by Shiloh White
“Oh good. I'm glad you're awake.” said Scott somewhere to the left of me, in a voice just about as far as you could get from sounding glad.
I stopped struggling when I heard his voice. “What happened? What's going on? Where are we?” I asked rapid-fire style, which probably wasn’t a good idea since I was short of breath already.
“I figured it was pretty obvious,” he said: “We were kidnapped.”
Kidnapped, of course. Why didn't I think of that?
“They picked me out of the crowd and stuck me in the neck with some type of needle. My muscles tensed up and I couldn't move. I'm still getting feeling back in my jaw and my legs right now. What did they do to you?”
“Thankfully, they didn't stick me with a needle,” I told him.
“They blindfolded me and used some kind of cloth. Then they hit me from behind. Next thing I knew, I was here.” I decided to leave out the crazy dream. There would be time for that later. I also left out that the cloth was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Probably not the best time to complain about that.
I heard the sound of a door opening somewhere above me and to the left. Then there were feet shuffling down steps. They stopped right in front of me.
“I don't know who you are, but you better let us go. You're holding a Depression Force Officer hostage. It will not end well for you!” Scott yelled. He sounded more angry than persuasive. The person only laughed; a deep, male-sounding laugh. I heard his feet shuffle behind me, and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I felt his hands touch my hair, and he untied the blindfold.
With my first look around, I realized we were in an alleyway. Old buildings lined both sides of the walls as far as I could see, dimly lit and foggy. There was litter everywhere, and a few dumpsters. It explained the old food stench. I turned around, and tried to the look at the man as he walked over to Scott.
“Lucy. Are you okay?” I held my breath for what felt like forever, while the man took off Scott's blindfold. He looked over at me, and I nodded at him, “I'm fine.”
The man made his way around the back of Scott's chair, and stood in front of us with a smile on his face and the blindfolds in his hands folded in front of him. Now that I could get a clear look at him, he looked like a butler. He wore a fancy white button-down shirt underneath a jet black vest, and tucked into black slacks. His hair was combed to perfection, and his smile showed a full row of teeth as white as his shirt.
“Are we outside a restaurant?” Scott asked, taking his first look around the area. The butler nodded at him slowly and with poise, the way you would think a butler would.
“Then I demand to see the owner. Who do you work for?” he practically growled at the butler in anger. The butler simply placed a hand over his waist and bowed. “The master will be out shortly.” he said in the same deep voice he used to laugh. If he was any louder, I'm sure it would've rumbled the alleyway. He walked back up the steps and into the building.
As the door closed behind him, I got a glimpse of people moving around inside and a pot with steam rising from it. Looked like a restaurant to me.
“AUGH!” Scott growled as he flailed around in his seat. He pulled his arms this way and that, but like me, the only thing he succeeded in was getting his chair to scoot around. “That's not going to help,” I told him, solidifying it for myself as well. The ropes weren't going to just snap. That wasn't the way out.
“We can't do anything at this point but wait,” I continued, “and it won't do us any good to be tired once we can do something, will it?” Scott stopped pulling, and let out another grunt. “You're right.”
That surprised me. The conversation felt flipped; I expected Scott to be helping me stay sane right now.
“But,” he continued, looking me straight in the eyes, “I have to do something. I won't let myself sit around and be dead weight.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked. Scott looked down at the ground, and bit his lip. The silence got longer and longer until I figured he wasn't going to say anything. “A friend of mine died a few years ago...before I found the Depression Force.”
“How did—” I stumbled over my words. It didn't seem fair to ask. But maybe this is why Dart wanted me to keep an eye on him. Maybe this problem was bugging him; the real reason he lashed out at the Lieutenant. I took a deep breath, and forced the words to come out.
“How did it happen?”
“Suicide.” Scott said. “I didn't realize it in time to stop it. And I just felt so...” He paused for a moment.
“Angry.” he decided. “I felt angry, and bitter. I took it everywhere I went. Then Dart found me. He told me about a place where I could use that anger. A place where I could protect people from that horrible decision my friend made.”
