NOTE: Some parts of this are in italics, which indicate parts of the story that Gangle learned from second-hand sources.
Chapter Twenty Four
Farewell To Phantasma
Miss Fleck's memories of Christine Daae's death had made Mr. Whittington thoughtful, almost depressed, and Miss Fleck herself could sense it as the two of them strolled past the boardwalk where she had formerly been living. She watched him as he regarded the eyeless posters, his eyes dark.
"Everything all right, Jay?" she ventured cautiously.
He nodded, but said nothing. It was very nearly as unsatisfying an answer as none at all, and with the gentlest of pats, Miss Fleck said, "My aura of gloom is beginning to rub off on you, I can tell."
At this, Mr. Whittington stopped, seemingly snapped out of a daydream, and he smiled slightly. "Forgive me. I was just remembering what you told me about your ring, how you gave it to the little boy." He looked out over the surf. "Out of everything in the story so far, that bit resonated in me quite deeply."
"Don't feel bad for me," insisted Miss Fleck, "If that's what you mean. I was glad to give it to him."
Mr. Whittington turned back to her. "It was a tremendous thing to do, Ariel. You're a sweet old bird."
Her cheeks pinked with embarrassment. "Perhaps," she said, deflecting the praise. "At any rate, I'm glad I did. If I had kept it, I would have had to sell it for peanuts at some consignment shop. I would never have forgiven myself."
After they'd spent some time trekking around the boardwalk, they headed back into the city, in the direction of the prison. Mr. Whittington was off to interview Mr. De Rossi for what was likely going to be the final time before his release.
"There's not much story left, Jay," said. Ariel. "Gregory will finish it up, most likely, and then all that's left to tell is how I've scraped by for the past fifteen years, what I've been doing…the baby."
Mr. Whittington jolted in surprise at the last two words, but he did not press Miss Fleck further. Something in the way she spoke of 'the baby' strongly implied that it was not a happy story by any means.
Heading in, he took out his notebook and prepared to get the last bits of the story.
(Gangle picks up the story.)
Breakfast after a night like the one before was a gloomy affair. It was windy, gray, and the first September chill was setting in. Faces were slack and sad as clumpy curds of egg and oatmeal were slopped onto plates. But we, the Trio, at least had some happy news.
"Excuse me, everyone!" Alf tapped his glass, and everybody turned their faces towards us. "Thank you. Well, in light of yesterday's sad events, I'm pleased to make a happy announcement, a very happy one!"
Ariel and me rose to our feet before the assembly, and the proud Daddy tossed his arms around the two of us, beaming like a tattooed light bulb.
"We're having a wedding!" he announced with relish. "Ariel and Mr. De Rossi are going to be married."
The whole dining tent inhaled a collective gasp of surprise, and then came an enthusiastic burst of applause and cries from our fellow freaks. The ladies leapt from their seats and clustered, shrieking, around Ariel, and the men whacked Alf and me across the shoulders in congratulations.
"What a blessin'," Aggie-Ann gushed, sparkles in both pairs of eyes. "A real blessin'."
Della clapped all three hands. "I had a feeling! Didn't I have a feeling, Tom?"
"Oh, Alfred dear, how wonderful!" wept Mrs. Beardsley at once. "And how thrilling for you, Ariel! My darling!"
Mr. Geddes stood up on a bench to shake my hand, although he still had to get on his toes. "Congratulations, De Rossi, and to you too, Alf. Another wedding! What fundraiser will we use this time, eh? Ha!"
That was meant to be a joke, but it seemed that the man had struck upon Alf's next point.
"Ah, actually, we will need everyone's help," Alf confessed with a sheepish sort of blush. "You all know that Mr. Y is truly in no condition to spare any money or put a wedding together, what with these recent events, but I know he'd try to do something. He's a generous man. I'd like to beat him to it, if you will, get these two married as soon as possible."
"We really don't need or want a huge wedding," Ariel added. "We're perfectly content to be married quietly among all of you."
I decided to chip in. "Indeed. We don't need eight million roses and a marching band. Frankly, the lady and I are just itching to be man and wife. She's enough for me!"
That's the excuse we came up with, in lieu of having to confess a shotgun "the-lady's-expecting" wedding.
"When are you thinking of having the wedding?" Mrs. Beardsley wanted to know.
Alf's reply was a bit uncomfortable. "Ah…next Saturday, if we can, which gives us…a week, exactly."
)
(
)
A month was considered short notice for a wedding, but a week? We got some suspicious looks, although nobody was gutsy enough to accuse us of pre-marital shenanigans, and preparations started immediately, at that very breakfast table. The ladies planned a big wedding dinner. The men made calculations as to cost and pondered hiring a wedding photographer.
Over at Fleck Manor and De Rossi Hall, we made practical plans for after the wedding. After all, once she became my wife, Ariel would not live with Alf anymore. She would move in with me. To save some time, they began packing her possessions in bags and walking them over. In a way, we were erasing her presence from Fleck Manor and installing her in mine. Alf seemed to feel this keenly; he was wistful and quiet as he went back and forth between the two homes, and after the last box was placed on my crowded table, he stopped and contemplated it, as though he were standing before a memorial.
"That's everything," he said.
I had a perfectly good suit for the wedding, and Ariel, in a stroke of something like irony, decided to wear the white understudy dress that Mr. Y had made for her, seeing as it was the only dress that could be produced at such a short notice. She would get fresh flowers the day of the ceremony, and for her veil she would wear her mother's exquisitely handcrafted bridal lace.
