My Favorite Band Does Not Exist

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Idea followed her to the soda machine. "You were driving like a maniac."

  "Better in a video game than real life." She pulled a dollar bill and some coins from her pocket. After counting out the money, she reached around into a pocket on the back half of her jeans and drew out a dime.

  "You told me you were an expert at that game," said Idea.

  Eunice fed her dollar and coins into the soda machine. "Maybe I lied." She turned, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Good thing you never lie."

  She hit a button on the front of the machine. A bottle of cola shot down the chute and landed with a thump.

  Idea shrugged. "I don't think I'm the only one with secrets around here."

  Eunice grabbed her soda and walked out the door. The night air was warm, and a light breeze carried the scent of freshly mown grass. Clouds of moths jittered around the bright lights spaced along the sidewalk and parking lot.

  "You're the only one with secrets I don't know." She opened the soda and had a sip.

  Idea frowned. "Like what?"

  "Hmm." Eunice strolled along, head tipped to one side, looking thoughtful. "Well, for example, you've never told me why you ran away from home."

  Idea sunk his hands in his pockets and sighed. "Too much pressure, I guess. Mom and Dad wanted me to be president. Or at least a multibillion-dollar CEO or a Nobel Prize-winning scientist."

  "They pushed you too hard, huh?"

  Idea laughed ruefully. "I even had a greatness coach, if you can believe it."

  "Really?"

  Idea nodded. "Scholar was my greatness coach. Bulab was my tutor. So imagine how much fun my life was."

  Eunice offered him the soda. "Fun enough to make you run away?"

  Idea took a drink and handed it back to her. "It was Bulab and Scholar, twenty-four seven. Tutoring, followed by workouts, followed by studying, followed by goal-oriented lucid dreaming. No sleeping in, no TV, no video games, no junk food. The only friends I was allowed to see were handpicked by my parents and Scholar, to maximize my potential.

  "I wasn't even supposed to use the Internet unsupervised," he continued. "Luckily, I got so good with computers that I could make Scholar see one thing on his spy screen while I looked at something else on my screen."

  "Ah." Eunice nodded. "That's where Youforia comes in."

  "It was the only thing I could do for fun," said Idea. "When it caught on with so many people, it was, like, not only was I doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, but I was succeeding at it. I could succeed on my own, without someone telling me what to do."

  Eunice sat down on a bench, and Idea sat beside her. They watched traffic race past on the highway toward Cincinnati, Ohio, which was just a few miles away.

  "When you finally left home, did something happen that made you do it?" Eunice asked.

  Idea snorted. "They got divorced. Six months ago."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  Idea laughed. "And guess what? I didn't know about it until last week."

  Eunice grimaced with disbelief. "How is that even possible?"

  "Anything's possible for two high-powered attorneys."

  "They didn't tell their own son?" Eunice shook her head slowly. "That is so sad."

  "You know what's even sadder?" said Idea. "I didn't notice."

  Eunice met his gaze. Gently, she placed her hand over his.

  "I saw them about as often after they divorced as before," he said quietly. "In other words, hardly at all. Apparently their idea of joint custody was for Bulab and Scholar to watch me as usual."

  "Wonderful." Eunice offered her soda again, and Idea took another sip.

  "They still expected great things from me, though," he went on. "They kept planning my future and e-mailing me encouraging quotes from Machiavelli and Sun Tzu. And when Bulab finally let it slip about the divorce, I decided I'd had enough. I made my plans, and then I ran." Idea stared fixedly at the traffic rushing by through the darkness. "And if I have my way, I'll never go back."

  Eunice patted his hand. "I don't blame you."

  He shook his head. "I feel nothing for my parents. Absolutely nothing." He paused. "Maybe that's how they want it. They always drilled into me that I should never let emotional attachments prevent me from reaching my destiny. But I don't know. It doesn't seem like that's how it ought to be. I just don't see what's wrong with caring about people."

  Eunice folded his hand between both of her own. "Nothing." She leaned toward him. "There's nothing wrong with it."

  Her eyes locked with his. Idea's heart pounded, and this time it had nothing to do with Deity Syndrome. He felt a nervous chill mixed with a flutter of pure excitement.

