The Grand Attraction

by Enoch Enns

  Carls had noticed his footing too late. Before he could escape the collapse, his stance gave and he tumbled downward.

  And back into the sub-system. The wreckage had left him no option but to press deeper in to avoid clashing with the beast. The explosion had caused the ground to give under the Fallen One's furry. But the chase wasn't over. An illusioned one had also fallen in after him.

  “Run, Joan, run!” he said, pushing her behind him as he drew his gun with bleeding fists. He raised it to the charging figure. I cannot kill this one, a voice spoke from within him. There are just like me-- human.

  He hesitated and the illusionate hit into him. The pipes gave no comfort as he retracted from the pain and shoved the figure off.

  “You don't have to be this!” he yelled as the man grabbed Carls’ arm and dug his nails into the Locke's exposed skin. Carls' could just end this altogether but fought the urge, knowing all too well they were one in the same. “Please!”

  The man seemed struggling to convince himself to fight on. Something inside him was making him force his hands against Locke. His power was overwhelming, but his old age was hindering. Carls dropped a blow to the man's thigh and redirected the man's frail fist into the pipes. It sprang under the pressure and the man dropped to one knee—weeping.

  “Please,” Carls whispered.

  The man's bleeding hands rose to his forehead in pain. He hadn't felt the fractured bones, only that which was inside him.

  Carls felt pity for the man as he lashed out in frantic attempts to satisfy his confusion.

  But now the illusionate seemed to be fighting itself. Its steps were faulty and it continuously crashed into the piping and tripped over the grid paneling—soon to cower against the wall.

  Carls’ wrists stung to the tainted air from where the man had dug in. He could just leave the man; abandon him to his mindless game. But he also felt a gentle touch to his own hand—an image of the same figure Trip had deserted flashing before him. He nearly jerked away before noticing it was his daughter's touch. Was he that close to the edge?

  No, he could not just leave the man. Not again. Not like this.

  The old man was pale and every nerve shuttered under breaking sweat. Carls knelt beside him, still keeping out of reach. His daughter's face barely reached into the light from the cracks in the flooring above. The wreckage before them made it hard to go back.

  The illusioned old man had his attention at the time. His lungs fought desperately for anything that was real, but he was changing. Somehow. “Would you like something to eat?” Carls asked.

  The man's head shook every which direction as he fought for the words to come out. “Yes.”

  Carls reached into his sash and withdrew a small wrapped granola bar. The man took it as soon as it was offered to him and began fiddling with the wrapper to break in. His dry lips devoured the small bar and wrinkled themselves to the dryness.

  “Would you like water?” Carls then asked.

  The old man shivered. “No, not the dirty water. It tastes disgusting and dirty and black.”

  “Not this water. It is clear and clean. Please, take it.” Carls held it before the man.

  The eyes of thirst could only stare for so long before the man became convinced. It seemed as though in one gulp the man had finished and now wiped his mouth clean of stain. He leaned back against the wall and rested his head, breathing in and out.

  But at least breathing slowly now. The man's eyes were still shaking from fear and regret. “Please... don't leave me,” the old man pleaded.

  Carls knew he couldn't take the fragile man with him on his journey. The man's age was not fit for such a task—and how he'd managed such strength only moments earlier still astounded him. “Listen,” Carls began, “I cannot take you where I am going, but nor can you just stay here. I know you are weak and exhausted, but you must find Sherlin.”

  The man shook his head, not wanting to accept the thought of being on his own. “He's not... like them, is he?” he asked.

  “No. He is like you and I, and he can help you. He runs a small encampment up the alleys. If you’re quick enough, you might catch him in time, but you must hurry.”

  “I can't,” the man answered. He was still shaking from it all. Still questioning his grasp of reality.

  Carls knew he had to convince the man to make it. That he could have safety. “Here,” he said, holding out his shaken hand the man had once grappled with. “Take this gun with you in case you feel threatened. But use it wisely. There are many darker things here for you to yet discover, but know this: I did not fire upon you just as you should not so easily fire upon others. They are just like you—human—but confused. Illusioned, you could say. You pull that trigger and you are sending them to a point of no escape. Protect yourself, but also try to help them as you were helped. Remember that.”

