Kingdom Keepers: The Syndrome

by Ridley Pearson

  “We lost them after that. I’ll play another.”

  The screen flickered. Finn, alone in the apartment, in front of the music box. He leaned to the side, stared in at the workings of the machine, and then quickly left.

  “Not a big help, I’m afraid,” said Joe.

  “Can you please replay that last part?” I asked.

  Joe politely did as I’d asked.

  “His leg!” I said, a little loudly. “Back it up and watch his leg.”

  A moment passed. We all watched for a third time. Finn’s leg passed through the cabinet.

  “It’s a hologram,” Amanda said. “It’s a DHI, not the real Finn.”

  AMANDA

  I studied Finn intensely.

  No Philby, no Charlene. Just Finn, up there on the screen. Uncontrollable, adorable Finn. The boy who had no idea how cute he was. The quiet, brainy kid with a smile that could reach across a football field and stop you dead. That Finn. My Finn.

  “Did you know?” I asked. “A DHI?”

  “No. No clue. I’m as shocked as you are. It would appear they came several times as themselves, and then returned as DHIs.”

  “But why?” Jess asked. “Why as a DHI?”

  “It changes things,” Joe said.

  “How?” Mattie asked.

  “I wish I knew the answer to that,” Joe admitted. “It took an effort. A plan. Clearly they must have had their reasons.”

  “You’re angry,” I said, hearing it in his voice.

  “They were only to cross over with our knowledge. They went behind our backs,” he said.

  Joe pushed pause on the remote. He might as well have had a button for his facial muscles, too, because he froze.

  “You know something,” I said, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. “Those are our friends up there. We’ve fought OTKs, had garden statues threaten us, and been run down by a bunch of guys in suits. All to save them. Don’t we deserve the truth?”

  Joe sighed. Nodded. He seemed resigned to be truthful with us, though it clearly pained him.

  Jess spoke up. “I saw you with a woman in a wheelchair. I’m guessing the videos are the last known record you have of the Keepers. Did Philby discover the camera at some point and shut it down?”

  “Incredible,” Joe said, his face drained of color.

  I didn’t know if he was complimenting Jess’s logic, or if she was so completely wrong that it made her incredible.

  The other two Imagineers came to their feet, exchanged a long look with Joe, and entered into a silent conversation. It went on so long it almost felt comedic, though with Finn in my thoughts, I wasn’t laughing.

  “Your juvenile assessment—” said one of Joe’s colleagues.

  Joe stopped the guy with a raised hand. “No, Alex. No more keeping them in the dark.” He spoke solely to Jess: “We have suspected the Keepers were crossed over, but none of the parents would acknowledge this. Now, thanks to you, we know they are not only crossed over, but in trouble. We don’t know where they may have gone, or why.”

  “You have ideas.”

  “Hear me out,” Joe said. “Objects inside the park have been doing strange, unexplainable things, like moving by themselves. We consulted Disney Legends—the woman in the wheelchair is one of them—as well as experts with the Archives, and others, to get a handle on what’s been happening, but it remains unclear. We have encountered certain…anomalies that suggest the manipulation of our sets and music. There are a hundred possible explanations, from vandalism to collegial pranking by our peers. This is just one of many curiosities over the past several weeks. Jess’s pointing out that the Keepers had gone into SBS came late. Their families should have alerted us first, but once we knew, I had to see for myself.

  “Then, the threat to you—all three of you are part of the team, an important part of the team. You should know that. Now, here we are. We have the videos, but they’re as worthless as everything else. Too many dead ends. You run out of gas.”

  “You can’t quit trying to find them!” I said.

  “Of course we won’t! We are responsible. Believe me, we live with the full weight of that reality.”

  From the glum silence, Mattie raised her voice. “You looked at videos of Wayne, too.”

  Joe and his colleagues did not like being spied upon by a mind-reading teenager, and each reacted with his own expression of indignation.

  “In Wayne’s apartment?” I asked. “Or in Walt’s?”

