“Mom, there’s no pen in those photographs. It’s not there. Plus, before this, Jess dreamed Walt’s drawing table. She sketched it out the way she’d dreamed it. You know what her visions mean! Those things come true. Her drawing showed the same mug. Walt’s mug. Pencils, ballpoint pens. No fountain pen.”
His mother said nothing.
“Wayne wanted us to notice the missing fountain pen, Mom. He wanted us to know it wasn’t where it needed to be.”
“I think I see where you’re going with this.”
“Where?” Finn said, meeting her gaze belligerently. “Where am I going?”
“You believe the pen’s placement is your responsibility. But how does that make sense, Finn?”
“It doesn’t. I know that. Willa and Charlene would be the first to point it out. They say the pen ended up where we found it, so that’s that. But you’re the rocket scientist. What would Einstein say?”
“What does your becoming a DHI tonight have to do with any of this? Is what you’re doing dangerous?” Spoken with a mother’s deep concern.
“I don’t think so. I don’t see how it could be.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing.”
“I appreciate the effort you make with Dad.”
“He’s worried about you. That’s all. He loves you. We just think…you’re holding on to all this stuff.”
“Sounds like the parents have been talking.”
“Not just the parents. Your friends are worried about you, too, Finn. I can’t condone your crossing over. If it puts you in danger, physical danger, what kind of mother could sign off on that? Especially when it might be for nothing!”
“What about Imagineering school?” Finn said, testing the waters.
“Don’t change the subject.”
But he felt forced to change the subject. If he allowed the argument to continue, she was going to forbid him from crossing over; and that wasn’t an option.
“I could take a gap year,” he proposed. “You know how few people are ever offered this chance? No one even knows about Imagineering school, not unless they’re invited to join. A year, two at most, and I can transfer knowing a lot more about what I want to study. Dad’s just jealous because he hates his job.”
“That’s unkind and uncalled for, Finn, and you know it. I can’t believe you’d say that!”
“It’s true! He says I earned my full college tuition by being a Kingdom Keeper? Well, that was the deal you and Dad made with Disney, not me.”
“I see what you’re doing! Changing the subject! Nice try. We’re talking about crossing over.”
Exasperated, he gave in. “Wayne left me a clue. Me, Mom. Not the others. Me.”
“Some say that you’re exaggerating that.”
“Do you think I am?”
Mrs. Whitman gave her son a long, hard look.
“No,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Wayne told you that it was your kingdom now. He should never have said that. You’re eighteen. You are not the second coming of Walt Disney. That was the kindness, or maybe the delusion, of a dying man.”
“He meant it, Mom. He meant every word.”
“You’re upset.”
“Wow, you’re a real mind reader.”
“Do not take that tone with me, young man!”
Finn’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from the pocket of his pants under the bedcovers.
“Philby’s all set. It’s time I get to sleep.”
“Then I’m going to keep you awake.”
“Let me tie up these loose ends, Mom. Please. If I’m going to move on, this is something that has to happen.”
“That’s the first well-reasoned argument you’ve made.”
“Thank you.”
“The pen, Walt’s pen, was put into the mug sometime after his office went into storage,” she said, as if mulling over what her son had told her. “But before his office came back out as part of One Man’s Dream.”
“Right. But by who? And why would Wayne think we could help that? Change that? It must have happened thirty years before we were even born.”
“You know the answer, Finn. It happened! The pen made it into the exhibit. That makes it a rhetorical question.”
“Wayne wants us, me, to identify whoever did it.”
“Because whoever added that pen to Walt’s desk mug eventually saved the Magic Kingdom,” Mrs. Whitman said. Her eyes were far away.
“More importantly: knew the Magic Kingdom would need saving!”
“So I suppose it’s Finn to the rescue?” She made him sound like a lunatic.
“Et tu, Bruté?” Finn said.
His mother smiled. “You’re quite clever, knowing how I react to you showing off your education.”
“Please, Mom.”
“This once. And I want a full report.”
She switched off the overhead light and closed the door before Finn could thank her.
FINN’S DHI HOLOGRAM walked through the back door to Walt Disney’s former apartment. The decorations hadn’t been changed in forty years. A colorful carpet, a pair of antique chairs, a standing lamp, and two daybeds resplendent with needlepoint pillows. A small round table held the historic glass-domed lamp Walt Disney had once used to announce his presence in the park.
Knowing his time was limited, Finn went directly to the music box. Philby had reluctantly agreed to cross him over—alone—but he’d also expressed his concern; he expected a phone call from Finn every ten minutes so as to ensure Finn’s continued safety. Those calls would need to be made from landlines.
Finn worked quickly. The last time they’d crossed over to Walt’s apartment, the Keepers had focused on the ballerina music and the unique-looking disc currently on the player. Now Finn opened the glass case and inspected the other twelve discs stored there. Unlike the one on the player, they had all been manufactured by the Music Box Company, and they all looked older than time. They were identical—except for their titles. Finn recognized only one of the songs, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He switched discs to make sure the music on the disc was as labeled. It was.
