It All Started...

by David W. Smith

  Looking again at the placement of the words, he wondered why the third and fourth lines were offset. There had to be a reason for that. It couldn’t have been just a typographical error. Walt had a reason for everything he did.

  Staring at the answer sheet, Lance thought he saw a pattern emerge. He decided to insert It’s a Small World in the remaining blank to see if completed the idea he was forming. When he lined the words up the way the blanks were spaced, he took the letters down in a straight line and came up with the answer:

  Crystal Arcade

  Opera House

  Alice in Wonderland

  Dumbo

  Matterhorn

  Blue Bayou

  It’s a Small World

  Autopia

  1940

  ‘Columbia 1940’.

  Smiling to himself with a new sense of purpose and direction, Lance left the front of the Penny Arcade and headed for Frontierland. The Sailing Ship Columbia was docked in Fowler’s Harbor, off the main track of the Rivers of America when it was not being used for guests or being used in the nighttime show, Fantasmic! Lance stood on the old Keel Boat dock that was now a smoking area for guests, and looked up at the tall, red backside of the ship, its name proudly displayed in golden letters. There were white-framed windows that opened into the display of crew quarters that would have been standard on the ship in 1787 when she sailed as the first American ship to circumnavigate the world.

  As Lance stood pondering how a ship that had sailed in 1787 would figure in a clue dated 1940, a familiar voice sounded at his side. “I could smell your cheap cologne all the way into Critter Country.”

  Lance turned to greet his Security partner. “Hey, Wolf! It was hand-mixed for me in Italy, as you well know.”

  Wolf was unimpressed. “Why in the world would I know that?”

  Lance looked surprised. “Because I told you, like, a month ago.”

  “You are assuming, yet again, that I actually pay attention to anything you tell me.” When Lance could come up with no reply and was blankly staring at him, Wolf asked, “You take up smoking?” as he indicated the dock that was designed to look like it was made out of rough-cut logs.

  “Hardly.” Lance started to laugh, but broke off, hesitant to say more. He trusted Wolf completely, but wondered how much of this quest he should share.

  “You haven’t been around much.” Wolf saw the reluctance and would leave it up to Lance to tell him any of the particulars if he so wanted.

  Knowing Wolf as well as he did, Lance knew this was his way to say he’d been missed and he was curious. “Yeah, I…I…um, have a project that came up suddenly.” He indicated the Columbia with a tilt of his chin. “I’m just trying to see if this ship holds an answer that I need.”

  “Do you need to get inside? Do you need to see the museum below deck?”

  Lance slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. Now that I think about it, this ship’s design is set in the wrong year. I need something with the name Columbia in 1940 that’s associated with Walt Disney.”

  “Columbia University? Columbia Pictures? The Columbia River?” Wolf counted off, his voice coming off in a monotone.

  Lance let out a breath. “I hadn’t thought of all of those. I need to do more research at home, I guess.”

  “Does this have anything to do with all the places you went with Adam earlier this year?” Now Wolf was really curious as to what Lance would tell him. He knew Lance had come back from his last trip to Idaho alone and a changed man. Even after Wolf’s brief conversations with his boss and with Beth Roberts, he still didn’t fully understand what had happened, and this was the first time he had actually seen Lance since he went missing a week ago. He would like to know how far Lance was involved with his own boss, how seriously he was taking all of this. Knowing the old Lance, Wolf was hoping he wasn’t treating it like a game. There was too much at stake—both for Walt’s sake and for Lance’s.

  Lance was silent and looked his security partner in the eye. He saw trust, curiosity, and strength in the blue eyes that stared back at him. Sometimes you have to take a chance. “Tell you what, Wolf,” he finally said, “why don’t you come over to my place after you get off work tonight and I’ll tell you all about my trips with Adam and Beth. I think I may need your help, if you’re willing.” Well, not all about my trips, he silently corrected. Some things will have to remain a secret for now.

  Wolf gave a curt nod and picked up his walkie-talkie as it beeped. Lance knew Wolf was needed in another part of the Park. After checking in, Wolf gave him a brief, “I get off at eight o’clock. I’ll be over around nine. See you then.”

