Divine_Scream (28 page)

She sat in the seat and yanked down her seat belt. “Do you freak out easy?”

“Uh—”

“So, yes?”

“Why?”

“Just hold on. I’m going to drift around street corners. We might fishtail a bit.”

Jared checked his seat belt and pulled it tighter. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

We never lost perspective on our existence. Not every life form in the Deeper Unseen was immortal. Some creatures lived out their respective lives for two minutes to two million years, from the lowliest of bacteria to the high vaulted grandeur and power of Silent Kings. But the Assembly was indeed immortal. That was to say the consciousness remained undying, not the individual members. There were ways we could disconnect from all realities and therefore “die,” move on to the light and so forth, but if we were left on our own without such circumstances, nothing could kill us as a whole. Chop off our heads and new ones would grow back. Tear out our guts and they would slither back into our chests like homesick snakes.

We shared this form of longevity with genies, with lichs, with… banshees. Living forever made one obsessed with the concept of death—and we had to imagine that a banshee, working around death as often as they did, became powerfully fascinated with it. We did not wish for death, but it interested us as well. The fear of death even more so, because it was so foreign.

When we gazed upon the Paled Ocean for the first time in this world, it was a new concept for us. It was so large. So terrifying. In our world. In this world. In countless dimensions. This. Here. Deadly. Forever. It was the origin of life. On different planets this ocean might be comprised of other chemicals and minerals, but regardless, life always pulled itself out of the sludge, slime, and slurry, out of the fluid. Strange how something could be the dawn of evolution and the ending of it with such simplicity.

Our twenty eyes raced across the rippling dark blue surface. The familiarity of it disturbed us most of all. This ocean, in the Deeper Unseen, was harmless to us, and yet it looked
exactly
the same here. Nothing in this world looked the same so far—that was unnatural, an abomination, as though this body of water lured us into a false sense of security by disguising itself like an old friend.

We loathed this ocean.

In fact, we vowed then and there to never look upon it again, even in the safety of our own dimension.

Swallowing fear, we took a few steps forward and several of our number collapsed. Perhaps we’d overestimated our recovery. The Disturbance Paradigm had been more than we’d ever prepared for. In fact, it wasn’t accurate to label it like any other. We would call this a Grand Disturbance Paradigm. We really prayed to never see another again. Hopefully the universes would collapse on themselves before that could reoccur. If we had to do it again, we wouldn’t last. We lost close to a hundred thousand people from countless dimensions—in this world, only around eighty or so. But without our intervention, it was possible that hundreds of trillions of lives might have been lost without our effort. The death schedule had changed, but in a manageable fashion. The Silent Kings were pleased with the outcome.

This served to remind us of something important. We were the heroes; we saved more lives keeping the dimensions in alignment than any force great or small. And this last effort was cosmically significant. We saved the multiverses. In our collective, we’d never known anyone or any group who could say the same, since the very inception of time.

And who had threatened all existence? In this universe and all others?

Jared Kare.

Our gift.

If ever there had been a soul more worthy of being denied the light, it was him. People like him were a drop of acid that ate through everything and never stopped. Continue and continue. On and on. Forever eating through all structures with the potency of their weakness. And he WAS weak. That was a misconception that many should keep in mind and never did. The weak were always more dangerous than the strong. Destruction and chaos loved the weak because it unfolded so sweetly, in a poetic fashion, whereas the strong initiated it through free will. With the weak, destruction and chaos were in control, and those entities, still alive and well in this day and age, happened to enjoy the hell out of that.

So this was all to say that our gift, our Jared Kare, was the greatest Satan of all time. Unintentional maybe, but the scourge of dimensions, no doubt about it.

“The Lance?” we cried. Though the words had been shared on all of our lips, the idea had come from the Seventh, lustful for torture. All others, the nine of us, nodded, though we were slightly upset the Seventh would choose to have a thought outside our minds. If it happened again, we would need to break him away from our collective.

Perhaps it was the appeal of the lance that prevented us from being so harsh on the Seventh, however. The Lance was a GOOD idea for our gift. We had many instruments to choose from in our fortress, but selecting the correct pleasure was an art, and the lance might complement our needs like a fine entrée in a masterfully constructed meal.

And as fine meals went, thinking about that, as wrecked, weary, woeful, and worked to the bone we were, it would be blissful to grill Jared’s body and ingest his every piece. In the Deeper Unseen our gifts could not make contact with the ground, so they had to wear thick boots and clothing, but if we took those protections away from Jared for a day or so, he would be nice and charred by supper time. Crisp down to the bones. That smoky flavor was nicer, twice as nice when it was caused by dimensional disruption.

