Toy Soldiers

by Keith LaHue

  Trapped in bed for at least another week, there wasn't much he could do. He contemplated teleporting himself to the basement, yet that would alert his wife, and a whole lot of explanation he didn't want to go into. Still, it may be necessary, he thought. Even if he succeeded, he may not be able to counter they corrupted magic without the requisite amount of physical gesturing. He was sure there were also going to be potions involved. That meant travel outside of the house. Glum, he sunk into a melancholy funk.

  He might just need to tell Davey everything after all.

  Davey was downstairs eating breakfast while his father ruminated. He'd felt a little strange lately. He saw that the model was progressing even faster, and for some reason, it bothered him. He'd stopped taking pictures of the now nearly complete Great Wall of China. He had taken a picture of Beijing. The beginnings of it had started. Nowhere in the supplies, his father had brought home on his long-ago trip to the hobby store were the requisite materials needed for city building. Only the wall. Which had built itself without consuming any of the materials

  Carol was dead set against it. Too soon. Karl needed at least six to twelve months of therapy and care before being released to go back to school, and resume whatever kind of "normal" as he could have. Karl was damaged. She'd cared for him as one of her own since he had been brought to the county Child Protective Services. She readied herself for the meeting with Chief Psychologist Minas.

  Once the meeting has started, Minas had been on the charge, arguing that the best thing for Karl was to get back to normal, in his regular school right away. Carol rebutted.

  "It's only been a matter of days. He needs months of care. He's been the victim of systematic abuse for his entire life as far as we can tell. I'm not letting him go without a fight. He saw his mother killed, he saw the Sodaberg child raped repeatedly, and was raped himself! What more evidence do you need?"

  Minas was blunt. “We don’t have the beds, Carol.”

  Minas took a seat and sighed. Algrove, what do you think? You're the principal of his school." Algrove shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I think he needs to remain here, or in some kind of care facility. Maybe eventually transition him to a foster home somewhere else. I cannot recommend that he ever come back to my school. It's been in all the papers for Christ sakes. The younger kids have had exactly what happened to Karl 'explained' to them by the older kids. Everyone knows what rape is, even sodomy. He would doubtless be teased mercilessly. Children are the cruelest of all people, and I'm not just making that up. It's the truth."

  "We can't possibly subject Karl to that." She turned to Algrove. "Mr. Algrove, did Karl have any real friends in school? He's only mentioned a 'Davey' and even then it didn't sound like they were close."

  "I don't think he had any close friends. He was bullied occasionally about his shabby clothes, particularly since his mother was killed. The West boy had lunch with him from what I understand. He would bring him food, which Karl was evidently lacking."

  Minas looked at the two of them. "Carol, do some digging as far as who Karl associated with. This West kid may be something we can use. We'll keep Karl here indefinitely, beds be damned. But I want some effort to socialize him with not only the other children here but maybe this West kid too. I know you think I'm cold, but I really do want what's best for the boy. How about we meet again in two weeks? And Carol, keep me informed daily about any progress you've made with him. Anything I can do, I'm at your disposal."

  "Thank you, doctor Minas. I'm going to see to it that Karl isn't permanently damaged from all of this if that's even possible.

  "Now now Carol, do the best you can."

  The meeting adjourned. Carol was shocked by the sudden turnaround in Minas. She supposed it had helped that Algrove as a man with a man's opinion. Nevertheless, it had bought time for Karl. She retreated to her windowless office in the drab confines of Child Protective services and pondered what was next.

  Karl Stenger was seriously damaged. Deep down inside, nothing was normal. His affect, for the most part had been blunted by the outrageous assaults he'd endured, both mentally and physically. He'd seen his mother murdered, the little girl he didn't know raped. He'd been raped himself. And the cigarette burns. He would never heal, inside or out. He'd put up with the staff here because he had become so introverted as a result of everything. He rarely initiated contact. The other children avoided him, sensing his tainted nature as if they were afraid it would rub off on them.

  Davey's model. It was the only thing that elicited any degree of emotion in him now. And it was hate. He hated Davey because he had everything that Karl didn't. His parents loved him. He wore nice clothes. And he had the model.