She tried it all on in Fleck Manor for my tattooed father-in-law and I, holding a small flower bunch from the table like a pretend bouquet. I tell you, Ariel could have been a princess. The dress was perfect with the vintage lace, and the whiteness contrasted so beautifully with the blackness of her hair and her rosebud lips. What a sight! Alf and I must've looked pretty mystified, because she blushed and laughed.
"Shall I do?" she asked, turning in a complete circle for our consideration.
Alf cleared his throat gruffly. "You will, Baby Fleck."
I gave her "five stars", my gritty gangster heart overflowing with rapture at the thought that in a week, this wonderful girl was going to be my wife. I couldn't wait.
)
(
)
By noon, a lot had been accomplished wedding-wise; the clothes for the wedding party were squared away, the preparations for the food were decided upon, and the men devised entertainment. All we really needed was a marriage license and a reverend of some sort to hitch us.
There was also, of course, the task of informing Mr. Y of the whole thing, provided he was in a state to receive us, and the other task of telling my brother and Maria that I could no longer go with them. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised that I hadn't been telephoned upon my failure to show up at their place. Well, one thing at a time.
"I know it seems a bit distasteful to tell Mr. Y of the wedding, in light of last night," I told Alf, "But it seems that it's something he ought to know about right away. Shall I take Ariel up to the Ayrie?"
"Seems reasonable to me," he replied, nodding, and then he added, "While you're up there, tell me how he seems to be doing. The child too."
The mention of Gustave made Ariel lower her eyes sadly. "It almost feels wrong, having all this wedding excitement while they're so devastated, Daddy."
"I see what you mean." Alf averted his eyes and shrugged. "But there's nothing we can do about it but press on. You'd better tell him as soon as possible. I'll stay here and make sure you didn't leave anything behind."
"Okay."
Alf suddenly touched the corners of his mouth and smiled brightly. "We'll pull through with happy smiles one way or the other," he chuckled. "I'll see the two of you later."
)
(
)
We chatted as we strolled through the empty City of Wonders, my little bride and I, and the topic eventually turned to our potential baby. It was certainly a discussion that cast a contemplative feeling over us; Ariel patted her belly as she talked.
"You know, Gregory," she said, her emerald eyes thoughtful, "It was a horror before, but now I think that having a little one would be just great!"
The notion of it excited me too; this Italian can tell no lies. I popped up behind her and patted her belly too, and as I did I imagined it big and round with baby. Ariel would be one beautiful mama.
"Ah, what if it should be a boy?" I asked. "What would we call him?"
"Oh, gee, I don't know. I've only ever pondered girls' names myself. What was your father's name?"
"Vittorio."
She raised her eyebrows. "Vittorio De Rossi. Hmm. That's a nice name, but I don't know if I'd want to name the baby that."
"Well, we have plenty of time. How about girls? What if we have a girl?"
She'd clearly thought that idea over quite a bit; smiling, she leaned back onto me and unloaded a whole litany of names.
"Vivienne, I think, that is my favorite, but there's always Lucy, Evelyn, Mabel, Betty, and Edith, too. I can't pick. I could think of more…"
"Ah, never mind, I like Vivienne," I chipped in, struck by the beauty of the name. "That is nice, sounds good on the tongue. Perhaps her middle name could be Regina, my mother's name. That means 'queen' in Italian, see?"
"Vivienne Regina De Rossi," Ariel said elegantly as she traced it in the air with her finger. "I love that. Oh, Gregory, now we simply must have a girl!"
"Ah, and now you will surely have a boy!"
The sight of the Ayrie looming into view stifled our carefree laughter. Nothing about the place had changed, but the general feeling of grandeur and pride had somehow died into solemnity, like a castle scarred by past battles and overgrown with moss, a shadow of its former days. It had rained early in the morning; just underneath the eye-shaped windows' ledge, the rainwater had gathered and spilled over, and the damp streaks that resulted gave one the impression that the Ayrie was weeping, right along with Mr. Y and Gustave.
All discussions of babies and genders subsided into silence as we opened the base door and headed into the darkness of the stairwell.
"Gregory," Ariel said suddenly, turning around. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Just now. There was this clanking sound, just outside." She stuck her head back out, frowning. "Like something shutting."
I didn't hear anything like that and said so, and after a last moment of scanning the outside, we headed up the stairs, our next concern being how we were going to word our announcement.
Sorry about last night, Master, but you're invited to our wedding!
How are you feeling, sir? We have some news that may cheer you up!
No matter how I tried to put it, it just came off as insensitive, and at last I resolved to deliver it gently and briefly, taking care not to take overly long.
"Excuse me, sir!" I called, knocking on the Ayrie door. "Miss Fleck and I only wish to see how you are, and to tell you something."
No reply.
"Sir? Can you hear us?"
Still nothing. When I pressed my ear to the door, there was still silence within, with not even the slightest rustle.
"Is the door open, Gregory?" Ariel asked.
It was. When I turned the knob, it gave all the way, and the door swung open.
"Mr. Y? Sir? Are you…"
Our voices trailed off into dumbfounded silence, for it was then that we saw the sight.
The whole interior of the Ayrie was destroyed. Automatons lay broken in pieces, music was flung all over the floor, mechanisms were bent out of shape, mirrors were smashed, ink was splattered across paintings, and on top of a large pile of rubble and paper lay what looked horribly like a body, covered by a white sheet.
