Torment of Tantalus

by Bard Constantine

  The face of the man he knew only as Guy stared back at him, sentient only because of the arcane knowledge that shimmered from his inky eyes. His gaze penetrated, as though he knew all of Michael’s torments and understood each and every one. When his lips moved, the voice that spoke was a dead monotone.

  “The Aberration is here, Michael.”

  The Aberration is here…

  Michael shrieked. The howl echoed in the empty bathroom as he raised his fists. Guy’s face shattered when Michael struck the mirror at the crescendo of his scream. The broken glass slashed his skin, but his attention was fixated on the glittering slivers which still displayed Guy’s knowing face on every single broken piece.

  He was barely aware when the attendants rushed into the bathroom. Their reassuring voices quickly turned demanding when his disposition only grew more agitated. Burly arms shoved through and encircled him. His feet were lifted from the floor and he became weightless, afloat on the tide of passive aggression that radiated from his brawny captors.

  “He’s hallucinating again.”

  “Get him secured and medicated before he hurts himself. Quickly!”

  He was unceremoniously dumped and strapped to a medical bed. The crowd of doctors who peered down at him was devoid of features. Only the barest shadows were visible, as though their faces were not fully formed and had just begun to push against the pale flesh.

  Not real. Not real.

  Incoherent voices babbled psychotherapeutic phrases, but Michael only heard the same statement, over and over. It drowned out the prattle of the doctors and aides, almost as if spoken by ghost mouths that shouted over their true ones. The words rang in his head.

  “The Aberration is here, Michael. The Aberration is here.”

  The Aberration is here…

  A stainless steel hornet stung him in the neck, and the world quickly grew hazy. The indistinct shadows that hovered beside his bedside faded, replaced by the churning darkness of unexpected unconsciousness.

  Chapter 2: Corybantic Neurosis

  “Hello, Nathan. It’s been a while. Let’s talk.”

  Alexander Blackwell arrived at Nathan Ryder’s hotel door with no fanfare, no security detail, no indication of being one of the wealthiest and most ruthless businessmen alive. His clothes were casual chic—jeans with a dark blazer over a button down shirt with no tie. He was young for a man of such influence, around the same age as Nathan at barely over thirty. His neatly trimmed sandy hair and the faint outline of stubble that shadowed his face gave him the appearance of an actor or model on his day off.

  Nathan felt a surge of pure fury ripple from his toes and explode in his head like Fourth of July fireworks. His hands balled into fists. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t break your face right now.”

  Blackwell laughed. “I’ll give you more than one.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Assault and battery, one. Jail time from said assault, two. Civil lawsuit to confiscate your meager earnings, three. And four: I’m not sure you’ll be able to even carry out your threat. Let’s face it—I’ve received extensive combat training from professional killers. You…not so much.”

  Nathan fumed; surprised his glasses didn’t fog up from the heat rising from his shirt collar. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m rich.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “I have a proposition for you.” Blackwell took in the shabby hotel surroundings with an amused glance. “I think you might find it worth your while.”

  “You know what I might find worth my while? Seeing you get back in your luxury ride, drive back to the airport, hop back on your private plane, and get back to swimming in your money and complaining about your hollow existence. We’ve got nothing to discuss.”

  Blackwell’s face soured. “How about we forget the pleasantries, Nate? You know how thin the ice is you’re standing on. I’m here to throw you a lifeline before it splits apart right under you. So drop the tough guy act and let’s talk.”

  Nathan’s hand trembled on the door, wanting desperately to shut it in Blackwell’s face. But he knew he couldn’t. Blackwell arriving in person meant he needed something. And though Nathan hated to admit it, he was dying to know what it was.

  A few seconds later, they sat on the battered furniture inside the murky hotel room. Nathan felt particularly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t because of Blackwell. His eyes kept sliding over to where a large stain had darkened the faded carpet. It looked suspiciously like mold, which practically made his throat tighten in protest. His fingers drummed against the cheap pleather surface of the armchair, his left foot tapped rapidly against the ratty carpet as if trying to break off at the ankle.

  Blackwell didn’t appear to notice the lackluster condition of his surroundings. “I understand you’re planning a jaunt to St. Augustine. Fascinating little pieces of history in that town. First and oldest city in America. It’s funny—you don’t learn that in your history class. They tell you the first city was Jamestown. But what’s true is it’s the oldest American city. Not the oldest city in America. Misinformation, Nathan. Entire histories are built on it.”

  Nathan shifted in his thinly-cushioned seat. “Can you get to the point, Alex? I have things to do.”

  Blackwell blinked as though his point was obvious. “Misinformation. You know a lot about it, don’t you? After all, the detailed findings in your Blurred Man reports managed to unearth some pretty damning evidence that several intelligence agencies are scrambling to deny. You’re the focus of several high-level investigations against your person, did you know that? If they can assassinate your character in the eyes of the media, they figure they can distract the fickle public to focus on other less disastrous subjects. You know, like reality television and the next innovative cell phone. Misinformation, fake news, propaganda—whatever you want to call it, it’s been the tool of choice for those seeking to mislead and control the populace for literal centuries.”

