|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Secret Origins
Times Past, 1939
Wood and Evilby HarveyKent
Part One
Charles L. Lucas lay in his bed, his frail old back supported by many soft pillows. He watched through the window of his splendid Long Island mansion, saw the warm sunshine of the late May afternoon washing golden rays over the flowering trees on his estate. He sighed deeply. He always loved spring. This was probably the last one he would ever see.
Charles turned his head away from the window. His bald, age-spotted head moved slowly these days. He wheezed whenever he tried to draw a breath. His hands shook whenever he tried to use them for anything. Charles L. Lucas lay in his plush bed, surrounded by his wealth and finery, and waited to die.
He reflected on the unfairness of it all. Surely death was for lesser men! He had fought his way up from nothing, with only his wits and his determination, and had built a vast fortune. Those had been the days, when he was young and strong. Fighting, clawing his way to the top. He had been gifted with a unique vision; he had been able to see the possibility of profit where others could not. They called him mad when he invested in automobiles, said they would never replace the horse. He bought land that everyone else thought useless, so wide and flat; then the airplane came along, and airports were needed. And talking motion pictures! What a pipe dream that had been... fifteen years ago. He had gone through the Great Depression untouched, had sold weapons to both sides during the Spanish Civil War. The last of the great robber barons, they had called him. And now he was dying, too. He had been born in a poor section of Philadelphia, in 1850. That made him eighty-nine years old, now. He had outlived his fellow tycoons, the closest things to friends he ever had. Old Cyrus Gold, vanished back in '94, or was it '95? Astor, lost on the Titanic. Knight, Vanderbilt, Dodds, all of them, gone. And Lucas would soon be joining them. He was rich beyond the dreams of Croesus, and all his money couldn't buy him one more minute. It just wasn't fair!
Part Two
"Charlie!" a woman's voice called to him happily. "Charlie, are you awake? Oh, Charlie, I have the best news!"
Lucas didn't answer. What news could possibly be good at this point? He sighed at his own folly. A man his age who marries a woman Barbara's age deserves everything he gets. Fifteen years ago, when he had been in fairly decent health for a seventy-four year old, and she had been a nineteen-year-old member of the chorus at Ziegfeld's Follies of 1924, she had been just another toy, another shiny object to brighten his home. Sure, she had spent his money without reserve or shame, but he had such a great lot of it, with more coming in every day. He had been the envy of Wall Street, then. Now he just felt like an old fool.
"Charlie?" Barbara said, clattering into his bedroom on her ridiculously high heels. She was wearing more makeup these days, trying to still look nineteen. Hah! She should worry about age! She was still, Lucas reflected, quite, quite beautiful.
"Charlie, you are awake!" she said. "Why didn't you answer me?"
"Didn't feel up to shouting," Lucas wheezed. "Figured you'd get here eventually."
"Oh, Charles, of course, how thoughtless of me!" Barbara said apologetically. "How are you feeling today?"
"I feel like I'm dying," Lucas said.
"Charlie, don't be so morbid!" Barbara said with a shudder.
"What's morbid?" Lucas asked. "I am dying. Ask the doctors. I can afford the best, you know; they ought to know what they're saying."
"Well, we're going to prove them wrong!" Barbara said. "Look!" She held out her hand. Lucas peered at two glittering objects resting in her palm. He looked up at her in confusion.
"Rings," he said, simply. For that is what they were. Golden bands with red stones the color of thick, rich blood. "They're lovely, dear, but I don't see how they're going to help me."
"Because these rings are magic!" Barbara said, enthusiastically. "With these rings, we can actually move your soul from your dying body and into a strong, young one!"
Lucas looked up at his child bride in stunned disbelief. He saw from the look on her face that she was serious.
"You have taken leave of your senses," Lucas said evenly.
Part Three
"Charlie, I'm serious!" Barbara said. "These rings are real, they really can do what they say!"
"Oh, really," Lucas said. "And who told you this? The fellow who sold them to you? What, were magic beans off today?"
