CHAPTER NINE
"Death is a law and not a punishment. Three things ought to console us for giving up life...the friends we've lost, the few persons worthy of being loved whom we leave behind us, and the memory of our stupidities and the assurance that they are now going to stop."
The last words of John Dubos.
"Nobody knooows der trouble I've seeen," Dr. Frankenstein sang from his bunk as Burlie paced the cell. Sparks of light from the hundreds of tiny mirrors on the carousel of the Autumn Fete, bang outside in the town square, danced through the cell as it turned and turned. "Nobody knooows mein sorrow."
"Oh, you've really lost the thread now," Burlie said and noticed she was wringing her fingers together. She forced herself to stop, dropping her hands to her sides. "I think you're being overly influenced by those of us who've read the book," she said.
He cut his eyes at her. "And, perhaps, those of you who've seen the movie. All the movies."
"You can't blame me for everything, Dr. Frankenstein."
"That's Fronk-in-steen."
She laughed. It sounded like a fearful gasp. Help, she thought. My mind has created a monster.
Yeah, some monster. "Sving lowww, sveet chariots!"
And, oh, the town.
There were no shops along this side of the square. No June Day Sweets, no Hippie Dippie Thrift Shoppe, no Puckins Hardware. Not in 1918. There was the Town Hall, surrounded by statues of local heroes and immense oak trees, and one other building.
Yellow oak leaves flew into the windows of the old jail, right next door. What civic planning. The lock-up was a rectangle. One long, large cell of thick stone on one end and Piggsbee's office on the other. The cell door opening on a narrow corridor was a heavy slab of sheet-metal with a food slot cut through the middle. The only bars were over the window.
Burlie could easily imagine the James Gang riding up to bust out Jesse. They'd tie one end of a rope to the bars and the other end to the pommel of a horse's saddle. Giddyap and the entire wall would pop loose as easily as if it'd been set in sand. Jesse would dive out into the moonlight and ride off with guns blazing.
That'd never happen here, though. The jail was too strong, the stone too thick. Burlie could feel the cool of the hard floor right through her sandals as she tugged at the iron.
"Sheriff," she called out. "Can I have a tin cup to beat against the bars?"
Piggsbee was sitting comfortably in his office. She could hear his chair creak as he answered, "No."
"It's tradition."
"No."
"A harmonica?"
"No."
"This is police brutality."
"Yep."
What craftsmanship. Well, if you're going to build a jail you'd damn well better build it right.
And build it smack in the center of things. Burlie could look out onto the entirety of the town square's Autumn Fete. Looked like fun. She could see the whirl of ancient rides, hear the laughter, and smell the hot food. And the entirety of the Fete could look in at her. And they were. Everyone was casually passing by, the adults trying not to be too obvious about glancing in, the children clambering onto a bucket to openly gawk. It counted as cruel and unusual punishment, displaying the evil-doers as an example, but Burlie was just as interested in them.
An especially sour and prim old bird stopped to rudely stare. "We are in protective custody," Burlie reminded her. "We haven't actually done anything." Astonished at being spoken to, the woman jerked her long, overblown dress out of the way of her feet and stomped off.
Burlie realized she was twisting her fingers again as she stared out the window.
She knew history, it was one of her favorite subjects. Such stories. Actual happenings so strange they couldn't be passed off as fiction. The early twentieth century had been no great joy, really. The first World War, the widespread poverty, the countless fatal or disfiguring diseases and the rampant malnutrition had deformed many and stunted nearly everyone. There was no safety net for the old, the ill, the insane, or your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. There was no slavery anymore but many people were still being forced to work themselves to death by sheer necessity if not by some fat-cat titan of industry with a personal army of gunmen. Or you farmed. Farm, farm everything, until the land turns to dust.
And the social nightmares, dear god. Hey, gang, let's go lynch anyone that isn't a White Anglo Saxon Protestant as fast as our rickets-bowed legs can carry us. We'll even take pictures and make postcards. No, let's put that woman in prison for wanting the vote. No! Let's burn that union-organizer's house down. Hey, that guy's walking a little prissy-like. Get him!
