Present: A helicopter above the River
“E veryone get a gun,” Constance orders the Mushroomers. I am skeptical about this move, as I don’t find them responsible enough to do so. But I pass. At least Constance moves faster than I do.
The look on their faces is both appalling and laughable. Some have the look of a child with their new toy gun. Happy to shoot like in any superhero movie. Kill the bad guys and win the girl back.
But some are puzzled as to why they should hold guns. Aren’t they the good guys? If movies taught us for years that the good guys win, why do they have to end up killing for freedom?
“Do you know how to drive this?” Tom taunts the chauffeur.
“Just got my license yesterday,” the Pillar’s chauffeur winks back at Tom.
“So we’re your first flight?” Tom shrieks.
“Let’s pray it’s not your last, Mr. Truckle,” the chauffeur takes a substantial dip to avoid some kind of missile.
“Wow!” the Mushroomers love a rollercoaster ride.
“OK. OK,” Tom screams. “Please don’t kill us.”
“It’s not my intention, trust me,” the chauffeur says. “But my late master, Sir Carter Pillar, used to tell me ‘shit happens’ whether you like it or not.’”
Constance is all giggles and wide-eyed at how the chauffeur messes with Truckle.
“Sir Carter Pillar?” I ask.
“He was friends with Sir Elton John, wasn’t he? I am sure he was going to be a Sir if he lived long enough.”
“So you’re sure he died?” Constance asks.
“Well, Sir Carter Pillar is dead. But then again he does die often, so it’s not a new thing.”
I am not sure what the chauffeur implies, or whether he knows more about the Pillar than we do.
Before I ask, Tom interrupts. “I need a phone!”
“Shut up!” Constance says. “Who do you want to call, your mum?”
“My children. They are worried about me.”
“Later, Tom,” I interfere, as I pick up a gun and sit next to the chauffeur. “We all need to call our loved ones, but later.”
“Loved ones?” he mocks me. “You have nobody.”
His words cut like a knife. I resist looking back and punching him in the face.
“Now that the Pillar is gone,” he continues.
I look at the chauffeur, neglecting Tom. “So, we have a plan to get out of here?”
“I am waiting for your orders, Boss,” he says.
I hate how everyone calls me boss now. “Just get us away from the river.”
“I am trying, Boss.”
“We need to get the Mushroomers to somewhere safe. There is a warehouse in the East. I’ll show you the way once you take off. It’s safe.”
“How do you know it’s safe, Boss?” the chauffeur asks.
“It’s a warehouse for roses and such. I doubt anyone is interested in it now.”
“Good plan, Boss. And then?”
“Normally I’d say we should take the March to a doctor, but it’s not safe. Do any of you Mushroomers have medical expertise?” I tilt my head back.
“I have, Boss!” A Mushroomer with a gun says. “I have had my head mushed in that room forever. That’s medical expertise.”
The other Mushroomers laugh. Constance doesn’t but has swallowed it inside. Tom laughs even louder. He laughs, looking at me.
“It’s a wild bunch, Boss,” the chauffeur looks my way empathetically. “I remember the Pillar saying that sometimes he wanted to save the Mushroomers, and sometimes he wanted to kill them because they were stupid.”
“Stop telling her about the Pillar,” Tom says. “She is alone now. Useless. Weak.”
I grip my gun tighter, staring ahead. If I am going to kill anyone today, it could be Tom.
And though I try to avoid him, he pushes harder and says, “She has nobody, not even her imaginary lover, Jack.”
This is when I can’t take it. I swivel, ready to point my gun at his skull. But then something strange happens. Someone says something in the helicopter. A voice I hadn’t heard for a while. Someone who I have really, really missed.
“I wouldn’t say that, Tom,” the voice says.
The voice has its hands rested on Tom’s shoulder, squeezing painfully.
The voice has a chest I once knew.
I raise my head.
The voice has a face.
It smiles at me.
The face is splotched with blood and is wounded under the lips and near the eyes. Two diagonal cuts.
“I may be imaginary,” the voice says. “But I haven’t left.”
The voice has eyes. Beautiful eyes. They dawn upon me. Gentle and caring and full of hope.
It’s Jack.