Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams

by Damian Huntley

  With Charlene’s assistance, Stanwick carried a couple of bottles of liquor and a few packs of sodas over to a large seating area which faced the two huge glass panels which served as the corner of the house, and as a glorious viewing wall. The distant lights of a small town in the valley met with the canopy of stars at a point on the horizon, so that it was hard to tell where the earth ended and the skies began. The six travelers each poured drinks and found seats in the comfort of this spacious living room.

  Stanwick took a slug of coffee liquor and began by addressing Brad Cobb.

  “I’m sure the rest of us are holding up okay, but what about you Brad?”

  He sipped at a small glass of coconut rum and wondered when was the last time he’d had a sweet liquor. His eyes roamed from the grand staircase which dominated the rear end of the building’s entrance. He looked out at the stars and tried to find a constellation he recognized but soon gave up, admitting to himself that he’d never been all that into astronomy.

  “Brad?” Stanwick tried again.

  He didn’t want to answer her. He’d listened to her for hours, recounting the history of a nation called Allim; their wars, their kings, their religion and science. It was an epic and emotionally charged tale that Stanwick had spun and he understood that in telling, she was allowing him into some kind of great mystery, but now she was coming to it; the big question. What she hadn’t done was try to press upon him a sense of where she or West really stood in the grand scheme, who’s side they were on, what they really stood for. He’d been with the bureau for long enough to know that such questions were often irrelevant, but right now, he needed some sort of tether to reality and Stanwick hadn’t provided that.

  “Brad!”

  He looked at her across the room, stared into her eyes, wondering the whole while if she would kill him if he didn’t respond.

  “What? What do you want to know?

  Stanwick looked offended, “Do you need to sleep, or have you had enough time to figure yourself out?”

  Cobb laughed nervously, “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to take in.”

  Stephanie watched Cobb with growing interest. Of everyone in the room, he was the greatest source of entertainment for her. Although she knew he was sitting on the couch beside West, she could see different colors flash across the surface of his body, areas of red around his armpits and crotch, flashes of red across his face and knuckles and dancing through these areas of red there would be sudden pulses of blues and grays. When these storms of color were at their strongest, a ghostly image of Cobb would get up from the couch and walk towards the door, or else it would fall prostrate at Stanwick’s feet or walk to the side table to pour another drink. Indecisiveness was beauty to her now, each moral quandary and weakness of character opening up a myriad of vaguely human shaped portals to alternate futures.

  Cobb sipped the rum and coughed, the sugar and alcohol producing catarrh in his throat.

  “When I was a kid,” he looked at Stephanie, “Probably ‘bout your age, my uncle, Norman … he was a violinist and a carpenter, beautiful man, gentle and kind to a fault; He used to take me out to his shop and show me how to work wood. Mostly it was slow and careful work with chisels, rasps and sandpaper. We made some real simple things together, toy cars and the like.”

  He took another sip of coconut rum and continued, staring at the glass, “When he developed cancer, my parents tried to explain to me that Norman was going to go away, that he didn’t want to, but he would have to. They told me that when he went, he would still be able to see me and he’d look out for me, but I wouldn’t see him ever again and I spent a lot of time thinking about that, forever … you know? Watching people you’d loved and cared for, forever, not being able to do anything for them but watch. I grew used to the smell of his place when he got worse; he had a catheter and the place always kind of stunk of urine, but I found it comforting because it meant he was still ticking, you know?”

  “When he couldn’t walk anymore, he lay in bed and read all of my comics and he’d greet me every time I walked in, ‘Hello Asterix’ and I’d say, ‘Hello Obelix’ and I’d be proud that he’d shared something I loved.”

