The Lord of the Curtain

by Billy Phillips

  The pirate’s eyes went blade thin, his gaze cutting right through her. “Look, I didn’t wanna scare ya none. But the Enchanter’s here now. Been by yer side all along. On the boat, too. Standin’ right beside ya this instant. Touchin’ yer curly locks. Lookin’ in yer pretty eyes.”

  Icy shivers ran from her neck to her toes.

  Oh my gosh! The pockets of warm air, the feverish feelings . . . it was him!

  “Why can’t I see him?”

  “The Enchanter ain’t a him.”

  “Huh? You mean he’s a girl? Or rather, him is a her?”

  “Ain’t no her neither.”

  “We’re out of options here.”

  “The Lord of the Curtain is everything—and everywhere!”

  “Why can’t I see him—or her—or it?”

  “The Lord of the Curtain is the red band in the sunlight. The red in the rose. The red in the rainbow. The red in yer blood. Can be visible or invisible. The Enchanter decides. The Enchanter can also be in two places at once. Or three places. Or four. This too much for ya, lambkins?”

  Actually, it wasn’t. It was fascinating but also frightening. Fascinating because the pirate was referring to the visible color spectrum—the red frequency. But it was frightening because it apparently involved the invisible part of spectrum—the infrared band.

  Which is why she felt warmth but couldn’t see him—or her—or, rather, it.

  What chance do I stand against an invisible power? And does this mean that pervert saw me pee in the bucket?

  She knew infrared light could also pass through physical objects.

  This is a hugely unfair advantage, in addition being creepy to the bone.

  She recalled a part of her conversation with the pirate back on the boat. “You said there’s a way to get rid of the Red Spectrum? Your words—not mine.”

  His tobacco-stained teeth flashed as he smiled. “Now we’re talkin’.”

  From the inside pocket of his long, burgundy-leather coat, Blackbeard pulled out a golden metal box, perfectly square. Purple-blue light escaped from the corners of the box, while white light leaked out from the thin crevice between the lid and base.

  “What’s inside?”

  “Yer destiny.”

  CHAPTER Thirty-Three

  Captain Hook steered his infamous brigantine ship over a light, choppy sea. From the deck of the Jolly Roger, Caitlin saw it in the distance, through the salty air, looming larger by the minute.

  The legendary island of Neverland.

  Her lone eye’s telescopic power continued to intensify. Far distances had become sharper, more vivid.

  She smiled as she considered where the vessel would soon be docking: the mythical Neverland from her childhood books. She wondered if it was really populated with sprites and fairies—notably Tinker Bell—and all the other colorful characters she had read about in the stories of J. M. Barrie.

  Even in her half-zombified state, she still had not gotten used to the idea that these were all authentic places with tangible people—if you defined authentic and tangible as real things in a universe whose very building blocks were made of unbridled imagination.

  She gazed ahead as Neverland drew near.

  Snaggletooth mountains rimmed the island, rising out of the sea like the backs of giant serpents. While most of Neverland appeared burned-out and brown, there were places where plants and trees bloomed in a riot of iridescent color. Tin Man was right—new life was spurting in patches. A grand profusion of wildflowers clustered around the bases of the largest trees—trees that boasted green leaves and bore fruit. But apart from these few tracts of life, the rest of the landscape remained barren.

  Caitlin’s major concern was that they might not make it there in time to find the nightingale songbirds. A glaze of red was already beginning to shimmer over her vision, as if someone had inserted a red gel over her spotlight of an eye.

  The sinful hunger was rising.

  Which meant Tin Man was feeling the same way.

  Which meant Gruncle Derek was in grave danger. The entire crew of the ship was in imminent danger, in fact. Imagine the shock at Neverland if the Jolly Roger arrived crewless and with decks awash in blood—Hook, Bones, Crabbit having vanished into thin air. Or, more accurately, inside Caitlin and Tin Man’s digestive tracts.

