A Change in My Life, 9/?
Title: A Change in My Life, chapter nine
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,778
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry), Jeff, Greg, Mr. Gordon, Scott's imposter
Summary: Showdown in a Boston cemetery.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Elliott was dizzy and dazed from the sudden trip when he and the spirit suddenly appeared in an old, cold building. "Where are we?" he gasped. "Is this really Charlestown?"
"Of course it is. And we're in a mausoleum." The spirit continued to sneer at him.
Elliott shivered. On the one hand, he still certainly looked and sounded like Scott. On the other, he didn't at all, not when he was filled with nothing but hatred and cruelty. He was everything Scott was not.
"Yours?" Elliott ventured.
"No." The spirit waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't get so much as a monument like this, something to be remembered and honored. My name has even worn away on my grave. The only things on my headstone are my death date and one cold, harsh word: Traitor."
Elliott swallowed hard. "What was your death date?"
"June 17th, 1775." The spirit crossed his arms and watched Elliott expectantly.
"The Battle of Bunker Hill," the brunet said in surprise. "You sold us out to the British?!"
"I was a Loyalist," the spirit spat. "I didn't believe in what the colonists were fighting for. And for that I was executed."
"Obviously it went beyond your feelings," Elliott frowned. "How many people died because of you?"
"How many died because of the colonists' spies?" the spirit retorted. "What makes them any better?" He started to walk around Elliott, chilling him more with every step. "They're considered heroes, but they pretended to befriend their enemies and then sold them out without a moment's regret. Exactly the same as me."
Elliott shivered. He didn't like to think it, but he couldn't help wondering if to some extent this bitter man had a point. He certainly knew that he was not cut out to be a spy. He was far too honest a person.
"Okay," he said. "Nevermind the past. What do you have against us?"
The spirit stopped walking when he was directly in front of Elliott. "You don't remember that yet?" he jeered.
"No, I don't," Elliott shot back. "What could you possibly have against us? You died over 200 years ago!"
"It's not you so much," the spirit replied. "It's Scott." He leaned in closer. "I know you've noticed our little resemblance."
"You could pass for twins," Elliott said. "At least if you wanted to. You really don't look that much like him up close. There's so much hate in your eyes."
"I hate that he has everything I should have had," the spirit hissed. "I'll never forgive him for that."
Elliott stared at him. "You did all this to us, didn't you?!" he cried. "You made us forget knowing each other because you were so jealous!"
"You could say that. I've tried other ways to split up his little group before, but it never works. Finally I tried this." The spirit gestured at Elliott. "But you met anyway. And worse, you kept trusting each other even when I tried to twist things from your past to make you distrust each other!"
"All of that should have proved to you that you can't split us up!" Elliott shot back. It occurred to him that he was sounding a lot like Sean, and that to realize that, he must be remembering even more. Even though he had always stood up to the problem students in his class, and even though he had fought off bullies in the long-ago past, he had not needed to be so bold as he was right now. He had never even thought he was capable of such a thing. But now, instead of stammering all over his words, he was speaking with clarity and determination. Scott, Sean, and Barry had shown him his true self. Oddly enough, so had Double Trouble. And now that he knew, he never wanted to go back to his lonely former life again. He wouldn't. Nor would he let this hate-filled being take away everything that was important to him. He would fight for them now.
"But why?!" the spirit screamed. "Why doesn't anything work?!"
"Because you can't get rid of true caring so easily," Elliott retorted, fire coming into his eyes as he stepped forward. "Even when we didn't consciously remember, we still remembered deep down! That's what true caring is!"
"Shut up!" the spirit snarled. He pushed away from Elliott, beginning to pace the floor like a caged animal.
Elliott watched him, more angry at the moment than afraid. "What are you going to do when Scott and the others come?" he demanded. "Kill us all?"
The spirit spun around to face him again. "Oh, you'll see," he growled. "I'll say this much: killing all of you wouldn't serve any purpose. You'd just go on with your sickening togetherness into the afterlife!"
Elliott fell back, his stomach turning at the horrible realization. "You're going to kill some of us," he gasped.
A cold nod. "Scott is probably the only one I'll leave alive. What could hurt him more than that?"
"Nothing," Elliott whispered weakly.
"Of course, he'll have to watch each and every demise, so I'll leave you alive for now." The spirit headed for the wall. "Just remember that your minutes are numbered."
Elliott stared after him as he phased through the granite. Then, slumping back, he looked forlornly at his surroundings. "What am I going to do?" he choked out in horror. "I can't let anything happen to Sean and Barry. I can't let anything happen to myself, either!"
"Samuel Lyons is a fool to talk in here."
Elliott went stiff at the new, eerie voice. "W-What do you mean?" he stammered. "Who are you?"
"This is a mausoleum, is it not? You figure it out."
Elliott gulped. "It's yours?"
"He's so caught up in his twisted bitterness and rage that he forgets that most of those in the afterlife feel differently than he does."
"You're trying to tell me something," Elliott said. "Are you going to help us?"
"I'm not going to help him."
"That's . . . that's great," Elliott exclaimed, surprised and stunned. "But what can we do?"
"Stay in here until the others arrive. He has to think that everything is going his way for right now."
"Of course," Elliott stammered.
"Then he'll get a surprise. I'm not the only one who'll be on your side, either. None of us liked that stunt he pulled the first time you met him. Throwing tombstones like weapons . . . how outrageous!"
Elliott flinched. A brief flash of memory went through his mind---a horrible image of Sean lying lifeless on the ground, a broken tombstone next to him. He shuddered, falling back.
"You really don't remember much of anything about your life? He's been bragging for weeks about what he did in the space of a few short hours."
