The Dragon's Slumber

The drive home from work was long and satisfying. Drake didn’t know what satisfied him most: the low hum of his truck or that he didn’t have to focus much when he drove. His body went on autopilot after a year of making the same commute.

He began working as an apprentice for Big Deal Construction around the same time that he married Ming Mei. The pay was good, but he and his wife struggled to pay the bills on occasion.

Drake backed the truck into his numbered parking spot. The apartment complex didn’t make much effort in making the outside look appealing. They knew tenants would be more worried about the price of the apartment than the appearance. Drake and Ming planned to buy a house soon. For now, they learned to live with what they had.

Drake left his truck and entered apartment 304, a smile forming.

“I’m home, love!” he bellowed as he began to take off his dirty work boots. Ming liked to keep things neat and tidy. This didn’t bother Drake; he admired Ming’s organizational skills. Her efforts kept him balanced.

Drake laid down on the sofa located directly to the far left of the room. He began to stare at the painting on the wall above the sofa. The painting itself was meaningless to Drake. It looked like a bunch of exciting red and blue “mistakes” on a canvas. Ming had brought this and many similar paintings from her home in China. She had explained that the paintings were a must if she agreed to marry him. The shipping cost was painful at the time. However, Drake knew that he would pay any price to make Ming happy.

“I’m in here!” Ming finally called softly. Her English was close to perfect despite speaking Mandarin natively. Drake tilted his head towards the hallway. It sounded as if her voice came from the bathroom. Drake hated to admit it, but it wasn’t uncommon to find Ming in the bathroom. After all she was ten weeks pregnant.

Drake believed “morning sickness” to be a misnomer. Day or night, nausea seemed to hit Ming like lightning, but more frequently.

As he approached the bathroom, he could hear Ming having a series of sneezing fits followed by a sickening belch. Drake knew pregnancy would be hard, but this was more than that. Most of the time there was nothing he could do, and that was heart-rending.

Ming had begun to have sneezing fits this past week, which had almost always led to vomiting. Drake assumed that it must be the air filter. That thing probably hadn’t been changed in years. They had purchased a new air filter, but Drake hadn’t gotten around to changing it because he had been getting home late from work. He cursed his own laziness under his breath.

“Babe, is everything okay?” Drake finally asked in a low tone when the wrenching had stopped. Slowly he opened the bathroom door to see his poor wife huddled over the toilet.

“Everything is just peachy,” she spoke in between gasps. “Can you help me to the couch?”

“Of course!” Drake put his arm around Ming’s waist and helped her up slowly. He guided her to the couch and allowed her to slump down onto it. “Is there anything I can get for you? Crackers, ginger ale?”

“If I put anything else into my stomach, I might just throw up again,” Ming said, exhausted. She just laid on the couch. Drake couldn’t help but notice that despite being sick 24/7, Ming managed to look as beautiful as ever.

“Here babe, how about you rest, and I will order something for dinner and switch the air filter. Hopefully, that will help with the sneezing,” Drake said quickly, giving no chance for a refusal. They had ordered McDonald’s the past three nights in a row because Ming hadn’t felt up to cooking. Surprisingly, McChickens were one of the only things she could keep down.

To Drake’s surprise, Ming simply nodded to his suggestion. It seemed she had given up and was planning on sleeping right then and there.

After making the McDonald’s order, Drake got to work on the filter. Taking the case off, Drake’s suspicions were confirmed; the filter was layered with dust. He took the filter off and noticed a black bag taped to the metal wall behind the filter. He looked back at Ming, who already seemed to be asleep and then back at the bag. He pulled the bag free from the wall and unzipped it. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The bag was filled with cash.

Drake put his hand in the bag to further inspect the contents. He immediately found a small, black notebook. The book was slightly longer than the length of his hand. He began to flip through it.

The pages were filled with what appeared to be instructions. The book was written mostly in second person, using the word “you” frequently. The paragraph that most caught his attention read, “For these instructions to make sense repeat these words aloud: Time is never as it seems. A tricky tool for foolish fiends. We will make the most of it.”

Drake again looked back at Ming, who appeared asleep. After a quick breath he spoke the words on the page. To his disappointment nothing happened. Embarrassed, he read to himself, “To go back undercover put the dragon to sleep and the lotus on display. Give the tiger a bath and the heron some rays.”

After finishing the page, Drake shoved the book back into the bag. As soon as he had done so he felt a sharp pain in his side. He fell to the ground. Confused, he looked up to see Ming staring at him, her eyes harsh.

