by Lizzy Ford
How did he feel so strongly about someone he’d never met? About a Power User, his mortal enemy? How did the fear in her eyes pierce him to the core, to the point he was tense and his hands clenched into fists, as if he was still holding onto her shirt to make sure she didn’t die?
“My lord,” said one of his guards. “She’s been taken to the dungeon.”
“Double the guard,” he ordered.
The guard bowed his head and darted off.
Dark Invader remained where he was, troubled by the power of the emotions that had unfurled inside him when he thought he’d lost her.
He’d never felt protective of anyone or anything in his life. He was a conqueror, not a guardian, and he’d definitely never taken mercy on a Power User.
I’m shoved into a cell by two men in black. Darkness surrounds me, and the door clangs shut behind me. A small candle is lit in the corner.
I can’t think of anything but Jared. What are the chances he’s in this story, the second one I ever wrote?
What are the chances he exists at all, or that I’m here?
I’ve never been so confused in my life.
Someone stirs in the darkness, and my focus returns to the physical world. I’m not sure what other surprises my ten-year-old self has in store for me. Thus far, most of them haven’t been that great. And my story consistency? God, how could I ever have been such a terrible writer?
“Hello?” I call.
The shuffling quiets. “Hello?” someone echoes quietly.
“I’m your new cellmate,” I start. “Are you a monster? Cuz I’m kind of freaked out right now.”
“I’m a Bobbit.”
“So you’re a good guy,” I state, relieved. I’d never turn my beloved Hobbits into bad guys.
“I’ve been imprisoned on my journey.”
“You were going to …”
“Tantor to defeat a demon.”
“Makes sense,” I say. “My name is Elf.”
“I’m Dildo Boggins.”
“What?”
“Dildo Boggins.”
I begin to laugh uncontrollably. It’s not just his ridiculous name, or the idea I didn’t know what a dildo was when I was ten and sent this story out to several publishers, but this ridiculous day in its entirety that’s causing me to lose it. Nothing here makes sense!
I laugh so hard, I have to sit down. Tears stream down my face, and my stomach and sides ache. I stop laughing when I can’t breathe anymore and suck in air, struggling for control.
“What’s your name again?” I ask.
“Dildo Boggins,” he says impatiently.
I giggle hysterically again. When I’m exhausted, I sag and wipe my face.
“While you were mocking me, I finished the tunnel I’ve been digging,” grumbles Dildo.
“Oh, great. Where does it lead?” I perk up.
“Out of the dungeon and into the bay where the extra ships are stored. I think. I haven’t tested it yet.”
Why is there a Bobbit in the dungeon of a space cruiser, or a dungeon at all? How can he tunnel through metal? Extra ships?
I can’t even.
“I’m ready,” I tell him gamely. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Take the candle and follow me.”
I grab the candle and lift it. Dildo reaches my armpit in height and is furry and dressed in rags, as if he’s been here for a while. His dark eyes aren’t on me but on the mood ring.
“Where did you get that?” he asks in a hushed tone.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Why?”
He’s staring, glassy eyed, his mouth agape. I have a feeling he’s about to go full-blown Gollum on me and switch hands to hold the candle with my left hand instead. I tuck my right hand behind my body.
Dildo blinks out of the spell. “This way,” he says and turns away.
I crouch beside him. The tunnel he’s made is through dirt not metal.
“Because this spaceship is made of dirt.” I shake my head. Whatever.
He crawls into the tunnel. I follow. It smells like dirt, feels like dirt, and the tight quarters soon have my stomach turning. I’m not claustrophobic, but neither do I like being trapped in such a small space without knowing where I’m going.
We crawl along for five to ten minutes, which is more of a challenge since I’m holding a candle with one hand. I’m not sure why I bother, since the tunnel only goes in one direction, but chalk that up to another of the nonsensical weirdness encompassing this adventure.
At last, we reach a small, wooden door. He stops and presses his ear to it, listening briefly before he opens it.
