Chapter 12
Author's Note: This is a mix of old and new, though there are significantly large old parts that have been reworked. Also filling old plot holes. So, so many plot holes.
Mr. King felt indignant as he entered the Snarlyville office. How dare he be summoned into a meeting. He was the president of the Indian Valley Railroad! He resented being directed even if it was by his stakeholders. He was the conductor of this train; they might think themselves to be the wheels and the fuel but he was the one who led them. Not the other way around.
He entered the full room, and found it deafeningly silent. It unnerved him.
"Well, what is it then?" Mr. King inquired, looking around suspiciously.
He was highly offended to see Paul seated at the head of the table, his usual spot in fact, and was further enraged when Paul gestured for him to sit in an open seat. When Mr. King made no move to obey, Paul continued on.
"Mr. King. You must understand that we, all of us, hold you in the highest regard. Therefore it is of the greatest personal disappointment when I was perusing some old records and found some highly disturbing information," Paul said morosely.
"Information? What information?" Mr. King demanded.
"Well, you see, I was just perusing some old records at Shining Time Station and found out some disturbing things," he sighed deeply, "Mr. King, is it true that you allowed one Horace Schemer to return to work despite him being the direct cause of a runaway passenger train full of people?" Paul asked, looking every bit upset at having to ask the question.
"Well, yes... but…" Mr. King sputtered, "Now see here, what is this?" he thundered at Paul.
"Mr. King, this is very serious. If my files are correct, and my fellow stakeholders will agree with me that they knew nothing of this, the train was only saved by a man on horseback racing the train and entering the engine in a daring feat to stop the train," Paul further explained.
This time Mr. King remained silent.
"And furthermore, not only was Horace Schemer allowed to continue his lease, he seemed to have won a sum of money for some sort of contest related to the day's activities. Mr. King, you must surely agree that this is not remotely an adequate disciplinary punishment, particularly for what could be considered a criminal activity?"
"Paul, this is absurd. Of course he was disciplined, but he's not, well, wasn't, a salaried staff member. He was a renter, not an employee, and surely cancelling a profitable lease for an accident would be unreasonable," Mr. King desperately tried to explain.
"A disaster might have been the outcome Mr. King, this was no mere accident. Quite frankly this has broken the trust of this board and the stakeholders in your competency to run the railroad. I've placed an appeal on your position as Head of the Indian Valley Railroad. And as of this morning, I've been informed by our lawyer that the appeal is valid. We've just voted as a board, you must now resign your position," Paul explained quietly, looking regretful.
Mr. King just looked at him with an incredulous look on his face. "This is an outrage!" His voice rose so quickly that it cracked.
"You've been removed from your position due to being declared unfit to run the railway. You have two days to vacate your office," Paul continued.
Mr. King continued to stand there, the flames of fury rising in his chest. Finally, when he could manage to speak again he spat out, "You've made a huge mistake Paul!" He moved towards Paul angrily, the other stakeholders shrinking in their seats as he passed whereas Paul only moved so far as to turn to face the oncoming Mr. King.
"How do you intend to run this railroad without me?!" he roared, jabbing a finger into Paul's chest.
Paul remained unfazed and unafraid. "I know this is hard for you, this railroad has been in your family for, what, three generations now?"
"Three. Generations," Mr. King growled angrily.
"And would it not be better to step aside gracefully? It's over Mr. King, I suggest you cease this spectacle and preserve your dignity, and fond memories, of this place."
Mr. King turned an ugly shade of purple, lips twisting and contorting in disgust and fury.
"It's not over yet," was all he managed to say before he stormed out of the room.
Once his heavy footfall came to pass, Paul turned to the silent boardroom.
"You'll do well to remember this," he said in a dangerous tone. And then he too stood up and left.
Of all the people Paul expected to turn up in his Shining Time Station office that morning, it was not local law enforcement. The officer was polite, came alone, and knocked once on the open office door to gain Paul's attention.
Still, it wasn't his first rodeo. He had been caught off guard before, he had methods to get around interviews.
"Excuse me, Mr. Paul Miller?" he questioned quietly.
"Yes that's me," he said, flashing a warm smile, "What can I help you with Officer….?"
"I'm Sheriff Jones. I'm here to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."
Paul's smile slipped a fraction of an inch. Stacy's father by the look of it, he could see it now. This complicated things slightly.
"I'll do my best," he agreed, wheels spinning in his head.
"Are you the current President of the Indian Valley Railroad?" Mason took out a pen and flipbook. He remained standing, Paul made no motion to offer him a seat.
Paul raised an eyebrow. "I am."
"And do you mind telling me about your experiences prior to your current position?" Mason pressed on.
Paul furrowed his brow slightly. "Forgive me Sheriff, but I assumed when you walked through my doorway you had questions regarding the disappearance of one of my staff members, Horace Schemer. He went missing and is presumed to have committed suicide. I distinctly told the police handling the case that I would cooperate by any means, however this seems like a highly unusual line of questioning."
Mason looked up from his notepad. "We can talk about Mr. Schemer, what would you like to tell me?"
