The Violet Flash: A Novel

By Mike Mason

 

There’s a rip in the blue umbrella, and time—and Chelsea—are slipping through!             One moment she was there, the next moment she was not, and Ches Cholmondeley was watching when it happened. And he learns of other mysterious goings-on: for three days in a row the world’s atomic clocks have lost a second, resulting in bizarre accidents ranging from dropped casseroles to plane crashes. Are these events related? What’s a brother to do?            Figure out a way to get his sister back, of course. In search of answers, Ches befriends the local clockmaker, Myron Stinchcombe, who knows a lot about time, and seeks out Sky Porter, who knows a lot about, well, everything.            But time is running out. And Ches is torn, knowing that the very deed that can save the world might also keep his sister from ever returning to it.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David C Cook
• Release date: Jun 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781434703699

Mike Mason

MIKE MASON lives with his wife, Karen, in British Columbia, Canada. Mason received a BA with honors and an MA in English from the University of Manitoba. His other books include The Mystery of Marriage, The Mystery of the Word, and The Furniture of Heaven. He now writes full-time and divides his attention equally between fiction and devotional writing.

Book preview

Glossary

Chapter 1

A Mysterious Disappearance

Chesterton Cholmondeley poked the bridge of his tortoiseshell glasses with one finger, a gesture he performed a few hundred times a day. Having recovered the years that the evil Dada had stolen from him, Ches was now a lithe, darkly handsome boy of twelve. Yet inside, as if shadowed by a double identity, he still felt old beyond his years.

It was a sunny Monday morning in April, a week before Easter, and he sat alone in his room with a heavy bedspread draping the window. A single sunbeam shone through a pinhole in the fabric and hit a glass prism above his desk, splashing a rainbow on the far wall. Interrupting the beam with his hand, Ches admired the array of clear, natural color on his palm. No pigment could give such intense hue; it was pure light.

Leaning forward to write in his notebook, he noticed his reflection in the mirror. The spectrum was now emblazoned across his forehead like war paint. In the mirrored rainbow the violet band of color was for some reason particularly prominent. He wondered if this was due to the angle of incidence—or perhaps to some property of the mirror’s silver backing?

Suddenly the rainbow was extinguished, leaving him in darkness. While the cloud passed, he sat listening to the wind outside. All morning it had blown hard and steady, almost as if it was going somewhere. At breakfast his sister, Chelsea, had remarked, It’s like the sky is a big balloon with a hole in it and all the air is rushing out.

Sis, Ches had chided, there’s no hole in the sky.

"Okay, Mr. Smarty, then what is wind?"

When Ches launched into an explanation of high and low pressure zones, Chelsea interrupted, You know very well that wind comes from bins in Porter’s Store.

Ches snorted. "Maybe it’s stored there, but that’s not where it comes from."

It comes from Eldy, replied Chelsea. He delivers it.

"Okay—but where does he get it?"

Puzzlement darkened Chelsea’s face. Then she brightened. I’ll ask him!

Ches sighed. They’d been having this sort of conversation a lot lately and it drove him crazy. In Chelsea’s world one mystery led to another and there was never any real answer. That’s what science was for: It gave you answers.

Ches’s rainbow returned, and he was just readjusting his prism when there came a knock at the door. He started but did not respond. Even when the knock sounded again more urgently, he kept silent.

Chesterton Cholmondeley! sang the voice.

Ches hated his full name—not just the preposterous alliteration, or how long it took to write, but the fact that Cholmondeley was pronounced Chum-ly, which sounded like chummy. Which Ches definitely was not.

I know you’re in there! insisted the voice.

Heaving a sigh, Ches drawled, Enter at your own risk.

The door opened to admit Zac Sparks, his freckled face looking, as usual, astonished. In the months since Christmas his fiery red hair (which Dada had ordered cut) had grown out into its former puffball.

What are you doing, Ches, sitting here in the dark on such a nice day?

Zac strode across the room and was about to flick open the blinds when he realized they were covered with something thick and heavy. As he fumbled around, the thing came down on his head.

Hey, cut that out! yelled Ches. I spent a long time pinning that up.

What the … Completely enveloped, Zac struggled to get free.

Ches groaned. It looked as if not one small boy but two or three big ones were thrashing around under the bedspread. Zac was a good kid but highly excitable, like a frisky puppy, always jumping up and licking. After five minutes with him Ches often felt he wanted to go away and think for a long time.

Finally disentangling himself, Zac spluttered, What are you trying to do—catch a heffalump?

A what?

A heffalump. Didn’t you ever read Pooh?

