The Fantastic Fable of Peter Able

by Natalie Grigson

  “And his little adventures inside of Fiction . . .”

  Or in another life . . .

  “And his untimely death by assassination.”

  Or maybe in a crowded corridor at Payne Academy . . .

  Featuring GP, A

  She finished scrawling on the board.

  I was out of my chair, racing down the corridor, before the bell even finished ringing. It wasn’t until I had reached the school’s front door that I realized I had no idea where I was going. I knew I needed to find Randy, but the truth was, I didn’t know where he went during the day. I was familiar enough with the Fantasy classrooms in the school, but where was Detective? I could really use a detective.

  “I see you still haven’t gotten a hold on that internal monologue, have you?” somebody said from behind me. I was already on edge, if not downright out of my mind, and I ended up running headlong into the front door like a confused bird.

  I looked up and saw Jenny and Bob peering down at me. The room was spinning. Jenny looked torn between laughter and worry. Bob . . . well, Bob looked like a ficus.

  “Where is Detective?” I blurted, using the hems of Jenny’s skirt to pull myself up.

  “Well, it’s a secret, isn’t it?” Bob said, ruffling his leaves a bit imperiously.

  “Is it?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Who is speaking now?”

  “Look, this is all getting rather out of hand, and it seems like Peter is in a hurry,” Bob interrupted, as Jenny and I looked at each other suspiciously. “Detective is an older building near the South Entrance. I do some decorative sitting in their office from time to time,” he added at my look of surprise. “Now, let’s go!”

  I hadn’t really planned on having company, but I figured I could use any support I could get right now. Besides, adventures always seemed to go better when there was a group involved, so I filled them in as we ran toward Detective.

  Jenny was in the lead, and I was lagging behind as I had to carry Bob. He shouted directions as we raced through the courtyard area. Happy faces whizzed by in a blur, free from worry and just enjoying the crisp autumn air. I felt a pang of jealousy that their lives should be so simple, but I guess this is what I had asked for. I’d promised myself I’d start living in memory of my sister. Boy, had that been stupid.

  As Bob had said, the Detective building was just to the left of the southern entrance to campus, where Randy had stopped on our first day at the Academy. Since then, I’d walked by it countless times, hardly noticing it was there. As we approached, I wondered how I’d missed it. It wasn’t that the building was all that impressive. In fact, the building itself looked rather like the main building—a square, generic, 1950s-looking cube, dotted with square, generic, 1950s-looking windows. Surrounding the place, though, was yellow tape and spatters of blood. The blinds were drawn on all of the windows, and several “undercover” cars were parked in the lot. There were even a few “undercover” agents sitting in the cars, apparently investigating the parking lot and trying to look inconspicuous. It didn’t help that the cars said “undercover.”

  “So, you think that this Guest Speaker is also your assassin?” Jenny panted as we quickly navigated our way through the tape.

  “Hang on,” I said, sidestepping a chalk outline on the sidewalk. “That doesn’t come until later.”

  “So, you think that this Guest Speaker is also your assassin?” Randy asked, appropriately, after I’d told him all about GP, A. We were all crammed into his training office, which was hardly larger than a bathroom stall. Inside there was a desk, a wingback swivel chair, a window (blinds closed, of course), and two chairs opposite, usually reserved for nervous or weeping clients. Once again, a green hanging lamp provided the only light in the room, and it immediately made me anxious. Atmosphere, I guess.

  “What was it you said about recognizing her from Payne? You said you’d seen her smile before in a corridor?”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said impatiently. “You said: ‘By the end of the class, she’d told us these stories and many more—how she’d tamed dragons, fought wicked witches, and even (the most daunting) taught algebra to unruly students.’”

  “Okay, thanks Jenny,” I interrupted, my face heating up immediately.

  “And then you kind of spaced out for a bit because you seemed to be simply mesmerized by this woman, and she flashed you some gooey smile, and you said: ‘As she spoke these last words, her eyes focused on mine and she smiled. I had seen that smile somewhere before, perhaps in a dream, or in another life, or maybe in a crowded corridor at Payne Academy.’ Honestly, if we have to keep going back like this, we’ll never make it out of this tiny office,” Jenny snapped, not meeting my eyes.

