Dreams Come to Life

by Adrienne Kress

  There was a healthy cheer from the audience, though it didn’t quite match his level of enthusiasm.

  “First of all, I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. I want to thank the band, Janie and the Bandits. And most of all I want to thank our special guest here this evening, Bertie Piedmont.”

  There was another smattering of applause. If applause could sound confused, this did.

  “Who is Bertie Piedmont, you might ask?” he said, clearly sensing the confusion. “He’s many things. A genius, some might call him. A friend, is what I say. But most of all he is a man with vision.”

  There was that word again.

  “It’s been a project six years in the making, but thanks to Bertie, Bendy and his friends are about to go on a whole new adventure. Have no fear, their stories that you love aren’t going anywhere. But now you’ll all be able to be a part of them yourselves!”

  I looked around. I saw people whispering and a few smirks. I didn’t like this. Yes, the man could be larger than life. But this was his party. They were his guests. They should at least be a little respectful.

  “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Bendyland!” With a flourish of his arm Mister Drew brought out a pretty brunette model in a short black dress, wearing a sparkling halo in her hair. She pushed a trolley on which was the model display Dot and I had seen on my very first day at the studio. It was painted now, not just black and white. And even though they had been laughing at him only a moment before, I could see the audience now straining to have a closer look.

  “Imagine: rides, games, and getting your picture taken with the stars of the cartoons themselves!” he said, grinning broadly. “But that’s not all! Expansion in all ways, I always say! As of tomorrow, Joey Drew Studios now owns the Court Theater. We’ll be bringing all Bendy production back into Manhattan. Everything will be produced out of this one location: animation, toys, and anything related to the amusement park. This is a new era for Joey Drew Studios, and that’s what we are celebrating tonight!”

  The crowd applauded one more time and this time I did too. It was exciting, how could it not be?

  “Yes, yes, it’s quite something, isn’t it? It’s all about to change … everything …” Mister Drew looked a little distracted. Like he’d noticed something. “Uh … everything is going to change. But not tonight! Tonight we dance and … yeah, hit it!” He motioned with his finger for the band to start again, but he was already walking toward me before the music began.

  No. No, not toward me. He was looking behind me.

  I turned.

  There standing framed in the doorway were a pair of figures. The woman, I realized, was Allison Pendle. The actress who voiced Alice Angel. She stood there in a dress that fit as if someone had poured silver over her body. It hugged all her curves and shone in the light on the rooftop. On her arm was a man who I barely recognized but looked familiar to me.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said Mister Drew as he approached me, making his way toward them.

  “Tom, we should go,” I heard Allison say, but the man just stood there, solid as stone.

  Tom Connor. Of course. It was Tom Connor.

  I was pushed aside as Mister Drew approached them. He went right up to Tom and seemed to be shaking with anger despite his outward appearance.

  “I’m not leaving until I get what’s mine,” Tom said as Mister Drew stared him down.

  Mister Drew laughed like Tom had just told an excellent joke, and looked around at the few people watching. They quickly moved away. Mister Drew turned back to Tom and in a low voice said, “You’re fired, Tom. I told you not to come anywhere near my studio. Let’s step into the hall, shall we?”

  “We aren’t in your studio right now, are we?” replied Tom. There was no way Mister Drew could physically intimidate this man. Tom wasn’t burly and bearlike like Bertrum Piedmont. He was more wall-like. Still Mister Drew grabbed him by the elbow and through clenched teeth said:

  “The hallway. Now.”

  “Come on, Tom, no need to make a scene,” said Allison with a warm voice, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Tom allowed them to escort him to the pink lobby. I followed. I had to know what was going on. I didn’t even think about it, or realize how strange it was that I was coming along.

  Mister Drew signaled for the large doors to be closed, and just after the waiters did so, he whipped around, his smile having vanished, and said, “You need to leave immediately before I get security to throw you out!”

  “I want my patent back,” Tom said right into Mister Drew’s face. They were practically nose-to-nose. Or more like, nose-to-chin.

  “It’s mine, legally and ethically. Now, get out.” He turned to Allison. “And, Allison, I’m ashamed of you. You’re fired.”

  Allison just smiled her dazzling smile that made me melt a little, even though the scene was making me incredibly tense. “We’ll talk about that in the morning, Joey. Come on, dear.” She gave Tom a little push on his shoulder, and evidently she could move mountains because once again he gave in and took a step back.

  “It’s my machine, Drew, it’s mine.”

  “You ruined everything and I’m going to have to fix it. It’s my machine and your mess. Now get out.”

  I heard it all. Everything Mister Drew said. But I didn’t really manage to absorb it at the time because all I was focused on was the word “machine.” I watched as Tom and Allison slowly headed toward the elevators. Mister Drew turned and swung open one of the doors himself, not even really noticing I was right there. He stormed back into the party. And the door closed behind him.

  I turned, walking quickly away from the doors, from the party. Following Tom and Allison. And then I was grabbing the man by his shoulder. Trying to stop him. Needing to stop him.

  Stop him I did.

  He spun on his heel in a fury and stared at me like I was insane.

