Apocalypticon
Page 39
From the sound of things, the Red Caps in the parking lot had just found the two dead bodies. There was a lot of shouting, and someone was giving orders. Patrick looked down at the path behind him. He was leaving a pretty unmistakable trail of blood. A blind detective could follow that. He quickened his pace and hurried toward the castle.
The stairs proved to be more difficult than he expected. His lightheadedness increased with every flight, and several times he had to stop on a landing and wait for the stairwell to stop spinning. The steps were utility stairs, made of cold iron and shut up in a dark section of the castle. Undoubtedly, there had been some “magical” elevator that whisked guests up and down in the time before. But the castle wasn’t as tall as it looked from the outside, and before long he stumbled his way to the top floor. He burst through and found himself in a small hallway. There was another door straight ahead. He pushed through it and practically fell into Cinderella’s bedroom.
“Oo-wee,” he said, letting out a low whistle. The room was extravagant, even in ruin. The walls and ceiling were dark wood with what looked to have once been gold paint. There were beautiful stained glass windows set into the walls, some of them even intact. Majestic doorways separated the rooms of the suite. Patrick stalked through them, admiring the detail of each piece of furniture as the world grew brighter outside and cast more light on the castle.
At the far end, he found a window that had been broken out completely. He poked his head out and looked down. He was standing at the front of the castle, looking down the long, main Magic Kingdom walkway. Through the fog, he could see shadows of Red Caps sprinting up the path. He had ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they made their way up the stairs.
Perfect.
He kicked out the little points of glass that remained in the window edge and climbed onto the sill. He was deathly afraid of heights-—for some reason, high places always seized him with the illogical thought of, Oh my God, what if I jump?--but he forced himself to straddle the sill, one leg in, one leg out. Cinderella’s room on his left, Disney World spread before him on his right. It was a good place to be.
He looked down and admired the Snack Pack in his hand. That stupid little pudding cup that he’d carried and kept safe for 1,500 miles. His heart swelled in his chest, threatening to burst. “And me without a spoon,” he said.
He peeled back the foil lid and dipped two fingers into the butterscotch goo. After so many months of vegetables and beans, the sweetness of the pudding took him by surprise, exploding in his mouth in a wonderful, sickly symphony of sugar. In four scoops, the Snack Pack was empty. He held up the little plastic container and kissed it. “We made it, pudding cup.”
He set it down on the ledge and reached into his back pocket, ignoring the pain in his gut that flamed to life when he shifted his weight. He pulled out the letter and unfolded it, gingerly and for the last time. Tears stung his eyes as he moved his fingers over the familiar scrawl. The letters were sharp and uneven, the careful scribble of a child.
My summer vacation, it said across the top. Isabella Deen, age 6. Patrick wiped a tear from his cheek and blinked hard as he read the words he knew so well.
This summer I will go to Disney World. I am iksited. Daddy says I can be a princess like Cinderella. Mommy likes Mulan becus she is a good rore model, but I like Cinderella. Mommy says magic things happen at Disney World. It is our first vacayshun. Daddy never went to Disney World and I never went too. Daddy says our first time will be together and that makes it speshul. I am so happy to be going to Disney World.
Patrick folded the letter and held it to his lips. He breathed in the musty smell of the worn paper, remembering the scent of baby powder and Annie’s lavender lotion.
He looked down and saw the last of the Red Caps disappearing into the castle. He thought he could hear the rattle of their footfalls on the metal staircase. He clutched the letter tightly in his hand and turned to face the rising sun. A gust of wind blustered up from the east and pushed the yellow fog swirling away. The wan yellow disc appeared on the horizon, bathing the park in its glow. Cinderella’s Castle sparkled in the light.
“We made it, Izzy,” he sighed with a smile. “I am so happy to be at Disney World with you.” Then he closed his eyes and waited for the end of the world.
About the Author
Clayton Smith is a sometimes-writer, sometimes-napper based in Chicago, where he uses neither his bachelor’s in journalism nor his master’s in arts management. He is often calamitous, and good at bacon. He lives with his impressively tolerant wife.
Clayton’s previous works include Pants on Fire: A Collection of Lies and the comedic play Death and McCootie, which debuted at the 2013 New York International Fringe Festival.
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