  Eunice drifted closer. Idea held back, surprised by what was happening, and then he pressed toward her.

  She closed her eyes, and he did the same. Their lips met lightly and parted, then fused again and held.

  Idea's senses seemed to amplify a thousandfold. He was overwhelmed by waves of feeling—the soft touch of her mouth, the smell of her skin, the firmness of her grasp. Every bit of him rushed with warmth, and everything but the experience of the moment was swept from his mind.

  Her lips floated away from his, breaking the dreamlike contact, only to light upon his cheek with a pressure that was at once soothing and electrifying. She lingered for a moment, her breath warm on his skin.

  Then, although he wished it would continue forever, she pulled away.

  She brushed one finger along his jaw and stopped at the middle of his chin. "It'll be all right. This is a new beginning for you."

  Idea wasn't sure if she meant the beginning of a better life or the beginning of a romantic relationship, but either one would be okay with him. "I'd like that."

  "Maybe together we can make it happen," said Eunice. "Maybe that's why we met."

  "I'm glad we met."

  "I think everything happens for a reason," she said. "Maybe a good reason. Maybe, if someone is pulling the strings, it's not such a bad thing."

  Idea nodded.

  "Maybe we can be happy." Eunice leaned forward and kissed him again.

  REACHER recognized the victim of the crash. When the door of the car on its side in the ditch flew open and the driver looked out, Reacher was so surprised that he nearly fell down in the middle of the road.

  Just moments ago, the car had nearly slammed head-on into Sundra's speeding van. Its headlights had streamed around a bend, seemingly too close to avoid, and then had veered off at the last second, barely missing them.

  Sundra had slammed on the brakes, and the van had slid down the road, completing a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree spin. The other vehicle had careened off the pavement and landed on its passenger's side in a shallow ditch.

  Both Sundra and Reacher had been wearing seat belts and were fine. As soon as Reacher had made sure she was uninjured, his next thought had been of the other driver. Quickly, he'd unbuckled his seat belt, thrown open the door, and run for the other vehicle.

  That was when the driver's side door of the car in the ditch flew open.

  Reacher couldn't believe his eyes. The person rising out had been full of surprises in the past, but this surprise was the most amazing of all.

  Before he could call out her name, she surprised him again. She pressed an index finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet.

  And then she winked.

  "I'm so sorry, sir," she said in a thick Southern accent. "I just lost control of my car."

  Reacher nodded slowly, a stupefied look on his face.

  "Could you give me a hand?" she asked. "This is kind of an awkward position."

  He hurried over and helped her climb out. She lowered herself into his arms, and he turned to deposit her on the ground.

  "I'm a stranger," she whispered as he put her down in the pink grass at the side of the road. "Let's have some fun with this."

  "Are you all right, miss?" asked Sundra, rushing over. "Is there anything we can do?"

  "I have a killer heada
che," Eurydice said emphatically. "And as a matter of fact, I could use a little ol' ride right now."

  Soon, the three of them were in the van, rolling into the night.

  Sundra was still behind the wheel. "So what's your name?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "Elizadeath," Eurydice said from the back seat. "But you can call me Deathy."

  Sundra's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror for a glimpse of her passenger. "That's an interesting name," she said slowly. "Is there a story behind it?"

  Eurydice blew a big purple bubble with her gum. When it popped, she peeled the gum from her chin and stuffed it back in her mouth. "You might say that. Lots of stories."

  "For instance?" said Sundra.

  "Let's just say the name suits me," said Eurydice, "and leave it at that."

  In the front seat on the passenger's side, Reacher struggled to keep a straight face. He still had no idea how Eurydice had managed to pop up at his exact location in the middle of nowhere, but for now he pushed his questions aside and enjoyed her performance.

  "Where're you two headed, again?" Eurydice asked.

  "Maysville, Pennsyltucky," Sundra replied. "You're sure you don't want us to take you back in the other direction? That was the way you were going before the accident, after all."

  "This is fine," said Eurydice. "I wasn't so much headin' somewhere as lookin' for someone. Someowes, actually."

