KK03 - Disney in Shadow

by Ridley Pearson

  “Beauty and love! Did you hear that?” Charlene asked.

  “I…yeah.” Beauty and love. They seemed to define Charlene.

  It was time to return for the sword. Maleficent would be on the stage soon.

  “That’s our cue,” Charlene said.

  “Right.”

  “Okay then,” she added.

  “Okay.”

  43

  GLADIS PHILBY, wearing a Hawaiian housedress over her nightgown, stood sobbing in the hallway outside her son’s bedroom as paramedics with the ambulance service moved her comatose son from his bed to the wheeled stretcher that would move him to the vehicle.

  As they lifted him, not a muscle responded. He looked…she couldn’t bring herself to think it. But that was the way he looked, and there was no holding back the tears.

  Her husband came out of the room. “Okay, they’ve got him ready to move. They’ve started an IV. They’ve got monitors on him. They’ll be in touch with doctors from the back of the ambulance and may give him something on the way. I signed a release allowing them to treat him. If it’s…you know….”

  “Drugs?”

  “Then the IV should help. In any case, they’ll do blood tests at the hospital and figure this out soon enough. One of us can go in the ambulance with him, but I told them I wanted to stay with you. We should change—quickly—and try to follow them to the hospital.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t get any words out.

  “I know it doesn’t help much, but they say his vitals—it isn’t a deep coma. They say it’s more like…he’s just sleeping soundly.”

  Now she found the strength to speak. “Do not tell me that you believe for one second all this nonsense about—”

  “I didn’t say that, Gladis. All I said is, he seems okay. We need to change and get in the car. The best way to help him now is to be with him.”

  She nodded again, but Mrs. Whitman’s words flew through her thought like a wounded bird: We can’t just sit by and do nothing, you see?

  “Frank,” she said to her husband, “they’ll be testing him for an hour or more, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, two or three, I suppose. It’s never fast. Why?”

  “And you say he’s sleeping comfortably.”

  “What is it, dearest?”

  “I want to be with him, it isn’t that. I’m his mother. But more than anything I want him free of this.”

  “Gladis?”

  “I think…I’m not saying I believe any of this, you understand. But I think for the time being we can put ourselves to better use than sitting around a hospital waiting room.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “There’s a phone call I have to make.”

  “At this hour?”

  She drew in a large breath, swelling the housedress and filling her face with color for the first time since she had discovered her unresponsive son.

  “We’re going to Disney World.”

  44

  JESS HAD NO IDEA what she was doing. Dressed in a black T-shirt, a black fleece, and black jeans—all courtesy of the Studios’ costume shop—and wearing a black baseball cap and a headset, she was currently wandering the maze of hallways and staircases at the back of the Fantasmic! stage. The black clothing helped reduce the glow from her DHI. Every so often she paused and closed her eyes and tried to summon whatever it was that allowed her dreams to turn to visions. If you’d asked her a week or two earlier if she could bring on this state she would have answered an emphatic no. But since the visions of Wayne had begun, since she’d picked up something while awake in the middle of walking around Epcot, she’d convinced herself otherwise. Why should such “powers” be limited to sleep? Besides, she had a secret weapon working for her: technically she was currently asleep; her body was lying in bed at Mrs. Nash’s, snoring softly, no doubt. Being a DHI didn’t count as being awake; it didn’t even feel like being awake. So why, if her sleeping self could imagine and dream, couldn’t she tap into that as a DHI and experience it here, now, wandering the hallways of Fantasmic!—why?

  Jess understood the potential risk of her efforts. You didn’t summon the dark thoughts of someone—something—like Maleficent without uncertainty. Who knew the depth of her darkness, the gravitational pull of her menace? What if once Jess got inside Maleficent’s mind there was no way out—what if it was a mental maze that took you prisoner and never relinquished you? What if Maleficent had been waiting for just such an opportunity? What if she were powerful enough to manipulate her own thought so skillfully that she could send an image to Jess that was a lie? What if she could use such a lie as a tool to mislead the Kingdom Keepers? Wouldn’t she, Jess, then qualify as the traitor?

  Layer upon layer her doubts began to accumulate. Jess felt like she had worms in her stomach and wondered if she possessed enough strength for this task. Maleficent had feared her, had captured and imprisoned her—twice!—had made her a target for some time now. Maleficent saw Jess as the obstacle to the Overtakers’ success, whether because of Jess’s ability to see the future, or because of some other quality Jess had yet to recognize in herself. But actively seeking a way into an evil fairy’s thoughts suddenly struck Jess as crazy. What had she been thinking? Worse: how had the others allowed her to do this?

  But it wasn’t the others. It was only Maybeck and Wanda, and Jess still didn’t know how much she trusted Wanda anyway. What if Wanda was Wayne’s traitor? It helped that Wayne had mentioned her in his video message—it helped a lot. It helped that Wanda had gotten up in the middle of the night and taken huge risks to smuggle her and Maybeck into the Studios. But there was something still bothering Jess about the woman. The performance at Mrs. Nash’s house had been impressive, and yet it had also felt somewhat authentic, as if Wanda had bigger plans for her and Amanda than working with the Kingdom Keepers. Perhaps she intended to place them both in a boarding school far away from here. Jess didn’t like other women making plans for her: Maleficent had played mother for months.