“The Depression Force,” I said. He looked up at me, and I looked into his eyes. I saw anger. But I saw something else. The same look from on the train. It was regret.
There was something else, too; a strange feeling in my gut. A memory. I was about to ask him, then the sound of the door slamming cut me off.
The butler came back outside, with another man. They carried a rolling dinner tray down the steps. It was the sort of tray the waiter would carry out everyone's food on. The second man looked a lot like a waiter, too. He wore a long apron with a bunch of pockets. One of which held a notebook, most likely for taking orders. In another, I saw the tip of something sharp. A pen? No, that wasn't quite right.
“Mind your manners with the boss.” The butler said in his deep and accented voice. He slowly moved his gaze from Scott to me, then from me to the waiter. The waiter nodded sheepishly. The butler took his handkerchief from his vest pocket, and used it to grab the handle from the top of the dinner tray. He slowly pulled it off and I just stared, unable to say anything at what was underneath.
✽✽✽
A human skull.
That's what stared back at me.
A human skull. And an angry-looking one at that. It was propped up on top of two other bones and stared back at me with knit eyebrows. Eyebrow-bones? Eye-bones? Eyebrones?
(Okay, I apologize. Lost control for a moment there. Eyebrones? Not my best moment. But come on, I didn't get to eat in The Square).
“Why couldn't you leave me and my restaurant alone the first time, eh?”
I looked around for whose horrible mobster accent that was. I couldn't believe what my eyes were telling me. The skull did not just talk. I met eyes with Scott, trying to keep my mouth from gaping open, to see if he heard it too. He made a sideways face at me, as if to say yep, pretty much— The skull just talked.
“Yeah, I can talk, toots,” The skull jabbered on rudely, “and I'm about to say somethin' mean, cause I ain't happy.” I have to admit, I almost missed out on what he said because it was a little mesmerizing to watch him talk. Every time he said something, the top of his jaw and up bounced up and down like a trash can with a foot lid.
“That makes two of us!” Scott yanked at his rope again, returning the skull with his own display of anger. “I'm not happy either, with these restraints or being kidnapped in general.” I was still trying to get over the fact that the skull could talk, and here Scott was already yelling at it.
“I have a feeling we'll need to do this the hard way if we're going to get anywhere,” the skull grimaced at Scott. Then he nodded—as well as a skull can nod, I assume—at the butler. The butler gave a slight bow and clicked a button on the dinner tray I didn't notice before. I heard the sound of rumbling concrete, like a big earthquake, only it came from above.
I looked up in time to see a pole shoot out from the wall of the restaurant across the length of the alley, and into the wall of the old building on the other side. It dropped down two wire cables with hooks on the end. The butler walked over to Scott's chair. “Hey, I need an explanation! You can't keep us here and not tell us why.” Scott yelled as the butler moved behind him. “Oh, believe me. We're getting to that.” he said in his deep accent. He
grabbed the cable as it continued to lower down, and hooked it to Scott's chair. Then he walked behind my chair, and hooked the cable onto the back of my chair. Then he walked back to his spot behind the table tray.
A piece of it poked against my back. I tried to sit up straighter and avoid it, but being tied down made that difficult. (And pretty darn annoying, for that matter.)
“What are these for anyway?” I asked.
I wished I didn't.
The ground directly underneath us rumbled, and a large crack spread down in between the two of us. Then as quickly as the crack spread, the ground shot out from underneath us in either direction, disappearing from underneath us. My chair jerked forward and I yelped, sliding shortly forward in the chair. For a second, I thought I was floating!
I looked above me, and saw the cables were what continued to hold us up. Without them, I would've fallen right off of my seat, and slid into the giant cauldron full of boiling hot water. I could feel the steam rising up, making me feel hot and humid. But as hot as it was, I was glad at that moment that they took care to tie me to the chair. It could have been a lot worse.
