Toy Soldiers

by Keith LaHue

  "I'll bear that in mind. I wanted to ask Jerome if he knew about the possibility of there being another Jerome. Can I hint around about it?"

  "You have free will. At least now you do. I leave it up to you. Just prepare yourself for another 'Diane' if it goes awry. I'd hate to see that again. It's only recently that the woman stopped killing herself every day."

  "I'll bear that in mind. How many of us do know about the other selves we have?"

  "I'm not sure. About ten or twelve of us I think. None of us want to talk about it. It's a disturbing thought."

  "No more than the thought that we don't exist."

  "Point taken. Be aware that not everyone is as far along as I am, or even you. When we met you didn't meet the requirements for being alive. Now you mostly do. Be aware there may be thought and concepts more horrible than the ones you already know about."

  "But you do. Tell me."

  "No Jimmy. They are for you to find out in your own time. It is the same for us all. Don't go running your mouth about all I've said. We must all move at our own pace."

  Tom knew that Jimmy wasn't aware of the beings that were not even close to human. His group had run across a camp of them, they were supposed to be Cowboys, ostensibly to play out the whole "Cowboys and Indians" scenario. Tom was aware that it was possible they had been created simply as toys for some greater being. It was that he kept hidden from all of the others. He had never once brought it up to any of them. It could lead to horrors even more disturbing than Diane had been.

  He gazed into the distance at the New York skyline. It had grown even since yesterday. And the subways were running again. The other him in New York had ridden one for the hell of it. It wasn't like any of them had anywhere to go. He'd just gone from the Upper East Side to Downtown.

  His memories - those of his other - were with him almost all the time now. He knew Jimmy the quick would soon be a far along that path as he was. Tom had basic knowledge of the geography of the city he hadn't let on to Jimmy. Best to leave him to his own devices as far as that was concerned.

  Jane and Jane. The name, or names, manifested itself in Toms mind a great deal of the time. He was going to cautiously ask one of the mages in his group if the name meant anything to her. He knew she was important and was responsible for getting the trains running in the city.

  As much as he wanted to find one of his twins, he wanted to find her as well. There were only two of them, which made them unique. They were the lynchpin on the whole thing. One of them was from someplace across the George Washington Bridge. Rome was what it appeared to be. He was going to find her and any of the other key players in the game.

  Tom only wanted to be one thing. It didn't matter if he was an Indian, a cab driver, none of that mattered. He just wanted to be real. He wanted to go to bed at night and get real sleep. Real food. Real sex. He just wanted to truly exist. And right now, he wasn't sure he did.

  39

  All of the faces blurred into one: his father. Karl knew his father couldn't hurt him anymore, yet he saw his countenance of good old dad everywhere. He was more or less in a constant state of terror or catatonia. When he was unresponsive, that's when the social worker called the doctors and nurses. The poking and prodding ensued, and eventually, he'd come out of it and answer their questions.

  He was supposed to be getting better, yet he his condition worsened every day. The social worker assigned to him lived in a perpetual state of worry. She didn't know what to do for him. Just a few days ago, he had reacted when spoken to. She had even considered him for release and had contacted several families, including the West family, whose son had been in some kind of friendly relationship with Karl, yet they had refused. She saw now they were right. It was possible, even likely that Karl would be remanded to a state-run mental health facility until he came out of it. What an absurd term, it was like something you'd hear on TV. "Come out of it."

  Right now, Karl was out of it. That didn't mean his mind wasn't active. While his exterior slept, his mind wandered. Most of his thoughts dealt with how he was going to kill his father. He explored the inside of his consciousness. On some level, he was aware that when he journeyed the staff of wherever he was became concerned, so he was trying to limit his excursions to times when they were less apt to notice and begin their attempts to bring him out of it.

  He liked the inside of his mind. Here his mother was alive sometimes, and she'd be back in their house, baking a pie, and singing in the morning sun that streamed in through the window. Karl longed for a time when this was real and his father was dead instead of her. Still, he enjoyed these times, though he knew they weren't real. His mother had only sung when her murderous spouse was away, at work or that dive bar he frequented. Many times the bar had called her to come to get his father, said father being too drunk to drive home, and/or getting into fights.

  Karl loved to hear his mother sing. She only sang when she was happy, and her being happy made him happy. He was in the middle of this sojourn into fantasy land when that damn nurse poked him with a needle in his arm. He hadn't seen her come in, lost as he was in his mind.

  She slapped his face. She'd administered a fairly strong stimulant in her attempt to bring him back. With the slap on top of it, she'd succeeded. He had an appointment with Dr. Goring in an hour. The social worker came in to join them. She had to make sure Karl was dressed and ready to go. He'd soiled himself again. With a sigh, she began the task of undressing him to clean him up. The nurse, who'd accomplished her task, asked Carol if there was anything else she needed. Carol dismissed her, saying no. The nurse left and Carol brought the naked Karl into the adjacent bathroom.

