Mum left a note the back of the front door. She’d had a shift offered to her and took it. She didn’t want to wake me after being up so late. I had to pry my eyes open to read the note then stumbled into the shower. My watch was blinking with several messages. I knew a couple of them were from E.J.
Out of spite, I ignored them.
I ate, got dressed into clothes that didn’t smell like disinfectant and went back to the hospital. I explained who I was and asked how Lucas was doing.
Nothing had changed.
He was still on the bed, plugged into all manner of contraptions, his heartbeat monitored and giving out a slow, rhythmic beat.
“Has his family been in?” I asked the nurse.
“They came in a few hours ago.”
“No one is with him now?”
The nurse shifted on her weary feet. “They were asked to leave.”
I could imagine why. Lucas’ family were not known for their tolerance of institutions that had disciplines enforced which included schools, police stations and hospitals. The moment Constable Williams asked them any questions about Lucas’ habit they would have been up in arms and ranting about it being a witch hunt rather than finding out what had happened. There were too many questionable activities in their family for any one of them to be comfortable with even the mildest of police interrogations.
The nurse came over and checked his vitals.
“Any good news?”
“Not really but nothing worse, either.” She peeled back one of the bandages and inspected the welts. “I’ve never seen injuries like this before.”
I felt sick at the sight and I wasn’t a particularly squeamish person. It was like his skin had ruptured from the inside, like a teddy bear’s seam splitting after wearing thin.
“But it looks like it’s responding to treatment.”
“What about his eyes?” I asked quietly. “They looked like a blind person’s eyes.”
The nurse sighed. “I shouldn’t really say…”
“Is he blind?”
She swallowed and looked away. I felt sick.
“He must be a good friend for you to visit.” She said at last, deflecting the question. I let her get away with it. Neither of us had the heart to confront the reality that Lucas had probably lost his sight.
“No, not really.” I admitted. “We were and then the gap between us grew larger and larger…”
“It happens.” No, not like this it didn’t. Not the way it happened last night. “If you hadn’t called the ambulance, he’d be dead and lost in an abandoned warehouse.”
“Do you think,” my voice tried to crack, “what if I’d gotten there sooner?”
“There’s no way of knowing with his eyes but the lesions look like they’ve been weeping for a while.”
This small crumb of comfort wasn’t enough for me to let Weiss off the hook. As I sat there, gazing at him, I recalled the moment I turned to her for help and realised she had abandoned me. My mouth turned down and my fingers clenched into fists.
I wasn’t just angry at her running away when Lucas needed help.
I was furious that, after all the times I’d been there for her, when I needed help, she’d run away.
“I’ll visit tomorrow.” I promised as I left.
I walked to the bookstore.
It was at least an hour’s march.
I wish I could say I calmed down by the time I got there but my indignation and hurt only increased my anger and my anger justified my indignation and hurt until it was a terrible, furious cycle.
I shoved the door open, the handle banging into the wall and the dongle inside the bell tinkling so hard it nearly broke off. I saw Weiss putting books away, casual as you like, sliding them into place as if the order of her world was so much more important than the life of my friend. E.J. saw me coming but he was on the wrong side of the filing cabinet to stop me from storming up to her.
“What the hell was that about? Lucas is lying on the ground, dying, and you take off and leave me there! Look at me!” I yelled, grabbing the books out of her hands and throwing them on the floor. “Damn your books and your bookstore. You left him to die!”
“Sam!” E.J. grabbed my arm but I yanked myself free.
“Maybe Ryder and the rest of them were right! You don’t belong in this world if you think these books are more important than a person’s life!”
“Sam!”
“Why don’t you go back where you came from?”
“Sam!”
“I’m not finished!”
E.J. dragged me out of the store and into his detective agency, bolting it behind him.
“Don’t you dare defend her!” I roared at him. “She left him, E.J. She left me!” I tried to get past him but he wouldn’t let me so I went for the back door.
“Sam,” E.J. called and I spared him the briefest glance, “just…wait…”
“For what?”
E.J. wobbled on his feet. “For me to…not fall down…”
It only occurred to me then that E.J. had been at death’s door for the past two days. Even now, while dressed in his usual jeans, t-shirt and open shirt, he had no shoes on and a blanket around his shoulders. I was so angry I could only watch him stagger to a chair and sink into it.
“Sit…please.”
“I haven’t finished giving her a piece of my mind.” I argued and began to leave.
“You wanted to know where Weiss came from?” I paused, wondering if he was just baiting me to get me to stay. I looked back at him in his spartan lounge room, surrounded by clouds of tissues and a bottle of cough medicine that he was swigging from. “Sit and I’ll tell you.”
“Nothing you tell me will justify what she did.”
“Of course not,” E.J. swallowed some pain killers, “but until you know why, could you reserve judging her?”
I sat down. “And when I know?”
“Then by all means, go and yell some more. But first, I need to know exactly what happened. Weiss has been understandably shaken by it and hasn’t told me much. I can’t tell if it’s as bad as I suspect or worse.” I explained it all. I suspected, if E.J.’s face hadn’t already been pale, he would have gone white. “Damn.” He shook his head. “How did this happen?”
“Hey,” I clicked my fingers, “how did what happen? Why is everything a riddle with you people? Why can’t you just trust me with the truth?”
“We’re just trying to protect you.”
“She left!”
E.J. sighed. “Weiss comes from a place, about four fifths through the second book in a trilogy. In it she…no wait…I need to go further back. There’s this…that’s too confusing…”
“E.J….”
“I’m sorry Sam, but we haven’t spoken of it since I discovered her in the tunnels. The subject has been taboo.”
I groaned. “What’s the name of the trilogy?” I demanded, hoping to jog E.J.’s memory.
“It was called the Trilogy of Life and the first book, Birth, was published in the early nineties.”
“Jeepers…old book.”
“Old but very popular.” E.J. insisted. “The Trilogy of Life had everything, epic landscape, riddles, songs, diverse cultures, a dangerous enemy and, of course, a prophesied hero who would end the reign of Inferus.”
“Who?”
“Inferus. Faceless. Hellish…a very dangerous…well I’d say individual but…”
“E.J….” I muttered through gritted teeth.
“He was a king of an ancient civilisation who traded his physical form for immortality. When he awoke from the process, as a consciousness and nothing more, he discovered that a thousand years had passed and his grand civilisation had been covered over and forgotten and a new, and in his mind, flawed nation, had taken its place. This modern civilisation, fantasy of course with alchemists around every corner and mysticism branded on every door, had merged with other nations, marrying into different nationalities and ‘polluting’ the bloodline of his people. Inferus found a group of xenophobes who believed in the old order and, possessing one, took over the group and began to infiltrate the world, converting more and more people.”
“Surely people aren’t that stupid.”
“You really need to study history.” E.J. frowned, reaching into his memories. “Eventually, Inferus gains power over the military and is herald as the king would who bring Aeternus, his old kingdom, back and wash away the pollution of Ephemera, the current kingdom. To do so, however, Inferus needed a pure host to infest and so he instigated a breeding program. He founded a harem and chose women and one man that he deemed the purest out of all the ‘heathen’. He possessed the man and, well, you can imagine the result.”
