Chapter Fifteen:

 

Oz the Great and Terrible was at his most particularly terrible for this meeting with Dorothy and her companions. His signature wreaths of yellow vapors twined and boiled like angry vipers about his great incorporeal features and the mystical twin flames of his godlike breath blazed at irritated intervals.

He had not appreciated receiving doorstep delivery of the late Wicked Witch's hospital bed (and about a fourth of what remained of the Witch with it) one little bit.

Nor had he appreciated learning that the five slayers of the Witch had been in his city for a full twenty-four hours before they'd bothered to dawdle into his presence to report on the death of the Witch.      

Not that he had been particularly eager to meet with any of them; but his agents had informed him that upon their arrival to the city, the quintet had spent many slothful hours refurbishing themselves at the Wash and Brush Up, and had then lingered over a sumptuous celebration dinner at "Verdigris", the best and most exclusive and most obscenely expensive restaurant in the city. They'd gone from there to the Emerald City Cabaret for dancing and further celebration, and had gone from there to a serious after hours jazz club, and had gone from there to a frighteningly hip all-night diner for a dawn breakfast, and had then engaged rooms at the Emerald Plaza, where, so his informants told him, they had all gone to bed and slept all damn day.

This dilatory attitude toward meeting with him rankled, but what was worse were the reports of the treatment the five had received from the citizenry of the city during their night of hedonistic and highly visible revelry. He had it on good authority that all five, even the lamb, had been hailed as conquering heroes everywhere they went, and had been lionized and cheered and petted and cosseted and treated to every imaginable luxury or service and photographed and sexually propositioned and asked for autographs and generally made much of all over the city.

It was a public relations disaster, from Oz' perspective.

And here were the five authors of all this woe before him now, looking healthy and bright-eyed and glossy, six o'clock in the evening, and not two hours out of bed, any of them.

"WELL?" Oz prompted, angrily. "WHO'S SICK IDEA OF A JOKE WAS IT TO HAVE THAT DISGUSTING BED DROPPED OFF ON MY DOORSTEP?"

Oz noted that none of them made the slightest effort to suppress the amused smirking his question occasioned.

"Well," Dorothy said, not even trying not to giggle. "You did say to bring you the hospital bed of the Wicked -”

"ENOUGH! I DID NOT SAY TO SEND ME TWO GALLONS OF LIQUEFIED WITCH ALONG WITH IT! MY DOORKEEPER IS STILL SCRUBBING THE FRONT STEPS!"

Of course, they all knew this to be true. They'd renewed their acquaintance with the doorkeeper on their way in, but had not, on this occasion, left Toto in his care. The consensus was that the lamb was as entitled to attend this interview with the Wizard as any of them.

"WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU PEOPLE DO TO THE WITCH, THAT'S WHAT I'D LIKE TO KNOW? I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A GHASTLY MESS."

"Spontaneous anaphylactic detonation," the Scarecrow said. "Quite a rare allergic reaction; I'd read about it in the medical literature, of course, but I'd never seen a live demonstration of the phenomenon. It was really quite spectacular, Oz, it's a pity you couldn't have seen it for yourself. Margot's idea, actually. We're all very proud of her."

He smiled approvingly at the tin woman. His time at the Wash and Brush Up had returned him to his normal immaculate state. He was elegantly dressed, perfectly groomed, neat and sleek as ever, and his left arm had been rebuilt, reattached, and was obviously functioning normally.

Oz privately wondered why he'd opted to keep the extra finger on the left hand in the rebuild; was it habit, or just plain cussedness? The latter, probably. Not that it mattered.

"So,” said Margot, newly polished, buffed, and galvanized. "We were thinking that you might like to discuss the terms of our agreement now. You'll remember that we had some requests."

"That you agreed to fulfill, on receipt of the bed, you'll recall," added Dorothy, in a new summer frock and some very smart spectator pumps.

