Window in the Earth Trilogy

by Fish, Matthew

  “What happened?”

  “It was a memory, one that I had forgotten. Just a memory of me and my brother playing,” Jack continues, feeling an overwhelming sadness. “It felt like it was Jack’s way of saying goodbye.”

  Daniel looks over to his hand, which rests against the ground. In his hand is Jack’s cell.

  He slides the phone open, turning on the speaker phone. He goes to Jack’s outbox and plays the messages that were meant to be left for Daniel.

  “Yeah.” Jack’s voice comes from the phone. “It’s Jacky, got your message. I’ll be heading out after my afternoon class today; I should be there about seven or so. I guess I’ll give you a call and let you know that everything is good. Give me a call if you get this, otherwise I’ll call you later. Later, man.”

  Then the second message begins to play:

  “Danny, it’s Jacky again. I was just calling to let you know I’m down here in Springfield. I’ll be going by the house soon. When you get this give me a call, otherwise I’ll call you when I get a hold of mom and dad. Talk to you soon.”

  Then, finally, the third and last message:

  “Danny, hey… it’s… it’s me, Jacky. Something has happened down here at home. Something terrible, I can’t say for sure what is going on yet. I’m going to try and figure it out. I’m going to fix this if I can. Don’t come down here. Stay where you are, no matter what. That’s important. Just stay in New York. Do not come here. I will take care of things, and… well, I love you, man. Just don’t…”

  “I never got any of these,” Daniel says as he wipes away a tear from his eye. “He was warning me to stay away.”

  “You would have come anyway,” Lavender says as she sits next to Daniel against the ground. “That’s who you are. That’s what makes you human.”

  Daniel begins to cry for all he has lost. Lavender holds him close to her chest. Worst of all, he can see no purpose to any of it. His father, mother, and brother, all gone—he is the last Wolfe, or Rien—a nobody—nothing.

  “Please don’t cry,” Lavender says as she attempts to hold back tears of her own. She tries to be strong for Daniel, but her strength is failing.

  Jack’s cell let out a short jingle. The display shows a new message, this one incoming. Daniel stars at the phone in disbelief; the message was from an unknown source. He hit the button to play the message on speakerphone.

  “Hey, Danny, don’t have much time. Just wanted to say you were much better at catching me than I was at catching you—sorry you got beat up a bit. You got to admit though, that was a bit higher fall than that tree,” the voice says with a laugh—it’s Jack, and he sounds happy, content. “I know that things are really confusing right now, and I’ll never be able to explain all of it—even if I had the time. Let me just say that I’m all right. If you’re worried about me, stop. If you’re worried about yourself, stop that as well. Go on and do great things, live and be happy. That’s… that’s about all I can say. I’ll be watching you, even if you never see me again. I’ll be there. I love you. Always will.” The phone beeps once, and then powers off. Daniel attempts to turn it back on, but it will not.

  “Jack…,” Daniel whispers as he holds on to the phone tightly, “thank you.”

  Lavender helps Daniel back up to his feet. Together, they walk hand-in-hand. Lavender assists Daniel into his seat as he rolls down the window to look to the top of the house once more. He looks down to the camera—at least he has those last few images. That gives him some comfort. Lavender enters the driver’s side and smiles at Jack.

  As they began to drive away, a gust of wind blows into the car and a hawk’s feather lands at Daniels lap. He picks it up in his hand, turning it over and he carefully studying the feather. He holds it against his chest, and remembers Jack. Despite the sadness of the loss, all he can remember are the happy memories and the good days of the past. Daniel smiles as he and Lavender Clay begin their long journey home.

  Act VI

  Author’s Quarterly of Greater Missouri

  Transcription interview with author Landon Wolfe on the release of his new novel

  “A Window in the Darkness”

  Interviewed by Ellie Cinder

  April 19th 2011

  CINDER: First off, I would like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me in regards to your new novel, A Window in the Darkness.

  WOLFE: I am happy to be here. It is a pleasure. Honestly, I was afraid of what the reception would be… given my prior work as strictly a children’s author.

