by Bill Myers
“Get off him.” It was the old woman’s voice, faint and from another world. “Get off! In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to stop!”
The blows ceased instantly. At first Brandon thought he’d passed out, but no, he still heard her voice.
“By the power and authority of Jesus the Christ I order you to stop!”
Brandon felt the weight of the young man shift on his chest.
“Who are you?” the voices demanded.
“Who I am is of no importance.” Her voice was clearer now. Brandon was coming back, regaining consciousness. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I order you to get up.”
With a struggle, Brandon finally managed to open his eyes. His vision was blurred, but he saw the man on top of him and, beyond that, the old woman.
“Now,” she ordered.
The attacker rose from Brandon and staggered to his feet. Brandon rolled to his side, coughing and spitting what he knew to be blood. When he looked back up, he saw the young man catching his breath and speaking. “He must wage the war himself,” the voices screamed.
“In time,” the woman replied.
Slowly, unsteadily, Brandon struggled to his hands and knees, keeping his eyes on the confrontation. The woman had taken a step or two closer. She now stood face-to-face with the man, who towered over her by nearly a foot.
“He is ours!” the voices shouted.
The woman held her ground, unflinching. “Liar.”
“He has chosen to —”
“You are the author of lies.”
“He has turned. He has chosen to follow our —”
“You are the author of lies, and I order you to be silent.”
Everything grew quiet. The woman and the young man remained glaring at one another, but the young man no longer spoke.
Brandon knew an attack was imminent. The man was about to grab her. The last thing in the world he wanted was to get back into the mix, but the old lady would definitely be needing his help. With painful effort he rose to his feet. His head throbbed and the ground still moved under his wobbly legs, but at least he was standing.
Yet, instead of attacking her, the man’s head swiveled toward him — his eyes still wild and terrifying. “You will not prevail,” the voices seethed. “Victory is ours.” The hatred sent a shudder through Brandon.
The young man turned back to the woman. Brandon prepared himself to leap to her defense.
But she showed no fear. “Go,” she commanded.
The man glared at her, but she didn’t yield. Her voice was not loud, but it was clear and spoken with unmistakable authority. “In the name of Jesus the Christ, I command you to leave.”
Brandon watched. It was amazing. Instead of attacking her, the man’s stature, his very countenance, seemed to wilt.
“Now,” she ordered. “Go, now.”
The young man hesitated, then momentarily looked around as if trying to get his bearings. When he spotted Brandon, he tried to maintain the bravado. “I am the one. It is my season. You are the impostor.” But it was only one voice now — a hollow imitation of the power and hatred Brandon had felt moments earlier.
“Now,” the old woman repeated. “In the name of Jesus Christ I order you to leave, now.”
The man turned back to her. He shifted his weight, as if unsure what to do, where to go. Then, spotting a beat-up Volkswagen across the street, he turned and walked toward it. Brandon and the woman watched in silence as he approached the car, climbed in, and started it up. Not a word was spoken as he finally pulled away and headed down the street.
At last Brandon turned to the old woman. She was staring at him. He could feel his face already swelling from the blows, and he knew some of the cuts were still bleeding. But when she took a concerned step toward him, he backed away. Whatever was going on, whatever had happened, he wanted no more of it.
“Brandon …”
He raised his hands, motioning her to stay away. She ignored it and continued to approach. He turned, stumbled, then headed for his truck.
“Brandon Martus.”
Keeping a hand on the truck bed to steady himself, he moved along it to the cab.
“You understand now,” she called out. “Do you understand?”
He threw open the door and climbed inside.
“Eli.”
He stole a look over his shoulder. She was still shuffling toward him. He reached into his jeans pocket for his keys. His right hand screamed in pain. It was either sprained or broken.
“Eli — you have the same authority, you have seen it work.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he yanked out the keys and shoved them into the ignition.
“Child —”
He fired up the truck.
“You have the authority.”
He dropped it into gear and released the brake.
“You need only surrender to his will. You need only believe.”
He revved the engine and quickly pulled from the curb. She was still talking, but he no longer heard. He traveled nearly fifty yards before glancing up at the rearview mirror.
The old lady was still there, standing all alone in the road, watching after him.
Dr. Reichner sat in the passenger seat as Sarah drove. Her car was running, but barely. He’d been the one to suggest they take it — after all, she knew the way. But now he cursed himself for the idea. Besides worn-out shocks and the world’s roughest-sounding engine, she had no air conditioning. A serious oversight in this record-breaking heat.
The car gave a couple of extra shudders as she turned onto Highway 30 and accelerated. “I think it’s a bad carburetor,” she shouted over the roar of the open windows. “Last night it didn’t want to start at all.”
“Maybe you should have taken the hint,” Reichner said, fingering a piece of window molding that disintegrated under his touch.
“All she needs is a little loving care,” Sarah insisted. Then, throwing a gibe back in his direction, “That is, if her owner could ever get some time off to visit the garage.”
Reichner smiled quietly. Sarah wouldn’t take the time off, even if he gave it to her. And that was fine by him. As long as he could capitalize on her desperate need to achieve, she would always be of use.