  "Karl, one of the guys is going to help you clean up. You know what I'm doing isn't like what your father did to you, don't you?" Karl nodded sullenly and stepped into the stall shower. Carol turned the water on and to her surprise, Karl started washing. He hadn't done that for days since the fugues had started.

  "This soap smells bad," he said. "And I need some shampoo."

  "Karl! You're talking! You know you haven't done that for several days. Let me get you some new soap." She took the soap and gave it a whiff. It smelled like piss, and seeing as it was a communal shower for all of the residents, she didn't doubt that it had been soiled. She got him a fresh bar and a vial of shampoo. "Here you go, honey."

  Karl bristled at the term. His mother and only his mother had called him that. He dismissed it from his mind and bathed. When he was finished and dressed in clean clothes, Carol sat him down to talk, as she always did.

  "Karl, you've got an important meeting in a few minutes. I don't want to scare you, but whether or not you stay here could depend on the outcome of the meeting. Do you understand me?"

  "No. Where would they send me, to some strange family's house?"

  "Not exactly. They may want to send you to a place like this, only different. A place where you would stay for a long time before they sent you to a family. Do you understand?"

  "No. Why would they take me from here?"

  "They think you may need a special kind of help that I can't do."

  "I don't want to leave you."

  "Then you must tell them that." She put her hand on his shoulder. "If you want to stay here and then someday go into a foster care home, you've got to tell them that. The Dr. is concerned about when you don't talk, and you don't seem to hear anyone. Do you understand?"

  "Not really. When I go away, sometimes the hurting stops. But sometimes it gets worse too."

  The nurse arrived and told Carol it was time for the Dr. to interview Karl. As he was led away, Carol called out to him. "Just tell them the truth, Karl. It'll be okay."

  She knew that in all likelihood, it wasn't going to be okay.

  Karl came back to the living area about three hours later. The verdict on his future wouldn't' come down for a few days, still, Carol ran to hug him when she saw him. To her surprise, he stayed in the recreation room with the other kids. The others had regarded him as an
outsider and shunned him for the most part. Karl gravitated to the television.

  Carol thought it curious that the first sign of Karl coming out of his fugue state was to watch TV, a sedentary activity, but she was pleased that he was at least in the proximity of the other children. He spoke to no one and sat on the floor in front of the television. Some cartoons were on, and while she wasn't sure, Carol thought Karl was following the show.

  He sat like that until dinner time. As was the norm, Carol moved to Karl and led him to the dining room in the basement. Once there, she watched as he went through the line unassisted. He picked a table that was unoccupied. No one joined him.

  Sandra, one of the other social workers, sidled up to her as they monitored the children eating.

  "Don't get too attached to him. You know as well as I do where he's headed," said Sandra.

  "You give up too easily," replied Carol.

  "He spends most of his time out of his mind and shits himself. Do you really think he's headed anywhere but the Whiting institute?"

  "I have to have hope for him, Sandra. I think you're right, but I still care. For some reason, this one has a hold on me. I don't usually get so attached."

  "You've always been soft, and you work in a job where kids get treated like objects every day. I don't know how you do it. I think I must be immune by now. All the tragedy in the world is laid at our feet all the time. And you still have hope, how?"

  "Fuck off Sandra. This one I'm going to save." She moved away from her and watched Karl eat.

  Karl hadn't been successful at fooling anyone. Granted the Dr. had probably made up his mind before he'd even seen Karl, but Karl had tried. Somehow he knew that where they were going to put him wouldn't matter after tomorrow. The whole time he'd been here, he'd paid attention, and watched the staff as they entered and left the building. They required keycards to get in and out. All except one.

  The kitchen staff left the back door of the kitchen open most of the time. While it was fitted with a keycard system, half of the cooks didn't have one; some kind of glitch in the system. They took the trash out every night, and with a little luck, Karl could escape his room, make his way through the corridors and slip out unnoticed.

  He really only had one thing on his mind. He knew his mother was dead. He knew he would never see his father again. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about anything important, like getting to live with a real family, strange or not.

  All he wanted to do was destroy the model in Davey's basement, Davey and his perfect family, where no one ever hit, or yelled, or burned their children with cigarettes. He wanted to destroy the very thing he would never have. Happiness.

  40

  "Oh come on Marigold, I'm not asking much."

  "First you tell Davey not to work on the model, and then you let him! Granted, he's doing a great job, as good as you even, but I don't even know when he's been doing it. It's almost like the thing is building itself."

