The young boy sat very still in the darkness. He was cloaked in black, the hood drawn low over his face so his vision of the great hall was obscured, though in the inky blackness, little could have been seen anyway. The boy felt dizzy, and a little nauseous, but a pleasant dream-like quality came with that, so he almost felt he was floating outside his body somewhere. Acrid smoke and sweet incense mingled in his nostrils. In his hands he clutched an empty pewter vessel, and a cellular phone.
A light was struck, the first candle lit, and the boy could make out his Master's form, within the salt circle with him. The Master faced East, invoking Yetzirah, and traced a bright blue pentagram in flame, at shoulder height. He heard him speak low, almost more a sensation in the boy's chest than words he could hear with his ears. A chilling wind moved across the circle, stirring the boy's hood. The Master repeated the action for each of the four directions, South, invoking Atziluth, and West, calling upon the waters of Brian, and last North, and Assail, the Manifest, the Material. Four blue flames hung in the air at the cardinal points.
The Master moved to the altar in the center of the circle, his great black robe flowing to the ground. As he worked he continued to speak low, a ceaseless rhythmic recital.
Gloria Patri et Matri et Filio et Filiae et Spiritui Sancto externo et Siritui Sancto interno...
The Master took a long straight sword from the altar where lay several implements, and with a small dagger, began scraping a dark material from the blade into a large crucible. He took a chalice of wine, and never slowing his chanted litany, poured the wine over the dark flakes in the crucible. He swirled it between his hands, and held it over the candle flame on the altar.
The Master crumbled a bit of black stuff into the mixture and a dark cloud, accompanied by a terrible stench, arose. It hit the young boy's senses and he nearly gagged. He did not move, though: he knew far better. He sat crouched at the edge of the circle, very still, awaiting his part of the ritual spell.
The crucible was raised aloft over the Master's head. "Voce vocae ni nuit!" he cried out, and lowering the dish, spat into it. Then he turned, and advanced to the boy who watched him as though it were a movie, detached. The Master emptied the contents of the crucible into the cup held by the boy. He seized the him by the neck, throwing his cowl back. Violently, the Master shoved his head back, and gripping his jaw, forced the boy's mouth open, and poured the vile stuff down the child's throat.
As the boy shuddered and swayed, Alexander Skylord took the phone from his hands, and dialed.
I heard the phone ring through a dream. Something about Rose, and Michaelangelo was there, in the warm sunshine...but the phone was ringing somewhere.
I rolled clumsily off the couch, untangling my legs from the blanket Splinter must have thrown over me, and made my way to the pay phone by the light of the VCR
"Hello?" I answered, sleep-groggy and disoriented.
"Hello Lia." It was a man.
"Who is this?"
"Come now, Lia. You don't recognize my voice?"
Now I did. "Alex?" A jolt of adrenaline hit me. "How did you get this number?"
"A mutual friend." His voice was like distant drum beats, I could feel it inside my head like shadows in my mind.
"You surprise me, Lia," he said. "I would not have thought you would be so willing to put so many others at risk in order to keep yourself safe."
Part of me knew what he was doing, and knew that he knew where to stick the knife. Part of me just felt it go in. I felt cloudy, unreal...like someone drowning. I grabbed at the part of my mind that recognized the familiar manipulation, the emotional virus. "Maybe I'm not as nice as you thought," I said.
"Perhaps. But I doubt it. I know you too well, Lia. It's far more likely you have placed too much faith in your companions. Oh, I suppose it's possible you are gambling that I would not harm my own daughter. That's a logical, though naive assumption. Rather dicey to risk her life on that, don't you think?"
"I don't know, Alex. Is it?" My heart was pounding, but I felt maybe it was a good sign that he had called. Maybe something had happened. Maybe they had found her, and Rose was on her way home now, and this was Alex's last ditch effort to terrify me into surrender.
"Well, let us say, for the sake of argument that you are right. Let us say you have called my bluff. Or at least, let us say you have convinced me that you do not believe I could cut out the heart of my own child, even if in reality, Lia, I most certainly could. You should know me that well. But, no matter. Now what do I have for an eleventh hour bargaining chip, eh?"
