The Flooding

by Sean Hancock

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I open my eyes.

  I feel completely and utterly normal.

  The sky is still dark over Runyon Canyon, but birds have started to sing. That means sunrise is imminent. That means the front gates will be opening. That means joggers, dog walkers, and other people who will find the fact I’m lying here, having plainly spent the night, strange and disconcerting, maybe even suspicious.

  There is a deep chill in the air. It’s so cold that my entire body is trembling.

  I try to sit up. The head rush is overwhelming, and I lie back down. The medicine has worn off, but the journey of the previous few hours has taken its toll.

  Who was the highly trained child, and why was she trying to kill my master? And what did she mean when she told Rebus he had lost his way?

  In the lobby of the GE Building, just before Ashkai bundled me into that elevator and brought me back to my senses, I was convinced those powerful and entrancing indigo eyes could only belong to one person: Meta. Now I’m not so sure. Then again, Rebus did ask, “Why have you betrayed us?”

  I try sitting again, more slowly this time. I’m hit by another head rush, but it’s manageable.

  I’m facing east toward Griffith Observatory, the horizon beyond tickled by the first feathers of light.

  I look to my left, right, and behind. I’m on my own, which means Tammuz is still out there somewhere, unless he went back to the hotel without me.

  I delve into my bag and pull out a bottle of water. Other than ayahuasca, I haven’t had any fluids for almost ten hours, and I’m feeling dehydrated.

  The more I drink, the thirstier I get. I drain the bottle.

  All of that liquid in my stomach is making me nauseous, and the feeling is getting worse. I’m going to vomit, so I force myself to stand and hobble over to some bushes that are facing west toward more rolling peaks and hills, a few of which lie within the boundaries of Runyon Canyon. The Pacific Ocean is beyond those, although I can’t make it out in the gloomy twilight.

  The first thing that comes up is all that water. It’s soon followed by an eruption of thick, gray sludge that smells truly awful, making me retch even more. While that’s happening, I get a shooting pain in my bowels and start fumbling with my jeans, shoving them down to my ankles and squatting, putting my hand over my mouth so that it’s not coming out of both ends at the same time.

  I knew this might happen. Purges are common when working with the medicine, but they usually occur near the beginning of a journey rather than the end. Either way, it’s not a big deal, it’s just bodily fluids, and they’re better out than in. In fact, I’m not the least bit embarrassed when I see Tammuz sitting on top of a nearby peak—arms wrapped around legs—facing my direction. Although to be fair, I think he’s more interested in the sunrise, which is blooming into life behind me.

  I packed plenty of toilet paper and wet wipes, so I’m able to clean myself up. I’ve got some fruit and a few granola bars in my bag. I’m not hungry, but I force half a banana down because I need the energy. Then I pack and start making my way over to Tammuz, who’s still looking at the horizon. Not that I can blame him. The sunrise is spectacular, that bloodred disc poking its head between two hills, sending swirls of lilac and splashes of pink across the sky.

  But then everything is more beautiful in the hours and days after an ayahuasca journey. It’s one of the many perks. Maybe that’s why I’m not upset with Tammuz, who has tears streaming down his face, for disappearing last night. It could also be the reason I feel a deep and meaningful connection with him as I sit and rest my head on his left shoulder, letting the magnificence of that view sink in.

  Neither of us speaks. There are no words to improve this already perfect moment.

  I must still be trembling because Tammuz takes off his jacket and covers me with it.

  Some minutes pass, and I spot a jogger winding his way through one of the many trails below.

  I sit upright, taking my head off Tammuz’s shoulder. He’s still crying but in a gentle, subdued way.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask.

  After a pause, he says, “I’ve never really seen a sunrise before, never really looked at it.”

  “Better late than never,” I say, following up with, “What happened last night?”

  He laughs and wipes tears from his face. “Everything happened last night.”

  “You had a powerful experience?”

  Without taking his eyes off the horizon, he says, “You could say that.” Then he says, “Right at the beginning, about half an hour after I drank, I was visited by this . . . this cloud of light. It was female and intelligent.”

  He pauses, but I let the silence endure, knowing he’ll resume when he’s ready.

  “It was hovering above me, scanning my body, looking for something, but I didn’t know what. Then four beams of light appeared out of nowhere and plunged into my body.”

  Tammuz shows me four spots spread across his chest and stomach. “They were heading for these trapped balls of repressed emotions, things that had been locked away deep inside of me for a very long time. The balls shattered and exploded, and the emotions inside came pouring out . . .”

  “There was sadness and joy, anger and jealousy, love and hate. There was everything. It was so powerful, I thought I was going to die. There was a message as well, something like: “These are the things you haven’t dealt with yet; here they are.”

  “I had a memory of being a small boy, of how I felt invisible then, and heard the female energy say, ‘You are loved, you are loved, you are loved,’ while being caressed and held by her. I had no idea how much I needed to hear and feel that.”

