Oliver Crum Box Set

by Chris Cooper

  “What about the big guy? You think Marv’s got one we could borrow for an evening?”

  “You think he’d lend a car to just anyone?”

  “I’m not ‘just anyone.’ Tell him we need it to save the world from evil villains,” Ruby added.

  Charlie shot a glance at Oliver.

  “Close to the truth,” Oliver said.

  “Let me call him. He’s probably got something in that old garage, but I haven’t seen the guy drive in ages.”

  After a brief conversation on the corded phone at the corner of the bar, Charlie turned to Ruby and Oliver. “He’ll be out back in a few minutes. I’ll take you there.” He gestured for the two to join him behind the bar. “This is the fastest way to the courtyard.”

  Charlie pulled open a hatch in the wooden floor, revealing a flimsy set of stairs leading to a dirt-floored cellar below. As Oliver placed his foot on the first rickety step, he was reminded of the cellar below the clockmaker’s shop in Briarwood. Old wine racks lined the walls, and several large kegs sat in the corner.

  “We roll the kegs right through the bulkhead door in the back,” Charlie said, leading them through a low hallway to a storm door at the other end. “Easiest way to get ’em into the building.” Charlie pushed the door open and shielded his eyes from the daylight.

  An old three-car garage sat in a courtyard at the far end of the alley. The alley itself cut behind the back of a row of shotgun buildings and onto the street.

  As they approached, rustling came from inside one of the open garage doors. Metal clinked and clanked as a man pulled a pile of parts from atop the hood of a tarp-covered vehicle.

  “How’s it hangin’, Marv?” Charlie shouted.

  The slender man turned toward them, holding the tail end of an old muffler.

  “The Marv?” Oliver asked.

  “Don’t be fooled by what he’s wearing. The man owns the entire block,” Ruby replied.

  “Perfect timing,” Marv said. “Been cleaning out this old garage for the last week. Think I finally cleared away enough junk to pull her out.” He slapped the tarp.

  Marv hardly looked like a real-estate mogul, with grease smeared on his face and a ripped plaid cotton shirt.

  With a dramatic flourish, he pulled back the blue tarp, revealing the olive-green hood of an old van underneath.

  Marv lifted the hood, which protested with a loud squeak, and leaned over it. “Just had her out for a spin around the block a few months ago. Should be in relatively road-ready shape.”

  “Months?” Oliver asked.

  After several minutes of fiddling under the hood, Marv stepped back to admire his work. “Let’s try her out.” He disappeared into the sliver of space between the van and one wall of the garage and squeezed into the driver’s seat.

  The engine struggled at first, sending a plume of black smoke drifting into the atmosphere, but after a bit of finagling, Marv got it to turn over, and the vehicle squealed to life.

  The van slowly emerged from the garage as Marv carefully avoided clipping the side mirrors on the garage door’s frame. The vehicle was a hodgepodge of parts—an automotive Frankenstein’s monster with a poorly drawn sun spray-painted on its side, and the tailpipe continued to sputter black soot. Oliver thought Marv was playing a practical joke when he pulled the van from the garage.

  “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Marv asked.

  “She’s something,” Oliver replied.

  “Keep her as long as you like,” Marv said as he stepped out of the van, ”but just try to return her in one piece. She’s got sentimental value.” He patted the van on the hood. “Had loads of fun with her when I was a teenager.”

  Oliver reached for the driver’s side door, but Ruby stepped in front of him.

  “I thought I’d drive.”

  “You drive?” he asked.

  “I used to. I assume little has changed.”

  The passenger door was rusted shut, but Oliver pried it open with a few stern yanks.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said once they were inside and safely out of earshot of the owner. “They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

  “We can’t exactly pop in on the train, can we?” Ruby shot back, waving to Marv as they pulled through the alley. “If you have a better idea or another car, I’d be happy to let you take the lead.”

  Oliver looked down at his lap.