"I don't remember much," Elliott choked out. "But more is coming back to me all the time." He paused. "Do you know what he did?"
"Not the details; he wouldn't reveal that to anyone."
"Then you don't know how to reverse it," Elliott said in disappointment, his shoulders slumping.
"I have the feeling you already have the power to reverse it."
Elliott blinked in surprise. "I do?"
"All of you do, most likely. It's just as you said to Lyons: true caring can't be destroyed so easily."
Elliott looked down. He truly believed what he had said, but their memories were only coming back in bits and pieces. Could anything other than defeating Lyons restore the rest of them all at once?
He supposed they would all find out soon. At least he had the faith that Lyons would be defeated. And maybe even if they didn't regain their memories quickly, they would still regain them eventually.
If they all made it out of this alive.
****
Scott was restless on the plane. He shifted uneasily in his seat, looked out the window, and then to the rest of the group. All of them were tense and none of them knew what to make of this. Elliott taken! There was no telling what horrible fate he was going through right now. And what if . . . what if . . .
"Hey," Sean broke into his thoughts. "We're going to get him back."
Scott started. "I don't know," he said in despair. "What if when we get there, El is . . ." He trailed off; he couldn't say it.
Sean gripped Scott's shoulder. "He's going to be just fine," he asserted with leader-like determination. "That unctuous creep wants to get us out there. He'll keep Elliott alive at least until then. And that's all we'll need to be able to save him."
"Maybe," Scott said slowly. "What if on the other hand he thinks the worst thing he could do would be to have us see what he's done to El after it's already too late?"
"No," Sean growled, and suddenly Scott had the feeling that Sean felt personally responsible for what had happened.
"Sean . . ." He turned to look at Sean better. "This isn't your fault. It really isn't! I seem to be the spirit's target. The way he looked at me . . ." He shuddered. "If anyone is going to feel responsible, it's me."
"It is not your fault," Sean retorted. "If everything Double Trouble told us is true, and we're thinking it is, then I'm supposed to be the leader. I should be able to stop things like this from happening. Instead I couldn't do anything!"
Scott looked down. "No one can stop bad things from happening all the time," he said quietly. "Not even the leader."
Sean sighed. "I know that's right, of course. But it doesn't take away the guilt."
Scott gave a weak smile. "No, it doesn't."
Sean squeezed Scott's shoulder. "We're both blaming ourselves for this. Tell you what: if I try to get over those feelings, will you try too?"
Scott blinked. "Of course I will."
Sean smiled and relaxed. "Good."
He looked away from Scott, studying the view out the window. It was so strange to think of himself as the leader of this ragtag group. He had barely been able to look out for himself before. Now, suddenly, he had the fates of all of his new-old friends squarely on his shoulders. And Elliott was already gone. Would they be able to save him? Could they do it without any of them being harmed?
. . . And could he keep himself from feeling guilty and filled with self-hatred if something else horrible happened?
It was all on the spirit, he tried to tell himself. That was why they were in this mess to begin with. Strange to think about, really, considering his love of logic. Now he had to believe that they were at the mercy of a supernatural being. It wasn't a thought he would have entertained before.
Then again, there were a lot of thoughts he wouldn't have entertained before, good as well as bad.
"What are you thinking about?" Barry asked.
Sean started and looked to him. "I'm thinking it's surprising that a big-name opera star is willing to take directions from a screwball like me," he said, not entirely lying.
Barry grunted. "I'll admit it sounded bizarre when Double Trouble said that you were the leader. But on the other hand, it makes sense."
"Yeah?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"You have a take-charge attitude," Barry replied. "You don't let life get you down, even though it's dealt you some pretty bad hands. And even if you're not feeling so happy yourself, you try to brighten life for everyone else. You see others' sorrows; you're a deeper person than you let on." He paused. "Frankly, it's hard to imagine someone else as the leader."
Sean stared at him, stunned and sobered and moved by his words. "Not even you?" he ventured.
"Not me." Barry shook his head. "I always thought I was a loner and I liked it that way, but I really don't. And I'm content to let someone more qualified than me look out for all of us. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm not willing to help wherever I can."
Sean finally smiled a bit. "I'll remember that." He paused. "Speaking of take-charge attitudes, though, I'd say Scott also qualifies for that."
Scott looked up with a blink. "I'm just fine with following your lead, though," he said. "Maybe that's because I'm remembering more, but it just feels so right."
"Well," Sean mused, touched by Scott's voice of confidence, "that just leaves El's vote."
"And I'm sure he'd feel the same way," Scott smiled.
"When this is all over, we'll have to ask him," Sean determined.
"And we're going to be landing in a few minutes," Barry announced.
"Are we even going to know where to go when we do?" Greg looked uncomfortable. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about making this trip. But hopefully, even though Scott was the only one he remembered, he still wouldn't want any of them to be harmed.
"Let's think about it," Barry said. "Maybe we know that spirit from the past, but right now we don't remember and he's very aware of that. He won't have taken Elliott anyplace where we wouldn't be likely to go."
"And where might a wayward spirit go?" Sean said grandly as the understanding came into his eyes.
Scott was amazed by how fast Sean switched gears and put on a facade of cheerfulness after their deep conversations. "A cemetery, maybe?" he ventured.
"Yes!" Sean pumped the air in triumph. "So we'll check all the cemeteries in Charlestown. There can't be too many, right?"
"I hope not," Scott sighed.
****
There were at least two cemeteries in the Boston neighborhood of Charlestown. After a fruitless check of the first, the group headed to the second with hope and dread rising in equal amounts. What if they didn't find Elliott there either? What if they did, but he was hurt . . . or worse? What if . . .