  CINDER: I would actually like to address that, first off—Did you have a general feeling, given that your past work was geared towards a younger audience, that you would be ostracized for writing such a graphic, adult novel?

  WOLFE: I would be lying if I didn’t admit that, every moment I was writing the story, “What the hell are you doing?” was going through my mind. With every dark twist the story took I had to actually hesitate and question whether or not I should even finish this book. It has been a dream of mine, for a long time actually, to not get placed as only a children’s book author but break through to a more mature audience. However, I actually did not even intend to write such a dark piece, it just kind of manifested into its own story. At one point, I eventually had to decide to just let the story run its course. I wanted to write something more mature, and this is the story that came out of that dream.

  CINDER: And, of course, you are glad that you did—gauging by the response so far to the story.

  WOLFE: Ultimately, yes, I have to say that I am pleased with the reaction thus far. I just still hope that no one recognizes the name and picks it up for their kids. I would hate to be responsible for anything like that.

  CINDER: So are you expecting any therapy bills from misinformed parents in the future?

  WOLFE: [Laughs] I certainly hope not. I think I’ve made it very clear that this is not a children’s book.

  CINDER: Is it true that you thought of publishing this one under a different penname?”

  WOLFE: Yes, actually. After about the first twenty pages I erased my name and placed the penname Matthew Fish at the top. It stayed there till it neared completion, and then I just removed it. In the end I realized that every word of this story was mine, so I decided to take ownership of what I had written—for better or worse.

  CINDER: Now a few questions about the story.

  WOLFE: I’ll do my best. [Laughs]

  CINDER: You’ve written yourself and your family into this story, with you being the main… well… villain. You never exactly fully explain how your character gains these abilities and loses his humanity in the process—was that something intentional?

  WOLFE: Yes, actually, I drop a few clues here and there about how he, or I, rather, tap into the basic animalistic instincts of the wolf in the story, thus part of my subconscious becomes a physical form of the creature. It is almost as though I am split into two different people. The other part of my persona, my body, lies dying in my attempt to achieve this state of enlightenment in a hospital. Well, maybe not enlightenment, that’s not the right word. It is more of something of a forbidden act that, of course, my character does in his attempt to truly get into the nature of the animals that he writes about.

  CINDER: So, this story is based in some reality on your part. That you, as an author, would like to be taken more seriously and the frustrations involved in that process.

  WOLFE: Yes. Among friends, and even family, it’s been brought up that perhaps I stick to what is working for me. A lot of the frustration that is spoken about regarding my character is a true reflection of my own life.

  CINDER: Now, regarding family: How do your wife, friends, and kids feel about their places in the story? (If you’ve not read the book, then I’d stop reading now… okay, you’ve been warned, readers.) Most of them end up dying, and not in particularly nice ways.

  WOLFE: [Laughs] Even I worried about that. I remember handing over the finished version to my wife, who was the firs
t one to read it, and I have to say that she took it well. Seeing as how I killed her pretty early into the narrative. Also, there was a lot of… well… the uncomfortable writing of the graphic sex scenes involving my own son. He read a version of it, and yeah, he was cool with it, but he did say that what happened to his character was pretty terrible. I do feel bad about not being able to give him a happier ending, but I suppose that is just the way that stories go.

  CINDER: Now, your other son, it ends happily for him. Honestly, as a reader, I was beginning to think that there wasn’t going to be any kind of happy ending for any of the characters.

  WOLFE: Again, I really let this story do whatever it wanted to do. I was more just a passenger along for the ride. I am just as happy as you are that it ended on a high note for one of the characters.

  CINDER: Then the late introduction of the two kids who caused earthquakes when they came into contact. I guess you could say that it ended happily for them, in some aspect, even if their future is an uncertain one.

  WOLFE: Those are two characters I actually wouldn’t mind revisiting in the future. Maybe follow up on their journey as to where they go, and how they manage to get by. I think it would be an interesting follow-up.

  CINDER: So, are you saying that would be your next project then?

