by Sean Hancock
“No, that was something much stronger.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“We’re trying to keep you safe.”
I laugh. “That’s a good one.”
“Do you want some water?” Mohawk asks, and I nod. He disappears for a moment and returns with a bottle.
He spills some down my chin, but I don’t care, using my eyes to tell him to keep going.
“Sorry,” he says when I’ve had enough, putting the bottle down.
The two other guys are still staring, and it’s pissing me off. Curiously, I don’t feel the same about the girl. Maybe it’s because there’s something gentle and unthreatening about her.
Looking at Action Man, I say, “Why don’t you use one of those guns on yourself?” To the nerd, I say, “You know it’s against the law to kidnap young girls and tie them up, right?” And finally, speaking to the whole room: “Who the hell are you people anyway?”
Mohawk, who looks amused, says, “My name is Echo.” He gestures toward the girl—“That’s Pythia”—then Action Man—“Bythos”—and finally the nerd—“Neith.” Looking back at me, he says, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we’re on your side.”
“I didn’t know I had a side,” I say, watching as Bythos and Neith pretend to carry on with what they were doing.
Echo spins his chair and sits. “Well, you do.”
I say, “If you’re my friends, I hate to think what would happen if my enemies got hold of me.”
“We know exactly what would happen, and it’s not good, trust me on that.”
Instead of responding, I pause to think.
Short of using my mind to do something spectacular, such as manipulating these people or breaking my restraints, both of which would be incredibly difficult—especially as all they’ll have to do is stab me with that needle—I’ve got no idea how to escape. My best bet is to try and talk my way out, but to do that, I need a face to face with the person in charge.
“Who were you speaking to just now?” I ask.
“Who do you think?”
“The bitch who lied to me, kidnapped me, and drugged me?”
Echo smiles. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“What happened to my friend, the one you left behind?”
He looks down for a moment. “I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t stop; it was too risky.”
“Did they catch him . . . the people who were chasing us?”
“I don’t know. But if they did, we’ll get him back.”
There’s a noise at the front door, which is over to my right. Somebody is about to enter, and that somebody is . . . Indigo.
The first thing that hits me is her energy; it’s intoxicating and powerful. She’s dressed very unassumingly in jeans, boots, and a hoodie, which she has up; large sunglasses cover her eyes. Everything about her makes me think she’s trying to keep a low profile.
I feel angry all of a sudden but more at myself than anybody else. Why did I follow this person’s lead in the museum? Why didn’t I take control of my own destiny?
“Let me go!” I say. You have no right keeping me here.”
“It’s for your own good,” the woman replies, striding toward me, boots connecting loudly with the wood floor. She pulls her hood down, revealing short, tomboyish hair, but leaves her shades on.
“Who do you think you are?” I say. “My mother?”
She grabs another chair and spins it, sitting next to Echo, both of them facing me, Neith and Bythos no longer pretending to be busy. Pythia, who is peering over Indigo’s left shoulder, is still waving and smiling in my direction, although it’s as if she’s looking through me. I’m starting to think she might be simple in the head. My kidnapper says, “In a way, yes.” Then she adds, “Tell me what you know.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm down. Getting angry isn’t going to solve this problem. I need to accept my predicament and work with it.
“About what?”
“Let’s start with me.”
“First time I saw you was about twenty years ago in New York. I was with Ashkai. We were running . . .”
She interrupts. “Do you remember who from?”
“Of course: Meta, Rebus, and their army of agents, the same idiots who have been chasing us since the beginning.”
Echo lets out a snigger, but Indigo ignores him. “What happened?”
“We made some bad decisions and ended up on the roof of that building with nowhere to go. Ashkai was shot. I wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t let me. To make sure I wasn’t captured, he pushed me and I fell to my death.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Angry, let down, guilty . . . nothing good.”
“If it’s any consolation, he had no choice.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s your excuse?”
“Regarding what?”
“Failing to kill him.”
She seems momentarily taken aback. “How do you know that? You were dead.”
“I drank ayahuasca.”
“When?”
“Two nights ago.”
She nods. “What else were you shown?”
“Horrible things.”
“Such as?”
“I saw Ashkai and Rebus murder a baby. My baby.”
“Then the spirits were deceiving you,” says Indigo. “Ashkai would never . . .”
“Rebus did the most damage, but my master was helping him.”
There’s a short pause before I’m hit with another question. “Did this happen inside a cave?”
Tears rise, and it’s a struggle to hold them back.
“Yes.”
“The episode you speak of occurred a very long time ago.”
“So it really happened? Ashkai was really there?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated.”
“Complicated enough to justify murdering an innocent child?”
“Perhaps. It’s a long story, and we don’t have time right now.”
I motion toward my restraints. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s not my place to tell you.”
“Then whose is it?”
“Your master’s.”
Despite everything, the thought of seeing Ashkai fills my heart with hope. “Is he here?”
“Rebus has been keeping him captive since the last time you saw him. But we know where he’s being held.”
