Dastardly Bastard

by Edward Lorn

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. He’s like our guardian angel. He won’t let anything happen to us. Don’t worry.”

  “Come here, butthead.” Marsha pulled him in for a side-by-side hug as they continued along the trail. She kissed the top of his head, noticing happily that he didn’t pull away in embarrassment.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Love you more,” she said into his hair, lingering there for a moment, taking in the scent of his shampoo. “You’ve been using your dad’s stuff again in the shower; haven’t you?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course not.”

  The slope leveled off, and Jaleel led them around a soft bend to the right, before coming to a sliding halt.

  “What the hell is that?” Jaleel yelled.

  Marsha saw the slope spread out, widening to four times the width of the previous trail. The guard wire stopped just ahead, then started again ten feet further down, where the path narrowed again. Stretched across the chasm, swaying lazily in an unfelt wind, was a rickety-looking bridge.

  Jaleel was pointing at the trestles, confusion flooding his face.

  “It’s a bridge,” Marsha said. “I thought you said you’ve been down here before.”

  “I have.” Jaleel shook his head. “I’ve been up and down this section of trail hundreds of times over the course of the past four years. But that—” He jabbed a finger at the bridge. “—is new.”

  Trevor laughed. “Doesn’t look new to me.”

  “That’s where we need to look.” Jaleel suddenly sounded very sure of himself, but Marsha just thought he was crazy. There was no way she was crossing that thing. Uh uh, no way.

  “You just got through saying you’ve never seen it before, and you want to risk crossing it?” she asked.

  “That doesn’t look safe.” Trevor shook his head. “I’m not getting on that, bro. Sorry.”

  “It’s just this thing messing with you, Jaleel,” Justine reassured him. “You’ll probably step right through it if you try and cross.”

  “Like a hologram, or something?” Lyle asked.

  “Yeah, like that.” Justine responded.

  “Fine.” Jaleel shrugged. “Stay here, then. Or go back and try your luck with the warp zone. I don’t care. Donald was my responsibility. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to him.”

  “You don’t even know if he’s still alive,” Trevor returned.

  “Damn that,” Jaleel fumed. Marsha saw the guy’s hands draw up into fists. “I have to try!”

  Lyle stepped forward. “When my dad called, he said I needed to find the cameraman. He told me he’s still alive.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Sorry, little guy, but that man’s dead. Gone. There’s no reaching him.”

  “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about,” Marsha said. “No one is crossing that thing. Are you crazy? Listen to yourself, Jaleel.”

  “I’m not suggesting we all go, Marsha.” Jaleel told her. “I’m going to go over there and check it out. That’s all. If it even starts to swing too much, I’ll come back.” Jaleel stepped to the edge of the chasm and peered down. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

  Marsha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Jaleel was the only one who knew his way around the chasm, and he wanted to leave them alone? For what? To play search and rescue across some rickety old bridge?

  Marsha exploded in rage. “You know what? Fuck you! You’re going to stay with us and find a way out of this mess. You understand me?”

  “Scared the boogeyman might climb up your ass while I’m gone?” Jaleel asked. Something in his eyes had changed. She shivered.

  “Asshole,” Trevor growled.

  “Enough!” Justine yelled. “I’m tired of all this crap. Stop fighting. We don’t have anyone else but each other here!”

  Jaleel laughed. “You guys can come over once I see that it’s safe. Easy enough, right?”

  “You’re nuts. No way we’re going over there. Just drop it,” Marsha said. “You’re not leaving us. Why risk your ass when you don’t even know what you’re walking into? Bad enough we’re already running around in circles!”

  “We can just keep going. See if Lyle’s theory pans out,” Trevor offered. “Why don’t we just keep walking? We could still hit the other side, the other… portal.”

  Jaleel shook his head. “If there even is another side. We don’t know that. We could just be stuck down here. That’s why I need to check the bridge. There may be a way up through that cave.”

  25

  LYLE FELT HIS CELL PHONE vibrate. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding it. While the group argued by the bridge, he snuck off to the rock face to answer.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, Brody. You coming?”