  Lance watched as Wolf strode off toward Adventureland. He felt relief mixed with anxiety—relief that he may have a partner again and anxiety that he was choosing the right partner and doing the right thing.

  Time will tell.

  Columbia, 1940

  It was began to wear on him. He was tired. Exhausted, really. The strike at the Studio was going on and on. This trip through South America, urged by his friends Rockefeller and Whitney, had been for two reasons: A goodwill trip between the United States and Latin America, and a filmmaking venture. The animators that were still at the Studio were finishing up Dumbo, and Fantasia had just been released to mixed reviews. He was even forced off his boat in the Panama Canal to attend their premiere of Fantasia at a theater there in Panama. There had been no time to relax and recharge.

  Still, the trip had been creatively fruitful. The DC-3 that took the group into Chile had become the inspiration for a future short film about a little mail plane he would name Pedro. There would be two films that would blend humans with animated characters.

  The Studio and money. Two things that were always on his mind to eat at him and add to the pressure and the worry. And his worries were half of that of his brother, Roy, who worked almost daily to keep the Disney Enterprise from going bankrupt.

  He was recognized and welcomed everywhere he went. Thronged, more like it. He would put on a gaucho hat and serape, speak the few Spanish phrases he knew, and when those ran out, he would stand on his head to entertain the vast amount of people who came to see him. But thoughts of the Studio kept coming back. The betrayal he felt because of the strike at the Studio.

  He just had to get away to be by himself. He needed some quiet. And it wasn’t going to happen if he stayed on the boat.

  The chance came when their boat stopped in Columbia. With a small group, he commandeered a launch and traveled about thirty miles up a river deep into the jungle. The lush beauty of the tropical rainforest calmed him. Hanging vines. Calls from hidden creatures. Blooms of exotic flowers. Dark, murky waters that hid potential dangers unseen below a placid, calm surface.

  At his request, they pulled into a clearing. The launch was tied to the roots of a huge tree that emerged from the ever-moving green water, water that would eventually find its way to the mighty Amazon. Lowering a gangplank, they made a cheerful camp with a carefully-watched fire that kept the insects at bay and was used to prepare a simple meal. As dusk quickly fell, the native guides recommended they stay the night rather than attempt to run the river in the darkness. Some of the men were a little leery of the noises that emerged from the dense undergrowth as the night became more pronounced. Not Walt. He turned his back on the fire and walked to the edge of the clearing, peering into the shadows, his imagination on full speed. One of the guides brought him a small tumbler of tequila. “Go no further,” he insisted as Walt finished off the drink and handed the tumbler of ice back to the man. When Walt turned back to the trees, the guide gave a panicked look into the darkness. “Please, Mister, come back to the fire. It’s not safe.”

  Walt barely heard him. His mind was active, fertile; as fertile, he thought, as the lush soil that bore the weight of each step he took. He stopped and looked back at the guide who stood with a bewildered look on his face, the glass tumbler forgotten in his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m just going for a smoke. I’
ll be all right.” He gave the man an assured wave. Looking out to the west, Walt pointed toward the silhouette of a raised hilltop, a black mound seen against the backdrop of deepening twilight. “See that big rock formation?”

  “El Lobo? Sí.”

  “Is that what it is called? El Lobo? Well, I’m just going as far as El Lobo. You go back to the fire. I’ll be right back.” It was not a request. It was an order.

  The guide held back from any further warnings and gave a shrug. “Sí, Señor.” He didn’t like it, but had no choice.

  Walt welcomed the darkness as he walked away from the bright, warm light of the fire. He could hear a muted argument going on in camp and knew it was about him and his safety. Let them argue. I need this.