The Master had not answered us…
Ariel was speechless as she looked at me, and then at that body. Slowly, with dread clutching at my stomach, I made my way across the debris-littered floor, knowing that I must find out what-or who-it truly was. Ariel did not follow. She went in a roundabout fashion to the side, her hand on her mouth.
"Oh," she moaned. "Oh, Gregory, don't…"
Taking a deep breath, I clenched my jaw and pulled the sheet away.
It was Christine, the automaton. Her eyes had been closed, and her limbs were arranged as though this whole destruction had been some perverse Viking funeral, and this was the funeral pyre on which she would be burned. I recovered her and shuddered.
"Mr. Y had to have done this," I said.
"But why?" Ariel knelt and uselessly picked up some papers, deeply shaken. "What good would it do, destroying the Ayrie? How will that bring Christine back?"
Somehow, I knew something was about to go terribly wrong, something we could not reverse. I could feel it, like a chill, rushing through my veins, as I looked at Christine on that pile of trash, looked at the irreparable damage done to the Ayrie, as though Mr. Y had no plans to return to it ever again…
"He's gone, Ariel. He and Gustave."
She shook her head, looking almost offended. "They can't be! How can they run Phantasma and be gone?"
"That's the thing," I replied. "They're not going to. Christine is gone. The experiment has failed. He is finished with this place."
"Gregory!"
"You know it's true. She was the reason he built this place, the reason he stayed all these years, and now he has no reason anymore."
"No reason? We're a reason! We're his friends! He cares about us!" Ariel's eyes overflowed as she insisted, voice cracking, "He cares about us!"
"Ariel…"
"And he must still be here! He must!" Hurrying into the backrooms, she dashed about, screaming wildly, "Mr. Y? Mr. Y! Come out from where you are this minute! You're frightening us! This…minute!"
I followed after her into the room where Mr. Y slept, where she was violently throwing open closets and doors, punctuating each slam with a scream, utterly beside herself with anguish.
"You…can't be gone!" she went on, tears flowing from infuriated eyes. "When I was…a little girl…you promised…!"
"Ariel, stop it!" I cried.
All the potential hiding places exhausted, she irrationally grabbed a comb and sent it flying against the bureau with a bang. "We…cared… about you! We…worked so… hard!" She grabbed a stray decanter and flung it. "And now…and now…"
After the thrown decanter was nothing put a pile of shattered glass, she stopped, chest heaving, and cried stormily into her sleeve. "And now you're gone!"
I hugged her, hoping to calm her down. "Ariel," I told her gently, "All this distress is not good for the baby."
"But…he left us…" she cried. "He's… gone. He… never cared…"
"I know, I know."
"How will we tell the others?"
That was a good question. Looking around at Ariel's little explosion of destruction, which nonetheless paled in comparison to Mr. Y's, I wondered how the others were going to take this. Anger flared in my heart. Of all the ways to betray someone, abandonment was the worst.
"We will tell them the truth," I said, wiping her eyes. "And then we will move on, wherever fate would take us next. We'll do it together, you and I."
She snuggled closer and quieted down. "Yes."
I spent a few more moments hugging her, and in that time my eyes scanned the room. A framed picture was pushed aside. It was strange, almost like a door, and through the crack I could see a large switch that was pushed down. Interesting, yes, but I didn't think much of it.
"Let's go back to the others now. This place is depressing."
We went back into the destroyed main room, taking care not to trip over the debris. Ariel sighed when she surveyed the gorilla organ, bent hopelessly beyond repair.
"Ruined. Oh, Gregory, I just can't…"
BA-BOOM. The sudden rumble was like a muffled earthquake. The floor beneath our feet quickly vibrated and was still. We looked at each other in alarm and stayed frozen for a minute, listening for more. A lesser boom thundered again, and then stopped. A sick, noxious smell filled the air.
Oh!" cried Ariel, pointing towards the windows. "Oh, look!"
And to our horror, a billow of black smoke was rushing up past the windows, so thick that we could not see the sky! I ran over. Through it, I could just make out Phantasma. The gardens were up in flames, and the restaurant, and the volcano, all isolated fires being spread with the wind, grasping banners, zipping up poles, as though someone had deliberately set them aflame, orchestrated this huge fiery funeral…
"Mr. Y's burning this place down! We've got to get out of here now!" I yelled, and without even waiting for a reply, I grabbed Ariel by the wrist and dragged her behind me as I ran, throwing open the Ayrie door, tearing down the stairs, knowing that our lives depended on getting to one of the exits before it was too late.
"Daddy!" howled Ariel as we ran. "And the others, Gregory! Our homes and everything we have! Oh my God, my God!"
We hit the ground floor. "Surely they've seen! They're closer to the exits than we are!"
"My God, my God…"I threw open the base door, and an astoundingly hot burst of smoke struck me in the face, propelled by the strong wind. The air was roaring, shimmering, exploding with the heat of the fire, which was spreading fast, charring the nearby grass.
"The East exit! This way! Hurry!" I practically had to roar to make myself heard as we ducked past the burning colonnades and onto the main stretch. Never in my life had I known I could run half as fast as I ran that day; Ariel stumbled and gasped raggedly as she half-flew behind me, trying to keep up.
Overhead, there were piercing screams as the birds from Ariel's Aviary fled through the smoke, crashing into each other and shrieking, soaring over us and out of Coney Island.
Ariel saw them and spun around, looking desperately behind her. "Oh! My birds! Oh, Gregory, some of them can't fly! None of the peacocks can! No, no!"
