by Nathan Roden
“Skyler told me,” Veronica said. “Your friend was almost kidnapped. God, that’s been a fear that we’ve lived with around here, forever.”
“I’m sorry, Veronica,” I said. “This is just too much, right now. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Is the FBI involved with the case?” Veronica asked. “I could make some calls—”
“No,” I said. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you. Could I talk to Skyler, before we go?”
“The doctor gave her something to calm her down. She’s asleep,” Veronica said.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, can Toby say goodbye to Gracie? I haven’t had the chance to meet her, but I’ve heard her barking through that door.”
Veronica laughed.
“That’s not going to work,” she said. “When we introduced them, we were unaware that Gracie was in heat. Toby had no problem figuring it out. I’m afraid that we had to…interrupt their first meeting.”
“So everyone is having timing issues,” I said. “I guess I just assumed that Gracie was spayed.”
“Ha!” Veronica laughed. “Skyler has had her heart set on Toby’s puppies ever since we brought Gracie home. She’s a ‘kept’ woman.”
“I should have known,” I said.
“Come on,” Veronica said. “You can meet her.”
She led me outside and around the building to a door on the opposite side.
“This used to be my husband’s workshop,” she sighed.
Gracie was a sweetheart—and friendly. Her personality reminded me a lot of Toby’s, although she had a prissy haircut and bows on her head.
“Thank you, Veronica,” I said. “We had better get going.”
There was a picture on the opposite wall; a big, sofa-sized picture that had been taken in this same building in its previous incarnation as a workshop.
A handsome man stood surrounded by a large collection of woodworking tools. He smiled at the camera. I had seen this man before.
This man was now a ghost.
Forty
Sebastian Wellmore
Wellmore Village, Scotland
Sebastian Wellmore pushed the intercom button and cleared his throat.
“Into the cell, please,” he said.
Sebastian watched the monitor as Oliver and Gwendoline McFadden trudged into the cell. They stopped and stood beside their cots. Sebastian sighed.
“Come, now,” he said. “You know the drill.”
The couple reached for the handcuffs attached to each bed. They closed an empty cuff around their wrists and pulled up until a corner of their cot rose from the floor. Sebastian turned off the monitor and folded the stone back into place. He opened the dungeon door.
Sebastian strolled toward the door of the cell. He held his pistol at his side. Oliver and Gwendoline could not take their eyes off of it; they wondered if this would be the day that Sebastian gave up on them. Sebastian saw their expressions and shook his head. He laid his pistol and a small duffel bag on the table near the door of the cell and fished out the key to the cell door.
“Today will bring about a change, but not—”
The explosion boomed inside of the cell; the noise amplified when it made contact with the stone walls.
Sebastian threw himself to the floor. A bullet had buzzed by his right ear. He was about to jump to his feet when another shot exploded, and a bullet destroyed the stone beside his left arm. Sebastian gave up on retrieving his pistol and dove behind the table. He heard Gwendoline scream. Metal scraped against stone when Oliver McFadden dragged his cot toward the open door of the cell.
Sebastian lay still behind the heavy table. He was out of sight of Oliver and the gun. As long as Oliver remained standing, Sebastian saw that Oliver had no shot at him. If Oliver was to bend down, this would not be the case. Sebastian decided that if he saw Oliver move to bend over, he would jump to his feet and grab his own gun.
Nothing happened for the next few seconds. Sebastian pulled his right foot close enough to remove his shoe. He held the shoe by its toe and raised the shoe toward the top of the table. He moved slowly—inching the shoe higher above the edge. He moved, and he listened. He jumped when he heard the loud—
Click.
Followed by another—
Click.
Sebastian jumped to his feet, grabbed his pistol and aimed it at Oliver. A smile spread across Sebastian’s face as he moved the barrel of the gun toward Gwendoline. She was trembling and frozen in place. Oliver kept struggling with the gun, trying to figure out how to open the revolver’s cylinder.
“Oliver,” Sebastian sang. “I assure you that my pistol is in fine working order, and it is currently aimed at your lovely wife’s head.”
Oliver went still.
“No!” Oliver said. “I’m putting it down. Look. I’m putting it down.”
“Kick it outside of the cell,” Sebastian said. Oliver did so.
Sebastian kept his pistol pointed at Gwendoline as he bent to pick up the other gun. He stood up and looked at the gun in amazement.
“This is mine!” Sebastian said in awe. He looked at Oliver.
“You meant to kill me,” Sebastian said. “With my own gun! Where did you get this?”
Oliver said nothing. Gwendoline sobbed quietly.
Sebastian walked toward the cell. Oliver jerked against the handcuffs, pulling himself and the cot toward his wife. Sebastian raised the gun toward Oliver’s face.
“What else have you hidden from me?” Sebastian asked.
“Nothing!” Oliver said.
Sebastian waved him off with the back of his hand.
“You’ll forgive me if I’m having trust issues at the moment, Oliver,” Sebastian said.