Oh, let's all just catch the flu and die.
But there were no such stains here. These people were tall and strong. Healthy. Happy. Wholesome? Even their teeth were perfect. They were all perfect.
Anzo Dahl had arrived in town. His spectacles struck Burlie as a decoration on his face rather than something he actually needed. He had a woman on his arm and she was scandalized when Anzo blew a kiss at Burlie from afar. Burlie blew one back just to tease her. What a girlfriend. She was beautiful, her pale blue dress setting off her gleaming brown skin. Just the slightest undertone of red. The romance writers called it 'mahogany.' She was the jealous type, though. She pulled Anzo away. He laughed and allowed it. They disappeared towards the games. And over there was Miss Ada, the 'spinster,' with her arms around a lovely woman in pink, dancing to a perky ragtime tune blaring out from the central bandstand. And not dancing in an I-Can't-Find-A-Man sort of way at all. God help any male that tried to cut in.
Neither relationship was typical of a 1918 era small town. Not in public anyway.
Anachcronisms, to put it mildly.
Dr. Frankenstein was being influenced by her but where was the Fete's rich detail coming from? The dresses, the costumes, the games, the language, the music, even the way they all moved and stood was different from anything Burlie knew or had seen in museums or the classic films she loved. The songs were completely unknown to her.
So if this wasn't her dream, was it Fisk's? Why would a criminal creep like Fisk Iping imagine such a place? This progressive...retro...vintage...stuff. You'd think it'd all be more British.
Burlie studied the view as she mulled it over.
She was practically vibrating with fear.
"It's not Hollywood," she quietly said.
"Hollywood?" prompted the doctor.
Burlie tried to explain. "Even a movie or a TV show with actors dipped in bronzer has...has period horror. They always go for a little nasty realism, even the comedies. It's like watching a great cockroach spinning in a punchbowl." Burlie made a downward swirling motion with her finger. "But there's nothing like that here. Nothing disturbing or hurtful at all."
"Except for us."
Burlie almost laughed. "I was telling Lydia about what happened in 1918. About the flu and the mass grave. It's...it's logical that I'm dreaming about them but it's all so colorful and detailed. And nice. I've..." she shook her head. "'I've dreamed dreams that have gone through and through me like wine, and forever changed the color of my mind,' as Emily Dickinson said."
Burlie looked up at the stars. "But I can't do this. Not even on my best day. This dream goes on forever."
"Through and through me, I like that," Frankenstein said.
"I love Dickinson." Burlie turned to him. "You can sing most of her poems to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas." She went back to the subject. "Look at them. Look how great they are. Look how many there are."
The doctor obediently sat up and looked out, the bars of the window casting Film Noir shadows across his face. "A multitude," he agreed.
"What are they?"
"Figments?" Frankenstein waved a dismissive hand. "As I am a figment of an overheated and creative mind. Two of them, in fact."
"You are not our lovechild," Burlie protested. Frankenstein laughed but she didn't join in. She did another turn of the cell, her black cloak stirring the yell
ow oak leaves, her hands clenching together. "Figments," she repeated bitterly. "If it's not me it must be Fisk. It's all Fisk and I'm all dead. My family's dead."
"Eh?"
Burlie drew in a deep breath. "Fisk won't let us go whether I make it to the castle or not. He can't risk anyone going to the Sodality. He'd lose everything if they caught him."
Burlie turned back to the window. She surprised a child who was crawling up to look in. The little girl, wearing an old prairie bonnet tied under her chin, shrieked and jumped down again. Her friends laughed and waved at the prisoner as they scattered.
Burlie waved back. "God, they're all so real and I can't get out." She pulled at the immovable bars. "Fisk is too strong to fight," she said between her teeth.
A meteor appeared the sky. There was a white glow, brighter than the moonlight, almost as bright as sunlight, and the startled crowd applauded as it passed over. "Make a wish!" Burlie heard a man tell his children.