This morning was a perfect example. Initially, she had balked when he suggested they drive out to visit the boy. She didn’t want to exploit his trauma, to take advantage of his sister’s death. Reichner pretended to understand — but all he had to do was remind Sarah that if this kid was for real, the potential breakthroughs in their field would be unparalleled. Minutes later they were in the car, heading out to pay him a little visit. Again Reichner smiled. It took so little to play this woman.
Earlier, when she’d first mentioned the boy, he had shown little interest. Somebody with a bad case of nightmares and hallucinations seemed a likelier candidate for Vicksburg State than for his studies. But when she had mentioned that he had also been at the lab, and that a patient had attacked him, and that he had been at a church the night before, Reichner had begun to wonder.
Hadn’t the boy guru insisted that Reichner would find somebody in this area? Hadn’t Lewis wanted to attack somebody else at the lab? And last night hadn’t Lewis also spoken of visiting a church? Coincidence? Perhaps. But definitely reason enough to drop by and pay this kid a visit. Besides, it gave Reichner an opportunity to be alone with Sarah, and he liked that. He glanced at her legs. She was wearing a skirt today. Yes, he liked that very much.
“This must be the place,” Sarah said, nodding toward a pickup parked along the shoulder of the road. They had just come from the boy’s house, where his mother had reluctantly told them that he was probably down at the river. “He’s taking the day off,” she had explained. “That’s where he likes to go and work things out.”
Reichner had assured her that they wouldn’t bother him, that they would only ask a question or two. It was a lie, but it made no difference to Reichner. After all, it was what she wanted
to hear.
Sarah pulled the car to a stop behind the pickup, and they stepped out into the pounding sun.
“He may seem aloof at first,” she said as they found the path and started down the steep bank into the woods. “But that’s just a defense. Underneath, he’s really quite sweet and sensitive.”
Reichner arched an eyebrow. Was it his imagination, or did she have a thing for the kid? Throughout their drive, she’d spoken about him with concern — and now he was “sweet and sensitive”? He’d keep this in mind.
They were halfway down the path when they found him. Or at least when his dog found them. But instead of barking an alarm, the old animal lumbered to its feet and headed up the bank to greet them, all pants and slobbers. It recognized Sarah immediately, and she bent down to give it the appropriate pats and praises. Then it turned to Reichner, who for appearance’s sake had to do likewise, petting and patronizing the beast while it drooled all over his two-hundred-fifty-dollar-a-pair Ballys.
Sarah called out, “Brandon.”
The boy was stretched out on some rocks, shirt off, sunning himself. He was a good-looking kid, muscular build, and with long gorgeous hair that some of Reichner’s women would have killed for.
“Brandon?”
He looked up, spotted them, then turned away.
They continued down the path, slipping slightly, as unruly blackberry vines snagged Reichner’s slacks and sharp rocks assaulted his shoes.
Again Sarah called his name.
He finally turned back to them. “Come to see another show?” he shouted. “Sorry, the next performance isn’t until —” He stopped when he saw Reichner. “You brought a friend. Maybe I should start charging admission.”
They reached the bottom of the path and Reichner glanced at his shoes. They were scuffed and covered in drool. This kid had better be worth it.
“Your mother said you might be here,” Sarah explained as they approached. “This is Dr. Reichner, my boss. He’s head of the Institute.”
The kid’s eyes locked onto Reichner’s. They were steel gray and riveting. Immediately Reichner knew that Sarah had been right; there was a depth here, something that belied the boy’s pretended indifference.
But Sarah had noticed something else. “Your face,” she asked in sudden concern. “What happened to your face?” She was referring to the cuts and bruises around his eyes and on his cheeks.
Brandon looked away.
“Brandon?”
“I was at a late-night church service.”
Sarah turned to Reichner with a concerned look. He frowned and motioned for her to continue.
“Listen.” She shifted uneasily. “Do you mind if we talk to you for a few minutes?”
The boy turned back to her. Reichner watched and almost smiled. He’d guessed correctly. There was definitely something between them.
“Please,” she asked, clearing her throat a little self-consciously. “I think it might be important.”
The boy gave no answer. There was only the sound of the river and the groaning of the dog as it collapsed in some nearby shade.
Taking his lack of reply as an affirmative, Reichner searched for a seat. “Well …” He found a flat boulder nearby and eased carefully onto it, mindful of his slacks. “Dr. Weintraub tells me you’ve been having some pretty unusual experiences?”
The boy simply looked at him. But Reichner was unfazed. “So, tell me, Brennan —”
“Brandon,” Sarah corrected.
“So tell me, Brandon, how long has this been going on?”
The boy glanced away.
Reichner waited.
Finally the kid responded. “Not long.”
“And it started out as dreams, you say, that is before they became —” He chose to bypass the word hallucinations. “Visions.” The boy made no response. Reichner pressed on. “Tell me, Brandon, I am curious: What do you know about quantum mechanics?”
The kid threw him a look.
