by Cody Lakin
Andrew swallowed, and his mouth, dry as it was, felt coarse. “I can’t even pretend to deny how… how important, all you’re saying is.” He did his best to keep his voice from wavering. “In fact, those are all things that I… that I have wanted throughout most of my life, not only for myself, but for those I care about most. You’re talking about the kind of philosophies that are at the basis of what it means to exist.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“I can’t even deny that I’m beginning to understand your purpose in a way I never would have imagined. But you continue insisting on this… higher world of yours. And I can admit that you’ve come closer to persuading me to your cause than I ever would have imagined, Charlie. But how is your other world any different from any other religion?”
Irritation crossed Charlie’s face. “Have I not already addressed this?”
“Not enough for me, Knox. We agree that fairytales are absurd, and much of any religion is just that—a collection of fairytales and fables. And this other world of yours sounds a lot like a fairytale to me.”
Charlie stood and walked patiently, as if calculating each step, to the edge of the porch. He hooked his hands behind his back, looked skyward, and a serene smile spread over his face.
“There was a time,” Charlie spoke softly, “when it was inconceivable, even blasphemous, to suggest such a concept as the Earth not being the center of all the galaxy. In fact, some people in this cesspool of ignorance still refuse to believe that they aren’t the most important sentient beings in all the universe—an opinion based on the delusion that we were created superior to other forms of life by a divine being. Once again, the illusion of separation.
“It was once blasphemous to say that the Earth was not at the center of the solar system, to the point that great individuals were burned at the stake for suggesting such things. Even now it is considered ridiculous, to the ignorant masses, to suggest that the Earth is not changing and dying because of humanity’s presence. Do you see my point? To the ignorant, small, unenlightened mind, some truths seem like fairytales. The God of most religions is a shrinking pocket of the unexplained, as many of this world’s scientists say. Soon that “pocket of the unexplained” will be explained, and the beliefs of most religions will return to what they truly are: nothing more than higher, organized forms of superstition. Fables that can be learned from, but should not be worshipped.
“Meanwhile, there are aspects of existence such as science, a means of objectively understanding the world which was once regarded as a form of witchcraft, or magic. Some say magic is merely unexplained science, which is a sentiment I particularly enjoy.
“You see, if we focus on religion, since you insist on comparing the higher world to religion, it is a fact that the people who are most of religion’s saviors and prophets were once people. Yeshua, Muhammed, or earlier, Zoroaster. Great minds carrying powerful truths. The belief systems to form around them often depart entirely from their teachings, and exist for the sake of controlling people, providing them with enough comfort so that they do not feel insignificant in an infinite world that is completely indifferent to their existences. It is better for a civilization to let their individuals feel important, or comforted, so that they do not have to formulate their own philosophies or own moralities, they can be given them instead by their religions. And who provides these religions? Those in control. Those who form a society’s laws and workings according to those beliefs, making it easier to control people. It is nothing but invented. And to think that some say morality comes from religion, a ridiculous notion as I’m sure you would agree. The beliefs of religion all come from men, from people, from governments, kings. Each of these religions contain truths of course, as we’ve discussed. At their hearts are potentially beautiful philosophies. But the belief systems around those philosophies come from people.
“The higher world, however, does not. The higher world has no purpose, there is no doctrine, no dogma to it. It just is, the same way the trees are, or the ocean is. So, the difference between religion and the higher world of which I speak is that the higher world exists whether you believe in it or not. It is calculable, quantifiable, measurable. It can be proven with ease, by science or through one’s own sensory experience. There is no faith involved, no rules or condemnations or proclamations. It exists as surely as this reality, this sky, this Earth and the sun it revolves around. It is merely an aspect of nature unexplained and unexplored. Imagine if you had never seen the ocean, or had no idea what the ocean even was, Andrew Jean, and I described it to you. A restless body of salt water that makes up the majority of this planet, and stretches onward beyond your sight, beyond the horizon that you can see, and its tides come from the moon’s gravity. Having no idea what it was, my description would sound insane, spectacular, unbelievable. It is the same with the higher world.” Knox took a serene breath. “And it is beautiful. If you were to go there, you would find that you may not wish to return from it.”
In the sudden silence between them, Andrew found himself without words. This was a battle he was losing. Just seeing Charlie talk about his fantastical other world was almost enough to convince Andrew of its existence. And suppose he did show him that world? What if he brought him there, and it did turn out to be real and quantifiable?
Distantly, from downtown, the wail of a siren rang out through the air. Andrew wondered, though also doubted, if Jezebel may have called James Goode, knowing that he himself wouldn’t.
