The Purity of the Bone Man VOL 1. CHP 3. VERSE 3.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Three

Verse Three: The Purity of the Bone Man

The Bone Man continued speaking to Harley, "You are not hard to find and not hard to follow. The events of the story are well known. And, of course, you have few places that you can run to at the moment."

"We seem to be managing. And if the story is so well known, how can you stop us? Doesn't the story need to be told?"

"The story needs to be told, but the actors can change. And the story has branches. Our story has the narrative for ten thousand years, the story that you are fighting for does not have a favourable track record."

"I guess that's our job to change then, isn't it?"

"Is that optimism, or false bravado intended to fool me?"

"It's more like an appraisal of the situation. If I heard you correctly, the band I'm playing for hasn't had gigs for a while so I have to change things."

The Bone Man chuckled, a sound like dice rattling in a cup.

"Good Luck. I am coming, and will be here soon."

The line went dead and Harley silently handed the phone to Marion.

"We're in worse trouble than before you know." Harley said as he drove. His voice remained calm and reasonable and he didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke. Marion did notice that Harley's hands were clenching the steering wheel tightly enough that his knuckles were going white.

"Well, we have a shadow dog thing chasing us, which I can't imagine is ever a good thing. But we've found the kids, somebody actually helped us instead of just prodding us mysteriously or threatening us and we seem to be following what the story wants us to do. So how do you figure worse? I mean besides the shadow dog, because that thing was creepy and I barely saw it."

"Now, for all intents and purposes, we really are kidnapping Darius Salt's children. The real or fake or I don't know government agent looking guys know where we are and there aren't that many places to get off the highway for the next fifty miles or so. So we know are doing the criminal thing we're accused of, which will make us look more guilty for anything else they try to pin on us. And we're exposed and our direction and locations will be easy to predict until we have a chance to change that."

"Why do things always sound worse when you explain them?"

"Because I listen for danger before it eats me. That's why I'm the stable one."

"Do you mean that the guys chasing us will know where we are?" Fitzroy asked.

"They can't help but know," Harley said, "The highway doesn't allow for us to change routes much. Why?"

"Because I see cars blocking the road way down there." Fitzroy pointed.

"You have crazy good eyes kid," Marion said, "I wouldn't have seen that."

The land was flat and the road was visible well into the distance, Marion suspected that the block might still be several miles away, but he wasn't good at judging distance. What Marion saw was a series of white shapes lined across the highway, blocking it.

"I'm listening to him though, that looks like a road block. So we're turning around."

Harley brought the goblin to a halt on the empty highway and performed a neat three point turn and headed back in the opposite direction.

"But they're back there too and stuff aren't they?" Maia asked.

"They are, and we're running back and forth like a bad comedy routines. If we could hear the gods watching us right now, they'd be laughing."

The goblin lumbered back across highway it had already crossed making sounds that seemed to suggest the van was not pleased with the wasted effort. All four of the goblin's passengers scanned the landscape looking for a dirt road turn off they might have missed or at least a spot where the ditches on either side of the highway were gentle enough to accommodate an off road excursion. But soon enough the slight curve of the highway and the gentle hills of the landscape revealed a line of white vans blocking the road. Harley hit the brakes and immediately began a three point turn. But the slight cover given by the terrain meant that the goblin was far closer to the road block this time and the agents had quite obviously noticed the van and its occupants.

The lead agent pointed a finger at the group and suddenly Marion saw that he was pointing a gun and not a finger. Marion blinked, the agent hadn't drawn a gun, had merely pointed at them and then the finger was the barrel of a gun and the agent was holding it.

The gun fired and marion jumped as the round struck far to close to the goblin for comfort.

"Did you see that?" Marion asked as they ran, "He summoned a gun from nowhere."

"Nobody summoned anything Marion, He drew a gun, that what people do," Harley said, his gaze fixed on his driving, "My mind can accept a lot, but people don't summon weapons out of nothing."

"I did, in the other world, I summoned my tomahawks. I've done it three times now."

"In visions, this is the real world."

Marion shook his head, "I saw the agent do it. I don't know what the real world is anymore."

"Are we going back towards the other bad guys?" Maia asked.

"We are, because we don't have other options, because they've got us trapped." Fitzroy said quietly.

"They are attempted to trap us," Marion, "The trap is a giant net currently floating down upon us like a giant airborne jelly fish of entrapment with deadly tentacle stingers."

"Mr. Dreamer that didn't make sense." Maia said.

"Sorry forget I said anything. The trap isn't locked, remember that."

"I'd like to note that we are now officially being shot at, perhaps we should remember that?" Harley added.

"Also a valid point." Marion said as the goblin picked up speed, clunkering mightily towards the other road block.

Fitzroy looked back through the rear window, "They're getting back into their vehicles. They're going to follow us. We aren't going to be able to get away, because they're following us."

"Any reasonable plans Harley?"

"I'm going to run their blockade. Even if I have to use the goblin as a battering ram."

"Oh my. Is nice Harley about to go in the box?"

"Oh no. Nice Harley is doing fine, but people are shooting at a vehicle containing children and at this point I am out of more sensible ideas. Sadly, running the roadblock is currently leading as the most sensible idea left that we have."

"Fun fun fun." Marion said.

As they approached the roadblock, Marion and Harley quickly assessed it looking for weak points. Once they were close enough to see clearly, Marion's shoulders slumped. The vans were staggered in a double line across the road, broadsides facing the oncoming traffic.

"We can't break through that by force." Harley said flatly.

"The shoulder isn't bad, we could drive around them." Marion said cautiously.

"Not at high speed. We'd have to slow down. And they've graduated to shooting at us."

Harley slowed the vehicle to a stop about a hundred yards back from the road block.

"Step out of the vehicle!" A voice ordered through a bull horn.

"any ideas?" Marion asked.

"Step out of the vehicle or we will open fire." The voice added.

"Step out of the vehicle and get ready to run." Harley said.

Slowly, the ground climbed from the goblin to face the suited figures. The agents surrounded the vehicle. One agent stepped forward, "Escape is impossible, submit."

"Marion, now would be a really good time to have a conveniently useful vision or something." Harley said, his hands clenched into fists.

Marion wracked his brain. This was a story, he was part of it. That much was obvious. But the story was jumbled and he was clearly starting in the middle, and he couldn't untangle the two main story threads, the other world he kept getting pulled into and this world. In this world Marion kept getting the sense that a veil was being briefly lifted so he could see the way the world really was, but that was at odds with the fact that he kept getting pulled into an alternate world that seemed very fairy tale like in construction and obviously not the real world. What was the connection between the two things? He didn't know.

"You know it almost like everything is trying to tell us that this world isn't real." Marion said aloud.

The agent smiled and shook his head, "Incorrect, This world is temporary, irrelevant. What matters is the story. In the Shadowlands the story is immortal."

Marion wracked his brain. If the story world was what was important to them, if the story logic was what mattered then maybe they could be beaten with story logic.

"Harley, I've got a really stupid idea. If it doesn't work, you're going to have to rescue me."

Harley nodded, "If it doesn't work, I won't be around to rescue you. Get crazy."

Marion reached back to the feeling he'd had in the previous three attempts, the feel of his tomahawks in his hands. He felt ridiculous, like a kid playing make believe, the summoning had been a lot easier to justify in his head when he was in a fantasy world. He couldn't feel the tomahawks, it wasn't working.

