“That’s the plan.”
“So, what you’re saying is that Lizzie has already been killed by him — as much as she’s never been killed by him — and since we’re in the probability where Black has killed her, we’re not going to focus on that and choose, in a rather nefarious and covert way — which kinda appeals to me — to fake him out and have him not kill her, by me taking the fall.”
The Man With No Name smiled. “There’s a little more to it, but yes. It’s all in the details, my friend! By choosing this, your death will cause Black to pick up and focus on all the ‘death issues’ associated with a person — you — dying, which includes initial confusion, the ‘what the hell?’ energy, et cetera — which is why you also chose to have no memory of this after we part from this moment. It’s the only way to throw him off the scent — given current events and focuses, and his juvenile reality changing ability. Of course, as you note, we’ve already gone through all this, so you do — now — know the drill. Though you won’t have any memory, quote-unquote — you already do, because of our discussion.”
“Man, this gets so convoluted.”
“But it makes sense?”
“Goddamn makes my head spin,” Joe said, looking out across the field to Lizzie.
“Pardon the pun. But every thought, no matter how fleeting or ill-formed, creates action and probability, creates a need for what’s called ‘value fulfillment.’ All thoughts take shape in some reality, in some form, somewhere. It’s immutable. Black just doesn’t yet understand the finer print, and we’re going to capitalize on that. Later, we’ll attack the whole issue — or, rather, he will — but this is what is needed now. As long as you remember and forget that, we can move on and save other discussions for later. Just as you are alive and real now, before me, you are also dead in that German castle, that Antietam battlefield, and that ocean bottom in the north Atlantic — well, except for the sharks…”
As the Man With No Name rattled off his deaths, Joe experienced each one again.
“Okay… let’s do this.”
3
Joe stared out across the field, and paused. The sight and sounds of the construction site — the birds, and passing traffic — all seemed somehow more intense, more there. Denser. He looked around, and scratched the back of his head under his hard hat. His earlier injury throbbed.
What was different?
What had he just been doing?
He tapped his set of plans against a blue-jeaned thigh.
He looked back to his crew, heading off in various directions to perform their jobs, and looked back to the field. Why did that empty
(empty?)
field seem to stand out to him right now? What was so important?
Shaking his head and smiling (he heard some shouting behind him), he turned and—
Chapter Thirty
1
Victor Black floated in the metaphysical ether.
Kill Elizabeth Gordon before ever meeting her.
She had to go.
Black directed himself to the best opportunity… and came upon a humble, brick building. Inside lay a couple still in bed. Zooming in on the woman (her husband beside her), he found her to be his target. But as he focused in on Lizzie, he picked up on something bothering her husband. He momentarily diverted in on that “something.” As Black directed his attention to Joseph Gordon, he was startled to see him staring directly at him. Through him, actually.
Of course he couldn’t see him; he was merely lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling through Black’s invisible awareness. Black repositioned off to the side of the bed; watched as Joe got up and out of bed and slipped downstairs to get the paper and make some coffee. As Joe went about his morning routine, Black focused in.
What bothered him?
A dream about Lizzie visiting him at his construction site.
In the dream, Joe talked with his crew when he spotted Lizzie coming over to talk to him. Then, out of nowhere it hits: an I-beam, carelessly swung through the sky. It misses Joe, strikes Lizzie.
Instantly killed her.
Black smiled.
Perfect.
Returning to Joe’s present, Black followed him as he banged his head, had breakfast, and left for work… picked up on Joe’s continued angst about his dream — and his problem with a member of his construction crew.
Black followed him to the construction site… saw the problem worker as he arrived late… troubled… climbed into the crane’s cabin and began moving steel girders…
Black’s smile widened. He focused in on changing the picture… brought Lizzie into the scene — just like in Joe’s dream — and reobserved the construction site event. Now, Lizzie Gordon does pull up into the parking lot…
Good.
Black focused in on the crane and I-beam… willed the girder to swing toward Lizzie and Joe… but, as he did this, he sensed something wasn’t right… a blip. There was… a momentary skip in the image…
He stepped back and reobserved.
Everything appeared fine… still on track… but…
Lizzie Gordon, Black focused on, I-beam kills Lizzie Gordon.
Black again reviewed his efforts; watched as Lizzie left her car, came up to Joe, and—
Is no longer there.
Her car was gone.
She was gone.
Joe no longer talked to her.
The I-beam was no longer diverted.
Black refocused in on the girder. Observed Joe staring out into the field, confused. Watched him look around, scratch the back of his head under his hard hat…
Damn it!
Refocusing on Lizzie, Black again diverted the girder…
Nothing!
Black watched Joe look back to his crew, back to the field, shake his head and smile, as he returned to work.
Furious, Black went back to the crane. The I-beam soared through the air alright, remained on its original path — but, there was simply no Lizzie Gordon.
How could he?
