Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3)

by Greg Mongrain

  “However,” she continued, “I know we are to build a family, you and I, the progenitors of the race that will rule your dimension. Atlantis attempted that once before I was born. They did not have enough power to keep the interdimensional gate stable for the many centuries it takes to position our pieces, and the tunnel closed. Our children will not fail.”

  Incredible. She had told us the truth: the machine was a huge power station. Then the story of destroying our universe was one she planted? It was ingenious.

  “Have you gotten to the part about Aliena? No, you would still be thinking that I had told you the truth all along, and that my facility was a mega-machine producing power,” she said. “Well, yes and no. I’ll tell you about that later. I picked Aliena so I could eliminate her and have you to myself. I was forced to use her as a bargaining chip instead of killing her, but as long as I got what I wanted…” She kissed my lips. “Now I’m hot, dear, and in a bit of a hurry. Oh my, look at the time! I can’t stand around answering your questions all day. But I do want you to perform your side of our contract, Sebastian. That’s fair, I think. With that in mind, I have decided to give you some motivation. We shall both be impregnated.” She held the silver glove near my face, its spitting passenger poised on the end of her finger. “You first.”

  She reached up, opened my jaws easily, and dumped the fiery entity down my throat.

  “I will remove it when you plant your eternal seed inside me. A simple bargain, benefitting both parties. Don’t worry, your amnesia will only last a few minutes. I don’t intend to leave the ghost inside you for very long.”

  Searing heat filled my torso. My heart and lungs felt on fire. Huge drops of sweat rolled down my neck and my body began a jittery dance, on the edge of collapse.

  “Do try to have fun in the dream, won’t you, Sebastian?” She pouted. “Everyone always screams, even vampires.”

  Chapter 61

  Sunday, February 15, 9:18 a.m.

  It was only a dream, I told myself. It wasn’t real. I wouldn’t feel anything. If I became too terrified, I would wake up.

  That’s when I remembered I don’t sleep.

  Surrounded by brown-robed monks holding bibles, I stood at the top of a pile of wood, bound to a rough wooden pole. The monks hummed. One of them walked forward with a burning brand and tossed it on the pile.

  Then I knew it was real. A friend had told me the same thing had happened to her. And she had blamed the priests.

  The flames rose impossibly fast, reaching my waist immediately. I howled in agony, my body instantly miserable, the flames causing agony beyond belief. I continued screaming, filling my lungs and emptying them with the loudest pleas possible. Several times I realized I noticed my yells more than the pain. Perhaps that’s what screaming is for—to distract the mind occasionally when experiencing the approach of death.

  My toes crackled and my ankles roasted. The smoke rose into my face, choking me. Flames licked along my torso, bringing relentless, fiery misery. The smoke became so thick, I could no longer scream, inhaling smoke to the depths of my lungs, then choking it back out. My limbs jittered and writhed. Heat flared on my head and I knew my hair was aflame.

  “Sebastian? Sebastian, dear?”

  I shook, gasping, my muscles tensed to knots. My body had a coat of moisture.

  “I’m sorry I had to do this,” said the voice. “But I want us to have a family of our own.”

  Choking, I sat up, opened my eyes to slits. A beautiful woman loomed over me, holding a damp cloth. Her expression was a mixture of concern and amusement.

  “What do you want?” I croaked, thinking she must be a representative of the priests.

  “I want you to make love to me, darling,” she replied.

  I wondered if I had heard her correctly. “What?” My voice sounded hoarse.

  “Make love to me,” she said, standing. She held her arms out. “Come.”

  I reached up and she pulled me easily to my feet. I put my hand on my throat. It felt hot, and when I swallowed, it hurt. “What happened to me?”

  “You passed out,” she said. “Do you not remember coming through the gateway?”

  I turned to see what she was pointing at. A part of the wall to our left appeared watery, as if filled with blue sparkling liquid. “What is that?”