“I admit,” Charlie continued, “that there are aspects of the higher world that seem like fairytales even to me. After all, there is so much more to it that I have not seen, that I am not enlightened enough to have transcended to. But the more I have learned about those aspects, the more real they have become, just as it became difficult, and then ignorant, for people to claim that the entire universe revolved around the Earth, as history and science progressed. The higher world is a matter of acceptance, not belief. To deny it is to deny objective reality, which you are above, Andrew Jean. I imagine there will come a day when the existence of the higher world is commonplace knowledge, accepted by even the most ignorant of this world. Not unlike science, which the ignorant and banal openly deny despite their being objective reality. Not unlike the ocean, if you will.”
The siren had become multiple sirens, and seemed to be moving closer.
“Of course,” said Charlie, “none of this will happen—none of the awakening I speak of—if your daughter does not want it to.”
“What?” Andrew gaped at him, but Charlie’s eyes were on the sky from where he stood at the edge of the porch.
“It seems to me that I have succeeded here. Despite what you may instinctively deny, you feel it in your heart and mind, Andrew Jean, that in this battle of minds and philosophies between us, I have won. And yet I would not call it a victory. You have not lost, rather you have had your eyes opened. But the final catalyst is your daughter. As I have said before, my connection with her, and her connection to me, is key to everything that I have done.”
Andrew felt a sinking in his stomach. “Leave Jezebel out of this.”
“Her fate is as intertwined in this as mine. Tell me, Andrew Jean…. did she ever tell you why she spends so much time away, in the forest? Didn’t you ever suspect that there was more to her, more to her soul, than could ever be explained?”
There was the sound of screeching tires, and then a squadron of police cars became visible, speeding towards the house from across the river, from town, sirens flashing and wailing. James Goode’s car was among them, a single flashing light placed atop the roof.
At the same time that the cars appeared, speeding for the Jean house, Jezebel came running from the direction of Fairlane Road. She was panting, sweating, running as fast as she could, but stopped when she saw Charlie Knox and the cars speed
ing towards her house.
Andrew didn’t know what to expect from Knox. Anger, perhaps. Maybe even confusion. But when Andrew looked from the battalion of approaching police cruisers to Charlie Knox, he saw that Charlie regarded the coming cars with an unusual calmness, as if this was exactly what he had expected.
Charlie turned and met Andrew’s eyes.
“It has been an honor, Andrew Jean. May you never doubt the existence of the higher world, or its truths, from this moment forward. And may the Shadows walk with you.”
Charlie Knox stepped off the porch and onto the front lawn.
* * *
The cars skidded to a stop in front of the house and a dozen police officers exited in a rush, with Detective James Goode at the head. Every officer pulled their gun and leveled the barrels in the direction of Charlie Knox, who stood now in the front lawn’s center, only a few meters from them.
Detective James Goode eyed the psychopath up and down and felt his palms start to sweat. It had been only a few days ago when Knox had been locked up. Now here he was, fully surrounded and with twelve guns aimed right at him. And he didn’t even look afraid. In a strange way, Goode admired the man. He’d never seen anything or anyone like him.
“Hands in the air, Knox! Do it now!”
Charlie Knox did nothing. He stood there as he was, arms at his sides, eyes wide and watchful. He actually looked amused.
“We’ll shoot! Put your hands behind your head and lower yourself to the ground!”
Charlie took a deep breath and his eyes dropped to the grass on which he stood. Seconds seemed like eternities.
He looked up again, this time directly at James Goode, and spoke. “Your leverage, that sense of power you currently possess, it is an illusion. It is based solely on your expectance that the world will continue to work precisely the way it always has up to this point.”
“I told you that we’ll shoot, and we’ll do exactly that if you refuse to comply!” Goode had his gun in a white-knuckle death grip.
Charlie Knox sighed. “I could burn your lives with the flick of my wrist.” He clenched his fingers into fists. But his gaze shifted to the left, and he saw Jezebel there, standing in the road, watching with horror on her face. And a peculiar thing happened, which all of the police officers were able to see.
The intensity drained from Charlie’s face and was replaced by a softness, an affection. It was a pained, sorrowful expression, and it looked out of place on Knox’s hard features, but it was genuine. And it was of a sorrow so deep that even James Goode felt the pain he saw there.
Charlie’s eyes dropped from Jezebel and focused once more on the grass at his feet, then at his own hands hanging at his sides. Every life has a cost, he thought, savoring these final moments. The clarity of them. The stillness. The importance.
He thought of Andrew Jean calling him a psychopath. He thought of the faces of the people he had killed, the way they had clung to life with such desperation in their final moments before the final release came. He thought of Jezebel watching him now, all the hatred she must have for him, and the fear. All the fear every person in this town had for him. I do not expect that anyone will ever see me as a messiah, he had said to Andrew Jean. He knew, then, how he could change that, how all of this could matter so much more than even he had predicted, if not to the people of this town, but to the one person it mattered to the most.
“A messiah,” he said, his eyes flitting, for a moment, to Jezebel. It was a whisper, but Jezebel heard it even from where she stood, meters down the road. She heard it like a voice in her head. And she was left with shock and confusion at what happened next.
