“What do you mean?”
Everywhere she looked, she saw West and Charlene, fighting, running, walking hand in hand, sobbing, hugging. Sometimes, she could see herself with them and yet if she tilted her head at a different angle, she could see only West and Charlene. Gasping, she covered her eyes, “I think I might have died.”
West hugged her gently, “You’re fine Stephanie, I can assure you, you’re alive and well.”
She opened her eyes and saw the lone, ghostly images of West and Charlene walking away in the milky translucent fog of images, “No, the other me … I can see you and Charlene walking along without me.”
West patted the back of her head softly, “Stephanie, that’s just the nature of reality. At any given moment, any one of us could be taken. Life is precious. The fact that you exist at all is the result of an overwhelming run of luck. Besides, perhaps the other you just didn’t get in the car with us in the first place.”
Stephanie pressed her face against West’s neck and tried to block out the thought of a world without her in it. It was a struggle for her young mind because now she had witnessed such a world, she knew it was all around her.
Allan Tiernan waved the television into silence. He’d seen as much as he could bring himself to watch. Once the car had left the interstate, he knew there was little likelihood that the Pennsylvania Police Department would locate West. It had to be West who was involved in the pursuit. The others in the car were of little significance to him; if they lived or died, it would have no bearing on coming events. He had watched some of the news coverage of the scene at the gas station and there had been a lot of talk about the fact that the man who had been found in apparently critical condition, now appeared to be in full health, but the reports were inconclusive, anchormen clutching at straws. The couple of networks which were still running with the story were playing the same footage over and over again, and most of the networks had gone back to discussing the nation’s most important story, the burning topic; Tiernan’s return to office.
“Ahken.”
His mother’s voice.
“Ahken, look at me.”
Petra had stepped into the room silently and had stood long enough to watch most of the news reports.
“Car bombs and suicide bombs confirmed at seven American embassies. Reports of mass looting throughout America, Russia, France … need I go on?” she waited for her son’s response, but none came, “Military maneuvers in eighty three of the none EUC countries suggest they are preparing for open war. I spoke to President Loubé a short while ago, and he said that the situation in Paris, Tours, Orleans and Le Mans warrants military intervention.”
Tiernan stared off into space vacantly, feigning boredom, “Spare me Petra. You know that these are acceptable losses; with this degree of change wrought, the collateral damage will be heavy, but not unbearable.”
Petra smiled sweetly, “You want to be remembered for this? You think future generations will look back on the calamitous beginnings of their world, freed of the shackles of economic imbalance, stripped of their right to religious freedom …”
“That’s the point though,” Tiernan talked over his mother, “I have no wish to be remembered, because that implies that I will, at some point in the future, fall from the forefront of public consciousness. Who would dethrone me? I am reborn, chosen, plucked from the jaws of death by the very hand of God! Who would dare to question such a ruler? If they’re so desperate to cling to their obsolete economic heritage, their outmoded belief systems, then they will perish on the battlefield.”
Petra clapped her hands together, “Brilliant Ahken, you seem to have thought of everything.”
“You think I haven’t?”
“I think you’re underestimating your enemies. I’m not sure you even believe you have any.”
Tiernan leaned his chair back onto two legs, folding his hands behind his head, a picture of smug, self-satisfaction, “And you mother, would you consider yourself an enemy?”
“I’ve tried not to hate you. It’s the best I can manage.”
Through his laughter, Tiernan looked genuinely surprised, “You mean you’d like to stand in outright enmity, but you’re scared that this might all play out in my favor.”
Petra walked towards the door, and with her fingers on the handle, she paused. She didn’t turn to look at her son, because the very sight of him was fueling her frustration, “Was there more?”
Her question hung in the air. She imagined that Tiernan was waiting for her attention, which she would not give.
Finally Tiernan caved, “More what?”
“More to the dream. More than what the rest of us saw?”
Tiernan’s chair rocked forwards, and he kicked his feet out to steady himself, “This again? You’re still buying into West’s line of bullshit?”
“Why shouldn’t I? After all of this time, you’re still buying your own line of bullshit. At the end of it all, you believe in yourself.”
Lost deeply in though, Tiernan barely noticed the door slamming in Petra’s wake. Eventually, he became aware of the crushing silence, that single poisonous thought skittering through in the corners, just out of sight. West’s bullshit.
It didn’t take Charlene long to spot a convenience store. It had been West’s idea to pick up some sunglasses for Stephanie, who had suggested that she would be compliant as long as they had bright red frames. Charlene had been surprised at the store’s inventory, which included such rare delights as rubber chickens, coloring books, mechanical toys and a tall spinning rack of sunglasses which stood alongside the shelves of magazines. Although Stephanie had no real clue what color the rims were due to the ever shifting spectrum of colors her eyes now sensed, which she hadn’t yet mastered, the pattern of hearts which ran down the legs of the glasses didn’t offend her sensibilities too much and there were black rubberized sun guards at the sides of the lenses, which she approved of entirely. Importantly, the lenses were almost completely black.
