By "authority," one can only assume that Mary means herself.
Chapter 3 Audience with an Ogre
It was an old steam engine, forged and destroyed in the nineteenth century, but so well-loved by its conductor that it earned a place in Everlost. Of course it could travel only on tracks that no longer existed. Such were the inconveniences of life after life.
A kid with hands much too large for his body, and with a cigarette that never went out dangling from his lip, had freed the boy from Mary's net. Now he gripped the kid's arm a little too hard as he moved him through fields and woods toward the waiting train.
"Whose train is it?" The boy asked in a panic, "What's gonna happen to me?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," said the kid with big hands, "or I'll send you down soon as look at you, I swear I will." Then he pushed the boy up the steps and into a parlor car.
The smell hit him right away.
"Oh, no! No!"
As wonderful as that chocolate smell was, it could only mean one thing. The rumors were true, and he was doomed.
At the other end of the car sat a figure wearing a tie and a white shirt, although the shirt had become stained with countless brown smudges. So was the rich red carpet. So were the red velvet chairs.
"Don't be afraid," the Chocolate Ogre said--which was always what monsters said when you really should be afraid.
Light poured in from the windows into the frightened boy's eyes, so he couldn't see the face of the ogre clearly, but then the ogre stood and came into the light. All at once everything became clear.
It was as if someone had dipped the entire left half of his face in a fudge bucket. It seemed to ooze right out of his pores--even the color of his left eye had gone chocolate-brown. It was the other half of his face that was the more surprising, for that half did not look monstrous at all. In fact the right side of his face looked like that of an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy.
"Let me go," the terrified Afterlight begged. "I'll do anything you want, just let me go."
"I will," said the Chocolate Ogre. "Even better than letting you go, I'll send you on your way."
That did not sound good, and the boy waited for the bottomless pit to open beneath his feet. But that didn't happen.
"What's your name?" the ogre asked.
It was something the boy had not thought about for a long time. "I'm ... me." The Chocolate Ogre nodded. "You can't remember. That's okay." Then the ogre held out his hand to shake. "I'm Nick."
The boy looked at the ogre's hand, and didn't know how to respond. It was much cleaner than the other one, which was totally covered in chocolate--but still even his "clean" hand had plenty of stains, probably from touching all the other chocolate-splattered things on the train.
"What's the matter? You didn't expect the 'Chocolate Ogre,' to actually have a name?" His smile made chocolate drip from his cheek and to the darkly stained carpet.
Then the big-handed kid, still standing behind the boy, nudged his shoulder hard. "Shake his hand--you're being rude!"
The boy did as he was told--he shook the ogre's hand, and when he brought his hand back, there was chocolate on it. Even in his fear, that chocolate on his hand looked better to him than the popcorn had.
As if reading his mind, the ogre said, "Go ahead--it's real, and it's just as good as when you were alive."
And although the boy sensed this was a trick--that maybe it was somehow poisoned, or worse--he raised his fingers to his lips, and licked the chocolate off. The ogre was right--it was real and it was good.
The ogre pointed to his face. "The only good thing about it is that I get to share."
"And it's milk chocolate today," said the kid with big hands. "You must be in a good mood."
The Chocolate Ogre shrugged. "Any day I save someone from Mary is a good day." This monster was being far too friendly. The boy would have much preferred a fiery temper. At least then he would have known exactly where he stood.
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked.
"I'm not going to do anything. The question is, what are you going to do?" He folded his arms. "You crossed over with a coin. Do you remember what happened to it?"
The boy shrugged. "It was just a slug," he said. "I threw it away."