CHAPTER 13

Of the three remaining members of the band, Ace was the first to leave the apartment.

He had climbed into his car and was driving along the highway at a speed that was very unusual for him -- the speed limit. His mind filled with haze from the events of the night, he had continued on this trip for close to twenty minutes when a voice rang out from the right of him.

"Why were you surprised with Mr. Criss' answer, Mr. Frehley?"

The voice surprised Ace so much that he momentarily lost control of the wheel and slammed on the brakes, putting the car into a spin. The car managed to avoid two tractor-trailers that had been coming up from behind as it spun around and slammed into a guardrail.

Shaking his head and breathing rapidly, Ace turned to the figure in the passenger's seat.

"DON'T . . ." Ace paused for breath between each word, "DO . . . THAT!"

Morpheus smiled. "Ah, for once, the great Mr. Frehley actually seems to be surprised by something."

"By something?" Ace managed to put the words closer together as he calmed down from the shock of just moments ago. "By everything tonight!"

"It was bound to happen," Morpheus consoled.

"But why Peter? Why did they pick him?"

"Because of his instinctive powers. Because he was the weakest of the four of you. Because Blackwell had more in mind tonight than just the taking of your powers."

Ace closed his eyes. "I know. It just seems wrong."

"It is for the best. At least, Blackwell has lost another round."

Ace looked at Morpheus with surprise. "That's not going to last forever. You know what is going to happen. You had shown me yourself."

Morpheus agreed with a shake of his head. "We know what will happen to us. But to you and the others? No. That comes later."

There was silence in the car. Ace finally noticed that his car lights were still on and turned them off.

"Now," Morpheus finally retorted, "since I have answered a question for you, you must answer one for me."

"Go ahead."

"Why did you stop me from telling the others the real reason for Blackwell's determination to get the Talismans? In my quest to help your friends I almost told them too much."

Ace shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. If what you had told me is true, I don't think they'll be ready for it. I don't think I'm ready for it."

Morpheus looked at Ace once again and smiled. "Mr. Frehley, I think that is exactly why you were chosen. You know, of the four, you picked up on your abilities completely almost from the beginning. It has been very much appreciated that you have kept this fact from the others for the time being. It is best that they learn about the powers at their own pace. When the time comes, you and them and everyone else will be ready for what is to be."

"But how much longer? I don't like lying to the guys. I especially didn't like having to do that whole Obi-Wan-Kenobi bit earlier tonight." Ace held the steering wheel for support.

"You had been begging the Council to help you get the others involved with their powers. It was best to make it look as if it was all part of the inner-learning of the Talismans, otherwise they may have given up for good. Not to mention that you yourself had noticed Mr. Simmons' suspicions about your abilities. Our story tonight will help pacify him for the time being. Besides, you're the one that came up with that whole Harry Belefonte bit. A bit undignified, even for a council member of the Elder like myself."

Ace held back a laugh after hearing the huffiness of Morpheus' voice. Yet, it soon was replaced by his questioning stare again.

"But when?"

"It will be soon, Mr. Frehley. It will be soon."

"I wish I didn't know all of this," Ace mumbled.

"Don't worry, Mr. Frehley. There are several things that even you are not privileged to know. At least, not yet."

Morpheus had meant the words as a comfort. Ace stared at Morpheus for a moment; then he laughed once and shook his head.

"Ah, Morpheus? You've got to work on that bedside manner of yours, okay?"

Morpheus was puzzled by Ace's response, but let the remark go by without comment.

"Mr. Frehley," Morpheus said, "Blackwell has a plan in mind for the Talismans. If things go the way he really wants them to occur, he will use the members of the band in his plans. Otherwise, he will kill you, Peter, Gene and Paul and simply find others to do his bidding. It is better this way. It is safer this way."

There was no response from Ace, who turned back to the highway outside the car's windshield.

"My time is nearly gone, Mr. Frehley, and there is still a lesson to be learned. If you need me, just call for me. Most importantly, stick with the others. Without you, they will be lost. Just as the Talismans are lost without their base."

