Clean Hands (The Womb Book 1)

by Richard B. Knight

  “What do you mean, losing a part of myself?” Instinct felt the heaviness of worry roll over him.

  Imagination cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “I think that, well, if you were to say, perish in the world beyond the Landscape, then you might actually, um, how do I put this?”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Now, again, this is only me imagining.”

  Instinct edged nearer to him, showing his fist. He wasn’t above violence. In fact, his very essence demanded it sometimes. “Stop stalling.”

  “Jeez. No need to be so aggressive. If you die in a dream, you may actually die…forever.”

  “Die forever? What do you mean?”

  Imagination forced a smile. He hoped it was at least semi-effective. “Well, you know how when you ‘die’ in the Barrier of Regret sometimes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, and again, I’m only imagining here, but if you were to actually enter a person’s dream, you are no longer technically in the Landscape. So you could actually…well, really die if something in that person’s head were to kill you.”

  Instinct swallowed hard. He could hear Logic’s voice in his head. Mankind depended on him. Is this person, this one decision, really worth all the risk and trouble?

  “Now I know what you’re thinking,” Imagination read his face. “You’re wondering whether this person you’re about to go inside is even worth it. And I can’t really answer that for you, Instinct. But remember, you’re the one who came to me. And do you know why, Instinct?”

  Again, that paternal tone. Instinct scowled.

  “It’s because you feel it, too. You know that this one is different from all the others before him. And you also know that this is a turning point in this man’s life.”

  Instinct’s green heart hammered in his chest. No matter what Logic said about The God Behind the Wooden Door not really existing, he wouldn’t believe it. This feeling was too real, and every fiber of his being thrummed and shook within him. This was the most crucial moment of his life and he had to go through with it. God-Behind-The-Wooden-Door willing, he would make it back okay.

  “How do I get back?” he asked Imagination.

  The haughty side of Imagination smiled. “We’ll find a way, my friend. You just leave that to me.”

  IV

  Instinct and Imagination stepped into the elevator together, which was a first for the two Archetypes. Instinct had occasionally traveled up to Imagination’s dream room, but Imagination never visited him in the Barrier of Regret.

  As they ascended, various floors whizzed by, and images of devices, both present and in the future, flashed by like images in a flip book.

  “Mankind thinks of some of the craziest things,” Imagination said as they passed by these images. Instinct remained quiet.

  The elevator stopped abruptly, and the doors slid open.

  They stepped out into a light blue marble room, complete with marble furniture and a set of stone pillars that climbed to the ceiling. A red door at the far end of the vast chamber broke up the monotony of blue. Imagination pointed to it. “You see that? That’s where you need to get to. If you hurry, maybe you won’t have to encounter whatever lives here.”

  Instinct’s blade formed instantly. Imagination was right. Something lived in this room. He felt it.

  “Do I—” Instinct turned his head, but the elevator doors already closed. They became a part of the wall itself.

  Instinct prepared for battle. His green aura encircled him like moss, creating a fuzzy, glowing armor. He crept forward and tightened the grip on his blade.

  This world felt different from the Landscape, airier, cleaner. He felt a tingling in his fingers that slid up his wrists and elbows, until it reached his shoulders. The same strange sensation traveled up from his feet into his calves and knee caps until it reached his hips. His entire body felt fleshy and vulnerable. Is this how Imagination felt when he thought about somebody outside of the Landscape? He pinched his wrist and twisted as he’d seen so many newcomers do when they entered the Landscape. The touch created a new feeling that he had never experienced before—discomfort.

  “Who are you?” a deep, luxurious voice asked. Instinct searched for the source of the voice. Its owner sauntered from behind one of the pillars.

  The creature stood taller by several feet. Massive shoulders carried two heads, one a lion, and the other’s a goat’s. The lion’s mane flowed brilliantly around its regal, yellow head. The goat stared at Instinct with one brown eye and one blue. It thrashed wildly, as if the bones in its neck weren’t fully connected. An enormous set of black bat wings unfurled from the monster’s spine. Instinct could admire the creature’s grandness. Its wingspan, from end to end, measured six feet in length. As the beast moved forward, it revealed a four foot long serpent as a tail. The snake hissed and dripped venom from its acuminous fangs.

  In the world and lore of man, this beast was known as a chimera.

  “Why have you entered where you do not belong?” The lion asked. When it spoke, a puff of dark fire curled from its mouth.

  Instinct took a knee, showing his humility. “I do not mean to intrude. I only wish to deliver a message to the dreamer of this world.”

  The chimera stepped forward, its talons clicking the marble floor as it walked. “And what message would that be?”

  Instinct raised his head and watched as the goat’s eyes switch colors. It opened its mouth, as if to speak, but instead, offered a sharp cackle that sounded vaguely like a human’s.

  The snake wormed its way around the rump as if charmed. It watched Instinct with merciless, unflinching eyes, and rustled its tongue at him. The beast was mocking him.

  Instinct stood. “I have appealed to you as an equal, and yet, you make fun of me. Do you know who I am?”

