The Solution

by TA Williams

  There must be an answer to this madness, Dr. Temple assured himself. The All’s monitors were portraying Ms. Elizabeth Reznick, sitting absently in her chair in Room 432. At first the sight startled the doctor. Startled! A Dysfunction he dismissed years ago. He covered the emotion and dashed to the main controls and entered a few commands on the holoboard, but the All didn’t react.

  Imperiously, Dr. Temple transmitted a few orders to the commanders’ stations on the lower floors but he was only answered with gurgling groans and moans and the cacophony of what sounded like the worst part of hell manifested. The voices encompassed Dr. Temple’s mind to the point of where the screams became visible barriers and he must sever the link.

  Glenn Wiseman, the council, they will be displeased. I must regain control.

  The doctor opened his mind and spread his consciousness, once again trying to communicate with the All on a metaphysical level. He received nothing in return but dejection and absence, as though a loved one has fled for a supposed better life. The All’s power had abandoned the doctor, leaving him no other avenue to tap in. Instead of many men into one, he was now one biomechanical man.

  Again the doctor looked at the monitors. Elizabeth. Mr. Spires was walking slowly toward her. Tread and Mix, the operatives, barged into the Room 432 beside Mr. Spires.

  “Affliction,” Mr. Spires said, “Such affliction. I know I’ll never see them again, my family.”

  Elizabeth still appeared to be sleeping, but something more terrible and awesome than a nightmare any sleep could produce was happening in front Mr. Spire’s eyes.

  The anguish of bearing such raw supremacy had become so intoxicating, so transcendental it was beyond Elizabeth’s physical capacity to undergo the experience. Her very atoms grew little mouths, little portals to translate the Ultimate Reality’s dimensional language and let the All inject it into her marrow. Each portal-mouth spoke horrendous actualities and reanimated her comprehension to a more suitable level for her new state. She was redeveloped to withstand an ultimate mental level.

  Dr. Temple burst in to Room 432, surprised to see an indigo nimbus radiating around Elizabeth now and Mr. Spire’s corpse slumped by her knees. She was still strapped in the chair, network plugged in. Ghostly images of Elizabeth slithered in the air and into Dr. Temple’s lungs.

  Elizabeth gave the doctor a contrarily polite glance, and a wave of power rolled over him.

  Invisible, cold fingers dug through his skin, inside his biomechanical brain, and to his organic bones. As his flesh started to lift, to fall from ligament and tendon, he aimed the plasmagun at her head and pulled the trigger, making a perfect hole in her forehead.

  His skin kept peeling, stretching into thin sheets until he saw tender pinkness covering his body. His clothes shredded, and he soon stood naked, watching the next layer of flesh yanked away. The doctor found the will to stay alive to see his muscles, starting at the pectorals and down to the calves, be shredded into fine strips which wobbled to the floor like confetti.

  Dr. Temple’s last wonderments were of how he failed, and death is his punishment.

  His spine snapped into pieces, dropping to the floor cortical by cortical.

  My work has just begun.

  Elizabeth stood, breaking the nylon straps with ease. She freed herself from the network of cables and bondage and towered over the remnants of Dr. Temple, peering at him with amusement.

  “Why don’t I just reach out, infect the world.”

  Elizabeth concentrated, expanded, and created more tunnels and witnessed millions of citizens all at once. Hundreds and thousands lounged in front of the television, watching and listening to Dr. Reverence. Elizabeth strained, attempting to infect Dr. Reverence, to get her saying the Solution is a bunch of foolish, careless monkeys—but so are you, dear citizen!

  And so she did, and the public was thrown for a loop.

  Infect the soldiers, the living or the dead. Learn more about what I can do.

  She contracted the tunnels until her sight spanned the All building. Not many soldiers were left alive, and the ones that were left were destroyed by the horrors she birthed from their own psyches; she made them hallucinate the same charred hands that she’d dreamt of tearing her apart long ago.