Paul rarely felt cornered. Or that he had aroused any suspicion. But now he felt like he had walked straight into a trap he hadn't foreseen. Presumably, this was Stacy's father, and he had not been aware that she was related to the local Sheriff. This gave her more immunity than he otherwise would have thought. There was nothing he could do to her that wouldn't raise suspicion. Furthermore, this particular Sheriff had done what nobody else had done. He looked into his past. And, worst yet, he made connections.
Paul let any trace of emotion drain from his face. "Am I being detained?" he asked coolly.
Mason made a note and closed his notebook, understanding that this was the end of this conversation.
"You are not being detained. Is there anything else you'd care to share with me?" Mason asked, equally coolly.
"Not without the presence of a lawyer. If there's nothing else, I'm incredibly busy today."
"Of course, thank you for your cooperation ," Mason said, placing an emphasis on the last word that made Paul's lip twitch in fury.
He excused himself from the office, leaving Paul behind, fuming.
As soon as he heard the door to the station close, he got up and checked to make sure he was alone. Stacy was out of the office today, and he wondered if it was planned by either or both of them to play out that way. Coincidence or not, he had to assume that everyone knew everything. It was no good playing blindly, he had to assume everyone had a motive and knew his own motives. With a snarl he slammed his door shut and promptly got on the phone.
He had considerable wealth. He had a lawyer, and a good one at that, and now it was time to start protecting himself. He decided this would be beyond his current employer's scope of knowledge. As long as he kept ahead of everything, this minor hiccup wouldn't matter.
Sheltered, Stacy watched from the wooded area beside the parking lot as her father entered the station. She knew she had at least a few minutes of being unmonitored by Paul. Her father hadn't warned her per say about Paul, but he indicated that an investigation had been opened. He did advise her to keep her distance however. She'd figure out the next steps as she went, and she felt bad about using her father as a prop in this, but there was something else going on. She could feel it, there was something going on with the magic of the station. Her father couldn't help her with that side of things. There was no way local law enforcement knew about the magic of the station, or of Mr. Conductor. Furthermore, Allcott needed Schemee out of Shining Time, and Paul's employer wanted Schemee for something. She knew that she had to keep Schemee away from Paul at all costs.
She cautiously moved into the woods, and began travelling on foot towards Billy and Schemer's connected properties. It was only a ten minute walk or so, and she was confident that parking her car within the mysterious golden curtain had been enough to cover her tracks. Paul had people working for him, no doubt, but this was her town. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve before they could catch up to her.
One of the last times they spoke to Mr. Conductor, when she told him about her and Schemer, he had mentioned something about colleagues. She knew there were multiple Conductors (having met others in the past) and she knew they worked with other groups. She had no idea how to contact them, or if they even knew that they were struggling in a fight with a madman who, apparently, could use magic. Or worked for someone who did. She could only assume this is who Mr. Conductor had been warned of, and it had been all for nothing. They had still been blindsided, still lost two dear friends. She felt she couldn't trust that this group was actually watching out for them, or worse, that they had already been defeated. Still, they could take whatever small actions delayed or stop Paul's plans.
She crossed the boundary of the curtain, having walked around the woods she knew it extended as a full circle around those two houses and a little beyond. She was happy that the curtain remained in place despite the falling out that had occured. She strode over to Schemer's house with a confidence that she didn't quite believe in and knocked on the door. The response was quiet movement on the other side, no doubt they had taken precautions since Billy's firing.
Finally, after a moment of silence, Schemee answered the door looking confused but cautious.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," he responded.
"Is Billy here?"
"He's at his house I suppose, I haven't seen him today."
The awkwardness was palpable but she took a deep breath and jumped right into it.
"I need to speak to the two of you, I don't have a lot of time before my absence is noticed, but it's important."
His expression softened slightly. "I'll call him up."
As they waited for Billy to arrive, she felt her anxiety creeping up. She tried to soothe herself by telling herself that they had been friends for a long time. Yet, there was a reason she came to Schemee first. It was easier to face him after firing Billy on behalf of Paul. She was now betting with Billy's livelihood in order to see her plan through, and that was wrong.
To her relief (and entirely unsurprising to her) Billy immediately charged into the house and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
"Oh thank goodness. You've been causing untold grief in me worrying about you."
"I know, I'm so sorry," she mumbled into his chest, relishing having a friendly contact. Being around Paul, having to obscure that she was moving against him, was exhausting.
Schemee cleared his throat. "You mentioned you didn't have much time before your absence was noticed?" he pointed out.
"Yes, that's right." She broke free of Billy and turned to face them both. "I have a plan, but we are going to have to wing a lot of it. We don't have time to sweat the small details I'm afraid."
"That's not very reassuring," Billy said, disheartened.
"I know, I fully agree. Also, what I've learned is that Paul works by tracing the lines of who knows who. He doesn't leave loose ends. For better or for worse I'm in the first position in his mind now, and the fewer leads that are traceable from me, the better. Therefore, the less suspicion either of you cause, the better."
Schemee exhaled heavily, looking displeased. "So we're just supposed to let you take all the blowback?"
