Invitation: The Call, The Haunted, The Sentinels, The Girl

by Frank Peretti

“I don’t . . . I—”

  “Professor!”

  He looked up, his eyes wide. “Help me . . . I can’t—” He bent down, still holding his head. “I’m . . . I can’t remember.”

  “It is an illusion.” The kid stepped as close to him as he dared. “It’s what you fear most.”

  “My memories, they’re . . . Sartre. Jean-Paul Sartre. He stated that . . . in 1890, he stated . . . No, that wasn’t Sartre. He wasn’t born until . . . ahh, I can’t . . . when did Sartre live?”

  Andi called to Sridhar. “Do something! Help him!”

  The kid shook his head. “No one can go in there. He must—”

  “Kierkegaard, Søren Kierke—what did he, who?” He looked up at Sridhar. “Help me.”

  “You cannot fight it, Professor. You cannot fight fear. You can only replace it.”

  “I don’t understand!”

  Andi started toward him. I grabbed her arm and shook my head.

  Sridhar spotted us. “Stay there. You must stay on the path.”

  “Pi.” The professor looked around in panic. “Three point one four one—” He stopped. “Three point one—three—I can’t, I can’t remember pi!”

  “Professor, listen to me.” The kid tried to sound calm, but wasn’t doing so good. “We cannot fight our fears. We can only replace them.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Think of something good. You must think of something pleasant to replace your fears, something you really enjoy.”

  “I enjoy my intelligence.”

  Sridhar shook his head. “No. A place. An activity.”

  “I don’t—Books, I like to learn. I like—”

  “No. A person. Is there a person you are fond of? Just one person.”

  “Better try another approach,” Andi said.

  “I . . . She was a long time ago.”

  “Who? When?”

  “Mindy . . . Mindy Buchanan. Junior high.”

  “Think of Mindy Buchanan. What did she look like?”

  He closed his eyes, frowning.

  “Think of her clothes. Her hair.”

  He kept thinking.

  “Good . . . that’s good.”

  The professor opened his eyes and looked at Sridhar in surprise.

  “That’s right,” the kid said. “Keep thinking about Mindy. Think about Mindy and start moving toward me.”

  The old man nodded and took a step. Then another.

  “Her voice,” the kid said. “Remember what her voice sounded like.”

  The professor slowed, then stopped. He was three or four feet from Sridhar but couldn’t move.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She called me . . . stupid.” The man scowled. “She said I wasn’t smart enough.”

  “No, no. Think of the good.”

  “She said I’d never amount to—” He cringed.

  “No, Professor.”

  He grabbed his head. “I . . . can’t remember.”

  “Professor!”

  “What did . . . I . . . can’t.”

  There was no way he could go on. He was so close, but there was no way he—

  Suddenly, without warning, the kid leaped off the path. He stepped into the field and grabbed the professor by the arm.

  “What are you doing?” the professor shouted. “What are you—”

  The kid tried dragging him out. When that didn’t work, he ran behind the professor and pushed, slamming the man hard into his back. They both fell out of the field and onto the ground, the kid on top of him.

  “What are you doing?” the professor yelled.

  “I was—”

  “Get off me, you ignoramus! Clumsy oaf. Get off! Get off!”

  The kid scrambled away. The professor got to his feet, then brushed off his slacks and adjusted his sport coat, grumbling all the way.

  He’d obviously made a full recovery.

  CHAPTER

  6

  The auditorium had two, maybe three hundred seats. At one end there was a stage with a lectern. Behind the lectern sat six high-back chairs with armrests. Behind them were a couple of risers. And in front of the stage was another platform, more like a cube. Five by five by five. Bronze. In the center was a sealed pipe that stuck out another six or so inches.

  I turned to Sridhar. “Is that—”

  “Yes, that is the well.”

  “And those chairs?” Andi asked. “Up on the stage?”

  “That is where we will sit for tomorrow’s graduation. Mine is the sixth and final one to the right.”

  “Six?” Andi said. “Did you hear that, Professor? There are six graduates.”

  The professor ignored her. He’d spotted a large control board at the back of the auditorium and was heading up the steps to check it out.

  Earlier, when we followed Sridhar and the spiraling path into the building, Cowboy wouldn’t come in. He just stood at the side door in the hallway that surrounded the auditorium.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “The place gives me the willies.”

  “Like the guard shack?”

  “No. Yes. Different. Yeah, but kinda the same.”

  I shook my head, then turned to the kid. “What’s the deal with the well?”

  “It is sealed for now,” he said. “But during tomorrow’s induction, it shall be opened.”

  “And why is that?” Andi said.

  “It is best that I show you.” He turned to the center of the auditorium and called, “Computer. Please play last year’s ceremony.”

  The air above the middle of the room sparkled, then filled with light. Suddenly we were looking at a 3-D hologram of the auditorium filled with people. This time, up on the stage, there were eight kids.

  “That is last year’s class,” Sridhar said.

