by Jacob Whaler
As he gets close to the dark sphere, he is surprised that he hasn’t already been crushed to death by the violently grinding stew of rocks and dirt. Even the mammoth boulders dredged up out of the bedrock of the planet, including the one Matt grabbed on to, have been reduced to a fine powder.
But he feels loose and light, oddly at ease in a roiling sea of confusion. The blue light still clings to his body, and its thin film grows thicker as he gets closer to the dark center. The initial hunger for air has died away. He no longer feels the need to breathe. Perhaps the blue light is feeding oxygen to him through the pores of his skin.
It would be easy to close his eyes and disengage from everything around him, but he decides to stay alert to the end, curious about the unknown. He wonders what will happen when he crosses the event horizon, the theoretical point at which nothing can escape the grasp of a black hole, not even light.
Everything will go black.
That’s just a guess.
At some point, he becomes aware of feeling nothing, of being nothing.
It isn’t that everything turns black. Black is a color. You can see it. Feel it.
But now he has no eyes to see. Sight no longer matters or even exists. There is nothing to hear, and no ears to hear it with.
His physical senses are simply gone, switched off, silenced, obliterated.
Maybe his body and brain have been ripped apart by the black hole. Maybe he is just an echo or a vibration left over from the destruction of everything that he was.
Maybe the only part of him left is his thoughts.
Memories crowd to the surface. Kissing Jessica on her porch. Flying over the snow down Powder Puff Basin, dodging rocks and boulders. Running through an airport hand in hand with his dad as a ten-year-old. Standing with his mother on a sandy beach watching the sun drop into the ocean. Kneeling on the floor across from Leo as they lay hands on an old man to heal him. The Monkey slamming into his chest. Finding little Yarah standing outside the Forbidden City.
The images come faster and faster, pulled by some force outside his mind without order or meaning. He tries to slow down the gushing of memories, to hold on to them, but they slip through his fingers like water through a sieve, each one flashing for an instant and dissolving into nothing.
Lost forever.
And then he understands.
Memory by memory, his mind is being stripped, filed down, peeled off like the layers of an onion, until nothing remains of what he is.
He senses the momentum is accelerating him to a point of no return, a point of complete surrender beyond which he will no longer be Matt.
And a Voice startles him.
You may choose.
With the Voice, understanding floods in.
The black hole is performing a great cleansing. When there is nothing left of him, all fear, anxiety, suffering will be washed away. Only peace will remain. He will be reborn as something new. Effortless rest. Eternal oblivion. Nirvana.
You may choose.
“Choose what?”
The answer comes in a flash of comprehension.
On this side of the dividing line, there is Matt, with all the baggage of a lifetime. Pain, confusion, uncertainty, chaos.
He can choose to remain Matt.
Or he can choose to wipe the slate clean, to walk away from the past, to erase all the suffering and grief of his short life, to move on to something else. Perhaps something better.
To be, or not to be, Matt.
You may choose.
He is moving faster. Thoughts and memories slip by in a blur. He tries to recall his mother’s face, but it is gone. What is his father’s name? Gone.
Only one face, one name, remains.
Jessica.
A brush of soft lips against his. The smell that is uniquely hers. The trail of tears down her cheeks. The delicate touch of her fingers. The warmth of her closeness.
And then, even that is gone.
From somewhere deep inside, he hears the faint sounds of a single note. Coming closer. Louder.
I choose. I choose to be . . . me
Like an explosion, sensation returns to his body. He moves arms and legs, wiggles toes and fingers. A howling sound like a wind tunnel fills his ears. He breathes in deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with warm, moist air. He smells a hint of ocean and opens his mouth to taste it. His heart pumps in his chest and blood surges through his body.
Pain floods into his consciousness.
Jessica, his mom, her death, years of running, his dad, a lifetime of struggle and frustration. All of it comes back, like a massive truck slamming into a wall.
And he is the wall.
His eyes flip open.
