“Joseph was the victim of an unfortunate accident.”
“Look,” Lopez said, attempting to keep his emotions in check. “You could be an outer space being from the third moon in the dimension of Xerxynemnon, but I know a lie when I hear one.”
His anger over Joe’s murder was tempered only by intuition and a gnawing fear that in order to escape with his life, he’d need to keep himself centered and intensely focused.
“I have no reason to tell lies, Hector. His heart was flawed. He was of no use to us. You, however, are perfectly healthy and deserving of a rich life.”
The abuelito figure clapped.
“Come and see!”
From behind, a thunderous roar arose. It sounded like a volcanic eruption.
Lopez turned. The sea had disappeared. In its stead, a spectacular mountaintop vista offered views of gorgeous lakes and lush emerald valleys. Luzveyn Dred stood at his side.
“We are just south of the Alps, Hector,” Luzveyn Dred said softly. “Would you like to live here? Rule these lands?”
“What’s second prize?”
“What would you like it to be?”
“Are we talking mild temptation, or flat-out bribery?”
“Do you want women, Hector?”
After a second of pitch blackness, they stood poolside. Women danced in exotic outfits that revealed glimpses of their toned bodies. Bikini-clad girls, no more than twenty years old, frolicked in the water. A couple of topless blondes sat at the pool’s edge, caressing each other. There were subtle glances in his direction. Some, after making eye contact, giggled and looked away. Others lacking shyness, leered at him.
“Pick me, Hector,” a large-breasted brunette said walking toward him.
“If you like,” whispered Dred, “you may have them all.”
“Ooooh baby,” Lopez said, but he instantly regretted his word choice. It felt like something had been pulled from his mind, from his memory. He felt exposed.
“Ahhh, that’s right. Babies!” Luzveyn Dred clapped his willowy hands.
The pool transformed into a lush garden filled with children of various ages. There must have been two dozen, and it was apparent by their Hispanic features, Luzveyn Dred meant them to represent the future offspring of Hector Lopez. He looked for Dred, but the entity had vanished.
Several attractive women nurtured the youngsters, but in contrast to the previous vision, they all looked prim and proper. One gal, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, read to a group of seven or eight-year old boys and girls. An older lady with dark features played hide-and-seek with a set of twins barely old enough to walk. A third woman appeared to be conducting a horticulture lesson to middle school students near a collection of colorful flowers.
Lopez glanced backwards. He was no longer watching this as a scene; he was completely surrounded by the garden. A mansion the size of a European castle overlooked the grounds, which spread as far as he could see.
“Da-da?”
A toddler no more than a year old teetered in front of him, reaching for his hand. He bent and offered his index finger, which she grabbed for balance. She gazed up at him with aqua-blue eyes, but a dark complexion and black hair. A cute, blonde—presumably the mother—bounded over.
“Oh! Her first word!” She beamed and picked up the little girl. “Good girl! Yes, Da-da, Daddy!”
“I prefer ‘Papá,’” Lopez said, grinning.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” she said, then turned back to the baby. “Can you say ‘Papá?’ You can do it! Papá. Papá.”
“Papá!” cooed the cute bright-eyed baby.
The blonde gal squeaked and giggled. She sounded how Lopez felt. This wasn’t just a cute baby; this was his baby, their baby, a miracle baby. Now he smelled the flowers, lush and rich rewards for his nose. They were beautiful.
All the children in the garden were smiling, happy. This was paradise.
He heard laughter. A group of preschool-aged children held hands and danced in a circle singing. They were all smiling. Glowing smiles. Glowing.
Lopez could be happy in a place like this. There was no conflict, no stress, no worries. He wanted to be a father and worried about his duties and responsibilities, but here everything would be taken care of.
“Do you want to hold her, honey?” the blonde asked.
“Let’s put it this way,” he said gazing around and raising his hand. “No.”
“What?” Her blue eyes flashed black, then returned to bright blue.
