Well here it is, Part 3, the conclusion of the Faffner Hall portion of 'Muppet Terror'. This part was definately the longest, coming out to almost five pages. I hope everyone enjoyed this story.
Part Three: Loved and Lost, Lost and Found
The car ride from Faffner Hall to Royal London Hospital was an eerie, uncomfortable one. The car was silent for the whole trip, and not just because Farkas had outlawed use of the radio (he wouldn’t even listen to his talk radio stations, Mimi noted later). Riff and Mimi were silently contemplating what the visit would be like when they got there. All Farkas had told them after he had gotten off the phone was that Wild was in the hospital; he said nothing about the Impresario’s condition, how badly he had been hurt.
As Mimi looked out the car window, she couldn’t keep herself from imagining worst-case scenarios. Did Wild have any broken bones? Had he been hit by flying debris from the bombs? Would he be unconscious and hooked up to tubes and machines, like she had seen on television shows? Was he
dead?
“He’s not dead, Mimi,” Riff answered, as if he had been reading her mind. “If he was, why would Mr. Faffner be taking us to visit him in the first place?” Nearly the entire population of Faffner Hall had wanted to go to the hospital to visit the Wild Imp, and in the end the landlord had limited it to just the two teens.
“You’re right, Riff,” Mimi agreed. “I’m just…scared, y’know?” Riff nodded in understanding.
The butterflies in both teens’ stomachs didn’t settle down as Farkas pulled into the hospital parking lot and as they entered the building. They didn’t settle as the receptionist directed them to the ward where their friend was. And they didn’t settle as the trio walked down the hallway and were met by two gentlemen, who introduced themselves as Wild’s friends Fahz Plagal and Joe Minor.
“You must be Wild’s friends,” remarked Joe, a shorter man with receding brown hair.
“Don’t look at me; I’m just the chaperone,” sniffed Farkas. Everyone else ignored him, and Riff and Mimi introduced themselves to the two other men.
“How’s Wild. I-is he okay?” asked Riff.
Fahz, taller than Joe with salt-and-pepper gray hair long enough to be put in a ponytail, replied, “He’s got a concussion, and he had to have stitches where he got grazed by some shrapnel, so they’re keeping him overnight for observation. But aside from that, Wild’s fine.”
Both teenagers sighed with relief. “Can we go in and see him?” asked Mimi.
“Sure; the nurse said someone had called Faffner Hall, so we were just waiting for someone from there to show up,” Fahz explained. “We’ve been here since early this afternoon, when they brought Wild in, so we’re going to head back to the hotel.”
“Sorry your plans got ruined,” the blue-haired girl apologized.
“Hey, it couldn’t be helped,” Joe said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Riff was hit with a flash of inspiration and said to the two men as they started to walk away, “Well, you’re welcome to stop by Faffner Hall sometime. We’d love to have you!” Farkas shot the fuschia-haired boy a Look for the suggestion.
Fahz and Joe grinned. “Thanks. We’ll certainly take that into consideration next time.” Farkas let out a noise that might have been a whimper, but it went ignored. The two men said their goodbyes, and went on their way. As soon as they had gone, Riff and Mimi turned back to look at the door to Wild’s hospital room.
“Well?” Farkas said after a moment or two. “Are you two going to go in, or are you going to stand out here until visiting hours end?” The teens looked at each other, then Riff stepped forward and opened the door.
~*~
The room was quiet as Riff and Mimi entered, the only sound that of the door closing and latching behind them. Wild appeared to be sleeping; the top end of the bed was up at an angle so that Wild was sort-of sitting up, he was facing away from the doorway, and his eyes were shut. A portion of his forehead was covered with a bandage, and part of his arm was similarly dressed. His wild hair was in more disarray than it usually was.
“Wild?” Riff called, but not too loudly.
At first the boy wasn’t sure that he’d been heard, but then Wild stirred and turned so that he was looking in the teens’ direction. “Riff, Mimi!” the Impresario exclaimed weakly. “How nice of you to come visit!”