“This should place us in the back of the bay,” he whispers to me.
Awesome. I’m ready to leave this place.
He exits and stands. I don’t notice he’s gone rigid until I leave the tunnel as well. I stretch back – and notice this in no way resembles a cargo bay. It’s a large, darkened room with a dais at the center and the hologram of a hooded figure speaking to a kneeling Jared, who’s replaced his mask.
I slap Dildo on the shoulder and give him the what-the-hell look. He takes a step back, and I do as well. We whirl to flee back through the tunnel.
The door is gone. Dildo taps the wall desperately, and I glance over my shoulder. There’s something about this Jared that kind of unnerves me. He shares the intensity of the first one I met with none of the smiles.
Dildo is panicking and tapping loudly. I nudge him and motion for him to stop. He’s ready to have a meltdown. I point to a corner, which is dark and large enough for us to hide in.
He nods and bolts towards it.
With his head bowed, Jared doesn’t notice our movement. Dildo and I crowd into the corner and hold our breaths.
Jared’s conversation with the hologram-hooded-dude ends soon after. The hologram disappears, and Jared stands. I watch him, puzzled once again about his presence, and why he doesn’t know me now when he did at our coffee date. I have to admit. There’s something really sexy about a villain version of him.
Jared pauses at the door, head tilted.
“Don’t think,” Dildo warns me. “He can hear it.”
I’m not really sure how to do that. I stare at the ceiling overhead and observe how dark it is.
Evil-Jared leaves.
Dildo and I sigh simultaneously.
“What now?” I ask. “Can we dig another tunnel?”
“That one took me months,” Dildo says. “I don’t know what happened. I thought it led to the cargo bay.”
I know exactly how it happened and whom we have to thank for the switcheroo, assuming this was in the original story.
“We can make a run for it, maybe after everyone else goes to bed,” I suggest.
“Goes to bed?” Dildo asks, gazing at me quizzically.
“Yeah. Doesn’t everyone go to sleep for the night? So no one will be here to guard anything. We can escape.”
“Where did you get that notion?”
I sigh. I thought I knew the rules. Space has air. Everyone goes to bed.
The story is evolving. Is that a good thing?
“Never mind,” I reply. “We can look for other exits, I guess. Maybe you’re right, and the bay is the next room over.”
He nods, pleased with this idea. We split up and begin searching the walls for hidden doorways. It’s hard to see much in the dark, and I run my hands along the cool, metal walls, hoping to find a seam indicating a door.
There are none on my side. Dildo and I reach the door through which evil-Jared left. We don’t open it, just in case.
“Anything?” I ask the Bobbit.
“Nothing,” he reports.
“Me neither.”
There’s only one door in the room. “We can just leave,” I suggest. “I’m getting good at beating up bad guys.”
“It’s the ring. It protects you.”
“Whatever it is, it’s working. Should we do it?”
Dildo hesitates and then nods
decisively.
I face the door. He stands behind me. With a deep breath, I wave a hand in front of the door. It slides open, and I peek out. No one guards the door, and I slink into the hallway, followed by a fidgeting Dildo. We reach an intersection.
“Which way?” I whisper.
He points straight ahead. I don’t know where we’re going. I’m glad I found him so he can guide us out of here. I’m counting on him knowing how to fly a spaceship, too.
We walk down the corridor. It’s the longest one yet, with no doors on either side. I grow antsy the farther we go. There should be at least one door somewhere, unless they’re well hidden.
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer.
I glance back over my shoulder and then whirl.
Two men in black are holding Dildo, and evil-Jared is behind me.
“What the hell, Dildo! Couldn’t you warn me?” I snap.
“What did you call him?” evil-Jared asks.
“Dildo Boggins. It’s his name.”
“Unfortunate.”
Why do I have the feeling evil-Jared knows what a dildo is? How can he, when I didn’t when I wrote this?
