The Beast That Was Max

by Gerard Houarner

  "Oh shit," Lee said, a wince turning into an expression of disgust as he looked away from Max. "Show me what they dropped off, and then take me to your bathroom, Omari? If I stay here any longer, I really don't think I'm going to be able to control myself."

  "I suppose you'll all be needing a change of clothes," Oman said, heading for a section of interior wall partially obscured by shelving.

  "And transportation for me," Lee said, following. "I've got things to do tonight."

  "Additional services will cost you." He rummaged through cardboard boxes, tossed out packages of underwear and socks, then gave each of them a hard stare before returning to another set of boxes and pulling out jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers, all with designer marks. Mani gathered their pile of clothes and put them aside, while Lee ignored the pile at his feet to watch Omari draw a thick aluminum case from under a floorboard.

  Breaking into a broad smile, Lee said, "Hey, you're management level now. No more overtime. Open it up."

  Oman shook his head, an expression of pain battling with regret on his face, and brought the case into the web of computers, clearing away a pile of keyboards and a cable switcher to lay down the case.

  Mani began washing Max's wounds, drawing his attention away from the men. She hovered over him like a bee over a rosebush, settling occasionally to draw blood as if it were pollen, a precious substance from which she could sustain herself. And like a bee, her ministrations stung. The Beast grumbled. Mani's shadow settled over his mind, encouraging him to let her heal him with pain, for her. He saw the controlling path she was taking as she tested the depth and strength of her influence over him.

  He wanted to refresh the memories she had sampled from him, show her how his victims had fought in their desperate final moments. He wanted to tell her not all the scars he wore were earned at his work. The twins' mildest show of affection toward him hurt more.

  The Beast's grumbling grew louder, provoked by Mani's stitching of one of his deeper wounds. Excited by her scent, the feel of her warm breath and fingers on his skin, the appetite emanating from her like midday heat off white sand, he became hard. She was letting herself go with him, releasing all that was inside along the bond they shared. "The beisac spirits' hunger infected you," Max said.

  "I know," she answered, tying him off. She moved across his back, treating a bite on his shoulder, coming so close he thought she wanted to match the wound tooth for tooth. The Beast moved through him, rising to her need, eager to pounce. Mani's shadow answered the challenge, matched the Beast in threat and atrocity, promised more. The two spirits within them twined in a destructive embrace, eager for battle. Blood. Gratification.

  Max wondered who, or what, was really in control of either of them. "Can you be satisfied?"

  "No."

  He let out air slowly as she closed another bleeding cut. "I understand." He rode the rising tide of pain on the Beast's back, trusting its appetite would take him where they had to go, as it always did. But Mani's beisac hunger rode the Beast with him, and suddenly he was no longer certain where they were all going.

  He was not supposed to kill her. He could not kill her. He had to control himself, deliver her to his employers. Keep her safe.

  A cut pinched shut under an astringent. Her fingers stung like wasps along the ribs under his arms.

  Consume her.

  He focused on Mani's spirit hunger, dissecting the quality of its ancient rage, trying to analyze whether its driving force was vengeance, a demand for compensation, or simply the poison expelled from some primal wound. When he found himself drifting to what he would do to her in answer to her rough touch, Max tuned in to Omari and Lee huddled over the open aluminum case.

  "—fucking zombies thick as flies, a million cops coming down on us, our mission locked up in the trunk, and this asshole comes after me. Man, I could've shit bricks. So, is this the button that—"

  Omari smacked away Lee's hand hovering over the case. "I have no intention of being caught in the Nowhere House field and losing memory. There, are you happy now? Seen one of the great achievements of Western science?"

  "You're just jealous."

  "Hardly. Like the discoverers of this anomaly, you miss the obvious."

  "Kiss my ass. I know this is some kind of quantum device they locked down because they couldn't control it, and it does something with collapsing probabilities that creates a short-range field that drops everything inside it outphase with that. . . that perceived reality, and it messes with your head, but—"

  "Please, go back to your American comic books. Everything is so vaguely scientific in your world."

