The Last World

by Bialois, CP

  “I’m sorry. I had no right…” Franklin’s voice trailed off.

  Although he couldn’t see Tanok physically, he did appear in Franklin’s mind looking more apathetic than ever. “It is not for you to apologize. There is much for you to understand, but not much time. I will give you the time you need to understand why you are the one.” Tanok’s image faded into the room like a thin fog.

  It was then Franklin heard voices and felt his body being shaken but there were no hands. When he let go of the image of the room his eyes opened, revealing the faces of the nurse and doctor that greeted him the day before. The worry on their faces was enough to scare him, but not enough for him to admit he was crazy. Not yet, anyway.

  *****

  So far the morning had been a pleasant one for Doctor Doug. The first four patients were in good spirits and even better health. Two with a broken limb that would be going home before long, a thirty-year-old man getting his tonsils out the next day, and an asthma sufferer enjoying the benefits of breathing freely for the first time in years, thanks to a new medicine recently authorized by the FDA. The fifth was Franklin Bowen, the oddest case Doug could remember in all of his years practicing medicine.

  Oddly enough, it was Franklin that was slated to be released first. Doug checked his watch, so long as he remained positive with the next battery of tests he’d be released in four hours. Thinking about the patient, Doug realized he may be interrupting breakfast. Such a thought infuriated some patients and he debated putting off his visit. Even now, he couldn’t shake the strangeness the young man made him feel. It was too early in the day for him to feel the “willies” as his daughter liked to put it. With a deep breath, Doug turned the corner and entered the room where a nurse was trying to wake the young man. The tray of food was set to the side.

  “Mr. Bowen? Your breakfast is here. Mr. Bowen?”

  The concern in her voice alerted Doug and he rushed forward to help. When he reached the nurse, he heard Franklin mumbling as if he were speaking to someone else. “Was he like this earlier?”

  The nurse shook her head. In his estimation she was young enough to be a Candy Striper. “No, Doctor, he looked tired, but he was lucid.”

  Doug reached out to try to wake Franklin when the patient’s eyes opened. The sudden change shocked Doug, causing his heart to pound wildly in his chest. “Mr. Bowen? Are you alright?”

  Franklin eyed the pair for a moment before recognition dawned on him. After a couple of deep breaths he nodded. “I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep.”

  Relieved, the nurse turned her attention to the tray, but Doug took a quick look at the readings on the monitors next to the bed. Everything read normal but that nagging feeling kept tugging at him. “Do you have a history of sleepwalking, Franklin?”

  The question was odd, but given the last twenty or so hours of his life, Franklin smiled. “Depends on the dream.”

  Doug watched him and, despite the smile, Franklin’s eyes had a haunted look to them. The sight of the young man’s face sent chills traveling up his spine. Instead of allowing his concerns to be known, he did his best to smile but he had the feeling it was a hopeless gesture. “I’ll check back later to see how you’re doing. Better eat up, you want to keep your appetite happy.”

  The look of gratitude his patient gave him both reassured and gave him cause to worry. Never before had Doug been so happy to leave a patient’s room as he was then. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to avoid coming back barring an emergency.

  Chapter 8

  The dull white coloring of the brick walls reminded Steve more of a prison than an employer. Of all the possibilities he could’ve imagined, working for the government at any level wasn’t one of them. In his own way, Steve knew he should be grateful; his father could’ve enlisted him in the army instead. That was the one thing he didn’t want to deal with. While not a shiftless lump by any means, he wasn’t a fan of working out. Even in high school, he did so only because he had to if he wanted to play. No one wanted an offensive lineman that was all flab and sitting on the bench wasn’t his style.

  The approach to the National Guard base was bad enough but until his father pulled into a space, put the car in park, and shut the engine off, Steve hoped it was just a ploy to get his attention. With the engine of his father’s milky-white BMW cooling, Fulton turned to face his son.

