Strangewood (29 page)

Or so she said.

And Emily had no doubt that she meant it all. But for
Francesca, there was more at stake. There was her own commission, of course. But
there was also the fact that, to Emily's knowledge, Frankie had never been
involved in a deal this big. Fox was huge. And she wanted to make sure the deal
didn't fall apart. Emily couldn't blame her.

With a long sigh and a shake of her head, Emily called
Francesca, expecting her machine. She was unprepared when a live human being
answered on the other end.

"Francesca Cavallaro."

"Oh. Hi. Frankie, it's Emily."

"Emily, thanks for calling back," Francesca said
instantly. "How's Thomas?"

"For the moment, he's stable. They're still not sure
what the long-term prognosis is," she replied.

Francesca let out a long breath that was audible over the
phone. "Please keep me posted, okay? As for this other thing, I'm sorry,
but I didn't know who else to call, and this is . . ."

"Huge. Yeah. I get it." Emily's voice was cold,
but more from distraction than hostility.

There was a long pause on the other end. At length,
Francesca said, "You know what? It can wait. I shouldn't have called. I
just thought it was something that should be taken care of."

Emily heard the pain in the other woman's voice, and that
broke the chill that had swept over her. How foolish she'd been. Frankie cared
for Thomas. Not just for his work, or her commissions. She was afraid for him.

"Listen, Frankie, here's the deal," Emily said,
emotion beginning to creep back into her voice. "I've got power of
attorney still," she revealed. "You make the best deal that you can,
and I will sign for Thomas. I'll want the blessings of his attorney, but I
don't think Kym will argue. There's only one catch. Anyone involved in the deal,
or in the production of the series, has to read the books."

Francesca grunted. "I can't put that in the
contract," she balked.

"You'll have to," Emily told her. "It really
isn't much to ask, Francesca. If they're working on
Strangewood
, they
ought to at least know what the source material is. What they do after that is
up to them."

"How are you going to enforce that?" the other
woman asked, incredulous.

"I can't. But if I find out down the road that anybody
didn't read the books, I'll sue them."

"Even Thomas never asked for that."

"He should have. There's magic in
Strangewood
. And
a little bit of genius. It's reached the point where I have to wonder if that's
all Thomas Randall is going to leave behind."

Then she couldn't even speak anymore. Words failed her
completely. Thomas always looked at Nathan as his legacy. That might not be
possible now.

Emily mumbled a good-bye into Francesca's mutterings and
hung up the phone. She was done. She'd had enough for one day. Facing up to
reality was a horrible necessity. Emily wished she could immerse herself in
some kind of ignorance. But there was no way to escape the terrible truth of
what had happened to her already fractured family.

No way but the one Thomas had chosen.

And Emily hated him for it. Or, at least, she wanted to. But
how could you hate someone you loved?

Joe had left a message earlier that she should meet him at
Horsefeathers for dinner if she wanted. Seven o'clock. It was half past five
when she left the hospital, and she drove without really paying attention. It
was a trip she had made so many times that a mile would pass without her
remembering it. Her subconscious could guide the car the way that it guided her
fingers when she typed.

The stop light at Main and Broadway brought her back to
herself. Emily blinked several times, realized she hated the song on the radio,
and punched a preset station button to excise it from her life. The station she
had changed to played innocuous soft rock, and she let her mind go on autopilot
once again.

A left at the lights took her up the hill toward Marymount
once more. It was as she slowed to take the right that led toward Tappan Hill
that Emily noticed movement in the trees to the left. Branches swayed without
any breeze, but more than that . . . something hustled through the trees.

She slowed, stared into the trees, and tried to focus on
whatever had been moving in there. It could have been anything, but though the
horrors of the day had taken her mind off it, the odd event of that morning
came back to her now. The strange face outside Joe's apartment.

Still, nothing seemed to move in the trees. A car came up
behind Emily fast, so she took the turn and started along the road that led
past the school. Something darted across the street in her rearview mirror, but
when she tried to focus on it, the thing was gone.

After that, as cautious and observant as she was, Emily saw
nothing.

"Getting a little paranoid, aren't we?" she said
to herself as she pulled the car into the driveway.