  The man took the gun, eyes wavering for a moment. He was grateful beyond words. “Thank you, kind sir,” he said. “You have saved me from this demonic possession. But I must ask, what happened here? For one moment I was with my granddaughter and the next I am alone...”

  That is something you must answer for yourself, he thought to himself—the same words Xavier and Antoinette had spoken to him. “I do not have all the answers, those will come in time. For now, you must focus on getting to Sherlin. Are you up for that?”

  The man looked up at the light filtering through the wreckage. A hole just large enough for a man to crawl through if helped up. He nodded, holding the gun close to his breast for a sense of security and courage.

  Carls reached a hand to the man's shoulder for comfort. “Just one thing. Why were you after me?” Carls asked.

  “You had something,” the man said. “Something that I wanted. I do not know what or why, only that I was willing to do anything to get it. I wanted it so badly and all I knew was to kill you for it. I'm glad I did not. I'm glad you stopped me before any harm came to you.”

  Something I have?

  “Will you help me up?” the man asked. With a shove, he crawled through to the surface. “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget what you did for me. And please, do not forget me either. The name's Hardy. I hope to see you again.”

  Likewise, Carls said to himself as the man slid away. He had finally helped a man, and for that he felt a wave of confidence and hope infiltrate him as never before—once again to the touch of his daughter. He looked back down upon her and to the dimness beyond.

  Unlike Hardy, they would be sticking to the tunnels. For better or worse, they would pursue this scientist Trip had spoken of. This Tenius Morphela. Having tasted that there was some hope in such a condemned reality, he was determined to find this “safe-haven” that TAP was rumored to have constructed.

  Part IV: Escape

  Penetrating The Surface

  The long narrow passageway was turning into a nightmare to decipher direction. The tunnels were vast and winding. He'd uncovered their blueprints from a maintenance hub, but making sense of it was a task in of itself. Not to mention that the etchings on the walls and emblems engraved on the piping made him shutter to what might actually lie within the chambers he passed through. Whatever cultish group they were, they spoke feverishly of their convictions. The Wakers and the Shylow—who were they? Why were they?

  He'd come across them before, having been led by mysterious boy in the Holstein Sector. At least the Wakers. It had been the Wakers that cried out for restlessness and that had been deprived of everything. “Don't sleep,” they had written, “don't eat, it is their poison; turn from the Resolute.” But what was the Resolute?

  It all was upon the walls and mingled with countless others. But in contrast to them, the Shylow ringed out their calls of the Dark. “The rain is falling,” they wrote, “it's the Dark calling.” Unlike the Wakers, they seemed to appraise the closing of eyes. Their graphic pictures of blood portrayed a darker conviction of pursuit and possession. “Holstein is in the Dark”—did that that refer to a tangible presence?
Were they worshiping a demon of sorts? A Fallen One?

  For Dark worshipers, there was a lot of dark for them to worship. But there were no better of the two. It was not light versus dark in the sense of good against bad.

  Both held convincingly to their beliefs; both were convicted of their ways of survival.

  Both were dark.

  But why would they be hiding down here? Why would they be spreading across the entire city? Were they a result of what had happened or a cause?

  Carls' nerves twitched to his senses going wild. Joanna didn't like the feeling either, only she still held onto him for safety. It wasn't an illusion-- there was something following them, and he didn't like the thought of what. He could not explain how the dim lights still shone down in such an overrun place, but he was grateful. With nothing but a stick from his sash, the light helped him feel not alone. But that did not mean someone or something could not still sneak up on him. It was in this eerie stillness that the twists and turns of the adjoining passages seemed to come alive. In every direction he looked he felt as though it were just behind him that eyes lurked in secrecy.

  Joan's arms tightened around his leg. “Dad...” she nudged.