My heart thudding sounded like the blood in my ears, pounding. I felt light-headed. Stay clear, keep him out-he's trying to get in-
"Suppose your heroes got a little careless, a little anxious at the deadline. Suppose they thought they saw a small blond girl child and not understanding the power of illusion, became foolhardy, and walked into a trap?"
A shiver ran down my spine and I felt shaky. "What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to sound steady.
"Bring it over here," I heard Alex's voice off the phone, talking to someone. "Speak to her!" he rumbled. "Say her name, now! Speak!"
I heard a scream of pain, and a voice crying "Nooooo!" And then "Lia...please..." It was Donatello's voice.
"No..." I whispered. Another heart-rending scream followed, and a gurgling gasp.
"Take it back to the others..." Alex said off the phone. And then to me, "This is the deal, Lia. Their lives for yours. Simple, straight forward. Trust that I can kill these ugly creatures with no remorse whatsoever. Trust that I will."
"Alex..." I choked on my own voice. "Don't do this, Alex, please..."
"Come to me now, Lia. Place your life in my hands, and I'll release them. Ignore this threat and they will die, painfully. And I will be forced to proceed with my original plan for a Blood Letting Ritual, for Lia, as you must know by now, I will win. And you will, in the end, return to my side, whether others must die in the process or not...Four Seventeen West Marsden, in Brooklyn. Before midnight. Check and mate, Lia. Do not forget who I am."
I heard the line go dead. My head spun. I dropped the telephone and then sank down to the floor in the pay phone. This can't be happening...
This was it, then. Alex had won. It's over. I tried to think. Nothing would come. It wasn't like I had any choice. I stood up and in a daze, made my way to the couch. I picked up my back pack and numbly went through it. I took out enough money for cab fare, and left the rest of my cash in Splinter's little money basket. At the bottom was small packet of herbs tied up on a silk string that Belladonna had given to me. On an impulse I slipped it around my neck. I put on the same pair of pants I had slipped off earlier. What did it matter what I wore to my own death?
Even if Alex didn't kill me outright, this would be my death. Maybe though, I thought, I could at least get Rose out later, send her away...I had escaped once...maybe I could...I stopped. Who was I fooling? He'd only find her again...like he found me. All I could do was try to get there before he hurt the turtles...I shuddered and buried the thought, the screams I heard over the phone echoing in my head.
Nothing mattered anymore. Alex had won. And he always would.
"I'm bored, Leo."
"Why are you telling me, Mike? Tell Don."
"Hey, Don. I'm bored."
"Tell Raph."
"Hey Raph, I'm-"
"Mike, I am going to hit you..."
Michaelangelo fell silent, grinning to himself and idly spinning one set of 'chucks. He had just oiled the chain and fittings, so the only sound they made was a soft whistling in the night air. He was feeling bored and restless but it was really alright. Where the four crouched high above the street, amid the strangely carved walls of the old church, the air was warm and exceptionally still. Each had found fairly comfortable places to hide, and they knew soon they would be able to take action.
"You sure they're bringing the kid here?" Raphael asked Don.
"That's what she said. I'm sure I heard her right; the old woman didn't seem too concerned about keeping her voice down."
"Wish they'd hurry it up," grumbled Raphael.
"It's a nice night," said Leonardo, gazing out over the quiet neighborhood. "And the company is pleasant enough..." he grinned, gesturing to the carved gargoyle he was sitting on.
"You're sure in a light-hearted mood, Leo," said Mike, twisting around to see him. "You know something we don't?"
"Most likely..." Leonardo answered.
"You should know better than to ask him questions like that, Mike," muttered Raphael.
"Well, ok, then, how about you, Raph?"
"What about me?"
"Ah. Hm. Well, let's see," Mike spun his chucks and gazed skyward. "I don't know, but it sure seems you've had something up your tail all week..."
Raphael snorted and readjusted his position turning away from Mike.
"Bingo," said Mike.