“Ew.”
“Inferus was immortal so his breeding program ran the course of several generations. If any of the children were not ‘perfect’ within a few years, Inferus would cast them out to die in the wild. However, some of them survived with help and a resistance was born to save these children. And in a small village, Weiss was born. When Inferus saw these ‘naturally’ occurring pure bloodline children, he invaded and stole them, priming them for his purpose. Weiss underwent a conditioning process until, as she approached the age in which she would be presented to Inferus, she escaped again and fled to the outer colonies where life was hard and people often starved.
Eventually she ended up in a hole, captured and unable to escape which is where the resistance found her. There was a prophesy by a mage saying that Inferus would fall to one who could endure the challenges of the nations that Inferus was attempting to wipe out. A few, outnumbered but outspoken, members of the resistance believed that Weiss could be the one. She met with the mage and endured the trials over the course of nearly two books. She came close to death several times as she fought for the core power of each nation.”
“What were the core powers?”
“You’ve seen them. Valkyrie. Death. Huntress and, of course, the Phoenix. Weiss underwent terrible suffering to be imbued with the authority to lead the nations Inferus warred against and destroy him. At the end of the second book, she infiltrated the citadel Inferus had resurrected on the backs of the slaves of the ‘inferior’ races even as the resistance, made up of all the nations she represented, sieged the gates of the citadel after storming through the city of white bone. And then…”
“What?” I demanded. “What?”
E.J. sighed. “Weiss, the only one able to end Inferus’ grasp upon immortality…knelt on one knee and swore allegiance to him.” I gaped at E.J. He was reluctant to meet my gaze. “It was a cliff hanger of devastating proportions. No one saw it coming. You know Star Wars and how they did the prequels? The moment you heard the name, Anakin Skywalker, you knew he was going down a path that would lead to Darth Vader. You knew it and the movies were about the process that drove him into the arms of the dark side. It was horrible but you were expecting it…”
“But you weren’t expecting Weiss’ betrayal…”
“No.” He shook his head. “In the beginning there were concerns that a woman, a clone essentially, of an ancient kingdom’s bloodline, could be trusted but it was maintained that, should she prove false, she would be destroyed by the trials. However, with each trial she succeeded, trust and hope grew…and then…”
“She betrayed them.” I whispered.
“No Sam, it’s worse than that.”
“What? What did she do?”
E.J. closed his eyes, his expression, pained.
“I killed them all.”
I turned and saw Weiss standing in the doorway, arms tucked around herself, her eyes cast to the floor as if the faded, threadbare carpet was riveting.
“What do you mean?” I rasped, unable to recall my previous anger in the tension of the moment.
“When the gates of the citadel opened to the resistance, they surged forward, believing Inferus to be defeated. However, I stood before them and with the power of the Phoenix…I wiped them out.” My mouth dried out as Weiss’ silvery gaze met mine, asking for me to judge her. “And not just the resistance. My power pulsed to the corners of the world, purifying it according to the will of Inferus. Men. Women. Children. The skies darkened for days with the ash of millions.”
I stared at her. I think I had forgotten how to blink. “Why?”
She shook her head. “I do not know.”
“How could you not know?” I demanded.
“Sam, the way the author wrote the book was in rear reflection. She would tell the outcome, which would be impossible and unthinkable, then unravel the story so brilliantly that you arrive at the conclusion that it could turn out no other way.”
“You mean you have no idea why Weiss did, or does, the things she did, or will do,” I scrunched my nose, trying to get my head around the grammar, “because the author would do that in the third book.”
Weiss and E.J. glanced at each other.
“We guess so.”
“Then, at the risk of losing my temper…WHAT DOES THE THIRD BOOK SAY?” I roared at them.
Weiss’ expression was lost and E.J.’s was pained.
“Sam…there was no third book.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean there was no third book. You said it was a trilogy.”
“That’s how it was written to be. That’s what was promised…but the third book never happened.”
“But,” I looked at Weiss, “that means…”
“My story ends with my swearing allegiance to a monster, betraying the trust of the nations and committing genocide.” She said it calmly, sadly, resigned to the fact.
“Which is why she could not stay in the warehouse.”
“You’ve just lost me.”
E.J. took a deep breath. “Lucas was possessed…by Inferus.”
I stared at him, a snort of derision attempting to come out but fading into a soft huff.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately we are deathly serious.”
“All my work,” Weiss whispered, “all I have done to keep him from this world…”
“No, really, you think he’s here?”
“No one else knew my name, not in full.”
“I do and so do Jean and E.J.”
“You are trusted.” E.J. explained. “And as for the business, everything is in my name. Adele doesn’t register on the grid at all. No one would know her full name…”
“Except someone who came from the book.” The enormity of what they were telling me began to dawn. “So…that’s why you ran. Because you don’t know why you do what you do?”
She nodded and a tear trickled down her cheek. I watched it fall, glistening and clear, able to see my reflection in its opalescent surface.
“Because I could kill, not only you…but everyone…such is the extent of my power.”
I saw her glance at E.J. and knew, out of everyone in the world, he was the one she was worried about the most. I didn’t begrudge her that and, astonishingly, I began to see why she had run from Lucas.
She couldn’t trust herself.
“But are you sure, absolutely sure?” I insisted. “I mean, just knowing your full name is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? Anyone who has read the books would know your name.”
“I doubt there are many copies of the books left in the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“Weiss has been scouring the world online, searching for every single copy, scrubbing the failed trilogy from existence.”
“That’s why you’ve been buying up estates and shipping containers? You’re searching for copies of the books.” Weiss nodded. “What do you do with them all.”
“I burn them.” E.J. said.
I looked between them again. “To keep Weiss from being sent back?”
“No,” Weiss said softly, walking out the door, “to keep Inferus from infesting your world…and still I failed…and your friend may never recover.”
I sank onto the chair, trying to wrap my head around it all.
“You okay there, Sam?”
I shook my head, still trying to find a loophole somehow. “It’s still possible someone has a copy of it.”
“Even if someone did know her full name and somehow figured out that she was indeed a fictional character in our world, did Lucas really seem like Lucas last night? Could Lucas make clouds of darkness appear with every step before?”
I closed my eyes. “No.” I said hollowly.
E.J. left me alone with my thoughts for a while.
“Will he survive?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at E.J. “I don’t know about any of this.”
“Neither do I.” E.J. sighed. “Damn it…all the work she’s put in to keep this world safe and the son of a…” he stopped himself with a grimace. “Sorry…I just…he’s not your usual fictional interloper, Sam.”
“Can’t you just set him on fire?”
“Not without burning, possibly killing, the host. If even a drop of him gets away, he hides and regrows to his original state. Only Weiss, in the book, could destroy him and we can’t risk her going anywhere near him…I’m at a loss.”
“Shouldn’t you be contacting the Agency, then?”
He huffed. “I suppose I should,” he stood up shakily, “but I’m going to make myself presentable first. I’ve still got a drop of pride left.”
