Modern Rituals

by J. S. Leonard

  “That’s terrible,” Olivia said.

  “To release her spirit, or any spirit really—and take note of this, you never know when you’ll need it—you must call forth their spectral form and coat a physically based totem (in this case, the figures) in sacrificial blood,” Trevor said.

  “That’s why you cut yourself,” James said.

  “Yes,” Trevor said. “And I forgot to thank you, James. For Horace. For having the courage to end this. I owe you one.”

  James didn’t know whether to say “You’re welcome,” or “I didn’t kill a man for you, I killed him because of you—asshole.” He chose to stay silent.

  “And, hell, while I’m at it,” Trevor said. “I have a confession to make: Horace didn’t kill Tomas, nor did Arikura—he died in a fight with me.”

  James stared into Trevor’s eyes. “You killed him?” He steadied his right fist, which had begun to shake.

  “Hold on,” Trevor said looking down at James’ hands. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Do tell,” Olivia said.

  Trevor stroked his neck and peered at the ceiling. “Tomas had me figured out. He confronted me after the roof incident and we fought. I was able to get away and rigged a trap—in self defense, mind you—I’m no good at lying and he saw right through my bullshit. When he came at me again, the trap sprung, and…well, he lost his head. I swear to you, I warned him.” Trevor raised his hands. “It was him or me.”

  This may have been the first time James believed Trevor.

  “Trevor, you don’t just owe me one. You owe all of us.”

  Trevor had divulged far too much. His heart skipped a beat—an instinctive warning sign.

  “Something’s wrong. A retrieval team should have been dispatched by now,” Trevor said.

  Theo must be in more trouble than I realized if protocol isn’t being followed. I doubt I’m safe.

  “Perhaps we should go have a look around,” Trevor said.

  “For what? So these so-called ‘operatives’ can wipe our minds and send us on our merry way?” James said.

  “Trevor, he has a point. If you are telling the truth, we have no reason to go anywhere with you,” Olivia said.

  “You’re right,” Trevor said. “I should have kept my mouth shut. Either way, it doesn’t change what’s happening next—”

  “The hell it doesn’t!” James said. “Come on you two, we may as well fight our way out of here.” He hoisted himself to his feet.

  “Wait, what about Keto?” Colette said.

  James extended a hand to Colette. She took it. He helped her to her feet, then placed his hands on her shoulders and bent low, aligning his eyes with hers.

  “Colette, we don’t have time right now to worry about Keto’s body. If what Trevor said is true, we need to get the hell out of here,” he said, then leaned in close. “Do you understand that? We need to worry about staying alive.”

  Colette’s puffy eyes disconnected from James’.

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  “Thank you—I know this is hard. Come on,” James said and headed for the exit. He stole a final glance at the macabre scene in Arikura Fukishima’s suicide chamber, then looked back at his companions.

  Olivia vaulted upright and followed. Trevor joined Colette’s side, offering her an arm, which she took with a sad smile—whether they ultimately decided to trust Trevor, Colette seemed to welcome his warmth for now, and he might yet be of some use.

  They advanced into the murky hallway, proceeding toward the sewer.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me—again?” James said.

  As if it were par for the course, a glowing, purple message graffitied the wall adjacent to the grimy ladder leading up to the gym.

  TRUST AND SURVIVE

  SCHROEDINGER’S CAT IS DEAD

  DEATH LOOMS

  Disbelief strangled Trevor as he read the message. James and Olivia watched him, silent.

  “Um, Trevor?” James said finally. “That doesn’t seem like a good omen.”

  Trevor pursed his lips and sucked in a lungful of air through his nose—it made a faint whistle.

  “Nope,” Trevor said. “It doesn’t, James.”

  The moment Trevor said “James,” a chunk of cobblestone ejected from the wall just under the writing. Another cobbled brick fell, followed by several more, until a pile of dirt and rock lay on the ground. A dark, metal-lined corridor led off into the distance.

  “You don’t suppose we should go this way, do you?” James said.

