“So that means ‘it’s’ here?” the boy asked in a whisper.
“Yes, it is.” Matthias replied in a mocking whisper.
Roger turned and began to sprint up the drive. He stopped when he realized he was alone, “aren’t you coming?”
Matthias grinned, “I thought you’d never ask.”
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The park was overgrown, but there were signs of what had been luxurious landscaping. Large stone picnic tables sat in the shade of enormous oak and walnut trees. Smaller stone paths led off at regular intervals snaking off into the tall grass where they disappeared from view.
As they crested a hill Roger glimpsed the corner of a stone gazebo in a grove of trees a hundred yards off. His heart leaped. This was it, he’d been here before, in his dreams. He had been right. He hadn’t really believed something as magical as Jeremiah Wish’s fountain could have ceased to exist.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Roger glanced over at Matthias to see if he was aware of the electricity Roger felt pulsing through his veins as they left the main road and headed into the grove of trees surrounding the gazebo. Matthias seemed aware of what he was feeling but immune to it himself. Maybe you
got used to it, Roger guessed.
High up on the hill overlooking Wishful the man in black paced excitedly. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was changing. It wasn’t a good change either, not for him at least.
He walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a telephone, “Ishmael please,” he waited impatiently for the voice on the other end of the line, “I think they’ve found it…never mind how I know. What are we going to do about it? When have I ever cared about that stupid festival? I will not allow my plans to be interrupted. Do you hear me? Fine! Tomorrow then. Ishmael? Do not cross me!”
He slammed the phone down and continued his pacing. The vague feeling of change was growing stronger.
They must be stopped!
Cobwebs hung heavily from every angle of the gazebo. Roger stepped under the protection of the roof brushing them away with his hand. He stepped eagerly up to the short, stone wall surrounding the fountain and leaned out expecting to see his reflection. Instead he found the fountain filled with decades of decaying leaves and dust.
He reached down brushing the leaves back. His hand felt rough wood. He cleared a larger area and realized that some kind of wooden cover had been placed over the water of the spring below.
“It’s boarded up.” he sat heavily on the wall.
“Yes, I thought you knew” Matthias replied.
“What do we do now? Can’t very well make a wish in a dry fountain,” the boy felt tears welling in his eyes.
“Well, so much for your stubborn streak,” said the old
man turning back the way they had come.
“Where are you going?” Roger asked, startled.
“Back to town, can’t make wishes in a dry fountain. You
said it yourself.” Matthias stood looking at Roger.