Most of the guests went home leaving just the participants who stuck around for questioning and sincere concern while a few stragglers exercised morbid curiosity.
“Let me take you home. You can wait there, get some rest,” Paul offered, guiding her by the shoulders. “Everything looks different in the morning.”
“I’m not leaving without Eddie!”
“Ed left you a long time ago. You said so yourself,” Paul reasoned, gentle as possible.
Lars’ eyes sent him daggers.
Roxi sat on a nearby lawn chair and cried into the sweater. “Something went wrong. Why didn’t he come back? Lars, this is your stupid game. Where is my husband?”
All the players gathered around their hostess.
“Yeah, Lars, what happened?” Rick asked.
“Did you have to buy insurance for that game?” Jim inquired.
“What kind of trick did you pull?” Herb wanted to know.
“Hey that’s enough. Leave her alone, can’t you see she’s worried sick?” Lester said, shielding his wife.
“Besides guys, it’s not anyone from the outside,” Cory reminded them. “You were there. Have we forgotten Magesto’s powers? Did an ogre not suspend you in slime, Rick? Dangling you over hungry saliva eaters? And Stan, did moss microbes not crawl up your legs and conjure vines around you, hanging you upside down in a giant’s lair of drunken FeFiFobics? This is no ordinary crap we’re dealing with.”
The guys shifted uncomfortably and Roxi looked more frightened than ever.
“I still say we all go in there. There’s safety in numbers,” Brett offered.
“Thanks, but no. As much as we appreciate it, we agreed we couldn’t afford any more causalities,” LaRhonda reprimanded.
“Actually, you’re the only one who agreed to that. I’d very much like my husband back,” Roxi snipped.
Paul, who never got to play either, suddenly had an idea. “Guys, if you open the book, is there a table of contents? Maybe one of the entries says how to get out.”
“Thanks Paul, that’s smart thinking,” Roxi reprieved.
“If we open the book to any page, we’ll get sucked in,” Rick reminded them.
Hopes were dashed again.
“But maybe we can crack it enough to peek?” Cory suggested.
They were just about to try when Maury, the police chief checked in. “Nothing. No sign of foul play.”
“Of course not, Officer. As we said before, it’s all happening in there!” Roxi pointed to the one-ton volume Cory and Brett were holding.
Maury looked cynical. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I can have you all booked for abating a crime, you know.”
“It’s real,” Cory defended. “We were there. Look, my pants are scorched.”
The cop grimaced, shaking his head.” You know what they say about liars. How do I know you didn’t get drunk and fall into the barbeque pit?”
“Because six of us have gone there, and one is still stuck!” Jim glared, his temper starting to boil.
“Sir, has anyone at headquarters ever played this before?” LaRhonda diffused. “Check and see. Please. Maybe one of your guys, or gals, knows a loophole.”
Maury sighed, feeling foolish, but radioed in to ask around. He went back to his car to await the answer. Then a lettered van pulled up.
“Oh great, News 5 is here,” Roxi said, rolling her eyes. “Just what we need.”
A reporter and cameraman approached. Roxette was determined to remain mum. The last thing she wanted was for the whole metropolis to think they were mental. But then she spotted an elderly man with her that queued her curiosity.
Right away, the reporter leapt into action, spotlight glaring in their faces. “I’m Stephanie Nevers from News 5 here at the home of LaRhonda Shaw in Beachwood where a man is missing, allegedly disappearing into a book. With me is Blarold Barlow, owner of the Curse-n-Charm Toy Shoppe who says this is just a harmless game of hocus pocus. Ma’am, are you the one who bought the book?”
Pointing the microphone at Roxi, she sneered at the intrusion, shaking her head. “No, my husband is the one missing, if you don’t mind.”
Paul stepped in to guard her, whispering, “Lars, why would you buy something from a store called the Curse-n-Charm?”
LaRhonda pushed forward. “I’m the buyer!” Scowling at the man, she said, “I’m glad you got my message ‘cause I’d like some answers, buddy. First off, whenever I’ve been in your shop, it’s been called the Purse and Coin. What gives Mr. Barlow? Are you magic too? Can you get her husband out?”