  “I heard you say something about the machine,” I said as he twisted out of my grip.

  “Get your hands off me, son.” He was looking at me with daggers in his eyes.

  “Tom, it’s okay. He’s the gofer at the studio. Buddy,” said Allison.

  I stared at her for a moment. How on earth did she remember me? I was stunned that someone like her would even notice I took up space on the planet.

  “I don’t care. No one grabs me like that,” said Tom.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you said something about the machine, and I need to know.” I stopped. I could tell they were both taken aback by me. By what I’d said. I wasn’t sure if I should go on.

  “How do you know about the machine?” asked Tom, moving a step toward me. He might have looked elegant, but I noticed how well he filled out his sleeves, how his arms strained against the fabric. I definitely didn’t want to get into a fight with this man.

  I couldn’t think of anything that made sense. I couldn’t tell him about Norman, or hiding in the closet. So I let fly the only word I could think of: “Sammy.”

  Tom sighed loudly, and Allison gave his arm a squeeze. “Should have figured,” he said. But he didn’t say anything more.

  I don’t know where I found the courage, but I guess I channeled some of Dot’s directness in that moment. I was so tired of people not quite saying things. Of only getting part of the story. “What is the machine? What’s it for? And why did Mister Drew fire you?” I wanted to ask more questions than that. I wanted to ask if he thought Mister Drew was evil or good. I wanted to ask about the ink and Sammy. About the creature, the violinist. But I also knew that too many questions confused people.

  I know now when I ask myself too much I start to shut down. He starts to whine. We don’t like it.

  Tom took in a deep breath and glanced around the plush foyer. “Fine. The machine was meant to create …” He paused. “Characters.”

  “Like the mascots inside?” I asked. This didn’t sound that odd. They already made toys, why not have a machine that made lar
ge Bendy costumes?

  Tom shook his head. For the first time I realized he wasn’t just holding back out of stubbornness. He was … scared.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this …” he said, shaking his head.

  “Look, I know about the … ink,” I said. “And I know … about …” I stopped.

  Tom looked at me carefully. It was hard maintaining eye contact with him. I just wanted to look away. At anything else. Finally he said, “You know about it.”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. Because I didn’t know what I knew.

  Tom took in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay,” he said, making a decision. “Okay. It wasn’t mascots. Nothing like that. It was … a way to take the cartoons and make them real. Not people in mascot costumes, but actual, real versions of the characters.” He looked at me in this way that said, “You get it?” I didn’t think I did.

  Allison interrupted. “Think of it like a printing press, but for … people.”

  “People?” I asked.

  “Not people, Allison. Please,” said Tom, shaking his head. “I don’t want you involved in this.”

  “I am, Tom. You can’t make me not care because I care about you. What you helped create was astonishing.”

  “What I helped create was monstrous and you know it,” he snapped back at her. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. But we should go. I’m certain he’s called security.”

  Tom nodded. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said. Then he looked at me with that intense look again. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  The word “it” stood out to me. He was saying he wasn’t to blame, but also, I thought maybe he was saying that “it,” the “it,” also wasn’t his fault. I didn’t know for sure. But my gut clenched. Dot, I thought to myself. She was alone with “it.”

  “What wasn’t?” I asked carefully.

  “He fired me because it wasn’t my fault,” continued Tom, not really listening to me anymore. “He fired me to blame anyone but himself.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “But he still kept the machine. Even though. And that’s Gent’s invention, I helped invent it, and he took away my rights, my design, everything.”

  “How could he make you do that?” I asked.

  He turned slowly and shook his head. “Not all of us are well connected, son. Not all of us have chances. Especially to get a job as an engineer when I ain’t had no proper education and training. No one of any status had given me that kind of respect since I was working on planes during the war. I trusted him. He paid me extra. He had a legal contract with Gent. Treated me like a real businessman. But I didn’t read the fine print.”

  I didn’t know what to say to all that. I just stood there.

  “We all trusted him,” said Allison. “I don’t know anyone who really understood what they were signing. I think Mister Drew likes finding people who are talented but also need the job. Who really need the job.”

  My gut now felt funny. Not clenched anymore, not butterflies, just a weird kind of ache.

  “Let’s not forget Susie,” she added.

  Tom sighed.

  “Who’s Susie?” I asked. Hadn’t Norman also mentioned something about her?

  Allison looked at me sadly and shook her head. “That’s not the point, Buddy. The point is everyone here agrees that Mister Drew owns whatever we make. Drawings. Stories. Songs. And”—she looked at Tom—“inventions. It started with Henry, and it continues with the rest of us. It’s the sacrifice we made.”

  I was processing everything they were telling me. It was all coming crashing down, all the walls I’d put up in defense of Mister Drew. I just couldn’t hold them up anymore, and I was getting buried under them.

  “Now we need to go, and you take care of yourself. And take care of that writer girl. She’s swell,” she said with a small, sad smile.

  “She’s the one who takes care of me usually …” I said.

  The feeling in my gut grew stronger.

  “Get out while you can, son,” said Tom as the elevator opened and they stepped in.

