The Return: Disney Lands Read online

  “Can you imagine inventing color TV?”

  “You couldn’t invent the fork if it was on your plate,” the Brit said.

  “Let’s get out of here. These things give me the creeps.”

  The two guards reached the door. The thin man took one last look at Charlene. “She is some kind of pretty,” he said.

  “You are nothing short of weird!”

  They left, locking the door behind them. After a moment, Maybeck and Charlene stepped out of their cabinets and into the room.

  “She is some kind of pretty,” Maybeck said, laughing.

  “Shut up!”

  “What they were saying about Wayne’s inventions…We’d know if any of that was true, right?”

  “No clue. I was a model for a DHI, Terry, not a Disney historian. I’m not even a Kingdom Keeper. Not anymore. Philby might know stuff like that. Or Willa. Honestly, I don’t care.”

  “Don’t care, or won’t care?”

  “Look. You find a piece of metal in a drawer, and you tell Philby Wayne was making custom music discs? All that does is fuel Finn’s madness.”

  “We found a connection that makes Finn look a lot less mad than we thought.”

  “I can’t go back, Terry. I have to go forward. I’m a fish with gills, a motorcycle, a bird—I don’t do backward.”

  “We’ve been treating him like dirt,” Maybeck said. “He’s our friend. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  Charlene’s hologram couldn’t cry—that particular emotion had never been modeled. But her face bunched up, and her eyes squinted. “Oh, Terry! I’m soooo happy to hear you say that.” Her voice, too, sounded heavy with tears. “I knew you had feelings in there somewhere! I just knew you could show them!”

  “You’re mocking me!” Maybeck moved to the phone by Wayne’s chair, ready to call Philby and give his report.

  “Look. You’re going to have to choose whether you have feelings for me or for Finn. The past or the future.”

  “Can’t I have both?” Maybeck said, angry now.

  Charlene didn’t answer. She moved toward the door and stepped through it, leaving Maybeck alone with the phone in his hand.

  THE PHONE RANG INSIDE Walt’s apartment. Finn snatched it out of its cradle. It was Philby.

  “Are you insane?” Finn barked. “Someone could hear!”

  Breathless, Philby told him about Maybeck’s discovery. “That unmarked disc in the music box means something, Finn. The music it plays…We know now that Wayne left that unmarked one that plays the circus tune for us—for you—just like you were saying.”

  Finn found it hard to breathe. To speak. To think. Vindicated!

  “‘Match the music to its source,’” Philby repeated. “Let’s start there. Stay on the phone and play the music box again.”

  “Stand by.”

  Finn’s excitement took him in and out of all clear 1.6—the state of pure hologram. He switched out the music box discs, storing the national anthem, and playing instead the unmarked disc they’d originally found on the machine. The circus music.

  Philby told Finn to hold the phone up to the music box. After thirty seconds he heard Philby calling across the phone.

  Finn brought the receiver back to his ear.

  “I Shazamed it,” Philby said. “I matched it, like Wayne said to do. It comes up as ‘Guinevere’s Enchantment,’ copyright Walt Disney Company.”

  “Guinevere, as in King Arthur Carrousel,” Philby said.

  “So I start there: King Arthur Carrousel?”

  “He said ‘a Christmas horse,’ so the carousel makes sense. Maybe I can search that.”

  “You’re as excited as I am. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Finn.”

  “Maybeck and Charlene helped us out.” The act of group participation was maybe better than anything.

  “They did. But I’m not sure they will again. We’re all moving on.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  “‘Ride the tune,’” Finn murmured.

  “How long will that music box play when you wind it up?”

  “No idea. Pretty long, I think. Long enough to play the whole disc.”

  “If you’re going to ‘ride the tune,’ then I think you’re going to have to make it to the carousel while the box is still playing that music.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You have to find the Christmas horse.”

  “Trickier.”

  “And ride it before the music stops back in Walt’s apartment.”