The old man looked innocent, taking Roxi’s hand. “Dear, I assure you, your husband is fine. He comes out when he wants to. And LaRhonda, my best customer, I’m no magician. The sign is holographic. It changes with the tilt of your head.”
“Did you make this game? Do you have the instructions? The disclaimers?” Roxi fired away like ammunition.
The man’s gnarled fingers brought up a continuous length of paper from his pocket. He handed her the wrinkled list. She grabbed it and started scanning rapidly as he explained. “No, I am not the creator of the game. Magno Magesto approached my store and asked me to stock it.”
“Blarold, are you saying you’ve actually seen the great wizard?” Stephanie jumped on this new angle, her tone skimmed with the skepticism of asking a grownup if they saw the real live Tooth Fairy.
“Why yes. I’ve been an admirer for years. He knows who the true readers are. He’s drawn to the authentics. Repels the posers. I suspect this missing fellow is the real deal.”
Roxi nodded through tears. “He’s the best.”
Lars hugged her arm while Paul caressed the other.
“Sir, are you saying this a kidnapping case?” Alarmed, Stephanie took the investigative bait. Maury rejoined the crowd in time to hear this new possible lead.
Mr. Barlow shrugged. “No, I suspect it’s a case of free will. The chap chose to stay. After all, it’s a much more exciting place than here.”
Roxi wailed louder, pulling off the sweater to blot her tears.
“So you’ve been there yourself?” The reporter asked, not missing a beat.
“Yes, many years ago. After you get through the terrifying tasks it’s really quite a paradise.”
“How did you get back?” Lars interrogated, taking over. This time it was the reporter who was annoyed. Nevers stuck the microphone in Barlow’s face, not to be one-upped. They all held their breath.
“You just say, Magno Magesto, I’m done. Easy as pie. He has to let you out. It’s in the contract.”
They all slumped with disappointment.
“Blarold, can you say that at any time? Even if you’re defeated?” Roxi asked. It was the pressing question of the day.
“Yes. Of course, then you have to have counsel with Magno and he’ll give you the what-for. It can be a bitter pill to swallow.”
“Do you think Ed knows this?” Roxi asked everyone. “He can be so stubborn.”
“I think so, yeah…” Jim said. “Right, guys? It’s an out, a default button. The words are inscribed in the scene. Like a hidden puzzle.”
“Yeah, if he’s in any condition to read it,” Rick added.
Cory elbowed him again.
“What if you shout it into the book, will he hear it?” She swiveled her head, looking at everyone with desperation pleading in her eyes.
“It’s worth a try,” Jim said. They all nodded.
Ed continued the path the wizard had been leading. It was the only logical answer. It had to be the exit. The room of reflection was in his rearview mirror and the rough concrete ahead really did look like a torture chamber. Was this another of Magesto’s tricks? He thought they were getting along, having a real bro moment. Then his wife had to horn in. Suddenly, Ed snickered. Imagine, the most powerful sorcerer, henpecked! Not even the best can escape it. It made him feel a little better. Oh well, maybe it was dinner time.
Ahh… Ed’s stomach growled. It had seemed like
ages since he ate that bewitched beef. Maybe if he was still in this magic maze when Magno was through, he would bring him back a little something.
Cramming his hands into his pockets out of boredom, the potent pebble poked his palm. “Dummy again,” Ed murmured. As hungry as he was, he lost his lust for conjured chow. But what choice did he have? He pulled the gem from his Jams, about to wish for a feast, when the jewel vanished. Startled, he cussed, then rejoiced. “It must be a sign!” Was my parking meter finally expiring? I have overstayed my welcome!
Now in the pitch dark peak of the pothole, Ed fished for a fissure of light, anything to indicate a way out. Faint incantations haunted the hollow. Ed strained his ear canal as the other was still clogged. Was Magno telling him something? Wait, different voices? Or the same, teasing tone? I’m done. Say I’m done. Eddie come out! Tell Magno you’re done.