"Which you did receive," said Barney, curried, combed, and whiskers curled. "Like you were saying - so - how about you grant our requests now?"

"IF you can, that is, Oz,” The Scarecrow finished, and bared his sharp white teeth in an ironic smile that made his personal opinion on the matter derisively clear.

"HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY OMNIPOTENCE, YOU ABOMINABLE, ABERRANT, ATROCIOUS -”

"STOP!" Dorothy cried, interrupting the Great Oz for the second time in recorded history, her accent thickened by her anger.

"Just shut your damn cake hole! I've heard just about enough of you calling him nasty names! We're ALL questioning your so called 'omnipotence', right here and now! Seems to me you can't do much more than holler, anyroad, from what I've seen. This Scarecrow here makes TEN of you, so you better try and keep a civil tongue in your big fat head!"

The Scarecrow smiled to himself. When it came to verbal abuse, Dorothy Gale could have given the Furies screaming lessons. It was one of her most enchanting qualities.

That she was currently rhapsodizing on his behalf did not escape his attention either. He found himself wondering what it would be like if she were to yell at HIM like that, and how long he could keep a straight face if she did. A marvelously detailed and utterly winsome tirade from an imaginary Dorothy immediately presented itself to his fancy.

Oz, however, was not at all charmed by the rough side of Dorothy's tongue.

"YOU - YOU CAN'T TALK TO OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL LIKE THAT! YOU'D BETTER SAY YOU'RE SORRY RIGHT NOW OR -”

"Or WHAT?" Dorothy interrupted yet again. "Or you'll burst into tears?"

The Scarecrow had not really been following the conversation. In his impromptu fantasy, Dorothy was telling him to "quit that grinning like a damn egg-sucking hound!" and he was so entranced by her delicious invective that he thought he might faint, and was trying to think of even more annoying things to say to keep her at full high dudgeon, when he was distracted by the chuckling of Margot and Barney, and unceremoniously dumped back into the real world.

The first thing he noticed was Toto, sniffing at some draperies covering an alcove of the great green chamber.

The next thing he noticed was the Exalted Oz, spluttering like a tea kettle about to boil, an irritable weak tremor in his awesome voice.

He watched Toto. He had a prescient notion that something important was about to happen, and that certain theories he had been formulating were about to be confirmed.

The inquisitive lamb continued to sniff and butt at the curtains. He nosed at a corner of the fabric, and then tried taking an experimental bite out of it. The curtain twitched aside as Toto gnawed at his mouthful of fabric and a man's feet, clad in flip-flops, were revealed. The Scarecrow glided closer to the curtained alcove, watching carefully.

"Dorothy?" he said. "Would you look over here for a moment, please?"

Toto continued his gnawing and tugging and the curtain continued to inch back and now a man's bare legs became visible, and then a pair of baggy shorts, and then the back of a faded yellow Jose Cuervo T-shirt, and finally a whole man, his back to them, frantically working the controls of a jumbled collection of battered old television equipment.

"THIS AUDIENCE WITH OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL IS OVER!! BEGONE, AND COME BACK TOMORROW . . . UH, COME BACK NEXT WEEK, I MEAN . . . NO . . . UM . . . NEXT MONTH, ACTUALLY, WOULD BE GOOD . . .”

Barney, Margot and Dorothy joined the Scarecrow near the alcove and watched the stranger curiously. The man glanced behind him, revealing his face for just a moment, and Special Agent Dorothy Gale, of Effbeeye, gasped in astonishment.

"You know him, don't you, Dorothy?" The Scarecrow asked quietly.

"PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN," Oz the Great and Powerful pleaded.

"Oh my God!" Dorothy answered. "I know OF him. He's sort of a legend, in the FBI, everybody says he used to be the best there was. I can't believe it's him, I just can't believe it! All this time! You knew it, too, didn't you? You knew something, anyway. How?"

"OZ THE GREAT AND POWERFUL HAS . . .” the man said into a microphone, then turned around and noted all four of them staring at him. "Has . . . has spoken. Oh, hell! Who am I kidding?" 

