Nirvana Effect

by Craig Gehring

Now he had a choking, claustrophobic feeling, as though the walls of the car might threaten to close in and smother him. He’d never felt more trapped. She turned to look at him, wiping her own eyes as she did so. She reached to wipe his. He let her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with her hand still on his cheek, making sure he was looking directly into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Edward. Everything he’d thought, he poured into those words. He wanted to say all of it.

  It’s too dangerous. There are no passenger cars on this runaway train.

  She can’t come with me.

  Slowly, the skills that had let him survive this long without her came back to him. He closed his mind and took control of his breathing. It was far easier now than it would have been even a month ago. He pulled himself together. He looked at her. She looked brighter. She was watching him, as though waiting for him to say something.

  “Thank you for telling me that,” said Edward. “There is a lot I need to say, too. I just, well…” I just can’t say any of it. Except… “Thank you, Callista, for giving me the happiest years of my life.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.” She turned her head away, breathed deeply, and then turned to face him. “Thank you for listening. I needed to get it all out. I feel a lot better. All right,” she said. She didn’t sound a lot better. “So, a tablet, you say?”

  “Yes, right. I need to make a tablet.” Or maybe just run away with you to Italy.

  “What is it all for?” she asked.

  “Nothing I can really tell you about. I would love to, actually. I can’t tell you how much I’d love to tell you about it. It’s just…”

  “Secret?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing illegal or a vice or anything. It’s just something that needs to stay utterly confidential. As in, only I know of it.”

  She peered at him strangely. He held some semblance of a poker face. She shrugged. “Well, all right. Let’s make a pill.” She led him into her house.

  34

  The twelve chosen priests of the inner circle stood around the fire Nockwe had built for their meeting. He had chosen the clearing where Manassa had given his speech to the tribe, where the very trees had reverberated with the name of the Onge living god.

  It was as fitting a place as any. It was a place of victory for the dozen. He hoped they were taking the time to revel in it. He needed them on their heels.

  Nockwe watched from the edge of the clearing, unseen. He respected many of these “priests”. They were among the strongest and the wisest of the tribe. Tonight, eleven of the twelve would learn to respect him. One would receive a deeper revelation.

  The chieftain walked briskly to the fire. There were several nervous glances in his direction. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, much as their god did.

  Nockwe acknowledged them with a nod. The priests began their opening ritual. They had met like this many nights since Manassa had risen to power. Manassa had stopped attending them. Still, the chant to their god was protocol.

  The twelve formed a close ring around the fire. One by one they chanted.

  “We are the chosen.” The phrase echoed around the circle, each priest giving it voice in turn.

  “Our god is the chosen.” Around it went again.

  “We are the vision.”

  “We stand for divine truth.”

  “LONG LIVE Manassa!” they shouted in unison.

  Nockwe walked inside the ring of men, circling the fire in the opposite direction of their spiraling chant. He examined the face of every priest. He cast his shadow on every member of Manassa’s inner circle. Many watched him with the deference they’d always carried for him. A couple cast the same jealous glances they’d always cast. Three amongst them were different, however. These watched him as adversaries, as equals. One was Glis. The others were Jurdan and Raol.

  Nockwe weighed his options. Jurdan and Raol were on the opposite side of the fire as Glis. It would be dangerous to make assumptions. Of Glis he was certain.

  “By all our traditions, Manassa is our living god,” said Nockwe in their traditional tongue. All attending spoke the dialect or at least understood it. “By all our traditions, I am your chieftain.” He twisted his head around to gauge their reactions. The priests were all around him. The fire gave no cover. The coolness of his knife hilt against his skin was reassuring. “And by the holy word of our living god, I am your head priest. Your purpose, as a priest of this order, of this inner circle of followers, is to further the tribe by furthering the vision of Manassa. For those who do this, there is abundant hope and eternal life. For those who do not, there is death and fire. And none in this ring are exempt. Those of this circle shall be first to receive both reward and punishment.”

  Nockwe continued his circling. He neared Glis. He felt butterflies in his stomach, and he had to force himself to continue speaking. Something was wrong. He never got butterflies. It was not the warrior’s way.

  He was not sure of what came next; he did not know if his traitors outnumbered those loyal to him. He would soon see. “No vision of Manassa includes the destruction of the tribe or its laws,” said Nockwe. “The laws of the tribe are supreme.”

  He stopped circling and looked directly at Glis. “One of our laws is that no enemy shall be given quarter.” Glis tensed. Nockwe heard some rustling noise from Jurdan’s direction. It was inconsequential at this point. No matter what Jurdan did, Nockwe was too close to Glis. Loudly, Nockwe cried, “Glis, I wish to commend you, for slaying one of our movement’s enemies!”

  Glis relaxed. Then his face took on a gray, slackened recognition. It was too late for him to even react.

  A flash of metal by the firelight. A gurgling shriek. Glis dropped, clutching his throat.

  “Glis! Nockwe!” The priests shouted to one another. No one moved toward Nockwe, though.

