Table of Contents

Ch.1 The Crow

Ch.2 The Tin Man

Ch.3 Leon

Ch.4 The Wizard

Ch.5 The Angels and the Witch

Ch.6 The Crow’s Return

Ch.7 The Road to Oz

CH.8 The Emerald Palace

Ch.9 There’s No Place Like Home

Introduction

Managing to retrieve only a single possession from her past, she flees the dingy vacant basement in which her abduction, and that of her memories was taking place. She grabbed a silver locket which seemed important to her at the time, though she could no more remember why any more than she could place any of the other objects strewn across the table. Objects which they kept asking her to identify. Among the assorted objects she only vaguely recognized the pocket-knife, in that she knew what it was even though it was concealed as a brush, and of course the locket, which she was sure belonged to her. Still, it was careless of them to leave the knife on the table, even if they did not know what it was, and more so to let her handle the objects freely. So sure of themselves, so smug and callous.

The much older woman administering the drugs was all too eager to lean in to hear her words, just before she plunged the blade into the side of her neck. As the doc fell the blood sprayed towards the floor, covering her feet. Though the rain would later wash it from her hands, it would not so easily be removed from the socks she wore. She’d put on the clothes prepared for her in a hurry of course, failing to notice the blood of her captor. She even managed to slip outside before she heard the voices of her pursuers, and begun her mad dash down the wet and filthy alleyways. After several turns and countless minutes she found herself upon a street, and tripped off the curb in the crossing of it. Stunned near unconsciousness and lying in the middle of the street, feet trailing in the flooded gutters, she is rescued by a mysterious woman intent on sorting her affairs. Possibly suffering a concussion and the effects of whatever drugs they were giving her she passed out, hopefully to awaken in a better place.

Chapter 1

The Crow

How many lost souls turn up on these dark streets, swallowed by the shadows of a wicked fun house filled with broken mirrors? There discarded bodies piled up like so much neglected trash. ‘The Vacants’, filled to bursting with the despair and desperation of little people with little hope and little future.  Here, what seems like an endless tide of suffering pools into the deep cracks and corners through filthy twisting alleys and boarded windows. Those who find themselves enveloped by the stench of this mournful city have no one left to remember them, and no one left to remember, but tonight is different. Tonight the sky drowns us in the tears of the gods, tonight we take pity on the unnoticed and forgotten.

From her perch, a Crow sees another tortured soul abandoned to whatever cruel fate would find her here. Not uncommon she’s reminded, by the moans and cries that haunt the recesses of her mind. But this time she cannot turn away. Leaving this one like a drowned rat in the wet gutter of the street would be the same as killing her, “My judgment, my call, my hand…” she thinks.

Eventually, the confusion begins to lift and the girl finds herself wet and cold, but in a dry place. She hears someone as she struggles to see clearly. Someone in black is starting a fire in a barrel fire pit, a fixture of the alleys and shanty of the area. “Who are you,” she asked?

“A Crow,” the woman’s voice replies.

“A crow,” she asked?

“I see tings… call out. I carries words and tings. I takeswhat I can… where I can find it… mostly when folk is done wid it… uda times I trieve tings fa uda folk. Whateva I need be, swhat I am… a Crow” the woman said. “Guess t’night I be an angel, just fa you,” she added in jest with a light and drifting tone as if speaking to herself. “Ya should be wond’n who ya are dough… I bet ya done f’got it girl, aint ya,” she finished… half question, half point of fact.

“Forgot what,” the girl asked, still confused, trying to follow the brisk pace of the Crow’s explanations. The woman’s words ran together, fell away, and seemed altogether foreign at times. Her accent, if that was what it was so heavy the weight of it would be unbearable if it hit you all at once… like a train crashing, one car folding into the next. On top of this her mannerism were distracting, since her eyes kept darting about and her head occasionally moved suddenly in pursuit of them. And every few moment she would cock her head sideways and stare at the girl for a few seconds as if she was checking to see if she was lost. Fortunately, she often took brief pauses in her speech to glance about, though this was irregular and the girl wasn’t sure what it was in response to. Maybe she was focusing on something she saw or perhaps heard, or maybe it was because she had half a mind to notice that following her words was like chasing a squirrel.

“Ya face… ya name, who ya are, where ya come from… ya done lost ya home haven’t ya girl…” the Crow asked this, again already knowing the answer.

The girl thought for a while as the crow stopped to stare at her, awaiting her reply as if she were about to say something important. But the girl could not remember these things… why? She moved closer to the warmth of the fire, and the Crow threw a blanket around her shoulders. “Don worry girl… I know an old Tin Man, don live far from here,” she said, and suddenly stared off into the distance, “so when it stop rain’n… we go,” she finished, as she resumed her more curious behaviors.

“A Tin Man,” asked the girl.

“A badge, a shield… retired though,” the Crow replied.

“I see,” the girl said.

“He’ll know more den me about it… so maybe he can help ya” the Crow continued. “He goes all-in, real easy, fa folk like you. Course, he likes t’act heartless… but I know his truth… I know lots a truths, ya know. Secrets got a habit a confide’n in me… n’ he aint no hollow man.