The agent advanced and put a hand on his shoulder.

"This ends storyteller." The agent said.

Marion looked at the agent, with his unreal supernatural bureaucratic appearance. They all looked identical, the same hair, and nose and chin, as though stamped from a mold or generated by a computer program. This is a fantasy world, Marion realized, this is just as unreal as a mythic pseudo-Europe. No reason that magic wouldn't work in a world that summons armies of identical suit wearing drones.

That did it. The realization that the enemy was using storybook logic was what Marion needed and suddenly he could feel his tomahawks in his hands. Marion rammed Edgar- the tomahawk in his left hand- into the gut of the agent, causing the drone to double over. The other hand brought Victor's cutting edge chopping down through the exposed neck of the agent. As the blade cut through the agent's neck the body disintegrated into smoke and Marion spun through the misty remains of the agent to face the others.

The agents froze and took a step back in unison.

And Marion charged. The agents didn't stand a chance. They summoned up pistols, and this time Harley actually saw the guns form like congealing smoke into their hands. But they were much too slow. Marion flowed through them a hurricane composed of cutting edges, The agents billowed and exploded into smoke one by one leaving Marion standing breathing heavy at the centre of a slowly dispersing ring of smoke.

Harley stood, staring that the tomahawks in Marion's hands.

Harley took everything in for a brief moment and then, mentally collected, he nodded.

"Okay, now we run again. Everyone into the goblin."

They piled into the goblin and Harley inched the goblin around the roadblock on the shoulder. Behind them the vans from the previous road block were approaching.

"They won't be able to get around as easily. That will buy us some time. I'm going to run the goblin into the ground to get some distance on them before they can chase again." Harley said.

As they picked up speed, Harley's cell phone rang.

"That'll be the Bone Man to give us our next threat, I imagine. i have to drive. marion can you listen to him rant?"

"With pleasure," Marion said and grabbed the phone, "This is Dreamer. How may I help you."

"You will regret that decision, I think."

"I doubt it. I can beat your goons now. I know how to play this game."

"Indeed, you are awakening to your role. Allow me to submerge you in it."

"What are you talking about."

"You have awakened, but not fully, you are unclean. I will purify you and let you truly awaken to your role, that should remove you from play effectively. Consider it my gift. I would also like to point out that only your most admirable progress in awakening has made this possible."

"What?" Marion began to say and suddenly an audible wave of pressure burst from the receiver of the phone and knocked Marion against the window of the car causing him to drop the phone, the wave clipped Fitzroy in the back seat as well, driving him back into the corner of the seat, his head knocking hard against the seatbelt ring.

"Marion, can you hear me?" Harley said loudly, "Marion are you there? Can you hear my voice, Marion?"

Marion didn't respond, and the silence stretched.

Harley reluctantly took his eyes of the road and glanced at Marion. his friend lay slumped forward in the seat, eyes open but staring blankly into nowhere. Harley noted that Marion had a nosebleed. The cellphone lay in Marion's lap, the call disconnected.

"Marion! Marion wake up! Can you hear me?"

"He's not here anymore. He's in the Shadowlands," Fitzroy said, his voice wavering as he spoke.

"What do you mean? How do you know where he is?" Harley asked.

"I can see him there. He's not here anymore, they pushed him out."

"Out of where?"

"I don't know, but I can see here at the same time as I can see there, "Fitzroy said, speaking in a halting wavering voice, "It hurts. I can't focus on either."

One Hero's MacGuffin VOL 1. CHP 3. VERSE 2.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Three

Verse Two: One Hero's MacGuffin

Marion and Harley sprinted around the corner of the yard away from the old woman yelling and the now aware Men of Black and White that had already surrounded their aging van. Passing into the shadow of the creaking old house, Harley's eye's were caught off guard by the sudden change in light and he collided head on into something roughly ahead shorter than him and both he and the unknown thing went sprawling. Harley shook his head to clear the haze from the impact and heard voices as his eyes adjusted to the shade of the new surroundings.

"Fitz! Are you all right? Mr. Dreamer! Oh my gosh! Fitz we've found them! We're safe!"

Harley's vision cleared and he saw a young girl who looked like she was twelve years old or younger, and boy in his early teens- whom Harley suspected he had just ricocheted off at both groups rounded the corner. A sudden shocked awareness spread over Harley and he looked to Marion in shock. Marion nodded, the look on face was the look of man who had just discovered that somebody had ordered strippers for his twelve year daughter's birthday party.

"These are the kids, aren't they?" Harley said.

"These are Maia and Fitzroy. Marion said, still nodding like a bobble-head toy, "These are definitely them. There is clearly somebody writing this story we're in. And clearly, he's a hack."

Maia and Fitzroy stared at Marion and then at Harley. Fitzroy looked bewildered and Maia wore an unmistakable expression of sheer joy. "I told you Fitz! I told you the Dreamwalker would help us! That's what the stories said, and here they are. And now we don't have to walk the Witch Road alone."

"And they look just as lost and desperate as we do. I don't know that this helps."

Marion looked at Harley, "I don't think the agents were here for us."

Harley looked behind them at the agents approaching rapidly and then over the children's shoulders at the agents approaching rapidly from that direction. Harley grabbed Maia by the hand.

"That's right, here we are. Run for your life." Harley said pleasantly.

And then he took off to their left, with Maia struggling to keep up and Marion and Fitzroy charging along behind them. They spun around the the front of the building and saw more figures in suits and sunglasses.

"Okay, running in a different direction then." Harley said and he grabbed Maia and Fitzroy each by the wrist and dragged them back into the shadow of the house before, hopefully, the agents spotted them. Marion hung in the open for a moment longer than Harley would have liked before noticing and following Harley's lead. Harley quickly climbed over the white picket fence in to the yard of the woman who had called them out and, Marion and the children scrambling after him, Harley nestled himself into the cover of a line of well tended globe cedar shrubs and waited. Footsteps passed them by twice, coming from both directions, and then silence. Harley could hear all four of them breathing, and he prayed nobody else could. Time passed, and Harley was unsure how much, the adrenaline had dilated his perception of time. Harley's brain was convinced it could walk to Bangladesh and back in the space contained within a second. Harley wasn't listening to his brain, because he knew the chemicals pulsing through his brain right now were rendering it entirely unreasonable, and so he just sat in silence and waited, trying to bring himself back to a state where practicality could retain control of his decision making process. And then, once more, a women's voice shattered the quiet.

"What are you doing in my garden? First you hide in the empty lot and now my garden. What are scruffy ruffians doing here? And who are these children. Oh. Oh!"

"Never lucky. Never lucky. Never lucky." Marion said in dejected tones as the women spoke.

"You're those kidnapped children." The woman said in a warbling lilting voice, "And you're the boys wanted in connection with the kidnapping."

"No, no, no," Maia said quickly, "We weren't kidnapped, we ran away. Our dad is a really bad man, he had my mom killed. He had her killed. he had her shoved her in a fridge. Why would somebody do that? And they aren't kidnapping us at all. They're saving us. We called them, because he," She pointed at Marion, "Was nice to us when we were visiting his book store, and I didn't know who else to call. Who do you call for help when your Dad has your Mom killed and he can buy the police and stuff?"

The woman turned pale, "Oh dear me, are you serious?"