  Randy looked back and forth between the two of us, a little perplexed. He’d been so busy at work, and I’d been so busy with school, trying not to get killed, and, well, with Jenny, I hadn’t exactly filled him in on things.

  “Right . . .” he said. “So now we seem to be getting closer to who she is, but we’re nowhere closer to where she is,” Randy said. I was just about to tell him that, yes, we knew where she was—she was here at the school, probably plotting my death at that very moment! But he began pacing the length of his office, which was just about the length of his desk, and looking very much like a Detective in Contemplation. I couldn’t interrupt.

  “If this is anything like the Mysteries I’ve seen in here, the Guest Speaker will have mysteriously vanished by now. She will probably go into hiding, maybe in a dark cave or abandoned house or basement, and will continue trying to kill you from afar. She’ll try planting bombs, poisoning your meals, perhaps even sending some Generic Assassins to do the dirty work. But rest assured, she will try to kill you, since, like I thought, she is working for a writer. Nasty things, writers,” he added, shaking his head. “I’ll have to do some digging in the school’s Guest Speaker List, see if they’ve got a name other than the initials . . . and I’ll read over the corridor scenes from your books, Peter, see if there is any mention of a memorable smile. I’m not really sure why she showed up today and gave you so much information, but I do know one thing for sure, she is long gone by now.”

  He paused dramatically to let this news sink in.

  “Mr. Potts, there is a Guest Speaker Assassin here to see you. Shall I send her in?” the intercom buzzed from his cluttered desk.

  The thing was, this wasn’t like the Mysteries that had walked through Randy’s office. This was Fantasy. And anything can happen in Fantasy.

  Which is why I really shouldn’t have been surprised when the Guest Speaker, my assassin, walked through the door and threw her arms around Randy’s neck.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I jumped up to save the life of my friend, grabbing the first weapon at my disposal—a magnifying glass. I scolded myself as I tossed the thing aside and pulled my wand from my pocket. Before I could even think of a proper spell, Jenny plucked the wand easily from my grasp and nodded in Randy’s direction.

  “Randy, my Randy! I am so sorry!” The woman was sobbing, bent over slightly to rest her head on his shoulder. Randy patted her back uncomfortably, and finally guided her to a seat, kneeling down next to her.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, studying her face. “After all of these years . . . You know I’ve been looking for you? You know I joined Detective just to find you? I, I—”

  “I know! And now here I am! We can be happy as a family again!”

  Randy stood up and took a step back, still staring at this woman, this stranger, his wife. Jenny, Bob, and I had backed up into the corner, trying our best to blend in with the room. Bob was doing a pretty good job of that already. I needed to talk to them, figure out what our next move was, but I didn’t want to ruin the scene. So I concentrated with all of my might on my most obnoxious, unnecessary, and blathering internal monologue in hopes of getting a message across. In truth, it wasn’t all that difficult.

 
I could not believe Randy’s wife, the woman he loved and had been searching for throughout the years, was my would-be killer! Perhaps I should have known, what with the rumors Jenny had heard about Gail, and how she had been so rude at my sister’s memorial service. But still, I was surprised, hurt, and terrified—not that she would eventually kill me, as all stories must have an end, but that my best friend might still love such a monster. Alas! I—

  “Okay, okay,” Jenny whispered into my ear. “We’re just going to have to see how this plays out. If she tries anything, you’ll be behind me, and I’ll use some defensive magic, since you’re so out of practice. If anything goes wrong . . . well . . . I . . . I’m glad you’vebeensuchagoodfriend. And, you know, about the Love Conflict, Ireallyjust—”

  Bob ruffled his leaves loudly, as though clearing his throat, and cut off Jenny’s nervous chatter. Honestly, I was dying to know what she was about to say, but not quite literally, so I scooted behind her. I gave her a feeble thumbs-up and realized that this probably didn’t quite express my gratitude. I’d have to buy her a card or something later.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner . . . GP, A? Gail Potts . . . Assassin?” Randy finally stammered. “And that damn knife you carried around during our last book—a symbol of your protection. What a fool I was!” he said, backing up into the wall.