  "Who's that?" asked Sundra.

  Eurydice cracked her gum loudly. "We'll know 'em when we see 'em, I reckon."

  Reacher had to turn to the window to hide the grin on his face. He wondered what she would come up with next.

  Sundra frowned in the rearview mirror. "Where did you say you were from?"

  "Death Valley."

  "And your name is Deathy." Sundra sounded skeptical.

  "Nah," said Eurydice. "I mean, that's my name, but I'm from Laidlow, Louisibama, not Death Valley."

  "Laidlow," said Sundra. "Never heard of it."

  "You wouldn't've," said Eurydice. "It ain't there no more."

  Reacher couldn't resist participating any longer. "Why is that?"

  "No one knows," Eurydice deadpanned. "There was only one survivor, and she ain't talkin'."

  "Who's the survivor?" asked Reacher.

  Eurydice blew a bright green bubble with her gum, then popped it and stuffed it back in her mouth. "Me."

  Sundra cast a worried frown in Reacher's direction. He just shrugged.

  "So, Deathy." Sundra's voice had a nervous edge to it. "Would you like us to drop you off anywhere in particular?"

  "Not really," said Eurydice. "I'd rather just tag along with y'all for a while."

  "Okey-doke." Though Sundra's voice sounded light and friendly, Reacher could tell her tension level was rising.

  "Say." Eurydice leaned forward between the front seats. "You two seem like open-minded types."

  "Sure." Sundra nodded a little too emphatically.

  "You got any hobbies?"

  "Music," said Reacher.

  "I love music, too," said Sundra. "Listening to it, I mean."

  "What about you, Deathy?" asked Reacher.

  "Taxidermy," said Eurydice. "And dressing exotic meats."

  Reacher nodded and hid a grin behind his hand. In the driver's seat, Sundra noticeably stiffened.

  Eurydice was silent for a long moment. "Hey, buddy," she finally said to Reacher. "What's the biggest thing you ever killed?"

  He didn't have to pretend to be surprised by the question. "Who's the what now?"

  "Well, you hunt, don'tcha?"

  "No, I don't," said Reacher. "Why? What's the biggest thing you've ever killed?"

  "Hmm. I'm gonna have to get back to you on that one," said Eurydice, cracking her gum.

  Humming softly, she pulled a paperback book out of her purse and settled back to flip through it. She turned the pages as if reading in the dark wasn't a problem, then tossed it over Reacher's shoulder into his lap.

  It was his copy of Fireskull's Revenant.

  "Check out the book," she said. "It's one of my favorites. Tons of bloodshed, especially in the part I've got marked."

  "Cool." He smiled and flicked on the dome light. The bookmark was right where he'd left it. "Maybe I'll read just a few pages."

  THE arrow was streaking toward Fireskull's chest when a screaming man dove in front of it.

  "Fiercely!" said the man as the arrow pierced his naked flesh, puncturing his heart instead of Fireskull's. "Winner! Reward!"

  The man was part of the Lunatic Guard, a gaggle of maniacs whose sole purpose was to give their lives to protect Lord Fireskull. Simultaneously pampered and driven insane, the Lunatic Guardsmen wore maroon velvet robes in the field and painted their faces with dung and blood. It was well known throughout the Unrepentant Kingdom that they were Fireskull's favored warriors, members of a caste that superceded even the Priestlings in terms of stature.

  As the Lunatic dropped to the ground, Fireskull whirled and belched flame into the forest. The archer who had shot the arrow was already on the run, staying barely a step ahead of the blast scorching the trees behind her.

  Calmly Fireskull dug a handful of living bullets from a pouch on his belt and tossed them in the air. Forged from the boiled-down brains of murder victims, the bullets were known to kill with the single-minded savagery of vengeful ghosts.

  Blood-red and dripping, they turned their corkscrew tips toward Fireskull. Each one blinked its single yellow eye at him as he pointed after the fleeing archer.

  Then the bullets spun and flashed away into the smoking trees. An instant later, Fireskull heard the sweet screams of the archer as they struck and slowly worked their way through her, tearing her to shreds in torturous slow motion.

