by Jack Castle
By whom, the Knight I saw earlier?
Whatever the case, he was now armed. Not that the pistol had helped Jungle-George all that much. He thought about removing the belt and holster too, but George knew his limitations. His nerves were fried, and it had been hard enough just absconding with the gun.
Leaving the clearing behind, he went back out to the pathway, and pressed on. He didn’t get twenty-five yards before he came to another sheer rock face, with no way up or out.
A dead end. Did I miss something? Maybe something back at the banquet table?
A horrible thought came to mind. What if there was no way out? What if this was a prison for Georges, plural. What if all the Georges who had come before, killed each other? Realizing he couldn’t stay at the wall forever, he double-backed to the clearing with Jungle-George sitting at the banquet table.
Studying the scene once more, he failed to discover anything new. The table, the treasure, dead Jungle-George were all exactly the way he had left them. There was nothing else here, except for the mirror.
He studied the mirror more closely. It didn’t take him long, and he wondered why he didn’t see it before, but he soon realized, he had no reflection. The mirror reflected the table and treasure perfectly, but he, and Jungle-George, were oddly absent from the reflection.
He stretched out his hand to touch the mirror, and his hand passed through its frame. He quickly pulled his hand back. It’s not a mirror! It’s a doorway to another clearing that looks exactly like this one. If he wanted to continue onward, he would have to step through the fake mirror to get to the next room.
George had no way of knowing he was being observed.
He also had no way of knowing this was exactly what the builders of this place wanted. Once he stepped halfway through the mirror, a razor-sharp guillotine could split him in half. Future Georges (if there were any) would sadly refer to him as Split-George.
But there would be no further Georges, for Mrs. Belle was right. He was the last, and he would fail.
Pistol held out in front of him, George raised his boot to step through.
Management, and everyone else watching, could not have been happier.
Chapter 27
Maddie, George and the Watcher
“Dad! Stop!”
It was a voice George knew as well as his own. It was his daughter, Maddie. But why can’t I see her? He scanned the interior of the mirror room and then the clearing he had just left behind. Not seeing his daughter in either place, he cried, “Maddie! Where are you?”
His daughter’s disembodied voice shouted back, “Dad, don’t move! Don’t take another step.”
George had one foot through the fake mirror (the one that was really a doorway) and stood as stock still as a soldier standing on a landmine.
But what if the voice is a trick? he wondered. “How do I know it’s you?” He purposely didn’t say his daughter’s name.
George heard a heavy sigh, “Dad, it’s me. Mom’s name is Tessa. Your best friend’s name is Rick.”
Anybody could know those things, he thought. Then she thought of something else.
“I had a cat named Lucy, but you called her Smelly Cat.”
George heard himself exclaim, “Maddie!” He searched the area for his daughter again and asked, “Why can’t I see you? Where are you?”
Half-crying, Maddie managed, “We’re on the Dauntless, Dad. You’ve been gone for so long. I thought you were dead.”
Hearing his daughter so distraught was beyond painful, and he felt his own cheeks moisten with tears. “I’m so sorry, Baby-girl. I’ve missed you. Are you alright? Who is with you?”
He heard Maddie sniff loudly before answering, “Everybody’s here, Dad.” She cleared her voice and added, “We found a watcher,” she must’ve realized he wouldn’t have understood and quickly explained, “He’s a former park employee who can tap into all forms of surveillance systems. He helped us find you.”
Something was wrong. Even distraught, her voice sounded so different, deeper somehow. “Maddie, why do you sound so… strange?”
There was a long pause. He thought he heard distant voices discussing something, then he heard Maddie’s voice once more. “Dad, you’ve been missing for the last three years. Everyone thought you were dead.”
“Three years? Maddie, you’re fourteen?!”
She came back on, “None of that matters right now. We can talk about it later. All you need to know is that you’re in incredible danger! The moment you step all the way into that room, a door is going to seal you up inside, and you will never be able to escape.”
“Did this watcher tell you that?” George asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Do you believe him.”
(Another long pause)
“Yes. We rescued him from a band of Misfits, and we couldn’t have found you without his help.”
George nodded. It was a weird knowing they could see him, but he couldn’t see them. He imagined Maddie sitting in the communications room aboard The Dauntless, a microphone to her lips with everyone crowded around her. “Okay, what do you want me to do? Talk me through it.”
Maddie answered, “Carefully, back-out the way you came in.”
George did as he was told and found himself back in the clearing. If Maddie could see the dead Jungle-George, she didn’t mention it, and he wasn’t about to bring it up.
“The watcher says, if you double back to some grotto, he thinks he can lead you out from there.” Maddie was sounding hopeful.
George recalled the pool he had fallen into and said, “Copy that, I know the exact place.” He reached the path and stopped.
Maddie must’ve seen him hesitate, for she asked, “Dad! What are you doing? I said, turn to your left and walk down the path.”
George knew he couldn’t go back without accomplishing the mission first.
“Dad, did you hear me? Turn to your left and head down the path.”