  The lion smiled, and spat ember from his lips. “But of course. In another world, you are Lord Instinct, the strongest of the Archetypes. But you are not in another world. You are in my world. And as you are the guardian of the Barrier of Regret, I am the guardian of this world. You appeal to me as if were equals, but we are not equals. Not here.” His smile dissolved. “What is it that you want?”

  The floor shook and tipped slightly. Instinct planted his feet to regain his balance.

  The dreamer is waking up.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Instinct said, coming forward.

  The chimera huffed a huge gust of fire. “Are you sure this is the point of action you wish to take?” the fiend grumbled.

  The ground shook again, throwing Instinct off balance. There was no more time to waste. I must attack now!

  He raised his blade like a samurai, and ran toward the brute screaming. The room shook to the right. The chimera leapt and flapped its enormous black wings. The wind forced Instinct to the floor.

  “Just know that I didn’t want it to come to this,” the lion said. It swooped down and bowled right into Instinct with its full weight. Instinct saw white as he glided across the marble floor. A burst of flame tumbled through the air. Instinct rolled out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding the blast. The searing heat melted the floor. He pushed up to his feet and dashed for the door. The chimera flapped vigorously, sending another streaming, fiery blast his way. The smell of ash permeated the room. The goat laughed maniacally as it rocked back and forth. Instinct leapt behind a pillar as another stream of flame whooshed past him, singeing his legs.

  He grunted as he rubbed his ankles. Pain prickled at his touch, and he gritted his teeth. He needed a plan.

  The sound of flapping rounded the pillar, and the lion coughed another burst of flame as it revealed itself. Instinct rolled and made another attempt for the door.

  The chimera landed in front of the red door and sprinted toward Instinct. Big mistake.

  Instinct didn’t watch the lion’s head this time, nor did he focus on the goat. Instead, he concentrated on the asp. He feinted right from a paw swipe, and slashed downward at the sn
ake. With whip-like speed, the serpent recoiled and then struck, biting down hard on Instinct’s wrist. An explosion of pain surged through his entire body like reverberations, making him drop the blade. His arm stiffened, and he retreated, holding his hand at the puncture wounds.

  “I will mourn the loss of you,” the lion commiserated. “But I must protect the dreamer.”

  An insane idea came to Instinct. And as the stiffening trailed up both arms and reached his shoulders, he knew he had only one shot at this. Imagination better have a way to get him back home.

  With a heavy stomp on the handle of his blade, he made it flip in the air to hip level. With an uncertain, creaky spin, he kicked the blade at the hilt and sent it flying. With extreme precision, it flew right into the snake. The blade split the serpent’s face in two, making it peel like a banana.

  The lion roared as it crumpled to its knees. The goat’s face fell limply into the lion’s mane and disappeared completely. The monstrosity collapsed with a sharp wheeze, like air being let out of a balloon.

  As if the beast and the dream world were one in the same, the ground shook violently. Sensing the end of this world, Instinct leapt up as the whole room went vertical. He grabbed the door knob, but his hand stiffened around it. The dead carcass of the chimera fell lifelessly into a black void as everything in the dream world collapsed into oblivion. The air lurched beneath him and sucked in the pillars. Instinct’s blade skittered on the ground and dropped into the darkness. Gritting his teeth, Instinct grabbed the doorknob. The door fell open on its hinges. He dangled over the pit.

  He willed his arms and legs to hold steady, but his whole body felt like wood. Through the door was a rocky tunnel, and at the end of it, a pinprick of light.

  “Hey!” Instinct shouted as the wind below pulled aggressively. “Hey!”

  The wind was too great and his body too stiff to hold on any longer. The door knob loosened, and then broke. Instinct plummeted into the darkness of the dreamer’s mind. But before he disappeared into the yawning abyss, he threw out his arms and released the very essence of himself from his chest. The green ball floated up through the door and shot toward the pinprick. As the red door closed behind the green orb, Instinct’s body sunk into the gorge.

  V

  The Roman governor awoke with a start as a cold wind whispered through his draperies. He’d just had the strangest dream. He sat up in bed, looked to his wife, and rubbed his eyes. What did it all mean?

  He slid from beneath the covers and stepped out onto his moonlit balcony. From there, he observed the throngs of commoners packed along the winding city roads. They looked small and soft, like he could pick them up and squish them between his fingers.

  For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to be one of them, to be away from the truth and duty he agonized with. Tomorrow, the so-called, “King of the Jews” would be brought before him. The man’s fate lay in a decision he had yet to make.

  Who was this Jesus of Nazareth? How had his fame grown in such a short period of time? There were whispers and rumors that said he could walk on water and then, change said water into wine. But of course that was just hyperbole. This Jesus was merely a man. And like all men, he, too, could die on the cross. If, that is, the governor decided to believe in the outcries of the Jewish leaders. Was this Jesus a nuisance? Yes. He put the emperor’s rule in question. But was he a destroyer of said empire? That he couldn’t bring himself to believe. He wore rags like a pauper, and his message of giving to the poor couldn’t last.