  Karl was determined to destroy it. He enjoyed thinking about different ways to do it. His favorite was smashing it with his baseball bat. Something flickered inside when he thought of the bat.

  It was only a year ago that he'd been playing in the sandlot with the other boys. His mother was still alive, meaning he was eating properly at least. He recalled how the sun had shone down on them that sunny day. It was summer, school was out and as far as it could be (his father was still...) everything was right, right now.

  He was at bat. The pitcher, some kid he didn't even know, threw one right down the pike. And Karl had nailed it, right over the pitchers' head into the gap in center. He'd made it to second base and the kid on third had scored. They went on to win the seven-inning game. Seven innings was all they could play because it was getting dark. He'd run home, happy for one of the few times in his life.

  His mom had made Swedish meatballs for dinner. His favorite. He had been full of trepidation when his mother told him to go into the living room and get his dad. He approached the darkened room slowly, listening. The news was on the tube. He could hear his dad snoring.

  He entered the room and saw that his dad was fast asleep in the recliner. He had dropped his can of beer, and there was a large dark stain in the crotch of the jumpsuit his dad wore to work. Karl decided to let sleeping dogs lie, and returned to the kitchen without waking him.

  He told his mom that dad was sleeping, and maybe just this once that could let him sleep? She'd looked scared, but said okay. They sat, just the two of them, and had the best meal Karl had ever eaten. His mom had smiled; such a rare but beautiful sight. And they had laughed at all of Karl's Boy's Life jokes. She had made a chocolate cake for dessert. For once dinner wasn't acrimonious. He had been happy, just for that day, that night. He'd even managed to steal upstairs to his bedroom and sleep without a word from his dad, who'd pissed himself and was fast asleep.

  That had been the last good day. His dad had killed his mother not long after, and set into the motion the events that would eventually lead him here. To this place where only Carol liked him. He thought it was weird that she had wanted him to call her by her first name, her being an adult and all. So, he called her Carol.

  One time she had hugged him. It was right after he had come here. She'd been talking with the police, and a bunch of other people he didn't know while he was in the cold white room. He was shivering when she came to get him. She gave him a hug, and it was then that he had broken down, he held her just as tight as she held him. He could tell she wanted to cry too. It was the last time he had felt anything close to normal human emotions.

  Now all he felt, on those rare occasions that he felt anything, was hate. He hated everyone, all the other kids, everyone except Carol. Most of all he hated Davey. It had been his parents and one of their neighbors that had rescued him and the little girl. Still, he would get him. Him and that grand model, the diorama as Davey called it, using his grown-up words.

  He would escape this place, get his bat and go on the offensive. It all wasn't fair.

  The next morning, Carol had approached him after breakfast, saying she wanted to talk to him about some things. She'd led him to the talking room, which was outfitted with comfortable furniture and had a window that was covered in a heavy screen, like all of the win
dows here.

  "Karl, I want to ask you some questions, not like the ones about that bad thing that happened, but the good things. I understand you have a friend named Davey West? Is that so?"

  Karl smelled opportunity. "Yeah, he's my friend." He smiled at the thought, a malevolent smile, still, it was a smile.

  "We were thinking maybe you might like to see him. Maybe we could get him to come here and visit you. Would you like that?"

  "It would be even better if I could go see him in his house. He has a lot of cool toys. Not like here where they're all broken."

  "I'm not sure about that. We need to keep you hear, it's safe here. Could he bring some of his toys here?"

  Karl sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. But I really want to go there. He has this gigantic...diorama it's called, in the basement of his house. It's too big for him to bring here. I'd like to see it again." That same smile crept onto his face.

  "I really don't think that's possible. But I'll ask, okay? Now I want you to tell me about the good things you can remember. Anything at all."

  He was at a loss. Not many good things had happened in his life. His mother had been the one good thing he could think of. So he talked about her. About how she cared for him. He had to leave his father completely out of the picture because he had been a bad man and had never once been nice to him. Karl hated him and wanted him to die. Something broke inside of him when he was talking about his mother because it made him think of his dad too. He went semi-catatonic and told Carol that he wanted to kill his father, he hated him and that no matter what they did to him here, no matter how much talking they did, he was going to kill him.