  Elizabeth slipped into the soldiers’ heads, finding it quite like a fun park. A few dead soldiers arose and began roaming in a trance.

  ***

  Two floors from now Georgia, Christopher M and Randal would be forced to endure not only possessed soldiers but the most profound darkness in their lives. The three couldn’t put in words what they’d face, but they knew it was about to begin. The three of them sensed an appalling energy rising around them.

  Randal had a deep urge to take the Code Charge from Georgia and detonate it now. He went against. It wouldn’t work, yet. The point was to install it in the All.

  And Elizabeth … she said to kill her before she gives reality a virus.

  “Georgia, check your computer, see if you can get Alex,” Christopher M said.

  She did. Typed on it and sent a message. She couldn’t get through to him. “No. Not working.”

  Randal combed his hand through his hair, then whispered, “Georgia, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but good luck.”

  “Good luck.”

  The elevator stopped at floor forty.

  Randal and Georgia gave each other a cursory look, then, concentrated on the door.

  “We don’t have weapons,” Christopher M said in an irked tone.

  The elevator door slowly slid ajar, revealing a deep blackness and erratic, red strobe lights. In the distance Randal saw an indistinct figure, getting closer. Ostensibly, as if in slow-motion, it became a shape.

  “Something’s messing with my head,” he said lowly. “She’s messing with our perception of time.”

  Before Randal could register, the figure lunged into the elevator on top of him, sending him to the floor. The figure was a mangled male Solution soldier. Its eyes were full of rage, and his strength was enhanced to inhuman levels induced by an explosion of adrenaline.

  “Get ‘em off me!”

  At once Georgia fell back against the wall, frozen. Her first instinct at this point was to turn away and close her eyes. If she couldn’t see the danger, maybe the danger wouldn’t see her. She was bound in fear and her courage retrograded into that of an infant’s.

  Christopher M kicked the soldier in the head. The possessed solider somehow applied more weight to his attack, besting Randal with a series of psychotic punches to the head and staving off Christopher M.

  Georgia snapped. She stepped forward and thrust her boot square in the soldier’s temple. The action was accompanied with a crunching, ephemeral percussion, like she’d just smashed a sledgehammer into a honeydew melon.

  The possessed soldier dropped and his head hit the floor like wet sod.

  Randal stood up with the help of Georgia’s proffered hand. His dizziness turned to clarity. Randal formed a lopsided grin, and that was enough for Georgia to know he was saying thank you, and also enough to know that she almost really screwed up.

  “Let me have the Code Charge.”

  Georgia handed over the charge.

  The three of them stepped onto floor forty behind Randal. Now they followed his lead.

  There were lifeless RMS in corners and bodies were strewn. Christopher M scavenged a few until he found a plasmagun and one fragment grenade. Neither Randal or Georgia thought to grab a gun. They were in far above their heads—as a matter of fact they all thought they might be drowning.

  The power surged again, and red light faded around Randal and Georgia. Blackness fell around them.

  Is that an angel made of mirrors? Randal wondered. He saw the thing in the blackness.

  Bam-bam-bam! Plasma simmered in the air.

  “Go,” Randal hollered, “Let’s go!”

  The blackness melted as the three of them ran, Christopher M blasting two possessed soldiers along the wa
y and threw the fragment grenade behind them, hearing a tinny explosion.

  “I did it! Elaine! I’m here and I took them out!” Christopher M yelled proudly.

  Before Georgia could register, she watched holes eat themselves into Christopher M’s chest. A particle beam from an RMS sliced and burned him in two. His charred halves flopped to the floor.

  “Keep going,” Randal said.

  They took a left, and ventured down the same corridor Dr. Temple walked a little while ago. Both noticed that not only had the walls taken on the fleshy textures, but it seemed more like heart tissue. Randal kept the insanity of it all at the back of his head.