He shrugged, defeated, and slowly turned to face them. He was medium height, had the remains of what must have once been a great tan, and had ice blue eyes.

"An unusual scent," the Scarecrow was saying to Dorothy. "I'd noticed it the first time Oz and I met, and again when he sentenced me to the zoo and the cornfield. I couldn't tell exactly what it was, it was very faint, but I've since come to think it's probably soap. A brand that doesn't exist here in Oz; I'd never smelled it before. Or since. Except once."

"Would you people mind not staring at me?" Oz asked. "I don't like being stared at."

"On me, isn't that right?" Dorothy asked. "You smelled it on me? It's called 'Irish Spring', by the way, in case you were wondering."

"Oh? Yes? What an odd name. Anyway, then, there was the way he pronounced 'Effbeeye'. More like 'FBI'. A subtle difference, but it's exactly the same way you pronounce it, Dorothy. I already suspected that the two of you might be from the same place, and that distinctive pronunciation confirmed it."

"You're not a Wizard at all," Barney said to the man, wonderingly. "You're just . . . you're just a guy!"

"THAT'S why you told me to introduce myself!" Dorothy exclaimed. "The first time we came here?"

"Yes. I wanted to see what his reaction would be. And it was very revealing, too, just as I'd expected it might be."

"And could the two of you stop talking about me like I wasn't even in the room?" the man complained to Dorothy and the Scarecrow. "I don't much like that, either."

"What happened to your face?" Barney asked him, his natural instinct for compassion overriding his annoyance at being taken in by this man's Wizard act. "Were you in an accident?"

The man had a long, deep, terrible scar in his cheek, as though someone unknown had tried to shove a butcher knife through his head, face first.

"No, it wasn't an accident at all," the man replied to Barney's question.

Dorothy had heard all the explanation she needed. She marched up to the scarred man and slapped him across the face, hard.

"Will Graham! What the hell do you mean, sending me on that goddamned wild goose chase after the Witch! Do you have ANY idea what you put me through!? What in hell are you doing here, pretending to be a Wizard and fucking around with everybody? I'd heard you were supposed to be a decent enough guy, when you were sober!"

Graham seemed to shrink into his sloppy T-shirt under the withering influence of her righteous anger. It was as though he was a rare and delicate plant, wilting in the full glare of the sun.

"Well, I am a decent guy, sort of. At least, I used to be. Things kind of got to be a bit much for me."

"That is NO excuse! I could have been killed! We all could have!"

"Somebody had to do something about that Witch," Graham said, quietly, eyes downcast. Dorothy noticed that a faint echo of her own accent had found its way into his speech. "I knew I couldn't do anything, but you looked like maybe you could. And you had help.  The Lion, the Tin Woman. And . . . HIM."

He stopped and raised his eyes to the Scarecrow a moment, an icy blue dart of distaste.

"I just thought, if anyone could help you out with the Witch, it had to be the guy who'd fucked him up royally once before. I thought that'd even out your odds, even if it was risky."

"May I ask you something, Oz?" the Scarecrow interjected. "Or do you prefer I address you as Will?"

"I'd rather you didn't address me at all," Graham answered, a small nervous tic twitching his mouth. "Ever. But if you must, not 'Will', please. I'd rather not hear you saying that name. It gives me the creeps."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Oh, God, already with the questions. Ugh!"

"Very well. Oz, then. Why is it that you dislike me so much, Oz? I've never done anything, that I recall, to offend you. We'd never even met, yet you hated me on sight, right from the first. Why?"

"Isn't being a serial murderer and a cannibal enough?"

"Oh, what absurd rubbish. Murder's not even a crime, here in Oz. We don't even have any laws, as such, just a sort of loose collection of social . . . suggestions, really. Anyway, I've mostly only gone after obnoxious pests like the Witch, and you don't seem to have any objection to THAT. And I most certainly am NOT a cannibal! I've never eaten a single bite of hay in my life!"

