by Marie Brown
* * * *
Collector looked at the pink handbag with deep regret. It snapped shut, trapping Lyra safely inside. He didn't want her in there, but what else could he do? His duty was to collect the fragments of the Bound One and reconstruct her. Somehow. He couldn't do that with Lyra distracting him. But oh, what a distraction. . .
"Namer of Names," he said to himself. "Concentrate. Remember. Belief creates reality here."
"Collector," the Namer broke into his thoughts. "We meet again."
"You named me well," Collector smiled at the ivory woman. "Have you any advice or wisdom to offer before I collect you?"
"Your task is harder than you think it is."
"What?"
"The Bound One is in the other world," then the Namer slid into the handbag with a quiet puff.
"Oh, no," Collector said, then sat down abruptly. The other world. He'd never reached the other world consciously. He'd come and gone, drifting in and out of dreams, bringing only memories to either place.
Wish a thing, and it can be, a half-remembered voice whispered in his mind. Who? He knew that voice. . . Hope.
Hope. She'd been his next door neighbor when he was a kid, until her family moved away. She was the only person who believed in Demon Sun, because she'd been here too.
And Hope had blue eyes.
"Wish it, wish it, wish it. . ."
Earth Again
"He's coming around!"
Patrick coughed and gasped, thrashing.
"Hold still! Dan, hold him, before he hurts himself!"
Patrick went limp before they could pin him. "I'm all right," he croaked, voice weak and rusty. "Just don't want to be here."
"Where you been, man?"
Patrick forced his eyes open and looked into the worried faces of Dan and Trish. "Demon Sun."
"What?" Trish blinked.
Dan snorted. "Never knew you did drugs, man."
Patrick shook his head and pushed himself upright. "No drugs. Magic. I went to the land of music. I named it Demon Sun as a joke when I was a kid. Don't know how I got there, but I did, and now I'm here, and I have to find Hope."
"What are you hoping for?"
"Not that kind of hope, Trish." Patrick stretched. Having a physical body again hurt. "Hope Forrester. She's a person. I need to find her. Now."
"Who?" Dan scratched his head. "Never knew you knew any women, either."
Trish smacked him. "Watch it. I'm a woman. And don't you dare say I don't count."
"I need to find her. Immediately. Before it gets any worse."
"Internet," Trish said, puzzled but decisive. She located the computer under the pile of clean laundry and sat down to search.
"I'll try to explain," Patrick said, standing and stumbling over behind Trish. "It's like this. When I was a kid, I went to this place sometimes in my dreams. It was a world full of colors and music. I tried to describe it to my mom once and she said it sounded like I'd been to a magic new dimension. Demon Sun. Thought it was a good name for the place. The only other person I ever told was the neighbor girl, Hope. She understood. She even went there a few times. We talked about it. But her family moved away and I never saw her again. And as for Demon Sun. . . I couldn't go there anymore after I hit puberty. Never forgot it, though. Always trying to recapture the music. Never quite managed it." Patrick sighed. "Anyway, that's who the Bound One is. The girl in the vision? The one all wrapped up in inner tubes? That's Hope. And I need to find her in real life. I've got—"
Patrick felt a sudden sense of extreme panic. The bag! He raised his left arm and saw it hanging on his wrist, as secure as before.
"I've got her in here," he said softly, holding the bag in a protective embrace, ignoring Dan's raised eyebrow. "Parts of her, anyway. Creativity, willpower, innocence, lust. . . she's fragmented. Something happened to split her into pieces. One of the pieces is here. I need to find her physical body before I can put her together."
"Trippin', dude." Dan nodded approval. "Knew you'd come up with some good reason for that coma shit."
"Coma?"
"We thought you were in a coma," Trish said, without looking away from the computer screen. "You were just. . . limp. No response to anything. We were about to take you to the hospital."
"Hospital! Try the hospital! Maybe whatever broke her hurt her physically too!"
"Yeah, yeah, thought of that. Give me a minute, okay? I'm still working on accessing certain... resources."
"Trish? What are you doing there, anyway?"
"Don't ask. You really don't want to know."
Patrick considered that for a moment. Trish presented an enigma on the best of days. He knew very little of her life outside of the band. She did something with computers, he knew that much at least, and some kind of freelance work that paid well but was very sporadic. That about summed it up.
"You're probably right," he agreed.
Dan made a grab for the pink bag and Patrick snatched it away. "C'mon, dude. I just wanted to see it."
"She's my friend. You think I'm just going to hand her over to your grimy paws?"
"Talented paws," Dan said, examining his hands. "And not grimy. Just. . . a little dirty."
"This Hope of yours. Middle name Ariel?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"She's your friend, as you pointed out. Would she be about thirty-eight?"
"Has it been that long? Unbelievable. Yeah, that's the right age."
"Right. Hope Ariel Forrester, age thirty-eight, is currently in Mercy Hospital. Right here in town. Can you believe the luck?"
