The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  “Grandpa…”

  “I know you say you don’t mind,” he interjected, “…but I do. This isn’t the life I wanted, and it’s not the life I wanted for you.”

  Bella had the urge to say something, to contradict him, but held her tongue.

  “I adore you more than anything in my life,” he continued, putting a warm palm on her cheek. “And I love to write…I have to write, to escape this dreadful prison.”

  “Prison?”

  “That’s what this is,” he replied. “This apartment. And if it weren’t for you it would have swallowed me whole. After your mother died…” He stopped himself then, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out. “You rescue me from myself, Bella. You make this all worthwhile.”

  Bella smiled, having no choice but to gracefully accept this.

  “Thanks Grandpa.”

  He smiled back, giving her a kiss on the forehead. Then he got up from the bed, walking stiffly to the door.

  “Grandpa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why don’t we have any pictures of Mom?”

  Grandpa sighed, reaching the door and pausing there. He seemed at a loss for words.

  “It’s…complicated, Bella,” he answered at last. Bella was unsatisfied with the non-answer, but she left it alone, knowing that Grandpa wouldn’t say anything more about the matter. He never did.

  Grandpa stood by the door, his hand on the doorknob, gazing down at her for a long moment.

  “Goodnight Bella,” he said at last. “I love you more than anything in this world. Or any other world, for that matter.”

  “I love you too Grandpa.”

  And then he closed the door, leaving her alone in the darkness.

  * * *

  The next morning ushered in the start of another long school week, the sun having just peeked above the horizon by the time Bella left the apartment for her bus stop. A few minutes later, the bus arrived, traveling across town and depositing her and her fellow students at the front double-doors of the high school, a dull brick building that she soon found herself inside. The inside of the school was as ghastly as the outside, with stark white linoleum floors and gray lockers set against the walls. The only color was that which the students had added, with hand-drawn posters on the bulletin boards announcing the upcoming election of the next class president.

  And so the day dripped along, each class separated by a five-minute frenzy to get to the next. Then lunch – leftover chili – and her study break.

  Then came more classes, ending of course with Mrs. Pittersworth’s algebra class. Bella resisted the urge to doodle, weighing it against the threat of more detention. Mrs. Pittersworth’s eye was upon her, she knew, and the woman was downright vindictive. Bella succeeded in not doodling, but not quite in paying attention, and was relieved when the bell tolled to signal the end of the school day. She got up hurriedly, joining the mad dash to the door.

  “Bella?” Mrs. Pittersworth called out. Bella grimaced, veering off toward her teacher’s desk.

  “Yes Mrs. Pittersworth?”

  “You did better today,” she declared approvingly. However, her expression rapidly returned to its natural state…like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “However, I’m extremely disappointed that your grandfather not only failed to come to the scheduled parent-teacher conference, but failed to re-schedule one as well.”

  “Oh.”

  “This is unacceptable,” she continued. “It is of vital importance that your guardian be invested in your education. Regrettably, not showing up gives me the impression that he isn’t.” She put her hands on her narrow hips. “Now that can’t be true, can it?”

  Bella chose to be silent, knowing that Grandpa was, in fact, not invested in her education. At least not the one she was getting in school. He often said it was a fine way to train zombies, but not human beings…and mostly served to transform the latter into the former.

  “Bring this letter home with you,” Mrs. Pittersworth commanded, handing Bella a white envelope. “Give it to your grandfather and insist that he reads it.”

  “Yes Mrs. Pittersworth.”

  And with that, she was set free.

  * * *

  The air was ice-cold by the time Bella got off the school bus, the sun already dipping into the horizon. Darkness began its slow spread over the earth, blanketing the skeletal trees and houses. A far cry from those endless summer days Bella had enjoyed what seemed like only moments ago. She sighed, trudging down the sidewalk toward her apartment, passing the Jack-o-lanterns leering at her from the safety of their porches, their face lit with flickering fire. She kept her eyes on her feet, huddling against a frigid wind that assaulted her, whipping through her long curly hair. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets, feeling the envelope Mrs. Pittersworth had given her in the right one.

