No. 257

Tom Carolla tore up his betting slip and left the track. The races had not been kind to him. As he rounded the corner at the end of the block, a large man approached him.

“Tom, I hope you still have Mr. Solomon’s money,” said the giant.

Without saying a word, Tom handed over a small roll of bills.

The big man counted to make sure he had been given the appropriate amount. “This should cover it,” he confirmed.

“I might not be a great judge of horses, Dino,” Tom said. “But I’m not stupid.”

The man nodded. “That’s right. That’s why Mr. Solomon told me that if you paid up, I could offer you a job.”

Carolla’s interest was piqued. “What kind of work?”

“Mr. Solomon has a boat coming in tonight. He wants you down at the docks to deal with one of the passengers.”

Tom knew instantly who he was meant to “deal with”. “It’s Kate, isn’t it?”

Dino touched his nose, and his pointed silence confirmed Tom’s suspicions.

“Great,” Tom grumbled.

“And Mr. Solomon doesn’t want what happened last time to happen again,” Dino warned.

“Then can I have my money back?” asked Tom.

Dino smiled and tossed the roll to Carolla. “Not like last time,” he repeated.

The two men spent a moment watching each other in awkwardly.

“She’s my sister. I’m not her boss,” said Tom defensively.

“It’s a good thing she’s your sister, too, Tommy, or Mr. Solomon would have cut you loose years ago,” Dino laughed.

No. 256

“Excuse me, are you Rick Collins?” asked a young girl holding a pen and paper in her outstretched hands.

“No,” said Rick Collins, letting the short reply hang uncomfortably between them.

“Oh,” said the girl. “Sorry.”

She walked away, leaving Collins alone with his assistant.

“Why do they always do that?” he asked.

“Want your autograph?” asked Stacy Williams while she scanned her phone.

“Bother me,” Collins clarified.

“Maybe because you’re a famous movie star? I don’t know,” said Williams sarcastically. “Why would they be interested in you?”

“Exactly,” said Collins sincerely.

Williams dropped her phone down and looked up at Collins. “Wow.”

“And do you know what, Stace?”

“What?”

“My chocolate milk isn’t going to grab itself.”

Stacy was shocked at his statement. Something inside her snapped and she threw the phone at Collins. He barely caught it as she began to tell him off.

“Rick, I’ve put up with a lot over the years, but I think that’s it. You act like there’s nobody else but you in your life, and maybe today is the day you learn that there is. I quit. You can get your own milk, and deal with your own problems. And, you know what? Maybe sign an autograph or two for some kids. It couldn’t possibly hurt you.”

She stormed off, leaving Collins with his phone, which was now buzzing with several urgent reminders. He stared at it blankly. This was Stacy’s job. He felt a sharp crush of fear in his belly.

Alone was scary.

No. 255

“You know, nine out of ten doctors recommend that you don’t do that.”

“Who’s the tenth doctor?”

“Um, that’d be you.”

“Ah, that’s right,” said Lily Steward with a weak smile.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she continued, raising the syringe to inject herself. In theory, the softly-glowing contents would heal her, although the side-effects were largely unknown.

“Wait!” Ivan interrupted.

“Why?”

“It’s just, I wasn’t really kidding. Don’t you think you ought to try everything else before you resort to this?”

“Ivan, I have. You know that. I’m not crazy. I just want to live a normal life. I don’t want to worry anymore.”

“Give me a week,” said Ivan. “There’s one last avenue I’ve been working on.”

Lily lowered the needle. She sighed deeply. “One week. But only because my little brother asked me.”

“Deal,” said Ivan. “Shake on it?”

Lily nodded.  She placed the noxious cure on the counter and extended her hand.

Later that evening, Lily returned to the darkened lab and sat down. She retrieved the syringe from her locked desk drawer and took the cap off the end. She held her breath and plunged it down into her leg. The glow from the liquid seemed to seep up through her skin as the drug worked its way into her body. “I’m sorry, Ivan,” she whispered. “Next week would have been too late.”

Then she passed out. The glass tube fell from her hand and smashed. The remaining fluid inside hissed and bubbled as it hit the ground.

When Ivan Steward arrived again in the morning, the room had been destroyed. He came around the edge of the long table in the middle and saw the broken shards of the needle and a partially melted spot on the floor. There was no sign of his sister.

“Lily, what have you done?” he desperately asked the empty space.

No. 254

Elmer Ebbet brushed the dirt off of the artifact.

“Is it a clue?” asked his assistant, Paige Smith.