They were getting personal! And closer. “I must be near the party!” But what advice was this? He had already said those words, even had a heart to heart with the Grand Marshal himself, yet here he remained. If only he could see. He felt around for a taper, a flip switch, anything to light the way. Yet the words were on repeat. Say I’m done. You’re done, Eddie. Tell Magesto you’re done. Waving his hands on the wall, then reaching up and feeling above, he detected a cold chain swinging over his head. Finally, a light bulb! The chanting continued, getting on his nerves. Yanking on the metal beads, he muttered, “I was done a long time ago. What do they mean, I’m done?”
*** Poof! ***
Ed went from the clammy incline to lying in chirping, chilled grass. He patted the cushiony greenness, grasping a clump, half afraid to open his eyes, sure he’d see an amphibious army again. But he was back home! Well, close enough, lounging on Lar’s lawn. Everyone who was gathered around the book were bowled over when he emerged.
Paul sprang up first. “Bombdiggity, he’s back!”
The guys followed, dazed, glad the idea actually worked.
“Did we get that?” Stephanie asked Joel, the cameraman. He shrugged, but kept rolling.
Roxi ran over, scooping him in her arms. Ed treasured her touch and their love sparked enough energy to support a power plant.
“Sir, were you really in that book?” an intruding microphone asked.
“You bet I was!” Ed muffled between kisses.
Paul intervened, stepping between the mike and the Mr. & Mrs. “It’s exactly what we’ve been telling you!”
The other guys crowded around too, folding their arms.
“Yeah, you saw it with your own eyes.” Rick belched, switching to Pepsi.
Ms. Nevers was taken aback.
Then Mr. Barlow jumped in. “If you don’t believe us, you can always have a look for yourself. Investigative journalism…” he dangled.
Joel peered around the camera, tempted.
LaRhonda stormed over, heaved the hardcover off the ground and handed it to Blarold. “No way! Shut the portal down. Burn it.”
He gathered it up, juggling its size. “Sorry, no refunds. Like I says when you bought it.”
“Fine,” said Lars. “As long as I never see that book again.”
“I second the notion,” Edison agreed, coming up behind with Roxette wrapped around his waist. “Don’t worry, Honey, I’m not going to be reading again for a very long time.”
“Oh Eddie, you don’t have to throw away your hobbies. I was too hard on you. I pushed you away.”
“No, I wasn’t pulling my weight. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson, to the max. But I’m not giving up my fantasy novels completely. I’m just shelving them for now. I’m going to be busy remodeling. I’m upgrading the electronics. What do you say we add a video rental? Heck, I might even finish college.” Arm around his wife, he let Maury usher him over to the medics for precautionary measures.
“You’re overflowing with ideas,” she marveled.
“And you had the best one,” he whispered, settling on a gurney. “Let’s start our family.” Roxi clung to him as the paramedic took his blood pressure. For some reason it was through the roof.
Just before the ambulance door shut, they caught a glimpse of the reporter snatching the book from Blarold. Running ahead, Stephanie and Joel opened it, disappearing into thin air.
“They’re going to regret that,” Ed smiled, going in for a kiss.
Roaring Twenties
A fictitious conversation about real events
“Any progress yet?” asked Amelia, taking a seat and flicking off her gloves.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” sighed her sister. She watched wistfully as steam escaped the teapot. “At least Chen’s has great tea.”
“Indeed.” Amelia poured the seeping brew and cradled the cup in both hands. “My plane is just about ready to pass inspection,” she announced. “Perhaps women will have the same fate by the time I cross the Atlantic.”
“Alice’s picketing is starting to wear down President Wilson.” Muriel took a long smug sip before continuing. Then tears of injustice brimmed her eyes. “Imagine! Taking 47 years since Susan’s arrest, fighting the semantics of the 14th amendment. And poor Ada and Emmaline beaten and jailed with the gals across the pond.”
“It’s a shame. Men are afraid of women with their own minds. They fear we will catch on to all the manure they’ve been feeding us,” Amelia sparked. “If we get the right to vote, they know we can change the world. They won’t have control and it scares them to their very core.”
“Yes,” Muriel murmured. “They will have to do something outrageous, like make their own sandwiches.”
