Loose Ends And What Knots

by Jeffrey Hancock

  “Here, Daddy.” Moiraine had brought me one of the guys with the blanket and placed him next to me. I turned my head to face my daughter and smiled.

  “Thank you, honey,” came out of my mouth without me putting thought to the action. “Charlene, get the fan and turn it on high. Set it up, so it is blowing on me. Please close the blackout drapes.” I know I must have said those words because Char did as I asked. “Bring me some water too.” Catching myself, “Please.” Manners are always important even when you feel like you are on your deathbed. I drank greedily from the glass and managed to spill most of the water onto the bed. “Don’t worry. I will be fine in time. Now, could you all leave me to do battle with this monster? Oh, please keep the house quiet. I need to concentrate.”

  Mo kissed me on the cheek as did her mother. Char started ushering Mo out of the room. “Feel better, Husband Mine,” Char said as she turned out the light and closed the bedroom door. Blackness bathed the room. The appearance of illusionary stars twinkling in my vision broke the darkness. They are after images and therefore not real, but it is still hard not to concentrate on them. Hearing the white noise of the fan, I let it start to relax me. Breathing deeply, I let out all the tension in my body. The pain is as intense as ever. Turning my consciousness inward, I searched out the headache.

  My mind throbbed with the pain. Usually, my heartbeat is the cadence of the throbbing. This pulsation, however, is more in counterpoint to it. Next, I found myself in my hall of memories. My mental minion came running past me. I followed him; we came to a huge pulsating boil in my mind. There are cracks all over it. I can see it is on the verge of bursting into a torrent of pus. I can only imagine it would be the worst nightmare a teenager could have when dealing with acne. My mental marionette joined a group of other minions I have created over the years. My Star Trek minions, the big four who looked remarkably like me were doing their jobs.

  “Spock, what do you make of this?” My mental James T. Kirk asked.

  “It is alive, Captain, but it is not life as we know it,” Spock began scanning the anomaly with his tricorder, then arching one eyebrow, said, “Fascinating.”

  “Captain, I cannot change the laws of physics. I estimate the containment unit is going to blow in less than ten minutes,” Scotty said in his Scottish brogue.

  “Jim, if the contaminant escapes, we’ll never be able to clean it up. It could kill millions!” McCoy’s voice reached a fevered pitch.

  The brain boil glowed brighter and expanded. The cracks grew greater in number. A sick greenish light escaped through the cracks. As the boil grew, all my minions, along with myself, showed expressions of pain. Captain Kirk overacted the expression to a tee. “Maybe I need to retire these guys.” I thought. Wait a minute. We’re in my mind, yet no one acted as they heard me. Weirdness. I’ll ponder it later.

  Bester, from Babylon 5, stated, “Those guys look familiar,” pointing to the cast of Star Trek.

  “I don’t trust you, Bester. What’s this about? What’s the Cycorp up to?” Garibaldi asked.

  “Michael, we have no time for that. Can’t you see this thing is going to explode in the greatest fireball since the last star in this area went nova?” Captain Sheridan said.

  “Yes, old friend. We have no time,” Sinclair stated.

  The area began to fill with all the characters from every book, television show, and movie I have enjoyed throughout my life. It is a little disconcerting seeing all these characters with my face. Over there is the cast from Star Wars. Next to them stood all the Doctors and their companions. A Pierson’s Puppeteer and a Kzinti were there also. If only Teela Brown were here, but she’s too lucky. There were multitudes beyond mentioning. Even the villains were there. I saw Darth Vader, a few Daleks, both Khans, Doc Ock, Dr. Zachary Smith from the first season of the original Lost In Space, of course, Ganondorf, Q, Ozai, and too many more to mention.

  “Oh, look…If you… no, I mean… can’t we…”

  “Vir, finish a sentence, you moon-faced assassin of joy,” Londo Mollari said.

  I know where I am in my mind. This is where I battled the creature, who tried to kill my wife. The knot of thought I trapped it in is the glowing growing boil. The creature is stronger than I had believed if it can free itself from my synaptic snare. I set my mind in motion and tried to reinforce the containment unit. No good. It is putting the screws to me. Fighting the headache and trying to hold back the tide of his attack is more than I could handle. I stood there, not knowing what to do.

  “The answer is quite logical,” Spock said, closed his tricorder, waited for a beat, then jumped into the boil.