  “I’m thinking we should go this way,” Trevor said. Whether a deus ex machina or uncanny coincidence, Trevor sensed hope in the opportunity before them.

  He stepped over the rubble and into the corridor. A string of lime-tinted fluorescent lighting flickered on, running down the center of the hall.

  “Ah!” Trevor said. “I recognize this service tunnel now. It’s a perfect escape route. You three might have yet a chance to leave here unscathed. Let’s move!”

  8

  “Tsk, tsk—Theo, haven’t we been a bad boy?” the marshal—Reginald—said, his voice shrill and nasal. “These are some serious accusations.”

  Theo imagined smashing Reginald’s face. He traced the contour of his fist’s impression in Reginald’s septum.

  “Theo, are you listening?”

  Theo ignored Reginald for a long moment, then, “What? I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

  “Time to get serious, Theo.” Reginald leaned in. “Holmes has put together a mountain—think Everest, not Fuji—of evidence to support your arrest. Shall we review it?”

  “No,” Theo said.

  “No?”

  “Good, you heard me,” Theo said. “No, I don’t want to review the evidence.”

  “Ah, well…” Reginald said. He plucked his eyebrow, winced from the pain and rubbed his forehead.

  “Sorry, but we are reviewing this. Standard procedure—”

  “Why did you ask?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why give me a choice? Clearly there’s no choice here, Reginald. You are in complete power. By all means, follow protocol.”

  Reginald cleared his throat.

  “Theo, you are under arrest for the attempted sabotage of ritual 429A on the grounds of tampering with Facility 7 pre-ritual. Here are several supervision logs showing your presence in areas of Facility 7 where evidence of tampering was discovered,” Reginald said, handing him a list.

  Theo glanced at the document. He pushed it toward Reginald.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Theo said.

  Reginald raised an eyebrow.

  “You really don’t want to review the evidence?”

  “What evidence? These are nothing more than fabrications. I am exercising my right to silence on this matter and I request council with the executive minister.”

  “Theo, these logs aren’t the end of it. There’s photo and video surveillance showing you in the act,” Reginald said.

  That sneaky, fucking bastard Holmes. He’s gone too far—doctoring video footage?

  “You do realize—” Theo said.

  Reginald held his hand in front of Theo’s face while pressing his index finger to his ear.

  “Reginald speaking. Oh? Oh… That is most unfortunate,” he said to a silent third party. “Yes, I understand. Thank you.” He lowered his hand.

  “Phone call?” Theo said. He detested cochlear communication implants—they were the definition of douche-bag.

  “It seems there’s been a development that casts you in an ill light, Theo.”

  “Oh? I can’t wait to hear about it.”

  “Unfortunately, it is classified,” Reginald said. “And considering your detainment, I’m fairly certain you don’t have clearance.”

  Theo sniggered. Clearance my ass.

  “Let me guess. The ritual succeeded, but something has gone terribly wrong, and now you suspect Trevor, too, yada yada…?”

 
Reginald swallowed several times as if he’d suffered from an attack of acid reflux. He cleared his throat.

  “That might be the case,” he said. “Can you tell me more?”

  “That’s not how we play this game Reginald,” Theo said. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

  “Fine. Yes, the ritual has met more than the minimum participant count, but Arikura has been freed—Amida won’t be pleased.”

  Wow, Trevor went a bit overboard, didn’t he?

  “I believe Amida can be pacified, given the right coaxing,” Theo said.

  “How?”

  “Ah! Sorry—I can’t divulge until I’m guaranteed a ticket out of here,” Theo said. “Reginald, you can’t honestly believe I would tamper with a ritual. For one, I would never be so careless to be caught on surveillance. And two, it is my job to ensure their success, and disaster will result if I do not. There is absolutely no incentive for me to act as a saboteur. Where’s my motive? Think Reginald—think!”