Fitzroy broke in, "She's very serious, Maia's always serious, she doesn't lie, even when she should. We're in a lot of trouble, we probably can't get out of it. You shouldn't help us, because then you'll be in a lot of trouble too. But it would mean a lot if you helped us anyway, because otherwise we have no hope at all. Please."

"Oh dear me, you poor dears. Of course I'll help you. I am eighty five years old, what can anyone do to me that time hasn't done? Get in my house you poor things. Right now."

Marion shook his head in shock, "Was that the universe giving us good luck?"

"These are kids." Harley said, "Weren't you the one who said we needed to follow the story. This is their story isn't it? Not ours. We get to be Obi-Won Kenobi. I think they're the heroes."

As they spoke, the woman ushered them into the tiny little one storey war house and closed the door. She locked four deadbolts on the door as she shut it and then wiped her hands in satisfaction.

"Now then, I am Mrs. Boots. Retiree, busybody, gardener, reader of tea leaves and scary lady that everyone says is a witch."

Mrs. Boots was surrounded by cats in a way that made Marion think of Mrs. Trilby. Mrs. Boots was an enormous woman however and leaned on two sturdy black canes for support. The effect of the canes and the multitude of cats was to make it look as though the Cats leaning into Mrs. Boots were holding the woman upright.

Mrs. Boots continues, "You too are the children of that business man, whom you have said had your mother killed. Which is awful on the level of raising taxes in Sherwood Forest and Performing Shakespeare to dubstep by the way. But who are you two?"

Harley shook his had, "Two guys that fate decided to throw to the wolves. As Maia said, my friend Marion was present for an altercation between their parents at his job. Then he got fired and those guys in the suits have been chasing us, and I think they've been chasing the kids too, yes?" Harley looked at Fitzroy for confirmation, and the boy nodded.

Mrs. Boots raised an eyebrow, and a look of recognition crossed her face. "Well then you need help if the official authorities are against you, yes? What can I do?"

"You believe us?" Marion asked in shock, "Not that I don't, or I guess that we don't appreciate it, but unsolicited help hasn't been really common since this started and it kind of feels weird."

"Yes, I believe you. You aren't dreaming. I really will help. What can I do? I'm suspecting that you need to get out of town, and you didn't walk in now did you?"

Harley raised an eyebrow as she talked, listening to her word use.

Maia answered Mrs. Boots, "We hitchhiked," and then Maia added, "Do you know the Witch Doctor?"

Mrs. Boots raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue and gave Marion and Harley a questioning look. Then after a moment, she shook her head and said, "So, not yet? Well that explains some things. But that's who you children arrived, what about you too young men?"

"We drove but the guys in suits have our van surrounded," Marion said.

"Then you need a distraction. I can help with that."

Harley shook his head, "Alone? There are a lot of them."

Mrs. Boots shook her head, "I never do anything alone. I need a little yin to my yang. I'm going to call my girlfriend and we'll keep those boys in monkey suits busier than a fox in a hen house filled with bear traps."

"That is mental image that make me happier than it should." Marion said.

"All right. I'm going to make a phone call in a minute and then make a lot of noise. That's your signal to run for your little goblin."

"Wait a minute," Harley said, but Mrs. Boots cut him off.

"We don't have a minute, those boys in black and white will start searching houses pretty quick and you don't have time. Just run for your car and let fate take care of the rest. I suspect you four are on a quest, which means you have to trust the path. But fate always sends guides, mentors, so watch for them: your very own Alec Guinness in wizard robes, you have to find his sanctuary, his temple, his monastery.These things are normally in hidden valleys, deep dark forests, barren deserts or on isolated mountain tops. Trust the dream and and walk the path. Now, out my back door, I'll be using my front door for the distraction. Get ready." Mrs. Boots shooed them to the back door as she picked up her phone and began dialling.

As the four made their way tot he back door, Harley heard Mrs. Boots began talking to whoever was on the other line, "Hello old boy, Yes it's me. No time Mercer dear, I'm glad your feeling better, but I need some assistance so get everyone ready."

Marion opened the back door and the four of them crept to the fence and peered over it to the goblin. Two men in suits stood watch.

"That's yours?" Fitzroy asked in concern, "Because it looks old. It looks like it could die on the highway and nobody would notice, because it's so old."

"It is old, but it's tough and easy to repair." Harley answered a little more defensively than he would have liked, "The goblin is what we have right now, and you can trust him. He's noisy but dependable."

"Mrs. Boots called him the goblin, didn't she? How did she know that, and she talked like knew more things like that and other stuff."

"Yes, she did. And I don't know." Harley answered.

"Everyone seems to know more than we do." Marion added.

"What are you doing over there?" Mrs. Boots voice cried from the front yard, full of horror and outrage, "You let her go! She's just a little girl!" Her voice rose with each word.

"Time to run again," Harley said as the two remaining agents ran in the direction of Mrs. Boots' voice.

They charged the Goblin and scrambled in.

"Seat belts." Marion added as Harley slammed the key into the ignition and started the van. Harley put the goblin into reverse and headed back out of town the way they came.

"What's the plan oh mighty sane one?" Marion asked.

"Get back onto the highway, and head in any direction other than what we were heading in previously and figure it out from there."

"Sounds good."

As they drove out of town the streets seemed clear, the search for them seemed to currently be confined to southern half of town, presumably on the assumption that they need the amenities and supplies available there. But as they drove a dark shape caught Marion's eye and he turned to see a shadow thing flit between the shadows cast by the houses. It looked vaguely canine, but Marion couldn't see it clearly.

"Doesn't anyone else see that thing?" Marion asked pointing.

Harley didn't look, focusing on driving, but both kids looked and Maia quickly nodded and looked worriedly at Marion.

"It looks like a dog, but like shadows."

From the shadows at the side of the road came a howl that echoed as though the thing had howled into a pipe organ. Harley pushed the gas pedal down and brought the goblin up to highway speed, racing along abandoned suburb streets. The goblin's engine and tires expressed their outrage as Harley calmly manhandled the vehicle to the highway. Harley brought the goblin on the highway like a torpedo and then shifted wheel and slammed the brakes, spinning the goblin ninety degrees into the southbound lane and accelerated again. The howl sounded again, but more distant.

"Did you see it Harley?" Marion asked.

"No, I was driving, but everything I have dealt with so far has been human looking. What you described sounds like the story raising the stakes again, so the reasonable thing is to take it seriously. Find me a place where we can change direction, east or west, I don't care."

Marion nodded and began scanning the map.

Harley adjusted the rear view mirror to look at the children, "Okay. Marion's met you I think. I just want to confirm something, you two are actually Maia and Fitzroy Salt. Right?"

Fitzroy shook his head, "No. Because a last name would mean family. Because we've lost our family, because family doesn't do the stuff that ours did. Father said we chose exile instead of the family business. But that's because the family business is evil."

"Okay, I'm hearing you two talking like you know more than me and more than Marion. So bring us up to speed on what we're into here. We're listening."

Maia spoke, "I've been having dreams and stuff about bad things and future things. Mom kept having bad things happen to her in the dreams and it was always his fault and those men in the sunglasses and suits were always there and there was a big black snake and I couldn't stop the dreams and I couldn't stop it from happening here either."

"Breathe," Marion said, "We have time. You don't have to rush."

