“So you think Beth is totally fine, just going through the usual kid stuff? Stabbing her mother, bizarre fantasies, hallucinations, all the usual stuff that comes with growing up?”
“We see your point, Oscar,” said Lorne. “We just want what’s best for our daughter.”
“The things Beth has been saying,” Oscar explained, “strange as they seem aren’t entirely fairy tales. I don’t know what to make of Mister Smiler but some of the other things that have come up may have some basis in your work. How much time does Beth spend in this room?”
“She very rarely comes in here,” said Eva.
“Does she read any of the books?”
“I’m afraid that’s ridiculous, Dr. Loste,” Lorne said. “Beth is a perfectly fine reader for her age but many of my university colleagues find these texts challenging. I believe Beth prefers coloring books.”
“That owl mask over there,” Oscar said, “the one with the black eyes, has Beth ever discussed that particular artifact with you?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Lorne Bardo. “As my wife told you before, Beth only rarely comes in this room.”
“Is she supervised when she does?”
“Of course,” the Bardos said together.
“It’s just that,” Oscar continued, “some of Beth’s fantasies are rather specific. She claims that Mister Smiler is from an ancient desert.”
“That’s quite odd,” said Eva Bardo. “We don’t make it a habit of discussing our work with Beth but it’s possible that she overheard a few things.”
“Beth is in an extremely sensitive and fragile state,” Oscar told them. “Keep the dark historical references to yourselves. There is no reason for a child’s imagination to have this kind of firepower.”
“We respect your opinion, Doctor,” said Lorne.
“I did warn you once,” Eva added, with a glint in her eye, “that Beth can be manipulative. Yes, she’s a six-year-old child, but she’s far from ordinary. Do keep your wits about you.”
...
Beth’s thousand square foot bedroom was decorated like a young child’s best Christmas Eve dream. A six-foot pink tyrannosaurus with a dopey smile presided over the room from the far corner. A kaleidoscope lamp blanketed one of the walls with morphing lights and stars.
Beth was staring out the window, toward the dark abandoned row of old factories at the dying edge of Philadelphia. Wearing a grey, plush turtleneck with cartoon ducks on the collar, she was perfectly fixated and didn’t seem to notice Oscar. She was propped up on the picture window on two thick bed pillows so she could see farther.
“Do you like looking out at the city, Beth?” Oscar asked her as he walked over.
“Umm hmm,” she answered as she kept her eyes pointed out the window.
“Looking at anything in particular?”
She was staring out to the darkest region of North Philadelphia, where the businesses had mostly shut down, leaving a black void in twinkling skyline. The emptiness seemed to have the little girl fascinated. Without looking away, she answered back, “Over there. Over there, it glows.”
Oscar stood by her at the window and looked out to the old factories. “What do you mean by glow, Beth? I don’t see anything.”
“It stopped when you came in.”
“I’m sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is this an OK time for us to talk?”
She finally turned away from the window and looked at him. “Sure,” she said. “Mommy and Daddy said you were coming.”
They both sat down at the miniature table where Beth staged her round circle of favorite stuffed animals. Oscar moved a large purple rabbit to make room across from her.
“Beth, we didn’t talk about this the last time,” he said, “but I wanted to bring it up because I think it’s really important. Do you know who I work for?”
Beth stared back at him with confusion. She seemed to be waiting for him to tell her. However, when he didn’t, the little girl shrugged her shoulders, saying, “I dunno.”
“Take a guess.”
“Mommy and Daddy,” she answered. “You work for Mommy and Daddy.”
“No,” said Oscar, forcefully. “I don’t work for your mom and dad, Beth. I work for you. Do you know what that means?”
“Um umm,” she shook her head.
“It means that you’re my boss, that I’m not here to do what’s best for your mom and dad, I’m here to do what’s best for you. If there is something you want to tell me and for some reason, you’re worried about what Mommy and Daddy we’ll say, then it’s my job to listen and figure out how to handle it. Does that make any sense?”
“Um hmm.”
“Let me ask you then, Beth. Is there anything bothering you, anything you’re maybe too scared to talk to Mommy and Daddy about? This is the time you can feel free to talk about it.”
“Mister Smiler says to stop it. He says it isn’t time.”
“I don’t understand, Beth. What does that mean? Why isn’t it the time?”
She shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Mister Smiler is confusing sometimes.”
…
While he walked to his car from the Bardo house, he turned to find Beth watching him from her top floor bedroom window. She held up her tiny hand and waved to him. Oscar stuck his hand up and smiled before he got in his car.
As he drove away and the Bardo house disappeared into the trees, Oscar took out a bottle of gorgonorphan from the glove compartment. Wanting to keep good control of the car, he sipped at the tip and let just a little flow down his throat.
Just as the bitterness hit the back of his tongue, something caught his attention in the rearview mirror. A glow, just as Beth had described, was lighting up the North Philly sky behind him. It looked like someone was setting off some sort of futuristic twenty-seventh century fireworks near the abandoned factories.
