Within Stranger Aeons

by Fisher, Michael

  “And what will happen if he returns?” Robert asked.

  “It’s quite simple. He’ll destroy any who aren’t loyal to him. To the rest of us, he will give another thousand years of life and prosperity. Our Lord will not disappoint. This is his promise to his people. In a world filled with death and chaos, you’ll live like a prince forever.”

  Robert fell into a chair opposite Jonathan. He was tired and drained. “But will it be worth it if they get to me first?” he asked.

  “They won’t,” Jonathan replied. “In that crowd are many loyal to our Lord. They disguise themselves so they fit in perfectly. But know this—they’re watching over you carefully. They’ll protect you. I was unaware of your issues with food and water. Both will be brought to you shortly. You can trust those who deliver. They’re loyal to our Lord and to me. You’ll have what you need. All you have to do is to refuse to back down.

  And for your information, the company that makes Permidsome inhalers for asthma and COPD is about to go on the market. About eight percent of the population has asthma. That doesn’t include COPD, emphysema or other bronchial illnesses. People need to breathe, Robert. Think about that. Another jewel for your crown possibly? Remember what I told you about watching what’s going on behind you.”

  He sat his glass on the table, tamped out his cigar and rose. “And with that, I must go. Just remember, the Cult is everywhere. Soon, another story will come along to replace you in the headlines. The Cult has a strong presence in the media as well. A prince, Robert, for one thousand years. That’s what our Lord will give you when he returns.”

  He walked to the door, turned and bowed. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

  Robert stood, nodded and replied, "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

  The shook hands politely. And then the man who had been his mentor since he was twelve years old was gone.

  Robert walked over to the bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch over ice. Then he went to his desk. The chessmen were scattered across the black marble surface. He sat down, took a deep draw from the glass and began to reset the figures on the wooden parquet board. When he finished, the black king was missing. Swearing to himself, he pushed the chair back and got down on his knees. He could see the piece way in the back of the kneehole. Robert crawled inside and picked it up. It was broken. The cross from the top was on the ground beside it.

  Sitting on the ground, he held the two pieces in his hand and cursed his own bad temper. A bad move on the board and his ego had caused damage to a valuable chess set—worth more than those protestors saw in months. Damn them. Damn the damage to the chessman. He could probably buy fifty chess sets like this one. A hundred! Why should it matter? Since he was twelve, he’d been very successful playing the market and working with hedge funds. He’d made millions. And now, he owned Universal Pharmaceuticals—and as such, he had the right to sell Darzaprine for whatever he wanted. Fuck those who couldn’t afford it. It wasn’t his problem. Let them suffer as he did.

  He stood and placed the broken king on his desk. The he took his glass to the window to look at the protestors below. But when he pulled the blinds back, what he saw was a completely different scene. It was the scene Jonathan had described to him. Dead bodies on the street. Blood running in the gutter. Stores destroyed and looted. He watched as a man pushed a pregnant woman to the ground and slashed her throat before cutting away the strap on her handbag and running away with it. Utter madness. Chaos. The chaos Lord Cthulhu needed to return to the earth. And what he was witnessing was merely the tip of the iceberg of what was to come when the Dark Lord returned. Robert choked back the bile in his throat.

  It wasn’t all his fault. Besides the pharmaceutical drug situation, there was plenty of chaos in the world. Children being murdered at their desks at school. The country was embroiled in racial issues. Terrorism was everywhere. Wars still being fought over religion after thousands of years. Bullying. Drug abuse. Gang wars. Hate was rapidly destroying society. Lord Cthulhu’s chaos was coming—with or without him increasing the price on one drug.

  But was he prepared to live with that? Jonathan told him his reward would be a thousand years living as a prince. A thousand years of abundance that would depend completely on the suffering of others. Could he accept that? How many times would he be able to look out the window and see the scene below—knowing he played a part in the inhumanity and misfortune suffered by those on the streets? He would never be able to walk among them again. He would be reduced to life in his glass tower, with only a computer to reach out to others. He would want for nothing—the Cult would bring him everything he could ever imagine. But was that a price he was willing to pay—knowing what lie on the street beneath him?

  After watching the scene for another moment, Robert walked to his desk. For the first time in ages, he walked upright with firm steps and deep conviction in every one. He sat at his computer, opened a blank screen and began to type.

  As of midnight tonight, the price of Darzaprine will return to its original $13.50 per pill. No one working for the company will be laid off and the same strict quality control will be maintained. We will continue to work to develop better and more effective drugs. In addition, a fund will be established to provide the drug at no cost to anyone below the poverty level. A new division of Universal Pharmaceuticals will be established to assist these people in filing the proper forms and to ensure they receive the necessary medication in a timely manner. In addition, this division will handle refunds for all insurance companies who paid the inflated price for their patients. I deeply regret any hardship that the increase in the price cost those who need it.

  He signed the later and dated it. June 17, 2015—exactly 99 years from the day that health officials in New York City announced the polio epidemic. That year alone, polio claimed six thousand lives across America. It would be years before a cure would be developed. Salk never patented his vaccine. It is estimated he would have earned 7 billion dollars if he had.