“The Long Sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to break him free?” I gesture toward the guns. “Is that what you’re getting ready for?”
She nods.
“Then untie me. I’m coming with you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“But I can help.”
“I know you can.”
“So let me go,” I shout. “I want answers. Who are you anyway, and why are you helping Ashkai?”
Taking her shades off, the girl leans forward and places a hand on my shoulder. I feel instantly calm, sleepy almost, just like I did in the car before everything went blank. I realize now that she’s using her mind—and those eyes!—to put me to sleep. I drift off while hearing her say, “Your master and I have been friends since the long ago. As for who I am: my name is Meta. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
THIRTY-TWO
Pythia is sitting opposite with her legs crossed. She’s holding Echo’s silver metal Zippo in front of her. Its flame is the only source of light.
I peer into the dark corners of the warehouse apartment, my wrists still bound. From what I can tell, we are alone.
You don’t remember me, do you? the strange girl says, speaking telepathically, the flame casting shadows across her face.
Talking aloud, I say, “Should I?”
Nothing comes back, so I repeat myself.
Again, no response.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, looking into those peculiar eyes that can’t seem to focus on anything.
; Still using telepathy, Pythia says, Speak with your consciousness, not your tongue. Her thought voice is full of experience and wisdom, something that contrasts starkly with her childlike demeanor.
I take a moment to focus, communicating on her terms now. Why?
I am deaf.
What about your eyes? Can you see?
Those are two different questions.
I don’t understand.
My eyes are useless, but I can see very well.
While it’s a comment that piques my curiosity, getting out of here is all that matters.
Hoping to manipulate this girl so that she does my bidding, I ask, Who are you?
Pythia holds the lighter under her chin and leans forward, her elfin features becoming ghoulish and scary. Is this not the face of an angel?
At first, I think she’s playing games, but then connections start firing in my mind, pieces of the puzzle coming together until eventually I remember who this girl is! For a brief moment, I’m even back in Thebes with my master tucking her into bed.
Angel Face! I say, remembering Ashkai’s nickname for his adopted daughter, the street urchin he took under his wing, the one who couldn’t speak, hear, or see.
Pythia starts giggling.
There are so many questions I want to ask, but first I need a favor from an old friend.
Where is everybody? I ask.
They have gone to rescue Ashkai.
Where is he?
Pythia turns and points at the far wall, although it is shrouded in darkness.
Angel Face, I need your help . . .
Pythia shakes her head. I cannot free you.
We are friends. Friends help each other.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.
What’s stopping you?
You are asleep. This is a dream.
Her words ring true.
I look down at the floor between my legs and try to remember how this conversation started.
I was talking to the girl with indigo eyes . . . she was wearing sunglasses but then removed them . . . I felt very sleepy all of a sudden . . . she told me her name was Meta . . . or had this dream already started by then?
I look at Pythia. If I am asleep, then why are you here?
I have come to warn you.
About what?
Your friend.
I know instantly to whom she’s referring. Tammuz is in trouble, isn’t he? I don’t even need her to answer; I can feel it in the deepest, truest part of myself.
Unless you intervene, he will die. I have seen it.
What do you mean you’ve seen it? Has it already happened?
In one way yes, in another no.
That doesn’t make any sense, I say. Where is he?
She points again at the wall behind her.
Why are you telling me this?
Because he has an important role to play.
In what?
Everything.
I have no idea what she’s talking about, nor, at this moment, do I care.
I need to get free, I say.
Then you must awaken.
I see a flash of those indigo eyes, recalling how they knocked me out in the car when Echo was driving and again right here in this apartment. I realize I’m more than just asleep; I’m deeply unconscious. Waking will not be easy.
Pythia, still holding the cigarette lighter, says, I have an idea. She leans forward, pulls the sleeve of my jacket up, and places the flame against my right forearm. The burn is instant and excruciating.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I can smell singed hair and hear the crackle of skin. I’m about to scream, tell her to stop, when the pain eases off.
She must have read my mind. But when I open my eyes, Pythia is no longer there, nor is the lighter. That’s when I realize I’m awake. I feel elated at first, but then the uselessness of my predicament comes back to me. I’m still tied up. If I don’t find a way to change that, Tammuz is going to die.
I’m on my feet and leaning away from the thick metal beam, desperately trying to squirm out of the tightly fastened cord binding my wrists.
I pause to catch my breath, realizing I need a different plan because this one isn’t going to work.
It’s dark in here, and the windows are shuttered except for the skylight directly above. It’s still raining and night has fallen, but my eyes have adjusted to the gloom. I’ve tried to check my watch many times but haven’t been able to maneuver an angle that works. As if things aren’t bad enough, I’m desperate for the toilet. I’m also thirsty and hungry.
Feeling useless and beaten, I slide down the metal beam until I’m sitting on the floor. I start sobbing uncontrollably and banging my head. I have an out- of-body experience and gaze down on myself, just for half a second. I look so pathetic, it’s funny, which might explain why I’ve started laughing and behaving like a maniac.