  Never again, Jess swore to herself.

  She felt it then: an eerie cold, and a strange feeling, as if an animal had crawled inside her and were looking for a way out. Images flashed in front of her eyes: colors in the sky; a jet airplane; a man wearing a beret; Mickey Mouse, but with Japanese anime-style eyes.

  OMG! Finn. Was he conducting an orchestra? Directing traffic? And Maybeck and…Wayne, hunched over in some kind of box, struggling to breathe.

  She threw her head to the side because there was the horrid face of Chernabog bearing down on her as the chill increased to a deep freeze. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then forced them open and, Thank goodness, she was standing in the subterranean hallway beneath Fantasmic!

  I’m close, she thought. She’s nearby. Where was Amanda?

  Jess worked the phone Finn had left for her.

  She wrote a text to all of the others:

  I can feel her. lower level 1. she’s here.

  But not for long. The door swung open. Jess lowered her head, putting the brim of the cap between her face and the person who came out of that room. She could see only the feet.

  It wasn’t a person at all. It was a black robe with purple trim. And as the robe parted slightly it revealed…green ankles and shins.

  “You!” the familiar voice called out. A voice like breaking ice. “I’m late for my cue. Are you the one taking me? Where is Annie? Are you going to answer me? Hello? Listen, sweetie, if Annie’s late, if she’s not going to do her job, I’ll need you to throw the switch on the lift. Rehearsals! Why are they so understaffed? Do you think you can handle that? Hmm?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jess said, lowering her voice to disguise it. “The switch.”

  “Well, hurry it up! We haven’t got all day.”

  The cold was intense. Jess realized it was seeping out from beneath the door—Maleficent had the temperature in the dressing room turned down to icehouse freezing. She had no idea where the Cast Member playing Male
ficent had gone; but this thing was no Cast Member.

  Jess followed the flowing black robe deeper down the hall, followed into the depths of the structure, through two more hallways and down a narrow stairway like something on a ship. The show’s soundtrack grew louder than could be explained by the small speakers along the wall, backstage monitors that allowed all the Cast Members to hear the music and action onstage, so that they could keep track of their cues.

  Jess followed the icy creature as if she had no choice, wondering when the thing would figure out who it was coming up behind, and knowing she couldn’t allow that truth to be revealed. Finn would be up there waiting.

  Finn and the sword: the Kingdom Keepers’ best and perhaps only chance to defeat it.

  * * *

  Charlene found exactly what she wanted: a long length of pirate chain, complete with an old lock and key. There were three lengths of the chain coiled backstage alongside a stock of bows and arrows and some rope. The chain was impossibly heavy and cumbersome, but she draped it around her shoulders like a Hawaiian lei and looked straight up the emergency ladder that led down to the back of the stage from the very top of the mountain.

  There was no time to waste: someone could arrive at any moment and stop her. She struggled to keep herself upright with the newly added weight, took hold of the ladder railings, and began to climb.

  Five feet into the climb she heard voices approaching. She managed two more rungs and then froze, her face pressed against the cold metal. The two men Finn had heard now stood directly below her, with her feet no more than a few inches from the top of the head of the tallest one.

  “Do you think they’ll find it this time?” one of them said. It was impossible to tell who was doing the talking.

  “No. For one thing he’s supposed to appear only on film. For another, it doesn’t happen all the time. It’s like a typical glitch, you ask me. Can’t make it happen when you want to fix it, can’t stop it from happening when you don’t.”

  “I’m done with these early morning tech-rehearsal calls.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Think they’ll cancel the show if they can’t get it right?”

  “Dah! Who are we talking about? Of course they’ll cancel. And then you and I will be laid off until they resolve it.”

  “You think?”

  “No. I know.”

  “But what are we supposed to do about it?”

  “Don’t ask me.”

  “But I am asking you.”

  “But you shouldn’t be.”

  Back and forth they went, sniping at one another. Charlene dared not move for fear the chain might rattle or clank against the fire ladder and give her away.

  Unless or until they moved, she was trapped here.

  And if she didn’t get up to the top soon, then Finn would be in serious trouble.

  * * *

  Wearing a Security guard costume, Maybeck watched from stage left as the Evil Queen turned into the Hag from Snow White as a bubbling cauldron appeared in front of her. She summoned “the forces of evil” to turn the dream into “a nightmare Fantasmic!”

  This was Finn’s cue, the only time the title of the show was mentioned from the stage. It was also significant that this seemed the mission of the Overtakers as well—to turn the dream into a nightmare—to stop Jess’s dreams. It all made so much sense all of a sudden. Everything Wayne had asked them to do at Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom focused laserlike into the storyline of Fantasmic! The good becoming bad; the bad wanting to ruin the dreams. It was as if Fantasmic! were the outline for an Overtakers’ charter of evil.

  One thing seemed certain: whatever happened here in the next few minutes was to be cataclysmic, irreversible, and it would affect the Kingdom Keepers for a long time to come. Without any real evidence, Finn knew this to be true.

