“Oh, I’ve already taken care of that.”
“How?”
“I put a couple of the boys on it, told them to make the body disappear. They’ll hide the truck too.”
Her boys were, from all appearances, soldiers: special-forces types, armed to the teeth, and decked out to look like characters from some first-person shooter game.
Myra had summoned them out of the forest with a simple hand motion just before she and Simone had retreated into the house. They had all gathered around her obediently as she whispered terse instructions to them.
Seeing them had only served to make Simone more skeptical about the reality of her current situation. The idea of a real-life paramilitary group with machine guns and everything, hiding in her woods, watching her house… It was just too ridiculous to credit.
Almost as ridiculous as making a guy burn up from the inside by spitting black stuff into his face…
Yeah, there was a lot of ridiculous stuff going on today. Too much.
And thinking about it wasn’t doing her any good at this point. The more she thought, the crazier she felt. So she stopped thinking, returned her attention to the newscasters on the muted TV.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Myra eat another fish stick—very similar to the way she had chomped down on Chance’s finger. When she finished chewing, she wiped her mouth and said, “Don’t you have any questions for me? Surely you must be curious about all this.”
“Yes,” replied Simone, after a moment of reflection. “I have one main question… When, exactly, were you planning to leave here?”
“As soon as you’re ready to come with me.”
“And what if that never happens?”
“Of course it will. Eventually you’ll beg me to take you away from here.”
“Take me where?”
“Well, first we’ll go to a small church nearby in the mountains—my brother and mother are waiting there for us. Then, once we’re all together, we’ll travel through a portal to your new home in The Lands Between.”
“A portal?”
“Yes—it’s a doorway to another realm. Like an interdimensional-”
“Yeah, I get the idea. You’re saying you’re gonna zip me away to some magical world?”
“Well, not a world exactly… I’ll be taking you to a realm that sits between all the many worlds. It’s not a normal place at all. Nothing like what you’re used to. Things are more fluid in The Lands… Everything is always changing there. It’s the sort of place where you might go to sleep one night at the foot of a huge mountain, and then wake the next morning to find yourself lying in an empty field of grass. If you want something to remain static in The Lands you have to claim it, impose your will on it. Anything that isn’t claimed might drift away and be lost to the winds of chaos.”
“Sounds like a swell place.”
“You’ll be like a princess there, and one day you’ll become like a queen. There are cities in The Lands where people worship the Great Serpent who has chosen you, and they will worship you as well, just as they worship my mother. You can come and go from there as you please, of course, traveling between all the known worlds, doing anything you wish. You can even come back here if you like, at least part of the time, return to your life as a video store clerk, pretend nothing has changed.”
“Do you realize how crazy all this sounds? A lot of people would have us both carted off to the funny farm if they heard this conversation.”
“Who cares? The world is full of ignorant fools. I see most of them as bags of meat.”
“Well, you can see them however you want. I still think of them as people.”
Myra stuck another fish stick in her mouth and smiled as she chewed. “For now…”
And that was when Simone realized that she’d had about all she could stomach of this gigantic murderous—probably imaginary—bitch.
She wanted Myra, and all the insanity she represented, to go away, and she wanted it to happen now. If the woman wouldn’t vanish like normal figments of the imagination were supposed to, then Simone was ready to see if she could run her off.
She opened her mouth, fully prepared to dispense with the niceties and give this monster a piece of her mind, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something on the TV screen that made her pause.
There was a face there; a face that shouldn’t be there; a young black man with big sad eyes. He had his index finger held to his lips in the universal shush position.
Simone hadn’t seen her father in about 16 years, but it didn’t feel all that strange to see him. It seemed almost normal that he should be there on the TV screen.
He was wearing a plain white t-shirt; fruit-of-the-loom brand, most likely; the sort of simple shirt he’d always worn any time he didn’t have to dress up. He looked exactly as he had at the time of his death—about 27 years old, face unlined, clean shaven, hair clipped down real short.
They stared at each other for several seconds, and then he rose from the chair behind the anchor desk, crooked his finger in a follow me gesture, and walked off to the left.
The TV news camera panned and followed behind him as he moved deeper into the dark and empty studio.
“Are you okay?” asked Myra.
Simone glanced over and saw that the woman was giving her a suspicious look.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know… You’re being awfully quiet all the sudden.”
“Just thinking about all the stuff you said.”
Simone quickly looked back at the TV, expecting her dad to be gone, but he was still there, only instead of the weird creepy TV studio, the screen now showed him standing in the hallway of her house, just outside the bathroom door, and he was looking back at the camera impatiently, as if waiting for her to give him her full attention.
She met his eyes, nodded slightly to let him know she was watching.
He smiled, nodded back, then walked into the bathroom.
The camera trailed behind him as he went over to the sink, where he stopped, reached into his breast pocket, and removed a folded sheet of paper.