  The students looked comfortable enough, all prim and proper in their white gowns. You barely noticed their wrists strapped to the armrests or their ankles strapped to the legs of the chairs. On the risers behind them stood a dozen younger kids. Up at the lectern, some pompous, slick dude in a three-piece suit was giving a speech:

  “ . . . leaving selfish ambition behind to enter a new fraternity, an order that will guide us from the old paradigms of self-centeredness and destruction into a new era of peace, wisdom, and freedom.”

  The audience clapped.

  “Computer,” Sridhar called, “go to the induction.”

  The image flickered. Now the students on the risers were singing. One of those medieval chant things, only higher and creepier. As they sang, two older dudes dressed in red robes came up to the cubicle. They carried a long silver pole that they slipped into the ring on the pipe’s lid. Then, as one stood at each end of the pole, they lifted the lid.

  “Come,” the slick speaker called. “Travelers of the future, come fill these newest vessels with your ceaseless knowledge.”

  The singing grew louder and creepier. Wisps of green smoke started rising from the pipe. It grew thicker until it became a green cloud that glowed and pulsed with the music. It rose until it was ten feet above the cube.

  “Guys!” Cowboy yelled over the music. “I don’t like this!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. He had inched his way into the auditorium a few feet.

  The cloud drifted over to the stage. As it did, it divided in half. Then those halves split again, so there were four. They split again, so there were eight. Eight little clouds pulsing in perfect unison to the music.

  “Guys?”

  The clouds drifted until each one floated over a graduate. The students watched, not quite as relaxed as before.

  “The time has arrived!” Slick shouted over the singing. “All of your hard work and diligence shall be rewarded. Now is the time to reap your reward. Now is the time for induction.”

  The singing amped up until it almost sounded like screaming. The students kept staring up at their clouds.

  “And so, let it begin!”

  The clouds began to churn. The music
got louder. Finally, one of the kids opened her mouth. Wide. And she kept it open.

  “Come!” Slick called. “Now is the time!”

  Another opened his mouth. And then another. And another. They looked like baby chicks waiting to be fed. The clouds kept pulsing and churning until the last kid opened his.

  Then Slick shouted, “Receive your destiny!”

  In a flash, the clouds shot into their mouths. At first the kids resisted. They rocked back and forth, pulling against the straps holding their hands and ankles. If they screamed, you couldn’t hear it over the music.

  It lasted only a few seconds. Pretty soon they stopped fighting and relaxed. One by one, they closed their mouths and lowered their heads. They looked calmly out over the audience.

  And the crowd broke into cheers and applause.

  “Hologram, off,” Sridhar said.

  The image disappeared and we stood in the silence, trying to digest it all.

  Finally Cowboy spoke. “It’s the devil.”

  I turned to him.

  “Those are demons straight from the pit of hell,” he said.

  “Demons?” Sridhar sounded surprised. “Dr. Trenton says they are time travelers. They have returned in time through a portal in the earth’s crust to warn us and save our planet.”

  I turned back to Cowboy. “So you don’t think Sridhar should be a part of this?”

  “I don’t think we should even be inside this room.”

  “Andi—” the professor shouted down from the console. “Can you come up here a moment?”

  “It’s creepy,” I said to Cowboy. “I’ll give you that. And those kids on stage weren’t exactly thrilled.”

  “Until their training took over,” Sridhar said. “After the initial shock they were fine. Better than fine.”

  “And you’ve talked to them?” I said. “Afterward?”

  “Yes. Many are my good friends and now they work closely with world leaders. Everything is well and good.”

  “Except for them being possessed,” Cowboy said.

  “Guys?” Andi called from the console. “Check it out.” She hit a few switches and motioned to the stage.

  The same smoke we’d seen in the hologram was rising from the pipe. Only this time the pipe was covered.

  “That’s not possible,” the kid said. “The well won’t be unsealed until tomorrow.”

  “Looks like it has different plans.” I moved in for a closer look.

  “Miss Brenda—” Cowboy warned.

  By the time I got to the cube, I saw something wasn’t right. It took a moment to work up my courage, but I finally stretched my hand into the smoke. Only there was no smoke. My hand lit up green and I could see smoke on it, but there was no smoke. I wiggled my fingers. I waved. Nothing. It was just a projection.

  The professor called down from the console. “Behold, your demons.”

  I pulled back my hand and turned to him. “Another hologram?”

  Andi flipped a couple of switches on the console. The smoke rose and pulsed just like before. It divided. First into two clouds, then four, then the last one divided again, making six. They drifted until one floated over each of the chairs.

  “It’s a light show,” I said. “Just special effects.”

  “But—” the kid moved beside me. “What about the graduates?”

  “What about them?” the professor said.

  “Surely you saw their reaction when the travelers first entered them.”

  “I saw eight susceptible teenagers programmed for months, perhaps years, to believe whatever they saw and heard.”

  “But . . . our training, our classes—”

  “Take a good look, son. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

  “Not entirely.”

  I spun around to see Slick himself standing in the center of the stage.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Dr. Trenton.” Sridhar took a step toward the stage. “I am so sorry. Let me explain. I was—”

  Slick held up his hand and the kid stopped. Then the man turned to me. “Ms. Barnick, it’s so good to see you again.”

  It took me back, but I held my ground. “We never met. I don’t know you.”