I was in ‘Beyond The Page’ at my desk when the black van of the Agency parked out the front. I glanced up and saw Ryder, Taylor and Patch climb out of the back of the van. If I had to pick a word for their expressions, I would have gone with smug. Goliath, the big dark skinned man with serious eyes, had been driving and greeted E.J. cordially.
I felt a presence by my shoulder and realised Weiss was there. She watched their interactions with a shadowed look on her face. This expression became sharp and she shied away when Ryder shot a dark look into the shop window. Though I doubt he could see her, he must have known she would be watching.
I couldn’t hear their words as E.J. spoke briefly with Goliath then led the way into his detective agency. The rest of the agents followed.
“That’ll be an interesting conversation.”
“You should be a part of it. You are a witness, the only witness.”
I got up, having heard the same from E.J. earlier. He’d warned me that the Agency would want to debrief me. I only agreed as long as they came here and E.J. was with me. I realised Weiss wasn’t following.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked. She shook her head. “You were there too. You’re the one who recognised that we have a problem. I just thought Lucas had overdosed…apart from the creepy music, knowing your name and being able to make clouds of darkness appear.”
Weiss looked at me softly. “Sam, I embody the very thing they despise. They see me as an illegal immigrant, a blight upon their society and now, the reason we have a threat to deal with.”
“You didn’t write the monster.” I protested. “You didn’t even write your role in it. How can they condemn you when you’ve done nothing to warrant it for years? You’ve done everything possible to avoid this.”
“And yet it happened…and they will blame me.”
“That’s wrong…and I’m going to tell them as much.”
“Don’t, Sam.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get it. You’re supposed to be a warrior, the hope of the nations…you’re scary as all get out. I guess I understand why you don’t want to confront Inferus, although I can hardly believe you would act contrary to your nature that has never harmed anyone. But these prejudiced agents aren’t worthy of your caution. You should go in there, bold as brass, and give them a piece of your mind.”
“And who would suffer if I did so?” Weiss asked. “Not I. The worst they could do to me is send me back to my book.”
“To a story without an end.” I pointed out. Weiss managed to go another shade of pale and looked away.
“Yes, but what about E.J.? Harbouring me in this world, fighting for my request for asylum from my story…I have already ruined his life. I do not wish to do the same to you.”
I sighed and opened the door. “I don’t think you’re giving E.J. enough credit. If you asked him, he wouldn’t say his life was ruined by your being here.” I said and closed it behind me, speaking now to the empty open sky above. “But you’re right. If you went back into your book, E.J. would still be the one who suffered.”
I found E.J. and the other agents in his sitting room. Ryder, Taylor (minus his flame thrower) and Patch were all standing as if the threadbare furniture and humble surroundings were beneath them. Goliath was seated in one of the armchairs, reclined against its high back, listening intently to E.J. who was leaning forward on his chair.
“And that’s about the size of it.” He finished just as I entered the room. “Sam might be able to tell you more.”
Goliath looked at me. I didn’t feel the same revulsion towards him as I did towards the other three but I wasn’t falling over myself to introduce myself to him.
“E.J. just filled us in on what happened.” Goliath explained unnecessarily. “How is your friend?”
“He’s…well, let’s be honest. He’s not really my friend, not since he tried to blackmail me into funding his drug habit…but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him. I don’t even know if he’ll survive.”
“It’s a worst case scenario, that’s for sure.” Goliath sighed. I was torn between liking Goliath because he asked about Lucas and irritated that he didn’t inquire as to how Weiss was. “I’d like to hear, in your own words, what happened.”
E.J. got up and I got the impression I should sit down which I did. It didn’t take long to explain. There wasn’t much to tell. Goliath didn’t ask many questions and at the end he frowned, putting his hands together and pressing his fingers to his lips.
“And that’s all.” I added, trying to invoke a response. I was sure my testimony hadn’t added anything thrilling to E.J.’s.
“It’s not a lot to go on.” Ryder remarked.
“And let’s be fair, a single rookie agent’s witness isn’t enough for us to get riled up over.” Patch said then gave me a ‘just saying’ kind of shrug. “No offence.”
“Oh yes, because I made it all up, including the part about Lucas being rushed into emergency, covered with ruptured, weeping sores and possibly blind.” I snapped. “And it wasn’t just me. Weiss was there too, you know.”
The three standing agents gave small, derisive laughs and shook their heads.
“Sam,” Goliath said in his deep, calm infusing voice, “we cannot trust the words of a fictional character.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because she’s fiction.” Taylor snorted. “She’s made up! She’s a story! A lie!”
“And, quite honestly, a danger to us all, now.” Goliath sighed. “Elton, the only reason Weiss was allowed to stay in this world is because you promised us that she would never be put in a position where she could be turned to, for lack of a better example, the dark side. That is no longer a certainty.”
“It’s not Weiss’ fault.” I defended. “She’s done everything in her power to remove her story from this world so that no one could obsess over Inferus or the other characters. What more can you ask of her?”
“To go back to where she came from,” Ryder said sharply, “before she turns the world to ash.”
“What kind of an idiot are you?” I said, standing up. “She can’t do the Phoenix state without incinerating herself. And you’re acting like she doesn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“In our experience,” Goliath said, raising his voice a little to cut between the tension that was brewing in the room, “fictional characters will always revert back to their nature. And Weiss’ nature is to pledge allegiance to Inferus.”
“For characters who are frightened and have been in our world only a few hours, yes that’s your experience…but Weiss has been here for years! She would never side with Inferus.” I insisted.
“Then why didn’t she confront your possessed friend? Why did she run away? Sam, we cannot risk losing control of Weiss. She’s too powerful.”
“She’s a person that you can’t condemn because of someone else’s actions!”
“See,” Ryder shook his head, “another promising agent ruined by over exposure and foolish philosophy.”
“Go to hell!” I snapped at him and stormed out of the room. I went back to my computer and sat down with an angry thump.
Weiss tilted her head. “I take it the interview did not go well?”
“Stupid…arrogant…fat headed…”
“You agreed with them not two hours ago.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Weiss, I’m…”
“Forget about it, Sam.” Weiss said, holding a closed book in her hands. “Perhaps it would be best for everyone for me to go back…”
“You don’t want to.” I argued. “You don’t want to become that person.”
Weiss looked down at the book. “No, I do not.” She drew the key out from around her neck and put it into the lock on the switchboard. I sat up straight, jaw dropping as she placed a beautiful embossed, hardcover book onto the shelf.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“Wait…” I gasped but she pulled the lever. Suddenly the book was locked into a brass embrace and the whole shelf flipped around in a three sixty rotation, pausing halfway and when it returned to its usual position, the book was gone. “Was that your book?”
“Let it go, Sam.”
“Bring it back!”
“Why?”
“I want to read it.”
She turned two scathing eyes onto me and I shrank away from the sharpness of her gaze.
“Why?” She said hollowly, her voice the sound of a thousand rustling leaves. “Why would you want to do that? Why experience a journey that only ends in despair? Why add more knowledge of the story to this world and possibly draw the evil inside across to this one?”
I hesitated.
The book wasn’t just her story. It was the confession of her betrayal.
But my curiosity was desperate.