  She hesitated, then pulled it out. Grandpa wouldn’t care if she opened it. Probably.

  Bella did just that, removing a folded piece of paper from within. It was a hand-written letter:

  Mr. Brown,

  Your daughter Bella is having continued difficulty with attention. I have taught countless children over the last twenty years, and many with her difficulties have benefited greatly from medication.

  It is imperative that we set up a conference to discuss Bella’s future. Please call me at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Pittersworth

  Bella stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, reading, then re-reading the letter. She felt numb.

  Her difficulties. Medication.

  She blinked back sudden tears, stuffing the letter back into her pocket. A part of her wanted to tear it to shreds. But she knew full well that Mrs. Pittersworth was right.

  She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. She’d always known there was something wrong with her. It was why she didn’t have many friends. She preferred the warmth and vibrancy of her imagination to real life…and for the life of her, she didn’t know why.

  Because real life can hurt you.

  Bella swallowed past a lump in her throat, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. She suddenly dreaded showing Grandpa the letter, knowing full well she would. They shared everything, good and bad. A part of her hoped he’d tear it up himself, after going into one of his epic rants about her school.

  But what if he didn’t? What if he made her go to the doctor and start taking pills? The thought of having to take something that would change her brain – change who she was – was terrifying. As was the thought that who she was…wasn’t enough.

  Shoving the thought out of her mind, she focused on the gate to her apartment building ahead. She opened it with a loud screech, climbing up the steps to the front porch.

  She heard the gate close…and footsteps approaching from behind.

  Bella whirled around, her breath catching in her throat.

  “Afternoon, Bella.”

  Two men were walking leisurely toward her. The police officers she’d seen questioning the kids last Friday.

  She stood there, pressing her back against the front door.

  “Hi,” one greeted, mounting the steps and stopping before her on the porch. A very tall man with pale skin, short black hair peeking out from his cap. He extended a gloved hand. “I’m officer Stanwitz.”

  “And I’m officer Reynolds,” the other officer greeted, staying at the bottom of the stairs. He was shorter than officer Stanwitz, with broad shoulders and olive skin. They both spoke in strange accents Bella had never heard before. She glanced at Stanwitz’s hand, keeping her own hands stuffed in her pockets. She fingered the refurbished flip-phone in her left pants pocket. It was ancient but cheap, a gift from Grandpa a few years back…and only for use in emergencies.

  “We just want to ask you a few questions,” Stanwitz stated.

  “Have I broken the law, officer?” she asked, as she’d been taught.

  “Relax,” officer Stanwitz soothed, stepping in a
little closer. Too close. He loomed over Bella, smiling down at her with his thin lips, but not his eyes. His uniform smelled musty, and Bella shrank away from him. “We’re just…investigating a few minor crimes we think one of your fellow students might have committed.”

  “Someone vandalized the principal’s mailbox again,” Reynolds explained.

  “Don’t know anything about that,” she stated tersely. “Sorry.” She turned to open the door, but officer Stanwitz grabbed the doorknob before she could, blocking her hand.

  “See, now that’s what everyone’s been telling us,” he replied. “They can’t all be telling the truth, can they Bella?”

  “I am,” she retorted.

  “Are you?” Stanwitz pressed, his dark eyes narrowing.

  “Someone has to know what happened,” Reynolds pointed out.

  “Yeah,” Bella replied. “Someone else.”

  Stanwitz smirked.

  “Well that’s funny,” he stated. He twisted around, glancing at Reynolds, who was still at the bottom of the steps, blocking the only path out of the fenced-in front yard. “Isn’t that funny Reynolds?”

  “Hilarious,” Reynolds muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Stanwitz turned back to Bella, slamming his palm against the door beside her head and making her flinch.

  “Wanna know why that’s so funny?” he inquired. Bella just stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “The other students we questioned? They said you did it.”

