by W D County
She dove to the floor and rolled under the bed.
***
I paused outside Mopes’s door, certain I’d heard something, but the sound didn’t repeat and more pressing matters needed my attention. Like checking on Choirboy. My cell rang and I fished it out of my pocket.
“Reardon here.”
“Ah, Sergeant. You and I got off to a rocky start, which recent events have only exacerbated. I suggest we—”
What the fuck? I held the phone out, staring at the screen: Unknown Caller. But the caller wasn’t unknown, it was goddamn Choirboy. Who the hell gave him a phone?
I double-timed toward the observation room, hoping to catch the idiot who’d done it.
“Miles,” said the voice from the phone, muffled by the smothering grip of my hand. “We need to talk.”
I lifted it to my ear. “Who gave you a phone?”
Choirboy laughed. “So much fear. So much suspicion. Perhaps that’s why your mind hides from me.”
“I’m not hiding. I’m on my way.”
“The mind is a tricky thing. It promises safety. It calls itself a fortress. But it is a prison for your soul. I can free you, Miles. Imagine living without fear.”
I broke the connection and entered the observation room. Empty. The monitors on the console showed Choirboy sitting on the bed. Hands empty. No one else in the vault. No phone in sight, but it had to be there. He was talking on it five seconds ago.
I keyed the mic. “Okay, Mr. Fletcher. I’m here. You want to talk. Here’s your chance.”
He looked up at the camera. “In here.” He cocked his head. “Or are you afraid?”
“I’m coming in to confiscate your phone.”
“What phone?”
What phone my ass. Whoever gave Choirboy a cell was a traitor and would be dealt with accordingly. But a troublesome thought cropped up; each phone was assigned to a specific individual, the name hardcoded into the phone’s iOS. The phones given to the team were on a closed system, so “Unknown Caller” should never appear. Sure, Colonel Hauser could have added a phone to the system, but how could it be smuggled into the facility without me knowing?
I called Gordon on my cell. “Going in the vault to check on the prisoner.”
“You mean patient.”
“Right. Slip of the tongue. Reardon out.” I donned protective clothes while puzzling out who had gotten a phone to Choirboy and how. And why did he call me? Was this a trap? Had he baited me into rushing headlong into his stronghold? Color was tricky and Choirboy was the epitome of color. Color had fucked me over my entire life. I needed to be ready for anything.
Gun, Taser, Mace—check. Colorimeter—check. Knife—check, although it stayed under my coveralls. Using it would risk spilling blood; blood that would feed the taint. I paused outside the vault, waiting for my pulse and breathing to slow, then punched in the airlock code and entered the abode of the beast.
Chapter 38
Zita feared her feet would be visible under the short, narrow, army-issue single bed. She curled into a fetal position to escape detection. Had the bedding been tucked taut the way Miles kept his, her efforts would have been in vain. Fortunately, Laura’s style draped the blanket over the sides, affording concealment within a shadowy cloth cave. Two sets of shoes and ankles paused in the doorway. Two voices, Laura’s and an unknown man’s, engaged in pleasant conversation.
“Barry brought us together!” She sounded bubbly, so totally unlike the depressed soul of day one. The couple came into the room and shut the door. The shoe-shod feet faced each other.
“Mmmm,” Laura moaned. One of her legs bent at the knee and rose out of sight. Did people still do that? And who is that man? All she could see of him were black leather oxfords sticking out from beneath pressed black slacks. Definitely not Miles, who wore boots, although she’d seen him jogging in Reeboks. Doc wore brown loafers. That left Gordon or Nathan as possible candidates, but the voice didn’t match either man. Could it be... no. Impossible.
Laura squealed as the man lifted her and spun around. He laughed and set her down. They moved to the bed. Did they see me? Zita held her breath. The bed squeaked as the couple sat. The springs sagged, nearly touching Zita’s hip and shoulder. She rolled onto her back, gaining a few inches of breathing room. She eased the cell phone from her pocket and turned it off. The last thing she needed was the stupid thing going off.
