“Let me see your phone for a second,” said Basil, holding out his hand. They had reached the top of the stairs and Basil had paused in the act of knocking on the door. Nolan gave him a quizzical look and handed over his cell. Without bothering to turn it on, Basil ran the tip of his finger over the screen several times in a looping pattern. Then he spat a large quantity of clear spittle onto the screen.
“What the hell!?” Nolan exclaimed, trying to snatch back his phone.
“Calm down. Would you rather I bleed on it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look,” said Basil, holding up the phone for Nolan to see. On the black screen a symbol traced in blue light pulsed for a few seconds and disappeared. As it vanished Basil's spit bubbled and evaporated away.
“Protection spell,” said Basil, “electronics, particularly devices that store digital information, are notoriously vulnerable to certain types of magic. They call it “Technomancy” and the man you're about to meet happens to be especially adept at it. And don't worry, any germs I'm carrying wouldn't have survived the process.”
“At least warn me the next time you want to spit on my belongings, okay?”
“Deal,” said Basil and he knocked on the door.
From the sound the hinges made as the black door eased open Nolan suspected the occupant of this building was not one for frequent outings. There was no one at the door but at the far end of an exceptionally long room, sitting in a pool of light emitting from an overhead lamp, Nolan could just make out a hunched figure sitting behind a wooden desk. Deep shadows fell over his features making them hard to make out but Nolan didn't need to see them to know he was watching both of them closely. He could feel it like a weight pressing against him.
The door closed behind them as they entered and Nolan heard something scurry away in the dark. It sounded like a metal rake dragging across the wood floor. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Nolan first noticed that the room was not completely dark. There were lights everywhere, tiny little lights in a myriad different colors, glowing up and down every wall. Green and red and orange and blue, square and round and thin, some blinked and some flickered, and a few even followed them as they made their way up the length of the room.
Power lights, thought Nolan in amazement, there must be hundreds of them.
As his eyes adjusted more Nolan began to see the shapes belonging to those lights and he smiled a little in spite of his nervousness. All along every shelf were strangely constructed mechanical devices. It was difficult to make out precisely what they were but they all had the general appearance of something a child might cobble together from various found objects. Except these devices appeared to actually work. They twitched and bobbed as Basil and Nolan passed by, their tiny lights dancing like multicolored fireflies in the dark.
“Remember what I said: touch... nothing,” Basil whispered to Nolan, almost inaudibly, over his shoulder.
The man behind the desk continued to watch them, a faint yellow glow shining from his hooded eyes, as they stepped into the circle of light around him. He was small and thin, like a very old man, but he had no marks of extreme age. His completely bald head was smooth and unblemished. His small hands, interlaced and resting on the top of the desk, had few wrinkles. He was wearing a plain, white t-shirt and Nolan could see cords of hard muscle running up his narrow arms. His appearance was deceptive and easily misinterpreted. It was also, Nolan suspected, deliberately so.
The man opened his mouth and when he spoke Nolan felt every hair on his body stand on end. His voice was extremely deep. Every word seemed to hum with a faint buzzing sound that rose from deep in his throat and lingered in the air after it was spoken. It reminded Nolan vaguely of the sound created by those electronic devices smokers used when they lost their voice boxes to cancer.
“Basil,” the man intoned with a smile, “if I'd know you were coming I would have made tea.”
“Sorry to drop by unannounced, Garrity,” replied Basil, not sounding sorry in the least, “but I'm afraid this couldn't wait.”
“Yes, very rude. You know how I feel about uninvited guests,” Garrity shot Nolan a hard look and he again felt that feeling of something heavy pressing against him, “especially unknown persons.”
“Nolan, Garrity. Garrity, Nolan. Now we're all acquainted...”
“Pleased to meet you, Nolan,” said Garrity, not sounding at all pleased, “you seem a bit out of your depth. New to the game are you?”
Nolan remained silent. He tried to lock eyes with Garrity, wanting to give the impression of not being intimidated, but it wasn't easy. Staring into Garrity's eyes felt like drowning in a pool of gravity. Nolan forced himself to hold his gaze. Finally, Garrity turned back to Basil with sly grin.
“Quiet type isn't he?”
“Whatever,” said Basil knowingly, “we're here on business and that's all you need to worry about. Something's up in the city, any idea what that might be?”
“Hmmm. Rumblings. Something big is stirring. Something new.”
“Again I ask: what?”
“And again I say: something new.”
“Do we really have to do this dance? Huh? I'm so very not in the mood.”
“Then maybe you should have called on someone else.”
Basil leaned on the desk. “Please don't waste my time, Garrity, if you know something just spit it out.”
The two men continued to go back and forth, verbally sparring, and getting nowhere. Nolan watched them without really listening. Something was happening. He felt something move inside his mind, a palpable, visceral shifting. This man, this moment, something about it felt achingly familiar. It was impossible but there it was. And with that familiarity came a overwhelming sense and frustration and anger. What happened next felt like a dream, like he was watching himself from the outside.