Time Hop
Rooney McCallahan adjusted the fez cap that matched his fiery hair as he trudged wearily down the subway steps that November first night in 1938, the weight of the world on his scrawny shoulders. Maybe not the whole world, but definitely the dizzying whirlwind of The Plaza Hotel where he carted suitcases and trunks for glamorous people who could very well carry their own baggage. It was honest work albeit heavy at times, especially when big families or starlets fumbled in with numerous sets.
He was an optical illusion: one hundred and forty pounds at five eleven but stronger and more muscular than he appeared. He really was nothing more than a mule, he joked with his buddies down at Dempsey’s bar. At least the guests tipped well. He habitually patted his pocket, grateful to have a job in these barely-scraping-by-times.
So deep in thought and exhausted, he didn’t notice the smartly dressed woman in yellow ascending from the train pits as he stomped downstairs. Not that he would know who she was yet.
When she emerged from Grand Central Terminal to the noisy streets, she ducked under a candy-striped awning, glanced into her makeup mirror pretending to powder her nose and… waited.
Rooney reached the humid underworld otherwise known as the bowels of New York City. It was his usual shift so he knew the routine by heart. He leaned against a pillar and gazed at his Bulova watch. It seemed out of place on his blue collar wrist, but it had been a gratuity from Doug Corrigan himself! What luck to carry bags for “Wrong-Way” Corrigan, famous trans-Atlantic aviator who ended up in Dublin instead of California just a mere five months ago! The Joe was mocked for the mix-up, but it only made him more human, more lovable. He admired his moxie for owning it.
He sighed, shifting his weight. A rat scurried across the tracks, hauling debris between his teeth. He groaned instinctively, not at the scrounger, but at the idea of lifting one more thing that night. Crowds were thinning, but he caught breathy fragments as people darted past.
“—felt just like Fay Wray on top of the Empire State Building.”
“—the Rainbow Room is so keen.”
“I just love Broadway, don’t you?”
He made a habit of eavesdropping. It seemed everyone was doing exciting things with their existence and what was he doing? Living life vicariously through them, that’s what! He never took a trip, had barely stepped out of Manhattan in all his twenty-five years, for crying out loud. But he live
d in the Big Apple, where else did he need to go? Just in case, he’d been saving his tips in a jar, safely hidden inside the prohibition cabinet. Maybe it was time to spice things up.
As if the Universe agreed, a gap in the crowd revealed the rectangular corner of tattered leather peeking out from behind a beam. “I’m always seeing luggage.” Sighing in exasperation, he shook his head and the urge to investigate. Big deal, someone set their attaché down to read the paper. He saw it all the time. But when the new herd clambered aboard the subway, there it remained, unclaimed. An aura seemed to glow around it, beckoning him like a beacon.
He sauntered over and inspected it. Hmm, no one was in sight. “Odd,” he mumbled, noncommittally flipping a tag over with his foot. No name, just a taunting, “Do you accept this mission?”
What did that mean? His curiosity began to spin tales. Anti-Nazi spy ring? The idea woke him up a bit. He always dreamed of espionage; he’d be good at it, too. After all, he heard millions of conversations and kept plenty of confidences at the hotel. Contemplating, this box held possibilities. Was it filled with a fortune? What if it was empty, just a trick? Or worse, an advertising gimmick? If it was truly something mystical, and how could that be since magic didn’t exist, would there be no turning back if he unlatched it? It was a risky decision. It would do him good to get out of his rut, but he wasn’t ready to ditch it for the unknown on a moment’s notice.
To put pressure on his overthinking, he heard the rail cars whooshing into the stop. The sing-song ding of the open doors signaled the seconds. If he wanted to go home, it was now or never. On the other hand, what if he grabbed the case and made a run for it? He could decide later, have a chance to pack.
Grasping the handle in a swift motion, he swung his arm in the direction of the train and made a mad dash. Except the briefcase didn’t budge. It was heavy-bottomed as if a magnetic force was weighing it down. He fell flat on his back. The subway chugged away and gained speed. “Well, that’s that,” he muttered under his breath.
The Epochracy Files Page 5