Burlie squinted at the sky. What was that? Was it a sign? Was Fisk mocking her? Witches! Vile, evil, bullying witches.
While everyone was distracted, Burlie dropped the mask and rested her forehead against the bars in baffled despair. What could she do against this level of power? Nothing. She had nothing. She could do nothing.
She was nothing.
Burlie covered her eyes with her arm.
The sharp, warm aroma of burning leaves filled the cell. It was so strong it filled her senses, close and sweet, like a gentle hand caressing her hair.
She opened her eyes. As the light of the shooting star faded she saw a man standing directly outside. He was costumed as a colonial in rusty red. Only his 'costume' looked creased, comfortable, and lived in. He had auburn hair, much longer than the 1918 norm, and it blew in the breeze. Burlie wanted to touch his smooth, clear skin.
He smiled at her.
She politely smiled back.
She smelled apples.
And her fear drained away as her world became him, only him, and her own warmest memories that shone from him.
Her memories.
Burlie saw Burlington McLauren in him and there was no nothing about her.
Burlie whispered, "You," to her dear friend. "Oh, it's you."
Images flashed through her mind of the afternoon. Old, slate gravestones, a carved hand pointing upwards, a silly plan to entertain her little sister. A kiss from the wind as the seasons changed.
She remembered other Octobers when the smell of cut grass smelled like new-mown hay. She felt the heat of other bonfires and the taste of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows melting in her mouth. Cool days without sweat, without biting bugs. She could smell her grandmother's smokehouse and the coils of spicy sausage and country hams hanging from every beam above the smoldering hickory wood. She saw her father's garden and the sun shining through the small harvest of green beans, yellow peppers, and red tomatoes. She heard the crunch of dried vines under her feet as she wandered fields of brilliant orange pumpkins to find the one, the Great Pumpkin, full of sincerity, to carve.
She remembered the little girl she used to be, immortal and strong, galloping down the sidewalks with her friends, trick or treat, without a worry in the world. Her mouth full of the taste of cider and caramel apples and candy corn.
The nights lengthening, the leaves falling in drifts of gold.
And the ghosts walking.
Burlie knew him. She'd welcomed him with open arms every year of her life.
And he knew her, of course, she was one of his. One of his own people.
He took a step forward. Listen, lovelie. No mortal on the Earth is this strong. This is not Master Iping's place nor yours. It's mine. And theirs.
He didn't say it.
It was given to her to understand it.
"It's theirs," she repeated. "Yes." She understood. And then she gasped. "Theirs!" He nodded and Burlie almost collapsed against the bars. "The...theirs...they're...they're here? They wound up here? After the flu they came...this is..." She took a deep breath. "That's amazing."
He grinned at her. Wondrous strange. The wind strengthened and the leaves swirled thick about him.
"Wait." Burlie reached for him but she caught only a golden oak leaf.
He was gone.
She stared at the leaf, bright in her hand under the lights of the carnival, and then she let it go. It whirled away into the night.
Gone? No, not gone. Not entirely. This was his time. Autumn. The fall. He was everywhere. Burlie's fingers went to her mouth, to her lips.
The jolly racket of the fair hit her again as she awoke and staggered backwards until she hit the far wall. The doctor looked out the window sharply then turned to her again. "Vas?"
"I'm all right," Burlie whispered through her fingers.
Half the ladies of the Women's Agricultural Society had a chance to take a good long look at her through the bars before Burlie finally brought her hand down.
"Doctor! This isn't Fisk's place," she said. "Or mine. It has nothing to do with either of us!"
She could hear the women whispering. The blue scarab was a big hit. "What's it made of? Sapphire?"
"Just glass," Burlie said and the whispered laughter became the real thing. "Woo!" Burlie hooted as she rushed the bars, cloak flying, and the lady farmers bolted even faster than their children had. Burlie turned quickly, grinning. "Those women are real. The kids were real. Randy and Ruddy and Anzo and Ada are real. And that's Wallace James Piggsbee in there! He's real!" Burlie got a grip before she started hopping and squealing.
