by Georgia Byng
The rest of the evening passed quickly. They piled into the limousine once more and were soon back at the apartment.
Gerry was exhausted, and he and Toka went upstairs to bed. Petula hid under a chair and watched Molly pacing the lounge with the coin in her hand. Petula was sure she overheard her whispering to it.
More frightened than sad now, Petula crept up the stairs to Toka’s room. She hopped onto Gerry’s bed and curled up there.
Molly meanwhile had sat on a stool beside the window and was stroking and adoring her coin. “To think I’ve been carrying you about without realizing until this evening what you can do,” she whispered to it. “All that power sitting in my pocket! You are amazing. You make me amazing.”
All of a sudden a flickering to her right caught her attention. She glanced quickly up, at the same time automatically closing her hand over her coin.
Someone had just jumped over the edge of the balcony outside. Molly put the coin on the table and went to check that the balcony door was locked.
She pressed her nose to the glass and tried to see into the darkness.
“Pick me up,” a voice whispered behind her.
Molly’s eyes shot to the grandmother’s hiding place. So the old lady spoke English! Molly tentatively approached the space under the stairs, but when she got there she found it was empty.
“Pick me up, Molly!”
Molly swung around. Her eyes fell on the coin. This was the first time she’d put the coin down in the open. It was obviously not happy.
It was not happy . . . ? It? Molly must be going mad. For it was a coin, that was all. She must have imagined it talking to her. But she knew she hadn’t.
For the first time since the coin had been in her possession, Molly was startled and shocked by it. Suddenly she became acutely aware that the coin was somehow like a person—a very powerful, controlling person—a person that was trying to change her.
A film started running in her mind, one about all the bad things Molly had done over the last few days. Molly observed her behavior. She’d been horrible to Micky. She’d even hypnotized him. She’d hurt her parents’ feelings and she’d not helped Gerry in the restaurant when Mr. Proila had been mean to him. She’d ignored Petula. In fact, she’d been spiteful to her and scared her. All because of this thing on the table, because of this coin.
Trembling, Molly reached for the phone and dialed the number for Briersville.
“Hello?” came Rocky’s comforting, warm voice.
“Rocky, it’s me.”
“Molly! Where are you? Are you OK? Primo and Lucy are tearing their hair out. They’ve gone to Ecuador to find you. They’re on the plane right now. Are you all right?”
Molly could feel the coin tugging at her. Now it was calling her in a different way, with thin, harp-like music that she couldn’t ignore. A music that seemed to tear at her will and prevent her saying what she meant to.
“Come to Tokyo now,” she managed to say. “Please. Next plane.”
“Molly, what’s wrong? Has something happened? Where are you?”
“Pea-pod Building. There’s a band called Zagger. I’m with them.” As Molly spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. The coin on the table was beginning to send more than messages and music to Molly. It now seemed to have looped her with a dangerous lasso. “Rocky, I don’t know what I’ll be like when you come. There’s a c-c- . . .”
“NOOOOO!” the coin whispered fiercely. “Don’t give me away. You need me, Molly.”
“A what?” Rocky asked frantically.
“Come!” Molly begged, starting to pant from the effort of resisting the coin. “Hurry, Rocky. Before it’s too late!”
As though a spirit had hold of her, Molly’s whole being felt swamped by the coin. It took control of her hand. Without wanting to, Molly found her finger pressing the End Call button.
Molly was sweating. Her brow was damp and her lips were dry. The coin started to sing to her more loudly now, embracing her.
“Come on, Molly!” it sang. “We could be marvelous together. The world will be ours!”
Molly found herself walking toward the table, overwhelmed. She picked up the coin.
At once she felt wonderful. It was a feeling of perfect joining—like when two pieces of a puzzle slot beautifully together—but multiplied hundreds of times. All the guilt she had felt just moments before evaporated, as did her feeling of needing Rocky.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the coin. “I was a fool. I won’t leave you out in the open again. Forgive me.”
