Fenway Fever (15 page)

At the first opportunity, Stats sent out a “data dump” request to the Stat Pack.

“Anything!” he wrote. “Need the magnetic power points of Fenway, ley lines, whatever. Need info on pyramids, dimensions, uses (why did they build them, anyways?), info on hawks’ nests. Anything!”

Before long, Stats found himself sifting through his own personal Wikipedia of data on electromagnetic force fields in, on, around, and through Fenway Park.

Some he deemed useless. Some he flagged as significant. Mostly, it was a lot of reading.

Among the significant points, a few really stood out.

Hatonn, down in Louisville, wrote, “Most people believe the pyramids were built to be royal burial tombs. Not so. The first pyramids were built as healing stations. The Egyptians used strategically placed crystals to create positive healing energy in the heart of the pyramid.”

That tied in to what Billee had said. Maybe they really were going to heal Fenway Park.

He also learned about ley lines from Willem Rike, a high school kid in New Hampshire.

“Ley lines,” wrote Rike, “are intense rivers of energy within the earth. They usually connect two powerful or sacred sites.”

Then Rike added something that floored Stats.

Stats could hardly believe this. A major energy line right through Fenway? But it took him only twelve minutes to verify what Rike had written.

In order to draw a straight line from the very mystical and sacred Isle of Iona, off the coast of Scotland, with its 4.5-billion-year-old surface rocks, all the way to the Kilauea Volcano on the Big Island of Hawaii, whose lake of fresh lava spills into the Pacific Ocean, where it cools and creates new rocky shoreline every day, your pencil would run right through Boston.

Once again, Stats could not wait to share everything he had discovered with Billee.

This, he loved.

Stats knew he would never experience the feeling of catching a deep fly ball up against the Green Monster or sending a home run over the right-field wall, but he reveled in that cool surge of energy he always felt when his brain was quick-flicking and his fingers were clicking.

For a kid like him, that would have to do.

Stats had almost fallen asleep when his eXfyle buzzed inside his sleeping bag. He got up and peered out over the edge of the half wall that ran along the roof of his house. Billee blinked his car lights from below.

Stats climbed down the old steel roof ladder to the back porch and eased softly onto the wooden deck. Then he tiptoed to the steps that led downstairs to the sidewalk.

Upon entering Billee’s compact sports car, he said nothing, sinking low into the cushioned seat, shutting the door softly. As they pulled away, Billee asked, “What did you tell Pops?”

“I left a note. Said I’d be right back. But I hope he doesn’t even read it.”

“Where’d you put it?”

“On the roof.”

“Dude,” said Billee, but that was all he said.

“Where’s that bunch of sticks?” asked Stats, looking around.

“In my locker. I buried it under my incognito wardrobe.”

“Can you still get into the clubhouse and everything?”

“This late, usually not. But Paolo said he’d stick around so we could haul out the sticks, grab the cart, and go.”

“So Paolo knows about this? Hey, maybe he can help.”

“Not likely. He told me he’d be sleeping on his cot. He said, officially, he really doesn’t want to know what we’re up to.”

“Oh.” Stats peered up through his window over the rooftops. “Why is the summer solstice so special?”

“Because it’s powerful. The sun’s rays strike the earth head-on, sending us the maximum amount of solar energy for any day this year. And during the solstice, a bunch of planets line up with the earth and the sun forming one huge ley line. The first twenty-four hours are key. And it started tonight at 7:09.”

“Which means?”

“Which means, we have the rest of tonight to get the nest in place. Then all day tomorrow it can absorb all this positive energy, which will not only help bring the hawks back and restore the natural balance, but if the nest is set in a real strong power point, it will completely negate the negativity of any curse in the Red Sox universe.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right. That’s why tonight’s the night.”

“You sure know a lot about this.”

Billee grinned. “What else did you find out?”

Stats checked his eXfyle. “Carl Yastrzemski used to say that Fenway Park rejuvenated him after a road trip.”

“True, so true.”

“And there was a baseball commissioner named Giamatti who compared Fenway with the Great Pyramids at Giza. That goes along with what Yaz said, since I found out the first pyramid at Giza was built for healing.”

Billee glanced over. “Good research, bud. Yaz had it right, too. Fenway can heal. I’d rank it right up there with the Mother Church here in Boston or the Dalai Lama’s place in Tibet or the Hopi mesas in Arizona. All sacred. All timeless. And they all have what Fenway has.”

Stats saw no reason to disagree.

Before long, the baseball cathedral was in view. Billee turned onto Lansdowne Street, which ran behind the Green Monster.

“Now tell me, where do we put the nest?”

“Well, I …”

“You figured it out, didn’t you?”

“Sort of. My Stat Pack friend Willy Rike said that to do it right, we have to use the sacred geometry of baseball. That is, the circle, the triangle, and the diamond.”

“Sounds about right.”

“He says that in almost all ancient traditions, a circle represents the sun. A triangle represents heaven. A square, the earth. On a baseball field, there is one primary circle: the pitcher’s mound.”

“We can’t build it there, bud.”

“No, I know. Besides, a circle is not part of a pyramid. We need a triangle and a square.”

“And the diamond is the square?”

“Right. And triangles are everywhere. Each base has one as a corner of the diamond. But one base is different.”

“Home plate?”

“Right! And it’s the strongest geometric shape of all. Here’s what he said.”

Stats brought up the text on his eXfyle and read. “‘This symbol of the triangle upon the square originally came from off-planet sources.’ So I wrote, ‘Off-planet? UFO people? Ha ha.’ And he says, yeah. Listen.”