She shook her head sadly. "I'd prefer if it didn't come to that, and I will certainly take every precaution to ensure it doesn't, but I do know a few things. Paul wants you for some unknown reason, apparently linked to an employer, and keeping you away from them will delay their plans for as long as is needed to dismantle them. You may not believe it, and I'm hanging on mostly by hope right now, but we do have allies. We just need to give them a chance to work. I don't know who they are, or when they might be able to help us, but I know they exist. The golden curtain has been proof of that. We're not magical, it can't just be here because of us. Someone has to be helping us. But we have to stop being risky and start playing smart. If we keep overplaying our hand by trying to get Paul, we're losing sight of the big picture. There's dark forces working against us, let's help them help us."
Schemee didn't look fully convinced, and Billy just continued to look worried. "So what is the plan then?"
"I said it before, and you may not want to hear it again, but Schemee has to get out of here," she began. When Schemee started to protest she held up a hand until he stopped grumbling. "Hey, I get it, it's not what you want. I understand. But I think there's a way for you to make a bold statement, and get to safety. Your Uncle Allcott has been very clear that you need to return, and from our limited conversations I can tell it goes beyond just fearing for your safety."
Schemee gapped. "You've been talking to Allcott?!"
She shrugged. "I needed to hear from him so that I could figure out a few things. If it was just him worrying about you, he'd have every right to swoop down here and pick you up, possibly with the help of the appropriate authorities, to bring you back under his care. He hasn't done it yet, don't you think that's unusual?"
Schemee looked pensive but not entirely convinced. "I suppose…"
"And he's with your grandfather. The grandfather that both your Uncle Schemer and Great Uncle Allcott were estranged from. It could be two brothers coming together to cope with a loss, but it seems highly unusual. I got the distinct impression there was more he wanted to say, but couldn't speak freely about over the phone. They know something, and they are insisting that you reconvene with them for your immediate safety. That's what I think anyway."
Silence flooded the room as they took it in.
"So let's say you're right and I go back with them, then what? What happens to you and Billy?" Schemee challenged.
She brushed her hair back from her face, trying to hide any signs of nerves. "I don't know, but again I have hope that we'll have other allies to help us. I can't speak for Billy, but I'll be here until I see it through."
Billy looked thoughtful. Schemee looked on with exasperation written all over his face. "Billy, please tell me that you aren't honestly thinking about this."
"Schemee… we've been spinning our wheels. I hate to admit it but we don't have a solid plan for, well, anything."
Schemee looked down with a hardened expression. He sighed raggedly and roughly pulled his hands through his hair. "Okay, so what is your plan then Stacy?"
"Well, think of it this way. Paul is waiting, impatiently, for us to make a move. He's expecting something covert and undercover, and I suspect he's more than ready to intercept us. However, if we did something more public, more chaotic, he might be caught off guard and unprepared. What I propose that we host a public memorial for your uncle. Having it in public adds a layer of protection. And if we can get the crowd appropriately riled or outraged they can act as a buffer between you and Paul. We'll make sure there's someone to pick you up in the crowd for a reasonably quick get away," she explained.
Billy looked at her incredulously while Schemee pondered it further. "No insult meant to you, but this is grittier than I ever would have thought you would come up with Stacy," he said, breaking the silence that had befallen them.
"You want to use a memorial as a facade to smuggle me out of town?!" Schemee got directly to the point, sounding incredulous.
"Yes, and in exactly six days," she confirmed simply.
Schemee stared at her, mouth agape.
"How do you feel about publicly accusing Paul as your Uncle's killer?" she asked point blank, wearing an intense expression.
He almost felt the familiar flutter of anger, but it quickly disintegrated. Billy said nothing, but almost seemed to be gauging his reaction. Stacy appeared calm and cool, and looked at him expectantly.
"I don't know if that's a good idea Stacy, it might be too much for him," Billy said cautiously, when Schemee was unable to provide a response.
"N-no," he stuttered, "I just don't really know." It felt odd to admit. All the rage and designs for revenge seemed to leave him when presented with the option.
"I'd normally say that you don't have to, and tell you not to put yourself on the spot, but we have a very limited window for a successful plan. If you don't accuse Paul directly, I will. But I wanted to give you the option first," she said intently.
Billy wore a look of minor horror. "Stacy, I think this is going too far. Have you been spending too much time with Paul? We can't stoop to his level like this."
"Stooping to Paul's level means murdering innocent people," she snarled back in retort, "Or have you forgotten that?"
Billy recoiled and said nothing. She took a calming breath but made no move to apologize.
"Listen, both of you. I agree with both sides. We need a plan, because we don't have anything right now, but we need to reign it in a bit," Schemee said quietly.
Neither spoke, and Stacy continued to look defiant.
"Stacy, you say you're going ahead with this, one way or the other. I might repeat what you once told me, it would do a poor service to my uncle's memory if you got yourself killed or hurt doing something reckless," Schemee said softly, "But I think we can do a better service to my uncle's memory by using his own style. He was neither subtle, nor brash. His style was loud, but sneaky."
Billy quirked an eyebrow and Stacy gave a small smile.
"I think, no matter what, we have to be in this together. I'm in," Billy said quietly.
Stacy visibly softened. "Thank you," she responded.
"Let's use these six days to work out the details that we can. Stacy, are you absolutely sure with going through with this? Obviously Paul wants me for some reason, but you're in the most direct line of fire," Schemee asked, eyes boring into hers.