Fitzroy took over, "Maia started have conversations with somebody who called himself the Witch Doctor. I couldn't see him, because this happened in her visions. It was hard to believe, because I couldn't see it. But the Witch Doctor phoned us on my phone and Maia recognized his voice."

"He told us to grab our mom and run and he told he told us to do it right away and we didn't and then Mom got killed and if we'd listened and if we'd listened." Maia broke down into body wracking sobs and Fitzroy wrapped an arm awkwardly around his sister.

"None of this makes sense. We didn't run, because this is all insane. We're probably going to die, because how do you fight this craziness? But we aren't going to die without a fight, because whoever they are, they killed our mother."

"That is some seriously tragic heroic back story right there."

"We're not heroes. We're victims."

Harley shook his head, "Not if it's your story. The one constant that that Marion and I keep hearing from everyone who knows more than we do is that this is a story somehow. Not that it will make a good story, but that this is somehow a story in the big mythic sense. And everyone seems to want this to be their story. If it's your story, you aren't victims. If it's your story, your heroes with a tragic backstory."

"How do we now?"

Marion twisted in the seat to look back at the children, "I don't think anyone can say for sure, but in general the hero is determined by who tells the story. So let's be storytellers shall we?"

"Do you know what's scary?" Marion said, "I prefer this to our normal lives."

"I don't hear you." Harley said, "Why on earth would you prefer this?"

"We hated our normal lives. They give you until about five years old. And then they lock in a class room, send you to the salt mines and stuff you in a retirement home. Nose to the grindstone work until you're no use to the empire anymore. We hated it. You hated it. I hated it. The fact that we accept this as normally is insane."

"It is normal."

"You know it's only normal because everyone agrees it is. If this was all really normal we wouldn't be causing global warming or overpopulation or mass extinction or destroying the coral reefs or all the other horrible things that we do just by carrying on living in this way and calling it normal."

"The correct term is climate change."

"Not the point. If all this was actually normal, people would be happy- they wouldn't pray to lottery tickets and medicate with caffeine and prescription drugs. I'm happier now, on the run with people shooting at me and supernatural dogs and creepy agents chasing me than I ever was when things were normal. Or are you missing your day job?"

"I don't miss my day job."

"So let's embrace the weird."

"We could die you know. That's a little more weird than I want from my life."

"So, death is the only thing we all get to do."

"Everyone can't walk away from the normal or civilization will collapse."

"Didn't I tell you? I had a vision where everything collapsed anyway? For all we know it collapsed because of the normal."

Harley's cell phone rang.

"Marion can you grab that? I'm driving."

Marion reached into Harley's jacket pocket and produced the phone.

"Hi, this isn't Harley." Marion said.

"I know Dreamer, you cannot deceive me." The voice on the other end said.

"Hi. I'm definitely not trying to deceive you, whoever you are. If I was trying to deceive you I'd be telling you that I was Simon Templar or James Bond or something clever like that. Besides, I don't know who you are, so why would I try to deceive you?"

"Because deception might prolong your time in the role of Dreamer. Because if I capture you, your continued survival comes heavily into question."

"Right, so you're ramping up the creepy. I get that. But I've fought giant snakes covered in oil like they've escaped from a Captain Planet episode. I fought cannibal ghosts and mystic secret agents. Why should I be afraid of you?"

"Because I can see the trail of disorder, the scar upon the story that you four leave as you flee. You cannot hide from me. I will simply follow the damage until I find you. I will march behind you, until I can cleanse your infection from my perfect narrative."

"Who are you?"

"Call me the Bone Man. Nothing more is necessary. Do you hear that howl?"

"Yes."

"The hound is hunting for you. The hound is older and stronger than I am. Older and deadlier than my men, than my King. He does not answer to the Grey as Falsenight does. For centuries the Grey has kept him on a leash. I say, he but gender is irrelevant. The hound is not a thing. The hound is a concept, and it is inescapable. It can smell the children, smell their fear. You have one chance to avoid it. And as it turns out, you have the same one chance to avoid dying by my hand. Give the children to us. They are still children in this world, still young and physically immature. You are grown young men and could easily over power them. The vehicle is yours. Turn the vehicle around and drive it back into the hamlet you have just left. Give us the children and all the unpleasant things that have happened to you will stop. You will not be on wanted posters or the evening news. You will have your lives back. Just accept that you are playing a game that you cannot win. Accept that you are out of your depth. Accept defeat with dignity and you can preserve both your dignity and your continued existence."

The kids stared at Marion and Harley. The only sound was the sound of the engine and wheel on the road. Harley reached across and took the phone, turning off the speaker option.

"You didn't give Marion visions. Did you?"

"I can do many many things Walker."

"Yes, you can. But I didn't hear you say that you gave Marion those visions. You didn't. Or you would have said so. You aren't the only player in this game. And we are fighting alone. You're right, we haven't heard the whole story, and we are out of our depth. But you should listen closely, because this is important. You didn't take our lives away. This game took our lives away when didn't listen to it's warnings. So you can't give us our lives back. You want them, come and get them."

"I intend to Walker. Just recall that this was your decision."

"Just keep telling yourself that. There are too many forces shaping this for that to be true."

Don't Fight an Agent VOL 1. CHP 3. VERSE 1.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Three

Verse One: Don't Fight an Agent

The Goblin rattled along the highway until, as the sun began to hit it's noon day high, Harley spotted a sign for a town named "Admiral's Warning" with a listed population of two hundred and forty one people. The town was tiny. If Marion closed his eyes for a brief rest he might literally blink and miss it as they passed through. A tiny commercial core of buildings around which a few small suburbs clustered and out from which a series of dirt roads radiated out leading to rural properties at the outskirts. Cattle grazed like a slow eyed watch dogs and the smell of manure became rapidly overpowering as they approached. 

"That seems sleepy enough to be safe." Marion observed.

Harley agreed, "It sounds safe enough. I'll grab the exit and we'll gas up and food up there. To be safe, keep your distance from the locals though, but don't act like your trying to keep your distance."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know, act natural."

The rock gradually faded from a ruddy ochre to a bleached bone white as Harley and Marion drove the Goblin into the town, although calling this empty desiccated collection of stores and dilapidated buildings a town would be generous. The town seemed like a corpse, drained by some architectural vampire and left to bleach in the white hot glare of the sun. As the Goblin clunkered through town, a few stray humans looked up from creaking porches and peered from over dusty blinds. The visible expressions were cut with lines and furrows that spoke of fear and mistrust. 

"I can almost hear the banjoes playing." Harley said as he steered the Goblin down what passed for a main street, "Does the map have anything to say about where we can find a gas station. We need supplies. Food and gas to start and then probably some decent camping and road side maintenance gear."

"Why all the stuff? Is something wrong with the Goblin?" Marion asked, "I thought he was lumbering pretty well today? I mean, he is the Goblin, but still I thought he was doing well."

"We're wanted for questioning. Perhaps wanted as suspects now. I turned off my cell phone completely so I can't check. You turned yours off too right?"

Marion nodded and Harley continued.

"We're being framed. The less contact we need to have with people who could turn us in, the better. There is nothing wrong with the Goblin, but the Goblin isn't know for it's longevity on the highway, and I don't want to be in a position of asking for help from passerbys and hoping they don't recognize us from the nightly news more time than necessary. I'd like to avoid hearing a police siren behind me if possible, and so we need supplies to minimize our need to interact with strangers."