  Nathan wet his lips. It was hard not to avert his gaze to the moldy stain in the carpet. It seemed to grow a little larger each time he noticed it. He could practically feel the spores tumble across his skin like rotting insects. “I don’t know anything about that. Everything in my report is the truth.”

  “Then you should know your next move should be swift and decisive. I’m rather disappointed to find you still trailing vapor trails and urban legends when your house of cards is about to collapse right on top of you.”

  “I’m not trailing urban legends and you know it. I’m on the verge of unearthing who the Blurred Man is. I just figured I’d be harder to keep track of if I kept moving.”

  “You figured wrong. While you’re smart enough to purchase burner phones, use cash and dump your electronics after use, you’re still remarkably easy to keep track of. How do you think I found you? And if I can, eventually the Feds will. If they haven’t already.”

  “I haven’t broken any laws.”

  Blackwell smiled. “Do you really think every soul rotting in federal prisons is guilty? You don’t need to break laws to be legally detained, you know that. You’re too smart, you avoid the media, and you’ve embarrassed the intelligence community. Not to mention you’re black.”

  Nathan stiffened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just listing factors which can quickly turn the public consciousness against you, Nathan. That includes race and gender. You know how it goes. What worked for you can just as easily work against you when you’ve been repainted in unsympathetic colors.”

  Nathan took a deep breath. “And what—you have my best interest at heart? Get real.”

  Blackwell scrubbed a hand across his mouth as if hiding an amused smile. “Still sore about the software appropriation?”

  “Appropriation? You s-stole my program, used it to extort mega-corporations into paying you hundreds of millions, and got off scot-free. How do you think I f-f-feel?” He clamped his mouth shut, seething. He hadn’t stuttered in yea
rs, but one appearance from Blackwell disturbed him enough to allow the habit to sneak back in. He wasn’t sure if he was more furious with Blackwell or himself for the lack of control.

  Blackwell shrugged off the accusation. “Technically I didn’t steal what you were giving away for free.”

  Nathan took a deep breath, knowing Blackwell was baiting him. Manipulating him into unbalanced anger like he did in college when Nathan thought they’d change the world together. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to break into an uncontrolled stuttering fit. “You know what you did, Alex. Why I left the partnership. My case was shut down by the legal assassins your father hired, and I was left in the cold while you built an entire corporation off my work. You won, right? So why are we having a conversation?”

  “The Aberration.”

  The word hung in the air like a potent cloud of secondhand smoke. Nathan tried to keep his expression neutral while his heart pumped pure adrenaline through his veins.

  “What about it?”

  Blackwell cleared his throat. “Your work has caught the attention of some of my company’s top minds. Your notion of using enhanced paranormal detection equipment to pick up on energy signatures undetected by conventional sensors was a stroke of genius. And your networking circle of fellow enthusiasts is something to be admired. You’ve been able to compile data and unearth information explosive enough to stagger men and women loaded down with certifications and degrees in their respective fields. I need your research in order to take the next step in understanding aberrant energy. I’d like to hire you as a consultant for my Aberrant Investigation Team, or AIT for short.”

  Nathan laughed. “You want me to work for you? Me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nathan folded his arms. “No way.”

  “Would you rather continue your life on the run? Maybe hope the intelligence agencies lose interest in you? Your career and name will be publicly dismantled in retaliation for your accusations. You have nowhere to go, Nate. You’re a smart man. You’ve already figured it out.”

  Nathan grimaced. “What does the AIT do?”

  “It’s right up your field. An opportunity you won’t get anywhere else. And there are certain advantages to being an employee of Chimera Global. For one, all investigations against you will be permanently deflected. You won’t have to worry about looking over your shoulder anymore, I promise you that.”

  “Is that any better than aligning myself with you, Alex? Chimera isn’t exactly a corporation without blemish in the eyes of the media and ethical watchdogs.”

  “No one is without blemish, Nathan. You should know that, considering your rather…interesting childhood. You know, with your father.” Blackwell smiled at Nathan’s uneasy reaction.

  “The point is, you don’t get anywhere in life without stepping on the toes of small-minded and inherently jealous rivals. What you’re referring to is pettiness in its purest form. Chaff that blows away at the slightest touch of a breeze. Nothing you need to be concerned about. What should concern you is the precariousness of your current situation, and the fact that I’m offering you an opportunity to escape from it. Not to mention the type of compensation no one else will even come close to offering you.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of compensation?”

  Blackwell pulled a phone from his pocket and slid across a couple of screens before holding up the backlit display. “You were never repaid for your software contribution. Consider this a signing bonus with a hefty upsize should you decide to join the AIT.”

  Nathan tried hard to keep his face from displaying the shock that rocked his entire system. The amount of zeroes on the display could change his entire life; allow opportunities he only wistfully imagined in his most private fantasies.

  He cleared his throat and tried to evoke a sense of calm. “I’m not doing this for money, Alex. I’m doing this for the truth.”