  There was a brief flicker of the ugly green light. One of the many cracks was sealed. I heard Kosh, the Vorlon from Babylon 5 say, “Jump. Jump!” Captain Sheridan did. The light dimmed once more, and another crack was sealed.

  Valeria, dressed in her full angelic armor and shining brightly with rays of light spreading out, asked, “Do you want to live forever?” she jumped into the boil. Seeing her with my face was, shall I say, odd.

  All my childhood playmates began jumping into the pustule. The green light began flashing faster and faster until it became a nauseating strobe light from a garish discotheque. By my calculation, I will run out of playmates before all the breaches are sealed. I prepared to do what I must. I will jump into the sickness myself. With any luck, it won’t kill me and thus release the creature. I am betting I will go into a coma and hold the monster at bay until my body dies. It should take my body roughly thirty years to die. I weighed the cost against the return. It is more than a fair trade. To die a hero isn’t the worst way to go. Although I would prefer not to take the trip, mind you.

  As the last of my minions prepared to jump, some are actual Minions from Despicable Me; I heard footfalls approach. “Who could it be?” I questioned in my mind. The last mind puppets there were three Daleks. In unison, they screamed, “Encapsulate!” in the high-pitched reverbed voice of theirs. They jumped. My calculations were correct. All the cracks had been sealed, save one. Preparing for what I knew not, I began to jump.

  “Hold Nathan-san!” the voice of my old master filled my ears. Turning around, I saw my master, Nobuharu Makiyama, the man who forged my sword. I cocked my head in bewilderment. He has never been a minion of mine. His voice sounded truer than my minions. Could it be?

  “Are you a ghost? Here in my mind?”

  “Spirit not ghost,” Nobuharu Makiyama said. “Don’t look so confused. It is not difficult.” My expression did not change one bit. To me, spirits and ghost are two sides of the same coin. “When I forged your sword, the final step was to surrender a part of my spirit to the blade. My body died instilling a small part of me into the blade,” he bowed a formal bow towards me as he finished his words. I returned his bow and contemplated. “We have no time for this talk. We must act quickly. Nathan-san, do you remember the heart of the stone which forms the edge of your blade?” I nodded as the memory of the metal coalesced. It sparkled as brilliantly as it did when I freed it with my hammer stroke. “Ah, very good. Can you remember the forge?”

  I think I know where he is going with this. I recreated our workshop, forge, anvil, and tamahagane. We stood there facing the fire wearing the white uniforms as we did at the birth of my sword. “My sword sounds pale next to the blade. I will have to name it one of these days,” I thought. I pulled the tamahagane out of the fire with the tongs and placed it on the anvil. A hammer appeared in Nobuharu Makiyama’s hands. Without any delay, he began pounding on the metal all the while a dread is building in me. Could we finish in time? Back and forth from fire to anvil to hammer, we worked. Each time he finished hammering the metal, it was closer to the shape of the last crack. I stole a glance at the boil. Dim green light spilled out of the lone remaining crack. I could see the light did not remain dim. Slowly, the light began growing brighter.

  I informed my master, and our pace quickened. The fire of the forge and the exertions of the hammer strokes heated
my body. I began to sweat. It was a light sheen at first, but eventually, it grew to a river of salty water flowing off my face. At last, my master was finished. I grabbed the red-hot metal with my bare hands. I cared not if it burned for if we did not close the final crack, all would be lost. It neither burned my hands nor even felt the slightest bit warm. I had braced myself for the pain, and the lack of it caused me to hesitate.

  “Nathan-san, seal the crack!”

  Jolted out of my hesitation, I quickly applied the metal to the crack. It fit perfectly and sealed the green light away; But wait. Something is wrong. My mind began to shake. I could sense a build-up in the repaired synapses. It is going to blow like a pressure cooker with no relief valve. No time. I summoned the vision of my sword to me. It glowed blue-white in my hand. I let build the hate I had for the creature. It had almost killed my wife. It had threatened the life of my daughter. It had threatened the life of every child at Greentree Elementary School. It murdered four cops. I drank deeply of the hate. I let it fill the glass of my soul.

  My blade glowed the red of my rage. I screamed incomprehensibly at the thing trapped here in my mind and plunged my blade into the horrid creature. A scream, an inhuman scream, filled the air. A concussive blast threw me back from the boil. I fought to remain conscious. All that remained in my mind is the boil, the blade, and me. My mind is now quiet. I don’t remember a time when my mind has been this quiet. I miss my minions’ voices. I hope someday they can return. They have kept me sane in an insane world.