He was the only one who could have done this, that Man With No Name — how could he have possibly interfered? He had that man contained… unable to…
Black backed up his perspective and again surveyed the setting. Widened his psychic net. Tried to zero in on who or what was doing this… and detected an ever-so-slight… presence — disturbance? — an energy…
Focusing in on this new influence, Black willed the aberration into awareness — and was quickly overcome with an intense, soul-searing sense of dread. A huge, menacing presence that consumed the space around him… hovered… then seeped clean through into the very marrow of his being…
Black held his ground… but the closer he tried to get to the source of the disturbance, the more intense its resistance. He was repelled… as if by a powerful — angry — magnet… and felt as if he were drowning within a dark, bottomless ocean… choking on its cloying, dirty waters… and that huge, impossibly strong arms were wrapping around him in a vile, fearsome octopus squeeze… effortlessly pulling him ever deeper into a bottomless abyss of absolute fear… his entire being… the structure of his thoughts, his soul… was permeated by this all-pervading horror. Black was no longer concerned with who or what this presence was, nor why it had chosen to interdict him, but had now become so overcome with fear and panic… so consumed and impregnated with it… that the more he tried to push it away, the more intense and horrific this insane drowning octopus-hug had become—
He needed to breathe!
Black tried to back away from the unstoppable entity… closed his psychic vision off from it, and willed himself as far away as possible in both concept and content from… this thing. To the opposite end of the universe from it… as outside of Time and Space as he could handle… but the dark, all-pervading entity continued after him… searching, probing, pulling him down, down, ever downward—
Until it backed off.
Catching his breath, Black decided to reengage and doubled back — but as soon
as he began to probe, again felt the all-encompassing black hole of terror once again extend its abysmal tentacles — and quickly withdrew.
Something — or someone — was going to an awful lot of trouble trying to save a woman who continually professed no such knowledge of anything he asked.
He needed to regroup.
Black again began to pull out, this time for good, when — in an evil burst of inspiration — he left an ingenious parting shot. He diverted the I-beam toward Joe Gordon’s unsuspecting and hard-hatted head.
Targets of opportunity were called that for a reason…
2
Lying on her side and awakening quite groggy, Lizzie brought a hand to her head.
“How are you feeling?” the Man With No Name asked. “Got a bit of a lump there, huh?”
Lizzie winced. She, and the still-unconscious forms of Travis and the former President, were all piled together at the bottom of a large, white tube. The Man With No Name bent down, examining the former President and Travis.
“They’ll be fine. They’ll come around shortly,” he said. “You know where you are?” The Man With No Name stared intently at Lizzie, as he got back to his feet.
Lizzie sat upright. She rubbed her head wound and worked a sore shoulder. She sat back against the cool, hard surface of the enclosure. They were all placed inside a narrow, twelve-by-eighty foot deep enclosure. It was also hard to focus on where they were, because everything was white—
“No — no, no, no — not again—” Lizzie said.
The Man With No Name quickly came to her.
“No — it’s not what you think,” he said, trying to soothe her.
Lizzie’s eyes went wide, her body rigid, and perspiration beaded on her skin.
The Man With No Name wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, ssh-ing her.
“No, you’re not back there… it’s not what you think.”
Lizzie closed her eyes; tried to calm and control her breathing.
“Then… where are we?” she asked, nervously, wiping her forehead and face and clutching her arms inward around herself.
The Man With No Name looked up and around at their confinement.
“Black thinks he’s got us stuffed away from the world down inside some abandoned missile silo. Where a Minutemen II intercontinental missile was supposed to be housed.”
The Man With No Name got back to his feet, but continued to study her.
“You don’t sound convinced,” she said. “Where do you think we are?”
The Man With No Name quietly chuckled. “I think… we’re in a far less nasty situation than he would have us believe.”
“God, my head is spinning,” Lizzie said. “I just can’t seem to focus…”
“You’ll come around soon enough.”
“Why is it so hard? To focus? Things feel really weird…”
“It’s because of all you’ve been through.”
The Man With No Name walked about the enclosure, occasionally rapping his knuckles against the curved surface. “He just doesn’t get it.” The Man With No Name stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued to examine their enclosure. He shook his head, sadly.
“Get what? Why are you being so vague?”
“Because Black himself doesn’t even really know what he has here. He thinks it’s one thing, but it’s—”
“So, what is it?,” Lizzie asked, still rubbing her head and shoulder. “Why are we here?”
The Man With No Name turned to her.
“To answer your second question first — because I brought you here — not ‘here,’ as in this silo,” he said with a casual wave of a hand, “but ‘here’ as in philosophically.” The Man With No Name sighed.
“It’s time to put an end to all this.”
Both the former President and Travis stirred.
Travis groggily shook his head, reaching out for balance.
Kennedy also tried to regain his balance and looked up. “I feel like I’ve been on a month-long bendah…”
The Man With No Name helped everyone to their feet. “Lady and gentlemen… it’s time to bring this show to a close… and put things right.”