  “You may not know me, but I certainly know you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, all relaxed. “So tell me, how’s life as a tattoo artist?”

  I nodded toward the clouds. “How’s your life as a con artist?”

  He smiled, all superior-like. “Yes.” He called to the back of the auditorium, “Andrea? Would you be so kind as to shut that down, please? It can be so distracting.”

  “How do you know my name?” Andi called.

  “The controls are to your left. But apparently you’ve already discovered them.”

  “Yes, I have, and they’re very impressive.” She punched a few buttons and the clouds disappeared. “But how did—”

  “Thank you. And Dr. James McKinney, tell me, what do you think?”

  The professor was unfazed. “Time travelers? Is that the best you could come up with?”

  “You don’t believe in time travel.”

  The professor motioned to the stage. “Apparently, neither do you.”

  “Oh, that.” Slick chuckled. “It’s an audiovisual aid. Merely something for weaker minds to put their faith in.”

  “So it’s all fake?” Andi asked.

  “No, dear. It’s an icon. As real as the Kaaba in Mecca, the crosses in churches—”

  “Or the face of the Virgin Mary in a burrito,” the professor said.

  Slick gave that smile again, this time for the professor. “Whether you care to admit it or not, those beliefs, however misinterpreted by the masses, have a trace of truth.”

  “I prefer my truth less delusional.”

  “And what truth would that be, Professor? Existentialism? Postmodernism? What’s your flavor-of-the-month today?”

  “It’s certainly not Star Trek reruns or wherever you’re getting your inspiration.”

  “That’s right, you’re a good eighteenth-century scientist, aren’t you? A classical materialist who believes only in what he can see.”

  “I’m a realist. If it can’t be measured, it doesn’t exist.”

  “So you have no belief in the multiple dimensions surrounding us.”

  “No more than the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus.”

  “Even though theoretical mathematicians have clearly proven them as fact.”

  “Theoretical and fact do not belong in the same sentence.”

  “Like the theory of evolution?”

  “Please,” the professor scorned.

  “Or dark matter.”

  “That’s an entirely different issue.”

  “No, that’s 72 percent of reality. And every physicist worth his salt knows it. It can’t be touched, it can’t be measured, but they know it’s here. The same goes for dark energy making up an additional 24 percent. So congratulations, Professor, you believe in 6 percent of reality.”

  “Who are you, really? What’s this place about?”

  “It’s a doorway to our future. As is every student here.” He gestured to Sridhar. “Each one carefully trained to bring us back from the brink of extinction and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for all.”

  “Break out the incense and love beads.”

  “Oh, you are a tough one, aren’t you.” Slick paused, then added, “I believe in—”

  At that same moment, the professor said, “I believe in—”

  Both men stopped. The professor frowned.

  Slick smiled. Then he said, “What are you?” just as the professor said, “What are you?”

  Again they stopped. The professor frowned harder.

  Slick smiled bigger. Then he said, “What’s this?” just as the professor said, “What’s this?”

  They kept going. “Another one—”

  “Another one—”

  “Of—”

  “Of—”

  “Your—”
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  “Your—”

  “Tricks?”

  “Tricks?”

  The professor was anything but thrilled.

  Slick just grinned. “Now, how did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Actually, that’s a very good question,” Andi said. She left the console and started down the steps, moving toward the stage. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. But the time traveler I’m hosting did. In fact, if I allowed him, he could recite our entire conversation before it began.”

  He paused, then added, “That’s ridic—” just as the professor said, “That’s ridic—” and stopped.

  “Yes.” There was that smile again.

  Andi joined me at the cube in front of the stage. “So there’s absolutely nothing coming out of this tube?” she asked. “It’s all special effects?”

  “Yes and no. The time travelers will be gathered all about this stage tomorrow. The special effects are merely a way of priming the pump, of helping the audience visualize what is actually occurring. The same goes for the graduates. It provides a point of reference, so when the indwelling occurs, they are not startled or alarmed.”

  He turned to the kid. “And Sridhar, I’m afraid this must remain our little secret. As you can imagine, I am not pleased to find you and your friends skulking about, and uncovering such information, especially before our big day. And it may make your own induction tomorrow less pleasant. Nevertheless, it is imperative you not share this with the other graduates.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The music, these effects, all are designed to create an environment more conducive to receiving your travelers. Without focusing upon them, your natural defenses will resist—a painful penalty for your disobedience. However, there is no need for your fellow graduates to also suffer. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned back to us. “With or without the assistance of these special effects, the travelers will enter the graduates where they will continue to expand each host’s giftedness in order to help and enlighten the world.”

  “Demons,” Cowboy called from the doorway. “They’re demons sent by the devil himself.”

  Slick looked at him sadly. “Yes . . . little wonder you weren’t admitted into the program.” He turned to the rest of us and clapped his hands. “Well, as much fun as this has been, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back some other time. Tomorrow’s activities await and it will be a very busy day.” He turned to Sridhar. “As for you, my young friend, it’s off to bed with you. Try and put that curious mind of yours to rest. Tomorrow will prove to be one of the most important days of your life.”