LOST

As the credits rolled on Stew’s lunch matinee, he gathered his jacket, slung it over his arm and headed toward the double doors, leaving the darkened auditorium behind. He made his way across the black and white tiled floor of the lobby, glancing at his watch, and rushed for the door.

“Stew!” exclaimed someone from over at the concession stand.

Startled, Stew turned and saw his friend, Marc, who manages the theater, walking toward him. “Marc! You are here. I didn’t see you before.”

“I just got here. I had to pick up some supplies. You all right?”

“Yeah, I just remembered I have to finish editing my review for tomorrow’s paper. Amy’s going to kill me if I don’t have it in by five o’clock.”

“Okay, well… do what you got to do. Hey… ScreamFest tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

“Forget? Are you kidding? It’s been marked in my planner for three months. I’ll be there. Starts at two, right?” Stew asked as he walked toward the door.

“Yep.” Marc scrunched up his nose as if he just smelled a fart, “She’s not coming is she?”

“No. She doesn’t like blood and guts like you and I.”

“Good. We can enjoy it, then,” Marc replied, relieved. “You want to catch dinner tonight and then we can go check out that new haunted house? What’s it called…”

“Frightmare House.”

“That’s it!”

“I can’t. She wants me to go with her and her campaign buddies to a hibachi restaurant.”

“But aren’t you still afraid of—”

“Yes,” Stew replied, knowing that Marc was talking about his pyrophobia. “She thinks it was just a childhood thing and I should be grown out of it by now.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

“Then I will find myself a seat far away from the… fire.”

“Well, if you need me to pick you up, just give me a call.”

“Okay,” Stew chuckled. “I’ve got to go. Got to finish up at work. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stew yelled as he bolted out the exit and headed down the sidewalk.

He walked briskly, partly because he needed to get back to the newspaper and finish up for the day, but also because he was reminded of how much he hated the fact that he let Jade control him like she does. They had argued the night before over what to do for Halloween. She worked as an assistant campaign coordinator for the Democratic mayoral candidate and her idea of fun had changed drastically over the past year. He had wanted to break up with her for a few weeks but was hesitant out of fear she would start stalking him, so he found himself searching for the right way to let her down gently. His pants pocket vibrated intermittently as he headed toward the alley that would lead to the street the newspaper office was on. He stopped at the corner, dug his phone out of his pocket, and looked at the screen, even though he had a pretty good idea of who was calling him. His guess was correct.

“Hey. What’s up?” He couldn’t find it within him to fake any delight in hearing her voice. “Well… yeah. Isn’t that what you said last night? No. I don’t want to go, but do I have a choice?” He turned into the alley, which was shielded from the afternoon sun by the drugstore on the left and a diner on the right. “Because it’s Halloween. Marc and I always go to a haunted house. Not too old to enjoy it. Whatever. Marc and I will just go after ScreamFest tomorrow.” He paused, sighing and rolling his eyes, hoping the conversation was at an end. “Jade,” he stopped and threw up his arms in frustration, “So… you want me to cancel a tradition I’ve had with my best friend for the past ten years, to hang out with a bunch of political wannabes who I don’t even know. Because that is not my crowd,” he said as he resumed walking through the alley. “I’ll talk to you when I g—” THUD!

Blackness.

Mr. Trent tapped his palm with a tire iron as he towered triumphantly above Stew, who was lying motionless on the ground beside a dumpster. Mr. Scott pulled Zachary’s dagger out of his coat pocket and stepped near Stew’s unconscious body.

“What are you doing with that?” Mr. Trent asked, stunned by Mr. Scott’s boldness. “All we’re supposed to do is knock him out and take him to the warehouse.”

“Well, I figured I could save Di Corvo the trouble and do the deed myself,” Mr. Scott said proudly. “He might be appreciative of that.”

“He might freaking kill you. It’s daylight. There are people around, moron.” Trent was starting to get irritated. “Just give me the knife,” he said holding out his hand.