  He turned.

  A cloaked figure stood not but six paces from him. A black cloak and from beneath it a dark red shimmer of a gloating smile. The figure mumbled something in a language Carls did not understand. A word and an echo and his hands rose. Carls’ body shook from a force that was overwhelming him from inside. He found simple functions coming short. What?

  His breathing hardened and focus blurred. I got to get out of this! His mind yelled and he dropped, hand and knee, to the railing. This is ridiculous, I can't move anything. And my breathing has slowed. Come, Locke, breathe!

  “Daddy?” Joan called out to him. The girl's voice seemed to agitate the man's attempts. He's not affecting her...

  But of course, it was the card again... the Trust Seal of Bondage. Carls forced his attention to his lungs. He had to be breathing if he were to do anything else. He found the strain required for such a simple task laborious, but had no choice to do otherwise. Whatever and whoever this figure was before him, his presence was crushing Carls from the inside out.

  “Who... are... you?” Carls forced out of himself. He could still move his mouth if he tried hard enough. The man's pose tensed and Carls’ head bent even lower. I... can't... do this!

  Every muscle in his body was focused on fighting against the hidden restraint. His breathing was coming back to him, but only as he constantly drilled himself to inhale and exhale. He wasn't used to making each breath. The day-to-day functions such as breathing and calculating every step seemed preposterous to do. Move, Carls, move your foot!

  And it did. His balance was thrown off though and he tumbled to the side-- his daughter still trying to hold on to him. Joan!

  The man seemed outraged at his daughter-- his arms suddenly jolting to the side and Carls quickly found out why.

  The man was possessed. He had to be. Nothing of man did Carls know capable of breaking pipes without a touch. Only a Possessioner could do such things.

  Or so he had thought.

  The water spewed everywhere in outrage. As soon as Carls was free of movement, he grabbed hold of Joan to shield her just in the nick of time. He still felt weighed down tremendously from the figure’s presence alone. His movements were slow-- but at least moving.

  The cloaked figure bellowed out another chant and from his hands a shroud seeped. His blood-red smile seemed to glare from beneath his hidden face. He released a puff of air and soon vanished beneath the light.

  The light cracked.

  Carls couldn't tell if the man was gone for good or was just pulling another surprise card.

  Card. Carls hated that word. Ever since he'd come to know of Hensers nothing but bad had come of them. Except one….

  His body froze again.

  The figure was before him with a darkness rippling against his cloak. Whatever the power that flowed through him, it was trembling to behold.

  “Sleep!” the man gloated with hands raised. The lights around them burned with ferocity. From the corner of his eye, Carls saw the faint flicker of another form-- one that completely took the Shylow’s attention. A flash of force pulsed down the passage in the intruder’s direction. The lights all burst and in brief darkness Carls found himself free of his oppressor. He fiddled to his feet and strained for focus. He would have made a break for it but another figure suddenly appeared before him, this one both surprising and quite a relief.

  Xavier.

  The man meant to lead the way and once again Carls followed. He could not question the help, though he knew this meant far from being safe. He had to take Xavier at his word and that he was no deceiver. In trust he followed. In trust put aside the doubt he had for the man.

  How? Why? Xavier seemed to be both a blessing and a curse—somehow always having a role in assisting Carls. Who was this man? What was he?

  They had escaped the utter darkness and fled into tunnels now dimly lit and Carls was soon led to a single ladder that wound its way up. Carls penetrated the small trapdoor that broke cover to the surface. He breathed in the air of a place less damp than where he had been. It wasn't all too refreshing, but at least he was out of the sub-system.