She looked at Frankenstein in added happy confusion. "And you? Do you know who you are? How you got here?" she asked the mad scientist.
"Ja," he said. "I do." An odd expression appeared in his face that was halfway between smugness and wonder. "Herr Iping had a very brief thought as to who Victor Von Frankenstein is. A mad German scientist." He leaned forwards and his cot creaked. "I'm actually Swiss and French. From Geneva. But anyway. He placed me here so I would cackle like a lunatic und chase you," he said and smiled. "And I did. A little bit."
His eyes were Fisk's but the smile was his own. In Mary Shelley's book the doctor's finest hour, his only fine hour really, happened when he shamed a group of panicking arctic explorers into continuing the adventure they'd started. That was the man she was looking at now.
He'd grown.
Burlie looked at the window just in time to see a big man with popping eyes duck down. There was a loud crash as he tripped over the children's bucket and Burlie heard a chorus of giggles. "Do you know who they are?" she asked the mad scientist.
"Do you know who they are?"
"I do now." She got up and paced back and forth again. Her hands did not clench together this time. "Those poor people. We've crashed their party. Their Autumn Fete was canceled but it's back on now. Forever," she said. "No wonder they're perfect. No wonder they can do what they want, finally." She walked to Frankenstein and leaned into his space. "What will happen to you if I beat Fisk?" He didn't speak. She thought a moment and then answered her own question. "Nothing. You're too strong already. Welcome home. You're safe."
He smiled.
Burlie had the feeling he was miles ahead of her.
"Ew, it's a June bug," someone at the window said.
"It's a scarab," Burlie shot back. "I'm an Egyptian priestess. Or something."
Frankenstein laughed. He, at least, was having a marvelous time.
And so was she. The fear dropped from her like a stone. She snapped up straight and tall. "Fisk's done," Burlie spun around, her cloak swirling. "I've got him. I've got him! I think. How do I have him? How am I going to do this?"
"Do what?" Piggsbee shouted through the door. "Ya'll need to speak up in there. E-nun-ci-ate."
"I'm work-ing on it," Burlie shouted back.
"Working on what?"
"I don't know!"
A loud, long howl echoed across the town square and startled shrieks from the car
nival answered it. It was the classic, cinematic howl of a werewolf, the AR! AR! AROOOOO! Burlie'd heard in almost every old horror film she'd seen.
"Fuzzy's back!" a man shouted.
"Aw, hell," said Piggsbee and Burlie heard the outside door open and shut. She heard the, ah, the residents of the town reacting. The ragtime fizzled out. Footsteps went pelting past the jail. Five long minutes ticked down while the prisoners listened.
Finally, "Did you find it?" Burlie heard a woman ask.
"It got away from me. But it's around here somewhere, I know that much."
Another howl sounded much closer. Much, much closer. Someone cursed. Burlie could feel goosepimples running down her skin. The howl rose again and vibrated through the air. It was no sound effect now and it was entirely too close for the contempt of familiarity. Burlie stared at the window. Oh, please, she begged the universe. Don't have something toothy and awful pop up. But it was after her. They all were.
A crowd went pelting past. Burlie heard a sound like claws scrabbling over her head. "He's on the roof!" She ducked to a crouch and covered her head. To her enormous relief, the sounds stopped.
From outside came, "Look out!"
"There he goes!"
"What is that thing?" someone shouted. "It looks like a deformed dogman."
"Naw, it's a man in a mask."
"Where?"
"Over there! Running on his toes."
"Get him!"
"You get him. He's a big feller."
"Well, we will!"
"Be careful," Burlie called as she rushed the bars.
"Don't worry, dear!" the pop-eyed man called back as he ran past at the head of a group of men, women, and children. "We'll get him! Get him! Get him!"