CHAPTER 113
“They’re coming back.” Jake looks off in the direction of low-lying hills in the distance. “Can you hear them?
Kent stares down at Ryzaard on the ground, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He grips the handle of the dagger in a sweaty palm.
Why can’t I do it?
Jake steps forward and touches him on the shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“The Black Harpies,” Jake says. “One of them just started its engine and lifted off. Sounds like the one you scared off is coming back. Probably to get Ryzaard.”
Kent looks up. “How much longer before it gets here?”
Jake cocks his head. “It’s still a few miles off. I’d say less than a minute.” He looks at Yarah, playing in the grass. “What do we do? As soon as he wakes up, he’s going to kill us all.”
“What if Matt is alive and Ryzaard is the only one who knows where he is.”
Jake shakes his head. “I told you before. Ryzaard had every intention to kill your son. I’m sorry.”
Nodding to himself, Kent feels the truth of Jake’s words. “You’re right.”
“For the sake of the world, let’s get this over with.”
Kent clenches his jaw. “For Matt .”
“For Little John.”
Grasping the dagger with both hands, Kent raises his arms and thrusts the blade down squarely above Ryzaard’s heart.
The instant the tip of the blade makes contact with Ryzaard’s chest, a thin blue web of light jumps around his body.
Kent screams as the knife burns his hand and falls from his fingers.
As his eyes drift up, Ryzaard’s body disappears from the ground.
And reappears standing over him.
Kent tries to turn, but it’s too late. The heel of Ryzaard’s boot slams into the side of Kent’s head, throwing him onto the ground. A heavy foot comes down on his back, pinning him to the grass.
“Did you really think you could kill me?”
Kent lifts his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jake holding Yarah. Her mouth is open and yelling, but he can’t hear her through the pounding of the pulse in his temples.
The dagger is two feet away on the grass, blade blackened. Kent reaches for it, but another boot comes down hard on his fingers.
“Good idea.” Ryzaard’s hand stretches down to pick up the knife.
When the fingers are a centimeter away from the dagger, Kent arches his back and twists hard to the right, grabbing Ryzaard’s leg and pulling it with his free hand.
Ryzaard loses his balance and drops to the grass beside him.
Kent rolls away, grabs the knife and jumps to his feet. He turns to Jake, standing with Yarah by an old Buddha statue. “Take her and get out of here.” He crouches down into a defensive position and faces Ryzaard.
“But—”
“Do it!” Kent says.
Jake scoops up Yarah and runs away without another word.
Still kneeling on the grass, Ryzaard eyes Jake and the little girl as they cross the field and disappear behind a half-crumbled rock wall.
He turns back to Kent. “I trust you realize the gravity of your situation. Then again, lack of intelligence tends to run in family lines. It would not sur
prise me to see you display the same level of stupidity as your late son.” He stands up and slips one of the Stones from its slot. Holding it in front of him with both hands, Ryzaard takes a step closer to Kent.
A pale white rod rises up out of the Stone without a sound. It grows, sprouting tendrils of light that hang down from the tip, reminding Kent of a jellyfish. When the rod reaches a length of two meters, it looks like a beautiful glowing crystal chandelier. Zigzag lines of blue lightning dance inside the delicate network of light.
Ryzaard spins the rod in his hand, and the tendrils of light spread out. Air temperature soars. The lines of energy crackle and pop in the humid air.
The hair on Kent’s arms and head stands on end.
Looking at the rod, Ryzaard nods with approval. “It’s amazing what you can do with pure energy, isn’t it?” He takes a step forward and swings it at the remnants of a dragon statue two meters from Kent. The tentacles of light brush over the rock surface. It glows crimson, liquefies and sinks to the ground, a puddle of lava.
A wave of heat and the smell of burnt sulfur move past Kent.
Ryzaard looks up with satisfaction. “Would you like to know how your son died?”
Kent ignores the words and tosses the dagger back and forth between his hands, wiping the sweat from this forehead. “Would you like to know how you’re going to die?”