  I slowly rose to my feet and made my way to the boil. It is dark. There is no sickish green light emanating from the boil. There are no cracks. Only my blade, set into the boil like Excalibur, remained. I placed my hand on the hilt of my blade. I drew it forth from the boil. I almost expected to be proclaimed the true and rightful king of England. All that happened was the slow sound of air escaping. I watched the boil deflating back to its rightful size. In the back of my mind, I heard the Wicked Witch of the West say, “I’m melting, melting. Oh, what a world, what a world.” I guess I am still not alone here in my noggin.

  I turned my focus to outside my mind. The bedroom is as I left it. It is dark, and the only sound is the rush of the fan. “Char!” Within mere moments my wife was at my side. “I am terribly hungry, and would you turn the fan off? I am freezing.” I fumbled in the nightstand and got my glucose tabs. I popped a few to hold me over until I can get a meal.

  Char placed her hand on my head, and said, “Good, the fever broke. Nathan, I will lay out some clean pajamas for you. The ones you’re wearing are drenched in sweat. Do you think you can shower?”

  “I’m feeling pretty weak. If you can give me a good soaping up, I think I can manage.” I kept a straight face, but inside I am lustfully leering at my wife.

  “You’re not fooling me.” I thought I could see a little smile touch the corner of her lips and a little red color in her cheeks. I guess things are getting back to normal. “I can see you are doing better or at least well enough to shower.” Char helped me stand. I felt as weak as a thrice-used teabag.

  “What time is it?” Char answered it is close to dinnertime. It is hard to conceive how fast time had passed here in the real world. It was only moments in my brain. I started to prepare for my shower. As I stripped off my clothes, Char kicked them toward the laundry basket with her foot. I don’t blame her; they are quite soaked in smelly sweat. After my shower, I sat down at the dinner table to inhale my food. In our dinner conversation, Moiraine didn’t quite believe me when I told her I was better now. She has a good heart but is prone to worry.

  “Nathan, I don’t understand. When you were sick, I tried to call my mother for help, but she didn’t appear.”

  “Not sure why. All this is still pretty new to me. My guess would be I needed everything I had to fight the mental battle. Are there more potatoes?” Char pointed to the kitchen, and I unsteadily walked to retrieve the second helping. “I’m thinking.”

  “Did it hurt, Daddy?”

  “Funny, Mo.” Turning back to Char, “I’m thinking I can’t be the first person out there who has experienced all this weirdness. I need to find someone to guide me. Is there dessert?” I was crestfallen when Charlene told me no. I contemplated my state, the weirdness not the lack of dessert. “Maybe Karma can help me?” After a couple of moments of silence, I announced, “Oh, yes. I forgot to mention. This headache was the entity I trapped in my mind trying to escape.” A gasp and Char’s silverware dropping to her plate put an exclamation point on my statement.

  “Did you kick his ass again, Daddy?” I gave Moiraine a wink, she giggled.

  Acknowledgments

  There have been many people who have helped me in this endeavor. The list of people to thank is growing. Thank you, Linda Nagy. Thank you, Tracy Johnston. Thank you, Ken Buckwalter. Thanks to my wife, Barbara Hancock. I am sure you are getting tired of my bouncing ideas off you. I give my thanks to Christian Bentulan who did the cover artwork. You can reach him at coversbychristian.com. I also extend my thanks to all my clients at The Men’s Room Barber Shop. You gentlemen have heard all these tales and gave me much encouragement and support. Next, I would like to thank some of my favorite authors who showed me it is possible to dream. First, James Oliver Rigney Jr. (Robert Jordan) for inspiring me. Second, Jim Butcher (The Dresden Files) for teaching me a regular guy can write. And third, J. Michael Straczynski (Babylon 5) for answering a fan’s question about Babylon 5. When asked what the speed of a Starfury was, Mr. Straczynski answered: “They travel at the speed of plot.” I found his answer both insightful and humorous.

  A Request

  If you have enjoyed Nathan’s adventures, here and in my other novels, please leave a review on Amazon as it helps to encourage me to continue my writing. You can also go to my author website, JeffreyHancock-author.com, and sign up to receive my newsletter. I hope to bring early and exclusive content along with timetables for future releases in The Odyssey of Nathan Embers Series.