Perla, the Maid of Honor, stood to the left of the altar, wearing a frilly pink dress and looking as if she was ready to run for the hills at any moment. If anything, she appeared more spooked than the groom. She had brought Seymour Fleming as her date, and it was clear that he was quite smitten with her.
Between Perla and Rayfield stood Geoffrey Dalrymple, wearing an untucked white shirt, a hideous orange necktie, and faded old jeans. Since leaving the Guru’s house, Geoffrey had become an ordained minister of the Church of Dalrymple, which apparently qualified him to officiate at the ceremony. In place of a Bible, he held an old and well-worn science fiction paperback in his hands.
The two other men from the Guru’s old group were not present. No one had seen Lou Lambert in a long time; he had simply disappeared. And Rat… Sarah had not seen him after he’d appeared out of nowhere to turn off the humming machine, and that was just fine with her. She thought Rayfield might kill Rat if he ever showed his face again. Rayfield would never forgive him for what he had done to the Guru.
There was one person who was conspicuously absent. Ed had told her that he’d found Danny, alive and well in Washington. Something had happened between the two of them that Ed didn’t want to talk about. All he would say was that Danny was back with his family now, and would be better off if none of the others tried to contact him.
A harpist began playing a song that sounded familiar to Sarah, although she couldn’t immediately place it. Then it came to her: it was that Three Dog Night song about the bullfrog named Jeremiah. It struck her as an odd choice to play at a wedding. Ed burst out laughing when he recognized the tune. Perhaps it was a joke that only he understood.
Joy came down the aisle on her father’s arm, dressed in a beautiful white mini-dress that sparkled in the sun. Rayfield’s eyes went wide when he saw her, and he swayed as though about to pass out. Ed had to grab his arm with both hands to steady him. For one precarious moment it appeared they would both topple over, but Ed held on and Rayfield stayed on his feet.
Once she was in her place and Stanley had sat down, Geoffrey opened up his book and began. “We are gathered here,” he said, “to witness the wedding of this gorgeous young thing…” He took a moment to ogle Joy’s cleavage. “…to this big hairy lunk who don’t know how lucky he is. Any objections?” He paused for an inordinately long time, maybe hoping someone would put a stop to it. “Nobody?”
Rayfield’s grandmother, sitting in the front row, called out, “What kinda preacher are you? Presbyterian?”
Geoffrey ignored her. “I’m gonna make this quick because I’m thirsty. Rayfield, do you promise to treat her right and not poke your thing into other ladies’ business?”
Rayfield cocked an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, man.”
“Good,” said Geoffrey. “Don’t do nothing stupid.” He turned to Joy. “And do you, Joy, promise to love this clown even when he’s old and gets tooth decay?”
“I do,” said Joy.
“You sure?”
“Totally sure.” Joy beamed at Rayfield.
“Got rings?” Geoffrey checked his pockets and found them there. “Here we go. Rings.” He handed them to the bride and groom, who had to trade because he’d gotten it backwards. “Small one goes on her,” Geoffrey said helpfully.
“Got it,” said Joy.
There was an awkward silence while Geoffrey looked at the happy couple. Rayfield cleared his throat, startling Geoffrey out of his reverie. “Oh. By the power vested in me by Isaac Asimov, you two are hitched. You may kiss the dude.”
Rayfield bent low, threw his arms around his bride, and caught her in a kiss that swept her off her feet. Sarah caught Ed’s eye and smiled at him in a way that was intended to convey everything she was thinking about at the moment: weddings, long-term commitments, the deep happiness that could only come from promising to love someone forever. He smiled back, and she knew that for the first time in a long while, they were truly on the same wavelength.
* * *
Ed was thinking about his cummerbund and whether it was facing the way Leonard had told him. Were the pleats supposed to face up or down? Maybe no one would notice either way. There was sweat dripping down his back and he really needed a cold glass of something to drink.
