The Forgotten

by R. L. King

  Jason was all ready to protest, but he realized that he did feel pretty bad, and a chance to calm down a little wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that.” He took a deep breath. “I sure hope this is the end of it. We’ve had so many false alarms…”

  “Amen to that,” Stone agreed.

  Jason went upstairs to the guest room, switched on the small portable TV for a healthy dose of one hundred percent mundane background noise, and lay down on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he didn’t know if he’d actually get any rest—he certainly wouldn’t sleep, with his mind going a mile a minute—but maybe he could at least get himself calmed down enough that his fight or flight reactions weren’t ready to launch him out the nearest window at the first unidentifiable sound.

  The TV was playing a football game. Idly, he rolled on his side so he could watch it for a few minutes. It seemed like it had been years since he’d done anything as normal as watching a football game, and it felt good to do it now even if he was only halfway paying attention to what was going on.

  He wondered if Stone would be able to find Verity with the ritual. He hadn’t been able to find Susanna, even with that page of scribblings he’d claimed represented her “essence.” Did the teddy bear contain Verity’s essence? It was a strange concept—but magic in general, at least so far, was pretty damn strange. Every time he got away from Stone, it became harder to convince himself that he’d experienced any of it at all.

  He sighed and resumed looking at the ceiling. This wasn’t working at all. “Lying on the bed” did not equate to “resting,” no matter how much he wanted it to. He gave it his best try for five more minutes, half-listening as commercials droned on for a local Chevrolet dealership and one of Gordon Lucas’s glitzy charity shindigs, but all he could do was keep thinking about was how much he hoped the ritual would work this time, and wonder how far along Stone was in getting things set up so they could start.

  Finally he gave it up as a bad job. He decided he’d just go downstairs, grab a drink, and head on down to the basement. It might be boring, but it couldn’t be any worse than this and at least he’d have somebody to talk to.

  He left the bedroom and descended the stairs. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, the first thing that greeted him was the sight of Mrs. Olivera’s not-insignificant posterior shining up at him like a polyester-clad full moon. He stared at her for a moment, confused. She appeared to be rummaging around under the stove with a broom handle. “Uh—hi?” he ventured.

  She started, turning her head to look at him without getting up. “Oh. Hello,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry—this must look strange. I dropped something behind the stove and I was just getting it out.”

  “O…kay,” he said, still uncertain. “Need some help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve got it already.”

  Jason nodded, his mind still on the proceedings downstairs. He crossed to the refrigerator, quickly examined the contents and decided on a soda (Stone’s beer preferences were a bit too dark and British for his tastes). He grabbed it and headed out, waving. “See you.”

  She didn’t answer, but he, already halfway down the stairs to the basement, barely noticed.

  Stone’s filtered voice answered his knock. “Jason?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Give me a minute, I’m almost done with this part.” It was closer to five minutes before the door clicked open.

  “How’s it going?” Jason asked, coming in.

  “Fine, fine. I figure another fifteen minutes or so to get everything perfect. I don’t want this to fail because I placed a candle wrong.” Stone glanced at Jason, who had sat down with his soda in the same chair he’d used yesterday. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Jason shook his head. “Mind’s going too fast. I even tried watching TV, but no dice. I just want to get this over with.”

  “Quite understandable.” Stone glanced at the soda can. “Ah, good idea. I wish I’d known you were bringing that—I’d have asked you to bring me one, too. It can get a bit warm down here.”

  Jason got up, glad to have something to do. “I’ll grab you one,” he said. “Better than sitting here waiting.” He hurried across the room and out the door.

  Mrs. Olivera was nowhere to be seen when he got to the kitchen. That was a bit odd, since he hadn’t been gone more than a few minutes. He’d reached the fridge and opened it when it occurred to him that there was something else odd about her behavior: she’d responded to his offer of help by telling him that she’d already retrieved whatever she’d dropped behind the stove. But if she’d already retrieved it, why was she still poking around under there with the broom handle? Had she found something else?

  Curiosity getting the better of him, Jason closed the fridge and grabbed a flashlight from its charger on the wall. He got down on all fours, ducking his head low so he could look under the stove. It was a nice one, massive and gas-powered, the kind of thing owned by people who really enjoyed cooking. There was only about a three-inch gap from the bottom of the stove to the floor, so Jason had to put his cheek flush with the floor to be able to see underneath. He switched on the flashlight and shined its beam into the gap.

  The first thing he noticed was that it was very neat under there: no sign of dust bunnies or grease stains or any of the other things people often had under their stoves for lack of cleaning. He started looking on the left side, but almost immediately noticed something else out of the corner of his eye on the right. He moved the beam over and it illuminated a small object, mostly cylindrical and about two or three inches in diameter. It appeared to have some kind of wire sticking out of one end that snaked around behind it, and a tiny red light blinked steadily at the other end.

  The thing was humming.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  To his credit, Jason’s brain only seized up and refused to act for a grand total of about five seconds. That was probably quite a bit better reaction time than the average civilian would experience when confronted with a similar situation. Then he was on his feet in one motion, flinging the flashlight aside and pelting toward the basement, barely touching the stairs on the way down.