"All right, all right. The truth is, you remind me of someone," Graham confessed. "Someone back where Dorothy and I come from. I swear, you and he . . . well, it's positively uncanny, the resemblance. And the idea that there could be TWO of you . . .” he trailed off and shuddered.

"Someone you hate?" the Scarecrow asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know . . . it's not that simple. Fear and loathing, admiration and understanding, mutual respect and mutual animosity. A regular witch's brew. I can tell you that I put him in the slammer, but he just about made Will-hash out of me first. And I can tell you that we both regretted doing those things, a little. We'd probably be best friends if we weren't mortal enemies, and if he wasn't a freak. And if I wasn't. Can you understand any of this? "

"Almost . . .” the Scarecrow said, eyes distant, as though listening for some faint echo he could only barely make out.

"Well, all this is fascinating and all," Dorothy interrupted, firmly. "But I wanna know what you're doing here, Graham, and how you got here, and how I can . . .” she stopped, momentarily uncertain what she meant to say. Then she swallowed and went on. "And how I can get back."

She saw the dismayed glances of Barney and Margot, and that was bad. She felt the sudden intent scrutiny of the Scarecrow, the same way a she'd feel a sudden chill draft, and that was worse. She forced herself to go on, scarcely knowing why she did.

"Okay, Graham, so you're just a retired forensic specialist from another dimension after all, I get that. But you've been 'Oz' here for what's obviously a long time. What can you do for Barney and Margot? And the Scarecrow? We all wanted certain things. And HOW did you get here? Answer that first."

"Well, I guess you heard I'd had some substance abuse problems, after my second retirement?" Graham said.

"Yes, I did hear that. Some people said you . . . had a problem with alcohol."

"I was a drunk. No two ways about it."

"Really?" the Scarecrow asked, taking his attention off Dorothy and returning it to Graham. For some reason, he found Graham utterly fascinating. "Had you always been a drunk? Had either of your parents been problem drinkers? When did you first -”

"Oh, Christ, Scarecrow, don't DO that!" Graham interrupted. "I HATE that! That's exactly the way HE does. I'll tell you what it was - I was just sick and tired of you crazy bastards cutting me up!"

"But, Will -” the Scarecrow began.

"I ASKED YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!!" Graham shrieked, distraught.

"Oz, then. Oz. You're Oz. You must try to calm yourself, Oz," the Scarecrow purred gently, employing his most soothing voice. "It's perfectly all right, really, it is. I'm sorry, I won't call you 'Will' again, I promise. All right? But you must realize, Oz, that I never cut you up, or laid a hand on you in any way. You do know that, don't you, Oz?"

"Well . . . ye-es . . ." Graham admitted, somewhat doubtfully.

"It was that other, wasn't it? That one you've said was like me?"

"Graham put three different serial murderers away, in his time," Dorothy quietly explained to the Scarecrow and the others, giving Graham a moment to compose his nerves.

"He was great at it," she went on. "People used to say he was . . . like . . . psychic, or something. Two of the murderers wound up dead, but one - what was that guy's name, again? I can never remember - Xerxes, or Darius, something like that - anyway; he went to the loony bin instead. They say he was the WORST of them all, and totally freaked Graham out. Besides cutting him up with a linoleum knife. Graham was a basket case, but Auntie Em got him to come back to work one more time anyway. And THAT guy cut him up, too!"

"I can see that he has some issues," the Scarecrow agreed, under his breath. "Hmm. A linoleum knife, did you say? Why, that's really quite adroit."

"So, go on, Graham." Dorothy said gently. "How did you end up in Oz?"

Graham found some composure and went on with his story.

"Well, see, I was a drunk. And I was on this two week bender - you know - the kind where you just never seem to get completely obliterated? Where you just stay . . . busy? Anyway, I had this drunken idea that I absolutely HAD to see the Albuquerque International Hot Air Balloon Fiesta."