Nolan snatched something off the shelf without looking; a little, round thing with spindly legs. Holding it by one twitching limb, he brought it crashing on the center of the desk. The clockwork contraption exploded. Gears and diodes and machine screws scattered everywhere. Wires splayed out like burst veins, bleeding sparks in all directions. Basil jumped back, dancing out of the pool of light and back into the shadows. Garrity withdrew, tipping back in his chair, and nearly falling over. Nolan slammed both his fists down on the desk, driving several small gears and screws into his hands in the process. He didn't notice. Words spilled from his lips with a snarl.
“Stop fucking around!”
Garrity rose from his chair and shoved his face into Nolan's, their noses almost touching. His yellow eyes glowed brighter and their color deepened until they burned like filaments. In the darkness behind him Nolan heard a rising cacophony of clicking gears and whirring motors. Already Nolan could feel the anger leaving and his control returning. He held his ground and didn't flinch. He had made his play, such as it was, and all he could do was see it through to whatever conclusion awaited him.
Slowly Garrity's eyes began to return to normal and a tiny smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He drew back from Nolan and regarded him curiosly. Behind them the rising mechanical din subsided. He looked to Basil, who was still standing well back, muscles tensed, waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
“And here I was thinking Basil was the one to look out for,” said Garrity, casually sweeping the shattered remains of his creation onto the floor, “very well, since you're so insistent, I may know something, but not much I'm afraid.”
Nolan relaxed and stood back from the desk. He could feel the tiny fragments of metal embedded in the skin of his hands but made no effort to remove them. Basil stepped back into the light and resumed their conversation, trying his best to pretend as if nothing of consequence had transpired.
“Well?” said Basil.
Garrity leaned forward on the table again, steepling his fingers in front of his face, adopting a clichéd posture of ominous foreboding. “Rumors abound of something moving through the streets in the night. It isn't like anything any of us has seen before. It hides for now, waiting for something. There is a great deal of tension out there. Much of the weaker element has fled the city already. Others are on the move, seeking the hand behind these events. Someone brought it here, obviously, someone with a great deal of skill and a complete lack of fear.”
“We've already identified the summoner,” said Basil.
“Gang,” Garrity said with a frown.
“Gang,” replied Basil, “we need to know what he summoned and where to find him.”
“I don't have those answers but, if you're willing to deal, I'm sure I can use my skills to find them.”
“No deals. You help, we'll pay, that's the end of it. If you don't like it we'll go elsewhere.”
“Do you really think you have that kind of time? Because I don't.”
Now it was Basil's turn to get angry. He leaned in close to Garrity and practically spat his words at him. “And what do you think Sound is going to say when he hears how uncooperative you're being? Do you really want to go there? No... fucking... 'deals'.”
Garrity waved him away like he was a fly buzzing in his face. “You're no fun at all. Fine, simply business. But I at least want a promise of protection. If I'm going to stick my neck out I expect you and yours to be there keeping it from being chopped.”
“We'll keep an eye on you.”
“I suppose that will have to suffice. I'll dig up whatever I can and get back to you in the usual way,” Garrity stood up and motioned towards the door, “ now if you will excuse me, it appears I have some cleaning up to do.”
Basil turned and pushed Nolan gently towards the exit. Nolan could feel Garrity's eyes on his back as they headed for the door. As Basil opened it Garrity called after them. “Nolan!”
Nolan turned and looked back at him. He was smiling the same crafty grin as before. “Wonderful to have met you.”
As they made their way back down the rickety staircase Nolan picked distractedly at the metal shards in his hand. Thin trickles of blood ran down his palm from a dozen tiny puncture wounds.
“I did say 'be quiet and touch nothing' right? I could have sworn I did,” said Basil, his voice sounding tense beneath his usual veneer of nonchalance.
“I know, sorry.”
“You have no idea how lucky you are to be standing there picking metal out of your hand right now. I don't even know why he let you walk away after that. He certainly wouldn't have done the same for me. You mind telling me what happened?”
Nolan picked the last of the machine screws from his palm as they walked through the maze of metal and tossed it aside. It landed on the edge of a rusted out washing machine, leaving a faint smear of blood where it landed, and rolled inside, making tiny metal on metal clinks as it fell.
“I don't know. One minute I was fine and then suddenly I couldn't stop myself. It all felt so familiar and for some reason that just made me incredibly angry without knowing why. It was like I was trapped in my own head, watching everything happen.”
“Well, you'd better figure it out. I can't have you freaking out on me in situations like that. It seemed to help us out this time but we might not be so fortunate in the future,” Basil gave Nolan, who was still intently examining his bleeding hand, a sympathetic look that he didn't notice, “maybe you should talk to Mr. Sound when we get back, he might be able to help you figure things out.”
“Well isn't that sweet. On the job only one day and you two are already bonding,” said Constance as she stepped into the open end of the alley, her body casting a long, shapely shadow across the dusty concrete.
Basil stopped so suddenly that Nolan nearly ran into him, his body instantly becoming a rigid statue of tense muscle.
“This day just keeps getting better,” hissed Basil.