  Tammuz stops there, and I tell him how amazing that sounds and how not everyone has such a positive experience the first time they drink.

  “That was just the start,” he says, glancing at me. “After that, it was horrible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything you told me was true. I know that now.”

  “About what?”

  “Reincarnation.”

  “What did you see?”

  He stares into the distance like a troubled war veteran, then says, “I found myself in this cave with paintings everywhere. It was thousands of years ago.”

  The sick feeling in my stomach returns with a vengeance.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I just know. I was with my wife and some other people who were meant to protect us. We were hiding, but I didn’t know why or who from. My wife was in labor, I could even see the baby’s head, when these two maniacs appeared and started slaughtering everyone.

  “The really fucked up thing is they weren’t there for us. They wanted the baby. I did everything I could, but the men were too strong, and I was killed. As I was dying, I saw a ghost looking down at me.”

  Tammuz pauses before adding, “It was you.”

  “Interesting,” I say, trying not to look freaked out, that banana disagreeing with my sensitive bowels. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. When people die during ayahuasca journeys, it’s what they call an ego death. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it’s a good thing.”

  Brushing my explanation aside, Tammuz says, “You didn’t look like you do now, but it was definitely you.”

  He saw Suzy, I think, casting my mind back to what happened in that cave,

  remembering how that poor boy was stabbed three times, twice in the chest and once in the neck. I look at the same spot on Tammuz’s body now, just to the left of his Adam’s apple. In place of a gaping wound is a bright red birthmark, the one I noticed the night we met while waiting for the bus to London. I had an instinct then that the two of us were connected somehow; I just had no idea how deeply.

  Tammuz’s trip down memory lane coupled with his birthmark represents concrete proof my master has been lying to me. It’s a crushing realization, but I don’t let it show. The only half-positive thing I have left, the last glimmer of
hope, is that Ashkai tried to stop Rebus from killing my baby. Did he have a last-minute change of heart, or had Rebus gone rogue? Is that why they fell out? Is that why Rebus shot Ashkai with a tranquilizer gun in New York?

  “What do you think it all means?” I ask, hoping he hasn’t put the other pieces of the puzzle together.

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Tammuz says. “You saw me?”

  “No,” I say, relieved because if he knew I was his wife and that the child was ours, there’s no way he wouldn’t mention it. “I was having my own journey.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Not everything that happens on ayahuasca is real, you know. Sometimes it’s just crazy stuff your head makes up.”

  He starts defending his experience, telling me he knows it was real, so I stand and interrupt. “We better go.”

  Tammuz gets to his feet. He’s not crying anymore.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he says. Then he adds, “Did you get the answers you were looking for? Do you know where Ashkai is?”

  “I think he’s in New York. I don’t know where exactly.”

  “That’s not much to go on.”

  “I know,” I say, turning so I can be sick. “But it’s better than nothing.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Tammuz says, “Even though last night was hands-down the scariest and maddest experience of my life, I feel totally amazing today. Know what I mean?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m frustrated.”

  “Because you don’t know where Ashkai is?”

  “There’s that,” I say, holding up Bacchus’s cell phone. “But there’s also this.”

  “Maybe the guy who owned it didn’t have any friends.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Would explain why it hasn’t rung all day. Let’s be honest; he was a bit of a dick.”

  Tammuz is trying to be funny. I guess it’s an attempt to cheer me up, but it’s having the opposite effect.

  “Somebody left a voicemail the night before last. I want to listen to it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a feeling it’s important.”

  It’s just gone 1 p.m. on Saturday, and we’re at the Ocean Park Getaway. There’s a crack in the curtain letting a shaft of sunlight through, revealing motes of dust in the air.

  On our way back from Runyon Canyon, we stopped for some breakfast. My stomach was still sensitive, but I was able to keep food down and felt better as a result. Tammuz ate like a ravenous wolf, telling me how amazing everything tasted and how incredible he felt considering he hadn’t slept for twenty-four hours. He spoke some more about his profound visions and experiences. I got the impression he was holding something back, something personal and important, but if he didn’t want to elaborate, that was his prerogative.

  On arriving at the hotel, we took turns showering before lying on the bed side by side. I was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, and Tammuz was in boxers and a T-shirt.

  Very quickly, tiredness caught up with Tammuz, and he fell asleep. I stared at the ceiling fan thinking things through, such as where I should go when I arrived in New York . . .

  At breakfast, I used Tammuz’s phone to Google the information on the black card I found in Cato’s wallet—phoenix house and east village—but nothing of interest came up.

  The only address I have in New York that feels in any way relevant is for COSMOS, the technology and Internet company that, as it happens, has its headquarters in the East Village. The photograph of Rebus I found in Kaya’s house, before the place burned down, shows him leaving there. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be significant or that I’ll find anything useful at the location, but it’s as good a place to start as any.

