The fluorescent glow from the drug store faded until that part of the city seemed to be as dark as the coldest vacuum of space. As the cops talked about where they were going to stop for coffee after they booked Oscar, he stared out the car window, straight into the black concrete forest.
“How do you think he knows Dale?” One officer asked the other.
“Who the hell knows,” the other responded. “We’ll call him when we get in to figure this out. I don’t want Dale on my ass if this guy knows him.”
In the distance, the twinkling corpuscles that made up the city skyline were changing. The skyscrapers, bridges and city hall were morphing into a foreign landscape. Colors went from the normal whites and sodium-vapor yellows to phosphorescent greens and reds. The squared outlines of the buildings transmogrified into a branches of branches, a proliferation of glowing lines that looked like the exoskeleton of an insect.
The city went back to normal when Oscar rubbed his eyes.
He seemed to be in something of a hypnotic trance when the officers dragged him out of the car and deposited him in a temporary holding cell. “It’s your lucky day, brother,” one of them said to him. “It’s the drunk tank for you until Sergeant McSorley comes to sort this out.”
...
Oscar sat alone for over an hour in the corner of the holding cell, while the throng of drunks, crazies and undocumented immigrants kept at least a six-foot orbit. Nobody seemed interested in bothering him.
Sergeant Dale McSorley walked in wearing a baggy, collared shirt and a gold badge tucked to the front pocket. He flashed an abbreviated smile to Oscar. Then he brought back his honed policeman’s look, the one that mixed hostility and disinterest.
“Loste,” Dale read from the clipboard in his hand. “Oscar Loste. I have a few questions for you.” The sergeant was trying to seem nonchalant but the look in his eyes betrayed his concern. He walked Oscar out of the holding area, through a labyrinth of desks and cubicles, until they ended up in the back alley behind the station.
The moment they got outside to the street and the door closed, Oscar told Dale, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get involved. They found the card you gave me. I didn’t say anything about knowing you.”
“What the fuck, Doctor Loste?” Dale asked plainly. “They said you were crazy and trying to set a car on fire.”
“In fairness, it was my car.”
“Doctor Loste, are you high?” Dale searched Oscar’s eyes like he was performing a field sobriety test. “Cause your eyes don’t look exactly right to me.”
“I just had my cough medicine.”
Dale slowly nodded, saying, “You don’t look high come to think of it.” He looked carefully at Oscar’s face. “You remind me of how my brother, Arnie, gets after a seizure. His eyes get strange. He looks out of it but not high or drunk. Kind of like how you look right now. What kind of cough syrup did you say you were taking?”
“Just something over the counter,” Oscar held up his hand like he was swearing an oath.
“He’s been getting worse,” Dale said, looking up toward the starless grey haze in the city sky. “He had a really bad one earlier today. Refused to go to the hospital.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Oscar said. “Bring him to our next session.”
“Thanks, Doctor Loste.”
“I suppose it’s time for me to get booked now. Do you think we could get it over with? I really want to go home, get back to dealing with my flu.”
“You’re free to go, whenever. I told them not to process you into booking. Your car is still at the drugstore and I called a cab to bring you back.”
“Thank you,” Oscar said, sounding surprised. “I could have been charged with God knows what.”
“Thank a corrupt police department. Getting our friends out of trouble is the equivalent of jaywalking around here.” He looked at Oscar as though something serious was about to follow. “Just make sure,” he said, “not to set fire to any cars on the way home. Even if the particular car does belong to you.”
“I promise. Thank you again.”
“Promise me one more thing,” Dale told him.
“Sure.”
“You don’t look right to me. Get yourself checked out.”
...
Chapter 10
Morgaza
Beth seemed distant when Oscar met with her the following evening. During her session, it felt as though her attention was being pulled by something with the gravity of supernova.
“What are you thinking about?” Oscar asked her.
“Mr. Smiler is showing me things.”
“Like what?”
“Buildings and trees but it looks different from here,” she said. “There are millions and buzillions of suns in Morgaza. All sort of colors.” Her eyelids started to look heavy. “They reflect off the water. There’s so much water. The islands are tiny and far apart.”
“Beth, do you think you could focus on me for a little while? Maybe Mr. Smiler can go off and...” He tried to think of something before settling on, “Do whatever it is Mister Smiler does when he isn’t speaking to you.”
“Mr. Smiler is the one everyone listens to over there.”
“So he’s like the president?”
“Higher up than that.”
“How have you been sleeping, Beth?” Oscar changed the subject.
“Umm,” she said, suddenly visited by an uncomfortable idea. “I had a bad dream.”
“What happened?”
Beth looked at her shoes and softly nodded. “They came for me last night,” she said.
“You know these aren’t real, Beth. Everyone gets nightmares from time to time.”
“I was so scared.”
He found himself leaning closer to the little girl without any fear. At that moment, she seemed about as deadly as a hummingbird. Her pale blue eyes beamed the furthest thing from malice. They contained a profound and dark confusion and somehow called for help.