"I'll be fine, don't worry about me."
For the first time in his life, Paul felt nervous after speaking to his lawyer. Usually it was merely a formality. His lawyer coached him where needed, and intervened when required, but nothing had ever generated any police interest in him. Therefore the meetings had a more casual tone.
This time however, his lawyer held a more serious tone, and his voice delivered the weight of the situation.
"Say nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing further. If you find yourself detained and being interviewed, you call me immediately. I will drop everything."
Paul did not like the thought of being detained. Being detained opened him up to a more substantial investigation, not just for this instance, but his past history. He had enjoyed his life, and enjoyed satisfying his darker pursuits in relative freedom. Sure he had to uproot every so often, but it came with the territory. He considered himself to be very skilled, which is also why he was paid so well. Not getting caught was one of those skills that helped him to enjoy his payments.
Now that the meeting with his lawyer was over and he had another important one to attend to with his employer.
His employer was still largely unknown to him. He didn't have a name, or much of a motive behind his actions, but he did carry the promise of untold power. Paul brushed off the first time he was contacted. His employer had at first sent a missive; while it was disconcerting to Paul in that it mentioned appreciation for Paul's ' past work' it was nothing too incriminating and he felt comfortable ignoring it.
Then, another missive. This one was more assertive, and while it wasn't threatening it did carry urgency. The letter requested a meeting late at night in an isolated location. It also promised rewards that could only be spoken of in person. This was intriguing, but Paul once again declined by way of disregarding the letter.
The third attempt was far more direct. Paul had a very nice penthouse condo in a metropolis with good security therefore he did not generally have concern for intruders. Which is why he was so caught off guard to find someone in a prison jumpsuit sitting in his living room. Paul had just come home moments before, and the man on the couch turned to greet him with a curious expression on his face.
Paul surveyed the room for both exits and weapons, finding his only real chance for escape would be back out the front door. And yet this person did not threaten him, he could sense it. Paul knew he had many enemies, some in prison, but he did not recognize this man.
Finally the stranger on the couch broke the silence. "My apologies for the intrusion, I recognize that this is highly inappropriate but I have something of a problem you see, and I think you can help me," he spoke smoothly, "You received my letters?"
Paul quirked an eyebrow. So this was the mysterious letter sender. "Yes, though I admit they did not catch my attention enough to respond to them."
The stranger stood up carefully and non-threateningly. "And what about now?"
"I think if your presence means the authorities will be here shortly, you definitely have my attention but more importantly you have my ire," Paul explained, sounding unimpressed. Amateurs, he hated them.
The stranger smiled, coldly, but shook his head. "There is no one looking for me. I will be back before they even notice I'm gone. I have no intention of breaking out of prison, yet, but I do have an immediate need for clever people on the outside."
Paul considered this. "How can you get here and then also move back to your prison so quickly?"
The stranger smirked. "I thought you'd never ask." And with that he snapped his fingers and a purple vortex appeared in Paul's living room. He stumbled back, it was unlike him to show fear but this was no ordinary stranger. " Never go to a secondary location ", he thought to himself as the stranger walked into it and beckoned him to follow. But this was different, this carried a promise of something beyond his comprehension.
And so he followed through, and they ended up in a train yard. The stranger looked more serious now, and despite Paul's casual facade he was suddenly more concerned about being alone with this person as the vortex faded behind him.
"As you can see I have a considerable type of power at my disposal. But I do need your help with something, and in return I can hand you the key to finding your own power."
Paul was intrigued but guarded. "And how can you guarantee that I will receive this power?"
"Well, I have very valuable information. And a target that once cleared will create a weakness, a power vacuum if you will, to help you take control. I'll help get you an opportunity, you clear my target, and then the power is yours for the taking," he explained.
Paul was still hesitant. "Will this power that's already in place pose a threat to me?"
"I will send you as many resources as I can. It won't be easy, but the reward is well worth the effort."
He explained further about the power, magic specifically, being linked to locations and typically wielded by non-humans. But a strong human could take over, if conditions were right. It had worked for him and now he bent it to his will. When it came time to part ways he dutifully sent Paul back to his condo and promised to not bother him at his home again.
The following morning Paul found one final note asking him to sign if he was interested. Feeling drunk on the display of power that he saw, he signed on the line immediately and the note disappeared in a shower of dust. The next day further instructions were addressed to him. A location, a target, and the promise of a few bodyguards to be at his disposal was contained within. The bodyguards, who he found to be in a magically possessed state, awaited him outside his door. They did what he said and did not appear to need for anything. This was the kind of power Paul hoped for, and he did not regret his decision at the time.
However, now as he waited in his work office for the familiar entrance he had a different feeling. The promise of power had not yet been delivered as every time he removed someone from this damned place the power still continued to evade him. He hadn't cracked Shining Time Station's magical code yet, and he was beginning to have his doubts.
Right on time, the flash of purple preceded the arrival of his still unknown to him, but very powerful, boss.
"Good evening," Paul said in a strained voice.
"Mr. Miller, I have to say, I'm disappointed in your news but not surprised," the dark haired man said, "You were sloppy."
