Chapter Three:

 

She awoke to a loud, jerking THUMP, and then heard the unmistakable sound of four wide track racing sidewalls blowing out at once.

The first thing she was able to register was that Toto was mercifully silent. A quick examination revealed that he was apparently unharmed, just momentarily stunned by the impact.

WHAT impact, she asked herself, full awareness flooding back into her with a jolt. What happened?  Where are we?

Her car windows were fogged and she could barely see through them. She had the vague impression of impossibly perfect golden sunshine and wonderful, never-before seen colors, but could tell little else.

Special Agent Dorothy Gale was a very tough young woman, and had been known to roll the dice of fate rather deeply in the past. She put hesitation aside. She opened her car door and stepped out into the most remarkable landscape she had ever seen in her life.

It was a riot of glowing, clear colors, perfect trees in artful groups, grass as green as emeralds, huge nodding flowers in outlandish shades, a bright yellow brick path at her feet. The air was so clean and clear it seemed to vibrate, and all was illumined by a gorgeous clear light that lent a ravishing high gloss to everything it touched.

"I don't think we're in Quantico anymore, Toto,” she said, rather quietly, since she really did prefer the unconscious lamb not awaken just yet. She bent to examine her left front tire, and found it blown out, just as she'd feared.

She began to make a circuit of the Mustang, and drew back when she noticed what appeared to be a crushed witch's hat several feet from the right rear end. Further investigation revealed the cracked skull from which the hat must have rolled, then the rest of the body, pounded flat under the rear end of her heavy, steel framed car.

"Deputy Assistant Gulch . . .” she breathed.  "You WERE riding a broomstick out there!"

She noticed that the former Deputy Assistant's brains were slowly leaking out of his ruptured skull. She was vaguely surprised to discover that he had actually been in possession of a brain after all, a possibility that she had occasionally had reason to doubt in the past.

"You killed him!" said a voice behind her.

She turned and noticed a very diminutive individual standing on the yellow brick pavement behind her, dressed in a fanciful costume and wearing a name tag that read "A. Benning".

"I didn't exactly mean to," she answered. "Who are you?"

"Did you think it wouldn't kill him, dropping a car on his head?" asked A. Benning.

"I didn't mean to drop the car. He's dead, and I'm sitting on four flats. Is there a decent garage around here?"

"In the Emerald City, maybe. That's a long way from here," A. Benning said.

Dorothy sighed. This conversation didn't seem to be going anywhere much.

"You must be a very powerful witch, to have killed the Wicked Witch of the East like that.” A. Benning observed.

"I'm not a witch at all," Dorothy corrected, reaching in her jacket pocket and pulling out her ID. "Witches are old and ugly."

"And," she went on, glancing at the remains of Deputy Assistant Gulch under the wheels of her car. "I think witches are supposed to be women - not men."

A burst of high-pitched snickering from various hiding places among the outlandish greenery verging the yellow path greeted this statement.  Dorothy was beginning to feel a bit irritated, but she was soon distracted by a bizarre phenomenon that had begun about three paces from the front end of her disabled car.

A puff of something that looked and smelled very much like pipe smoke coalesced in the lovely clear air, and grew, increasing its mass and density until it solidified into a human form.

Definitely not in Quantico, Dorothy reflected, as she examined the person who stepped out of the cloud of highly erudite pipe smoke.

He had a kind, intelligent face, wore a golden crown, carried what appeared to be a magic wand, and, for some reason, was dressed in a very pretty tulle gown.

Dorothy could see that he closely resembled Dr. Alan Bloom, and that tulle was not his fabric.

"It's not nice to laugh at people from hiding,” he remonstrated, apparently addressing the bushes. "They're laughing because, you see, I am a witch myself," he added, turning to Dorothy.

"I'm Glinda, the Good Witch of the North,” he went on. "I'm neither old, nor, I think, particularly ugly, and you can see that I am a man, in spite of the dress."

"Well, I'm Special Agent Dorothy Gale, and I'd like to get some straight answers, please ma'am. I mean, Sir. Where are we, anyway?"

"Why, this is Oz, Special Agent Gale. Are you sure you're not a witch? Usually only witches fly into Oz. Not to mention dropping cars on some of our local meanies. You certainly stopped HIS clock, I must say. You've done the Munchkins here a very great favor. Where did you come from?"