Scott forced the agonizing thoughts out of his mind as Sean leaped over the low iron fence surrounding the property. He and the others followed, displeased by breaking in yet concerned enough about Elliott to be more than willing to do it. They wandered slowly amid the old gravestones and mausoleums. As they did, an autumn fog rose from the ground and only added to the eerie nature of their adventure. Sean, who was in the lead, was very tense. That served to make everyone else tense as well.
"Are you sure this is where we should be?" Greg said uneasily as they turned another corner.
"No, but like Barry and I said, it seemed the most logical place to look," Sean retorted, his voice clipped.
"Okay, okay." Greg held up his hands. "I'm just asking."
"It makes sense to me too, Greg," Scott spoke up.
"That figures," Greg remarked before he could stop himself.
Scott stopped walking. "What?"
The others stopped as well. "What do you mean by that?" Jeff said, clearly offended for Scott's sake.
"Well . . ." Realizing he had trapped himself, Greg ran a hand through his hair. "I just think it seems kind of strange that you and I were friends for years, Scotty, and then we drifted apart."
Scott folded his arms. "Mostly because of you, Greg. I was still willing to be friends, but you couldn't seem to make time for me."
"Okay, so maybe it was mostly because of me!" Greg snapped. "But now you meet these guys and within the space of a few hours, you feel close enough to them to go chasing after one of them in a town that you haven't wanted to set foot in for ages!"
"I would have done the same for you!" Scott cried. "What's your point?!"
Put on the spot, Greg was momentarily taken aback. But, quickly finding his voice, he said, "I guess my point is that we don't really remember how things were or if these guys really are our friends. And I don't like seeing a friend I do remember walking off into some kind of unknown danger!"
Scott fell back, stunned and surprised. "Greg . . ."
Sean, uncomfortable to be witnessing yet another argument, said, "None of us like it. But it was Scott's choice to come; he could have stayed behind. I wouldn't have insisted he come along."
"But you still would have gone," Greg said, turning to him.
"Yes," Sean confirmed. "Yes, I would."
"So would I," said Barry.
"Why?!" Greg exclaimed. "Well, I mean, of course you wouldn't want anyone to suffer at the hands of some messed-up spirit, but you really seem to believe this stuff about being friends. I know the Chief figures Double Trouble is on the level, and maybe they are, but I really have a hard time swallowing the idea that I'd up and forget people who meant a lot to me."
"That's just it, though," Scott exclaimed. "We didn't forget. Not really! That's why we were all drawn to each other."
"That's what you believe!" Greg retorted. "But I don't feel a connection like that. Why not, if I'm really your friend too?!"
"I don't know!" Sean retorted. "And I don't think that's the most important thing right now. Saving Elliott is!"
A cold and cruel laugh echoed throughout the area, freezing the group cold. "Saving Elliott," the spirit sneered as he materialized. "Oh yes, you must do that at all costs. Especially you, Dying Informant."
Scott stiffened. Somehow he knew that the spirit referred to him with that moniker. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"You always go out on assignment and come back half-dead." The spirit started to circle Scott in a threatening, mocking manner. Angry, Sean took a step forward but then stopped, knowing he could do nothing to restrain the being.
"So what if I do?" Scott shot back. "Apparently I think what I'm doing is still worth it."
"You do, and that's the amazing thing about it," the spirit jeered.
"It doesn't even matter anyway," Scott said in disgust.
"Scotty!" Greg burst out. "Of course it matters! The Dying Informant?! What is this?"
"It doesn't have anything to do with Elliott!" Scott glared the spirit down. "Where is he?!"
"Actually, it has everything to do with Elliott," the spirit grinned. "You see, he's going to play Dying Informant today. Only he won't come back from it the way you always miraculously do."
Scott went sheet-white. Nearby, Sean and Barry were staring in shocked horror. Even Greg's mouth dropped open.
And Aaron Gordon wasn't having any of it. "Alright, this charade has gone far enough," he snarled, storming forward. "Stop pretending you're a ghost. Obviously you're not. You're real enough to have abducted an innocent person. And I'm not going to let you get away with whatever foul thing you have in mind for him!"
The spirit responded by turning and lifting a hand in a claw motion. The fog, obeying him, grabbed Mr. Gordon and wrapped around him as the form of a giant hand, lifting him off the ground. "Oh, you're not, eh?" the spirit cackled. "And I'm not a ghost, am I?"
"Unc!" Jeff ran over before Barry could stop him. "You let him go!" He pointed a forefinger at the spirit in his fury. "Maybe we don't see eye to eye on anything, but that doesn't mean I want him hurt!"
With another gesture the spirit caused the fog to form a second huge hand. This one batted Jeff away as he yelped in pain.
Mr. Gordon stared, struggling against his bonds. "Jeff!"
Jeff tumbled over a gravestone and lay still on the ground. The spirit cackled in delight. "One down."
"You mean . . ." Now it was Mr. Gordon turning pale. "No, that's ridiculous! One little hit couldn't . . . wouldn't . . ."
"It had the same impact as if he had just been struck by one of your modern moving vehicles," the spirit replied. "I am most certainly not among the living, Mr. Gordon. And that little fact only serves to make my powers stronger!"
Mr. Gordon could only keep staring. All the angry words . . . all the hurt and pain . . . and how he had not really been there for Jeff when the boy had needed it. . . . So many of the things Jeff had said had really been true, even though Mr. Gordon had not wanted to believe it. He should have kept Jeff from going along on this mission. Yet, when this wretch was apparently truly responsible for all of the heartache that had been happening, he had to be stopped, didn't he? He had to be . . .
. . . But not at the expense of Jeff's life.
"You wanted so much to believe in the world where we hadn't drifted apart," he choked out, grief-stricken. "You gave up your life trying to get it back."