Paul gave a mirthless laugh. "I disagree, all this magic business has caused significant headaches for me. If anything, my fault only lies in underestimating how messy your request was going to be."
A sneer danced on the other man's face. "If it's a headache you want, I can certainly oblige. You can see how my magic has worked so far, do you really want to test how much of a headache I can cause you?"
Paul was deeply irritated, but had no interest in pressing his employer for displays of raw power. "No," he spat bitterly.
"Excellent. Now, all you have to do is remain a free man until the boy is delivered to me. You can come with me, and we'll be able to escape to somewhere that we can't be found."
"I was never supposed to be caught, nor was I supposed to be your permanent retainer. I had a life I quite enjoyed until you interfered with everything. Now you're saying my only options are trial for murder or following you to some ungodly place?" Paul asked, anger rising in his voice, "I was promised my own source of power!"
He laughed deeply, his voice a rich baritone. "There will be other opportunities. If this one does not bend then we will break it and move on. Your past life will seem inconsequential compared to what I can offer you. Just be patient, it will be worth the wait."
He disappeared in another flash of purple, leaving Paul staring in the spot he had just vacated.
Eyelids fluttered, once, then twice. A groan escaped his lips as the heavy feeling eased off his bones. Feeling as if the room was spinning, he squeezed his eyes shut. Trying desperately to remember, something, anything. His current existence was anxiety-driven, and yet he couldn't place the unnerved feeling. He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes fully for the first time in days. He immediately recoiled at the sunlight filtering into the room, blinking against the light. He rubbed both palms into his eyes, trying to wake himself up.
He opened his eyes, slowly this time, and let them adjust to the light. He was in a nondescript bedroom, one that was clearly not his own, laying in a twin sized bed that faced a television on a dresser.
"Horace? My boy, are you alright?!"
He swivelled his head in the direction of the voice to find his uncle Allcott peering into the bedroom. It was enough to trigger the memories that he was missing up until this point. He jumped so badly that he slammed his back into the headboard, muscles screaming in protest from disuse. Still he scrambled backwards, clawing at the sheets.
"It's okay, it's okay. You're safe, I promise," Allcott soothed, lowering his voice.
Breathing heavily, squeezing himself into the farthest corner of the bed Schemer narrowed his eyes. "Where am I? What is this?!" He had just noticed the IV line attached to his arm and the oxygen mask on his face. Out of panic, he removed the mask but when he moved to pull the IV out Allcott crossed the room and gripped his arm before he could succeed. He was alarmed to find out how weak he felt in comparison to his much older uncle.
"You're safe, it's all going to be alright." He held fast to Schemer, whose body had stiffened in a paralyzed fear. Wrapping both arms so that Schemer's arms were pinned to his torso, Allcott rubbed Schemer's arms in a comforting way. "You're okay, I'm so glad to see you awake."
Schemer remained frozen. His heart was still racing but he allowed himself to accept the affection he had been missing for so long. He felt his shoulders relax, and sagged into embrace as dead weight. As he found himself in a struggle against his own thoughts, he tried to remember the events of what led him to this point but they scattered like light through a prism as soon as they moved through his memory. He knew what had happened, but he was actively stopping it from materializing. He was suddenly grateful for the contact from Allcott, trying to parse through these feelings and memories alone felt insurmountable. He could barely come to terms with it even with one of the best people he knew trying to keep him grounded.
As if reading his mind Allcott seemed to pull him closer and said, in a fatherly way, "It's okay, we'll get you through this."
The floodgates opened without warning, Schemer felt the sobs bubbling up in his chest and buried his face into Allcott's arm, feeling very much like a child. Allcott stroked his head gently, allowing him to cry without judgement.
He wasn't sure if it took a long time for his sobs to subside, but by the time he was done he felt completely drained. There were so many questions to ask, and he struggled to formulate even one. The only thing he could manage to put words to was, "Wh-where's Schemee?"
Allcott slowly released him and looked so concerned that Schemer felt his heart clench as if being gripped by an icy hand.
"Uncle Allcott, where is Schemee?" he asked again, finding his voice despite it being punctuated by an audible waver.
"He's safe, but there are a few complications. There's much we need to fill you in on, and we have so little time to get you caught up, least of all ready to move," Allcott looked stricken.
"Move where?"
"To somewhere safer, at least temporarily while all this nonsense gets sorted out. Schemee will be leaving Shining Time, you're going to meet up with him and disappear to a safer location. The fewer people who know you're… alive, the better."
"Schemee is... in Shining Time?" he asked incredulously. He struggled with the implications of this.
Allcott nodded, and Schemer noted the look of regret on his face. As Allcott looked on, he slowly got up and felt his muscles protest from disuse. He stretched out his back, feeling the joints crack into place. He tentatively placed one foot and then the other on the ground. Finding he had the strength to stand he walked around the room slowly, wheeling the IV with him. He was wearing clothes that were not his own, he noticed.
The door opened and a lady that looked to be in her late fifties entered, looking shocked to see him. "Oh, you're awake dear," she exclaimed happily. She removed his IV and he winced from the sting.
"Who are you?" he mumbled, too tired to properly convey distrust.
"You've had an accident. My husband rescued you from the beach in Dillylick. We've been taking care of you."