  “Last time I saw him, he was on a hospital bed and he still smiled at me. He was dying … only a few hours away from dying and God knows the pain he was going through, but he smiled for me … Jesus.” Cobb sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve, “He smiled ‘cos he knew that I needed to see him smiling. He could barely move his lips, they were all dry and cracked, but still something, you know … colors like mother of pearl, all blues, pinks, yellows. I told him that I loved him and when I was walking out of the room, he said, ‘goodbye Asetrix’ and I said ‘goodbye Obelix’.” Cobb looked up from the glass and looked at everyone in the room with his reddened and tear filled eyes, “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” He blinked, wiping his eyes again as he tried to fight back the tears.

  “When he died, I couldn’t believe that he was gone. I talked to him every day, just lying there on my bed, talking like he was in the room with me because that’s what I’d been told. I was full of that idea, full to the brim with it; that he could see me, that he watched out for me and heard me, heard my prayers.”

  He drank the last of his glass and as he did so, Stephanie bit her lip in anticipation, entranced by the change in him; the colors settled, the ghosting images all coalesced and solidified into one true and calm man, treasuring his earliest memory of pain.

  “That’s what I don’t understand right now …”

  Stanwick looked confused, “What?”

  “How could you let him die? How could you let anyone die?”

  West got up from the couch and walked over to the large windows. He leaned against the glass and looked at the thousands of street lamps and stars, clusters of lights surrounded by pools of darkness, “Stanwick, you did tell Brad our history?”

  Stanwick sighed, “West, I did the best anyone could do while dividing their attentions between driving and eating an obscene amount of jerky and potato chips. I think the grandeur of history is somewhat butchered when the orator is attempting to suck chunks of beef out of their gums.” She looked at Brad and seeing his reddened and tear stained face, thought better of voicing her doubts about whether or not he had even believed any of what she’d told him.

  Still gazing out at the lights of the town, West stretched his arm up over his head, drumming the side of his almost empty glass with his fingers, “Brad, what you’re suggesting is that we have some sort of moral obligation to lift humankind out of the despair and anguish that is associated with mortality. Certainly, we need numbers and we need them quickly. Hell, if there was an ethically sound way of bringing the entire population of West Virginia into our ranks overnight, I’d do it. This isn’t about elitism or protecting some grand secret society.”

  Stanwick lifted her index finger from the side of her own glass, pointing at Cobb, “We can do something about you for a start, if you want it.”

  Cobb was taken aback by what appeared to be a casual proposal, “It’s that simple?”

  “It’s that simple Brad. You and I can go downstairs, and it will all be over in minutes.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “It’s really gross.” Stephanie volunteered, “I puked, but it didn’t hurt.”

  Stanwick got up from her seat and addressed the others, “Make yourselves at home. My room is the double doors at the top of the stairs, but everything else is up for grabs.”

  Taking his hand in hers, she led Cobb to the grand staircase.

  David had thrown what few belongings they had with them in the corner of the room and slumped onto the bed, motioning for Stephanie to join him.

  “I’m not tired.”

  David sighed, “Spiff, I understand that, but we all need to take some time away from each other.”

  Stephanie sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the interweaving patterns of the fibers which made up the cotton comforter
. It didn’t help that she could see a version of herself standing by the window, another skipping out of the room, not to mention all of the variant forms of her father’s image. Staring at the comforter grounded her in something static and that was, well … comforting.

  “Do your eyes bother you?”

  She didn’t chance looking up at her David, “No. A little maybe, but only a very little.”

  David wondered if he could somehow force himself to see what Stephanie saw, but he wasn’t sure how to take control of such fine changes. So far, he had played a passive role in his relationship with the leeches, mostly because he was scared of getting things wrong. He had a sudden vision of trying to master their skills, only to find the skin of his eyelids knit shut completely. Such thoughts panicked him sufficiently that he couldn’t bring herself to try anything. Distracted, she listened he wandered into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, whistling to himself tunelessly as he went about his nightly grooming rituals.

  Stephanie lay face down, mushing her face into the cotton. But the darkness wouldn’t come, because she was everywhere.