"I'll do what I can, Morpheus, but without Peter, I feel that I'm missing an arm."

"Don't worry. Things have a habit of coming back around. You'll see."

Ace turned back to Morpheus, but he was gone. All that was left was the last riddle Morpheus had spoken, which played around in Ace's head.

Looking out the windshield again, Ace thought about what Morpheus had said earlier in the evening.

"The truth is called a riddle when it isn't understood."

Ace could think of nothing else as he turned on his headlights, started the car and pulled back out on the highway.

* * *

Blackwell stood before the chessboard, delicately picking the knight off its square. Parker watched nearby, the report held tightly in his hands, as Blackwell chuckled.

"You see, Mr. Parker? Slowly and cautiously. Every move is planned. With Robinson in place, the Talismans and their bearers will soon be mine."

Parker smiled briefly as Blackwell looked up at him and shuffled through his report.

"Now, Mr. Parker, what is the news on our little surprise attack?" Blackwell had moved back over to his desk and sat down. Feeling in a good move for once, he had even leaned back in his chair as he motioned Parker to begin speaking.

Parker coughed. "Well, it does appear that Robinson was able to succeed with the first part of the plan in obtaining the two Talismans that belong to Ace Frehley and Paul Stanley."

Blackwell's smile disappeared right after Parker mentioned only the first part of the plan.

"Go on, Parker."

"Well, it appears that Robinson had tried to activate the powers herself. I-I warned her about trying that. You warned her --" Parker voice cut short as he realized that he just implicated Blackwell into the problem as well.

Blackwell did nothing. "Continue, Mr. Parker."

"I don't know how she was able to accomplish it, but she gained access to the combined powers of the two Talismans. She then try to fight Gene Simmons and Peter Criss in her apartment using these powers instead of following through with the original plan."

"What was the conclusion, Parker?"

"She failed, Mr. Blackwell. She-she . . . failed. As you told me, the combination of any of the two Talismans lead to a short spurt of power, but burnt her out within minutes. She lost the powers very early in the fight and then was pretty much gone before I was able to activate the switch from across the street and she disappeared. Disappeared in a ball of blue light, just as you said she would."

Blackwell was silent for a moment. "Thank you, Mr. Parker. That'll be all."

"Um," Parker said quickly, "there's more."

"More?"

"Yes, Peter Criss has decided to leave the band for reasons we are not sure of. There was also a visitor to Mr. Stanley's apartment last night. An older guy dressed up like a biker. The strange thing was, we knew he was there, but there was no way he could've gotten in or out of the building without being seen. It was like he just appeared and disappeared."

"Morpheus." Blackwell hissed as he closed his fist tightly around the knight in his hand. "Must he plague me at every turn? Destroy the dreams I have worked for?"

The knight in his hand turned to powder. Opening his hand, Blackwell wiped his hands and stared into the distance. Finally he looked back up at Parker.

"Thank you for the report, Mr. Parker. You may go. I have some thinking to do."

Parker, happy in being asked to leave, turned on his heels and closed the door behind him as he left the office.

Blackwell stood up and walked slowly to the chessboard. Standing in front of it, he stared for a few seconds at the pieces. Suddenly, with a sweep of one arm, he scattered the chess set to the floor.

"Pathetic," he said to himself in a low voice. "To think I could have trusted a human to do what needed to be done. That symbol was supposed to draw all four members into the room, and once there, the incarnation would have been enough to keep them there until I was ready to receive them.

"Instead, Robinson tried to cross me as well. She paid for her insolence. But at the cost of signaling Morpheus in the process. Not to mention that Criss was ripe for his death. Now we have to start all over again."

Blackwell tried to put the blame on Robinson, but he knew he himself was responsible for the battle being lost. He had been spending too much time in treating the war like a chessboard -- like a game. In doing so, he hadn't thought about the illogical progression war sometime takes.

Blackwell sat back down at his desk.

No matter, he thought to himself. There was still time. Plus, with Criss out of the way, the three others will be vulnerable. It was just a change in plan. A plan where he would not make the same mistake again.