"Hardly," Patrick marveled. "We grew up in Indiana. How'd she wind up here, I wonder?"
"Find out later." Trish closed out whatever she'd been doing and powered down the computer, pushing away from it with a controlled motion. "Let's go now."
Trish drove them in her battered little Honda Civic. Patrick spent the ride clutching the pink handbag, quivering with tension.
They ran into a solid brick wall at the hospital, in the form of security.
"Family only," the receptionist stated. "It's the rules. No exceptions, unless the family clears it."
"And how do we get hold of the family?" Patrick said through gritted teeth.
"There's actually a visitor present. Would you like me to contact him? If a family member gives permission, I can allow you to visit your friend."
"By all means, contact him!"
Patrick waited, heart in throat, as the nurse moved in extreme slow motion to pick up and dial the phone. He knew it for illusion, a trick of perception slowing time this way, but still seethed with frustration.
"What did you say your name was again, sir?"
"Tell him it's Patrick, from Logan Street." Whoever the male relative was, he should remember Patrick. The two families had been close and shared most holidays and celebrations.
"He wants to meet you here. He'll be right down."
The man that emerged from the elevator was older, careworn, and haggard. He was also David, Hope's brother.
"Patrick? Is that really you?"
"David." Patrick smiled. "It's been a long time."
"Over twenty years." David studied him warily. "How did you know about Hope?"
"It's hard to explain." Patrick shifted, uncomfortable. "Actually, I don't know much, only that she's hurt. What happened?"
"Car accident," David said shortly. "Car ran a red light and right over her while she was crossing the street. She's pretty bad off. They've got her on life support. They think she'll be that way probably forever."
"Oh, no. . ." Patrick felt the blood drain from his face. "No."
"Yes," David nodded. "I don't know what to do. Mom and Dad are dead, Willie's in Germany with the military, and I'm the only one here to make the call."
"Sucks, man," Dan put in. David raised an eyebrow.
"Look, David. . . these are my friends, Dan and Trish. We're in a band together. And something weird
is going on."
A brief glint of humor flashed in David's eyes. "You're holding a pink handbag, Patrick. What makes you think you have to tell me there's something weird going on here?"
"The bag's part of it, okay? It's—it's your sister's."
"Yeah, that does look kind of like something she'd carry. Funny, she never mentioned you'd been in touch."
"That's because, strictly speaking, I haven't." Patrick raked a hand through his hair. "Look, I'd like to see her. Can I?"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Not them, though."
"Right. Wait here?"
Dan and Trish nodded.
Patrick followed David through the maze of hospital corridors and elevators to Hope's room. She lay there, a pathetic sight. Tubes came out of places they didn't belong. Her skin sported abrasions, bandages, and a sickly gray pallor. Her body arched with a mechanical, unnatural rhythm, forced by the machine to expand and contract, pushing air in and out of her lungs.
"Oh, Hope. . ." Patrick felt an unexpected sting of tears behind his eyelids. He hadn't seen Hope in twenty-six years, discounting the parts of her soul he'd collected in Demon Sun, and the memory of the bright, active child hurt, compared to this husk of a woman.
"Pretty bad, I know," David said, moving to rest his hand on his sister's, careful not to disturb the IV port.
"So sad, to see her like this, after all these years. . ." Patrick touched the handbag for reassurance. "I am the Collector," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." Patrick looked at Hope, then her brother. "Look, I can't explain this. How about if I just show you. . ."
He rubbed the bag and started humming. The music responded. It grew in his head, and he hummed along with it, eyes squinched shut against the horror of Hope's arching body. David cried out in wonder and he opened his eyes to see the Bound One floating in her lotus-nest of feathered clouds, smiling at her brother.
"What is this?" David asked, one hand reaching for the insubstantial vision.
"Magic," Patrick said, locking the tune in his head. The vision remained steady. "The wreck shattered your sister. Her soul is in bits. Most of them went into the land of music, where she and I played as children. One of them stayed here, bound by the life support. I need to collect her."
"You need to what?"
"I have most of her soul in this bag. I need the rest, so I can reassemble her and set her free in the land of music."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Patrick. Have you lost your mind? But no, I'm sane, and I'm seeing this too."
"I'm not insane. This magic is all real. I need to collect her. But she's bound. . . it may not work."
Patrick opened the bag, but it did nothing, just as he'd suspected.
"I think it's the life support," he said. "I think it needs to be unplugged."
He resumed humming, and the Bound One became more solid. Help me.
"Unplugged! And what do you mean, you need to collect Hope?"
"Magic is real, David. It's right in front of you. Believe, and know I mean your sister no harm. Let her become whole again. Unplug her."
"I think you need to leave," David said, voice trembling. "This is not your decision."
"Maybe not," Patrick said. "But it's the right decision. Here." He dug a scrap of paper out of his wallet and scribbled his phone number on it, holding it out to David, who just looked at it. "Call me when it's done."
David ignored the paper. Patrick laid it on the bed.
"You need to leave now."