With the chords of the national anthem plucking out of the music box, Finn kept searching for something to explain the cryptic message Wayne had left him. His mentor had engraved the back of his wristwatch with images and a false address. Then he’d concocted an elaborate plan to pass his watch along to Finn. There had to be a reason. True, the images on the watch had ended up saving Disneyland, but the reasoning behind the false address was still a mystery, one that haunted Wayne’s protégé.
Finn scoured the music box for a disguised switch or button to release a hidden drawer. Nothing.
The center drawer remained locked, with no key anywhere. Taking a deep breath, Finn reached his version 1.6 hologram hand through the face of the locked drawer. The tricky part was allowing his hand to go slightly solid in order to feel around, which caused intense, burning pain in his wrist where it made contact with the drawer. The first few tries proved too painful; he yanked his hand back.
On his third try, he worked fast in order to keep the pain to a minimum. He shoved his hand inside; his fingers found the metal tab that locked the drawer, and he rotated it. The drawer unlocked.
Finn withdrew a larger vinyl disc, one that didn’t match the others in the set. Its label was marked wk. Wayne Kresky.
His heart pounding with joy and surprise at the discovery, Finn looked around the small apartment and, disc in hand, approached an old gramophone across the room.
It took him a moment to realize that the device wasn’t electric. You had to crank a handle on the side. Finn did so, and the gramophone disc played. After a few seconds of crackling static, a man’s voice said,
“Match the music to the source.
Ride the tune on a Christmas horse.
Transported now, you’re right on course.”
Finn played it twice before returning the disc to the drawer, which he locked painfully. He
then called Philby from the apartment phone—the first of his required check-ins—and explained his find.
“The label says WK; the voice is scratchy but close to Wayne’s. You still think I’m nuts?”
“Hey, I crossed you over. Don’t lay that on me!”
“I could use a little support here,” Finn said.
“You have more than you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Finn asked.
“I convinced Maybeck and Charlene to cross over into MK and check out Wayne’s apartment.”
“You…did…not!”
“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid they might bail. But they went ahead. Granted, I knew they missed each other, what with Maybeck being in Orlando and Charlie doing that show out west, but for whatever reason, they agreed.”
“So you bribed them.”
“I found effective motivation. I study physics, Finn. I understand leverage. Call me back in ten minutes. Promise you won’t do anything until then.”
Philby hung up before Finn had a chance to argue.
FOR ALL THE SWAGGER HE DISPLAYED around most girls, Maybeck reverted to acting like a young boy around Charlene, a state she didn’t understand. Upon crossing over into Disney World’s Magic Kingdom, she had expected a hug, even if between holograms. Maybe a kiss on the cheek.
Instead, Maybeck grabbed her hand and gave her a shoulder bump like two basketball players at center court.
“This is cool, right?” He sounded about twelve. “Having the park to ourselves.”
“Right,” Charlene said. “Though I don’t love the idea of encouraging Finn’s fantasies.”
“I’m thinking of it as cleaning up loose ends. The guy’s been in pieces since Wayne’s death. If we can give him a little closure, what’s not to like?”
“That might be kindest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Don’t hold it against me. I’m actually just psyched to get a chance to see you. As far as being a hologram goes.”
“I miss you, Terry. I miss everyone, but obviously, especially you. The TV show is exciting. Sure it is. But it’s also shown me how much you and everyone mean to me.”
“Including Finn,” Maybeck said.
“Yes. Of course! Including Finn.”
With Maybeck in the lead, the two teens climbed the stairs to Wayne’s apartment and stepped through the door.
“It’s nothing like Walt’s place,” Maybeck said.
“You want to explain again what we’re doing here?”
“Looking for anything that connects this stuff Finn keeps talking about. A diary, maybe.”
“Wouldn’t it all have been cleared out, given…you know, his death?”
“Philby says nothing’s been touched. Wayne was important enough that Archives wants to catalog everyth—”
He broke off abruptly.
“What?” Charlene asked. “What do you see?”
“Check out this photo.” The dim glow of the thin blue line surrounding Maybeck reflected off the glass in the frame.
“Can we turn on a light, please?”
“Afraid not. It’ll be seen from Town Square.” Maybeck stepped back half a stride. “I think I know that photo.”
“Disneyland. Opening day,” Charlene said. “Nineteen fifty-five.”
“I can read,” Maybeck snapped.
“It’s Walt and Mickey, opening day.”
“I got that, too,” he said.
“It’s so familiar! But why?” She leaned in to look more closely at the photo.
“No idea, but it is for me, too. Can’t explain it.” Maybeck paused; studied her. “I’ve missed you.”
“I like to hear that kind of thing. It makes me happy, Terry.”
“It’s more fun with you around,” he said. “I’m not saying you should quit the TV gig. Not at all. I’m glad you’re happy. But I’m still happier with you here.”
“That’s sweet, Terry. Really. Thank you.”
Maybeck waited. “Sweet?”
“Am I supposed to say the same thing? Look where we are, Terry. Same old, same old.”
“I’m accepted at Art Center.”
“Right.”
“You like it out there.”
