The Four Kings (16 page)

They both disappeared, and when Amanda blinked her eyes, she was standing in the midst of a scene very familiar to her. Hundreds of people, of all ages, wearing shorts, sunhats or baseball caps, some pushing strollers, milled about. Her eyes settled on the attractions next to her.

“It’s Fantasyland!” Amanda yelled, cheerfully.

“You are correct.”

“In Walt Disney World.”

“Yes,” Indie began. “I grew up in Orlando, just minutes away from Walt Disney World.”

Amanda gazed around, feeling bubbly and at ease. At least it wasn’t a scene that inspired the same trepidation she had faced with Demus. She noticed the now-aged style of the clothing and hairstyles of the people around them.

“Let me guess,” Amanda said, “We’re back in your past.”

Indie smiled. “That’s right.”

“And these people can’t see us.”

“No.” As if to prove that point, a harried mother with a screaming baby in her stroller passed right through Amanda, as if she were a ghost.

Amanda was puzzled. “Why Walt Disney World?”

Indie tugged at her hand to guide her. “This way.” Not bothering to maneuver her way around the crowd, instead walking directly through the crowd as if the scene was a hologram, Indie stopped just before Peter Pan and Tinkerbell were entertaining the crowd in front of an impeccable garden.

A ten-year-old girl, with brown bangs, grinning from ear to ear, was posing in between the two characters while her proud parents snapped photos.

Amanda did a double-take when she saw the little girl’s face. She glanced quickly at Indie.

“
You?
“

Indie nodded, but Amanda noticed she didn’t seem too happy.

Why? This was such a happy place. The young Indie seemed to savor the attention.

Indie intently studied the scene. She tapped Amanda on the shoulder, and whispered, “Look closely.”

As Amanda gazed on, the younger Indie was about to walk back to her parents, but instead turned around and laughed and waved at the two Disney characters. They waved back with the exaggerated movements so common to costumed mascots. Laughing some more, the younger Indie wiggled her fingers, reaching out to them. Some in the crowd gasped – the exclamations became muted among the chatter of the crowd – when flashes and sparks began emitting in the air around Tinkerbell, just like in the movies.

The costumed Peter Pan appeared puzzled by the reaction of several people staring astounded at Tinkerbell. He stepped away seemingly dumbfounded. He backed away promptly, while the costumed Tinkerbell seemed to gasp and look all around herself. As soon as she saw the luminescent halo about her, she darted a few feet in the other direction, then stumbled and fell.

The younger Indie was thrilled. She guffawed and pointed towards Peter Pan.

Suddenly, Peter Pan hovered in the air. In great shock, he bent toward the ground, apparently having trouble focusing through his giant fabricated head. His feet kicked furiously, unable to believe that they were suspended into thin air. Then, just as dramatically, he flew in small circles in the air, not more than fifteen feet off the ground. Tinkerbell, who was still lying on the ground, looked up at her storied companion in disbelief.

Young Indie cheered and clapped, while her startled parents grabbed her by her collar from behind and tugged at her. Peter Pan suddenly dropped from the sky and fell into the bushes a few feet from Tinkerbell. He rebounded quickly, showing that he was unharmed. But the dazed crowd now converged onto the scene, demanding answers.

From a safe distance away, Amanda covered her mouth. Not as shocking as Demus’ flashback.
But very, very revealing and so… public
. In a very different way, she again felt horrified.

As Amanda looked on, the younger Indie’s parents dragged her off, in a hurry to exit the theme park. Pandemonium ensued throughout. She felt a tug at her shirt sleeve, and looked at the present-day Indie, who nodded knowingly. “Come on.”

The Disney scene vanished and immediately, Amanda heard loud shouting.

“
You’re not human!!!
“

The father towered over his daughter, his face red. He pointed a thick finger at her.

The younger Indie cried and cried. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She gasped for breath, nearly hyperventilating. Then, she ran to her mother, who angrily pushed her off. Not expecting the shove-off at all, the younger Indie lost her balance and fell, almost knocking aside a coffee table. Her eyes round in terror, the younger Indie wailed even more.

