Forest of the Mind (The Book of Terwilliger 1)

by Michael Stiles

  Joy made a face that indicated what she thought of that. “Heck no! We’re going with you.” Perla made a less enthusiastic sort of face, but nodded her agreement.

  “It won’t be fun, coming with me,” he said. His dreams had all changed since the concert. It was as if that one event, the culmination of all his efforts, had opened the floodgates, letting in all sorts of new images. Few of them made any sense to him, and none were pretty. One dream, though, had been clear. There was something he needed Danny to do. Only Danny; it had to be him and no other.

  He and Perla both looked up when Rayfield returned, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, carrying a tray full of food that smelled like it had been thoroughly drenched in cooking oil. “There’s a cafeteria downstairs. I brought some extra.” He set down the tray. Joy nibbled on a few potato chips, but Ed wasn’t hungry. He got to his feet, leaning on his good arm, and went down the hall to Danny’s room.

  Danny seemed like a nice kid. Sarah had told Ed as much as she knew about him, and Ed had spent some time at the kid’s bedside while he slept after his surgery. Danny’s wound had been serious. He would not be leaving the hospital anytime soon.

  He was awake when Ed entered the room. Sarah sat in the chair by the head of his bed, talking quietly with him. The kid looked pretty awful in Ed’s opinion, although his face was far less gray than it had been when he’d first come out of the operating room. Ed smiled as he sat in the only other chair in the room, a plain wooden one with a short leg that made it rock from corner to corner.

  “How’s your shoulder?” Danny asked. He sounded a lot better today. When Ed had first seen him, he’d had been babbling incoherently about angels.

  “It’s nothing compared to your messed-up insides. You’re looking awful chipper for someone who’s been eating nothing but hospital food.”

  “The food’s lousy, but it’s a little better than death. Can’t complain.” He was looking at Ed in that strange way again, a way that made Ed distinctly uncomfortable.

  “You can always complain.” Ed scratched at his beard—he would need to shave it off now; Driscoll had seen him in it, so it was no use as a disguise any longer—and stared at the floor tiles. Best to get it over with. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Sarah glared at him. He had told her what he meant to ask, and she had made him promise not to say anything until Danny was feeling better.

  “Normally I would never ask for something like this,” Ed went on. “But the situation’s changed. I’ve been having―” No, he didn’t know the kid well enough to talk about his dreams yet. “There’s something I need your help with.”

  “Whatever you need,” Danny said. “Anything.”

  Ed looked at Sarah, who shook her head. Not yet, she mouthed. It killed Ed to have to ask him to do this, but he had no choice. The Cycle had to be broken.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, in need of some fresh air, Ed got lost in the maze of hospital corridors as he searched for the elevator. He passed the same old woman three times, each time getting a more bewildered look from her as he walked by. Finally he found the elevator, hiding at the end of a hallway he was sure he’d been down before. He got on and pressed the lobby button, then held the door open when he heard someone hurrying down the hallway.

  The huge man who got on the elevator wore a leather jacket and a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat. As the doors shut, he turned to Ed and smiled.

  Ed shrank away from him until his back was against the wall. “John,” he said.

  Big John took off his hat, but made no move toward Ed. His shaven head sparkled with beads of sweat. The elevator began its descent, so slowly that Ed could hardly feel it moving. “I talked to Arthur today,” John said. “He’s so proud of you. He said he knew you’d choose our side in the end, but I wasn’t so sure. He saw everything that was coming.”

  John seemed so gentle now, Ed mused. He hardly seemed like the same man who’d once beaten men half to death with his billy club.

  “I’m not siding with Arthur,” Ed replied. “I don’t want any part of this.”