  Because someone’s going down, he thought. And it had better not be us.

  * * *

  Philby had changed the timeline, blocking Mickey’s trapdoor lift and Maleficent’s flashy exit. Maybeck or Amanda or Willa—or all three—would still have to stop the Cast Member playing the Brave Little Tailor Mickey from getting in the way, but Philby had no control over that.

  What he could control…

  Philby’s arm stung. It felt as if someone had pricked him on the inside of his elbow.

  His head swam; he felt lightheaded and slightly sick to his stomach. His arm burned and his vision blurred and he looked down to see a computer mouse in his hand and he couldn’t remember why he was holding it.

  There was still something incredibly important to do.

  A dragon?

  What did he know about dragons?

  He blinked rapidly, reaching for his arm and trying to remove whatever was making it sting so badly there—it felt like he’d been climbing a tree and had caught a splinter in his arm—but his fingers came up empty.

  Fire. It was something to do with fire. Stopping the fire? Starting a fire?

  There was a pounding on the door to his right.

  Where was he?

  A show was happening onstage beyond the window. The colors were beautiful—the lights amazing.

  A man’s face appeared in the glass. Some older dude wearing a ball cap. He looked frustrated as he tried to cup his eyes to the window, but he clearly couldn’t see in. Something told Philby the glass was treated with a mirror surface on the outside, but he wasn’t sure how he knew this. He wasn’t sure how he knew anything. Why was his brain suddenly void of all the random thoughts that always filled it? He spent his every waking hour awash in numbers and facts. He drowned in them, morning to night. Yet now, ever since that stinging in his arm had started, things seemed much more peaceful. Dreamy.

  He felt tired. He didn’t like the feeling at all.

  The woven office chair he occupied was unusually comfortable. As comfy as a couch.

  What could a little nap hurt?

  The door jiggled again. Someone wanted in.

  Philby stood to open the door, but caught himself when his hand was only inches away from the door knob.

  I’m not supposed to open that.

  He didn’t know why, exactly. Just that he wasn’t supposed to.

  He looked back and saw the flat panel. The computer mouse.

  Something to do with fire. And dragons. Or was it only one dragon?

  His parents had lectured him about drugs and about drinking alcohol. He had no interest in either. Drugs and drinking messed up your mind and Philby valued his mind far too much to go experimenting with its chemistry. He understood chemistry at an advanced level. He understood a lot of things that not many other kids his age understood and he took great pride in that fact.

  Yet he felt drugged. Or drunk. He didn’t know the difference, so he wasn’t sure which. That is to say, he didn’t feel himself. Something strange had overtaken him from the moment he’d felt that sting on the inside of his elbow.

  His foggy mind sought an explanation, for that was the way his mind worked: question/answer. Logic lived inside him like a prized gem in a vault.

  For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.

  He was definitely on the reaction end of things. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think why he couldn’t think. He couldn’t place what action might have made him this way.

  The thought of that got him laughing. Softly at first. To himself. But then the silliness of the moment spread through him like a wildfire and—

  Fire.

  There it was again: something about fire and that flat-panel computer screen and that mouse.

  But even that seemed funny.

  His laughter began anew and he found himself owning the cozy office chair, bouncing to the rhythm of the music—good music—and wondering what it was about that flat-panel screen that was so incredibly important.

  * * *

  Jess kept her head down and moved to the rectangular box with the red and green buttons inside. Big buttons th
at reminded her of the controls outside the Mission: Space pods. Above the box was a smaller green light—dark for the moment.

  Something told her this all had to do with Philby, as Maleficent stepped onto a square platform and tightened her robes so that they didn’t hang over the edges of the platform. She clipped a safety strap around her waist, keeping her right hand on it. Jess could envision her arriving up on stage, releasing that strap, and stepping out of a blinding spotlight to take the place of the Hag—a woman who had come down on the same platform only moments earlier.

  Jess had watched how the Hag’s handler had handled things: when the little warning light turned green, the handler pushed the large green button. A moment later the stage had opened overhead and the Hag had appeared, descending on the platform. Now Maleficent had taken the Hag’s place and Jess assumed the device worked just the same to take someone back up onstage: the computer would cue the handler. If all the proper safety precautions had been observed, then the handler pushed the green button, allowing the computer to start the lift when the show’s timing called for Maleficent’s entrance. If anything was awry, the handler could hit the red button marked ALL STOP and prevent the lift from rising through the trap door and anyone getting hurt.

  Like Finn, she thought, knowing that tonight the script had been rewritten.

  The smaller light flashed green. Jess’s finger shook uncontrollably as it hovered at the large green switch. Maybe there was some other way. Maybe Finn was taking too great a risk.

  “Go on push it, you fool!” said Maleficent. “It’s my entrance!”

  Jess’s finger straightened, all the indecision gone from her, and with it the shaking. Her finger inched closer to the button and, at the last possible second, she turned her head toward the green thing standing on the lift, and she raised her head just enough to allow the cap’s brim to reveal her face.

  In that moment, she and Maleficent met eyes and she took great delight as the evil fairy’s whites widened in the sea of green skin, as consternation overcame the witch—for this thing before her never showed fear.