“Maddie? Ask the watcher if anybody else is down here with me?”
(A pause)
“The watcher said you’re the only living thing down there, Dad.”
George thought about it some more. I must have missed something. A hidden room, something further underground. “Ask the watcher if I’m near any hidden rooms.”
(Another pause, this one longer)
“He says there is a rock wall down the path to the right and something behind it, but he can’t tell what it is.”
George jogged back to the wall. There has to be a secret door or something.
“Dad, Uncle Rick and The Leftenant say they got a fix on your position. It will take a couple of days, but we’re on our way to pick you up.”
“That’s great, honey,” George said, studying the wall for clues.
Maddie observed her dad’s actions closely on the monitor. “What are you doing, Dad? You have to go the other way now.”
“Maddie, see if the watcher can open the door.”
(Another pause, this one the longest yet.)
“Dad, the watcher said to stand back.”
George did as he was told and not a second later, a vertical pool of water about the size and shape of a doorway appeared on the rock wall before him.
This has to be it!
George took a step closer to it, and Maddie panicked.
“Dad! Where are you going? Listen, the watcher says he has no idea what will happen if you step through there. It might even kill you!”
“Maddie, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain. I think this is the reason I was summoned down here.” He left out the part about all the other dead-Georges who had failed to get far enough to find this watery doorway. Of course, this could just be another trap.
“No matter what happens, I love you.”
“No Dad!” Maddie screamed. “NO! Go back to the grotto. I can’t lose you again.”
George bit his lip. “You… you won’t lose me. Come get me, Baby-girl. I just have to do this t
hing first.”
He could hear Maddie screaming-mad in the background when The Leftenant’s proper English voice cut in, “We’ve got a fix on your location, sir. We’re coming to pick you up.”
“No, dad! NO!”
“I love you Baby-girl. See you soon.”
The moment George stepped through, the connection was broken. Just before it was gone, he thought he heard Maddie scream three vile words.
“The Lamppost Man!”
Chapter 28
George & the Old Man
“Tessa!”
George was dreaming again.
(It was the one where Tessa was standing on the outside of the railing of the Dauntless in midflight at midnight.)
Tessa…
His wife pushes her hand through her hair, feels his presence, looks up, and smiles sweetly back at him.
A man is shouting. George is pretty sure it’s himself. He lunges forward, his hands outstretched toward his wife, who even now is falling away from him.
“Tessssa!”
Automated words, “Bomb Detected,” blare through loudspeakers repeatedly.
Two men (Michael and Doc, he thinks) are holding him tightly on each arm.
“Let me go. I have to save her.”
Michael, “You can’t.”
Doc, “George, she’s trying to save us, she’s trying to save us all.”
A massive explosion emanating from below, knocks them all backwards, away from the railing.
The love of his life is gone.
Engineer Rick pops out of a nearby hatch, stares at the abandoned deck where Tessa was standing only moments ago. Then he looks down at him and asks, “George, what have you done?”
The Prison
George opened his eyes.
No longer in a subterranean tropical paradise, he was now lying on his back inside an octagonal shaped room, heavy with concrete and absolutely nothing on the walls, floor or ceiling.
A prison cell?
If there was a door, George couldn’t see it. He got to his feet and as he moved about the cell, more lights snapped on illuminating more blank walls and one very old man.
The man had to be in his eighties, perhaps even nineties. He was sitting against the wall with his lanky legs drawn up and his wrists resting on kneecaps. His stark white hair hung to his shoulders. Surprisingly, he was dressed in a tattered hip-length ringmaster’s coat, his ratty top hat was lying next to him.
Is this man the reason I’m here?
“Hello, Sir,” George began.
No response.
“Excuse me, my name is George Stapleton What’s your name?
No answer.
“I think I’m supposed to rescue you now.”
Nothing.
“Are you ok, sir?” Maybe he’s deaf or dead.
George looked closer to see if the old man was still breathing. The guy’s chest rose and fell, if only slightly. Kneeling down next to him, George waved a hand in front of the old man’s open eyes to see if he was blind.
No response. Or, was there a flicker in his eye just now? Was he hypnotized?
He snapped his fingers. “Wake up. Hell-o… anybody home?”
George bobbed his head lower and tried to get the old timer to lift his eyes. “I’m talking to you, buddy. Wake up. We have to get going now.” What a big fat waste of time.
The subdued old timer didn’t move, except for the twitch of a single little finger.
It was as though he was turned off and now trying to reboot.
Without warning, the old fellow whispered something.
“What?” George quickly asked. He tilted his better-hearing ear toward the old man’s lips. “What did you say, Mister?”
The man wheezed in the effort and in a reedy voice asked, “What generation are you?”
What generation am I? Is this important?
Then, remembering earlier conversations he had with Sophia Davenport and The Leftenant about clones, he realized the old man wanted to know if he was a biological. After seeing all the other-Georges back there, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore, and didn’t know how to answer him.
The old man lifted his eyes to meet his. The eyes were a faded light blue, but there was a history behind those eyes, a long one.