  Cobb stood by the emperor sized bed which was dwarfed by the large open spaces of the master bedroom. He didn’t feel any different … a little ill perhaps. From everything Stanwick had told him, he had a vague understanding of what was happening inside his body, and he had expected it to feel … He thought of all the superhero movies he’d watched growing up, until he eventually found the word that he was looking for; special. As he had watched the leeches burrow into the flesh of his arms and chest, he had expected a blinding epiphany, a surge of power, a rebirth, but instead, he’d felt kind of queasy.

  Stanwick tapped his shin with her outstretched foot, smiling seductively, “It’s better than this Brad, don’t worry about it.”

  He frowned, puzzled as to how she had put her finger on exactly what he was feeling. He asked the question apprehensively, almost embarrassed at the words which came out, “Can you read my thoughts?”

  Stanwick’s hand went to his hip, pulling him closer to her, “No,” she lied, “but I’ve been here a thousand times before. You aren’t bouncing off the walls with excitement, so it figures that it’s the other.”

  “Other what?” Cobb asked.

  “The other reaction. It’s always the same, either elation and discovery or mild frustration and impatience; a sense of anticlimax.”

  Cobb returned her smile, “I suppose it’s comforting to know that I’m not different.”

  Stanwick’s other hand brushed his shoulder, then stroked the curve of his neck, running down his spine, “I suppose I can see how that would be comforting … I am sure we could figure out a way to make you even more comfortable.”

  Her raised eyebrows. The softness of her voice and the closeness of her body each conspired to melt his tension to the extent that he almost fell over his own feet as he moved stepped backwards. Stanwick’s lips parted as she smiled, her hand supporting his back easily and pulling him towards her again.

  “Brad, I could give you something to help with your nerves if you want, but I’m not sure you’ll want to forget tonight.”

  He became very aware of his hands, dead weight dangling uselessly at his sides. It had been a while since he’d shared in any kind of physical intimacy with a woman. There was his dentist of course, but that was a very one sided relationship. He snapped to, trying to block out the visual of the dentist’s office when he realized that his idle hands had set about doing the devil’s work of their own accord, the index finger of each hand stroking tremulously over the curve of Stanwick’s hips. She leaned in closer and touched her lips to his, gently, her right hand pressing on the small of his back while her left hand stroked the back of his neck, her fingers pushing up into his hair. From out of nowhere, Cobb heard faint applause and cheering, followed by the refrain of a gently strumming guitar, and finally, the unmistakable voice of Elvis, singing soulfully that he wished he was in the land of cotton.

  “God damn.” Stanwick pulled away suddenly, allowing Cobb to collapse onto the bed behind him.

  It had taken her moment to remember the significance of the particular alert she’d set on her phone, because it had been one of the first thing’s she’d done after purchasing the phone, which had been more than a year ago. The king.

  West and Charlene were still sitting in the lounge when Stanwick came pell-mell, running back downstairs. She paused on the bottom step and pushed the alert from her phone to the home network. Over the fireplace at the far end of the lounge, a huge mirror suddenly erupted into life, with several news stations.

  “Forty seven.” She yelled, her hand shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face.

  Kassidi Stein was flustered, and unusually for her, it showed. She fanned her face and giggled, pursing her lips and shaking her head “I am so, so sorry.”

  She looked off camera in the hopes that one of the producers would be able to offer assistance, “Is this for real? You guys are pranking me right?”

  Her co-anchor, looked into the camera and shrugged, “Well folks, Kassidi appears to be experiencing some, uh … technical difficulties right now.” He looked at Kassidi and grinned, “You want me to get this?”

  Kassidi ducked behind the news desk laughing uncontrollably, then she peaked her head back into view of the camera, “This is really happening? Shut up.”