“I know,” Oscar said. “I’m sorry.” “I don’t know why you’re having these nightmares but I’m going to help you make them stop. I promise, Beth.”
“Mister Smiler says you’re in danger,” Beth whispered like she didn’t want anyone to hear.
“Tell Mister Smiler I’ll be fine,” Oscar said to her sternly. “I’m talking to you right now and he can stay out of it. Mr. Smiler can keep his threats to himself.”
“Oh, he’s not gonna hurt you,” she corrected. “He’s just worried about you.”
“That’s very kind of him and I appreciate it. Now, I’d like to go back to your dream to see if maybe we can pull apart some of the details. That will help us figure out what’s causing it. Is that OK with you?”
“Umm hmm,” she nodded.
“The people that hurt you in your dream, can you tell me more about them? How many of them there are? Are they tall, short, fat, skinny, white, black, orange or are they giant grasshoppers?”
Beth flashed a quick smile like she found him silly. “They’re regular people.”
“Do you recognize any of them?”
Beth searched for the memory and seemed to come back with just a startled look on her face. “They cover their faces so I can’t see.”
“You know how, before, I asked you about your birth mommy and daddy?”
“I heard they were bad.”
“I heard the same thing,” Oscar told her. “Now that we’re talking about this, I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if you start to get upset. Then we’ll stop and talk about something else. Is that OK?”
“Um hmm.”
“What do you remember about your old house? Try to remember back.”
“It wasn’t so big but it was nice.”
“Do you remember your old mommy and daddy in the house?”
“Um hmm,” she said, smiling. “They were nice to me. I missed them when they would go to work.”
“Do you have any bad memories from back then? Can you think of any time
you were really scared?”
Beth’s face had already gone blank. “They came for me the first time. I was asleep.” She looked to her right, saying, “Mister Smiler says this is making me upset.” She was starting to shiver under her turtleneck.
“That’s OK, Beth. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about some of the things you learned with your tutors this week.”
“They came for me while I was asleep,” she said, with her eyes open unnaturally wide, as though she could see the scene right in front of her. “I couldn’t stop them. I fell asleep.”
Oscar reached over and held up one of Beth’s recent drawings, a crayon rendering of her favorite stuffed tyrannosaurus. “Tell me about this one, Beth. I really like this one.”
“You do,” she said, focusing back on Oscar’s face. She took in a deep breath and the trembling began to subside. “Let me show you this one then.” She pulled out another drawing and pointed out some of the details to Oscar until the end of their session.
...
Beth stayed in her room while Oscar spoke to her parents in the study. “I think we’ve made some progress,” he told them. “The nightmares she’s been having, I think, perhaps caused the attack on you, Mrs. Bardo. I think Beth was caught in between wakefulness and dreaming while her body could still move. It’s possible some past trauma made her feel as though she needed to fight for her life. Couple that with a sleep disorder and perhaps...”
“There are treatments for that sort of thing,” said Mr. Bardo, who seemed encouraged by the possible diagnosis. “I can start her meeting with some sleep specialists immediately.”
“That won’t fix the real problem,” said Oscar, taking what hopefulness there was out of the room. “Beth is still a deeply disturbed little girl. Mister Smiler is not your normal imaginary friend. Something is still very wrong.”
“I think her time with you has been helping,” said Eva almost cheerfully. Her manner seemed remarkably out of place.
“I’m not helping,” Oscar corrected her. “In my opinion, I’m making it worse. If anything, she is more involved in Mister Smiler’s world, more convinced that it’s real. The more I try to poke holes in the fantasy, the more Beth brings it to life.”
“Do you think her therapy will have to go on much longer then?” Lorne asked.
“You see,” Eva Bardo added, “bringing in outsiders is making whatever is afflicting her more aggressive.” She added with a glint in her eyes, “When do you think Beth will be finished with the court requirement?”
“Not any time soon,” Oscar told them.
The Bardos looked at each other as though they were doing more than communicating. In the brief glance, it seemed as though the two had formed into one parallel-processing mind. They didn’t like his answer and they seemed to be figuring out how to deal with him.
Oscar went on, saying, “I don’t understand what’s happening here and I’m not making any recommendations until I do. Mister and misses Bardo, I get the sense that you want to keep your family private and I understand that. I also understand you being protective of your daughter. But I have a responsibility to Beth too. I need to properly evaluate her mental health and make sure she isn’t a threat to herself or anyone else.”
Lorne Bardo asked in the tone of someone in a negotiation, “Oscar, how long would you say Beth has until you can make that assessment?”
“Unknown,” Oscar said, sounding somewhat annoyed. “I’ll let you both know when I’m ready to give Beth a clean bill of mental health. I assure you.”
Eva Bardo sensed Oscar’s exasperation and tried to explain. “We would just like to put what happened behind us. These meetings are a reminder for Beth, and for us. We don’t mean to impede your work but we also need to move on.”
“Your daughter nearly killed you,” Oscar said, looking her in the eye.
Oscar had clearly unsettled the Bardos and they seemed to withdraw from the argument. “We understand,” said Lorne. “We just want to do what’s best for Beth, what’s best for our family.”