  He was moaning, lost. Then Carol broke the rules of Child Protective Services again. She hugged Karl and tried to give him all the positive love she could. She rocked him in her arms, his face against her neck. She calmed him slowly, and then he hugged her back. She was on the verge of tears herself, but slowly he came around, and she was able to let go. She didn't think there was anything else this underfunded archaic facility could provide. In her opinion, Karl needed to be relocated to the west side of town, far away from where he'd grown up. The West kid only lived a short distance from Karl's old house. She wasn't about to pitch a field trip there to Minas.

  She did think it would be good for him to see Davey. He was the one friend he had as far as any of their deductions could ascertain. She brought the now calm Karl back to her room and planned on making a call to the West house, to see if the visit was a possibility.

  Back in her office, Carol slumped in her seat. These sessions with a kid so obviously disturbed took it out of her. She'd talked with Minas about Karl at length. At least Minas wasn't pursuing his stupid rapid reintegration plan. She knew he just wanted to get kids through the place as fast as possible. She was glad that she, along with Algrove, had prevented that disaster from happening.

  She gathered herself and looked up the West's number. It was in the file, as they'd been the rescuers. She dialed and Mrs. West had picked up on the third ring.

  "Hello, Mrs. West?"

  "Yes, this is she."

  "Hi, my name is Carol Harrington, and I'd like to talk to you about the possibility of having Davey come to visit Karl here at Child Protection."

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea." Mrs. West then went on to detail how the relationship between Karl and Davey had been loose, and contentious nearing the end, right before his bastard father had been caught. "You see, there was something about Karl's manner that made Davey worrisome. That he might hurt Davey. God knows Karl suffered, but he seemed to want Davey to suffer too. I really don't think it's a good idea at all."

  "I understand Mrs. West. But I had to try. It seems that Karl had no friends and I just...we're a little lost here with Karl. The damage that was done... "

  "Say no more. The papers had a field day with it."

  "Thank you for your time, Mrs. West. Have a good day."

  Carol hung up the phone. Strike one.

  38

  James and the others made it back to Donna's house, mostly riding in silence. It was as if a gray pallor had fallen over them. James was driving on autopilot. He had driven all over lesser Los Angeles in the past few days. None of them wanted to talk about the elephant in the room: did they really exist at all? They were conscious they had thoughts; still, it was obvious that they didn't fulfill all of the requirements of life. Only recently had they developed the need to eat.

  Alone back at the house with Donna, James felt the need to broach what he supposed was a sensitive subject.

  "Have you ever had sex?" he asked.

  "Well of course honey and I'm sure you have too. Haven't you?"

  "I think I have memories of it, but to be honest, I can't tell the difference between what's been made up for me, and what is real. It's a blurry line."

  "We only recently started eating for real, and we have memories of that...I think. They don't seem real either now that I think about it."

  On a whim, James got up from the couch and turned the TV on. Nothing happened. "TV is another illusion. Like all of the movies, we didn't make. All of what we remember isn't real. Maybe this isn't either. I have memories of another me too, somebody named Jimmy the Quick. He's a stockbroker on Wall Street in New York. At least he was. Now I think he's out West somewhere near the Grand Canyon. He's met with others." His voice reached a fevered pitch. "I've got to find him. He's me and I'm him. Get it? Even our souls are recycled, none of it is real."

  A wave of sadness swept over him. Donna put her arm around him and pulled him close. "We're alive, James. We have to be. Just the fact that we're self-aware means...oh hell. Maybe it doesn't." She pulled him ever closer. "Any idea where we find this other you? What's on the far side of Long Beach? Last time we were there the city was growing. But if we pushed hard, we'd get past the barriers. Whatever was keeping us from moving between here and what's next door is gone. Byzantium it where the desert is supposed to be. Who knows? Let's make a point to find out. I mean, shouldn't we?"

  "We'll go in the morning," said James. He was sullen, withdrawn. Full of anger that seethed, just below the surface. "I think I have to pee." This caused Donna to laugh out loud, and she let go of him. "Hey, how about sharing my bed tonight? We can make sure about the sex thing. Now that all of the plumbing is working." She smiled at him as he left her alone on the couch.

  After eating, they went to bed, and indeed all the plumbing did work.

