The darkness was absolute around the Walker family. The air conditioning must have been out of order for quite some time, because the oppressive humidity of the day had remained, leaving the tunnel hot and sticky. When the train had halted in the blackness, Charlie had refused to react. He didn’t lift his head; he simply sat in his seat—staring into the empty void above his head—and waited for the ride to commence.
Meghan’s cries had almost become too much to bear, Charlie could still hear them over the loud, echoing racket of the roller coaster cars whizzing past unseen. He nearly felt like sobbing himself as whatever his wife was dealing with was beyond his power to fix; he’d never known her like this before. After a few more moments of hysterical sobbing, Meghan began to calm down; her breathing resuming a more natural rhythm until Charlie could no longer hear her at all. Violet and Katie were silent as well and had not reacted to the train’s sudden halt. Charlie wasn’t surprised by their silence, though. The girls had never been afraid of the dark. They’d been on the PeopleMover in years past when the train had stopped in this exact tunnel; Charlie attributed their lack of reaction to this fact.
After what seemed like hours, but was no more than two or three minutes, the train began its steady forward motion once more through the inky blackness. Charlie closed his eyes, trying to become enraptured again by the sounds and smells of one of his favorite attractions. Serenity began to wash over him for a while, and he enjoyed the cool breeze that he felt as the train exited the tunnel into the night. Charlie decided that now would be as good a time as any to confront Meghan and finally find out what had been bothering her.
Upon opening his eyes, Charlie nearly fainted from an intense attack of vertigo.
Meghan and the girls were no longer seated across from him. They had been just feet from him mere minutes ago: Meghan sobbing, Violet and Katie smiling despite their mother’s dark mood. Never had something so heavily disoriented the detective as much as the abrupt vanishing of his entire family.
Frantically, Charlie spun around to search the other cars, irrationally hoping that this was all just some horrible joke and his girls would be sitting a few cars away smiling and giggling at him. He even went so far as to stand up, just to make sure they weren’t ducking down anywhere. His family had simply ceased to exist. It was impossible. It was unthinkable. And it was happening. One minute the loves of his life were sitting in front of him, the next they were gone.
And in their place sat a manila envelope.
Noticing the parcel, Charlie lunged forward and snapped it up, quickly pulling out his phone to use the glow of the screen to illuminate the front of the small envelope. There was something printed across the front in dark black lettering. He shook his head and frantically tried to wipe away the pooling tears, some pattering onto the envelope. When he finally regained his eyesight, he read two simple words:
Open Me.
Carefully opening the envelope, he removed the small piece of paper from inside and read it several times. The letter read:
Detective Walker. When your journey on the PeopleMover is complete, you will calmly stand, exit the ride and dispose of this envelope, its contents and your cellular phone, using the trash receptacle near bottom of the moving walkway. Next, you will make your way to the Carousel of Progress and, once inside, you will seat yourself in the back row. You will notice a division between the two seats in the center of the row. It is in the left of these two seats that you will sit. During the show, you will be provided further instructions. Failure to comply with these instructions will result in the grotesque disfigurement of one or more of your beautiful angels.
The terrible letter was unsigned. The plainness of the entire package rendered Charlie’s detection skills useless, since the Spartan offering was so barebones that there was nothing which could be used to identify its author. Though not enough to act on, from this purposeful display of neatness and carefulness, Charlie was able to deduce that his adversary was extremely careful. This unknown enemy knew he was dealing with a top-notch detective, so Charlie was certain that all the angles had been covered. Approaching the end of the ride, Charlie knew he had no choice but to comply in the hope that he may be able to offer this person whatever they wanted in exchange for his family.
Charlie did as he was instructed and disposed of the items after exiting the ride. He knew better than to alert a Cast Member or—worse—a security officer. Charlie’s hostage negotiation training had made it abundantly clear that, until the situation could be fully defined, anything but absolute compliance with the captor’s wishes would lead to casualties. He knew better than to rebel and it was clear that his adversary had known this as well since there was no specific instruction to not involve outside sources.
Charlie now had a clearer picture of the entity with which he had become entangled. This person was careful, and also observant. He made dangerous assumptions on Charlie’s behalf, which only told Charlie that this person knew him extremely well. He was unconvinced that it was a person that he had known personally, but it was certainly someone who had observed and studied him for some time. This wasn’t the average street criminal with whom he had dealt, so Charlie chose to err on the side of caution and play the game exactly as it was presented to him.
In his professional cases, Charlie had never taken risks that would have endangered the lives of anyone but himself. This creed held especially strong in this case—when his family’s lives were those in danger. That being said, an unfamiliar rage began to boil beneath the detective’s exterior surface of stoic calm. While on his way to the Carousel of Progress, he imagined in the things he would do to this monster if given the chance. The thoughts he had were intense and graphic, not those of a calm and intelligent homicide detective. These more closely resembled the unchecked emotions of the criminals he had spent his career hunting. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down until he was able to think clearly.