  John looked at him uncertainly, as though trying to decide whether he was making a joke. “But you are involved, Ed. As of last night, you’re an enemy of Urizen. That puts you on our side, Orc’s side.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Of course it does. You defeated his agents, so now you’re his enemy. It’s up to us to stop him—you and me and Arthur’s army. Oh,” John added without a hint of his old cynicism, “we’re not supposed to call him Arthur anymore. He’s just Lord Orc now.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into the lobby and walked out of the main exit. “So Arthur thinks he’s Orc,” said Ed. This statement seemed to bother John, who had clearly taken it as an article of faith that Arthur was whoever Arthur claimed to be. “Do you know who Urizen is?” Ed added quickly. “Is he a real person?”

  John put his hat back on his head in spite of the late summer heat. “Sure, he’s real. I don’t know who he is. Arthur knows. You and I will find out when Arthur’s ready to tell us.”

  “What on earth makes you think you can trust that guy?”

  John took a deep breath of the humid air. “I didn’t say I trusted him. I just work for him. Arthur’s got a lot of secrets. But I’ve got a few secrets too, you know. Things are about to change at Society House.”

  “What do you mean?”

  John pointed a finger at his own temple. “Secrets, Ed. I was supposed to come get you, bring you back with me. I didn’t figure you’d like that.”

  Ed folded his arms. “You figured right.”

  “‘Course I wouldn’t do that,” John said with a smile. “Wouldn’t be considerate. But things are going to change soon, and you might just think differently about the Society after that happens.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  “We’ll see. Lemme just say I’ve been doing some reading, and I think I’ve learned a couple things Arthur doesn’t know.”

  “Such as?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering Ed one. “Do you know why all this started? It was Nathaniel. He saw you and understood that you’re at the heart of all this. To the Cycle. Arthur never got that. He thought you were a prophet, a powerful one, but there’s more to it. You’re mentioned in the prophecies, did you know that?”

  Ed grunted and took a cigarette, holding it out for John to light.

  “That’s right,” said John. “You’re more important to the Cycle than Arthur ever realized. And I am, too. Arthur’s time is coming to an end, and soon it’ll be our time.”

  “Our time to do what?”

  “To break the Cycle.”

  “Is that what Arthur wants? To break it? Or to keep it going?”

  “This isn’t about what he wants. It’s about you and me now. We’re going to break the Cycle, take out both Orc and Urizen, and remake the world in our own image. The whole world, Ed. Blake said so.”

  “They’re just poems, John.”

  “Your dad didn’t think so. He knew something about all this, or suspected it. That’s why he kept all those old books.”

  That suggestion gave Ed pause. “He just liked poetry. That’s all.”

  “Mmm,” said John, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Maybe so.” He looked up at the moon, a thin crescent that was low in the west, just over the last remnant of the glowing sunset. “You’ll come to believe. I didn’t at first, either, but you’ll get there.” He patted Ed on his good shoulder and walked away down the sidewalk. Bewildered, Ed smoked his cigarette in silence.

  Epilogue – Freedom

  Driscoll sat stiffly in the straight-backed wooden chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable under Wensel’s cold glare. It was for meetings like this that Wensel had bought the chair. Sitting in it put people on edge and served to remind them of their place.

  They were meeting in Wensel’s office in the Department of Justice building. Driscoll had f
lown straight to Washington after being summoned by Wensel’s secretary. “I have to come up with some answers for what happened up there,” Wensel said. He took a long drag on his cigarette. Smoking was more productive than yelling, and anyway, the screw-up wasn’t entirely Driscoll’s fault. Not entirely. “We’re going to have a hard time containing this.”

  “I share responsibility with Agent Kajdas for the mistakes that were made.”

  “Blame doesn’t matter much at this point. We have two weapons discharged, a civilian shot dead and another gravely wounded at a public event in Canada—in Canada, for God’s sake!—and an incapacitated agent found nearby. We have about a dozen eyewitnesses who saw both you and Agent Kajdas draw weapons, and they saw him fire. The Director already knows something’s been going on, and I’m the one who has to come up with an explanation. Do we have any idea what happened to the other gun, the one used to murder Tom’s man?”