The old man took in another wheezy breath, but deeper and stronger than before.
“Do you know your serial number?” George squinted and shook his head.
He watched as the man stared deeper into his eyes and gazed upon his soul. George held his stare as the old man’s eyes suddenly widened, as if in recognition of an old friend.
“Oh my, you’re an original, aren’t you? Not a biological, nor even a clone… but a real live human being.” The old man tore his gaze away, for which George was grateful.
He smiled then coughed, shook his head and croaked, “Boy, they must really be getting desperate to send an original down here to me.”
George considered the fact that he wasn’t a clone (like all the other dead-Georges back there) by allowing it to sink in for a moment. He nodded his head slightly in approval.
The old man, growing stronger by the second, rose to his feet.
Still a little doubtful, George asked, “How do… how do you know I’m not a clone?”
The old man, now studying the wall, seemed annoyed by the distraction of the question and answered George without looking at him, “Trust me. You’re not a clone.”
It simply wasn’t good enough. Not after all the things he had seen. “Yes, I believe you. But how do you know?”
The old man pursed his lips, turned toward him and asked impatiently, “What color is your shirt?”
George shook his head. “What?”
The old man exhaled, this time without wheezing. Irritably, he asked George again, “What color is your shirt? Tell me.”
Great. I’ve rescued a lunatic.
When George didn’t answer quickly enough, the old man asked grumpily, “Do you want to know if you’re a clone or don’t you?”
“Fine. Blue,” George blurted out. Suddenly, realizing the importance of his answer, he held his lucky over-shirt between a thumb and forefinger and added, “dark blue.”
Tessa would be so proud.
The old man held his palms out to him, “Ya see, you’re not a clone.” He returned to studying the wall again.
“What’s that prove?” George questioned. Shaking his head, he said, “That doesn’t prove anything.”
Like an inmate in an insane asylum, the old man began pushing invisible buttons in the air. “Why sure it does. Clones are color blind. We build them that way on purpose.”
The old man turned a non-existent dial and flicked an equally invisible switch. “Ah, there we go.” He punched a final invisible button, and a section of the wall magically slid into the floor, vanishing as though it never existed in the first place.
George’s felt his face flush with rage, “If you could open the door all this time, why did you wait until now?”
The old man peeked his head out of the doorway like a woodland creature about to leave the safety of its den. Still studying the outside without actually stepping into it, he responded, “Opening it was easy, but I needed someone to unlock it from the outside first.” He smiled to himself, gazed back at George and said, “Thank you for that by the way, my friend.”
You’re not welcome George thought to himself, as he gave him a fake smile and a couple half-hearted nods.
There were so many questions George wanted to ask, maybe now was his chance. Which one first? He settled for asking, “Who are you?” The old man waved him off with a weathered hand.
“No time for that now. We’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.”
The old timer went to step into the hallway, but George caught him by the crook of his arm and held him fast. “A lot of people died trying to spring you out of here. I think the least you can do is tell me your name.”
The old man jerked his arm out of
George’s grasp. Pretty spry for an old man. To his surprise, the old timer held his gaze for a moment longer and said, “My name’s Henry. Henry Stranger. I built this god-forsaken place. Now quit asking so many fool questions and start moving so we can get out of here.”
George followed him into a corridor he didn’t remember coming into. “Why are you here? That is to say, I mean, who locked you up down here?”
The old man’s face soured. “No one locked me in here. I locked myself up in here.”
Incredulous, George repeated, “You locked yourself in on purpose?”
Henry stopped walking, stared at him again, “Are you sure you’re not a biological? You seem pret-ty slow on the uptake.”
George gave him a curt, forced laugh. “Hey! You have no idea what I’ve been through getting down here. But, let’s just say it’s been a very long day.”
The old man sighed in frustration and said, “Very well, but if we get caught, I’ll blame you.”
George raised his eyebrows at him and said, “I’ll risk it.”
“Very well, George. I knew it was only a matter of time before management was going to kill me. I knew there was no place on the planet I would be safe.”
“So, you locked yourself in the basement?”
The old man patted his chest two times. “You think this old husk is really me?” When George didn’t answer he continued, “No. The real Henry Stranger was in fact, murdered a long, long time ago. This,” patting himself again, “this is merely a simple facsimile; a mere shadow of my former self.”
“I know the feeling,” George mumbled, but if old man Henry heard him, he didn’t show it. Catching up with him, George took notice of the old man’s clothes and asked, “Your clothes, they’re just like the Lamppost Man’s getup.”
“What’s your point?” the old man asked grumpily.
What was his point? Are the two related? Or was there a big sale on ringmaster coats at the gift shop?
One thing was for certain, the Lamppost Man was no friend of his. At least he didn’t think so. On the other hand, the Lamppost Man did give him a couple piles of nicely folded clothing when he had none. He also made sure he had that multi-tool which allowed them to escape the zombie-pirate-king’s dungeon that time. He may be a jerk, but he did spell SORRY in the sky once. (As if that made up for the raft incident)