Charlie had made all possible deductions about this person that could be made, and he had no choice but to press on and gather more information. So far, he had no idea what this person even wanted. He could think of no clear motive, therefore he forced himself not to theorize before gaining as much information as he possibly could.
Charlie was still performing his skewed form of Zen meditation as he reached the Carousel of Progress. The Cast Member at the entrance removed the chain and opened the doors.
“Made it just in time, sir,” the Cast Member informed him, with a heavy Latin American accent. “Looks like you’re the only person here.”
“You can skip the safety spiel,” Charlie blurted, more forcefully than he’d intended. In an attempt to recover, he told the man, “I mean...I’ve been here a billion times and could recite it by heart.”
“Rules are rules, sir,” said the Cast Member sternly, following him into the auditorium.
Charlie quickly located the seat in which he’d been instructed to sit, and made himself comfortable as the other man began to work the PA system. Charlie did recite the entire spiel under his breath, and sighed with relief as the man finally exited the theater and the lights began to dim.
The welcoming and familiar dialogue began to play from the speakers, but Charlie was far too distracted to notice. He simply sat where he was told and waited for the instructions that he was promised. There’s nobody in here, he thought. How the hell are they going to give me instructions?
Charlie waited through the entire introduction, listening to the cheerful song that he loved so much mock him as the auditorium shifted and he was rotated along to the first scene in the show. There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow, my ass, he thought. When the auditorium eased to a stop, and the voice of Jean Shepherd began to speak about life in America around the turn of the century, Charlie ignored the Audio-Animatronic and began to worry. He’d been here long enough; why hadn’t they contacted him? He began to think that he’d been sent into this twenty-minute show simply to keep him occupied until his family’s captor could make a clean getaway. Charlie shortly dismissed that thought since his enemy was clearly looking to gain something. Whatever it was, it had to be something within Charlie’s power to provide. Had the object been his family all along, there would have been no note and he’d never have heard from his family or their captor again. No, the instructions would come. They had to.
The scene was coming to a close, and Charlie had grown more impatient. As the theater rotated, moving its sole attendant to the next section, Charlie was gripping the armrests of his seat so tightly that he felt and heard his knuckles pop. Why were these people playing these games with him? How much longer did they plan to drag this nonsense out? Charlie felt himself losing control but forced himself to swallow his emotions and remain calm. Logic had always prevailed over emotions; this case would be no different.
On stage, John—the Audio-Animatronic father—was talking about Lindbergh’s proposed flight across the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hitting “that old horsehide” and jazz music being “the cat’s meow.” Charlie was just about to stand up and walk out the emergency exit when—just after Schwartz’s car horn honked from outside the window—he heard his name called. At first, he thought he may have heard wrong, but when John didn’t tell the audience about the electric starter on his new Essex, Charlie knew something was different—something was wrong. Charlie stood and looked to the stage only to find John looking directly at him, waving his Niagara Falls fan. Rover’s head returned to a resting position but John remained silent.
At this point, John should be telling him about their new ability to travel from New York to Los Angeles in only three days, which usually elicits a round of laughter from the audience, but John remained silent. There was no movement aside from the waving of the paper fan.
“What the hell is going on?” Charlie asked aloud, shaking his head slowly and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t losing his mind.
“Why, nothing more than progress, detective!” answered John, the gleeful smile permanently plastered on his robotic face.
Stunned, Charlie locked his vision onto the mechanical humanoid.
“Did you just speak to me?” he asked feeling half crazed, wondering if he was hallucinating.
“Of course! You’re the only one here, Charlie,” replied John cheerfully, still waving his fan.
Charlie was dumbfounded. Clearly, whoever was playing this game had overridden the show’s recorded dialogue and was listening to him through microphones planted somewhere, but how in the hell did he get that voice to sound just like Jean Shepherd?—it was uncanny, impossibly close. Charlie began to wonder what kind of person he was dealing with; this must have taken an unspeakable amount of resources to achieve.
“Where’s my family?” Charlie asked.
“Safe and currently unharmed,” said John, in a crueler tone, displaying none of the character’s jovial, optimistic charm. “And that is all I can say—for now.”
“What do I do next?”
“You sit down.”
“Sit down?” Charlie asked, incredulously.
“Yes, Charlie. Sit down and enjoy the show.”
Confused, Charlie sat down and within a few seconds, John was resuming his usual narrative. The Fourth of July scene finished as planned, then moved through the Halloween scene without interruption. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh as the Christmas scene began. He’d never thought that one of his favorite attractions could depress him, but it was doing a great job of it so far. First, the song—usually so bright and hopeful—now mocked him, taunted him. The Audio-Animatronics themselves had even begun talking to him—it almost seemed like some horrible nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.