  “Theo, you and I have known each other a long time. Greater men than you have attempted to shift the balance of good and evil in the world—a decision that was never theirs to make. Regardless of your status and track record within this organization, we must take into consideration all charges. You know this as well as I.”

  “It is true, I’m slightly vexed at the wool Holmes is pulling over our faces. He’s twisting the system against us in a dire time. Reginald, this ritual—it’s not normal. There’s an outside influence running interference.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard,” Reginald coughed a chuckle, wiped his mouth then composed himself. “And there’s no way to pinpoint the source?”

  “None that we’re capable of detecting. I have my theories, though I’ll need to clarify a few historical points,” Theo said. Then, earnestly: “I need to get out of here Reginald.”

  “My hands are tied, Theo. Holmes has considerable power, and he’s pulled every string in the book. You are a trusted facilitator—it wasn’t easy arranging your arrest, I can assure you that.”

  “Whoop-dee-fucking-doo,” Theo said. “I need options…” He looked to his hands, folded them into a tight clasp of blanched tendons and folds then brought them to his lips.

  “Your only option is to wait it out. The Minister will see you. Just not now. You will be in here a while.”

  “Minutes or hours?”

  “Days.”

  Not good—Trevor is in danger. I need to understand’s Holmes’ motivation as well as confirm my suspicions. We may be able to put an end to all of this forever. I can’t hope for the executive minister’s help at this point.

  “Reggie—I don’t expect you to understand what I’m about to do. You are damn near Cro-Magnon when it comes to your job.”

  “What’s that supposed to—”

  Theo jabbed his index and middle finger into Reginald’s throat and caught his forehead before it collided with the table. He eased Reginald’s head down, resting it on a cheek, which would later help with the headache.

  Theo hesitated.

  Two problems crystalized in his prefrontal cortex: guards and cell.

  “Right,” he said aloud.

  He laid his ear upon Reginald’s cheek, cringing at the oily seal formed when it made contact.

  “Ick,” he murmured. “Now for the fun part.”

  A tactile mechanism implanted in Reginald’s ear accepted commands when depressed—Theo pressed his finger against the fleshy inner flap of Reginald’s ear. Nothing.

  “Dear God—really?”

  He dug his finger into Reginald’s ear—this was sure to leave a bruise or cause an ear infection. A faint voice echoed from Reginald’s mouth.

  “How may I help you Reginald?”

  Theo had played a pivotal role in designing each AI responsible for Una Corda’s electronics and always left a backdoor. He held open Reginald’s mouth and spoke into the gaping cavity.

  “0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987, 1597, 2584, 4181, 6765, 10946, 17711, 28657,” he said in one breath.

  “Developer mode enabled.”

  “Exact code 14 at my location.”

  “Command accepted.”

  He ran to the window and peered through the porthole. The guards stationed outside the door stiffened, then threw one another a frantic glance and bolted down the hallway.

  Theo returned to Reginald. “Unlock detention cell, my location,” he said into Reginald’s wide mouth.

  Air rushed into the room, popping Theo’s ears.

  “Confirm my location.”

  “Precinct 7, Corridor 9, Cell H.”

  A detailed three-dimensional map appeared in Theo’s mind. He traced a path to Clayton, avoiding trafficked intersections, confident that his presence would go unnoticed.

  “Problem solved,” he said, peeking out the door into the hallways. Both paths extended into darkness, terminating at nondescript points. He pursued the left passage.

  Maintenance corridors ran parallel to Una Corda’s every hall, each a veritable cornucopia of refined electronics used in surveillance, emergency protocols, system operations and more—the hallways provided access. Theo located the nearest maintenance outlet and ducked inside.

  A claustrophobic ceiling grazed Theo’s head. Pipes and wire conduits lined the length of the tunnel in either direction—both beneath the grated floor and embedded into the ceiling. They twisted and converged into a neatly packed, confusing mess. Theo wandered through six or seven tunnels until he found the maintenance HyperLoop—a smaller, Support Personnel version of the primary HyperLoop. Instead of regular pickup intervals, a small panel beside the entrance summoned a hypercart, which Theo called upon. Thirty seconds later, a drab, grey cart sidled outside the entry door.