“Shut up and move out of the way,” Scott said, shoving Trent aside.

The two henchmen failed to notice that there were a couple too many shadows among them. “That’s them,” Regan told Wiz, Goose’s shadow at his side. “Two of them, anyway.”

Scott kneeled down and brought the dagger high above his head. He began to swing the dagger downward, aimed to penetrate Stew’s heart, but before he could bring the knife down to pierce flesh, Wiz made himself solid and tackled Scott from the side and pinned him to the pavement.

Trent quickly lunged toward Wiz, but before he could get within arm’s reach, Goose took solid form, jumped in between them and snarled fiercely and with the force of a thunder crack. Trent knew he was no match for a dog who was clearly no mere dog and slowly stepped back.

“I suggest you go back to whoever you work for. Di Corvo, I think his name was… right? You tell him, if he wants to kidnap someone, he might want to do it himself next time.” Wiz growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott snapped back.

“You know what?” Trent said under his breath, “To Hell with this. I’m out of here.” He sprinted toward the street. Goose started to run after him.

“Goose!” Wiz yelled after him, keeping his eyes on the one he had pinned. “Stay here. Don’t worry about him.” And then, speaking to Scott, “You tell Di Corvo—”

“Screw you!” Scott yelled as he yanked himself away from Wiz’s grip. “I don’t work for anyone.” He then ran in the same direction as Trent. He was coming out of the alley when he bumped into a girl, nearly knocking her down. Without an apology, he ran towards where he thought they had parked the van.

The girl took a moment to get over the fact that she almost knew what it was like to be an ill-prepared quarterback on the wrong end of a blitz. She looked into the alley and saw a man crouched over a body and she ran to see if they needed help.

Wiz heard her approach and turned to look at her, “Do you have a cellphone? This man needs medical attention.”

“That guy just about ran me down. Did he do this?” she asked.

“Yes. Please, call for help. He’s got a head injury.”

As she called, Wiz looked around and saw the gleam of the dagger beneath a nearby dumpster. The young woman, not looking, was crouched down and petting Goose’s head as the dog nudged the unconscious man’s arm. Wiz quietly went over to the dumpster, reached underneath the cold, rusty metal, picked the knife up and placed it in his bag.

“Okay, an ambulance is on its way and the police are already patrolling the area because of someone who escaped from jail last night,” the girl said as she put her phone back in her purse. “I gave them the best description I could.”

“That’s fine,” he said, trying not to sound nervous, knowing he was the one they were patrolling the streets for. “Thank you very much.”

“I’m Alex, by the way. Alex McDaniel,” she said as she reached out her hand.

Before Wiz had a chance to accept it, Goose put his head in the way, letting out a sharp but happy yelp as he wagged his tail at her feet. “He’s harmless,” Wiz assured her, “to anyone who’s not trying to kill us anyway. His name’s Goose.”

“Goose, huh?” she reached down and patted him on the head. “It’s nice to meet you.” She looked back at Wiz, “And your name?”

“Oh, I didn’t introduce myself, did I… Wiz. Just call me Wiz.”

“Wiz. Interesting name. So… hang out in the alley much?”

“Oh, no. We just happened to be in the neighborhood. Goose and I have recently become fans of the diner next door here. We just finished breakfast… well, lunch, I guess.”

“Is he going to be okay?” she said as she nodded towards the man lying facedown on the ground.

“I hope so,” Wiz said as he looked at the man’s motionless body. “He’s got a nasty head wound. I’m pretty sure I have the bleeding stopped.” He gently turned him over to see whether he was unconscious or not. Once he saw his face, Wiz’s flesh immediately went pale. He quickly let go of the man and scooted himself back a foot or two. He hadn’t paid attention to his face when he was wrapping a piece of cloth on the man’s head wound.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is he dead?” Alex rushed over to see. “Oh, God. I can’t handle dead bodies.” Her hand shook as she felt his wrist for a pulse, “Oh, thank God. He’s alive.”