“Now then,” the skull spoke up again, “why couldn't ya leave me alone? Why'd ya come back here?” I opened my mouth to say something, and all the steam took the breath from my lungs, and I just coughed. Scott was doing the same thing.
“What do you mean come back?” I asked. “I've never been here before in my life!”
“No one pulls the wools over Mr. Reggie's eyes; you mucks were just here a day earlier!” he growled at me. A day earlier? I still hadn't figured out the way time passed here, but he couldn't be right about this. “You must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm sure I would remember the stinky alleyway, and the bubbling cauldron.” Not to mention a skull named Mr. Reggie.
“Actually,” Scott chimed in quietly, “We have been here before. It was the place we saved you from, when you first showed up in the Dust.”
“What?” I stared at him in disbelief. I looked down at the door that the butler disappeared through. It looked sloppy, like someone rushed to install it. So then was that the restaurant on the other side? The horror-filled experience started to come back to me; the cooks chasing me around the kitchen…the lemon juice. I felt the anger inflate inside me. “They were going to blind me with lemons, and you wanted to come back?” Worst idea I'd heard all day.
“It's for your Handle, Hale!” Scott yelled back.
“Despicable!” Mr. Reggie shouted. “All I asked for was a quiet place to let my restaurant prosper, but I get trouble no matter where I open up!” I got the feeling he was about to start a long rant, so I half-expected to see the waiter ferry Mr. Reggie back and forth around the alley to give the imitation of him pacing back and forth.
“And now on top of all the regular trouble, there's you!” he pointed at me. (Again, as well as a bodiless skull could point.)
“Me?” I asked.
“Yes, you!” He shouted quickly in response. “A girl, appearing out of nowhere! And from Topside, no less.” Then he nudged in Scott's direction. “And you! A D.F. cop who led a whole bunch of D.F. cops into my business. Now you all want back in? Absolutely cannot allow that to happen.”
As if on cue, the cables clicked above me and our chairs started to slowly inch toward the cauldron.
“You're going to boil us alive?” I asked in exasperation.
“I can't take any chances. My profits are plummeting, toots.” Mr. Reggie said, only the slightest bit of sympathy in his voice. “It was nice to put a face to my problem, though.” I thought I saw the two bones underneath him shrug a little bit, and wondered if this was a lighthearted decision for him: “It's nothing personal; intruders are just bad for business. Enjoy the first few seconds; it's almost like a bubble bath!”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Scott broke in, asking, “How did you know we were coming back? If you're going to kill us, you might as well tell us.”
“A generous and anonymous tip,” he said. “So I sent Gordon,”—he gestured to the butler, who promptly nodded—“and a few others to go stop you. It wouldn't have been a problem normally, but you proved you know how to get in without being invited or forced.”
“Why would that matter?” I asked, glancing down at the cauldron. The steam was making it hard to breathe. I wasn't sure how much time we had left.
“It's the only way to get into my restaurant.” Mr. Reggie said.
“Right,” Scott muttered to me, “It’s that or being kidnapped. Special De Mentoria craziness. It hides his building. We barely found you the first time.” I thought about what would have happened if they didn't find me. I shuddered.
“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a busy skull with lots to do, so I can't stick around.” Mr. Reggie answered. I started to breathe faster as the steam stole air from my lungs. What were we going to do? Gordon the butler started to wheel Mr. Reggie back over the steps.
“Let us out! You can't do this!” Scott yelled. I wanted to yell the same. The boiling hot cauldron pulled me back to my senses. We were close enough to the pot for the boiling water to splash up at us, and the pain woke me up.
“If you're so busy,” I yelled up to the steps, “Then why'd you take the time to tell us all of this instead of sending us away?” I added. I saw Gordon whisper down to Mr. Reggie and then our chairs stopped moving. I gave a small sigh of relief with the little breath still in my lungs.
“I can't have anyone running amok when they hold the secret to getting into my restaurant, you see!” Then the cables clicked again, and we inched closer and closer. The water started to swallow up the bottom of the chairs. I pulled my feet up as far as I could.