There was a strange popping noise from the Goblin's engine and the van bounded a little in response, as though the ancient machine were either agreeing with or objecting to the boy's assessment of it's performance.

"It's okay boy," Marion said with a grin, "We trust you, you've been a good beast of burden and we're just talking about how to take care of you so you can keep going another thirty years."

"I don't think anything could give the Goblin another thirty years. I just want it to last long enough to get us as far as possible as quickly as we can manage."

"He doesn't mean that." Marion said, patting a torn green seat cover, "He loves you too."

"The Goblin has been a great tough old vehicle, but I will not anthropomorphize it." 

Marion stuck his tongue out, "Either way, let's also minimize our interactions with the bad guys by turning left right now. Right Now! Turn Left!" Marion said, his voice rising as he pointed our a white van with two men in dark glasses and dark suits speaking into ear pieces beside the white van. 

Harley cranked the wheel and turned, sharply, but smoothly onto the side street. The dominant colour for exterior walls in the town seemed to be taupe with a generous coating of white rock dust.

"Did they see us?" Marion acted.

"I don't think so. But this complicates matters. We have to go into silent running mode now and sneak around getting things done without any of them raising the alarm. Fantastic." Harley said, "How did they get here before us?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure that they're real people, maybe they just possess people like in the Matrix?"

"I hope not. I like my villains to be a little more original than that."

"And here I was hoping that actually listening to the story would help improve my luck."

"Maybe this is an improvement." Harley said.

"Or maybe we're not doing the right thing yet."

"Okay, I want to hear what the map says about gas stations in this little town. Every time I think I've got the feel of the new music, things go all free jazz on me. " Harley said. 

"What have you got against free jazz? The spirit of Pharaoh Sanders will rise from the grave to kick your butt if you keep doing that."

"Pharaoh Sanders isn't dead you know."

"Your blasphemies would kill him and he would rise from the grave in indignation.

"Pharaoh Sanders is a genius. He isn't the problem, the problem is people who think that they can be Pharaoh Sanders, and me having to listen to them."

"Weak excuses, to little and too late to stop the vengeance of the Pharaoh."

"That sounds like an old Hammer Film."

Marion grinned in spite of himself and scanned the map. Admiral's Warning was not a big settlement, but at least the place seemed to have built for people who owned vehicles. Roads spun out in all directions, like spider webs spinning out from a hypothetical town centre 

"There's only one gas station," Marion said, "And we have to go past the suits over there to reach it. But there are plenty of side streets, so we may be able to sneak around them. If we're lucky, which we aren't, then we can reach the gas station undetected and the gas station and the grocery store are attached, so it would be a one stop shop and then we can return to running like scared children."

"Listen to yourself. We aren't running like scared children," Harley said, "We just don't have any leads right now. Everything spins on those kids, and the number they called from was blocked. I can't dial them back. So we have to listen and hope that they call again. Until then, we have to stay free."

"That makes us seem so much better than how I was thinking about our situation." Marion said.

"That's my job. I'm the stable one."

"I thought I was the stable one."

"No, you're the adorably befuddled one, that I keep out of trouble."

"So what are saying exactly?"

"That I'm really bad at my job apparently. No sense stalling. You direct me, and we'll try to sneak around them."

"That way." Marion pointed ahead at a smaller side road named Lowe Street, and Harley directed the Goblin down the street. The two tried to get to the gas station, but every turn led them to a white unmarked van parked between them and the gas station. After nearly an hour of frustrated circling, they gave up.

"Our gas isn't bad just yet," Marion offered, "We could just keep going and try again later."

"I want supplies before I need them." Harley countered, "Not after I need them. We can go on foot, sneak through yards and get to the grocery store. At least then we have some of what we need."

They parked the Goblin on a quiet residential side street and began making their way through weed filled lanes between the homes, slowly working their way towards the grocery store. When they finally got within sight of the building, they could clearly see five men in dark glasses and dark suits standing spread out across the parking lot.

Harley shook his head, "They know what we would need if we stopped here. There are probably more inside. We should just go. I should have listened to you. I made a bad choice here."

Marion didn't argue, and the two slipped back towards the Goblin. However, upon getting within sight of the Goblin they immediately spotted two agents with fingers pressed to ear pieces standing beside the van talking to the open air. 

"Harley," Marion said quietly, "I am definitely still not lucky, and it appears to be contagious."

Harley and Marion crouched in the wild grasses growing between two yards at the edge of the road where the Goblin was parked. The two agents quickly were joined by nearly a dozen other agents. The agents quickly used a pry bar to open the back doors to aging cricket Van and agents swarmed in as the air hummed with radio crackle and conversation.

"Now what?" Marion asked.

"The longer they have access to the Goblin, the worse things are for us. We can't hear what they're saying, but I assume that none of it is good."

"We could leave the Goblin, and steal a car." Marion offered.

"I can't pick a lock and I can't hot wire a car, can you?"

"No. I can't"

"So we need the Goblin back and fast. We need a distraction to draw them off, so we can get back and make a run for it."

Marion raised his eyebrows, "This seems like a reasonable plan to you? I thought you were the stable one."

"This seems like the most reasonable plan given our resources and abilities and the limitations of our situation. I don't hear either of us voicing anything better. This isn't a good option, but I don't think we've got another option that has a better shot at success."

"We could hitch hike?"

"I don't want to be reliant on the kindness of strangers and upon strangers not recognizing us from the nightly news. Based on how things are going, I want to involve fate as little as possible. I want to keep control of what's happening in our hands."  

"I understand that you don't want to rely on people who could turn you in. I don't want to get shot at by what may or may not be federal agents."

"I don't think we're going to be able to avoid that one for long given our current and growing list of problems"

"Fine, why not? We're probably going to die horribly anyway."

They crouched, motionless, watching the agents mill about, trying to gauge the least suicidal moment to act. The wind slowly waved the grasses into their faces gently scratching and tickling them in the least enjoyable manner Marion could imagine. The sun beat down on them and Marion could feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine. The sound of grasshoppers chirping rose around them as they remained still. Marion began to pass the time by watching their shadows move across the dry gravel strewn earth.

"How are we going to distract them?" Marion asked finally after they had been motionless for nearly fifteen minutes and his legs were beginning to cramp.

"I have absolutely no idea." Harley answered in a frustrated deadpan.

"Well we could-" Harley began to say, only to be cut off by a startled warbling female voice. 

"Hey! What are you two doing there? " Marion and Harley turned to see an old woman looking across her white picket fence, metal rake paused mid stroke as she stared at the two of them. 

"Crouching suspiciously in the bushes apparently." Marion said. 

The agents besides their van turned to look. Harley closed his eyes tightly for a moment and shook his head, "Time to run now."

"I think the world might end if I got lucky." Marion said bitterly.

Update: Progress or lack there of Report

So, I am clearly well behind on the the current word count goal. I'm not actually as far back as it appears. I don't know the actual count. I've gotten tangled up trying to plot out story events that need foreshadowing here in the early chapters and so I have been writing further ahead in the story than I originally planned to do.

My original plan was to plot an outline and then go serially in sequence not writing sequences until they were required. That is proving unfeasible, so this is going to be patchy in the update sense. We'll see if I can recover from this long term or if I will fail gloriously.