"Bingo what? What bingo?" snapped Raphael.
"What's buggin' you?"
"You!"
"Come on, Raph. You've had our poor houseguest walkin' around on eggshells thinkin' it's her..."
Raphael let a breath out. "Damn."
"Well, she doesn't understand-"
"Shit...yeah..."
"Yeah, what?"
"Ehhrr..." Raphael half turned back to Mike. "Yeah, yeah. An' I made her cry again today. I don't know how I keep doin' that...I don't mean to."
Mike gazed off at the rows of brownstone rooftops below them. "She thought you hated her."
"I know, Mike. You don't have to remind me."
"Well, I straightened it out. You can thank me. I told her she takes what you say too personal."
"Yeah. Right. Thanks." Raphael looked down. "I'd like to take her a whole lot more personal."
Mike looked over at him quickly. "Lookin' good so far..."
"Shuttup."
"I'm tryin' to help you here," Mike grinned.
"You an' all your vast experience..."
"Hey, I have got an awesome fantasy life!"
"You've got an awesome magazine collection is what you've got..." Raphael smirked.
"Yeah, an' half of 'em are under your bed. I know. I had to go looking."
"Well, you can have the damn magazines. I like the real thing."
"Now there's a fantasy..." Mike said, more wistful than teasing now.
"You think so? Don't be so sure, Mikey. I might just know what I'm talkin' about."
"Whaddaya mean?"
"Nothin' Mike. Go back to fantasy land..."
Above them, Leonardo quietly listened. Three or four different emotions raced through him, none of which he could really identify, except he could feel his stomach grinding, and whatever momentary lightness he had just felt, was gone. The knot in his stomach, the dark sense of foreboding, of knowing he needed to do something, take some sort of action to head off some impending disaster, and having no idea what it was he was supposed to do about whatever it was- these were becoming increasingly familiar companions.
I hate this. Never knowing what Raph's gonna do, and feeling out of control of things. And now, it's more than that. Anger. It's like anger. Like he had better not try anything stupid...And it isn't just about Raphael, hard as it is to listen to him talk like that. It's that feeling something really bad is going to happen-and I can't seem to stay focused, or pay attention to anything for three minutes without my mind wandering where I don't want it to and there she is-
Donatello whistled sharply. "Hey, heads up!" he hissed. The four melted deeper into the crevices of the carvings and strange statuary lining the church's peaked rooftop.
Below on the dark street, a gray Ford sedan had pulled up to the church's main doorway. A lone woman, older with gray hair, came out of the church and went to the car's driver. They spoke for a moment, and though the turtles strained their keen hearing, they couldn't make out what was said. The old woman went back inside, and re-emerged a moment later with a small child in her arms. Like a flock of birds taking flight in one movement, the four turtles began a swift and silent descent from the roof, slipping around the ornate angels and demons, and over the arched stained glass window frames.
Before the child could be buckled into the back seat, the four were on the ground. As the car pulled out, they took off at a dead run through the alleyway behind the church. They converged on the car at a stop sign at a well-lit but deserted intersection.
"I'll hold the driver-" said Donatello, springing forward. He jerked open the driver's side door as Michaelangelo and Leonardo took each of the rear doors. A middle aged man's dark face greeted Donatello with a look of terror, but the back seat was empty.
"What the-?"
"Hey!" yelled Raphael. "Look! Over there!" Raphael pointed to a weather-beaten yellow station wagon with Connecticut plates going past them the other way. The street lights clearly showed an elderly woman driving and a small blond girl in the back of the car, looking at them as it went by.
"Uh, sorry-" Don said to the sedan's driver.
"How'd they do that?" asked Mike as they took off again.
"Up!" directed Leonardo pointing to a fire escape ladder on the side of the nearest brownstone. They made the rooftops in less than a minute, losing sight of the station wagon. They leaped to the next set of buildings, feet landing silently and invisible in the moonless night, and spotted the headlights. They watched it turn right at the next intersection, and followed it to the next block, leaping like wingless gargoyles. The car turned right again, passing a shiny '54 Chevy, and then right again.