Charlie Knox thrust one of his arms forward in a sweeping motion, and every one of the police officers let out screams of pain, dropping their weapons and collapsing to the ground. All but James Goode, who saw it coming.
Goode had kept his finger on the trigger of the gun and hadn’t looked away from Knox the entire time, all the while he had been thinking about everything that had happened in the past several days: Knox’s unexplainable disappearance from custody; the rumors of hypnosis; his inexplicable evasion of being found or caught. So when Knox swept his arm and all the officers collapsed, James Goode was ready—for what exactly, he didn’t know, but he was ready. Charlie Knox met his eyes across the lawn for a moment as if in acceptance, and Goode pulled the trigger of his gun twice in rapid succession.
Two gunshots rang out like cracks of thunder.
Jezebel started at the sound.
Charlie Knox stumbled back several feet without falling, and then stood, breathing heavily, a puzzling expression of accomplishment dawning in his eyes as he tottered. He was looking at Detective Goode who stood, shocked, as the other officers began rising to their feet behind him in a collective, bewildered daze. All were silent. There was only the sound of the soft breeze through the trees.
Jezebel heard that voice again in her head, one which spoke more with images than with words, telling her to go to the glittering pools down Fairlane Road, begging her to go soon.
Charlie Knox coughed and blood spattered from his mouth. He touched a hand to his lips to examine it, and then he smiled and dropped to the ground, but just like that—with a sudden whisk of the wind—he was gone. Vanished, leaving no trace of where he had stood seconds before on the front lawn of the Jean residence.
Silence followed in the air, and in all of Lamplight.
Chapter 10:
Free
Jezebel thought the silence would last forever. One second Knox was there, falling as if in slow motion, and then he was gone, and the lawn was empty, the grass twitching in the breeze. The police officers climbed back to their feet, rubbing their heads, gaping at the empty lawn. Not one of them said a word, but instead began to look around, as if Knox had merely taken off running in one direction or another.
James Goode holstered his gun, scratched the back of his hand, and made his way up to the house while Andrew Jean stood on his front porch, gaping with the rest of them.
“Andrew?” said the young detective. “You okay?”
Andrew looked at Goode and sighed. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Jezebel said you might try and engage him. She’s the one who contacted me.”
“I figured as much.”
“What happened? What’d he tell you?” There was genuine curiosity in Goode’s eyes.
Andrew Jean passed his eyes over the lawn again, then he looked toward Jezebel, who was jogging toward the house. “H-he… he told me enough,” he said. “I’ll tell you another time, James.”
The young detective nodded. “All right. We’re gonna search some.”
“You won’t find him.”
“I know.”
* * *
Andrew and Jezebel went inside together. It was as if both of them were walking through a thick fog, having to move slowly and deliberately so as to not bump into anything. For a long time neither of them said anything. Jezebel made tea and a late lunch, and the police set up tape around the house and posted an officer outside. He assured them that his presence was a mere precaution, and he was friendly enough but looked at Jezebel the way country-boys of the town often seemed to: with wandering eyes and the kind of smile which couldn’t quite hide desire. She hardly noticed.
Before sunset, when they were both sitting in the living room, Andrew began to talk. Jezebel listened.
“He wasn’t at all how I’d imagined, Jess,” he said, sighing. “His parents had this… insanity about them. You could see it, like it was a fire behind their eyes. It was contagious, which is how they managed to collect so many followers. I underestimated Charlie Knox because I thought he’d b
e the same way, but he wasn’t. He was calm, collected, and he was intelligent.” Andrew set his tea down because his hands were trembling. “Maybe he was insane, but it was like talking with a genius. He even agreed with me on some points, admitted when he was wrong, or didn’t know enough. And the things he talked about… it all…” Tears filled his eyes. “It sounded good. It sounded right.” And he explained it to her, knowing he was admitting that Charlie Knox had beat him in their debate. He told Jezebel everything: the things Knox had said about consciousness; about how the world could be if his awakening was ushered in; about the nature of human identity, and the utopia he foretold. All of it. And as he spoke, he realized that he was telling Jezebel all of this because he wanted to, not because he felt that he needed to. Somehow it was exciting, stimulating, to speak of it.
Jezebel hadn’t known what to expect, but in many ways she wasn’t surprised. All of this time she had harbored a blind but growing hatred of Knox, but had never considered the man’s ultimate goal. And hearing it now, through her father, she too was trying to grasp that maybe Charlie Knox wasn’t evil. Maybe it was like Edgar Forgael had said days ago about all of this—everything about Knox—being too complex, too deep, to be disregarded as resembling right or wrong, good or evil.
Maybe, aside from the killings, aside from his faults and damages as a human being, he wasn’t the bad guy.
And there had been the way he had looked at her in the moments before the bullets flew. As if he had made a choice. As if he had chosen to let it happen, instead of it happening to him.