The thought of all the caged animals broke my heart. "There's nothing we can do," I cried. "We have to save ourselves!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry, little ones!" sobbed Ariel. "So sorry…"
)
(
)
Alf stood alone in Fleck Manor, silently contemplating the home that would presently be completely his, that well-known melancholy surging in his old heart as he looked over every time-worn detail. Ariel was to be a wife. He had done his duty. After the wedding in a week, the last trace of his only child would vanish from their little ancestral home, and he would be free to live out the remainder of his days as a widower, the last surviving Fleck, the last link to the past that covered his walls in frames, and with his death would come the end of an era.
He sat down. There would be grandchildren, yes, probably a great many; they would be a great consolation to him in his old age, playing with him, listening to his stories of the old days, fiddling with the old family artifacts until Ariel would scold them. She too, would grow older. He would see his little girl age into a red-cheeked matron, a merry wife, the head matriarch at last, and time would just keep moving on…
BOOM! A thunderous clap, much like thunder, jolted him out of his reverie. He looked to the window. When nothing else happened, he sat back again. No matter. Likely a construction blunder.
He was making tea, however, when yet another loud boom vibrated the floor. Agitated, he went to his door and looked out. Others had heard it too; a great many freaks and workers alike were gathered around the porches.
"What in the dickens is going on over there?" crabbed Mr. Geddes. "Someone pick me up, I can't see!"
Damien squinted. "They doin' construction? There's a lot of dust and smoke in the air."
"Stinks t' hah heavens!" added Aggie as Ann scrunched her nose.
"I should think they'd warn us if they were going to make a racket like that!" said Mrs. Beardsley.
"You don't think something's fallen down?" Genevieve ventured. "I declare that's the loudest construction work I've ever heard."
They spent only a minute longer in ignorance before a suffocating, smoky haze began blowing their way, and out of it came workers, faces streaked with sweat, waving their arms.
"Fire! There's a fire!" they bellowed. "The whole Northeast side's on fire, and it's spreading fast!"
A collective cry of alarm sounded in the freakish assembly.
"Fire?"
"What? How? When did it…?"
"There's no time! Get the things most important to you and run!"
Off the workers ran, and everything dissolved into chaos. Damien swore and ran with Genevieve, Tom picked up little Mr. Geddes and called to Mrs. De Luzy to let him carry her, the ladies wept, the men shouted, and desperate cries of haste and anguish filled the air.
Alf looked towards the direction of the Ayrie, the coldest horror he'd ever known clutching his heart.
"Dear Lord! Ariel and De Rossi went to the Ayrie!" he screamed. "Did anyone see them? Did they come back?"
"If they went that way," panted Damien, dashing by with a suitcase, "They'd be with Mr. Y, wouldn't they? They would have seen the fire first!"
But all Alf could understand was the fire. "Ariel!" he called wildly, lurching towards it. "De Rossi! I've got to find them! ARIEL!"
"They've surely already taken the East Gate out, Alf!"
"Alf, come back! There's no way you can get through that fire!"
"But…but, Ariel! ARIEL!"
He was seized and roughly shaken. "You've got to get whatever you can from your place, and fast! De Rossi and Mr. Y aren't idiots, they're likely searching for you at the gates! C'mon, Alf, move yourself, hurry!"
Finally beaten back by the heat and smoke, Alf staggered off, coughing, and once back in Fleck Manor he stripped the sheets from the bed and threw it onto the floor. Going faster than he'd ever moved in his life, he tore the photographs off the wall and threw them into the sheet, breaking glass and denting frames in his haste, and after the walls were bare he ran his arm along the shelves, knocking his journal, knick-knacks, and sentimental objects onto the pile.
Mr. Tower stuck his head in the doorway. "The south complex just went up! There's no more time! Run!"
Alf grabbed the sheet, throwing it over his shoulder like a knapsack. At the door, he took one last, despairing look at the only home he'd ever known, and then he fled with the others, praying for the safety of Ariel and me.
)
(
)
Flames had already devoured the performance tent as we ran by, and the dressing rooms collapsed, sending a fiery spray of ash spiraling into the air.
"We're almost there!" I cried. "The East Gate is just beyond the-"
"Look out!" Ariel shrieked, pointing upwards.
A tower from the funhouse groaned with flames and came crashing down in front of us, sending even more flaming debris flying, and a piece of it struck me in the face and singed me. The pain was terrible; I yelled and jumped back, clawing at it.
"Oh, Gregory! Gregory!"
Cursing, I saw that our escape route was now blocked! I forgot the pain and swung about, searching for an alternate way, but there were flames everywhere, and the smoke was becoming so thick that I could barely speak. We'd have to run back where we came!
"It's cut off! This way, Ariel!"
But once the Ayrie came into view, I saw that there were no other routes; absolutely every way was filled with flames. All our familiar haunts were burned beyond recognition, beyond finding a direction, beyond hope, and behind us a collection of poles cracked. We ducked and ran, but one struck Ariel. I felt the shock jolt her and wrench her hand from mine.
"Oh!" she screamed. "HELP!"
The flames had leapt onto her skirt! I threw my jacket onto her and smothered them wildly as she shrieked. I felt her leg brace snap and break into pieces as I did, and when the burning at last subsided, it fell away, along with the scorched remains of her slip. I threw her over my shoulder and ran.