“We should only be a few blocks from them now.” West gave Stephanie’s hand a little squeeze and watched the corners of her mouth lift as her smile broadened. He marveled at how resilient she was. Stephanie had quickly eaten through the bag of provisions which Charlene had been carrying and West was certain that if she wasn’t already desperately hungry, she soon would be.
“I haven’t seen any police cars around.” Charlene commented cheerily.
West glanced up and down the street,“I doubt we’ll see much trouble from the police, at least for now.”
David squinted at the reflection in the side mirror, his attention piqued by the sight of two adults and a small child crossing the street, heading in the direction of the library. He knew at once, the particular double step spring in each footfall, the swing of the arms; everything about the child’s gait told him it was Stephanie. He fumbled for the door handle, not wanting to take his eyes of the reflection.
Stephanie ran and hugged her father tightly as he stepped out of the car. He picked her up and spun with her, “Had me worried for a minute there Spiff. Glad they brought you back in one piece.” He set her down on the ground, and was about to remove the bright red sunglasses so he could look into Stephanie’s eyes, when he caught sight of West who was waving his arms in dissent.
“What’s wrong?”
West pointed to the Chevelle, “Charlene and I need to ride with you, we had to ditch the car.”
Frustrated with West’s avoidance, David tried again, “What’s wrong with Stephanie?”
Stephanie sighed, “Daddy I’m fine. The sun was giving me a headache.”
David glanced up at the overcast sky and although he was dubious, he was too relieved that Stephanie was back at his side to start questioning her deceit.
West walked over to Stanwick’s Pontiac as she wound down the window, “Hey, I’ll be riding with David the rest of the way.”
“What happened?”
“Wrecked the car, nearly killed the kid, I’ll
explain later. Just head off in a couple of minutes and we’ll follow.”
He didn’t wait for Stanwick’s reply, he walked over to the Chevelle and leaned into the open driver’s side door. He turned to David, “You should get up back with Stephanie, I’ll drive.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me up front … you know … get to know each other a bit better; I make a great wingman.”
West raised his eyebrows, “No, I’m sure I know you plenty good. Move it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Kings Mosaic
General Julius Singer closed the video conference and offered a silent prayer to The Father of Greatness. He had always thought of Tiernan as one who was born of darkness; although his upbringing taught that the human body and the Earth were both battlegrounds for the contentious forces of darkness and light and he imagined that there could be no greater human embodiment of the Demon of Greed than that which presented itself in the form of President Tiernan. Julius had for many years now tried to steel himself with the conviction that he was one who was in possession of the true knowledge of the source of light trapped within the human body and as such, he had allowed himself to rise to a position of power within Tiernan’s regime.
Singer wasn’t delusional. Centuries ago, he had watched his parents murdered for their heretical beliefs and he had escaped a similar fate only because he had ran like a coward and denied his devout religious upbringing at every turn. He had reasoned, what good is a light once it is extinguished? He asked himself that question so many times, allowing a little more darkness in with each asking. The light was there though, deep within him, surrounded by darkness, yes, but still burning.
“Allow the darkness to live in you so that you may evermore foster the light in others.”
Hadn’t those been the words spoken to him by Tiernan all those years ago? Manipulative from the outset.
Now Tiernan was asking him to lead thirty-thousand troops into a campaign that was the product of several years of planning. During the tactical discussions, it had never been certain which of the Eastern European states would provide the most resistance to the Economic Unification Council, but it seemed likely at least that most resistance would come from that part of the world. As it turned out, it was going to be necessary to push fifteen thousand troops through Turkey, towards Bulgaria, Serbia and Bucharest, while another fifteen thousand would push up through Iran and into Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. From there, if it was necessary, they would lend support to President Anatoly Abakumov’s forces, although it was predicted that once the world saw how serious the EUC was, resistance would quickly falter.
Five years earlier, when the medical supplies had started to arrive with instructions for a new wave of inoculations, Julius had made it his duty to administer every last shot, and each time, as the needle sent forth the Delvers of Allim, he would utter those words as a prayer. “Allow the darkness to live in you so that you may evermore foster the light in others.” Sometimes the words echoed internally, his tongue moving against the roof of his mouth, occasionally he would mutter them under his breath as he reached for a new phial. Thirty-thousand troops stationed in the Persian Gulf and Julius had blessed each of them in turn over the course of several days.
Only a handful of troops had complained or questioned, even though many harbored doubts about this new wonder drug which would provide protection against influenza, measles, rubella, tetanus, yellow fever, hepatitis and typhoid to name but a few of the purported benefits. A small pamphlet was given to each soldier, explaining that it would be necessary to take antihistamines once a day, even if they had previously experienced poor reactions to such medication. The pamphlets also outlined some of the possible side effects; increased appetite and insomnia, but word soon traveled throughout the base that those side effects could scarcely be measured against the benefits.
