by Chris Cooper
“Who?”
“That’s the thing. They didn’t say but claimed to be calling from the Brighton place, on the edge of the woods.”
“Lilly Brighton’s place?”
“That’s the one.”
“We’re headed in that general direction,” Eric said. “Go ahead and send a few cars that way.”
Despite the severity of the attacks on the town, the police force still held to its small-town informality—no coded language, just officers talking like everyday people.
“It’s Simon,” Oliver said. “It has to be.”
“We’ll stop by and check it out.” Eric turned in the direction of the Brighton cabin. The drive would take them only a few minutes, assuming the car didn’t bottom out or get stuck in a patch of mud.
The cabin sat just as it had when Anna and Oliver found the etching on the front door. The caution tape that had been strung across the entryway hung loosely from one side and fluttered in the wind. The cruiser’s wheels spun slightly as it pulled up onto the gravel lot, spitting pebbles into the field behind it.
“Stay—” Eric started, but the door to the cabin opened before he had the chance to finish.
Izzy appeared in the doorway, wearing the same bright muumuu she’d had the night before. She was dirty and bruised, and her hair blew haphazardly in front of her eyes. A thin silver blade was pressed against her neck, drawing just the slightest amount of blood. As she stepped onto the front porch, Oliver could see the blade was attached to the handle of a cane, the same one he had seen in the bakery. Simon stood pressed up against her, staying in line with her silhouette and careful not to expose any part of his body, aside from the gloved hand holding the slender sword to Izzy’s throat.
When Oliver gripped the car’s door handle, Eric reached across to stop him. “Stay,” he said.
Eric pressed the Talk button on the radio. “We have a hostage situation at the Brighton place.”
He stepped out of the cruiser before receiving a response from dispatch. As he stood, he held a hand out toward Simon to tell him to wait. Simon was small and nearly powerless, a fraction of the man who had strutted into the bakery that day. This was an act of desperation, his last chance to reclaim the coin and return to the town that had once lived in fear of him and the Witch who murderously maintained his rule. From the looks of it, Izzy had put up a fight. One side of Simon’s face was black and blue. His top hat was gone, and wisps of hair that had once been combed over to cover the man’s balding head were blowing back and forth in the breeze.
Eric climbed out of the driver’s seat and shut the door behind him. As he stepped toward the cabin, Simon pulled Izzy back into the doorway.
Oliver knew Simon wouldn’t leave the cabin without the key and stepped out of the vehicle.
“Oliver!” Simon shouted. “I want to speak to Oliver.”
His voice strained against the wind as thunder rolled overhead and the sky started to drizzle once again. “Not you. You stay away. I want him, or else I slit her throat.”
Eric looked back toward the cruiser.
“Let me speak with him,” Oliver said to Eric.
Eric reluctantly stepped aside and cleared the way for Oliver to approach the cabin.
“How did you know we would be here?” Oliver asked.
“The police radio, you fool,” Simon replied. “Now, show me the coin.”
Oliver reached into his pocket and held the coin up in the air.
“Good,” Simon replied. “Now drive the car over here. We’re going for a little ride.”
“I can’t let you,” Eric said.
“You have no choice,” Simon replied, pressing himself closer to Izzy. “Now, bring the car closer to the porch.”
Oliver looked at Eric, who shook his head.
“I will kill her!” Simon screamed. The blade had drawn more blood, which started to trickle down Izzy’s throat.
“It’s okay,” Izzy said. It was the first time she had spoken since emerging from the cabin, but her voice was strong and resolute. “If he needs me that badly, he won’t hurt me.”
“Just get back in the car, and wait for me,” Eric said.
Oliver climbed back inside and shut the door.
“What are we going to do?” Anna asked.
“You’re going to get out of the car, and I’m going to drive it over to Simon,” Oliver said, looking at the keys Eric had left in the ignition.
“What? Are you nuts?”
“Either you get out now, or you’re coming with me. Time’s running out.”
“Drive, then. I’m not going anywhere,” Anna replied.
He wished she’d left her hotheadedness back at the cottage. “There’s a good chance that I may not come back. Now, get out of the car!”
Anna crossed her arms and looked ahead.
“Fine, then.”
The sound of clicking door locks caught Eric’s attention, and a look of horror crept across his face as Oliver climbed into the driver’s seat.
He turned the key in the ignition and cracked the window. “He’s going to make me drive into the woods. Watch the car and wait for me where it crosses!” he yelled before pulling away.
When Oliver pulled the cruiser closer to the porch, Simon thrust Izzy aside before climbing into the backseat.
“What is she doing here?” Simon asked.
“She’s coming with us,” Oliver replied. “Tried to talk her out of it, but she didn’t budge.” In truth, he was glad Anna was there—glad he didn’t have to do this alone. Still, his comfort wasn’t worth risking her life, but she was giving him no choice.
“Very well. Now, take me to the briars. If you turn away, if you make one wrong move, I will kill her.”
Oliver looked in the rearview mirror and saw Simon’s cane sword pressed against Anna’s side.
Eric ran toward the car but only managed to slap the back of the trunk as it pulled away. He and Izzy grew smaller in the rearview mirror until their tiny specks disappeared completely.
