by James Swain
“I see it, too,” Holly said.
“Beneath the stairwell there’s a large object beneath a sheet.”
“You’re right. It looks like a child’s dollhouse.”
“Yes, it does.” Max brought his hand up to scratch his chin. “Damn it. Excuse me for swearing, but I’ve seen that shape before.”
“But where, Max?”
“It will come to me. Just give me a little while.”
They watched Wolfe pace back and forth. The dead man’s movements were stiff, yet animated. Once darkness fell, he would venture outside, and wreak havoc upon the city.
“We’re running out of time, Max.”
“I can’t rush this, Holly,” the old magician replied. “My brain is filled with thousands of pieces of useless information. It’s the curse of growing old. I need time to sort through it.”
“I’m going to call Peter, and tell him what we’ve found. Maybe he can make sense of it.”
“By all means. Peter is good at this sort of thing.”
The haunting blast of an air raid siren filled the apartment. It was frighteningly loud, and drowned out all other sound. Her aunt called from the bedroom.
“What is that awful racket?” Milly asked.
Holly rose from her chair, and put her face to the window. A long line of police cruisers were snaking down Central Park West with their bubble lights flashing. The lead cruiser had a loudspeaker on its roof from which came a policeman’s voice.
“Go inside! There is about to be an attack on the city,” the policeman warned. “Seek shelter at once. Do not come outside until told to.”
The street cleared out, with not a soul to be seen. Holly felt her body start to shake. The attack Peter had warned them of was about to happen. And only Peter could stop it. She dug out her cell phone while looking at Max.
“I’m trying,” the old magician said.
“Try harder,” she told him.
57
An air raid siren pierced the air. Peter had never heard one, except in old war movies on late-night TV. It was haunting enough to instill fear in a person, which he supposed was the point. People ran past. Before long, he was the only person remaining on the street.
A steel-gray sky blanketed the city. It was like a dreary canvas waiting to be completed. Would the picture be happy, or sad? Even he could not predict how it would look. There was another hour of sunlight left, maybe less. He tried to guess where Wolfe could be hiding. He’d read about trackers who could locate people in vast forests, but this was the city, with no footprints to be found. The expression “finding a needle in a haystack” came to mind.
His cell phone vibrated. He hoped it was Holly calling to tell him that she’d discovered Wolfe’s hideout. Instead, he saw that it was Liza. They hadn’t talked all day.
“Hi,” he answered. “I hope you’re not angry at me for not calling.”
“How about livid?” his girlfriend said icily.
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“I’m sick and tired of hearing you say that. I’m at the theater. Where are you?”
“What are you doing at the theater?” he asked, hearing the panic in his voice. “I told Snoop that you guys needed to stay at his place. The city’s in danger.”
“Don’t you remember? A foreign tour group booked the theater this afternoon. You were supposed to give them a private show. I had to send them back to their hotel. They were heartbroken. I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot all about it.”
“Look Peter, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to be a puppet in your life anymore. You’re manipulating me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Say that one more time, and I’m hanging up.”
“But I am. I should have come clean long ago. You had a right to know who I am.”
“You can’t undo what’s done,” Liza said.
“At least give me a chance to try.”
A motorcycle cop rocketed down a deserted First Avenue. The cop spotted Peter standing outside, did a sharp U-turn in the street, and drove back to the building.
“Get inside,” the motorcycle cop ordered him.
“Yes, sir,” Peter replied.
Peter feighed going inside. The motorcycle cop sped away, and he returned to where he’d been standing. There were people inside the lobby, and he didn’t want them overhearing his conversation with Liza. His life was already complicated enough.
“Who was that?” his girlfriend asked.
“A cop. The city’s being shut down. There’s about to be an attack. I’ve been trying to stop it with the FBI. They asked me to help, and I couldn’t say no.”
“Still playing superhero?”
He didn’t feel like a superhero. Superheroes didn’t fail.
“This isn’t a conversation we should be having over the phone,” he said. “I want to be with you. Please give me a chance to make things right.”
“You want another chance?” she asked. He heard hesitation in her voice, and knew he was doomed.
“Yes. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Peter heard a loud beep. Someone was calling him. Caller ID on his phone said HOLLY. She wouldn’t be calling unless she’d found where Wolfe was hiding.
“I need to take this call. Let me call you back,” he said.
“Are you kidding?” Liza said in disbelief.
“This is life or death,” he said.
“I’m sure it is. Call me when you have a spare minute to devote to our relationship.” Liza hung up on him.
He brought his hand up to his face. The world was spinning out of control, and he was about to fall off. He took Holly’s call, hoping she had good news to share with him. Anything would have lifted his spirts at this point.
“Tell me you found Wolfe,” he said.
“Max and I are looking at him right now,” Holly replied.
“That’s fantastic.”
“Don’t get too excited. We haven’t pinpointed where he is. Here’s what we do know. Wolfe’s hiding in the basement of a building. He keeps glancing at the ceiling, which makes us think there are other people in the building. Max says it’s a building Wolfe’s been to before.”
