Free Invisible City by M. G. Harris

the guy in my dad’s photo? I’m feeling more and more like I’ve stepped out of reality.
    Later that morning I’m at school for a computer class. But this close to the end of term, it’s pretty freestyle. Most of us just surf the Web. I Google “Bakab.” The Bakab is a figure from Mayan mythology—one of four sons of the Mayan deity Itzamna. Itzamna is one of the top gods as far as Mayan deities go—the bringer of writing and agriculture to the Maya people. Only the Creator Gods are above Itzamna. In Mayan mythlogy, Itzamna married a goddess named Ixchel. They had four sons, who were named Ix, Cauac, Muluc, and Kan. The Bakab Ix must be one of these guys.
    Why would someone want to summon a Mayan god? Is it some weird occult thing?
    After school I take the bus up to the hospital. I’m hoping to hear that Mom’s coming home this weekend. The attendant tells me how much better she is; they’ve changed her medication; it’s very light now and she’s “more herself again.” He lets me intoher room, but she’s asleep. Fine—I’m pretty zoned myself. I lie down for a little nap in the second bed. And I’m out in seconds.
    Sometime later I’m vaguely aware of someone fumbling through my schoolbag. I’m still half asleep, and in that state all I’m thinking is that it’s fine; Mom’s always searching for neglected letters from school. Then there’s a long silence. Mom remains quite still.
    I wake up to find her staring at a photograph in her hand. It’s
that
photo—the one I found in Dad’s office.
    Mom’s tone is bewildered. “Where did you find this?”
    â€œDad gave it to me.”
    Sharply she replies, “No, he didn’t.”
    I pause, surprised. “He did.” It’s a small lie, I decide, a detail.
    â€œHe kept that photo on him. He was never without it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIf he really gave it to you, he’d have told you what it meant to him.”
    I stay quiet. No doubt about it—she’s sounding much better.
    â€œSo you lied to me.” It isn’t a question. “I found it in his college office. I went there to get some books.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œJust … because I wanted to learn about Mayan hieroglyphs.”
    â€œWhy?”
    I groan, fall back onto the bed.
    â€œJeez, Mom. Wow, you really are sounding like your old self! Look, it’s to do with the Mayan codex Dad was after. Okay?”
    Mom looks puzzled.
    â€œYou do remember me telling you about the codex he was searching for?”
    She says yes. But I’m not convinced.
    I snap, “Come on, Mom, we’ve been through this.” Then I remember where we are. And I’m filled with regret.
    Mom stares at me with a searching expression. “You tell me why you’re so interested in that photo and I’ll tell you what it meant to your dad.”
    â€œOkay. Only …” I hesitate. “You’re not going to like it.”
    â€œWhy, are you going to lie to me again?”
    â€œNo, it’s just that … well, you’re going to think it sounds stupid.”
    â€œTry me.”
    So I tell Mom about the dream. I tell her everything, with every detail I can remember. Relating it, I feel my spine prickle. And when I come to the end of the dream, I say, “Then he looks at me and he says …”
    â€œâ€˜Summon the Bakab Ix,’” says Mom.
    â€œHow?” I whisper. “How could you know?”
    â€œBecause I’ve heard this before,” Mom says simply. “Yourfather had the exact same dream. All his life. Since he was a little boy. And he never, never understood it. It obsessed him. Andres researched the myth of the Bakabs. Wrote lots of papers about them. He wasn’t any closer to understanding the dream. Then, about a year ago, his mother wrote to him. The man who raised him, whom he called