who are you." She asked quietly. Her voice was strange, hollow. It sounded like a bad recording.

"Mom, it's..."

"Who are you?" She asked again, her voice rising considerably, an uncomfortable expression livening her dull features.

"Mom..."

"Who are you?!" she barked and advanced half a step, an unnatural and aggressive comprehension bleeding across her features.

"Who are you?!" she screamed. "Get out of my kitchen!" She advanced on Jesse quickly, her arm outstretched, finger pointed accusatorially at the horrified boy. Jesse backed away, dumbstruck. He slipped on the moist floor, lost his balance and tumbled backwards onto the floor and as he fell, Al came a sleek green and white fury off his shoulders.

The little dragon was on the woman in the blink of an eye. And just as quick as the little dragon, the thing that was Sarah James seized one of Al's wings. With a vicious rake of her arm, she flung him across the room.

Jesse was just regaining his feet when his mother came at him again. This time, she had something cocked back over her head, something she had picked up off the table. It was sharp and sliver.

And just as she was upon him, Al attacked again. He leapt across the room, entangling his claws in her hair and jerking her head sideways. Pulled off balance, she lost her footing on the slick floor and fell flat on her back, her head making a sickening crack as it hit the floor.

She lay there, quiet, chest rising and falling. Jesse then got to watch his mother grunt, twist bizarrely, and begin crawling toward her son. Nothing was going to keep this woman from her boy.