My face feels warm. First I try to walk into space, and now this. I shouldn’t care about evil-Jared’s opinion of me. After all, he’s just a book character or a dream.
One who smells like caramel spiked with bourbon.
He’s too close again, and I find myself breathing in his scent.
“Return him to the dungeon,” he orders one of his henchmen. His mask faces me again, and he speaks in his eerie fan-voice. “You have a knack for escaping. You’ll be staying with me.” He slaps plastic handcuffs on me.
That’ll definitely affect the chances of me escaping. But maybe it’ll give me time to figure out why he doesn’t quite fit in with this story.
Half an hour later, I hang by my feet from the ceiling of his private quarters. I don’t even know how this happened. He made a motion with his hand, and my feet were glued to the ceiling.
“I’m going to get sick,” I warn him.
He’s eating his lunch at the picnic table in one corner, unconcerned. He eats chicken nuggets and fries and drinks soda from a Grimace glass.
My blood is rushing to my head. My head is about to pop.
“Seriously though, if you can stick me to the ceiling, why not just glue my feet in place on the floor? I couldn’t escape then, either. This is just cruel,” I complain.
No response.
“Have we met before?” I ask.
He lowers his nugget and looks at me.
“Have we?” he counters.
“Yes. Sort of.”
Assessing me, he replaces the food on his plastic Wonder Woman plate. “Where?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain. In another world.”
“I’ve never been to your planet,” he scoffs.
“Not that kind of world,” I respond and pause, thinking. “A completely different place. Dimension.”
“I’ve never been anywhere but here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“You were born here? No vacations to other places?” I press, needing to know more.
“I have no memory of my childhood, and I don’t know what a vacation is.”
Interesting. Why did I create a major character with no background story? As a kid, I had a pretty linear way of thinking about characters. They were born somewhere and had parents, and I was usually diligent about explaining that.
“When did you get here?” I ask curiously.
“I have always been here.”
“Yes, but you had to have grown up somewhere. If not here, then where?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t continue eating, either.
My head is starting to pound. “This conversation will be easier if I can be anywhere but the ceiling,” I say testily.
He lifts a hand. I fly from the ceiling to the wall, where my feet stick again, and an invisible force keeps me parallel to the ground.
“Not cool,” I grumble with a scowl. “You know what I meant.”
Evil-Jared gives the faintest smile and picks up a nugget.
“Are there chickens in space?” I ask him.
He stands and leaves. He must be upset, because no one leaves that many fries on his plate.
The door closes behind him. I struggle to budge my jelly-slippered feet from the wall without success. The invisible force holding me up is as unrelenting as the wall. I can push myself up but not through it. It’s easier just to lie on my belly, staring at the floor, hoping I don’t spend the rest of my life in this spot, because I’m hungry and need to pee.
One of the men in black rescues me an hour or so later. He leads me to a scary public restroom down the hall and then gives me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. After that, I’m taken to the bridge, where Evil-Jared is standing in front of the window to space. We’re parked in the same spot we were earlier, overlooking the red planet.
No one acknowledges me. I approach the window and stand beside him. I’m not yet able to explain anything about our few interactions, except that none of this is a coincidence.
He’s staring at the planet. I think he is, anyway. His mask is pointed that direction.
I observe the area around the planet and notice we’re hovering near a moon.
“Aren’t you worried about space smaugs?” I ask, alert for the large, green monsters.
“What?” he responds.
“We’re close to the moon. They’re around here somewhere.”
His creepy mask turns to me.
“Let me guess. They don’t exist,” I say. I’m glad this Jared is fictional, because I’d be humiliated if I had to explain all this. Space, Dildo, dragons. Every one of our interactions has ended with me saying something stupid. “What planet is that anyway?”
His attention returns to the planet. “Tantor,” he growls.
“That’s where Dil … uh, the Bobbit was headed, too.”
“The Power Users and their rings come from there.”