Twelve
Petula woke early the next morning and immediately switched to high alert. She stayed by Gerry’s side at breakfast, determined to protect him from Molly’s coin. She sat sentry-like outside the bathroom while he was taking a shower. But it was soon obvious that Molly was far too distracted to think of playing her harmonica.
Mr. Proila had agreed that Molly could do a short slot as a guest performer at Zagger’s concert that night at the Tokyo Dome. A costume had to be made for her. And so a team of three had arrived—a designer and two seamstresses—bearing bags filled with materials and accessories.
Molly was desperate for the evening to come. The fun of choosing her costume eased the waiting and she picked out some high leather boots to complete her look. The design team hurried off, promising to have Molly’s outfit back by six.
“Oh, by the way,” Molly announced when they were all eating lunch, “a boy called Rocky will be turning up later today. Not sure what time.” She didn’t ask whether her hosts minded, as she knew they were already under her power. She must get Rocky under her influence at the first opportunity, too. He would be trouble otherwise. She would leave hypnotizing Gerry until then, as otherwise Gerry’s adoration of Molly might make Rocky suspicious.
“Rocky!” Gerry cried. “Wow! Cool! Is it OK if he stays here, Toka? He’s really nice.”
Petula, who was perched on a chair a little distance away, studied Molly’s every move, checking that she didn’t reach for her harmonica again. She could sense the coin’s presence in Molly’s pocket eating away at the good part of her.
Petula knew for sure that, more than tarnishing Molly’s manners, the coin was poisoning her spirit. Petula had seen the coin work its evil effect before—in the hands of the foul Miss Hunroe. Miss Hunroe’s greed had showed no bounds. She had obliterated any obstacle that stood in her way. Her idea of a perfect world had been one where most people had been wiped out. Petula wondered whether Miss Hunroe had been good to start with, before she owned the coin. Until recently Molly had used her amazing powers in the right way. But might she now become a heartless monster? With all her basic talents corrupted by the gold coin, Molly could be really dangerous.
Molly took the coin from her pocket and flipped it through her fingers. It was then that Petula made a decision. She would steal the coin this afternoon. Molly slept with the coin under her pillow. The more attached to it she became, the less chance there was of her leaving it unattended. But she would, and when she did, Petula would be ready. Until then she would do everything she could to stop Molly playing her harmonica. In fact, if she possibly could, she would steal that from Molly, too.
Petula’s chance came when Molly’s costume was brought back. The pug sat on the mezzanine balcony outside the boys’ bedroom. Molly was so excited to see her outfit that she came rushing out of the spare room below. As soon as Molly appeared, the old grandmother wheeled herself backward into her dark, shadowy corner. Petula looked down and noticed that Molly wasn’t wearing her black jacket, which probably meant that the coin and the harmonica were in the bedroom still, in the jacket’s pockets.
Petula quietly picked her way down the stairs. As Molly was removing her shoes and whooping with delight as she pulled on the new shiny boots, Petula slipped into her room.
The room was dark. The curtains were shut. It took a few moments for Petula’s eyes to adjust. A glow emanated from the TV screen. Molly had been watching a
movie and had paused it. A picture of a vampire sucking blood from a young boy’s neck was frozen there. It reminded Petula how much Molly had changed—the old Molly hadn’t liked scary films at all. The picture on the screen accompanied by the bitter smell of the coin gave Petula the creeps.
She trotted over to the curtains. Using her forehead and shoulders she parted them a bit to let some light in. The jacket lay across the unmade bed. Petula could smell the coin inside it. Better still, the harmonica was on the bedside table. Petula put her mouth up to the table, took the instrument, and posted it under the bed. She jumped up onto the duvet and with her paw swiped at the jacket to expose the lining. The coin was in an inner pocket. It was practically breathing. Live as a demon or an evil scorpion, it sat smug and malevolent. What really scared Petula was that she felt sure that it, this horrid entity residing in gold, was aware of her. Her skin prickled and the hair on her neck bristled. Petula shook her ears and head.
Now as she looked, darkness seemed to swirl about the pocket where the coin was. Was she imagining it? Steeling her nerves, Petula slid her paw into the pocket.