  "Yeah, and in your world, what is this, a down-on-his-luck god?"

  Omari leaned into Lee and spoke quietly, so that Max had to strain to hear his words. "What this is is a stone, no bigger than your fingernail, that is part of the compressed remains of a sentient universe that leaked into this one. Or was drawn into it. The old Arabic scholars disagree. As they do over the cause of the breach between our existence and this entity's: Allah's will, the work of djinn and demons, a transgression by Mankind so great it tore the fabric of space and time."

  "Oh, that must have been the day you were born, huh, Omari?"

  "Your wit is exceeded only by your originality. No, my comrade, this treasure has been in the world for many eons, possibly since shortly after Creation. For it is believed by some that Allah created many worlds, indeed, many universes, and in each planted the seeds of life that took shape in ways different from one another, according to Allah's will. In one such place, formed one nanosecond before our own existence, the universal laws allowed Creation's foam to spread evenly through the void, rather than cluster in galaxies and stars. The life that came to be was not confined to a single ball of rock, but glistened in the forever of that universe, encompassing all of its reality."

  "So this is a god—"

  "It is Allah's will, as are we all. But the breach occurred, and this wretched sentience was introduced to space and, most traumatically, time. It beheld our universe, perceived probabilities, the constant of Allah's ever-changing glory; it tried to hold on to a single instant, and was driven mad by the splitting of moments and possibilities, past and future, and the infinite multiplicity of vows. Whether through the intent of escaping the trap of endless transformation, or an accident that is merely the will of Allah made manifest, this universe slipped through the breach and entered our time and our space. The husk of its matter was shredded in the rough transition, its invisible mass distributed among endless probabilities. The brittle essence of this existence, the quantum consciousness of another reality's single collapsed probability wave—its soul, if you will—did not go to Paradise, but instead settled like a volcano's fine ash to infect our universe with anomalies caused by its latent laws of physics. And so, even on this brightest of jewels in all of Allah's firmament, there exists a few fragments of fallen, mad, alien intelligence locked within the crystallized, even traumatized, ether of another reality. This case holds one such fragment. Others are scattered in the world's sacred places, where aboriginal minds first communed with spirits through such a medium. A trove lies at the bottom of the ocean, in your Bermuda triangle, stolen by the Spanish from Aztec temples devoted to experimenting with time and space, but lost in a storm during transport back to Europe. Your scientists claimed to have discovered this substance, though it has been known and explored secretly throughout humanity's history. More powerful than shamanistic hallucinogens, its effects on human perception and memory make its study problematic. All your scientists have managed to draw out from its nature is the ability to hide without detection. Very brave. Stunning ingenuity. I suppose, after the Siberian accidents, and all the men and equipment the Russians lost trying to gather its own hoard of material from the bottom of the ocean and from deposits on the Moon and Mars, your Western leaders decided to pursue a safer path through the mysteries of this matter's existence."

  Lee's fingers tapped a labored, fun
eral rhythm on the aluminum case. "So. Do you actually believe even one word of this crap you're laying on me?"

  "There are times when the will of Allah can only be approached through the gullibility of Mankind."

  "You're so full of shit, you make me smell good. You know, I think there are parts of the world where you can get killed for talking that kind of shit."

  "And you are the one who comes here talking of zombies, dragging a witch, an assassin, and a bound, twitching dead boy with no eyes or heart."

  Max roused himself from the swelling and subsiding rhythm of pleasure and pain riding the currents caused by Mani's fingers: "You sound like two old men."

  Omari shut the case and brought it to Max, along with a notepad and paper. "Then it is time to pay my respects to you, my elder, and move on. The protocol says you must write yourself instructions on what you have to do next before you turn it on."

  "Of course," Max grumbled. He put the case between his feet. It was far heavier than its size conveyed. "But your recording devices aren't going to work, and you won't be getting any telemetry from the instruments you've scattered around."

