"Look. You can take her. You can have her. I have no need for her."
"Luckily for you, Torquere, there is one redeeming factor in this whole sorry saga. And that's your magnificent extraction contraption. You see, The Big Invisible that's extracted from Margie is exactly what will be used to obliterate her from time and space. No one will ever know she existed. No one. For all intent and purpose I will become The Collector."
"A genius plan," said Torquere, gesturing to Bufo to speed things up with the Avellotractus. "You will have your extraction in next to no time."
"I don't know why I didn't think of it before," said Auguste. "Such a simple solution really. And for that I have
you
to thank." With that he turned to Ferocimus. "Finish him off."
Torquere stumbled backwards. "Ferocimus, no ..."
Growling and baring his razor sharp fangs, Ferocimus inched towards Torquere.
"Don't be an idiot," he whispered hysterically. "Please, don't do this!" But nothing could prevent the inevitable. Ferocimus launched his attack. With a great snap of his monstrous jaws he lunged at the hapless despot and threw him to the ground. Ferocimus tore at his clothes, hair and skin, ripping them from his bones ... until only a bloody pulp remained. Breathing heavily he stepped back and scrutinized his handiwork.
On the other side of the chamber, the wheel had stopped turning and the blue glow which had surrounded the Avellotractus could no longer be seen.
With the Avellotractus no longer generating the current, Margie slowly started to re-focus. Her face was pale with pain and shock, but she quickly found some energy from somewhere when she saw Auguste. She blinked a couple of times. She simply could not believe what her eyes were telling her.
"Auguste?" she whispered, barely audible to even a spy-fly which sat inches from her face. Was this really Auguste? The man who had saved her life? Had lovingly tended to her when she arrived in Limbuss. The man who was supposed to be dead. She desperately wanted to call out to him but, unaware of Torquere's demise, was hesitant. She looked for Bufo, but sensing the danger he had already melted into the gloom.
Seizing the moment, Margie cried out. "Auguste! Auguste!"
It didn't occur to her to wonder how he came to be not-dead. She was simply overjoyed to see his face. To be in the same room as him. She loved him and felt only a sense of hope and happiness at the sight of him.
"Auguste, it's me: it's Margie!"
Auguste moved towards Margie in a silent gliding motion. His legs didn't move, nor did his expression. When he reached Margie he tilted his head to one side. "I bet you didn't think you'd see me again."
Margie managed a smile. "Auguste. I thought you were dead. I missed you."
"You didn't succeed in the Darkest of All Places."
A small tear rolled down her cheek. "Are you angry with me?"
Auguste frowned disapprovingly and turned his face away, almost repulsed by the emotion being shown.
Margie quickly realised, even through her haze, that something was wrong. This wasn't Auguste. He'd been possessed. Or maybe he'd just forgotten her? But still she hoped, beyond hope, that he had found the bag.
As though reading her thoughts, Auguste spun around to face Margie and without a flicker of emotion screamed: "SHUT! UP!"
There was an anger in his eyes that seemed unfathomable to Margie. They were cold, uncaring. Was this really her beloved Auguste? It couldn't be. How could this gentle friend of hers be so angry?
Suddenly Auguste's face began to disintegrate. The skin dried up and fell away like ash revealing a grotesque skull-like visage with a long pointed nose, hollow eyes and a wide mouth filled with irregular, fang-like teeth. As quickly as the vision appeared, it disappeared.
Margie blinked hard. She was still feeling groggy from the Avellotractus.
Auguste spoke. "I don't believe that you don't know."
"Don't know what?" asked Margie.
"That you are the Collector. Only the Collector would carry something as powerful and final as The Big Invisible. If you were a mortal you would be crushed by the weight of its negative matter."
"I am, Auguste, I am! I know I am! Whatever you want from me, take it."
Margie didn't know why anyone would want The Big Invisible. To her it was a sickness; something contagious and deadly.
"Please help me," she whispered.
"Help you?" hissed Auguste. "I will be the last person you see before you are consumed by this monster you carry. I've waited a long time for this ... now where's the toad that powers this machine?"
Slowly Bufo crept out of the darkness, his deformed and twisted body contorted all the more through fear.
"The machine ..." barked Auguste. "I want The Big Invisible as quickly as possible." Once again, Auguste's face momentarily flashed from the handsome dark haired young man to a terrifying shadowy vision. "Be quick, or you'll be fed to the dogs."
Panic surged through Margie. The reality of what she was hearing was beginning to dawn on her and as the machine booted up, she felt a searing pain like a thump to the chest followed by nothing.
Auguste moved closer to the Avellotractus machine, unable to believe that finally,
finally
he would be back on track. "Hurry," he growled to Bufo, "you're moving too slowly."
