The Land of the Dead: Book Four of the Oz Chronicles (13 page)

“Billy B,” I yelled. “Billy B. Billy B.”

The old man frowned. “Darn. He’s the chubby one. Lot of good fatty meat on that one.”

I felt numb. It didn’t matter that I had saved Billy B. I had ensured that Billy G was about to die a terrible, tortuous death. “I’m going to find you,” I said calmly. “I’m going to find you and torture you. I’m going to make you pay for all this. I’m going to make you feel their pain.”

“You see,” he said smiling, “we really are alike.” With that he knelt down. “Boys, do you know why I brought you up on the roof?”

“A party?” Billy B asked.

“No,” the old man said pulling the cover off his tool box. “I brought you up here…” He opened the box and pulled out his favorite knife. “Because I’m the boogeyman!”

DAY 3

FOURTEEN

I woke up leaning against the wall in the back of the closet. Believe it or not, I felt rested, more so than I had since my world ended when I was thirteen. I stretched and yawned and felt something shift on my lap. Instinctively, I reached down to readjust whatever it was. My hand landed on a manila folder labeled “General Estate Maintenance Records: December, 1934.” I hadn’t remembered pulling it from the filing cabinet. I flipped through the thick folder. None of the contents struck me as particularly important. I was about to close it and never give it another thought when a signature on a form caught my attention. I brought the form closer to my face. It was a bill of sale for paint and, according to the signature, the supervising maintenance director was Nathan Bashir.

Bashir. I processed the information. The name of the doctor in Buffalo who treated Stevie and other patients with Down syndrome was Dr. Bashir… I was almost certain. My mind was a little muddled, but I remembered the name. One of the Destroyers was even named Bashir in honor of Dr. Bashir. Dr. Bashir created the Storytellers. He taught his patients Hyper Mental Imaging, how to create the world around them through intense visualization practices. He taught them… forced them even… to get back at those of us who taunted and tortured them. His patients created monsters that crawled out of their imaginations and destroyed the world.

This couldn’t be the same Bashir, could it? It was a coincidence. If it was the same guy, he would have been in his nineties when he treated Stevie and the others. Not impossible, but not likely either.

Curiosity got the best of me. I examined the rest of the contents of the folder more closely. It seems there was a significant amount of painting that occurred in the latter part of 1934. More than 100 painters were employed. Lists of hirings and firings filled up a small notebook. I scanned through the names. I came to a sudden stop on the fifth page. Hire number forty-three, Albert Howard Fish.

I unknowingly gripped the edges of the folder more tightly as I soaked in the information. He was here… when he was alive… in this mansion. I hurriedly shuffled through more papers in the folder. Eventually I uncovered something called a “Notice of Termination” with Fish’s name on it. The date was December 24, 1934. The name of the person who filled out the form was Nathan Bashir. The reason for termination was scribbled on the page. It was almost impossible to make out. I peered closer and concentrated on each letter. Finally I deciphered it. “Inappropriate behavior around the staff‘s children.”

“No kidding,” I whispered to myself.

I flipped the paper over and there was something written on the back. The handwriting matched the chicken scratch on the front.

“Mr. Fish has made inappropriate remarks to many of the children of staff members. He terrified one particular child with stories of a boogeyman who eats the meat of youngsters. This child remarked that Mr. Fish tried to force him off the grounds and into the woods that lay beyond the property. When questioned about these accusations, Mr. Fish grew violent and unruly. Police officers were summoned to escort him to the train station.”

The train station?
I thought.
Hopefully, they threw him under the train.
They didn’t, I know, but I couldn’t believe they’d just let him go. They knew what he was. I found other forms in the folder filled out by Bashir, and they were all neatly written. I read those notes with no problem. The termination form was the only form that was barely legible. I read the note to myself a few more times. He was scared, not of Fish. No, he was scared that a man like Fish could even exist. I took the notebook and termination form and put the folder back in the filing cabinet.

I left the closet and walked. I had no idea where I was going. I just walked and considered the new information carefully. We were at this mansion for a reason. The old gray man had some unfinished business here, and we were here to make sure he didn’t finish it.