Shaken, Amanda examined the surroundings. They were in a living room in a middle class home, with furniture that looked brand new, but obviously had a style dated from decades ago.

“We should go to the police,” her mother said, shaking. She was hugging herself, greatly distressed.

“And what’d the police do with her?” Indie’s father demanded, still shouting.

“Take her away,” her mother answered, unbelieving of her own voice. “We can’t have evil in our family.”

A younger daughter entered the scene from the kitchen, sobbing. “No, no, don’t take Hannah away!” She bent over and lay on the carpet beside Indie, hugging her.

Enraged, the father bent over to tear his other daughter off “Hannah.” The younger sister hit away at her father, to no avail. The ruckus was deafening. Amanda was visibly upset by the scene. It was so
different
from Demus’ life. With him, she couldn’t sympathize with the underworld currents that enveloped his younger life. However, here, it hit too close to home. Amanda couldn’t stop herself from weeping.

The present-day Indie nodded at her. Zapping up tissues in her hand, she offered some to Amanda. She gratefully took one and dabbed at her eyes.

An older boy of about thirteen, bounded down the stairs. “Enough!” he cried out, and started punching at his father. “I don’t care if she’s a witch. She’s our sister!”

“Back off, Ben!” the older man threatened, deflecting his blows with difficulty. He pushed Ben aside, with Ben losing his balance and landing halfway across the sofa. Ben panted and gazed at his father with hatred, not knowing what to do next.

“Get her in the car!” her father said as he pulled up the younger Indie, shoving her toward his wife. “Get her out of the house!”

His wife, initially disbelieving she’d been confronted with such a physical role, grabbed “Hannah” and dragged her cursed daughter away. The two siblings bawled, sending up a ruckus that hurt Amanda’s ears and broke her heart.

She turned her head away. “I can’t bear this any longer.”

“I’ll pause the scene then,” Indie said gently. Suddenly, silence fell and all the struggling, brawling characters froze in motion. “It’s important you see every moment of this, as I assume Demus did with you. At least you never had to experience anything like this.”

“My God,” Amanda shook her head, “I didn’t realize wizards had it so hard.”

“We aren’t that different from you in that respect,” Indie said.

“This is so horrible,” Amanda said, shaking her head.

“Now you see why wizards must be kept separate from Mortals,” Indie said. “You understand now. We have magic, but we cannot live among humans.”

“How do people become wizards?” Amanda blurted out.

“I’m not going to answer any further questions concerning the wizards,” Indie gently affirmed. “I’m only demonstrating what happened to me.”

Amanda shook her head. “Start the scene again.” She braced herself.

The next few moments of the scene at the younger Indie’s house weren’t much better. With much struggling, her mother had pushed “Hannah” into the family car, while her father fought off her brother and sister. Amanda and the present-day Indie followed them out of the house, passing through the front door like ghosts. Her father sat in the back seat with her, firmly holding on to “Hannah” like a rag doll.

Frantic, his wife reversed the car down the driveway quickly. Ben ran out of the house and flung himself onto the hood of the car. Staring into his mother’s terrified eyes, he pounded the windshield, possessing anger she had never seen before. His mother nervously navigated the car, with many sudden spurts and stops. His eyes filled with fear at the prospect of being dumped onto the asphalt by the motions of the car, Ben finally scrambled off the windshield. The vehicle sped out onto the open road, away from Indie’s old neighborhood.

“Not much more,” the present-day Indie told Amanda. “We’re almost done.”

There’s more?
thought an incredulous Amanda.

Together, the two women disappeared, and then were outside once again. Squinting in the direct sunlight, Amanda made out a brick one-story building sprawling out across the parking lot. Now the younger Indie, stood adamantly in front of her parents. The words across the front entrance of the building struck fear in Amanda’s heart: ORLANDO POLICE STATION NO. 2.

“Hannah” was screaming at her parents in the parking lot. She was no longer afraid, and had a defiant stance. “You don’t love me!” she yelled at them.

“You don’t understand,” her mother held out her hands, pleading, “You’re dangerous to us. You have powers. What’ll become of us?”

“I don’t care!” “Hannah” shrieked.