  The governor leaned against the cold surface of the handrail and shook his head. In good conscience, he simply couldn’t deliver this man to his death, knowing that he has done no wrong.

  But then, like a jolt of lightning, he felt something odd, and reassuring in his heart. It was a verdict, a decision.

  He placed a hand to his chest and stared blankly into the distance. “Yes,” he said, as if taking an oath.

  Something deep and primal put his feelings of guilt at ease.

  Later today, when the crowd stood before his window, he would sacrifice Jesus to them. His hands would be clean. After all, wasn’t it his job to be a public servant? If the citizens wanted Jesus’ head, then so be it.

  “Pontius?” his wife said from bed.

  “Yes, Claudia,” the governor said, turning to look at her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  “I just had the strangest dream,” she said.

  “Me, too,” the governor said. “Me, too.” He walked back and joined her in bed.

  Help me!

  Hello, this is your author speaking.

  I’m an independent novelist, and I write, promote, and do everything I can to sell my books to the general public. I have a full time job as a teacher and as a father, and I write these stories in my spare time, which is rare, as you could imagine. I’m driven to do this because I love writing, and I want to give you good stories that can entertain and make you think. I hope I’ve accomplished that with this tale.

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  Alright, thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate it!

  Now, here’s the first chapter to the follow-up of this story. I hope you enjoy!

  Prelude

  Lord Imagination sauntered through the room of dreams with his hands clasped behind his back. The environment around him drifted like the liquid in a lava lamp as colors swirled all around him. These colors were mankind’s dreams.

  This was always his favorite room in the skyscraper. From the inception of human consciousness, mankind has always dreamed. Over the years, this room has changed in a multitude of ways. The dreams have become brighter and more elaborate with the passing of time, and now, the wavy lines snap about like bullet trains. In simpler times, the multicolored strips would trail across Lord Imagination’s vision slowly like currents in a lazy river. He didn’t even have to squint to see what individuals were dreaming about. Hell, if he wanted to, he could even dip his hands into the strips to provide his own images.

  This wasn’t, of course, the same things as altering dreams to inspire a specific result. He would need Lord Instinct to do that. Lord Imagination still occasionally thought about that one time he had to surf the waves of dreams to locate Instinct’s soul after a mishap had occurred. It had been like wading through knee-high mud with the wind constantly pushing you back. He never wanted to endure that again.

  But he did want to have some fun. And later today, a man in the outside world named Jeff Haunt was going to go on an adventure. What humored Imagination was that Jeff Haunt had no idea that his life would be changed forever in only a few hours time. Neither did his wife, Marigold, who slept right beside him in bed.

  Lord Imagination searched the strips to find Jeff Haunt’s dreams. When he located them, he plunged his arms deep into the yellow tide. He swirled his hands around and moved events to suit his liking. It wouldn’t inspire Jeff Haunt to do anything when he woke up, but it would fill him with doubt and uncertainty. Like a great sculptor admiring her finishing touches, Lord Imagination grinned at his creations. The weaver of dreams could do no wrong.

  I.

  Jeff Haunt pounded his chest with his fist to get the burp out. He probably shouldn’t be eating so late.

  His pregnant wife, Marigold, began to get up from the table to collect the dishes, but Haunt pressed down on the air.

  “Sit. I’ll wash the dishes.” He picked up the plates and dumped them into the sink. While he waited for the water to warm up, he turned and watched his wife. She frowne
d as she rubbed her stomach.

  “Has he moved yet?” Haunt asked.

  Marigold looked up and shook her head. “I haven’t felt him all day.”

  Haunt felt the steam rising behind him and let the hot water splash the plates. He walked over to his wife and placed his hand against her stomach.

  He also felt nothing.

  Just a week ago, their child had been kicking all over the place at the merest touch. Haunt could even see the foot sometimes as her stomach would rise suddenly. When this happened, Marigold would rub her belly and offer an awkward smile.

  “I know, baby, I know. It’s getting cramped in there,” she would say.

  At the age of forty, the child was a blessing neither she nor her husband ever imagined. And now that he was here, their lives would change forever in the best sort of way.

  But this past week, the baby had grown nonresponsive. It no longer spun around inside of her at the sound of loud music, or kicked with glee when she ate spicy foods. Of course this filled her with worry, but Doctor Fernandez had told her to be patient.

  “It’s getting cramped in there,” he had said, offering a smile through his white beard. “Give it a week. Your tests came back fine. He’s still in there. No need to start worrying.”

  But what mother wants to hear that she should wait a week when they don’t feel their child moving? As she shook her belly and pressed all over as if kneading bread, Haunt kissed her forehead and walked back to the sink. What else could he do?

  He put soap on the orange sponge and wiped it across the ketchup stained plates and cranberry juice sticky cups. All the while, he thought about what fatherhood would actually be like as a thirty-nine year old man. It was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, but he didn’t know which he felt more—excitement, or fear. So he tried not to think about it.