"Charlie!" Barbara snapped, hurt. "Be serious! I got these from an antiquities dealer. They're authentic, from ancient Egypt! They were found in the tomb of a royal wizard; the inscription says the pharaohs would reign far past their allotted time by using these rings to leap from body to body!"
"Fah," Lucas spat. "If these rings are such authentic Egyptian relics, why aren't they in a museum somewhere? Why did your antiquities dealer have them?"
"They were stolen," Barbara said, in a conspiratorial whisper. "Stolen by tomb raiders centuries ago, passed from hand to hand until they reached the dealer I bought them from! He specializes in dealings that aren't exactly above board."
"Hrm," Lucas muttered. "So how are they supposed to work?" At the back of his mind, Lucas knew he was clutching at straws, but with Death staring you in the face, you took whatever chance you got.
"The way the dealer described it to me," Barbara said, "you put one ring on, and the body you want to go into puts the other one on. Then, under a full moon, you recite the invocation to the moon god -- the dealer wrote it out phonetically -- and that's it!"
"I don't know," Lucas said. "Even if I do believe in this, and I'm saying if, wouldn't I lose my fortune if I assumed the identity of another?"
"Charlie," Barbara said, as though to a child who had said something silly, "you just will your fortune to the man whose body you take over! Then it stays yours, legally and forever!"
Lucas hadn't thought of that. Perhaps, over the years, some of his shrewdness had rubbed off on Barbara.
"Well, what can I lose?" he asked. "I'll give it a try."
"Oh, Charlie, that's wonderful!" Barbara said, kissing him on the top of his bald head. "I know it will work, I just know it will!"
"We need to find the right body," Lucas said. "A young, strong body. I won't accept just anything, you know. This isn't like buying a new suit."
"You leave that to me," Barbara said, patting her husband on the shoulder. "I'll find something to your liking."
Part Four
"I don't know about this," Lucas said, a week later. "Why do I have to go out? Why can't the lad come to me?"
"He works four shows a night, Charlie," Barbara said, seated next to her husband in the back of the limousine. "By the time he gets free, you'll be long asleep. This is better, believe me."
Lucas grumbled something inaudible. He was bundled up in enough clothes to fill a dry goods store, it seemed to him. To protect his frail body from the chill. And this was late May!
The limousine pulled up in front of a small nightclub on Twelfth Avenue. An old, run-down place, it had certainly seen better days. Lucas allowed the chauffeur to lift him bodily out of the back seat, place his frail form in the wheelchair. Barbara took over from there, pushing him into the theater as the chauffeur held the door open. The club was small, not very crowded, but the tables were close together, making it difficult to maneuver the wheelchair. Finally they found a table; Barbara pulled out one of the chairs, pushed her husband's wheelchair into the place, and sat down next to him.
"Seedy enough place," Lucas sniffed.
"Charlie, we're not here for atmosphere," Barbara reminded, in a hushed whisper. A waiter came to take their drink orders; he regarded Lucas with a raised eyebrow when the elderly man ordered weak tea. Before the drinks came, a Master of Ceremonies in a loud checked suit came out on the stage.
"Hello, friends," the grinning man said, hamming it up. "I would say 'ladies and gentlemen,' but you know what you are." Rim shot from the small band. "We have a fantastic evening ahead for you! The sultry song stylings of the curvaceous Canary! The mystifying manipulations of Zard the Enchanter, master of magic! And first, to warm things up, let's have a big hand for Danny Winter and Professor Woodenhead!"
Part Five
A smattering of applause greeted a tall man in a black tuxedo as he walked out on stage, carrying a small suitcase. The man was very handsome, a form lean but muscular, with a shock of wavy black hair, a perfect Roman nose, twinkling blue eyes. Lucas looked him up and down and nodded once. Barbara saw his approval and smiled.