Chapter 18 - The Only Certainty Is Uncertainty
Nolan leaned against the door and stared out his window. Basil had turned on the radio and they were listening to something slow and melancholy that he didn't recognize. It wrong, listening to such a song, on a day like that. It would have been more at home on gray, rainy September afternoon. But Basil seemed like he might being enjoying it so Nolan said nothing.
Nolan was not, as he would have expected, all that unnerved by the events of the day. Strange things had happened, sure, but once the initial shock of it all had worn off he found he was more curious than anything else. This concerned him. It didn't feel right to be taking it all so easily. He half worried that he might be in some kind of fugue that would eventually break, leaving him shaken and frightened, though it didn't seem likely. He supposed that he ought to be glad that he was taking everything on board so readily but it just felt too fast to be normal.
Basil put his thumb to the volume knob and turned the music low. He hadn't said anything since they'd left the apartment building. “So how are you feeling?”
“Like someone who's walked in on the middle of a movie.”
Basil let out a short laugh. “Yeah. That's the hard part, you can eventually get used to the weirdness of it all, but that feeling never really goes away.”
“Never?”
“Nope. And I think that's the part that really gets to some people. All that uncertainty. Going out into a world where you know, not just suspect but genuinely know, that there's no real way of telling what might happen next.”
Basil rubbed at the space behind his ear as he talked. There were several deep blue lines that ran down his neck from his ear and disappeared under the collar of his coat. Nolan had noticed them before and mistook them for veins but upon closer inspection, as Basil rubbed them, he saw them shift around beneath his skin.
“When it gets to be too much that's when most people snap. I've been fortunate not to have too many of those but I have had a few. It isn't pretty. There's not much that can be done for someone in that state except put them some place where they can't hurt themselves.”
Again Nolan pondered the ease with which he had accepted everything. It couldn't really be helped. He couldn't force himself to find things more difficult to deal with then he did. So he let it go. If he was going to snap then he would and there probably wasn't much he could do to stop it.
Nolan nodded. “So... magic is a thing then?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Real, capital 'M', 'Magic'? Wizards, magic wands, the whole thing?”
Basil chuckled a little. “No, at least not like you mean. The term 'magic', it's kind of a catch-all for things that defy the conventional view of what is 'possible'.”
“You lost me.”
“Look at it like this: if you took a cellphone back in time a few hundred years and showed it the people there, what would they call it?”
“You mean before or after they burned you at the stake?”
“Exactly. They'd call it 'magic' or 'witchcraft' or whatever. But you and I know it's not. To us, here and now, it's science. You may not be able to explain exactly how a cellphone works but you do know there's a perfectly acceptable explanation behind it. So when I say 'magic' I'm referring to something that doesn't have such an acceptable explanation. Hell, most of the time I couldn't tell you why what I'm doing works, I just know that it does. The point is that there's really no such thing as 'magic', meaning there's no such thing as being able to defy the laws of reality, it's all just doing stuff that doesn't fit in with what we understand.”
“So when you say 'magic' you really just mean 'science that no one understands'.”
Basil shot Nolan with a finger gun. “Spot on. There are energies at work in the world that can be manipulated in ways that seem 'magical' but it's really no more so than flipping a switch and having the lights come on.”
“So what's the trick? What makes someone able to do that sort thing?”
“The trick to magic,” Basil said nonchalantly, as if instead of “magic” he’d said “poker” or “omelets”, “is that there isn’t any trick at all. Which is to say, some people have it and some people don't, but just about anyone can do it to some degree.”
Nolan looked at him skeptically. The idea seemed simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
“Let’s say you like to draw, right? You can study and practice and you might even get pretty good. But there’s always going to be those annoying bastards who will make your work look like shit without even trying, and usually without near as much practice. Some people just have it.”
Basil wheeled the car around a sharp corner without, Nolan suspected, bothering with the brakes at all. Nolan was becoming to accustomed to this and braced himself accordingly. Basil hardly seemed to notice and often seemed to hardly be watching the road at all.
“Now in my case,” he continued, “I come by my talents by virtue of not being entirely human and I even a few unique abilities that are fairly rare.”
Again Nolan felt that feeling of accepting something that should have thrown him. It wasn't even that much of a surprise. He'd noticed several physical abnormalities in Basil, like the blue lines behind his ear, and him not being completely human seemed as likely an explanation as anything. In fact, it somehow made the whole situation seem even more plausible.
“That’s what makes this game so difficult and dangerous. There’s no rhyme or reason to anything, in spite of how much effort people have put in trying to find some, so you never know what your going to come up against. There’s the usual stuff, the sorts of things you might read books about or find people teaching, but then all of a sudden you’ll run into some shit no one’s ever seen before. That’s when it gets interesting.”
Basil gave Nolan a sarcastically toothy grin and Nolan noticed, not for the first time, the faint glimmer of madness lurking quietly behind that expression. He didn't think Basil was crazy but he definitely had a reckless approach to things that was disquieting.
“If it's not too personal a question,” Nolan asked carefully, “um, what are you?”