  “Where are you?” Lyle whispered, glancing over at his mom.

  “Where do you think? Look over here.”

  Lyle leaned out and looked down the path that led to Scooter’s Dive. Nothing. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the opposite direction. At first, he figured it was just the bridge moving in the breeze, but then he spotted his father across the expanse, waving at him. Lyle thought it was strange his father didn’t have a phone pressed to his ear and wondered how he was talking to him. But the thought flew away when he started to feel lightheaded.

  “Come help me find the camera man, Brody.”

  “What are you doing?” his mother screamed.

  Lyle froze. Somehow, he was already halfway across the bridge. He stared down through the slats, his heart quickening in his chest. The bridge swayed, and he gripped the ropes on either side, afraid to move.

  “Lyle!”

  “Mom!”

  Jaleel’s voice echoed across the chasm. “I don’t think the bridge will hold both of you.”

  “I have to get him!”

  The tour guide’s voice came again. “He’s almost across.”

  Lyle hadn’t moved, but when he looked up, he found he was, indeed, almost to the other side. He couldn’t remember even taking a step. He watched in horror as his foot went out in front of him, landing on the next wooden slat.

  He screamed, “Help!”

  “Lyle!” His mother sounded on the edge of hysteria. He imagined Jaleel was holding her back, maybe the others were helping, too. Why? Why wasn’t anyone coming for him?

  “I can’t stop!”

  The rope pinched the thumb on his right hand. It hurt, and he thought it was probably bleeding, but he didn’t let go, not for a second. He didn’t even want to turn his head to look.

  He broke into a sweat. The matted hair on his forehead was starting to itch. He tried his best to ignore it. The air wasn’t hot. In fact, it was rather cool, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He imagined his anxiety as a virus, his body firing on all cylinders trying to kill it. He’d learned that in science class last year.

  Through the rotten planks at his feet, Lyle could see just how deep Waverly Chasm truly was. It seemed to go on forever, never ending. Lyle imagined the Devil sitting down there on a dark throne of bones and skulls, beaming, waiting for Lyle to fall into his clutches.

  “Lyle!” His mother’s voice cracked. He knew she was crying, and he wanted nothing more than to be back with her. He didn’t want to be on the bridge, couldn’t remember why he should be. Nothing made sense. His head throbbed with brilliant pain, making him squint through his tears.

  “Mommy! Please!”

  Ten more planks and he’d be on the next flat area. His feet kept moving. Sweat and tears burned his eyes. The rope stung his palms as he slid them along. His thumb throbbed from the bite the binding had given him.

  Five more planks.

  “Doing good, kid.” His father sounded proud. Lyle chanced a look up, taking his eyes off the planks for only a split second.

  His father was gone.

  Lyle became aware that he had regained contro
l of his body. He started to turn around to go back to his mom, but the bridge swung in a slight breeze, making him freeze in place. Once the bridge steadied, he realized he was only three planks from safety. He could almost jump that distance.

  He raised his foot and stretched his leg to see how far he could get in one step. His foot landed on the second to last board. As he swung his other leg forward, hoping to reach the other side in one more long stride, the wood beneath him snapped.

  “Lyle!” his mother screamed.

  Lyle sank down between the boards. His death grip on the ropes held, but just barely. The length cut into his hands. Warm liquid—blood or sweat, he wasn’t sure—leaked from his palms, rolling down into his armpits. He just wanted to be back with his mom. Back in the safety of her arms.

  He could have turned back. He’d had the chance. Why hadn’t he taken it?

  “I’m coming, Lyle! Hang in there!” It was the tour guide. Thank God.

  Lyle whined as the pain in his hands became unbearable.

  The bridge began to shake. He could only assume Jaleel was coming for him.

  “Hurry!” Lyle yelled.

  “Get him! Damn it, get him!” his mother wailed. “Hold on, Lyle. He’s gonna get you!”