  The moon had crested full above the tall foliage that surrounded the clearing where the camp fire blazed in the distance. A single beam of moonlight cascaded through branches and illuminated the area as Walt reached the rock formation. About ten feet tall, the rocks seemed to form a crouching wolf, staring straight at him as it stood next to the river’s edge. He ran his hands along the jagged rocks that were the ‘teeth’ in the open mouth of the wolf-like shape. His smile faded as his thoughts inevitably returned to his Studio. “What am I going to do?” he whispered to the wolf, shaking his head in frustration. Walt reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pack of cigarettes and thumped the top of the box against his palm. Walt slid the slender smoke from the box. Reaching into his other pocket, he took out his familiar chrome-plated Zippo lighter and flipped the lid open. A two-inch flame illuminated Walt’s face and hands. Held up in front of his face, he stared intently into the flickering flame. “How are we going to go on? I don’t want to have to close.” Walt spoke into the flame as if it were a crystal ball that could reveal an answer to his question.

  He was startled by a deep voice that came out of the forest. It wasn’t the voice of any of his friends. “Walt, you don’t need to worry about your future. Your studio will survive just fine. You’ll even find the money for your little Park. It will become a reality.”

  The unlit cigarette unconsciously fell to the ground. He looked around for a moment, holding the Zippo out as a miniature lantern. He turned around, searching for the voice. Was it a voice? Yes, definitely he heard the words spoken. It was not an alcohol-induced hallucination as he had only the one drink. Suddenly, a stiff breeze blew across the jungle floor, rustling leaves and branches, and, to Walt’s dismay, blew out his lighter, allowing the twilight to consume him.

  Walt was now confused. He tried relighting the Zippo, but the wind kept blowing out the weak flame. With a loud snap, the lighter closed and Walt listened to the sounds around him. Was one of his friends playing a trick on him? “Who’s there? Show yourself. How do you know about my Park? No one knows….”

  He broke off as a dark shape…a hand, he thought, emerged from the trees. As he squinted in the dim moonlight trying to identify it, clouds moved in on the sudden wind and obscured the moon. He was bathed in complete darkness, trying to see, but unwilling to take a step closer. Was it a hand? It looked wrong, but it had to be a hand because it was holding something…something that dangled in front of him.

  “Take this. Safeguard and protect it. It will be far more important to you than its face value.” The voice spoke again. “It will show you things…about your little magic kingdom…about your heart’s desire. But, remember this: How you get it is up to you.”

  Hand extended, filled with trepidation, Walt reached for what appeared to be a pendant on a heavy gold chain. The moon decided to peek through the moving clouds again and reflected off the object. A blood-red glow seemed to radiate from a heart-shaped stone at the end of the chain. Flashing circles of gold could be seen behind the gemstone. Could this be a red diamond, the rarest of all diamonds? Even in the dim moonlight, colors of the rainbow flashed from its red depth.

  Walt forgot about the unknown voice. Mesmerized by the brilliant stone as it turned slowly in front of his eyes, his free hand rose to touch the red fire. In a moment, Walt felt a strange emotion course through his body. His fingers caressed the stone with a slight tremble. As his fingers touched it, a vision streaked through his mind’s eye. Blinking, he wasn’t sure if the moonlight played tricks on his eyesight or if it was the minimal alcohol. Suddenly his vision cleared, and he could see a pink and white turreted castle and there were swans floating peacefully in the surrounding moat. Across the lowered drawbridge, scores of happy children streamed toward a slowly-turning carrousel filled with white horses.

  “That’s it!” Walt whispered. “That’s it!”

  Just as suddenly, he was rocked back by a wicked gust of wind that swept down from the north, to swirl around the area in which Walt still stood. Not wanting to lose the pendant in the freakish windstorm, he put it in his pocket and went behind the nearest tree for shelter from the leaves and debris that gusted past him. Eyes shielded from the dirt, he could make out a bright light that suddenly lit the glade. Then, as quickly as it came, the wind and the light vanished.

  Somehow, some way, he knew he was alone again. What had just happened? Who was that? And, why? He rubbed his forehead in confusion as he made his way back to the quiet camp, stumbling in the darkness. With no desire to talk to anyone, he soundlessly found his sleeping bag next to the subdued fire. As his mind went over the wonderful vision still in his head, he fell asleep. It was a deep, peaceful, restful sleep—the sleep of one who had finally been given answers to his many questions.