"Thank you, folks, thank you," Winter said, sitting down on a stool. He set the suitcase down on the stage beside him. "Before I begin, I wanted to say a few words to you about--"
Winter was interrupted by a muffled voice apparently coming from inside the suitcase. Winter did not look at the case, but gave it a small kick with his foot, eliciting laughter from the audience. "As I was saying," Winter went on, "I wanted to talk to you tonight about--" More muffled complaints from the suitcase, louder now. Winter chuckled nervously.
"Well, I guess my talk will have to wait," he said cheerfully. "Apparently Professor Woodenhead is anxious to say a few words himself. Let's bring him out, then." Winter reached down and opened the suitcase. He lifted out a wooden ventriloquist's dummy, dressed in a little green tuxedo and top hat, wearing a monocle in each eye. He set the dummy on his knee, facing the audience.
"Whew!" Professor Woodenhead seemed to say, in a voice different from Winter's. "How long were you planning on leaving me in there? You know I'm afraid of the dark!"
The audience laughed at this routine. Lucas didn't find it particularly amusing, but he watched the handsome young ventriloquist with rapt attention.
"So, Danny," the dummy said to the ventriloquist, "who was that I heard in our dressing room earlier?"
"Oh, just a couple of stagehands," Danny said.
"Oh? I thought I heard you discussing politics."
"Politics?" Danny asked, looking confused.
"Yes," the dummy went on, "I distinctly heard someone ask for a New Deal."
The audience loved that one; even Lucas cracked a smile.
"I've always wondered, Professor Woodenhead," Danny asked, "what is your degree in?"
"I graduated Mahogany Cum Laude," the dummy said, "in psychology, with a minor in ceramics."
"Psychology and ceramics?" Danny asked. "What do you do with that?"
"I study crackpots," Professor Woodenhead said, with a wink at the audience. "Like that one over there, inhaling the bottle of vodka. Take it easy, sir, Prohibition ended years ago!"
The audience went wild. Lucas admitted the man had a talent, but that wasn't what interested him. He also had a strong, young, handsome body, one that could easily expect another fifty or sixty years of life.
Yes, this was the one. Barbara had selected well.
Part Six
"You understand the offer we're making?" Lucas said, after the show, in Danny's tiny dressing room. The tycoon had closets that were larger than this room, and the ventriloquist had to share this with Zard the Enchanter.
"I do," Danny said, in a serious voice. He stared at the floor, let out a deep breath. "I understand what I'm giving up."
"Everything," Lucas said. "I'm asking you to trade your young, strong, healthy body for this old, decrepit, dying one. I know that sounds bizarre; I didn't believe it myself, when I first heard it. To be frank, I'm not totally sure it will even work. But if it does, your soul will be trapped in this withered, dying shell. You're willing to do that?"
Danny looked up from the floor, his eyes met the old tycoon's. "My mother is also dying, Mr. Lucas," Danny said. "An operation would save her life. A very costly operation. I've tried other ways to get the ten thousand dollars I need, but the banks won't take a risk on me. There's no other way. That woman scrubbed floors fourteen hours a day so that I could follow my dream of becoming a star."
"Another Edgar Bergen," Barbara suggested.
Danny's face soured. "Don't mention that hack's name in my presence, please! A ventriloquist on the radio, for God's sake? Am I missing something?"
"So you agree, then," Lucas said, changing the subject, "to the terms I stipulate?"
"Ten thousand dollars up front," Danny said, "for my mother's operation. Do that, and I'm yours."
"Very well," Lucas said. "The ceremony will take place the first night of the full moon. That's Thursday next. At my mansion on Long Island. I'll send my car for you."
"I'll be there, Mr. Lucas," Danny said. "If it means saving my mother, I'll be there."
"Good," Lucas said, grinning like a shark.
Part Seven
The fated night arrived. Lucas sat in his wheelchair, hands fidgeting, looking at the clock. Where was that young man? Was he backing out? He couldn't! He had no right! They had a bargain! It would be another month until another full moon; Lucas might not last that long! Winter must go through with it! He had to!
"Try to be calm, dear," Barbara said, noticing her husband's nervousness.