  “Randy, it was a symbol of my protection! Or, less of a symbol and more of a literal knife. But you and the kids were in danger, and it only got worse with the assassin jobs. So I had to make you think I was killed by that house! It was for your own good! But now I don’t have to live in secrecy any longer. We can be happy again.”

  If Randy could have crawled out the window to get away from her, I think he would have, but Detective blinds don’t open.

  “You aren’t the Gail Potts I knew. I fell in love with Gail the Girl Wizard; not Gail the Liar. You . . . you are a murderer, an assassin, a . . . a . . . bad guy!” Randy shouted, his voice shaking.

  Gail got up as though to comfort her husband, but he cringed away from her. Perfect little tears were streaming down her glowing skin, seeping into the detailed lines around her mouth. Randy was shaky and pale but oddly in focus, too, I realized. Jenny and I were holding each other, scarcely breathing, in the corner. It was all very dramatic.

  “Mr. Potts, is everything okay in there?” The intercom crackled.

  “You stay away from me, and you stay away from Peter,” Randy hissed, still unable to meet her eye. “Get out of my office.”

  “Randy,” Gail whispered, “I only left to protect you and the kids. I came to the school today because the story called for a bit of foreshadowing about Peter’s assassin. But I don’t have to kill Peter!”

  Well, that was news to me. I dropped my arm from around Jenny’s shoulders awkwardly, and she huffily stepped away.

  “You . . . don’t have to kill Peter?”

  “Of course not! I’m a Big Fan of Peter’s!” She beamed. “I’ll just pass the job on to someone else.”

  Randy nodded, as though considering.

  “But you’ll have someone kill Peter.”

  “Well, of course. My author has been, eh, inspired to get rid of him, and I’ll have to see that it’s done. You know, writers. Nasty things,” she laughed maniacally. I didn’t know whether to join in her laughter at her sheer insanity or cry because of it. I settled for a little squeaking noise somewhere in between.

  “Get out.”

  “Wait a second . . .”

  “What?”

  “Who’s talking now?”

  “I think that was me.”

  “Nope, over here,” Bob said from the corner, clearing things up again.

  “So that’s it, Randy? You choose Peter over me—your wife?” she asked in a hushed voice. She was smiling incredulously, which was even scarier than if she’d been upset and yelling. The woman was insane.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you’re certainly not the woman I married. Now go,” Randy said.

  And so it was that Gail Potts, Assassin/Girl Wizard/Missing Wife/Guest Speaker, left the room, never to be heard from again . . .

  “Wait, Randy, shouldn’t you arrest her?”

  “Ah! I keep doing that!” Randy yelped as he dashed toward the desk and fumbled with the old-fashioned rotary receiver.

  “Alice? Yeah, we’re going to need someone to arrest that woman . . . uh huh . . . Affirmative . . . Coffee sounds great. Thank you.” And with that, he slumped into his desk chair and began to sob.

  Jenny, Bob, and I ended up missing our next classes, as we were being held for questioning. Fortunately, we didn’t have to go very far—just a few doors down the hall. Unfortunately, this meant we could still hear Randy cursing, crying, and smashing things in his office. It also meant that the questioning sequence took only about an hour for everyone, and Jenny and I didn’t have an excuse to miss Conflict.

  I peeked into Randy’s office on the way down the yellow, faux-brick hallway, and found him curled up beneath his tiny desk, surrounded by papers, basic office what-have-yous, and broken plot devices from various books.

  “Well, it looks like my stint in Detective is probably over,” he said, looking up at me.

  I motioned for Jenny and Bob to go on, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind me. The place smelled like trash, sweat, and pencil shavings. I wrinkled my nose as Randy crawled out from beneath the desk, pieces of garbage from an upended trash can stuck to his knees, sweat stains drenching his armpits from his tantrum, and pencil shavings covering his pants, because I guess he’d needed to sharpen a pencil. It happens. He righted his desk chair and sat down heavily, as though the effort exhausted him.