The pursuit disappeared down the street. There was a long, quiet pause from the Fete and then the band started up again. The piano and the banjo went plunka, plunka, plunka and there was a rimshot from a drum. "Oh, for godssakes." Burlie relaxed. Relaxed and knew, absolutely knew, that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could hurt these people.
"And Fisk doesn't know! He doesn't know." Plunka, plunka, plunka! Burlie danced around the cell with wild leaps and skips, her cloak tangling around her, and the mad scientist enjoyed the show.
She wasn't even breathing hard when she stopped and thought some more. "How do I do this? I have to get out of jail. And get to my family. And beat Fisk. And get us out of here. And get to my phone to call the Smith Sodality. Aagh," she groaned. "How?"
She began to pace again, the fear and the worry seeping back into her soul. "How do I do this?"
To her surprise, Dr. Frankenstein stood and stopped her. He put a warm hand on each side of her head and held her still as he looked her in the eyes. "Put aside your fears and harken to me." Burlie slowly nodded. "As I am strong and beyond harm, as you assert, you must recognize in your heart that so, too, are you. So, too, are the ones you cherish." He took his hands away and indicated this bizarre little town. "These many good, valiant souls triumphed in the end. No matter the outcome of your struggle with the wretch, no matter if thy loved ones perish and you with them, you shall all arrive in a land of Light, together, while Fisk Iping, alone, must gnaw his own bones in the Dark. Forever."
Burlie unraveled his tortured words and found comfort. The doctor spoke truth. Out the window was the proof, riding around and cheering on a merry carousel. "Yes," she said. "You're right."
"But even though nothing matters in the end I'm still going to find a way to kick Fisk's ass," Burlie said and her face went red as her commitment churned through evey inch of her. She felt...she felt! She felt like she could punch a hole in the stone. It felt good. She'd forgotten how good feeling good felt.
The doctor's manner changed, became a bit more concise and modern but he still smiled. "You'll win, Burlington. You have a wonderful brain. And I know from brains."
Burlie laughed. She liked him, she really did.
She stood on her toes and kissed him. His lips were dry and warm and she felt his surprise. Surprise that didn't stop him from returning the compliment, as t'were.
Aha! her body shouted. Keep on. Keep on feeling good. Burlie broke away and stepped back instead, smiling shyly.
"Thank you," she said. The doctor nodded, his hands clamped behind his back.
"I saw that," a woman squawked through the food slot and Burlie almost hit the ceiling. "I saw what you did! Sheriff, they're embracing!"
Fury balled Burlie's hands into fists. If she had the power whoever was out there would be struggling with a blazing ball of flame right exactly now.
"Open this up. Quickly." There was the jingling of a heavy set of keys. "What were you thinking putting them into the same cell? No chaperone? With her dressed like that?" the shrill voice echoed around the jail. Piggsbee muttered something. "I know there's only one cell, that's not the point!" There was a loud metallic creak and the door swung wide. A dumpy little harridan right out of central casting stood in the doorway, the white feathers on her hat bobbing ferociously. "Young lady, what are..."
"I don't have time for you." Burlie reached out and snatched Queen Victoria inside. Burlie was strong. Especially in this place.
"How dare...ack!"
Burlie gave her an extra shove and the woman collapsed on the bunk. Her great hat was crushed against the wall.
"Whoa, now!" Piggsbee sprang in after and took hold of Burlie's arm. She executed the one martial arts move she knew, a simple flip, learned from her father. He landed on, well, it was probably the great Maxima Batt. She let out a muffled shriek.
On top of them both flopped Dr. Frankenstein. "Go!" He waved Burlie away and she went, fast. She slammed the heavy door behind her and turned the key. She pulled it out and gripped the jangling ring in her fist. "Ha!"
To Piggsbee's credit he'd almost reached the other side of the cell even with the doctor on his back. "Are you crazy? Wait!"
"I'm sorry but I need to get to the castle," Burlie shouted through the slot.
"You need to...get off!" There was a thud and a Swiss curse. "Burlington! You need to come back in here," Piggsbee said. "These things are after you, remember?"