Basil laughed hard. “Half human, half... something else.”
“You don't know?”
“Nope. My mother was human, I know that. As for my father, who can say? 'Unknown Extra-dimensional DNA', that's what my file says.”
“Your mother never told you who, or what, your father was?”
“I never knew my mother. She died before I was born.”
Nolan almost glossed over that last bit, strange as the conversation was, and it took him a second to process the idea.
“Wait, did you say 'before' you were born?”
Basil's hesitated for moment as if deciding whether or not to continue. They were coming into the downtown area of the city and he briefly turned his attention to the traffic around them. A shadow fell over his face as he contemplated what were clearly unpleasant thoughts.
“According to her medical records, my mother tried on no less than six separate occasions to abort her pregnancy with me. Every one failed. Equipment failures, strange power outages, once the attending physician had a heart attack in the middle of the procedure. Eventually, about six months along, she killed herself, almost certainly hoping to take me along with her. I was still alive when they found her, four hours later. So I think it's safe to say she had at least some idea of what she was carrying around inside her. But if she knew for certain who or what put it there, she never told anyone.”
Nolan tried to think of some response and came up empty. What does a person say to something like that?
Basil gave him a careless smile “I know it sounds pretty awful. I'll admit that when I first read the files I was in a bit of a state. What can you do? You either learn to live with your past or you let it drag you down.”
“And for the record,” Basil continued, “I am not the Anti-Christ.”
“Thanks for not making me ask,” replied Nolan, “though that does bring to mind another question...”
“All religions are bullshit,” Basil said flatly.
“All of them?”
“Every last one.”
“So you know for a fact that there's no God?”
“I didn't say that. I don't know if there's a God, though personally I don't see how there could be, but I do know that all organized religions are nonsense.”
“How can you be so sure though?”
“Because we've been at this for a very long time. The history of our organization goes back further than any currently practiced religion. In other words, we were there when they made this stuff up, so we know the actual origins of all their mythologies. Every major religion has its beginnings in various inter-dimensional phenomena that some bunch of nutballs in the past decided to turn into a way of life.”
“I suppose that makes sense, when you think about it.”
“Damn right it does.”
Basil pulled the car over to the curb and cut off the engine. They were in a part of downtown Nolan didn't recognize at all. The street was a single lane of cracked concrete with barely enough room for parking. All the buildings looked old. There were no businesses that he could see, no storefronts, just two rows of dull, brick structures separated by narrow alleys. A few pedestrians hustled along the sidewalks, clearly feeling no desire to linger in the area any longer than they had to.
“Q & A will have to put on hold for now. We're here.”
“Where is this? I thought I knew pretty much every street in the city but I'm sure I've never been down here before.”
“You wouldn't have. This is the sort of place you can't find unless you have specific business here.”
“You mean like that hidden door?”
“Sort of but not exactly. It's not hidden, you just don't notice it. You could drive past this street a dozen times and never realize that it was here.”
Basil led Nolan down an alley and around to the back of one of the buildings. The area behind the building was a small courtyard surround on all sides by a high, wooden fence. Discarded machines and rusting metal hulks created a precarious, waist high maze of jagged edges. Nolan felt like he needed a tetanus shot just looking at it. The narrow paths led up to the back of the building where a poorly constructed wooden staircase zigzagged up the wall and terminated in front of a black door.
“Follow me and touch nothing. The man we're going to see does not like people touching his things. To be honest he hates visitors in general, so try to keep quiet and follow my lead. And if he asks you a question, no matter what it is, under absolutely no circumstances should you answer it.”
“Why not?”
“Because this man is not the sort of person you want knowing anything about you. He is not a pleasant man and he is not nearly as harmless, or stupid, as he may appear. He is a reprehensible little scum bag and you should keep that in mind at all times.”
As Basil led Nolan through the crumbling labyrinth the stained curtains behind a clouded window overlooking the courtyard parted. From behind the curtains two beady, yellow eyes carefully tracked their progress.
Nolan was not, as he would have expected, all that unnerved by the events of the day. Strange things had happened, sure, but once the initial shock of it all had worn off he found he was more curious than anything else. This concerned him. It didn't feel right to be taking it all so easily. He half worried that he might be in some kind of fugue that would eventually break, leaving him shaken and frightened, though it didn't seem likely. He supposed that he ought to be glad that he was taking everything on board so readily but it just felt too fast to be normal.
Basil put his thumb to the volume knob and turned the music low. He hadn't said anything since they'd left the apartment building. “So how are you feeling?”
“Like someone who's walked in on the middle of a movie.”
Basil let out a short laugh. “Yeah. That's the hard part, you can eventually get used to the weirdness of it all, but that feeling never really goes away.”
“Never?”
“Nope. And I think that's the part that really gets to some people. All that uncertainty. Going out into a world where you know, not just suspect but genuinely know, that there's no real way of telling what might happen next.”
Basil rubbed at the space behind his ear as he talked. There were several deep blue lines that ran down his neck from his ear and disappeared under the collar of his coat. Nolan had noticed them before and mistook them for veins but upon closer inspection, as Basil rubbed them, he saw them shift around beneath his skin.
