Toy Soldiers

by Keith LaHue

  He stopped dead in his tracks. He had come to Washington Street, just a few streets north of here he should find Tenth Street. Then a walk, probably a long one. It took some time figuring out which way was north. He looked around and saw a police cruiser headed his way on Washington Street. He had to hide, and quick. He knew there was no valid reason a child his age would be out on the streets this late. It had to be somewhere between eight and nine. He found a bush to hide behind and waited for the cruiser to pass.

  Once the imminent danger had passed, he took to walking in the direction he thought was north. He walked for about ten minutes, and lo and behold, he was on Tenth Street. Tenth and Emerson to be exact. He had been to the doctor somewhere near here he remembered. His dad had broken Karl's arm when he was six, and he'd come to the doctor near here. He took a right, confident he was headed in the right direction.

  The New York group had moved towards the center of the city, Central Park, where they held their palaver concerning the nature of the spell they were to cast. Camilla, Antonia, Jane One and Two, Tom, and two of the former Indians. One had dubbed himself Harley, the other had taken the name, Kevin. Seven. A magic number.

  The rest of them stood off in the distance and talked amongst themselves.

  "What do they think the danger is?" asked Jimmy, addressing no one in particular. Artimus spoke up. "I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it threatens the entirety of our world, and could very well bring the demise of this...life."

  "I'm not sure we are alive, so to speak," said Jerome. "I mean, not that long ago, we were all stuck in our respective loops, living the same day over and over."

  "That's all changed now. Did you hear the Red Sox won their first game? It left the crowd disoriented. They all left the stadium, then less than an hour later, they all filed in. Doubleheader? I think not," said Caius.

  "The Red Sox won! I've died and gone to heaven," replied Jerome. "I've always...well I guess not always. I'm a Red Sox fan"

  "Who are you kidding? The only thing you were a fan of was heroin," said Jimmy. "I wouldn't be so sure about the heaven part either. The questions that this entire scenario brings up are vast and ponderous."

  "Looks at who fancies himself an intellectual now," said Jerome. "You were a coke-head not too long ago yourself."

  "Arguing amongst ourselves won't solve anything," said Caius. "Our fates, whatever they may be, are in the hands of those that use magic. We need to figure out what we can do to help, once they're done figuring out what kind or class or....whatever kind of spell they're going to cast is."

  "I doubt there is anything we can do." Said Jimmy.

  The circle of mages was in the midst of a heated argument over which kind of spell to cast. Jane and Jane were of the opinion that it had to be a broad protective sphere, which would encompass the entire earth, or what there was of the earth. Tom and Camilla had put forth the idea of individual shields that would protect each person. Jane and Jane had said no, the infrastructure of the planet must be preserved as well.

  Eventually, they settled on both. There were seven mages, three for the individuals and four for the sphere. They rejoined the rest of them, and it had been decided that Jane One, who as far as they would tell was the furthest along of all of them, to speak for the mages.

  "We're going to be casting two spells, one to protect individual beings and one to protect the entire planet," said Jane One.

  "Are we even sure that we're on a planet? I don't remember much, but I'm fairly certain that New Jersey was on the other side of the George Washington Bridge, not Rome. Rome is in Italy, across the ocean," said Jimmy.

  "Okay, you can call it what you like, we in a construct, whatever. We've still got to protect it. All seven of us can feel this impending danger. I ask you this: do you trust us?" said Jane One.

  "We're going to have to," said Tom. "Whatever is coming for us, we've got to be ready." He turned from the group and addressed the Mages. "What I want to know is what can the rest of them do? Short of the nothing we've all been doing."

  "Spread yourselves out. Try and convince everyone that isn't one of the half-formed, or otherwise impaired to get down in the subway. The system is complete from the Battery to the Bronx, and into the parts of Brooklyn that exist. While we're going to be casting the individual spells, I can't vouch for the idea that no one will be hurt. We've got limited time and a lot to do. Does everyone know what to do?"

  “I have no idea where I am," said Alan, one of the more fully formed. "It seems my twin is in Paris, and while I could navigate it with no problem, I'm lost in this city."

  "It's a grid. Just pick a direction and go. I'd say we have about three to four hours before whatever is going to hit us happens. There are subway stations located throughout the city. So you can't get lost. The seven of us will be right here, in Central Park, when it's over. We’ll meet back here, assuming we survive."

  "How will we know when the danger had passed?" asked Kevin.

  "I don't think there will be any doubt."

  The group dispersed, save the seven. Together they began, each in his or her way, combining all they knew from their native lands into one, weaving the magic of the ethereal plane, manipulating it to their design. A blue glow rose up from the center of the circle they had formed. The different linguistics combined, reinforcing each other, complimenting the spells being cast, coming together as one.

  Part of Karl was very scared. He wasn't frightened of the violence he was to perpetrate, he was more afraid that he'd get caught before he did it. He knew that once he brought his baseball bat down on the model, the West household would be awakened, and then he'd be caught for sure. As long as he destroyed their precious "diorama" as Davey had called it, using the fancy word, he'd be happy.