Bufo threw a nervous glance at Auguste and tried again. Another surge pulsed through the machine and Margie's body. And another and another. But it was no use. Whatever the machine was supposed to be doing didn't seem to be working.
Bufo crept towards Auguste so low to the floor that he was almost on his belly. "There is no Big Invisible. Nothing, nada, zilch. It's gone," he said in a strangled whisper. And then he told Auguste something that sent him into a furious demonic rage.
"There is no Big Invisible and there is no Collector. She is just a common or garden mortal."
Deliverance
Grandma Doyle and Black Adam continued to wander aimlessly through the vast Emporium, the reward notification having given no further details as to where the reward could be collected. It was becoming more and more obvious that they were looking for a needle in a haystack.
"Is this really worth it?" moaned Grandma Doyle after scaling one particularly tall mountain of old leather shoes. "We've been at it for days now and there's been no sign of nothing. It's a lost cause. We might as well just give it up as a bad job."
Black Adam sighed and plonked himself down on a pile of old books, his elbows on his knees, and thought a while.
"You know," he said after a few minutes, "I'm beginning to think we should just give it up as a bad job."
Grandma Doyle rolled her eyes.
"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement," she tutted hurrying down the shoe mountain in a most unladylike fashion. "But I do think we need to find out whether the Spy Fly was telling the truth. We owe it to that girl. If she's in trouble then we have to help her."
"We owe the girl nothing," replied Black Adam. He meant it too.
"That's fine by me," said Grandma Doyle fiercely. "Show me the way out of here and you're on your own."
Black Adam snorted through his nose and shrugged lazily. "You know as much as I do, old lady."
Grandma Doyle had landed at the bottom of the shoe-mountain on her back. "I don't know why I bother with you, I really don't," she grumbled, her arms flailing frantically. She was clearly stuck. "I suppose it's too much to ask for you to help an old lady?"
Black Adam glanced over in Grandma Doyle's direction. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"Not funny," snapped Grandma Doyle, holding her arm out for assistance.
Reluctantly, Black Adam lifted himself off the pile of books and took a step in Grandma Doyle's direction. As he leaned forwards he came to an abrupt halt and put his forefinger to his lips. "What was that?" he whispered.
"Very funny," she muttered, waiting for the inevitable smell that followed one of Black Adam's lethal farts.
Black Adam shook his head vigorously then scanned the ground for something that could be used as a weapon. Grandma Doyle quickly realised he wasn't joking.
"I don't hear anything," she replied in a half-whisper.
Black Adam remained statue-like convinced of something that Grandma Doyle wasn't privy to. But that changed abruptly when a loud crashing sound came from a nearby room. The commotion was quickly followed by a rage-filled scream: "Where has she gone? You must have known!" The voice was something unlike either of them had ever heard before; like a thousand tortured souls, all bound together in one diabolical Katzenklavier.
Grandma Doyle and Black Adam shot each other a quizzical look. They didn't need to say anything; they each knew what the other was thinking already.
Moments later the two of them were hurrying (as fast as their creaky old bones would allow them) towards the noise. As they neared it they slowed down, creeping inch by inch until they could go no further without being seen. The noise coming from the room was both a blessing and a curse. The sheer volume enabled them to move about undetected. But the voice itself was as torturous and emotionally jarring as the sound of a small child screaming for help.
"We have to stop here," whispered Black Adam just short of the doorway. A small pile of fallen masonry separated them from the room, but as luck would have it two large mirrors in the doorway itself gave them an adequate view of the room and its contents.
The room itself was filled with mirrors of every size and description. Old mirrors, new mirrors, large ones, small ones, plastic ones, gilt ones, oval ones, square ones, modern ones, antique ones; they covered the room from floor to ceiling. The effect was that of infinite reflections. And in each and every one, the same horrific scene was being played out: a shadowy and terrifying creature with a skeletal face clawing angrily at Margie's lifeless body. It was Auguste, yet talking in deep raspy tones it was clear that he was no mortal soul.
Realising that Margie and Auguste were only yards away, hidden among a thousand reflections, a cry of surprise escaped from Grandma Doyle's lips. Black Adam slapped his hand over her mouth. "Are you trying to get us killed," he mouthed angrily. Grandma Doyle shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and Black Adam slowly removed his hand. For the next few minutes the two watched as Auguste, his body withered and wiry, cried out hysterically like a mother over a dead child's body.
"I will find you," he snarled, grasping Margie's face and squeezing it until his arm was shaking. "You will not beat me. Do you think I did all this for nothing? You think you will be able to run from me forever?"
Filled with a seething rage Auguste picked Margie up in his claw like hands and threw her across the room. Margie's body hit a large mottled antique mirror which instantly shattered.