  Omari started turning his head to glance at one of the hidden cameras Max had spotted in a ceiling joint. "Perhaps I should stay, for the experience."

  "You won't remember. And what notes you'd write if you stayed wouldn't make any sense once you were outside."

  "Hey, you idiot," Lee said, pulling out a rack of recording decks hidden inside an unblemished section of wall. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  Omari dismissed Lee's discovery with a wave of a hand. "They meet your people's specs. This is a safe house, after all. It's your people who want everything and everyone recorded."

  "Well, if that's the case, I guess I don't have to be debriefed since I told you what happened. What a relief. That makes what I want to do a hell of a lot simpler. . . ."

  Max wrote two words on the pad, tore the paper, put it in the pocket of the larger pair of jeans in the neat pile Mani had made of their clothes. He wrote another note, folded it, addressed it to the Housekeepers who were scheduled to visit tomorrow morning after he left, and put it on Oman's seat at the heart of his computer network.

  Omari took the pad and pen from Max and considered them, tapping one against the other. "I suppose if I stayed, I would have the experience of the Nowhere House. But in forgetting that same experience, what would I gain? My life is recorded; I lose nothing in terms of contacts and business done, except the joy of their accomplishment. Is it worth the loss of life's memory to say I experienced something I can never remember?" Omari sighed and tossed the pad and pen down. "Perhaps another time, when memory is a burden rather than a precious cargo."

  Lee shook his head. "Do you always work hard to make life that complicated, or is it something that comes naturally to you? Listen, if you don't mind, I'm gonna call in before Max here turns that thing on, and then I'm going to let it flush me out. I got enough things in my head without tonight's shit giving me more nightmares." He picked up the pad, looked to Omari. You go ahead and bring the car around. I'll be out in five minutes." He snapped his finger and took the cell phone from its hip holster. "Check in. They'll have to brief me again."

  "If I'm supposed to take you to your next appointment, you're going to take a shower and change into those clothes I gave you."

  Lee waved at him and nodded his head as he spoke quietly into the phone. Omari disappeared for a moment, returned with a duffel bag full of cash he was still zipping closed. Mani dressed the last of his wounds as the Beast strained at the leash of Max's bond to Mani's shadow self, and his duty to his employers.

  Lee closed the phone, went to Omari, and whispered to him. Mani kissed Max's ear, ran her tongue over his spine.

  Omari opened a file cabinet and handed a sheaf of papers to Lee, who brought them over to Max. "Sorry, you know how it is," Lee said, hastily filling in blanks on forms before handing them over to Max to sign. Max glanced at Lee's notations on expense reports, time sheets, receipts for Mani, the Lincoln they had destroyed, weapons, Omari's services. "It's for the status and expense reports," Lee said apologetically. "Otherwise, you won't get paid, much less reimbursed for the car and stuff you lost. You know how these clerks are if they don't get their t’s dotted and i's crossed...."

  Max signed until there were no more papers. Lee put them in a portfolio Omari passed to him, scribbled instructions to himself, and jammed them into the portfolio, as well, then grabbed his clothes and went off in the direction Omari pointed for the bathroom.

  Omari paused in front of Max. "May you live long enough to see your enemies buried."

  "I already have."

  Omari stared for a moment, smiled. "Then may you live long enough to see them all find peace."

  He went to the opening in the floor, stepped over it, pushed a loose brick in a wall in the next room. A motor started. A shelving unit slid back, revealing a hole opening onto a space between walls. A metal pole stood out in the latticework of pipes, cables, wall frames. A motorized foot stand descended the pole, trailing a power cord. Omari smiled at Mani's gasp. "Things easily gained lose their value," he said by way of explanation. "Would you have found all of this so impressive if you'd taken the elevator up?" He grinned, squeezed into the space. The door slid shut and the tiny elevator went down. Moments later, a door slammed.