He held the paper up to the camera for a long moment with a stern look on his face that said: pay attention young lady. Then he grabbed the near-edge of the mirror, slid the pane sideways, revealing the shelves of the medicine cabinet behind it, and placed the paper inside, underneath a half-empty bottle of TUMS. The camera-angle changed when this happened to a close shot of the bottle with the paper under it, and lingered there for several seconds.
Simone blinked, and when she opened her eyes, her dad was gone and there was a life-insurance commercial playing on the TV.
She sat there for a moment, breathless, staring at the screen, trying to make sense of what had just happened. A note. He left me a note.
Myra spoke again into the silence, interrupting Simone’s thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay? Cause you don’t look so great to me.”
Simone glanced over and saw that the woman wore an expression of genuine concern on her face.
I must really look like hell. “Actually,” she replied. “I’m suddenly feeling kind of funny in my stomach. I think I better go to the bathroom.”
Myra arched an eyebrow, obviously aware that something wasn’t quite as it should be, but then nodded and dipped another fish stick in green ketchup.
Simone stood and walked out of the room, feeling a slight chill as she moved through the house.
What if her father was still in there, waiting for her?
She passed through the dining room, and turned into the hallway.
The bathroom was at the opposite end of the hall, and the door stood open. She could see plainly that there was no one inside, a fact that left her feeling both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
She traversed the length of the hall, entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. Then she stood for a moment just inside the doorway, suddenly feeling foolish for even bothering to come back her
e.
Her dad was dead. There would be no more notes from him, or anything else. Not ever.
Probably…
She locked the door, and walked on over to the sink, which was recessed so that it wasn’t visible from the doorway.
The mirror pane had been left partially open, revealing the shelves of the medicine cabinet, and there was a little piece of paper underneath the TUMS bottle.
Seeing the paper had an immediate physical effect on Simone, like she’d just been punched in the stomach.
Tears welled up.
She reached out with a trembling hand and took the paper. It was warm, and there was a faint whiff of old-spice deodorant coming off it.
She unfolded it, and saw a hand-scrawled note there: neat square lettering, written in black ink.
She read the words.
I know you’re mad enough to chew nails sweetheart, and I know you’re tired of being messed with, but no matter how much you want to raise hell, you have to keep it bottled up inside. Don’t resist right now. Make the woman feel at home. Play along.
She has plans for you that are very important to her, and she’s not gonna let anything disrupt those plans. If you try to fight, you’ll just put her in a bad mood. She’ll clamp down on you like a vice, and do everything she can to keep you in line, which will only make things harder for you in the long run.
Be smart. Wait till the time is right before you make your move.
Also, KEEP YOUR EYES AND EARS OPEN! We’ll help out if we can.
She looked closer at the paper.
Was that her father’s handwriting?
She honestly couldn’t tell. She’d probably seen his handwriting somewhere before, but she couldn’t remember anything about it.
Still, the paper was real. She could feel it there in her hand, and it was definitely solid enough.
So what? Does the fact that I can feel it actually count for anything?
If she could hallucinate with her eyes, she could probably hallucinate with her fingers too. Right now, it would make more sense for a genuinely rational person to write off this whole day as a dream than to believe any part of it.
But maybe I’m not all that rational. Maybe I shouldn’t be.
Simone looked down at the writing again for a few seconds, searching her memory in vain for some recollection of what her father’s handwriting looked like. Finally she sighed with frustration, re-folded the paper, and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans.
She went over to the empty toilet, flushed, and waited for it to finish before returning to the living room.
Myra, who had finally eaten the last of her fish-sticks, glanced up as Simone walked in. “You feeling better?”
“A little,” said Simone, settling back down on the couch and raising her drink from the coaster on the table. She stared down at the dark, foamy liquid in the cup for a moment, alcohol fumes rising up from it to burn at her nose. Then she put away the rest of the stuff in one big gulp.
Getting drunk might not help anything, but it probably couldn’t hurt either. Not at this point.
She glanced over at Myra, who was looking at her with a very critical expression—like she’s trying to see through my skin or something.
Simone’s mind went back to the letter.
…Don’t resist. Make the woman feel at home. Play along…
Most likely she had just imagined the whole thing with her dad. The note was probably just another delusion. But why not do what it said anyway? What did she have to lose at this point?
Whatever was happening to her, it was bad. Something was very wrong, and she needed solutions. Telling herself it was all imaginary wasn’t getting her anywhere.
And if all she had to do was play nice, that wouldn’t be difficult. She’d felt an odd bond with Myra from the beginning, a strange sense of comfort in the woman’s presence. She didn’t trust the feeling, but it would be easy enough to embrace it, just for a little while.