He noticed Sarah smiling at him, and smiled back. She had a very pretty smile. Up. He remembered now. Leonard had told him the pleats should go up to catch the crumbs. But which way had he put it on? He would have to stop in a bathroom and check after the ceremony.
The ceremony was short, as all weddings ought to be, and then the guests all made their way to the winery for the reception. Stanley had insisted on treating his daughter to the best wedding reception he could afford, and they all enjoyed an evening of fine food and dancing. Everyone cried during Joy’s dance with her father. Ed slipped outside with Sarah for a few minutes, where they walked among the grapevines on the hill. The night was almost perfectly dark, but it was nothing like the suffocating darkness inside Nathaniel’s caves.
“You look beautiful tonight, Ms. Vice President,” said Ed.
“You’re pretty handsome yourself, Mr. Ed.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “I love weddings. Don’t you?”
“I used to hate weddings,” said Ed. “That’s why Eleanor and I…” He fell silent and began examining his cummerbund.
“It’s okay. You can talk about her.”
“That’s why we eloped. She didn’t like all the spectacle, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in a fancy white dress. But I guess I’ve come around; I can see why people enjoy it.”
“I’m planning to wear a fancy white dress to my wedding,” Sarah said.
“Yeah? Who are you planning to marry?”
Sarah shrugged, grinning slyly. “Don’t know yet. I’m still waiting for the right guy to come along.”
“How will you know?”
Sarah was about to answer when she tripped over something in the dark. She grabbed Ed’s arm for support, but he lost his balance and they both fell to the ground in a heap. As he felt his way around in the darkness, Ed discovered that what Sarah had tripped over was a pair of half-naked people who had been hiding in the bushes. He quickly pulled his hand away and stammered an apology.
“Oh, gosh!” said Sarah, brushing off her dress. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“My fault,” said the man she had tripped over. “Very sorry.”
“I told you this wasn’t far enough,” his female companion said as she scrambled to put her clothes back on.
“Are my pants over there?” said the man. “I can’t find them.”
Sarah gasped. “Seymour? Is that you? And… Perla?” She put her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.
“It’s not funny,” Perla whispered sharply. “And please don’t tell Joy.”
* * *
Once everyone was dressed again, they all went back in and danced. Nearly all the guests were out on the floor, including Rayfield’s grandmother, who was dancing with one of Joy’s uncles while complaining to him about “those durned Presbyterians.”
Sometime after midnight, Terry Melcher joined Ed at the bar while Sarah was talking to Joy. “I heard Elmer Nosgrove did a number on you,” Terry said. “Glad you’re still with us.”
“Thanks,” said Ed. “I still smell smoke now and then, but it’s going away.”
“Some of my friends have been keeping an eye out. Nobody’s seen Nathaniel since October. Same with your friend John.” He paused. “They might’ve been picked up by the helicopter guys.”
Ed took a sip of his soda. He didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened to Big John. As for Nathaniel… “Novus is gone. Even if Nathaniel did get away, his machine got buried under a few million tons of rock. I don’t think we need to worry about him anymore.”
Terry didn’t look convinced. “What are you going to do?”
Ed sighed. “I’m out of the prophet business. I just want to be left alone.”
Rayfield and
Geoffrey, who had been sitting nearby, came over and joined their conversation. “What about the Cycle?” Rayfield said. “The Guru said you had to be the one to break it.”
“Nosgrove is dead,” Ed replied. “Arthur too, probably. There’s no Cycle left to break.”
Geoffrey slammed his fist down on the bar, hard enough that he winced and had to shake off the pain. “They’re not dead,” he said.
“Nosgrove ate a poison pill,” said Ed. “I saw it happen.”
“The body is dead. Urizen keeps going. He’ll be back, and so will Orc. It’s like the Guru always tried to tell you, except you never took him serious.”
They were all quiet for a moment. “Jonathan put in a word for me at his friend’s oil company,” Ed said. “I’ve been offered a job in their research lab.”