“I said, no. Enough of your lies. I hope you have a backup plan for child support, honey bunny.”
The little girl spoke, but it was Luzveyn Dred’s voice.
“You know, there is always a contingency plan, Hector,”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Lopez asked flatly.
With that, they were back at the bastardized version of the Oceanside pier. Luzveyn Dred had again taken on the image of his abuelito.
“Well, Toto, I guess we ain’t in Tijuana no more,” Lopez said, trying to sound calm. He had to assume his continued resistance to temptation would not please Luzveyn Dred.
“I have major plans for you, Hector. Join me.”
“What did you mean by a ‘contingency plan’?”
“If you do not accept my offer, there will be others who shall. Join me, Hector!”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to the day job.”
A bolt of lightning darted overhead. An image stretched, contorted, and then began to drip towards the pier. A group of gorilla-like, gray beasts were approaching the water’s edge.
“But Hector, you are entitled to so much more…”
The pod-like image from the sky splashed down nearby into the sea. It momentarily disappeared, and then a teenage boy in a white T-shirt popped to the surface. He flailed away in the steaming water. The beasts waded into the ocean, and dragged the boy back toward the shore. Black ears ran flat up the sides of the creatures’ heads, their pointed tips rising high enough to resemble horns.
A memory flooded Lopez. He had been ten, eating at a fish house in Rosarito, Mexico. His abuelito had ordered live lobster. Sitting just outside the kitchen, young Hector cringed at the hideous noise the animal made while being boiled alive.
“But Hector,” his grandfather had said with a chuckle, “the lobster is not screaming, the air is merely escaping from its lungs.” For weeks, the event had given him nightmares.
Other recollections of his abuelito came back. The way his mother cringed when the man was close. The way she reacted when anyone asked about her childhood or the scars on her arms. How no one except immediate family attended the man’s funeral. What little positive had been said about his abuelito even then, except that he had survived the upbringing of a Haitian father – one who had been involved in Voodoo.
The beasts tossed the boy onto the sand, where another creature with a billowing purple cape leaned over him. It grabbed the youth’s head and pulled him up until its own forehead rested on the boy’s. When they were eye-to-eye, the other beasts covered both of their heads with a large purple hood.
Lopez turned back to Luzveyn Dred. The abuelito image was gone, replaced by a shadow. His willowy frame flowed in one direction, then quickly wisped back. He flickered and popped like a campfire—but gave out no light. He oozed an oily substance, a pus, and exuded an odor of burnt rubber mixed with cat piss that turned Lopez’s stomach. The face resembled the one from Lopez’s prior nightmare.
Lopez glared at Dred and pointed to the shore. “What are they doing to him?”
“One of my helpers is implanting fragments of this place, the Spatium Quartus, into the boy’s dreams. He will take portions of it back with him to your dimension in his mind. Do not worry. It’s similar to the work being done by your OIA friend, Moats.”
“You’re implanting negative thoughts in his head?”
“No, no. I inject their minds with microscopic elements of this dimension. Back in your world, they are acti
vated and expand when the person dreams.”
“Has nightmares, you mean?”
Again, Luzveyn Dred flickered as before, but this time, Lopez would swear that for a second the shadowy face appeared confused, as though not comprehending the difference between a dream and a nightmare.
“Hector, the important aspect for you to grasp is that I plan to use elements of the Spatium Quartus to unite us. The entire process is too complex for you to fully understand; but by joining collectively through me, we shall shift energy to the point where the time/space continuum bends. A portal will open much the way one did in Emelia’s dream, and then, together, we can pass directly into eternity—what your people call ‘heaven.’ It will forever alter cosmic history.”
In the distance, the glow of black light surrounded the creature working on the teenager. Its robes swirled in the escalating winds. The boy screamed for his mother.