  “Son, I’m sorry it’s come to this. I truly am, but you’re left me no choice in the matter. I thought you would’ve found your calling by now. I failed you.”

  The sorrow in Fulton’s voice matched the emotion in his eyes, but none of that mattered to Steve. He wanted to yell and scream at his dad that it was his fault. Both his and his mother’s for letting him go without any direction. He knew how the game was played, but he also knew his father meant every word. It was his way and, despite everything, Steve couldn’t find it in his heart to accuse him.

  Steve ran his tongue over the rough ridges of his teeth before he spoke. “I know, Dad, but… I can’t do government work.”

  Fulton smiled, patting Steve on the shoulder. “Sure you can. This isn’t a classified position. You’ll be able to work from the ground up.”

  After a pause, and with nothing to say, Steve nodded and opened the car door. When he was a couple of steps from the vehicle, he turned back toward his dad. “What’ll I do?” It was more than a question—it was a plea for assistance. That and work experience were two things his father never saw fit to imbue in him.

  For one of the first times that Steve could remember, his dad gave him a genuine smile. “No need to worry, Son, they’ll give you everything you need.”

  Nodding, Steve continued toward the double glass doors. When he pulled one open and stepped through, he heard the BMW’s engine return to life. The unknown was about to greet him.

  *****

  Starting from the ground up was a phrase Horace was definitely familiar with. It was the exact phrase his current boss told him when he was hired. It was something he never thought about much, even when changing the trash cans on the Community College’s campus. He was destined for bigger and better things for the simple reason he’d gone through too much to get where he was to accept anything else.

  Dressed in his light gray overalls, he was as far from the comforting embrace of Janice as he could get. The one saving grace he had was his shift lasted only six hours and the day’s schedule was to empty said trash cans, clean the pavilion, and open restrooms. The campus pavilion was a large sheltered picnic/relaxation area at the center of the commons with various snack machines and picnic tables under a two hundred foot plastic cover resembling a big top’s top. Painted white and designed with enough pitch so any snow would slide off, the Pavilion was open year-round, so long as classes were in session. Surrounded by a series of walkways, trimmed bushes, and the occasional shade tree, it offered everyone a pleasant place to hang out or prepare for an upcoming class.

  As much as he wished the janitorial staff would be expanded to maintain those areas, Horace also appreciated the idea of having the job security it afforded. He was the lone groundskeeper on staff that liked to clean up the outside areas. As a result, he was given the task on almost every occasion. The one part he hated with a passion was cleaning the rest rooms. Every time he stepped into them, he wondered if those people ever cleaned up at their home. Considering he could be helping to trim the trees by the parking lot instead, he couldn’t bring himself to blame the people-turned-animals.

  He checked his watch: Eleven-thirty, which left him just over five hours until quitting time. Oh well, things could be worse. That thought brought his mind back to the man he and Steve came across the day before. Although he didn’t know him well, he did wonder if everything was alright. Franklin assumed the man was scheduled to be released soon, if he wasn’t already.

  Horace paused in emptying the trash and leaned against the tiled sink counters. This was the first chance he had to think about Janice instead. He was certain he’d be f
orgiven for his oversight, given he was only a cog in the grand scheme of things. As he thought about it, the whole thing struck him as odd.

  To his knowledge no one else had seen the meteorite, at least no one said anything. Even the paper and news hadn’t mentioned anything; it was far better for ratings to talk about shootings, missing persons, and, of course, celebrity divorces than actual news, but the Heights Gazette? With absolutely nothing of interest in the sleepy town of Tarken Heights, why hadn’t they printed something about it?

  The answer wasn’t pleasant, but far more reliable. It didn’t happen and he was right in thinking Steve imagined seeing it. But if he didn’t, there wouldn‘t have been a reason for them to have been on 66 and Franklin could still be lying out there, maybe even dead. The thought sent a shiver up Horace’s spine. That was a topic he didn’t want to think about. He’d always had issues about death, even discussing the topic in a play or book unnerved him. Maybe it was for that reason he had the sudden idea to call Janice. Whatever the reason, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pressed the quick dial button her number was assigned to. He had a huge favor to ask.

