The Empty Door

by E. R. Mason

The house seemed too quiet. The front door was locked. In the living room, the sitting area around the red brick fireplace was unoccupied. On the mantle, gold pendulum orbs in an old wind up clock turned silently within their dusty glass dome.

  Markman quietly searched the hallway. He began to hear muffled sounds coming from one of the bedrooms. It was someone crying. He forced himself to peer around the corner of Cassiopia’s open bedroom doorway.

  She had changed into a silky, soft, white dress with a high collar. White high heels lay kicked off on the floor nearby. She sat on the side of the single bed on a thick, patchwork quilt, sobbing softly into a large white bath towel.

  He stopped and stared in surprise. A flush of sympathy and concern surged through him, though he was uncertain how to proceed. He thought to rush to her and embrace her but found himself feeble and unprepared. He stood motionless, torn between the desire to retreat like a coward to the safe company of the robot or attempt some kind of inept effort to comfort her.

  She looked up red-faced and saw him standing by the door. She quickly looked away, embarrassed by her makeup-streaked face. Her hopeless expression suddenly made him forget his own inadequacy. Without speaking, she buried her face back in the limited seclusion provided by the dampened towel and continued to cry.

  He approached her slowly and sat beside her, taking one of her small, soft hands in his. “What in the world happened?”

  She could only shake her head and continue to cry.

  “I don’t get it. The last time I saw you, you were going great guns. What happened?”

  With a fleeting glance, she attempted to dry her face. She spoke in a broken tone, without looking up. “I’ll never see my father again, will I?”

  “I don’t know that, do you?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  For a moment she lost control and began to sob again. She spoke between gulps of breath. “The riddle, the fortune teller’s riddle.”

  “What about it?”

  Struggling to regain some semblance of composure, she took a deep breath and continued. “In the pharmacy, I ran into Reverend Lewis. He’s an old friend of our family. He was joking around with me and asked me a funny riddle, so I asked him the fortune teller’s riddle and he knew the answer.” She looked up fearfully. “When does a man wake but not wake? ...When he dies.”

  Taking a few more breaths for strength, she continued sadly. “He said it’s from an old scripture that was removed from the bible. It says that when a man dies he wakes up to all that he is, but at the same time he never wakes up again. He wanted to know why I asked such a grim riddle.”

  Markman considered the distasteful prophecy for a moment and then squeezed her hand with reassurance. “Why are you taking that kind of thing so seriously,” he scolded.

  “It just ...caught me off guard. When Reverend Lewis’ told me the story in the scripture, it seemed so familiar. It was the story of this battle between good and evil. It said that a daughter of the sons of light would journey through a portal of dreams and return a holy coffer to the guardians of time; the elohim. When he mentioned the portal of dreams, it gave me goose bumps. It seemed like such a coincidence. How could a Dreamland fortuneteller reference a bible scripture I’ve never heard of? Where did she get that? Have you ever heard of it?”

  “No, but you said yourself nothing in Dreamland has any substance; surely that must include the weird stories of a strange old lady who isn’t even real.”

  She again wiped her eyes. “I know, I know. But it scared me.”

  “Well, it’s not time to give up yet. Look at me. If anyone should be a doubter, it’s me, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone.”

  She pressed at her face with a fresh corner of the towel and nodded to him. “I guess it all just caught up with me. I just hadn’t really stopped to think about it until now.”

  “We have some rough road ahead of us. You need to be on top of things.”

  She nodded. “I’m okay. I’ll be all right now. You’re right, of course.” She stared back at him with puffy eyes that reflected appreciation.

  “Thank you, Scott.”

  “That’s okay, Cass.”

  Cassiopia wiped the last of the tears from her flushed cheek and smiled at him. She pushed off of the bed and headed for the bath.

  At the old, brown, roll-top desk in his borrowed room, Markman used the remainder of the evening to begrudgingly attack his own personal nemesis—paperwork. Using Cassiopia’s laptop, and the first finger of each hand, he painstakingly typed a skeleton chronology of the search for the missing Professor. Carefully he created a factual and pointed outline for the university that said nothing and did so in such a way as to provide no potential whatsoever for further inquiry.