“No,” said Ebbet. He picked up the ceramic coffee mug he’d just unearthed and threw it away over the steep cliff at the edge of the dig site. The cup smashed on the rocks at the bottom. “We’re no closer.”

Ebbet and Smith had been searching for the Tomb of the Ancients every season for the last six years. Guided to the approximate area by a hand-drawn map they’d found in the national archives, they’d continually been able to the raise the funds they needed. This time, however, the investors had drawn their line in the sand. If no solid evidence was found on this trip, the money would be cut off, and there would be no hope of ever finding the legendary source of the Ancients’ power.

“Was that the last target on the survey?” Smith asked quietly.

“There’s nothing else here,” Ebbet confirmed. He sat down in the dust and bowed his head. “We’re finished.”

Smith sat beside him. “We’ve still got three days. We should keep digging.”

Ebbet didn’t hear her. He was talking mostly to himself when he spoke next. “I don’t understand why the map was wrong. I did everything I knew how to verify it.”

A dark figure watched the old man and his partner from the tree line just north of the cliff-side campsite. He’d been well paid by his employers to keep an eye on Ebbet’s every move. After four deployments, he was almost beginning to feel bad for his mark’s failure.

Not bad enough not to do what would have to be done when the time came, but something, anyway. As for Smith, he’d be glad to see her go.

The observer slowly pulled a radio from his belt. He turned it on and whispered to his contact. “This is Broadsword. The Digger has admitted defeat. Is Protocol A in effect? Over.”

There was a slight delay in a reply. When it came through, the radio hissed and popped first. The agent ducked quickly out of sight in case the noise was overheard.

“Negative, Broadsword. Negative. Dreadnaught says they’ve still got time. Over.”

No. 253

The assembled members of the Grand Council of the Toys lorded over the lonely figure in the center of the bedroom.

“You are not a toy,” a voice boomed from the Council.

The cardboard wrapping-paper tube stood against the accusation. “But I am,” it said in its defence. “He plays with me!”

The Council would have none of it. “We have decided.”

A horde of plastic, wood, metal, and fabric descended on the tube. The gathered toys swept up the interloper and dragged the tube towards the door.

“You are hereby sentenced to death. You will be offered to the beast,” the Council declared from behind them.

Sumo the dog loped down the hall. His keen eyes spotted something new in the middle of the floor. It looked like a bone. Perhaps it tasted like one as well.

The tube could not stop the inevitable.

No. 252

There are sixteen things you need to know to be successful in life. I’m going to tell you two of them. The rest you can figure out on your own.

Number one. Only pick your nose when you’re absolutely sure nobody else is watching you.

And number two. If somebody arrives on your doorstep and tells you that they need your help to save the world, lean around them and take a look at the vehicle they arrived in. If it’s a pricey one, you’re good to go.

In my case, that vehicle was a helicopter, and the someone was a woman named Mia.

No. 251

“Sir, a man walked into our office, and he wants to speak to you,” said the office manager. “He claims to be a character from one of your books. Shall I call the police?”

Trevor Kasper leaned back in his chair. His voice, from behind the great desk, sounded like it was coming from a long way away. “No. Send him in.”

The visitor was led into the conference room. Kasper followed, moments later. They both looked at each other for a long while, neither saying a word.

“So,” said Kasper, breaking the silence. “You’ve sorted it out, then.”

“I must admit,” said the man. “It took me awhile.”

“What do you want?” asked Kasper.

The man sat down in the chair at the head of the long table. He removed a piece of folded paper from his pocket and set it in front of him before he replied. “What’s fair.”

Kasper didn’t hesitate to make an offer. “A million.”

The man didn’t to react to the amount. He merely tilted his chin slightly higher.

“Two,” said Kasper. “Three.”

Placing one hand conspicuously on the paper, the man rose and collected himself. “As you know, I’m not bothered by urgency. I’ll let you to think on a response. Until then, I’ll leave you with this light reading. I must warn you, though, it may be a touch familiar.”

Then he left the room. Kasper could hear him give his regards to the manager on his way out of the building. Kasper went back to his office immediately, clutching the page the man had given him.

He poured himself a drink from the bottle he kept in his drawer and closed his eyes. The past was coming due, and there was very little he could do about the situation.  

After he swallowed, he opened his eyes again and read the first lines of the unwelcome reminder.

I, Trevor Henry Kasper, understand that my fortune will have at its foundation a creation that will live fully in my writings, as well as in life. I will enjoy my success until such time as the creation recognizes my part in its inception and returns to me to avenge itself for what I have done to it in my works.