  *****

  “Mr. Bowen, I presume?” Fulton Drake inquired of the young man lying in the lone bed. Fulton knew he had the right room and person. He hated to be rude, especially to someone in the hospital. It took some effort, but Doug Townsend was an intelligent man and he understood the importance of Fulton’s presence so he allowed him to see his patient.

  Franklin glanced at the man in the doorway and motioned for him to come in. “That’s me. I assume you’re a lawyer or insurance agent.”

  The man smiled at him. “That’s right. How’d you guess? Fulton Drake, at your service.” Fulton glided across the room and extended a card toward Franklin in one hand while holding a briefcase in the other.

  Franklin wondered about his visitor’s mentality after asking such a question. The dark brown suit was the first giveaway, and the fact the man’s shirt probably cost more than Franklin’s hospital-supplied gown and slippers didn’t hurt his deduction. Instead of the sarcastic reply, he responded more diplomatically than he intended. “Between your suit and the fact I’m in the hospital, they seemed like a safe choice. Were you an undertaker, I’d like to think you wouldn’t be talking to me just yet.”

  Fulton’s face split into a broad smile. “I’m pleased to see you’ve been able to keep a sense of humor through such a hard time.” Franklin nodded his appreciation before Fulton continued. “I’m Fulton Drake. I believe you’ve met my boy, Steve?”

  Under normal circumstances Franklin knew he would’ve had to ask who but since he gained his new friend, he remembered everything clearly. Except for when you died. He shook his head to chase away the voice then nodded toward his visitor. “My apologies, I sometimes have to shake a name loose.” It was a lie, but wasn’t like Fulton could read minds. “He helped bring me here. He’s a good guy.”

  Fulton nodded, smiling as he took a seat in the cheaply upholstered chair next to the bed. “After he hit your car?”

  Franklin eyed him. “Obviously.”

  “So you saw him hit your car?” Fulton opened his briefcase and took out a manila folder.

  “No, I was…” Dead. Preoccupied. Going for a walk. “Unconscious. Steve and Horace told me about the accident before I saw the damage.” Fulton nodded as he pulled some papers from the file. Watching him sent needles of suspicion through Franklin, as his visitor’s mind was wide open to him. “You’re going to say it was my fault.”

  Fulton looked up in shock, although anyone with a modicum of common sense would’ve said the same thing. “I wouldn’t say that. We just have some particulars to straighten out. I have to make sure the proper damages are paid out.”

  Franklin didn’t believe him but what could he do? His psychic link was suddenly gone and he hadn’t any idea how or why.

  “Now,” Fulton pulled a blue press-top pen from his breast pocket and readied to take notes. “I just have a few questions for you. If you have anything to add, please feel free to do so.”

  Franklin nodded.

  “Now, your vehicle was parked partway onto the road, correct?”

  Franklin was sure he left it on the shoulder but when he saw the damage his car was partly on the road. He wasn’t so sure of his memory right then, so he nodded, trusting Steve and Horace hadn’t lied.

  Fulton made a note on one of the papers. “And you were found in the field some distance from the accident?”

  Franklin nodded.

  “And the medical treatment you’re getting isn’t related to the accident?”

  Depends on which “accident”. Again, he nodded, answering, “I tripped and hit my head, or so they tell me.”

  Fulton glanced up with a slight smile, and then continued making his notes. After a few minutes, he was finished with his calculations and held out a copy for Franklin to take, which he grudgingly did. He was surprised at what he saw in the “Notes” section and looked back at Fulton.