Simone slipped her fingers into her pocket, just to make sure the letter was still there, and she found it, just where it was supposed to be. Then she made deliberate eye contact with Myra, gave her the biggest, fakest, most charming smile she could muster, and said, “I was just thinking, maybe I’ve had the wrong attitude about all this… I always had the feeling that I was meant to be a princess, ever since I was little. Used to watch all those Disney movies all the time—The Little Mermaid, Snow White, Cinderella. Always figured that would be me one day—a big star, you know? With a good looking prince and all that… You said there were people who would worship me in this magical chaos place—whatever you call it. Tell me more about all that.”
“Sure hon, we’ll talk about it plenty, but it’ll have to be later.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I think you need to nap for a while. It’s been a hard day.”
“But I’m not sleepy.”
“You will be in just a moment.”
“Huh?”
“I decided it was time to help your transition along a little bit—for your own good, naturally. I took the liberty of adding something extra to your drink, a formula that should speed things up a little. As a side effect, it will also make you go to sleep for a little while.”
“What the fuck?” said Simone, and then she felt it, like somebody had just poured molasses between her ears.
She tried to stand, and her legs wobbled. The world tilted and she fell back.
“Just relax,” said Myra. “It’s nothing to be afraid of. Just a potion from my homeland, all natural. You’ll sleep for a while, and by the time you wake up, you’ll be a little further along in your change, and hopefully a little easier to work with. Right now, you’re not appreciating any of the things I’m here to tell you, and I’m afraid you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“You bitch!” said Simone, but the words came out so slurred they were unintelligible.
The big woman rose from her chair, walked over to the couch, and stood over Simone with hands on hips, head tilted sympathetically. “I’m so sorry about this. I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.”
Simone glared up at her, or tried to, but she was having trouble keeping her eyes focused—she saw two Myras, then three.
Gotta get out of here…
She tried to stand again, but it was no use. Her muscles had turned to jelly. She couldn’t even raise her arms, and her eyelids were heavy as lead.
She struggled to remain conscious for as long as she could, but it was just too damn hard. She felt the darkness coming up from underneath, like the waters of a cold river, and then everything went away.
Chapter 4 - Reaching
After leaving Joe’s house, Malcolm drove for about 20 minutes on a long straight road in rural Arizona, heading roughly east, his mind working furiously with each passing mile on the question of what to do next.
Enid called twice during that time. He didn’t answer because he still wasn’t sure what to tell her. It was a tricky situation. He couldn’t just make up a great big fib because it seemed likely he would need her help. She had access to resources that could be greatly beneficial, including, most importantly, pilots and airplanes.
It had dawned on him in the last few minutes that even if he were closer to one of the big airports, a commercial flight still wouldn’t work for him. He had too much stuff to bring along: a whole van full of devices, reference books, enchanted objects, specially formulated drugs for attaining altered states of consciousness—all sorts of important junk. And that wasn’t even counting all the boxes he’d taken from Joe’s lab that he hadn’t had a chance to examine yet.
It wouldn’t be wise to leave any of these things behind—or at least not many. There was no telling what he might encounter in Virginia, and a great deal of his power came from the artifacts, and devices he had gathered over the years.
But with Enid’s help, it would all be rather easy. The Order kept pilots on their payroll who owned private jets, people who wouldn’t as
k any questions about all the weird things he would need to load onto a plane, and Enid could easily get him such a pilot on her own authority without having to breathe a word of it to any higher ups.
And that was just the beginning of what she could do. She could also leverage her position in The Order to help him track people down, give him access to experts on a myriad of subjects, even provide backup field agents to work alongside him if needed.
More importantly, if he found himself in over his head, it would be good to have her already in the loop, ready to take over. A real life Darklord in this modern day and age was not the sort of thing he could take lightly. As much as he hated to admit it, there might ultimately be a need for scorched earth tactics to contain things, and if he went off totally on his own, there wouldn’t be anybody there to take up the slack if he ran into a complication he couldn’t handle. It would be grossly irresponsible to even try it.
So he needed Enid, and he couldn’t just lie to her, because he might need to ask her for very specific favors down the line.
But he couldn’t tell her the truth either. If he did, he would lose control of the situation, and there was no telling what The Order would do to the young woman in Virginia. And for whatever reason, he had now become fully invested in the idea of helping the girl. She was so young and so seemingly ignorant of all the things swirling around her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just handed her over to The Order and washed his hands of the whole thing, no matter how prudent that course of action might be.
So he needed to have his cake and eat it too. He needed the Order’s help, and he needed them to provide that help without forcing him to share any real facts with them.
He was working on the rough outline of a plan that, if successful, would give him what he wanted. It wasn’t a sure thing—far from it—but he thought he could make it work.
The plan was based on certain special rules of The Order regarding communication with deities. Spirit communication was a common enough gift, of course, and even communication with Gods and the like was relatively mundane for people with certain kinds of talents. In fact, nurturing relationships with the Gods was often a primary goal for mediums with enough juice to reach that high up. And mediums who were able to develop such relationships were always treated with great favor by The Order.
The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3) Page 13