Then he kissed her and ran down the slope.
No sooner had he been swallowed by the darkness than five hulking, growling forms burst from the steadily shrinking light and pursued him. Moments later they returned, dragging him along in their midst.
Ginger locked a scream in her throat and fought the urge to rush to his aid. He'd told her to stay hidden. And besides, what could she do? She'd be swatted like a fly. So she huddled in the brush and watched the Beagle Boys hustle George back into the Otherness.
. . . I'll be okay . . . I'll be back for you . . .
Only those words kept her from screaming out the insufferable fear that she'd never see him again.
Vaguely through the swirling violet light she could make out the circle of freaks in the bald spot. They seemed to be searching the ground for something. When George was brought back to them they searched him, then began beating him. Finally they pushed him aside and resumed sifting the sand around them.
Ginger held up the thing in her hand. It felt cold and fuzzy, almost furry. Was this what they were searching for?
When she looked up again she was startled at how small the violet dome had become, how quickly its light was fading. Panic tightened its fist within her chest. What was happening? And what would happen to anyone caught inside if and when it faded completely? She dropped the Piece and ran forward.
"George!"
She spotted him. He staggered to his feet and stared around. He looked lost. She shouted his name but he gave no sign that he heard. She screamed his name. The dome was shrinking so fast!
Maybe he heard her, maybe it was some sort of instinct. Whatever the reason, he began to stumble in her direction. The others didn't seem to notice. They were still searching through the sand around the Device. But George seemed to be moving in slow motion, tilted forward, head down, as if fighting a gale. His tentacles were stretched out straight and stiff before him, blindly reaching toward her.
Still calling his name, Ginger inched up to the receding edge of the light and thrust her hand within. The enmity, the alienness coursed through her but she forced her hand farther in. It was cold in there and she felt the blast of the wind, the sting of the sand. She pushed her arm still deeper into the light, up to the shoulder, stretched and managed to touch the tip of George's right tentacle. It responded immediately to her touch, writhing through her palm and wrapping around her wrist in the catch grip they'd used so many hundreds of times in mid air.
George looked up and smiled, though she knew he couldn't see her. He said something she couldn't hear but she read his lips.
Pull!
Ginger planted her feet and leaned back, trying to haul him through, but the drag was too strong. She was losing ground, especially now that the dome was shrinking faster—collapsing.
Her feet began sliding through the sandy soil. Instead of pulling George out, she was being pulled in. She dropped to her knees and with her free hand grabbed a gnarled dead root looping out of the soil. It stopped her slide, and for a moment she thought she was going to win. But the pull was too great. Her fingers slipped free of the root and once more she was heading into the violet light.
George must have realized this. He began wriggling his tentacle free of her grasp.
"No!" she cried. "Don't let go! I'll get you out!"
He shook his head and his lips formed a firm No. He touched his free tentacle to his lips then pressed it against the back of her hand.
"Please, George! Don't let me go!" She tried desperately to keep a grip on him but his flesh was so loose and flexible that he managed to slip free. "George, no!"
But he was going, sliding backward toward the bald spot and the others within it. He waved. He looked like he was crying.
And then George was gone. Everything was gone. A loud bang, like a giant balloon exploding, and suddenly the light, the Otherness, Oz, the freaks, George—everything. Gone.
Gone!
"Oh, no! Oh, please, God—NO!"
Sobbing, crying, refusing to believe this was real, Ginger ran forward into the bald spot and staggered around in blind circles, screaming out George's name until her throat was raw and her voice torn and useless. But no answer came. Even the night insects were quiet. Only the cold eye of the moon in the clearing sky bore witness to what had happened here.
She dropped to her knees. George . . . gone . . . lost inside the Otherness . . . maybe even dead now . . .
And what time was it? Had to be after midnight. George's birthday. His present . . . his birthday surprise . . . she hadn't been able to tell him about it . . . he'd been taken from her before she'd had a chance to tell him about their baby.
Table of Contents
FOREWORD
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
F. Paul Wilson, The Peabody- Ozymandias Traveling Circus & Oddity Emporium
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