  If Joe could have punched something to relieve the stress, he would have. “I can’t comment on that.”

  “You won’t, you mean,” I said.

  “We certainly never had security cameras in Wayne’s apartment,” he said. “We installed video in Walt’s for obvious reasons. At times it’s like the whole world wants a look inside.”

  “So Wayne was in Walt’s apartment. Did you know that before?” I asked.

  “We did not. It was an accidental discovery, when we went looking for videos of the Keepers.”

  Jess spoke up again. “What’s with the music box? They all headed straight to it.”

  “We don’t know,” Joe said.

  “Wait!” I said. “You guys are the Imagineers, and you don’t have any ideas?”

  “Correct. We are but mere mortals,” Joe said. He might have meant it as a joke, but it missed its mark.

  “You’ve looked at the music box?” Jess asked. “Studied it?”

  He nodded. “The word computer has come to mean a laptop or tablet. Fifty, sixty years ago, a computer would’ve been something mechanical. The code machines in World War II were strictly that—gears, springs, wheels. We did not try to open the music box. It was wisely suggested that we scan it first.

  “Well, wait for it. What we found inside was anything but a music box. It’s a primitive computer—in the way we’d use the term today. We don’t yet know how it operates, because our scanning revealed booby traps. It will be rendered inoperative if we try to open it.”

  “Self-destruct,” Mattie breathed.

  “Exactly.”

  “What made your colleague think to scan it in the first place?” I asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Who would think to do that?” I said. “You’d just open the thing. So why didn’t you?”

  I was pushing Joe to say things he did not want to say. “Very well, young lady. Have it your way. From what we can tell, the back of the box does open. But carved next to the release, very faintly, my colleague saw the initials N.T. That stopped him. And it prompted us to scan the music box.”

  Mattie voiced what I was thinking. “Why would a pair of initials stop him?”

  “N.T.” Joe repeated. “In our line of work, we pay homage to a few geniuses besides, of course, Walt: Leonardo da Vinci, the greatest of them all. Zhang Heng, the amazing Chinese sage. And Nikola Tesla.”

  “Like the car,” I said.

  Joe and the other Imagineers laughed, making me feel stupid. I didn’t like feeling stupid. I wished I’d said nothing.

  “Like the car,” Joe said. “An extraordinary mind. Tesla was an older man when Walt Disney started to reveal his own genius. There’s always been speculation—never proof—that the two not only admired each other, but may have met, may have even collaborated.”

  “Tesla built the music box,” I said, in awe.

  “Speculation.”

  “But what you found inside…”

  “Clearly the work of an extraordinary mind, yes. And nothing to tamper with.”

  “But how would the Keepers know about it?” Mattie asked.

  “Wayne,” Joe said.

  “And how would he know about it?”

  “Walt.” Joe spoke softly, with an air of reverence. “As a young man, Wayne was a technician in the early construction of Disneyland. He interacted with Walt on a regular basis.”

  The hum of the jet filled my ringing ears. The resulting silence meant something different to all of us. I was thin
king of Finn. Joe of Walt Disney, I imagined.

  “We, the three of us, would like to get into Walt’s apartment,” I said. “We promise that we won’t open the music box. You can watch us on the security cameras. But we need to be there.”

  I expected push back. He would refuse me and I would have to fight to get Jess and Mattie in there to try to “read” the apartment.

  “Yes,” Joe said, stunning me, “I know. We’ve already made plans.”

  AMANDA

  The following day, led by a Cast Member, Jess, Mattie, and I climbed the backstage steps to Walt’s historic apartment. I felt apprehension beating in my chest. Given what we knew, this was likely the last set of stairs Finn and the others had climbed or descended before entering SBS. Wayne had trod these stairs. So had Walt Disney himself.

  Now three girls with exceptional abilities followed in their footsteps—but with trepidation. I knew that each of us individually, as well as collectively, felt like we were the last great hope for the Keepers, the only hope of saving them from whatever they’d gotten themselves into.

