Dreams Come to Life

by Adrienne Kress

  I nodded.

  “One thing at a time,” she said.

  I nodded again.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, Dot and I decided to go to the Music Department to take a look around. It was the first time I’d felt truly on board with one of her plans, mainly because it was a plan we made together. At that point I could have pretended nothing had happened. So many others at the studio did. If they knew anything strange was happening at all. But I couldn’t. Part of it was definitely wanting to impress Mister Drew and let him know something was going on in his studio. But part of it was my own curiosity. My own need.

  There was also something about my friendship with Dot, watching her interact with people, all the blunt questions she asked. It made me wonder why people didn’t talk like that more. Why people weren’t so direct all the time. Dot had made me start asking questions, and now I wanted to know the answers.

  So there I was, back in the Music Department. Dot glanced at me as we passed the hall to the stairs for the Infirmary. Like we had a secret. Which we did. I tried to return the look with a similar one, but I just kind of frowned. I couldn’t do it. There was something that would always make me feel uncomfortable about the Music Department. The hallways seemed unnecessarily dark and empty. The musicians weren’t there all the time recording, so the large space needed for them once a month just seemed creepy and hollow the rest of the time.

  Also, I could never shake that first meeting with Sammy from my mind. If you could call it a meeting. His body drenched in ink. Writhing around on the ground like that. Ink in his ears, in his mouth, in his eyes.

  “You okay, Buddy?” Dot asked as we walked into the large room. The stage was littered with instruments like always. But now for some reason the sight disturbed me more. It gave the impression that the musicians had been there and then suddenly just vanished. Out of nowhere. Into nowhere.

  “Yeah.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile and then remembered I was terrible at giving people reassuring smiles. “What do you think we’re looking for?”

  “I don’t know.” She wandered over to the desk against the far wall. I’d never seen Sammy sit there, I realized, as she started to open drawers and look through paper. I’d only ever seen him by his music stand at the edge of the platform. “There isn’t much in here,” she said.

  “Maybe in the supply closet?”

  Dot stood upright and closed the drawer and nodded.

  “Good point. You want to look while I finish up here?” she asked, hands on hips.

  I remembered trying to clear up that ink, I remembered Sammy yelling at me, I remembered the hot wet breathing on my face from last night.

  “No,” I said.

  Dot looked at me for a moment. Then said, “Okay, I’ll do it. You see if there’s anything else that looks suspicious here.” And she marched off in her purposeful way back out into the hall.

  I stood there admiring her bravery. Then I realized: “Dot!”

  She poked her head around the corner. “Yes?”

  “Do you want me to … I mean … going alone …” I couldn’t even get the offer to come protect her out ’cause already the expression on her face made me feel silly. Of course she’d be okay. She was always okay.

  She shook her head and sighed. And then disappeared once again.

  It was when I turned and looked around that I remembered that being alone in the Music Room didn’t make me feel particularly good either.

  I carefully stepped up onto the stage and maneuvered around the instruments, glancing into their cases, trying to see if anything looked out of place. But I wasn’t a musician. How on earth was I supposed to know what was normal and what wasn’t? All I could tell was what looked creepy and what didn’t, and while the stage boards creaked under me and my footsteps echoed in a way that made it seem like someone was in the room with me walking at the exact same speed, nothing looked strange.

  It’s just … everything felt strange.

  I eventually made it round to Sammy’s conductor stand. I thought maybe he had a little thing of ink off to the side, or anything, maybe even a spill. But all he had were his music notes. I knew that’s what they were because he had scrawled “Music Notes” on the front of the book. It was hard enough to see, black ink on a black cover. I tilted the stand a little more upright and the ink glinted in it. Which intrigued me. Because usually the ink wasn’t glossy like that. Maybe it was still wet. I touched the end of the “M” very carefully. I was so tired of being covered in ink, from Sammy. From the handprint. I didn’t need more of it. Especially not as I was wearing one of my grandfather’s shirts now, having totally run out of my own.