But as soon as she was inside, she locked the door behind
her. And when she went back out to the car to head down to Horsefeathers Bar,
she hurried, her eyes darting into the shadows of the night.

* * * * *

In the darkness of Nathan Randall's hospital room, Dr.
Frederick Gershmann squinted his eyes to see the boy's chart by the dim
moonlight. There was nothing new, nothing he hadn't seen before. He hung the
chart back on its peg, and stood looking down at the small boy, the pitiful
figure with tape over his eyes.

He should be awake. There was no reason for him to still be
comatose. And yet he merely lay there.

"Can you hear me, I wonder?" he asked Nathan. "Do
you have any idea what's going on out here, in the real world?"

Nathan should be awake, and according to the activity in his
brain, he was. He hadn't put it exactly that way for the boy's mother, but
there it was. He didn't respond to any external stimuli, and for all intents
and purposes, he was in a coma.

But, somehow, Nathan Randall was awake.

* * * * *

When Thomas had first stumbled along the Scratchy Path
several hours earlier, he had barely noticed the ubiquitous chirping of
crickets that seemed to blanket the wood. But, as they walked, the noise
lessened a great deal and finally, as they followed the Winding Way into the
deepest part of the Big Old Orchard, the cricket song stopped completely.

The Orchard was gone. Burned to a hellish stretch of charred
tree trunks jutting skyward. It was a horrible scene, and the silence only made
it more so.

Thomas walked beside Brownie, keeping pace with the enormous
grizzly, even as he watched the muscles ripple beneath the bear's fur. That was
power. Strength Thomas couldn't even conceive of. And yet Brownie was so
amiable, Thomas wondered if, when the time came for the grizzly to do his part,
Brownie would be capable of turning that incredible strength to violence. Thomas
hoped it wouldn't be necessary. Such a thing would destroy the grizzly, that
was certain. But if that was what it would take to get Nathan back . . . well,
he hoped Brownie would be ready.

"Our Boy!" Mr. Tinklebum said excitedly, hurrying
to catch up, as he had been throughout this first leg of their journey. "You
would be so proud of Brownie if you saw him dance. He remembers everything you
taught him, and does it so well."

The bell-bottom scurried after them, cling-clanging as he
ran along the Winding Way. Thomas had been able to tune out the sound of the
bell, but not the little lavender-striped creature's voice. Some of what he
said was nonsense, but some things were actually helpful. This bit of gibberish
was neither, but it hurt Thomas deeply.

It was his fault, he knew. Or at least, much of it was. Not
that he was responsible, not that. They could have prevented all of this from
happening if they'd only tried. But Thomas also knew that he could have stopped
it. Could have prevented it from ever coming to pass. Whatever became of them
now was not really his fault, but he could have made a difference.

"I love to waltz," Brownie said, confirming
Tinklebum's assessment. "But I really want to learn to tango."

For a moment, sadness threatened to sweep over Thomas again.
Then the wonderful absurdity of the moment claimed him, and he smiled broadly. A
small chuckle escaped his lips and he shook his head as he patted Brownie on the
back.

"Let me get my boy back first," he said. "Then
I promise, I'll teach you how to tango."

Brownie smiled broadly, revealing long rows of huge, sharp,
glistening teeth. Anyone else would have run in terror at that grin. Thomas
only laughed gently and shook his head.

"We'll save him, Our Boy," Brownie said, his smile
fading slightly.

They walked on in silence, with only the clanging of
Tinklebum's clapper disturbing the quiet. The dead, blackened orchard on either
side was ghostly, almost as if the spectres of the trees themselves were
haunting the nighttime woods. It wasn't long before any trace of amusement had
left Thomas's mind, and disappeared from his face as well.

A quarter mile on, he paused, glanced from side to side.

"This is the first station, isn't it?" he asked. "I
recognize it."

"Indeed, indeed, Our Boy," Tinklebum confirmed. "The
first of the Ranger stations. Or it was. Before . . ."

Mr. Tinklebum peered along the Winding Way as if it had only
just occurred to him that, should they continue on their route, they would come
to the smoldering remains of his entire hometown, where the corpses of his
friends and family were only embers now. He stopped midsentence, wrapped his
hands around his blue belly, and said no more.