  I’d asked Joe for a list of anyone who’d visited the apartment since the Keepers’ disappearance, along with their pictures. Jess could occasionally get a “daydream” from something as simple as a picture. We weren’t leaving anything to chance.

  On the list was a rock star, two movie stars, a film crew, a Disney archivist, a U.S. senator, and a historian from the Walt Disney Family Museum. Singling out the senator and the historian, I’d inquired about the purpose of their visits.

  The senator’s father had worked for WED Enterprises, the group that eventually became the Imagineers. The historian from the Disney Family Museum had made the request last minute. She was interested in certain items in the apartment, leading Joe to believe that like Disneyland, items were moving around mysteriously in the museum.

  Ghosts! Had to be.

  Climbing the stairs toward the old apartment reminded me that even the old is new. The apartment was over fifty years old, and I was excited to see it once more.

  The Cast Member let us in, saying a polite good-bye.

  Inside, the doilies and old furniture reminded me a little of Mrs. Nash’s, only a lot classier. Mattie gawked at the antiques, the artwork, and the view of the park past the glowing lamp in the window. Jess took a meditative moment to let the space surround her. I’d seen her do this before, but I marveled at her ability to relax and disconnect from what was going on around her.

  My heart was sailing as I stood facing the music box. I could feel Joe and the others watching us over the restored surveillance system. But I knew from the videos on the plane that they could only see us, not hear us.

  JESS

  My best chance for a daydream would be to connect with the places in which people slept and dreamed. Gently, I sat on the edge of the sleeper sofa to the left. The apartment had the feeling of a museum, and I didn’t want to disturb anything, materially or psychically.

  A sense of calm washed over me as I closed my eyes. The room remained present in my thoughts; I could see it before me, empty and charming.

  But alarming, too: the light in the window was not illuminated. No music played; the only sound was muted chatter from Town Square.

  There was a noise at the edges of my consciousness. It started as a few faint notes of carnival music, light and playful. Circus music? I wondered.

  It steadily grew louder; as it did, I realized it wasn’t coming from the window, as I’d thought. I opened my eyes, but only slightly, trying not to lose the moment. I must have mumbled something because Mattie and Amanda were staring at me. The music began fading, and I squinted my eyes shut. Slowly, carefully, I suspended all thought and concern.

  The music returned, like a flighty bird reversing direction. It swept past me, now coming from my right. It grew louder and louder. Too loud! I pressed my hands to my ears, trying to shut it out, but it was inside my head. I’d only made matters worse.

  I popped open my eyes. The music stopped.

  I sat staring at the music box.

  “I think I may know what drew them to the music box,” I said to the room at large.

  It would turn out I was wrong.

  MATTIE

  I found the apartment living room’s crimson theme both beautiful and relaxing. It was the kind of feeling I wanted to capture if I ever had a place of my own. I’d lived my life in tiny rooms in houses not of my choosing. The dream of having my own place helped me in my darkest moments. A kitchen with food I liked. A cat. Books.

  Now I concealed my excitement as I looked around the tiny room. I hoped I didn’t seem childish, but then I honestly didn’t care. My favorite spot, the view of the park seen through the window where the antique lamp shone so steadily, allowed me to imagine Walt, right there, looking out over his kingdom.

  The space filled with a tingling energy. The last time I tried to read an inanimate object was a total flop, but at that moment, the apartment seemed like a living, breathing entity. Something otherworldly. I crossed the room and placed a hand on the door.

  Nothing. The wall, also nothing.

  For whatever reason, I felt dropped to my knees. I placed both hands on the carpet and felt a hum or vibration in my wrists. I yanked my hands back before slowly applying them again.

  This time, the hum traveled up my arms. I wanted to release my touch, but found myself compelled to lean forward more heavily. The spreading sensation was not Walt Disney wonderful, but a dark tremor, like a crack in the earth opening to consume me, overtake me. Whatever I felt, wherever it came from, it did not originate in this room. It was nothing of this world.