When Oscar stopped the car and got out to check, only a faint gleam of light was left. However, he could see where it was coming from. One of the factories at the top of the hill, a run-down plant of some kind, not any different looking from many of the others, seemed to be the epicenter of the light. That spot still smoldered with red, orange and blue.
During his education in psychology, he became well acquainted with the idea of transference. It was certainly possible to redirect emotions, even impulses, from patient to doctor without any conscious effort. Oscar knew the phenomenon existed but was aware of no cases of transference of hallucinations.
Standing on the empty road, he wondered if just a few sips of gorgonorphan could have created the lightshow? The next question was how could he and Beth be seeing the same thing.
...
During his next appointment with the McSorley brothers, Oscar brought up Arnie’s epilepsy. He asked him, “Do you think there’s an emotional component to your seizures? Are they triggered by certain states of mind?”
Arnie played with his facial hair while he considered the question. His washed-out Creedence Clearwater Revival tee shirt stretched around his rather large biceps. “Oh I think it’s way more than that,” he said with a blooming smile. “Way, way more.”
“My brother has interesting theories,” commented Dale.
“They’re not fucking theories. If your ignorant ass would read something once in a while, you’d see it.”
“I’d love to hear what you think,” said Oscar.
Arnie seemed delighted to have the floor. He leaned back and let his long hair dangle on the back of the chair. “Well, well,” he said like he was recounting an old war story. “Nowadays people call epilepsy a disease but back in the old days, we were considered sacred, sages to be respected and admired. I don’t think epilepsy is a disease at all. I think we just see more,” he said, making a wide circle with his hands. A seizure isn’t just a short circuit in the old wiring, it’s divination, man. I get let in on the secrets of the universe.”
“That’s an interesting and positive perspective,” said Oscar.
&nb
sp; “He’s out of his mind,” said Dale.
“It’s not just a god damned perspective. It’s real,” Arnie argued. He told his brother, “The shrink here at least listens to me before cutting me off.”
“Oscar or doctor is fine,” Oscar interrupted.
“Shrinks, doctors, all of them,” Arnie went on. Then he looked at his brother. “They’re part of the system. You’re a pig. I mean cop. Sorry. That means your part of the system too.”
“Doctor Loste,” Dale said, ignoring his brother, “do you think it’s his epilepsy that makes him like this?”
“Like what?” Arnie asked them both as though he had no idea. “Make me like what?”
“Just what system am I part of, Arnie?” Oscar asked him.
“The keep-everybody-thinking-alike system,” Arnie said, pointing his finger in Oscar’s direction. “The whole shrink infrastructure is all about keeping people’s eyes off the man behind the curtain. Most people can’t or won’t see what’s going on in this country and the people that do are called crazy. Consider this, if the man wants to keep people in line, it’s a better strategy than locking them up.”
“That’s interesting,” said Oscar, listening carefully. “And you think I’m complicit in this conspiracy?”
“You don’t seem like a bad dude,” Arnie admitted, “but you are doing the man’s work.”
“So what’s going on in this country? Tell me.”
“Well God damn it,” said Arnie. He apparently wasn’t ready for such an open floor for discussion. “It’s hard to explain but the gist is, I guess, that we’re being invaded. And I’m not one of those assholes that hates on Mexicans or other immigrants. I don’t mean that kind of invasion. This is something different.”
“Go ahead,” said Dale, smirking. “Tell him who’s invading.”
“You shut the fuck up,” Arnie said as he stood up and pointed at his brother’s face. “You wanted me to talk to the doctor and now you’re talking shit.”
“I’d like to know who’s invading,” said Oscar, taking on an innocent tone. “Why don’t you just tell me, Arnie?”
“It’s not a group of people that’s invading. It’s ideas. It’s a consciousness that’s taking over.”
“Here we go,” commented his brother.
Arnie gathered his thoughts and continued. “Whatever this thing is, it’s changing humanity. And not for the better might I add.”
“He’s very mystical, my brother,” commented Dale.
“And he’s very simple-minded, my brother,” Arnie told Oscar.
“Problems with the world and humanity aside,” Oscar started to ask Arnie, “What would you say is your biggest problem in life, what’s holding you back personally? What’s standing in Arnie’s way?”
“Well god damn it,” he said, stroking the hair on his chin as he considered the question. “I suppose the biggest problem I have is my sleep. All the God damned nightmares and weird shit. I could really do without that. The other big problem I got is rich folks.”
“What do you mean rich folks?”
“I mean that I don’t fucking like them and I don’t want them around me. They’re destroying the god damn planet with their motherfucking egos.”
“My brother,” Dale commented, “the social philosopher.”
“They’re god damned evil. All of em,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Those fucks.”
Oscar started a new line in his notes, asking Arnie, “So what’s so weird about your dreams?”
“Ever since I was a kid, man,” Arnie shook his head, “my dreams have been beyond fucked up. Like not normal shit. Even all the mushrooms and drugs I’ve take over the years haven’t had shit on my dreams, man. I’m talking profound hallucinations. I know I’ve been places my brain did not make up out of thin air. What do you think about all that stuff, Doc? You know about out-of-body experiences, the astral plane?”