And then a really weird thing happened. She could not touch the coin. She knew it was there, but her paw could not make contact with it. It was as if the coin had a shield that kept it safe from thieves, or certainly from her. No matter how hard she tried, Petula simply could not touch it. She withdrew her paw. She would have to drag the jacket somewhere and hide it. Then Molly wouldn’t be able to find it, and perhaps the coin’s evil influence would wane. Gripping the jacket’s collar with her teeth, Petula began to tug but found the jacket was stuck. It was as if it was staked to the bed.
Petula was tugging so hard that she didn’t notice a creaking, squeaking noise behind her. When she looked up she nearly yelped in fright. The grandmother in her wheelchair was staring at her. Half certain that she had something to do with the evil coin, too, Petula backed off.
However, the old lady nodded at Petula encouragingly. Leaning forward in her wheelchair, she dipped her gnarled hand into Molly’s jacket pocket. As Petula watched her arm began to shake and her face to twist as she attempted to close her fingers around the coin. The veins in her scrawny neck stood up as she concentrated on trying to force her hand to close. And then, as though she had received a massive electric shock, she cried out in pain. Her hand shot back toward her and the old woman bent over to nurse it. The coin was still in the pocket.
At the same moment, they both noticed that Molly stood in the doorway. She was wearing shiny black leather boots, a black velvet miniskirt, and a silver jacket. Her black T-shirt had a skull on it—but not the smiley skull of before. She marched up to the bed and picked up the jacket easily. Putting her hand into the pocket, she retrieved her coin. Petula could practically hear the golden object purr. Molly leaned forward and poked Petula hard. Then, roughly, she brushed her off the bed. Next she grabbed the wheelchair. Smiling with saccharine sweetness, she turned the grandmother to the door and shoved her out of the room.
Petula sat dazed and confused on the floor. Everything was out of control. She must save the real Molly, but she didn’t know how.
Suddenly she was afraid of what Molly might do if she discovered her harmonica missing. If she guessed Petula had hidden it, she might be so livid that she would call the dog pound. Petula couldn’t let this happen. In the pound she’d be no use to anyone. With a swipe of her paw she reluctantly retrieved the harmonica from under the bed and left it visible on the floor.
Molly came back through the door, putting the coin in the pocket of her silver jacket. She studied Petula and picked up her harmonica. Then, as disgusted as she might be by a rat that had fleas all over it, she whispered viciously, “Get out!”
Petula’s ears flattened and, scared to the core, she bolted for the door.
It was odd, Molly thought as she watched her go. Once she had had warm feelings for Petula, but now she couldn’t care less about her. She had grown up, she supposed—her affection for Petula had been a childish thing. The pug was just a dog. The feelings she’d had for Petula now seemed insipid and sickly, sugary and fake. She shivered with revulsion as she thought of them. And now Molly thought about the amount of time she had spent over the last few years caring about other people. Again, it made her squirm with sickness.
Molly saw now that somehow she had gotten things completely wrong. She was a fabulous hypnotist and, provided she had her special crystals, a time stopper and time traveler. She was amazing! She was even a morpher. She could change into any creature she chose and, to cap it all, she could read minds. And until now, like a fool, she’d used her gifts to help other people. Curiously though, she didn’t feel inclined to use her old talents. Since last night when she’d seen how the coin could help her play music on the harmonica that mesmerized crowds of people, she had known it gave her something far superior to her other powers. People weren’t hypnotized one by one in the way they were when she used her eyes. They weren’t in a trance where they would instantly obey her every command. But they were mesmerized into being totally besotted by Molly, open to doing whatever she asked of them. Perhaps with more intense music people would be more deeply hypnotized. Molly was looking forward to trying that. Regular hypnotism might be useful for certain situations, she thought, but this mesmerizing harmonica music was potentially much more useful to her. She’d be able to make a fortune!