“I love it out there. I told you, I love the show. The life’s a little strange, but it’s cool. Complete strangers, kids mostly, know me. They stop me and stuff, but so far it doesn’t bother me. I even enjoy it. And it won’t last forever. Shows get canceled.”
“You’ve moved on,” he said softly.
“Sometimes the tighter you hold on to something, the more it wants to escape.”
“Is that right?”
“We’re fine, Terry. You and I are fine.”
Maybeck turned away from her and rifled through drawers indiscriminately. He searched the contents, some more carefully than others. The small galley kitchen was his first stop. Then an armoire that held mostly Disney DVDs and a workbench/harvest table under the end window that looked out on Town Square.
After a moment, he barked out some words that would have gotten bleeped on Charlene’s TV show.
“I don’t like cussing. To remind you for the thousandth time,” she said.
He didn’t appear to hear her. “Check…it…out!”
“What’s that? A saw blade?”
“No way. It’s a metal disc with holes punched out of it. Look familiar?”
“Not particularly. I’m not the best with power tools.”
“Come on, Charlie. It’s one of those music discs, the ones Walt’s music box plays. Same size and thickness.”
“No. Way.” Charlene’s jaw dropped. “It’s true: you’re the one with the artist’s eye.”
There was a long pause as they looked at each other, then at the disc. Then:
“Wait!” Charlene hissed. “You hear that?”
Footsteps, coming up the outside stairs.
“Dang!” Maybeck said. “There’s only one door. We’ve gotta hide. Don’t forget we’re version 1.6. That’s bad news. No fear, you hear me!”
“Thanks, Terry. That helps.”
Maybeck looked for hiding places. There weren’t any.
“Wayne invented the DHI technology,” Charlene whispered. “Maybe it’s plausible he would have models of us, you know, just lying around up here in his apartment.”
“I suppose.”
“Stay with me!” Charlene spun like a ballerina and focused on two pieces of furniture: an antique television set the size of a washing machine, but with a screen the size of a dinner plate; and a black cabinet with a pair of twin doors on its front. She instructed Maybeck to step his hologram into the black cabinet. “Waist height. Legs to the side, away from those doors in case they open them.”
Across the room, Charlene stepped into the television console. She lowered herself to waist height and placed her chin in her palms.
Two men, security guards, came through the door. One of them, a short, wiry man, shone a flashlight around, despite the fact that his partner had turned on the lights.
“Whoa! Check out this babe!” he exclaimed, and approached Charlene. “She’s like glowing.”
“What…is…it?” the taller man said. He spoke with a British accent.
“Some kind of sculpture.” The thin guy reached out to touch Charlene. As his hand passed inside her hologram, he jumped back and nearly fell down.
“No! I know what…who it is!” the other said. “She’s one of Kresky’s Kids.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely!”
“A holocaust?”
“Hologram, you idiot! Those kids who beat up on Maleficent.”
“She’s hot.”
“Shut it! There’s another one.” The Brit pointed at Maybeck. “Kresky designed them.”
“These are probably stereotypes,” the thin guy said.
“Prototypes! Don’t you know anything? Kresky invented holograms. Did you know that? And color TV, too.”
“Y
eah, I heard that, but I don’t believe it.” The thin guy bent down to open Maybeck’s cabinet.
Charlene’s DHI spun suddenly and faced the guards. Her voice sounded nasal; it was a good imitation of Auto-Tune. “Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls!”
One of the guards cursed.
Charlene continued. “You have entered the former residence of Disney Legend Wayne Kresky.”
Maybeck spun to his right as robotically as possible. The thin guard stepped back. “Whoa!”
“May we show you around today?” Maybeck asked also in an electronic-sounding voice. “Please feel free to interrupt at any time, and I will be happy to answer your question.”
“It’s a beautiful day in the Magic Kingdom!” Charlene said, reciting a memorized line from her DHI script.
“Someone should have told us these things were operational!” the thin guy said. “I about had a coronary when that girl started yapping! How much you want to bet this is Mike’s doing? Another one of his stinking jokes?”
Charlene spoke in her best tour guide voice. “Wayne Kresky was a Disney Legend, serving as a Disney Imagineer for more than thirty-five years. As a young man, Wayne became personal friends with Walt Disney during the construction of Disneyland. Would you like to hear more about Wayne’s friendship with Walt?”
“No!” the guard shouted. “Definitely not!”
Charlene moved her head mechanically side to side.
“Thank you!” she said. “To activate my guide services, please say, ‘Hello, Charlene.’ To deactivate, please say, ‘Good-bye, Charlene.’”
“Good-bye, Charlene.”
“Good-bye!”
Maybeck repeated the same lines, word for word.
“Good-bye, Terry.”
“Good-bye.”
“That was actually kind of amazing,” said the thin man.
“Kresky invented all sorts of stuff back in the late fifties and sixties.”
“Did he get the patterns for them?”
“Patents, you moron! You mean patents! I heard he got burned. The whole company did. Disney could have made a fortune. Instead, some television company got everything.”
The Return: Disney Lands Page 2