  A crazed Caitlin and manic Tin Man would be the only ones left on board, well satiated, picking morsels of food from their teeth, and primed to devour all the inhabitants of Neverland next. Her mind swam with all these ghastly thoughts and images, which seemed straight out of a low-budget horror movie.

  Hey—where is the Tin Woodman?

  Caitlin suddenly realized he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Kill the lamps,” Hook called to his crew as he leaned toward a setting sun. “We’re ten minutes from anchoring.”

  Ten minutes too long!

  First mate Billy Bones heaved the serrated mast to help the tattered sails catch the southern wind. Mr. Crabbit flung his tangled black dreadlocks out of his face and extinguished the gas hurricane lamps that hung from the posts. The

  southern wind filled the sails and began pulling the ship behind the rocks.

  Tin Man suddenly emerged from the stairwell leading to the lower deck. He was accompanied by two buff and burly buccaneers with barrel-size bellies. They were cradling a set of thick iron chains—complete with manacles and iron collars.

  Caitlin gulped. Her throat tightened after she swallowed.

  She knew what those weighty chains were for.

  “We won’t reach the island in time,” Tin Man warned.

  The two big pirates dropped the hefty chains at her feet, and they hit the deck with a ringing clank.

  Gruncle Derek’s eyes were suddenly wrought with grief. He watched Caitlin offer her up arms and legs. Tin Man sat beside Caitlin and did the same. The two strapping pirates proceeded to tangle the chains around their bodies and limbs, manacling their hands behind their backs, shackling feet by the ankles, and bolting the iron collars firmly around their necks.

  The metal collar was cold and smooth against Caitlin’s throat.

  Gruncle Derek strode over to the ship’s rail. He leaned against the edge and gazed at the reddening horizon.

  How weird. How odd.

  A new feeling was stirring inside Caitlin. It wasn’t from the rising impulses of the Red Spectrum. Nor was it related to the crippling, claustrophobic chains that had rendered her immobile.

  It was something else.

  A raw hurt.

  But not for herself.

  She was hurting for Gruncle Derek.

  It clearly caused him pain to have to watch her suffer, so he was forced to turn away. And the thought of being bound and chained like this would once have been an unthinkable, inconceivable nightmare for Caitlin. But the anguish she was now feeling was actually empathy for

  her uncle, and it exceeded the torment she felt at her own situation.

  But then that hurt began to yield to a longing that rose from the pit of her abdomen. Her eyes felt as if they were hemorrhaging.

  Tin Man’s eyes also shone red. He grappled with his chains, shaking and flinging his body around in a futile effort to break free. His arms and legs were bound so tight he looked like a silver herring out of water, flapping about on the ground.

  Caitlin was also succumbing to near madness as she tried to break out of her manacles. She almost broke her own wrists in desperation. She battled to retain her will to resist as foamy saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth.

  The next few minutes were misery, as she was unable to either service her hunger or move a limb.

  And then the rolling deck of the Jolly Roger stabilized.

  “Drop anchor!” the captain shouted.

  The ship had arrived at Neverland Island.

 
The sun kissed undulating waves and they sent back a reflective, warm glow as they lapped against the sand dunes on the perimeter of the island. With the anchor safely down, the crew prepared to disembark.

  Bones and Crabbit made their way over to Caitlin and Tin Man. Each pirate wielded a long metal pole with a grappling hook fastened to its tip. They snagged the chains around their necks. Then they carefully steered them off the Jolly Roger.

  How demeaning!

  But Caitlin was still grateful she was chained, because she knew if she hadn’t been, she would take a life.

  With both legs shackled at the ankles, she waddled down the plank. She whipped her head around almost robotically in search of someone to bite. Tin Man was growling like a rabid dog, his nose and mouth frothing with creamy-white foam.

  She felt her humanity slipping away as she chomped at the air. And yet, because of those remaining strands of higher morality still inside her, she had the surreal feeling that she was watching her beastly body from afar.