  After that, he'd try and probably fail at escaping. Then he could kill himself. He'd run back to the kitchen of his own house, find a knife and stab himself in the chest over and over. If they did catch him, what would they do? Send him back to that place he had come from? If they did, he'd have to find a way to kill himself there. He just wanted to be with his mom again, she was the only one that had ever loved him, and he knew that if there was a God, he'd send Karl to be with her.

  He spotted another cop car coming down Tenth Street. He hid behind a fence until it passed, then continued on. He wasn't far now, he recognized some of the houses. Once he came to Davey's house, he'd be within five minutes of his former home. He guessed it wasn't really home anymore. Maybe it never was.

  He had repeated the walk and hide routine for about two hours. His legs ached from walking. Maybe he would lay down in his old bed when he got home. He passed the West house and broke into a sprint to get to his old place.

  The side door was locked. There was the yellow plastic police tape across it. He took a rock from the back yard and smashed one of the window panes. He reached through and unlocked the door. He entered.

  The place was even more trashed than it had been when it was just him and his dad living there. The police had torn it apart. All of the drawers were pulled out. The cutlery was scattered on the counter. It was like some malevolent rot had taken over the house. He picked out one of the sharp knives and wondered how much killing himself would hurt.

  He spotted a scarf. It was an ordinary scarf, blue with flowers on it. His mother had worn it when she took him shopping with her. He picked it up and began to cry. He didn't know what it was doing here. It smelled like her, even after all this time. He held it close to him for a while. He climbed the stairs and looked into his old bedroom. His bed was made. How odd, he thought, without his mother there to tell him to make his bed, he had. Or maybe his sick fuck of a father had after he had put him in the basement with that little girl. He knew his dad planned on killing them both and had failed. He had done that dirty thing to both of them, sometimes one right after another. He held the knife and the scarf close to him. He turned down the cover on his bed and climbed into bed. The sheets were clean like his mom had just made
it.

  He fell asleep, safe for now.

  James and Donna were in Byzantium now. There were some half-formed, and some fully-formed people wandering aimlessly through the dirt streets. Some of the main streets were cobblestone, or whatever passed for it here. One of the half-formed was stuck in the corner where two buildings came together. He or she was bumping into the wall over and over. The car they had taken looked woefully out of place here. There were no horses though. James thought that they'd be here somewhere, but he guessed he was wrong.

  Donna had thought that the opium dens would be the place to find some answers, she considered junkies to be damaged souls, and in so, being more attuned to the reality of the human condition. So they began knocking on doors. That was a big nothing, as no one ever answered. They started barging into homes, the business's whatever.

  Eventually, they found what may have passed for an opium den. It appeared to be deserted.

  "I give up," said James. "We're never going to find anyone who can use magic. It's like this entire area isn't as far along as Los Angeles is."

  "Patience James. They have to be here somewhere."

  "How do you know these people were ever into opium even? I have little to no historical knowledge outside of the time I spent in LA, and a few vague memories of stuff I'm sure never happened. Why would they do opium here?"

  "I think because poppies grow in the area. Hell, I don't know. What do you want to do? Go back to LA and wait for for...for what? Do you want to pretend that everything is peachy-keen? I don't know about you, but I don't want to host the same damn party every night, with the same people showing up and getting drunk on something that has no effect? I'm not sure what being drunk feels like, but I'd like to find out right about now."

  "Don't you get it? We're not real! None of this is! Byzantium isn't adjacent to Los Angeles! We're all just made up...things. We're not alive even. We don't need to eat, sleep, piss or shit, none of it! I don't fucking care anymore. We can't even die and escape this nightmare. I don't want to go on living this lie. We have nothing, and we are nothing."

  "We need to eat and sleep, and piss and shit some of the time now. I slept last night, and you slept right beside me. We made love and it felt good. Don't you see? We're at the beginning of everything. We're becoming real! That's enough for me right now. It has to be. We have no choice. C'mon, let's go back to my place and we'll think it over. Look at it this way. At least we don't have to shop for food. It replenishes itself. I don't know. Maybe you're right, and we're just made up. Does that really change the here and now?"

  "No. I suppose it doesn't." And with that, they began the trek back to Los Angeles.

  In New York, where the lay lines that lay beneath them crossed, the Mage's were hard at work crafting their spell. The blue shield was growing exponentially, in a wave of cerulean stripes; circular concentric in nature, spreading out from the city, to encompass all of the lands of the construct.

  Five doors down from the West household, Karl Stenger had awakened in the middle of the night from his fitful sleep. He had dreamt of his mother. In the dream, she was alive. Her face was a contorted mask of who she used to be. She was calling out to Karl, and Karl was running to her. She was always just beyond his reach. If he could just get closer....then her face changed, and she was dead. Her lifeless eyes looked out at him, and from somewhere he heard her voice, saying, "I'm sorry honey, I'll wait for you." Then she would disappear and the whole thing would start over.

  Karl woke up furious, in an apoplectic fit directed at his father. His father he would never see again and was likely to die either in prison or for the executioner.