Molly sat on the edge of the bed and took the coin from her pocket. She marveled at how musical skill had come to her so easily. It was miraculous and brilliant. But there was another thing this music had done, too. By being perfect when she played the harmonica, Molly had become hyperaware of the imperfections about her. Anything ugly or wrong got on her nerves, and that included people. In one fell swoop she had become a connoisseur of perfection. So, for instance, her new boots were perfect and made her feel good. But her suitcase, sitting there in the corner of the room, was worn-out and old. She wanted a sophisticated Italian suitcase, of crocodile skin.
She ought to have the best of everything. The best clothes, the best electrical equipment, the best art should surround her. The furniture she sat on, the cars she was driven in, the food she ate should be nothing but the best. She deserved it. And the people around her had a duty to make her life better, too. Anyone who disapproved of her or disappointed her shouldn’t be there. Petula, for instance, and Gerry. Irritating Gerry, with his self-righteous ideals and his stupid SAVE THE WHALES OR ELSE T-shirt and his dirty mouse.
The old grandmother? Well, Molly hoped she would have a heart attack. As for Mr. Proila, he was the most worthwhile person about. He would make sure Molly succeeded. And how she wanted to succeed! The boy band she would tolerate. She needed them, for now.
Molly smiled happily. Tonight was going to be bliss. Thousands of people would hear her play. They would all love her. Worship her! This thought calmed her. She put the harmonica to her mouth and blew. The flawless music she made gave her complete satisfaction. It was the best feeling ever.
She lay back on her bed and fell asleep.
Molly dreamed. She dreamed of a girl who looked like her but whose face was worried and whose voice was irritating. The girl was on a beach, standing at the bottom of a deep pit. Molly, at the top of the pit, played a guitar. People walked past and smiled and clapped adoringly. Each time they burst into applause the pit with the other girl in it got deeper. As she descended, the girl’s bleatings grew more and more distant. “I’m the real Molly!” the girl cried out.
Molly woke with a start and immediately felt for her coin. Reassured by its comforting presence, she rolled over and went back to sleep.
The girl was, of course, herself.
Thirteen
There was frenetic excitement in the apartment. Everyone was preparing to leave for the concert. Molly patted her pockets where her gold coin and her harmonica were safely stowed and admired herself in the mirror.
The grandmother and Miss Shonyo came to the door to see the
children off. Sobo kissed her grandsons and gave each of them and Gerry and Molly a rectangular silk bag.
“It’s an omamori,” Chokichi explained. “It has a prayer written on wood or paper tucked inside it. The prayer is to bring good luck, or ward off bad luck. The string at the top is so you can tie it to you.”
Molly looked at her omamori as though it were a dried frog and waved it away.
Passing the screaming crowds outside the Pea-pod Building, Hiroyuki, Chokichi, and Molly got into the first limo. Petula hung back with Gerry and Toka. They climbed into the second car.
“Are you excited?” Gerry asked Toka. “You don’t look like you’re feelin’ well.”
“I hate going onstage. I feel sick to my stomach every time. My legs go weak. I hate it.”
Gerry patted Toka on the arm. “That’s bad,” he said. “You should try an’ sort that out. Remember, they all love you. And you’re a really good drummer.”
“Thanks, Gerry. But I can’t change my nerves. In sumo match it would be different. One day I’ll be sumo wrestler. Then no nerves.”
Gerry looked surprised. “Is that your dream, to be a sumo wrestler?”
“As soon as Proila let me, I will do it.”
The stadium was a vast place. Silvery, with metal struts and flying buttresses up its sides,
Gerry thrust his nose against the window. “Wow! Look at the size of this place!”
“This place takes about forty thousand people. We usually pack it out.”
“Wow!” Gerry gasped again. “To have to entertain so many people!”
Toka nodded grimly.
Ten minutes later the children sat in a luxurious dressing room. Vertical rows of lightbulbs shone out from the mirrors behind a row of dressing tables laden with makeup. Spectacular costumes hung on a rail.
“How do you decide what to wear?” Molly asked.
“It depends on the show we’re doing,” said Chokichi. “We have a list of different acts with different songs and different routines. What set are we doing tonight, Hiroyuki?”