  “You just said I didn’t break the law,” she retorted, trying to keep her voice calm.

  “No, I told you to relax,” Stanwitz corrected. He reached out and grabbed a lock of her hair, leaning in to smell it. “This is gonna be so much easier for you if you do.”

  She shrank away, then tried to slip past him, but he blocked her with one leg, smirking down at her.

  “Where you think you’re going, honey?”

  “Let me go you creep,” she ordered, reaching for the knob again. But his hand was still on it.

  “Perpetrator used a rubber mallet to break the principal’s mailbox,” Stanwitz murmured, running the lock of hair against his lips, then letting go. “Guess we’re gonna have to search your place to find it.”

  He turned the knob then, but it was locked.

  “Open it,” he ordered.

  “Do you have a warrant?” Bella shot back.

  He rolled his eyes, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her chest-first against the door, leaning his body against her backpack.

  “Search her pockets,” he told Reynolds.

  She felt hands in her coat pockets, and Reynolds retrieved the letter, glancing at it, then tossing it aside. He shoved a hand into her right pants pocket.

  “Hey!” she blurted out.

  “Found it,” Reynolds announced, handing the key to Stanwitz. Stanwitz smirked, unlocking the door, then opening it and shoving Bella through. She stumbled, barely managing to keep her balance with her backpack on.

  “Resisting a police officer, tsk tsk,” Stanwitz said, smirking at her. “Which floor Bella?”

  “First,” she lied.

  “Check the mailboxes,” Stanwitz told Reynolds, who nodded reluctantly, going back outside. Moments later he returned with an envelope in his hand.

  “Letter addressed to the girl,” he announced. “Third floor.”

  Stanwitz shook his head at Bella.

  “Bet you thought that was real clever.”

  He grabbed her arm, hauling her upstairs. Reynolds followed close behind, and they climbed to the third-floor landing, stopping before the door. Stanwitz turned to Bella.

  “After you,” he prompted, gesturing at the door.

  “You have the key, remember?” she shot back. He glanced at Reynolds, then smirked, slipping the key in the doorknob and turning it. Then he twisted the knob, pushing on the door.

  It didn’t budge.

  Stanwitz tried again, then sighed, turning to Bella.

  “Okay,” he grumbled. “Open it.”

  “It’s deadbolted,” she pointed out. “I can’t open it.”

  “Oh, right,” Stanwitz replied, turning toward the door.

  Then he spun around, punching Bella right in the gut.

  Hard.

  Bella lurched backward, striking the railing behind her, then falling to her side on the landing. She gasped for air, tears blurring her vision. Her stomach lurched, sour fluid filling the back of her throat.

  She puked.

  “Jesus Stanwitz,” Reynolds blurted out. “Take it easy!”

  “Bella Bella Bella,” Stanwitz muttered, kneeling down beside the pool of vomit, looking at it with disgust. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head backward and forcing her to look up at him. The sudden pain in her scalp made her eyes water. “You need to start cooperating honey.”

  She gasped for air, clenching her teeth against another wave of nausea. Then she reached inside her left pants pocket, finding her phone and flipping it open inside her pocket, feeling the buttons to orient herself, then dialing 9-1-1. She held her thumb over the speaker, glaring back at Stanwitz.

  “You’re not really cops, are you,” she accused. Stanwitz smirked at her.

  “Looks like we got a god-damn genius over here,” he shot back. “Bravo Bella! You figured it out.”

  There was a BAM! as Reynolds kicked the door. The door held, and Reynolds stumbled backward, nearly colliding with Stanwitz.

  “Damn thing must be made of metal,” he grumbled.

  “Door frame isn’t,” Stanwitz pointed out. “Hit it hard enough and it’ll break through.”

  “You sure about that?” Reynolds retorted. “How about you give it a try.”

  “Quit wasting time,” Stanwitz shot back. Reynolds glared at him, but readied himself again, lunging forward and kicking the door as hard as he could.