“When it gets to be too much that's when most people snap. I've been fortunate not to have too many of those but I have had a few. It isn't pretty. There's not much that can be done for someone in that state except put them some place where they can't hurt themselves.”
Again Nolan pondered the ease with which he had accepted everything. It couldn't really be helped. He couldn't force himself to find things more difficult to deal with then he did. So he let it go. If he was going to snap then he would and there probably wasn't much he could do to stop it.
Nolan nodded. “So... magic is a thing then?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Real, capital 'M', 'Magic'? Wizards, magic wands, the whole thing?”
Basil chuckled a little. “No, at least not like you mean. The term 'magic', it's kind of a catch-all for things that defy the conventional view of what is 'possible'.”
“You lost me.”
“Look at it like this: if you took a cellphone back in time a few hundred years and showed it the people there, what would they call it?”
“You mean before or after they burned you at the stake?”
“Exactly. They'd call it 'magic' or 'witchcraft' or whatever. But you and I know it's not. To us, here and now, it's science. You may not be able to explain exactly how a cellphone works but you do know there's a perfectly acceptable explanation behind it. So when I say 'magic' I'm referring to something that doesn't have such an acceptable explanation. Hell, most of the time I couldn't tell you why what I'm doing works, I just know that it does. The point is that there's really no such thing as 'magic', meaning there's no such thing as being able to defy the laws of reality, it's all just doing stuff that doesn't fit in with what we understand.”
“So when you say 'magic' you really just mean 'science that no one understands'.”
Basil shot Nolan with a finger gun. “Spot on. There are energies at work in the world that can be manipulated in ways that seem 'magical' but it's really no more so than flipping a switch and having the lights come on.”
“So what's the trick? What makes someone able to do that sort thing?”
“The trick to magic,” Basil said nonchalantly, as if instead of “magic” he’d said “poker” or “omelets”, “is that there isn’t any trick at all. Which is to say, some people have it and some people don't, but just about anyone can do it to some degree.”
Nolan looked at him skeptically. The idea seemed simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.
“Let’s say you like to draw, right? You can study and practice and you might even get pretty good. But there’s always going to be those annoying bastards who will make your work look like shit without even trying, and usually without near as much practice. Some people just have it.”
Basil wheeled the car around a sharp corner without, Nolan suspected, bothering with the brakes at all. Nolan was becoming to accustomed to this and braced himself accordingly. Basil hardly seemed to notice and often seemed to hardly be watching the road at all.
“Now in my case,” he continued, “I come by my talents by virtue of not being entirely human and I even a few unique abilities that are fairly rare.”
Again Nolan felt that feeling of accepting something that should have thrown him. It wasn't even that much of a surprise. He'd noticed several physical abnormalities in Basil, like the blue lines behind his ear, and him not being completely human seemed as likely an explanation as anything. In fact, it somehow made the whole situation seem even more plausible.
“That’s what makes this game so difficult and dangerous. There’s no rhyme or reason to anything, in spite of how much effort people have put in trying to find some, so you never know what your going to come up against. There’s the usual stuff, the sorts of things you might read books about or find people teaching, but then all of a sudden you’ll run into some shit no one’s ever seen before. That’s when it gets interesting.”
Basil gave Nolan a sarcastically toothy grin and Nolan noticed, not for the first time, the faint glimmer of madness lurking quietly behind that expression. He didn't think Basil was crazy but he definitely had a reckless approach to things that was disquieting.
“If it's not too personal a question,” Nolan asked carefully, “um, what are you?”
Basil laughed hard. “Half human, half... something else.”
“You don't know?”
“Nope. My mother was human, I know that. As for my father, who can say? 'Unknown Extra-dimensional DNA', that's what my file says.”
“Your mother never told you who, or what, your father was?”
“I never knew my mother. She died before I was born.”
Nolan almost glossed over that last bit, strange as the conversation was, and it took him a second to process the idea.
“Wait, did you say 'before' you were born?”
Basil's hesitated for moment as if deciding whether or not to continue. They were coming into the downtown area of the city and he briefly turned his attention to the traffic around them. A shadow fell over his face as he contemplated what were clearly unpleasant thoughts.
“According to her medical records, my mother tried on no less than six separate occasions to abort her pregnancy with me. Every one failed. Equipment failures, strange power outages, once the attending physician had a heart attack in the middle of the procedure. Eventually, about six months along, she killed herself, almost certainly hoping to take me along with her. I was still alive when they found her, four hours later. So I think it's safe to say she had at least some idea of what she was carrying around inside her. But if she knew for certain who or what put it there, she never told anyone.”
Nolan tried to think of some response and came up empty. What does a person say to something like that?
Basil gave him a careless smile “I know it sounds pretty awful. I'll admit that when I first read the files I was in a bit of a state. What can you do? You either learn to live with your past or you let it drag you down.”
“And for the record,” Basil continued, “I am not the Anti-Christ.”