Allcott didn't offer any introductions, he seemed distracted by his own thoughts. Schemer didn't resist as she cleaned his IV site and bandaged his arm. If Allcott didn't object to her, Schemer supposed he might as well accept the situation for what it was.
"Why don't you lay back down? I'll bring you up something light to eat so that you can get your strength back up. Food might be a shock to your system but I'll make something gentle. Just take it easy Horace," she offered as she finished bandaging him.
He thanked her and moved back to the bed. Allcott still hadn't spoken, so Schemer looked around the room. As he took in the scenery something suddenly occurred to him.
"How did she know my name?" he asked, suspiciously.
Allcott looked confused "She's been taking care of you, and I'm here of course. It had to come up at some point."
Schemer frowned. "You mentioned people thought I wasn't alive, what do they think happened to me? And who is she to not question taking care of a strange man?"
Allcott was a terrible liar and Schemer knew it. At Allcott's sudden guilty look Schemer could tell he was going to struggle to come up with an answer to that.
"Schemee is safe-" Allcott began to say, trying to circumvent the interrogation that he could feel coming on.
"And how do you know this exactly?" Schemer demanded, "Also, where does Schemee think I am?"
"I… He doesn't know you're alive," Allcott admitted softly, trying to lessen the blow.
Schemer felt a deep anger rising. It wasn't directed at Allcott per say but it was easy to demand answers from him.
"How about you start answering some questions that have conveniently cropped up in the last 30 seconds?" Schemer snapped at Allcott, his weariness evaporating, "Also, how are you so certain that we're safe?! Again, who is that woman and why is she okay with harbouring someone who is allegedly dead?"
"We'll all sit down and discuss it together, but I need you to calm down. This is surely a lot for you, I know-"
He suddenly leapt out of bed. He had to get out of here and find Schemee, or just let him know that he was alive. He reached the bedroom door but stopped short. Where was Paul in all this? If he was still around, then wouldn't Schemee be in immediate danger?
The woman opened the door again and was startled by him standing practically in the doorway. He suddenly felt suspicious of her.
"Who's your husband?" Schemer demanded.
She looked alarmed and made eye contact with Allcott.
"You know I'm supposed to be dead, don't you? Someone tried to kill me. What made you not come forward to the police?"
"Horace," Allcott said warningly, and moved towards Schemer.
"I'm just asking her some questions!" he snapped at Allcott. They were intentionally keeping him in the dark, he could feel it. It deeply disturbed him to be here, unaware of so many things that directly related to his life.
She looked thoughtful for a moment but eventually nodded. "I'll go get him," she agreed. He turned around and waited by the bed. The door eventually opened and he turned around to be greeted by the second big shock of the day. For a split second he thought it was his Uncle Allcott, but this man was far too weathered to be his Uncle. They were nearly identical, save for the fact this man had aged faster.
"Horace." The man said simply, not quite knowing what to do or say.
Schemer took a step backwards into the bed in shock, falling into a sitting position. "It's you," he said, "You're the one who found me."
He nodded his head. "Yes, it was me."
Schemer regarded him with narrowed eyes, trying to read the man in front of him, momentarily distracted from his growing number of questions. He was still taller, Schemer hadn't quite grown to his father's full height. And his father was currently regarding him with the same analytical look that Schemer was wearing. Both were trying to measure the other up, trying to determine what angle each was going to go for.
Allcott looked on with baited breath. The history between the two men was tainted with longstanding resentment and bitterness. They rarely crossed paths, and when they did it rarely ended without one of them spitting poison at the other. Allcott never confided this in either, and to be frank he had been somewhat estranged from both for a varying amount of time, but he struggled between his role as a family member and his professional training as an impartial clinical psychologist. If he had to pick a side, he would always choose Schemer as the one who suffered the most for having a childhood under an alcoholic father with anger issues, yet Allcott had to acknowledge that as an adult Schemer rarely passed up an opportunity to create conflict for his father when they did meet.
"So... You got remarried?" Schemer finally asked, breaking the long silence. He never broke eye contact with his father.
"Yes, well after your mother and I divorced," Jasper explained simply.
"Right," was all Schemer said, he couldn't really find anything else to respond with.
Allcott noticed that while Schemer was being civil his answers were still curt and somewhat cold.
"Your wife seems very nice," Schemer offered finally, politely.
"Alice? Yes, she's a very wonderful person. She's a nurse, and one of the reasons you've made it through your… ordeal."
Schemer's ability to be vulnerable around Allcott did not extend to Jaspar, and Allcott watched the way he visibly reacted to "ordeal". He stiffened up and his upper lip began to curl. Allcott braced himself for what this encounter would bring.
"Yeah well, you did better than I assumed you could," Schemer snapped back, dropping all pretence of polite conversation.
"Yes, I did," Jaspar didn't want to take the bait. Allcott could understand it, he had already had enough of any conflict between them, and this had been exhausting and stressful for them all. Most of all Schemer, though Allcott could see that Jaspar wasn't in the mood to engage with him, if only for his own benefit.
"What did you do to convince this lady into believing you're capable of behaving like a warm blooded person?" he continued to press, the trauma of his own recent experience bubbling to the surface.
