The Black and The Blue

by Jay Brushett

  Secure in his hand, Larry managed to hold onto the small orb. The probe went flying out of Steve’s hands, toward where the trail started, at the crest of the hill. It hit the ground and rolled, down the incline, toward the river.

  Larry had stopped his fall with his arms, sliding on them across the stones. With his forearms dripping blood and pebbles he was up first. He clamoured to his feet and headed off toward the path, toward the probe. Steve lay between him and it, but the man was still recovering, sluggish on his hands and knees.

  Steve, though still dazed, saw the tall man lumbering toward him.

  As Larry passed by him, as it was the most direct route to the probe, Steve lunged into the other man’s path. Larry’s shins brought up solid in Steve’s ribcage and he toppled forward, again onto his arms.

  “FUCK!” Larry called. The small, rough pebbles grated against his raw, exposed wounds. “Fucking Jesus! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

  This time the small sphere went rolling out of Larry’s hand. He hardly noticed, his pain intense. The object came to a rest about a metre in front of him.

  Steve pushed Larry away, leaving the man to his agony, scrambled to his feet and was off. He teetered for a moment but then, finding his footing, and with his mind clearing, he ran again.

  Yet, Steve hadn’t noticed the small white orb.

  In a moment he was at the path and descending the hill to his prize.

  ······························

  DRUMS BEAT UNRELENTING IN Brad’s skull. He was close to it. The Call rang out clear and strong.

  The unseen trees were behind him now and he was into the open area of the, also unseen, old playground. He no longer had to dip this way, duck that way, he was free to follow The Call in a straight line. It felt good, gave him a sort of rudimentary joy to be able to do so.

  He ran, the only sound that of rock grating against rock as his feet pressed again and again against the gravel. He moved across the playground, toward the path.

  Toward it.

  Larry, laying there, recovering from his second fall, went unnoticed.

  But Brad did notice something else. The Bridge, the tiny sphere, was laying on the ground.

  Brad beelined for it. It was a secondary Call echoing in his head, a different drum beat, below the first.

  He retrieved The Bridge and the second drum stopped. Now there was only The Call.

  Larry called to Brad, yelled for him to stop, to give him back the orb. His pleas were unheard.

  ······························

  STEVE COULD SEE THE object now, sitting in the little stream that ran across the path. Shallow water swirled around its base and shapes shifted on its white surface.

  It was beautiful, in its own way. Mesmerizing, distracting. Tantalizing. Yes, that was the word. It was tempting. But he would not be tempted.

  He would destroy it.

  That was his purpose, the mission that God wanted him to complete. He didn’t know how yet but he would find a way.

  Down the path he went, gravel now interspersed with mud and sprawling tree roots. In his hurry his foot caught against one of the latter and he tumbled forward.

  Tucking into a ball, as best as he could, he rolled down the slight hill. The lightening grey world spun by as he turned. Trees, trees, rocks, roots, trees, Brad, rocks… the boy!

  Having shed his momentum Steve came to a stop and looked around, willing dizziness to leave him.

  The object was there, resting in the water still, shimmering. It was near him now, only a lunge away. But there was the boy, standing in the water of the stream, leaning down. His hands reached for the object. In one he held that same small sphere, the one that had sat on their kitchen table every night for years.

  “No! It’s mine!” Steve yelled.

  But it was too late. Brad’s hand grasped the object on one side and he touched the small orb to it on the other.

  ······························

  CONTACT.

  The Selected had made Contact. The Selected had The Bridge. The Marker was present, The Interface established.

  The Process would complete.

  The Process started, picking up where it had left off.

  The Steps executed. Line by line the algorithm ran.

  But something was wrong. Something was missing.

  The Marker was there. The Checksum ran, verifying its correctness.

  It failed. Incorrect, invalid.

  So it waited for further input. And waited. And waited.

  When the timeout occurred, and the exception was thrown, it started again. As its instructions dictated.

  The Process started.

  The Steps executed.

  The Marker was present.

  The Checksum failed.

  Then it halted.

  Waiting. Waiting.

  Timeout.

  Exception.

  Retry.

  The Process started.

  The Steps executed…

  ······························

  BRAD WAS SITTING IN the water, had sunk into it once he had grasped the object. Like with everything else, the boy didn’t notice or feel the cold water against his skin. The thing, the orb, was no longer swirling white but was pulsing blue.

  Steve silently took in the scene. What was he going to do?

  The boy was more unresponsive than usual, as if he was elsewhere.

  Steve needed to destroy the object. It was a Pandora’s Box. He knew it. Look what it had done to his brother. His poor brother, so young. Forever young. It wasn’t natural, wasn’t right.

