The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One

by Steeven R. Orr

  She’d tried to memorize the path, the number of turns, but there had been too many to keep straight.

  Eventually they had stopped and her hood had been removed. She’d found herself in a small, windowless room. It looked very much like an empty office or small conference room with its prefab crème-colored walls, tiled ceiling and gray carpet. But the office did not contain a desk, chairs, or even a table. Instead, sitting in the center of the floor was a cage. Like the kind in which you’d keep a large dog.

  It was at that point that they had cut her wrists free and gestured to the cage. She had crawled in. The cage was about four by four feet. She could not stand. She could only sit. The men had then locked the cage with a large padlock and left her alone.

  The men in the robes had not spoken once the entire time she had been with them.

  And yet still, she did not cry.

  Thankfully the men had left the light on for her. But the constant hum of the fluorescents began to pull at the frayed edges of her nerves.

  A man had come in at one point to bring her food. Bread, cheese, and water. He, like the others, did not speak. He had only left the plate on the floor by the cage and then left.

  She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been kept in the cage. She could guess. The same man had brought her food three times since they’d locked her up. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner maybe?

  They had also come in twice to take her to use the restroom. Two men in the same robes, as silent as the others, had arrived and unlocked her cage. Then they stood aside until she understood she was to come out. They’d even waited patiently as she’d stretched, her legs cramped and stiff from too much sitting in her confined space, before escorting her to the restroom. They had waited outside the closed stall as she had done her business. And as with the others, they had not spoken a word.

  Through it all, she had not cried.

  And then he arrived. He was the only one of the men to wear a hood. The other men had all been bald, shaved clean. But this man, all she could see of his face from the shadow of the hood was his nose to his chin, and on his chin sat a small patch of red hair.

  The other aspect of the man that made him stand out over the others was the fact that this man spoke.

  He walked into the room and sat on the floor before her cage, she was already thinking of it as her cage.

  He regarded her silently for a time, his eyes hidden beneath the hood.

  “Where is Anthony?” She asked, breaking the silence.

  She’d asked them all the same question. None, of course, had answered. Anthony had been there with her in the end, he’d come for her, come to the Happy Hamburger. But he had not been in the tunnel with her.

  Had he escaped?

  Had they taken him someplace else?

  No one was talking.

  Until...

  “Anthony?” The man asked. Then, smiling, “Ah yes, your fiancé. He is dead.”

  He had said it in such a matter of fact way that Maggie thought for a moment that she’d heard him wrong.

  “He’s what?” She said, her voice sounding shaky in her ears.

  “Anthony,” the man said. “Your fiancé is dead. He died there in the restaurant parking lot because he was foolish. He had tried to stop you from being taken. He learned too late that what the Brotherhood wants, the Brotherhood gets.”

  “Dead?” She couldn’t quite believe it.

  “I’d like to tell you that he died bravely, and I suppose that in a way he did. He was fighting for you, after all. But he didn’t die quickly, I can tell you that.”

  “I don’t understand.” Nothing made sense.

  “What is not to understand? He is dead. Face up to it. You have a big night ahead of you. Rejoice, girl. For it is from you that the world will know peace. Your sacrifice will be just the start, but it will give to us, the Brotherhood, the power necessary to free the world from the bonds of corruption.”

  She tried to follow along, but all she could think of was Anthony.

  “You should be thanking us,” he said. “Not thinking about the dead.”

  He waited. Maybe he really expected her to thank him. She had no words.

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead cocked his head, as if listening for something she couldn’t hear. He frowned.

  “There is more that I would tell you, to prepare you for tonight, but I must go. Someone is looking for you and I’m afraid I’m not quite ready yet for you to be found.”

  He smiled at her and then left, turning the light off behind him before closing the door and leaving her alone in the dark.

  Maggie thought of Anthony. How they had met in New York City. How they had fallen in love. She thought about how much he disliked living in a small town, yet came to Eudora just to be with her.

  She played his proposal in her mind. He’d not been foolish enough to plan out some ridiculously complicated event. He knew her too well for all that. Instead, as the two sipped coffee together in the Coffee Bean, he’d simply pulled the ring from a pocket, dropped to one knee, and proposed.

  She, of course, had said yes.

  It was at that point, immediately following the proposal, that she’d begun to plan out their future in her head. She’d finish school, then law school, then pass the bar and open up shop here in town. He’d get that used book start started; Anthony loved books, especially old books. They’d buy a house out south of town, have two kids—a boy and girl—maybe even a dog. It was going to be great.

  No, not great.

  I was going to be perfect.

  But now he was dead. The future she’d been imagining in her head for all this time crumbled like a sand castle at high tide. With just a few words this man had taken Anthony away from her and destroyed her future.

  It was then that Maggie Keaton cried.

  32

  THE GREAT AND POWERFUL FRANK

  THE MORNING SUN BEAT down on the two of us as we approached the two-story ranch on the fourteen hundred block of Fir Street. We made quite the pair. Diana in her uniform, and me in my hat and coat.