Every attempt had been made by Julius to mitigate against the risk of the soldiers realizing the full extent of the protection offered by the leeches. It had never been stated by Tiernan specifically, but it had been Julius’s understanding that this was the way it was to be. Still, given the nature of the training that these men and women endured, it was inevitable that sooner or later, one of them would sustain what would otherwise have been a life threatening injury. It was equally inevitable that the particular someone would be private first class Sally Berger.
Singer had been surprised that Sally Berger had lasted out her first year of service. She had spent three weeks out of her fourteen months in the infirmary and those had been three hard earned weeks. When Julius had read the report of the latest incident, he had understood that the situation was starting to stray beyond the bounds of his control.
Sally Berger had somehow managed to allow her legs to come between the drop gate of a flat bed truck and the concrete wall of a loading bay. There had been eight witnesses to the event and all of them were certain that it would spell the end of private first class Berger’s career; the compression wound was clearly catastrophic and Sally had passed out cold. By the time the closest medic had reached the loading bay, Sally was up on her feet again. Granted, she was waddling drunkenly and she looked like she’d been on hunger strike for weeks, but she was up, and that was enough to give the most hardened of witnesses the chills.
“My report is accurate and succinct General Singer and there’s seven soldiers who will back me up on every word of it.”
Julius had folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, “Lieutenant Cruft, I am not questioning the veracity of your report. Far from it … What I’m suggesting is that for the sake of the morale and sanity of these men and women, you need to find a rational explanation for what you saw.”
“General Singer, this isn’t the only incident that requires such liberal rationalizations. There’s been a lot happening out there that you may or may not be aware of. The term ‘close call’ is becoming somewhat of a joke around here to tell you the truth.”
Julius waited, expecting Lieutenant Cruft to elaborate. When it had become obvious that Cruft wanted Julius to fulfill his part of the social contract by responding, Julius had winced at the thought of coaxing the conversation any further forward.
“Lieutenant Cruft, you’re an intelligent man … surely you’ve formulated some conclusions about what’s going on?”
“General Singer, that’s rather the point isn’t it? Without direction or real information to go on, some very fanciful conclusions are being drawn in the collective consciousness. I’ve seen a tendency … and it’s growing rapidly among the troops mind you … this tendency towards carelessness and hedonism. I’ve got to be honest with you Julius, I worry about it more every day. It’s as if they think they’re indestructible. Someone’s going to end up dead.”
When he’d spoken to President Tiernan about the situation, the response had been typically callous, “Julius, they are an army of Blood-Bastards. The best we could have hoped for is that they would not fully understand the extent of their power until war was upon us. That time is coming. Enlighten your army, illuminate them, bring them into the fold. I fear that some of the men and women under your command will be beyond enlightenment and in those cases, you need look no further than your own family history for the preferred method of containment; if any of them dare utter a word to their families, extinguish the flame.”
That had been three years ago. Of course, there had been a few stories here and there, syndicated news feeds, blog posts and the like, questioning the unsurpassed safety record. Eventually, it had been necessary for Julius to fabricate some reports of deaths, accidents and dismissals. He was proud of the fact that complete containment of the truth had only taken the deaths of three families, forty six civilians all told. He didn’t lose sleep over it. He rarely slept anyway. Julius scanned over the mapping software and carefully drew three lines on the screen with his index finger … Let the darkness in.
Stanwick’s estate in the mountains of central West Virgini
a sat at the edge of twenty acres of beautifully landscaped lawns and gardens. It wasn’t something she would talk about, but she had built the house without the assistance of contractors or construction workers, lovingly pouring the concrete, transporting and setting every stone, lifting and placing each of the enormous oak beams and fitting every pipe and electrical socket on her own. The result was a thirteen thousand square foot ranch with spacious rooms and breathtaking views, and it was an accomplishment she was quietly pleased with. During a bleak and lonely year, it had taken her mind off West and that had been the goal; the home was a bonus.
She’d never entertained guests there, even though she had built four spacious bedrooms and a guest house. As she had watched the weary travelers cross the threshold of her domain, she supposed she had always known it would come to this; not that it was foretold, but she knew there had been a reason she’d built big.
Walking slowly into the vast lounge, Stephanie removed her sunglasses and allowed her eyes to adjust to the fantastic and sometimes disturbing flow of colors and shapes. She stepped aside for Cobb, who staggered backwards, visibly shocked at the sight of her eyes, but Stephanie was too entranced by the ghostly images of Cobb’s other reactions to even care. She focused on a version of him that knelt in front of her and tried to brush her hair away from her eyes, clearly captivated. She wished it wasn’t so difficult to filter out these visions, but it was overwhelmingly beautiful, being able to see every facet of a person’s presence, the multitude of ways a person like Cobb could react to something so simple. She had waited an hour into the ride from Mechanicsburg before she’d allowed her father to see her eyes. David had smiled thinly, and told her that he was just so happy that she was alive, while all about him, his ghosts belied his feelings.
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 33