“What if the answer is in there somewhere? Or in the other book…there are two, aren’t there?”
“There are no answers in the books. I have looked, Sam. There is no ending apart from hopelessness and death.”
I clenched my hands into fists. “I just don’t understand how the author could do that to you. What was his or her name?”
Weiss held still like a statue.
“Let it go, Sam.”
“But what if they had an idea for the ending and we just need to get them to write it?” I stood up, a thrill coursing through my body. “Then you would know how to defeat Inferus and you could kick his butt out of this world and maybe still get to stay in this one!”
Weiss tucked the key into her top and walked away. “The third book will never be written.”
“Why ever not?”
“The author is dead.”
The adrenalin that had flooded me in a heartbeat dissipated just as quickly and I was left shaken and frustrated. I watched Weiss retreat to her office and close the door behind her. I grunted and slumped in my chair, glaring at my computer.
“Fine, on my own again…but I’ve got my wits and the cumulative knowledge of the entire human race on the internet. I’m not going to be put off.”
I woke it up and started my search.
“Trilogy of Life.” A whole heap of new age websites popped up. “Nope. Trilogy of life books.” More new age websites filled my screen. I grunted at it and tried Wikipedia and scrolled through the entries. “New life, trilogy of life, new life, trilogy…hang on…” I found a single entry at the very bottom and clicked on it, its entire page of information fitting into the scope of my monitor. There wasn’t much to be read. “Trilogy of Life, written by Sheila Apple…Book one, Birth, published in August…the second book, Death, published a year later…trilogy was never completed as the author died.” I sighed. “Fat lot of good that is. That’s what I knew to begin with.” I clicked on the name of the author but the information that came up was even more sparse than her books. There wasn’t a picture and just a short list citing her birth, death and her accomplishments, the books.
I went back to the book page and read the information aloud to myself, hoping for inspiration.
“The publishing company…” I clicked on the link. “Houndstooth Publishers was begun in the early eighties and was absorbed into the global publishing phenomenon…well that doesn’t help. All the records from that far back would be gone from such a small company.” I went back to the book page and glared at it then glared at the switchboard. If I could look at the books, I might have a better idea of what I was dealing with.
“Never gonna get that key off her.” I muttered. “Anyway, what more would they say than the internet?”
I glanced at the bottom and saw that, among the sparse links of the author’s page and the publishing company, there was a link to a site called, ‘Second Chance’.
For lack of any other leads, I clicked on it.
It was a website for mental health issues and had a range of pages and services regarding help for those suffering anxiety, depression, bulimia…the entire alphabet of issues that were plaguing society. They were providers of therapy and special needs support for carers, the whole package.
It wasn’t the best well-made website. I had a feeling it was one of those ‘instant webpage’ deals that you feed information into and the engine pumped out something that didn’t look custom built but wasn’t an awful, year eight power point presentation bodge job.
“Probably not a big company.” I mused. “Maybe someone there knows something about someone…oh what the hell. It’s a long shot.”
But it was my only shot so I picked up my phone and, avoiding the suicide prevention hotline, rang through to a nice lady called Avril.
“Second Chance, Avril speaking. How can I help you?”
“My name is Sam Baker,” I don’t know why I felt the need to start with that but blundered ahead regardless, “and I’m trying to track down someone who knew Sheila Apple.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“No, you wouldn’t…she’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry terribly sorry for your loss.” Avril went quiet. “Please hold, I’m going to put you through to Mr Preston. He never forgets the names of our clients.”
I blurted out a protestation as the line crackled and I was subjected to call waiting music.
“She thinks I’m trying to find out what happened to someone recently. Well, this will be a short conversation…”
I could have hung up but I was still hoping my little ‘brain wave’ might produce results.
To be honest, I figured my chances were slim to none at present.
The line blipped and I was connected to an older man’s voice.
“Walter Preston speaking.”
“Hi, I’m sorry, I think I’ve got the wrong person. I was just trying to track someone down.”
There was a pause.
“You were looking for someone called Sheila Apple…”
“Yes I am but she died years ago.” There was another long pause and I felt a twinge of curiosity. “She was an author…”
“Yes…yes she was.”
I sat up straight like I’d been struck by lightning. “You knew her?”
“I…I did.”
“How did you know her?”
“I was her publishing agent.”
My body was abuzz with excitement. “Then you know about the failed trilogy and the fact that she never wrote the third book and what happened…”
My enthusiasm must have scared him because he blundered something about being sorry and hung up.
I stared at my phone, too excited to be disappointed.
I had managed to track down someone who knew Sheila Apple!
A quick glance at the website showed a remarkable fortuitous circumstance. The business was in the very city I lived in. It was on the other side of it and, according to the public transport timetable, over two hours away but I could have crowed with delight.
I wrote a note to Weiss that I had to leave early. I didn’t want to take the chance that she would read my mind and know where I was headed. The agents were still in with E.J. but I didn’t want to arouse their interest so I made sure to avoid the front of E.J.’s detective agency before sprinting to the shopping centre. There were always taxis hovering at the wait stand. I gave my driver the address and settled in for an hour drive. Two hours by bus and train would put me precariously close to closing time. I didn’t want to lose the only lead I had.
It was raining. I watched it streaking down the window as we used one of the tollways to take the fast track across the city.
“Walter Preston…Sam Baker wants a word with you.”
Second Chance was based in a large building that had once been a pub on a corner in the suburb of Cloverfield. It was a lower socio economic suburb, like the one I was from except it wasn’t quite as low and the suburb hadn’t become hemmed in by abandoned districts, adding desperation to the mix. Cloverfield was one of those, save the heritage district, projects…mostly because the suburbs surrounding it didn’t want it to get any worse and perhaps rub off on them.
The converted pub was quite large and enjoyed a second storey. The pub had also had a beer garden which ‘Second Chance’ had turned into a soup kitchen. Even though there was a closed sign over the gates, I could smell something cooking. A large banner was pinned to the balcony railing that said ‘Second Chance’ and underneath were the words ‘Health Hub’. I paid the driver of the taxi and climbed out, crossing the street to get to the front door.
The foyer was quite an open space with the usual attempt at child distracting toys and a wall of pamphlets and flyers on every mental health aid, workshop, outreach and encouragement imaginable. I approached the counter where a woman, possibly Avril, looked at me with a sympathetic, open expression.
“Welcome to Second Chance,” she said warmly, “how can we help you?”
I immediately wanted to take a step back, realising that they probably thought I had issues…well, let’s face it, I did but not the kind a mental health hub was going to solve.
“Oh, I’m not in need of mental health support.” I blurted.
“A volunteer?”
“Actually, I called earlier about Sheila Apple…”
A door opened from an office and an older man, with ash blonde hair that was camouflage for his greys, emerged. He was dressed smartly with a bit of a portly belly pushing against his shirt and the buttons of his jacket and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. With him was a woman, maybe late twenties, early thirties, who was tall, gangly and gaunt. Her manner reminded me a little of Lucas coming down off a high, wringing her hands on her jacket.
“We’ll sort that accommodation out for you right away,” the older man said, “and you’ll start in the morning.”