  Fulton nodded his head smiling. “That’s right. I went out to the scene yesterday with the tow truck crew. Your car’s not badly damaged, and Jerry’s an old friend of mine so he’ll keep the cost low and do good work. That number at the bottom right is the expenses that we’re paying to make your car road-worthy.” He pointed at the paper with his pen. “Of course, we’re not liable for any injuries you suffered not involved in the accident, which I explained in the notes.” He put his copy of the paper back in the manila folder and then into his brief case. “I’m sorry about your extra expenses, but we aren’t made of money. Good luck. I hope you’ll feel better son.”

  Fulton rose to leave, but stopped when a memory struck him. “Oh, keep that for your records and to show Jerry when you get out of here.” With a smile and nod he turned and, after a few strides, left Franklin alone.

  Asshole! It was then it dawned on Franklin that he hadn’t been told who this Jerry was. Hoping the document he was given could help, he began reading through it slower than the first time. About halfway down he was rewarded where it showed the repairs were being done at Jerry’s Lube and Oil. He’d make it a point to ask the doctor or nurses for directions before he left. Now all he had to worry about was a place to stay, not bad for a day’s work. Laughing some at his joke, he stretched out in bed. He felt better than he had since… well, the day before. Deciding he could use a nap, he rested his head back and closed his eyes. In seconds, he was asleep and his dreams were filled with visions of the wondrous worlds Tanok showed him earlier.

  Chapter 9

  Franklin’s steps sounded hollow as he walked through the brightly lit corridor. The sensation of air brushing against him made his skin tingle. He felt cleaner here than at any point in his life. In general, his dreams involved women in various forms of undress or himself dressed in camouflage crawling through a jungle somewhere. Yet without those telling factors he was certain he was dreaming, just not on a conscious level.

  Confused, he continued down the corridor, not noticing the walls were a pale white light. This is familiar… He clawed at the thought like a drowning man would a life preserver. He knew this place, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember through the barrier that erected itself in his mind. While the struggle to remember didn’t leave him, it was pushed into the far recesses joining the rest of his forgotten thoughts and urges.

  He finished traversing the corridor without thinking until he reached the end. Surprised at what greeted him, Franklin stood staring at a door made of pure blackness, but it was more than that. The door lacked everything from light to the darkest dark and from warmth to the coldest cold. It simply existed in a world of light. He was afraid to reach out and touch it.

  He stared at it, hoping he’d see something emerge, whether shape or texture he didn’t care. Through the entire time he stood there, he wondered what could possibly happen to him. He was only dreaming after all.

  Fuck it. The words echoed around him as though he s
houted. Feeling more like his old self afterwards, he reached out for the door. Without a doorknob or anything else he could see to find purchase, he found it funny that he thought he could move or open it. Tensing as his hand was about to touch it, he was surprised to find it wasn’t a door at all, but another corridor. Not feeling any sense of danger, he stepped through.

  Like a newborn baby, he stepped through the threshold into a vibrant, living world. All around him, buildings rose higher than the eye could see and the sky was filled with all sorts of flying craft. The craft caught his attention before anything else, as each of them ranged in size from a motorcycle to a school bus and traveled at speeds he couldn’t begin to understand. Fascinated, he continued walking and watching them until he bumped into one of the people.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.” The contact brought his attention back to his surroundings rather than those above his head. The person he bumped into look similar to someone he once knew, an old classmate perhaps.

  The person looked at him with the kindest expression Franklin had ever seen. ”I am fine. If you are not harmed, there is no need.” Finished with his end of the conversation, the man bowed his head and moved on. It wasn’t until seconds later that Franklin realized the man hadn’t spoken out loud.

  What the hell? With his eyes and attention turned to those around him, he was amazed at what he saw. Everywhere he looked, the men and women were all trim and athletic, not a single one of them were overweight, bald, or using any corrective aids such as glasses or canes. Even the elderly walked with their backs straight and untwisted to the ravages of time. The clothes were of varying colors, but they all appeared as one-piece suits that covered the nape of their necks.