  “Doc!” he screamed, pounding on the door with his fists so hard that if it had been a normal interior door it would have buckled. “Doc! Get out here NOW!”

  There was a pause that seemed like it took about twenty years, and then the door swung open. Stone stood there, looking confused and a little freaked out. “Jason? What is—?”

  Jason seized his arm. “We gotta get outta here! Now! Right now!” He was nearly babbling.

  “Jason, what’s going on?” Stone pulled back as Jason tried to drag him up the stairs.

  “Come on!” Wild-eyed with terror, he met Stone’s eyes before resuming his efforts to pull him up. “There’s a bomb in the kitchen!”

  Stone stared at him, dumbfounded. “A—?”

  Jason wasn’t talking anymore. He redoubled his efforts and had succeeded in getting Stone about halfway up the stairs before the mage’s brain finally locked on to what he’d said, and he began moving under his own power. At the top of the stairs he stopped. “Wait—my books—my research—”

  “Fuck your research!” Jason yelled. He was a long way from rational now. “I don’t know how long it’s set to go before it blows. If you don’t want them picking what’s left of us up with a spoon, let’s get our asses out of here!”

  “Go on!” Stone yelled, wrenching his arm away from Jason. “Get out. I’ll follow you.”

  “No way!” Jason lunged at him again, but missed. Glaring, he followed the mage into the living room, where he snatched up the notebook full of strange symbols he’d shown Jason and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans.

  “All right, let’s go,” Stone said grimly. Together they hurried to the front door. Stone flung it open. Then he sto
pped in the open doorway. “Wait! Mrs. Olivera!” He made as if to turn and run back into the house, but Jason grabbed him hard and restrained him, plucking up his leather jacket from the chair by the door and shrugging into it.

  “Doc,” he said, almost sobbing with frustration now. “I think she’s gone. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who set the bomb!”

  “What the hell—?” Stone glared at him as if he’d announced that sentient rabbits had taken over the world’s governments and were scheduling mass executions. “How—?”

  “Never mind!” Jason tightened his grip on Stone’s arms and frog-marched him across the yard out toward the street.

  They made it halfway across the yard toward the street when a faint whoomp sounded behind them, followed by a massive explosion a couple of seconds later as the flame from the small device contacted the gas from the line its initial detonation had ruptured. The blast blew Jason and Stone forward, tumbling them over a parked car. Jason saw something bright flare into existence around them just before they hit, then wink out. They rolled and came to rest in the middle of the street, where a passing pickup truck swerved to miss them and smashed into another parked car on the other side. All around them car alarms were going off, each one adding its individual note of warning to the general cacophony.

  Jason must have blacked out briefly; when he came to, somebody was trying to drag him out of the street. He could hear screams now: people were coming out of nearby houses and running into the street. He struggled out of his rescuer’s grasp. “I’m—okay,” he breathed. Taking quick inventory of his major systems, he discovered that his head hurt a little, he was bleeding from several minor cuts, and in general his body felt like he’d gone several rounds with a bar gorilla back home in Ventura. Nothing broken as far as he could tell. He looked around. “Where’s Dr. Stone?”

  The man pointed. “He’s over there. You sure you’re all right?”

  Jason struggled to his feet. “Yeah. Thanks.” And then he was gone, heading over to where Stone lay on the grass in a neighbor’s yard two houses down, surrounded by a small group of worried neighbors. Already the car alarms were stopping; Jason could hear the distant sound of sirens getting closer.

  He pushed his way past the neighbors and dropped down next to Stone. The mage was awake, though disoriented. He was covered in a collection of cuts and scrapes similar to Jason’s.

  Jason touched his shoulder. “You okay?” He looked past Stone to his former home, appalled and shaking to see the towering orange flames and black smoke rising from it. We were almost in that when it went off. We wouldn’t have stood a chance down in that basement.

  Stone nodded wearily. “Yes…I—think so.” He fumbled at his middle and pulled the leather-bound notebook from his waistband. “Here—take this. Put it—in your pocket.”

  Jason did as he was told, stashing it in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. The neighbors, most of whom had gone back to staring at the fire now that it was clear Stone wasn’t badly hurt, didn’t notice. Jason leaned down close so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I saw—some kind of bright thing show up around us right as the explosion went off. You—shielded us somehow, didn’t you?”

  Stone nodded again. “Not very effectively, I’m afraid,” he said. “But at least we’re still alive.” He moved to sit up, and Jason helped him. He stared at the burning house, letting out a long, slow breath. “Well, that’s the house done for, then.” Sadness flashed across his face. “I’d been in that place for over five years now. I’d gotten rather attached to it, not to mention my library, the artifacts—” He looked around. “But none of that’s important now. Was anyone else hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.” Fire trucks—three of them—were rolling up now, along with several police cars and a couple of ambulances. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the nearby houses had their windows blown out, so I guess they’ll probably be checking.”

