by Peter Ponzo
"Tell us about the accident," I said. "Forget the math."
Sloan got up, paced back and forth then sat again.
"It was Wednesday, two weeks ago yesterday. I had recalibrated the collider and John was waiting for my okay to start the test. If all went according to John's vision, then we should be able to detect dark baryons and, with the absurd recalibration John asked for, anti-baryonic matter. He was convinced that anti-baryons were associated with dark matter and we might acquire evidence of that with the recalibrated collider. I have no idea why he thought that, but he was the boss. "
Sloan paused, we waited, then somebody knocked on the door.
"Go away!" Sloan shouted.
The door opened and someone stuck their head in. "It's back," the guy said, then closed the door. Sloan jumped to his feet. "Sorry, I gotta go," he said, and hurried out the door. We sat and looked at each other. Then Sloan stuck his head in the doorway: "You might as well come along," he said. We did.
Chapter Three
It was about a foot in diameter…and kind of fuzzy looking. Upon closer examination, it was clearly a glassy-looking sphere with a somewhat blurry surface.
"That's the third time it's appeared," Sloan said. "It stays for just a few minutes."
"Why is it on the floor, in the corner?" Gordon asked.
"Yes…why," Sloan said. "Before, it was in the other corner. The time before, it was on the table. We tried to move it, but it's not a material object…more like a three dimensional image, maybe holographic. In a few minutes it will just fade away. John was here for its first appearance…but not the second."
Sloan turned to his assistant. "If it's ready, turn it on," he said.
Henry, the assistant, punched a button on some flat panel and a beam of light washed over the glassy sphere. The sphere began to pulsate, vibrate fade in and out–then abruptly vanish.
"Did you get anything?" Sloan asked.
Henry shook his head.
"What's that light thing?" I asked.
Sloan looked glum. "It's a material analyzer. If the object stuck around long enough, we might have been able to determine it's elemental components, atomic structure and spectrum, molecular weights…John was convinced that it was dark matter. He called it 'congealed dark matter'. I rather doubt it, but he's the expert."
Suddenly there was a humming behind us and we all turned to see the sphere appear again, this time on a table. Although it appeared to be out of focus, it seemed to be displaying some image. We all stood about the table, leaning forward to observe the interior image.
"Isn't that Johnny?" Arthur asked.
"Damn right it is," Gordon said. "And he's talking. Listen!"
It was definitely a blurry image of John Richmond within the sphere, but there was no sound. It looked like he was trying to tell us something.
"Is there any way to amplify the sound?" I asked.
Sloan was already fiddling with knobs on a side panel. "There is no sound," he said. "Can anyone read lips?"
We all looked at each other. Henry said there was some gal in accounting that did read lips. Without waiting for a response, Henry left and we all stared intently at the globe. John actually seemed to be smiling. His lips were moving and we couldn't hear a thing, but he seemed happy.
"Wherever he is," Arthur said, "he's obviously enjoying himself."
"Johnny never smiles," Gordon said. "Well, I've never seen him smile."
Henry returned with some young woman who looked frightened.
"Josie," Sloan said, "we understand that you can read lips. Is that true?"
Josie coughed, put her hand to her mouth and whispered.
"Beg pardon?" Sloan said.
"Yes," Jose said softly. "My brother is deaf and dumb and we often talk with sign language or just lip reading. I'm not that good, but–oh my…what's that?"
Josie pointed to the sphere.
"Uh…it's an experiment," Sloan said. "Can you tell what he's saying, the guy in the globe?"
Josie bent over the shimmering sphere and began to translate:
"He says not to worry. He says he was right about…about dock matter. He says the sphere is made of…of sort of…sort of solid dock energy."
"Josie, could he be saying 'dark matter'?" Sloan asked.
Josie looked carefully. I could see her mouthing the words.
"Yes, yes. Dark matter and dark energy," she said. "He says that aliens inhabit the space…the dark space…between stars. They're dock, uh dark matter…contucks…constructs. They will release me soon, he says. In the meantime, order me a hamburger with fries."