"No matter," he said out loud. "The plan is in motion. Just the schedule and the players have changed."

A smile returned to his face as he thought about his next step.

* * *

It was late at night as Peter was about to put the key into the door when he heard something moving in the distance. He stepped back from his house and circled toward the sound. Seeing a figure rustling around by the trees, he tiptoed toward it.

"Hello, Peter," Gene said from behind him, his body and face shadowed in the trees.

Peter jumped back and turned around to face Gene. "What do you want? Besides giving me a heart attack."

"Just wanted to talk about tonight." Gene walked toward Peter, but stopped as the drummer back away.

"Okay, talk." Peter crossed his arms.

"I just want to know if the battle with Robinson is your reason for leaving the band."

Peter paused as he collected his thoughts.

"No. I've been thinking about doing this for a while now. Ask Ace . . . He'll tell you. I've talked to him about it before, but he never took me seriously."

"He seemed as surprised as the rest of us."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, well . . . that's Ace."

"You could still be a part of the Talismans, Pete --"

Peter's arm flew up into the air. "Don't give me that! You saw what happened! You wanted to kill her as much as I did! This Talisman garbage is affecting us --"

"But there are reasons for that," Gene shouted, matching Peter's anger.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like we didn't know why we had these powers or what they could do. Like, we never tried to understand the Talismans and control them. Like, that night was a life or death situation --"

Peter raised his hands helplessly. "Ah, man, I don't believe you. You're trying to rationalize ripping her apart. Another human being."

"Who was trying to kill us!"

"There could have been another way to stop her."

"What? Tell me, Peter. What would you have done?"

"Forget it, man, forget it. If this is what we're turning into, I want out. If we start carving people up, then I want nothing to do with it. Don't stand there and lie to me like you lied to Paul and Ace that night."

"They didn't need to know. It'll be better if they think --"

"Oh, right," Peter cut in sarcastically. "And tell me, Gene, what would you have told them if we had killed her? In fact, if I hadn't pulled you off Robinson, would you have killed her?"

A breeze rustled through the leaves in the nearby trees. Peter turned and walked back toward his house.

"Just think on that one, Gene. I'm going home to get some sleep."

Gene watched as the door slammed behind Peter at the house. Gene looked at the trees, the grass, then the house again. He felt like collapsing, although he was not tired.

He knew he had no answer to Peter's question.

* * *

His head shot up from the pillow as the alarm clock screamed in his ears.

"Ah . . . shut up," he mumbled throwing the clock against the wall. He snuggled further under the blankets. "Just five more minutes . . . ."

The second alarm clock blared loudly.

"Aarrgh!" His hand slapped out and silenced the bell.

Before his hand could even slip away from the clock, a third alarm went off from across the room.

He threw his pillow and accurately hit the clock off the table and into a rumpled pile of clothes. He sat up and looked around the room, blinking his bleary eyes. His curly hair was matted down against his head, and a small growth of beard covered his chin. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on a dream he had before waking.

"Something . . ." he said, staring down at the blankets, "about me having superpowers and fighting alongside those guy in KISS. Weird. Like in that movie they made a couple of years ago."

As his head started to clear, the dream began to fade away.

". . . and some old biker guy . . . gave me a piece of jewelry . . . ."

The phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He grabbed a pair of pants and pulled them on as he picked up the receiver.

"Hullo," he muttered.

"Hey, it's me! Glad I caught you before you left for work. Listen. We've decided to have the band practice tonight. I'll talk to ya later. Bye!"

"Wait! What's going on? What's --?"

The phone clicked on the other end of the line.

"What? What?"

His hand dropped to his side and finally placed the receiver back in its cradle.

"What?" He asked the room.

He looked at the time and saw he was late for work.

"Oh, great."

Quickly, he put on his clothes, and rushed down the hallway from his bedroom.

I've got to give this up, he thought to himself. Working during the day and being in a band at night is killing me.

It was already a quarter til nine; and Eric Carr ran out of his home . . leaving his bizarre dream behind him.

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