  The house looked new, but that was only due to the special attention its owners gave it. A new coat of paint went up each spring, the lawn was green and well fed, the windows cleaned daily, and the concrete drive was always free of oil stains. Not an easy task for your average homeowners, but then, the occupants of this home were anything but average.

  “How’s this guy going to help us find Maggie?” Diana asked as we climbed the steps to the front porch.

  “He has his ways,” I said. “Trust me.”

  I knocked on the red front door and after a moment a woman in a blue, flour-caked apron answered. Her hair was gray and all done up in a bun. Though it too had flour on it as well as more than a few dozen fly away hairs. She was short, just shy under five feet, but looked about as frail as a steam engine. She scowled when she saw me.

  “Norman Oklahoma,” she said. “You still kicking dirt? I thought for sure some troll or something would have snuffed out your candle years ago.”

  “Now, Grace,” I said, one of my swoon inducing smiles on my face. “You know that trolls are among some of the friendliest creatures around.”

  “Well, that’s as maybe,” she said. “Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Then she smiled broad and wide. “You going to just stand out there all day drawing flies, or are you going to give an old lady a hug?”

  That was an invitation I was not about to pass up. Grace’s hugs could cure most any ailment.

  “Come in, come in,” Grace said, breaking the hug and my heart at the same time.

  “I have some cookies baking, but a batch just came out of the oven. I know how you like those chocolate chips, Norman.”

  We followed her into the kitchen, Diana giving me a confused look. I only shrugged in return.

  “How about a glass of milk?” She asked, handing me a plate of cookies.

  “Grace,” I said. “That would be delightful.”

  �
��And your friend?” She said. “This lovely young lady you have yet to introduce me to?”

  “Yes, forgive my manners,” I said. “Grace, this here is Officer Diana King, newly hired constable of the Eudora Police Department. We’re working a case together.”

  “Diana,” I continued. “This is Grace Oswald, baking genius, gorgeous homemaker, and all around wonderful person.”

  “You know,” Grace said to Diana. “I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling with all that so called charm of his, but he’s yet to get far with me using it.”

  “I have his number, don’t you worry,” Diana said, smiling.

  I ignored them and ate a cookie.

  “You have a lovely home here, Ms. Oswald,” Diana, said.

  “It’s Mrs., but you call me Grace.”

  “Grace,” Diana said.

  I had two more cookies and downed the glass of milk.

  “Grace, is Oz around?” I asked. I wiped the milk from my upper lip with a sleeve.

  “He’s down in the basement just where you’d expect him to be.”

  “I’m afraid that our visit wasn’t just for you delectable cookies,” I said.

  “I didn’t think so,” she said, smiling. “Go on down, he knows you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Grace,” I said. Then, before leaving her, I planted a kiss on her forehead.

  The basement, like the rest of the house, was warm and inviting. As we descended the stairs I could make out a giant wide screen television that took up most of the back wall. It was currently playing one of those Bob Ross painting shows from the 70’s.

  Standing before the screen with his own easel and paints, and painting along with old Bob, was a skinny man with long white hair pulled back into a pony tail. He wore knee length cargo shorts, a very loud Hawaiian shirt, and sandals, complete with white socks.

  “Norman,” the man said without turning around. “How’s my painting compare to Bob’s?”

  “Well, gee, Oz. I believe yours might be a bit better.”

  “You’re such a liar,” he said. Then, after finishing up one of those happy little clouds he said, “You need some help on a case?”

  “I do, Oz. I won’t ask how you knew that.”

  “Always best not to question the ways of magic.” Then he put his paints and bushes down and turned. His eyed widened when they caught Diana.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Who is this rare beauty you have brought into my house, Norman. I’m a married man, you know.”

  I introduced Diana before saying, “Diana, this is the great and powerful Frank Oswald, Wizard of the First Circle.”

  “Retired wizard,” Oz said. Then he took Diana’s hand and kissed it. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear.”

  “Okay, grandpa,” I said. “You said it yourself, you’re a married man.”

  “Grandpa?” Oz said. “You’re older than me.”

  That brought a questioning look from Diana.

  “I’ll explain later,” I told her.

  “Okay,” Oz said. “So what can an old man do for someone as young and spry as you?”

  “I’m catching the sarcasm,” I said.

  “I sure hope so; I’m throwing it pretty hard.”

  “Can you fellas stop with the back and forth already,” Diana said. “It’s anything but cute and we’re running out of time.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “You’re right. Oz, we need you to locate someone.” I pulled a small plastic bag from my coat pocket. In the bag was the lock of hair. “Her name is Maggie Keaton.”

  “And why are we trying to find Maggie Keaton?” He took the bag from me, holding it up to the light to inspect the hair. “She steal something?”

  “She was abducted last night,” Diana said. “Norman thinks she was taken by a group called the Brotherhood of Minos.”

  “The Brotherhood of Minos? Sounds familiar, but can’t quite place it,” Oz said. “Anyway, follow me. I can help.”

  He approached a door in the wall to the right of the television. The door had no knob or handle.

