Day 9 (5 page)

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Warpath Journal

Dateline: Scratchtown Studios, Austin, Texas

So clever are the forgeries, even I am fooled for a moment.

The film set looks exactly like the Team Room at Posse Ranch back home in Arizona. Other than the cameras and lights, it's perfect down to the last detail—from the I-Ching on the coffee table to the African spears and martial arts weapons on the walls.

In the middle of it stand Kitty and Bella, my beloved sisters, just like any day in the life of the Willows. I could easily imagine the rest of the family pouring in for a briefing or debriefing—Kenya playing her flute, Buzz tinkering with an invention, Free working on a poem, Leif admiring himself in the mirror.

Not that Leif is likely to show up, since the Poison Oaks have him. Even his mirror-image imposter is dead.

Because I killed him.

And the killing isn't done. Not while the brazen imposters of Kitty and Bella dare to embrace in that diabolical replica of the fabled Team Room.

Not while a single evil duplicate still walks the Earth. This I swear.

For I am War Willow, and this is my warpath.

Rage burns inside me as I perform the menial tasks that let me blend in with the film crew. I can barely hold myself back as I bide my time, watching my target and waiting for the best moment to kill her.

But I do not take it lightly, this killing. As necessary as it is, I know too well the threat it represents to the salvation of my soul.

As I sweep the floor with a push broom, crossing paths with Bella and Kitty, I pray to God to prepare me for my task...and forgive me when it's done. God doesn't answer, but that's all right. I feel His blessing upon me.

I believe in my heart that He, my Creator, is pleased. For would He have made me as I am if He did not intend to love and empower me through even the darkest tribulation? And would He not wish to see His Earth scoured of these vile doppelgängers who seek to ruin the reputations of the finest heroes who ever battled evil in His name?

The answer's a no-brainer. My target will be one, too, when I'm done with her.

The thought of it brings a vision of blood swirling upon me. Through my mind's eye, I see a woman's motionless body sprawled in a crimson pool. A vision of the future, when I have snuffed the life from my despicable target.

Except it's not my target. My vision revolves, revealing another body, and another.

And they are small. Too small to be anyone now around me. There's another one, also small. Make that tiny.

What am I seeing? A vision of the farther-forward future...days or weeks away, perhaps? The distant future?

Or is it the past? Or a figment of my imagination?

I feel light-headed and stop sweeping. As I stand there, leaning on the handle of the broom, I smile and shake my head. It's just the jitters. I'm sure of it.

Thank God Amish Amos Bracken doesn't see me right now. I'd never hear the end of it.

He'd go on and on about the mighty War Willow turning chicken...reverting to the nonviolent ways I learned during my stay among the Amish. He'd tell me I've finally seen the light, and I'm about to start a new life.

But he'd be wrong. This time, the teachings of the Amish cannot overcome the teachings of my Apache and Ninja mentors. I am committed to my mission in every way.

The Poison Oaks will be eradicated. The Weeping Willows will be rescued.

Taking pleasure in the suffering of others is against my code. Still, I look forward to the rest of my warpath because of what waits at the end of it: my reunion with my brothers and sisters.

The thought of that reward returns my mind to the work at hand. I finish sweeping the floor and leave the broom in a corner, then look for Bella and Kitty.

That's when the surprise hits me. Literally.

A woman on roller skates slams into me, hard. She knocks me back, almost down, but I keep my footing...and I hold her up, too.

When she looks up at me, I am startled by her face. She has the same features as someone else I know—the same green eyes, upturned nose, and feathered red hair.

She looks just like Kitty.

In which case, there are two Kitty Willows in this place—her, and the Kitty who walked off with Bella. The Kitty without roller skates.

For an instant, my heart leaps. If there are two Kitties here, could one be real? Could this girl in my arms be my sister, escaped from the Poison Oaks and come to help with my quest?

Not alone anymore. These words are too wonderful to bear.

Then, she opens her mouth, and hope dissolves. "I'm a little fucked up." She giggles when she says it. "Sorry 'bout that."

She's not Kitty. Not even close.

Not only would Kitty never get fucked up, she would never use the
f-word
. None of us would.

So I wonder, as she skates away, just how many imposters there are for each of us. How many copies will I meet along my warpath?

How much more killing will I have to do than I expected?

 

CHAPTER 10

 

"We
killed
in previews." Grinning, Luanne leaned back in the chair in her makeshift dressing room—a converted classroom complete with blackboards on the walls. "I think the show will be a
smash
." She swept her hand in an arc overhead, tracing an invisible theater marquee. "
Belladonna: The Bella Willow Musical
."