“He was brave. He tried. Like you. But one Stone is no match for three.” Ryzaard comes another step closer and swings the light rod horizontally.
“You’re lying.” Kent jumps back. “You didn’t kill him because you can’t.”
Ryzaard’s eyes dart down to a rock carving in the shape of a snake on the grass just behind Kent. Without a word, he charges forward.
Kent’s heel catches on the rock. He stumbles, falling to the ground. Trying to regain his balance, his back slams into a stone wall, pinning him in place.
“You’ll never know the truth.” Ryzaard raises the rod and drops it down directly above Kent’s head.
Kent surges forward, rolling so that he hits Ryzaard in the legs.
Ryzaard reels with the Stone in hand. The rod of light starts to fade, and he falls away from Kent.
A single strand of clear white energy whips down and brushes against Kent’s back, just above the spine. Flames burst out where it makes contact with his shirt. He hears himself scream in agony as he crumples to the ground. His face hits a rock and he hears the sickening sound of shattering bone. Burning pain radiates out from his chest into his arms.
Struggling for breath, he tries to get up. But his legs refuse to move.
Then he realizes he can’t feel them.
Lifting his head up, he sees Ryzaard on the ground a few meters away.
“I was going to make it easy on you.” Ryzaard gets to his feet. “I would have made it easy on your son, too. But neither of you want that.”
Kent drops down with his chest and face in the grass, breathing hard. Reaching back to his legs, he pinches and pokes, trying to get some response.
But they are like dead logs attached to his body.
He stretches out with his hands and tries to pull his body along the ground, but all he comes up with are clumps of grass in his fingers. He tries to grab a nearby rock, but it’s too far away.
He relaxes his muscles, closes his eyes and allows the tension to flow out of his body. His thoughts turn to Matt and the last time they embraced.
I love you son. I’ll be with you soon.
Movement in the grass catches Kent’s attention. He gazes up.
A few feet away, Ryzaard stands, a grin on his face. “I am going to kill you now.”
Twisting his neck, Kent looks up.
Ryzaard is standing just out of arms’ reach holding a Stone in each hand and staring down, jaw relaxed and loose. “I do not expect you to understand,” he says. “From your viewpoint, I am a monster. I have taken everything from you. I killed your son. MX Global killed your wife, Yoshiko.”
At the mention of Yoshiko’s name, a violent tremor runs through Kent’s body. His arms shoot out, and he claws at the grass like a wild animal pushed into a corner, trying to grab a rock, a handful of dirt, anything to throw at the old man.
Ryzaard steps out of reach. “And now I am going to kill you. In a way, I am sorry. I wish it could be otherwise. I doubt it will help, but I know what it feels like to lose everything, to be stripped bare and left without hope. I was there once. The Nazis took everything I loved. My father, my mother. My sister.”
“And now you’ve become one of them.” Kent turns his head and finds the old man’s eyes.
Tension forms in the muscles of Ryzaard’s jaw. “You’re wrong. The Nazis destroyed without purpose, driven by nothing more than raw hate. I am different. I have a plan. Paradise on earth. True happiness and freedom for all. The Stones have come to me. I am the one with the courage to finally bring it to pass. Others have tried. Only I will succeed. Yours is a sacrifice that must be made to achieve a greater good.”
Kent laughs in spite of the pain in his chest. “You’re pure evil. Men like you killed your mother. It’s been the same throughout history. You would have done it yourself if you had been in their shoes.”
“You are sadly wrong.” Ryzaard’s voice has a hint of building anger. “You see nothing beyond your own little world. True greatness requires vision and courage. The vision to see the full picture, to not get side-tracked by details of little significance. The courage to do what is difficult, to bring to pass what is great.” He steps close to Kent and puts the toe of a boot under him. With a thrust of his leg, he flips Kent onto his back.