But now the fire was closing in, lapping against the base of the Ayrie. There was nowhere to go. We were in the eye of the fire, completely surrounded. There was nowhere to go but against the Ayrie, and then the fire would spread there and consume the two of us. My strength had not been enough. This was the end. Ariel and me were going to die together.
There was nothing to do now but back against the base of the Ayrie and wait for death to come. I stumbled back, petrified, driven into an un-escapable corner for the first and final time in my life.
Ariel felt it. She buried her sweat-streaked face into my shoulder. "I love you, Gregory," she whimpered.
"I love you too, A…"
My foot jolted against what felt like a lock. I looked down, and my heart leapt. Beneath my foot was the trapdoor to the tunnel, the fake grass thrown aside! The tunnel! I had forgotten! Now it was our only hope!
Wasting no time, I put Ariel down and wrenched the trapdoor open.
"Get down into the tunnel!" I yelled. "Hurry!"
As fast as humanly possible with her un-braced leg, Ariel gripped the bars and scurried down. Once she was just far enough, I climbed in as well and shut the door behind us, and the two of us headed blindly down into the darkness.
)
(
)
Not long after Alf and the others escaped through the front gate and onto the sidewalks of Brooklyn, the whole park was nothing but a massive inferno, belching columns and columns of smoke, exuding searing heat that drove everyone away, and it rapidly spread through Luna Park and all the rest of Coney, driven by the wind.
The workers, and dumbfounded New Yorkers were distraught, but none were more devastated than the freaks of Phantasma, who howled and screamed over the destruction. They were losing more than their jobs; they were losing their homes, most of their possessions, and nearly everything they ever had in the way of dignity and normalcy.
Genevieve's usual big hair was frazzled and stuck to her neck as she clung to Damien and shrieked, "Everything! Everything! Gone!"
"Oh, what will Mr. Y do?" wept Mrs. Beardsley.
"Everything I ever worked for in forty years," croaked little Mr. Geddes. "Gone."
But Alf had no time for grief. After dropping his pile of saved possessions on the ground, he ran crazily through the crowd, going to every gate, screaming Ariel's name.
"Please! Have you seen my daughter or my son-in-law? She's got black hair, a striped shirtwaist, and a navy blue skirt! No? I… you there! Have you seen my daughter? Her name is Ariel, and she…"
He grabbed policemen, fireman, vendors, anyone, consumed with finding Ariel and me.
)
(
)
Back in the tunnel, the two of us had no choice but to run through darkness. We hadn't any idea where it led, but all I knew was that it was leading me away from that fire. Clutching Ariel's hand, I felt the stony dirt walls and staggered along. Above us, I could hear structures cracking and collapsing, and every time they did the ground shuddered, causing dirt and rocks to fall onto us.
Ariel could barely get along without her brace.
"Oh, Gregory," she moaned. "I can't…"
We had to stop for a brief bit, for she was absolutely exhausted with fear and exertion, and frankly, so was I.
"It's got to stop burning eventually," I reasoned, my own voice odd to me. "I think we're safe down here until then."
She trembled against me. "I thought we were going to die."
"So did I."
We embraced in that dark, hot chamber of earth, astonished by our own lives, our breaths, our heartbeats. We had lived, and we had to carry on if we sill wanted to survive. Sitting there, hearing the sounds of destruction and feeling the tunnel shake, I hoped it was strong enough to resist. Would it be safer to go back towards the entrance, or go forward?
I decided to head forward, but not long after we began, Ariel yelped.
"Oh! I've stepped on something, like a plate!"
She crouched and picked it up, and although she couldn't see it, she felt it, and her voice presently dropped in astonishment.
"Gregory, it's Mr. Y's mask."
I felt it too, making out the smooth porcelain curves, with the eyehole and the bend for the nose. It really was the mask! That meant that Mr. Y had been here. All at once, I understood the purpose of the tunnel, and why it had been hidden from us under a patch of fake grass.
"This is an escape tunnel," I said. "Mr. Y must have always had an escape plan ready in case he needed to flee. He would flip the switch in the Ayrie, ignite the park, and escape through this hidden tunnel. There's a way out of here, then!"
"All these years…" Ariel whispered sadly.
"And if it weren't for your prying, Ariel, I would never have known about this. We would have been burned up and…"
A crashing unlike anything I ever heard began shaking the tunnel, shaking it so hard that my skull rattled. Dirt showered onto us. Rocks fell. The earth under us quaked so hard that we fell, screaming, to the ground. The Ayrie was collapsing. I could almost hear it; the glass splintering, the concrete pounding down through every spiral of the staircase, exploding, the whole thing cracking like a felled tree and plunging to the earth…
Ariel clung to me and shrieked, but I could barely hear her. I could barely do anything. I covered my face and cowered. The pressure was unbelievable; I felt as though I were being pounded mercilessly into the ground, into smithereens, into dust!
It was like Hell. All my life, I had made jokes about going to Hell. I figured that's where all average men ended up; it was a manly sort of a thing to assume, but in that moment I completely changed my mind. If this was what Hell was, this eternal fiery pounding down, down, ever down, than I never wanted to go to Hell. To this day, I do not even make jokes about it anymore.
When at last it stopped, a smoky sort of mist entered the tunnel, like a blend of smoke and dust. It became very hot. Sleepiness overcame me.
"Greg'ry," murmured Ariel, lying across me. "I'm so tired."
I hadn't even the strength to reply. Slowly, surely, the darkness pulled down my eyelids, and the two of us dropped into an unconscious slumber.