Thomas didn't pursue the conversation. Instead, he glanced
angrily about. In the light from the orange stars, he saw that several charred
tree husks had been downed off to the left. Without wasting a moment, he
diverged from the path, and set off into the dead orchard. A second later,
Brownie and Tinklebum ambled after him.

Fifty yards into the scorched forest, Thomas stopped. He
glanced around at the downed trees, and then he looked up at Brownie. The
grizzly's gentle eyes met his own, the question in them obvious but unspoken.

"I know the odor of the fire is a bit
overwhelming," Thomas said to Brownie, "but do you think you can
catch Redleaf's scent?"

The bear stood up to his full height, which was a very
imposing eight and a half feet, and sniffed the air. He gazed about through the
crisped tops of trees that would never again produce apples. Tinklebum stopped
moving, and thus was silent.

After a time, Brownie slouched down again. "Just to the
northeast," he confirmed. "Not more than a couple hundred
yards."

Redleaf was weeping. He stood in a small stream that had
once separated the Big Old Orchard from the rest of Strangewood. It had served
as a firebreak, and Redleaf shivered with the thought of what might have
happened otherwise. The devastation was horrible.

Worse, however, was the unknowing. Redleaf could not decide
what to do. If he returned to his post, might the fire not come again? He
thought that perhaps he ought to report to Captain Broadbough, but he had heard
on the wind that Broadbough had gone out. Had left Strangewood. Something the
Forest Rangers were simply not allowed to do. Dereliction of duty and all that.

But now he was one to talk.

In the end, though, Redleaf was merely afraid. He had many
good reasons for this fear, but the thought that he might be a coward was so
foreign to him that Redleaf could do nothing but stand frozen, roots in the
stream, and weep the tears of trees.

He did not see the strange company that emerged from the
burned orchard a short way down the stream from where he stood. Nor, in the depths
of his self-pity, did he hear them as they approached along the edge of the
stream.

"You deserted your post, Redleaf," came a voice.

Startled, Redleaf splashed his roots a bit as he turned to
face them. Brownie was among them. Redleaf had always liked Brownie, but at the
moment, the grizzly looked quite displeased, even angry. Upon his shoulder
rested a bell-bottom, and Redleaf was greatly relieved to see him. He'd thought
all the bell-bottoms dead after the firestorm that had destroyed the Land of
Bells and Whistles.

It didn't occur to him to wonder why the bear was carrying
the bell.

Redleaf wasn't very bright. Though he was bright enough to
know that much, at least.

With them was the other. The one who had spoken. The anger
on this other's face could not be mistaken for anything else. He looked
familiar, this other. But, well, he just couldn't be.

"Halt!" Redleaf said, straightening his limbs. "I
am Redleaf of the Forest Rangers. Make no hostile move, 'less you wish a swift
reprisal."

"Not much of a Forest Ranger," said the other.

Redleaf was offended, even though he didn't think this
newcomer was wrong. He watched as the grizzly put the bell-bottom down on the
soft earth by the side of the stream. He regarded this other more carefully,
uncertain how to respond to such anger.

"You know, I could arrest you," said Redleaf.

"You're an idiot," said the newcomer.

Redleaf trembled. That was enough. Now he was angry. With a
cry of frustration, humiliation, and even a bit of fury, he whipped an upper
limb down toward the man. Brownie shoved the man aside, ducked under the
offending limb, and roared loudly in Redleaf's face.

"Stop that, you fool!" Brownie growled.

Redleaf stopped.

"Don't you recognize him?" the bear asked.

"I don't want to," Redleaf confessed.

"It's Our Boy," said the little bell-bottom.

"I was afraid of that," admitted the Forest
Ranger.

He quivered a moment, then stopped himself and stood tall,
staring down at the bear and the bell and at The Boy. The Boy glared up at him,
but Redleaf did his best to feign courage. It wasn't as if Our Boy could do
anything to him, hurt him in any way. But it was obvious that leaving his post
had angered Our Boy. Worse, Redleaf had disappointed him.