Jackson was doing much better a week later, and he felt strong enough to sit quietly at his little table and color. He drew Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and all the other Guardians he'd met. Lucy took the opportunity to get some chores done. As she carried laundry into the guest room where Jackson was staying—the stairs were too difficult for him—she saw him drawing a sixth person.
She put away the clothes then walked over to see the pictures. If she had still had doubts about the Guardians being real, the pictures that Jackson was drawing would have been more convincing evidence that they were. Jackson had inherited his love of drawing from Jamie, and his skills were well above typical for his age group. The pictures matched the ones that Jamie had drawn for her after they'd become serious in their relationship.
Kneeling down, she looked over the finished drawings. North was big and though he was thick around the middle, it was more muscle than fat. Tattoos were on his forearms. One said 'Naughty', the other 'Nice.' That detail was one that stuck out. She had never seen anybody besides her husband draw that sort of thing.
The next drawing was of a short man colored in gold. She figured it was the Sandman. Jamie called him Sandy, but that wasn't his full name. He had spikes of hair sticking out around his head, like a star came to rest on him. Golden swirls curled from his hands in a design across the page. That was called dreamsand, right?
The third picture was of a beautiful fairy. Using his colored pencils, Jackson had drawn in feathers of green and blue and yellow across her thin, shapely body. A pair of delicate wings, like a mix between butterfly and dragonfly wings, sprouted from her back. Her eyes were pink, and she flashed perfectly white teeth.
The Easter Bunny was next, and he looked nothing like the soft, pink or yellow rabbit that she had always imagined the Easter Bunny to be. He was very tall, standing high on his long back legs. Dark blue designs were drawn across his bluish-grey fur. Some sort of leather bracer was slung on his hip, a pair of boomerangs sticking out of the holder. His eyes were bright green, and he stood with an attitude.
The fifth drawing had to be Jack Frost. A boy with pale skin, the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, and hair as white as freshly fallen snow stared up at her with a teasing smile on his face. He wore a hoodie and pants, a strange staff slung over his shoulder. He looked to be ready to have fun at a moment's notice.
A swooping sensation filled Lucy's stomach as she looked at the five finished drawings. This was the closest she'd get to seeing them in person. She sighed, and Jackson looked up. He looked curious, but Lucy's eyes were drawn to the sixth picture, the one that wasn't finished. She froze, staring at the tall, thin figure in the picture. And she knew at once who he was.
"That's Prism?" she asked, pointing.
Jackson nodded, turning back to the picture. He selected his silver and gold colored pencils, and he carefully colored in the circles of his irises with both. Lucy felt faint, and she stood up and left. She began to pace, memories flooding into her mind, memories that she hadn't been aware of for years.
Excitement built inside of her, and she knew without a doubt she believed in Prism. She had known him by another name, but he was no doubt the same person. She stood in the middle of her living room, and said in a loud, clear voice.
"Prism, I need to talk to you."
She was sure he could hear her, but she had no idea where he was, so she decided to give him some time. She finished the laundry, did the dishes, then she made dinner. Jamie had to work late, so it would just be the three of them. As she was pulling the chicken out of the oven, a quick, sharp rap came from the back door. She set the dish aside, pulled off the oven mitts, and hurried over to open the door.
Prism seemed to be a little sharper now, a bit more defined. She could still make out no features, but he was more real to her at that moment than ever before. He came in quickly, looking around frantically. He seemed to be trying to communicate, and she grabbed a pen and notepad from the fridge and handed it to him.
What's wrong? was written in hasty script.
Lucy realized that she had worried him by summoning him, and she shook her head quickly.
"No, Prism. It's not bad. I just need to talk with you."
Jackson's fine?
"He was coloring a while ago, but I think he's watching television. Go say hi while I dish up the food. You'll eat with us?"
Prism's form sagged with relief, and he scribbled out a quick Yes then headed for the living room. Jackson was happy to see him, and he chatted about how he was feeling better. Prism listened with interest until dinner was ready. Then he helped Jackson into the dining room and sat down to eat.
Prism cut into the juicy chicken and took a bite. It was very good, and Jackson repeated the words to his mother. Prism then grabbed the notepad and wrote on it.
Do we need to talk alone, or can you say it in front of Jackson?
Lucy smiled as she cut her chicken. "I'm going to tell a story to both of you."
Prism inclined his head and continued to eat.
Lucy fell into her memory as she began to tell the story of an angry little girl who ran away from her parents while camping in the woods outside town…
The girl pushed through the dense trees, not caring if she got lost. She was angry at her parents. Why didn't they want her to be happy? All she wanted was a phone, one of those new ones that flipped open. Everybody else in her class had one, except for Nora, but her parents were even worse than Lucy's. Her parents called out for her to stay close, but she ignored them as she stormed away.
