He nodded. “And Samwise Gamgee.”
As soon as he heard his name, the dog stood up and pushed his way in between us, then laid his head on the bed. He stared up at Tucker. Waiting.
My son leaned down and kissed Samwise on the nose, then whispered, “Good boy.”
The dog’s tail thumped, beating the air. Tucker’s grin widened, revealing a space where one of his front teeth was missing. I brushed the honey blond hair back from his forehead and kissed the spot in the center of his brow, the spot that belonged to me.
My kiss on his brow. My seal of protection. Against all the monsters who looked like his father or one of my best friends.
“Can I see?” He pointed to my sketchbook.
“You promise not to get scared?” I asked in a teasing tone. I flipped the spiral book open to the page I had been working on for the past hour. Tucker’s eyes widened as he stared at the splash panel sketch.
“Is there more?”
“Here.” I handed him the sketchpad. He was always my best critic. If this new character had potential, he would see it.
“Wow.” The word was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. With a fingertip he followed the storyboard, from panel to panel, reading the notes in the margins. This version was too rough for dialogue, the character wasn’t fully developed yet. I still had to figure out his goal, obstacle, conflict, arc, etc.
But apparently, right now, the character alone was enough.
Tucker got to the last page of pencil drawings and flipped it over, as if disappointed when there weren’t more. He frowned. Looked up at me.
“Is this your next story?” he asked.
I nodded, still not sure, waiting to hear what he thought.
“This guy’s wicked! He’s better than Batman or Wolverine or Hellboy.”
I grinned.
“How soon are you gonna be done with it? This is better than your last one—”
I was laughing now. Better than my last graphic novel that won an Eisner Award and was currently in production over at Universal Pictures.
“You seriously need to let me read this. Will this one have words?” he asked, referring to a series I did two years ago with no dialogue—just sound effects and a small amount of narration. That one was being considered as a mini-series on HBO. I was hoping they could get somebody like Zachary Quinto for the lead.
“Yeah, it’ll have words.” I watched as Tucker flipped back through the pages. He studied each of them and then finally ended on the beginning splash panel.
A dramatic woodland scene covered the page, thick stands of ponderosa pine, a knot of hedge nettle and thimbleberry and mossy shadows, and there between the trees—half running, half flying—was a dark, dangerous creature, sweat glistening on leathery wings, eyes watching from the tangled wilderness.
Every time I looked at it, my heart raced and I remembered that thing back in the woods, the familiar look in its eyes. I felt the way the air had shimmered and how the sky darkened, almost as if time had stood still just long enough for it to escape. One hand had stretched out toward me, palm open.
Something had sparkled in the air.
I had to go back. Tomorrow. I had to see if it was still there, somewhere.
Tucker yawned again, settled back against his pillow. I took his paperback book, set it on the nightstand, then turned the light to a lower setting. He had nightmares if I turned off all the lights.
Fortunately, tonight both he and the dog were asleep before I even left the room.
Sketchbook in hand.
Chapter 17
Lulled into Slumber
Maddie:
Weariness rolled over me. Without meaning to, my head slipped back and rested on the sofa cushion. I stared at my sketchbook for a moment—at that splash-panel creature—until the picture faded, until the pencil lines began to move and change. Everything changed. I tried to keep my eyes open, but everything started to fade.
I fell asleep, the transition between the two worlds simple. The real world intertwined with that of my imagination, and a surreal landscape suddenly unfolded around me.
I was in my car, staring out the window, trying to focus on the undulating switchbacks, vistas that alternated between primeval forest and rocky cliff. We were heading up into the mountains for a long deserved vacation. Tucker was asleep in the backseat, PlayStation clutched possessively in one hand.
Don’t fall asleep. Not now.
But in the end, I knew it didn’t matter whether I stayed awake or not. I fell prey to the faltering light that sifted through the branches, allowed myself to be lulled into slumber, let the dream wash over me, a serenade of beauty. Just like I had allowed myself to fall in love.