  Fireskull laughed. "When they are done with her, I will have her made into a bullet herself!" His voice rang with cruelty.

  "Glittering!" said the Lunatic with the arrow through his heart, squirming on the ground at Fireskull's feet. The Lunatic grunted and moaned in pain, clutching the arrow shaft as blood pumped out around it. "Entrails! Bludgeon!"

  Other Lunatic Guardsmen crowded around, clucking and gaping vacantly like chickens at the dying man. "Ruined! Ruined!" shrieked a gray-bearded Lunatic with mushrooms growing all over his body. "Hero's funeral?"

  Fireskull patted the mushroom man on the head, then wiped his hand on his trousers. "Yes, very good." Fireskull's voice was full of affection. "Give him a hero's funeral."

  With a swirl of his black cape, Fireskull stomped away from the dying Lunatic. The others crowded around the mortally wounded man, and his screams soon joined those of the archer in the cool twilight air.

  A messenger stood nearby, helmet in hand, newly arrived from the frontline of the battle against the forces of Johnny Without. He looked extremely nervous, which was the reaction of most ordinary people who saw the Lunatic Guard in action. Fireskull went to him, eager to hear the latest good news.

  "What say you, fleet foot?" he asked.

  "General Undercut sends word of more victories," said the messenger. "Johnny Without's garrisons at Far-cry and Plainday have been annihilated. Fort Skein, Fort Lightway, and Fort Tributary have fallen. General Leverage outflanked the Shining Regiment at Distance and cut down every last man."

  "Wonderful!" The flames that made up Fireskull's head flared from red to gold with pure delight. "At this rate, we shall capture Castle Vanish before the day is through."

  "General Undercut said the same thing," the messenger agreed. "Taking the castle is a formality. He has already planted the flag."

  "Marvelous," said Fireskull. "Then, all this is mine." He spread his arms wide to take in his surroundings. "I hereby rename this the Kingdom of Not. This land is not worthy, not wanted, and not free. It shall be removed from all maps, enclosed with walls of bones, and turned into a playground for the Lunatic Guard."

  "Yes, my lord," said the messenger.

  "Starting immediately," said Fireskull. "Any without m
y brand on their flesh shall be pitted against each other in fights to the death. Family member against family member, preferably."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "And tell General Undercut to send word the instant that the battering ram smashes the gates of Castle Vanish. I wish to hear Johnny's screams when the reanimated cadavers of his own loyalists feast on his innards."

  The messenger swallowed hard, fighting to conceal his skittishness. "I will tell him, my lord." He bowed low.

  Fireskull took a long look at the young man, committing his face to memory. For no good reason but utter cruelty, he decided that after the war, he would forcibly enlist him in the Lunatic Guard.

  "Go now," he said. The messenger bowed and backed away several steps, then turned and ran.

  Fireskull laughed. Finally, he was on the verge of complete victory. Decades of struggle had yielded a sweet reward. Let Johnny's stragglers lob arrows at him. Their puny weapons could not get past the Lunatics.

  And so what if Highcast's prophecy had put just enough doubt in his mind that he stayed back from the frontline, where he most wanted to be? Johnny and his weaklings would still go down in defeat.

  The sweetest reward that Fireskull could imagine was within his reach. The Kingdom of Not was his, and he would sit upon the throne of Castle Vanish by morning, gulping Johnny's blood from a chalice. He would allow nothing to get in the way of that.

  "Come, children," he said to the Lunatic Guard. "Time to go." He spread his leathery wings wide and flapped them, rising from the ground.

  Cackling and yelping, the Lunatics abandoned their project. Licking blood from their lips and picking their teeth with splinters of bone, they danced away from what little remained of their dead comrade's corpse.

  While the Guard mobilized, Fireskull flapped above the treetops to reconnoiter. To the northwest, in the direction of Castle Vanish, he spied a patrol of eight of Johnny's men marching along a riverbank. Those men, Fireskull decided, would also die at the hands of his Lunatic Guard.

  With a rustle of leathery wings, he turned, intending to descend and give his maniacs their orders. Instead, he stopped suddenly and darted backward.