The sound of a woman's voice screaming the word 'no' pierced the ensuing silence. It was Grandma Doyle; a fact that startled even her. While Black Adam remained transfixed with horror, his mouth agape, Grandma Doyle marched out from behind the rubble. She had seen enough. Her beard puffed out like a cat's tail, she rolled up her sleeves and clenched her fists. She was ready to fight this creature; the anger fit to explode out of her ears. She could see Auguste and strode purposefully in his direction.
THWACK. She walked headlong into a mirror.
This only served to fuel Grandma Doyle's determination. She wanted to confront that beggaring creature that had injured her Margie; she wanted to save the girl and she was prepared to die trying. Stretching out her arms in front she took several steps forward until THWACK. Once again she hit a mirror. This went on for several minutes. Grandma Doyle could see Margie and Auguste, but no matter which way she turned she couldn't get any closer. She simply couldn't pinpoint where they were among the many reflections. To make matters worse, the further she ventured in the more confused she became.
"Come on, you useless waste of space!" she shouted angrily. "Frightened of a little old lady are you?"
Auguste was in no mood for fun and games. One second he was there, reflected in every single mirror and the next he was gone.
Grandma Doyle spun around, her eyes flitting in every direction. Where was he? She stood still. Listening. Then without warming, a large dark shadow fell over her. Filled with adrenaline she yelled, spun around and whacked the creature across the face. It took a few moments for Grandma Doyle to emerge from the red fog of fury, whereupon she found Black Adam on his knees in front of her, cupping his bloodied chin in his hands.
"Adam!" exclaimed Grandma Doyle. "How did you get here?"
"The same way you did you daft old cow," mumbled Black Adam, clearly in some pain.
"But how ..."
"Your fingerprints," said Black Adam, "they're all over the mirrors."
"Yes," said Grandma Doyle, "but why didn't I see
your
reflection?"
Black Adam stood up and fixed Grandma Doyle with a perplexed expression. "Well, I could see you."
"Well I couldn't' see you," she replied, wondering what else she couldn't see. But there was something else worrying her. She might not be able to see Auguste but she could hear his growl - low and ominous - and it was getting louder. Was she getting closer to him, she wondered, or was he getting closer to her?
She would never find out because all of a sudden there was a loud crack and a small flash of light in the ceiling towards the centre of the room. "Short circuit," said Black Adam shakily. But seconds later there came a second larger flash followed by a deafening boom. The room shuddered. Mirrors smashed and piles of junk collapsed to the ground.
Darkness descended.
When Grandma Doyle and Black Adam finally came round, they found themselves on the other side of the room covered in a blanket of dirt and debris. How long they had been there, they had no idea. The room looked completely different, like an explosion had occurred and razed everything to the ground. Coughing and blinking the dust out of their eyes, they pulled themselves out of the rubble. Immediately Grandma Doyle's thoughts turned to Margie. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she buried beneath a mountain of glass? She called out Margie's name, but no sound returned except the echo of her own voice.
Grandma Doyle tried to stand up, but as she brushed the dust off her clothes, she noticed it being sucked away as if being caught on a breeze. Looking up, she saw that the air in the centre of the room was beginning to form a small twister that grew faster and bigger until it was a vertical rip-tide of energy streaming up from the ground beneath them. And as the energy grew, so did the noise.
"Do you hear it?" cried Grandma Doyle, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "It's the Stories, listen. The Collector is back!"
Black Adam looked at Grandma Doyle blankly for a moment. It was just a cacophony of white noise to him at first. But then he heard it too and for the first time in a long time, he cried. It was the sound of millions of people being released from their bondage; laughing and crying as they were enveloped, finally, in the light of love.
Together Grandma Doyle and Black Adam basked in the halo of weightlessness, serenity, security and warmth and watched in awe and amazement as the stories, like feathers, swirled upwards in a great white tornado. What they were witnessing was something extraordinary; something that they would never see again. Just like the hug they gave each other in one rapturous moment.
As the initial rush subsided, an unearthly howl brought them both crashing back to reality. It was the harrowing scream of a creature in distress. And Auguste
was
in distress. Everything he had been working towards was falling apart. The souls; the stories that he had boxed up and hidden away for seven decades had been released. Only one person could have done that and it definitely wasn't Margie. The toad was right. She was not who he thought she was. She was not the Collector. Which meant the real Collector was still out there, plotting to destroy him and everything he had striven for.
Black with rage and despair, Auguste's entire body began to change until it had become as twisted and contorted as his soul. Black Adam and Grandma Doyle could only watch in horror as Auguste snatched Margie between his razor sharp teeth and scuttled off up the wall and across the ceiling before disappearing into the darkness.
A long time later, discarded and forgotten like a piece of rubbish, Margie awoke. It was pitch black. Empty. Lonely. Silent. And it was here, in this Hell, that she had her final memory.