  I pulled back. My hands were stuck.

  “Help,” I moaned weakly. “Help…”

  Amanda and Jess came to my side. They spoke, but I barely heard. My vision was filled with a deep burgundy smear of horror, my ears with wailing. My body succumbed to pain.

  Somehow, they tore me loose and got me to my feet. I bent over, breathing hard. Terrified. Ready to throw up.

  “We have a problem.”

  AMANDA

  Mattie settled into a chair, pale and scared. Her experience was a clear warning, and I approached the music box with reservation. I wasn’t so much scared or nervous as I was apprehensive. I didn’t know what would happen, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

  “It looks pretty basic,” I said. “A metronome and some kind of switch on the side.”

  “I agree,” Jess said, kneeling beside me. “Not really anything else to it.”

  “You must be able to switch discs,” Mattie said weakly from her chair.

  “I suppose. But we don’t want to switch discs. We want to know what they were listening to before they left. Maybe it’s a voice message.”

  “Joe would know,” Jess said. “Maybe he wouldn’t have told us, but he’d know.”

  “I get what you’re saying, Amanda,” Mattie said. She seemed to be slowly recovering her strength. “But we can’t be sure that the disc in there is the same one. All the people who’ve been up here since, including the senator and the historian—anyone could have changed it. The camera hasn’t been working.”

  “Why would anyone change the disc?” I asked.

  “How should I know?” Mattie cried. “I’m just saying!”

  “Yeah. Okay. I get that.”

  “It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” Jess said.

  I reached for the controls, but my phone rang, stopping me. I didn’t recognize the number, and with my full attention on the music box, I was in no mood to take a call, so I sent it to voice mail. It didn’t buzz in my pocket, which meant the caller hadn’t left a message.

  Back to the music box. We didn’t count down. We didn’t make it dramatic. I pulled on the small brass pin sticking out below the metronome. Music played.

  Circus music. A calliope.

  Jess muffled her gasp.

  I took a step back from the machine.

  “That,” Jes
s said, “note for note, is the same music I just heard in my head.”

  Over the odd-sounding pipe music melody came the flutter of wings.

  “Check it out!” shouted Mattie, pointing.

  On the other side of the window behind Walt’s lamp, perched on the sill, flapping its tattered wings to remain balanced, stood a black raven. It had seen better days. It was so scraggly and disgusting looking that it almost seemed as if it had been set on fire.

  “Poor thing,” Jess said. “It looks sick or something.”

  “Mattie,” I whispered harshly. “Get close enough to see its eyes, but do not touch the glass. Do not get any closer than you need to.”

  “You don’t think—” Jess said sharply.

  “Think what?” Mattie asked.

  “An Overtaker—a dead Overtaker—had a raven called Diablo. That’s why I need to know—”

  The bird flew away.

  “—the color of its eyes.” Too late. Mattie hadn’t had time to get close.

  Mattie turned. “But isn’t Diablo—”

  “Yes! Let’s not talk about it, please.” I couldn’t bear the thought of the burning bones being part of some dark ritual. Fear poisoned my good thoughts far too often. I wanted away from fear and trouble.

  “Don’t go all Harry Potter on me,” Mattie said. “‘He who shall not be named.’”

  “I’m telling you,” I said, “it’s not the worst philosophy. Some words conjure up bad thoughts. Emphasis on conjure.”

  The music stopped. Thankfully.

  When the three of us focused on Walt’s lamp and the window—not to mention the raven—we had turned to face Town Square. This, along with the eerie calliope music, helped explain why we didn’t hear the unlocked back door open.

  “Quaint.”

  Greg Luowski, looking about eight feet tall and as angry as a starved wolf, stood closest to Jess. I was next. Mattie, across the room by the window, said something she shouldn’t have. I needed Jess out of the way if I was to push.

  But Jess being Jess meant trouble for people who surprised her. Jess did not take kindly to surprises.