Charlie sank lower in his seat, not expecting any further interactions. He began to doubt that he would ever see his family again, and he was furious with himself for failing them. His mind was full of irrational thoughts and he kicked himself for not being more attentive on the PeopleMover. If he had sat with the girls, would he have prevented them from being taken—or would he have simply prolonged the inevitable? Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted by a lack of action on stage.
The atmosphere had become eerily quiet and still, and John once again spoke to the bewildered detective: “Are you enjoying yourself, detective?”
“Fuck you,” Charlie shot back.
“Language, Detective Walker, language! There could be children around!”
“We both know I’m the only one in this goddamned auditorium. Are you going to tell me why you have taken my family, or did you just bring me here to show off some fancy technological tricks?” Charlie asked, losing his patience completely.
“The reason you are here, detective, is that I wish to test you,” John stated plainly.
“What kind of test? What does this have to do with my family?”
“Tests, Charlie. Plural,” said John, coldly.
“What do I need to do?” Charlie asked. Any other questions would simply be a waste of time so he thought it better not to waste any more time being rebellious.
“Simply survive. Here’s the deal, detective: survive my tests and your family will be returned to you, completely unharmed. Die, and I will be sure to dig a grave deep enough to accommodate four bodies,” stated John. Never before had Charlie thought that this Audio-Animatronic, which has brought a smile to his face so many times and for so many years, could seem so menacing—but he experienced it now, and it made his blood run cold. Something about the familiar voice delivering such horrible threats made an involuntary shiver work its way through his body.
“What do you get out of this?” Charlie asked. “I mean, if I don’t succeed, what do you have to gain?”
“It’s hard for you to turn off being a detective, isn’t it?” John asked, his mechanical jaw moving slightly out of sync with his words. “Searching for my motive, are you? Fine, I’ll bite. What I gain is simple. Should you complete the tests and survive, then I will have finally found the one mind that can best my own. Should you die...well, then I get to live out the rest of my days, comfortable in the knowledge that no other could successfully challenge me.”
“Challenge you?” Charlie asked. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“All things will become clear in due time, detective,” spouted John, his hands still mimicking the act of preparing Christmas dinner. “If you’re as competent as my studies have led me to believe, you will discover all that there is to know. Trust me—I am on your side. I’m really rooting for you, but I cannot break the rules—the game must be played.”
Charlie’s head was spinning. First, this maniac threatens him and his family, then—moments later—goes on to say that he hopes Charlie will succeed. Never had he encountered such a personality as this in all of his years on the force.
“Trust you?” he snapped. “How can I trust you when you snatched my family from under my nose not even thirty minutes ago?”
“Well...you can’t,” stated John. “Not necessarily. I do give you my sincere word on the matter though. I am nothing if not a man of my word.”
“Fine,” he conceded. “What do you want me to do?”
“Return to your resort and get a good night’s rest,” said John, simply.
“What? Are you kidding? What about my family?” Charlie shot back, starting to get irritated that he was having this conversation with a robot and not the coward that was controlling it.
“Don’t worry, Charlie,” John assured him. “Your family is on their way to some pretty swanky lodgings as we speak. Unfortunately, we’re running short on time. You will be contacted again before long.”
“No!” he shouted. “That can’t be it! I want proof that my family is safe!”
“Now is certainly not the time to make demands, detective, but in the spirit of Christmas, I have left a gift behind the seat to your right. See you real soon, Charlie.”
Immediately after this sentence, the attraction’s signature song blared over the speakers and the theater began its final rotation of the show. Charlie reached behind the seat and, as promised, there was a small box wrapped in Mickey paper with a green bow atop it affixed to the seatback. Shredding away the paper and tearing open the package, Charlie found a sleek new Blackberry inside. As soon as he removed it from the box, the device vibrated. On the screen, there was a notification that he’d received a picture message. Unlocking the device, he found a close-up shot of Katie’s face, and she was sleeping peacefully. It wasn’t much proof, but it was the best he could hope for right now.
Deciding to explore the phone for anything helpful, he tried to exit the message, but found that he was unable to access any screen save the one he was currently on. He even attempted to shut the device down and power it back up, but it still returned only to the current message window. No names or phone numbers were displayed with the message. This man was careful, resourceful, and clearly well-funded. If he had the technology and manpower to orchestrate all of this, then Charlie knew he must not underestimate him under any circumstances.