It took Sebastian eight minutes to find the shoe-box. He found it behind the lever of a rack table in a far corner of the dungeon. Sebastian barked a laugh and then shot an angry glance toward the McFaddens. He returned to the cell and lifted the lid off of the shoe-box. He took out the hairbrush and the toothbrush.
“So, you find the toiletries I have supplied you to be unsatisfactory,” Sebastian said. “You see what you have done now? You have hurt my feelings.”
Oliver and Gwendoline said nothing.
Sebastian set aside the paper bag and held up the blouse. He turned it around and found nothing special about it. Keeping a watchful eye on the McFaddens, he opened the paper bag. He looked inside of it. And then he put his hand inside.
Sebastian jumped when his hand touched the loose hair. His initial fear was that the bag was full of spiders. He closed his hand around a handful of hair.
A blur of light shot across Sebastian’s vision—from right to left. Sebastian’s head jerked to the side. Six horrifying creatures hovered over him, dripping blood. One held a head under his arm, presumably his own. A voice boomed from the fanged jaw of an enormous red creature. His yellow, mad eyes blazed beneath the horns that extended from his forehead.
“The Heir of Wellmore!” the Beast growled. “The Chosen One—to whom I shall enjoin my eternal power! Today shall be the d—!”
The familiar voice boomed into Sebastian’s ears. It cracked and fizzled out, like a distant radio station’s signal. The images of the band of monsters faded in and out, leaving grainy trails and pillars of glittering light in their wake.
As quickly as all of these things were revealed to Sebastian Wellmore—the beings from another world faded to nothing.
“NO!” Sebastian screamed. “No!” he groaned. “Come back! You belong to me!”
Sebastian plunged his hand into the paper bag, grasping madly at the tufts of hair inside. The bag tore and the hair spilled across the floor.
Sebastian dropped to his knees, mumbling, “No, no, no!” mostly to himself. By the time he gave up and dragged himself to his feet, he was shaking and almost in tears. He trudged across the floor of the cell toward the McFaddens. His hair was a mess and his breath was labored.
Sebastian broke into a quiet and maniacal laugh. For
a moment, it seemed that he had forgotten that the McFaddens existed. As quickly as that laughter had come, it stopped.
“Whose hair is this?” Sebastian asked, matter-of-factly, without looking at either of the McFaddens.
“We…we don’t know,” Oliver said quietly.
Sebastian raised the gun and put the barrel against Gwendoline’s forehead.
“To whom—?” Sebastian said.
“It’s our daughter’s!” Oliver screamed.
Sebastian dropped the gun to his side. He smiled.
“What unusual days I have of late, Oliver,” Sebastian said. “I come so close to being killed, and moments later, I finally discover the truth—the truth that will change the world—MY WORLD!”
Sebastian pointed to a far corner of the cell.
“Drag yourself over there, Oliver,” he said. Oliver did so, knowing that he had no choice.
Sebastian returned to the table outside of the cell and picked up the duffel bag. He went back to the cell. He removed the handcuff from Gwendoline’s cot and cuffed her hands together. He removed a length of chain from the duffel and locked one end of it to the handcuffs. He took out a pair of ankle cuffs and attached one end to Gwendoline’s right leg.
“I need for you to lie on the floor, Oliver,” Sebastian said. “Move your left leg toward me.”
Sebastian attached the ankle cuff to Oliver’s left leg, joining him to his wife.
“What are you doing with us?” Oliver asked.
“One thing at a time, Oliver,” he said. “I will tell you more when I am finished.”
A few moments later, the McFaddens were joined at the ankle. Their handcuffed wrists were connected by a length of chain.
“You are moving today,” Sebastian said. “You will find your new surroundings much…cheerier, and temporary in nature. For you see, my friends, your captivity is almost at an end.”
“You will rot in hell for this,” Oliver spat.
“Puhleeeease!” Sebastian said. “I am not about to kill you! In fact, a few days from now you will be free, very much alive—
“And encouraged to forget that I exist.”
Sebastian stepped back and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He turned, and with his back to the McFaddens, he patted his inside pocket again.
He felt the satisfying crinkle of heavy folded paper—
That paper bore the letterhead of a renowned financial institution. It provided for the transfer of a rather large sum of money to—
Mr. Sebastian Wellmore.
The insurance company check had finally arrived—the settlement check for the thirty-month-old policy that Sebastian had taken out—
On his mother.
Forty-One
Wylie Westerhouse
St. Louis, Branson, and near Edinburgh, Scotland
I checked the weather forecast. It called for more rain that afternoon and that night. I found an auto repair place that said they would be able to replace my windshield wiper motor without too much of a wait. I left the car with them and put Toby on his leash. We walked to a nearby city park.
I called Quentin, but the call went straight to voicemail. They were probably in the air, somewhere over the eastern United States. I left a message and asked Q to call me when he was able to.
I made the trip back to Branson without incident. It rained most of the way, and my new wiper motor performed like a champ. I pulled up in front of Nate’s house. I wasn’t surprised to see Tooie’s car parked there. I snapped Toby’s leash closed and we walked to the front door.
Nate opened it.