Pooh who?

You sound like you’re crying! Zac exploded in laughter. "You know, Winnie-the-Pooh. Didn’t your mother ever read it to you?"

My mother read me books on science like I asked her to. Why did you go and mess up my bedspread?

Because this place feels like a tomb. Here lies Chesterton …

Don’t call me that. Only Rev calls me that. Or did.

Ches dropped his eyes. For the past four months his father, Reverend Cholmondeley, had lain in the back bedroom in a coma. Ches had not visited him once and rarely referred to him. So what’s up? he asked.

The sky, said Zac. And this. He waved the latest edition of the Big City Times. Bet you haven’t heard.

Even from where he stood, Ches could read the bold headline:

PLANE CRASH KILLS 108

So? That stuff happens all the time.

Not like this, said Zac. Check it out.

He pointed to a smaller headline at the bottom of the page:

CRASH DUE TO LOST SECOND?

Ches took the paper and read on:

Scientists are puzzled over the apparent disappearance of a second from the world’s most sophisticated clocks.

According to Dr. Morgan Stromway, director of the National Standards Bureau, Today, April 16, at midnight, our cesium atomic clocks fell short by precisely one second. Occasionally we add an extra second—called a ‘leap second’—to accommodate for a gradual slowing of the earth’s rotation. But for a second to drop out is unprecedented.

Dr. Stromway explained that atomic clocks are normally correct to within two nanoseconds per day, or one second in 1,400,000 years. For a whole second to disappear, he said, is equivalent to a city of one-and-a-half million people vanishing from the face of the earth.

From around the world came reports of other strange events occurring precisely at midnight, including the crash of United Airlines flight 207.

Ches’s reading was interrupted by another knock. What is this, Grand Central Station?

Without invitation the door burst open to reveal the bright eyes and shiny black hair of Chelsea. Hi, you guys! Umbrella time. We’re painting frost panels today.

Ches grimaced. It was spring break and Sky Porter had announced a special weeklong weather school. But lately Ches’s interest in Sky’s weather classes (normally on Saturdays) had declined. Or rather, increasingly his interests had narrowed to a particular field. Ever since seeing a spectacular glory on top of Wind Mountain at Christmas, Ches had been fascinated by what was known as meteorological optics: the study of celestial light displays including glories, rainbows, auroras, and halos. If he knew the weather class would address one of these topics, Ches was keen; otherwise he’d sooner stay home and work on his optical experiments.

Besides, he found Sky Porter an unsettling person. Frankly he found people in general unsettling. But since the storekeeper had entered his life, Ches’s world had been changing so fast that he kept looking for ways to put on the brakes. A born scientist, he couldn’t grasp how all weather—wind, rain, earthquakes, light itself—could be controlled by a man across the street with a blue umbrella.

Think I’ll sit this one out, he told Chelsea.

But even Iris is coming.

So?

Good for her, said Zac. She needs to get out of that room.

Since her release from the World’s Smallest Business Establishment, eleven-year-old Iris (the former Barber) had been living with the Cholmondeleys and helping to care for the Reverend. Tom Pethybridge had lived there, too, until his parents were located and he moved to the Big City. Neither Tom nor Iris had shown any interest in learning the secrets of the blue umbrella. As Iris put it, I’ve had enough magic to last me two lifetimes.

C’mon, Ches, said Zac, you need out of your room too. You and Iris are both cave dwellers.

Irked at being linked with someone who spent her days changing his father’s diapers, Ches was about to take Zac’s head off when he remembered he had a question for Sky. So, with a sigh, he grabbed his jacket and the three of them headed out.

In the hallway they met Iris, who flashed Ches a big smile.

Thought you weren’t interested in this stuff, he muttered.

Chelsea keeps pestering me. I’m just going to watch.

The umbrella’s too fun just to watch, said Chelsea. At least try making thunder or something.

Outside it was so windy they had to lean forward as though plodding uphill. It was a cold wind for April, and Ches clutched at his collar. Crossing the street to Porter’s Store, Zac asked him what he thought of the newspaper article.

Beats me. Time doesn’t just disappear.

It goes somewhere, said Zac. I wonder where?

Zac kept chattering but Ches tuned him out, listening instead to Chelsea. Much as he hated to admit it, after his sister’s five years of total silence, he loved the musical sound of her voice.

Sky told me a story and I painted it, she was saying. Wait till you see.

Ascending to the Weatherworks by the back stairs, the children found Sky surrounded by large white crystalline panels mounted on easels. Blue umbrella in hand, he stood before the sparkling canvasses like an artist with a brush.