“How’re you feeling, Wild?” asked Mimi.
“Oh, I’m fine! Just a little bump on the head, that’s all,” their friend replied. “There’s people here who are much worse off than I am. Poor souls,” he added, shaking his head sadly. Changing the subject Wild asked, “So, did anyone else from Faffner Hall come besides you two?”
Riff shook his head. “Just Mr. Faffner; he drove us.”
Wild arched an eyebrow. “Really? How did Fughetta convince him to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Riff answered. “Actually, he didn’t seem to against it when he offered.”
“He offered to drive you here?” The other eyebrow rose to match its mate. After a short pause Wild wondered aloud, “Who is that man outside, and what has he done with Farkas Faffner?”
The three of them laughed, which seemed to break the tension some. Then Mimi looked at their friend. “What happened, Wild? We were so worried; we heard about what happened on the bus and in the Tube, and we then we didn’t hear anything from you…what happened?”
“What happened?” Wild sighed and settled back into his pillow, his gaze focusing on a corner of the ceiling as his eyes took on a faraway look…
Wild had been on the bus, near the middle of the top deck, heading for the Marble Arch where he’d planned to meet Fahz and Joe for the day. He’d been looking forward to their get-together for weeks, ever since he’d found out that his two old friends were coming up through the city on their way to visit Ray, Zola and the kids.
When the driver announced that they were taking a detour through Tavistock Square Wild hadn’t been too concerned; he had always liked that area – the statue of Ghandi, the cherry blossom tree in memory of Hiroshima. And he had been wanting to see the Conscientious Objectors memorial that had been put up there.
Although Wild wasn’t paying much attention to his fellow passengers, there was one young man who didn’t escape his notice. The poor boy seemed agitated, constantly looking around and digging around in his bag for something. ‘Perhaps he’s misplaced something,’ Wild thought to himself. He considered going over and offering his assistance.
Wild had just started to get out of his seat when the boy’s bag – and the boy – exploded.
At first the realization of what had happened didn’t register in Wild’s mind, not until a couple pieces of shrapnel sliced across his arm and forehead. The roof had been blown apart at the rear portion of the bus, and there was presently a fire raging there. The bus swerved as the driver tried to regain control after the explosion, then came to a sudden stop.
Clapping one hand to the cut on his head, Wild numbly followed a group of other passengers down the stairs. The smoke from the explosion and subsequent fire was making it difficult to both see and breathe. Part of Wild couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he had actually witnessed someone blowing up the bus…and themselves in the process.
Outside, through the windows, he could see people milling about already helping those who were off the bus. This was good; he’d get off, find someone to look at his injuries and then telephone Fahz and Joe to let them know what was going on and so that they could change their plans if need be.
Then someone pushed past Wild – he could hardly tell who it was through the smoke, save that it was someone who was in a panic, or else just in a hurry. The push was hard enough to cause Wild to lose his balance. He stumbled forwards, arms flailing in an attempt to grab something to keep himself from falling down the stairs completely.
His head struck something hard, and he fell.
Wild landed at the bottom of the stairs. He lay on the floor, barely conscious, watching the feet of other passengers passing him by with a sort of detachment. It hardly phased him when someone stepped on his hand on their way off of the bus. He didn’t care that blood from the cut on his head was running into his eye. And he wasn’t even aware of the two men who picked him up and carried him off of the bus to safety.
“Wild?”
“Hmm?” Wild shook himself out of his reverie and looked over to see both Mimi and Riff regarding him in worry. “Sorry. I…don’t really remember much about what happened. I heard the explosion, and then I must have hit my head on something. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here at the hospital, and Fahz and Joe had already found me.”
“That’s okay,” Mimi assured him. She reached out and took his hand. “We’re just glad you’re all right, Wild.”