“Thanks for not making me ask,” replied Nolan, “though that does bring to mind another question...”
“All religions are bullshit,” Basil said flatly.
“All of them?”
“Every last one.”
“So you know for a fact that there's no God?”
“I didn't say that. I don't know if there's a God, though personally I don't see how there could be, but I do know that all organized religions are nonsense.”
“How can you be so sure though?”
“Because we've been at this for a very long time. The history of our organization goes back further than any currently practiced religion. In other words, we were there when they made this stuff up, so we know the actual origins of all their mythologies. Every major religion has its beginnings in various inter-dimensional phenomena that some bunch of nutballs in the past decided to turn into a way of life.”
“I suppose that makes sense, when you think about it.”
“Damn right it does.”
Basil pulled the car over to the curb and cut off the engine. They were in a part of downtown Nolan didn't recognize at all. The street was a single lane of cracked concrete with barely enough room for parking. All the buildings looked old. There were no businesses that he could see, no storefronts, just two rows of dull, brick structures separated by narrow alleys. A few pedestrians hustled along the sidewalks, clearly feeling no desire to linger in the area any longer than they had to.
“Q & A will have to put on hold for now. We're here.”
“Where is this? I thought I knew pretty much every street in the city but I'm sure I've never been down here before.”
“You wouldn't have. This is the sort of place you can't find unless you have specific business here.”
“You mean like that hidden door?”
“Sort of but not exactly. It's not hidden, you just don't notice it. You could drive past this street a dozen times and never realize that it was here.”
Basil led Nolan down an alley and around to the back of one of the buildings. The area behind the building was a small courtyard surround on all sides by a high, wooden fence. Discarded machines and rusting metal hulks created a precarious, waist high maze of jagged edges. Nolan felt like he needed a tetanus shot just looking at it. The narrow paths led up to the back of the building where a poorly constructed wooden staircase zigzagged up the wall and terminated in front of a black door.
“Follow me and touch nothing. The man we're going to see does not like people touching his things. To be honest he hates visitors in general, so try to keep quiet and follow my lead. And if he asks you a question, no matter what it is, under absolutely no circumstances should you answer it.”
“Why not?”
“Because this man is not the sort of person you want knowing anything about you. He is not a pleasant man and he is not nearly as harmless, or stupid, as he may appear. He is a reprehensible little scum bag and you should keep that in mind at all times.”
As Basil led Nolan through the crumbling labyrinth the stained curtains behind a clouded window overlooking the courtyard parted. From behind the curtains two beady, yellow eyes carefully tracked their progress.
We have lost our way
No new chapter this week. I haven't the heart for it. Instead I offer the following...
18 children are dead.
18 families have been destroyed.
We should all be ashamed.
Tragedies like this have happened before and will happen again unless we do something about it.
Regardless of your opinion or point of view on the subject there is one thing that cannot be denied: something is very wrong here. This is an event that simply should not have been possible. I don't claim to know every facet of the issue or to know for certain what should be done. But it is very clear that something needs to change.
It's time to stop talking about personal safety and time to start talking about everyone's safety. It's time to stop talking about personal freedom. It's time to stop talking about your rights.
Because those 18 children had rights too. They had the right to live. They had the right to grow up and be happy and find love and make a life for themselves. That right was taken from them.
The parents of those children had the right not to face a lifetime without their children, a lifetime of empty rooms and wounded hearts that will never fully heal.
We have to change. The cost of not doing so it too high.
My heart goes out to all the families marked by this tragedy. May they find the strength to see them through this dark time.
18 children are dead.
18 families have been destroyed.
We should all be ashamed.
Tragedies like this have happened before and will happen again unless we do something about it.
Regardless of your opinion or point of view on the subject there is one thing that cannot be denied: something is very wrong here. This is an event that simply should not have been possible. I don't claim to know every facet of the issue or to know for certain what should be done. But it is very clear that something needs to change.
It's time to stop talking about personal safety and time to start talking about everyone's safety. It's time to stop talking about personal freedom. It's time to stop talking about your rights.
Because those 18 children had rights too. They had the right to live. They had the right to grow up and be happy and find love and make a life for themselves. That right was taken from them.
The parents of those children had the right not to face a lifetime without their children, a lifetime of empty rooms and wounded hearts that will never fully heal.
We have to change. The cost of not doing so it too high.
My heart goes out to all the families marked by this tragedy. May they find the strength to see them through this dark time.
Chapter 17 - Interlude I: A Ballad For Lost Tomorrows
There had been a dream. The kind that fades too quickly but leaves something of itself behind. I've never remembered it, though I've tried. Sometimes I wish I could remember, other times I'm glad I can't.
It was cold that morning. I remember that so clearly. It shouldn't have been so cold, it was too early for the cold, but there it was. It's funny what you remember.
I remember laying in bed, looking out the window at the park next door. The wind was high and the clouds dashed by quickly, casting long shadows on the field of grass. I remember thinking it was like laying on the floor of the ocean watching the shadows of whales as they swam past overhead.