I was standing at the entranceway to the fourth floor observatory room before I knew what hit me. I didn’t even recall walking up the stairs. I didn’t even remember exiting the bedroom on the second floor.

My stomach knotted up, and I knew Archie and Billy were nearby. Kimball sauntered into the middle of the room and laid down. He was exhausted. I imagine he had stood watch over me while I visited the Land of the Dead.

I was tired, too, but I couldn’t rest. I was hungry, and being so close to… meat…was driving me crazy. I forgot all about the paper and pen. Leaving Archie and Bobby a note was impossible.

I dropped to one knee and quickly went through the contents of my backpack until I found a long-sleeved shirt. Sitting in a nearby chair, I tied one sleeve to my ankle and the other to a leg of the chair. It wasn’t enough to stop me, but it was enough to slow me down.

“I know you’re in here,” I said. “I can smell you.”

Bobby was the first to step out of the darkness. He stood stiff and nervous. “Where’s the Flish?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Archie stepped out of the same darkness that had concealed Bobby. He was holding the toddler who had once been Tall Boy. “You in bad shape?”

“No,” I said. “I’m much worse than that.”

“The others?” Archie asked.

“We’ve all had better days.” My mouth began to water just looking at them. I closed my eyes. “We’ve made a pact.”

“Yeah,” Archie said, “what kind of pact?”

I snickered. “We’re going to give each other space.”

My two-way radio screeched and Wes’s voice crackled through the small speaker. “Oz? You there? Oz…”

I sighed and clicked to talk. “Go for Oz.”

“Where you been, boy? Lou said we were supposed to check in every hour to let everyone know our locations.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, I forgot. Got a little sidetracked.”

“Pact ain’t no good if everybody don’t follow the same rules,” he answered.

“Couldn’t be helped,” I said.

“Tell me about the pact,” Archie insisted.

I rolled my eyes. “We’re going to stay out of each other’s way and work on a way to get out of here.”

“Flish won’t let you leave,” Bobby said rolling his eyes at me.

I waved him off. Bobby didn’t know me. I could be pretty resourceful when I had to be. I pressed the button and talked to Wes. “I’ve been to the Land of the Dead, Wes.”

There was a long pause before he answered. “Come again.”

“The Land of the Dead,” I said. “I’ve been there.”

“Must not be all bad,” he snickered. “You lived to tell about it.”

“It’s no picnic,” I said. “Listen, the bad guy… The Destroyer, the old guy in the basement, he’s based on a real guy… I mean a real guy from our world.” I paused to let him talk.

“Go on,” he said.

“Albert Fish, he’s sick and twisted. Used to kidnap kids and eat them.”

“Fish? Albert Fish? I know that name… Yeah,” he said excitedly. “Albert Fish. I know him. Know of him anyway. Had an uncle who was obsessed with serial killers. Ol’ Albert had his heyday between World War I and World War II, if I remember right.”

“What else do you know?” I asked.

“Too much. Uncle used to creep me out with stories about that guy. Fish is the reason New Yorkers started locking their doors.”

“He used to write horrible letters to the parents of his victims. Tell them every detail of how their children died. That’s how he got caught… Grace,” he said at the end of a gasp. “She’s the girl. The one in the basement. The one you saw in the second floor bedroom.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Did you know that Fish was here, in the thirties? He worked as a painter.”

There was a pause. “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He bragged about eating kids in every state. Claims he got four hundred or so of them.”

What a grand feast,
I thought, and then shook the disgusting idea out of my head. “How could he get away with something like that?”

“Simple,” Wes said. “He’d usually kidnap little ones that society didn’t want nothing to do with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Retarded,” I heard little Bobby say.

Wes said, “Kid’s like Nate and Stevie and…”

“And the other Storytellers,” I interrupted.

“That’s right. It was a different time. People would normally institutionalize kids who weren’t… normal. Hide ‘em away. Fish probably thought he was doing everybody a favor.”

I wondered how different it really was. “But Grace wasn’t like Stevie and the others.”

“I said he usually kidnapped the mentally handicapped. He went off script a few times. That’s probably what did him in.”

I watched Archie walk across the room bouncing the Throwaway version of his son in his arms. His attitude about the toddler had changed quite a bit. He was holding him like a father holds his son.

