Death Drop Page 2

  “Bwa-ha-ha!” the guy in the demon outfit yelled again.

  I wasn’t sure I could take the bad acting.

  The white-haired lady was still moaning. “I wasn’t expecting this kind of shock…”

  A sign outside the entrance warned anyone who had a weak heart not to ride Death Drop. I said, “Ma’am? Maybe you shouldn’t continue up to the ride.”

  She managed a frail, sweet smile. “Not continue? And miss the painting? Oh no, dear.”

  Fanning herself with a Death Drop brochure, she trudged ahead.

  A finger jabbed at my shoulder. It was Dieter.

  He said, “The lady’s right. You don’t want to miss the portrait of Persephone. Especially since…”

  He paused to straighten his glasses. “…the portrait has a curse on it.”

  Chapter Three

  Visitors crammed the next turn of the passage.

  Dieter jumped up and down. “I can’t see!”

  I could. I’d always been the tallest kid in class. I gazed over people’s heads to the portrait, in rich oil colors, of Persephone.

  She was dressed in blue-gray silk. She had long, thick, dark hair. She was holding a pomegranate with a slice taken out of it. Her blue eyes were sad, fearful—like she knew she’d made a big mistake.

  Black curtains hung behind the portrait. A chain stretched in front to keep gawkers from getting too close. A security guard waved a hand to the right, up the passage. “Move along.” He sounded bored.

  A few people shifted away. The Deet still had to jump to see the portrait. It was like standing next to a grasshopper. Exasperated, I hoisted him up by the waist. “Here, Deet. Fill your eyes with Persephone and enjoy.”

  Dieter peered down at me solemnly. “To Dante Rossetti she wasn’t Persephone. She was Proserpina, the ancient Roman version of Persephone. I hope you don’t mind me correcting you, Zeke. These details are important.”

  All I knew about the ancient Romans was that they fed people to lions. Dieter and his details were starting to make me feel nostalgic for those days.

  But I did let the Deet have a good long look before I set him down. “So tell me about the painting’s curse.”

  Dieter beamed. Now he could get into full lecture mode.

  “The artist who painted that portrait was Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Dante was in love with the woman who modeled for the painting. Like, he was obsessed. For years she was all Dante painted, portrait after portrait.

  “But Dante’s love for her was hopeless. She was married. Dante wasted away and died. His love was his curse.”

  With the edge of his T-shirt, Dieter cleaned his glasses. He blinked solemnly at me. “In the painting, you can see both sunlight and shadow. They say the sunlight represents Persephone’s six months on earth when she’s happy. The shadows stand for the half year she’s stuck underground.

  “The sunlight and shadow could also represent Dante’s feelings for his model. He loved her, but he couldn’t have her.”

  I tossed my ball up and down a few times. I thought about someone being that obsessed. I supposed I was obsessed too—about pitching.

  At least my obsession got me out into the fresh air. “This Dan Rossetti guy spent too much time indoors,” I said finally.

  From the portrait, Persephone’s sad blue eyes seemed to say:

  Yeah? Imagine being stuck underground for six months!

  Trailing blood-red juice, a pomegranate rolled through the air at me. Other holograms spun by, fast as bowling balls. Drumrolls completed the effect.

  A neon sign on the wall welcomed us to the next part of the tower: EVER THOUGHT ABOUT BEING BURIED ALIVE?

  With a thunderous grinding noise, the ceiling descended toward us.

  Some people ran out of the ever-narrowing space. Others ducked or sat. They gazed up, hypnotized, as the ceiling closed in on us.

  I crouched. The Deet and I looked at each other. We laughed, partly out of nervousness. We knew this ceiling wasn’t the real one. It was a special effect. We weren’t actually going to be crushed.

  It was one powerful illusion.

  A little too powerful, as it turned out, for the white-haired lady.

  She fainted.

  The ceiling stopped. A demon’s face flashed across it. His yellow eyes glittered down at us. He burst into chilling laughter.