)
(
)
Hours had passed. A brief shower, driven by the wind, helped extinguish the flames, reducing Coney Island to a smoldering pile of twisted frames and ashes, still exuding billows of smoke. A crowd of city folk was gathered around, mingling with the devastated workers and freaks. The damage had been done. There was not a foot that had not been completely destroyed. Fireman cautiously advanced in, searching for the cause of the fire, as well as money safes and valuables that may possibly have survived.
Still, Alf would not give in. Grabbing a fireman who was on his way back out of the rubble, he wheezed, sweat mingling with his tattoos, "Please…my daughter…black haired, navy skirt, striped shirt…have you seen her?"
"Mac, I've got to look for a whole slew of…"
"Please! Did you see her?"
He sighed and wiped his forehead. "I've seen a lot of girls today. What's her name?"
"Ariel Fleck."
"Ariel Fleck. Navy skirt, striped shirt." He pulled out a notepad, which was crammed with names, and took note of it. "Alright. If I come across an Ariel Fleck, I'll take her to the firehouse, okay?"
Another fireman jolted at that name. "What'd you say, Marvin?"
"Say what? The name? Uh, Ariel Fleck. You seen her?"
The other man was still, his soot-streaked face growing solemn as he looked at something in his hand. "I got something with her name on it here. Found it near the East gate, with a bunch of scrap metal."
It was the scorched, twisted remains of a part of Ariel's leg brace, on which a crumbling remnant of her lacey slip was still attached.
Alf was absolutely silent as he received it into his hands. He just stared at it, numb, disbelieving, almost uncomprehending. Upon turning it, he saw "Ariel Fleck", still engraved on the scorched nameplate, blackened by fire, as gruesome as a gravestone.
"This…" he murmured feebly, voice cracking, eyes swelling, "Is my daughter's leg brace."
The fireman bowed his head, his lips tight, painfully used to such tragedies. "I'm very sorry, sir. We will continue to search…"
For her remains, he didn't say, but it hung on the air, as horrible as anything said aloud, and after giving Alf a pat on the back, he hurried back into the rubble. The other freaks approached silently, sorrowfully, almost afraid to look.
"What is it, Alfred?" Mrs. Beardsley quavered.
Alf said nothing. He extended Ariel's scorched brace piece, allowing it to say everything. There was complete silence as the assembly slowly comprehended the meaning of the terrible sight, and then, one by one, they dissolved into anguished cries and wails.
"No! No!" screamed Genevieve. "Ariel!"
"Air-yull," moaned Aggie as Ann put down her head and wept.
"Dead," muttered Mr. Geddes, shaking his head, tears in his eyes. "De Rossi and Ariel, dead."
"Oh, when Mr. Y finds out that they're gone…!" wailed Mrs. De Luzy.
"I don't even know what to say, Alfred dear." Mrs. Beardsley touched his shoulder, trembling. "To lose them like this…oh, Alfred!"
But Alf remained silent, just staring at the brace. He did not seem to hear anyone, or see anything but it, the only thing in the world he had left.
"There…" he whispered blankly, hands shaking as though it were suddenly too heavy to hold, "There is… nothing… left to…"
"Alfred dear, you need to sit down. Help me, Tom!"
He kept staring, the light leaving his eyes and the color draining from his cheeks. "There… is nothing…"
Hands seized him hastily, for he was swaying on his feet, fainting.
"Get the man something to drink!"
"Hurry! He's passing out!"
His knees crumpled, and he was eased to the pavement, growing ever paler, as though suddenly freezing, his voice growing weaker, the face of tattoos growing still, the eyes dimming. Still, he held the brace.
"Nothing…to…" he gasped.
"Where is Doctor Lawrence? Find him, quickly!"
"Alf! Alf!"
His eyes beheld the smoldering remains of Coney Island one last time, and then they closed. "Nothing…to…live for."
)
(
)
Hours probably passed, certainly hours; I hadn't any means of checking time, but when I opened my eyes again, becoming aware of the ground and Ariel's head on my chest, I felt achy, as though I had been there for some time. There were stiff creases in my sleeves and trousers. For some time, I rested my hands on Ariel and just lay there, blank. Dimly, I knew that we must get to safety, but was somehow at a loss for action. Perhaps I had inhaled something, or perhaps it was the heat, but it felt as though I were hallucinating.
In my woozy mind, a woman's voice spoke.
"Help Ariel!" it pleaded.
Had that truly been a voice? I blinked. Had Ariel made a sound that echoed? It was a familiar voice, but yet, it was so different…
"Help Ariel! Get up!" it repeated urgently, and I jolted. I knew that voice! It was musical, sing-song, so much like Ariel's. Was I losing my mind? Slowly, I sat up, pulling Ariel with me.
Then Alf's voice, as loud and clear as if he were standing beside me, rang out.
"Get out of this tunnel!" ordered his growly voice, first beside me and then farther down the tunnel. "Out of this tunnel!"
"Alf!" I cried back. "Is that you? Where are you?"
My own voice crying 'are you?' was all I got in reply, but I knew that Alf had definitely spoken. We had to keep going.
I shook Ariel until she groaned and stirred.
"Greg'ry…wha?"
"It's your Dad, Ariel," I told her hastily, helping her to her feet. "I hear him. He's telling us to get out of this tunnel. I hear him up ahead!"
"Daddy?" she called down the tunnel. "Daddy! It's me, Ariel! And Gregory too! Daddy!"
