Nothing But The Truth

By The Author

Joey woke up alone. He still sat slumped in the old leather chair. With a sigh, he pushed himself up to sit straighter, then sank back down.

"Did you sleep?" came a low, gravelly voice behind him.

Joey leaned around the chair, catching sight of Henry's leg and hand, the man sitting against the back of the chair. He didn't answer the question, instead shrinking into the chair and pulling his knees up to his chin with his arms crossed atop them. He heard Henry huff.

"Joey, what-..." Henry stopped. The silence hung once again. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled by his hands, "What... happened."

It wasn't a question. There was no lift in inflection. It stayed flat. A demand.

Joey remembered the last time he explained everything. He didn't want to recount it again. "My tapes said-"

"I know what your tapes said, Drew, I meant-..." Henry stopped again.

Joey's nose sunk under the level of his knees, "I thought you said you believed me," he murmured.

Henry's hand thumped the ground, "I believe you're not the Demon and that you might actually be sorry. I'm still very skeptical of everything else."

Joey heard Henry rise and soon after saw him cross in front of the throne, standing before the curled-up man in the chair. Henry fixed a hard stare, "I want to know what happened, and I want to hear it from you ."

Joey glanced away from the dull brown gaze. He already told everything twice, and he hated recounting his sins.

Still, Henry wasn't going to be satisfied without hearing them. Again.

Swallowing hard, Joey forced his voice to work, "You might want to sit."

"Just start talking, Drew."

Joey shrunk, trying to take up as little space as possible. "Where should I start?"

"When did it all start happening?"

When Henry left, of course. "That's... a thirty-year-long story," Joey tried to joke.

Henry threw his hands to the sides, "We've got the rest of eternity, Drew. Might as well fill in the time."

Stung, Joey squeezed his eyes shut to keep from crying again. He didn't think his old friend was capable of such raw contempt. It pricked at his ravaged emotions, threatening to break the dam again and send them spilling out.

He started talking. If nothing else, it helped keep the storm inside him quelled.

He told about how Henry's departure pushed him to rethink the basis of how the studio was run.

He told about his team of pushers with the Department heads.

He told of the studio beginning to flourish during and after the war.

He took a bit of a rabbit trail when he got to Buddy Lewick's addition to the team, smiling at the memory of the wide-eyed boy who became a valued member of the Art Department and getting into a share of mischief with a fair dame in Story.

He told of Gent and the Machine, about the new technology rocketing the studio into a legitimate competitor for even Disney.

He told of the kid who died in the Machine.

He told of the studio that died after the brutal lawsuit.

He told of the cancer that began to kill his legs.

He told of the strange book.

Of the spell.

Of the summoning.