  Dry.

  I tilted the stand even more, but slowly just to see. I noticed something in the bottom corner. I picked up the book and looked closer. I was feeling bold now. It looked like … it looked like a pair of Bendy horns. Like the top part of Bendy’s head without the circle. It was so hard to tell. The drawing of them glinted and disappeared in the light. And looked like it had almost slipped off the cover.

  I couldn’t help myself, I had to see more.

  So I opened the book.

  Inside were rows of lines with music notes running across them. The title “Bendy and the Pirates” ran across the top. That’s what Richie was working on upstairs. There was nothing unusual except seeing the music like that. I’d never seen a score before. It was interesting. But not strange.

  I flipped a page. Now it read “Alice’s Song.”

  Another. “The Butcher Gang Jig.”

  And another. “Nightlife Boris.”

  I’d forgotten I was even looking for anything in general until I flipped the page again and almost dropped the book. The staggering difference between the regular music and this was like a punch to the gut. So shocking.

  It was, if I was to put it in a nice way, doodles. But it was so much more than that. It was more like deep scratch marks, hastily drawn images with ink splatters and smudging, and it came across like whoever had done them was a maniac. Like he was rushing like crazy. Had to get the images onto paper before something happened. I understood that feeling.

  I didn’t understand what I was looking at.

  In the center of the pages was a large sketchy symbol I’d never seen before, a circle with a piece cut out and a buncha lines framing it and with another circle around all that. Sammy had drawn over it so many times that the paper was torn near the middle. The ink glistened like the ink on the cover, but it was similarly dry. That’s not what chilled me to the bone though. Taking up the full right-hand page was what I could only describe as a drawing of a deformed Bendy. But it had very little in common with the cute cartoon character. Its limbs were long, almost praying mantis–like, with hands that had claws on them, not cute white gloves. Worse still was his face, half obscured with—what was it? Was it blood? The drawing was in black and white; it was hard to tell what everything was. All I could see was how much longer his devil’s horns now were, how his smile was filled with sharp teeth. His eyes completely hidden behind a dripping black ooze.

  Blood.

  No.

  Ink?

  The pages were full up of other sketches, things I couldn’t quite recognize. And words too. “Dreams come true,” like on the Bendy poster. And also “Set us free.” That one I didn’t remember seeing before.

  More symbols, and everything seemed to be slipping off the page. Like Sammy had been drawing it while being pulled away from it.

  Like the images were also falling away.

  I looked down. The illusion of things dripping off the page was so intense I couldn’t help myself.

  I stared at the ground for a good long moment. Nothing. Of course nothing. Just a worn wooden floor covered in scratches. I looked up and shook my head, going to place the book back on the stand. And that’s when I saw the symbol on the music stand. More than just one. And then just circles and lines, disjointed but everywhere, covering the wood. Coverin
g, I saw as I bent to look, all the way down. I stood back up. And I noticed a little sketch of Bendy too. And the words “He will.” I placed the book carefully back on the stand where I found it.

  “He will.”

  And it lined up perfectly with “Set us free.”

  “Buddy, I need to show you something.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned and stared at Dot, wide-eyed. Fear was flowing through my veins, and she could see it. I knew she could see it.

  “What?” she asked.

  I couldn’t speak, I just pointed at the book. Dot stepped around me to have a look. There was a quiet moment as I watched her delicately trace over the images with her fingers, bent over, examining the paper carefully. “What are you up to, Sammy?” she said to herself.

  “It’s strange, right?” I finally was able to say.

  “It’s beyond strange,” Dot replied, standing upright and meeting my stare. “Come with me.”

  I nodded and followed her just like I always did when she said that. We made our way down the hall toward that supply closet. My stomach clenched like someone had reached down my throat and squeezed it when I saw the wooden door. The simple brass doorknob. I glanced down. There was still black ink seeping out into the hallway where I couldn’t get it clean. The hand inside me squeezed tighter.