  BAM!

  There was a loud crack, part of the doorframe breaking free. But the door still held. Stanwitz smirked.

  “See?” he told Reynolds. “Again.”

  Reynolds gathered himself for another round, then kicked.

  BAM!

  The doorframe shattered, the door flying open and ricocheting off the wall, slamming into officer Reynolds. He shoved it all the way open, striding into the hallway beyond and unholstering his pistol.

  “Grandpa!” Bella screamed.

  Stanwitz grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging Bella across the floor toward the broken door. She cried out, reaching blindly for his wrist and grabbing it with both hands. He dragged her into the hallway of her apartment, the carpet there burning her side as she slid across it.

  “Run Grandpa!” she screamed. “Run!”

  “Shut up,” Stanwitz growled, stopping to twist around and glare at her. He unholstered his pistol, shoving the cold hard metal against her forehead. He held it there for a moment, then turned around, dragging her into the living room.

  And to Bella’s horror, Grandpa was there, sitting in his favorite chair at his desk, his back to them.

  Stanwitz let go of Bella, striding forward and aiming his pistol at Grandpa’s back.

  “Careful,” Reynolds warned. “We don’t know what he brought with him.”

  “Well well ‘Mr. Brown,’” Stanwitz said. “Or should I say Mr. Birch,” he added with a smirk, stopping a few feet behind Grandpa. “Been looking forward to this for a long time.”

  He paused, then cocked his head to the side. Grandpa didn’t so much as move, sitting on his chair silently, his hands in his lap. Some of the framed drawings on his desk had fallen on the floor around him, the painting above his desk hanging askew.

  “Proud till the end,” Stanwitz mused. He circled around to the right, his gun aimed at Grandpa’s head. “Must’ve been exhausting, knowing we were coming. Hiding for all those years in a book, just waiting for us to find you.”

  Still, Grandpa said nothing.

  Stanwitz stared at him, then edged forward, stopping a
foot from Grandpa.

  “What’s the matter Mr. Birch?” he inquired with a smirk. “Won’t stoop to talk to one of us?”

  Still no answer.

  Stanwitz kicked Grandpa’s chair, sending it toppling over. Grandpa fell to the carpet with a loud thump, sprawling out on his side. Bella gasped in horror.

  “Grandpa!” she cried.

  Stanwitz nudged Grandpa with his foot. Then he knelt down, putting two fingers to Grandpa’s neck.

  “What is it?” Reynolds asked. Stanwitz glared at him, then lowered his gaze, staring at Grandpa.

  Then he cursed, standing up.

  “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “What?” Reynolds repeated.

  “Really?” Stanwitz stated. “After all these years we spent looking for your damn book. Ten goddamn years we looked for you, and you had to end up dead.” He looked up at Reynolds. “Honestly, he’s taking all the fun out of the job.”

  And then he fired three rounds into Grandpa’s chest.

  “Grandpa!” Bella screamed, scrambling to her feet. Stanwitz whirled around, pistol-whipping her in the temple. Her head snapped to the side, her skull exploding in pain.

  She barely felt her face strike the carpet.

  Reynolds swore, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair.

  “What do we do?”

  Stanwitz sighed, turning to look at Grandpa, then Bella, his arms at his sides. He walked up to her then, his boots thumping on the floor until he was looming over her.

  “We could have a little fun,” he admitted, tapping his pistol against his thigh. Then he sighed, turning away from her. “You know what? I’m just not in the goddamn mood.”

  “Just grab the kid and go,” Reynolds pressed.

  “Oh, we’ll go all right,” Stanwitz replied, his thin lips curling into a smirk. “But I’m not up for babysitting right now.”

  He pointed his pistol right at Bella’s head.

  “Time for a family reunion, kid.”

  Bella screamed, throwing her hands in front of her face and rolling to one side.

  “No!” Reynolds cried out, leaping at Stanwitz and shoving him to the side at the last minute.