  WOLFE: [Laughs] I’m still reeling from this one, honestly. I haven’t decided if I’m going for more serious stories right now, or back to what’s safe. That’s the big struggle in life, though, isn’t it? You take risks and you hope that they pay off. If they don’t, then you continue—no matter what.

  CINDER: It’s a good way to look at it. As for my opinion, I wouldn’t mind more about the earthquake kids. Then again, I suppose that is something you will have to think about.

  WOLFE: Indeed.

  CINDER: I do have one last question, if you would indulge me.

  WOLFE: I shall do my best.

  CINDER: Now, in the other world, where they were being chased by the wolves, if I’ve understood it correctly… is that their memories that are chasing them down, of their deaths in the real world?

  WOLFE: I’m sorry… I don’t get what part you are talking about.

  CINDER: Oh… I’m sorry. Let me be more specific. When Emma awoke in the hospital, after her escape from the building with the help of Jack Olen, she ended up on the moon, using it as a raft of sorts to make her way through the flooded Springfield. When she finally hit land she was confronted with the ghost, or memory, of her father and she ends up burning the shed down only to be chased by the wolves…

  WOLFE: I’m sorry—again, I’m going to have to interrupt you right there. That is not part of my book. There is no “other world”, unless you are referring to the photographs that Daniel captures and the brief memory he has of saving his brother Jack after he entered the window.

  CINDER: Are you joking with me? [Laughs] The wolves made of smoke and shadow. The ones that turn out to be people sent to help them regain their lost memories of how they died. They took them to…

  WOLFE: There isn’t any part like that in my book at all.

  CINDER: There is… I just finished…

  WOLFE: Don’t you think I’d know my own fucking book?

  CINDER: I apologize, Mr. Wolfe. I meant no offense. I think we are just confused somehow.

  WOLFE: “We” are confused? I think it is just you who is fucking confused. You just didn’t get it. Did you even read the fucking book? Are you some kind of idiot? Does anyone even read this stupid, shitty “quarterly” magazine, anyway?

  CINDER: This interview is over.

  WOLFE: You bet your stupid ass it is. So fucking unprofessional, questioning an author about the content of his own fucking book.

  …

  Ellie Cinder walks away from the small interview room with a frustrated sigh. She slams the door behind her, leaving Landon Wolfe alone. Then, the lights go out.

  “I’m still in here, for fuck sakes!” Landon yells. “What are you going to amount to? Nothing! I’m going to be huge someday, and you’ll be known as the retarded lady who couldn’t even get an author interview right!”

  A knock comes on the door.

  “What now?” Landon asks, annoyed as he attempts to get up from the chair. He follows the sound as he fumbles around in the darkness. He eventually finds the door. He turns the knob, letting in the pale blue light from behind. In the doorway stands his youngest son, Jack.

  “Jack!” he exclaims, releasing his anger and embracing his son tightly. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in school!”

  Jack appears confused for a moment. He returns the embrace, happily. “I’m not sure.”

  “Hope you didn’t drive all the way down here for the interview—it was a train-wreck,” Landon says as he places an arm around his son. “Let me take you out to dinner—somewhere nice.”

  “Sure,” Jack replies, although he can’t quite shake the feeling that something is wrong. He doesn’t even remember the drive down. He remembers very little of how he got here, just that he was knocking on the door. He cannot recall why, or how. For a moment, he worries that something is severely wrong with him. “Not feeling so well, though.”

  “Here have a seat,” Landon says as he helps Jack down into a waiting room seat outside of the office. “They seem to have shut the lights out on us. Good thing this rain has finally let up.”

  In the faint blue light from the many windows along the wall, Jack can make out the image of his father, just as he had always remembered him. His hair is slicked back, graying. His eyes are dark and he wears silver-rimmed square glasses that give a distinguished look to his slender, wrinkled face. He has a few weeks worth of beard-growing, just enough to give him a more rugged look but one that tells of his inability to fully commit to the art of beard-growing. He is wearing a brown suit, gold rabbit cufflinks visible at his sleeves. Still, there is something off for Jack, something wrong with the whole situation; it makes him feel as though he is going to be sick.