  The ceiling receded. It hadn’t even lowered to Dieter’s height.

  The old lady was too far gone to realize that. I knelt beside her. She was moaning.

  I started to help her up.

  Smythe struggled through the crowd. He elbowed me aside. “I’ll handle this,” he snapped. “I’m trained in first aid.”

  Smythe helped the woman up—exactly like I’d been doing.

  I glanced around for security cameras. I didn’t see any. How had he known about the woman? And got here so fast?

  Funeral-type organ music blasted from all sides. The dim light turned red. Round red glitter poured from the ceiling, a storm of pomegranate seeds.

  “We have to get this lady out of here,” I told Smythe.

  Through the glitter he frowned at me. His message was clear—Butt out. The woman sagged against him, more rag doll than human. She might faint again. She’d need two of us to support her.

  Smythe punched a number into his cell phone. “Guard! Area-four emergency!”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” the woman said between moans. She pulled a large handkerchief from her purse and pressed it over her mouth.

  I said, “Don’t worry, ma’am.”

  The security guard muscled through. He put his arm around the woman. Smythe stepped aside.

  The woman noticed everyone staring at her. She started mumbling. It was hard to hear through that big hankie. I bent close.

  She mumbled, “Need my doctor…”

  Smythe said, “I’ll go hail a cab. The guard will help you out.”

  He pushed quickly through the crowd.

  The woman was coughing into her handkerchief. The guard began guiding her away. She stumbled, cried out.

  “It’s okay,” the guard told her. “We’ll take it nice and slow.”

  Everyone was silent, watching. Smythe paused. He glanced back at the woman. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

  I didn’t blame him for being worried. But his plan sucked. He should have called medics and a stretcher to come up here. Not forced the old lady to walk all the way down.

  There was something weird about Smythe. Something…desperate.

  What was with him? If you operated an amusement ride, you should be—well, amused. Having a good time.

  Smythe wasn’t even pretending to have fun.

  And where was the manager? Sitting with her feet up on her desk in the office?

  The office. I backtracked my thoughts. Blondie.

  I thought Blondie’s aunt must have shown up by now. The kid would be away from here, safe with her family.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Dieter and I rounded the last curve. We reached the lineup for the elevator. For the big drop.

  The elevator’s black doors stood open. An attendant wearing a red hood with horned ears ushered people in. It was the same dude who had run through the passageway with the unconvincing evil laugh.

  He was warning each person, “Death Drop falls at forty miles an hour. It’s quite a shock. Are you ready for that?”

  It must have been some safety thing—that he had to make sure each passenger knew what they were getting into. The delay gave the rest of us time to look around the tower’s top floor.

  It was a forest scene. A winding path led up to a cliff, which curved out over an abyss. A Persephone mannequin stood at the edge of the cliff. She had thick dark hair and wore blue-gray silk, like in the painting.

  She also held—surprise, surprise—a pomegranate. An eerie red light shone out of it.

  “The moral?” joked Dieter. “Always buy organic.”

  His voice was a bit shaky though. The scene
was getting to him.

  Wind blew through Persephone’s hair and rustled the leaves of the fake trees. I squinted into the darkness behind her. I made out some boulders spaced a few feet apart. I figured a wind machine was hidden behind them.

  In the gray-painted sky, lightning flared and thunder cracked.

  From the abyss, flames surged up. They turned into clawlike fingers that reached for Persephone.

  A scream rang out.

  “Help! I’m trapped! I’m going to burn up!”

  Dieter and I looked at each other. The scream must be another special effect. Persephone, shrieking for rescue.

  It didn’t make sense though. In the myth, Hades didn’t want to deep-fry Persephone. He wanted her alive and well, to be his wife.

  Another scream followed, louder and more desperate.

  “You idiots! Listen to me—this is not part of the show!”

  Chapter Four

  I’d know that whiny voice anywhere. It was Smythe’s. He was in trouble.

  A chain strung between several metal posts separated the lineup from the forest. I jumped over the chain. I ran to the top of the cliff.