"They're circling," said Don.
''Something's wrong.." Leonardo stood at the edge, hands on the high rim of brickwork skirting the rooftop.
"Check the Chevy!" Mike whispered loudly. "Look!"
The green and white Chevy had pulled into the intersection, under the street lights. An old woman was getting out. She pushed the seat forward and leaned into the back, emerging with a small blond child in her arms, and hurrying to a bus stop across the street.
"This is weird..." said Don.
A nearly empty city bus pulled up to the stop, and the woman got on. "Do we follow that?" asked Mike.
Raphael was breathing hard with mounting anger and agitation. "What the hell's going on? I mean, what the hell is this?"
A red Toyota pulled up to one of the houses across from the building where the turtles stood. An old woman, the very same old woman, came down the stairs with the very same small blond child in her arms, got into the back seat of the Toyota, and drove away.
"It's not real," said Leonardo. "It can't be real..."
"What is it then? Looks pretty frickin' real to me!"
"It looks real because we want it to..." Leonardo passed a hand over his eyes. "It's an illusion. Skylord knows what we want, so he let us fuel our own illusion. Lia told me, he gets in, and finds a weak place, some place where you're hungry..."
"Gets in?" Raphael repeated loudly. "Whaddaya mean he 'gets in'?"
"Come here," Leonardo led them to the shelter beneath a water tower. "I think we have to be very careful. I'm beginning to think we really don't know what we're up against here. We all saw that, we all believed it, and only our ability to reason could have told us it didn't make sense."
"Two things, Leo," said Don, crouching on his haunches. "One, we've been drawn off, which means he knows we're here. Second, if this was an illusion intended to send us on a wild goose chase, it was probably also designed to send us a message."
"What message?" demanded Raphael.
"That we cannot necessarily trust our perceptions."
"Great," gnarled Raphael. "What else do we have?"
"It's part of the brainwashing stuff Lia wrote about," Don explained. "She said he instills self-doubt, a crack in one's confidence, and keeps chipping away at it."
"I think maybe we should have all read the whole manuscript," said Michaelangelo.
"Or at least given her a chance to explain what she wanted to that first night."
"What? This is my fault now?" snapped Raphael.
"Whoa, stop," said Leonardo. "We need now, more than ever, to stay focused and clear."
Donatello glanced over at Mike, who, crouched in the huddle, was staring wide-eyed off into space. "Hey, Mike, you ok?"
Mike nodded. "Yeah, I'm ok. I'm just a little creeped out. I don't like this Twilight Zone stuff when it's not on television."
"Let's head back," said Leonardo, standing . "And we need to stay focused."
"Hey, Leo, wait." Raphael stood also. "If Skydude 'got in' to our heads as you say because we were so focused on finding a little blond girl, doesn't it seem sorta counter-productive to keep doin' that?"
Leonardo stopped and stared at his brother wordlessly.
Donatello looked thoughtful. "You know, Raph, that's a good point. Assuming he does know what we're thinking somehow, maybe it's a good idea to throw a little chaos into the mix. Jam the signal, you know?"
"What would you suggest, Don?" asked Leo.
"Well, I could recite the Pythagorean theorem..."
"I can sing some tunes," said Mike.
"Ah..." nodded Leonardo. "Television commercial jingles...that shouldn't reveal anything important..."
"I'm just gonna think about disemboweling this jerk..." said Raphael.
Leonardo gazed out over the rooftops in the moonless dark of the night. Somewhere a door slammed and a baby cried. Another car hissed down the quiet street below them. "I'm going to say this here, and not think about it again until we get back to the church. Try to do the same, ok? We need to get into that building now. If he's fooled us once with this illusion, and the conversation Don overheard was a plant, it's likely he wanted us outside the building, waiting. We need to get inside there now and see what's really going on."
"With you, Leo," said Don.
"Let's go-" said Mike.
Leonardo and Raphael locked eyes for a moment. "Let's get 'em, Leo," said Raphael, the fire coming up in his eyes. "Let's do it!"