  The doors closed and I was alone. The sounds of the party wafted through the doors, but now they no longer tempted me. They just made my uneasy feeling worse. I shouldn’t be here, I thought. I shouldn’t. I should be with Dot. And Jacob. I don’t belong here. I belong with the people who I care about. Who care about me.

  * * *

  Duke’s Bar was as packed as it always was when I pushed my way through to the bar. For the first time folks in there took notice of me. Some laughed, some nodded like we had some kind of shared secret about my tuxedo, and some others glared at me. I missed being an invisible nobody.

  “Hey, kid,” said the bartender, a happy guy with a receding hairline he refused to acknowledge. “A Coke like usual?”

  I shook my head. “I’m looking for Dot,” I said.

  The bartender smiled. “Of course you are. Well, I haven’t seen them in about an hour.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling deflated. I leaned my body against the bar, feeling heavy now.

  “Yeah, think they went back to the office.” The bartender moved on down to the next customer who was flagging him.

  The office? “Wait!” I called out. “You mean all of them? Dot, Jacob, and Richie?”

  The bartender was pulling a pint and nodded in my direction, the wall of sound between us too thick for him to say something I’d hear.

  I turned on my heel and pushed my way outside and across the street. Of course I was panicking again. And of course somehow Dot had convinced the guys to go with her back to the studio. I wondered if she’d explained everything. I wonder if they understood what was waiting for them.

  She had to have. She wasn’t a liar, and she wasn’t going to put someone in danger if they didn’t know about it. Still. Then. Why on earth did they go with her? They couldn’t have known what hid in the dark shadows, or that the shadows themselves were alive.

  The lights in the studio were all on, though for some reason it didn’t look any less ominous than it had that night Dot and I snuck inside. Especially because I got it, they were on so that if the monster was coming there’d be a sign.

  The thought didn’t hold me back or make me slow down. It was amazing how entering a monster’s den felt so right to me all of a sudden, but going to a fancy hotel party had felt like doom.

  The front door was open. Maybe Dot had left it that way on purpose, just in case I showed up. Because she knew I would show up. I raced across the foyer to the elevator, glancing up at the posters as I went by. I remembered the life-sized versions of the characters at the party in their awkward weirdness. And then what Tom had said. About the purpose of the machine. And about “it.”

  I started to sprint and skidded into the elevator grate, bashing it hard. I sighed as I yanked it open and stepped inside. I needed to take it easy, not be as panicked. But it was hard not to be. They were down here, somewhere, tracking that beast on their own.

  I arrived on the Music level and stepped cautiously into the hall. The lights were on full blast and that gave me the confidence to make my way carefully toward the Music Department. I didn’t know for certain they were there, but I was pretty sure. After all, it’s where everything seemed to happen.

  I dreaded the dimming lights, sometimes my imagination got carried away—thinking I’d seen a flicker out of the corner of my eye but when I turned, lights still buzzing strong. The shadows weren’t coming for me. They weren’t here. Yet. As long as the lights stayed bright I was pretty golden, I reminded myself. But I’d forgotten about the ink on the walls. If I’d thought that catching glimpses of glistening ink in the beam of a flashlight was creepier than seeing it lit regular, well, turned out I was very wrong. As I turned the corner and came upon the ink, there was something extra unsettling seeing it so … there. Not trying to hide. Not trying to be anything. Just proudly splattered everywhere.

  And something new too. Something that hadn’t been ther
e before, when Dot and I had crossed the police barricade. Something written in the ink, drawn on by a finger, I guessed:

  “He Will Set Us Free.”

  I stopped and stared at it. Like the notebook. Like the ink that had slipped out of the music notes, half on the page, half on the stand.

  “He Will Set Us Free.”

  I had a sudden thought. A strange deep and disturbing thought.

  What if Sammy wasn’t missing. What if …

  What if he was hiding?

  “Hey, there, Art Department,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned instantly, only to be face-to-face with Bendy.

  Again.

  I’d been knocked unconscious once before, during a fight. Or really not so much a fight as being beaten up. For being different. Like usual. I was getting better at defending myself. Getting better at running away. But this time the bullies had surprised me. Leapt out at me as I was turning the corner to my street.

  They hadn’t meant to knock me out. And I’m pretty sure it scared the bullies. Scared not of consequences. But of their own power. They left me alone for a while after that.

  But I didn’t remember much of what it felt like. The getting knocked out part. The waking up part. And opening my eyes up in the Music Room, on the stage, tied to a chair, I was pretty sure I didn’t remember the headache that was searing past my eyeballs right then.

  “Hey, Buddy, are you okay?”

  I blinked a few times trying to get reoriented and turned in my chair to see Richie staring at me, tied up just like me. He smiled in relief. I don’t think he’d ever smiled at me sincerely before now. It was always a bit … sarcastic.

  “Richie, what’s going on?” I asked in a panic.

  “It’s Sammy. He’s lost his mind. Or whatever was left of it,” he said, his eyes darting around the dark room.

  I looked too, but we were alone.

  We were alone.

  “Where’s Dot and Jacob?” I asked. The ropes around me got tighter as my body tensed more.