  Prompted by one of the producers, she looked over to the other side of the set and saw an unmistakable silhouette. She gripped the edge of the desk and tried to regain her composure, then breathing in deeply, with quavering voice, she read the auto-cue, “It’s our…” She corrected herself, glaring comically at her co-anchor, “It’s my real, real pleasure to welcome our special, surprise guest,” deep breath, “Action hero, super hero,” she covered her eyes with her hands, index fingers wiping under her eyes, spiraling into full-fledged dorkgasm, and failing completely to annunciate their guest’s name.

  Co-anchor Gill Hibbert threw up his hands in despair and finished for her, glancing off camera, “Sam, I’ve got to apologize, but there’s no studio audience, so this is going to be a smidge anti-climactic.” He looked back to the camera, “Surprise guest, Sam Cushing.”

  Off camera, the floor-crew applauded and wolf-whistled as the British superstar walked onto the set, waving and smiling in the direction of the cameras. By the time he made it to his seat, Kassidi Stein had finally mustered the courage to walk around the front of the desk so she could shake his hand, a gesture which she managed to bate and switch into an over-enthusiastic hug. Sam was more than Kassidi had bargained for. He picked her up off her feet and wrangled her onto his knee as he sat in the seat they had provided for him. She kicked her ankles, then grinning at the camera, she jumped up, running back to the safety of her own seat.

  “Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”

  “Kassidi.” He nodded, smiling warmly, licking his lips as he reached across the desk to shake hands with Gill Hibbert.

  Kassidi Stein looked at her tablet, reading the prompts which had been flashing up for her, but she was still too flustered to read them, so she continued off script.

  “How on earth? How did they get you here?”

  His shoulders bobbed up and down as if he was still stifling laughter. He wasn’t, but his eyes and mouth told that same lie. Settling back into his chair, his posture opened up, “I came of my own accord.”

  “For my birthday?” Kassidi’s eyes wide with child like glee.

  Sam Cushing pouted apologetically, “It’s your birthday?”

  She couldn’t even. She took a sip of water and tried her best not to drool into her own lap.

  “Happy birthday Kassidi. I’d have brought a present if I’d known.

  Gill Hibbert laughed, “You make up for the rest of us not buying her anything Sam.”

  “They didn’t get you anything?”

  Kassidi slammed her glass of water down on the desk a little too hard, “They did too. Just ignore him.
”

  Sam nodded, folding his hands on his lap, “I’ve heard it’s the best policy.”

  With the sound of her producer screaming in her ear, Kassidi’s attention was drawn momentarily to the auto-cue, “So Sam, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Sam Cushing held a quizzical hand up, “Well, no surprise, I’m here to promote a new film I’m working on.”

  Kassidi gave a little fist pump, cheering silently.

  “It’s based on a book called ‘The Kings Mosaic.’”

  Kassidi repeated the title, “The Kings Mosaic … Should I be embarrassed? I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

  Sam waved off her concern, “No, no. It’s really not a book most people have heard of, but it’s a book that’s really close to me.”

  Gill Hibbert shuffled in his seat, “You mind telling us a little bit about it Sam?

  “Not at all. It’s a book about a pretty vast conspiracy to cover up the identities of a certain group of individuals who have been lurking in the shadows throughout human history.”

  Kassidi looked enthusiastic, “Templars, Illuminati, that kind of thing?”

  Sam laughed, “Not entirely. I mean, this is more like,” he paused, looking for a better example, “Let’s say that President Tiernan was actually way older than he looks.”

  “How old are we talking?” Kassidi asked, attempting to buy into the conceit.

  “Much, much older. Like, let’s say President Tiernan is thousands of years old.”

  Kassidi shrugged, “Okay…”

  Sam continued, “And let’s say that all of the leaders involved in the Economic Unification Council are just as old, sort of all playing in the background of human affairs for centuries.”

  Kassidi laughed, “How have I not read this book?”

  Gill Hibbert’s nose wrinkled, “I’ve got to be honest, this does not sound like my cup of tea Sam. Can I ask, why this book in particular?”