  He spotted his Louisville Slugger leaning in the corner of his bedroom. He hadn't undressed for bed, so he was still in the comparatively neat and clean clothes furnished for him by the ladies at that place, who had looked after him. Not Carol, but the others. All of their faces blended into one, he could not remember the name of the facility he'd been in, it was just The Place.

  He picked up the baseball bat and left the house. He said goodbye to the place for the last time, knowing he would never return to it. He didn't turn on any lights as he had made his way down, not wanting to attract attention to a known crime scene. He let himself out and began the short walk to the West house.

  It only took him a few minutes to get there. All of the lights were out, save for a strange blue glow the emanated from the basement windows. That was weird, why would they leave blue lights on? Why have blue lights down there to begin with? He tried the basement door and found it open. He quietly entered the house.

  He knew where the lights were, so he flipped them on. The well-lit diorama lay before him. Odd, that blue light was coming from the model. It spread out over about half of it. He could not make out and source for the light, it simply was.

  He raised the bat over his head, meaning to bring it down on the New York part of the model, he was going to smash this thing to bits. He hesitated a moment, thinking that Davey and his dad had spent countless hours creating the model, and it would only take him a few minutes to kill it. He noticed that the new section they'd worked on, the Great Wall of China was finished. He'd mangle it beyond recognition.

  He brought the bat down on the New York section first, where the blue glow seemed to be coming from. To his surprise, the bat bounced off of it and did no harm to the diorama. Furious, he began beating it down, over and over. The Los Angeles part of it did crumble into so much debris that it made him laugh.

  The Great Wall of China did as well; over and over he slammed into it. The weird place with the strange buildings was vulnerable too. The Grand Canyon was not. He smashed it with his bat.

  Upstairs, Marigold hear the commotion from the basement and called the police. She thought it a burglar, which had come in through the basement door. Davey trudged into her bedroom while she was talking to the police. She told him to hide in her closet, and not to come out unless she told him to. Scared from all the noise, he did so.

  Mary ran downstairs and entered the guest room where Dave was convalescing. Dave was wide awake by that time. He told her not to go down there, that it was the cop's job. From below, they could hear yelling. Marigold wasn't sure, but it sounded like a small boy.

  Karl was enraged that some parts of the model were covered in an invisible bubble that he couldn't break through. Like the terrorists of 9/11, he wanted those twin towers to come down! Dumbasses had made it with the old towers that were no longer there, instead of the new building. He began screaming, pounding away.

  Mary heard the police knocking on the front door. Only strangers used the front door she thought. She ran to it and looked through the peephole. It was them. She let them in and told them it was coming from the basement, which they obviously knew given that they headed there post haste.

  The police ran down the stairs and stopped in awe of what they saw. A little boy was using a baseball back to destroy some kind of miniature cityscape that was laid out on a huge table that took up a large part of the room.

  "Hey, kid! Stop it! Now!"

  Karl continued to slug away, but only on the parts that seemed indestructible. The cop who had yelled at him holstered his weapon, and easily disarmed the little boy. Karl collapsed in a fit of tears. The cop knew him now; it was the kid from that kidnapping and murder case, the one who's been trapped by his madman father.

  "Shh....it's okay Karl. It's me, you're friend Kyle, remember? I took you out of your house when..." he stopped talking and worked on restraining the boy, who struggled against him.

  "Jason, go upstairs and tell the residents that it's all under control." The other cop headed up.

  "Karl, why did you do this?" the cop looked over the cityscape. For a minute he thought he saw a blue light coming from what appeared to be old New York. Then it faded to nothing. Must have been a trick of the light, he thought, most of the model was okay; just certain parts of it - relatively few - were damaged.

  Jason, cop number two
, came down the stairs with Marigold. Mary gasped at the scene. It was Karl that had wrought this destruction. Tears filled her eyes, not for the model, which could be rebuilt, but for Karl. He had already suffered so much, and now this. The other cop was holding him, preventing him from harming anyone or anything.

  "Karl, why did you do this? We're your friends. We don't want anything bad to happen to you."

  Karl went silent. He pulled the scarf out of his pocket and held it to his face. He didn't wipe the tears away, he just smelled it. Then he put it back in his pocket. All expression faded from his face, and he was motionless. The cop was the only thing holding him up.

  "Ma'am, we're going to need to call social services. I believe he was in one of their residential facilities after he had been -"

  "- I know. My son Davey was friends with him. At least at some point, he was. Poor thing has already lost so much." Officer Kyle Monroe was already talking on the phone. So was Jason Weinberger upstairs.

  Officer Monroe was done on the phone and hung up. "They're going to meet us at the station," he told Marigold. "Mrs. West, we're going to need you to come by the station tomorrow and make a statement, either you or your husband, will that be okay?"

  "My husband is recovering from an accident; it'll have to be me. Yes, I will come. But please, be kind to Karl. He's known so little kindness in his life. Even before...you know, he was always troubled. My husband and son can fix what he's done, so I don't even think we'll press charges." She looked at the still open door from the outside. My son must have left it unlocked. My son!"