  When he and Georgia turned the corner that lead to the control room, Elizabeth stood before them wearing a vulpine leer, and the angel made of mirrors flew above them in the black.

  Elizabeth spoke, and it sounded like a million ancient voices. The sound was thunderous.

  Randal and Georgia covered their ears, but not their eyes.

  “You were my first love, you know,” Elizabeth said, “but that went horribly too, didn’t it?”

  Breaths were taken.

  Time was inordinate, kaleidoscopic fractions. Everything was falling to pieces.

  “I can do so many things now. It’s really simple. I can change the world, too. I doubt you’ll ever be a part of it, though.”

  Randal suddenly felt the transparent, cold fingers poking into his bones and taking hold. Randal looked at Georgia just as her knees folded backward, hyperextend and both caps snapped. Just by the touch of Elizabeth’s thoughts.

  Georgia landed face first, screaming in pain.

  Randal tried to rush to Georgia, but the grasp on his bones tightened and he was held in place. As the flesh began ripping from his arms, he found enough strength to speak.

  “Elizabeth, there has to be more to you than this.”

  All Randal saw at that point was a mirrored flash and wings, and he was set free from Elizabeth’s grip.

  He had set his sights on setting off the Code Charge now and dashed for the control room, but after seconds Elizabeth again invaded his mind and prevented him from proceeding further. Looking down, Randal saw his face reflecting in broken mirror shards on the floor.

  NO! THIS IS WRONG!

  “Stop this!” Elizabeth roared.

  Randal was suddenly released from the hold and ran to the control station.

  He plugged in the Code Charge in holo-console. If Alex was as smart as Randal thought he was, it wouldn’t take long for the Code Charge to go off, and mathematical destruction end this.

  On his way back to Georgia he saw Elizabeth fading in and out of sight, changing her facial expressions a million times at fast pace, as though she was made of legions of personalities. The air around her glowed with malevolence, and her hues flickered through all colors of the visible spectrum.

  Randal covered Georgia with his body.

  Whiteness.

  Heat.

  ***

  “As we must do with any dream, Dear Friends, we wake from it, slowly taking in our surroundings. What I ask, has anything changed during our sleep? You must know of the Ultimate Reality, Dear Friends, and I will tell you all there is to know.”

  Plum Charlie ended the Net Speech, killing the glow of his holocomputer, gladdened that they’ve relocated to an abandoned safe-house outside the City. The room was furnished with two folding chairs and a plastic table. Ms. Bunny sat in the corner, wearing a pink feathered hat and a plaid dress, drinking tea and smoking a vanilla clove, watching the sun set with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Alex Treaty walked from the room, down a hallway lit with sunlight and into another room where Randal and Georgia lay naked on separate beds. They were hooked up to IVs and stolen cellular regeneration kits. The cardiographs showed their hearts beating with healthy rhythms. Orange sun shined through the window and the two appeared clean, whole, and painted.

  Georgia slept.

  Randal said, though it hurt to speak, “So…”

  “Everything was encrypted beyond our means of hacking, but the All is certainly not functional anymore. Thank you.”

  “And Georgia?”

  “Given technology and time, her legs will heal, man.”

  “Okay.”

  Before Alex left and closed the door, he said, “You lived, man. It’s a truly Zen day.” Then Alex was gone.

  Pretty wild, Randal thought. No more haunted girls that have been imprinted on matter and want to demolish everything. Wow it to the moon, Madame Dallas. ‘Effin wow it to the moon.

  Everything was silent.

  Following a dull, stretched minute a warm breeze spilled across the room, and Randal felt a sense of deep peace. He smelled tulips and rain.

  ###

  Author’s Note:

  Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the show. Creating this novella has certainly been a quest (many writers know how the ride goes). This tale was originally published under the title Closer to Darkness years ago, but now I feel the story is where she belongs. Maybe you got something interesting out of reading the Solution. All I know, it’s been a pleasure to know you’ve taken the time to read.