  “I thought so,” Ruby said. “I knew I should have bought that hearse when I had the chance. Caleb said it would have been good for lugging things around and promoting The Parlor. I didn’t want to spend the money.”

  “You think a hearse is any less conspicuous than what we’re in now?”

  “I think you forget who you’re working with,” Ruby said. “We could drive into Christchurch in a tank, and they still wouldn’t see us coming.”

  Gripping the steering wheel, Ruby drove down the alley and onto the street, running over the steep edge of the curb as she missed the driveway ramp.

  “Not a word,” she said as Oliver opened his mouth to speak.

  “I was just going to offer to drive again,” he said.

  “It may have been a few years, but I’m still perfectly capable of—”

  “Stop sign!” Oliver shouted.

  Ruby slammed on the brakes as another car pulled through the intersection.

  “Yeah, maybe you drive,” she said.

  The setting sun flickered between the trees as Oliver navigated the van around the twisty roads toward Christchurch.

  The ride over was sickly quiet. Oliver had no clue what they would find when they arrived but hoped no one had been harmed. Asher would do no good to anyone dead, but Izzy hadn’t heard the music and hadn’t been affected by its powers. Surely there were others, like Martin. What will happen to them? His stomach churned as he considered the possibilities. But the Siren needed numbers, he assumed.

  “What’s our game plan?” he asked as he saw the Christchurch sign in the distance.

  “Just surveillance for now. I need to see the lay of the land, then we can create a plan of attack. I’m sure we’d be able to pull a few recruits from the Unnatural Bar if need be.”

  Oliver expected to see a perimeter of townspeople guarding Christchurch and almost thought someone might have pulled the historic cannon from the entryway of the town hall and aimed it in their direction. To Oliver’s surprise, the road to town was unguarded. Then again, a single wayward traveler would be no match for an entire town of hypnotized crazies.

  He pulled the car to the side of the train station, just out of reach of the light from the streetlamps, and cut the engine. “If they didn’t hear us coming from a mile away, I’d be shocked,” he said. “This beast is loud.”

  “I’ve been keeping it under control,” Ruby replied.

  He rolled down the window to listen. The station was vacant and eerily quiet as the wind whistled through it. Aside from the breeze and the sound of the engine settling, the place was silent.

  “I think it’s safe,” he said. “Let’s get out and poke around.”

  They were careful to close the van’s doors quietly and edged their way through the station to the entrance into Christchurch. The platform was empty, much as Oliver had left it the previous evening.

  “You’d think we would have seen someone by now,” Ruby whispered.

  The shops around the town square were dark, except for the town hall, which beamed brightly in the distance. Instead of crossing through the center, by the founder’s statue, where they would have been easily spotted, Oliver and Ruby edged around the periphery, by Fletcher Antiquities and along the outer wall of the hall.

  The commotion from the hall floated out the windows and onto the streets. Although Oliver and Ruby were approaching in the shadows, the entire town seemed to be inside, leaving little reason to sneak.

  Oliver pressed himself against the wall underneath a window and poked his head up to see in. The last time he did something like this, an angr
y guard had chased him through the briars, but no one was standing guard this time. Christchurch townsfolk filled the rows of seats, and he spotted Asher at the front of the room at the council table, hands tied to the chair with ropes. His concern-stricken face told Oliver he was still free of the Siren’s spell.

  Oliver scanned the crowd, and although most were sitting like obedient statues, a few others in the front row were tied to their chairs. The back of Izzy’s head bobbed up and down as she struggled to loosen the rope.

  Anna sat on the other side of the room next to Madeline and the other Elders, who apparently gravitated toward each other even under a hypnotic trance. Bev was nowhere to be found, though.

  “Mom’s missing,” he whispered down to Ruby.

  “Big surprise,” she replied.

  The Siren emerged from the doorway at the back of the hall and crossed the stage toward her violin. Something about her appearance seemed to put the crowd on edge. Many appeared exhausted, with deep bags under their red-tinged eyes. Anna was visibly shaking and looked ten times worse than when he’d seen her the night of Bev’s attack.