  “Where’s mom?” Jack asks as he looks away and buries his face in his palms.

  “At home—you know how she is. She hates it here. She thinks it’s too busy. We’ll go and see her after dinner. She’ll be so pleased that you’ve come to visit—everything is all right, though? Everything okay at school?”

  Jack thinks for a moment. Perhaps that’s why he is here and why he feels so sick. He as a memory of failing out of college, although he has no idea as to why he would have driven so far to confront his parents about this. It would be more in his nature to hide away and keep it a secret for as long as possible. “Oh, no, things are good. I think I just got a little sick from the drive over.”

  “Well, let’s get some food in you,” Landon replies as he helps Jack up to his feet. “I’m sure you’ll feel squared away after a good meal.”

  “That must be it,” Jack replies, although it sounds wrong to him as he says it.

  Jack follows Landon down the hall to the elevator. Its buttons are illuminated, giving off a soft white glow that fills the tiny hallway. Landon hits the button to go down and waits patiently. However, time passes and the elevator does not arrive. He jams on the button a few more times to no avail.

  “This place, I tell you,” Landon says as he lets out a frustrated sigh, “Bunch of fucking unprofessional hicks.”

  Landon begins to walk away as the door opens before them.

  “It’s here,” Jack says. He lets out as gasp as the elevator doors reveal not a tiny room, yet a construction site hallway. The sides are held up by wooden beams and yellow work lights hanging haphazardly from the ceiling, giving the hallway an eerie dull yellow glow. A hand reaches out, engulfed in shadow and smoke, and pulls Jack forward as the doors swiftly shut behind him.

  “Jack!” Landon shouts as he bangs upon the door. “Are you all right? I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Jack faintly hears his father’s words as everything grows even stranger. The hand that has pulled him into the tig
ht hallway has disappeared. He begins to walk forward, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the yellow lights that hang above and seem to fluctuate in extremes, the way a light bulb does right before it goes out. Feeling dizzy, Jack places a hand to the side of the wooden scaffolding and concrete as he stumbles onward. A mist begins to grow from the faint light that he can make out at the end of the tunnel. It begins to grow thicker and thicker, as though it is turning to black smoke. An unsettled feeling grows in his stomach as he looks back to the way he came. The elevator doors are no longer visible behind him, replaced by an endless stretch of hallway. Jack feels as though his legs are going to give out beneath him as a strong feeling of vertigo overtakes him—his mind interprets the endless distance behind him as looking down into an abyss. He quickly averts his eyes forward, choosing the black smoke ahead over the feeling of falling into nothingness.

  A short growl comes from up ahead, like an angered dog. From the swirling darkness a wolf approaches out of the dark mist, its teeth bared.

  “Don’t run,” a voice in Jack’s head pleads.

  “Emma?” Jack asks, although the name doesn’t sound familiar to him for some reason. He doesn’t know why he has said it. His instinct is to turn and run. However, he listens. He stays in place. The mist begins to overtake him, surrounding him in darkness. Soon the yellow lights are all but muted out from the smoke. The wolf draws nearer. It begins to grow static in form, taking on the shape of a woman.

  The name Emma pops into his mind again. The memory feels alien to Jack, like he is trying to access something that he has been forbidden to do so. The name is familiar in the same sense that one might get that déjà vu feeling when they meet someone or see a certain place. Jack does not even hesitate as the woman reaches out for him. Instead, finally taking charge of the situation at hand, he runs to her. He embraces her shadowed form and, despite the pain, he knows that this is important. This is right.

  Everything turns to black. Jack sees his death once more at the hands of the insane father whose child Landon has murdered. He remembers everything. As the memories flash by, he finally remembers Emma’s death and a great sadness fills his heart. He remembers the want for revenge, the taste of it in his mouth as he pulled the trigger on his father. The satisfaction at the sight of blood and his father’s agonized screams.