Together, we hurried through the darkness, at least knowing that there was surely an end in sight. After all, if Alf was calling for us to get out, that meant there was a way. Sure enough, there was! Suddenly I perceived little rays of light pooling at the foot of yet another ladder, the end of Mr. Y's escape route. I clutched the steel footbars.
Before I could even express relief or say a word, there was a crack, a gargantuan heave of the earth that almost knocked me to the ground. A burst of air and soil blasted us in the back, stronger than any hurricane, and then it stopped. It felt as though the sky had fallen.
In a way, it had.
For just behind us (we were right beside the ladder, in the upward tube to escape) there was nothing but dirt, like a wall. My jaw dropped. Ariel grabbed my arm and moaned. The tunnel had collapsed. If I hadn't woken up, if Alf hadn't yelled for us to get out, the two of us would have been crushed to death beneath untold tons of earth. No one would ever have known what happened to us.
"My God," breathed Ariel. "Gregory…"
Looking up the ladder, I gratefully cried, "You saved our lives, Alf! Boy, when I get up there, I…don't even know what I'm going to do, but I'll pay you back somehow, I promise! We're coming up!"
Up we climbed, looking ever upwards, towards the light, towards safety at last. A push, a creak, and daylight burned my eyes. The rush of air came with a hot, powerful stench of smoke and destruction, as well as the sounds of footsteps, tires, cries, and sirens. Ariel and me coughed as we dragged ourselves out.
)
(
)
"Oh, God." Ariel's voice was nothing but a petrified whisper. "It's all gone. There's nothing left. Nothing…"
She leaned against me as we stared numbly at what had once been Coney Island. There was nothing left. It was like a giant smoking ashtray with charred structures and torn, flapping banners. We could look right through it and see the ocean, something that would have been unthinkable the day before. You would have never guessed that it had once been one of the most beautiful tourist attractions in the world.
"But we survived," I said, feeling at least that tiny bit of triumph amidst the pain. "We're still here, and so is your Daddy. We'd better find him."
"Where is he?"
We gave the sidewalks a brief scan, but no Alf.
"You'd think he'd be here," I marveled. "After saving us like that. Maybe he got pushed aside? Hey, Alf!"
"Daddy! Where are you?"
"My God! My God!" someone shrieked, and suddenly I found myself in the presence of an utterly undone Genevieve, whose pink eyes were now the size of dinner plates. "They're alive! Damien! Mrs. Beardsley! Ariel and De Rossi are alive! They're right over here!"
She threw herself, sobbing, onto Ariel and me, and all our freak friends came running over, every bit as astonished and wild.
"Alive! Thank God!" cried Damien.
Aggie-Ann's heads were aglow with tearful gratitude. "Oh, Air-yull!"
"De Rossi, how'd you escape?" demanded Mr. Geddes, white as a sheet. "Dear God, alive!"
Mrs. Beardsley touched our faces as if to assure herself that we were truly real. "Ariel dear, you're alright…" But her face froze, and all at once her eyes watered. "But…oh, Ariel…your father…"
"Yes, where is he?" asked Ariel gratefully. "We must see him at once. He called us out of the tunnel, but we can't find him."
I nodded. "Saved our lives, he did."
The atmosphere was completely unlike what you'd expect after a declaration like that. Every eye grew sad. People looked at each other solemnly. A few wiped their eyes. There was a long silence.
Ariel felt it. "What's wrong?" she asked slowly.
Mrs. Beardsley looked at Mr. Geddes for a moment, and after a nodded sort of agreement between them, she approached Ariel and put her hand on her shoulder.
"Ariel," she imparted, unable to look at her, "Your father has died."
I stared at her in disbelief, my heart plummeting, wondering if I'd heard her correctly. Alf dead? How?
Ariel recoiled as though she'd been burned. "W-What?" she cried. "No! That's impossible! He called me!" She looked around at every bowed head in horror, shaking her head in denial. "He called me!"
"Ariel dear, that's impossible. Your father has been dead for almost five hours now," said Mrs. Beardsley softly.
Ariel shook her head even more fiercely, but tears began glimmering in her eyes. "But…but he called me, Mrs. Beardsley," she croaked. "He…he…"
It was then that the reality of what had truly happened hit us. Alf really had called us, but it had been his spirit, along with Polly's. She had been that woman's voice. Together, the two of them, mother and father, had come to their baby's rescue.
Mine, too.
I wrapped my arms around Ariel, the gratitude mingling with a sudden rush of grief that burned in my eyes. Alf…
"He thought that you two had died," Mrs. Beardsley went on, trembling, "As did we, and when the fireman found a piece of your broken brace, he just…gave up, almost. He fell down and fainted. Doctor Lawrence tried to help him, but he didn't even seem to want to live…and then he just died."
She led us down the smoky sidewalk, back to the main gate. Wiping her eyes, she silently gestured to a body on the pavement that was covered by a sheet and some jackets. A bed sheet filled with Fleck family photographs and knick-knacks lay beside him. The other freaks hung their heads and kept their distance.
Ariel sunk to the ground at his side, shaking, and with a terrible chill in my heart, I gently pulled away the top of the shroud.
There, asleep on a bed of borrowed jackets, was Alf. There it was, that familiar, tattooed face, but death had removed all of the personality, the expression, everything that had ever set him apart. Now it was cold, blank, frozen, almost unreal. His limp hands still held Ariel's scorched brace bracket. It seemed as though it had been a weight, a massive one too heavy for even the mighty Mr. Squelch to bear, and it had crushed him into the ground and destroyed him.