  The woman stood close, put her hand on my forehead. “Oh, dear. Don’t you remember?”

  I tried to think. Where was I? What was I doing here?

  “You came to see me because we are in love,” the woman said. “You remember me, don’t you?”

  My mind became panicked. I had never lost memory of where I was, and why. I realized I didn’t even know the date. I quickly checked my clothes. A light jacket with matching pants. The style I didn’t recognize. A silk scarf was tied around my neck. The clothes felt incredible, airy and light, close to the body but not restrictive.

  The woman made a sympathetic sound. “You poor dear,” she said. “Come with me, you need to lie down. Then I will take care of you.”

  She led me to a chamber dominated by a large, veiled bed. Windows were open on either side of the large room, and a breeze pushed the bed’s curtains apart.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Morgan.”

  I shook my head. “Are you my wife?”

  “You do remember,” she said. “Wonderful.”

  She sat me on the edge of the bed, sank to her knees, began untying my shoes. Bemused, I watched her slip the brogues off my feet. She scooted between my knees and began pulling at the thin scarf. The silk slipped off. She tossed it aside. Nimble fingers unbuttoned my sodden shirt.

  “Stand up,” she said. “Take off your jacket, darling.”

  I shrugged myself out of the garment, the shirt going with it. She had already unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants.

  “Sit down.”

  When I sat, she pulled off my trousers and socks. I wore only short underpants that felt like silk. A large gold diamond ring adorned my right hand.

  “Lie in the middle,” she said. When I was there, on my back, she straddled my knees, leaned forward. “Let’s see if you’re injured.”

  She squeezed my arms and shoulders. “Does that hurt?”

  “No,” I said, gazing down the top of her dress at the naked body beneath.

  She pressed her soft hands against my chest, then my stomach. “Here?”

  I shook my head.

  Watching this young beauty feel me up had aroused me. She leaned back on her knees, saw the tent of my underwear. She slipped her hands under and stroked me. Her touch was warm and firm and I sighed in ecstasy.

  “May I have this?” she asked with a pixie expression.

  I nodded.

  She pulled off my shorts and drew her dress over her head, tossing both to the side. She tilted to one side and spread my legs, then leaned down and licked my length, her breasts grazing my thighs. I shivered with anticipation.

  Grabbing a handful of her lush red hair, I pulled her to me until her nipples brushed my lips. As I kissed them, I stroked her intimately. She gave a low groan.

  She sat up, took hold of me, and eased down. Whistling exhales of pleasure came from both of us.

  I put my hands on her sides and lifted my hips as she squirmed above me. We stared into each other’s eyes. Several times, she tilted her head back and moaned.

  How long? An eon, perhaps. Morgan began grunting with each of my thrusts, impaling herself deeply. She shouted, then ground her hips into mine, shaking her ass back and forth, up and down. I plunged up and into her, lifting her off the bed. She squeezed and suddenly I released, the sensation mind-numbing, both of us gasping and shaking as if feverish.

  “Oh, darling,” Morgan said when our dance came to a shuddering stop. “That was incredible.”

  I pulled her to me and we kissed. She leaned to her right, plucked something from an end table. She sat up and donned a silver glove.

  “A toy?” I asked. Ho
w experienced at the art of love was this beautiful woman?

  “Yes, dear,” she said. She reached down and ran her metal fingertips along my lips, then slipped them into my mouth. Her hand flexed.

  I grunted in pain, searing heat traveling my trunk. Then someone unplugged the sun.

  Chapter 62

  Sunday, February 15, 11:21 a.m.

  Cool air tingled my skin. I lay on downy softness. I sat up, coughed. My throat burned and hurt when I touched it.

  I looked around. I was in a bedroom. Judging by the décor, it was a woman’s room, with pale lavender walls and diaphanous curtains around the bed.

  I slid between the transparent drapes and stood.