  Back and forth the bridge went, making Lyle seasick. Bile rose in the back of his throat, but he managed to chew it back, swallowing the retched fluid. His vision swam. He could feel his grip loosening. His hands were going numb.

  Jaleel called, “Almost there.”

  Looking at the mouth of the cave in the rock face ahead of him, Lyle saw movement, just a quick play of shadows, a deeper black moving along in the darkness.

  His right hand slipped. The rope left his palm, and he was suddenly hanging by one arm.

  His mom screamed, “No!”

  Lyle felt hands under his armpits. He was pulled up and tossed forward. He slid on his knees, rocks digging into his shins. Rising to his feet and turning around, he waited for Jaleel to step onto solid ground before wrapping his arms around the man who’d saved his life.

  “Sweet Jesus, kid. Let me breathe.” Jaleel’s chest hitched as he laughed.

  “Thank you!”

  “No problem. You’d have done the same for me if you could’ve.” Jaleel grinned down at him.

  Lyle watched something flicker over Jaleel’s shoulder, a burst of color, like a dying sparkler.

  Jaleel looked at the oddity and nodded. “You’re right,” he told his shoulder.

  “What?”

  Jaleel craned his neck, looking back down at Lyle. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just glad you’re all right.” The guide stepped out of Lyle’s embrace and turned around to look back out over the expanse. “Marsha! You’re up, dear. Mind the cracked ones!”

  “What if more break?” Lyle asked, moving to the man’s side.

  “Won’t happen, kid. He won’t let it happen,” Jaleel said.

  “Who won’t? What are you talking about?”

  “Jaleel.” The guide’s face was funny. Lyle thought it looked… distant. “Jaleel’s not going to let anything else happen. Don’t you worry none.”

  Lyle stepped around to get a better look at Jaleel. The guide’s face shimmered, all blue and pink.

  “But you’re Jaleel. Why are you—”

  “Oops!” The voice was in Lyle’s head. Jaleel wasn’t moving his lips.

  “Sorry. Jaleel can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeeeeep!” Jaleel’s face contorted into a hideous fun-house-mirror version of itself. One face, the fleshy one, stared forward while the second emerged. The new face was transparent, glimmering with coalescing pinks, purples, and blues.

  “Id’s the name, and Jaleel is my game. Step on up, kid! You have prizes to claim!” The ghostly apparition cackled. “Now you see me! Now… you… don’t!”

  The pink and blue vapor came flying at Lyle’s face. He backpedaled, flailing his arms, until his feet no longer found solid ground. Lyle could have sworn the bridge was behind him, but it was no longer there. He watched the sky come into view.

  He fell.

  And landed on the floor of his bedroom.

  He scrambled backward until he crashed into his bedroom door. His eyes darted left to right and back again. Everything looked familiar, just as it should have been, but he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. It should be familiar, he told himself. He’d lived there his entire life.

  There was his bed, the mattress and box spring lying on the floor. His parents had gotten rid of the frame after he’d assured them a troll with red eyes lived under there, a troll that most definitely wanted to eat him.

  His Panic! at the Disco and Fallout Boy posters hung where he’d left them, though they looked newer, glossier, than he remembered. On the top of his dresser sat his Nightmare Before Christmas alarm clock. Jack Skellington’s face was hidden behind the shadows cast by thick hands as they rotated, the second hand moving quickly while the minute remained lazy on the three. Hour had given up the ghost, sitting on the ten, waiting for his turn.

  To his right was the floor lamp he’d bought at Target with his allowance money. He’d saved up all summer long, mowing grass and washing cars, until the Petersons gave him a fifty for cleaning out their gutters. It looked great in his room, just different enough from everything else with its black base, red stem, and gold lattice hood. That thing rocked.

  On his left was the entertainment center Dad had gotten him for his birthday, his television and video games right where he’d left them. The TV was on, tuned to BBC America, with his favorite episode of Doctor Who. David Tennant—close to giving up the role to Matt Smith, who Lyle loathed—was telling Sally Sparrow she had better not blink.