  Upon awakening in the misty, damp morning, he was greeted with a pounding headache and many anxious looks from his companions. The pain of his headache worked against the sharp images of his vision. Did he really see what he thought he saw? It was probably just one of his friends joking around. Wow, what a dream! he finally decided with a laugh. Saying nothing to the others, he silently vowed never to touch tequila again.

  As he stood next to the cold fire pit, Walt stared unseeing into the ashes. It had seemed so real. He couldn’t shake it off. Better than seeing pink elephants. With a small smile, he tried desperately for it all to make sense. Magic Kingdom. Hmm, I like that.

  Unthinking, Walt’s hand dropped into the pocket of his trousers. He let out a gasp when his fingers touched the heavy gold links of a chain. Glancing around, he could see that the others were occupied with loading their impromptu camp back onto the launch. When the chain was pulled partway out of his pocket, the morning the sun hit the curves of gold and the brilliant red stone. His heart sped up.

  Without a word to the others, he jammed the pendant back into his pocket and hurried to the glade where he had heard that strange voice. Assured that he was alone, Walt carefully removed the pendant. Held up in front of his eyes, he thoroughly examined the beautiful object. It was indeed a heart-shaped red diamond. It had to be when he saw all the colors of the rainbow in every facet. “It was true!” Ancient, was his next thought as he examined the way the gold was crafted. The patina gave the precious metal the appearance of age—great age. As the pendant turned, the back of the setting came into view. What he had thought were three circles was actually an outline in a shape that was unmistakable to him. Mickey! he smiled to himself, a red diamond with a hidden mickey. The familiarity of the shape relaxed Walt after the confusion of the vision he had the night before. Reaching out his hand, his fingers outlined the shape of Mickey’s ears. But, when a finger touched the brilliant red gemstone, the same emotion coursed through him once more. Not fighting it this time, he let the thoughts and pictures flood through his mind. This time he saw an elegant triple-decked paddlewheeler, all white, as it slowly made its way up a winding river in the wilderness. A Native canoe, full of laughing people, came next. He could see native guides in the front and the back of the canoe, their paddles deep in the river’s water. A log raft named Becky pulled away from a wooden dock and headed for a cave-filled island.…

  As Walt’s hand dropped from the stone, the vision vanished. “How could they
know?” he whispered out loud. The words he had been told came back to his mind. How you get it is up to you. He couldn’t answer the ‘who’ or the ‘how’ right now. There was too much to consider. But he firmly believed one thing: This vision of his future would come true.

  With a hope to get at least some kind of an answer, he placed the mysterious piece of jewelry back into his pocket and turned his attention to his surroundings. The rock formation of the crouching wolf was more defined but looked decidedly different in the bright sunlight that had finally burned off the river mist. He didn’t pay much attention to the rock formation. He studied the ground around the trees from which the heart-shaped pendant had emerged. He was looking for footprints, bootprints, tire tracks, anything that made sense.

  There were no footprints to be found. All he found in the dust, however, was the unmistakable shape of paw prints. Big paw prints…that led partway into the jungle and simply vanished.

  “What do you think, Wolf?” Lance just finished explaining his plan. Wolf had kept his word and came over to Lance’s apartment as soon as he had gotten off work and could drive over.

  Seated in Lance’s living room on opposite sides of a black leather sectional, Wolf gave him a vague answer. “I think you’re definitely going to need some help.” Secretly, he was thankful Lance had come to him for assistance. It would be better for both of them if Lance was able to complete this mission successfully.

  Knowing nothing of Wolf’s ulterior motives for his help, Lance forged ahead and told him about the clue that he claimed was left behind by Walt Disney himself. To help support his argument, Lance displayed the handwritten note that mentioned El Lobo and Hidden Mickeys, plus the list of clues that had formed the word Columbia. He thought it vital to up Wolf’s interest by showing him the note and the handwriting that was unmistakably Disney’s own.