"Oh, wow," Dorothy said. "I think I can see where this is going."

"Yeah," Graham said glumly.  "So, I drove cross country from Florida - God knows how I managed that - I was half blind the whole way. And I get to New Mexico, I get to Albuquerque, about 6:30 in the morning. It's good timing, because the mass ascension was scheduled to begin in about half an hour. Or bad timing, depending on how you look at it."

They all stared at him raptly, completely absorbed in his story.

"By this time," he went on. "I'm so wasted I can barely remember my own name, but I'm still able to stagger around looking for trouble okay, and I can't stop laughing, but I'm kind of crying too, know what I mean?"

"Dorothy," the Scarecrow whispered. "Are you QUITE sure they locked up the right person, over there in Effbeeye?"

"Then I see that this TV news crew is setting up to do a live broadcast from one of the balloons, and they've got all this equipment in the gondola. And I notice this one guy, on the camera crew? He's scared shitless, does NOT wanna go up in the balloon at ALL, has this terrible fear of heights."

"How did you know that?" Margot asked. "Did he tell you?"

"Oh, I just knew," Graham groaned. "I ALWAYS just KNOW how people feel, what they're probably thinking. Even drunk off my ass. It's horrible."

"Is that really true?" Dorothy asked, curious. "I mean, I'd heard that about you, but -”

"Sure it's true," Graham said with a bitter smile. "Right now, you're wondering about going back home, and what you have waiting for you there, and how it stacks up against everything you've found in Oz, and how your new friends are gonna take it, and you're most upset because you think you might be in love with -”

"OKAY, okay!" Dorothy interrupted, quickly. "I believe you. No need to go on. So, um, what happened with the guy and the balloon?"

"See what I mean? It's horrible! Oh, by the way, you are, you know. In love with -”

"Fine!" Dorothy snapped.

"And he's in love with -”

"Stop!"

"And you'll both be miserable for the rest of your lives if -”

"Can you PLEASE stop doing that!!?”

"No, I can't. I wish I could, believe me.”

"What about the scared guy and the balloon?" Barney asked patiently.

"Oh, well," Graham said. "I got the idea that I should help him. I knew he didn't want to go up in that balloon, so I decided to steal it myself."

"You what?" Margot asked. "Oh, great plan!"

"Well, I told you, I was hammered. Beyond hammered.  It seemed like the best way, at the time. So, I hung around till the ground crew went to get some coffee, and then I cut all the guy wires but two. Then I just jumped into the gondola and tossed the phobic guy out. And a couple of other guys. It was easy. They were all just so surprised, nobody could figure out to stop me until it was too late."

"Maybe all the laughing and crying had something to do with it, too," The Scarecrow whispered to Dorothy.

"I cut the last two ropes and that was it. Up, up and away."

"What did you do then?" Dorothy asked.

"I'm not really sure. Passed out, I think. I woke up here in Oz."

"Oh, " Dorothy said, slowly. "So, what you're saying is, you have no idea HOW you got here at all."

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Sorry. Anyway, I landed here, in the Emerald City. I woke up with this colossal hangover, I'm in an alternate reality, and every one in the city seems certain that I'm some kind of Wizard. Because of the balloon, probably. You people don't seem to have any flight technologies here in Oz."

"Why on earth would we?" the Scarecrow asked. "We just use magic. Or genetic engineering."

"Well, yeah, so the balloon really impressed everyone. And they all seemed to WANT a Wizard so much. That's mostly what convinced me to stay on."

"So . . . you never even tried to get back?" Dorothy asked Graham, observing him closely. His answer to this question seemed of great import to her.

"Hell, no. Why should I go back? Finding Oz was like a miracle for me. No FBI, no Auntie Em to come sucking around trying to talk me into taking more cases. I could just sit quietly and be what everyone wanted me to be - the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz. I didn't even have to see anyone very often, since everybody seemed to have this whole mystique about how awesome and mysterious and reclusive Oz should be. Suited me perfectly. I don't really like being around people very much."