Dunne smiled and nodded, unimpressed. The previews she was talking about had been staged at
Weeping Willows
conventions—not exactly Broadway audiences.

"Then there's my product line," said Luanne. "'You Bella Believe It' clothes and cosmetics. Well, you
wouldn't
believe how much money we make every time we do a show on the Shopit Channel!"

"That's wonderful." Hannahlee smiled pleasantly and nodded.

"But enough about me," said Luanne. "What have
you
been doing, Lianna?"

Hannahlee shrugged. "I'm working for the studio."

"What?" Luanne's eyes widened. "For
Halcyon
?"

Hannahlee nodded.

"I can't believe it!" Luanne leaned forward suddenly and grabbed Hannahlee's knee. "I mean, no offense, but...wow! You have a series? A production deal? A movie?" Luanne jumped back and fluttered her fingers. "Oh my God! Don't tell me they're finally doing a
Willows
movie!"

Hannahlee sighed. "They are, but I'm not in it. He's writing it." She pointed at Dunne.

Luanne's attention rocketed in Dunne's direction. "Really? Surely there's room for some
cameos
by the original Willows! Or why not some minor
supporting roles
?"

"Actually," said Dunne, "we do need your help."

"Anything." Luanne flashed him what must have been her most enchanting smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you ever
mud-wrestled
?" said Quincy. "I'm thinkin' pay-per-view, you and Lianna, mud or Jell-O. Instant jackpot, I'm
tellin
' ya'."

Luanne ignored him. Crossing her legs, she folded her hands on her knee and gazed at Dunne as if his every word was the height of fascination. "What do you need?"

"Cyrus Gowdy," said Dunne. "We're looking for him."

Luanne's fascinated expression faded fast. "Good old Cyrus, huh? That's all you want from me?" Leaning back, she straightened her pants leg and gave her long, black hair a toss. "I'm sure
I
don't know where he is."

"There's a cameo," said Hannahlee. "I'm authorized to offer you a cameo in the film if you provide information that leads us to Gowdy."

Dunne gaped at Hannahlee. She'd taken him by surprise twice now—first with Quincy's stipend, now this. He wondered what
else
she was prepared to offer, and to whom.

Luanne became instantly more engaged. "Cyrus
did
get me this job, you know."

"How recently?" said Dunne.

"A little over a year ago," said Luanne.

"Did he talk about his plans?" said Hannahlee. "Did he mention anywhere he was thinking of going?"

Luanne shook her head. "I, um, didn't talk directly to him. He did everything by voice mail and e-mail." She scrunched up her eyes and nose as she searched her memory. "I'm sorry." She said it with a sigh. "I don't remember anything about plans or travel."

"You never spoke at all?" said Dunne. "He just called you out of the blue one day and asked if you wanted to be in a fan film?"

Luanne shrugged. "Pretty much. He said he knew Enrique the director, and Enrique was
begging
to work with me."

"We need to talk to Enrique again," Dunne said to Hannahlee. "He left that part out."

"Let
me
do the talking." Quincy pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. "That Fexican
fastard
."

"Wait." Luanne grabbed Quincy's wrist. "Can't you at least wait till he finishes filming my
scenes
?"

"Perhaps I can be
persuaded
." Quincy laid a hand on top of Luanne's. "You have the power to fulfill my lifelong
dream
, you know."

Luanne jerked her hand free of his grip. "I doubt it," she said. "
I'm
not a
man
."

Quincy beamed. "Sweet Bella. Even your
sarcasm
makes me weak in the
knees
."

"Where
aren't
you weak?" said Luanne.

Hannahlee got up from her chair. "Maybe you should hide out for a while, Luanne. At least until after the thirtieth anniversary of the show."

"Not a chance!" Luanne slapped her knees and laughed. "The thirtieth's gonna be
huge
for
Bella Willow Inc
. Might as well tell
Santa
to take the
Christmas season
off."

"Well, be extra careful." Hannahlee handed Luanne a business card. "And call me if you think of anything else about Cyrus."

"Ah, baby." Luanne popped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around Hannahlee. "I've missed you so much." She gave Hannahlee a squeeze and spun her around. "I hope I didn't bring you down talking about all my great news. I just thought you'd want to get caught up."

"You were perfect," said Hannahlee. "We can talk more when you come in for your cameo."

"I can't wait!" Luanne gave Hannahlee another big hug, then headed for the door. "Well, I'd better get ready for my next scene!" She opened the door, which was the cue for her guests to leave.

"Break a leg," said Hannahlee on her way out.

"You bet, honey!" said Luanne. "B-bye!"

As soon as the door closed behind them, Dunne frowned at Hannahlee. "What's with the cameos? That was the first
I'd
heard of them."

