by Geoff North
“Well, he did look kinda old.” Brinn thought her friend might laugh at that. She didn’t even crack a smile. “Did he seem familiar to you?”
Selma shook her head and kicked a stone from the road into the ditch.
“I swear I’ve seen him before. Like in a movie or something.”
“Nobodies like us stalk movie stars—not the other way around.”
“You know what I mean.”
They reached the weed-infested front yard where Brinn’s mother had played as a little girl. She followed Selma through a trail of lilac bushes into an even weedier backyard. They looked up at the old house looming over them. There were rotting wooden steps leading up onto a sagging veranda. All of the windows not attached directly to the house had been long since smashed out. Above the veranda were two bedroom windows facing to the east. The window on the southeast corner was covered with a sheet of plywood; the one to the northeast was open. Brinn could see remnants of two-by-fours jutting out from the window frame. The wind hadn’t done that, she thought.
It appeared as though the house was grinning at them. One bedroom window eye was shut, like it was winking. The other was open and black, staring at the two girls down in the grass. The bend in the veranda roof resembled a mouth, the worn shingles sticking up in places like rotted brown teeth.
Selma reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out half a joint. She had smoked the first half in her Mustang minutes before entering Brinn’s house and communicating with her friend’s dead mother.
She went to light it and Brinn took a hold of her wrist before the flame could reach its blackened end. “Please, Selma. Not here.”
“Lighten up. I’m not going into that place without a good dose of giggles to back me up.”
“Neither one of us are going in there,” Brinn protested. “This is crazy…all of it. The drugs, you talking to my mom…and now this… Jesus, if you get stoned out here, there’s a good chance you’ll burn the place down.”
Selma flicked the unlit joint into her face. She punched Brinn’s shoulder a little too hard. “You’re the one that wants to keep talking to her. You’re the one that keeps on getting high with me. What’re you trying to say, Brinn? You wanna clean up your act? You wanna concentrate on bringing your grades back up and making new friends?”
Brinn backed away a step. She was getting sick of being punched and poked with each mention of the words you’re and you. Selma was her best friend—her only friend. “Well maybe it is time we grew up a little bit. All this sneaking around…the lying…the pot.”
Something rustled through the lilac bushes behind them. The man who had been lurking behind Brinn’s house stepped through the path. “I was his last creation…his final friend in the end.”
Brinn spun around and stepped back into Selma at the same time.
“I was nearby when it happened. I couldn’t stop it.” He seemed desperate to get this point across—to unburden some hidden guilt from his too-hairy chest.
Selma stood between Brinn and the man. “Back off, creep. Just leave us alone.”
The man nodded slowly. Did he realize how odd he sounded? Was he getting it through his head that chasing after seventeen-year-old girls wasn’t appropriate behavior? “I’m sorry, miss.” He was talking directly to Brinn. “I should explain myself a bit better. I’m Oscar Williams…I used to be an operative for the S.S.I.A. That’s the Super-Secret Intelligence Agency.”
“Oh,” Brinn answered.
“I’ve traveled some distance to find you.”
“Did you say the Super-Secret Intelligence Agency?”
“Yes I did.”
“That’s what I thought.” This encounter was turning into a nightmare.
“Your uncle, my creator—Neal Stauch—died accidently in the summer of 1977. He was nine years old.”
Brinn inhaled sharply. No one spoke about Uncle Neal. Not only had this man specifically targeted her, but he’d done plenty of research. How long had he been stalking her? How long had he been planning this?
And what did he know about her Uncle Neal? As far as Brinn knew, he’d disappeared as a child. Neal had wandered away from this very same farm he’d grown up on—was growing up on—a runaway child with a fifteen-minute grudge against his parents. Or so the story went. She had never spoken to her parents of it—not once had she asked her mother what became of her big brother—she knew better. Neal Stauch had disappeared one summer afternoon, and that was that. For a stranger to suggest otherwise was wrong.
A stranger like the one standing in front of them now.
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Brinn finally said.
He scratched his forehead, troubled at how to continue. “I’m very sorry, Miss Addam. I know it all sounds very disturbing but I have to make you understand I’m not here to cause you any harm…I need your help.”
There was a rip on the back of his hand. Not a cut, but an actual tear in the skin. The edges appeared dry and curled back, like dry, flesh-colored rubber. Selma saw it too. She caught a glimpse of metal beneath before he lowered the arm back down to his side. “What’s wrong with your hand? Shouldn’t you see a doctor about that?”
He held it back up and studied the injury for a moment. “There’s no one left to fix it.”
“Is your hand a prosthetic or something? Is that what they call it?” Selma tilted her head to one side for a better look.
He took half a step back and offered the hand up slowly. “You could say that I suppose, but it’s a lot more advanced than anything your world’s working on these days.”
Brinn’s eyebrows rose. “Our world? Are you telling us you’re a super-spy from another planet?” There was something about the way he tried to keep his distance, the innocence in his blue eyes that told her she could relax a bit.
Had Uncle Neal let his guard down in a similar way? A kind gesture, a pleasant smile?
“Gosh, no! That’s Commander Gunnarson’s thing. I’m from good old Earth, just like you... Well, an Earth…another Earth, I suppose.” He held the back of his hand up closer. “I’m an android. My whole arm is a mechanical construct.”