  Nockwe shouted, “It is a higher law not to murder Onge!” He gained their silence with his volume. He met their every eye. “And it is an even higher law not to betray our god! This priest acted without authorization and without direction. A vigilante is more dangerous than a traitor. There were other killings, perhaps prompted by Glis, perhaps by others. They will not any longer be tolerated. You may meet with me in secret at any time and gain my advice. You will not act on your own!”

  The priests around the circle looked frightened, every one of them. They were looking at Glis’s dead body and taking in Nockwe’s words. None of them could put up a fight against a healthy Nockwe. The limp form of Glis bleeding at his feet reinforced that.

  “Manassa is god. I am his high priest. His revelations come to you only through me. Is that clear?” Nockwe asked the silent members of the Circle. They nodded.

  “Lee’tep, Jurdan, Raol, and you two - you are to go now to Lisbaad with your warriors and fortify Tomy’s position immediately - tonight. The last phase of our planning is about to come to fruition. Manassa foresees events taking a quicker pace than even he predicted.” Nockwe had planned on Jurdan and Raol staying at the village, but that was no longer tenable. Lee’tep, Nockwe’s cousin, would keep an eye on them. “The rest of you are to stay here and report to me at the throne of Manassa in the morning.” Nockwe looked at Glis’s body, a bloody hole in his neck. It saddened Nockwe to see Onge blood spilt. “Give this man a proper burial. He was a servant to the tribe, and a great man. Let it be known he was investigated by the chieftain and found guilty of murder. Good night.”

  Nockwe walked away. He did not check his back. He did not even wait for them to acknowledge him. He was certain of their compliance.

  He was uncertain of something else. He still had the butterflies. And something with Glis’s gray face…Something wrong…

  35

  With Callista’s assistance, it was only a matter of a few hours for Edward to isolate the active ingredient in the substance. The agent was an extremely soluble compound bound up with a liquid that was at least half the culprit for the after-pain. This unnecessary
liquid was similar in structure to caffeine, but obviously had a lot more kick.

  Edward picked over his memory for the sensation of the “upper”. It was there, definitely, but had nothing to do with the positive effects of the substance. It just taxed the nerves heavily. Just the fact of purifying the substance would reduce the after-effects.

  The simpler matter of tabletizing the drug took far less time.

  Edward and Callista skillfully limited their conversation to the task at hand. Edward, for one, was glad to be on a much more manageable subject.

  “What do you want to call it?” she asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Well, we can call it T or Z. I don’t have 2 flat ends of the pill presser, just one. And two ends with letters.”

  “Why T and Z?”

  “It was supposed to come with every letter, but the person I got it from - let’s just say they don’t take returns.”

  “Well, if I’ve got to have a letter on it, give it a T,” said Edward. For trance. Trance pill.

  She pressed the first pill.

  “You have to press every single one individually?” asked Edward.

  “I’m not Pfizer. This is what you call home cookin’. Here you go,” she said as she dropped the pill into his hand.

  I hope this works.

  The pill felt heavy. He knew it weighed only a few milligrams but its significance seemed to add to its mass. It was his next step ahead of Mahanta, ahead of being predicted. It might very well be his only lifeline. It was certainly his only assurance of guiding his own destiny. If it worked, it was a game changer; he would get to be the maker of the game.

  Right now, he didn’t even really know what game Mahanta had him playing.

  This pill had better work.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Callista.

  “What do you mean?” asked Edward, looking up his hand. Callista had pressed a pile of “t- pills”. She was finishing up with the last powder in the bowl.

  “Forty-five pills,” she said, pressing the last one. “What do I mean?” She laughed. “You’ve been standing there staring at that pill forever.”

  He rubbed his face.

  “You know, you’ve been rubbing your face a lot today,” she said.

  “I’m tired.” He set the tablet down and stretched his arms and legs. He’d been standing for hours.

  “Me, too,” she said. “I’ll go get you a medicine bottle for the pills. You know, I don’t understand why you can’t tell me about this. I’m a doctor, you know.”

  When she left the kitchen, he popped the t-pill into his mouth.

  He had to find out if it worked.

  Edward looked out the window while he waited for her to return. It was dark, now. Lisbaad nights were darker than London nights. Of course, Onge nights were darker still. His tired mind drifted momentarily to the panther chase, to the air so dark that he couldn’t see his hands in front of his face.

  The window gave him a view of her back “yard”. It was more a jungle clearing than anything else, with a few potted plants here and there. Edward idly flipped the light switch off to let his eyes adjust to the scene. It was beautiful, really, with the moon and the stars the only light in the sky. Everything in her yard seemed to glow.

  It seemed like that moment where she poured her heart out to him had been eons ago. It seemed a detached moment on the track of an alternate reality. I’ll have to tell her something before I go.

  He saw motion in the yard, and for a second he felt the adrenaline start pumping. His spine snapped straight, his eyes widened, and he leaned against the glass.

  It was only a cat. He relaxed, resisting the urge to chuckle at himself. Well, it pays to be alert.

  A moment later, his body tensed again. A hand gripped his neck.

  Callista. He recognized her before he jumped. She was massaging him. Still, knowing it was only her didn’t relieve his tension. He continued to look straight ahead, out the window, becoming slowly intoxicated by the caress of her soft fingers on his neck.