  Max took it as the signal to activate the Nowhere House. He opened the case, pushed the only button on a panel filled with screens, dials, status lights.

  He felt no different. The red bulbs did not dim; the walls, ceiling, and floor did not waver in their solidity. The Beast still danced inside him to the music Mani played on his body, appetite running as deep and endless as ever. Mani's scent, the heat of her body, the sound of her breathing, outlined in vivid detail the absolute truth of Mani's presence and purpose.

  Mani's clothes rained down on him from above as she stripped.

  Max took his pants off. Stood. Turned. The Beast raced through him, already leaping at Mani. She smiled, shook her head, put her hands on his shoulders, and gently pushed him back to the floor until he was sitting at her feet.

  She moved, in the way and with the meaning that had clouded the air between them by the car on the dead-end street. Hips swiveled, shoulders rolled, arms and legs parted the air with the grace of wings. The slight swell of her belly invited attention, seducing the eye with the allure of its curvature, enticing the mind with its promise of new life. Balanced, flowing, powerful, her movements absorbed the bulge and weight of the early pregnancy, making the burden a part of the dance. Her gaze locked with his, forcing him to peripherally take in her quivering breasts, nipples promising the milk of his pleasure, and the slit of her sex opening and closing, urging him to meet her thrust for thrust. His erection throbbed, ached. But his nature followed another groove Mani cut into the space between them.

  Their hungers crashed, fought, merged, fell apart in the empty places within them. Mani's shadow self deepened, solidified, until she filled a part of Max's emptiness, nuzzling up against the Beast. The roots she had established in him grew. Fresh shoots of her desire pushed deeper into him, wound themselves around the Beast, choked Max's thoughts and instincts. In a remote part of his personal void, a terrible wind howled, bringing with it the cold of mountain peaks and the stinging of icy clouds: the imprint of beisac spirits, exploring new territory. Lightning flashed in his eyes, momentarily blinding him as the dead kissed the inside of his skull.

  The Beast roared, the sound and fire of its rage chasing away the wind, cold, lightning. It clawed eagerly at Mani's spreading roots, burning her. She stumbled. Her startled expression illuminated fragments of her first experience with the Beast, when she had momentarily exchanged bodies with Max. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  Recovering quickly, Mani danced, weaving their hungers back together again with the motion of her body. A fan of black hair brushed against his shoulders, a smile that was like a crescent moon shined its
meager light on him. Max caught himself yearning for the fullness of her radiance. He fought against the desire to bathe in the depths of her mind and body, rather than her blood. The last of her tears fell on his folded hands.

  Take her, the Beast whined. Kill her. The Beast fought against a stranger's intrusion in its territory, even as it approached its adversary, tasting, testing, unwilling to lose Max, but questioning the power of a potential new ally.

  Max caught the hint of the Beast's curiosity in someone other than its host. For all of its murderous demeanor, the Beast's initial encounter with Mani had left behind a sliver of interest. Max felt the question turning in the Beast's core, unspoken, a dead fetus incapable of living in speech: What new appetites could be fulfilled in the body of another host? Max responded with his own question: What might he gain by giving up the Beast and leaving himself open for a relationship with a new entity, or even a person?

  He remembered being torn from the Beast, existing with nothing but himself, ghosts, and Mani's shell. From what he had experienced of her, he decided Mani was not the one to answer his question. He distracted the Beast from its curiosity with memories of bloody rampages.

  Mani drew closer to Max in his mind while keeping their bodies apart. Her torso undulated, muscles rippling under smooth-as-silk flesh, inviting him, challenging him. The sheen covering her belly caught the red light, brightening her skin. The thread of a new life worked its way into him, rising from the memory of being inside her, insinuating itself into the pattern Mani wove inside him.

  She drifted inside his reach, teasing him, but eluded his sluggish grabs for her. Beads of sweat arced through the air when she snapped and whipped her body to the sudden explosion of tempo in the rhythm their heat beats. The droplets splashed against him, cool and stinging hot at the same time.