  When the report was complete, he leaned back in the rickety desk chair and looked around the small spare bedroom that had been so casually provided by her just a few days earlier. It still smelled stuffy and unused, though he had spent more time here recently than anywhere else. There would be no sense in returning home tonight. The hour was already late and the unexplained ransacking of the Cassell place made him fearful to leave.

  Cassiopia appeared by the open door holding a glass of water in one hand, and something concealed in the other.

  “When do you want to do this?” she asked calmly.

  Markman sat back in his chair. “What do I have to do...exactly?”

  “Take this to start with.” She opened her hand to reveal a small, light green capsule. “It’s a mild but very effective hypnotic.”

  “It will make me sleep?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  “How’d you learn this stuff?”

  “From a project I worked on for my Master’s degree. Our research group used hypnosis on a few selected individuals to work up different robotic psychology profiles. I’ll also use a less effective self-hypnosis technique on myself to reinforce the target environment.”

  “So as I understand it, my job is to take this pill and fall asleep?”

  “That’s about it. I’ll be talking to you, though.”

  “Finally, something I’m sure to excel at --sleeping.” Markman took the tablet and swallowed it with the water.

  “Now what?”

  “Lie down.”

  “Well, if you insist....”

  He moved over to the bed and laid back on the springy, quilted mattress, his hands folded in front of him. As instructed, he chose a small spot on the ceiling for focus, and concentrated on it, relaxing to the pleasant monotones from Cassiopia. Her gentle, soothing voice filled his mind like soft music. Falling asleep had never been quite so pleasant.

  Morning was immediate and strictly business. Cassiopia, clad in one of her father’s white laboratory smocks, delved relentlessly into the Drack programming station, creating a new monitoring routine for the SCIP door, one she hoped would show her the physical mechanics of change taking place as Markman stepped into Dreamland. She paused from her work only long enough to greet him as he joined her in the lab.

  “Tell me something. Do you sleep at all actually?” he asked dryly.

  “I’m an early riser, Scott. Especially when I think I’m onto something.”

  “Wow, my first name. So, what are you getting us into today?”

  “Your visit to Dreamland this morning. It will tell me a lot, regardless of how it turns out.”

  “What do I do?”

  “We’ll keep it simple. I need you to spend just a short time on the other side; just long enough to establish what kind of environment forms. If you can find and retrieve the homing device we left behind on the last trip that would be important too. Just don’t take too long. Thirty minutes tops, okay?”

  “Care to tell me what you expect to find in there?”

  “No, this is a controlled experiment. It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “You call this a controlled experiment?”

  Cassiopia rol
led her eyes and returned her attention to the computer console. Markman sat at the desk and tried to reassure himself that he was not completely out of his mind. At least I’ve broken her ice-barrier, he thought. At least I’m more than just another research tool for a mathematical maiden. He sought consolation in that as he slumped back in his chair and noticed the Tel. It had no particular duties to perform this morning, but instead of standing idly at rest, it motored about the lab, scrutinizing various objects as it went. Such unusual behavior finally caught Cassiopia’s attention. She stopped to question the meandering machine more than once, but each time it responded only with technical double talk about area monitoring requirements. Though perplexed by it, she seemed delighted that her attempts at robotic personality enhancement were apparently evolving.

  As Markman sat smirking at the odd exchanges between the two, the robot chose that particular moment to begin a detailed survey of Cassiopia’s figure. So apparent was the intense, physical assessment, that it caused her to wonder at the piercing mechanical eyes so preoccupied with her posture. Finally, she felt forced to ask.

  “Tel, now what are you doing?”

  “Acquisition of physiological dimensions for data file records.”

  “You’re measuring me? Why are you doing that?”