“Thank you.” She said quietly, her shoulders bowed and eyes down.
“Avril, could you take Phoebe to see Arthur. She’s going to start work in our soup kitchen tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” Avril said, standing up. “We can always use the help.”
Phoebe looked a little unsure. My heart suddenly ached for her, recognising someone that might have ended up living in tunnels if not for newly formed health hubs like this. The man held out his hand and Phoebe looked at it nervously before putting her hand in it.
“Step one,” he said, “reach out. Step two, take hold. You’ve already done the hardest steps. We’re here to help you take the rest.”
Phoebe smiled, tears welling in her eyes.
“Before I go, Mr Preston, you have someone here to see you.”
Avril escorted Phoebe through a door, deeper into the building. Mr Preston turned to me, holding out his hand and I clasped it.
“Walter Preston.”
“Sam Baker.” I felt his hand tense up. “You hung up on me about an hour ago.”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I am truly sorry about that. You caught me off guard.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Mr Preston put his hands in his pockets. “You asked about Sheila Apple…”
“The author. Were you really her agent?”
“I was. A lifetime ago now.” He removed his glasses and polished them with a cloth from his pocket. I got the feeling he was stalling. “What is your interest in Sheila Apple?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…but basically I work at a bookstore called ‘Beyond The Page’ and I’ve become incredibly…interested in the two books she wrote. I hoped you could shed some light on what happened.”
Walter Preston sighed. “I probably can…why don’t we have a coffee?”
“Um…okay…”
He flipped over a sign on his office door that said, ‘Peace Talks’.
“Peace Talks?”
“Shiloh is the name of the coffee shop across the way and in English, the name means peace. If I’m in my office, I’m working and can be interrupted. If I’m at the coffee shop, the rule is I’m listening to someone who needs to talk and must be left alone.”
When Avril returned without Phoebe, who had been happily introduced to Arthur and given a room to stay in, Walter Preston led me out of ‘Second Chance’, down the road a little then across it to a café that smelt of coffee, chocolate, cinnamon and apples.
“Afternoon Marco,” Walter greeted, “how are things?”
“Hey Mr Preston, all good here.” The man behind the counter had a dragon tattoo that wound its way from his right wrist, up his arm, around his neck and down his left arm, ending at his left wrist. “Your booth is ready for you and I’ll have your coffee ready in a jiff.”
“Sam?”
I floundered. “Hot chocolate?”
“I can do that…and don’t you worry. Mr Preston will look after you.”
“Don’t mind Marco,” Walter said softly as we made our way to the back of the coffee shop where a booth with a half moon shaped bench was set into the wall, “almost everyone I bring here for coffee is a cry for help.”
“I am kind of crying out for help.”
“You don’t strike me as suicidal though.”
“No, no I’m not.” I assured him and slid onto the bench. “You come here a lot?”
“I am one of the voices on the suicide prevention hotline. If I can arrange to meet them in person, I do that. Step one, reach out. Step two, take hold.”
A teenage girl with piercings in places you couldn’t pay me enough to have done came over a tray and two cups that steamed.
“Hello Betty, how are you today?”
“One day at a time, y’know?”
“I do know.” Mr Preston nodded. I watched as she put the coffee cups down, her hands trembling. She spilt a little of my hot chocolate which she apologised for and mopped it up with a napkin. “Movie night tonight in the common room. Feel like a comedy?”
“I could use a laugh.” She admitted. “Did you want something else? We have the best apple danish in the city.”
“Betty’s right about that.” Walter Preston nodded. “We’ll take a danish.”
“No charge, of course Mr Preston.” She smiled despite the anxious manner about her and she hurried to the kitchen.
He saw my inquisitive look. “Four years ago we bought the café when it was closing down. A lot of our workers have come from ‘Second Chance’ and have thrived in working, their accommodation taken care of and their meals in the mess hall. And we have group homes set up that they can move into when they feel a little steadier on their feet.”
“That’s really cool.” I said sincerely.
“It’s a drop in the ocean.” I wondered how he could downplay his role in helping so many. Betty returned with the danish that was dusted with perhaps a little too much icing sugar. “Now…you wanted to know about Sheila Apple.”
“And about the unfinished trilogy. The second book ended so tragically that it’s hard to believe it could be published without a follow up.”
“That was partially my fault.” Walter Preston sighed, leaning back against the booth. “I convinced Houndstooth Publishers, who I worked for, that Sheila’s third book would resolve any loose ends and be utterly brilliant in its conclusion of the epic tale.”
“But it never happened.” Mr Preston shook his head, holding his coffee. I leaned forward. “She died.”
“No Sam, it’s worse than that. She killed herself.” The air was sucked out of my lungs and I stared at Walter Preston in horror. He stared into his coffee as if it held the secrets of the universe and not just the ground up remains of bitter beans. “I had only been at Houndstooth for a couple of years when Sheila’s first manuscript came across my desk. I was a junior agent at the time and used to get all the unsolicited manuscripts that were sent through. I read through hundreds of them, sifting the countless hours of work the authors had poured into them, hoping to find my nugget of gold amongst the dross.
And then, I read the manuscript for Sheila’s first book…and I was convinced that it was the one.” He looked at me. “I knew it would become one of those books that would never fade into obscurity. That it would stand the test of time. It had so much presence, heart, terror, tangible moments and others that were so ethereal they felt like the remnants of a dream.
I took it to my supervisor and insisted it be given a read through then was told I had the go ahead to contact the author and find out about her plans for the follow up manuscripts as it was clear it was part of a series. I became Sheila’s biggest advocate, determined to see her work come to light.”
“She must have liked having someone in her corner, fighting for her work to be known.”
Walter Preston shook his head. “Sam, I was no saint. I was very enthusiastic for her to be published but I did also hope that it would propel me up the company ladder. And when her first book broke out onto the market and was extremely popular, I saw my future laid out before me, building upon the success of her work. I thought I was giving her something wonderful, a chance to be read. Now I realise I was just fortunate to have been touched by her life and wish I had done more…or perhaps, less…”
I let him reflect a moment, sensing a gravity to his words.
“The second book followed pretty soon after the first.” I stated softly.
“She was halfway through it when the first book was published. I had read parts of it as we talked back and forth about it.”
“So you knew about its ultimate cliff hanger ending?”
“I was the one who convinced my superiors that it was a risk worth taking, that we would outsell any other fictional author in the past with the third instalment in the trilogy.” He shrugged sadly. “But when the weeks turned into months and I hadn’t heard from Sheila, I began to get worried. So I started contacting her every week, encouraging her to begin with but as pressure mounted from above, I began to push harder and harder.” He licked his lips. “I was so selfish, only concerned with her fulfilling the promises I’d made and not about what it must have been doing to her, hounding her constantly…I mean I did try to encourage her to write, even a page a day…”
“Did she say why she didn’t write it?”
“She said she was trying in the early days but nearer the end she did say, perhaps the evil cannot be resolved…”
My heart sank. “She gave up?”
