The Death Catchers (23 page)

 

A Metaphor Before Dying

The pain I felt as I lay dying on the grass next to Deadman's Drop is hard to put into words. It felt like someone was trying to force my brain through a really sharp cheese grater. I'd never experienced anything like it. I lay there, paralyzed by the banshee's scream, as I watched Vivienne le Mort float away, down the hill. She was headed to the cannery, to make sure Drake's demise went according to plan.

I twisted my body, writhing in the wet grass.

Bizzy groaned. Dragging myself with my arms toward her and the banshee, I rose to my knees, then to my feet. The earth seemed to be wobbling with me, like I was straddling a teeter-totter. I could barely keep my balance. Concentrating, I lunged at the ground where I thought I saw a metallic gleam. There, among the trash, lay a crumpled remnant from Bizzy's hot chocolate preparation. Dizzily, I smoothed the discarded scrap and held the shiny sheet of aluminum foil in front of the wailing banshee's face.

Whoosh.
The blast of sand ripped right through the shiny square, hitting my face, knocking me over.

It had worked.

Without waiting to catch my breath, I stumbled to Bizzy.

She was awake now, no longer under the spell of Vivienne le Mort. Bizzy grimaced in pain.

“Sweet Pea,” she said. She tried to get up, but faltered.

“Hold on,” I said, lifting her frail body back into the chair.

“Where'd she go?” Bizzy asked, confused. She put her arm at the side of her wheelchair and came up with a handful of sand. “A banshee? For me? How did you …”

“I used the aluminum foil. I held it up and the banshee saw her reflection in it.”

“My oh my. Those banshees'll never learn not to mess with a Mortimer!”

“Vivienne went down the hill,” I said, “after Drake.”

Bizzy became agitated as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. “There's no time to lose! We've got to go after 'em!”

Without any delay, I began pushing Bizzy down the hill. My legs felt like Jell-O and my head still pounded from the banshee's wail. Bizzy noticed two figures in the distance and commanded me to stop. Under a canopy of cedar trees at the base of the hill, I spotted the unmistakable black robe of Vivienne le Mort. Facing her, a few feet off, was a woman in a white robe.

We rushed forward and hid in some bushes only a few yards from the two women.

“It's Agatha the Enchantress!” I whispered to Bizzy upon recognizing the woman in white. We were close enough to overhear their heated conversation.

“Please get out of my way, dear sister.” Vivienne le Mort's voice dripped with sarcasm as she addressed Agatha. “I must go ensure the boy's thread is cut in fulfillment of your prophecy.”

“Have you even considered the possibility that by cutting Lancelot's thread before his time,
you
caused my prophecy about the Last Descendant?” Agatha asked.

“And what of Morgan's wrongs? It was
she
who caused the rift. I am only following the truce you agreed to, Agatha,” Vivienne said, scowling.

“Morgan's mistake was born out of love. But yours was one spawned by hatred and contempt. That makes all the difference. Look at what you've become, Vivienne, I beg of you. You were once beautiful, but this obsession with Doomsday has transformed you into a ghoul!”

“I will have to take comfort in the fact that I do not look as bad as the poor girl and her grandmother did when left to die at the hands of the screaming banshee!” Vivienne le Mort cackled.

“I beg your pardon!” Bizzy said, leaving our concealment and wheeling herself between the sisters. “I don't take too kindly to people reportin' my passin' before it happens … I may be gettin' up there, but I ain't dead yet!”

Agatha turned toward Bizzy and at the same time spotted me standing in the bushes. I detected the slightest smile forming on her face. It was obvious that Vivienne le Mort was shocked to see us.

Agatha gazed intensely at me. Our eyes connected and I could hear her voice in my head.

“
Go after the boy
,” Agatha's voice echoed as I stared back at her. Her lips didn't move. “
I will handle this.
”

“How did you, a feeble old woman …,” Vivienne said, almost growling. Frenzied, she descended on Bizzy, with her hands out as if she was going to strangle her.

Agatha raised both of her arms in response. “It is time to reset fate!” White lightning shot from Agatha's palms, hitting Vivienne and knocking her off her feet backward, away from Bizzy. Bizzy wheeled out of the way. Vivienne sprung to her feet. She raised her hands at Agatha, snarling as black smoke–colored beams projected from her hands. The two Ladies of the Lake had their hands raised, their faces studied with concentration, as bolts of light continued to shoot from their palms.