“Research?” Terry finished off his drink and gazed into his empty glass, scratching his mustache thoughtfully. “You mean like scientific research?”
“Sure,” said Ed. “My new boss wants me researching new kinds of fuel, so we don’t have to depend on OPEC to supply all our oil. All it would take is a war in some desert on the other side of the world, and the price of oil would go through the roof.”
Geoffrey muttered something about sellouts. Ed glared at him.
“You do sound like a politician,” said Terry. “No offense.”
“Well, I spent enough time in Washington to understand politicians a little better. They’re not all bad. Jonathan helped me see things differently.”
Terry laughed. “You say so, Ed.”
“I got a new job, too,” Rayfield announced.
“Really?” said Terry. “Rayfield, that’s wonderful! Where?”
It was hard to tell for sure, but Ed thought Rayfield might be blushing. “Otis Waters Laboratories. They make circuit boards for computer machines. There’s a new thing they’re working on, a machine that you hook up to your television to play games.”
Ed frowned at this nonsensical suggestion. “Why would you do that?”
Rayfield shrugged. “Rich people got lots of time on their hands, I s’pose. Doris helped me get the job interview. Her boss knows the man, Otis Waters himself.”
They all congratulated him—everyone except Geoffrey, who was furious. “You people are missing the big picture,” he complained.
“No,” said Ed. “I still get the big picture. But I have to be practical. Everybody has to make a living. I’m going to be working for someone who’s close to Washington. If Urizen does come back, that’s where he’ll go. And Jonathan and I will be watching for him.”
* * *
Elmer Nosgrove sat in his study, enjoying a glass of port before bedtime. He was drinking in honor of Abe Cruller, his faithful helper for so many years. Nosgrove had grown fond of the man, although he had not hesitated to sacrifice him when the time came. Sacrifices were sometimes necessary. Cruller had understood that, and had given his life without hesitation.
There had been many times in the last several months when Nosgrove’s confidence had faltered. When he had first learned about the threat Terwilliger posed to him, Elmer’s first course of action had seemed obvious: simply kill the man and be done with it. He had traced Terwilliger’s location, using Agent Driscoll to make the initial contact, and had arranged for their first meeting at that awful Greek diner. A bit of poison in Terwilliger’s drink should have been sufficient to do the job… but the man had somehow been aware of Nosgrove’s presence. That should not have been possible. He had not consumed the drink, and for the first time in many years, Nosgrove had failed at something.
That was the first of many attempts on Terwilliger’s life. The bomb in his apartment was another failure, after Terwilliger’s damnable second sight had tipped him off before the explosives could be detonated. He had escaped that attempt, and the next one as well, when Cruller had gone to the Chinese family’s house to kill them all in their sleep. With every attempt, Nosgrove had grown more concerned that something so easy, the death of one man, had turned out to be such a difficult thing to achieve. Nosgrove had personally murdered more men than he could remember; why was this one so hard to kill?
In the end, seeing that murdering the man outright would not be possible, Elmer had no option but to allow Terwilliger be the architect of his own downfall. He had arranged for the police to catch Terwilliger in the act of killing that fool reporter, with the hope that they would either shoot him or arrest him. There was enough evidence to put Terwilliger in prison for life. But even that plan had failed, leaving Nosgrove no choice but to sacrifice Cruller, his beloved acolyte. In doing this, he had gained Terwilliger’s trust, convincing the man that the danger had passed. If Elmer couldn’t dispose of Terwilliger, at least he could use him.
And so they had come to this new equilibrium: Terwilliger would be working for Nosgrove’s own proxy, under close watch and in a controlled setting. George Bush, the oil man who was really a CIA man at heart, would provide Terwilliger with a fulfilling career and a sense of importance. Terwilliger and his special abilities might even prove to be useful to Nosgrove. In the meantime, Nosgrove would be free to continue the work he had been doing these last few decades. His control of the government was not yet complete; there was still much work to do. Within ten years, Nosgrove planned to have Bush, his unwitting proxy, in the White House. Once that was accomplished, Nosgrove would assume total control, and the world would soon be his.