  The boys argued briefly about how long Finn could go without making a check-in call. Philby agreed on a thirty-minute window. Breathless, Finn hurried down an empty Main Street USA, staying in shadow, the faint blue outline from his hologram glowing like a firefly’s tail.

  Sensing something overhead, he ducked into the Main Street Cinema entrance, peering upward at the night sky. He spotted a smoky shadow against the haze of clouds and froze, unable to forget his encounter six months earlier with a pack of vicious wraiths at the Disney Studios. He couldn’t be sure he’d spotted a wraith patrol; he knew the Keepers wouldn’t believe him if he said he had. The presence of wraiths would confirm the continued existence of the Overtakers, something no one, not even Finn, would wish upon the Kingdom.

  Finn convinced himself that what he’d seen could have been anything.

  But as he continued forward past the castle, his attention remained as much on the sky as his surroundings. He liked to think he’d developed a sixth sense when it came to the Overtakers.

  If he was right, that sense had just kicked in.

  Approaching King Arthur Carrousel, Finn took shelter behind the Sword and the Stone rock.

  If he hadn’t been a DHI for a number of years, he might not have believed his eyes.

  King Arthur Carrousel was moving, and the same melody from Walt’s music box filled the air. As Philby had said, it wasn’t the usual one-man-band cymbal crashing, merry-go-round music that played on the ride, but the more circus-sounding tune from Walt’s music box.

  The park was closed; all the other attractions shut down. Finn surveyed his surroundings for any sign of Overtakers. The sky was empty of disturbing shadows; he detected no movement nearby. Taking a deep breath, he ran and jumped onto the moving carousel.

  Slipping through the herd of white horses, Finn looked for anything that screamed Christmas. The steeds were adorned in green or red highlights, gold bridles, colorful saddle blankets. He walked against the rotation for two full revolutions, dodging benches, studying which horses were stationary and which moved up and down. His mind stuck on red and green—Christmas colors. He looked for bows and ribbons that might suggest a Christmas present.

  When he began to feel queasy from the constant spinning, Finn tried the technique of focusing on a stationary object far away from him. He picked Pinocchio’s Daring Journey and, on the opposite side of the carousel, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

  During his second fix on Mr. Toad’s he spotted a pair of glowing red eyes in the shadows. The carousel moved too fast for him to feel confident about what he’d seen, but the Kingdom Keeper in him went on high alert.

  As the carousel slowed and the gears disengaged, as the music’s melody slipped lower on the tonal scale, Finn wasted no time, leaping from the moving platform and running for the castle. He checked over his shoulder for whatever—whoever—belonged to the red eyes. Spotting nothing—no one—he wondered if it had been a reflection or a piece of an exit sign.

  Back at Walt’s apartment, he immediately called Philby. Something was different about the apartment, and the feeling put him even more on edge. He willed Philby to pick up, his palms sweaty against the receiver.

  On the fourth unanswered ring, Finn figured out what was different: the music box was silent.

  He hung up and slowly approached the device, his stomach turning as much as it had while riding the carousel. Kin
g Arthur Carrousel had wound down to a stop just like a music box might.

  The phone rang.

  Finn dove for it.

  Philby said, “Jingle Bells! Christmas! Wiki says the lead horse on the carousel is named Jingles. He was Walt’s favorite. For the fiftieth anniversary they painted him solid gold, but now the gold is just on the bells. They run down from the saddle. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  “Got it.” The carousel had been running when he’d reached it, Finn added, playing the music from Walt’s music box. He complimented Philby, describing how the carousel had in fact slowly wound down to a stop, and that returning to the apartment he found the music box had stopped as well.

  The line was unusually silent from Philby’s end. Typically, he’d have been bragging about his own genius. “Well, if we’ve learned anything from being DHIs, it’s that nothing’s impossible. The old Walt dream thing. But, as much as I’d like to take credit for the possibility of a connection between the music box and the carousel, what you’re saying seems more than a little far-fetched.”