Josie leaned back and laughed. "He's so funny. That's Mr. Richmond, isn't it? I never heard him being funny. He's always so serious, but he's very happy. Oh my, look! The bubble is bursting!"
The sphere grew slightly in size, then burst into a haze of pink light and was gone.
After a minute or two of silence, I turned to Sloan. "Were you present when John disappeared?"
"No. John would come in evenings, to work on his theory of congealed dark matter. The blackboard was always covered in equations…with lots of question marks. I'm quite sure he never fired up the collider–but I can't be sure..."
Sloan paused and looked pained. "But the night he disappeared he asked me to leave the particle accelerator on when I left. He would shut it down. I don't think I should have done that. It's against our regulations. There was supposed to be at least two people present at all times, when the collider was operating. It doesn't need two people to operate it. It's mostly computer controlled."
We stood in silence for some time. Then I said we had taken up enough of Sloan's time and should leave. As we were heading for the exit door, Sloan said, "What is the CI Agency?"
Gordon was about to invent some fictional account of agency activities, when I said, "It's the name we give to our poker-playing group. Johnny was a charter member."
Sloan looked confused, so we left in a hurry.
Chapter Four
It was over a week before I got the text message from John. It said, simply: Call the CI Agency together. I have a story to tell.
He was back, it seemed and had talked to Sloan about our 'Agency'. I immediately phoned Gordon and Arthur and we met at my place that same evening. Johnny was late, but I had the sandwiches and beer waiting.
"How did he get back?" Gordon asked.
"More important, how did he disappear?" Arthur asked.
"I suspect we'll soon learn the answer to both questions, " I said. "My own guess is that some fuzzy pink ball appeared and swallowed him."
"Okay, I'll guess that aliens emerged from the particle accelerator and–"
"You're both wrong," Johnny said, striding into the living room with a huge grin. I'd never seen him so happy. "I can't actually say how I disappeared. I was just–"
"Wait! Sit down, have a cold beer and start from the beginning," I said.
Johnny slid into a chair, popped a can of beer, took a big swig and leaned back.
"It was late in the evening and I was alone in the lab, next to the collider. I had asked Sloan to leave it on so I could observe the effects of the unusual calibration. The beam dynamics would clearly be novel and although I had worked out an analysis, the display in the cloud chamber would–"
"Ah, Johnny, could you just tell us how you managed to disappear?"
Johnny smiled then took another sip of beer. He was clearly enjoying himself.
"I don't know. That's the point, I really don't know. I was running back and forth, from the small particle observation window to my notes, when suddenly everything went dark. I mean, I could see nothing. It was scary. I could feel my heart pounding. Then I heard a voice. Well, not actually a talking voice…more like a comprehension, an understanding. I understood that there was a communication, from somewhere in the blackness. It made me understand that the radical way in which I was using the particle accelerator was to be terminated."
We waited as Johnny took a ve
ry slow sip of beer.
"So?" I said. "Who was talking to you?"
"I bet it was aliens," Gordon said. "Am I right?"
Johnny grinned.
"Yes, aliens…but not your garden variety aliens. These were crystallized matter, dark matter. In truth, they were waves in an unseen, undetected medium and they traveled in interstellar space. They crystallized just so they could communicate with me. Normally, they just roamed the galaxy. Apparently, the collider was able to interfere with their movements and they were concerned that condensation of dark matter was being developed in our lab."
Sloan paused.
"So then what?" I asked. "Did they just dump you back here?"
"Yes, sort of. I was made to realize that dark matter condensation was to be prohibited…then I found myself back in the lab. I felt exhausted. I felt overwhelmed. I actually fell asleep in the lab and awoke the next moring."