"Horace, enough," Allcott demanded, deciding it was time to put a stop to this before the fragile peace was irreparably broken. They needed Jaspar for as long as possible, this house was safe for the meantime and they could move undetected for now.
But Jasper cut him off sharply. "Listen Horace, or Schemer, or whatever you call yourself now. I know you're pissed off and for once I know it's not at me. I already know that there's nothing I can do to make you hate me less and I've made peace with that. That's my burden to bear. However, you've got your own problems and they have a lot to do with being attacked and left for dead within the depths of that harbour. Now, we have work to do, we need you to keep it together, at least temporarily, because you need to be ready to move when the time is right and we need to get your nephew to you," Jaspar snapped, his face was calm but his voice held an air of finality.
Schemer flinched, and Allcott saw Jaspar's face fall a fraction of an inch. Made peace with himself? Unlikely, he thought, but he released the breath he was holding.
"Harsher I would have recommended, but there is truth in that Horace," Allcott said gently. Schemer snapped his head back to his uncle, seemingly content to ignore his father.
"So, back to Schemee, how do you know he's safe?" Schemer asked carefully, avoiding his father's gaze.
"Because we have friends helping and watching him and they would report back instantly if he wasn't. And I will not hide the fact that this is temporary. We will have but a brief window to meet him up with you," Allcott explained.
"And then what?" Schemer questioned.
"We have some very good help, individuals who are very aware of the delicate nature of this situation. They'll be offering protection and getting you both to safety, entirely undetected. Now, this will mean you'll both have to remain undercover, at least until the situation is cleared, but hopefully after that you can both return to your existing lives."
Schemer seemed to ponder this for a moment, an unsure look spreading across his features.
"If Schemee doesn't know I'm alive, what does… he think happened to me?" he said, struggling with the words. Asking it out loud made the situation real, and it most certainly didn't feel that way. Like an increasingly bad dream. Losing everyone, losing his job, his hometown, his family and friends… Stacy.
Allcott looked stricken. "Schemer, when this happened you have to understand that Paul framed this in a very specific way. He didn't want to attract attention to you, and he made it look like you were dead by your own hand."
Schemer felt his knees buckle and the feelings of devastation crushed the air out of his lungs. "No…" he said softly, "I need to find him, and tell him it's not true." Suddenly he felt himself being redirected to the bed, and realized as he sat down he must've been near collapsing because both of the other men shared twin looks of concern. Allcott gripped his arm once again.
"Listen, they've worked it out. Schemee, Stacy and Billy figured out that Paul is not who he seems and they understand him as being behind this. They however still believe you to have been murdered, but that is not commonly shared. That's also why Schemee doesn't know that you are alive or safe and well, because we know he'd attract immediate attention and Paul would have time to react. I know it's hard, but it is much safer this way. The less he knows the better, but we will try to prepare him for the shock when he learns the truth. I have faith you can both seek comfort in each other," Allcott said gently.
Schemer bit the inside of his cheek, feeling an immense sense of guilt. He knew that Schemee would be devastated, and carry a lot of blame. He suddenly felt the white hot rage flare in his chest. How dare Paul rip his life, his family apart? Make everyone wonder what they could have done to prevent his fake-death. He thought of the confusion they all must be feeling, and the chaos Paul had left in his wake while making Schemer play an unwilling role in his theatre. The litany of feelings he was experiencing threatened to boil over. It must've shown, because Allcott's hand landed heavily on his shoulder, grounding him back to his confused reality.
"It will be okay. And you must be reeling from this, it is more than one person can comprehend alone. But you will both be safe, and you will have help."
Schemer wanted to believe him, he really did, but he avoided his uncle's gaze. He couldn't stand to see any trace of worry or doubt. Any hint of concern threatened to undo any semblance of control he had.
"Okay," he said softly, even though it wasn't okay at all. But what else could he do or say?
Allcott straightened up with a sigh. "Do you need anything?"
"N-no. It's fine." It's true, there wasn't anything he could think of that was tangible. He wanted to be safe in his home, but that seemed untenable.
"Try to rest. This was more than enough for you to hear at once. We have a few things to handle, but we will keep you in the loop as soon as we're able to, okay?"
Schemer nodded, and exchanged brief eye contact with his own father. The pity he saw just made him angry, but he was too tired to fight anymore.
They left without saying anything further, shutting the door behind them. Despite the anxiety coursing through his veins, he fell asleep without much issue into a long, if not restless, sleep.
"He's not handling it well," Jaspar stated matter-of-factly.
"Of course not, would you?" Allcott responded.
"I would not. I've seen hell myself in Vietnam, and we all know how well I coped with that, but this is different."
Allcott sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I… I have to admit, I'm not handling all this well myself. Including this magic business. I'm struggling to wrap my mind around it, and the events that have passed since Schemer asked me to watch Schemee have played out like some fictional tragedy that I never asked to be a part of."
"Like it or not, we are stuck in this. Perhaps more unfortunately for you and Schemer, you are stuck in this with me, but it is what it is and we can all go back to pretending each other doesn't exist after this is sorted out," Jasper said with a nonchalant shrug.