“I’m familiar with the terms.”
Arnie went on, saying, “People like me, people that can go other places have existed throughout history. The rich folks that ran things, and still do might I add, these folks used to burn people like me at the stake for letting the secret out, for letting people know that this hellhole isn’t all there is to life.”
His brother Dale shook his head, saying, “Just stop talking. You sound so fucking crazy right now, Arnie.”
“You asked me before, Doc,” Arnie said, “about my seizures having something to do with my emotions or state of mind. One thing is a bit peculiar. I have my regular share of small seizures, myoclonic, tonic-clonic and focal. But it’s a rare thing for me to have a full grand mal seizure. Those, Doc, those are not ordinary for me. For over a decade, I never thought I would see another one. Then I get one look at that little girl, your patient, the one hanging out with those, what’s their name, Bardos.” He raised both his hands to his head, then pulled them away, mouthing out the sound of an explosion.
“That’s interesting,” said Oscar.
“That little girl,” Arnie said with a look of almost reverence, “is special.”
…
Chapter 6
The Soul-line
With her eyelids droopy and voice slow and subdued, Beth was exhausted when Oscar arrived for their appointment. She also couldn’t seem to focus on Oscar very long before gazing off to the corner. The little girl’s normally pale face had taken on an even more extreme pallor. It looked as though she was nearly shivering under her purple turtleneck. Beth looked like someone fished out of the freezing North Sea.
“Are you feeling OK?” Beth asked Oscar the moment he sat down. Her voice struck an odd monotone.
Surprised, he stumbled for a moment before answering. “It’s strange you would ask me that. I was just about to ask you if you were feeling OK.”
“I’m fine,” she said, somehow meeting his eyes and looking away at the same time. “I dreamed all night. I went far.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Smiler took me through a fold to the past.”
“What did you see?”
“It was dark. Mister Smiler showed me how bright the moon was. We were floating over a lot of sand. Nothing but sand. Mister Smiler pointed down to something he wanted me to see.”
“What was it, Beth? What did he show you?”
“They were building these huge sand buildings, made up of triangles.”
“Pyramids, Beth?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “That’s what Mister Smiler called them.”
“You saw the pyramids being built in Egypt?”
“Um hmm. I guess,” she said. “They’re are bad people down there.”
“Who do you mean?”
“There’s people bossing everyone around, making them do things. They’re real mean. They’re making everyone build. Everyone is so scared of them but they can’t stop even when they try. They’re all working so hard to build. People keep getting tired and falling down but the others just walk over them. They can’t even make themselves stop.”
“These bosses, the bad people, what do they look like?”
“White,” she said, closing her eyes. “They’re wearing all white and they’re covered up. I can’t see their faces.”
“That’s OK, Beth. Did you remember anything else.”
“Um hmm,” she said. “It’s scary through.”
“I promise you’re safe. If it isn’t too scary, it would be helpful for me to know anything else from your dream.”
“Mister Smiler brought me closer and I saw what they were doing,” she said as she started to shift around in her chair. “I screamed,” she went on, “but only Mister Smiler could hear me. He told me it was going to be OK.”
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
“It was a boy,” she said, opening her eyes wide. “He was asleep in this big, glass box and the bosses were all around him.”
“What were they doing?”
“They’re taking something from him while he’s asl
eep,” She said, breathing heavy. “They’re using him to make the others work. They’re using him to hurt the others.”
“I want you to put that out of your head for a minute and just calm down,” he told her. “It sounds very scary. If Mister Smiler is really your friend, why would he want you to see something like that? Why would he want to scare you?”
Without having to think about it, she said, “He told me why. He said that he needed me to learn about my soul-line.”
“What does that mean?”
“He said the boy and I are like cousins.”
“I see,” said Oscar. “If it isn’t too scary, would you mind telling me what happened next?”
“Mister Smiler took me away from there because he didn’t want me to see what was gonna happen to the boy.”
“Were the people in white going to hurt him?”
“I dunno. Mister Smiler wouldn’t tell me.”
...
That night after work, the elevator in The Black Hole Tower squeaked to a halt in between the forty-second and forty-third floors. The lights went dim and Oscar could smell the burning plastic odor of the failing motor. He pushed open the doors, lifted himself out of the stalled car and headed for the stairwell.
On his way up the steps, he heard an echo of voices. One of them, he recognized immediately. Stanley, his neighbor, was weeping and mumbling something like, “Why? Oh, God. Why? Why did he send us here?” His voice sounded like pure despair.
The other voice sounded less distinct. Oscar couldn’t determine what the man was saying, but there was something familiar about the voice.
He hurried until he made it to his floor and when he reached the courtyard, Stanley was standing at the railing next to the Owlman. The masked man in the suit was whispering something into Stanley’s ear. The words were clearly devastating and Stanley looked like he was being read last rites.
Enter the Uncreated Night Page 6