Hannahlee grinned and winked at him. "Me, too."

 

"I
said
he was full of shit, didn't I?" Quincy jabbed a finger at Enrique's chest. "He
did
have a Gowdy connection!"

"
Oye, cerebro burrito!
" Enrique swatted away Quincy's hand. "Did I not
say
I might know 'a little somethin'-somethin'?'"

"But you weren't actually going to
tell
us what it was,
were
you?" Quincy grabbed the front of Enrique's olive drab shirt and gave him a shake. "The only freason we
know
is because
Luanne
fold us!"

"That's enough." Hannahlee stepped forward and clamped a hand around Quincy's forearm. "Maybe Mr. Bocagrande would like to give us some more details."

Quincy let go and stepped back. "Very well, milady. But I assure you, this is not over." Glaring at Enrique, he arched an eyebrow. "Consider 'Loco Bocagrande'
stricken
from my filk repertoire."

"Great," said Enrique. "Maybe someone with
talent
can write a
good
filk song about me to replace it."

"Enrique." Hannahlee raised her voice. "You've been in touch with Cyrus Gowdy. When was the last time you heard from him?"

"A year ago, maybe?" said Enrique.

"How long have you known each other?" said Dunne.

"Forever." Enrique combed his fingers through his shaggy blond hair. "My father was production designer on the show. Oskar Kleisen."

Hannahlee nodded. "You're Rune, aren't you?"

"Yes." Enrique cocked his head and stared at her. "Do I know you?"

"I also knew your father," said Hannahlee.

"She's Lianna Caprice, moron," said Quincy.

"Ahhh." Enrique smiled. "'I see,' said the blind man to his deaf dog.'"

"Kitty Willow herself was standing right there, and you didn't recognize her." Quincy clucked and wagged his head. "You'll have to hand in your geek credentials after this, I'm afraid."

"What did Gowdy say when you last spoke to him?" said Dunne.

"We talked about a project of his," said Enrique. "A
film
project. He needed advice."

"A fan film?" said Hannahlee.

"Bite your tongue," said Enrique. "Cyrus Gowdy, creator of
Weeping Willows
,
D.I.S.C.O.
,
Big Hair
,
Day 8
, and
Superclown
, would
never
make a
fan film
."

"What
kind
of film then?" said Dunne.

"Is it Godseye?" said Quincy. "Something to do with Godseye?"

Enrique shrugged. "All I know is, it's big. We didn't talk content. He liked my last fan film and wanted pointers on digital post-production."

"Did he say where he was calling from?" said Hannahlee.

"I have no idea," said Enrique.

"Do you have a phone number for him?" said Dunne.

"Here's the thing," said Enrique. "We didn't talk on the phone. It was more like face to face."

"You met in person?" said Dunne. "Where was this?"

"Not in person," said Enrique, "so much as in virtual reality. Our avatars met in
Willowtopia
."

"'Willowtopia?'" said Dunne.

"It's a massively multiplayer online game," said Quincy. "Like Second World. You create a character—an avatar—and experience a computer-simulated reality through it. Willowtopia's unique because it's completely dedicated to
Weeping Willows
."

"Is Gowdy there often?" said Hannahlee. "Could we meet him the same way you did?"

Enrique shrugged. "Not unless he
wants
you to.
He's
the one who gets in touch with
me
."

"Isn't there some way to track him through the Internet?" said Hannahlee.

"Sadly, I lost my super hacker powers in the battle with Dr. Instantiation," said Quincy. "But I'll bet the fompany running Willowtopia could cough up Gowdy's IP address."

"And that should at least lead you to where he's logging on," said Enrique.

"Now you're talkin'!" Quincy high-fived Enrique. "Nothin' can stop us
now
,
hijo
!"

At that moment, all the lights in the studio went out at once. The hubbub and action of the cast and crew faded fast as the place swelled with total darkness.

Immediately, Dunne feared the worst. "Everyone stay close!" His heart hammered as if it were about to smash its way out of his chest.

Suddenly, a cone of light flared in the darkness, illuminating Enrique's face from below. "Just a blackout. We have 'em every day." He waggled the flashlight under his chin. "Absolutely nothing to worry about,
mis amigos
!"

Just then, a woman screamed in a distant part of the old school building.

A chill swept through Dunne's body. "Hannahlee?" Had the killer stolen her right from under Dunne's nose? Was she dying even now? "Hannahlee, where
are
you?"

The screams continued. Dunne knew without question that they were the screams of a woman being murdered.

He remembered them from his wife.

"I'm right here." When Hannahlee said it, Enrique picked her out of the darkness with the flashlight beam. "But Luanne isn't."