  Horrified, Markman quickly realized the undesirable potential of her questions. He stood, and from his position behind her, waved a threatening finger at Tel, making cut throat hand signals in such a way that Cassiopia could not see. When she turned to look, he quickly jerked his hands behind his back and stared at the ceiling in exaggerated indifference.

  “Tel,” said Cassiopia, returning her attention to the robot. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “The information is lacking in the personal medical logs.”

  Markman put one hand on his chest and quietly sat back down with a huge sigh of relief, considering himself narrowly extricated from a serious social near-miss.

  “Also Mr. Markman requested that specific data,” blurted the robot after an uncommonly long pause.

  Markman buried his face in an open hand and shook his head as Cassiopia glared at him. “I’ll kill him. I’m just going to kill him,” he mumbled.

  “Really, Scott, how gauche.”

  “It was the robot’s idea!”

  Before she could continue, a strange, bland sound came from Tel. “Neeck, Nck, Nck, Nck Nck....”

  “See? Now the thing’s laughing at me.”

  “That’s not possible,” she replied irately. “Computers cannot comprehend humor. It’s a quality possessed mainly by man, you in particular.” Her perturbed expression gave way to one of intellectual interest. She addressed the robot with a demanding tone, “Tel, summarize last audio response.”

  The robot paused. “Last transmission related to inquiry concerning physiological data acquisition.”

  “No, I mean after that.”

  “Subsequent transmission related to inquiry concerning data acquisition inquiry.”

  With a look of frustration, she gave up, promising herself she would take up the matter later. “Wow, that was a real live glitch. That bothers me. Tel, initiate self-checks.”

  Again the robot paused. “Self-checks complete, all systems nominal. Ambulatory checks complete, all systems nominal.”

  With a last look of uncertainty, she returned to her previous tasks. She tapped in a few final commands and stretched in her chair, still staring down the monitor. “Well, that’s it, we should be ready,” she said and spun around to look at Markman who was bent over tying one of the laces on his athletic shoes. “Let’s go over it again then.”

  Markman sat up and stared spitefully at Tel as it motored back to the Drack main station.

  “This time we countdown to your transition through the door so that I can watch the monitors and gather data as you pass into Dreamland.”

  “Check,” said Markman as he went about tying the other shoe.

  “You make a good appraisal of the alternate environment, try to locate the homing beacon and then come right out. No more than thirty minutes your time, inside, okay?”

  “Check,” said Markman again in a less than serious way. He started the zipper on his jacket. “Like thirty minutes in there means anything at all.”

  She looked back with concern. “I did learn something more about the time disruption in Dreamland.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “It is not a progressive element with respect to our time keeping.”

  “Oh please. Speak English.”

  “Okay, it’s like this; Let’s say you and I enter Dreamland together. After five minutes I come out. After twenty minutes you come out. It is possible that you could arrive before me.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not. Any given moment you choose to leave Dreamland can place you ahead or behind in time. There’s no progressive relationship. Believe me, I certainly don’t understand it either.”

  “So I can stay in there ten minutes and have been gone two hours, or stay in there two hours and have possibly been gone only ten minutes?”

  “Exactly. And there’s no formula that I can find to predict what will happen at any given moment. So, for now, we keep our time limits short, but only because that’s worked okay so far.”

  “Oh, I feel much better now....” He rose and looked on as she entered the start-up information at her terminal. The SCIP door crackled and glowed as lightning flash gave way to silver glass once more. The mirror beckoned to Markman as if in challenge. He strode up the blue ramp and turned to face her.

  “Be careful Scott, no swordplay okay?”

  “At least this time I’ll know it can’t hurt me.”

  “Be careful,” she repeated sternly.

  “Ready when you are.”

  “Scott....”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  With a momentary look of apprehension, Cassiopia turned back to her panel. “Tel, monitor display number three.” With her attention fixed on the busy, color-filled displays, she raised her voice slightly. “Okay...three...two...one...now!”

  At the exact moment, Markman pushed through the passageway, across the void, and past the secondary mirror.

  Chapter 19