“Right through there, boys. That, ahem, Secret Door takes you to the actual Dream Island you seek. Trust me. I’ve been there. My friend lives there. Almost certain she still lives. There.”
“Thanks bodiless lady!” exclaims Firey. “But what about–”
“No need to worry about a glider this time,” exudes the spirit-head that calls herself Phyllis, guessing what he was going to say. Mind reader, I presume. Among many other talents. “And Al and I will take care of the wreckage left down at the church. Won’t we Al?”
“Um, sure,” says Al, just offscreen to the right. With her steady stare toward him, he then realizes this is Phyllis’ prompt to go take care of it before service ends at the Church of Ood and the congregation within is let loose upon the world again, blood splattered Pitch, his wife Mary and the rest. “On it.” He takes his leave, jumping off the 2nd floor balcony and down to the ground to save time.
Her attention turns back to the boys. “Okay, a word of caution; I must be totally honest and up front with you — no choice, actually.” She thinks of truth demanding All Orange here on the other side of the island but much closer in psychic space. “If the time is 2011 or before when you arrive, then you’ll be provided comfortable accommodations by my friend in the guest house near the main house like we spoke about. But if by chance — just by chance — it’s 2012 or after, no structures will remain on the island and my friend will be gone and your trip might be in vain. I’m almost sure she’s there waiting for you. But I’m not *100* percent sure — again, just being up front with you about the transition.” Damn you, All Orange! she cusses internally.
“Oh,” says a suddenly less flamey Firey, his happy-as-hell enthusiasm for the exit just a second ago dampened by this news. And cool green Leafy’s formerly upturned mouth has become more of a flat line.
“W-well. If not 100 percent then *what* percent?” he asks. “About your friend being there and the trip being a success and all.”
Phyllis hesitates for a moment. “80?” she finally comes up with timidly, eyebrows raised.
Al leaps back up to the balcony and into the room. “Done,” he says to Phyllis. “Threw it over into the graveyard next door to be eaten and disposed of by the zombies when they awaken tonight.”
“Excellent job, Al. Well done. I’m, er, just being up front with the boys here about the odds of their success.”
“40?” says Al.
“No. *80*. 80, Al.”
Al heard otherwise but… that stare again. He dare not counter her.
“Alright, okay. We’re still good,” says Firey. “We’ll take our chances. After all, we know *this* isn’t the Dream Island we seek now.”
Phyllis shakes her head which is all of her. “No Dream,” she says with her mouth. But Leafy thinks he detects a forked tongue within now.
“I think we should stay, Firey,” he says. “Check, I don’t know, some other sources. Maybe the Church of Ood people she spoke about.”
“Those *FOOLS*?” Phyllis dismisses the proposition loudly. “I mean, ahem (timid laughter), those people know nothing, absolutely *no*-thing (more laughter). They still think there’s a God in the Air that controls all outcomes for everyone. Instead: everything is odds, chance, calculable to within an nth degree by a big brained soul like me. Like 80 percent (for the circumstances) here. Right Al?”
“Right Phyllis,” he quickly agrees this time, taking care not to look at the boys.
“So it’s settled,” she says. “The exit awaits. You can’t stay here after all.”
“Can’t stay,” quickly tacks on Al. But he’d certainly take even 40 percent odds to leave this blasted hellhole. And in fact that’s just what he plans to do. Follow the boys through the door, running as fast as possible behind them before being caught, whatever that might entail. Montana sounds great in comparison, 2011, 2012 or any other time.
Oh *God*. Phyllis is staring at him again. She *knows*.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 