LOST

After leaving the apartment, Stew and Goose headed straight for the theater to tell Marc everything. As he walked down the street, he began to think about all the crazy things he had seen since being attacked—Regan, the rain nymphs, the brownie trying to swipe his dad’s keys.

Maybe this twelve-hundred year old guy is a hallucination, too. And the dog? Stew thought as he looked down at Goose, who looked up at him with his tongue wagging as they walked briskly along the sidewalk. But that can’t be the case because Alex saw him, too. And I haven’t heard of too many people whose lives were saved by a hallucination. Besides that, I saw them both five months before I was attacked.

He arrived at the theater, opened the door and stepped into the lobby. As he did so, he was blinded by a flash of brilliant, white light. He quickly brought his hand up to shield his eyes but it was too late for his retinas.

“Oh, sorry, Stew. I was just switching out this movie poster. These things catch the sunlight just right.” Marc closed the display case and climbed down the ladder. Stew’s eyes began to recover as Marc walked over to greet him. “Sorry about that, buddy.”

“It’s okay. I’m just happy it wasn’t anything weird.”

“Weird? Like what? Blue sparklies?”

“Yeah. Something like that. Do you have a few minutes? Can we take a walk?”

“Sure. I just have to put up the ladder. Who’s this?” Marc asked smiling at the dog at Stew’s side.

“This is Goose.”

“Goose, huh? That’s an interesting name. Hold on just a second, okay? I’ll meet you outside.” Marc put away the ladder, told the concessionist he’d be back in a minute, and then joined Stew and Goose just outside the lobby. “Here you go, Goose,” Marc said handing him a hotdog from the concession stand. Goose gobbled it up as if it were wrapped in bacon. “What’s up? How’d your interview go?” Marc asked as he opened the lobby door.

“It’s not for another hour,” Stew replied, leading Goose out onto the sidewalk.

“Are you nervous?”

“Not about the interview.” Stew looked in every direction to make sure Wiz was nowhere around.

“But about something/”

“Yeah, just this twelve-hundred year old creep telling me we’re brothers.”

“Hmm. That sounds serious.”

“It is, considering this guy has been following for more than five months.”

“What?” Marc asked, concerned.

Stew told him everything—Wiz showing up at his apartment that morning and finding out that he was the one who saved his life, and the whole conversation about Wiz roaming the earth for twelve centuries. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

“That is very interesting. Crazy, yes, but interesting. So, he’s like an immortal or a vampire or something?

“Ha! I would probably think he was less crazy if he told me he was a vampire. Immortal, I guess,” Stew said, shrugging his shoulders.

“What was his name, again?”

“Wiz.”

“Does he have a last name?”

“He didn’t tell me his last name.”

“I wonder if he’s like Michael Jackson-Diana Ross ‘Wiz’ or the man behind the curtain ‘Wiz.’ Or maybe like Mr. Wizard. Do you remember? From Nickelodeon?”

“I don’t know. The guy just weirded me out, okay? And I don’t like being weirded out. I don’t mind being scared. Scared I can handle. Weirded out, no.”

“But you kept his dog?”

“Well, he did give him to me. I don’t think he was meant to… infiltrate my lair,” Stew added, raising his eyebrows for emphasis.

“Trojan dog, perhaps?”

“Very funny.”

“Are you going to tell Alex about Wiz in case he tries to talk to her?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“How are things going between you two, anyway?”

“They’re good.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“You should see how she’s decorating my apartment.”

“Oh, God. You’re letting her decorate it? Is it all pink and fuzzy, with Hello Kitty toothbrush holders, and the My Princess bed-in-a-bag set?”

“No, dildo-hole. She’s actually got really good taste. She’s turned it into a rock star bachelor pad kind of thing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, really. You should come by tonight and see it.”

“Maybe I will. So, when are you guys getting married?”

“Shut up,” Stew replied, shoving Marc playfully. When Marc returned the shove, Goose asserted himself, jumped in-between him and Stew and growled. Marc immediately stepped back, not wanting to be eaten.

“Goose! No!” Stew commanded as he pulled on the leash. “He’s a friend. We were just playing.”

“You got yourself a bodyguard. Your mom is going to be happy.”

Goose calmed down and sat on his master’s feet. “Well, I should get going. I don’t want to be late.”

“You want me to watch Goose for you?”

“Hm. I don’t know.”

Goose barked happily and trotted over and sat down beside Marc.

“I guess that answers that question.”

“I did give him a hot dog.”

“Are you coming by for dinner, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you a call when we’re on our way. 5:30-ish?”

“Sounds good. We’ll see you later.”

Marc opened the door to go back inside the theater and Goose barked again, deeper this time, and with more authority.

“I’ll be careful. I promise. And I’m taking the long way this time,” Stew said as he walked down the sidewalk.