“How does he know that?”
“Max said that the possessed revert back to old habits, and return to familiar haunts. Even though Wolfe’s mind is possessed, his body is still functioning as if it’s his.”
“Are there any other clues?”
“There’s something stored beneath a sheet in the basement. It looks like a large dollhouse. Max is convinced he’s seen it before, but can’t place where. I’m guessing it’s a prop to a stage production, and that Wolfe is hiding in a theater.”
“How many theaters are there below Twenty-sixth Street on the West Side?”
“I’ve found six on Google so far.”
Holly started to recite the names when Peter heard a noise. The motorcycle cop had returned, and parked his bike at the curb. Seconds later the cop was standing beside him. “I told you to get inside,” the motorcycle cop said angrily.
“I have a lead on the man you’re looking for,” Peter replied.
“You and every other joker in this city. Get inside the building. That’s an order.”
“Listen to me. He’s hiding in the basement of a theater on the West Side. I’m getting the names of the theaters where he could be right now. He’s in one of these buildings.”
The motorcycle cop pinched his arm and began to drag him inside. He had a steel grip, and looked like he lifted weights when he wasn’t running down bad guys. When Peter resisted, the motorcycle cop twisted his arm, causing a jolt of pain to shoot straight into his shoulder.
“Don’t make me cuff you,” the motorcycle cop warned.
“You’re not listening.”
“Just do as I tell you.”
It was like talking to a wall. Peter felt defeated. Could anything
in his day go right? He stopped resisting, and the motorcycle cop released his grip. His arm still hurt. If he’d learned anything in life, it was that nothing good came without a little pain and suffering. At that very moment the things Holly had just told him came together like a jigsaw puzzle inside his head. Wolfe had run to a theater he was familiar with. His theater. He was hiding beneath the stage, probably right below the trap door he’d fallen through during his previous visit. The object Max had seen draped beneath a sheet was the Dollhouse Illusion, which Peter had recently retired from his show. It would have looked familiar to Max, because he’d given it to Peter as a gift when he started performing over a decade ago.
The last clue was the worst of all. Wolfe was listening to the people directly above him. Snoop and Liza. Their lives were in imminent danger. He had internalized his anger long enough, and felt the rage boil to the surface.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said.
“For what?” the motorcycle cop replied.
His actions were a blur. A quick blow to the helmet with the palm of his hand, and the motorcycle cop was lying on the ground. The next moment, he was straddling the cop’s bike, and attempting to kick-start the engine. It roared to life, and he pulled onto the street.
He called Liza and Snoop as he drove, and got voice mail. Either they were ignoring him, or were still dealing with the mess he’d left them with.
He raced across town in the pouring rain. It had been a long time since he’d ridden a motorcycle. The good news was, the streets were deserted, and he wasn’t going to hurt anyone if he spun out of control and crashed. Perhaps his streak of bad luck was finally over.
He could only hope.
58
Peter parked the stolen motorcycle in the alley behind the theater. Normally, the back door was kept closed. Now it was open, the lock jimmied. If he’d learned any lesson watching TV cop shows, rushing into an unknown situation was never a smart idea. He again called Liza and Snoop. When neither answered, he called Garrison, who picked up right away.
“I can’t talk right now,” Garrison said. “I’ll call you back.”
“Wolfe’s hiding in the basement of my theater,” Peter said.
“What? Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t call you if I wasn’t.”
“Did your witch find him?”
“It was a group effort.” Peter gave him the theater’s address, then said, “How quickly can you get here? I don’t want him to slip away.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Garrison said. “I’m on the rooftop of an apartment house on Twenty-first Street, running down some crazy guy we thought was Wolfe.”
Peter was calculating how long the FBI agent might be when he heard Liza’s screams from inside the theater. “That’s not fast enough. I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t go in there yourself,” Garrison said. “Let me get a team over there.”
Peter heard another scream. It sounded like Snoop.
“Too late,” Peter said. “Wish me luck.”
He rushed inside. The back of the theater was dark and foreboding, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Sound was magnified inside a theater, and Liza’s cries for help could have been coming out of a loudspeaker. He charged across the area behind the stage.
Coming through the curtains, he found himself bathed in a soft yellow spotlight. Wolfe stood at the foot of the stage with his hands around Snoop’s throat. The deadly knapsack lay at Wolfe’s feet.
Liza lay on the floor, looking dazed. Peter had fallen in love with her the first time he’d laid eyes upon her. The effect was no different now, only painful, knowing that she was in peril. She saw him as well. Her smile melted his heart.
“Peter, help us,” she shouted.
“Hold on. I’m coming.”
Wolfe’s head snapped at the sound of the young magician’s voice. Wolfe’s eyes were dead, and his frozen expression did not change. Hideous scratch marks ran down the side of his face where Liza had raked her fingernails across his rotting flesh.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the dead man said.