  He was on his feet again now and approached the water’s edge, staring down at his little brother. Looking down, as well, at the thing that had eaten his little brother’s soul.

  Brad’s eyes were blank, had been empty and unseeing in his ageless body for decades. What kind of life was that? Eternal youth with eternal emptiness. Brad didn’t deserve that.

  Steve knew the tall man would be along shortly, and he wouldn’t be happy. No, not at all.

  If Steve was going to act it had to be now.

  He stepped into the water, feeling it run across and into his sneakers. He welcomed it. The cool liquid was nice, invigorating on his tired flesh.

  And he was tired. Tired of being a slave to fate, tired of taking care of the shell that had once been his brother.

  He bent, reached out his gloved hands and wrenched the object from Brad’s hands.

  The smaller orb remained in Brad’s clenched fingers.

  Both pieces stopped pulsing with that eerie blue light, returning to their placid white swirl.

  The boy moaned and lurched, trying to reconnect with the sphere.

  Steve ignored it.

  He looked into the dull glowing surface of the object. Images danced on it, turned and drifted into ever new vistas. The Devil’s TV. That’s what it was. You looked into it, then touched it and then Lucifer had your soul.

  The Devil wouldn’t have his soul.

  Steve glanced down at the river, saw a particularly large, flat rock. It was one of the ones they used to hop on to get across the water when they were kids. A lifetime ago. A wasted lifetime ago. He had wanted to do something with his life, felt, once, that he had a purpose. And he had had a family. In its place he had a mockery of life, a hellish routine that played itself out day after day.

  No more.

  He adjusted his stance to face the rock and raised the perfect white sphere high above his head. He gripped it with both gloved hands.

  No more!

  He threw the object as hard as he could at the flat stone.

  It sailed through the air for a moment, seeming to hang there, seeming to take forever.

  It smashed against the stone.

  There was a hollow twang, and it bounced into the air a little before coming to rest in the water once again.

  Steve star
ed down at it. It was still perfect, without a blemish. The shapes still danced and pranced across its milky surface, taunting him.

  Forged in Hell, it had to be. Not a scratch, no dent, no sign of the impact whatsoever.

  Steve’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  It had to be over. Had to be. One way or another.

  Steve removed his gloves and tossed them aside.

  One way or another he would be free.

  He approached Brad and pried the small object from his hand. Again, the boy protested but, again, with little effort. Steve had no idea what the small thing was, why it was important, but he knew it was. So he would do with it what Brad had done with it.

  And, perhaps, he would become like Brad. Empty was better than this. Anything is better than this hell, he thought.

  Standing above the sphere again, he stared down at it, forcing himself to do it. He reached down one arm, then the other, the one holding the small orb. Then he stopped there, one hand on each side of it, ready to grasp it. Its shifting pearl surface was in front of his face.

  What would happen?

  He didn’t know and didn’t care.

  There were sounds outside of himself then, in the real world, that evil place. That place of pain and loss. He ignored the sounds, didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to be swayed from this course.

  He turned his head and looked at his brother, sitting there. The boy reached out for the two objects.

  “Goodbye,” Steve said. He closed his eyes and willed his hands to move. “God forgive me.”

  He laid one hand flat against the sphere and then touched the small sphere to the larger one. The two objects merged into one.

  Chapter 7

  JIMMY HAD HEARD THE impact of the probe against the rock. It was a strange, otherworldly sound. Although he hadn’t been able to place it, he knew it wasn’t good.

  He and Rhonda, on their way to the playground, picked up their pace. Soon they rounded a bend in the path and came to the river. They halted there, unsure how to react to the scene unfolding before them.

  Brad was sitting in the water, twitching every now and then but still as unaware as ever.

  Steve was nearby, crouched next to the probe. His hands — one of them clutching the small white orb — were only centimetres from its surface.

  Larry was scurrying down the path on the other side of the river. He stopped when he, too, saw the scene.

  There was utter silence except for the gentle trickle of water.

  “Goodbye,” Steve said. “God forgive me.” They all heard it and could only watch as he connected his hands and the two alien objects.

  ······························

  CONTACT.

  The Bridge was present.

  The Interface started but The Marker was not present.

  The Marker was not present.

  This was not The Selected.

  Only The Selected could complete The Process.

  The Process had started and therefore The Interface only worked for The Selected.

  Once The Process started it could not change The Steps, could only follow them as outlined.

  And The Steps were clear.

  The Process must complete. It could allow no interference once The Process had begun.

  The Marker was not present and therefore it had to take The Measures.

  It took The Measures immediately.

  ······························

  MAY 24, 2005

  It is from Hell. I now have no doubt.

  It burned me a couple nights ago.

  My hands are still bandaged but healed enough that I can write a bit.

  We were sitting there and I couldn’t help but stare at it.