I thanked Wes for the information and tossed aside the radio. As soon as I did, I focused my attention on my hunger and the two meals in the room with me.

“So we’ve got to take down this Flish,” Archie said.

“We don’t have to,” I said. “I do. You, Bobby, and that thing you’re holding need to get on the road while it’s light out.”

“His name is Max,” Bobby smiled.

“That’s right,” Archie said.

I snickered. “Seriously?”

“You got a problem with that?” Archie snapped.

“None of my business,” I said.

“You’re not a father,” he said. “You don’t know.”

I held my hands up to signal my surrender. “Okay, whatever. If you want to pretend that thing is your son, have at it.”

“It’s not a thing!” Archie screamed. “My son is not a thing!”

“Don’t push me, Archie,” I said fighting to keep my calm. If I let go of my anger, one of two things could happen. I could turn full Délon and kill him before he had time to blink, or I could tear his guts out and eat his chewy, delicious insides.

It was his turn to snicker. “Kid, I am older than you and I am Creyshaw. You best not push me.”

I gripped the side of the chair and tried to squeeze the frustration out of me. I didn’t know if I could hold on much longer.

He grunted and sucked in a big deep breath. He slowly let it out. “We need to be working on this thing together, Oz.”

“We can’t… it’s not safe for you or Bobby. Bobby is all you should be worried about.”

He said, “I got news for you. Ain’t no such thing as safe in this world. You know that saying ‘the devil you know?’ Well, brother, you’re the devil I know. You and the others. I’ll take my chances here. Smart thing for you to do is use me in some way.”

I couldn’t tell him, but he was right. “Suit yourself,” I said untying my leg from the chair. “You want to help. Find out what you can about Albert Fish.”

“Sounds like Wes is your man for that.”

“He knows some, but I need to know more. I’ve got seven days to figure him out.”

“This Land of the Dead,” Archie said. “How do I get there?”

I was about to say that I didn’t know when Bobby jumped in.

“Only the dead can go to the Land of the Dead.”

I furrowed my brow and shook my head. “But I’ve been there, and I’m not dead.”

Bobby looked away.

I stood up and said it more emphatically. “I’m not dead.”

He shrugged. “Dead is dead.”

I looked at Archie hoping he would interpret. He was as confused as I was. “What do you mean, Bobby? Oz isn’t dead. He’s here. He’s alive.”

“I know,” Bobby said as if it was too ridiculous to consider. “But he used to be dead. Once you’re dead, you’re always dead even if you’re alive. That’s what Dr. Bashir told us.”

“I used to be dead?” I said still trying to understand.

“You got caught in a ripcord,” he replied.

“A ripcord?” Archie asked looking at me. This time he wanted me to translate what Bobby was saying.

“A ripcord…” It came to me as the words left my mouth. “Riptide. I got caught in a riptide when I was eleven.” The memory came rushing back to me. “I drowned.”

“You drowned?” Archie said, still not getting it.

“I died. They revived me on the beach. I was dead.” I flopped back down on the chair. “So, I’m the only one who can go to the Land of the Dead…”

“Only the dead can go to the Land of the Dead…” he stopped and turned to Throwaway Max as he cooed. “And the never was. They can go, too.”

“That doesn’t really help me,” I said. “The Throwaways aren’t much help.”

Bobby shrugged.

“Wait a minute,” Archie said moving quickly toward Bobby. “This is a story, isn’t it? Like with Carl and the Myrmidons. This is a story.”

“It’s always a story,” Bobby said.

“Then you know what happens?” Archie asked.

Bobby shook his head. “I was too scared to read the whole thing. I didn’t like it. Sad stuff happens.”

***

We questioned Bobby about the story, but he didn’t have much more to offer. He never would say what the sad stuff was, and I couldn’t press him on it because the more I did, the more frustrated I got. Frustrated was not a good state for me. I told Archie if he wanted to help, he could get Bobby to spill the beans on everything he knew. It was just too risky for me to stick around, so I radioed in and got everyone else’s location. Except Gordy. He wasn’t answering, but I really couldn’t worry about that.