"Damned easy for you to say," Lucas spat.
Finally, the doorbell rang. Lucas watched the entrance of the sitting room with anxious anticipation. Finally the butler entered and announced Mr. Daniel Winter. The handsome young man followed the butler into the room. He carried Professor Woodenhead in the crook of his arm.
"I see you made it, Winter," Lucas said. "And you brought your little friend."
"I hope you don't mind, sir," Winter said. "Professor Woodenhead and I have been together for years. It makes me feel more comfortable, having him along."
"Fine, fine," Lucas said, dismissively.
"How's your mother?" Barbara asked.
"Doing well," Winter smiled. "The doctors give her every hope of recovery, now that she can have the operation." Winter stared at the floor. "I only wish I... could be there to see it."
"We're wasting time," Lucas snapped. "Let's get on with this!"
Winter inhaled deeply, then let out a sigh. "Yes, sir."
Silently, Barbara opened the big French doors leading out into the courtyard. Lucas winced at the cold night breeze as she pushed him through the exit. "Are you sure we have to do this outside?" he asked.
"The spell calls for moonlight," Barbara reminded. "It might be safe to attempt indoors, but why take chances?"
Winter followed them into the courtyard, his ventriloquist's dummy in the crook of his arm. Soon, young entertainer and aged tycoon faced each other, about twenty feet apart.
"Are you ready, Daniel?" Lucas asked, not unkindly.
"Ready," Winter said.
"Me, too," Professor Woodenhead added in the voice Danny used for the dummy.
"The rings, Barbara," Lucas said. His wife nodded. She strode over to Danny and held out one of the rings. The young man took it, slipped it on his finger, and held it up so that it glittered in the moonlight. Barbara walked over to Lucas and gently put the other ring on his finger.
"The incantation," Lucas said. Barbara nodded and handed him a slip of paper. She walked around behind his wheelchair and stood with her hands on the handlebars as he read.
The old man cleared his throat and spoke the words. They had been written out phonetically, and he pronounced them as best he could. He lifted his trembling, aged arms high, holding the ring up to the moonlight. Winter watched him with rapt attention. Behind her husband, Barbara's eyes grew wide. Each syllable flew from the old man's lips like a bullet from a gun, fired at the heavens in supplication, a desperate plea for help. The level of his voice rose with every word. At the end he was screaming the ancient words, the words that had not been heard on Earth since Akhenaten was a boy. Finally he finished the incantation, shouting the last syllable to the sky.
Then, with an audible croak and gasp for breath, Charles L. Lucas slumped forward in his wheelchair, his bald head dropped down onto his sunken chest.
Barbara Lucas stared down at her husband's still form for a long minute, two. Then she looked up, staring at Winter with wide, anxious eyes, silently questioning.
"It worked!" Winter cried.
Part Eight
Barbara rushed to Winter's side, in exhilaration. "Darling, it worked!" she cried. "It really worked!"
"I know, I know!" Winter cried happily, sweeping her up into his arms and swinging her about. "All these months of planning, and it worked better than we dared hope for!"
"I thought I would have to strangle the old fool from behind, after he wore himself out chanting that silly incantation!" Barbara laughed, as Winter set her down again. "But the miserable old miser up and died on us just as he finished it!"
"Isn't it wonderful?" Winter asked. "And he willed everything to me, actually believing that these ridiculous rings would transfer his mind into my body! So now the old boy's fortune is mine, free, clear, and legal!"
Barbara giggled. "If the rings are so silly, darling," she chuckled, pointing, "what's that?"
Winter looked where her finger pointed: to the wooden hand of his ventriloquist's dummy. The scarlet ring rested on the carved finger. Winter looked up at her, sheepishly.
"Well, it never hurts to hedge one's bets, does it?" he asked. "I mean, my mother believes in fairy tales about people being turned to salt by a vengeful God and the sea parting to let fleeing slaves pass through. How much more far-fetched is this?"
