“Run!”
But there was nowhere to run…for Lydia knew there was only one door. And through that door lay a fate worse than death.
Chapter 8
One Good Eye
Chuck found her in the darkness, zeroing in as if by echolocation, and she squealed when his hand grasped hers, recoiling from the horrors she imagined were already within the room. What she didn’t realize, however, was that they still had time. The creature—whatever it was—was only halfway down the corridor. But it was closing in fast. Chuck felt its presence racing toward them, a wave of darkness that repelled all within its path.
He squeezed her hand a little more tightly, meaning it to be nothing more than a simple act of reassurance. But as their palms clasped each other, warmth shot along Chuck’s arm and blossomed through his chest. In that moment, it was as if all the ugliness and fear that often accompanied life had never truly existed; the warmth melted away insecurity and doubt and a sense of serenity unlike any he’d ever known washed over him. Despite the predicament they were in, a smile crept over Chuck’s face as he felt the energy flow between their linked hands, pulsing and throbbing in waves.
He knew how dangerous this was. He’d been releasing just enough emotion for her to interact with him, controlling the flow like water through a valve. If that valve were fully opened, he’d become entrenched within this false world, just another prisoner in its web. The moment he completely bought into the logic of the Cutscene, its physics would become tangible. And the ebb and flow of such strong emotions were exactly what would pave the way for such a thing.
Even so, part of him didn’t care. The feelings surging through him left no room for fear. The stirrings of panic that sometimes gripped him when he thought of being trapped in The Divide were now nothing more than an intellectual exercise, something to be considered but not truly experienced.
He’d always thought of the dimension his physical shell resided in as home. But, until this moment, he’d never truly understood the meaning of the word. This was home. Not the Cutscene. Not The Divide. But this state of unwavering bliss, this connectedness with another soul that transcended everything he’d ever thought he’d known about happiness.
“I don’t know what’s going on in there, Chuck, but you better cool your jets, buddy.” Contol’s words were clipped and terse, tinged with concern; at the same time, however, they were almost laughable.
Why would he want to bring what he was feeling to an end? This was what people had created religion in an attempt to find. This was Heaven. Nirvana. A state of perfect love and grace.
During his years as a Whisk, he’d touched other souls before, but never with a result like this. During those instances, there had only been a slight tingling, as if his hand had fallen asleep. Chuck, however, knew what the difference was without having to be told.
The woman whose hand he held was no stranger: She was an ancient companion. Their energies had mingled long before stars burned in the heavens and would continue long after the last had burned out. Her true name was not something that could ever be put into words, but something that had to be felt and experienced. Yet he knew that in this particular form, she was known simply as Lydia.
“Seriously, buddy, your waves are off the friggin’ graph. Get yourself in check!”
There was no doubt that Lydia felt it too. It began with softness touching her eyes just before her lips parted in an expression that was so much more than a smile. Her aura blazed with streaks so radiant that the Northern Lights of the physical world would have looked dull and lackluster in comparison.
There was familiarity in her gaze, and she spoke like someone awakening from a dream, her whisper somehow managing to sound incredulous and ecstatic at the same time.
“Chuck…”
“Damn it, Chuck, you need to save her!” In all their years working together, Control had never lost her cool. She’d always been the epitome of professionalism and decorum. Now, however, she yelled so loudly that the words seemed to echo within the center of Chuck’s being.
Control was right. Though not afraid, there was still danger here, getting closer by the moment. Everything that Chuck had felt and experienced had taken place in the span of only a few seconds. But in those seconds the creature in the darkness had closed in on its prey.
“Come with me.” Chuck pulled Lydia’s hand as he darted through the darkness, and she followed behind without question or hesitation.
He knew he could cloak himself from the creature better if he got his emotions under control; and right now the only thing that mattered was helping Lydia get to safety. Though he’d never had occasion to use it, each Whisk had his or her own mantra, specifically designed to curb the surges of strong emotion. Most of the time, these were used to counter carnal impulses, since these most primal of urges could manifest in a Crossfade so strongly that the silver cord was severed with the first, tentative touch. Due to this, the mantras were often referred to as Cold Showers, and Chuck now found himself employing his own in the hopes that it would work.
Chuck’s personal mantra was math.
Pi is the ratio of the circumference of a circle divided by diameter.
He didn’t actually have to solve the problems as they ran; he only had to ensure that a steady stream of equations ran through his mind, replacing emotion with irrefutable proofs.
A2 + B2 = C2…
The beast bore down upon them, its presence filling the room so completely that the air itself seemed to tug and pull at them. The stink of infection and disease flooded the bathroom, and the creature’s haggard breathing surrounded them on all sides. Within seconds, the thing would pounce, springing forward with a roar as its blades whirred toward its prey.
Velocity equals distance divided by time. The volume of a prism is length times width times depth…
Even though complete darkness masked the creature, it also worked to Chuck’s advantage. If there had been even the slightest glimmer of light, Lydia would have seen the walls. She would’ve associated them with something hard and immovable, solid barriers that trapped them within that potential abattoir. Her energies still pulsed in rhythm with Chuck’s own and the state of intimate familiarity allowed her to trust him completely and without question; but she still hadn’t freed herself from this world yet. The first steps had been taken, but until Lydia thoroughly rejected the lies her senses fed her, the woman would remain a model prisoner, dutifully obeying the rules and regulations of her incarceration. Chuck, on the other hand, didn’t have that problem.