Behind him, gray beasts thundered down the pier’s wooden planks. Soon, he was surrounded. The shadowy image cackled and hissed, his breath smelling of rotted flesh. Lopez knew this was no dream; if they killed him in this dimension, he would die. His stomach felt as if a large sharp rock had ripped through its walls, letting its contents seep to his knees.
“This is your chance to separate yourself, distinguish yourself, Hector,” Luzveyn Dred said with more force. “Do not waste it.”
“Okay, wait,” Lopez shouted.
The creatures around him froze; their eyes were vacant, lifeless. During his training in the Corps, Lopez had been taught to survive some of the most bizarre forms of coercion and torture, but nothing like this. The Corps had taught him to use the fear, to be driven by it rather than overcome by it. But now, fear paralyzed Lopez.
“Hector, think what you can do for your race. You can become an example for your people. I shall infuse you with part of myself to take back to your dimension.”
Lopez said nothing at all.
“I need your answer, Hector.”
The beast nearest him twitched. Lopez closed his eyes, thrust his hands in his pockets, took a deep breath, and did something that he’d not done in several years. He said a silent prayer. When he’d finished, touching his fingertips to his forehead, chest, and both shoulders, he made a sign of the cross.
“Should I take that as your answer?”
Lopez imagined people who’d faced this challenge before him, Imbo and the countless others who had stayed true even in the face of death. The thought made him smile.
“My answer,” he said, “is no. Not today, not tomorrow, not for all the bullshit temptations you could ever offer.”
Lopez saw what must have been the creature’s true form – a large shadow with a spiked serpentine tail. Luzveyn Dred roared. Millennia of hate spewed—first in unintelligible words, then in a torrent of fire. The flames engulfed Lopez’s face. He yanked his hands from his pockets and charged headlong into his adversary. His arm extended, in his hand he grasped the medallion from Imbo’s grandfather. It must have been meant to protect Joe, but the agent had given it away, given it to him.
“That shouldn’t be here!” Dred screeched.
Sparks zipped and zigzagged around Lopez as though an unseen bulldozer was demolishing an electrical transformer. A flash of brilliant, white light sent rings and ripples outward from the explosion. A circular portal opened. Lopez dove through headfirst. A sonic boom blasted through his chest. It felt as if his entire body compressed. He shrunk smaller and smaller.
Silence. Darkness. Lopez wondered if he was dead.
He opened his eyes to—the morning light.
*****
Outside of OIA Headquarters, a fire truck, ambulance, and police cars alerted Lopez to the existence of a crisis beyond his own. Once he’d shoved his way through the police line, there was morgue-like silence throughout. He raced through the building and found Hyde in his office.
The doctor was shouting into the phone. “I want you to call me as soon as he’s found!”
As soon as he saw Lopez, Hyde hung up.
“Hector, thank God you are all right.” He stared. “What happened to your hair?”
The reflection from one of the wall pictures revealed a man looking much older than his years, with frayed and partially burned hair. He ran his fingers across the area where his eyebrows should have been and realized that not only had his face been burned, but much of his hair had been singed away. Large red welts covered his neck, arms, and chest.
Lopez cleared his head and focused on the task at hand. “I’m okay. What the hell is going on?”
“Silverman and Bohnam,” Hyde said, clearing his throat, “went into simultaneous cardiac arrest during a joint dream-link mission.”
“Where are they? Are they okay?” Lopez asked.
“The staff worked to save them. We did everything we could,” Hyde said. “However, they died still connected to NOCTURN.”
“With all that’s going on, you sent them in two at a time?” Lopez stood up and began pacing the confines of Hyde’s office.
“It was a decision made by Moats.”
“Where the hell is he?”
“Hector, take a seat. I haven’t told you everything.”
“I don’t need to sit down. Shit, I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m on restriction, remember?”
“Henderson and Prie are dead as well. Murdered.”
“When? Where?”
“In the predawn hours this morning, outside a tavern in Carlsbad. Their bodies were discovered an hour ago, side-by-side,” he said, his voice again cracking. “Their throats—slashed.”