Oliver wasn’t sure what Simon had in mind. Is he going to take the coin and flee? Will he actually let us live?
When Oliver reached the edge of the woods, he looked back at Simon. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Keep driving,” he replied. The trees at the edge of the forest were sparse enough to allow the car to glide between them. The ride was rough, but they soon found themselves facing the briars, the patch that separated this world from the next.
“Through them!” Simon said, angry Oliver had lifted his foot off the gas.
Will the car be able to bring us all across safely? He wasn’t sure if the coin worked in that way—hadn't had time to think about it—but he had little choice but to accelerate. If they did cross the threshold into the other world, it may very well be for the last time, for surely Simon wouldn’t permit them to return. The realization washed over him. He had given the mysterious man in blue exactly what he wanted, and now it was too late to turn back. He looked back at Anna, but she only stared ahead with an expression of determination on her face. He held out some hope that his friends would be waiting on the other side, ready and willing to bring Simon to his knees for good.
A bank of trees lay opposite the patch, and the Witch appeared in front of them, hunched next to a stack of bodies. With no other purpose than to locate the coin—Oliver assumed—she must have stayed and waited for its return.
The sinewy vines crumpled under the wheels of the police car, providing no resistance. He pressed the pedal as far as it would go, bottoming out on the floor. He thought he might be able to hit her, to end all this.
“What are you doing? Slow down,” Simon said.
Oliver didn’t respond.
“I said slow down! You’re going to hit the trees!”
Oliver reached up and pulled the seat belt down over himself as the car cleared the patch. He could see Anna was already buckled in, but Simon hadn’t bothered.
The Witch sat waiting,
guarding the entrance to the patch, surrounded by the remains of the hunting party. The car raced toward her, and as it passed through the invisible barrier, she lifted her head in response to the sound of the roaring engine. At that point, Simon was screaming, pleading for him to stop. He seemed to care more about slamming into the trees on the other side of the Witch than doing any harm to the Witch herself. He had dropped the sword, completely forgetting about his hostage.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Oliver braced himself for impact, throwing his hands in front of his face, closing his eyes, and preparing for the worst. The car bounced as it hit the edge of the patch, and just before its front tires slammed back down to earth, it stopped, causing everyone in the cab to lurch forward. Oliver slowly opened his eyes. An invisible force was holding the car suspended in the air and its occupants frozen in place. He could see the Witch past his crossed arms, standing there and peering inside the cab with her one good eye. Instead of tossing the car aside, as she had done with Ben’s cruiser, she gingerly guided it to the ground with her gaze.
Simon took several moments to regain composure. Once the car was planted firmly on the ground, Simon picked up his weapon from the floorboards, opened the car door, and walked to the driver’s side.
“You bastard!” he yelled, opening the door. Before Oliver could defend himself, Simon thrust the thin metal sword into his side. He twisted the handle, and searing pain shot up through Oliver’s ribcage. “I ought to kill you now,” he said. “But I’m not quite done with you yet.” He pulled the sword from Oliver’s side and brought it to his neck. “But if you try anything else, I won’t hesitate to kill your friend. Now, get out!”
Although the blow seemed to have missed his vital organs, hitting only the fleshy part on the side of his torso, the pain still made Oliver grit his teeth. Growing impatient, Simon grabbed him by the collar and attempted to pull him out of the car, but he was too weak to do so.
The Witch ran to Simon like a dog running to its master. He slid his weapon back into his cane sheath. She sat at his feet, and he looked down at her with disdain.
“What are you waiting for?” he yelled, slapping the side of his cane against her cheek. “Get the boy out of the car. We’re going home.”
She recoiled from the sudden smack and pressed one of her hands against her face, the dirty yellowed fingernails a splash of color against her pale skin.
“Go, I said!” This time, he jabbed the cane into her ribcage.
Oliver felt the same force he had felt before, centered in his body, lifting him out of the seat. As he regained his footing, he looked toward the car, where Anna was still sitting in the backseat. After setting him upright, the Witch flicked her wrist in Anna’s direction, releasing her invisible grip. The back passenger door flung open, and Anna was forcefully removed, with a look of panic still on her face.
The man who had cowered behind Izzy in the cabin was gone. His desperation had been replaced with unearned bravado, and he walked with the regal gait of a divine ruler. Something about his step was different, though. When Simon had come to the bakery to reclaim the coin, he hadn’t bothered to use his cane, but now he seemed to depend on it. He’d played the feeble old man before, but now he wasn’t acting and appeared to be growing weaker.
The procession marched through the edge of the forest, Simon followed by Oliver and Anna, with the Witch beside them, who had returned to her apelike crawl. The Witch had seemed so powerful before, but something about the way Simon treated her made Oliver feel a small pang of sympathy. She was indeed a full-grown woman, but she acted childlike around Simon. He wondered how she’d developed her odd crawl and lost her eye, having seen Simon cane her. Her humanity had clearly been beaten out of her, and she served only to do her master’s—her father’s—bidding. If he treated his own daughter like this, he must have been brutal to the townspeople. But as with any cruel master of a slave, he was powerless without her obedience.