Ches stared, surprised to find himself genuinely intrigued. Just when he thought he’d seen everything, Sky came up with something new. The panels were a good eight feet high by about four wide.

Is that what it looks like? Ches asked.

Yes—window frost! enthused Chelsea. Isn’t it cool?

If you mean the weather’s turned colder …

I did these other panels this morning, she continued, bouncing on her heels. Way up there, that’s mountains, snow-covered, with caves and everything. And sailing around the peaks are white eagles. Down here, in the valleys, it’s summer with all kinds of trees and flowers. And this is a castle and over here is a column of knights on horseback with banners fluttering …

Awesome! cried Zac.

Wait a minute, said Ches, squinting. I don’t see any of that.

Maybe you’re too close.

I see it! exclaimed Iris. There’s the king out in front, and the princess in her long dress …

Yes! Chelsea clapped her hands.

You guys have some imagination.

You’re right, Ches, Sky said with a laugh. It takes imagination to see truly.

Ches stared harder at the frost pictures.

Iris said, I always thought Jack Frost did this.

Chelsea, doffing an imaginary plumed hat, performed an elaborate bow. Jill Frost, at your service. Do you want to try your hand, Iris?

Oh, no! Iris backed away. I only came to watch.

May I show her, Sky? Eagerly Chelsea took the umbrella and began to draw on a blank, transparent ice panel. Wherever the umbrella’s tip touched, little puffs of vapor appeared, accompanied by a tintinnabulous sound like snowflakes falling on tinfoil. A frosted impression of Eldy’s Balloon and Flower Stand began to emerge, complete with the figure of Eldy, bent double as he arranged a bouquet. At a certain point, before their eyes, the picture seemed to come to life. Even Ches noticed it.

Wow! said Zac. I didn’t know you could draw so well.

Sometimes, observed Sky, art is a matter of discovering the right medium.

Unsettled by the vividness of the image, Ches backed away. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was just coming up to noon.

Can I try? asked Zac.

Let Iris try, said Chelsea, offering her the umbrella. Do you want to?

Iris shook her head briskly.

Then at least let me show you the inside of the umbrella. May I, Sky?

Go ahead.

Chelsea undid the fastener and slid the golden ring up the shaft. The spreaders opened to the familiar sound of the cloth canopy rustling like wings.

Just then the whole building shook with the pounding of the wind.

Whoa! said Ches. Maybe you shouldn’t …

But Chelsea was already lifting the umbrella aloft like a sail. Look, Iris, the inside is exactly the same as the sky itself!

Gingerly Iris crept closer.

See—the same beautiful blue, the same sailing clouds …

Again the wind thumped the building so hard that Ches felt it in his chest. Then he heard a loud rip as of canvas tearing. And what happened next tore at his heart.

He was looking right at his sister when she lifted off like a rocket and disappeared into the umbrella’s canopy.

One moment she was there, and the next moment she was not.

The umbrella clattered to the floor.

Chapter 2

Under the Weather

Everyone froze. Only the umbrella still moved, the tips of its metal spreaders ticking softly as the open canopy tilted back and forth.

Don’t touch it! warned Sky. In a few strides he crossed the room, seized the umbrella, and snapped it shut.

Iris burst into tears.

But what—? stammered Zac. How could—?

Ches simply stared, his heart racing.

Ohhhhh! wailed Iris. I never should have come!

Sky breathed hard as though from great exertion.

Wh … where is she? Ches’s voice sounded hollow and far away, as if he were the one gone.

Iris slumped to the floor and began rocking back and forth.

Finally Zac blurted out, What happened? How could she just disappear?

Sky, obviously bewildered, inspected the closed umbrella, examining it all over for clues. Though Zac peppered him with questions, he remained silent.

Ches’s mind was a blank. What he had just seen could not have happened. He had no category for it.

Iris kept moaning and rocking, until Sky put a hand on her shoulder. Peace, Iris.

Immediately she was still, though she would not look up. The other children kept staring at the spot where Chelsea had been, willing her to reappear.

But nothing more happened.

Nothing at all.

An hour later the children were all sitting around the kitchen table with Mrs. Cholmondeley—except for Ches, who paced. Chelsea’s chair looked dreadfully empty.

It’s all because of that stupid umbrella, Ches ranted. It’s nothing but trouble. Look at this family—Rev’s a vegetable, now Chelsea’s gone.… What next? That store is haunted, just like I always said.

But Ches— Zac began.