Patrick released the magic, then left. What else could he do? David could have him thrown out in a heartbeat. He found his friends in the waiting area and shook his head. Trish's face fell.
"No luck?"
"No," Patrick said, morose. "She's still bound. I can't collect her."
"What now?"
"Back home?"
"No reason to stay," Dan agreed.
Patrick stared moodily out the window as Trish drove. The grey sky glowered at him. "It's not right," he said. "Those tubes. The wires. The way the machines forced her to breathe."
"Life support?" Trish shook her head. "Never seen it, in person. It sounds unpleasant."
"I never want to see that again."
"Me either," Dan put in from the back seat. "Let me off at the smoke shop?"
Trish snorted. "Fine time to be out of papers, old man." She pulled over to the curb to let Dan out. "At least you mentioned it before we passed the place."
With Dan gone, Trish gave Patrick one of her most opaque looks. "Are you in love with this woman Hope?"
"What?" Patrick's eyebrows shot up. "Love? I haven't seen her in over twenty years, how could I be?"
Never mind his encounter with Lyra.
"She's my friend," he said, when Trish made no response. "Maybe if her family hadn't moved away we would have fallen in love and been one of those ridiculously sappy couples that never knew anything but each other. How the hell should I know what would have happened. But now, she's still my friend, even unconscious in a hospital bed, and that's enough for me."
"Thanks. That clears things up."
Patrick didn't have time to wonder what she meant, because his apartment building loomed ahead, a soulless construction of red brick and tiny windows. He thanked Trish for the ride and trudged up to his unit. Gravity dragged at him, trying to pull him back down the stairs, but he reached his home safely and flung himself down on his couch.
The phone woke him. Patrick couldn't place the noise at first, then couldn't find the phone in the dark, but finally located the handset and picked it up.
"Hello?"
"It's done."
Click.
Patrick gave the phone a questioning look. What—
Oh.
It's done. Hope's brother. He'd reached the right decision.
Patrick dropped his phone and scrambled for his guitar. His fingers felt fat and uncoordinated as sausages, with individual minds of their own, as he fought the case open. But he got the instrument out and began playing before he'd even consciously heard the music.
This time, when the Bound One appeared, her bonds crumbled as he watched. Her eyes shone with incredulous joy and she stretched up, up, out of the hunched position she'd been forced into for so long. Thank you!
The bag opened on its own, sucking the Unbound Soul into itself. It bulged now, although still very light, and Patrick felt a sense of triumph looking at it. Success!
But now what? How was having Hope's soul in a bag going to help in the land of music, where Animara the Eyeless struggled against herself and unmade reality?
Time to get back to Demon Sun. Just do it, don't think. . . play. He let the music flow through him, felt the magic begin. . . then heard the laughter.
It echoed across the bridge between worlds, a chilling, evil sound. Animara. It could be no other, not with that much malice packed into it.
"Damn you!" Patrick cried out. The magic stopped. It just stopped. He couldn't even hear the music anymore.
No matter what he played, said, or did, no magical bridge formed to Demon Sun.
Eventually, he gave up and went to bed, too dispirited even to get drunk.
Return
Demon Sun trembled. From little puffs of discoloration to bolts of black lightning, blackness invaded the land of music, unmaking the colors. It burned. It smothered. It clung.
It shattered when Collector swung the bag and hit it.
Collector tumbled to the amorphous ground with a triumphant chord sounding in his head. Finally! A blow to the blackness! But he still had to seek out the source of the devastation, Animara. And some intuition told him she would not be pleased to see him.
A shriek of pure rage rent the shifting beauty of Demon Sun and Animara herself stepped through the tear. Her eyeless gaze locked onto Collector.
"You! How dare you return to my realm!"
Before Collector could respond, the bag tugged at his wrist. Bl
ue eyes opened on its side.
"Dark Queen. What have you done with my eyes?"
The chain slipped off Collector's wrist and the bag dropped, shifting into a woman. Animara shrieked again and leapt forward, grappling with Hope. Blue eyes met black pits and Hope broke the other's grip.
"All that is petty, cruel, and evil within me is now in you. I have defeated you before. I will defeat you now, eyes or no eyes."
Collector remembered the words of a long-ago self-defense instructor: A real fight is usually decided in thirty seconds. More than that is all Hollywood.
Hope reached out and embraced her dark side. Animara shrieked, struggling against the hold.
"You are part of me, and I am part of you. Denial can not change this. I accept you. I control you. You will not win!"
The Dark Queen's shrieks grew more ragged and desperate as her body boiled and melted into Hope.
The colors of Demon Sun swirled, the music rang like a bell, and Hope turned to face Collector with a radiant smile. A hint of Lyra gleamed in her eyes.
"I'll be waiting for you. . ."
Hope shifted into swirling mist and merged with the music.
* * * *
Other titles from Marie Brown:
With Honor
Seeking Veritas
When Gods Walk
Red Racer
and many more
Visit the author online at
the Evil Kitten Project