  Thank goodness for that long metal rod! It keeps the crew just out of my reach.

  The island air was salty and clammy. Sea mist began to bead into droplets on Caitlin’s brow and roll underneath her eye patch. A nagging itch in her eye socket intensified with the moisture.

  Gruncle Derek briskly trotted down the plank and onto the sand dunes ringing the island. He cupped both hands behind his ears to amplify his hearing.

  “Bloody good! I hear the song of the nightingales. Follow me.”

  “Hold on, Blackshaw,” Captain Hook called from the deck of the Jolly Roger. “We’ll meet you back here at the ship when you’re ready to sail again. Meanwhile, the crew and I are off to partake in a wee bit of gallivanting.”

  Fins flapped in the lagoon adjacent to the Jolly Roger. Flirtatious giggling followed as a dozen or so alluring mermaids surfaced above the water and waved at the buccaneers.

  Hook and his sea-roving robbers winked and waved back, and then unashamedly stripped down to their skivvies. They leaped overboard and splashed into the sea, swimming eagerly toward the lagoon and the promise of inexpressible pleasure.

  “Find the damn songbirds fast,” an anxious Bones called out, obviously keen to join his captain and crewmates.

  “I heartily concur,” Crabbit said.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Four

  Blackbeard opened the golden box. Light poured out. It was so bright Natalie had to cover her eyes with her hands. When her pupils adjusted, she spread two fingers to take in the contents.

  “A tiara?”

  He winked. “Aye. Bejeweled with diamonds and sapphires. Magical stones.”

  “Who’s it for?”

  As if she didn’t know.

  “Certainly not I,” he said. “But be warned.”

  “About?”

  “Its power. Set this on yer pretty little skull, and the Red Spectrum vanishes like a ship over the horizon.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

  “If ya know how to use it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hold still.”

  Blackbeard gingerly lifted the polished diamond-and-sapphire tiara out of the golden box. Each stone glinted like star fire in a glittering sky. The tiara’s twinkle and dazzle made the adolescent girl—who still secretly adored princesses and princes—completely giddy. The cerebral part of Natalie was also thoroughly taken by its breathless beauty, but only because she could fully appreciate

  the physics underlying the gems’ internal dispersive reflection of light.

  Blackbeard held the shimmering tiara reverentially over her head. “Ya ready?”

  “Not really.”

  He set it gently upon her mop of curls. He twisted the two edges of the crescent-shaped tiara around some ringlets to secure it on her head.

  “Bucket!” Natalie screamed in panic as her body temperature soared. Her head felt as heavy as an anvil. “I’m gonna throw up!”

  The room began spinning far faster than she had experienced on the torture wheel. It felt like severe vertigo. As if she were home from school, bedridden with the flu, with a 105-degree fever. Suddenly, she stood up, inducing one of those horrible fainting-spell head rushes.

  Natalie dropped to the floor.

  Before she collapsed, she had the presence of mind to sit on her butt, arms extended, palms flat on the floor to stabilize herself.

  “Don’t panic, lambkins,” Blackbeard said. “The red fever is just breakin’.”

  Perspiration pooled on her body, cooling her. She almost steamed because of her high temperature.

  “I don’t like this feeling!” she moaned.

  “Ride it out, kid. It’s worth it.”

  Do I have a choice here?

  Natalie did ride it out. The profuse sweating cooled her body down, then it dried up as the fever broke. She began to feel wonderfully refreshed.

  And then Natalie lost her mind.

  There was no other way to describe it. It was as if a new mind had been downloaded into her brain—but her own identity was still intact. She felt like a perfected version of herself, one without any emotional baggage or complex hang-ups. There was no more pain or worry or uncertainty or fear. Nothing but unceasing calm and serenity and gentle peace of mind. And the most utterly remarkable phenomenon of all was that she was experiencing unspeakable happiness and euphoria for no good reason at all. As if jubilation was the default emotion for her operating system, as natural as breathing and as ever-present as oxygen.