  The Siren seemed uneasy, too, as she looked out over the crowd. Her painted appearance had somewhat faded since Oliver had last seen her.

  Oliver crouched back down behind the window.

  “This is our chance. We won’t have another opportunity like this,” Oliver said. “Almost everyone is in one place, and we have to take advantage before she plays.”

  “I’m all for spontaneity, but shouldn’t we get help? It’s just the two of us against the entire town,” she replied.

  “Asher and the people in the front row are bound. She must not have played for them yet. If we can free them before she plays, they might be able to help. It’s going to be a lot easier saving Asher if he wants to be saved. And once the town scatters, we may not have another chance to hit everyone at once.”

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “If something goes wrong, we’ve got no backup plan.”

  “We’re fools if we don’t take the opportunity,” Oliver replied.

  Ruby looked down, apparently sketching out a plan of attack in her head. “I’ll give them enough of a scare to pull them out of whatever trance the Siren has them in.”

  “And while they’re preoccupied, I’ll grab the violin and smash it. We can’t risk getting caught up in her spell too. And if anything goes wrong, we meet back by the van.”

  “Once it starts, you should be able to waltz right up to the front of the room. Just close your eyes if you get disoriented.”

  As the Siren tuned her violin, a shout came from the crowd. “Play!”

  She ignored the call and continued to fiddle with her violin strings.

  “We’ve done all you’ve asked. Now, play something!” Madeline stood up amidst the gaggle of Elders, shaking and agitated.

  Oliver had seen her mad before, but this was different. She was desperate, starving for the sound of the Siren’s violin. Oliver had assumed the people of Christchurch were hypnotized, but their cravings reminded him more of drug addicts searching for their next fix and having symptoms of withdrawal.

  “We have a special guest tonight. This guest also owes me payment before I put on another show for you,” the Siren said.

  Another voice came from the crowd. “We’ve waited long enough. Now, play!”

  “We held up our end of the bargain. Play!” said another.

  The audience chanted, “Play, play, play,” and by the third refrain, all were on their feet.

  “She’s losing control of the crowd,” Oliver said.

  Ruby put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I think it’s time. If we wait any longer, things might get out of control. Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.

  Ruby shifted her eyes toward the townspeople.

  The commotion had already risen to chaotic levels, so the subtle shift in the ground was unnoticeable at first. The stone floor shook, seemingly rumbling from the anger of the mob. The townsfolk focused their rage on the Siren, who stood at the front of the room, preparing to play her violin. But as the shaking grew stronger, cracks raced across the floor, drawing the attention of the crowd.

  Oliver quietly opened the front door of the hall and looked over at Ruby, who poked her head above the windowsill. She had started to shake. The feat would surely wipe her out, so he had to act quickly.

  The cracks had become fissures, and the crowd noticed the earth trembling under their feet. Before he could begin the perilous walk to the front of the room, the mob came rushing toward him, attempting to flee the building. He stepped toward one side of the room to allow them to pass, but the front doors slammed shut before anyone could escape into the square. The thought of being locked in an enclosed space with a crowd of crazed, hallucinating townies was almost too much to bear, but he swallowed hard and edged along the wall toward the front of the room.

  As the crowd gathered at the front door, the earth opened, swallowing those not fortunate enough to step out of the way in time. A large chasm in the floor had obstructed Oliver’s path toward the front, where the Siren stood frozen in fear and Asher sat confined in his chair.

  It’s an illusion, he told himself repeatedly.

  He shut his eyes as screams of terror surrounded him. With a deep breath, he leapt forward into the pit. When his sneakers met solid ground, he kept running until he bumped into the edge of the stage.

  With a firm grip on the edge of the stage, Oliver cracked his right eye. The Siren lay screaming as the stage crumbled around her, face pressed into the floor and immobilized by the illusion. Her long dreadlocks lay in a heap next to her. She’d been wearing a wig that had come loose in the chaos. Odd patches of gray hair covered her balding scalp. She is an illusion too.