Images flashed before Wiz’s eyes. Flames. Xamn. Zachary. Ravens.

“The paramedics should be here shortly, along with the police. They’ll want to get a statement from you, I’m sure.”

Wiz’s shook the images out of his head as his mind raced with the thought of having to talk to the same officer who arrested him the day before, or any police officer, for that matter. “I forgot. I have an appointment. I’ve got to run,” he said, standing up.

“But you have to stay and—”

“I’m sure he’s in safe hands with you,” Wiz said as he walked briskly out of the alley, Goose trailing closely behind him.

“What do I tell the cops?” she asked, but he was already out of earshot.

Mr. Scott’s run turned into an aimless walk as he arrived at the corner of Church Street and Fifth, where the van was supposed to be. He looked around and neither the van nor Mr. Trent were anywhere to be found. Now out of breath and pissed off, he quickly came to the realization that he had been ditched. “Trent!” he screamed out with all the rage his overworked lungs could muster, “You’re a dead man! You hear me?”

“I don’t know about your man, Trent,” an authoritative voice said from behind him, “but I hear you.” Scott didn’t have to look around to know that he was busted. “Now, put your hands up where I can see them.”

Wiz, with Goose and Regan following close behind, headed for the only safe place he knew—the diner—but thought he should probably get a bit farther away, at least for awhile. A bus pulled to a stop about a block away. Wiz hastily conjured a harness for Goose and put it on him and then a pair of dark sunglasses to portray himself as being blind. He waved in the direction of the bus so that the driver would wait. As he boarded, he remembered he didn’t have any cash.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I didn’t have any money. Come on, Goose,” Wiz said as he turned to get back off the bus.

“Wait,” the driver stopped them. “It’s okay. I’ll let it go this time.” He took hold of Wiz’s arm, urging him and Goose to stay on.

Wiz breathed a hefty sigh of relief. “Well, thank you, Sir. The world seems to be full of kindness this morning.” He began to walk toward the back of the bus.

“There’s only a few riders on at the moment. You’d do much better to sit in the front, sir,” the driver called after him.

“Oh, no, I prefer to sit in the back. Thank you, though,” Wiz replied.

“Suit yourself,” the driver replied before shutting the door.

“Where are we going?” Regan asked.

“Right now, we’re just riding. Anywhere but here,” Wiz said, keeping his voice very low.

“What made you freak out in the alley back there?”

“That was Xamn.”

“Really? We found him?” her wings fluttered with excitement.

“Yes. And ‘di corvo,’ if I’m not mistaken, is Portuguese for ‘the raven.’”

“How do you know that?” she asked, with her tiny eyebrows cocked sideways.

“I roamed the countryside of Portugal for a couple of years before I ran into you. I picked up a word or two.”

“You remember the Portuguese word for ‘raven’ after over four-hundred years, but you can’t remember what name they gave you at Ellis Island?”

“As an immortal, I am granted the ability to remember what I want to remember and disregard the rest.”

“You’re weird.”

“You could remind me what name they gave me. You were there.”

“No. I like Wiz. I just can’t resist an opportunity to harass you.”

“Don’t I know it. Anyway, as I was saying, at the burning, when Zachary tried to kill us, after he realized he’d failed, he disappeared and a flock of ravens took his place. I think the man those two are working for, Di Corvo, is Zachary. It’s him. I’m sure of it. He’s still alive and he’s still trying to kill Xamn, after all this time. And it cannot be mere chance that all the pieces fell into place today. You seeing who you thought were just three suspicious men plotting to harm someone. Us getting there just in time to save him. Even six months ago, when I bumped into him. Even then, fate’s plan was in motion.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“Now… we lay low. We’ll look in the paper tomorrow to see how Xamn’s doing and we’ll keep an eye out for Zachary and the two other guys.”

“Can’t you visit Xamn in the hospital?”

“It’s probably going to be awhile before I can do that.”

“What if you lose him again?”

“I don’t think that’s what fate has in mind.”