  “For the past six years, my life has been devoted to searching for Gail. Now here she is, and it turns out she is an assassin and a liar. I should have listened to you about the knife, Peter. It was weird and I should have made the connection sooner.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I mean, I always knew she was a little eccentric—she used to organize my underpants by color. That I could deal with, but this whole trying-to-kill-you thing . . . well, I think that’s a deal breaker. Am I wrong here, Peter?”

  I fervently told him he was not wrong, as we were discussing a matter rather near and dear to me (my life). Before I left, I gave him a hug. I know it sounds weird, but it was the first time I’d hugged a man since my backstory, and to be honest, my backstory was counting for less and less these days. I wanted to thank him for everything he’d done for me—for being my best friend, my roommate, and the dad I’d always needed. But again, I wasn’t so good with the word-type stuff, so instead I said what I thought appropriate for the Detective genre: I told him to buck up, shut his yap, and get his mitts off the marbles before I squirted some metal!

  Randy smiled gratefully and walked me the couple of feet to his door. He told me he’d see me at home. He had some cleaning up to do before work in the morning.

  “You’re late again, Mr. Able,” Professor Silver growled as I fell into the room about ten minutes later. I really hadn’t missed the ladder this time—I’d just stumbled near the bottom and fallen the last few feet. An inappropriate expletive trailed down the tunnel behind me.

  *

  #

  @

  $

  *

  !

  !

  “Lovely,” Silver muttered.

  Through his craggy beard I thought I saw a smile. I made my way to my seat, and to my dismay, he met me there. He had the hat.

  “Miss Jenny told us that you were lucky enough to come to a happy Resolution to your conflict today, Peter. Good for you. Unfortunately, we aren’t very far into the semester, and we don’t want you to get bored, do we? Take your pick,” he said, jostling the smelly pirate’s hat beneath my nose. I glanced at Jenny, and she mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before I swallowed heavily, my eyes watering from the stench, and peered into the hat’s stinky depths. Once again, there was only one piece
of paper in it, and I reached in and unfolded it.

  This one was a bit more specific than my first, but surprisingly, still quite common in the world of Fiction. Silver leaned down to read the crumpled thing, and I nearly gagged at the smell of his shallow breaths, wondering vaguely which was worse, his odor or the hat’s.

  I hadn’t realized how serious my new conflict was until I looked up at Silver and saw his reaction—or lack thereof. He didn’t announce it to the class; he didn’t make any jokes; and he didn’t even laugh quietly at my misfortune. He just shook his head sadly, bits of debris and sea-stuff floating to the stone floor, and without a word, he shuffled back to the front of the room for the day’s lecture. Once again I felt that tingling, even stronger than before, from my toes to my shaking fingers, almost like I was being written again. A moment later it subsided, though, and I passed it off as a hopeful spat of nerves or maybe a minor heart attack. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about.

  Was there any chance that Assassin Escapes & Seeks Revenge was metaphorical?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jenny and I were walking to the ladder leading out of the classroom, her arm gently wrapped around my shoulders, comforting me as only a good friend could. I wondered vaguely if perhaps a really good friend might try comforting with a hug, or a kiss, or if she was a really, really good friend, maybe she’d—

  “Peter, I need to have a word,” Professor Silver barked, as his gnarled hand reached out and grabbed the back of my shirt. I jerked back and Jenny’s arm slid from my shoulders. She nodded up toward the hole in the ceiling and winked, which I decided to take as “I’ll wait for you in the hall, my love,” or something like that, and with a withering glance at the professor, she made her way up the ladder.

  I turned toward him and stared at him blankly, waiting for his words of wisdom. When I still hadn’t said anything for a few seconds, he explained that he didn’t literally mean a “word,” but more like a conversation, a talk, a heart-to-heart. With all the words lying around, words like word can get confusing in Fiction.