"I'm not going to believe he's dead!" Scott snapped. He turned, flying over two low tablets as he rushed to Jeff's side.
"Yes," the spirit purred low. "I have you just where I want you."
And the answer hit Sean like a bolt of lightning. "Scott, no! It's a trap!" An attempt to run over to the upset blond was immediately cut short when the spirit telekinetically pulled one of the low gravestones out of the ground and slammed the top of it into Sean's stomach. He gasped in pain, falling over backwards on the ground.
Scott spun around. "Sean!" He clenched a fist. "If this is all about me, then you should have just gone after me! Why involve so many others in your childish and outrageous plot?!"
"Because that's the best way to get at you," the spirit returned. "Just hurting you physically wouldn't be any fun. Well, not as much fun as this, anyway. One by one, you'll watch everyone else fall. Then you, the Dying Informant, will be the only one left. You'll have to carry on while mourning everybody else. And I think I'll release your memories at that point, just to make your suffering even worse."
"You're sick!" Scott spat.
"And you're not going to succeed!" a new voice yelled, entering the conversation.
Scott and Barry both looked up with a start. "El!" Scott cried in joyous amazement and worry all at once. "Don't come down here, El; this spirit's going to kill everyone except me!"
"I know," Elliott called back. "But it won't work."
The spirit's features twisted in his frustration. "How did you get free?! You weren't supposed to be able to get out until I said you could!"
"The spirit whose tomb you put me in doesn't like what you're doing," Elliott retorted. He started down the hill towards the group. "And I know the secret to beating you."
"How?!" the spirit fairly roared.
Gasping in pain, Sean rose up with one hand on his stomach. "You hate togetherness so much? How about we give it to you in droves!"
Elliott grinned and nodded. "That's it!" He rushed the rest of the way down and over to Scott and Jeff. His eyes widened in sickened horror to see the boy lying there. "Oh no. Is he . . . ?"
"I'm okay," Jeff groaned, painfully turning onto his back. "Just do what you have to do to beat that thing. I'm in it all the way."
Seeing his nephew move, Mr. Gordon slumped back in utter joy and relief. Thinking Jeff was dead had sent an unbearable agony through his heart, especially in light of the turmoil of the past hours and how Jeff had so plaintively exclaimed how badly he wanted to find this other world where he and his uncle actually got along. Mr. Gordon had not known how he would ever get past his haunted feelings over it all.
Scott bent down to help Jeff up, while Elliott hurried to help Barry with Sean. "The secret to defeating this guy is to show him how much we care about each other," Elliott explained to everyone. "He won't be able to take it. He'll have to leave."
"Well," Sean said, stumbling into Barry as Barry tried to help him stand, "I'd say that in light of what Double Trouble told us, the best thing we can do is sing. And I know the perfect song."
"A song?" Mr. Gordon looked incredulous.
"What if you don't all know it?" Greg retorted.
"I'm guessing we do," Sean answered. "And maybe when I start us off, everyone else will start to remember it. One, two, three. . . .
"Standing cold and scared on top of Blue Hill,
There came one moment when I lost my will . . ."
And as Sean sang, his prediction came true. A light shone in Scott's eyes as he picked up the next part of the verse.
"I prayed for mercy, Please God, take me away
Oh give me sunshine where I only see gray."
The same light came into Elliott's eyes. And as he sang, for the final time he discarded the glasses that he had worn just to hide behind. He didn't need them any longer.
"The past had a hold on me, it can't be denied . . ."
As the light touched Barry, he finished out the verse.
"And the change didn't come easily . . ."
Jeff and Greg, exchanging a look, decided to join the effort by clapping in time to the beat.
"I've been lonely, I've been cheated, I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up, I've been put down, and told I'm no good
But with you I belong, 'cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along."
And as the quartet sang while Jeff and Greg added their contributions, the spirit screamed in rage. "Stop it! Stop it! I took away your memories. I took away everything. And still you found each other! Still you cared! Even my twisting incidents that truly happened didn't change it!"
His power wavered. Mr. Gordon fell to his knees, freed from the fog. "I guess," he said quietly, finally understanding, "that's the power of what they have. I wish that my nephew and I had it too." He got to his feet, joining Jeff and Greg in clapping to the beat.
"NO!" the spirit shrieked in an almost inhuman manner. "No, this isn't what was supposed to happen! You were supposed to hate each other! Barring that, you were all supposed to die except for the Dying Informant! Why couldn't I succeed?! Why can't I ever get rid of any of you?!"
Other spirits began to materialize on all sides of the group. "Because," said the one in the lead, "they won't let you. And also because we're tired of your petty feelings."
Scott started to see their new allies, but he didn't stop singing. They all continued, while the good spirits added their energy to that of the power of the song.
"A man gets crazy when his life is all wrong
And a heart gets weary when it doesn't belong
When the road gets rocky, you have to keep on
Let the new light come shinin' on through
"I've been lonely, I've been cheated, I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up, I've been put down, and told I'm no good
But with you I belong, 'cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along."
The spirit gave an almost demon-like wail as the wall of positive energy and feelings hit him full-force. He had no choice but to vanish. And as he did, the light encircled the group for one brief moment before it, too, faded, along with the other spirits of the cemetery. A last breeze kicked up, blowing at the group before it vanished as quickly as it had come.
Scott placed a hand over his heart. "Wow! Oh Mama!"
And then his eyes widened as the realization came. "I remember!" he exclaimed. "I remember everything---how we met in the snow, the punk band, ACME, our songs . . . everything!"