"I didn't mean it like that… But I do desperately want to see this resolved. That man, Paul, he's a sociopath without a doubt in my professional opinion. He has managed to orchestrate a series of events that have nearly ruined lives. To say nothing of the collateral and lasting damage."
Allcott lapsed into a troubled silence, and Jasper looked on neutrally. The sound of a train whistle caused Allcott to startle, and moments later was followed by the appearance of Mr. Conductor.
"I will never get used to that," Allcott groaned.
Mr. Conductor gave the flaps of his coat a quick tug to remove the residual dust. "Good evening gentlemen," he said seriously.
"What's the word?" Jasper asked cautiously.
"From my colleagues, not much unfortunately. We might have to move more independently than I had hoped, they just don't have the capacity to help us unless it gets critical. However, Stacy Jones and Billy Twofeathers have been playing well off of Paul's actions. Stacy is playing a co-operative role, and Billy is acting resistant. It's precarious but it works, for now. There is good movement from law enforcement too. We'll want to play carefully and avoid overstepping on anything in the works on that front."
"What about Jonathan?" Allcott asked anxiously.
"Still safe, but we should get him out of there as fast as possible. I think we can safely communicate with Stacy and get things moving on that front. I've left a note telling her to expect a phone call tomorrow at 6 pm from you. I can keep the lines private, for a short period of time."
"Have you been able to learn more about the magic that Paul is working with?" Jasper asked, frowning.
Mr. Conductor sat down heavily. "Not nearly as much as I'd like. At this point I don't dare get too close. It's obviously powerful, and dark, and being able to move undetected as I have been has been a huge boon. As soon as there's a hint of my interference I daresay we will lose a serious advantage. Oh, on that note, I have something to give to you," he said dryly. He reached into his pocket and took out a folded slip of paper. He handed it to Allcott who incredulously unfolded it to find it increasing to a size that should have been impossible from its original size.
Allcott frowned as Jasper leaned in; it contained a phone number and a strange phrase reading 'over the cuckoo's nest'.
"What's this?" Jasper asked.
"This is what you'll need if things 'get critical'. If anything happens to me, or the plan goes awry, you need to call this number and give them the phrase. They'll know that something has gone immediately wrong."
Schemer crept quietly down the stairs. The last footsteps he heard walk past his door had disappeared long ago into the small hours of the morning. Allcott had left and he didn't know the woman who had married his father well enough to feel secure. He was still in a house with his father, and old anxieties died hard.
More than he despised being vulnerable around his father, he hated the thought of Schemee being alone and operating under the belief he was dead was not something he could tolerate. Above everything else, his fear of Paul, his self-preservation, proving himself to his friends, Schemee took priority.
As he moved past the kitchen someone cleared their throat from the dark. He nearly jumped out of his skin and hit the opposite wall, pressing himself against it to be as small as possible.
"I thought you might feel inclined to leave," Jasper said drily. He made no move towards Schemer, which was fortunate because Schemer had not yet found his ability to use his legs again.
In the lowlight, despite the panic coursing through his veins, he could see the look of pity on his father's face again. He felt a surge of anger for the second time that day. How dare this man make him relive the trauma he had previously caused him? He fundamentally knew that he wasn't a teenager sneaking out anymore, and his father was sober, but he still found himself behaving like he was about to get belted for defying his father. How dare he pity him, when it was his own fault?
Slowly, carefully, he stood back up, and tried to resume a casual demeanor. No, there was nothing to fear here, not anymore. But the anger didn't leave him; it never fully went away.
"Why do you look at me like that? You always look at me like I'm some pathetic, pitiable creature," Schemer said in a low voice.
"Who said it's directed at you?" Jasper responded. "I have my own demons, and reliving them isn't exactly thrilling me. Seeing my son cowering away from me in the darkness happens to be one of them. Don't confuse pity for regret."
Schemer felt taken aback, but no sympathy. "Then, seeing how much my presence here disturbs you, I need to leave. There's things I need to do."
"How do you plan to safely get your nephew back?" Jasper asked.
He was shocked for the second time in a short span of time. "That's not your business."
"Normally I would agree with you, but this goes beyond us. You may not believe me, but I don't want to see you rush back and get yourself killed for real this time. I don't want you to inadvertently put your nephew in danger."
Schemer looked away. "He needs me. I need to bring him to safety," he whispered fiercely.
"I know. But we need a better plan, and you're not in any condition to go back."
Schemer was deeply conflicted. This was far from what he expected of his father.
"You also don't have an exit strategy. We can work on that, because you'll both need to lay low for a while afterwards."
Schemer grit his teeth in irritation. "Stop telling me what I need! You have never been there for me, so quit acting like you have any of my best interests at heart. Schemee is MY nephew, and my responsibility! I know what's best for him, not YOU!"
He was breathing heavily through his sudden surge of anger.
Jasper shrugged. "I'm not disagreeing with you there. But I have had the luxury of time to think this through. I'm also not stopping you from leaving, but you should know that we do have allies and they would prefer that you stay here as long as possible."
The sneer never left his face, but Schemer felt the tension leave his frame. "Fine. I'll stay, for now. But if I even get a hint that we're putting Schemee in danger by waiting I am out of here. Got it?" he asked harshly.
"Got it," Jasper complied.