Cheers.

Everyone Run Now VOL 1. CHP 2. VERSE 8.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Two

Verse Eight: Everyone Run Now

Marion and Harley sat at kitchen table. The basement suite was largely dark, only the kitchen light was lit. The two were silent, looking at the table rather than each other. 

Finally, Marion began speaking, "It worse than we thought. It's not just taking away the things in our lives, this story is going to destroy our ability to make new lives, and I mean completely destroy it. We're in the story now and if we don't play by the story's rules, we're going to end up in jail forever, and now we're being framed and I really shouldn't have killed those guards in that vision, because really got them mad, but what was I going to do?"

"Breathe. Marion. Listen to me. This is bad. This is all so bad that I lost tempo, lost my cool. I don't like yelling. And I've been yelling a lot more than I would like to be lately. So now we breathe, and we make a decision."

"We still have things left that we get to decide?" Marion asked, "It feels like this thing has taken all of our decisions away from us."

"We've been given bad choices, and placed in unpleasant situations. Yes. I hear what you're saying. But the thing it can't take from us, no matter how matter bad situations it places us in, no matter how many impossible choices it gives us, we still get to decide how we respond. I choose how I live. I choose how I die. Nobody else chooses that. I choose how I die. I decide what note my song goes out on. So now it's time that we decide that." 

"So what choices have we got?"

"Well. Choice number one, we go meekly like lambs to the slaughter. I don't like that option. The lord is not my shepherd, because I refuse to be a sheep. So, choice number two: we run. As long as you're okay with the idea that we are about to become fugitives from justice."

"I'm with you Harley. We're night and day, you can't have one of us without the other."

"So we run. The question is, how shall we run. I'm not running without knowing where I'm running to."

"How do we choose that? We don't know anything useful."

"We choose what our mission is going to be. Are we going to be part of this story or resist it? Once we choose that, we'll know what to listen for and how to run. So, do you want to be the Dreamer? Do I want to be the running man?"

"The Walker. We're already going to be on Running Man."

"So what's our choice?"

* * * 

The Men of black and white, clad in suits and sunglasses despite the washed out grey light of the false dawn arrived at the house in a small convoy of white unmarked vans. They filed out like tin soldiers in a line and quickly surrounded the house, positioning themselves next to all window and doors. Fingers pressed earpieces into place and voices whispered coordinating verbal chatter that mimicked the sounds of the crickets. They swarmed around the building with a quiet insectile hum. 

As the suited figures finished moving, a pair of men of black and white stepped out of the van nearest to the basement door with a large two person hand held battering ram. Warm lights glowed throw orange curtains from within the basement as the two agents positioned themselves in front of the door to the basement suite. 

The chatter quieted in the same way the forest goes quiet prior to  a predator attack, the world froze as though waiting for the mountain lion to strike. The men of black and white drew their firearms, nondescript pistols of indeterminate make and model. The air tightened like a violence string, the wind tasting of cold gun metal.

The two agents at the door swung the battering ram back and up. The giant steel beam hung in the air momentarily like a suspended judgement. And almost as though time had frozen and then slowly begun to thaw, the battering ram began to swing down. Speeding up as it dropped, the metal pole hurtled towards the unsuspected door.

And then the door burst inwards, buckling under the battering ram, and agents rushed in and noise and violence rushed around like a landslide. Agents charged into the entryway of the basement suite and pointed guns a the empty kitchen table. The moved quickly into the deserted living room, noting clothing and linens scattered across the floor. One agent stopped to examine the computer, it's casing opened and the hard drive removed. Three more agents entered the single bedroom and noted the empty closet and the dresser drawers sitting empty on the naked bedroom mattress. Upstairs Mrs. Critchwood screeched like an angry bird and her own door was knocked inwards and agents stormed her home. 

"targets have fled. No contact with targets. Advise immediate search of the area. Spread out. Question all possible targets. Highest priority."

As the men of black and white began to fan out and search, a single figure in a white latex gloves and a grey long coat stepped out of the furtherest van. He had a white trimmed moustache and goatee, and dressed in a linen suit the colour of pale bone china. He was slim and tall and regal and lethal in his posture and demeanour. On the lapel of his long coat were a row of seven silver pins: a sewing needle, an easter egg, a flying duck, a running hare, a treasure chest and an oak leaf. He walked slowly and arrived quickly. Standing beside on of the agents.

"You do not have them?"

"No, sir. We are surveying the area, we will find them."

"This is not the way to chase them. This game board is of little relevance. I will pursue them with my forces within the wild hunt."

"We have orders from our superiors to apprehend them, sir."

"You are not my concern. Do as you like. I am merely observing. The real game will be played on other battlefields."

"Yes, sir."

The agent's earpiece crackled, "We have a witness."

The agents had converged around an older man in grubby brown clothing standing with a massive neapolitan mastiff who was leaning into the older man's leg so strongly the old seemed to be held upright by the dog.

The man was pointing northward as he spoke, "Oh yes sir, I saw them two. They left less than an hour ago. They were heading north on Highway sixteen. Yes sir, I saw them sir."

The men of black and white touched fingers to ear pieces and began to speak, "Send pursuit north on Highway 16, Repeat targets are travelling north on highway sixteen. One hour head start. Pursuit is still viable."

* * *  

The pre dawn light was gradually deepening to a heavy red. The light bathed the goblin as Harley drove the ancient van south on Highway thirteen. They had stopped at an ATM machine downtown first and cleaned out as much money from Harley's account as they could before the bank machine had stopped them. And now they were running. 

"So you know," Harley said, "Between the two of us we've got very little in the way of personal belongings, virtually no money and we are fugitives from an unjust system and some weird amorphous force people keep referring to as a story. We've got no legal recourse and no way out if and when we're caught. And we've got no homes to go back to."

"This was your idea. And besides, I'm used to being unlucky. How are you doing."

"I will endure. Sometimes that's all you can do."

* * *

There is a place within every story where people do not wish to go. There is a place in every story where even the bravest are driven to panic and chased by their fear. This dreaded place is often named, but these are mere echoes and the names mean nothing. The place in which fear dwells is unknown, a void of understanding. 

The Hound stirred in the darkness of the void. The Hound became aware that it was the subject of conversation.

"Send the Hound."

"Do not presume to order us little King. We are not your servants."

"We have to find them. Without them the Golden Age ends. The Empire falls. You owe me this."

"We owe you nothing, remember that well. You made a bargain with us and we have honoured every part of that bargain. If you fail and your little empire falls, that is you failing to honour your half of the bargain."

"Unless you want everything we built to fall apart, you'll send the hound. YOu have as much in this game as I do."

"Perhaps then, it is fortunate that we both know that it is a game."

"Stop trying to play mind games with me and send your super monster after my kids. The Bone Man pursues them already, why send the Hound as well?"

"The line can't be broken. I won't let my line end."

"Lines end eventually little King. Do not forget that."

"Well just make sure it doesn't end here and now. Let the next generation drop the ball. Send the Hound."

"We have honoured our side of the bargain. This requires a new deal. What do you offer?"

"You could at least dress up in red and horns if we're making deals again."

"Red is the colour of life, the colour of fire. The colour of fear is grey."

