Kingdom of Villains and Vengeance: Fairytale retellings from the villain's perspective (Kingdom of Darkness and Light Book 2)

by Laura Greenwood

  I tilted my head to the side, looking at him doubtfully. "Not so sure he's gonna be happy to hear that. I mean, if you don't attend practice he's just as likely to keep you on the bench."

  He shrugged, letting his arms fall helplessly to his sides. "I know man, but I really need the money. I got accepted to U of T and they promised me I could work full-time hours for the summer, with the chance to pick up more. You know my parents can’t afford to help out much other than letting me live at home, and I’d rather not finish with a hundred k in debt."

  Exhaling, I nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I've got a job set up for the summer, and I'll be leaving the week after school ends. I'll let him know. I guess you'll take your chances, like always.”

  Paul laughed and I joined in, thinking about how many times we’d pushed the coach to the edge of sanity. As much of a hard ass as he was, we all genuinely liked and respected him. He was good guy. His son had been on the team before we’d started, but even after he’d left to play for the farm team, our coach had stuck around to encourage the next generation to play.

  Hockey was one of those things that was either in your blood or it wasn't. Most of the kids in our class didn't play, but those of us who did had bonded together and were a close knit group. It was how I'd become friends with Paul. On the surface we didn't have much else in common. He was from an Italian background and lived a few blocks away from me, but it may as well have been in a different city.

  My family came from England, and both sides had emigrated shortly after the second World War. My parents were born in Toronto, the first generation in Canada, which made both Paul and I the same in that respect.

  But the practical implications were very different. I'd never had to deal with the social and cultural barriers his family had. It bothered me sometimes, but he’d never seemed to care. From the first time we’d met, three years ago in grade nine, he’d been warm and generous, the kind of guy who’d give you the shirt right off his back.

  My family was pretty cool too but a lot more reserved. Paul had two brothers and two sisters, and I had one brother, six years younger. We got along well, but with the age differences and more personal space, we weren’t as close as Paul was with his siblings.

  "Hey man, you even listening right now?"

  I shook my head, realizing I'd let my mind wander. He rolled his eyes and apologized. "Sorry man, History was a real snoozer today. You walking home?"

  He looked at his watch, then shook his head. "Nah. I’ll keep you company to the next street; work is that way."

  Together we navigated the mass of students desperately trying to escape the halls of torture. Normally I didn't mind school, but now that June was here and the end of the year was approaching rapidly, I was feeling antsy.

  Or maybe it was something else making me feel like that. My gaze flicked to Paul and his relaxed gait as he kept pace with me. We were almost the same size and coloring, except my hair was a little longer with a bit more red in the brown, and my eyes were dark blue instead of brown. We shared enough facial similarities people had commented on it in the past and at times, we'd been mistaken as brothers or cousins.

  I had other friends, but no one I felt as comfortable being quiet with the way I was with Paul. Maybe we’d been related in a different life. Waving as he turned off, I headed home to grab my things, hoping the strange feeling I had was due to the rapidly approaching end of year and not something else.

  Chapter 2

  "Man, I'm glad to be home!"

  It was after ten, but it was still light outside. Some days I was happy about the extra sunshine we got in summer, but on nights like tonight, after the exhausting drills my coach had ran, I wished it was darker. Something about trying to go to bed in the daytime felt wrong.

  My dad chuckled as he locked the door behind him. "Don't forget to put your stuff away." He reminded me, not even commenting on what I'd said.

  "Don't worry I will. I’m going to hit the sack."

  I heaved my hockey bag over my shoulder, giving him a quick, one-armed hug before heading to my room. He watched me go with a half-smile on his face, then turned and went into the living room. My mom was at work and by now Robbie was supposed to be in bed. I didn't need to stick around for my dad to pay the babysitter, our next-door neighbor kid. She had an unfortunate tendency to get chatty, and I was suspicious she may have a crush on me. She was a nice kid, but far too young for me, so I stayed as far away as I could.

  I hopped into the shower, scrubbing at the familiar corn nut smell permeating my skin from my rank hockey gear until I was able to mostly wash it away then toweled off before throwing on shorts and t-shirt and collapsing into bed.

  Standing outside a blue building, I looked up at the night sky and frowned.

  "Okay, this is weird," I said, turning around.

  I had no idea where I was but it felt familiar, like I should know it. As my memory returned, I became even more confused. Hadn't I been in my house a minute ago? How had I gotten here?

  “Oh crap, I hope I'm not sleepwalking.”

  My voice sounded hollow in the silence, and I took a few steps, stopping when I saw a door in front of me. The thump of a bass echoed around me, and a crowd appeared in front of a garage-style metal door. It was rolled almost all the way up to reveal a band inside the building. A line of people waiting, smoking, and dancing to the music blocked the rest of my view.

  I didn't recognize the venue, but people were enjoying themselves. The snippets of conversation I heard were everyday; summer plans, the last Raptors game, what people wanted from Tim’s. I didn’t know anyone, and now I was starting to get a little freaked out.

  What was I doing here? And where was I?