Walter Preston sniffed and nodded. “I should have heard or seen the signs of someone nearing the end of what she could endure…but I was only interested in my life. She wouldn’t take my calls, letting them go through to her answering machine and not returning any of them. I…I’m ashamed to say I may have threatened to nail her to her desk to get her to finish.” It was hard not to judge him at that moment. “I knew the moment I’d said it that I had crossed a line, after a few too many wines. When I woke the next day I decided to go see her, to apologise if she’d listened to the message and to erase it if she hadn’t. That’s when I found her.”
“Oh no…” I whispered.
“She lived alone in a little house, almost a cottage, in the hill country. I drove up there, down the long driveway and parked behind her car. She had a bay window that her desk was nestled in so that she could look at the changing seasons beyond the glass. When I couldn’t raise an answer at the front or back doors, I peered in through the window…and that’s when I saw her…” He breathed in shakily. “I…I’ll never forget the sight…I thought there might still be a chance to save her so I broke in…but she had been dead for days…and no one knew.” Tears trickled out of his eyes. I offered him the napkin that had come with my, still uneaten, danish. He wiped them away and blew his nose, giving a sad chuckle. “I’m not usually the one crying in this booth. It’s usually someone else weeping on me.”
“I’m guessing you’ve been hanging onto this for all those years…”
“It’s why I do what I do.” Walter Preston admitted. “I quit the publishing industry before I could be fired and the books of Sheila Apple were removed from bookshelves, the entire incident hushed up and forgotten. The police said there was no evidence that my messages had even been listened to. They didn’t blame me at all…but I’ve never stopped blaming myself. If I had just listened to her…or been a safe haven for her to be honest about what was troubling her…”
I didn’t know what to say so I pushed my marshmallows around in my mug of hot chocolate. I could understand why Mr Preston felt he was to blame. It was a pretty damning picture he had drawn without apology.
“Do you…” I swallowed. “Did you ever find any notes about the final book? Even the beginnings of a manuscript?”
“Nothing.”
“What about her belongings?”
“She had no family so they were sold at auction.”
I sank into my seat.
I had come for answers and all I’d gotten was more despair.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“It’s not your fault.” I said quietly. “I just hoped…”
“Where did you find your copies of the books?” I looked up. “An aunt or uncle? Or perhaps one of your parents?”
“No, no, I work in a bookstore.”
“A second hand one, I guess?”
“Something like that.” I tapped my fingers. “I don’t suppose you still have your copies of the books?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Walter sighed. “They were stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“Years and years ago.” He nodded. “I’d gotten a little drunk, reading through the books, still wallowing in my guilt and I passed out…when I woke the next day, my home had been discreetly riffled. Some old clothing, a few bits and pieces…the books…”
“Why would someone take your books?” I wondered.
“No idea.” He looked at me. “I don’t suppose your copies are beautiful hardbacked embossed editions, probably with a few wine stain splashes?”
“No…I’m sorry.” I lied. I didn’t know for sure but I began to suspect.
“Ah well,” he shrugged, “probably for the best. Once the books were gone I realised I needed to take what I had learnt and put it to use and help others.”
“I think you have,” I nodded, “and much more than you give yourself credit for.”
“Thank you, Sam.” He cleared his throat and stood up. “I should probably be getting back. Don’t forget your danish. It’s too good to waste.”
I walked out of the café with Walter, wrapping my danish in a couple of napkins.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t much more help.” He apologised as we stood on the pavement.
“You can’t tell me what you don’t know.” I pointed out. “I just…I hoped to resolve things or maybe find some answers…I’m still blown away that I found you through an obscure link on her Wikipedia page.”
“That’s my doing. I put a link there out of respect.”
“Even though it gives the date of her death but not why?”
“It must have been altered by someone. I haven’t looked at it in a while. I’ll go back in and update it.”
I paused. “There seems so little about her on there. It’s not enough that her books were scrubbed from the publishing company and then the world. She’s almost been removed herself.”
“That’s why I named the café after her.”
“Shiloh café,” I frowned, “named after Sheila?”
“Sheila was just her westernised name when she immigrated to England and carried over when her family moved here. Her name was Shiloh Apfelbaum, which means peace apple tree.”
I blinked. “That’s an unusual name.”
“She was Jewish.”
“Oh.” I tried to rouse myself positively, sensing I had made Walter Preston sad in revisiting a past hurt. “Thank you, Mr Preston.”
“I wish I could have given you more.” He said, his eyes darting away and his brow furrowing.
“You filled in a few gaps and at least one other person in the world knows of Shiloh Ap…Applebafum…”
Walter Preston chuckled. “You’re a good person, Sam.”
“So are you.” I insisted and shook his hand, heading to the nearest train station.
It was a long ride back to my suburb. I had little else to do except enter Shiloh’s name into several search engines, all of them coming up with people who had the first name or the last name but no reference to the author.
I checked her Wikipedia page and took her birthdate and entered it into my search parameters. It only spat out more and more random information.
I heard a quote once that the best place to hide something on the internet is on the second page of a search engine’s results. Prior to this incident, that had been very true of me. If it wasn’t listed in front of me, I generally gave up. But I had little else to do except flick through ever increasingly random pages of information, hoping to find something that would help.
“Jewish…immigration…born in the thirties…”
I had to admit, it wasn’t a lot to go on.
Besides, what would finding out anything more do?
It’s not as if I could magically get in touch with Shiloh and ask her why she couldn’t finish the book.
“The evil could not be resolved…” I murmured and leaned back in my chair. “Xenophile Inferus wiping out anyone who wasn’t part of a superior race…” A fragment of memory from high school history returned to me and my skin prickled. “Was she writing about World War Two?”
I added the war into my search parameters.
A couple of Holocaust websites popped up that talked about the horror of World War Two regarding Jewish people. There were some testimonies and a great many lists of those who had died. I glanced at the ‘A’ names but there were thousands amongst the millions of names of those who died and the survivors and I was too depressed by that stage to stomach the sorrow of it.
There was a ‘contact us’ box however, there was a little disclaimer that said, without enough information, searches could take months as it was all done by volunteers.
I slumped into my chair, defeated.
At dinner I was understandably distracted.
“Something on your mind, Sam?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah…just tired.”
Mum nodded. “Did you go to work today?”
“After I went to the hospital to see how Lucas was.”
“That was kind of you.” She sipped her water. “How is he?”
“Not good.” I felt the weight of the world pushing my shoulders down.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrugged. “What’s there to say?”
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
I frowned and looked at mum. “What do you know about World War Two?”
She blinked and put her fork down. “Sam, how old do you think I am?”
“No, I know you didn’t live through it…”
“Not even my parents lived through it.”
“Yes, but…it was pretty awful.”
“No Sam, it wasn’t awful. It was horrific and though there aren’t many survivors still alive, if any, what happened is a lesson we should never, ever forget.” She paused. “That was a pretty random question.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just grasping at straws…”
I couldn’t concentrate on my studies that night so I ended up on the couch, my phone discarded next to me. It didn’t have the answers. The internet didn’t have the answers…no one knew what I was searching for. Heck, at this point, I didn’t know what I was searching for. I’d never even read the stupid books.
“How about a movie?”