  “The Weeping Angels,” Lyle told his boob-tube companions.

  It occurred to him that he’d forgotten something, had been interrupted during a very important thought, but he couldn’t imagine what that could have been. Still, he couldn’t shake off the idea that something wasn’t right.

  Doctor Who went to break, and in the brief silence between program and commercial, Lyle heard a soft humming. The song was one he recognized. It had been his father’s favorite.

  “Dad?” Lyle asked. His voice was much brighter, younger, than he remembered, and it didn’t crack when he raised his voice.

  “In here.” His father’s response made his heart leap in his chest.

  Lyle burst from his room and took off down the hallway. He slid across the living area, almost tripping on mom’s throw rugs, barreling through the family room holding onto the back of the couch for support. He crashed through the kitchen door, his hot breath scorching his chest like a scalding piston. He stopped just inside the door and swung his head to the right, then to the left, until his eyes found their prize.

  His father, just as Lyle remembered him, very real and very much alive, stood over the stove, flipping pancakes. Tears overtook his vision. He rushed his father, throwing his arms around his waist, squeezing until he thought they’d become one.

  Dad tousled his hair. “Hey, Brody.”

  “It’s really you,” Lyle screeched. “You’re really real!”

  “I’d hope so.” Dad laughed. “Now, let me go before I burn these pan—never mind. Too late.”

  Lyle smiled through his tears. “It’s okay. We can make more. We can make lots more!”

  His father shrugged. “Very true.”

  “What’s going on in here? I smell something burning.” His mother stood in the doorway. Somehow, he knew she shouldn’t be there, but he was still glad to see her.

  “Our son is making me burn the pancakes, hon.”

  Lyle watched as his mother approached, pulling his father away, kissing him full on the lips. “Hey, sexy man.”

  “What’s up with you two?” Dad grinned as he pulled away from the kiss. “You guys act like I up and died or something.”

  “Just happy to see you, I guess.” Lyle’s face began to hurt from smiling so h
ard. His grin was getting wider and wider. His cheeks felt as if they were going to split if he didn’t stop soon.

  Everything was golden and right in the world. Dad finished cooking, and Lyle sat down to eat with his parents. They talked about what the day ahead would bring. The carnival was in town and sounded like quite a good idea.

  Lyle chewed with a smile plastered on his face, not knowing why he was so happy. He only knew there was life to live. Memories to be made.

  Oh, but the memories…

  26

  MARSHA DROPPED TO HER KNEES, clutching her chest. Lyle was safe.

  “Oh, thank God,” she managed. Lyle was talking to Jaleel. She could see his lips moving, but couldn’t hear what was being said. Jaleel’s head tilted, and he gazed toward the sky.

  Marsha looked up to see what had caught his attention.

  The sun was moving. It fled toward the southern horizon. It seemed to Marsha that someone had hit the fast forward button on a video. Night fell, and the moon whizzed by in a mad dash for the end of the earth. Around and around, the cycle went, light then dark, blurring the realm of reality. Soon, the moon chased the sun, one stone white, the other a blaze of fiery orange that left a trail of gold in its wake.

  The day took on a lavender tone as the two stellar beings circled the other in the sky, moving counterclockwise.

  “It’s so… beautiful,” Marsha said, awestruck.

  “You seeing this, baby?” Trevor asked.

  The girl didn’t answer her boyfriend.

  The moon was drawn toward the massive star with every rotation. They passed over one another, growing closer and closer still. The moon looked as if it were circling a drain. The game drew to a close. The moon found purchase over the sun.

  In the calm, overcast glow of the day, stars could be seen to the north, a clear blue sky to the south.

  Marsha felt the earth quake beneath her feet. She stole her gaze from the bisected sky and checked on Lyle.

  He was gone.

  And so was the bridge. Nothing was left of it. It hadn’t snapped. It wasn’t dangling from either side of the chasm’s walls. It was just… gone. Across the chasm, nothing but sheer rock wall remained. The entrance to the cave was no more there than the bridge. Jaleel had vanished, too.