“All right, dude,” said Billee. “Great work. So, once again, where does the nest go?”

“In the stands, behind home plate.”

Billee looked up, squinting.

“And,” Stats continued, “the very tip of our imaginary pyramid would be about fifty-seven feet up, somewhere right around the catwalk just below the windows of the announcer’s booth.”

“Ah, just like we dreamed it.”

“Pretty much.” Stats looked down. “But since we can’t build it there, I added fifty percent to all my calculations.”

“Okay.” After parking the car, Billee led Stats to a door on Van Ness that Stats had never seen before. Once inside, they set off down a dim hallway lit only by emergency lights. After reaching the concourse door at the other end, Billee headed off for the clubhouse to gather the sticks, while Stats made his way outside, climbing all the way to the top of the bleacher seats.

In a little while, Billee cruised out of a nearby tunnel, driving the cart right onto the upper deck promenade.

“Where do these go, Stat Man?” he called, indicating the bundle.

“Come here, I’ll show you.” He retrieved a laser pointer from his pocket.

After Billee walked up to join him, Stats pointed with his red beam. “Right there.”

The beam hit the base of the flagpole at the very top of the old-fashioned stepped-roof facade that formed the front wall of the huge press box area overlooking the ballfield below.

“The only problem,” said Stats, “is how to get on the roof.”

“We’ll use a rope. We’ll have to start from down here. Somewhere.”

That was when Stats noticed the twigs were bundled by a small piece of rope peeled off of a full coil holding maybe one hundred feet of line. Suddenly, he felt uneasy.

“What do you mean,
we
?” he asked. “You’re the only one going up, right?”

“Oh, sorry, bud. No, I didn’t mean ‘we.’ I meant you.”

“
Me?
Billee, are you—” He stopped short of asking the obvious question. “How am I supposed to get way up on top of that roof? You know I’m just a kid, right?”

“Sure. And that’s what makes you just the right size to hoist up nice and easy-like. We’ll toss a rope over a beam or something above the stands, then I’ll pull you up to the edge of the roof. You toss the bundle over and climb on. Set up the nest, and I’ll lower you down.”

Stats stared at the flagpole. “Billee, I’m not getting the picture. How do I actually climb on?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll rig you a harness with a step about waist high. I saw it once on a survivor-in-the-rain-forest show. Seriously. When you get close enough, you’ll … uh, you’ll figure it out.”

“I will?” He
seriously
doubted it.

Billee avoided any hint of eye contact. “Sure.”

“Don’t you think maybe
we
should think this thing through a little more?”

“I do, I do,” said Billee as he began unraveling the rope. “No, you’re right.” Using a seat back as a form for shaping, he started designing the rope seat. “That’s exactly what I want you to be thinking about while I figure out the harness and hoist.”

Billee had a great arm. An obvious observation, Stats knew, but to see him throw a weighted batting doughnut tied to the end of a rope up into the rafters was unbelievable. He threaded two needles, one on the way up—between two support beams—and
one at the edge of the roof itself as the weight skidded just over another support arm, falling cleanly to the other side, and dangling there until he let out more slack.

“We’ll have you up and down before you know it, Stat Man.” The heavy doughnut-on-a-rope glided back down into Billee’s waiting hand. He removed the weight and attached the small seat he had created, the type you might see a rock climber use.

Stats stood back and eyed the rope. “It’s kind of thin, isn’t it?”

“Hey, no worries. It’ll hold five hundred pounds. Said so on the wrapper. Now, look, I’ll strap you in, clip on the bundle, and hoist you right up. When you get to the top, toss the bundle up first. Then climb onto the harness here.” He pointed to the seat.

“How do I do that?”

“It won’t be that hard. I’ll talk you through it.”

“Talk me through it?” Stats took the mountaineering seat from him and squeezed his eyes shut.

While Billee fussed with the sticks, Stats pulled in two deep breaths, hoping to bring more oxygen into his brain. Gripping the rope near his face, he gave one last big exhalation.

Then he softly added, “I want to know how you ever talked me into this.”

Billee kept his focus on the mission. With a quick snap, he clipped the bundle of sticks to Stats’s belt.

“Once you’re on the roof, bud, you just walk over to the flagpole, build the nest, and then I lower you back down. Voom! Voom! Piece of cake.”

Billy hoisted away. Slowly Stats began to rise. He had counted on going up. He had not counted on swinging from side to side. And the twirling-like-a-ballerina part that came next was completely unexpected.

About halfway up he was spinning and swinging so wildly, he had to tell Billee to stop.

“I’m getting dizzy.”

“Okay, just grab my line. Here, I’ll bring it closer. Grab it and stabilize yourself.”

It took a while for Stats to even locate the hoisting rope Billee had brought over to him. As he spun past, he wrapped his forearm into it and finally came to a stop.

“Sorry, bud. I didn’t know you were going to spin.”

“Look, maybe you better lower me down. It doesn’t really seem like this is going to work.”

“Sure, it is, Stat Man. You’re halfway up.”

“Then I’m also halfway down. See my point?”

Billee ignored the question. “Look, let my line slip through your arms as I pull you up. That’ll help stabilize you. Plus, the higher you go, the less you’ll swing. Just don’t look down.”

“Don’t worry.” Stats again shut his eyes. He felt himself rising.

“Just another five feet,” said Billee. By the sound of Billee’s voice, Stats figured he must be walking the line back instead of wrapping it around something. Stats preferred a nice solid wrap. What if the rope slipped out of Billee’s hands? That doughnut had fallen in a
hurry
.