  The strangest part of the experience was a newfound realization, devastating in its truth. It was awakened by the stark contrast between her present awareness and her pretiara life.

  She never knew until that very moment how much pain and grief she still had inside her. Pain and sorrow, repressed and unresolved—due to the tragic death of her mom, the sudden passing of her dad, and the emotional anguish her sister, Caitlin, had endured all those years. She thought she had cried it all out at the orphanage. But she realized now that was just total denial, a coping method to try to get past the bereavement as quickly and painlessly as possible. Her quips, comebacks, and her sassiness—sometimes they made positive contributions by making others chuckle and smile, but mostly they were defense mechanisms, distractions to conceal her own uncomfortable emotions.

  She suddenly wanted to collapse onto the floor and let out the pent-up, inconsolable sobbing that she had subconsciously repressed—except the new feeling of contentment inside her would not allow it. Not in a suppressing kind of way. On the contrary. She had transcended the memory of the pain through a kind of enlightenment. This new awareness

  prevented any lessening of the uninterrupted happiness now coursing through her veins, filling her body, and saturating the depth of her soul.

  And there was no more self-doubt about anything. Everything seemed possible. This was an extraordinary state of mind to possess, and—dare she say—a rarefied, superior level of consciousness. She knew she was now endowed with perfect conviction about what she could do—and what she would do next.

  She walked over to the wall of solid rock. Her heart fluttered in anticipation.

  She gazed into the rock . . . reached out her arm . . .

  With the bare tips of her fingers, she tenderly caressed the surface. She couldn’t contain the giddiness over the certitude of what she knew she would be able to do, and a giggle fell out of her mouth on its own.

  And then she did it: she moved her five fingers right through the wall.

  She passed her entire hand right through the rock, as easily as if she had been gliding it through water—but with even less resistance. There was less drag than water would have created. The wall somehow felt smoother than air.

  She wasn’t sure which was the more surreal and sublime feeling: her hand disobeying the rules that apply to physical mat
ter, or her stunning conviction in its ability to do so. Her mind was suddenly the ultimate source of joy, and she was at a loss of words to describe how that felt.

  The freaking pirate was right.

  Mind over matter exists.

  It always has.

  I’ve always had this ability.

  Now, her mind was unobstructed by the baggage of rational, skeptical, cynical, and doubting thoughts. The high-cal diet—of cynicism, skepticism, and egoism—was no longer being fed to her mind.

  The tiara was neutralizing all red-band emotions. Filtering them out.

  She moved her wrist through the wall . . . her forearm . . .

  her elbow.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. It had become as clear as transparent crystal that the wall of seemingly solid rock

  was as nonphysical, nonmaterial, and intangible as her own thoughts.

  It’s pure thought.

  Blackbeard pulled her arm out of the wall. He gently lifted the jeweled tiara from her head.

  He smirked as he pulled a pipe from his inside breast pocket and lit up. He puffed and exhaled, the tobacco smoke clouding around him. Natalie inhaled the spiced, woodsy aroma, and the scent brought her back to the corporeal world, back to her bodily senses.

  “And that, little lambkins, was only a small taste,” he said.

  I cannot fathom anything more transcendent than this.

  Natalie stared into his eyes. The internal dam finally broke, and the roll of tears and inconsolable sobbing came on strong. She really had no choice at that point but to yield to her pent-up emotions, so she ran into Blackbeard’s arms. She didn’t care if the sea-robbing scoundrel rebuffed her, strung her back on the rack, or killed her.

  Because she needed to hold someone. Anyone. To cope with the tidal wave of grief that had been so layered deep inside her for so long.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Five

  Caitlin slid her sweaty fingers between the iron neck collar and her throat. She pulled at its hinge. Of course it was impossible to loosen, but just the gesture of attempting to stretch it somewhat curbed her growing hysteria.