  Before I knew it, I had grabbed both the small and the large thing from the boy.

  Then everything went pink.

  I shut my eyes but it was still pink. Everywhere.

  And there was this awful, grating sound. It was like a whale screaming, deep in the sea.

  And then it burned. But I didn’t let go, not right away.

  Finally, I dropped them. The boy had them again in two seconds.

  Steven did a great job cleaning the burns and wrapping up my hands.

  I shouldn’t have written, the blisters are weeping now, from the movement. I can feel it beneath the bandages.

  Anyway, I made Steven bury the damned thing after that. And he did the same with the smaller ball too.

  The boy only sits there now, all the time. Good. It’s quiet. Normal.

  The ropes still come out in the night, but he hardly struggles without the small ball there.

  ······························

  FOR A SECOND IT seemed like nothing was going to happen. Jimmy had watched as Steve had connected the two devices. Now the older man appeared frozen. It was only a moment, but that instant hung there, suspended.

  Then it happened. The shifting white of the two reconnected objects darkened a little before flashing a bright pink.

  Jimmy shielded his eyes, but he could still see it. Was that a scream he heard?

  He forced himself to look. It was so bright.

  In the intervals of the pulsing pink light, when it darkened slightly, Jimmy saw Steve. He was still holding the device.

  And he was screaming. Though another sound drowned out his cries. The other noise was like someone screaming underwater, or what an air raid siren would sound like underwater. What was it? Was it coming from the probe? Jimmy thought so, where else could it be coming from?

  Then Jimmy noticed Steve’s hands. It was as if he were looking at an x-ray. All the bones were visible, as if the flesh had been stripped away. Yet, faint though it was, he could still see the outline of fleshy fingers and palms. The flesh was still there.

  The pulsing increased in rapidity. Jimmy couldn’t look any longer. He turned away and buried his head in his hands. He finally found some relief from the invasive brightness.

  The screaming and the underwater alarm continued, getting louder.

  ······························

  STEVE HELD ON. HE would not let go.

  He was blind and his hands burned. All he saw, no matter how tight he shut his eyes, was the pink flashing light. His ears rang with an alien sound mixed with screaming. Were they his own screams? Yes, he realized, yes they were.

  So, this was what she had felt. And what he must have felt too. Now he would join them. Finally, he would be with his family again. Hopefully, they would know that he had tried his best.

  He didn’t let go, even when it intensified, pulsing faster and brighter. He was along for the ride.

  Straight to Hell.

  ······························

  THE MEASURES WERE ACTIVE.

  And yet the alien life-form would not release it.

  The Measures, as per The Steps, increased.

  It would step them up, periodically, until the alien released it.

  ······························

  BRAD SAT IN THE water. But he didn’t know that. And though his eyes were open he didn’t see his brother glowing from the inside out. He didn’t see Steve’s every bone, from his skull to the phalanges of his toes. He didn’t know that Steve’s internal organs were beginning to liquefy.

  If he or any of the others could have seen what happened next, they would have wished they didn’t. It was a quick process and yet, to Steve, it was so very slow.

  His skin bubbled, erupting in blisters that burned away to ash soon after.

  Yet, he would not let go of the device.

  When the tendons of his legs dissolved he toppled over. And yet he still held on.

  Again, the intensity increased.

  Soon all that remained of Steve was his skeleton. This time there was no outline of flesh around it. The bones lay exposed, touching
the cool, early morning air.

  The probe rested in the river, but the bony fingers still held it.

  In another second those were gone too, reduced to a dust of calcium, phosphate, carbon and fluoride.

  Then the glowing ceased.

  For a moment the morning was as black as night to those watching. Shortly, their eyes adjusted and the brightening grey returned. By then most of what had been Steve Herritt was gone, washed away in the weak but continuous flow of the river or dispersed on the morning breeze.

  The probe sat in the water, the two white pieces still fused together.

  ······························

  “WHERE DID HE GO?” Rhonda asked, not wanting to acknowledge the smell that hung in the air, so much like charred meat.

  “Jesus,” Larry said, his eyes wide, “Christ.”

  “He’s gone,” Jimmy said. Tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t be sure if that was from shock, sadness or because he had his eyes clamped shut for so long. Glancing at the river he thought he could make out the shape of a man in the powdery substance remaining there. “He’s dead.”

  Even Brad, who was as oblivious as ever, was still, unmoving. Though the probe was there, for the grasping, he didn’t move.

  None of them moved.

  The light was yellowing and birds were starting to sing in the trees all around them. Any other morning it would have been peaceful, beautiful. Now it was out of place. Wrong.

  A man had died.

  “What now?” Jimmy finally asked.

  His words broke the spell that had rooted them to the spot.