"I'm with the FBI -” Dorothy began.

"The land of Effbeeye?" Glinda cut in. "I'm afraid I've never heard of it. It must be very far away. And what an odd name, too . . ."

"No, it's not a land . . .” Dorothy began again, then trailed off. This was not a point that seemed worth pursuing. "Umm . . . what are Munchkins?"

Glinda smiled and waved his magic wand at all the fantastic shrubbery.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called, and soon small heads and then entire small bodies began to emerge from dozens of hiding places.

"Come out, that's right, don't be afraid," he said. "Here's Special Agent Dorothy Gale, and she's killed the Wicked Witch of the East. No more midnight shakedowns, no more sexual harassment suits. Everyone come on out."

Eventually, close to fifty of the tiny people had crowded round the car and the yellow path nearby. Each of them was dressed in very colorful, whimsical costume, but they all appeared to be miniature versions of common Bureau administrative personnel. There were typists, accountants, lab techs, maintenance crews, file clerks and the like. None stood more than four feet tall.

One little cafeteria worker bent over the stilled form of the Wicked Witch/Deputy Assistant and put a tiny finger into the blood stained mess that was leaking out of his head. Dorothy felt a twinge of queasiness and looked away.

"Boy, he's deader'n a box of rocks! Good job, Miss!" he said. "But you better collect this Brain before it seeps into the grass."

"Huh???" was all Dorothy could manage.

"Oh, he means The Ruby Brain, Special Agent Gale," Glinda explained. "It's very valuable. It has all sorts of magic powers, and the Wicked Witch of the West will soon be after it."

"But I thought . . . I thought you said I'd killed him. Didn't you?"

"No, no, dear, this is the Wicked Witch of the EAST. He's just a flunky. It's the Wicked Witch of the West you need to worry about. He's the worst."

"I'm getting confused," Dorothy complained. "You folks sure have an awful lot of witches around here. Besides, I need to start thinking about getting home. I've got to replace these tires."

"Home?" asked Glinda. "Effbeeye Land? How will you get there? Does your car fly?"

"Not without a passing tornado," Dorothy said dryly. "I was hoping you might know some way for me to get home?" she said to Glinda.

"Oh, my, I'm so sorry, I really don't. I'd suggest you check with the Wizard."

"The Wizard?" Dorothy asked with some trepidation. Witches, wizards and magical Ruby Brains. It was all getting to be a bit much.

A small clerk/typist whispered confidentially to Dorothy.

"We're supposed to sing you a song here," she said. "About the Wizard and killing the Wicked Witch and all? But our union, Munchkin Ancillary Personnel Local 405? Well, it's just that we're on strike right now. We're not even supposed to be wearing these silly clothes until contract talks resume."

Dorothy nodded, more out of politeness than understanding.

Glinda went on: "Yes, the Wizard, Oz, the Great and Terrible. He's bound to know how to send you home, Special Agent Gale. He knows everything. You should go see Oz."

Dorothy was relieved to find a faint hint of actual progress in this hitherto bizarre, aimless and unsatisfactory conversation.

Her relief was short-lived, however. Just then, a discordant crash that sounded like a hundred china plates breaking at once ripped through the pleasant air and a plume of foul smelling green smoke erupted from the ground near Dorothy's feet. She leapt back a good six paces and all the Munchkins immediately dived for cover. Glinda though, Dorothy noticed, held his ground.

A recumbent figure in a hospital bed on casters emerged from the miasmic smoke, pushed by a singularly ugly winged monkey. This figure was encased in what appeared to be a hard-shell respirator, had long black hair in a great plait, wore a tall witch's hat, and sported a face best not seen outside of a Cronenberg film.

"Uh-oh," Glinda whispered to Dorothy. "That's him. The Wicked Witch of the West."

The Wicked Witch cackled evilly in a deep radio voice, minus the fricatives and plosives.

Whoo-EEE! Dorothy thought, appalled. He looks like he got caught in a Cuisinart! Wonder what could have happened to him?

"Who killed my flunky? Huh? Who did it?" the Wicked Witch demanded. He glared at Dorothy through the lubricating goggle on his one good eye. "Was it YOU???"

"Well, in a way, I guess you could say -” Dorothy began.