All three eyed the Man With No Name, who, without a word, simply returned their looks.
“No way—” Travis said.
“Good Gawd—” Kennedy echoed, equally stunned.
Lizzie looked to the three, open-mouthed.
Then each began a slow chuckle, as if just getting a punch-line.
Ring around the rosie,
A pocketful of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down…
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lizzie finally said.
3
Travis, Kennedy, and Lizzie were all summarily catapulted out of the missile silo and deep into an inner, nonphysical psychicscape… hurled across time and space… probabilities and possibilities… to a battlefield, a battlefield that each knew involved the former President and Victor Black. They observed the battle as if watching a movie, but also felt the ground across which the combatants charged… the rush of their charge… the smell of death and black powder… tasted dry mouths and fear — anger — as each zoomed in on the Civil War battlefield personalities of Kennedy and Black. The three focused in on the Black personality, taking on his point of view…
… Black watched in livid anger and hatred as the Union forces rammed into their lines.
He was there.
His as yet unknown foe. They’d met… finally come face to face.
Black shoved aside and killed others in blue uniforms as he cut a bloody path to the one he knew he was destined to meet. Recognized him as he saw him remove his bayonet from one of his own South Carolina comrades. Black’s anger flared. Attempted to reload his Enfield, but the fighting had become too close-quartered for use and he jabbed and butted the enemy with it instead, using elbows, knees, and fists. Black saw his target still trying to use his bayoneted rifle — when it was knocked from his grasp; watched as his opponent deftly sidestepped the attack, then lunged for his attacker with his bare hands, viciously throttling another until he snapped the man’s neck. Black charged, just as his opponent deftly snatched up his rifle and turned to meet him. A musket’s length apart, the two stared at each other.
Instant, unspoken recognition.
Knife to the chest.
Ringing ears.
Bayonetted.
Black was on the ground, a musket’s bayonet shoved into his side.
Black grabbed the musket’s barrel, but was unable to stop the bayonet’s travel. He emitted a long, drawn-out grunt of pain, the blade forced deeper into him — then twisted. In shock and losing consciousness, Black began the long spiral…
Nowhere.
Something happened as he lay on the ground, pinned there like a stuck bug. Something… morphed…
… the three saw and felt the unabashed and livid fury that engulfed the soldier that was Black… felt his anger radiate outward across Time and Space… realities… and each of the three experienced that thread and followed it back to…
… Black lifted his bayoneted Enfield before him in reflex… and — to his surprise — the thrown knife buried itself into the stock of his musket. Black repositioned his weapon before him like a pike. The knife dislodged. He stood for a fraction of second, confused.
Something wasn’t right.
Black refocused and charged his opponent. His target was busy with another of his comrades and twisted away from him in hand-to-hand with this other man. His opponent’s back a sudden open and undefended target, Black concentrated his pent-up fury — and lunged. He felt his bayonet sink satisfyingly into unguarded flesh, stopped only by the tip of his musket’s barrel. Black saw the man’s shoulders arch sharply backward. With a jagged lurch, Black twisted the blade, and in one brutal and savage torso twist, put his whole body into severing the man’s spine. As his adversary collapsed before him, Black’s musket and bayonet followed
him to the ground. As his opponent twisted onto his back, Black freed his weapon from the body and looked into the surprised, glazed and dying eyes of the man he’d called his enemy.
Black’s rage suddenly — unaccountably — softened.
Something about this was wrong-wrong-wrong… all wrong…
For a split second Black saw himself — or was it his dying enemy?—above him, looking down at him… as he — Black — lay dying from a bayonet attack…
Then his enemy did something that completely unnerved him.
He… smiled.
His opponent coughed up blood, closed his eyes… smiled… then died.
Black blinked and backed up a step.
Humiliated by his own cowardly behavior and jostled back to reality by the continued fighting around him, Black again attacked his now dead foe, forcing others out of his way as he savagely kicked the dead man in the back… the shoulders… the head…
The three found themselves whisked away from the battle… floating and soaring off though infinite silvery, gossamer filaments… cosmic filaments… vibrant energetic gridlines that resonated and crisscrossed in and out of an infinite variety of realities… permeating and intersecting each other… everything. Each and every filament moved rapidly in and out of each and every other filament, like interlocking fingers. The three flew through the cosmic gridlines and found themselves following multiple lines of consciousnesses… found that the spaces between the filaments were filled with energy… life… that the spaces themselves also moved in and out of each other. Or, not so much moved as existed… blinked in and out of each other… one moment there, the next, gone — yet still there.
Back again.
They experienced the filaments intersecting with each of them… became the filaments and spaces themselves… unbecame them. These filaments that were (each just knew)… the underlying structure to all of existence… a fifth-dimensional interpretational structure to the energy called Life… an infinitely intersecting cosmic gridline that pushed and pulled throughout all existences… vibrating…
Psychic Page 32