  I turned, seeing someone right next to the burly bouncer at the door. I tapped on their shoulder; at least, I tried. My hand looked like it was on their shoulder, but they weren’t there. Or at least they couldn’t feel me. I watched my hand try again, and it looked like it was on their shoulder, but I couldn't feel them and they didn’t appear to notice I was there.

  "Hey, can you hear me?" I spoke louder than normal, but they still didn't turn around.

  Things were becoming more than merely weird now; they were downright scary. Swallowing hard, I backed away. As I backed further from the building, I realized I couldn't feel the ground underneath my feet. I could hear the music, and I could see everything in front of me as if I was there, but it was like I was in my own bubble. One that was keeping me from feeling things in the usual way.

  I tried to pinch my skin but didn't feel that either.

  "Okay, I don't like this. It can stop, anytime now."

  I shook my head and turned away from the party, walking down the street around the building. Maybe there was a sign or something that could tell me where I was. On the far side I saw another door, a smaller, man-sized door. From where I stood, the music had faded to a distant thumping, mimicking the beat of my heart as it raced with confusion.

  What the hell was going on?

  A door slammed, and my heart plummeted. Two large, well-muscled men lifted another man out of the back of a van, struggling with him for a minute. Without warning, one of the men punched the smaller one and he went down. I gasped, covering my mouth after the fact, but they didn’t even look at me.

  "That's one small blessing in this bizarro world, I guess," I muttered, knowing that regardless of what else was going on, they wouldn't attack me next if they couldn't see me.

  The faint light from the alley fell on the man now lying unconscious on the ground. The blood drained from my face.

  "Shit. Paul!"

  The man they’d been dragging was my best friend.

  I lurched toward the men, yelling at them, already knowing it was futile but needing to do something. "You can't do that! What the hell? Not cool. Let him go now!"

  But they picked him up. One man carried his feet and the other grasped him under his armpits. The one at the head kicked the door on the building o
pen and the crash seemed to split the night. Then as if they’d never been there, they were gone.

  Paul was gone too, disappearing into the blackness of the building.

  I ran after them but before I got to the door, everything vanished.

  I blinked several times before opening my eyes to darkness. For a moment, I thought I was inside the building. As recognition returned though, I knew I was back in my room. I fumbled to find my phone on the nightstand.

  Three a.m.

  Breathing hard, it took a few minutes for my heart to stop racing. The dream had been incredibly real. More real than any dream I’d ever had.

  "What the hell?"

  I jammed my fingers through my hair, trying to think, hardly registering the tangles I was creating. Had any of my dream been real? Had that actually happened? It had felt so vivid, so real. Except for the not being able to interact with anyone.

  I looked at my phone again, feeling crazy but unable to stop myself. Biting my lip, I composed a quick text.

  Hey man. Sorry about the time. Just had the weirdest dream. Everything okay?

  I waited, objectively knowing I wasn’t likely to get an answer if he was asleep. And if I woke him up, he was going to be pissed. But for some reason when I didn’t get a reply, it felt like all my fears were confirmed.

  "Now what am I supposed to do?"

  I’d never talked to myself so much and was beginning to wonder if I was going crazy. Telling myself it had just been a dream brought on by a hard practice and over-exhaustion, I laid down again.

  Staring at the ceiling, the time slowed to a crawl as I tried to go back to sleep. It was no use – I was wide awake. Giving up the idea of sleeping for now, I allowed my thoughts to race.

  What did it mean if my dream was real? Is Paul okay? Was he dead? And if what I’d seen was real, what did it mean about me? Was this how hallucinations started? Did it mean I would be a patient on a psych ward in the near future?

  Heaving an exasperated sigh, I rolled over and picked up my phone. I began scrolling, liking a few pictures and commenting on a few posts here and there. On a whim, I turned to the local news feed.

  In and of itself, that was unusual. I never went to any of the news outlets, finding them either boring or depressing. But something was prodding me, calling me over. It was the same feeling I had if I had been procrastinating about something and now had to focus on it or something awful would happen.

  In this case, I wasn’t sure if it would be worse to see what I feared or not.

  At first, it was easy. Everything I scrolled past was at least twelve hours old, but when I got to the Toronto Star, I bolted upright in bed, throwing my legs over the side and holding the phone between my knees.

  There, in the breaking news section, was the report of a murder.

  And a kidnapping.

  I lifted my finger from the screen like it was hot, hesitating before placing it down again. I didn't want to read the article, but I needed to. The same compulsion driving me to look at the news in the first place urged me onward now.

  Toronto police say at approximately 2:30 AM, a convenience store on Danforth and Vine was witness to an altercation between three unidentified males. According to one witness, three large, Caucasian males were arguing when one of the men pulled a gun and shot another at point-blank range in the chest.

  An employee taking out the garbage at a nearby store shouted, drawing the attention of the two remaining men, at which time there was a second altercation. The men forced the employee into the back of a dark-colored van and sped away. The witness was able to call 911 and EMS were on scene in time to transport the unidentified injured man, who is currently in critical condition at St. Joseph's.