“Oh John, I’ve missed you so much.”
John? Her dear departed John? Gadzooks, I’m inside her hallucination. Zita managed to get both hands in front of her face and found the button on the Pavlok to administer an immediate jolt. The shock bit like a striking rattlesnake, leaving her gasping and wanting to bolt from under the bed. No wonder Laura claimed it could dispel illusions—pain cleared the mind, bringing full and immediate attention to present reality.
“I’ve missed you, too. When you died...” His voice broke, then came back with ragged edges. “You died, and I thought, I knew, that I’d never see you again.”
John hadn’t disappeared. He was real, or she’d been swallowed whole by Laura’s fantasy. She didn’t know which fate was worse. Then the echo of his words sunk in. Wait a minute. John thinks Laura died?
Zita strained to hear more, but several seconds of silence followed. She breathed as quietly as possible, waiting for an opportunity to leave. Her nose itched and threatened to become a sneeze. She pressed her nails into her palms, using pain to sidetrack the itch and avoid falling into an embarrassing sitcom.
“John, you died of a heart attack. Six months ago.”
“My heart’s in great shape. You died in a car accident last year.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. Eventually Laura said, “John?” Her voice held a slight tremor. “Are you really here?”
“Parallel worlds. An infinity of worlds with infinite possibilities.”
“Barry returned you to me. As a reward.”
“We’re together. That’s what counts.”
“I need to know you’re real. That you won’t... disappear.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“John?” Laura’s voice held a tremor.
“Something’s off. It’s hard to describe. I guess stretched is the word.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Pulled. I don’t want to get into the physics. Suffice to say that there’s a powerful attractive force between an object and its native universe. Think of it as a cosmic bungee cord. If something cuts the object’s connection to the new location, the cord yanks the object back to its original home.”
“I won’t let you go,” she said. He mumbled something with the word afraid in it. Laura shushed him. “I won’t let you go,” she repeated. “I won’t. Besides, Barry promised.”
“I want to stay with you,” he said. Laura started to cry. This time he shushed her. Whispers and teasing followed. “I know how to prove we’re both alive and real.”
Zita nearly screamed as two pairs of shoes plopped to the floor. The bed shifted. Laura laughed, said “No,” then burst into giggles. A light gray blouse fell atop the shoes. A pale blue shirt followed.
No. They are NOT going to do it right here and now.
A gray skirt fell. Then dark slacks. Socks. Bra. Men’s briefs. Panties.
Let me out of here!
The bed springs sank lower in the middle, again threatening to touch Zita. From above came laughter. Moans. Islands of words like yes, there, so good, and God. Wet kisses. Muffled verbalizations.
The bed began to undulate, the squeal of protesting springs almost, but never quite, drowning out the sound of skin slapping on skin. Zita pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block the sound.
Between moans, Laura exclaimed, “Someone will hear us!”
“Want me to stop?”
Yes, please, prayed Zita, but John’s teasing tone made it clear the prayer would not be answered.
The lovemaking went on. The tempo increased, the squeaks sounding
like a harmonica glued to the lips of a hyperventilating asthmatic. Embarrassment, already extreme, worsened despite attempts to distract her mind with challenging puzzles. She focused on the new pieces to the real-life puzzle. Where did they fit? John was real, physical, transplanted here by Barry from a parallel version of Earth. Based on his mention of parallel worlds, he may be a physicist like Sonja. Then his comment about being stretched and pulled. Did that mean John was a temporary visitor, not an immigrant?
The bed finally stopped undulating. The springs ended their musical accompaniment. The couple spoke softly, murmurings punctuated with kisses and sighs. Laura’s feet touched the floor and she padded off toward the bathroom. “I need a shower. Want to join me?”
John’s feet appeared on the floor next to Zita’s face. “Intermission before round two?”