The beams met halfway between them in one big bundle of gray light, rising up into the sky. It was almost as if a huge transformer was blowing up, splattering the Crabapple sky with bright light.

Bizzy wheeled toward me, over the loud popping of the colliding currents.

“Go, Sweet Pea!” she screamed. “Run like the wind!”

Knowing I didn't have a moment to lose, I raced down the hill of Cedar Tree Park to Delores Avenue, thinking of Drake the whole time, wondering if I was already too late.

 

Legends, Old and New

I understand that legends and myths teach us important lessons or explain phenomena in the world that are hard to fathom, Mrs. Tweedy, but now, I wonder how many legends are actually true.

At least one of them is.

I'd heard several Crabapple urban legends about the kids who used to hang out in the storm drains that run underneath the town. There were stories that a gang of high school kids graffitied all eight miles of them. Other rumors suggested that a group of boys would take baseball bats and go “batting,” which involved shining a bright light into the cavernous concrete pipes and swinging away in the hopes of connecting with a bat flying out of the dark tunnels.

At the storm drain entrance I hopped the barrier fence, landing in an area about eight feet below ground level, surrounded by concrete on three sides. I was in the open-air part of the storm drain, standing in front of the tunnel where the giant pipes descended completely underground. I couldn't see very far into the drain, but it was similar to an enormous concrete tube. The bottom was mossy and water slicked.

I stood there, on the fringe of total darkness, shaking with fear. I wasn't sure if I had any adrenaline left. Turning on my headlamp, I took a deep breath. I started with an all-out sprint. The beam of light from the headlamp bounced off the walls in front of me. A scurrying rat ran off into the darkness, soon joined by two more. I could've sworn they were crawling up my spine with their little clawed feet. Still I kept running. The spray-painted letters of legend appeared on some walls, though I didn't stop in one place long enough to see what they depicted. Instead, I kept running.

I ran and ran and ran, farther and farther into the black hole ahead of my small beam of light. I looked down at the compass. I was still headed north. Then I checked my left hand. Drake's name was getting brighter. It was dark. It was cold and damp. And it smelled like dead animals.

Suddenly up ahead, a concrete wall loomed in front of me, turning the passage hard to the right. I skidded to a stop in front of it.

Just then, I heard a bone-chilling screech. I turned around. A bat was flying straight toward me, flapping like a demon. I screamed. My yelp echoed off one concrete wall and then the other, over and over again. I waved my arms and fell over, back into a puddle of rank, reeking water. The bat passed and I got up and bolted in another direction. I didn't think about which way I should go. I lost track of my location in the darkness. For a moment, I thought I would die right there in the storm drain. Were the walls closing in? With only my small ray of light to guide me, I couldn't really tell. I was damp with sweat and puddle water, but I didn't stop running. I headed deeper into the storm drain network.

After a few more minutes, I slowed down. There was another concrete wall ahead, which meant another turn. The compass indicated I was headed west. I stood in front of the wall and turned left. I felt Drake's name tingle on my hand and knew I was headed in the right direction.

I made the critical mistake of looking back into the darkness. I'd come a long way by now, which meant it would be a long way back if I ever wanted to see daylight again. I wasn't sure I even remembered the way back. I forced myself to keep going. I swallowed my nausea and pounded ahead, splashing more scummy water on my jeans with each step.

Finally, I reached another bend. I felt as if I'd traveled several miles. I took a deep breath, scanning the walls with the light of my headlamp. There it was—a rusty ladder hinged to the concrete wall. Drake's name glowed in the darkness as brightly as if he were in the next room.

I looked up.

The ladder led directly up to a grate. It was partially pushed aside, revealing an opening big enough to crawl through. I listened, hoping to hear sounds of Bizzy yelling at Drake to get out of the cannery. I smelled the faint odor of natural gas.

Without hesitating, I climbed the ladder, one rung at a time. It was corroded and felt gritty on my hands. I reached the top. The grate was directly above me.

I pulled myself up through the small opening. When the top of my body was halfway into the cannery, I realized my hips weren't going to fit through the opening. Damon and Randy must have slid the grate back when they left. The odor of gas was sharper now that I was partially inside.