  The door opened. He stepped in.

  The HyperLoop’s speed made short work of the distance Clayton’s location on the other side of Una Corda’s campus. He arrived in under two minutes.

  Clayton sat at his desk, enjoying the peace and quiet his remote office afforded him. Few visited, which suited him—and frankly, everyone else, too. He sat reveling in his work, enjoying the tap of his fingernail against his tablet to a BeeGee’s tune, when a metallic tapping joined in. He stilled his hand and turned down the volume. An unmistakable rattle tinked and tattered behind the wall in front of his desk.

  “What in Fenrir’s name…?”

  Clayton stood and pushed his chair a couple feet away. He removed his coke-bottle glasses, huffed on the lenses, wiped free the condensation, replaced them and squinted, craning his neck toward the uncanny noise.

  Bang. He jumped backward and stumbled into his chair, which caught him mid-fall.

  The maintenance door opened and Theo crawled into the hallway. Sweat shone on his brow. He looked none-too-pleased.

  “Clayton, thank the Gods I found you,” he said.

  Clayton blinked, removed his glasses, cleaned them again, and stared.

  “Yoohoo, Clayton, are we all here?”

  “Yes, Theo,” Clayton said. “Is the…um…main HyperLoop in working order?”

  “Forget the HyperLoop—do you have a moment?”

  “Not really. I am cataloging atypical creatures in containment sector 504—it is long overdue. I rather enjoy spring cleaning like this.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I need a favor right now. Can you help me out?”

  “Of course,” Clayton said. Theo had always been an ally in times of need. “What is it that I can do for you?”

  “Two things,” Theo said. “The first one should be easy, especially for someone of your talents. I need you to search the archives for the first references to Anzabar. And I mean way back—like, to the beginning. I need to know more about the blood seals’ initial construction. The other thing I need will require…uh…your trust…”

  “The research isn’t a problem. My trust? What do you mean?”

  “I need to visit the containment center—alone,” Theo s
aid. “And with a gate key.”

  Clayton felt as if Theo had just slapped him with a rubber chicken.

  “What?”

  “I know—you are the sole caretaker and guardian, but something has come up. It’s critical,” Theo said.

  “What could possibly have ‘come up’ that would lead you to ask for a gate key? Do you realize the damage you could cause?”

  “I know exactly the damage I could cause,” Theo said. “Listen, Clayton, I have need of a particular creature’s aid. You can say I stole the key if word gets upstairs.”

  Clayton raised his eyebrows.

  “Theo, you do realize that you are acting irrationally. This is highly suspicious activity,” Clayton said. “Wait, why did you come through the maintenance corridor?”

  “Clayton, I don’t have time to explain. Do you remember when that gaggle of Super 104A-N7s escaped? You know, the zombies? Had they gotten out, you would have been canned—possibly worse. Hell, it could have led to an apocalypse. Who helped you clean up that mess? This guy,” Theo said and pointed to himself with double thumbs. “I need you to return me the favor, Clayton. You gotta trust me.”

  Clayton knew Theo had him. When the muscles in his face stopped following instructions, he lost control of himself and just gave up—right or wrong, a friend needed help.

  “Uh…” Clayton stammered. “Well, Theo, you have been an invaluable asset to this organization and to me. I suppose you’ve earned my trust.”

  “Excellent! Thank you my boy!”

  Clayton clicked his fingers against his security badge and paused, then flopped his hands on his tablet’s screen and flittered over it with all of his fingers at once. His ability with gestural computers astounded those around him and he loved to show off—Clayton’s hand-eye coordination was unmatched.

  A red panel near Clayton’s foot slid open. Inside rested a small key card. It gleamed silver as he withdrew it. Sky-blue neon circuit patterns radiated from its front, back and smooth, beveled edges. Clayton’s trembling, clammy hand held the card out to Theo.