The Crow noticed the girl now staring at a locket which she had managed to keep clutched in the palm of her hand this entire time. The Crow imagined only something truly important could have provoke her to do so even through her repeated lapses into unconsciousness. But the girl didn’t seem to be able to open it, though she tried clumsily. “The key… ya need the key. I don… ya do.” A lock of that type was child’s play for the Crow, she could in fact open it faster than the girl could blink about now.

The girl stretched out her hand, locket in palm, “please,” she begged. So the crow took it, using a small tool, and popped it right open.

“Here ya go,” she said, as she returned the shiny bobbled trimmed in small ruby jewels. “Nice lady like that one, a keeper I’m guess’n,” she commented on the image within, though she only took the briefest moment to look inside. The picture was of a beautiful woman, who appeared well kept from the accessories she wore. “She favors ya a bit,” she finally added.

The girl looked at the picture but could not place the face. “What happened to me?” she said, expecting no answer to come of it.

“That’s the question,” said the Crow.

Chapter 2

The Tin Man

After the rain eased off, the poor girl followed the Crow down a series of alleyways, until they arrived at an old tenement on the edge of The Vacants. They had to buzz the desired resident to gain access to the building. “It be me who is she,” the Crow said, and a moment later they were in. “Up, up, up we go,” she said to the girl in tow.

The man in the apartment above was a venerable sort, aged well and wizened by the years. He profited in this way by the experiences and people he had known, even if he had not done so financially. He was a large man, robust but not obese, more muscle than fat. He looked as if he had once been into body building but long since abandoned the pursuit. However, he still seemed as healthy as one might want to be without being obsessed with such things. He was once an officer of the law, a detective in fact. On the street, people like him, people who only wore there badge for protection, were called Tin Men. Beat cops always wore vest these days, whereas detectives often wore street clothes or even suits. Without the Tin they were like anyone else, nobody paid any special attention to them, they could get closer to the action and gather info. He had built up quite a network of connections in the Vacants in his time, and the Crow had been one of them.

Though he was retired now, he still felt an obligation towards old favors when they came a calling. However, this wasn’t personal, this was something he would have to decide on himself… to help or not. The truth was he was the closest the people in The Vacants could get to someone who actually cared, he was the man you came to for help. The cops only really patrolled the outer most areas of The Vacants, border patrols really. They had given up on the area just before he retired, which in part led to his decision to do so.  The Vacants had been scheduled for demolition years ago, but the work was never done, because it would have taken too much effort to clear out. Though it had more likely been because the parties interested in redevelopment had backed out shortly after the initial efforts, and no further interest had been made since. In the end, The Vacants were merely draining money from the city.

When they reached the top floor, where the Tin Man lived, the crow took the lead urging the girl to follow. They headed towards the back of the hall. The door nearest to the fire exit, which also went up to the roof, passing a man on their right who stood just left of their destination. The Crow glanced at him as she passed, the two seeming familiar, yet they exchanged no other acknowledgements as if such things would be wasted. “Tap, Tap,” the Crow exclaimed, just before the door opened.

“Come on in,” said the man inside, holding the door. So they did, followed by the man outside. Though this startled the girl a touch. “Don’t mind Leon,” said the detective. The girl looked about the room, thinking that it looked like an honest apartment. Things were lived in but not terribly messy, there seemed to be very little pretense in it. Little effort had been made to decorate, and most things were in the open. The furnishings were worn but not filthy, and the lighting was at best adequate. On the side table near the entryway was a billfold, lying open, with a tin badge on one side. The badge said Detective Woodsman, and had the number OZ1900 below that.

“Woodsman,” the Crow said, greeting the man. “Dis girl don know who she be,” she explained abruptly. Of course it’s not like she could have introduced someone who didn’t even know who they were. “Might be ya can help yeah?” she said, more of a point of fact than a question really.

“Who knows…?” Woodsman replied, “I used to be good at this sorta thing, now let’s see. So what do you know?” he asked the girl. Who proceeded to tell him everything she could remember about her experience so far. She showed him the locket, and told him about the other objects as well. She even admitted to possibly killing someone, though she seemed both confused and at least passively remorseful about it. Of course, this was clearly an act of survival from her point of view.

After a while, Woodsman agreed to help the girl. He remembered about a Dr. West, Osborne West, who was once both a brilliant neuro-scientist and bio-chemist. The man was probably the foremost expert on memory research, meaning if anyone could help someone retrieve lost memories it would be him. However, he was a hard man to get to, let alone receive help from. Fortunately, he had a daughter who might be convinced to present the girl’s request. Which was as sound a plan as any, for two reasons. First, as far as anyone knew, West had never denied his daughter anything, he fulfilled her every request. Secondly, she was a kind person, who had once had her father build an orphanage after having an encounter with homeless children, during a school field trip, who were rooting through the trash for food. However, Dr. West didn’t stop at building the facilities, he had also had the principal of the school fired. This was his response only because he could not fire the teacher whom his daughter adored, or remove her from the school she so loved. Of course, she was older now, though she still had a reputation for charity. The Crow might find a way to get to her, so Woodsman sent her to do just that.