  "It's not, trust me." Right now Dave was sorry he hadn't married a witch. He had a week to go to get out of his plaster prison. Then I can deal with this properly! He thought. How the hell was he supposed to tell Marigold the truth? Even if he did, she would be helpless to do anything. Twice the lay lines that ran through his basement had shifted, and twice he'd been sure that someone in his order would show up unannounced, and in doing so confuse his wife and one-day-to-be wizard son, while concurrently driving him out of his order. He'd be banned from using magic.

  "Just let Davey continue working on the model."

  "Is he working on it? Really? There's been a lot going on down there, and Davey hasn't even been down there that much. How is he doing it?"

  "I'm a good teacher?"

  "Sorry. I'm not buying it. You'll have to come up with a better lie."

  "Okay then," Dave shifted his bedsore body so he was halfway, or at least a quarter way, sitting up. It hurt. "It's magic Marigold!"

  "Oh for Pete's sake, I don't believe in magic."

  "Then what does explain it?"

  "Well...I don't know." She sat in the chair next to her husband. "I'm not sure what's going on in the basement. And I'm not sure I want to know. I have this feeling...that something bad is going to happen. I don't know what, but I just can't shake it."

  This statement bothered Dave a great deal. One of the things that had attracted him to Mary in the first place was her unerring intuition. On some level, she was in touch with the ethereal. If she thought that something bad was going to happen, she was probably right. He knew that she too, and Davey, had felt the lay lines disruption. He was still trying to figure out how he'd explain everything when one of the wizards from his order showed up. How was he going to tell her that not only was he a wizard, but their son would become one as well?

  "Marigold, make sure the basement door is locked, please?"

  "None of us use it. I'm sure it's locked even now."

  "Just check it every night. In a week I'll be back on my feet, and everything will get back to normal. I promise."

  "I'll check the door when Davey gets home."

  "Send him in to see me when he's done with homework. I've got an assignment for him," he lied. He hated lying to his wife, yet he supposed he'd been living a lie for a long time.

  "I've got to finish the housework. I'll let him know when he gets home." She looked at him quizzically before she left the room. They'd been married for almost ten years, yet right now she felt her husband was far away from her. Hopefully, he was right, and things would get back to normal soon.

  But what was going on with that damn model? Davey wasn't building it, that she was sure of, but if he wasn't, who was?

  Dave lay in bed, just as he had since the beginning of time. One week. One week and he'd be free, he could undo everything. The model was building itself, Davey had nothing to do with its expansion. The spell was running amok. He vowed that when he got on his feet again, he'd put a stop to all of it. No more disruptions in the magical spheres of the earth. He just needed a little more time. Time and luck.

  He was lost in thought for much of the afternoon. He vacillated between one extreme to another. One minute he was going to destroy the model and never attempt another experiment, the next he was going to be the savior of this great experiment. Hell, there might even be a medal in it for him.

  He heard Davey come in later. Once more into the fray, he'd try a stronger talisman than the car this time. Maybe he could stop the flood gates from opening, with help from his son.

  41

  Jane and Jane were wandering the canyons of Manhattan, taking in the architecture that Jane One had built. Jane Two, being from Rome, hadn't created anything as far as she knew. The two of them were inextricably connected, both of them had known it before the meeting, and Jane Two had assimilated many of the memories of Jane One when they first met face to face, as had Jane One.

  When the lay lines had sifted, they'd both experienced a disconnect for a moment while the lay lines had reasserted the magic that was inherent to this place. It passed, as it had the first time. The two being Mages, they were more attuned to this than the average citizen of Pangaea. The half-formed felt nothing of course.

  "It's coming," said Jane One.

  "I feel it too. It's going to be bad."

  "The question is, do we try and gather the other Mages and deal with it as a collective, or should we try and cast a protective spell ourselves, just the two of us."

  "We need to find at least the others from my group. They said they were going to Yankee Stadium, to watch a baseball game. Truth be told, I'm not sure I want to see them again."

  "Why?"

  "There's just something different about them, they liked living in Rome. I can't see living anywhere but here, in New York. It's not that the others are unsophisticated, it's just that - "

  "- they're unsophisticated."

  "Well. I guess. I still say we need them if we're to pull off this spell. Do you know anything about the other areas of the w
orld, outside of Rome and New York? There are others. I can feel that they exist, but I'm uncertain as to their names."

  "Pieces of California exist. A fairly large part of Arizona exists, the Grand Canyon is there. In fact I can sense that there is a group trying to get here. They may have Mages. Two of them left here and found the Grand Canyon, so it can't be too far away. Let's hope they get here before the shit hits the fan. I don't know what's coming, but I do know we won't survive it as is. We need protection. The bigger the better, and the more Mage's we have, the safer we'll be."