  Driscoll shook his head. “No sign of it so far.”

  “So we have to assume that weapon will turn up and be linked to the murder.” Wensel put out the remaining stub of his cigarette and lit another. “That’s just goddamn terrific. Tom’s guy Ralph was killed. How many others did Agent Kajdas have with him?”

  “There was a girl, Margaret Quinn. I think she was the only other one of his.”

  “Was she dealt with?”

  “No one’s seen her since the incident.”

  Wensel smoked for a minute in silence. His secretary kept telling him he should quit, that he’d be dead in five more years if he didn’t. What she didn’t understand was that the cigarettes were the only thing keeping the stress from bursting his heart every day he worked this damned job.

  That Quinn girl would be trouble. He’d told Kajdas so many times to watch what kind of people he recruited for these jobs, but Kajdas always went on gut instinct. That instinct had served Tom well at times. This was not one of those times. “I’ll work with Witherspoon to try to contain the worst of it. That leaves the big question. Where’s Terwilliger?”

  Driscoll shifted uneasily in his seat. “He and the Oriental one were treated at Toronto General. They signed in under aliases and left before I knew they were there. Sir, if you’d task a couple other agents to help me out with this―”

  “I’ve got no one else. What about the Greenbaum girl?”

  Driscoll hesitated for a second. “She got away from me and ran off. I couldn’t catch her.”

  What are you not telling me? “Find Terwilliger. I’ll try to get another of our agents back here to help you, but I can’t guarantee that. We don’t have enough on our side to spare without tipping off the Director. I want Terwilliger brought in alive. Give me until”—he checked his watch—“Give me until two o’clock to make some calls. Come back up here then and we’ll figure out a plan.”

  Driscoll nodded and stood up. “Two o’clock,” he said. Albert dismissed him and put down his cigarette to rub his eyes. His direct line rang before he could even get in a good eye-rub.

  “Sixty minutes,” the voice at the other end told him. Albert set the receiver down without saying a word and took a deep breath. Things were happening too quickly. He needed a quiet minute to collect his thoughts. But he didn’t have a minute, so he gulped down a double shot of scotch from the cupboard instead. That would have to do.

  Fifty minutes later, he parked in the remote lot in Rock Creek Park and made his way to the usual meeting place. The thick foliage absorbed the sounds of the city around him, making him feel like he was miles from civilization. A hundred yards from the parking lot, and he could have been in any woods in America except for the distant sound of traffic on the Parkway. He found his boss leaning against a tree.

  “Albert.”

  Wensel cleared his throat. “Mr. Witherspoon.”

  “How is Agent Kajdas doing?” said the Assistant Director, staring off into the woods. “Any change?”

  “Still unconscious. The doctors have been running their tests.” Albert’s tone made it clear just how far he trusted the doctors. “So far they haven’t found anything medically wrong with him.”

  Witherspoon turned to look at him. “But he hasn’t woken up.”

  “No sir.”

  “Mr. Wensel, we’ve had a lot riding on you these last few years. Our sponsor put a lot of trust in you to get certain things done. And you’ve done fairly well overall, don’t get me wrong. The Daisy project in Los Angeles was a great success. It’s because of you that our sponsor has a new office down the street. But this―” Witherspoon didn’t seem angry; if anything, Albert thought he looked a little sad.

  “I was told not to use traditional Bureau resources,” Wensel said, being careful to phrase the statement without placing blame. “There were certain risks in doing that, as I said from the beginning. Kajdas had to dig up assets wherever he could, and sometimes they acted unpredictably.”

  “To say the least,” Witherspoon said.

  “If you’ll let me put together a new team, I promise they won’t fail you.” No, that sounded like he was passing the buck. “We won’t fail you.”

  Witherspoon smiled a thin smile. “Don’t worry about failing me,” he said. “I’m a forgiving man. But I can’t say the same about the man I answer to. First Candlestick, and now this. People are asking questions, Albert. Mr. Hoover is asking questions, and the last thing our sponsor wants is the Director poking around in his business.”