"That's why all the special effects, the voice and the floating head and all that?" Dorothy asked.

"Sure. I had all that TV and broadcasting equipment, and I just knew what people expected Oz should be like, the same way I just know everything. I used to be a mechanic, so the equipment wasn't too hard to figure out. I became Oz. It was great, I even got off the booze. Nothing bothered me, except . . .” he stopped, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"Except me," the Scarecrow finished for him, unoffended. "I bothered you. Because of that other in your own dimension, the one you put away."

"Well, yes. It gave me a nasty turn, meeting you for the first time, I have to be honest with you. That's why I locked you up in that cornfield - I already knew how dangerous you could be. I just couldn't let you run around loose, I couldn't stand the thought. You just can't imagine how like him you are, it's positively terrifying."

"You're rather well accomplished, for a drunk, aren't you?" the Scarecrow asked, the temperature of his voice plunging toward sub-zero. "You imprisoned both me AND my double, in two separate dimensions. I'm not entirely sure I understand what you mean by 'dangerous', Oz. You haven't been particularly lucky for me. Or, should that be US?"

"But it's not just that, Scarecrow. See - if YOU have a double back where I come from, who else does? Does everybody? Does Oz somehow mirror my world? Or is it -”

"Or is it the other way around?" the Scarecrow finished, clearly more fascinated than disturbed by the pandimensional possibilities. He was also safely distracted from his growing annoyance with Graham.

"Exactly," Graham answered. "And then, when Dorothy here showed up in Oz, a new level of complexity opened up."

"What do you mean?" Dorothy asked.

"Well, unless you have an identical twin sister who's somehow about ten years younger than you are at the FBI academy in Quantico, I think you have a double too."

"A double? On the Effbeeye side? But that . . . can't be. That's where I came from. How could I have a double in my own reality?"

"You see the problem, then. I saw this girl at a junior shooting competition at the academy. Auntie Em had dragged me out there for some damn profiling survey - anyway, she looked exactly like you, acted exactly like you, and even had the same accent as you. I can't remember her name, something to do with birds, I think. I was bombed at the time, as usual. But you see what it could mean - I can tell you do. You may have been in the wrong dimension to begin with, Dorothy."

"Or I may be in it now. Or maybe it's just a coincidence, that girl you saw. Or maybe . . . whatever. I don't know, it's just too confusing, right now. Let's think about something else."

"But you still have some important decisions to make," Graham said, kindly. "I kept the balloon. It could probably be your way home. IF you want to take it. You need to think about what you truly want. "

"If I want to . . .” Dorothy murmured, intensely aware of the sobered stares of her friends, the absolute stillness, in this moment, of the Scarecrow.

"If I . . . I can't just hide out here in Oz forever, Graham. That's what you did, and you know you've just been drifting, here, all this time, don't you? I can't just stay here, I don't belong here. It would be . . . it wouldn't be right and . . . and . . . look, what about the others?" she asked, determining to change the course of this conversation. "Barney and Margot? What about what they want?"

"Barney's easy. I'm still the Wizard around here, it's no problem for me to issue an LPN's license. He deserves it, too. Barney, you're probably the kindest, sweetest, most compassionate big cat in any possible dimension. I can tell. I'll get with the Emerald City Registrar tonight, you'll have your license tomorrow. How would that be?"

"Uh . . . great," Barney said in a small, somehow colorless voice. "That's . . . really great. Thanks. Really."

The Lion hung his tawny head, and his magnificent mane drooped disconsolately.

"What about Margot?" Dorothy asked, profoundly dismayed by the Lion's lackluster reaction to the fulfillment of his cherished dream.

"Again," Graham said. "I'm the Wizard. There's a good clinic right here in town. One call from me, and they'll give you the red carpet treatment, Margot. You and . . . what's her name?"

