The Elephant Gate

It was a typical Thursday morning, and the traffic on I-95 streaming towards DC was its usual tangled mess. Kevin tapped his finger on the steering wheel and tried not feel irritated. It wasn't often that his editor requested a face-to-face meeting, so he tried to accommodate her whenever possible. His publishing company was located in the Cleveland Park area of the city, while he lived outside the Beltway in Great Falls, VA.

The metal music on the radio gave way to station identification, and a warning that snowy weather was on the way. As he traveled towards Connecticut Avenue, he saw the Gothic Revival towers of the Washington National Cathedral and knew he just was a short distance away.

Flashing yellow lights up ahead didn't bode well, though. Sure enough, there was a problem with the street, and traffic was diverted onto the smaller, cramped streets over to Connecticut Avenue. Kevin checked his GPS, and realized there was a Starbucks just outside the National Zoo gates. Since he was being channeled towards it, this was a good time to pick up a chai tea latte.

The parking lot on the back side of the building, away from the huge granite lions of the Zoo entrance. Since the roads were snarled, it seemed a good time to stay inside for a bit and finish his beverage. A family breezed in, bringing a puff of cool air into the shop. The little boy was hopping energetically, swinging a stuffed elephant by the trunk.

"Mommy! That was fun!" He tossed the elephant in the air, but it rolled off his outstretched hands and landed on Kevin's table. It ended up rocking gently on its side the plastic tag still attached to one of the ears. Kevin picked it up to return it to the little boy, when the name on the tag caught his eye: "Kandula".

Suddenly he flashed back to a memory of a young elephant and a little girl; they dodged around tropical trees and shrubs playing tag. He could hear the animal's laughter and joy above the girl's laughter, but it wasn't sound. He vaguely noticed when the mom plucked the stuffed animal out of his hands, apologizing profusely for her son's behavior. Kandula…

Funny, he hadn't heard that name in years, ever since his first children's book was published over 6 years ago, when he used the name for one of the characters. Kandula…

A whisper in his head brought him up short, a sense of inquiry, as if someone was trying to speak with him. He shook his head and looked around. The Starbucks was packed with people enjoying the warmth and wi-fi. Nobody appeared to notice him.

Suddenly spooked, he stood up and quickly exited the store. He rubbed sweaty palms on his coat before climbing into his vehicle, that little tickle in his brain still there. What the hell is happening?

His hands released their death-grip on the steering wheel once he pulled into the publishing house parking lot, that odd pressure finally gone. He took a deep breath before shutting off the engine, but stared for a moment and the deep indentations in the leather in front of him.

* * *

The company was housed in a small single-family two-story near Quebec Place. He walked up the wooden steps on the original rear porch and into the building, the old wooden floorboards creaking slightly under his weight.

The administrative assistant, Melissa, greeted him with a wide smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter. Go right in." He nodded and went through the original glass double doors into the former parlor.

A stout older woman in a burgundy suit stood up and walked around a massive antique desk. Kevin always thought that desk looked vaguely familiar. Anne claimed it was owned by a maharajah in India, but, then, she had stories for anything. It was an occupational hazard.

"Kevin!" She grabbed his shoulders for a couple of airkisses before leading him to a pair of red leather chairs. "I'm glad you could make it in."

He nodded. "I'm fine, Anne, what is it that you need?" She grinned like a little child as she plopped her generous curves back onto her chair.

"I have a request by a movie producer to make a film out of your first book, "[The Elephant And The Prince]. He wants to use it as a foray into family entertainment."

"Is it a made-for-television, or a full-length theatrical release?" Kevin asked, wondering how his fanciful series would look on the big screen.

"He's looking at a three one-hour episode miniseries for a cable network," she explained, "but it certainly opens the door for other adaptations if it is successful." She handed him a thick manila envelope.

"These are the details of his proposal. I've written some ideas for changes and such in the margins, and I also want your input. Although our contract states we have the rights to negotiate on your behalf, I still want you in on the process. He has a scriptwriter in mind but he wants you as consultant as well."

He didn't like the idea of someone mucking about with his story-line. "Who is this writer?"

"Rose McEwen." Kevin hadn't heard of her, but, then, he hadn't made a study of any screenwriters. He planned to do an online search of her works when he returned home.

Kevin grabbed the packet. "I'll review everything and let you know." She nodded, and he stood up and turned to head out of her office. He heard a sudden roaring sound and then everything went black.