  Jimmy was acutely aware of his other self now. He'd been afraid to ask Jerome if he too had felt another awareness, another version of himself somewhere else in this crazy world. He'd ask Tom if he'd felt it. Some strange part of him wanted to protect Jerome.

  They'd made substantial progress in retracing their steps back to New York. Tom had been right; the barriers between worlds had fallen. In the distance, he could make out the skyline of New York. One more day and they'd be there. He wasn't sure, but it looked like it had grown.

  This other self he was aware of was an actor in Los Angeles. While he didn't know what direction that was, he was sure they were going to meet. James was looking for him. He tried to mentally reach out to him, to tell him they were going to be in New York soon, but as far as he could tell, he'd failed. Plus, he wasn't sure that any of the conveyances of the time really worked. The cabs worked in New York, though they were inordinately difficult to hail. Most of them were driven by beings that were only partially formed; they were just for show.

  He sidled up to Tom. Tom had been sentient long before him, and his entire group was considerably farther along the path to enlightenment that Jimmy felt was now the only real goal. He didn't care about going back to New York; he cared more about exploring the other areas of the world, there had to be more. There would be time for that later. He pondered what was on the Jersey side of the city.

  "Tom, got a minute?"

  "As far as I know I do. Of course, we could all cease to exist in a moment."

  "What? How is that possib
le?"

  "Well, we're not real, in the truest sense of the world. While I admit it's possible we will become real, I think it more likely we're an accident. We shouldn't be self away, yet we are. The Mages are studying it. They tend to think that at some point, this will all be reset, and we'll go back to...to wherever it was before that we lived the same day over and over. Sandra seems to think that the being that made us will come back, and we'll no longer be aware. It could happen anytime."

  "Mages? You mean the Shamans. The magic users."

  "Yes, they decided upon a more general term. We're not Indians." He turned to Jimmy. "You may not even be from New York. In previous instances of this...this ether-all, you could have been me. And I you."

  "Speaking of that, there is another me. He goes by James and he's an actor in Hollywood. Los Angeles. He knows about me too. He's looking for me, and I'd like to meet him too. But I don't know how."

  "So you too have a twin," mused Tom. "It makes my heart heavy. There are at least three of me. Me, the one standing before you, one from a place called Byzantium, and another from New York. You can see how my selfish motive for wanting to get to the city that this incarnation of you comes from. Or not. I don't think any of us were actually 'born'. More likely we suddenly appeared. Oh hell. I don't know. The whole concept escapes me. I cannot conceive of having not been in existence. I feel like I've been alive, yet not alive forever."

  "We will meet the other variations of us. The mages think it critical to our success," concluded Tom.

  "That's something I'm funny about. I don't get what you mean by success. What are we trying to accomplish? I don't see any point to any of this. I'll get you to the city. After that, I'm going to try and find James. The other me."

  "As well you should. One bit of warning. There was an incident before I ever met you. I was aware of the other self in Byzantium, and she - yes she, we're not defined by gender - was not aware of me. Now she is. Anyway, I told Diane about it. She was my 'partner' in the scenario we woke up in. We were all just getting used to being aware, and that we weren't Indians at all. I told her about my other self, and her awareness imploded. The next morning I found her dead in her cave. She looked to be dead at any rate. But she wasn't. I was getting ready to burn her when she just sort of dissolved, and her body was no more. A few days later, she came wandering back into camp. While she was aware that she had killed herself, she was confused as to why it didn't work. While we are contemplating the nature of our existence, there is one thing we know: we can't not exist. Some form of use will come back should we die. It's like this place - this facade we've become accustomed to living in, can't do without us. It took Diana quite a long time, if there is such a thing in this seemingly timeless world, to come to grips that one, there were more of her out there, and two, she might not truly exist and be alive. It's something we all must come to grips with. The moral of the story, you might ask is this: be careful who you tell about there being more than one of you. It can set off a cascade of mental failure. Diane became addicted to trying different ways to kill herself, she always came back. The rest of us found it disturbing, as it brought to the forefront of our minds the entire exist - don't exist conundrum. Most disquieting. I think about it sometimes, then I just say, 'to hell with it’, I'm going to pretend I exist even if I don't' I think it's the best any of us can do."