When the hysteria passes, I’m left feeling beaten, dejected, and confused.
Was my encounter with Pythia real? Is she truly Ashkai’s daughter? And is Tammuz in trouble?
When it comes to the last question, I have to err on the side of caution and assume the answer is yes. I remember how Tammuz picked me off the floor of that bus and covered me with a blanket, how he helped when Robbie and his gang broke into my hotel room. He even rescued me from the fire in Kaya’s basement. When I’ve needed Tammuz, he’s been there, and I desperately want to return the favor.
“Then save his life,” a commanding voice says. It’s not the imposter or even my ayahuasca guide speaking. This time, the voice belongs to me. I have the same thought I had at LAX last night, remembering how I forced a man to stab himself using only my mind. I even convinced airport security to let me travel with a gun. I had my Flooding just nine days ago, and in that time, I have made incredible progress, rising to the occasion when it matters most.
What else am I capable of?
With confidence and hope rising in my chest, I look around the room for something with a sharp edge. A knife would be ideal, but a glass (that I could break) would also do the trick. I don’t spot either of those things, but I’m still elated. That’s because through the darkness, I can see the outline of a packet of cigarettes on the small wooden table a few paces ahead. Right next to it is Echo’s Zippo, the same one Pythia used to wake me. Was she giving me a sign?
Speaking aloud, I say, “You can do this, Samsara.” Then, channeling every bit of energy I can muster, I visualize the lighter moving toward me. Nothing happens, so I try again. I close my eyes for a third attempt, then a fourth and fifth, but it’s utterly useless.
The problem is obvious: I’m trying too hard.
Rather than focusing on what I want to happen, what I need, I think about Tammuz and the danger he’s in, imagining what I’d feel like if his life ended prematurely. Yes, he’d be reborn, but that doesn’t mean I’d feel okay about a friend being murdered, especially when the experience would likely haunt him for many lives to come. And I would miss him. There is also no guarantee our paths would cross again . . .
I start imagining what might have happened outside the museum after we sped away in Echo’s car. The three people who were chasing us must work for Rebus, a man who holds a serious grudge against me, so much so that he killed my child and even sent one of his “soldiers” to condemn my soul and end my story forever.
Rebus has executed Tammuz once before. Maybe he’d like to make it permanent this time? I’m feeling the abject horror of that thought when something incredible happens: the cigarette lighter, seemingly of its own accord, shuffles along the table by half an inch. At first, it was just a sound—the skid of metal against wood—but then I caught movement in the corner of my eye. Knowing this must be my subconscious mind at work, I fix my gaze on the lighter and beckon it toward me. This time, the tactic works, and the Zippo falls to the floor. Before long, it’s within reach of my foot. Seconds later, I’m holding it in my hands. I try my best to be careful, but it’s a very awkward pro
cedure, and burning myself is inevitable, although it’s a small price to pay for freedom.
As soon as the last piece of cord gives way, I jump to my feet.
The first thing I do is turn on the lights, hurrying over to the open-plan kitchen now, thrusting my hands into the freezer and leaving them there until numbness sets in. After checking the time—2:33 a.m., Monday, October 14—I find the toilet, sighing with relief as I empty my bladder, spotting an Airbnb sticker on the back of the door. Returning to the kitchen, I drink two glasses of water and raid the fridge for food, feeling significantly better now, ready to engage with the images and notes covering the far wall, the one Pythia gestured toward when I asked about Ashkai and Tammuz.
This is what I can see: right at the top are two black and white photographs side by side. Both were taken from an elevated position with a telephoto lens, which means the subjects were oblivious to what was going on. I turn to the camera on a tripod over by the middle window, thinking Meta must have rented this apartment because of its proximity to her enemies. I turn to the wall again, looking at Rebus getting out of a car. Kaya talking on her cell is to the right of him.
Below those two images is a large schematic of a huge building with six floors, two of which are underground. Using a pencil, somebody has added the cross streets, which is when I realize the architecture takes up an entire block in New York’s East Village. Avenues B and C run south to north, with Third and Fourth streets going east to west.
The address matches the one I looked up for COSMOS, the multinational technology company that is obviously connected to Rebus in some way.
I lean forward and study the schematic inch by inch, looking for clues and reading the numerous annotations that have been added. After about a minute, I spot “House of Fishes” on the first floor, perfectly centered. “House of Phoenix” is directly above, on the top floor. I follow the line down and there it is: “House of Lotus Flower” on the bottom floor, which is underground. Beneath that, so below the building and outside its confines, there’s another word. “Prison.”
I don’t have it with me now, but Cato owned a black card with two phrases on it: “East Village” and “House of Phoenix.” Did the card give him access to this building? And if so, could this place be some sort of headquarters for the nation of Flooders? Is that why they were able to find us so easily in the late 1990s? Did we fly right into the hornet’s nest? It seems strange that Ashkai wouldn’t have been aware of this place.