"The doctor turned out to be friendly," Burlie said. Which was very true. "He's not the danger the witch made him to be, especially in this place. Maybe the others..."
Maxima spoke up and Burlie could hear her alarm. "What witch? Where? And what do you mean, in this place?"
Burlie turned away. "You know what I mean."
There was a BANG! and the outside door shuddered. Burlie shrieked and hit the floor. Another pounding shook the jail. The door didn't give an inch but the noise was terrific. Why was it locked? Oh, because Fuzzy was out there. Fuzzy and...
A massively deep and extremely bitter voice began to boom. "Frankenstein! Father! By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief I feel, I swear, and by thee, O Night, and the spirits which preside over thee, to pursue you, demon, who caused my misery, until you or I shall perish in mortal conflict!"
"Whut? Piggsbee said.
"GET OUT HERE, YOU BASTARD!" the voice roared.
"Why me?" groaned the good doctor and the door shuddered again.
Burlie crawled to the food slot. "It's my fault," she apologized to her prisoners. "I read the book."
Burlie heard a rustle of expensive fabric as Madame Batt approached. "Miss Burlington, is it? Go out and dance the Dance of the Seven Veils for the thing. Perhaps he'll surrender."
Victorian hag. "There is nothing wrong with my costume," Burlie answered coldly. She turned her back on the cell door and crept to the nearest window, also barred. "I have to get out," she muttered.
She looked out just as the Monster looked in. "VENGEANCE!"
When Burlie stopped screaming she realized she'd thrown the keys at his head. The Monster blinked at her with his dead eyes. One cloudy green. One filmy blue. He looked down. The keys were right bene
ath the window on the hard, grey floor. He drew back, then reached a long arm inside. His blackened, cracked fingernails could just barely reach them and Burlie heard the metallic scratch as they slid along the stone.
"No!" Burlie shot forward and wrenched them away. He growled and swung at her. She ducked and flattened herself against the wall again. "Stop that!" She shook the keys at him as if she were speaking through them.
His dull eyes seemed to clear and he focused on her. "Thou! Who art thou to thwart my purpose on this ebon night of..."
"Zip it," Burlie demanded, more harshly than she meant to but her heart was still trying to escape her ribcage. The Monster was silent, miracle of miracles, and she breathed in deeply as she slowly straightened. "You know better than that," she said, recognizing full well that she wouldn't be so brave if there wasn't a thick rock wall between them. He didn't look like the Boris Karloff trinket that Fisk had handled. He was exactly as described in the book: eight feet tall, grey shark skin, long black hair, perfectly white teeth. He was clothed in heavy layers of rags and burlap.
Of course he looked that way here. Those who'd read the book outnumbered those who'd seen the movie by a couple thousand to one. And Burlie had only seen it once. Boris's performance had made her cry.
"I will not be halted," the Monster said.
"You can't hurt him or anyone in this place and you know it."
"I...?"
"And why would you even try?" Burlie said. "Neither of you even existed until recently. You're both blameless." How much time was going by? It felt like days. "Use your brain, I know you have one. You have to stop."
The Monster stared at her. She waited for his canonical intelligence to kick in. It soon did. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked.
Burlie was just able to not slap his blackened lips off. She also didn't clap a hand to her own forehead in despair. "I have to go," she finally said. "I can't believe this is happening."
"Whither are you bound?"
"The castle. There's a witch up there I need to deal with."
"Take me with you," he said. Burlie was more surprised by the directness than the request itself. The power of her harmless costume? Who cared? How else could she get past him?
She looked him in the eyes. "Call a truce with the doctor and I'll take you all with me."
He squirmed a bit but reason won out again. "Done."
Burlie had a thought and she felt a little guilty. "Er. Also, please, keep the sheriff away from me. The redhead with the badge. He means well but I can't go back into the cell."
"Fire, ice, or earthquake shall not hinder thee. I do swear it."
"Good, thank you." Burlie held up the keys. "We'll meet you at the door."