"Daddy." Ariel gave him a tiny, useless shake. "Daddy. I'm here. You called me, and now I'm here!"
The first of my tears began to flow for my fallen friend. "It's no good, Ariel. He's gone."
But she kept on, knowing that he was beyond help but calling nevertheless, as if perhaps it could yet bring him back.
"I'm here!" She sunk down and put her head on the cold chest whose heart had stopped, sobbing harder with every word. "I'm here! I'm here! Daddy…I'm…here!"
That he would not immediately rise to comfort his daughter was the truest testament to Alf's death. Gutted, I put my head down alongside Ariel and cried along with her, broken beyond measure at how a mere day had wrought this destruction: our homes, our jobs, all our things, and what would have been my father-in-law. Now Ariel was an orphan. I was all that she had left.
I knew it was no good to talk to a dead man, but I did anyway. Right then and there, I promised Alf that his daughter was safe with me, thanked him for saving my useless hide, if only for Ariel's sake, promised with tears and a genuine heart that I would remember my promise to love her as much as he had.
"I will take care of you, Ariel," I whispered to her. "I promise."
But all she understood was the body before her. "I'm h-here…Daddy…" she wept on until she was too weak to speak anymore.
Our fellow freaks sat down around us and mourned. We were like a little deformed circle in the midst of the crowd.
After some time-minutes, hours, I could not tell-I heard my name being shouted in the distance.
"Eccolo! Grazie a Dio! Greg!"
"Greg, siamo noi! Giovanni e Maria!"
Wiping my eyes, I sat up to behold the sweaty, pale figures of Giovanni and Maria running up the street, their hair frazzled, their clothes limp, but their faces brightening with tears and gratitude, and all at once they were upon me. I rose to hug them.
""Ah, Greg!" cried Giovanni, hugging me as he never had before, "We saw the fire all-ah de way from our house! Brother!"
"We thought you were hurt," added Maria, hugging my other side. "And when we couldn't find you…"
I never realized how much I loved the two of them, especially my irritating big brother. In that moment, everything I ever held against him was forgiven, as it always is in terrible tragedies, and as I embraced them I amazed myself with how deeply I could feel.
"We just escaped, Ariel and me," I told them. "Just in time."
Giovanni wiped his eyes. "Thank God. Yes, thank God."
"Come with us, Greg," said Maria. "We will clean you up, and Ariel too, and then we will get ready to go back to Roma."
But I was not going. After too long a pause from me, Maria could sense it in my eyes.
"What is wrong, Greg?"
I could not look at her as I admitted it. "Maria, there is no way I can go with you anymore. It is not that I don't want to come, but…" I gestured with my head over my shoulder… "Ariel's dad has died, just today. She has no one in the world. She needs me."
Maria took two huge steps back upon seeing Alf's dead body, pressing her fingers to her lips and moaning, for she was terrified of death. "Oh, I thought he was just hurt. Oh, oh! Padre mio!"
As for Giovanni, there was no pleasure in his face at the prospect of me staying in America, at least not under these circumstances, and his eyes swam with grief. "But what will you do, Greg? You have no home, no job!"
"Yes, how will you live?" added Maria, every bit as dejected as he was.
"I will pull through," I told them. "I have a little money, and there are jobs out there in the city. All I know is that I must stay with Ariel."
Maria's mouth quivered. "We will miss you, Greg."
"And I will miss you, Maria." I smoothed her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "But you have a life to go on living, and so do I. There's nothing to do but just keep on. Go, have the happiest life you can. Be a good wife to Giovanni."
The decision had been made, although Giovanni couldn't have detected it, and Maria closed her eyes and nodded, accepting it.
"I will always love you, Bella."
She held me and kissed me one last time. "Arrivederci, Bello."
Giovanni looked from her to me with a face that might have been triumphant, but he couldn't manage it, not in a situation like this. He fumbled about in his wallet and handed me a ten-dollar bill. "To help you," he said.
"Thank you."
"So you really are not coming, Greg?" he repeated. "You are staying with Ah-ree-ella?"
I nodded.
He looked me over sadly, but there was a great deal of pride in his eye. "You've become a grown man at last, Greg."
)
(
)
It wouldn't be until some time later that Alf had kept a journal. It had been salvaged, along with the family photographs. Ariel read it with me. Boy, the man really had a high opinion of me, and I was surprised to see that he really beat himself up a lot. In fact, one quote really sticks with me:
"Just once before I die, I'd like to do something to merit the "Mighty" in my stage name, because, frankly, I don't think I've earned it."
That's Alf for you. Mercilessly hard on himself, even to the end, but in my heart I knew that he had fulfilled his wish. A body cannot run through fire, no, not even to save one's child, but a spirit can. Despite the massive reserves of energy that would've enabled him to live on without us, Alf took the burden of death and surrendered, allowing it to crush him instead of Ariel and me, and once liberated from his body he saved our lives.
The mightiest act I'd ever known had not been so because of what Alf had endured, but what he had permitted to destroy him. If that doesn't merit a "Mighty" in one's name, I don't know what will.
And so died the Mighty Mr. Squelch, the best man I'll ever know.
(This concludes Gangle's telling of the story.)
NOTES FROM AUTHORESS:
TWO chapters left! One sad, one happy! You'll get the beginning of the twist next time!
Thank you one and all for reading! We're approaching the end.
I've got some more crap up over at my deviantart (littlelivewire), if you care.