Hyde splashed bourbon into two small glasses. It would be the first time Lopez ever had a drink before noon.
“And? The others?”
“We are still trying to track down Agent Martin and Senior Agent Moats. They’re missing.”
“I’ve got to go back,” Lopez said. “I was transported to the Spatium Quartus, the place Imbo told me about. Maybe Moats and Martin were taken there too. We’ve got to figure out a way to get me back there.”
“Hector, after all that’s happened today, I can’t let you, or anyone, use NOCTURN. I’m sorry.” Hyde’s face displayed the ambivalence of a defeated man.
Dred’s words blared like a warning in Lopez’s ears.
There is always a contingency plan, Hector.
Decades Later…
- Chapter Six -
Present Day - Over northern Italy
Geologist Andrew Faulkner awoke from another nightmare. He slid the plastic window shade up and gazed down at the snow-covered Alps as Flight 602 continued south. His shirt was damp with perspiration. The dream had something to do with—
Something. And like that, it was gone— buried in his subconscious like the first snow that had fallen months before on the rocky slopes below.
Nadia touched his arm. She was mouthing words he couldn’t hear with his iPod on. U2 extolled benefits of “carrying each other” as the band’s epic song, One, climaxed. Drew removed his earpieces.
“Darling, are you all right?” Nadia asked. Her blue eyes peered at him with concern.
“Yeah, Hon. Just another…you know.”
She shivered, and then seemed to sink lower beneath the airline-provided blanket. He’d never understand how a woman born and raised in Moscow, now living in southern California, could always be cold. Her eyes narrowed. “Another bad dream?”
“Yeah, I’m okay though,” he said.
“Can you remember…” She whisked strands of her red hair off her forehead.
“No. Nothing.”
The previous week, they’d both been plagued by nightmares. Two nights prior, Drew woke up to Nadia speaking Russian in her sleep. The next morning, she admitted to a dream in which she ran around in a bathrobe trying to hide a small, silver box given to her by her father. She couldn’t find a place to conceal the container; each time she bent to put it under something, that object would disappear. To make the vision more disturbin
g, her father stormed about swearing at her for each failed attempt. In real life, he’d died under mysterious circumstances which Nadia wouldn’t talk about, so the whole dream conversation had been dropped without too much analysis.
After flashing him a look of obvious chagrin, Nadia returned her attention to her open Family Circle magazine. Drew closed the shade, and rested his eyes until they’d begun their descent into Naples.
*****
Located on Via Medina in the heart of the city central, the Palazzo Turchini Hotel had once been a palace belonging to a royal conservatory. Inside one of the small elegant guest rooms, Drew raced to unpack his luggage before Nadia could get all her things put away. Their playful game, which had begun spur-of-the-moment on their first romantic getaway, had become a vacation tradition.
At the bottom of his suitcase, inside a black cloth pouch, Drew discovered a silver medallion.
“Here, Honey.” Assuming it was hers, Drew pressed the medallion into Nadia’s palm before stashing his shoes under the armoire.
“Isn’t this one of your sober thingies?” she asked, sounding confused.
His dresser drawer back home contained two anniversary tokens for sobriety; this medallion, however, was not one of them.
“Nope,” he said.
Nadia peered at it a moment before dropping it on the dresser. It clunked thickly on the wood and then, as it circled to a stop, created a chiming ring.
“Hey,” Drew said walking over and picking it up, “I think it’s made of real silver.”
Despite the brilliance of its shine, the medallion’s wear testified to its age. One side bore the smoothed image of a man on a horse, arm raised high. Perhaps at one time he held a sword, but much of the figure’s extended limb had long since worn away. It was about the same size but twice as thick as an Eisenhower silver dollar. The other side displayed a verse in a language Drew didn’t recognize.
He’d been truthful in answering all of the airport security questions; he’d packed his own bags and, since September 11th, Drew was obsessive about keeping them with him at all times—but this medallion was not his.
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