  Nothing looked familiar. My sluggish mind tried to remember where I was. A pair of black shorts lay within reach, so I grabbed them and put them on. I walked to the door and out of the room.

  “Hello?” I called. I walked through a long room to tall picture windows overlooking an island ringed by harbor walls. In the distance, mountains rose into the clouds. Something about those distant hills . . .

  Retreating to the bedroom, I donned the clothes I had seen there and returned to the windows.

  My gaze was drawn to the peaks. Those weren’t natural formations. The entire range was actually a colossal machine. As my memory began to return, I reached for my right hand.

  My fingers were bare. I seemed to recall wearing a ring. Sliding my hand into the pocket of my trousers, I pulled out a gold container. Inside was a large golden ring with a massive central diamond. I slipped it on my finger.

  Aliena. She was sick, in trouble.

  I heard a soft crump, looked up. A section of the distant machine spouted fire. With stately grace, a huge block tipped forward, ripping from the structure on either side, and tumbled into the sea. Other sections followed as the reverberations of explosions vibrated the windows in front of me.

  In the aftermath of these detonations, a stupendous mountain of water rose into the air. The tidal wave approached the island’s defensive walls. The looming block of ocean towered higher than my position. And it was headed straight for me.

  I spun, ran across the room, knocking over a pedestal along the way, shattering a glass object on the wooden floor. The back wall was an interdimensional tunnel activated by a blue button, I recalled.

  Sliding on the floor and coming to an unsteady stop, I punched the button. Nothing happened. I tried it again. Still nothing. I suddenly realized the destruction of the machine meant the interdimensional network was out of commission.

  The room went dark as the massive wave extinguished the sunlight. The building began to tremble. I turned, my heart in my throat.

  I was trapped here.

  Chapter 63

  Sunday, February 15, 12:06 p.m.

  Frenzied, I remembered, my interior voice shouting to hurry. I yanked the colorful tarot card from my jacket’s inside pocket. Holding it to my mouth, I said, “Misadventure.” The card pulsed along its golden border and began to expand.

  Knowing I had only seconds, I released the card. It hung in the air, growing wider. I took a couple of steps back, ran forward. The windows at the other end of the room exploded in a loud cough. My upper body had barely passed the golden edges of the widening doorway when my legs were suddenly under water.

  I felt a blast of air from above. With a jarring thud, I crashed onto my living room floor. A massive blast of chill ocean pinned me, soaking the carpet. Leaping to my feet, I turned to the fireplace, hoping the tarot card had closed before a deluge poured through. The outline of the Prince of Wands glowed with power; it had sealed the portal shut.

  Dripping, I plucked the star card of the Moon off my foot and set it on the coffee table.

  I walked to Aliena’s room, stripping off my sopping jacket and tie.

  The part of the machine that controlled the interdimensional network no longer functioned. I was now fixed on this side, with Morgan caught in Atlantis.

  Chapter 64

  Sunday, February 15, 1:25 p.m.

  Aliena lay on her back as I had left her. Four hours to sunset. I stripped off my remaining garments and carried the wet clothes to the garage where I set them on the washer. After a shower, I returned to Aliena’s room.

  I climbed into the bed, turned onto my side and laid my head next to hers on the pillow. Her profile looked impossibly perfect, nose and lips sculpted exquisitely, thick golden hair spilled to one side.

  I rolled her to me, situating her in the crook of my arm. Her skin had cooled to ice. Since she always grew colder the longer she went without a drink, I took this as a sign she was back to normal.

  Her hair touched my chin. I turned my head sideways so I could rest my cheek on her head, closed my eyes, and let my mind drift . . .

  Although Kari knew my secret, we never talked about it. She understood without asking why we occasionally needed to move far away. The obvious difference in our ages eventually became so great we had to introduce ourselves as mother and son. When she turned sixty-five, we settled in our last new town.

  During the day, we played our roles. At night, Karina slept where she always had, in the crook of my arm.