  Robert printed out the letter and signed it. He embossed his signature to prevent tampering and buzzed for his secretary. An older woman entered the room immediately.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked.

  “I need you to notarize my signature, please.”

  “Of course, sir.” She returned to her desk and brought back her stamp.

  Robert pushed the letter across to her. She read it quickly. Her face registered shock. She stood silently for a moment and looked into his eyes.

  “Notarize it, please. And keep this to yourself for a while. An e-mail will be going out company-wide within a few minutes.”

  She glanced at the empty glass of scotch.

  “No, I am not drunk. This is my decision. Mine and mine alone. I have my reasons.”

  She quickly stamped the letter with her seal of office, adding her signature, the date and the date of expiration for her notary public certificate.

  “That is all, Miss Horwitz. You may go home now. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day. You may send everyone in the office home. Good night.

  “Thank you, sir.” She nodded to him and left quickly.

  Robert quickly set up a company-wide e-mail, marked it for immediate attention and sent it. A feeling of relief raced through his body. But it only lasted for a moment. This wasn’t enough. Jonathan would just find a way around it and return cost of the drug to $750 per pill. There were other pharmaceutical companies out there inflating prices and denying people the medication they needed, too. The Cult was far reaching. It would happen anyway—the hate—everything he saw out the window was a glimpse of what was to come. And then the Dark Lord would awaken from his dreams and wreak even more havoc on an unsuspecting world.

  He placed the black king on the top of his letter and centered it on his desk where it would be seen first. He placed the tiny broken cross beside it and with one finger, tipped the king on its side. “I resign. Checkmate.” he said.

  Wa
lking to the window, he flung back the blinds violently until he had pulled them to the ground. The scene below him had returned to its original. Protestors, hundreds of them, standing across the street holding signs and chanting. “Death to Corporate Greed.” “Power to the People.” “Take Back Wall Street.” “End the Corruption.” “We Want Our America Back.” “People Not Profit.”

  Frantically, Robert’s eyes searched the room until they fell upon a large bronze on a pedestal. La Vérité Méconnue—Truth Acknowledged by Aieé-Jules Dalu. A naked man, sitting on a stone with his head resting on his arms as he weeps. It set him back almost $20,000 at Sotheby’s in London. He lifted it and carried it to the window—throwing it at the glass with a loud scream. The glass formed a web pattern as it cracked. He hoisted it to his shoulder and threw it again. The window shattered as the bronze and shards of glass fell to the sidewalk below.

  People looked up. They pointed and screamed as Robert Zelenka stepped onto the windowsill. The brisk wind ruffled his expensive suit and nearly blew him back inside. He fought against it until he was leaning forward, poised to let go. A thin, angular man, he stepped forward and for a moment he seemed to float through the air. Then he picked up speed and his body twisted like an acrobat until he landed on the sidewalk, bent and horribly broken. People screamed. Some vomited. Mothers passing by turned their children’s eyes away. The crowd pushed forward. In a few moments, sirens blared.

  By then, the e-mail had circulated through the company and Jonathan London had been informed. He refused to let this happen, and immediately sprung into action. Lawyers were called—the best corporate lawyers available. Members of the Cult. As Chairman of the Board, he fought it hard, but a judge in Manhattan’s Supreme Court upheld the document. London and the board—all members of the Cult—vowed to fight it right up to the Supreme Court of the United States. It could take years—years that people would be able to get medication thanks to Robert Zelenka’s letter.

  Cthulhu would lie dreaming a little while longer.

  Distantly related to Mary Shelley on her father's side, Charie is primarily known as a ghostwriter in the field of sports—mostly baseball. She has had at least one book go to #1 on Amazon in 2 different categories.

  Currently well on her way to establishing herself as an author in her own name, she has created a genre called Circuspunk (listed at Urban Dictionary) and a book of short stories in the genre called Bumping Noses and Cherry Pie was was the winner of the 2014 New Pulp Award for Best Collection. She also has a her first satirical book Squid Whores of the Futon Fish Market coming out with JWK Fiction. She also has stories in the heavy metal anthology Axes of Evil, James Ward Kirk's Bones, Indiana Horror 2013 and Ugly Babies 2, In Vein for the benefit of St. Jude's Hospital, We Walk Invisible, a tribute to HG Wells' The Invisible Man , Near Kin, a tribute anthology for Octavia Butler, Witches!, Ripple Effect for Hurricane Katrina relief, Surreal Grotesque, Oneiros Books CUT UP! (featuring a piece by Allen Ginsberg), All the Night-Tide, a Poe Steampunk anthology and other anthologies including Terror Train which features a story by Poe and Stoker Award Winner William F. Nolan. She was September's featured writer at Solarcide. She is known for writing in many different genres from crime to satire and weird fiction to horror to contemporary fiction that is often based on current events. She even writes in erotica and Seussian. She is most proud of working with an Iranian translator, translating Booker Man Award Winner Vernon God Little into Persian--which became a bestseller in Iran.

  Upcoming projects include just about anything--including the publication of six completed novels.

  A redhead with a redheaded attitude, she lives in NY with her mother and son and fur children Bailey Corwin, Babe Ruth and Casey Stengel where she is partial to shoes, the Yankees and naps.