Laura laughed, but her tone then grew serious. “I need to attend Sonja’s demonstration. You stay here until I figure out how to break the news. No telling how Gordon will react.”
“Yeah, he’s a pain in both worlds,” John said. Their bare feet disappeared into the bathroom. The shower started.
Zita, heart thumping, rolled out from under the bed and scurried from the room.
***
I brightened the lights of the vault enough for my colorimeter to work, then suited up and entered. A thorough scan showed the taint now covered at least eighty percent of the patient’s body. Goddamn. Yesterday he’d been at sixty-two. I looked for stray stickies or other evidence and noticed a stain on the bed sheet and a sharp needle dangling at the end of the IV hose. I saw no marks on Choirboy’s skin, but there wouldn’t be with the taint’s instant healing. The SOB must have used his own blood to feed the taint. But someone would’ve had to turn up the lights. Who? The phone could tell me.
I pushed the IV stand closer to the airlock in preparation for removal, since Doc’s plan to induce a coma had clearly backfired.
“Where’s the phone, Barry?”
Choirboy regarded me somberly. “You had me puzzled for quite a while, Miles. I didn’t realize you couldn’t see color. That explains a lot, not the least of which is your phobia.”
“Nothing scares me.”
Choirboy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need telepathy to know you’re lying.”
“Where is the phone? Who gave it to you?”
“You can’t see the divinity in me; I can’t see the inner reality of you. This diminishes both of us. We need to see each other in all our glorious infinite potential. We need to understand one another.”
“The phone, dammit.” If he could call me, he could call anyone on the team. He could confer with confederates. Basic military strategy called for disrupting enemy lines of communication; I had to find the phone, and it had to be in the vault. The search proceeded slowly, as I kept one hand on the Taser at all times and never looked away from Choirboy for more than three seconds.
“You’ve been kept in the dark, too. We’re both being lied to and used to further nefarious ends.”
I ignored him and searched every cabinet, drawer, and nook. I found nothing under the pillow, sheets, or mattress. I made him strip. Wasn’t there.
“Imagine the world without color,” Choirboy said. “Where everyone, every living thing, sees the world as you do, because that is how the world is. No more taunts, no more fear of embarrassing color-related faux pas. Everyone equal in what they see. Everything fair. In your heart of hearts, do you not long for such a place?”
“Tell me where the phone is.”
“Miles, there is no phone.”
“You called me.”
He twirled a finger in the air. “The ether is filled with invisible waves. My coat of many colors can generate the frequencies and patterns used by cell phones. I am my own phone.”
“Bullshit.”
“I need to talk with you. The mode by which I contacted you isn’t important.”
Maybe he couldn’t get inside my mind directly. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why did you lure me here?”
“The CIA wanted you to kill a woman in Hobart.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. “Who told you that?”
“Her name was Evette Lafontant. She was a kind person who didn’t deserve to die. You were right to spare her.”
“How do you know that?” My voice sounded shrill. I took a slow, calming breath. “Gordon tell you this?” He must have been the one, but how did he know? Was he in on it?
Choirboy squeezed his eyes shut. “Your kindness was in vain. She never made it to Paris. The CIA saw to that.” His eyes opened, and they were full of tears. “I shall prepare a suitable hell for those responsible.”
My initial shock was wearing off. If I played along, maybe he’d reveal something else useful. “Spooks. They wrap secrets in layers of lies. You’ll never know for sure what happened or who’s responsible.”
He barked a laugh. “Even your Colonel Hauser can’t be trusted. Nor can Gordon, whose promotion is the will of God, not the will of man. You can’t trust anyone, Miles. Even Zita. She’s already betrayed you.”
I shook my head. “She’s the only person here I do trust.” Except she tried to kill me.
“She and Nathan sabotaged the video records of the tesseract and the taint.”
“I don’t believe you.” But Zita had asked me to help her do exactly that. “Colonel Hauser would have told me.” Unless Choirboy was right about who could be trusted.