Passing through the wall was no different than running through unobstructed space. It wasn’t really there, after all…at least, not for him. The creature pursuing the couple, however, was still bound by the world in which it lived. Its body slammed into the wall with a hollow thud, and an inhuman screech of rage receded in the darkness as Chuck scurried through non-space. To find them again, the thing would need to navigate halls and passages, which would take time. Hopefully, enough for Chuck to convince Lydia that sights, sounds, texture, tastes, and smells shackled her to this nightmare. That it was within her power to cast them off and move on.
When he’d first seen her sitting in that bathtub, something sparked within him. He looked upon her and knew he never wanted her to feel pain or suffering, to never shed a tear, or have her heart broken; he wanted her to embrace the warrior within, to recognize her own strength and beauty and to glow with the radiance of a thousand suns. He wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh, to stroke her hair as he gazed into eyes steeled by her own resolve.
The handbook had no warnings for this.
“Remember water lapping against the shores of Lake Cheyenne and the aroma of sizzling hot dogs amid the crackle and pop of the campfire; a sky brimming with stars and tent flaps rustling in a breeze that carried hints of rain.”
Bursting out of the darkness, the couple found themselves on the stairs of a tower. Chuck was fairly certain it wasn’t the same one he’d been in
earlier, but one gothic turret looked more or less like the next, so he couldn’t be sure.
What he did know was that he had to release Lydia’s hand. Though the creature was no longer a threat, other dangers could be lurking close by. With emotion flowing through them, Chuck and Lydia may as well have been beacons shining into the darkness.
Part of him, however, didn’t want to sever that connection. He felt as if eons had passed while he searched for her, as if he’d truly never been whole until their energies had merged. Releasing her hand would be akin to ripping some vital part out of his essence when all he wanted was to bask in the radiance of their union.
The area of a triangle is one half base times height…
Lydia squeezed his hand and moved closer as Chuck closed his eyes. Basic math had proved powerless against the emotions she invoked, so he mentally went through the parts of the translocation equation he actually understood and forced himself to tackle—yet again—those that he didn’t.
“Damn it, Chuck, I can’t do this on my own. You’ve got to give me something to work with, buddy. Get your shit together or I swear to God I’m pulling you outta there.”
Chuck relaxed his grip and stepped back, allowing his fingers to slip from her grasp. The moment they no longer touched, the brilliance faded from Lydia’s aura. The joy that had lit her face and eyes evaporated and Chuck watched the light of hope and happiness wink out. Though he still felt residual pulsings of elation, he suspected it was because he had not allowed himself to become trapped here. He realized he was simply a visitor, a transient soul passing through instead of a resident. For his dearest companion, however, it was as if something had been switched off.
Lydia looked like a woman who’d been startled out of a dream. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape as she spun in circles, taking in the spiraled stairs, flickering torches, and a tapestry so ancient that the images originally depicted on it had faded into obscurity.
Chuck tried not to stare. He’d been in Crossfades where miniature suns shone like fiery pearls in nebulous clouds whose colors defied description; he’d seen stars sparkling in the darkness of space like glitter that had been blown from the cupped hand of God, yet nothing he’d ever witnessed was half as beautiful as the woman standing before him.
With their esoteric link broken, more earthly desires now flittered through his mind. Chuck fought to keep his eyes from lingering on the swells of her breasts and following the gentle curves of her hips. Through longing so intense that he physically ached for her touch, warmth kindled in his stomach. He realized he didn’t just want to bend her over and have his way; he wanted the closeness that would follow the act, the gentle caresses, giggling, and breathless snippets of conversation. He wanted to lay on his side and hold her, to trace constellations from the moles and freckles and whisper secrets he’d never shared with anyone else.
Perhaps Lydia sensed this, for her cheeks suddenly flushed with embarrassment. She covered her breasts with one arm, cupping her other hand over her mound of pubic hair as she turned slightly, glancing at Chuck over her shoulder but avoiding direct eye contact for more than a second at a time.
“I…I don’t understand. How did we…why are…”
She wasn’t ready to create her own clothing from nothingness yet. If she’d been that far along, they wouldn’t have even been having this conversation. Chuck walked to the wall and ripped the tapestry from its frame, releasing a shower of dust and freeing the musty scent of age. Gripping its tattered border in his hands, he snapped it with a flick of his wrist several times, filling the stairwell with dust motes. They swirled lazily in the air as he moved to Lydia and draped the wall-hanging over her shoulders like a cape. Turning his back, he listened to the rustle of fabric as Lydia mumbled her thanks.
“You have to listen to me, Lydia; none of this is…”
“And that’s another thing.” Her voice bordered on hysteria, its pitch and volume rising with each word. “How the Hell do you know my name? Who the fuck are you?”