  The violin lay beside her, and Oliver reached for it, grabbed its weathered neck, then closed his eyes again.

  The shaking halted as he raised the instrument over his head, preparing to smash it on the ground. He turned toward the crowd, many of whom had been completely incapacitated, bawling on the floor like upset children, pressed against the locked exit. Several even convulsed uncontrollably. However, the shifting ground had returned to normal, and the cracks had disappeared. He looked over at Ruby’s window, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Wait!” The Siren pleaded next to him. She scrambled to reaffix the wig to the top of her head. Scars and blemishes streaked her porcelain face where her makeup had smudged. “You can’t. You don’t understand what you’re doing. They need the music. They need me.”

  Oliver looked at the crowd. They lay huddled in piles of tangled limbs scattered among the overturned furniture except for the few still bound at the front of the room.

  “They don’t need you anymore,” Oliver said, hoping what he said was true.

  He approached the front row of captives and loosened the ropes around Izzy’s wrists with his free hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Just cut me loose before they wake up,” she said. Once freed, Izzy helped the others.

  “I’m not talking about these fools!” the Siren shouted, flinging a hand toward the townspeople. “You don’t understand, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Oliver turned toward her.

  “Do you think Simon could have arranged this from beyond the grave?”

  Simon. This was solid affirmation that the man was involved.

  “He thought Simon was a kook, that he wanted attention,” she said.

  “He?”

  “People with nearly immeasurable power exist in this world, but no one can escape death. It’s inevitable, or at least it was until he came along.” She pointed at Asher, who was clinging tightly to his chair, still shaken by the imaginary earthquake. “He helped Simon carry out the plan, but he’s expecting payment.”

  “And by payment, you mean—”

  “Blood—eternal life—the only currency that matters now. Simon kept the boy hidden a
way in that little town, but now the secret’s out. Unnaturals might do amazing things, but we’re all bound by mortality, and Asher can change that. Those in power are eager to take advantage of his gifts. In exchange for a second chance at life, Simon had to make promises to share the bounty. Why do you think I’m here? A lowly old street performer. It’s my job to help find Asher and keep Simon honest.”

  “But you don’t need him. You have this whole town under your control.”

  “To the contrary, I need him very much.” She gingerly pulled one of her leather gloves loose from her fingers and slid it off her arm. A full sleeve of tattooed flames ran down her arm and up to her wrist, but spindly varicose veins distorted the image. “Control and power mean nothing if you’re dead.”

  Somehow, Asher had loosened the ropes binding him to the chair, and he rubbed his wrists.

  “Do you have the key?” Oliver asked him.

  Asher reached into his shirt and pulled out the Briarwood coin.

  “Go out the back and wait for me at the edge of the briars.” Oliver pointed at the Siren. “If you see her, your father, or anyone else besides me or Izzy, cross over.”

  “But you saw the body. It isn’t safe,” Asher replied.

  “They were long dead. You don’t have to go far. Just stay right on the other side until they leave. Simon won’t be able to get to you on the other side without the key.”

  “I can’t leave—”

  “Just go!” Oliver yelled.

  As Asher left through the back door, the Siren rose to stop him.

  “Stay right there,” Oliver said, cocking the violin back and threatening to throw.

  “Where is Simon now?” Oliver asked.

  The Siren smirked and pointed toward the back of the room.

  As the crowd slowly regained their bearings and moved toward the front door, something seemed to hold it closed from the other side, preventing the townspeople from escaping the hall. Finally, one door opened, revealing the tip of a revolver, which caused the crowd to edge backward.

  “As luck would have it, he’s just arrived,” she said.

  Simon wasn’t the only form in the entryway, though. Eric stood on his left, brandishing the gun, and Bev stood firm at his right. Eric turned and laced a chain through the front doors’ handles then locked it closed with a padlock.