  “It’s okay, Buddy,” said Dot. “It’s safe. But you need to see this.”

  She opened the door.

  And we stared.

  There before us, from inky floor to ceiling, covering all the dyed black shelves, were bottles.

  Clear, glass, empty ink bottles.

  “Hey! What are you guys doing?”

  I’d never seen Dot turn in surprise before. Nothing ever seemed to faze her, but she was disturbed this time and quickly closed the closet door as she spun around. Jacob was striding down the hall toward us. He didn’t look angry, but he had this intense look on his face. Maybe even concern.

  “Trying to find Sammy,” I said when Dot said nothing.

  “Okay, well, Buddy, they need you in the lobby,” he said, not really caring about our answer.

  “Me?”

  “Oh yes,” said Jacob.

  “Why?”

  “I …” He stopped. He looked uncomfortable. Which wasn’t really the usual look for Jacob. In fact I’d never seen anyone more comfortable in his own skin really. The change in him made me feel uncomfortable too.

  “What is it?”

  “I think it’s your grandfather,” he said, reaching behind his head and scratching at the back of his neck.

  The hand grabbing my guts released me instantly, but instead of feeling relieved I felt like I was breathing too freely now. I saw bright stars in the corners of my vision before shaking them off and immediately rushing toward the elevator. I could hear Dot and Jacob coming up behind me.

  Once inside: “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “No,” said Jacob, “But he’s old, and asking for you, and he … well, he looks a bit like you.”

  I didn’t want him to elaborate on that. Not with all the insults that had been shot my way as a kid.

  “Okay,” was all I said.

  I hadn’t prepped for the sudden stop, and my teeth banged together again. First time in weeks that had happened to me. I was annoyed with myself. But I didn’t really have time to be. I rushed down the hall and into the lobby.

  “Buddy!” said a happy, loud, and very familiar voice.

  He was there, being held by the crook of his elbow by Wally, who didn’t exactly look like any kind of scary security guard. He was even holding on to his broom with his other hand.

  “Grandpa, what are you doing here?” I asked, rushing over to him. “You can let him go now. What do you think he’s going to do, take over the place?”

  Wally shook his head at me. “You never know,” he said with a shrug.

  “You okay?” Grandpa asked, looking closely at me. Examining my face carefully.

  “Sure, of course, I’m swell. Look, you can’t be here. How did you even …” I sensed Dot at my side.

  “Buddy,” she whispered.

  “Not now, Dot.”

  “Buddy, he’s here.”

  “Who …” I looked up and standing by Ms. Lambert at the front desk was Mister Drew. He was leaning back, arms folded over his chest. His expression was unreadable.

  “Mister Drew!” I said, startled.

  “What’s all this?” he asked. He smiled, but I wasn’t sure it was a happy smile.

  “It’s nothing, it’s just my grandfather …” I said quickly. It was my turn to grab him by the arm. But as I did Grandpa slipped through my grip and walked over to the poster of Bendy on the wall. He stared at it. Then he went up to it even closer.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Dot.

  “He’s … looking. That’s how he looks.”

  Grandpa turned to me and then pointed at the poster. “Cowboy!” he said.

  I took in a sharp breath. No, no. I needed to get him out of here fast. Before he somehow let it slip that he was the real artist. Somehow. With his three-word vocabulary.

  I quickly went over to him and grabbed his elbow. “Come on, Grandpa, time to go home.”

  Grandpa looked at the poster once more, then over at Mister Drew. Then back at me.

  “Boss?”

  I nodded.

  Mister Drew heard that and slowly pushed himself off the desk and came over, suddenly beaming brightly. “Hello there, sir. I’m Joey Drew. It’s nice to meet you. Your grandson is very talented.” He stuck out his hand to shake.

  My grandfather looked at his hand for a moment, then took it. But he didn’t shake. He brought the hand up to his face and looked at it closely. He turned it over and touched the inside of Mister Drew’s palm. Mister Drew glanced at me with a baffled smile. I smiled back and hoped that was the right choice. What was my grandfather doing?