  Edward experienced the slow sensation of the room shrinking (or was he getting closer to it?) then expanding (was it going away?). The back yard lightened. It looked like it was a blue noon, with the moon as bright as the sun. He felt like he didn’t have a body at all.

  He felt momentarily queasy, and then it all passed. All was back to normal with his perceptions, but only because he willed it so.

  The trance. It’s working…much more gradual than the injection. It’s definitely working.

  Her hands worked a rhythm into his neck that resonated through his whole body and irresistibly into his mind.

  In the park. On my knee. I pop the question. He looked at her face in that freeze-frame. Her eyes do say “yes”. And a lot more. She told the truth.

  He played through it again and again, a hundred times in less than a second. A dim realization that the trance was on in full was overshadowed by the clarity of the hundreds of recalls that defined his relationship with the woman whose skin was touching his.

  He’d never meditated on Callista in trance. He hadn’t let himself. Now he could not help himself. The lid was off Pandora’s box.

  Four years of college. 1,461 days. Only 97 of them spent without her.

  He knew because he saw them all, re-experienced them all, so quickly it was almost instantaneous.

  He drove her from the campus up to the Uni Parks, walked her to their sequoia. The grass, the blanket sometimes, the pressure of her head resting on my stomach. She tells me not to laugh so much. I laugh more.

  The times she saw the look on his face that told her he’d just talked to his family. She just holds me. She delighted in the person that was actually Edward Styles - a person who happened to be totally unacceptable to Edward Styles. She understood him because she’d gone through the same.

  He sighed. All those conversations. The conversations and conversations.

  He had a million snapshots of her beautiful face and body. He’d spent much of his college life staring at her. He stared at her now, in trance, through his mind’s eye.

  I’m indulging. He willed himself to stop. He only needed to learn one thing from this meditation. He needed to know only one thing and then he’d shut the book one way or the other.

  Edward took a moment to visualize all of the factors involved. Himself. Her. Mahanta. Nockwe. The tribe. The Jesuits. The drug.

  All these things created a future. In one equation, he took her with him. In another equation, he left her behind.

  Probabilities did not pop up at the end of the equation. Rather, he saw a vision.

  The first one, with her in his arms, was dim to the point blackness. It’s not real.

  The second, the same bright future, the future he didn’t even dare say out loud for fear of it disappearing, was still shining and brilliant. It’s real. It’s without her.

  It didn’t seem quite as appealing as it had yesterday. But there it was. He had to leave her. That was final.

  He decided.

  The massage had stopped. He opened his eyes. He was looking straight into hers.

  He kissed her.

  She pulled away. “Edward,” she said.

  “Shh,” he said.

  “I don’t…”

  “Shh.” He held her and watched her. He could read her in the trance. It was the first time he’d ever been able to read her. She was afraid. She had been afraid he was going to hurt her by walking back out of her life. Now she was afraid that he was going to hurt her far worse.

  “Callista,” he said. He searched for the words. He smiled and stroked her hair. She leaned into his hand slightly. She was hoping.

  “Callista, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s quicker than your story. It’s simple, actually, quite simple.” He breathed deeply and looked at that first vision, the vision he desired. It was a little brighter. It was possible.

  “I love you,” he said. He kissed her again. This time she didn’t resist. He tasted he
r tears as they ran down into their mouths. For long after they kissed, they held each other. She sobbed into his shoulder. Relief.

  Edward saw a flash of metal in his peripheral vision. He jerked his head. It was a boy peering through the window across the room. Edward’s eye only caught him moments before he pulled out of sight, but in the trance it was enough to identify the intruder.

  It was Tomy. The eyes and ears of Manassa.

  Edward pulled her away firmly. He held her cheek. “Something’s in the yard. I’ll be right back. Stay here.” Edward checked the window outside. The kitchen opened directly to the yard. “No, scratch that. Go to the furthest room from this door and lock the door. And don’t open it until I come get you.”

  “Edward?” Her voice quivered. “What’s happening?”

  “If I don’t come get you in an hour, call the police.” Not that they’ll do any good.

  “Edward,” she said.

  He had to move. “Just do it,” he yelled with an urgency that she could no longer resist. As she started to follow his instructions, he bolted out of the door. He got into the yard in just enough time to see Tomy disappear into the thick jungle.

  36

  Edward ran. He concentrated on getting every iota of momentum possible out of his leg muscles. He pushed with all his might. He had to catch up with that boy. Tomy had a head start, but Edward was closing on him. Though the Onge boy had been raised running the jungles, Edward had the trance and longer legs.

  The boy darted behind bushes and plunged through underbrush. If he got out of eyesight long enough, he could hide. Then Edward would be one step behind Mahanta again. Dangerous. Gotta get him.

  Edward felt the sharp thorns of plants ripping at his skin. He stumbled, but managed to launch himself back up without slowing his pace.

  For a moment Edward lost him. Tomy was out of sight, and all Edward had to track was the swaying of vines and limbs in the boy’s wake.

  Their chase had taken them deep into the jungle, where the moon had a harder time piercing the treetops. Even with his trance vision, Edward had a hard time seeing what was ahead of him.