  “You’re doing this because you want to prove yourself. Because you want to be more than just the one person who uncovered a mass conspiracy. You want to be a trailblazer, a pioneer in this new frontier that we’re facing. I’m offering you the chance to do just that. And be well-compensated in the process.”

  He extended his hand. “What do you have to lose, Nathan?”

  Everything, Nathan thought. But it would still be worth it to pull your company down from the inside and make you pay for what you did.

  Chapter 3: Factotum

  Elena Ruiz studied Nathan Ryder as he entered AIT headquarters. As usual, he had the grim expression of a man about to endure a life sentence in prison. Cold and distant, his aloofness wrapped around him like a thick scarf on a bitter winter morning.

  “Hello, Mr. Ryder.”

  She put on her customary smile for her sullen charge. She had been assigned to Nathan the moment he was cleared for access to the AIT facility months ago. Observe and report, were the orders she’d been given. Don’t let him out of your sight. You’re to be his shadow, his confidante, whatever it takes to be with him wherever he goes.

  “Hello, Private Ruiz. Still wasting your career on this dead-end assignment, I see.” Nathan kept his eyes on the plastic tray that was passed to him by the burly security guard while his satchel rolled through the X-ray conveyor.

  He secured his items and swiftly turned away, forcing her to walk quickly to match his pace. They strode down the hall of the redeveloped brownfield site that had been turned into an oxbow-shaped building housing a series of combined office and laboratory spaces. The interior cladding was furnished from wood salvaged from a decommissioned warehouse on the site, which combined with real plants and natural lighting to create an organic atmosphere.

  The spacious halls of AIT had surprisingly little traffic for a building of its size. Only a few men and women in business attire walked across the gleaming floors, each striding as though with blinders on as they zeroed in on their various destinations. Chimera certainly wasn’t a place for comradery, something Elena dearly missed from her brief time in the Army.

  Nathan ignored it all as usual. “Are the samples ready? Arranged like I told you?”

  “Of course.” She squashed the irritation that flashed up. Nathan knew she was his handler, in charge of reporting his every move. To compensate for his inability to do anything about it, he in turn treated her like a dimwitted personal assistant.

  It certainly wasn’t the type of arrangement she’d had in mind when she signed up with AIT. She thought she’d be placed in their military division, where her combat training would be put to use against terrorist cells on US soil. Chimera Global turned out to be more interested in her psychological skills. While she majored in psychology and enjoyed it to a certain degree, she had joined Chimera for the opportunity to engage in actual combat, not the mental sparring required to deal with an anomaly like Nathan Ryder.

  She swiped her badge card at the door panel, allowing entrance to the laboratory.

  Nathan immediately focused his attention on the samples. A hundred small cups of soil and gravel were arranged in orderly fashion on a large table. Characteristic to his nature, Nathan fussed over and rearranged the samples despite the fact that nothing was out of place. Elena remained silent. She had learned early on that nothing could be said to dissuade Nathan when he wanted to get things ‘just right.’ He was obsessive-compulsive to a degree, though she noticed he could sometimes restrain himself if the situation called for swift thinking or action.

  She tried to distract him with conversation. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with your research. I read your book. The…Blurred Man?”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a proclivity to reading, Private Ruiz. What did you think?”

  “Science fiction isn’t really my thing.”

  “Cute. Your future as a comedian is a sure lock.”

  “No, seriously. It sounds like an episode of X-Files. You claim governments around the world have covered up the existence of some mystery man who can’t be caught on
camera and appears at nearly every unexplained or disastrous event.”

  “If it wasn’t true, why was I suddenly targeted by multiple intelligence agencies?”

  “Come on. That’s the paranoia talking.”

  “Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me.” Nathan nodded to an assistant by the door. “You can bring him in.”

  After the assistant left, Nathan took a seat. With his gaze still locked on the samples, his next words caught Elena completely off guard.

  “Talk to your father lately, Private?”

  Elena felt the blood drain from her face.

  Nathan turned his head just slightly. “I wondered why you got stuck with this low-level babysitting job when you obviously sought a position in Chimera’s private military operation. So I dug into your history a bit. Must be an enormous hurdle to have a father who’s a terrorist. No wonder the Army sent you packing.”

  Elena took a deep breath. He’s trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him. “My father isn’t a terrorist. He’s—”

  “A sympathizer. I know. Don’t think the CIA sees too much difference, though. Nor the average American. We tend not to think too much of people who are open to betraying their own country. Funny, I don’t think I’ve heard of a Mexican terrorist before. Your old man’s a trailblazer, give him that.”

  Fury scalded Elena’s cheeks, despite her efforts to remain calm. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Sure it is. Did you see this photo?” He held up his phone.

  Elena wanted to avert her eyes. She had seen the photo, and many more like it when she had been called before the Army review board. She endured the accusatory stares and thin-lipped deliberation, as if she had foreknowledge of her father’s decent into apparent insanity.

  He had never been the same after her mother’s death in New York on 9/11. Elena was only nine years old at the time, and had watched her kind and attentive father become a brooding alcoholic and anti-government protestor. Convinced by conspiracy theorists that the US government was behind the bombing, he never recovered from the loss.