Sean laughed for sheer joy and triumph. From their eyes, everyone remembered. They rushed at each other in a triumphal reunion, recalling everything at long last. The spirit had not been able to tear them apart. Now they were fully together again.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 4,778
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry), Jeff, Greg, Mr. Gordon, Scott's imposter
Summary: Showdown in a Boston cemetery.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Elliott was dizzy and dazed from the sudden trip when he and the spirit suddenly appeared in an old, cold building. "Where are we?" he gasped. "Is this really Charlestown?"
"Of course it is. And we're in a mausoleum." The spirit continued to sneer at him.
Elliott shivered. On the one hand, he still certainly looked and sounded like Scott. On the other, he didn't at all, not when he was filled with nothing but hatred and cruelty. He was everything Scott was not.
"Yours?" Elliott ventured.
"No." The spirit waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't get so much as a monument like this, something to be remembered and honored. My name has even worn away on my grave. The only things on my headstone are my death date and one cold, harsh word: Traitor."
Elliott swallowed hard. "What was your death date?"
"June 17th, 1775." The spirit crossed his arms and watched Elliott expectantly.
"The Battle of Bunker Hill," the brunet said in surprise. "You sold us out to the British?!"
"I was a Loyalist," the spirit spat. "I didn't believe in what the colonists were fighting for. And for that I was executed."
"Obviously it went beyond your feelings," Elliott frowned. "How many people died because of you?"
"How many died because of the colonists' spies?" the spirit retorted. "What makes them any better?" He started to walk around Elliott, chilling him more with every step. "They're considered heroes, but they pretended to befriend their enemies and then sold them out without a moment's regret. Exactly the same as me."
Elliott shivered. He didn't like to think it, but he couldn't help wondering if to some extent this bitter man had a point. He certainly knew that he was not cut out to be a spy. He was far too honest a person.
"Okay," he said. "Nevermind the past. What do you have against us?"
The spirit stopped walking when he was directly in front of Elliott. "You don't remember that yet?" he jeered.
"No, I don't," Elliott shot back. "What could you possibly have against us? You died over 200 years ago!"
"It's not you so much," the spirit replied. "It's Scott." He leaned in closer. "I know you've noticed our little resemblance."
"You could pass for twins," Elliott said. "At least if you wanted to. You really don't look that much like him up close. There's so much hate in your eyes."
"I hate that he has everything I should have had," the spirit hissed. "I'll never forgive him for that."
Elliott stared at him. "You did all this to us, didn't you?!" he cried. "You made us forget knowing each other because you were so jealous!"
"You could say that. I've tried other ways to split up his little group before, but it never works. Finally I tried this." The spirit gestured at Elliott. "But you met anyway. And worse, you kept trusting each other even when I tried to twist things from your past to make you distrust each other!"
"All of that should have proved to you that you can't split us up!" Elliott shot back. It occurred to him that he was sounding a lot like Sean, and that to realize that, he must be remembering even more. Even though he had always stood up to the problem students in his class, and even though he had fought off bullies in the long-ago past, he had not needed to be so bold as he was right now. He had never even thought he was capable of such a thing. But now, instead of stammering all over his words, he was speaking with clarity and determination. Scott, Sean, and Barry had shown him his true self. Oddly enough, so had Double Trouble. And now that he knew, he never wanted to go back to his lonely former life again. He wouldn't. Nor would he let this hate-filled being take away everything that was important to him. He would fight for them now.
"But why?!" the spirit screamed. "Why doesn't anything work?!"
"Because you can't get rid of true caring so easily," Elliott retorted, fire coming into his eyes as he stepped forward. "Even when we didn't consciously remember, we still remembered deep down! That's what true caring is!"
"Shut up!" the spirit snarled. He pushed away from Elliott, beginning to pace the floor like a caged animal.
Elliott watched him, more angry at the moment than afraid. "What are you going to do when Scott and the others come?" he demanded. "Kill us all?"
The spirit spun around to face him again. "Oh, you'll see," he growled. "I'll say this much: killing all of you wouldn't serve any purpose. You'd just go on with your sickening togetherness into the afterlife!"
Elliott fell back, his stomach turning at the horrible realization. "You're going to kill some of us," he gasped.
A cold nod. "Scott is probably the only one I'll leave alive. What could hurt him more than that?"
"Nothing," Elliott whispered weakly.
"Of course, he'll have to watch each and every demise, so I'll leave you alive for now." The spirit headed for the wall. "Just remember that your minutes are numbered."
Elliott stared after him as he phased through the granite. Then, slumping back, he looked forlornly at his surroundings. "What am I going to do?" he choked out in horror. "I can't let anything happen to Sean and Barry. I can't let anything happen to myself, either!"
"Samuel Lyons is a fool to talk in here."
Elliott went stiff at the new, eerie voice. "W-What do you mean?" he stammered. "Who are you?"
"This is a mausoleum, is it not? You figure it out."
Elliott gulped. "It's yours?"
"He's so caught up in his twisted bitterness and rage that he forgets that most of those in the afterlife feel differently than he does."
"You're trying to tell me something," Elliott said. "Are you going to help us?"
"I'm not going to help him."
"That's . . . that's great," Elliott exclaimed, surprised and stunned. "But what can we do?"
"Stay in here until the others arrive. He has to think that everything is going his way for right now."
"Of course," Elliott stammered.
"Then he'll get a surprise. I'm not the only one who'll be on your side, either. None of us liked that stunt he pulled the first time you met him. Throwing tombstones like weapons . . . how outrageous!"
Elliott flinched. A brief flash of memory went through his mind---a horrible image of Sean lying lifeless on the ground, a broken tombstone next to him. He shuddered, falling back.
"You really don't remember much of anything about your life? He's been bragging for weeks about what he did in the space of a few short hours."
"I don't remember much," Elliott choked out. "But more is coming back to me all the time." He paused. "Do you know what he did?"