“You’re a robot?” Selma grinned at her friend. “Am I still high?”
“Not a robot…an android. Everything you see is artificial; only my brain is real. It’s the only part of me that’s all…human.” He rolled up the jacket sleeve on his opposite arm and Selma gasped. The skin beyond his wrist and all the way up to his elbow was gone. They could see a network of black, red, green, and yellow wires interlaced through a series of silver steel cables. There were tiny circuits and blinking lights of purple and blue. He flexed his fingers, made a fist, and the cables throughout his forearm contracted with the action. There were dark brown spots coating some of the thicker wires. Rust?
“Still works pretty good, so long as I keep it out of water. It sparks and short-circuits when any moisture at all gets inside.”
“What—how did you know about my Uncle Neal?” Brinn was stunned. What else could she ask the strange man in front of them showing off his mechanical muscles? Did he have a trap door in the center of his chest? Would he want to show them his android heart and lungs next?
“There was more to your uncle than most people realized—a lot more. There are very few people with his kind of power, his unique gift. I think you know what I’m talking about.”
Brinn knew exactly what he was talking about.
Williams rolled down his sleeve and continued. “All kids have great imaginations…they can create all sorts of crazy worlds to play in and characters to play with. I’m one of those characters. Your uncle thought me up after watching a television program called Manchine.”
She had watched a re-run of the show once with her dad a few years ago. It was pretty cheesy, and she hadn’t bothered to watch another episode. She looked at Oscar closely. The hair, the clothes, it all fit. “You’re the guy Dad called Oscabot! What was his name in real life? Ryan something? You’re that acto
r, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know any television actors, but I’ll take your word for it. That’s probably the guy I was based on.”
Selma was still grinning. “Weird…this is absolutely nuts.”
“Yeah, nuts and bolts…that’s me alright. But please, just call me Oscar. I don’t much like the sound of Oscabot. I’m from that world your uncle created. I was with him when he died… I should’ve stopped that from happening. But I had no idea he was really drowning. I thought it was all just part of the game.”
“Drowning? What game?” Selma asked. “What the hell is this weirdo talking about, Brinn?”
“His game… All of his games. The world he made was real, the people, the creatures…all real. But he was a kid. He was just playing. I should’ve known better.”
The details of her uncle’s disappearance had been a taboo subject even before Brinn’s mother had passed away. There was too much pain, too many open wounds in the family that had never healed. How could they? But still, Brinn had always wondered. Deep down she had always wanted to know more. Oscar Williams-Manchine-Ryan—whatever his name was—seemed to have some answers. Or at least thought he did. Curiosity overrode her better judgment. That old need took over. She had to ask.
“How did he die, exactly?”
“His foot got stuck in some mud on the bank of an old pond behind the farmhouse. He tried working it out, but he slipped down into the water. Your uncle couldn’t swim…and I made the mistake of assuming he could.” The last few words came out quietly, barely more than a whisper.
“My uncle’s body was never recovered. They would’ve found him if he’d drowned on the very farm he was growing up on. It would’ve been one of the first places they searched. He ran away from home and was never heard from again.”
“I took the…I took your uncle somewhere else.”
Fear rushed through her body. Brinn had her answers and she didn’t like them. Oscar Williams was a creep—a dangerous, lying creep.
Selma looked puzzled. “Seriously, Brinn. What’s this guy talking about?”
Brinn warned the girl with a quick shake of her head. They had to get away. Selma’s confrontational attitude wouldn’t help them. “Doesn’t sound like it was your fault. Did you at least try and save him once you realized he was drowning?”
Oscar nodded, his handsome face turned down to the weeds and overgrown grass. “Of course… I tried my very best to bring him back…but it was too late. Neal was gone.”
“You have to let go of your guilt then. It was an accident.” She took a step towards the lilac bushes. She made eye contact with Selma and the girl followed.
He looked at Brinn and smiled. It was a kind, genuine expression. “Thanks, miss. Coming from you that sure means a lot.”
“Why have you come to see me, Oscar?” She took another step.
“The world Neal left behind never went away. You’d think after his death it would just cease to exist, but no…it’s still there, and things aren’t good.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re his niece—it has everything to do with you. We need someone with your uncle’s power to help jumpstart things again.”
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you. I have to get going.” She took two quick steps backwards, still facing him, ready to kick out.
He jumped forward and for the first time since they met, he touched her. His hand wrapped around her wrist in a tight, almost painful grip. It felt cold, mechanical, and very powerful. She didn’t doubt for a moment that there was enough strength in those fingers to crush the bone beneath her skin.
Selma pulled at his arm. “Let her go, you freak!”
The android ignored the other girl. “Please, miss, we need you.”
The pommel of a broadsword thudded down on the top of his skull. Oscar released her and staggered down onto one knee.
“Don’t you ever touch me again,” Brinn said.
“What?” He rubbed the back of his head and turned slowly to see who had struck him.
A six-foot-tall warrior woman scantily clad in chainmail with armor-plated shoulders snarled down at him. Held menacingly above her head was the broadsword she’d hit him with. Her long hair was jet black and wild, her eyes green and savage.
Brinn smiled. “Say hello to my imaginary friend.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
The Last Playground excerpt