I grunted, trying to move the grate so I could squeeze through.

“Hello?”

It was Drake's voice, coming from the far side of the room. “Drake, don't move!” I screamed. I was stuck. My legs dangled below, still in the storm drain.

“Drake, you can't move!” I wiggled and struggled but I couldn't free myself. “Don't move! There's a gas leak!” I screamed, suddenly realizing that Drake, with his chlorine-impaired sense of smell, had no clue what danger he was in. I heaved the entire weight of my body against the grate. I felt a sharp poke as the metal edge of the grate shoved into my ribs. But ever so slightly, the grate had slid to the side.

“Lizzy?” Drake sounded very confused. “Lizzy? Is that you?”

“Please don't move, Drake,” I cried.

I heaved again against the iron. I felt another piercing jab and cried out in pain. But I could feel it move again. Just an inch. But it was enough. I began to struggle through.

“Hold up, Lizzy!” I heard Drake say. “Let me make some more light so that you're not stumbling through the dark.”

“Don't do that!” My fleece caught on one of the grate's sharp edges. But I didn't care if it ripped apart entirely. I took a deep breath and pushed off the top rung of the ladder. Exploding like a rocket out of the storm drain, I clanged into the giant metal machine above the opening. Then I ran. Straight for Drake's voice coming from the distant corner. Blind with fear.

The light from my headlamp was growing dimmer now, but as I got closer I could make out Drake's form hunched in the corner, right next to the makeshift tent. I didn't take my eyes off him. I felt as if I were running in slow motion, little by little getting closer. I could hear each one of my footsteps pound in my head.

When I was near him, I jumped up. I flew through the air, spreading out my arms.

I crashed into the tent, tearing through the old ratty blankets, causing the wood beams to collapse. I plowed through it and onto Drake. My chest collided with his back, my head bumped into his head, my legs slammed into his legs. He groaned under me. I was squarely on top of him. I squeezed him with my arms, as hard as I could. We were a tangle of clothing, wooden beams, and tent fabric.

I looked down at his hands, spread out in front of him. He was holding his grandfather's Zippo lighter with the black crackle finish. I grabbed it.

“What
is wrong
with you?” Drake asked from beneath me, his voice a mixture of pain and confusion.

Every bone in my body ached. Wearing half a torn fleece, with blood soaking through my shirt from the grate, I held Drake tightly in my arms. I didn't let go. For a few moments, he let me hold him. He was absolutely still. I closed my eyes, and for the briefest second, I imagined that he wanted to be like this with me, that I hadn't just run like a maniac and tackled him like I was a defensive end and he was a running back trying to reach the end zone from the five-yard line. The strong smell of gas made me feel dizzy.

My left hand throbbed from the impact. I flipped it over. There was nothing there. Drake's name was nowhere to be found.

I wondered if I'd ever be able to explain to him how I'd known he was in mortal danger. At that moment, I didn't care.

Vivienne le Mort had failed. I hadn't.

Drake was safe.

According to Bizzy, Agatha the Enchantress battled Vivienne le Mort just long enough to distract her so I could save Drake. Bizzy said a thick gray cloud filled the park and then the two sisters were gone. Agatha's white light had attracted spectators to the area.

After I disentangled myself from Drake, I tried to explain what I was doing at the cannery.

The one thing I've learned about gathering information about someone is that it makes it a whole lot easier to lie to that person. I told Drake I woke up and realized he might be using the cannery as his place to paint. Bizzy had told me over and over again about the danger of gas leaks after earthquakes, so it wasn't difficult to convince her that we should check and make sure no one was at the cannery. I said it was a “premonition.” Fortunately, the light had been so dim, he hadn't seen me explode out of the storm drain. He thought I jumped in through a window.

Once Drake and I climbed out through the back window of the cannery, my adrenaline was used up and I realized I was having trouble breathing. Bizzy called the gas company to report the leak. She informed us that Damon and Randy had been taken into custody. Though Bizzy thought Drake should go to the hospital to make sure the blow he'd been dealt hadn't done serious damage, Drake insisted he was fine. Bizzy informed Drake that head trauma was a lot more threatening than most people realized, quoted some scary fatality statistics, and made Drake promise that if he had any symptoms, like blurred vision, he would go to the doctor. We rode silently in the Roadmaster to Drake's house, dropped him off, and then Bizzy took me to the hospital. Bizzy told the emergency room nurses that I'd hurt myself prying open the cannery window after becoming convinced that there might be a gas leak there which put the citizens of Crabapple at risk. Of course, I knew my struggle getting through the grate from the sewer was to blame for most of my injuries.