“And the unicorn?” I ask.
“Only a unicorn can lead me to the most powerful ring of all. All I have to do is survive the labyrinth and defeat the demon guarding the Ring of Magic.”
I wasn’t a completely incoherent storyteller as a child.
“You had no intention of destroying the planet,” I state.
“Not until I have my ring, dweeb.” His next words are barely audible. “What’s a dweeb?”
“Dweeb? It means idiot.” I reply, confused. “You’re the two-dimensional villain in the eighty nine cent Halloween mask.”
He waves his hand, and I’m hanging from the ceiling like an involuntary bat once more.
“For the love of god, stop it!” I snap.
“Do I look like someone who cares what god thinks?” he replies.
Did he … did a guy in space just quote Hellraiser?
Suddenly, everyone in the room is flung against the far wall, except for me. I’m now at a parallel angle again, thanks to the abrupt re-orientation of the room. Alarms blare, and the window cracks. The crunch of metal accompanies the sense of sudden deceleration, jarring everyone but me. I’m pretty safe where I am.
“Raise shields! Return fire!” shouts Evil-Jared, whose mask has slipped off. He staggers to his feet, along with the rest of his men, who struggle to make it back to their stations.
“The engines are out!” one of the minions cries.
The ship begins to whirl in a circle, and the planet grows closer. Alarmed, I try to dislodge my feet from the ceiling. No one else can do anything; they’re all being flung around the interior as the ship descends rapidly towards the planet. I’m relatively lucky, stuck to the ceiling like a piece of furniture. Vertigo is a better problem to have than my head being smashed into a wall.
Nausea floods me, and I close my eyes. At any time now, someone is going to rescue me. I�
��m not meant to die by smashing into a planet. The G-forces from our fall cause me to black out, though I can distantly hear what’s happening. Shouts, screams, the crushing of metal against something more solid. It’s only when things fall quiet and still that I’m able to claw my way out of the dark recesses of my mind.
I’m lying in a heap of metal and bodies. The window has shattered and the ceiling cracked, revealing a blue-green sky above marred by plumes of smoke. It smells like scorched metal and burnt meat. I’m no longer stuck to anything, but I am jammed in place.
I’m alive. Sick to my stomach, horrified by the idea some of these secondary characters might be dead, and thoroughly dazed – but alive. I struggle to move my limbs. I’m not in any pain, aside from a headache and unsettled stomach. I’m pinned beneath a heavy metal cabinet and two bodies. My body works. I just have to get un-stuck.
“Hello?” I call.
I can hear several others moving around, and the groans of the wounded.
Someone lifts the metal junk off of the pile of bodies I’m on and tosses it. Evil-Jared is bloodied, his eyes blazing. If he’s in pain, he doesn’t show it. He drags the two men in black off of me. I crawl out of the space I’m in and stand.
“What just happened?” I ask and stretch back. The bruised feeling is back, and I’m going to have a nasty headache soon.
“Someone blasted us out of the sky,” he snaps.
“Like the Bobbits or some sort of rebellion?”
“Only the Ring matters now.”
He grips my arm and pulls me away from what’s left of his bridge towards the cracked window. He steps out first onto the metal exterior of the spaceship and slips. I grab his arm. He catches his balance and straightens. Shaking off my grip, he grabs my forearm and tugs me forward.
I step out onto the exterior and immediately slip as well. My jelly shoes have no traction. Even if they did, the slick outer shell of the ship has the smoothness of ice.
I fall into Evil-Jared. One of his arms goes around me, and he uses his weight and balance to steady me. I find myself pressed against him, staring at his chest. His breathing is quick from the abrupt landing, his body warm and solid, his scent teasing. Awareness trickles through me. I confess I’ve wanted to touch Jared, or for him to touch me, since meeting him. Now that I can, I’m not surprised by how accurate my initial assessment of his body is. Wide shoulders, muscular chest and arms, trim waist and flat abs.