“Wait!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “We don't care about the secret to your restaurant. We're just looking for a bag I dropped!” I heard nothing. I looked up, but I couldn't even see Mr. Reggie or his staff anymore. Then, before my feet hit the water, our chairs stopped and started to come back up. The steam started to recede and I could feel my lungs filling with more air. I watched Gordon bring Mr. Reggie back to the spot in front of us.
“Let me get this straight,” Mr. Reggie started, “The two of yous ain't interested in terrorizing my restaurant or stealing my private business formulas?” Mr. Reggie asked.
“We don't need any of that!” Scott yelled. I looked over at him, and he looked about ready to smash one of Mr. Reggie's bones with a nutcracker. I decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to let him do the talking. I nodded in agreement and added, “Yeah, just a bag that appeared with me in your restaurant.”
“Oh, that's all?” Mr. Reggie aimed his head back and forth between the two of us. Then he gave a long, hearty laugh. “Gordon, get them down from there and bring them inside. It's bad business to boil guests!”
17. A Skull Invites Us To Dinner
Have you ever been hopelessly out of the loop, but completely okay with it?
That was me, when Gordon the butler clicked a button and the cauldron disappeared back underneath the floor. Then the cables lowered enough to set our chairs on the ground. I shivered after the heat from the steam being gone, and the mere thought of how close we were to being cooked. Now we were guests. I didn't understand Mr. Reggie's sudden decision, but I didn't question it. At this moment in time, anything was better than being boiled alive.
I'm not sure Scott felt the same way.
I watched the second waiter walk over to him and undo the knots around his hands, catching a glance at Scott. He was still glowering; still mad he couldn't get out himself. Part of me felt bad, but I hoped he could pull himself together and help get my Handle back. There were more important things at stake than someone's pride.
The waiter came untied my bonds and we followed him and Mr. Reggie, carried by Gordon, up the stairs and into the restaurant kitchen.
The smells as we walked through were just torture. I was already light-headed from the cauldron's heat and not eating. I was about ready to faint from all the stimulation
.
So many different kinds of Italian food, and the aromas were all so strong. I could swear just the smell was filling me up.
As we walked in, the waiter left our little parade and got back to work behind a station. I thought I saw him shoot a sideways glance at Scott, but I did a double-take and he was working on some dish. I must have been hallucinating now. I couldn't believe I had to walk past this food and not eat any. I was glad when Gordon led us past all of the cooks and dishes out into the dining area.
“Woah.” I said, stopping to try to take the dining room in. Booths covered down both sides of the restaurant, along with a few tables in the middle. Just like your typical sit-down restaurant, right? Wrong. “What's with all the tables and booths? Why are they all different?” I asked, my eyes jumping from table to table, checking them all just to be sure. (Hallucinations are no joke, guys.) One booth had a low end coffee table jutting out from the wall with small stools on either side. Another had lawn chairs and TV trays. The biggest table in the middle of the room was half a wedding banquet table with a white frilly tablecloth and fancy decor and the other half was a toddler's plastic picnic table.
“Different people have different tastes. The greater the audience I cater to, the larger my business will grow. Simple.” Mr. Reggie said, Gordon wheeling him over in front of me. Call it delirium, but I found it funny that I couldn't argue with his logic.
I didn't exactly find it tasteful to have a wedding banquet positioned to dine near a bunch of toddlers or couch potatoes, but you can't blame a skull for trying.
Gordon led us over to a booth on the left-hand side of the room. It had the corner of a wooden bar table coming out of the wall at an awkward angle, with a few red-cushioned barstools on either side. He gestured for us to sit. I looked at Scott to follow his lead. His expression looked like he was planning to have a seat either way, as he climbed up onto a barstool. I guess I couldn't blame him. I hopped up on one of the barstools and waited. Gordon was about to set Mr. Reggie down on the table, but he must have heard something I didn't, because he leaned down close enough for Mr. Reggie to mutter something in his ear.