"Not the details; he wouldn't reveal that to anyone."
"Then you don't know how to reverse it," Elliott said in disappointment, his shoulders slumping.
"I have the feeling you already have the power to reverse it."
Elliott blinked in surprise. "I do?"
"All of you do, most likely. It's just as you said to Lyons: true caring can't be destroyed so easily."
Elliott looked down. He truly believed what he had said, but their memories were only coming back in bits and pieces. Could anything other than defeating Lyons restore the rest of them all at once?
He supposed they would all find out soon. At least he had the faith that Lyons would be defeated. And maybe even if they didn't regain their memories quickly, they would still regain them eventually.
If they all made it out of this alive.
****
Scott was restless on the plane. He shifted uneasily in his seat, looked out the window, and then to the rest of the group. All of them were tense and none of them knew what to make of this. Elliott taken! There was no telling what horrible fate he was going through right now. And what if . . . what if . . .
"Hey," Sean broke into his thoughts. "We're going to get him back."
Scott started. "I don't know," he said in despair. "What if when we get there, El is . . ." He trailed off; he couldn't say it.
Sean gripped Scott's shoulder. "He's going to be just fine," he asserted with leader-like determination. "That unctuous creep wants to get us out there. He'll keep Elliott alive at least until then. And that's all we'll need to be able to save him."
"Maybe," Scott said slowly. "What if on the other hand he thinks the worst thing he could do would be to have us see what he's done to El after it's already too late?"
"No," Sean growled, and suddenly Scott had the feeling that Sean felt personally responsible for what had happened.
"Sean . . ." He turned to look at Sean better. "This isn't your fault. It really isn't! I seem to be the spirit's target. The way he looked at me . . ." He shuddered. "If anyone is going to feel responsible, it's me."
"It is not your fault," Sean retorted. "If everything Double Trouble told us is true, and we're thinking it is, then I'm supposed to be the leader. I should be able to stop things like this from happening. Instead I couldn't do anything!"
Scott looked down. "No one can stop bad things from happening all the time," he said quietly. "Not even the leader."
Sean sighed. "I know that's right, of course. But it doesn't take away the guilt."
Scott gave a weak smile. "No, it doesn't."
Sean squeezed Scott's shoulder. "We're both blaming ourselves for this. Tell you what: if I try to get over those feelings, will you try too?"
Scott blinked. "Of course I will."
Sean smiled and relaxed. "Good."
He looked away from Scott, studying the view out the window. It was so strange to think of himself as the leader of this ragtag group. He had barely been able to look out for himself before. Now, suddenly, he had the fates of all of his new-old friends squarely on his shoulders. And Elliott was already gone. Would they be able to save him? Could they do it without any of them being harmed?
. . . And could he keep himself from feeling guilty and filled with self-hatred if something else horrible happened?
It was all on the spirit, he tried to tell himself. That was why they were in this mess to begin with. Strange to think about, really, considering his love of logic. Now he had to believe that they were at the mercy of a supernatural being. It wasn't a thought he would have entertained before.
Then again, there were a lot of thoughts he wouldn't have entertained before, good as well as bad.
"What are you thinking about?" Barry asked.
Sean started and looked to him. "I'm thinking it's surprising that a big-name opera star is willing to take directions from a screwball like me," he said, not entirely lying.
Barry grunted. "I'll admit it sounded bizarre when Double Trouble said that you were the leader. But on the other hand, it makes sense."
"Yeah?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"You have a take-charge attitude," Barry replied. "You don't let life get you down, even though it's dealt you some pretty bad hands. And even if you're not feeling so happy yourself, you try to brighten life for everyone else. You see others' sorrows; you're a deeper person than you let on." He paused. "Frankly, it's hard to imagine someone else as the leader."
Sean stared at him, stunned and sobered and moved by his words. "Not even you?" he ventured.
"Not me." Barry shook his head. "I always thought I was a loner and I liked it that way, but I really don't. And I'm content to let someone more qualified than me look out for all of us. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm not willing to help wherever I can."
Sean finally smiled a bit. "I'll remember that." He paused. "Speaking of take-charge attitudes, though, I'd say Scott also qualifies for that."
Scott looked up with a blink. "I'm just fine with following your lead, though," he said. "Maybe that's because I'm remembering more, but it just feels so right."
"Well," Sean mused, touched by Scott's voice of confidence, "that just leaves El's vote."
"And I'm sure he'd feel the same way," Scott smiled.
"When this is all over, we'll have to ask him," Sean determined.
"And we're going to be landing in a few minutes," Barry announced.
"Are we even going to know where to go when we do?" Greg looked uncomfortable. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about making this trip. But hopefully, even though Scott was the only one he remembered, he still wouldn't want any of them to be harmed.
"Let's think about it," Barry said. "Maybe we know that spirit from the past, but right now we don't remember and he's very aware of that. He won't have taken Elliott anyplace where we wouldn't be likely to go."
"And where might a wayward spirit go?" Sean said grandly as the understanding came into his eyes.
Scott was amazed by how fast Sean switched gears and put on a facade of cheerfulness after their deep conversations. "A cemetery, maybe?" he ventured.
"Yes!" Sean pumped the air in triumph. "So we'll check all the cemeteries in Charlestown. There can't be too many, right?"
"I hope not," Scott sighed.
****
There were at least two cemeteries in the Boston neighborhood of Charlestown. After a fruitless check of the first, the group headed to the second with hope and dread rising in equal amounts. What if they didn't find Elliott there either? What if they did, but he was hurt . . . or worse? What if . . .