“What the hell was that for?” Drake demanded now grasping at his throbbing side. His brain was moving faster than he could think. Where was the bag of money from, what was that black book, why had Ming just kicked him and how?

“You shouldn’t have read the book.” Ming’s tone was deadly. “I pity you. You seem like a good guy.”

“What are you talking about, Ming?” Drake kept eye contact, trying to understand the situation. Ming didn’t respond. Instead, she bent toward the bag, grabbing something. Drake couldn’t move. The shock was too strong. Out of the bag came a gun. It was small and fit in Ming’s hands perfectly, almost as if it were designed for her. The hairs on Drake’s back perked up as he scooted backward.

Ming aimed the gun directly at him. It was obvious she knew how to use it. Was this how he would end? Killed by his own wife? Drake had always thought they would live long and happy lives together. A tear began to slide down his cheek.

Drake forced his mind back to reality. He stared into Ming’s eyes and she stared back. Just as Drake was accepting his fate the doorbell rang. Both he and Ming turned toward the door.

“Don’t move,” Ming said softly but sternly. She moved toward the door cautiously and tucked the pistol hidden in her pants. Drake felt hopeless. There was nothing he could do. He would most likely die. He found himself focusing on the painting hanging above the couch. Drake had never given much heed to the art, but for some reason the splotches of reds and blues brought him comfort. The more he looked at it the more the red seemed to take shape. What was it? As Drake continued to stare, he understood. It was a dragon. What had the book said? “To go back undercover put the dragon to sleep and the lotus on display. Give the tiger a bath and the heron some rays.” Could it be that Ming was some sort of agent, meant to ‘wake up’ when the right words were said and ‘sleep’ when the paintings in the house were put in a certain order? It wasn’t much but it was all Drake could think up. If he was going to die might as well die fighting.

Drake looked back toward the door and saw Ming still talking to someone he couldn’t see. He began to listen to their conversation and let out a sigh of relief. In Ming’s hand was a McDonald’s bag, and the delivery driver was Cory Bingham. Cory had gone to school with both Drake and Ming. Cory was notorious for his ability to talk for hours on end. Now Drake needed to come up with a way to use this opportunity.

Drake slowly rose to his feet. Adrenaline already began to pump through his veins. Before leaving his spot, he armed himself with the dirty air filter in one hand, and (trying not to draw attention to himself) approached the painting above the couch. He grasped the frame and pulled it from its place. Drake proceeded to turn and walk down the hallway, slipping into the bedroom. To his amazement, the painting above their bed almost looked like a tiger with green stripes. Placing the filter down momentarily, Drake replaced the tiger with the dragon.

Drake knew that he couldn’t count on Cory for too much longer, so he came up with a plan. He grabbed some thread from a spool in the closet and picked up the dirty air filter. He tied one end of the thread around the bedroom doorknob and held onto the other end. He then snuck into the bathroom and pulled on the string, slamming the bedroom door shut. Hopefully, Ming would think he was hiding in the bedroom.

In the bathroom he found the heron, just to the side of the bathtub. The bird was a beautiful yellow surrounded by deep purple.

Drake swapped the tiger and the heron. He listened. Ming was rummaging in the bedroom. She would soon know he wasn’t there. Drake opened the bathroom door and dashed as quietly as possible into the secondary bedroom. This room held Ming’s favorite painting. She always talked about how beautiful it was when the sun would hit it just right. He didn’t know for sure if that alluded to where the heron was supposed to go but it was worth a shot.

Drake swapped the paintings. The final painting looked like a black canvas with multiple white splotches near the center. Drake had no idea what a lotus looked like, but he hoped it was similar to this. He began to sprint out of the room when he was met by Ming holding the gun. Without thinking Drake flung the dirty air filter at the wall near Ming. A dirt cloud formed around her, causing her to sneeze and vomit. He bolted from the room, ignoring Ming, and placed the last painting above the couch.

“It seems your luck has run out,” Ming said behind him, wiping her chin. Drake didn’t know what to say. He was counting on the paintings to work their magic, but nothing happened. The feeling of horror returned as Ming took aim. Then something came to him. Was he blocking her view? Could it be that if he just moved slightly to the left it would work? Drake took one large step away from the painting. Ming’s posture fell as she saw the lotus. Her eyes appeared glazed over and she turned around, beginning to walk from room to room, ending in the bedroom. Once there she fell on the bed and lay unconscious.

Drake, relieved, fell to his knees. It wouldn’t take long for him to put the gun and the book (with a few pages missing) back in the bag and hide them behind the air filter. The money, however-- Drake would slowly start injecting that into savings. Affording a house didn’t feel like a dream anymore.