Zachary was sitting on a couch in the makeshift lounge area of the warehouse, shuffling a deck of large, colorful, cards. He shuffled them three times and then began placing the cards in a star pattern on the coffee table in front of him. Mr. Trent was at another table playing a game of Solitaire.

“Hey Boss, instead of us both playing Solitaire, we could play Rummy or something.” Mr. Trent said.

“This is a bit older than Solitaire, Mr. Trent. In fact, these cards gave birth to your cards. Spades were originally swords. Clubs were staves, hearts were cups and diamonds were pentacles.”

“So, what kind of games do you play with those?”

“I don’t play games. I am trying to gain some insight on the future.”

“But you’re an immortal. Aren’t you psychic or something?”

“No. I’m not psychic. I can do magic, but I am limited, even at that.”

“By what?”

“By the Triskaideka.”

“What is the Triskaideka?”

“The Council of Forgotten Gods. Can I read my tarot cards now?”

“It just seems like a waste of time, these cards, when you can just wave a wand and wipe these guys out. What can a bunch of old gods that nobody remembers do, anyway?”

“Ha! They could make you wish there was a hell to escape to. That is what they could do. Now, if I had one of Modeos’s faerie friends, I could find them, no prob… lem.” Zachary brought his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. “Why didn’t I think of this a long time ago?”

“Faeries? You want me to find you some faeries, Mr. Di Corvo? There’s a club right down the street. I think tonight’s Drag Queen Night,” Mr. Trent said as he laughed at his own joke, but immediately regretted it, seeing that his employer was not amused.

“Your ineptitude continues to amaze me,” he said as he got up from the couch and walked to the computer desk. “Thankfully, I won’t have to put up with it much longer,” he muttered under his breath. “No.Faeries won’t do. But a satyr would. A satyr would be perfect,” Zachary said as he sat down, not caring whether or not his bumbling idiot of a henchman was paying attention.

“What’s a satyr?”

“Half-goat, half-man,” Zachary replied.

“Like Pan?” Mr. Trent asked.

“Yes, exactly. I’m surprised you even knew who Pan was.”

“They don’t really exist, do they?” Mr. Trent asked as he walked over to where he could see the computer screen from behind Zachary. “It’s just a myth. Right?”

“You shall find out soon enough,” he said as opened the internet browser window.

“What are you looking for?” Mr. Trent asked, hoping he could assist Mr. Di Corvo in some way.

“A forest. It has to be miles from any big cities. Here’s one—Pisgah National Forest. We’re going on a road trip.”

Mr. Trent looked at him with utter unease. “You mean, like… camping?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. I just…”

“I ‘just what’? What are you waiting for? Let’s get packed up.”

“Are we, at least, staying the night at a motel?”

“No, idiot. What we’re going to be looking for is not going to be anywhere near a motel. We’ll need to get some supplies—a tent and sleeping bags, flashlights, warmer clothes.”

“God, I hate the woods,” Mr. Trent complained.

“Oh, why don’t you whine, then,” Zachary shouted with frustration, standing up and putting his jacket on. “If you were less useless, we wouldn’t need to go at all.” Zachary headed toward the door as Mr. Trent remained by the computer in defiance. “Are you done sulking?” Zachary asked. Mr. Trent sheepishly nodded a silent reply. “Good. Now, get in the van.”

Alex was busy in Stew’s kitchen, making the dinner she promised him in anticipation of him getting his job back at the newspaper, when she heard a knock on the door. She went over and looked through the peephole and saw that it was Wiz. She opened the door as much as the chain allowed and saw the confused look on Wiz’s face.

“You freaked Stew out, Wiz.”

“I know. That was not my intention.”

“Well, I didn’t figure it was your intention, but that’s what happened.”

“Is Stew here?”

“No. He’s at an interview for his job at the paper.”

“Well, it’s actually you I came here to see, anyway.”

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out. You should leave, Wiz. And don’t expect to crash at my place anymore, either.”

“No, please. I just need to find out something.”

“What do you need to find out?”

“It’s not something you can answer verbally. Just give me your hand. You can leave the door right here, I mean you no harm. I promise.”

“What could you possibly find out by holding my hand? Are you going to read my palm?”

“Please?”

“You try anything, I’m pulling your hand through, slamming the door and you will leave your hand here.”

“Fair enough.”

She slowly reached her hand through the space between the frame and the door. Wiz gently placed his own hand on hers, closing his eyes. He had to strain in order to not squeeze due to the jolt he received accompanied by a powerful vision.

A girl being taken by force; a hand covering her mouth, her outer garments being torn off; then, an elbow to her attacker’s gut and his face came into view. Zachary!

“Xamn!” the girl yelled, tears streaming down her face as she ran toward the forest on the edge of the village.

“Astrid,” Wiz said, yanking his hand back through the door.