Remaining in his seat, waiting for the show to end, Charlie felt helpless for the first time since he had been a child. There was nothing he could do; all he had to look forward to was a night of helpless waiting and intense worrying—and this worrying had begun to manifest itself as physical pain in his chest. How could he be expected to simply return to his resort and go to sleep? He had no idea whether his family was safe or not. The picture of Katie hadn’t necessarily been taken recently; his enemy was resourceful enough to have been able to snap that photo any time. The pain of worry in his chest became so intense that for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack. Slowly, he realized these pains were the telltale signs of a panic attack and that shock was setting in quickly.
After the attraction finished, the half-conscious, dazed Charlie Walker meandered out onto the Tomorrowland concourse, worried sick about Meghan and the girls. Within a few minutes, the figure of speech had become a reality and Charlie had barely enough time to make it to a restroom before spewing his expensive Le Cellier dinner all over one of the stalls. After the violent sickness had passed, Charlie stumbled over to a sink where he rinsed out his mouth and splashed cold water across his face. He straightened up and turned to look at his reflection in the mirror.
The Charlie Walker he saw looking back at him looked nothing like the happy, optimistic man he had been just that morning. His world had come crashing down around him and every fiber of his being was stressed to the breaking point. His face was ashen; his eyes bloodshot and glazed. Detective Charlie Walker was a broken man and looked every bit the part. Slowly, he made his way back outside as the fireworks were nearing their finale.
Escaping the park without incident seemed to prove more difficult for the distraught and tense detective than it should have been. Charlie’s trek back to the park exit was a long blur of shoving people out of the way and murmuring halfhearted, half-heard apologies. Inevitably, he lost his cool during an instance in which a young man in his late teens came rushing through the crowd and screamed, “Yeah, bro!” directly into his face, then broke into a chorus of loud shouting. Charlie tried to shoulder his way past, shoving the man aside several times, but he was persistent, constantly putting himself in front of Charlie, pounding his chest and screaming, “Come at me bro!” between fits of laughing like a lunatic.
Not himself in the least, Charlie snatched the young man by the wrist, spun his arm behind his back and shoved him to the ground in an artfully executed police takedown, firmly pressing his knee into the man’s back and maintaining a hold on his wrist. As soon as Charlie had done it, he regretted it immensely. He saw dozens of people staring at the mild spectacle occurring in the large crowd. This is no way for a park guest to act, let alone an off-duty police officer, and Charlie mentally kicked himself for being so erratic and impulsive.
Thinking quickly, Charlie shoved his badge in front of the man’s eyes.
“Undercover police,” Charlie declared. “Have you been drinking?”
“No! No, sir, I swear!” the man promised, his attitude entirely changed in a millisecond.
“Do you have any drugs on you or anything else I should be concerned with?” Charlie asked, in the most official tone he could manage under the circumstances.
“No!” the man replied again, his breath short due to Charlie’s knee pressing down on his back.
“Any weapons?”
“No, sir! I promise!”
Charlie put away his badge and lifted the man to his feet.
“I suggest you reevaluate the way you interact with other people in public. I wouldn’t want to have to have this talk with you again,” Charlie warned.
“Of course not,” the man agreed, politely. “It’ll never happen again.”
Charlie nodded and moved away from the man, but not before a few onlookers applauded. The boy’s friends began pointing and laughing at him as they disappeared into the crowd. The last thing Charlie needed was to be detained and questioned by Disney Security. He had no doubt he would be released after they ran his credentials, but the delay would not help his situation. He quickened his pace and exited the park without drawing more attention.
Charlie soon found himself waiting at the back of a long line at the crowded bus stop. After three buses had come and gone, Charlie had made it to the front of the line just as a fourth bus was finishing loading. By this point, over forty-five minutes had passed, full of waiting, constantly being slammed into by uncontrolled children and given dirty looks by their parents when he didn’t find them to be the world’s most adorable little monster. He figured if he didn’t make it on this bus, he would either snap or give up and attempt to walk back to the resort.
The heavens momentarily smiled upon him, as it seemed he would get one of the three remaining seats on the current bus. Unexpectedly, the front doors closed and his attention was drawn to where a woman, not much older than him, was approaching the rear door of the bus on a motorized scooter. Assuming she was handicapped, he kept his calm. He watched as the final three seats were folded away to accommodate her scooter. Charlie had a friend on the force who used one of these scooters due to a gunshot wound that had left him paralyzed from the waist down, so giving up his seat to someone in need did not bother him in the least.
Much to his surprise—and ultimately his dismay—once the woman’s scooter was secure on the bus, she easily raised herself up and stood next to it, a hand lightly resting on the overhead bar for balance. Charlie could see her casually tapping her foot to the steel drum music as the back door closed and the vehicle pulled away. Sighing, Charlie placed his hands on his head and pressed deeply into his temples, trying to relieve the coming migraine. There was absolutely no way he would rest tonight.
With ever dwindling patience, Charlie waited for yet another bus.