T. Goeglein - Cold Fury

“Sara Jane.”

He was behind me, and I turned to a kid who was my brother, but not.

He was snowy pale with deep circles under his eyes, his thick black hair shaved away.

He wore clothes that were not his own, jeans too big, a pale green hospital shirt beneath a coat too heavy for such a hot day.

Without another word, he turned to enter the Ferris wheel. I followed as he handed an attendant two tickets, we boarded the gondola with its open-air windows, and the great disc made its slow turn toward the sun. By that time we were holding each other tightly and I wept into his shoulder while Lou burrowed against me making low murmuring noises that were not words, but feelings. There was a faint metallic smell to him, like old batteries, and when we parted, sitting opposite of each other, we simply stared while the wheel climbed. Finally I said, “You’re alive,” and he nodded, and I asked, “Are they?”

Lou paused, then said, “Barely.”

“Lou. . where did you all go?”

“I don’t know. We were taken.”

“By who? The government?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure. But I have to go back.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I won’t lose you again.”

“I don’t have a choice. Right now, they don’t know I’m gone. But if I’m not where I’m supposed to be in an hour, they’ll probably kill Mom,” he said absently, looking down at the ground, and I saw deep red burn marks on the side of his skull.

“Lou,” I whispered, leaning forward and gently inspecting his head.

“They attach wires. I know they do it to Dad, too, or did, every day. I heard him screaming when they turned on the computer.” He turned to me, and in a quiet, blank tone he said, “They want something.”

“The notebook. Do you know about it, Lou?”

He nodded. “Our family, the Outfit, the notebook. It’s very valuable, you know. There’s something incredibly powerful in its pages, or so I’ve been told. .”

“They can have it,” I said. “I’ll give it to them now, today, if they’ll let you all go.”

He gazed down at the ground again. “They don’t want it.”

That stopped me. The notebook was a deadly burden but also my single strongest edge-my sole bargaining chip in a twisted reality where all lives had prices on them-and now it was worthless. “What do they want?” I asked.

Lou touched my forehead lightly. “What you have. What dad has.”

“Ghiaccio furioso,” I said slowly. “What you don’t have.”

“They don’t know that yet. That’s why I’ve been here, waiting for you every Sunday for a month. It became too dangerous. This was my last try.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either, exactly. I think they think ghiaccio furioso can control other things besides people. I saw the screen of the computer I was attached to. . it looked like something medical, like a diagram of a brain or something. I don’t know what they’ve gotten from Dad, but they’ve gotten nothing from me, and pretty soon they’re going to realize that they never will. And then they’ll want you.” My brother looked at me impassively and said, “Run, Sara Jane. Run far away from Chicago. Leave, and don’t look back.”

“Never.”

“They know you exist, of course, but it’s as if it hasn’t occurred to them that a girl can possess ghiaccio furioso,” he said, looking absently down at the ground far below. “They assumed it was me because I’m a boy and I have blue eyes. But they’ll figure it out soon enough and by then you have to be gone.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve still got the notebook. Whatever’s in there, I’ll find it and I’ll use it. I swear to God, Lou, I won’t stop until you’re free.”

“It’s not. . possible,” he said, his gaze widening.

“It is. It is possible,” I said. “You have to trust me.”

Lou pointed past me and shuddered. “Down there. Tell me it’s not real.”

A Ferris wheel is like a wagon wheel, its center held in place by spokes, and I turned and looked down at Poor Kevin inching up the one beneath our gondola. He climbed quickly, like a plaid, mad Spider-Man, and although his face was masked, I could tell he was grinning. There was no time to do anything but shove my little brother behind me as Poor Kevin pulled himself toward the gondola-we were halfway to the top and it swung wildly under his weight until he was inside. The metal car was built to hold six people, and he filled the entire space with the smell of rancid meat while wagging his finger at me. “You, you, you!” he squealed, and I felt Lou cower against me as Poor Kevin said, “Rodents and Ferraris and Ferris wheels. . you’re just all over the map, aren’t you? And lookie here, if it isn’t little brother! Aren’t you gonna say hello? What’s the matter. . rat got your tongue?”

I stared with ghiaccio furioso frigid and bubbling in my gut. “Stay back,” I hissed, but he repelled it, blinking it away while cracking his big knuckles.

“’Cause I’ll tell you something, a rat got part of mine!” he shrieked, and before he could touch us, I dropped to the floor and swept his ankles. He went down heavily on his back, the gondola careened wildly, and I knew it was all useless. The masked demon was my fate-he always had been, right from the beginning. Even as I fought on, I was having the type of sensory revelation that a person on her deathbed must experience seconds before she exits her body, knowing suddenly that it’s going to happen-I knew, too, even as he staggered to his feet and I peppered the evil sock puppet’s face with a flurry of rights and lefts and he took them like a giggling speed bag. I could hammer away all day, I could bite, kick, and run, but in the end he would grab my neck and squeeze me to death. And then something landed on top of us like a load of bricks. We all froze-Poor Kevin staring at the roof, me in a crouch, Lou against the wall. Poor Kevin stuck his ski mask over the edge, craning his neck this way and that, only for a pair of boots to kick him in the jaw so hard he flew across the gondola. The boots were followed by thick legs as another bulky man swung inside. “Uncle Buddy?”

“Geez, I really hate heights,” he said, his whole body shaking.

“You. . you jumped?”

“From the gondola above,” he said, with another violent shudder. “Don’t ever do something like that.”

Poor Kevin stood shaking his head like a wet dog, and when he looked up, his crazy eyes popped crazier through the ski mask holes. “You schlub!” he cried. “It’s really you, isn’t it? Buddy Roly-Poly Rispoli! Buddy More-Cannoli Rispoli!”

“Poor Kevin,” Uncle Buddy said with a sigh.

“Oh, how I’ve longed for the day when I could tear your arms from your body and beat you retarded with them!” Poor Kevin bleated. “I mean, more retarded! I dreamed about it when I was in the hospital!”

“You mean the nuthouse,” Uncle Buddy said.

“Nuthouse, loony bin, cracker shack, you name it, I escaped it, and now here we are, just me and the Rispoli three! It’s gonna be fun, like killing rats!” Poor Kevin squealed, breaking into a sick little jig.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered to Uncle Buddy.

“After you left the house, I picked up your trail and followed you,” he said grimly, staring at Poor Kevin. “I wanted that damn notebook so badly. It’s all I wanted. And then I saw him.”

“Buddy-Buddy, two-by-four, can’t fit through the bakery door!” Poor Kevin sang in his schoolmarm falsetto.

“My brother would never forgive me if I let him hurt you,” Uncle Buddy said. “And I could use some forgiveness.”

“Buddy-Buddy, two-by-four, I’ll use your ass to mop the floor!”