They met in the center of the stage and squared off. Peter struck his nemesis in the face with all his might. To his surprise, the blow had no effect. Wolfe threw his hands around Peter’s throat, and began to choke him.
“Die, you little bastard,” Wolfe said.
Peter struggled to break free. Wolfe hadn’t been this powerful the last time they’d fought. Staring into the dead man’s eyes, he was taken to another place and he saw three men in black robes and wearing masks sitting at a table covered in astrological symbols. Then he understood. He wasn’t wrestling with Wolfe, he was wrestling with the elders of the Order of Astrum.
His knees buckled as the air was cut off to his brain. He gazed up at the posters of the great magicians of yesteryear hanging from the ceiling. Their faces mocked him. Do better, they said. This is not the way you want to die.
Wolfe tightened his grip. Pools of black appeared before Peter’s eyes. He tried to summon the demon inside of him, but the demon refused to come out. Without the demon, he had no chance. His world turned utterly still, and he felt himself relax. So this is what it’s like, he thought. You black out, and end up somewhere else. No different than falling asleep on an airplane, and waking up in a different place when the plane touched down.
His world changed. He was now floating on the bottom of the frozen lake in the town of Marble with his parents and their three little friends. His parents had bubbles pouring out of their mouths, and were drowning. So were their friends. So was he. He had gone from one end-of-life experience to another.
A large, circular light appeared before him. It was the Seal of Satan. One by one, the children were drawn into the seal, and disappeared. His mother was the last to go. She turned her head to look at him, and offered her hand. Take it, her eyes said. Do not be afraid of what’s on the other side. He had nothing to lose, and clasped her hand. Together, they were pulled through the seal, the beginning of a terrifying fall through space.
The fall ended. He was standing inside a cave covered in human skeletons. The children of Marble were gone and he was alone. Tortured groans and the sounds of chains being dragged across the floor filled the air. He’d been transported straight to hell.
A purring black cat was rubbing against him. The cat crossed the cave, and jumped onto a throne of skulls. Before his eyes, it grew to human size, and became a man dressed in a long black robe. It was no ordinary man, but a towering figure with snakelike fingers that moved with a life of their own. One half of his face was handsome, the other half burned beyond recognition.
The wicked one.
“Are you ready?” his unearthly host asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Peter replied.
A demonic laugh that made Peter’s hair stand on end came out of his mouth.
“Of course you have a choice,” the wicked one replied. “Become one of us, and you will be sent back to earth with powers beyond any mortal’s comprehension. Refuse, and you will die a thousand deaths. Those are your choices.”
Peter had never felt more afraid. Being a devil’s disciple was not the life he wanted. But what other choice did he have? As he wrestled with his decision, Milly’s words came back to him. No matter what evil spirit infested his body, he could always choose to be good. That option was always there, no matter what horrible transformation he underwent.
“I choose to be one of you,” he said.
“Very good. Step forward, and give me your hand.”
Peter approached the throne and stuck out his hand. His host clasped it. His flesh was cold and slimy, and felt like a reptile’s.
“Repeat after me,” his host said. “Darkness, take my hand and give me the power to destroy whoever stands in my way.”
“Darkness, take my hand and give me the power to destroy whoever stands in my way.”
“And rule the world as I see fit.”
“And rule the
world as I see fit.”
“This is my destiny, forever and ever.”
Peter choked on the words. This was not his destiny, and never had been. He’d been brought here against his will, just like his parents and their little friends.
“You tricked me. And my parents,” he whispered.
“Yes, I did. Now, say it or die a thousand deaths!” his host thundered.
“This is my destiny, forever and ever.”
“Very good. You are now one of us.”
The wicked one’s snakelike fingers ran up Peter’s forearm, and sank their deadly fangs into his flesh. As their poison entered his body, Peter’s head felt like it might explode.
He screamed.
His world changed again. He was back inside the theater wrestling with Wolfe. He had survived his encounter with the wicked one. But he had paid a terrible price.
Wolfe still had his hands around his throat. Peter pried back the dead man’s fingers, breaking each of them with a sickening snap. Making a fist, he struck Wolfe squarely in the jaw. The blow resonated, and sent the dead man staggering backward.
“Way to go,” Snoop called out.
“Yeah, Peter,” his girlfriend exclaimed.
Peter nearly told his friends to shut up. They’d been nothing but trouble lately, and the thought of getting rid of them ran through his mind. He’d break their bodies like sticks and toss them in the river, and no one would suspect a thing. Just thinking about it filled him with euphoria. Get rid of them, a voice inside his head said.
What on earth was he thinking? He loved Liza, and Snoop was his closest friend. Yet the thought of killing them would not go away.
“Peter, he’s getting away!” Liza exclaimed.
Wolfe had grabbed the knapsack and was walking stiff-legged across the stage. If he got outside and released the nerve agent, half the city would perish.
“Let him,” he heard himself say.
“What did you say?” Liza asked.
“I said let him.”
His girlfriend pulled herself off the floor and rushed toward him. “Why are you talking like that? What’s come over you?”