“Sure.” I said vaguely, thinking I could run away and have a shower if it wasn’t to my liking.
Mum, still a member of the ‘DVDs are better than digital’ club, put a disc on the tray and hit play. To my horror, it was a musical. I began to make my excuses.
“I’d stay, if I was you.”
“Why?”
“Because you were asking about World War Two.”
I sank into my chair and, armed with a greater understanding about the war when I’d previously suffered this movie, I persevered. The music came and went without much alluding to the war at all and if mum hadn’t put this movie on specifically because I’d been asking about World War Two, I’d have left by the second song. However, about an hour into the three hour slog, a melody began to play and I sat up and leaned forward.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Mum said.
My skin prickled painfully.
I knew that melody.
I’d heard it when I first started at ‘Beyond The Page’ and only last night, distorted and creepy.
“Edelweiss… Adele Weiss…Edelweiss…Shiloh Appleflappen…she wasn’t just Jewish…she was Austrian.”
I missed much of the rest of the movie as I grabbed my phone and used up the remainder of my battery, entering in this new information.
Austria welcomed German control prior to the start of the war. The Jews in Austria were some of the first victims dragged off to POW camps and then to the gas chambers.
“She was a child.” I shook my head. “She was a child and unless her family escaped…”
I found the Holocaust website again and clicked into the ‘contact us’ box.
Hi there, I’m trying to track down what happened to the family of Apfelbaum, (I had to do a search for the different words for apple tree to get the correct spelling) in particular, what happened to the daughter, Shiloh Apfelbaum. She would have been seven years old when the first Jews were taken by the Germans in Austria. I know she survived the war but I wondered if you could shed some light on what happened to her as I feel like, someone, at least, should remember that she existed.
Feeling the day hadn’t been a total waste, I suffered, graciously, to the end of the movie and felt sincerely relieved that the family escaped over the mountains.
I lay in bed afterwards, thinking over the music and Weiss’ name.
“She named her after the flower of Austria. Adele Weiss…Edelweiss…a symbol of devotion, of love, of patriotism, adventure, sacrifice, nobility…it blooms for a short time in the hardest places. Yeah…I can see why Shiloh chose that name for you.”
I rolled onto my side, feeling my eyelids become heavy.
“What was it you couldn’t overcome, Shiloh? Why did you give up?”
My studies had taken a hit with all the chaos around me so I kept my head down and tried not to do anything ‘extra’ for a few weeks until I got on top of it all. I was really looking forward to the Christmas break although I knew, unless I wanted to constantly be playing catch up the following year, that I would have to be proactive on certain subjects before the term officially started.
Oddly enough, when I started to get on top of things, I felt a restlessness come over me.
It was like I was going into withdrawals from some kind of high.
“Money a bit tight?” E.J. asked when I offered my services after hours.
“Uh…yeah always,” I admitted, “but, you know…you’re not getting any younger.”
He snorted and shook his head. “You’ve been bitten.”
“What you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“By the adrenalin bug. You’ve caught a taste of a dangerous life and now you’ve got an itch you can’t scratch.” I opened my mouth to refute it…but it did make a lot of sense. Not that I wanted E.J. to know as much and crow over me. “Truth is, I think I may need your help.”
“Sure, with what?”
E.J. leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Noticed a lot of missing pet signs up lately?”
I paused and frowned. “Yeah, actually. Dogs mostly…is that significant?”
“I…may have found several piles of bones in the sewers beneath where we are.”
“And you didn’t say?”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind, Sam.”
I sighed. It wasn’t something I could refute. “So…is there a dog eater on the loose from a book?”
“Or something that likes meat…and may not want to draw attention to themselves…”
I shuddered at the thought. “Any of Bluey’s crew gone missing?”
“No…but they take precautions now. Most entrances are defended or too small for anything large to come through.”
“So we’re looking for large meat eaters…” I shuddered. “Are giants out of the question?”
“Sam, in this job, nothing is out of the question…”
It wasn’t easy to go back into the warehouse district. Not after what happened with Lucas. We hadn’t really talked about it in the two weeks that had followed his possession and subsequent hospitalisation. E.J. slung his bag over his shoulder, shut the boot of the car and walked casually towards the warehouse. I followed much more warily with a large box in my hands. At the door, E.J. turned and looked at me.
“Changes your perspective, doesn’t it?” He asked.
“What does?”
“Trauma.” E.J. rapped the side of the warehouse. “You wouldn’t have hesitated to scout this place out a month ago.”
“A month ago, Lucas wasn’t possessed or on life support.”
“How is he?” We entered the building. After a tentative poke around, by me, to make sure no more nefarious creatures of darkness were hiding in corners, we set up the portable BBQ that had been in the box I carried and E.J. immediately got it going.
“You mean, apart from his body nearly coming apart at the seams and being rendered blind?” It was hard to keep the bite out of my voice. What happened to Lucas hadn’t been E.J.’s or Weiss’ fault. Heck, it hadn’t even been mine despite feeling wretched about it. “I visited him yesterday. He’s looking less like a mummy each time but so far, he’s still out of it.”
“You’ve been there quite a bit.”
“I feel responsible.”
And not just for what happened to him…but for not recognising it in the first place.
E.J. opened the plastic wrap and slapped a couple of steaks onto the grill. The smell of cooking meat immediately began to fill the air.
“I think that’ll get someone’s attention,” he said and opened up his fictional character survival kit, “here,” he handed me a couple of spark grenades, “take these just in case.”
“You’re really going to offer dog eaters the option to come quietly?”
“They could have been gobbling up children.” My stomach churned. “I think, from the way these things have been lurking around the neighbourhood, that they got through the night the power went out…”
“Oh gee, that narrows it down.” I muttered, recalling work lost because of the hiccup in the powerlines.
“And have been laying low.”
“Where? Here?”
“The missing animals have been from all around here and there are a lot of buildings I haven’t got cameras in. If they got out and holed up in one of those…” E.J. passed me a walkie talkie. I looked at it and back at him. “What?”
“What happened to your phone?”
“I type really slowly…”
I rolled by eyes and went to one of the offices that had a window to the outside. I could smell the meat cooking even from in there. It was impressive how it could travel for two small steaks. I pressed the button on my walkie talkie.
“Testing, testing…old man, have you got your hearing aids in?”
“Don’t make me regret bringing you along. Make sure you can’t be seen through the windows.”
I sat low in a corner so that I could see out the door and through the window. I played with the spark grenades a little, always tempted to press the button to activate them. They didn’t end in a big explosion and I could just switch them off…but knowing my luck they’d run out of spark just when I needed them so I let them be.
“Hey E.J.?”
“Yeah?”
I didn’t really have anything to say. I didn’t like being alone in the warehouse anymore.
“Inferus…any idea how long he’d been in control of Lucas?”
“No way to know unless Lucas wakes up. Even then, he might not be aware of it.”
“What about when he showed up at the shop and tried to blackmail me?”
“I doubt it?”
“Why?”
“Unless he doesn’t know about the danger fire poses to him, Inferus wouldn’t risk lighting a match in the hand of the body he possessed.”