"Fiddlesticks!" Glinda interjected. "You have no power here! Stop trying to intimidate this nice young lady and go home. Get that disgusting monkey of yours to turn your bed right around and go on back the way you came."

"You're damned meddling will get you in trouble one of these days, Glinda, old buddy! See if it doesn't! Well, I'll go, but first I want my Ruby Brain. Where is it?"

Glinda put a warning hand on Dorothy's shoulder. "Just watch this," he said.

The ugly monkey rolled the Witch over to the corpse of the OTHER Wicked Witch, and then stooped to retrieve the contested brain matter from the cracked skull. No sooner had his paw touched the gooey prize though, than a searing bolt of energy zapped him hard enough to toss him back six feet, and incidentally caused the controls on the Witch's bed to go temporarily berserk, putting him through an entire range of motion three times in under a second.

"Well, fuck ME!" shouted the Witch in a fury. "I want that Brain!"

"You can't have it," commented Glinda, calmly. "It belongs to Special Agent Gale here. She's the one who killed him, so the Ruby Brain is rightfully hers."

"She's just a nobody from out of town!" the Witch argued. "She couldn't possibly know how to use it! That Brain should belong to me!"

"He just wants to use it to get even with somebody he's really mad at," Glinda whispered to Dorothy. "But it would never end there. I wouldn't give it to him if I were you. Take it yourself."

 "I heard that, Glinda!" the Witch snarled. "Well, I can see how THIS is going. Listen to me, my pretty, “he said, turning his awful goggle eye on Dorothy.”You may have Mr.

Busybody here to hide behind now, but -"

The Witch stopped short in mid-threat and his lipless mouth fell open, because Toto had chosen this particular moment to wake up, and was screaming his curly head off from the front seat of the Mustang.

"What the hell is THAT??" the Witch asked, stunned.

"Umm, well . . .” Dorothy began, blushing in embarrassment.  "That's Toto. My lamb. He's got a sort of a problem."

Everyone listened to Toto squawk at top volume for what seemed a very long time to Dorothy.

"What the heck is WRONG with him?" The Wicked Witch asked unkindly.

Dorothy only shook her head.

"Cordell," the Witch called to the winged monkey, who was limping a bit after his recent unscheduled flight. "We're outta here! No way I'm gonna listen to that noise." 

Wisps of green smoke began to issue from the sides of the hospital bed, and the Witch glared at Dorothy one last time.

"But you listen to me, Ms. Special Agent Gale," he growled. "That Brain is mine, and I 'll get it too, one way or another. You count on it. I'll get you, my pretty, you and your neurotic lamb too!"

With that, Witch, bed, and Cordell the flying monkey all disappeared in a puff of smoke. Toto went on screaming.

"Ugh," groaned Glinda. "I really don't much like that guy, even if I do feel a little sorry for him. I'm afraid you've made a powerful enemy, Special Agent Gale."

"Sure looks that way, doesn't it?" Dorothy agreed disconsolately. "What do you think I should do, Glinda? You seem to know your way around here."

"I think you ought to take the Ruby Brain, for one thing. Don't let the Wicked Witch get it, there'll be no living with him if does. And I still think your best bet is to consult the Wizard."

"We-ell, okay, if you really think so . . ." Dorothy said, rummaging in her shoulder tote for a large size evidence bag.

She mastered her gorge and scooped the Ruby Brain into the bag, then stuck the whole awful mess back in her tote, out of sight.

"Now, how do I find this Wizard?" she asked, clipping Toto's leash onto his collar and leading him, screaming, out of the car.

"Oh, that's simple enough," Glinda answered. "You just follow the yellow brick road. Uh, if you don't mind my asking, doesn't he ever stop doing that?"

Dorothy glanced at Toto.

"Not so far," she answered a trifle grimly. "So, follow the yellow brick road?"

"Follow the yellow brick road," a Lilliputian CPA confirmed.

"Follow the yellow brick road," a tiny receptionist added.

"Yo-oo-u'rrre OFF to see the Wizard," a small groundskeeper began to sing, but soon subsided under the withering glares of several of his fellow union members. "Uh, sorry," he said in a small voice and slunk off out of sight.

And so, Special Agent Dorothy Gale, Toto howling at her side and the Ruby Brain stuffed in her purse, set her feet on the yellow brick road and began her journey to see the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.