  After a year, the townspeople thought me strange for not taking a wife, though most of them respected me for honoring my mother and caring for her in old age. One morning, as Karina and I lay in bed, our skin warmed by sunshine filtering through a high window, she snuggled against me and asked, “Why do you stay with me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sat up, leaned across my chest, and ran her hand through my hair, gazing down at me. “You are as handsome as the day I married you. So, so handsome.”

  I reached up, put my hand in her thin hair, and pulled her mouth to mine. I hoped to change the subject, but I knew it was probably not possible this morning. It had been several months since her last bout with jealousy, and I feared it was time for her uncertainties to surface again.

  She gripped my jaw and pushed away, breaking the kiss. Heavy wrinkles framed her eyes and mouth, testimony to all the smiling she had done in her life. The fine halo about her head caught the dawning light.

  “The young women in town have asked me about you.”

  My spirit ached to reassure her. Believing she was my mother, the women who favored me asked Kari about my continued bachelorhood. Having them openly show their desire terrified her. The fear reared its head more often recently, married to a dread of growing old alone.

  “You told me.” The pain in her eyes when she related these stories clawed at my heart.

  “The butcher’s eldest daughter Sophie is lovely and she has her eye on you.” She ran her hand along my chest, not looking at me. “I have seen myself in a mirror. I am an old woman. Sophie is young and smooth, soft and beautiful.”

  Pushing her onto her back, I slid my hand between her legs and stroked her intimately. She opened her mouth slightly.

  “You do not seem like an old woman to me,” I said. “And you are softer and more beautiful than the butcher’s daughter could ever dream of being.” I kissed her softly on the mouth. “No one could ever take me from you, Kari.”

  I pulled her close and she clutched me as we made love. I clung to her when she was on top, my hand on her lower back, pressing her down, trying to make her part of me.

  “Oh,” she said. “Ohhhhhh…”

  Making love to Karina was as exhilarating as it had been fifty years ago. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than exciting her; nothing fulfilled me like making my true love happy.

  When our spasms had ceased, we rested, she atop me, head lying on my chest, her gossamer hair tickling the underside of my jaw.

  “After all this time,” she said, “you will never leave me?”

  I put my arms around her and gently squeezed her to me. “Never,” I said. “I will never leave you. You are my beloved. You’re my whole universe. I will never let you go.”

  Her tears dripped onto my skin. She lifted her head and sq
uirmed up so our faces were close. She stroked my forehead.

  “There was never any doubt for me and the children that you would take care of us. You gave me a family and made us safe. You have always been a man where others are children. I thank you for all of that.” She kissed me. “I hope someday, my love, you find the answers to what you are, and understand your purpose here.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. We had never discussed this, not since I had given her my vow to stop killing long ago. While it was true I hadn’t aged, I had also never injured myself during the time we were together, so she had never seen the machine that could repair my body in moments. I had worked hard to prevent physical damage, making sure there were no reminders of my difference. It was only over long periods that we could see the work time had done to her that it had not done to me.

  “I can see it in your face, when you don’t know I’m watching you,” she said. “It must be very difficult at times, being different the way you are.” She paused, ran a finger around the outside of my ear. “Do you think you’ll ever die?”

  “I don’t know. I seem to have stopped aging in my mid-twenties, but there is no way for me to know how long it will last.”

  “Will you love another?” she asked in a whisper. “When I am gone?”

  This was another subject we never broached, avoiding any references to her mortality. I never thought about it, unable to comprehend a life without her.

  “You are still young and healthy,” I said. “You and I have many more years together.”

  “Sometimes, I wonder if I should release you from your vow. There is something unnatural about the two of us being husband and wife. I should let you go.” Then on the heels of that, “Oh my dearest, I love you so, I could never let you go, please don’t leave me ever, oh please my sweetest love…” Gripping me, holding on tightly, one leg wrapped around mine, eyes shut.