“Yeah,” echoed Riff. Something about Wild’s explanation didn’t really sit well with him; there was something that the Impresario wasn’t telling them. But, if Wild didn’t want to tell them it was his choice.
The door opened, revealing Farkas in the doorway. “All right, you two. That’s enough. Don’t tire him out,” the older man ordered. As the two teens said their goodbyes to Wild and filed out the door, Farkas looked over at him. “I’ll come back tomorrow to drive you back…drive you home. That all right?”
“Uh, sure. That would be fine,” Wild agreed. “Thanks, Mr. Faffner.” Farkas waved it off.
Riff looked over his shoulder back into the Wild Impresario’s room before he left. He saw Wild settling in against his pillow, closing his eyes in sleep.
Or sorrow.
~*~
The next afternoon Wild came home from the hospital. Although he was under doctor’s orders to take it easy for the next couple of days, that didn’t stop the other residents of Faffner Hall from throwing him a small Welcome Home party. Wild told everyone else the same story he had told Riff and Mimi at the hospital, and then by unspoken agreement the subject wasn’t brought up again. Naturally there was music involved, which sent Farkas hastily retreating to his attic although not before telling the Wild Imp, “Good to see you’re all right.”
Later on in the day the party had wound down and most of the partygoers had gone their separate ways, including the guest of honor himself. While everyone else left to do their own thing, Riff and Mimi included, Fughetta floated off in search of the Wild Impresario.
She found him in his bedroom, sitting and staring out the window. A pencil and a blank piece of staff paper were laid out on his desk, but both appeared to be untouched; definitely not a good sign. “Wild?” the spirit asked gently.
Wild turned around at her summons. “Hmm? Oh, hello Fughetta,” he greeted her before turning back to the window.
“Wild, is everything all right?” Fughetta asked him. “And don’t try to brush me off by saying everything’s fine. The others might have been satisfied with that answer, but I want the truth.”
“I never could put anything past you, could I? Very well,” the Wild Imp sighed. “You’ve probably figured this out by now, but I remember more about the…the bombing than I’ve let on.” He told her about sitting on the upper deck of the bus, and how he’d been only a few seats away from where the bomb had gone off.
“I close my eyes, and I can still see that young man. How nervous he seemed; he must have realized the bomb was going to go off prematurely or else that something was wrong with it. And I was going to go over and talk to him.” Wild looked up at Fughetta, who had floated closer to his chair. “If I had moved faster, or gotten up earlier, I could have been killed right along with him.”
“But you didn’t, and you weren’t,” Fughetta reminded him. Wild signed heavily. “I’m reminded of something that young frog Kermit said in his message yesterday. That they can’t win if we don’t allow them to make us afraid. Just…think about that, Wild.” The phantom glided out of the room.
“Fughetta?”
She stopped in the doorway. “Yes, Wild?”
“Don’t tell anyone else what I told you, please? Especially Riff and Mimi. They don’t need to know everything,” Wild requested.
Fughetta nodded. “I promise, Wild. It’s between you and me.” With that she faded away.
Wild remained in his chair after she had gone, looking out the window at the setting sun. His head, as well as his arm, still hurt. Running his hand over the bandage on his arm Wild mused that he’d probably have a scar there. He’d have a scar on his heart as well, left by the young man.
But Fughetta had been right. He would always remember that day, but it wouldn’t do him any good to think of the what-could-have-beens for the rest of his life. If he did that, he might as well just never come out of his room again! And those responsible for the bombings of the bus and the subway would have succeeded in their mission.
As if by magic, a melody started to form in Wild’s head, and he smiled.
A song! he thought.
A song to remember those who were affected, and bring back a little hope! Yes, that’s perfect!
Humming to himself, Wild turned back to his desk. He picked up his pencil and began marking notes on his paper.
As long as Wild could still make music, they wouldn’t win.
The End
-Kim
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It took me all of three or four days to write, which is a record for me. Came out to 10 full pages and part of an eleventh.