Choirboy shrugged. “The truth of my words will be revealed as events unfold.”
His real purpose in luring me here was to sow suspicion and discord. Sure, I’d question Zita, but if she had done anything illegal, she probably acted under a hypnotic compulsion like she’d done with me. Choirboy is the enemy, not Zita.
“The sins of others are not your concern. I shall deal with them once I come into the full glory of the power of God.” He smiled at me. “I called you here to salute your morality and your mercy. In token of this, I offer this: to cure your blindness. To gift you with the ability to see color. Instead of lowering the world to your unfortunate level, I will lift you up to equality with others.”
Visions of possible futures dance in my head. I clamped down on stupid fantasies. I had no idea what color was, but it had never been my friend. “There’s always a catch. No thanks.”
He sighed. “I knew you would refuse it. No one can stop what has been prophesized. The Apocalypse is at hand. Did you know that the word ‘apocalypse’ means unveiling? I will break the seals between worlds and reveal the truth that underlies reality. Not all people can survive that revelation.”
“Barry, something infected you in Antarctica. It’s changed your body and warped your mind. You’re delusional. Irrational. Dangerous. It’s getting worse and there is no cure. I may have to put you down.”
“It says in the gospel of Matthew, ‘On the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.’ Choose your words carefully, Miles Reardon.”
I tucked the Taser into my belt and pulled the .45 from my holster. “I could kill you.” Which would put an end to his grandiose, end-of-the world predictions. Most of all, it would end the threat of his madness spreading to others.
“All in good time. Until then, God protects his messenger.” Choirboy passed his tainted arm through the bed rail as if he or the rail were a hologram, an immaterial but solid-looking projection. Like a ghost. “Nathan calls it intangibility, the ability to pass through solid objects.” He stared at his arm, then lifted his gaze to me. “Sonja calls it permeability; in truth, it is the manifestation of the Holy Spirit working through me.” His beatific smile scared the hell out of me. “Bullets cannot stop what God wills.”
The gun trembled in my hand. I backed up to the airlock, grabbed the IV stand, and pulled it inside with me. I holstered my gun only after pulling the heavy steel door shut. The resounding clank of metal on metal should have
felt reassuring. It didn’t. Not with me hyperventilating.
I exited the airlock and walked to the console, where I stared at the kill buttons. Fear makes poor choices, so I shoved that feeling in a hole and buried it. Lucky Barry. He’d live another day.
Chapter 39
I threw my coveralls in the bin and called Zita. No answer. The next order of business was stopping Choirboy’s apocalypse, which meant stopping Brainiac’s demo. I barged into Kingpin’s office without knocking.
“What now?” he said with a scowl.
“Fletcher is planning something. He’ll turn Kapoor’s experiment into a disaster.”
“While confined to the vault and in total isolation? Come on, Miles. Your paranoia is getting old.”
“He can read minds. Create illusions. Heal instantly. He thinks he’s God. You know he’s dangerous, so stop playing his game. Shut everything down. Shut him down.”
“You want to kill him. It’s what you do. It’s all you know how to do. Fortunately, my people are reasonable adults, not cowards hiding behind a loaded gun. Get out of my office.”
Kingpin’s response disappointed but didn’t surprise me. I pivoted on my heel and left without another word. I hustled over to the physics lab, where Brainiac hovered over a table covered with diagrams and equations. Maybe she’d be more reasonable.
“Ms. Kapoor, you need to cancel, or at least postpone, the demonstration.”
She looked up from the papers and stared down her nose at me. “Did Gordon give you a reason for shutting it down?”
I shifted uneasily. “I’m here on my own.”
“Oh?” She managed to pack a lot into one syllable: irritation, impatience, and smug superiority topped the list.
“These K-rays of yours, they tunnel through other dimensions, right? What’s to stop something in those other dimensions from coming through to ours?”