  Under New Ownership (Tenius Morphela)

  “I can't recall the events leading up to now. Everything seems to be a blur to me. First it was the rumors, and now everything is falling apart. Of them all, I will be least capable of escaping the cursed shadow of the Big Man. Friedelock is on to me. All my leads are topping. Only so many can know of what is really going on here; only so many can fully comprehend. It is thus that I must bury the work— no, I can't. I'm too close. My part in this is nearly complete. If only I the time... if only I the safety of the Protector. No, too late now.... I must finish before they come. I can only pray it is done in time, and that—”

  The room was a wreck. Files and loose office items were scattered everywhere. The portraits that had once clang to the walls were ripped from their frames and every inch of secrecy had been ravaged. Carls felt a wave of heat infiltrate his mind. Something about the place hurt. His daughter thought it a game to skip between the miscellaneous junk, but he took to it rather seriously.

  This had been a man's life's work. This had been his joy. For the most part at least. The fact that he had been with TAP made his position dangerous to begin with. The cults, the dark, Friedelock-- everyone was after them. But why? How? The tape he had just listened to made him wonder. Remnants of a scientist's work were all over the room. If this were indeed Tenius, the man had run out of time. But from the sounds of it he had expected as much. Whatever he had been working on wasn't there anymore.

  Xavier posed at the unhinged doorway. “Why him?” Locke pointed to the flickering image as though for answer. He knew Xavier wasn't one to give answers. In fact, he didn't even know why the hologram of a man was even here.

  “Isn't it obvious?” Xavier answered, “He had something. Something someone else wanted.”

  “By why all this? Was TAP conspiring against Friedelock? I thought they were trying to fix this?”

  “You've thought a lot of things, my friend. That is why I like you: you still think. And you still ask questions. Keep it up, you're beginning to stand out from the rest like a sore thumb.”

  “What if I don't want to? I have my daughter at stake.”

  “You've chose this far, you might as well finish it. So why do you think they came to this room? What were they searching for? Who were they?”

  Carls looked blankly. Those were the questions he was supposed to be asking, not Xavier. If they were wanting Tenius... but why?

  No, they were after his work.

  But what?

  His eyes shut, mind leaped, and conscience awoke in memory. Everything about him was in a blur of a poorly lit room. Four men were present. To the far wall stood two in coat, both wearing hats of
the finest material. Across from them was a white jacketed figure and another sitting in a chair.

  “We are running the line,” one of the coat’s began, “The risks of ruin are on either side of our path. I pray we all understand the significance of our independent work.”

  “Indeed,” cut in the white jacketed figure, his tone a deep, throaty response.

  The man in coat continued: “If anything threatens the secrecy of this matter, all ties to this project must be cut. It would do no good to announce a false hope. Only when the work is done can we unite arms. Of all, this is key.” The man pulled out a small chip of the sorts that Carls could not make out. “This is the last time we shall meet. For your safety, for all of us, any further discussion of this must cease. If the project is to succeed, it must be done in silence.”

  “So you're meaning abandonment?” one of the others asked (the other white coated figure).

  “It is in their best interest, yes. Many may wish to help, but our enemy's spies are many and are increasing in their methods of deceit. Trust no one less you be knifed in the throat.”

  “Then tell me,” came the hoarse voice of the figure seated against the corner. “Tell me how this might come together if neither of us knows what the other is doing?”

  “Someone will come, my old accompanist. One will come that is able to see past what devices have been put out to keep this silent. One might come who might hear the voice to which we all speak....”

  Pain. He felt pain in his forehead and knees—just realizing he had dropped to the floor.

  “What was that?” Xavier asked.

  Carls studied the room about him once more. He was back to reality. It had to have been another vision. What exactly had Antoinette done to him in that observatory? The visions seemed like migraines of schizophrenia. And how was it that they seemed to always apply to his situation?

  More questions. More mystery.

  He looked up to his daughter who ran to his arms. Across the COMM came a dreaded voice. “You... you think you can just betray your word and not pay the penalties? I will have you know that I am aware of what you did with what was rightfully mine. And now you are meddling with matters that are even more so none of your business! Mark my words: you will pay your dues. As for your little friend, Tenius, I recently paid him a visit for you. I know you wanted to meet him, so I prepared a place for you two to meet-- in my grounds. Come to my place... I'd hate for you to keep him waiting....”