Lay off, Sparks. She’s my sister, not yours. And she’s gone. And it’s all the fault of that Porter friend of yours.

He’s your friend too.

Is not! He’s just a big troublemaker.

But even he doesn’t know what happened.

"He should know! It’s his umbrella!"

Normally controlled and passionless, Ches felt more upset than he’d ever been in his life. With Dada and the Aunties dead and gone, he had so hoped for life in Five Corners to be normal. Whatever normal was.

Getting angry won’t help, offered Zac.

You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’m gonna tear that store apart, one board at a time.

Ches, please, said his mother. Her anguished expression silenced him, but he would not sit. She kept pressing the children for more information but there was nothing more to tell. Chelsea had opened the umbrella and disappeared up into it. That was all.

There was a ripping sound, said Zac, like the canopy was tearing.

I’d like to see the hole, muttered Ches. How come Sky closed it so fast?

Obviously so no one else would get sucked in.

Well, said Ches, I wish I’d gone with her. The only response to this came from the grandfather clock in the parlor, which sounded the Westminster chimes followed by a single deep bong.

Mary Cholmondeley rose from her chair. I’m going back there to look. She must be somewhere!

Mom, don’t be crazy!

As soon as she’d learned of the tragedy, Mary had rushed to Porter’s. But there was nothing to see, and when she’d tried to see Sky, the old men at the store had told her he was, as they termed it, under the weather. Hearing this, the children were aghast. Sky … sick …?

It’s no use, Mom, said Ches. Chelsea’s gone. Like a puff of smoke. We all saw it.

Mary sank back onto her chair. With a mother’s need to rehearse every detail, sift every fact, she murmured, "I should have known something was wrong. I did know. While you children were out, I made a casserole. When I went to put it in the fridge—I guess I dropped it. But I didn’t think I dropped it. One moment I was holding it and the next it was crashing on the floor. I didn’t even see it fall. It gave me such an odd feeling."

Mom, sighed Ches, that has nothing to do with it.

Throughout this conversation Iris had said nothing. In shock, she stared at the table. Finally Zac asked, Iris, what do you think?

She did not answer.

Annoyed at her reticence, Ches said, It feels like you know something you’re not telling.

Immediately Iris broke into sobs and began rocking just as she had at Porter’s. I never should have gone there!

Mary clutched her hand. Whatever do you mean, dear?

Ohhh, it’s all such a mess …

As Mary gently stroked her forearm, Iris gradually calmed down. When she was composed enough to speak, she looked directly at each of them, with wide, glistening eyes. Her pretty face, framed in hair light as corn silk, looked nearly translucent with vulnerability. I’m so sorry. I should have told you all before.

So tell us now, said Ches.

She pressed her palms against her temples. I don’t know. It’s so confusing. The last few days as I’ve sat with Edgerton—she called the Reverend by his first name—he’s been talking.

Talking! exclaimed Mary. You mean he’s awake?

Not awake. Just talking.

But I haven’t heard him.

I know, it’s never when you’re there. Just with me.

Why didn’t you tell us? What’s he said?

As Mary leaned forward, Iris looked away. I didn’t want to worry you.

Worry me? Why?

Because, well, what he says … it gives me the creeps.

Figures, said Ches. Rev’s given me the creeps all my life.

Ches, please, said Mary. Go on, dear. What does he say?

Iris cleared her throat, then coughed. It’s all about … the umbrella and … the cane.

Dada’s cane? said Zac.

Yes. Cane and umbrella. Those two words over and over. There’s other stuff too that I can’t understand. He sounds so weird, like it’s not even his own voice.

Ches pointed a finger at his mother. I keep telling you Rev’s crazy. He should be put away.

I wish he’d just shut up, continued Iris, and that makes me feel guilty. He sounds so troubled! That’s why I went to Porter’s today. For his sake, I had to find out more about that umbrella. And now look what’s happened! Again she broke into tears.

Oh, dear! said Mary. I wish you’d said something.

I couldn’t, she sobbed. I just couldn’t. The cane, the umbrella, all this magic stuff—it freaks me out! The whole nightmare of Barber comes flooding back: cooped up in that little shack, trapped in that filthy old body, pretending to be a man …

She was crying and shaking so hard that Mary wrapped her in her arms and just held her. It’s all right, dear, it’s all right.

When Iris had settled some, she resumed. There’s more. Something else he said. She looked straight at Ches. "Just this morning he said your name—Ches—three times. Like he was calling you."

Ches felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

I didn’t want to tell you. I know how you feel about him. But now—I mean, maybe it’s important.