The Hound was not interested in the bargaining. the Hound did not care about the deal. The Hound listened only enough to understand that the deal would be reached. The Hound would be freed. The Hound would help. The Hound would hunt. Would the prey run? The Hound would see them run. See if they run. Soon.

"For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again."

— Proverbs 24:16

The Call Knows Where You Live VOL 1. CHP 2. VERSE 7

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Two

Verse Seven: The Call Knows Where You Live

Harley and Marion sat eating take out Chinese food when Harley's phone began to ring. Harley answered the phone, "Hello, this is Harley. I can here you."

The voice on the line sounded as though it belonged to a boy, a young teenager probably, "Is this the Walker? Because we need your help to escape the city. Please listen."

"The Walker?" Marion said, his brow furrowing.

"That's you!" Marion exclaimed, "You're the Walker. It's from my visions. You're the Walker and I'm the Dreamer."

Harley spoke into the phone, "How did you get this number? Who is this?"

"The Witch Doctor gave it to us. Because he said you would help us. Please help us. Our father is hunting us, his men are tracking us. We need your help."

Harley was about to answer, when Marion's phone rang. Marion answered his phone, " Hello?"

A male voice answered, "This is Agent White. You are to turn over the Salt children immediately. Do you understand?"

"You mean as in Darius Salt? The rich guy? We don't have his kids. I only just heard about the kidnapping from the news."

"You will find that feigning ignorance does not impede us. We will retrieve the children. If you do not comply and turn over Maia and Fitzroy Salt immediately the result will be the total destruction of your lives."

"We don't have the kids!" Marion said desperately.

"What do you mean your father's men are looking for you? Isn't that a good thing?" Harley asked.

Harley was struggling to hear what the boy was saying and also listen to Marion's conversation, when a young girl's voice broke in over the boy's voice on the phone line, "Something is really wrong and my dad isn't really who he's supposed to be and he's bigger than what he is here and he has layers and he's trapped by choices and stuff he's making in the other layers and he's bigger on the inside. And we have to escape otherwise everything is going to get lost again and we all have to start all over. Please help us."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harley said, "Maybe you should speak to Marion. Isn't he the Dreamer? Maybe he'd understand better?"

"Agent White, please we don't have any children. We have nothing we can give you." Marion said.

"It is always the Storyteller who assists the rebel children in their escape. The children have escaped. Therefore, the children must be with you. This is not complicated. Your role is well known and you cannot hide from us as a result. We know what you must do. We know the course you will follow. You cannot escape us. We will find the children and if you do not cooperate, we will destroy you as we have many times in the past." And abruptly the line went dead. Marion stared at the phone in shock. Harley turned to Marion.

"Here," Harley said, "Marion's off the phone. I'll give you to him."

"Oh no, they're here. Maia run!" And the line went dead.

Marion and Harley alternated between staring at their phones and then staring at each other. They didn't say anything for a long time. Finally Marion spoke.

"It's not a tumour. They're not hallucinations. It's much much worse than that."

"Yes, it is." Harley agreed.

Harley tried to call the number back twice, but only received a generic answering machine message.

"so what do we do?" Marion asked, "Whatever this is, it's not leaving us alone."

"Whatever this is, it isn't telling us any useful information that we can act upon either."

"I can show you what I've puzzled out," Marion offered, picking up his notes and sketches from the previous day when he was procrastinating against looking for work.

Harley raised an eyebrow and then nodded, "Alright, I'm listening. talk to me. If nothing else, let's get onto the same page."

Marion began by walking Harley through his visions again. Then he moved onto to pointing out the recurring characters and themes and conversations. From their Marion went on to explain his guesses as to who was on their side and who wasn't and who was or might be a good guy or a bad guy and how he thought different groups might be connected. By the time Marion had brought Harley up to speed and answered his questions, a few hours had passed.

"Well," Harley said cautiously, "It all sounds like its connected some how. I can hear matching themes and bits that kind of rhyme with each other. But some stuff seems really weird and out of place, like the secret agent guys. Most of the symbols have an old world ancient archetype feel to them, how do generic government agent looking guys fit into that?"

"Maybe they're a modern take on an old symbol? I don't know." Marion answered, he opened his mouth to say more and was interrupted by a knock at the door, sharp and brisk. Both boys looked up in surprise.

"Harley Night. We know this residence is occupied. Open the door." A voice said through the timber panels of the door.

Harley answered the knock at the door and found himself staring at five pairs of sun glasses and five business suits. The lead pair of sunglasses and business suit flashed an ID.

"Special Agent Bridger. We are investigating the kidnapping of Maia and Fitzroy Salt. A cell phone owned by Darius Salt and registered to his son Fitzroy was used to call a cell phone registered to Harley Knight. Are you Harley Knight?"

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

As Harley answered, Special Agent Bridger pushed his way in followed immediately by the other for pairs of sunglasses. Harley looked down in surprise as Special Agent Bridger muscled past him into the room. Harley's carefully composed expression of reasonable concern shifted slightly, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed slightly. Marion noticed his friend's lips thin into a slightly harder line. Harley was subtly clenching his teeth.

"I didn't give your permission to come in." Harley said, very slowly, "I'm pretty sure you have to have a warrant to do that."

Special Agent Bridger didn't look at Harley, "Mr. Knight, Sit down. This is very serious."

"Serious enough to break the rules, I guess?" Harley said. Marion noticed that Harley was still holding the door handle, and that his knuckles were white from how tightly he was clenching his fist around the door handle.

"The joke isn't funny Mr. Knight. What was the phone call regarding?"

"It really isn't, but since you aren't listening, I guess I can tell the men breaking and entering into my house about an anonymous phone call I received. Why not?" Harley said, finally closing the door and releasing the handle, "I got a call from two kids, they didn't give their names. Sounded like a teenaged boy and a younger girl. They asked for my help. Said something was wrong with their father. And then they said that somebody had found them and hung up as they yelled at each other to run. I tried to call the number back and got no answer."

"Why didn't you report this?"

"Report what? A crank call? Why would I report that?" Harley raised his eyebrow and gave the agent a decidedly unfriendly look.

"We're going to need your cell phone, Mr. Knight." Special Agent Bridger held out his hand, but still didn't turn to look at Harley.

"Do you have a warrant for that," Harley was speaking so slowly that each word was its own sentence, "Or do you plan to steal it while you're breaking and entering?"

"You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation, Mr. Knight."

Harley's face clenched sharply. And when he spoke this time, he spoke very quickly with a tone so sharp Marion felt like the words might cut him, "I understand that life has been kicking me and my best friend in the head for the last few days. And I understand that if you really are employees of the government that you have to follow certain rules in order for any of this to be legal. The world has been pushing me around and pushing my friend around, and I've really had enough. I try to be nice and reasonable. But you guys aren't giving me the nice and reasonable vibe. They seemed like nice kids on the phone. I am happy to help, but not without you guys going through the proper channels. Because right now you guys seem less like honest civil servants and more like the agents from 'The Matrix'."

Special Agent Bridger was silent for a moment, and then turned to one of the other pairs of sunglasses, "Go talk to the resident upstairs." he turned back to Harley, "We'll be back in touch Mr. Night, with a warrant. Don't delete anything on that phone. That would be tampering with federal evidence."

The business suits in sunglasses stood up and headed out the door, although they didn't close it as they left. Harley closed the door and turned back to Marion.