“Oh…I didn’t think of that.” Thankfully the weather was warmer and I wasn’t shivering but the warehouse had a creepy atmosphere to it now…or just one I’d conjured in my head. “How could he have gotten out of the book when there are so few books?”
“The presence of more books, more interest in the author’s work or in the characters themselves, that’s what tears the fabric of reality. But just one book, one obsessed directed interest could have let him loose…or he could have been out for years and we never knew.”
“You really think he’s been hiding all this time?”
“Trying to figure out where he is and what he can do. Goodness knows how he found Weiss…”
“Where is she?”
“Keeping an eye on the perimeter once her auction ends…ended ten minutes ago. She’ll be our backup. But Sam, you’ve got to keep those spark grenades away from her.”
“Yeah, I know.”
We chatted about some other things, the smell of cooking meat going from hunger pain snapping to burnt toast when I heard something rattle. I peered out of the window, my hands shaking as I held a spark grenade in one and the walkie talkie in the other.
“E.J…” I whispered then froze as something big lumbered past the window. It had to be at least ten feet tall with hands the size of funfair strength tester mallets…
“What?”
I tried to muffle his voice by shoving the speaker against my chest. I was unsuccessful. The shadow in the window stopped and turned towards my location. I hunkered down, pressed up against the wall. The shadow grew larger and larger and then, through one of the broken panels, I saw an eye peer in. It was bloodshot and big. After it looked around for a few, long seconds, it stuck its nose through the broken panel and sniffed then breathed out.
“It’s in ‘ere.” A deep, barrel toned voice grumbled. “‘ere, Bert!”
“Wot?”
“Grub’s in ‘ere.”
Two, I thought, there’s two of them.
He pulled away from the window and stomped towards the door that led into the warehouse.
“E.J…they’re here.” I hissed.
“Wait until I have their attention, come close and listen for my signal if required.”
I scrambled to the door and peeked towards E.J. He was poking the steaks and looked up as one…two…three ten foot tall creatures lumbered towards him.
“Hello lads, fancy a bite?”
“Wot are you doin’ ‘ere.” The first one grunted.
“Just cooking up some prime rib. Want a bite?”
“Is that meat? Gimme! I’m starvin’!”
“Get off William!” The one called Bert dragged William back. “I don’t trust someone ‘ose waitin’ for us wiv a meal…” He leaned towards E.J. as I gingerly crept out of the office behind them. “‘ow many more of you is hidin’, eh?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m in plain sight.” E.J. remarked casually. “So, you’re Bert,” he pointed the skewer at the second troll, “you’re William…that would make you…Tom?”
The trolls took a step back. I froze as they considered the single man who sat on his camping chair.
“‘ow do you know our names?”
“I know a great deal about you, about where you come from and, more importantly, where you belong.” E.J. stood up. “You’re meant to be sitting around a campfire somewhere…probably about ready to roast some dwarves and a burrahobbit…the next moment…you were here.”
Bert shook Tom hard. “He’s a wizard ‘e is! Get off or ‘e’ll turn us into stone!”
“That’s why you’ve been in the sewers during the day, munching little old lady’s dogs at night.” E.J. nodded, picking up one of the steaks. “Any takers?”
Though I could almost hear their saliva dripping from their generous chins, the trolls were not willing to trust E.J.
“I have to say, you’ve done better than I would have expected, not drawing attention to yourselves, only targeting dogs and not people…” E.J. shook his head. “If only all interlopers were as considerate.”
“Int…inter…what?” William was a tad confused. He looked a little drunk, staggering on his feet. Bert wasn’t much better.
“Characters out of place.” E.J. folded his arms. “If you want to get home, make a meal of those dwarves you’ve caught and get back to the treasure in your cave…I can show you the way.”
“Yeah I’ll bet.” Tom snarled. “Then you’ll be seein’ where we stash our treasure!”
“I won’t follow you.”
Suddenly Tom’s mallet fist struck the little BBQ and scattered E.J.’s burnt creations across the dirty floor, much to Bert’s dismay. I saw E.J.’s gaze turn serious and readied myself, the spark grenades firm in my hands. Though he didn’t look at me, he shook his head.
Seriously? He was still going to give them a chance to come quietly?
“I fink you’re after our booty…and I ain’t about to let the likes o’ you,” his sausage finger poked E.J. in the chest, “get your grimy,” another poke, “slimy,” another poke, “man fingers on it.”
E.J. sighed. “You’re really going to turn down the offer to go home?”
“Yeah, we are.”
“Now wait a minute, Tom…”
“I said we are!” Tom snapped.
“But I’m hungry and I’m fed up with lit’le yappers! I want meat!”
“Yeah, we wants a decent moufful!” William agreed.
“Then we eats ‘im.” Tom jerked his head at E.J.
“Yeah…” Bert and William turned their ire from Tom to E.J. “We eats ‘im first…”
“I really rather you ate my associate, Sam.” E.J. cleared his throat and pointed. “Sam, why don’t you say a bright hello?”
The three trolls turned towards me.
Terror was about to turn me to jelly…so I took a leaf out of E.J.’s book.
“Hi fellas!” I grinned and tossed a grenade each to them. “This is a, welcome to our world, gift.”
The trolls caught the grenades, the size of golf balls in their hands and I held my breath.
“But whatever you do, don’t press the button!”
“Wot, this one ‘ere?”
And in a flash, Bert disappeared.
Unfortunately, he was faster than his fellow trolls. Tom yelled and smacked the grenade out of William’s hand.
“Wot did you do wiv Bert?!” William screeched at me.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said darkly, “now there’s two of em…one each…”
Tom turned on E.J. as William stormed towards me. Unfortunately, I’d used up all my spark grenades.
“E.J.!” I yelled, turning to run. I didn’t even get to take a single step, William’s fingers wrapping around my leg and hoisting me into the air.
“I’m goin’ to skin you,” he lifted me up and I gagged at his breath of beer and meat, “alive…”
“Brace Sam!”
Well…I tried…
When William disappeared into a flash of light, I fell to the ground. I twisted my wrist a little, trying to soften my fall. I’d have a dozen bruises but at least I’d kept my head from injury…and my skin on. E.J. stood over me, upside down of course. I glared up at him.
“Ow!”
“No time to complain. Tom took off.”
“I got two, you didn’t even get your one!”
“Hey, I got the one holding you up.”
“Oh yeah, and if I hadn’t been there to distract him?”
“Give me a break!”
We sprinted out of the warehouse, following Tom’s heavy footsteps. Unfortunately, outside the warehouse, echoes tended to get confusing. I turned around on the spot, running my hands through my hair.
“He’s gone.” I shook my head. “We lost him.”
“Weiss! Tracker!” E.J. yelled into the air.
A second later the most terrible growl echoed behind me. I turned and saw a wolf the size of a Shetland pony, with white markings around its eyes, sprinting across the ground, heading right for us. E.J. grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down.
“Duck!”
It leapt over our heads and continued to run. E.J. hauled me to my feet and we gave chase.
“Weiss?”
“Weiss!”
“What do we do now?”
E.J. laughed.
“Try to keep up, of course!”