  The whole structure was lightweight. It shook but didn’t break.

  “You can’t go there!” shouted the attendant.

  I ignored him. I was busy dodging fake trees. As the structure quaked, they were falling over.

  Persephone was wobbling too. I caught the mannequin before it fell. I straightened it up.

  I looked over the cliff. It was about fifteen feet down. The flames had sunk back into their circle of jets. They must be on a timer. At some point soon, they’d surge up again.

  From straight below I heard a loud creak—then a thud.

  “Smythe?” I called.

  It was dark down there. But I could see well enough to know nobody was there. Nobody alive—and nobody burned to a crisp either.

  There was just the circle of jets. Also, stacked against the far wall, some spare fake boulders.

  Red Cape charged up behind me. “You trying to get me in trouble? I’m supposed to keep order around here.”

  Through the hood’s slits, his eyes gazed at me unhappily. I felt bad for him.

  On the other hand, it was hard to take someone with red, horned ears too seriously.

  I pointed out, “I heard Smythe scream for help. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

  Red Cape sighed. “Yeah, I heard. It’s just another special effect. Sherry keeps dreaming up new ones. She loves this smoke-and-mirrors stuff.”

  “You should tell Sherry to ditch this effect,” I advised. “It’s not getting barbecued that Persephone is worried about. It’s missing out on sunlight for six months.”

  The attendant’s shoulders slumped. “I know how Persephone feels. I hate this job. It’s so dark in here. So depressing. Next summer, I’m applying for something outdoors.”

  With a heavy sigh, he started straightening up the fallen trees. I helped him.

  We trudged down the cliff. People in the lineup glared at us. Now that they knew everything was okay, they wanted to go on the ride. They wanted to experience Death Drop.

  The Deet and I reached the elevator. The attendant stared at Dieter. “No way you’re going on the ride.”

  “He’s doing this for homework,” I said. “Business camp.” I pushed Dieter inside, right to the back.

  The attendant gave one of his heavy sighs. I could guess his thoughts. He should do his job. He should wade in and bodily remove the Deet.

  But the next people were eager to get on. The attendant left us alone.

  He checked that everyone was sitting and safety-belted. Then he bellowed, “And now—to your doom!”

  He crashed the red-splattered doors shut.

  The elevator dropped sharply—then jolted to a halt. Dieter clutched his stomach. Girls screamed.

  Slowly everyone relaxed. That first drop had been a joke. A false alarm.

  The elevator darkened. On each wall, the portrait of Persephone appeared.

  Even in the dim light you could see how beautiful she was. But the sadness in her eyes was missing. They were just beautiful blue eyes with no expression.

  It was a copy of the portrait.

  It blurred, turned into a cartoon. Persephone’s lips moved. Her eyes blazed.

  “Don’t make the mistake I did,” she warned. “Don’t take a bite of the pomegranate. Or else…”

  She leaned forward. “Or else you will take the Death Drop. The one-way trip to the underworld!”

  The elevator gave a violent lurch. People swayed. It was like being sloshed around in a giant teacup.

  Persephone’s mouth opened wide. She let out a blood-curdling scream.

  The elevator plunged.

  Persephone disappeared. The top half of the elevator slid back. We were hurtling down, down into gigantic flames.

  Beyond the flames, in a sickly orange blur, we saw skyscrapers, Burrard Inlet, the mountains beyond. The deeper we fell, the more the landscape seemed to melt into the fire.

  Most of the passengers were yelling in terror. Everyone’s hair flew up.

  I pressed my back against the seat. With the force of the drop, my skin was pulling away from my bones. My face felt like it was about to peel off.

  I gritted my teeth. I forced myself to stay calm. The drop was just one more of Sherry’s illusions. Making you think something was happening that wasn’t.

  Even belted in, Dieter was sliding up in his seat. The guy was too light for the ride.

  “Help! Help!” he yelled.

  I had to laugh. “You should have paid attention to—”

  The cardboard demon, I meant to say. But then Death Drop slowed. It coasted gently to the ground.