  Stone stared at him. “You got us out of there,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “If you hadn’t—”

  Jason nodded, still shaking. Despite the heat radiating out from the house fire, he felt cold. “Yeah,” he breathed. “If I hadn’t gone up to get that soda—”

  That seemed to trigger something in Stone’s mind. “Wait a minute—you said something about—Mrs. Olivera? Did I hit my head, or did you say that she—set the bomb?”

  Jason was about to answer, but he noticed a couple of policemen and a pair of EMTs approaching the little crowd standing in front of them watching the fire. “We can talk about this later, okay? I don’t think I really want to talk to the cops right now.”

  Stone nodded. “I—understand. I’ll talk to them. I’ll see if I can distract them long enough for you to slip off into the crowd and disappear. Your car’s still all right, yes?”

  “Yeah. I had to park down the street. I guess the Jag is history.”

  “Sadly, I fear so.” Stone got to his feet with a little help from Jason. “I’ll deal with this as best I can, and meet you at the Fifth Quarter later. It’s a bar over on El Camino, near Page Mill. Just sit in the back and watch the games and no one will bother you. Don’t be surprised if it takes a while—I suspect this sort of bureaucracy moves slowly.”

  He pulled out his wallet and handed Jason a couple twenty-dollar bills. “Go to a gas station and get yourself cleaned up as well as you can. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away. And don’t lose that notebook.”

  “Yeah…Okay.”

  Stone walked forward, swaying a little unsteadily at first, but recovering quickly. He moved through the crowd and intercepted the group of police and EMTs before they reached it. By this time an even bigger crowd had gathered, so it wasn’t too hard for Jason to mingle his way to the edge and then saunter to his car and get away before the whole street was blocked in. Score another little victory for dumb luck, I guess.

  As lucky as you could be when you’d just been nearly blown to bits by your friend’s cleaning lady, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was a little over two hours before Stone turned up at the Fifth Quarter. Jason sat in the dimly lit back room, as the mage had instructed. Several TV sets were stationed in various corners of the room, showing everything from football to soccer to auto racing. He’d parked himself in a booth in the far back corner where he could watch all the entrances, and was now working on his second beer. Fortunately, his leather jacket, coupled with Stone’s shield spell, had taken the brunt of the impact from the explosion, so most of his superficial cuts had been confined to his face and hands. He’d easily cleaned them up at a nearby gas station bathroom. There were still a few bloodstains on his jeans, but he rubbed some dirt over them and hadn’t thought they’d draw much attention in a bar. He was right. So now all he had to do was sit here feeling all the various aches and pains throughout his body, watch sports he didn’t care about, and wait. By the time Stone came in, he was beginning to feel like he should instigate a bar fight just to have something to do.

  The mage still looked pale and shell-shocked. He’d gotten an overcoat from somewhere, but he was still wearing his ripped and blood-spattered T-shirt and jeans and his hair was more disarrayed than usual. He dropped down into the seat across from Jason and for a moment he just sat there, silent and staring at nothing.

  “You—uh—got away okay, I see,” Jason ventured. “Gimme a sec and I’ll get you a beer. You look like you could use one.”

  Stone nodded. “Guinness, please.” His voice sounded numb.

  Jason went off and returned a few minutes later with Stone’s order. He set the glass in front of the mage and resumed his seat. He didn’t speak either, willing to wait for Stone. He himself had had two hours to sit and contemplate what had happened—Stone had likely been given no such luxury.

  “I—think I’m done with the police,” the mage said at last, taking a sip. A long pause, and th
en: “I told them I smelled gas inside, and I’d left the house to go to a neighbor’s and call the gas company when the explosion went off. They seemed to believe me.”

  Jason nodded. “Did anybody else get hurt?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Stone said. “The explosion blew out a plate-glass window in the house behind mine, and the shards hit two young children playing in their family room.” He sighed, staring down into his glass. “They think they’ll recover, but both were badly injured. One of them might lose an eye.”

  Jason closed his eyes for a second. “Did they make you go to the hospital?”

  Stone shook his head. “They tried, but I declined treatment. Oh, and I also called the University and arranged to take some leave. I had quite a bit of it saved up, and under the circumstances, they had no objection.”

  Jason nodded and glanced up again, not sure how to ask the next question. “Did you—tell the police about Mrs. Olivera?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you about that a bit more, since you told me practically nothing. As far as I know, she was still in the house, and died in the explosion.” His gaze sharpened. “I sincerely hope you have something to back your claim. I might have been able to save her. Though I did notice when I left that her car wasn’t where I saw it parked when I got home.”

  “I don’t think she was there,” Jason said. He told Stone about what he’d seen in the kitchen.

  Stone stared at him, jolted out of his numbness. “So she was poking under the stove with a broom handle after she said she’d retrieved whatever she dropped?”

  “Yeah. That’s what finally registered to me as strange when I went back up. When I got down there to look myself, there was nothing there but the bomb. I don’t know what else to think. If she saw something that weird under there and hadn’t put it there herself, wouldn’t she have said something about it? And why would she leave so soon afterward? I was only downstairs for five minutes or so before I went back up. It seems like she was getting out of there in a hurry.”