Reichner chuckled. “Actually, it is not that complex a concept.” He found a stick near his feet and picked it up. “It merely explains how solid objects, say this piece of wood here, can sometimes act more like waves of energy than as an actual physical object. That is, until we observe it. And then, for some reason, it collapses back into a lower state and becomes a solid object again.”
Brandon looked at him. “They pay you money to think like that?”
Reichner forced another chuckle. Let the boy have his fun. At least he’d gotten Brandon’s attention. Now he’d better move fast to keep it.
“What if I were to tell you that instead of a solid object, like this stick here, collapsing and appearing into our dimension — what if I were to say that I believe your experiences, your dreams and visions, are you actually stepping up into its dimension or into dimensions that are even higher?”
The boy looked skeptical but intrigued. Good. Now Reichner just had to wait for him to take the bait. He paused, letting the silence build. Finally, the boy spoke.
“You’re talking like sci-fi movies — parallel universes and stuff.”
Reichner shook his head. “Not exactly. Mathematically I have trouble with parallel universes. However, with existing mathematical formulas I can prove perpendicular universes.”
“Perpendicular?”
Reichner nodded. It was a stretch, but if this preacher’s kid still believed in a heaven and a hell — an ‘up there’ heaven, and a ‘down there’ hell — then this concept would work nicely. He continued, “Mathematically, thanks to Green, Schwartz, and dozens of other physicists, we have proof that our universe does not consist of three dimensions, as we once thought. Instead, it consists of at least eleven.”
“Eleven?”
Reichner nodded. “That is correct. Eleven dimensions. It can be proved mathematically. Beyond question.”
The boy shook his head — either in skepticism or wonder, Reichner couldn’t be sure. He quickly moved on. “Now, of course, we can construct models like the tesseract to help us understand higher dimensions. But instead of bringing out the charts and diagrams, there is an easier way.” Again he paused, making sure the kid was still on the line. He was, and he was waiting for more. Perfect.
With the stick still in his hands, Reichner rose to his feet. “Now, it is difficult for our three-dimensional minds to comprehend an eleven-dimensional world, so let us talk about two and three dimensions, instead.” He stepped to a small pool near the edge of the river. It appeared to have once been a large eddy, but thanks to the drought, most of it had evaporated, leaving it only a few inches deep.
“Let us suppose that there were two-dimensional creatures living here on the surface of this water.” He crouched and gently set the stick in the pool. “They would understand length —” He stretched his hands the length of the stick. “And they would understand width.” He indicated its width. “But they would have no comprehension of height, of up and down, because they are only two-dimensional creatures. A third dimension, up here above the river, would be impossible for them to see or even comprehend, because they only live in their two-dimensional world.”
The boy leaned forward. Good.
“But you and I, up here in the three-dimensional world, we could look down upon their entire world with a single glance.” He motioned from one end of the stick to the other. “We could see their beginning, just as clearly as their end. And, even though we are all around, they would not see us at all — until, poof —” He poked his finger into the water. “We suddenly appeared in their dimension. Or poof —” He removed his finger. “We suddenly disappeared.”
“We’d be like gods to them,” Sarah explained. “We’d be omnipotent. Able to observe everything they do, being in all places at the same time.”
“Now.” Reichner reached into the water and lifted out the stick. “What if a two-dimensional creature were suddenly lifted up out of his world and into our three-dimensional world?”
“He’d freak,” Brandon answered
quietly.
Reichner nodded. “Precisely. He would see things that did not exist in his world, three-dimensional objects that his two-dimensional mind could not comprehend. And, as a defense, his mind would reduce those images into forms he could understand — most likely symbols from his existing world.”
The boy shifted uneasily.
Reichner was obviously making his point. “You come from a religious background, correct?”
Brandon nodded.
“Think of all the great biblical visions and symbols: white horses, multi-headed beasts, slain lambs. These symbols all come from people trying to explain the inexplicable — using lower-dimensional terms to explain a higher-dimensional reality, a super-reality.”
“And you’re telling me all this because …”
“I want you to look upon science, at least our science, as just another facet of religion, just another way of trying to understand God.”
Brandon repeated his question. “And you’re telling me all this because …”
Reichner threw a look at Sarah. He’d done all he could. The fish had taken the bait, now it was up to her to bring him in.
She took her cue. “Because we need your help, Brandon.”
The boy glanced at her, then looked away.
She gently persisted. “Let us run a few tests.”
He shook his head and rose to his feet.
“In a controlled environment.”
“No.”
“You’d be in no danger. We’d be right beside —”
“No!” He turned back to her, obviously trying but unable to hide his agitation. “I’m not going to be some guinea pig in one of your laboratory experiments.”
Sarah quietly rose to her feet. “That’s not what —”
“I’m not one of those loony tunes you bring in from Vicksburg and hook up to a bunch of wires.”
Reichner fired a glance to Sarah. How much did the kid know about their use of mental patients?
But Brandon wasn’t finished. “It’s just guilt, all right? The doctors say I’m getting better. It’s just a matter of time and I’ll be okay.”