Kent grimaces with pain and tries to grab Ryzaard’s leg, missing by only inches. His breathing is ragged, but he forces words out of his throat, knowing they could be his last. “You have no vision, no courage. You’re nothing but a murderer, a selfish coward.”
“Charming to the end.” Ryzaard kneels at Kent’s feet and rips off his shoes and socks down to the bare skin.
As he thrashes his arms around, Kent searches for a grip on anything to pull himself away.
“Let’s see what we can do about those restless hands.” Ryzaard reaches down.
The next instant, Kent is on his stomach again. His wrists are tied together behind his back. A stick is rammed between his teeth. It feels like he’s been kicked in the jaw.
How can you fight against a man that can stop time whenever he wants?
Ryzaard speaks from somewhere out of sight behind Kent. “Your spinal cord is damaged. Passing a low level electric current through the nerves is supposed to be therapeutic, even healing. Let’s see what we can do for you.”
Kent’s heart beats into the ground. He tries to control his breath and relax to prepare for an onslaught of agony.
First, he hears the sound of sparks.
A tsunami of jagged pain explodes through his body. Unable to breathe, he forces his eyes open. His back is arched so he’s looking straight up into the sky at bulbous clouds. A lone blackbird flies in a circle overhead and then darts out of sight.
Then the pain stops.
“How is that? Any feeling in the legs?”
Kent’s upper body collapses to the ground. The stick in his mouth is broken, and he spits it out. His chest muscles are too tight to allow normal breathing, so he takes quick shallow breaths. The walls are closing in on him.
“No change?” Ryzaard says. “Let’s try again, this time with a bit more power.”
Another surge of agony rips through his back, up his spine, into his eyes, as if his body is injected with nanobots that attack every nerve, cutting and slashing at them, chewing them, stretching them to the breaking point. A high-pitched wail floats into his ears from somewhere far away. A warm soup with bony fragments of broken teeth drips from his mouth. Floating in a sea of pain, he forces his eyes open again. With a spine arched to the point of breaking, he sees an inverted world, blue sky with clouds the shape of popcorn at the bottom, and an upsi
de down Ryzaard kneeling and grinning at the top.
A vague shape is approaching from behind the old man.
“Still no feeling in the legs? Let’s try it one last time. It should do the trick.”
This time, the pain does not come in waves. It’s more like being strapped to the front of a racing truck that slams into a brick wall. The air and sky implode upon him. His arms and head seem to separate from his body.
The world goes white.
CHAPTER 114
A rock the size of a golf ball zings past Ryzaard, narrowly missing his ear. Seconds later, another rock slams into the side of his head. Blood trickles down his cheek and merges with his lips.
He pulls the Stones away from Kent’s bare feet. The extreme arch in Kent’s spine instantly relaxes, and he drops back onto the ground, facedown and motionless.
Ryzaard turns to see the tall man with the aviator sunglasses standing in front of a large boulder. He has a handful of rocks.
“Jake,” Ryzaard says. “The man with no eyes. Little John’s friend and companion. I’ve read all about you.” He stands up and starts walking across the field in Jake’s direction, slowing raising both Stones to his waist, holding them like pistols. “Thanks for saving me the trouble of hunting you down.”
A sphere of seething white light shoots out from each Stone.
Jake jumps two meters to the side just before the spheres smash against the boulder and reduce it to a puddle of molten lava. Blue smoke billows into the air, and the grass around it bursts into flames.
Ryzaard senses that something is not right, but can’t put his finger on it. He fires at Jake again, this time a burst of marble-sized purple energy pellets.
Jake calmly steps to the side again. The head of an old Buddha statue splits apart and crumbles to the ground only a foot away. He reaches down and picks up a small rock. He balances it loosely in his hand and lets it fly in Ryzaard’s direction.
Before Ryzaard can react, it hits him in the shoulder with an irritating sharp pain. Without pause, he fires a barrage of energy projectiles from each Stone, spraying back and forth. Large boulders, old walls and broken statues explode and crumble.