We pumped John with a thousand questions, but his only response was that he didn't know. They did communicate with him, they were composed of dark matter and they did extend throughout interstellar space, usually as waves but occasionally as crystallized–or congealed–dark matter. There was a great deal of energy involved in their wave motion and that, John suspected, was the source of dark energy.
It was almost midnight when we decided that, without sandwiches and without beer, we might as well call it a night. As John was leaving he said he'd like to go back. I thought he was kidding. It was so edifying–that was his word–that he felt that he could write a technical paper that might win a Nobel prize. Yeah, sure. Those aliens would be co-authors.
A week later I got a call from Sloan. John Richmond had vanished again, but in his office was a lengthy theoretical paper on dark matter waves.
Prologue
My name is Craig Lawson. That's not my real name, of course. I may be your neighbour and I wouldn't want to frighten you with the story I'm about to tell. I don't think I'm dangerous. I have my affliction pretty much under control, but it wasn't always that way.
It all started five years ago ...
Chapter One
I guess I fell in love with her as soon as we met. Annie was beautiful, smart, with a great sense of humour. What impressed me most was her smile: gleaming white teeth, impressive. I didn't know. She was vampire.
It was our first sexual encounter where I suspected that her intentions might be other than romance. She kissed my neck; it was too rough, too rude, too vicious. I was a little surprised, even a little upset. There was no need for rough play. When I looked in the mirror the next morning, I saw the scar. At first I assumed she was just sexually aroused. Welcome to the club. I'm a member.
The next time we met in bed, she actually bit me. I recoiled, ran my hand across my neck and saw the blood. Her eyes were bright green, flashing. Her teeth were radiant...and seemed somehow larger. I rolled out of bed, holding my hand to my neck, and she followed me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what came over me. I can usually control it."
I grabbed a towel and wiped my neck.
"Blood! See that?" I said, holding the towel in the air. Then, realizing what she had said, "Control it? Control what?
"I can explain," she said, her head lowered, her chin resting on her breast. "Can we sit. I'll explain. Please, let's sit."
Annie spent over an hour describing her transformation. Her father had sexually abused her. Her mother knew, but seemed afraid to intervene. Annie was just ten years old when her father wounded her. She showed me the marks on her neck. After so many years they were barely visible. Although her father never explained his need, and died shortly thereafter in a car accident, Annie knew. She spent hours in the library. There were vampire legends in 12th century England. They came out of their grave to suck the blood of the living–then returned to their grave. That was not the case with Annie, however. She led a normal life, a secretary to some rich guy as I recall, made sufficient money to live in a penthouse apartment and only occasionally felt the need for blood. Even then, it was involuntary. She couldn't control the impulse. She suggested that I, too, would not be able to control the impulse. Certain circumstances were catalysts for the urge to drink blood.
"Sex," I suggested.
She paused, then nodded. "Yes, sex."
Chapter Two
I guess it was a year later that I read about Annie in the local paper. We had parted company months ago. I realized at the time that our relationship was based solely upon a sexual intimacy–and that was clearly finished. I wasn't sure where she lived or what she was doing. The article in the paper said her body was found in Morry's Pond, a small swampy lake in Halton County. Although there was little in the way of description, the article did say that her neck was covered in welts and she had lost a great deal of blood. Since she was vampire, I suspected some kind of vampire event, a conflagration of blood suckers ... and poor Annie was consumed, if that's the right word. If that were true, if there was a vampire event, it meant other vampires lived in the area. That was scary. A vampire orgy? God help me.
I felt sorry that Annie had to die so young. I guess she was little more than twenty. Since we last met I had resisted the urge to drink blood. Even the thought disgusted me. I admit that there was the occasional craving, but I only needed to imagine the act and the impulse vanished. And, of course, I avoided any kind of sexual activity. That was evidently the catalyst.