  Around us, the flames vanished. Sunshine and blue sky surrounded us.

  Everyone staggered out. Some were laughing. Some looked ill. One of the burly guys made a dash for the men’s room.

  I glanced around for Dieter. He was still in his seat. He was pale but determined. He said hoarsely, “I’m staying on. I’m going back up. I want another look at the portrait.”

  The elevator soared to the top of the tower.

  People were filing into the Death Drop souvenir shop. Persephone dolls smiled out of display cases. Also for sale were demon-face key chains and flame-shaped chocolates.

  A Death Drop poster was tacked up on the wall. It showed an elevator-load of screaming people plunging into a fiery pit.

  A girl with dark-red hair was twirling a long metal tube like a baton. She was the girl I’d seen earlier. Smythe had snapped at her to get to work.

  The girl called out, “Share the fun! With our special mailing tubes, you can send the Death Drop poster to a friend!”

  She saw my expression and grinned. She must have guessed my thoughts—what a lame gift those posters would be.

  I liked how her bright green eyes had laughter in them. “Still taking notes?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t taking notes, pitcher boy.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what—?”

  But a customer asked to see a Persephone doll, and she had to help. I walked out of the shop, into the sun.

  The sidewalk was crammed with vendor stalls. Hot dogs, ice cream, balloons, candy floss. Even sketches, spread out on the sidewalk.

  Across the road, my teammates were gathering on the baseball diamond.

  Practice was about to start.

  But first I had to check on Blondie. I needed to know that she’d found her aunt. That she wasn’t sitting scared and alone in the office.

  Coach came out of the park clubhouse. He spotted me. That was the problem with being tall. It was hard to hide.

  He waved, beckoned me over.

  I was an ace pitcher. A “stellar” one, to use Coach’s term.

  Coach thought highly of me. Like I said, he was probably going to recommend me for a university scholarship.

  If I didn’t get on his bad side. If I didn’t show up late for a practice.
Lateness was not stellar, he often reminded us.

  I glanced at the entrance to Death Drop. At Smythe, taking people’s tickets.

  Just past him, inside, was the office.

  Blondie’s accusing little face floated into my mind. And her stubby finger, pointing at my baseball shirt. Angels help people.

  I slammed my baseball into my palm a few times. “I’m not that type of angel,” I muttered.

  I’d said that to Blondie. It hadn’t made any difference to her. Now it wasn’t making any difference to me either.

  Coach or no Coach, I had to see if she’d found her aunt.

  Chapter Five

  It would take me five minutes, tops, to check. Coach wouldn’t refuse me a college recommendation for five minutes.

  I jogged over to Smythe.

  “I want to check on Blond—uh, that kid who lost her aunt.”

  He scowled. “You just want to get in for a second free ride. You’ll have to buy a ticket and stand in line. Like everyone else.”

  Behind Smythe was a second cardboard demon. This one was missing its face. People could put their own face in the hole and get their photo snapped.

  I raised my arm and aimed. I lobbed my baseball over Smythe’s shoulder and through the cutout’s hole.

  “Oops, lost my ball,” I said. I ducked under the rope and ran in. I ignored Smythe’s protests.

  Grabbing the ball, I marched to the office door.

  The elevator attendant sprawled in the chair I’d left Blondie sitting in. He was swigging a Coke, his red cape and hood in his lap. He was on break.

  He belched, then sighed. “You again. I hope you’re not going to start knocking chairs over or something.”

  I looked around the office. He was alone. “I wanted to make sure the blond kid found her aunt.”

  “What blond kid?”

  Smythe’s voice echoed in my brain. Kid?

  Bad jokes shouldn’t be told once, let alone repeated.

  I stared hard at the attendant. He was puzzled. He really didn’t know what I was talking about.

  He said, “You better get out before Smythe calls the police.”

  I leaned on the counter. “Let’s do that. Let’s call 9-1-1,” I invited. “It’s time the cops got here.”