  Albert licked his lips. “You have my word. It won’t happen again.”

  Witherspoon nodded. “I know it won’t,” he said simply. Smiling, he patted Albert on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll do fine from now on.” With that, he began walking away into the trees. Only then did Albert notice another man waiting some distance away. Wensel caught a brief glint of sunlight reflected from the man’s glasses, but his face was obscured by the foliage. Witherspoon joined the other man and they walked away through the woods together. Albert realized, belatedly, that their sponsor had been standing right there the whole time they’d been talking.

  Frowning, Albert hurried back to the mostly-empty parking lot. As he neared the edge of the gravel-covered lot, Albert spotted a rough-looking black man lurking near his car. The man had already seen him coming and was walking toward him with the tough, sauntering gait they always used, his feet crunching in the gravel with each step. Albert had nothing to fear from people like this, not as long as his gun was handy. “You’d better just keep moving along, boy,” he called out to the man, slipping his right hand inside his sport jacket as he spoke.

  Without warning, the black man drew a handgun from his pocket and fired two shots into the center of Albert’s chest. The gun made a silly little sound, more like a cap gun than a real firearm. The world tilted suddenly to the left, and Albert found he could see only sky and trees. The blue sky was marred by large gray spots that he was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  The black man sauntered over, stole Albert’s wallet from his pants pocket, and left.

  The gunshot, Albert thought vaguely. Someone must have heard it. Witherspoon will get help. He waited and listened for a while. Then darkness fell.

  * * *

  Nathaniel floated through the Infinite, enjoying the quiet and the freedom of finally being released from his earthly prison. The wildly colorful minds sparkled all around him, nearly overwhelming him with their beauty.

  He knew he couldn’t stay here long. There were strong forces at work in this place, forces that had been barely noticeable when he’d been anchored by his body, rotting in the dungeon beneath the hospital. He was free, but he couldn’t stay that way much longer. He would have to find a new refuge, or risk being ripped apart by the force that pulled at him from several directions at once.

  One consciousness in particular caught his eye, glowing faintly in comparison to the brighter orbs that surrounded it. It almost seemed to beckon him. Nathaniel floated closer to it. Faint, near death, but still glowing a deep, dark red. Yes, this was
the one. He smiled to himself. It was perfect.

  About the Author

  Michael Stiles grew up in Rochester, NY, where he walked to school every day in five feet of snow, uphill both ways (or so he tells his children). He later fled the frigid north country and settled in Northern Virginia. Now he writes strange novels and works as an Information Technology consultant.

  Connect with Michael Stiles:

  Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/michaelstilesfiction

  Website – http://www.michaelstiles.org

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to all who helped me along the way:

  My family for their patience, love, and support.

  Brian Fabio, David Woodhead, and Judy Kim for test-reading

  and feedback.

  Mei Chen and Sally Kam for Cantonese translation.

  Enio Depaz for showing me around Los Angeles.

  Rob Beeler, Buick owner.

  Additional thanks to Bhrugu Pange, Davy Simanivanh, and Anne Sabagh.

  Table of Contents

  1 – Terwilliger Awakes

  2 – An Empty Apartment

  3 – Meat-Man and the Gnome

  4 – The Bald-Headed Men

  5 – At the Guru’s House

  6 – Big John

  7 – X-Ray Vision

  8 – In the Buick

  9 – Doris and Her Uncle

  10 – The American Dream

  11 – Buddha’s Head

  12 – Tomato Soup

  13 – Mrs. Findlay’s Crazy Neighbor

  14 – A Meeting with the Guru

  15 – The Gnome Returns

  16 – Danny Makes a Deal

  17 – Spiders and Darkness

  18 – A Pleasant Talk with Dingleberry

  19 – The Miracle of the Vistula

  20 – The Houseguest

  21 – Kingfisher