The nurses bought the story, hook, line, and sinker. So did Dad. But Mom was a tough sell. Especially after the doctor told her that it was “quite unusual for a young person to break two ribs from a fall like that.” I didn't even get a brace or a splint. The doctor said I just had to rest and take Advil for the pain. Dad and Mom didn't argue when I told them I didn't want to go back to school that afternoon. I skipped the rest of the day.

The newspaper headline the next morning was very different from the one I'd seen as my death-specter. It read:

MORTIMERS SMELL GAS LEAK, PREVENT CATASTROPHE

The article went on to talk about how Bizzy and I, out for an early morning walk after the earthquake, had noticed a smell coming from the cannery and called the gas company.

“Those folks sure did their part as good citizens today,” the gas company man said in the article. “If someone had so much as lit a match near that place, I think half of Crabapple might have gone up in flames.” The article also mentioned that Beatrice Mildred Mortimer was no stranger to heroics. In addition to saving a friend from drowning a few years back, she'd also prevented a house from burning down two years ago by wandering in with an extinguisher because she had smelled smoke from a block away. It went on to recount her recent rescue of Jodi Sanchez from the path of a speeding car.

The reporter had asked Bizzy if she felt that she had heroic qualities. “Nah,” Bizzy was quoted at the end of the article. “Plain and simple, some folks just got more luck than sense. And that's one of Bizzy's pearls, free a' charge.”

Mom read the whole article out loud at the breakfast table. She eyed Bizzy and me suspiciously, especially in light of my bizarre trip to the hospital. Another article reported on a thwarted burglary of Miss Mora's Market by Sheriff Schmidt. In the paper, he said that he'd received an “anonymous tip.”

“Your first battle wounds,” Bizzy said, looking years younger, after we were finally alone. “I'm proud a' you, Lizzy. You're a full-blown hedgehog!” If anyone else in the world had called me a hedgehog, I would've been very insulted. Coming from Bizzy, though, I knew it was her greatest compliment.

Just then, tinted fog seeped in from the open window of Bizzy's room. In a matter of moments, the room filled with yellow-and-red haze. The colored fog began to clear and, sure enough, Fial and Morgan le Faye appeared in Bizzy's room.

Fial wasted no time. She wrapped me up in her cold arms and yellow robes. “You are the most precious girl! So brave for someone so young!”

I thought she might break another of my ribs. As I looked over her shoulder, I saw Bizzy smiling at the two of us. After Fial released me, she sat in a chair by the window. The four of us stared at one another. The silence lasted more than a minute.

“So Drake is safe now? Does this mean the world will … go on?” I asked.

“Yes. When the time comes, he will be called to free Merlin and lead the Round Table. No doubt, you will also be right by his side as—”

“That is quite enough, Fial,” Morgan said with a renewed sternness. “The one thing all of this should have taught us is that we cannot be certain about what the future holds. Elizabeth already knows too much of her destiny as it is.”

From where I sat, I felt as if I knew nothing of what was in store for me. Other than that Drake was going to help find Merlin and free the cursed sorcerer to defeat Vivienne le Mort before she made the world crumble, I didn't know anything.

“You'll have to excuse Fial,” Morgan le Faye said, addressing me, “she gets quite carried away.” Fial and Morgan le Faye kept gazing at me. Finally, Bizzy spoke.

“We're honored by the visit 'n' all,” she said, “but what brings you ladies back to Crabapple?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Morgan said, growing embarrassed. “We, you see, procured Agatha's permission, to come here to …”

“What Morgie's
trying
to say,” Fial said, rolling her eyes at her sister, “is that we wanted to properly thank you two. The boy is alive and though the world does not know it, every mortal owes a large debt to you.”

“Such is the way of fate,” Morgan le Faye added matter-of-factly. “Sometimes the bravest acts are the least recognized. We are sorry your courage cannot be more widely celebrated.”