It was about a year ago that the urge was overpowering. I was exercising, covered in sweat, my shirt clinging to my chest. I had joined the gym some time ago and decided I should go at least once before my membership ran out. Suddenly I felt nauseous, then weak, then faint. The only other person in the gym was an old guy on the treadmill. I was overcome with a desire, beseeching, a rage, an uncontrollable fury. I jumped off my exercise bike, ran to the old gent and pulled him off the treadmill. I hesitated. Was I really doing this? Stop! No, I couldn't stop. I had no control over my actions.
Before the old guy had a chance to cry out, I sunk my fangs into his neck. The blood spurted warm upon my lips. I inhaled the odour, drank deeply and fell back against the wall, dropping the old man's frail body. He lay quiet. I was exhausted–but strangely satisfied. My nausea was gone, I no longer felt faint. Indeed, I felt splendid, invigorated. I grabbed my overcoat and left the gym immediately. I was awake all night.
I later learned that the old guy died of a heart attack. I was disgusted with myself, embarrassed. I was vampire and exercise was another catalyst. I was afraid I'd be overcome with this lust when in the presence of friends. In particular, my girlfriend, Josey. Although she had made noises like she wanted a more intimate relationship, I was reluctant. I remembered Annie. I remembered the original catalyst. Although the old man was my only vampire episode, I was afraid, of hurting Josey or any of my acquaintances.
I decided I'd have to end the fear of hurting my friends. It kept me awake at nights. I'd move, to some remote country, to a place where everyone was a stranger. I'd live in the countryside, far from urban centres. To this end, I booked a cruise to South Africa. I sold my condo, transferred all the money in my bank to a bank in Cape Town, South Africa, gave away stuff I wouldn't need, packed and left without telling a soul...especially Josey.
The ship lay at anchor in the harbour, huge and colourful. There were a thousand people waiting to embark, each with a mountain of luggage. I had a back pack. I had booked an inside cabin. I intended to hide away most of the time, having room service deliver my meals. By the time the ship left port, I was sound asleep.
The black cloak swept across the field and opened suddenly with a radiant display of fangs. I backed away and felt the tree at my back. The mouth opened, a giant maw filled with tusks. It tore at the tree, ripping bark, tearing branches. It turned to face me, the jaws snapping open and closed. I screamed–and fell out of bed. I felt nauseous and weak. I could taste the blood. I ran to the mirror. I saw the cut on my lips: it tasted astonishing, captivating, demanding.
<
br /> I staggered to the door, turned the lock, pushed open the door, wandered down the hall, hands on the railing, unsteady. The corridor looked empty, yet I could feel someone–no, I could taste someone. I turned and saw her. She was young, dressed in the fluffy robe from her cabin. She seemed surprised to see me. I turned to face her, slowly. She stopped and backed away. I tried to run to her. I fell, my pajama bottom caught on the end of the railing. I tore the filthy cloth from my body and ran naked down the hall. I was thrilled, eager. I caught her before the elevator door opened. I pulled her to me, bit her neck, drank deeply. I heard her cry out. The odour of blood was captivating, the taste stimulating. This was outrageous, surreal ... grotesque. The elevator door opened and I pushed her into an empty elevator. She collapsed, the door closed and I slowly crumpled to the floor, weak but stimulated, ecstatic.
Chapter Three
They found me in the hall, naked, on the floor by the elevator. They told me of the woman who identified me. They told me of the crime I had committed. The woman was hysterical. I remembered very little. Now I was locked in a small room with a cot, a table, a mirror and a toilet–no window.
I was confused. Had I really attacked woman, sunk my teeth in her neck, sucked blood? It didn't seem real. I walked to the mirror and saw the blood on my lips. It was true, but why? What had brought about the ghastly event? I was in bed–I remember that. Was I dreaming? Yes, a dream, a giant mouth with fangs. Would I dream again? I was afraid to fall asleep.
There was a knock on the door and someone walked in with a plate of food. He was accompanied by a burly guy with a gun. The plate of food was placed on the table and they both left: not a word was said. The plate had what looked like baked potato and a salad and a glass of water. I wasn't hungry. I just fell onto the cot and tried to stay awake.