I remember a black bird sitting on a wire in the park, the wind ruffling it's shiny feathers. It was singing, I could see its beak opening again and again, but I couldn't hear it through the window. I remember wanting to hear and somehow that longing made my heart ache.
I remember we were of out toothpaste and I had to brush without it. I remember the way the brush tasted with the faint hint of the toothpaste from past brushings, the way the bristles felt too coarse and rough against my gums. I remember having toast and a fried egg for breakfast. I remember spilling coffee on my hand and the red spot it left there all morning.
The signs were all there. I've never be able to figure out why I missed them. Never.
I don't remember much of what anyone said or did that morning. I know I must have seen people, talked to them, but few things stick out. I remember stopping for gas on the way in. There was a woman on the other side of the pumps that I thought I knew from somewhere. I thought about saying hello but didn't. I remember the Indian cashier bowing his head and saying a short prayer in his native tongue instead of his usual “thank you”. I don't remember thinking anything of it. All the signs were there.
I was in my office when the phone rang. I remember a spike of ice going through my heart and not knowing why. The voice on the other end was harried. Something bad had happened. I was needed. I drove fast through the city, running lights, scaring pedestrians. I remember an elderly couple standing on a street corner, staring up at something in the sky, their mouths agape with wonder. Signs.
I arrived at the scene. Several cars were already there and lots of people were milling around looking concerned and confused. I pushed through the crowd, not caring as the dazed and wounded stumbled and fell as I passed, desperate to get through. There was smoke everywhere. A blizzard of grey ash fell all around. I choked and gagged. The smell was like nothing else. Bodies, there were so many bodies. I still did not know what had happened.
I heard a voice calling my name from somewhere in the smoke and followed it. He was covered in so much dirt and soot and ash that I barely recognized him. He was hurt, blood had darkened the front of his shirt, but he was tough, he'd be all right. He was trying to speak, to tell me something important, but he kept coughing and spitting black phlegm into the dirt. I lead him back to the cars, away from the worst of the smoke, and propped him up. He wheezed and gasped. I knew he needed a doctor but he still kept trying to speak. Finally he managed a single word. I can remember the way it sounded, whispery and hoarse, as he said it, coarse sandpaper words scraping inside my ears, full of regret. I remember the cold pressure in my chest, like an icy, steel clamp around my heart. I remember the tears in his eyes and in my own. “'Minda”.
I don't remember making my way through the crowd, though I must have. I don't remember rushing through the smoke and ash, though that must have happened too. I don't remember tripping over bodies or stumbling against charred walls, though those things surely happened as well. I do remember that room. I remember every single detail. I remember the smell being strongest there. I remember the way the black smoke drifted slowly through the broken windows. I remember the way the paint on the walls had bubbled and split and the way the few remaining beams glowed red with retained heat. I remember that single bare spot on the floor, untouched, unmarred, perfect, save for a few spatterings of blood. I remember feeling my mind bend and twist and knowing that any moment it was going to snap.
He didn't move at first. He just sat there, covered in black, sweat trickling down his face, leaving trails of reddened skin. He was cradling her head in his lap, her blond hair spilling over his legs. He slowly raised his head and our eyes met. I knew him. I'd known him for a long time. And I knew then that this day had been coming all along, that it had been inevitable, that all of it, everything, had been leading to this single, terrible moment. He smiled that same vile grin I had seen a hundred times. But this time was different. This time that smile was for me alone and I could almost hear the words behind it: “this I do for you”.
I couldn't move fast enough. He was always faster. I almost had him though. I was so close, the tips of my fingers caressing his neck as he danced away, twirling her body as he rose. I remember the way her hair spread out as she spun, her head lolling back on her limp neck, deep blond waves gliding through the smoke. It was almost beautiful. She collided with me and I fell with her. He laughed as though it were the greatest joke in the world. In a way I suppose it was, a special joke, just for he and I. Then he was gone, running through the broken and smoking ruins, still laughing.
I slowly laid her down and knelt there beside her. He'd been careful with her. She looked perfect, as if she were only sleeping, but I could feel the sharp edge of bone through the skin of her neck. I wanted to believe she hadn't suffered but I knew she must have. He would have made certain of that. I ran my thumb across her lips, wiping away a few traces of blood. I remember the way she felt in my arms, so limp and heavy. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall across her body and weep and sob and never get up again. I wanted them to drag me away screaming. But I couldn't. There were no tears, not then. They were locked away behind a wall of something cold and dark. I stood and turned away. Others were coming. They would take care of her for me. I had work to do.
Nothing was going to be right again. That world was gone and I didn't care. The only thing left for me was pain and blood and death. He was fast but that wasn't going to be enough this time. Nowhere would be far enough. There would be no hole deep enough for him to hide. I would find him and I was going to make him hurt. Pain was the lesson and I was going to be his teacher. And then he was going to die.
- From the journal of [author's name removed]
It was cold that morning. I remember that so clearly. It shouldn't have been so cold, it was too early for the cold, but there it was. It's funny what you remember.