  “I know. But it’s Wayne, don’t forget.”

  “Agreed.”

  “There’s only one way to test it,” Finn proposed.

  “You’re appealing to my love of deductive scientific reasoning, Finn. I resent that.”

  “Good.”

  “And of course, I approve.”

  “Never doubted you would.”

  “So, you’ll wind up the music box and try again.”

  “I will.”

  Finn considered mentioning the possible wraiths and red eyes (or lights) near Mr. Toad’s. He considered mentioning how all of that might tie to the food poisoning incident. But he resented being doubted, humiliated, and mocked by the others. He knew to keep his mouth shut. If he didn’t, if he pushed too far, Philby might not play along.

  Minutes later, Finn faced the spinning carousel, marveling at its return to full speed. Jumping onto the ride, he hurried through the rows of horses and stopped at the lead prancer. His eyes took in the rows of golden bells, the saddle bearing a golden 50, and an image of Mary Poppins.

  Jingles.

  Hairs tingled on the back of his neck. He spun and desperately searched the shadows by Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

  The same pair of red eyes stared out at him from the dark. They blinked.

  Not an exit sign.

  Finn climbed onto Jingles and hugged the horse’s neck.

  The air went oily. Colors swirled and mixed. Finn felt as if he were being sucked down a drain and was holding on to a rocket at the same time. Clutching to the horse, his cheek pressed to its mane, Finn caught a fleeting glimpse of his wristwatch.

  The hands were moving backward.

  THE WOMAN LOOKED like something from a lame science fair diorama of the Incredibles. She stood erect, like a grown-up Barbie doll wearing a tight-fitting tunic and ski pants. She reminded Finn of a mannequin from a shop window. Her right arm moved mechanically as she moved a glass spoon in a glass pot on a glass stove top.

  Finn quickly identified her as an Audio-Animatronic. It suggested he was onstage in a park attraction. Not a first for Finn, but unlike the other times, he had no idea what he was doing here. He couldn’t remember crossing over. Had no idea what attraction it was.

  A voice came over a public address system, describing the “family of the future.” He recognized the expression! That line was used on the Carousel of Progress.

  He looked out beyond the stage light. The boys in the audience wore dress shirts with button-down collars; the girls, cardigan sweaters and pleated skirts. Most of the women wore white gloves, while the men had slicked-back hair, clean-shaven faces, ties, and jackets. Not a single tattoo or piercing.

  Maybe he’d crossed over onto the set of a movie shoot.

  But it was sight of his own hand that caused the panic. It was black-and-white! Incredibly small compared to the Audio-Animatronics. He’d shrunk! Outlined in a thin gray line, he was some kind of corrupted DHI projection. Abort! he thought, having no idea how to return.

  The announcer’s booming voice continued its spiel—about the marvel of invention and the promise of progress. Finn shielded his eyes from the stage lights and managed another sweeping glimpse of the audience. No matter how hard he searched, he saw only the retro boys and girls.

  He reached for the Return he kept in his pocket when crossing over. The Return, which looked a lot like an automobile key fob, was used to shut down Finn’s hologram projection and return his consciousness to the sleeping boy in his bed. This, so he could wake up from his DHI state.

  Problem: his miniature black-and-white image was two-dimensional, not three. He didn’t have pockets. Therefore, no Return. No way back. Another problem: he didn’t remember crossing over in the first place.

  He ran to his left and smacked into an unseen barrier. He fell down. Some in the audience laughed. At him?

  He jumped and struck his head. “Ow!”

  More laughter.

  He felt around. He was in some kind of a glass cage. He couldn’t make out walls on either side, but something had stopped him. The same thing had happened when he’d tried to touch the top and bottom.

  The announcer was still speaking; he referred to the woman Audio-Animatronic as “Mother.” She wore her oddly yellow hair carefully trimmed at her shoulders.

  Yellow, as in color. The stage lights were color as well. Yet Finn was black-and-white. Why?