"Judy," Margot said, speaking as colorlessly as Barney had.

"Judy," Graham went on, rather colorlessly himself. Strong emotions stuck to his odd psyche like insects to flypaper. "We'll pay for all the procedures out of the public treasury, of course. You deserve something for killing the Witch, after all. It was a public service."

"Oh. Good. Thanks, Oz." Margot said.

They all looked more like mourners at a funeral than like people who were in the process of getting everything they'd hoped and worked and fought for.  

"And the Scarecrow?" Dorothy forced herself to say. She found that she could not bear to look at him as she spoke.

"You can't really do anything for me at all, can you, Oz?" he asked, an ugly smile twisting his fine features. "None of the things I want are within your power, are they?"

Graham looked like he was about to start weeping at any moment. The currents of emotion in the room were overpowering.

"No. I'm sorry. Even if I could give you a real brain, I really don't think it would make any difference. Your double, back where I come from? His brain is more or less like anyone's. But he still doesn't think like anyone else in the world. His head is as stuffed full of assorted awful junk as yours, brain or no brain. Take it from me, I've kind of been there. There may be some hope for you, for you both, I'm not one to say there's not. But it's not a matter of brains. It's something else." 

The Scarecrow laughed, a cold, forlorn sound, like glass breaking in an empty room.

"Something else . . .  yes. Something even more unattainable, no doubt. Thank you for your honesty, anyway, Oz. Let's move on; the hour grows late and the conversation is becoming tedious.  Tell me about this 'balloon' of yours. It flies, you say? And you propose to return Dorothy to her home in it? You'll take her yourself?  Can you operate it properly? What safety features does this device have? How will -”

"Please stop," Graham begged, tears running down his face. "I can't stand it."

 A long, doleful silence fell among them all.

Finally, the Scarecrow broke the silence.

"Well, perhaps you're right, Oz. We can discuss the details tomorrow," his voice was as impenetrable and flat and featureless as a sheet of burnished steel. "We're all very tired, and Dorothy has to prepare for her journey. And Oz, it's clear that we've . . . fatigued you, so perhaps it's best if we leave you alone now. I would like to speak with you a bit more later, though. I have some questions about this other world of yours, and about this other person, my double. May I call you later? After dinner, perhaps?"

Graham nodded, still weeping as though his heart were breaking.

"Well then, that's settled. I'll bid you all good night. Dorothy, I'm in room 3327 at the Plaza, please let me know if I can assist you with any of your preparations for the return trip, if there's anything you need. Barney, Margot, good night. I'll see you in the morning."

He inclined his head toward each of them politely, perfect form, a living fortress of cool, distant courtesy. Then he turned around and walked out of the chamber.

Graham just sobbed.

Dorothy felt as though she'd somehow been turned to stone.

Margot grabbed Barney's golden arm.

"C'mon, kitty-cat. Let's go get drunk, want to? I know a little place - reggae, soft booths, oyster shooters, what'dya say? Umm . . . Dorothy? Interested?"

"No . . . no thanks, Margot. You go on. Have fun. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Dorothy," Barney said. "Good night, Oz - uh - Will. Take care," he turned away quickly, before he burst into tears himself.

The two left the chamber quietly, arm in arm, dear friends.

Oh, fuck me, Dorothy thought, savagely angry with herself, but unable to think how she could have made any better decisions, or could have hurt any of those who'd become so dear to her less, or how she could ever hope to survive the frigid lump of monstrous pain that had lodged in her own heart.

She looked at Graham for a moment, crying his blue eyes out and staring at her with complete, terrible knowledge.

"Oh, shut up," she said to him, tears springing to her own eyes. "I'll do my OWN crying, thank you very much. Some Wizard YOU turned out to be. Good night."

The heels of her fashionable new shoes clacked desolately as she too walked out of the great echoing chamber.

And Will Graham, the flawed and all too human Wizard of Oz, was left alone, weeping for all the sorrow and heartbreak and misery in the world.