  After the twenty-four hours I’d had, it was only a matter of time before I finally drifted off, entering the familiar, and sometimes helpful, world of dreams.

  I found myself back in that cave, but instead of being in the presence of pain, misery, and murder, I was surrounded by cell phones; in fact, I was standing knee-deep in them.

  One was ringing. I searched franticly through the pile, phones sliding out of the way and toppling over one another, creating new piles, but eventually I found the one ringing and grabbed it. Just as I was about to answer, it went dead. A moment later a text appeared:

  Important message. Enter four-digit code for access.

  But I didn’t know what the number was, and it’s a problem I’ve carried over into the waking world.

  I look at Tammuz, who’s propped up on some pillows on my left. “Is there any way to hack into a person’s phone and listen to their messages?”

  “Yeah, journalists do it all the time to celebrities. You just need the owner’s code, and you can do it remotely from a landline.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks, that’s really helpful.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Tammuz says, looking mischievous. “Let’s drink some more ayahuasca.”

  “How’s that going to help?”

  “The guy who owns that phone is dead, right?”

  I nod.

  “We can look for him in the spirit world and ask him to help us out with the code. Not as if he needs it now.”

  Something inside me snaps. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for your stupid jokes?”

  Tammuz takes a deep breath. “Why’ve you got to be so serious all the time?”

  I’m about to tear into him some more, needing an outlet for my anger and frustration, when I’m struck by what feels like an interesting idea.

  I swipe the screen. I’m remembering what happened after I drunk the medicine. How I was lost in the corridors of my own subconscious. How I was led to that door with that number, the number I’ve seen again and again since my Flooding. The number 4320.

  I input the four digits and . . . the screen comes to life. I throw my arms around Tammuz, kissing him on the lips.

  “You’re a genius,” I say, which is funny because the look on his face is kind of dumb.

  “What did I do?”

  I jump to my feet and stride to the far corner of the room, my excitement quickly replaced by worry, concern, and fear.

  What if it’s nothing?

  Standing in the shadows and turning away from the sunlight, I access Bacchus’s voicemail, click on the new message and listen . . .

  A woman says, “Samsara, if you get this, call me on 212-756-8934. And hurry; we don’t have much time.”

  The area code for New York is 212.

  I play the message over and over. I recognize the voice. It’s the same person who called when I was in Kaya’s basement, the person who told me to run.

  Back then, I thought it might have been Kaya herself, but I realize now that’s not the case. I don’t know who this woman is or why she wants me to call her, but what have I got to lose?

  Tammuz has come over to my side of the room. “How did you get the code?”

  I don’t respond, and he presses again. “Who is it? What did they say?”

  “Please be quiet. I need to think. In fact, wait here; I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “If you walk out of that door, I’m following you. I told you I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You’re not my fucking father,” I snap. “Just wait here.”

  He looks wounded, but I don’t care. I throw on some shoes and head to the front of the building, slipping down a quiet side street before dialing the number I’ve already memorized, shielding my eyes from the sun.

  It rings once, twice, three times . . .

  “Pick up,” I whisper. “Please . . .”

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice says, a voice I recognize.

  My already racing heart finds another gear. “Who is this?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Yes and no,” the woman says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”


  “We have a mutual friend.”

  “Ashkai?”

  “Indeed.”

  “He’s a liar.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes it is, which means you’re full of shit as well.”

  “Don’t you think you should hear what he has to say before losing faith? Maybe you don’t understand the situation as well as you think.”

  “I’ve started to remember my past. I saw him do something terrible.”

  “Do you know why he did it?”

  I think for a moment. “No.”

  “Then you still have much to learn.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I do.”

  “New York?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Meet me tomorrow at noon.”

  “Tell me who you are!”

  “Be patient, Samsara. All will be revealed.”

  “Where?”

  “Ashkai’s favorite place in New York. Do you remember it?”

  It comes to me instantly. “I do.”

  “Noon. Be there.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “It’s better you don’t trust anyone. It’s safer that way.”

  THIRTY

  I tell Tammuz to go through airport security alone, explaining I’ll meet him at the gate.

  He wants to know why we can’t go together, telling me he’s worried I’ll disappear, so I do my best to reassure him, while at the same time insisting we do it my way.

  He eventually gives in, and I hang back, watching as he puts his bag on the security belt and enters the full-body scanner. Before disappearing around the corner, he glances back for one final look, his eyes asking, “What are you up to?”

  We’re at LAX, about to catch the red-eye to New York. But that’s only if the next few minutes go to plan. If they don’t, I could end up arrested and in jail. That’s why I needed Tammuz to go ahead.

  Everything will be okay.

  I can do this.

  I know I can.

  I walk forward and place my hand luggage on the belt. Then I approach a middle-aged white man wearing a light blue uniform, explaining I have a phobia of technology, which means I can’t enter the full-body scanner. I’m smiling and being cute, two things that have zero effect on Jayla, the large African American who has been assigned to pat me down.