Oliver’s movement was restricted, as if he were surrounded by a glass bubble. When he started to stray too far from the pack, the invisible walls kept him in line. Simon hadn’t noticed the weapon in Oliver’s belt. If only I could reach it without being noticed. They walked past the center of the square, where he had once stood bound to a wooden stake, then past the dark storefronts of the ragtag revolutionaries who had cut him loose, risking their own lives to save his. He wondered where they were and hoped they were devising another last-minute salvation, a final plot to overthrow the grand puppeteer who strode so confidently in front of him.
Oliver looked to his left then his right. While some of the citizens started to gather, spewing from the stores, others hid inside, pulling blinds and latching doors. A few fell to their knees, clasping their hands together and overcome with the realization that their protector had returned. Still, no one came close to him, not even within a few feet, because everyone knew to avoid the Witch. None had likely seen her in the daylight before, but she was the unifying factor between the loyalists and the rebels—she punished both equally.
Simon stopped in front of the toppled statue, kneeling next to the twisted metal that had once been Nathaniel Hale.
“So I leave for a moment,” he said, “and this is what they do? This is how they repay my family for all we’ve done? For hundreds of years of protection?” He massaged his temples.
“Looks like I’ve got some work to do,” he said, forcing the corners of his mouth into a sickening smile.
Oliver wondered where the revolution had gone. So many had been waiting for a chance to topple Simon’s rule as they had toppled the statue in the town square, but they were nowhere to be found. Why hadn’t they taken advantage of the opportunity?
“These are the lights you saw in the woods, aren’t they?” Anna broke his concentration. “This town has been here this whole time? How could we have missed it?”
“The coin,” Oliver replied. “You have to possess the coin in order to be able to see this place—in order to be able to cross the patch. Simon must have dropped it when he etched the symbol on Francis’s door.”
“Got the dropsies do you, big boy?” Anna shot the snide comment in Simon’s direction, but the man ignored her and focused instead on the town hall across the square.
The building stood unguarded, and they strolled up the front steps, meeting no resistance along the way. Oliver had only seen the inside of the meeting hall, but the room seemed stark in comparison to the elegant atrium, which held a grand marble staircase and portraits of who he assumed were the descendants of the town founder. Light swirled in the atrium above them, a blend of oranges and yellows casting a sunset glow over the room. The proportions of the structure seemed impossible. The building must have extended several floors above the atrium, but he hadn’t noticed the domed ceiling from the outside. The light wasn’t coming from the sun, either. The source must have been man-made.
“What is this place?” Anna asked.
“This is where we handle all town business, but it also happens to be my home,” Simon replied. Instead of crossing the hall, he turned toward a staircase along the right wall. After climbing the first set of steps, they took another until they reached a long, paneled hallway.
“I have to take certain precautions,” he continued, “for some feel my policies are a bit harsh.” He pressed the end of his cane against the wall, causing a panel to shift backward and slide out of the way, revealing a small spiral staircase behind it. “But there is a certain price we must all pay for security. I have to keep the town safe from people like you.”
“What are you talking about?” Oliver replied.
“Outsiders,” he said.
“It’s your fault we’re here.” Oliver was growing angry. “You murdered three people. For what? For security?”
Simon laughed. “No, not security. I simply thought it was time the people who run that damned town pay for what they did to my family. Thought the three-hundred-year anniversary would be a nice time to remind
them we haven’t forgotten, and who better to target than the old hags who pull the strings?”
The top of the staircase led to a large platform. They were level with the mysterious source of light swirling above the atrium. Oliver couldn’t see the ceiling above them, nor walls for that matter. The edges of the room disappeared into the darkness, but he was certain they were still inside.
The domed glass had been a false window after all and formed the bottom of a curved pool containing some sort of colorful liquid. Whatever circulated in the pool seemed to defy gravity, flowing up and over the crest of the dome, with no discernible path nor pattern. A narrow bridge extended from the platform to the peak of the dome, which contained a metal apparatus that extended into the liquid below. The contraption reminded Oliver of the old-fashioned air-pressure tubes bank tellers used to use to send documents back and forth at the bank drive-through.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s power,” Simon answered without giving the question any thought.
A large metal door jutted from the ground like a jagged tooth protruding from the mouth of an old man. The frame was oddly shaped, one side perpendicular to the floor, with the other slanted at an odd angle. Like the exterior lantern room that hung from the building, the door was plated with corroded copper. Cast-iron gears lined its surface, forming an odd clockwork tapestry that reminded Oliver of the Clockmaker’s elegant grandfather clocks. The door was bordered by a set of glass tubes, which seemed to be filled with the same liquid that circulated in the pool behind it.
“You like it?” Simon asked. “It was built by our town’s very own clockmaker. Took him ages.”
Oliver hadn’t noticed it from a distance, but the door’s copper surface was stamped with a small honeycomb pattern. Thousands of tiny copper cells extended from top to bottom. Without a second glance, Simon pressed the tip of his cane into one of the hexagons, pushed and twisted. A few of the gears spun, and a metal handle extended from the door’s surface. He turned it, entering a careful sequence of positions like a combination lock, before returning it to its original position and pressing it back into the door.