I remember laying in bed, looking out the window at the park next door. The wind was high and the clouds dashed by quickly, casting long shadows on the field of grass. I remember thinking it was like laying on the floor of the ocean watching the shadows of whales as they swam past overhead.
I remember a black bird sitting on a wire in the park, the wind ruffling it's shiny feathers. It was singing, I could see its beak opening again and again, but I couldn't hear it through the window. I remember wanting to hear and somehow that longing made my heart ache.
I remember we were of out toothpaste and I had to brush without it. I remember the way the brush tasted with the faint hint of the toothpaste from past brushings, the way the bristles felt too coarse and rough against my gums. I remember having toast and a fried egg for breakfast. I remember spilling coffee on my hand and the red spot it left there all morning.
The signs were all there. I've never be able to figure out why I missed them. Never.
I don't remember much of what anyone said or did that morning. I know I must have seen people, talked to them, but few things stick out. I remember stopping for gas on the way in. There was a woman on the other side of the pumps that I thought I knew from somewhere. I thought about saying hello but didn't. I remember the Indian cashier bowing his head and saying a short prayer in his native tongue instead of his usual “thank you”. I don't remember thinking anything of it. All the signs were there.
I was in my office when the phone rang. I remember a spike of ice going through my heart and not knowing why. The voice on the other end was harried. Something bad had happened. I was needed. I drove fast through the city, running lights, scaring pedestrians. I remember an elderly couple standing on a street corner, staring up at something in the sky, their mouths agape with wonder. Signs.
I arrived at the scene. Several cars were already there and lots of people were milling around looking concerned and confused. I pushed through the crowd, not caring as the dazed and wounded stumbled and fell as I passed, desperate to get through. There was smoke everywhere. A blizzard of grey ash fell all around. I choked and gagged. The smell was like nothing else. Bodies, there were so many bodies. I still did not know what had happened.
I heard a voice calling my name from somewhere in the smoke and followed it. He was covered in so much dirt and soot and ash that I barely recognized him. He was hurt, blood had darkened the front of his shirt, but he was tough, he'd be all right. He was trying to speak, to tell me something important, but he kept coughing and spitting black phlegm into the dirt. I lead him back to the cars, away from the worst of the smoke, and propped him up. He wheezed and gasped. I knew he needed a doctor but he still kept trying to speak. Finally he managed a single word. I can remember the way it sounded, whispery and hoarse, as he said it, coarse sandpaper words scraping inside my ears, full of regret. I remember the cold pressure in my chest, like an icy, steel clamp around my heart. I remember the tears in his eyes and in my own. “'Minda”.
I don't remember making my way through the crowd, though I must have. I don't remember rushing through the smoke and ash, though that must have happened too. I don't remember tripping over bodies or stumbling against charred walls, though those things surely happened as well. I do remember that room. I remember every single detail. I remember the smell being strongest there. I remember the way the black smoke drifted slowly through the broken windows. I remember the way the paint on the walls had bubbled and split and the way the few remaining beams glowed red with retained heat. I remember that single bare spot on the floor, untouched, unmarred, perfect, save for a few spatterings of blood. I remember feeling my mind bend and twist and knowing that any moment it was going to snap.
He didn't move at first. He just sat there, covered in black, sweat trickling down his face, leaving trails of reddened skin. He was cradling her head in his lap, her blond hair spilling over his legs. He slowly raised his head and our eyes met. I knew him. I'd known him for a long time. And I knew then that this day had been coming all along, that it had been inevitable, that all of it, everything, had been leading to this single, terrible moment. He smiled that same vile grin I had seen a hundred times. But this time was different. This time that smile was for me alone and I could almost hear the words behind it: “this I do for you”.
I couldn't move fast enough. He was always faster. I almost had him though. I was so close, the tips of my fingers caressing his neck as he danced away, twirling her body as he rose. I remember the way her hair spread out as she spun, her head lolling back on her limp neck, deep blond waves gliding through the smoke. It was almost beautiful. She collided with me and I fell with her. He laughed as though it were the greatest joke in the world. In a way I suppose it was, a special joke, just for he and I. Then he was gone, running through the broken and smoking ruins, still laughing.
I slowly laid her down and knelt there beside her. He'd been careful with her. She looked perfect, as if she were only sleeping, but I could feel the sharp edge of bone through the skin of her neck. I wanted to believe she hadn't suffered but I knew she must have. He would have made certain of that. I ran my thumb across her lips, wiping away a few traces of blood. I remember the way she felt in my arms, so limp and heavy. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall across her body and weep and sob and never get up again. I wanted them to drag me away screaming. But I couldn't. There were no tears, not then. They were locked away behind a wall of something cold and dark. I stood and turned away. Others were coming. They would take care of her for me. I had work to do.
Nothing was going to be right again. That world was gone and I didn't care. The only thing left for me was pain and blood and death. He was fast but that wasn't going to be enough this time. Nowhere would be far enough. There would be no hole deep enough for him to hide. I would find him and I was going to make him hurt. Pain was the lesson and I was going to be his teacher. And then he was going to die.
- From the journal of [author's name removed]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)