Without their souls touching, Lydia had obviously forgotten that moment of recognition or that she had whispered his own name without being told what it was. The Cutscene had enveloped her within its reality again and Chuck doubted if she even truly remembered the two of them running through the darkness, hand in hand.
“Someone who cares.” The moment the words crossed his lips, Chuck’s cheeks warmed and he hung his head like an embarrassed schoolboy who’d just admitted a crush.
Though she was at his back, a tarnished shield hung on the wall before Chuck. Most of it was covered in a patina of rust, but some sections were still as shiny as chrome. Lydia was distorted in the reflection, but the image was clear enough for him to see that she’d fashioned a braided tieback into a makeshift belt. It encircled her waist, transforming the tapestry into a toga. Despite threadbare patches and discolored stains, she looked like a goddess; her aura pulsed and shimmered and torchlight touched her skin with a golden, honey-colored glow.
He would gladly worship at her altar. He’d kneel before her, bringing offerings of devotion and loyalty…all in the hopes that she might grace him with a single smile.
“The sting of fire ants overpowering the tickle of them streaming across bare feet in grass cooled by the morning dew.” Control’s voice was no more than a murmur, her words meaningless.
There should have been a warning about this; but even if there had been, how would Chuck have prepared? How would he have fought off such unprecedented feelings? Chuck shook his head as if he could fling thoughts from his mind. He knew he didn’t have time for this. He had to keep her safe, to protect her from all the things that scuttled and crept through the muck and slime; he had to shield her from the horrors of this place until she realized all the protection she’d ever need lay within her own fierce spirit. And he was more than willing to do that…even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.
“Let’s get going.” He tried to sound more authoritative than he actually felt as he turned toward her again. “We don’t want to stay put for too long. Hard to tell what else is in this place.”
Chuck didn’t wait for Lydia’s reply. He trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and trusted she would follow. As they climbed, he tried to explain everything to her as best as he could. He told her about Crossfades and Cutscenes, explained in layman’s terms exactly what he did for a living, and tried to help her see that she’d transitioned into an entirely different dimension when the last of her brainwaves had faded.
“Energy,” he explained, “can be neither created nor destroyed; it can only change form. This is part of the first law of thermodynamics. Basic physics. Now keep in mind that the human body contains massive amounts of energy. In fact, there’s enough in our fat alone to charge a one-ton battery. So if it can’t be created, where does it come from? If it can’t be destroyed, where does it go? Your energy has changed form, Lydia. And you need to start coming to terms with that.”
The top of the stairs led to a vestibule dominated by a heavy oak door set into the wall facing them. The studded slats were held together by wrought-iron fixtures shaped like horizontal stalks of corn and a stone arch framed the doorway, hiding the hinges from view.
“So you’re trying to tell me that I can just walk through this?” Lydia rapped her knuckles against the wood as she spoke. “Hear that? Solid. I may not know exactly where I am, but I do know a door when I see one. And this is a door. This is real.”
“No, you just think it is.” Control whispered something in the back of Chuck’s mind; the babble was rushed and excited, but the words were drowned out by his own conversation. “It goes back to energy. Everything we think—everything we experience or perceive—it’s nothing more than electricity jumping from one synapse to another. It just so happens that we humans have somehow come to a collective arrangement, an agreement as to what constitutes reality as we know it. You’re still honoring that contract, Lydia. Even though you don’t have to. Not
anymore.”
“You’re insane…you know that, right?”
“I’ll prove it.” Chuck smiled. “I’ll walk through the door myself. And you’ll see.”
“Fuck that.” Lydia pushed the door with both hands and its hinges creaked as it swung inward. “You try running through this and you’ll end up on your ass with a bloody nose, crazy man.”
Lydia walked to the entrance and Chuck rolled his eyes before following. Though part of him dreaded the moment she disappeared into whatever came next, he knew the only way she’d truly be safe was to leave this realm entirely. And her well-being far outweighed his own selfishness; her security was all that mattered. Everything else was secondary.
The tops of the walls in the room they entered were bordered by an inset trough affixed with panes of stained glass. From somewhere on the other side, light streamed through and the images depicted in chunky blocks of color lit up in vibrant hues, their colors tinting the wooden floor. A red serpent gorged itself in a tangle of green brambles, the thorns piercing scales that leaked ruby teardrops as a pair of human legs jutted from its mouth; in the background, an azure sky masked demonic faces within seemingly innocent clouds and the sun was an angry orange sphere whose rays ignited fire within hollow-eyed skeletons. Body parts littered the landscape and strange symbols separated portions of the scene, multipointed stars trapped within circles of bone.
For a moment, neither Chuck nor Lydia spoke. They stood in silence, their minds fumbling through the details of the room as they struggled to make sense of it.
“Oh…my…God.” Chuck’s head swam with the realization of what he saw: not the images depicted in the stained glass, but what was below it.
He reached out to steady himself with one hand, and the stone archway surrounding the door felt as though it sighed in response; rather than the rough texture of rock, the blocks felt spongy and warm. They throbbed as if he were feeling a pulse through his fingertips and Chuck snatched his hand away, feeling as though his fingers had been irrevocably tainted by the brief contact.
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