Scott forced the agonizing thoughts out of his mind as Sean leaped over the low iron fence surrounding the property. He and the others followed, displeased by breaking in yet concerned enough about Elliott to be more than willing to do it. They wandered slowly amid the old gravestones and mausoleums. As they did, an autumn fog rose from the ground and only added to the eerie nature of their adventure. Sean, who was in the lead, was very tense. That served to make everyone else tense as well.
"Are you sure this is where we should be?" Greg said uneasily as they turned another corner.
"No, but like Barry and I said, it seemed the most logical place to look," Sean retorted, his voice clipped.
"Okay, okay." Greg held up his hands. "I'm just asking."
"It makes sense to me too, Greg," Scott spoke up.
"That figures," Greg remarked before he could stop himself.
Scott stopped walking. "What?"
The others stopped as well. "What do you mean by that?" Jeff said, clearly offended for Scott's sake.
"Well . . ." Realizing he had trapped himself, Greg ran a hand through his hair. "I just think it seems kind of strange that you and I were friends for years, Scotty, and then we drifted apart."
Scott folded his arms. "Mostly because of you, Greg. I was still willing to be friends, but you couldn't seem to make time for me."
"Okay, so maybe it was mostly because of me!" Greg snapped. "But now you meet these guys and within the space of a few hours, you feel close enough to them to go chasing after one of them in a town that you haven't wanted to set foot in for ages!"
"I would have done the same for you!" Scott cried. "What's your point?!"
Put on the spot, Greg was momentarily taken aback. But, quickly finding his voice, he said, "I guess my point is that we don't really remember how things were or if these guys really are our friends. And I don't like seeing a friend I do remember walking off into some kind of unknown danger!"
Scott fell back, stunned and surprised. "Greg . . ."
Sean, uncomfortable to be witnessing yet another argument, said, "None of us like it. But it was Scott's choice to come; he could have stayed behind. I wouldn't have insisted he come along."
"But you still would have gone," Greg said, turning to him.
"Yes," Sean confirmed. "Yes, I would."
"So would I," said Barry.
"Why?!" Greg exclaimed. "Well, I mean, of course you wouldn't want anyone to suffer at the hands of some messed-up spirit, but you really seem to believe this stuff about being friends. I know the Chief figures Double Trouble is on the level, and maybe they are, but I really have a hard time swallowing the idea that I'd up and forget people who meant a lot to me."
"That's just it, though," Scott exclaimed. "We didn't forget. Not really! That's why we were all drawn to each other."
"That's what you believe!" Greg retorted. "But I don't feel a connection like that. Why not, if I'm really your friend too?!"
"I don't know!" Sean retorted. "And I don't think that's the most important thing right now. Saving Elliott is!"
A cold and cruel laugh echoed throughout the area, freezing the group cold. "Saving Elliott," the spirit sneered as he materialized. "Oh yes, you must do that at all costs. Especially you, Dying Informant."
Scott stiffened. Somehow he knew that the spirit referred to him with that moniker. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"You always go out on assignment and come back half-dead." The spirit started to circle Scott in a threatening, mocking manner. Angry, Sean took a step forward but then stopped, knowing he could do nothing to restrain the being.
"So what if I do?" Scott shot back. "Apparently I think what I'm doing is still worth it."
"You do, and that's the amazing thing about it," the spirit jeered.
"It doesn't even matter anyway," Scott said in disgust.
"Scotty!" Greg burst out. "Of course it matters! The Dying Informant?! What is this?"
"It doesn't have anything to do with Elliott!" Scott glared the spirit down. "Where is he?!"
"Actually, it has everything to do with Elliott," the spirit grinned. "You see, he's going to play Dying Informant today. Only he won't come back from it the way you always miraculously do."
Scott went sheet-white. Nearby, Sean and Barry were staring in shocked horror. Even Greg's mouth dropped open.
And Aaron Gordon wasn't having any of it. "Alright, this charade has gone far enough," he snarled, storming forward. "Stop pretending you're a ghost. Obviously you're not. You're real enough to have abducted an innocent person. And I'm not going to let you get away with whatever foul thing you have in mind for him!"
The spirit responded by turning and lifting a hand in a claw motion. The fog, obeying him, grabbed Mr. Gordon and wrapped around him as the form of a giant hand, lifting him off the ground. "Oh, you're not, eh?" the spirit cackled. "And I'm not a ghost, am I?"
"Unc!" Jeff ran over before Barry could stop him. "You let him go!" He pointed a forefinger at the spirit in his fury. "Maybe we don't see eye to eye on anything, but that doesn't mean I want him hurt!"
With another gesture the spirit caused the fog to form a second huge hand. This one batted Jeff away as he yelped in pain.
Mr. Gordon stared, struggling against his bonds. "Jeff!"
Jeff tumbled over a gravestone and lay still on the ground. The spirit cackled in delight. "One down."
"You mean . . ." Now it was Mr. Gordon turning pale. "No, that's ridiculous! One little hit couldn't . . . wouldn't . . ."
"It had the same impact as if he had just been struck by one of your modern moving vehicles," the spirit replied. "I am most certainly not among the living, Mr. Gordon. And that little fact only serves to make my powers stronger!"
Mr. Gordon could only keep staring. All the angry words . . . all the hurt and pain . . . and how he had not really been there for Jeff when the boy had needed it. . . . So many of the things Jeff had said had really been true, even though Mr. Gordon had not wanted to believe it. He should have kept Jeff from going along on this mission. Yet, when this wretch was apparently truly responsible for all of the heartache that had been happening, he had to be stopped, didn't he? He had to be . . .
. . . But not at the expense of Jeff's life.
"You wanted so much to believe in the world where we hadn't drifted apart," he choked out, grief-stricken. "You gave up your life trying to get it back."
"I'm not going to believe he's dead!" Scott snapped. He turned, flying over two low tablets as he rushed to Jeff's side.