"Well, I did have to be authentic," Barbara said. "I wouldn't have put it past the paranoid old goat to check on my story! I really did get the rings from an antiquities dealer, and there really is a legend about them! The incantation was even authentic!"
"Authentically foolish," Winter chuckled. "Still, I felt safer slipping the ring onto Professor Woodenhead's finger. I'm just glad Zard taught me some basic prestidigitation." Winter tossed the dummy into Lucas' dead lap, then scooped Barbara up into his arms, holding her about the shoulders and beneath the knees. She giggled as he carried her off. "Now, my darling, let's celebrate! I've got the old boy's boodle and his bride, and I intend to enjoy them both!"
The young lovers departed for the sumptuous bedchambers of the mansion, leaving the dead man and the wooden dummy outside under the moonlight.
Part Nine
An hour later, Winter and Barbara lay in the huge four-poster bed in her bedroom. Winter lay on his back, smoking a cigarette; Barbara lay curled up against him, her head on his chest.
"At long last," Barbara whispered. "You don't know how horrible it's been, being married to that animated corpse for fifteen years! When I first married him I didn't think he'd last a year!"
"That's all over now, baby," Winter said, exhaling smoke. "You won't be a prisoner in this house any more. Rome, Paris, Monte Carlo, name it!"
"Mmmm, dreamy," Barbara murmured. "You know, there's only one thing missing from this celebration!"
"Champagne?" Winter asked.
"You read my mind," Barbara giggled.
"Another trick Zard taught me," Winter joked. "I'll just hop down to the wine cellar and get us a couple bottles of his best, shall I?"
The young man got up from bed, pulled on a black silk dressing gown, and walked out of the room. Barbara lay back on the soft pillows and sighed a deep, contented sigh. Her suffering was over at last. Charles', too. In a way, she felt sorry for the old coot and hoped he was happy, wherever he was.
The new widow was startled out of her contemplation by a loud, blood-curdling scream. A man's scream! Barbara pulled the silk sheet up to her chin. "D-Danny?" she called out. "Danny, are you all right?"
Silence.
"Danny?" Barbara called again. "Danny, answer me! Are you all right?"
"No," came a voice, not Danny's. "He's not all right."
Barbara gaped with wide eyes at the half-open bedroom doorway. She saw a shadow approaching along the floor, the shadow of a man! She trembled in fear, hunching herself back against the bed as far as she could go. Then the figure appeared in the doorway, a kitchen knife clutched in its small fist. Blood dripped from the kitchen knife. The painted eyes leered at her through the twin monocles.
Barbara screamed, and kept right on screaming until the knife ended her voice forever.
Epilogue
Lucas sat on the back steps of the service entrance of his former home, staring out into the darkness, for a long, long time.
He still didn't understand how it had happened. It was unexplainable. These eyes were just painted spheres of wood, and yet he could see with them. He had no lungs, no larynx, his tongue was a strip of felt. And still he spoke. He felt not heat or cold, hunger or thirst, pain or pleasure. He felt nothing.
And yet he lived. The magic of the Egyptian rings had placed his soul in this body of carved wood and rubber band joints, and somehow made it work for him. Somehow.
He stared down at the ring on his carved wooden finger. He removed it and dropped it into his pocket with the other ring, the one he had taken from his own dead body. Someday, he thought he may want to use them again. Find another body to inhabit. Live as a man again.
Someday.
In the meantime, this body was invulnerable to hunger, disease, aging. Probably everything but termites, he thought with a chuckle. And innocuous; the last vessel one would suspect of housing a deadly mind, a ruthless mind, a mind bent on conquest.
His own fortune was gone, lost to him forever. But that was fine. He enjoyed the thrill of the taking much more than the having, anyway. And in this body, he could enjoy the thrill of taking in ways he never dared before.
The tiny wooden body hopped down the stairs and scampered off into the Long Island night. As he went, he laughed to himself at Barbara and her plan. Tried to make a dummy out of him with the aid of a ventriloquist. Well, Barbara, he thought cruelly, who's the dummy now?
THE END