  Two Audio-Animatronic kids, a boy and a girl, sat on the floor in front of him, staring. Color. Light flickered across their faces, light that seemed to be coming from Finn. The kids dipped their mannequin hands into clear plastic bowls, eating fake popcorn. They were watching television.

  Finn was on TV! No, he was in the TV! And he wanted out. Now!

  With skills honed from many adventures in the parks, he sensed something coming at him from his left. A small silver golf ball that looked sort of like a UFO, flying at him fast. It was also black-and-white and in extremely low resolution. If it was a special effect, it was incredibly unspecial.

  The UFO shot dashed lines at him. Remarkably, when they hit Finn’s arm, the dashes zapped him with little bursts of electricity. They stung! Finn ducked to avoid them. The spaceship altered course. The dashes of stinging pain hit him again.

  Wincing, Finn stepped forward—and banged into the glass of the television picture tube. The spaceship zapped him again. Dang! Finn turned sideways and stepped toward the glass, leading with the side edge of his image instead of the full plane.

  Success. He fell out of the TV’s confines and landed on the stage, flat as a sheet of paper.

  The audience applauded.

  Finn sat up, still flat as a pancake. He was regular size now, no longer miniature.

  He vaguely recalled strange sounding music, and looked over his shoulder to see a small television screen in a large box. The flying saucer on the screen was the same one that had shot him. The television threw flickering light down onto the stage.

  Although he struggled to understand how it might have happened, he seemed to have come out of that same television.

  The show’s narrator spoke. “The family of the future will enjoy television in full color. The kids will be able to record their favorite shows on a videotape.”

  Finn came to his feet.

  The crowd applauded and cheered.

  The stage went suddenly dark then, and the narrator’s voice cut off mid-word. The house lights came up. A different man spoke over the public address system. “Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, this attraction is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Please proceed calmly to the nearest exit, and be sure to return later.”

  The crowd rose obediently. Mumbling patrons moved quietly toward the exits.

  “You there!” The loud male voice belonged to one of two security guards dressed as rent-a-cops with brass Mickey Mouse badges pinned to their uniform shirts. These two were definitely not Audio-Animatronics, de
finitely not part of the show. They dodged around the stage, heading directly for Finn. Big guys, red in the face and looking hostile.

  The guards did not look happy. They were going to want answers Finn didn’t have. Like, why was he black-and-white and two-dimensional?

  It was then that he saw the boy, a college-aged kid, maybe a few years older, standing calmly at the back of the auditorium. The boy had a penetrating, all-knowing expression on his face. Serene and confident.

  With seeming ease, he lifted a poster board sign. And Finn’s heart nearly jumped out of his black-and-white chest.

  On the sign was drawn a single image.

  A large fountain pen.

  FOR SEVEN YEARS, Finn’s life had been as much about conquering his fears as battling Disney villains. As a DHI, crossed over inside the parks, Finn always knew and understood the mission. So why couldn’t he remember what he was doing now?

  In fact, he couldn’t remember a thing about the past few hours. All he had were random, fleeting images and some bizarre music as his signposts.

  He remembered stuff like Jess and Amanda being enrolled in the Disney School of Imagineering; that the other Keepers were eager to move on with their lives; that his parents worried about him; that Wayne had been killed while trying to help Finn save the kingdom…

  But no matter what was really going on, the look of determination on the faces of the two security guards told him he did not want to be caught.

  Work with what you’re given, he reminded himself.

  Currently he didn’t have much. He was no Philby when it came to math and science, but he knew his geometry. If two-dimensional, presented from the side he should be nothing but a line. A thin, nearly nonexistent line.

  He rotated ninety degrees, the approaching men now to his left.

  “What the…?” called one of the two guards as he skidded to a stop. “Where’d he go?”

  “Gee whillikers! He was right here!” exclaimed the other.

  “You check over there. I’ll take—” As the man took a step forward, he swore like a sailor.

  He’d spotted Finn.