  Finally he looked up at Mister Drew. “Boss,” he said again. Mister Drew nodded. And at that point finally Grandpa shook his hand.

  Then he dropped it, almost like he’d forgotten he’d been holding it, and turned to me again.

  “It’s nice to meet your family, Buddy, but we don’t do this here. Time for him to go home,” said Mister Drew. He turned and left, making me feel uneasy again. Like something had gone wrong. Like I was in trouble.

  “You better take him home,” said Jacob, watching Mister Drew go. “Before Ms. Lambert busts your chops.”

  “Yeah, go on, Buddy,” said Dot.

  “What about …” I stopped. I obviously couldn’t say what I wanted to say. Not in front of everyone. But we’d only just started our investigation.

  “We have time,” said Dot.

  I didn’t really think we did, but then again, what choice did I have? “Come on, Grandpa, let’s get you home,” I said. I could tell Ma about it, get her to explain why this was not a thing people did in New York. Just show up places. Of course that was kind of his thing, wasn’t it? Just suddenly showing up.

  Grandpa nodded with a smile and then turned to look at everyone. “Good to meeting you,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you too,” said Dot.

  He smiled at her, then looked at me and winked.

  Oh no, old man, no. It wasn’t like that. Still, I could feel my face get hot.

  I escorted him out of the building onto the busy street. He stopped and stared at the traffic for a moment and then looked up at the buildings towering over us. I looked up too.

  “This way,” he said. He turned left, which wasn’t the way. It was north.

  “No, Grandpa,” I said, but suddenly he was walking quickly. Which surprised me because usually he took his time going anywhere. I assumed it was because of how frail he was. But now I had no idea. Because this man was fast. I had no choice except to follow, and when I caught up to him I tried to get him to stop.

  But he wouldn’t.

  He turned right. I had no idea why and no clue what his plan was. If
he even had a plan. We crossed over Broadway, all blinking lights and honking horns, and continued to walk in silence for what felt like forever but was probably no more than ten minutes, until we stopped. For some reason.

  Grandpa smiled. “There,” he said, pointing. He liked to point.

  I looked at the façade in front of us.

  It was striking how it stood out from the buildings around it. Very modern. There wasn’t any other description for it. A solid rectangle made up of rectangles of glass within rectangles of concrete. I couldn’t decide if it looked good. I just knew it looked very different.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Grandpa looked at me like I was crazy. He shook his head and then led me inside the quiet foyer.

  “Art,” he said quietly as our footsteps echoed on the cement floor.

  Art?

  Finally my eyes landed on a sign. The Museum of Modern Art.

  Oh.

  Art.

  I didn’t have time for art.

  “Come on, Grandpa,” I said. My voice was quiet but it sounded so clear and loud. I glanced at the woman sitting behind the information desk.

  But he didn’t stop walking, and I had no power to stop him. It seemed no one did, because no one said a word even though I assumed we had to pay to get in. We simply kept going.

  I was feeling even more antsy. This wasn’t the plan. Didn’t he understand that serious things were happening? He had to, that’s why he’d come to check on me. Because of last night. Because of the handprint. And yet …

  Finally we stopped and he sat on a bench in front of a painting.

  I sat next to him.

  In front of us was a canvas. It looked to be a bank of a river or something. It was strange. It was what it was, but it was also …

  “Dots?” I asked.

  “To make art must make new thing,” said Grandpa. “See world different way. Understand?”

  I nodded. I supposed. Maybe? I didn’t know what it had to do with cartoons though.

  “Not pretty picture. Big picture. History. Thinking. Mind. Soul.” He was trying so hard to communicate. And I listened. Of course I did. I felt stupid. Not just how much I didn’t know about art or even the world, but how much I didn’t know about Grandpa. Not just of his life in Poland and all of that, but also how he thought. And what he thought.