“I’d like to try hypnosis,” Oscar told them.
“Absolutely not,” said Eva. Her eyes were wide and she was leaning a few inches closer to Oscar. “Our daughter will have no part of that.” She seemed quite offended by the idea.
“Hypnosis is an accepted psychological technique,” Oscar argued.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Eva.
“It’s true,” Oscar went on. “It can be the best way to gain access to the subconscious mind, to the stuff we’re hiding from ourselves. It’s like getting into the code of computer software. I’ve been certified in the practice as a matter of fact.”
“Our daughter will not be subjected to that.”
“I don’t understand,” said Oscar. “Why not?”
“I’m sorry, Oscar,” Lorne told him. “But unlike you, we are both God-fearing people. That’s why the world has been so kind to us.” He gestured his hand in the air to indicate he meant the house. “The Church,” he said, “they’re very clear on the use of these sorts of interventions.”
“I’m confused,” Oscar said. “I didn’t know any of the major religions were against hypnosis.”
“Our Christian denomination is,” explained Eva. “So you see.”
“I don’t see,” Oscar argued. “This is your daughter and she needs help.”
“That will be the end of it!” Eva yelled.
Her bellow sprang up unexpectedly and it sent Oscar’s heart racing. “I don’t...”
“There will be no hypnosis, I’m afraid,” said Lorne. “Not ever. We are her parents. Do you understand, Oscar?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said. “But you’re right. You’re both her parents and it’s your call.”
Lorne Bardo walked him out of the study while Eva went upstairs to attend to some business.
On Oscar’s way out, an odd piece of art on the wall caught his attention. It looked like a map of the early Philadelphia region. The Schuylkill River had the same bends but the city itself was missing. No streets, river port or city hall. The map must have been drawn before the city developed. Whatever language it was labeled with was completely unrecognizable to Oscar. The map looked decorated with alien characters.
The strangest thing about the map was the feature at its center. A crystal building, printed larger than anything else on the map, seemed to preside over the entire region.
“Very interesting,” said Lorne, stopping, “isn’t it? It’s one of our most-prized artifacts. It’s a map of Philadelphia, before it was Philadelphia.”
“It looks like it was drawn before the British colonists,” said Oscar, staring at the map. “I thought there were only Native Americans here.”
“Ha!” chuckled Lorne. “I guess that’s still the public’s understanding of things. It is a bit more complicated than that. There were groups aware of the new world, saw its potential and preceded the colonists.”
“The Abzuzu?” Oscar asked. “That’s the group that you and your wife study, right? I noticed a few books on the shelves with your names on them.”
“That’s correct,” said Lorne. “Eva and I have done some research that shows they also had some mastery with shipbuilding.”
Oscar stared at the map’s most peculiar feature, the strange crystal building at its center. “What’s that place?” He asked Lorne. “It looks like that’s definitely the most important place on the map.”
“Indeed,” said Lorne, “I guess one could say that the structure served as both a church and a scientific laboratory.”
“Probably a pretty bad spot for the place.”
“Excuse me,” said Lorne. “Why’s that?”
“That area, today, is the middle of the slums,” said Oscar. “I think there are some toxic waste sites there too.”
“We own that particular land,” said Lorne. “Going back many generations now.” He added, “It’s actually the site of the closed down family glass factory.”
&n
bsp; Oscar noticed someone approaching and found Eva Bardo standing behind him. “Are you quite sure you’re feeling all right?” She asked Oscar like she could see something in his eyes. “You look a little hazy.”
“Hazy?” said Oscar. “I suppose I am a bit tired and I’ve got this flu that keeps coming back.”
“Then we shouldn’t bore you,” she said. “I know you would rather start your evening than hear a lecture on world history.”
Before Oscar could answer, she and her husband were leading him out of the house.
...
On the following Thursday evening, Oscar listened to Dale McSorley talk about the passing of his father. Arnie had brought along his copy of the Tibetan Book of the Dead, so he could tune out of the therapy session. At one point, Dale began to sob while he talked about the funeral. “I thought I hated the man,” he pushed through the tears. “Turns out it was more complicated than that.”
Before Oscar could say anything, Arnie chimed in. “Oh, please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You always were the soft one. Don’t cry for that fucking asshole. He was a prick and now he’s dead. I always thought it was the good that die young.”
“He was still your father,” Dale yelled back. “That should mean something to you.”
Arnie leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Well it doesn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m such a cold bastard,” he added, shrugging his shoulders.
“That kind of toughness is admirable,” Oscar told him, “but it doesn’t exist in human beings. Nobody is that tough.”
“Come on, Doc,” said Arnie. “There’s no sense in droning on about the past and getting all pissed off. Why don’t we change the subject? Doc, how was your weekend?”
“It was good,” Oscar told him, “but we were talking about you and Dale. I think we should stay focused.”
“You look a little tired and out-of-it to me,” said Arnie. “Were you out all weekend club hopping or something?”
Enter the Uncreated Night Page 9