“Hey,” I said. Nate just looked at me, without any expression. He bent down and kissed Toby on the head while he scratched Toby’s ears. Nate stood up.
“I guess you’re not here to punch me,” he said. “You wouldn’t punch me in front of Toby.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Why are you here?”
My phone rang. It was Quentin.
“I have to take this,” I said. “It’s Quentin.”
Nate jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“You wanna come in?” he asked.
I saw Tooie cross the hallway behind him.
“Uh, not just yet,” I said. “This will just take a minute.”
Nate closed the door behind him. That was good. I wouldn’t have to explain this twice.
“Hello, Q,” I said.
“Wylie,” Q said. “Is everything all right?”
“I would have to mangle the definition of ‘all right’ pretty badly to make it work,” I said. “I quit, this morning.”
“You quit?” Q said. “If you mean you quit your position as a Tour Guide, I think I knew that—”
“No,” I said. “I mean, I quit working with Skyler KwyK.”
I glanced at Nate, who raised his eyebrows.
“Did something happen—?” Q asked.
“Yeah, there was a pretty bad meltdown at a press conference—I’m sure it will soon be World-Wide News,” I said. “It just felt all wrong, Q. I should…I should be with Holly right now. Do you think you could—?”
“I’ll make the travel arrangements right now,” Q said. “Are you still in St. Louis?”
“No, I’m back in Branson,” I said. “I’ll need to call the kennel about Toby and—”
Nate tapped my shoulder. He shook his head and patted himself on the chest. I smiled.
“Yeah, I guess I’m ready—anytime,” I said.
“I’ll call you right back,” Q said.
“Okay. Thanks, Q,” I said. I ended the call.
“What happened?” Nate asked.
“I’m not even sure I can explain it,” I said. “It will be all over the place soon enough. If it’s not out now, that’s only because of the KwyK’s ‘damage control’ team.”
“How do you manage to spread so much joy and happiness wherever you go?” Nate asked. “It must be such a burden.”
“It’s a gift that I have, Nate,” I said. “The same as it’s always been.”
“A press conference gone bad, huh?” Nate said. “Did you punch somebody?”
I shook my head.
“That would have been a better outcome than what actually happened,” I said. “Skyler has always been the media’s darling, so it threw her off when they stopped kissing up to her. When some of them started attacking me, Skyler defended me, and then she kind of….lost it.”
Nate winced.
“Oooooo,” he said. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Yeah, no kiddin’,” I said. I just can’t be a part of that, Nate. I just…”
“I know,” Nate said. “I don’t blame you, dude. Not many people could walk away from that kind of gig.”
“How am I supposed to think that it’s a legit opportunity when it might destroy Skyler’s career at the same time?” I asked. “I can’t do it.”
“You’re going to Scotland, then?” Nate asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Hey, Nate—about the other night—”
Nate shook his head and waved me off.
“Heavy-duty, other-world stress,” he said. “It never happened, Bro.”
“It’s just—” I said.
“It. Never. Happened, Bro. Shut up,” Nate said.
I nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Hey, you know what I was thinking? After things go back to…to kind of normal, what do you think about putting together another band?”
“Where would we play?” Nate asked. “Aren’t we still blackballed?”
“Not a country band,” I said. “A rock band. If we can’t find any bar gigs, we’ll just play dances and parties or whatever. Play for nothin’ if we have to.”
Nate nodded while he thought it over.
“Play for nothin’,” he said. “We’ll have musicians tripping over each other to get a gig like that.”
“It was just a thought—” I said.
“Don’t back out on me now,” Nate said. “That sounds like a
n excellent plan to me.”
“Well, all righty then,” I said. “There’s nothing left to do now but fly half-way around the world and rescue Holly’s parents from a psychopath.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” Nate said.
“Don’t guess you wanna come?” I said.
“Are you forgetting?” Nate asked, “That I run a store? It’s almost Thanksgiving.”
“Duh,” I said.
“Duh,” Nate said. “Let’s go inside.”
“Look who’s back, Tooie,” Nate said.
Tooie shuffled into the entry. She looked like she had been crying.
“Wylie’s back in town,” Nate said. “He’s going to Scotland.”
I made a little wave. Tooie bit her lip.
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.
I rubbed my jaw without thinking.
“Don’t be sorry, Tooie,” I said. “You had every right—”
Tooie was shaking her head.
“No, not that,” she said. “Just now, on the television—those awful people! They just about made that sweet girl have a nervous breakdown!”
“Who?” Nate asked.
“Skyler KwyK!” Tooie shouted.
I felt sick.
My phone rang again.
“Okay,” Q said. “The tickets are waiting for you at the airport—departing at eight-twenty. We’re in New York. Our flight leaves in about an hour. Do you want me to change our tickets, so we can make the pond jump together? We could stay overnight here—no problem.”
“No, don’t do that, Q,” I said. “I know that you’re both exhausted. But, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Q asked. “I have to admit, the idea of taking a squad of ghosts for a tour of New York has a certain appeal.”
“God, can you imagine how many of them there must be on the streets of New York?” I said.