“Get in there.
Now
,” her father ordered, angry beyond belief. “Watch out for her!” he shouted to his wife while trying to protect them both from their daughter.

Reacting to the commotion, two male police officers were running out the front entrance of the station, now within about a hundred feet of the younger Indie.

Seeing the police encroach upon her rapidly shrinking perimeter, the younger Indie grew desperate. Aiming her left hand at her father, she blasted him off his feet, knocking him about twenty feet to land upon the pavement. Her father, now dazed, struggled to raise himself off the hot asphalt, showing a blood stain through his shoulder of his gleaming white business shirt. Gasping, her mother slightly retreated, placing both hands over her mouth. Despite her mother’s submission, the younger Indie’s anger swelled within her, and she also pummeled her mother with a blast of wind, depositing her brusquely atop the windshield of a nearby car. Her mother groaned with pain, closing her eyes. A hairline crack stretched from end to end on the windshield due to the impact of her body.

The two police officers closing ranks on the younger Indie, stopped suddenly in their tracks, disbelieving what they saw. Allowing a short period of time for the initial shock to pass, they withdrew their guns and pointed them at the younger Indie.

Swirling around, the younger Indie held out her hand in front of the two officers, and both guns were sent flying away, landing with two
thuds
against the outside wall of the station. Her eyes blazed, knowing she was fully in control, the younger Indie laughed with glee.

“Try this,” she told herself, no longer afraid. With a tiny movement of her hand, she created a blast in the front lobby of the police station. Broken pieces of brick and wood showered the air. The two police officers, panic-stricken, collapsed to the ground and held their hands over their heads. Through the debris, several more clerks and police officers were streaming out of the building.

She discovered she was able to magnify her voice as if she had a public announcement system in place anywhere she desired. She declared, “You in the police building, get out. Now. It’s bomb time. Two minutes left.”

The effect was dramatic. Dozens of workers and police officers scrambled through the destroyed front entrance, or through the emergency exits. They gathered far away from the station, whispering in hushed tones among themselves. They all had heard the blast that occurred mere minutes ago and weren’t taking any chances.

One of the two initial police officers observed the chaos, then braving the threat, ran back to the side of the building where his gun lay. As he bent over quickly to pick it up, the younger Indie glared. Pointing at him, she unleashed a torrent of force that smashed him against the wall, knocking him out cold. His colleague, watching in shock, ran over to drag the unconscious officer along the ground as rapidly as possible, away from the doomed building. The two abandoned guns were left behind.

The child glanced in the other direction to search for her parents. She spotted her father by the edge of the parking lot, grasping the arm of her mother, dragging her on his back. Her mother appeared to be shaking her head and moaning in anguish.

As people continued to congregate in a ring far detached from the station, the younger Indie ensured that two minutes had passed. Further, she satisfied herself that it had been a long time since anyone was seen departing the building.

“Time for fireworks,” she said.

She flipped her right hand up.

The entire police station blew up, spewing tons of debris into the air. Fireballs ensued everywhere, one after the other. In the place of the former police station was a smoking, smouldering wreck of assorted piles of fractured bricks, torn linoleum, splintered furniture, smashed asphalt roof tiles, and twisted metal.

Laughing uncontrollably, the younger Indie disappeared while the chaos stumbled on.

Seconds later, before they had a chance to look at each other, the present-day Indie and Supreme Liaison Amanda Fullerton also disappeared.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In the Retreat Room at the Liberators’ Headquarters, a tense Amanda allowed herself to sink into the lush leather couch against the glass windows of the luxurious enclave. It boasted luxurious chocolate brown carpet; a gas burning fireplace with a clear glass mantle and a foosball game table in one corner (a foosball table was one that held spinning rows of miniature plastic football players, all aiming to kick a tiny ball into a goal on either side). A few steps up lay a kitchen counter with mini-stove, mini-oven, microwave, and dishwasher. In the middle was a circular sunken floor encompassing a large area with a huge round oak table, surrounded by modern office chairs. Next to the glass walls on one side were items of comfort: several leather ivory-colored armchairs and plush sofas. On a utility table lay three computers, accessorized with all the latest in monitors and Wi-Fi equipment.