Elmer finished the last of his port, set the glass down, and closed his eyes. In an instant he was at the appointed meeting place, on a hillside overlooking a vast, blue-green forest. The dark clouds had dissipated, revealing once again a purple sky and brilliant, twinkling stars. A few minutes later, the Eddites began to arrive—Ricky and Penelope first, followed by Norris, Krista, and Tim Capers. Norris was Nosgrove’s man through and through; Elmer had high hopes for him. Perhaps he would become a suitable replacement for Cruller one day. The others were not fully loyal to Elmer yet, but that was just a matter of time. As much as they tried to convince themselves that they served Ed, it was Nosgrove who had taught them all they knew, and it was Nosgrove they would serve in the end.
At last, Ed himself arrived, along with the pretty, dark-haired girl. They greeted each of his Eddites in turn, speaking quietly with each of them, before Ed came over to shake Nosgrove’s hand.
“Jonathan,” Terwilliger said, “I owe you my life.”
Nosgrove smiled and patted him on the arm. “It was nothing, Ed. Just doing my part.”
“We still need you. You know more about Urizen and the Cycle than probably anyone else alive.”
“It’s true that the immediate danger is past,” Nosgrove said, addressing the whole group. “But we have to stay on our guard. Urizen’s earthly body is gone, but the demon is still out there. He will take a new host, and so will Orc.”
Ed, who was starting to consider himself the leader of his little band of heroes, spoke up. “We may have years before they come back, but they will come back. Our job is to watch for any sign of Urizen’s return.”
Nosgrove nodded. It was important to appear deferential, so they would consider Ed to be their leader. He said, “I will work with Ambassador Bush to make sure our government is secure against the threat. There are very few men we can rely on, but George is one of them.”
“We all need to be ready,” said Ed. “When Urizen returns, we won’t know his face or his name. We will only recognize him by his methods. He’ll come out of nowhere, gaining power rapidly and drawing powerful people to him. We can’t trust anybody outside of this group, plus Joy and Perla and Rayfield. But within our group, we have to trust each other with our lives. Are we all together in this?”
“I’m in,” said Ricky.
“Me too,” Penny said. The others indicated their agreement as well.
“I’m with you, Ed” said Elmer Nosgrove. “As always.”
About the Author
Michael Stiles grew up in Rochester, NY and now lives i
n Northern Virginia. As a child, he was an avid player of Atari games, but this did not develop into a marketable skill. Instead, he majored in Mechanical Engineering and somehow found himself harvesting bovine joints in a Veterinary Medicine lab to test the tribological properties of cartilage. After that experience, he decided that cutting up cows for research was not a fulfilling career path, and moved into IT consulting because computers do not bleed.
Connect with Michael Stiles:
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/michaelstilesfiction
Website – http://www.michaelstiles.org
Acknowledgments and Notes
This work would not have been possible without the support of many wonderful people:
My family, for understanding that writing sometimes makes a person a little crazy, and for putting up with it
Brian Fabio, for being the first to read this and for providing thoughtful feedback
Joe Bullis, whose true story about urination served as an inspiration for Big John
Tom Wilseck, for inspiring the Green Monkey
Binh V. Dinh for Vietnamese language translation
Friends and readers who have been incredibly supportive throughout this process:
Gayle Berkeley
Nicki Haberland
David and Judy Woodhead
Rob Beeler
The Yankee/Cowboy concept comes from the writings of Carl Oglesby, whose theories are just a bit “out there” but make great fodder for conspiracy novels.
In 2008, Andrew McNeice of MelodicRock published a wonderful interview with Herbie Hancock about his time as the manager of Journey. This article provided part of the inspiration for the idea of subliminal messaging through music. You’ll have to read the interview to see the connection.
The Music of the Machine (The Book of Terwilliger 2) Page 64