  If you have any information as to the identity or whereabouts of these individuals or any information that could lead to an arrest in this case, please call Crime Stoppers at 416-222-TIPS or 1-800-222-tips.

  "You’ve got to be kidding!" The words came out soft, but interrupted the silence as my phone drifted down.

  Was it possible I’d actually seen the kidnapping as it was happening? And if so, how? I’d never had a dream so realistic, and definitely not one that seemed to have actually occurred. Then again, no one I cared about had ever been abducted before.

  All my life, I'd been able to find lost objects for people. It had always been easier to find things when there was a connection somehow, especially to friends or family. It came in particularly handy with my mom, who had to search for her keys at least once a day, usually when she was already five minutes late. Or when Robbie was younger, and refused to go to sleep without his favorite stuffy, which was always MIA.

  But this...nothing like this had ever happened. Was this dream somehow connected to a skill I’d accepted as nothing more or less than great intuition? Had I seen this event in my dream so I could help police find Paul?

  I didn't know what to think, but I knew when people went missing it was important to act right away. How many times had TV shows told me how important the first twenty-four hours were?

  I looked at the time on my phone again. Still too early to get up or call anyone. But, if Paul really was missing, and based on the news report I was as sure as I could be the unnamed kidnapping victim was him, the sooner I told the police what I knew, the better for him.

  Throwing the covers off I got up and dressed, put my phone in my pocket, and went to wake up my dad.

  Chapter 3

  I knocked on the door and waited for my dad to emerge, my heart racing as I wondered how I was going to tell him what was going on.

  The door opened, and a bleary-eyed man with rumpled hair sticking out in every direction blinked owlishly back at me.

  "Mark? What is it? What's wrong? What time is it?"

  He sounded like some amnesiac waking up in hospital for the first time. Given the time of day, I didn't blame him for the confusion.

  "Sorry, Dad. I know this is going to sound really strange, but can you drive me to the police station? I don't want to go alone, because I'm going to sound crazy. I need to tell them something."

  He held his finger up, letting out a huge yawn before blinking again and this time looking at me, eyes now sharp and alert. "Why would you want to go see the police in the middle of the night? What do you need to tell them?"

  I bit my lip, looking through the crack in the door into the dark room. For some reason, it felt important not to wake my mom. "It's totally crazy, but I’ll tell you on the way. That is, assuming you’ll take me? We need to leave right now—I’m worried a friend’s life is on the line."

  The final traces of sleep vanished from his face. Standing up straight, he nodded once. "Give me a minute to get dressed, and I'll meet you downstairs. I want to hear everything."

  "Yes, sir."

  I hesitated by the door, nervous he might fall back asleep but after a moment when I heard continued rustling inside the closed room followed by the soft murmur of voices, I went downstairs to wait like I’d said I would.

  Pacing back and forth, looking out the windows into the dark night lit by street lights, I barely had time to worry when I heard footsteps and turned.

  My eyebrows shot up at the man who entered. Gone was the laid-back, sleepy dad from a few minutes earlier. Standing in front of me, doing up his watch, was a powerful man who suddenly appeared ten years younger than he’d been the day before. A weird calm settled in my stomach.

  This night just keeps getting weirder.

  "You want to drive?" He offered me the keys.

  I shook my head. "No, you drive. I'll tell you everything in the Jeep."

  The nearest police station was only a ten-minute drive, shorter at this time of night. During the day it would have taken longer due to traffic, but in the middle of the night there were few other vehicles to compete with.

  I waited until he pulled out of the drive and onto the road before I started. Without filtering anything, I unloaded. I told him how vivid my dream had been, and how I wasn�
��t able to interact with anyone, the way I could hear and see everything, but couldn't feel or touch them, like a curtain had been between me and the rest of the world.

  I told him the most important and terrifying part– how I had watched Paul get taken out of the back of a car by huge strangers who’d knocked him out and carried his unconscious body into the building I'd somehow found myself in front of. By the time I finished speaking, I was biting the inside of my cheek nearly to the point of rawness.

  "That's some great information," he replied slowly.

  My eyes widened at the simplicity and factual nature of the statement. "That's all you're going to say? You actually believe me?"

  He rotated his head slightly, giving me a half-smile before turning back to the road. "Why wouldn't I? You're a good kid. You went to bed early last night, so I know it isn’t drugs or alcohol talking. You generally don’t exaggerate or jump to conclusions. And this is the first time I remember you waking me up over a nightmare since you were five, so I know it’s important to you."

  He paused as he pulled into the parking lot and I waited in silence as he parked, turned off the engine, and moved to sit at a ninety-degree angle facing me with his arm over the back seat. His lip quirked into a half-smile at the confusion I was certain was all over my face.

  He leaned closer. "Mark, your mother and I have always known you’re...special. I guess you’d say you’re lucky, or have a knack, but we both know you have an ability to find things that goes beyond the strictly logical. You’ve been friends with Paul for a while, so it doesn’t surprise me you’d have a dream about him, but along with your other abilities, it concerns me. I believe you when you say your friend is in danger. I have a good friend at this station. A detective. He should be able to help us.”

  “You do?” I’d never heard that before. My dad had cop friends?