"Yes," the spirit purred low. "I have you just where I want you."
And the answer hit Sean like a bolt of lightning. "Scott, no! It's a trap!" An attempt to run over to the upset blond was immediately cut short when the spirit telekinetically pulled one of the low gravestones out of the ground and slammed the top of it into Sean's stomach. He gasped in pain, falling over backwards on the ground.
Scott spun around. "Sean!" He clenched a fist. "If this is all about me, then you should have just gone after me! Why involve so many others in your childish and outrageous plot?!"
"Because that's the best way to get at you," the spirit returned. "Just hurting you physically wouldn't be any fun. Well, not as much fun as this, anyway. One by one, you'll watch everyone else fall. Then you, the Dying Informant, will be the only one left. You'll have to carry on while mourning everybody else. And I think I'll release your memories at that point, just to make your suffering even worse."
"You're sick!" Scott spat.
"And you're not going to succeed!" a new voice yelled, entering the conversation.
Scott and Barry both looked up with a start. "El!" Scott cried in joyous amazement and worry all at once. "Don't come down here, El; this spirit's going to kill everyone except me!"
"I know," Elliott called back. "But it won't work."
The spirit's features twisted in his frustration. "How did you get free?! You weren't supposed to be able to get out until I said you could!"
"The spirit whose tomb you put me in doesn't like what you're doing," Elliott retorted. He started down the hill towards the group. "And I know the secret to beating you."
"How?!" the spirit fairly roared.
Gasping in pain, Sean rose up with one hand on his stomach. "You hate togetherness so much? How about we give it to you in droves!"
Elliott grinned and nodded. "That's it!" He rushed the rest of the way down and over to Scott and Jeff. His eyes widened in sickened horror to see the boy lying there. "Oh no. Is he . . . ?"
"I'm okay," Jeff groaned, painfully turning onto his back. "Just do what you have to do to beat that thing. I'm in it all the way."
Seeing his nephew move, Mr. Gordon slumped back in utter joy and relief. Thinking Jeff was dead had sent an unbearable agony through his heart, especially in light of the turmoil of the past hours and how Jeff had so plaintively exclaimed how badly he wanted to find this other world where he and his uncle actually got along. Mr. Gordon had not known how he would ever get past his haunted feelings over it all.
Scott bent down to help Jeff up, while Elliott hurried to help Barry with Sean. "The secret to defeating this guy is to show him how much we care about each other," Elliott explained to everyone. "He won't be able to take it. He'll have to leave."
"Well," Sean said, stumbling into Barry as Barry tried to help him stand, "I'd say that in light of what Double Trouble told us, the best thing we can do is sing. And I know the perfect song."
"A song?" Mr. Gordon looked incredulous.
"What if you don't all know it?" Greg retorted.
"I'm guessing we do," Sean answered. "And maybe when I start us off, everyone else will start to remember it. One, two, three. . . .
"Standing cold and scared on top of Blue Hill,
There came one moment when I lost my will . . ."
And as Sean sang, his prediction came true. A light shone in Scott's eyes as he picked up the next part of the verse.
"I prayed for mercy, Please God, take me away
Oh give me sunshine where I only see gray."
The same light came into Elliott's eyes. And as he sang, for the final time he discarded the glasses that he had worn just to hide behind. He didn't need them any longer.
"The past had a hold on me, it can't be denied . . ."
As the light touched Barry, he finished out the verse.
"And the change didn't come easily . . ."
Jeff and Greg, exchanging a look, decided to join the effort by clapping in time to the beat.
"I've been lonely, I've been cheated, I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up, I've been put down, and told I'm no good
But with you I belong, 'cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along."
And as the quartet sang while Jeff and Greg added their contributions, the spirit screamed in rage. "Stop it! Stop it! I took away your memories. I took away everything. And still you found each other! Still you cared! Even my twisting incidents that truly happened didn't change it!"
His power wavered. Mr. Gordon fell to his knees, freed from the fog. "I guess," he said quietly, finally understanding, "that's the power of what they have. I wish that my nephew and I had it too." He got to his feet, joining Jeff and Greg in clapping to the beat.
"NO!" the spirit shrieked in an almost inhuman manner. "No, this isn't what was supposed to happen! You were supposed to hate each other! Barring that, you were all supposed to die except for the Dying Informant! Why couldn't I succeed?! Why can't I ever get rid of any of you?!"
Other spirits began to materialize on all sides of the group. "Because," said the one in the lead, "they won't let you. And also because we're tired of your petty feelings."
Scott started to see their new allies, but he didn't stop singing. They all continued, while the good spirits added their energy to that of the power of the song.
"A man gets crazy when his life is all wrong
And a heart gets weary when it doesn't belong
When the road gets rocky, you have to keep on
Let the new light come shinin' on through
"I've been lonely, I've been cheated, I've been misunderstood
I've been washed up, I've been put down, and told I'm no good
But with you I belong, 'cause you help me be strong
There's a change in my life since you came along."
The spirit gave an almost demon-like wail as the wall of positive energy and feelings hit him full-force. He had no choice but to vanish. And as he did, the light encircled the group for one brief moment before it, too, faded, along with the other spirits of the cemetery. A last breeze kicked up, blowing at the group before it vanished as quickly as it had come.
Scott placed a hand over his heart. "Wow! Oh Mama!"
And then his eyes widened as the realization came. "I remember!" he exclaimed. "I remember everything---how we met in the snow, the punk band, ACME, our songs . . . everything!"
Sean laughed for sheer joy and triumph. From their eyes, everyone remembered. They rushed at each other in a triumphal reunion, recalling everything at long last. The spirit had not been able to tear them apart. Now they were fully together again.