A few hours later, when the first raindrops fell from the sky and cooled her temper, she realized with a start that she was well and truly lost. She began to run and shout for help, but she must have been going in the wrong direction because the woods only got thicker. When she couldn't run any longer, she stopped and listened to her frantic heartbeat and gasping breaths. What was she going to do now?
As the sun set behind the clouds, the rain got thicker and began to drip on her through the thick leaves above. The air grew cooler, and she began to shiver. Then a branch snapped nearby, and she jumped and looked around. She couldn't see anybody, but it was so dark. Why hadn't she brought a flashlight?
There were sounds of sticks snapping as an invisible being moved around the clearing. Suddenly, there was a scratching noise, and fire erupted in front of her. She gave a little scream and looked around, but nobody seemed to be there. Still, the warmth of the fire drew her closer, and she settled down in front of it, holding out her hands.
As she watched the area, tall branches began to materialize standing up around her. She actually saw branches disappearing then reappearing as a structure was built over her to keep the rain out. When it was done, the rain could no longer reach her, and the fire had warmed her up. There was a soft noise to her left, like somebody sitting down, and she looked over to see nobody. But writing began to appear in the mud by the fire.
Hello. Are you warmer now?
Lucy was fascinated, and she nodded. "Yeah. Thank you." She paused. "Why can't I see you?"
The mud was swept clean and a new message was written.
Because you don't know me.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Pitch Black.
She frowned and stared hard beside her. "I still can't see you."
You've got to believe in me and what I represent.
"Why?"
It's part of the magic.
"Magic?" Lucy asked, excited.
Yes.
"I believe in magic!"
But do you believe in me?
Lucy thought about that. This kind, invisible stranger who helped her stay out of the cold, who wrote to her so she could talk to him, who seemed to care even if he didn't know her. As she thought these things, she decided she did believe in him.
As soon as she thought that, a thin figure began to materialize. She believed more and more with each passing second, and then she saw him completely. The lanky, grey-skinned man was reclined against the structure he'd built. A thin stick was in his right hand, which hovered over the patch of mud they'd been communicating with. He smiled at her, and she thought that it was nice because she knew somehow he didn't smile much.
"Can you hear me?" a smooth, low voice asked, and his silvery-gold eyes twinkled at her.
She nodded. "Yeah. So you're Pitch Black?"
"I am. And you are?"
"Lucille Greenwich. But you can call me Lucy."
Pitch smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Lucy. Now, why are you out here alone?"
"I was camping with my parents, but I got made and ran away."
"That seems unwise."
"I didn't think I'd get lost," she said, feeling embarrassed.
"I'd say you weren't thinking at all."
Lucy lowered her head. "I guess I wasn't."
"Where were you camping?"
"The River Oaks campsite."
"I see. Well, things will be okay. You should sleep."
"But I'm not tired," Lucy protested. She wanted to keep talking to Pitch. She had so many questions and wanted answers. Pitch smiled again and pulled out a little sack. Glittery gold dust was poured into his hand, and before Lucy could ask what he was doing, he blew the small pile into her face. Instantly, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. The last thing she saw was Pitch's distinctive eyes as he bid her goodnight.
The next morning, she was woken up by her parents sobbing and grabbing her, grateful to find her. The search team was impressed by the lean-to they thought she had constructed, and they were shocked that she had lit a fire. She tried to explain that an invisible man had helped her and tried to find him, but he was gone. The search team told her parents that it was unusual how many lost children around the area had similar stories, but they were just grateful to have their daughter back.
When Lucy left, she looked back to see a tall, thin figure staring at her. She pointed, but nobody else saw him. He raised his hand and waved and she never saw him again…
Prism leaned his elbows on the table, having thoroughly enjoyed both the meal and the story. And it explained so much. He never ran into children who believed in him when he was Pitch Black when they grew up. So the lingering effect of having once believed in him had never crossed his mind. His magic was different than the other spirits on Earth, so much older and brighter and tied to different things, so perhaps it was an anomaly because of that. And then add the fact that Jamie believed in spirits still, it could have reawakened her belief in some intangible way.
Or maybe it was because she knew the real him. Even back then, after being labeled Pitch Black by the Guardians, after falling deeper and deeper into the darkness that had threatened to consume him, there was still a part of the real him, the one he'd been since the Tsar and Tsarina had taken him in, that was still alive. In those moments when he'd helped children like Lucy when they were lost and scared, he'd felt more real than usual. Perhaps that had something to do with it.
Prism stayed only until Jackson was in bed, thinking. He left after writing down a promise that he would figure out how to restore her ability to see and hear him. She smiled as she led him to the back door.
"But you're already clearer than before," she said. "You're almost solid."
And to prove it, she touched his arm, and her hand did not go through. They both started at a jolt that ran between them, but Prism was thrilled as he waved to her. She waved back and shut the door. That was one mystery solved. Now how to get her to see him completely?