“They didn't seem to know about the phone call you received.” Harley said to Marion, who nodded in response.

Upstairs, Marion and Harley could hear the suits knocking on Mrs. Critchwood's door and bits and pieces of the discussion that followed, mostly the high pitched shrieks of outrage from Mrs. Critchwood.

After a minutes the screeching ceased, but this was followed by the sound of stomping footsteps and another round of sharp knocking at the door. Harley answered the door to Mrs. Critchwood in housecoat and curlers and full fury like a wet cat trapped in a dishwasher.

"Do you know who interrupted my soap operas?" She howled, "The FBI, that's who. What have you boys been doing to bring the FBI down on your blasphemous heretic heads?"

"Did they say that they were the FBI?" Marion asked. "Because they didn't say that to us."

"Who else would they be you fool? What they want? I will not be harbouring fugitives."

"Those rich kids that were in the news because they got kidnapped. the kids called my cell phone looking for help. Probably dialled it randomly hoping to find anybody who could help. They hung up before they could give any information. The investigators wanted to know about that."

"Why would they call you? What have you been doing wrong?"

"As I just said, if you'd listen, I assume that they dialled it randomly. They ended the call by telling each other to run and that somebody has found them. So I assumed they were desperately dialling any number they could."

"Then why was the FBI there so quickly? Were you already on there watch list? Are you a terrorist?"

"Mrs. Critchwood. The call was placed on a cell phone. I answered with a cell phone. Cell phones are incredibly easy to trace. That is why they were there so quickly. Further they were monitoring the cell phone the children used because it was their father's phone."

"I don't like this. You'd better be on guard. And wait a minute, why is he still here? He was here the day before." Mrs. Critchwood jabbed a shrivelled bony finger at Marion.

"He's my best friend. So there is that. He also got robbed, and lost his job. He needs to use my printer so he can print off resumes. Yeah . He'll be over regularly well he's printing off resumes. I am allowed to have guests Mrs. Critchwood."

"I don't trust you Night. You're hiding something. I'll be watching you, like a vulture watches a dying horse. I have church bridge club to go to and I'm not letting you ruin that. But I'll be talking to you tomorrow. I'm thinking I may need to start looking for a tenant who can follow the rules and obey the laws. If you understand my meaning."

"Have fun at your bridge game Mrs. Critchwood." Harley said and abruptly closed the door in his landlady's face.

Marion stared at the closed door in shock. Mrs. Critchwood knocked loudly, but then stopped. Marion guessed that she was as bewildered by Harley's actions as Marion was.

"This stupid story of yours." Harley said angrily, the rage in his voice causing Marion to step back in surprise.

"It's not my story. I didn't ask for it. The damn thing is happening to me. It's not my fault."

"No, it isn't. But, whatever it is, has taken away our lives, piece by piece. It didn't matter how careful I was, it just took everything. It wants us to be something else and so it's stripping away everything that isn't that or would let us avoid being what it wants us to be. This story has ruined our lives, and we have no idea what kind of a life its offering in place of the lives it took."

"Harley? Something kind of weird to think about, but our lives sucked before this too. My job was already on thin ice and it was a crummy job on top of that. I bounce from job to job and can't hold it together. How is that a life? My landlord and your landlady, they already hated us before this. Anything going wrong could have tipped our housing into worst case scenario. You've kept your job, where I haven't, but you hate your job. It sucks your soul and numbs your mind. I mean when you get down to it, whatever this is, it didn't have to do much to break our lives. Our lives were already filled with hairline cracks, all this thing had to do was gently tap them in order to shatter our lives."

"But why? What does it want? Okay, our lives weren't ideal. We didn't like our jobs and our rental situations were shaky. But I've lost Amy, and what kind of crazy thing are we getting tangled into with those kids now? How is this better? How is this at all better?"

"I didn't say it was better. I just said, we weren't fine before this happened."

"So what? Why would that matter?"

"Maybe this story didn't want us at all. maybe it just needed people who weren't doing something important with their lives?"

"So we're what? The guys who were available? 'Legendary heroes wanted: Must not be using their lives well already?' Is that the idea? So we were just the most pathetic people they found who fit the profile, is that it?"

"Maybe we were just in the wrong place at the right time?"

"Wonderful. Music to my ears, except that music is free jazz."

"I like free jazz."

"Of course you do." Harley said.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Harley?" Marion asked as Harley turned away from the door.

"I have put nice Harley in a nice little box. He'll be there when I need him." Harley didn't look at Marion, wouldn't meet his eyes.

Marion shook his head, "How often does nice Harley go in that box?"

"Not very often. I don't like doing it. But I am very tired of listening to the world tell us that it's going to kick us and we're going to like it. I don't like being angry, people make mistakes when they're angry, people burn bridges and hurt friendships and ruin marriages and make their children cry when they're angry."

"Your parents aren't bad people Harley."

"No, they aren't. They just weren't able to stay reasonable, they got angry and they let it control them. I refuse to make that mistake. But sometimes nice Harley isn't enough, and so nice Harley goes in a box. It isn't fun. I don't like how I sound when I'm angry. But it's done now and for the time being I get to be reasonable nice Harley again."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm tired, and I am going to bed and unless the world ends at midnight I am not dealing with anything else until morning."

* * *

Harley awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He pulled himself awake and answered the phone.

"This is Harley, I can hear you."

"Harley, how are you feeling?" The voice on the other end of the phone said.

"Dwight? What time is it? Why are you calling? Are you still at the office?"

"Hey, funny thing. They have me shredding documents non stop. I haven't been home. I think there's some sort of legal trouble coming, so maybe getting downsized wasn't so bad, am I right? But that's not why I'm calling. So, hey, Harley there are some guys are your old desk. Like in suits and dark glasses and with scary federal looking ID cards and that's never a good thing, am I right?"

"At my desk? What. Now? What time is it?"

"Yeah, right now, it's a little after three. They came in about twenty minutes ago, this was the first time I could slip away without looking weird, or yeah, I would have called you sooner. I mean if I thought this was legit, I wouldn't be calling you, but I can't imagine it being legit, because you are like the most stand up guy I know, am I right? So I looked a little closer and these guys were not legit, and hey that's bad. I mean, they might be legit as in real government agents, you know, but what they are doing is definitely not legit. We're talking 'Three Days of the Condor' stuff here, am I right?"

"The Robert Redford movie? Where he gets framed for uncovering the government's own dirty work by mistake? Wait, Dwight, what are you talking about, you aren't making sense."

"Harley, government agents are going through your old desk right now and they are putting stuff in it. I mean, I think they are planting evidence. I don't know what they are doing, but this just screams of a frame up job, am I right?"

Harley froze and didn't know how to answer. A frame up. His mind cast back to Agent White's conversation, and back to the phone call with the kids: Maia and Fitzroy. He tried to make his brain drag up the things Harley had been saying about Darius Salt and the reward and Marion's dreams. This could all be a mistake. But Harley didn't play risky and the mental calculus of practicality and risk management that Harley's brain performed effortlessly told his conscious mind that the current trouble he and Marion were in had passed the point where business as usual would work. Dramatic action now seemed the only advisable course.

"Thanks Dwight. Clear your call history after you hang up. I don't want you getting in trouble for this."

"Hey, you're a good guy, and good guys deserve to be helped. Am I right?"

"I hope so Dwight"