  A tall staff of polished black wood leaned against the wall next to the door. Oz took up the staff and pointed it at the door.

  “Open,” he said in a commanding voice, and the door swung inward.

  The room beyond could only be described as a wizard’s laboratory, and if you’ve seen one wizard’s laboratory, then you’ve seen them all. Myself, I’ve seen just the one. This one, actually.

  The laboratory was immense, like the size of a basketball court. It extended beyond the outer walls of the house itself. The wall to the left of the door was lined by shelves that held books, test tubes, beakers, jars full of various substances, and more books. On the wall opposite of the door there was a fire place so large you could stand in it without bumping your head. Hanging in the fire place was a massive black cauldron, so big that it could hold enough stew to feed an army.

  In the middle of the room sat a wide table made of stone.

  Oz leaned his staff against the table and then took the lock of hair, placing it in the center of the table. He then placed five white candles in a circle around the hair, lighting each with a plain, green, plastic disposable lighter he’d retrieved from a pocket in his shorts.

  Oz stood over the lock of hair and closed his eyes, placing his hands, palms down, over the glowing candles.

  We waited.

  Two minutes later and nothing happened. Oz hadn’t moved.

  “How long should this take?” Diana whispered to me.

  “Wait for it,” I replied.

  Four more minutes ticked by before the candle flames went out. It was as if five hands had reached out and snuffed each of the small flames at the same time. Oz’s eyes popped open, a look of surprise on his face. The smoke curled up from the wicks like ethereal snakes seeking sanctuary in the ceiling.

  “What happened?” Diana said, her voice soft and low.

  “Wait,” Oz said.

  He studied the undulating lines of smoke. They bent and twisted, reaching out to touch each other, growing until the five trails of smoke became one solid column.

  “There is something seriously wrong here,” Oz said, taking up his staff.

  “What is it?” I drew a pistol.

  “Oh, put that thing away,” Oz said, scowling. “This isn’t the sort of thing you can shoot.”

  I didn’t like the sort of thing I couldn’t shoot. They made me uneasy. But I holstered the pistol.

  The column bent so that it flowed down toward the ground. There it glided across the floor away from us and climbed the back wall.

  “There is something else in this room with us,” Oz said, stepping forward. “A presence.”

  The smoke continued to climb the back wall. Soon it covered the entire back of the room from floor to ceiling like a thick gray curtain. The wall of smoke thickened and expanded outward.

  “I know you are there,” Oz called out. “You have entered my sanctum unbidden. Name yourself lest I banish thee.”

  “Thee?” I said.

  “Shut up,” Oz replied with an embarrassed smile. “There are formalities to observe.”

  The wall of smoke shifted and a face formed in the middle, six feet tall. It was the face of a bald man with sunken eyes. Beyond that it was hard to tell who the man was behind the face.

  The smoke eyes took in each one of us in turn. When they settled on me, the face smiled.

  “Norman Oklahoma,” the face said. “Aren’t you persistent. I would have thought that my ogres would have scared you off of this foolish quest.”

  “Where’s Maggie?” I shouted, knowing that it was useless.

  “You will never find the girl, gunslinger,” the face in the smoke said. “She is with the Brotherhood now. Her blood will be sacrificed to the Bull God in good time. Nothing can stop that.”

  “I’m not gonna let that happen,” I said.

  “I find your confidence amusing,” the face said.

  “Name thyself
, villain!” Oz commanded.

  “I am all that you once were, old man,” the face said. “Do not attempt to cross magic with me. You will find that nothing but regret lies down that path.”

  “I am old,” Oz said. “That is true. But to dismiss my power based on age is foolish on your part.”

  “Okay, let’s all stop flexing our muscles,” Diana said, stepping forward, gun raised. “I am an officer with the Eudora Police Department. If you have knowledge regarding the current whereabouts of Maggie Keaton, it is your responsibility to share it. To do otherwise would be considered obstruction, which could lead to your arrest.”

  The smoke face starred at her for a moment before it burst out laughing.

  “Oh my,” the face said. “You are just simply adorable.”

  “Where’s the girl, Smokey,” I said. “If I have to come looking for her then I’m gonna be mighty cross with you.”

  “You won’t come looking for her,” the face said. “You will die here in this sad little basement. I will see to that myself.”

  The face distorted, flattened, morphing back into the wall of smoke. The wall parted down the middle like a set of curtains and an orange light glowed from within. The orange light increased and a small green figure stepped out of it.

  The creature stood about three feet tall and had long pointed ears that stuck out over its hairless head. It smiled to show razor sharp teeth.

  It was a goblin, and I could see more behind it.

  33

  GOBLIN RIOT

  I DREW BOTH PISTOLS and opened fire, dropping the first goblin before it could exit the portal of orange light. But more goblins spilled out behind it. More than I could handle alone.

  Diana stepped up beside me, her own pistol in hand. She took aim and fired, finding her targets before squeezing the trigger.

  But still, they just kept coming. For every one that fell, two more were right behind.

  Oz took up a position to the other side of me and pointed his staff at the oncoming bloat of goblins.