  With love, until the next episode…

  -T.A. Williams

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  Copyright 2013 T.A. Williams

  Cover Art Designed and Copyrighted by T.A. Williams

  Published by Skeleton Tree Press

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  How well do you want to know me?

  Stan White tumbled through blackness, and what he thought were fingers erratically groped him. They slid about his skin like eels. Some felt like teeth, testing him to see if he could be eaten. Goosebumps arose on his body. Sporadic chills whipped his back, but these sensations were not at all caused by what he believed; his senses had simply been heightened to an unknown level. What he thought to be gropers and serpents were really atoms, and even though the molecules comprising this darkness might have been carnivorous, the only teeth tearing into him were those of dread.

  Stan was alone in blackness. He was dropping, freefalling, like he was being flushed. There was no telling how far he had fallen, or maybe he was ascending. It could have been miles; it could have taken weeks to get there.

  Suddenly he slammed into an oozy substance. He floated, bobbed up and down. A sort of liquid rushed him, and he was carried away by a current infused with tingling electricity. It buzzed in his very marrow.

  As he flipped and fell within this freezing torrent of blackness, it eventually warmed, and a sense of calm washed over him.

  A moment passed.

  Then Stan was slapped by the blinding light of a distant, looming entity. He could not tell what it was, or even which direction it came from, but he could tell he was gravitating toward it.

  His green eyes darted left to right. He wanted to get a bearing, and attempted to suppress a panic attack. He wanted to breathe, but he realized he was still inside the oozy substance. He swam upward, arms as heavy as lead, getting nowhere. I have to get above! I have to breathe! He paddled for what seemed to be miles, but there was no surface to find.

  Emotions swarmed him, stinging him motionless, gripping like tentacles of a giant beast. He grew dizzy, spinning somewhere in this world.

  He cringed at the emptiness of his taut lungs. His chest became numb. He could no longer fight the need for oxygen; his arteries begged him.

  He inhaled and his lungs filled with the thick black ooze. Surprisingly enough for Stan, he did not drown. He freely breathed. His anxiety vanished. All of his pains ceased. After a moment he grinned, and he looked.

  The oozy blackness was now decorated with spans of stars and galaxies. His grin grew wider into a smile. He was floating in outer space, wearing no
thing but his flannel pajamas. He had always wondered exactly what zero gravity might feel like, and this seemed to be it.

  Music played, but he did not hear the notes by ordinary means; he felt the music in his veins. Then his eyes dilated as he soaked in new colors of an unfamiliar spectrum. He saw the actual force of gravity holding planets in place around the giant yellow sun.

  Distorted mantras suddenly ricocheted in his ears. Stan could not understand them, but he knew they called his name. He drifted closer to the great sun.

  He grew weary and frightened as his feet hung over the sun’s surface. At first he felt no heat, but he kicked and wailed his arms in an attempt to propel himself backwards. It didn’t work.

  Suddenly he felt it all. The light burned his eyes, sending hell to the back of his skull. His skin melted and his hair caught fire. He cringed as his irises boiled, but he was kept from disintegrating.

  ***

  Stan changed the channel in his mind, coming back to reality, resurfacing. His vision was blurred, like looking through rain running down a window, until he slowly focused on the corduroy couch in the corner of his apartment. Then, he craned his neck and saw morning light seeping through the blinds over the kitchen sink. His attention drifted back to the kitchen table, where his Kona still streamed in a gray frowning-face mug tinged with the orange of the sunlight.

  A brunette wearing a plum dress, sitting at the other side of the table, abruptly said, “Well? How well do you want to know me?”

  Stan rubbed his eyes, “I think there was some sort of interference.” He blinked twice.

  “No,” she said. “I was focused. I just had the Cortex Composer Eight installed a week ago. You?”

  “Okay, yeah,” Stan said, thinking, plugged right up my cerebellum, literally.

  She said, “I don’t think I was the one that—”