If you think I’m going anywhere near that old buzzard— Ches balled his fists and glared, daring anyone to challenge him. When no one did, he slowly released a sigh.

Ches, said his mother softly, we all understand why you avoid your father.

Darn right!

There was a somber silence as everyone recalled how Reverend Cholmondeley, at Dada’s command, had tried to kill his own son with the blue umbrella.

What happened on Wind Mountain wasn’t just him, said Mary. It was Dada controlling him. And now Dada’s dead. Your father’s done bad things, but I don’t believe he’s a bad man. Neither does your sister.

Did, said Ches. My sister’s gone, remember?

Your mom’s right, said Iris. Why do you think Chelsea spent so much time with your dad? Hours every day, reading him stories, singing. But he needs you, too, Ches. Maybe you’re the one who can reach him.

Baloney.

Will you come see him, at least?

Ches shook his head emphatically.

After a long pause, Mary whispered, What if it might help Chelsea?

After supper Ches again sat alone in his dark room, brooding, when again Zac Sparks burst in.

Wait till you hear!

Not listening. Ches plugged his ears.

You have to! Zac tugged at his friend’s arms. Another second disappeared! And guess when?

Didn’t you forget to knock?

Exactly at noon! Plus two more planes crashed and lots of other stuff. Even your mother dropping that casserole—she said the clock was striking twelve.

Ches shook Zac off and replugged his ears. With Chelsea gone, why should he care about the latest global disaster?

Zac yelled louder. Don’t you see? Noon is when Chelsea vanished!

Ches stared out the window at the dark, star-sprinkled sky. The wind had blown itself out and all was dead still. Unplugging, he said, Nice theory, Bud. But it doesn’t bring her back, does it?

But Ches—

Hearing a knock, they turned to see Iris standing in the open doorway.

Ches! she said urgently. He’s asking for you again. He’s saying your name!

Chapter 3

Myron

Why was everyone so hot and bothered about getting Ches to see his father? Why couldn’t they just ship off the old coot to a nursing home and be done with him?

Ches knew why, but he wasn’t buying it. It was that Iris kid; she was such a soft touch. Thought she was Florence Nightingale or something, the way she’d moved in with the Cholmondeleys and taken over Rev’s care. Well, someone had to do it, so that part was okay. It was a dirty job, but if Iris was willing, more power to her. What Ches didn’t like was how she’d talked his mom and Chelsea into looking on Rev’s bright side. Rev didn’t have a bright side, far as Ches was concerned, so that was all a load of malarkey. Dangerous malarkey. Rev had been Dada’s right-hand man—didn’t they get that? But no, Iris had them all convinced to let bygones be bygones and to hope for the best.

She had her reasons. In the days when Iris had been the old gray-bearded Barber, Rev had been accustomed to getting his haircut from her (or, as he’d thought, from him). As it turned out, she was the one person in town he felt he could confide in. Like many barbers all over the world, she had been a kind of confessor—not only for Rev but for others. Ches himself was well aware of this quality in Iris; several times he had almost blabbed to her about personal stuff he was hardly even aware of himself.

Apparently Rev had done the same, filling Barber’s ears with a big song and dance about how conflicted he was over his growing involvement with Dada, what grief it caused him, his worry for his kids, blah blah blah. So Iris had seen a side to him that no one else had. A side that, for Ches’s money, didn’t exist. In that barber shop Rev was just a drunk in a bar, babbling away about Shangri-la and refusing to face reality. But Iris had fallen for it, and so had Mary and Chelsea when she told them. They all believed that they could see into Rev’s heart, into who he truly was, and that with Dada gone there was every reason to hope for this poor victim, should he recover, to become a good husband and father. What nonsense! Rev was a jerk, that was all there was to it. In Ches’s book a man was what he did, not what he might do.

So the others were all trying to drag Ches into their little Pollyanna world, and now Rev himself was in on the act, calling his son’s name. It made Ches royally angry. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? Once people got close, they started to change your life, and Ches was just fine the way he was.

Roused from his thoughts, he heard Iris and Zac out in the hallway, begging him to come. Heavily he rose to open the door and, upon seeing Iris so pale and anxious, he softened in spite of himself. He found himself wanting to comfort her, to take charge of the situation. Even so, he resisted her pleadings until she said, But what if your dad knows something?

About what?

You know—about Chelsea.

What could he know? Wide awake he never knew beans.

I just have a feeling. Please come.

Ches wavered. A feeling? He had a feeling too: impending doom. He felt drawn into a vortex of circumstances in which his will was no longer his own.

Nevertheless, he allowed