“Who?” Alex asked.

“I’ve got to go. I… um, yeah.”

“Who’s Astrid?”

“I’ll see you later,” he said, already halfway down the hall.

“I was serious when I said you couldn’t stay at my apartment anymore,” she yelled through the gap in the door. Goose had been asleep on the couch but was now fully alert and peeking out the door from behind Alex’s legs.

“I know.” Thoughts raced through his mind—some that he had thought before, and some he had not. One in particular, the image of Zachary trying to rape Astrid, disturbed him most profoundly. She had never said anything about it to him, or anyone, that he knew of. The next time he had seen her after Xamn disappeared, she was lying in her bed, crying. Now, the question was, whether or not to tell Stew… if he ever had the chance to talk to him again, that is.

Stew walked in the door to see Alex sitting on the couch, looking frazzled and smoking a cigarette and staring at the television. Something on the History channel about the Salem witch trials. Goose was standing watch beside Alex, making sure no harm came to her, from Wiz, Zachary or anyone else. He felt it was duty to protect her just as much as it was to protect Stew.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked her, dropping his satchel by the door and hurrying to her side. “What’s the matter?”

“Stay away from Wiz,” she said as she continued to stare blankly at the TV screen. “He’s psycho.”

“Yeah, he’s a mental case. That’s for sure. Why? Did he come by here?”

“Yeah. He touched me.”

“What?! Let me find that—” Stew said as he started for the door.

“No, no! He grabbed my hand.”

“That’s not much better.”

“I’m not hurt or anything,” she assured him. “Just spooked.”

“Did you call Detective Alderman?”

“No. But if I see him again and he comes anywhere near me, he’s getting kicked in the gonads.”

“He’s not staying at your place still, is he?

“No. I told him he couldn’t. How’d your interview go?”

“My what? Oh, that. I got my job back.”

“Awesome! That’s so great. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks. Yeah. Gilliam finally retired and apparently, the guy who’s been writing in my place isn’t ready to take the full time position. Besides that, readers were calling and sending emails, asking where I was and when I was coming back,” he said, breathing on his fingernails and buffing them on his shirt.

“That’s good. Your ego has been in desperate need of a hug, lately, I think.”

“It has?”

“Well, for some reason, I just feel that there’s a more confident Stew in there somewhere. Like you were happy once but you lost it somehow.”

“I’m happy now… and I’ve been happy plenty of times.”

“True happiness, though… I think you’re still searching for that. And you’ve had to build walls around yourself for protection, which is perfectly understandable, considering. But sometimes, those walls keep out more than just your enemies.”

“Thank you, Confucius, for revealing to me the meaning of life,” Stew said, using his best kung fu movie accent.

“Oh, young grasshopper,” she replied with little accent but much sarcasm, “the student who disrespects the teacher… gets hot dogs for dinner rather than Chicken Cordon Bleu.”

“That’s what I smell. Chicken Cordon Bleu, eh?”

“No. You smell hot dogs dipped in the envy of Chicken Cordon Bleu.” She stood up, her nose turned away and in the air, and walked to the kitchen. “Goose gets to eat gourmet tonight.” Goose barked happily.

“You’re giving my chicken to the dog? That’s just mean,” he said as he followed her, turned her around and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She hugged him back, laying her face up against his chest, “Me, too. Though, I was more worried about you.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I get the feeling we haven’t seen the last of Wiz.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be back. I thought we were going to Stimey’s to watch the game.”

“If you’d rather have greasy hot wings, be my guest. Remember, Goose is getting the chicken cordon bleu.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was just saying… I thought… nevermind. What did Wiz want, anyway?”

“He said he needed to find out something. He asked for my hand, closed his eyes and, then, it was like he was having a seizure or something. Then, he stopped and when he opened his eyes he said, “Astrid” and that he had to go.”

“Astrid?”

“Yeah, I don’t know who it is.”

“Wait a second. I had a dream last night. Well, more of a nightmare, I suppose. I was in the woods somewhere and I was on fire. Again. I don’t know what it is with these dreams and me being on fire. Maybe from my pyrophobia, I guess. I was reaching out for someone and I think I was yelling that name, Astrid. And then, I saw this man in a black cloak, laughing. I couldn’t move. And all of a sudden, he vanished into a flock of ravens. No, wait… what is it—a conspiracy! A conspiracy of ravens. Wow. That’s really weird.”

“Uh, yeah… just a little,” she replied sarcastically. “You don’t think what he told you was…”

They both paused and looked at each other.

“Na-a-a-h-h,” they both said. As they said it, one of Stew’s trolls fell off the mantle. Wondering if it was knocked off by someone at the door—perhaps Wiz—Stew quickly opened it and look out into the hallway. Seeing no one, he closed the door again, but not before Regan managed to escape.