A few of us, at this thought, brought up our heels for a few moments to feel the sweet pain of the electricity arc between our flesh and the ground. As though the past few hours hadn’t been painful enough, but then again, we lived through pain; it was our job and our tired friend. We were saviors of the people, but misunderstood, like a wandering rock star who picks up a guitar at a music shop during an exhausting world tour. Despite the exhaustion, he picks up the guitar and starts riffing anyway, because it’s what he knows, how he breathes and remembers he’s still living. It was our essence, our color, our form, our purpose, we were Those Who Endured the Pain, and we loved to hate it.

Our thoughts returned to the lance. We would work Jared up to that device. Although the Silent Kings granted physical immortality to our gifts, pain and shock on the physical form functioned the same as with any life form, and having Jared black out before the lance widened through his core, would spoil the effort. He’d miss out on the most important aspects of the pain process—it didn’t make for a satisfying build up and climax. And watching the lance destroy a body from the inside out was a masterful display—it deserved the quality of careful brush strokes with fine oil paints, not the careless impulsive crayon work of rushed afterthought, lacking wisdom or work ethic. No. He would need our training to sustain himself through the process, and that required self-taught meditation and numbness.

Oh, how we were excited for the prospects this would deliver! Perhaps we could simulate the grave pain our three children endured during the Grand Disturbance Paradigm. Crushing our gift for revenge wasn’t beautiful with brilliance however—we would think of something more fitting for Jared. Perhaps we would leave him in a dungeon without food for three weeks and then bring in a corpse formed in the shape of his friend Kaitlin. He would not know the corpse wasn’t authentic. Our flesh molding was quite convincing. After presenting the body, we’d give him a knife and tell him dinner was served. Perhaps we’d roll the corpse in salt and spices beforehand. Exit from the dungeon would depend on how bare Jared left Kaitlin’s bones.
Waste nothing.
It couldn’t end there though. We would use those bones in a cauldron of stew Jared would tend every day, and eat from throughout the year—
yes
. Unless he came to the point when it no longer disturbed him, and then we would need to rethink our approach. That was when our gifts started losing something. Their minds became vacant places where heartbreak could live easily and cause no damage whatsoever.

So we couldn’t rush the torment, just as with the lance. Jared Kare needed to endure as much as necessary to make us smile, but we had to be disciplined. We couldn’t be greedy. This mountain would need to be climbed steadily.

A thrill went through us as we stepped out onto the sand. It gave a surprising relief from the concrete. The connection was stronger here. We were almost fully resident in this world. How ironic that fifty feet away in that rolling, foaming water was the exact opposite. All other versions of us would be torn away from the pattern of every reality as well. The Silent Kings would create a new Assembly of course, but our shared consciousness would be gone forever. “WE” would no longer be. A newborn “WE” would take over and develop shared consciousness in a different manner. A completely different personality. Perhaps the Silent Kings would forego gifts, like they did to us in the beginning. We weren’t strong enough to do our duties without some prize at the end—perhaps the new Assembly would not need any compensation. No gifts, no fortress, just the joy of suffering in space attending to the dimensional hinges.

It almost made us jealous to consider we could be replaced with others less needy and demanding. But we had no doubts, if we ended up in that ocean water, we would be gone from every page of time, and the Kings would certainly need others to keep the dimensions stable; they were too high and mighty and cowardly to do the job themselves.

We flexed our toes through the sand. It was delicious, so welcomed. Gritty, yet smooth. We enjoyed it for a moment. A very distraught woman yelled in the distance: “Jose, our house was upside down! I’m not taking the pills again! Believe me!” A second later, “Goddamn it, don’t call me CRAZY again!”

We groaned.

Our gift had made such a mess of things. All would be well, however. It wasn’t possible this world or other versions would catch on to the source of these issues; the knowledge on this planet was too limited. They would try to figure it out. Try to apply meaning. It wouldn’t matter. It never did. Even those planets with higher understanding still would not be able to do more than just discuss the atrocities they’d faced.

A briny wind blew in, ruffling the hair of those of us possessing it. Along with the wind came a sharp scent. It was like blood and sweet cream and vulnerability.

Our gift. Delivered as promised by the Silent Kings.

But the scent was slightly different now. Not so vulnerable. Jared Kare had been much changed over the course of one day. As alarmingly different as he’d become, it wasn’t a problem, for he still had enough reluctance and self-doubt to make him taste sweet to us. He’d been brave on that building. We’d monitored it closely. Although we did what we could to allow him to survive, if he hadn’t kept his wits, it might have been impossible to help. We had no doubt about that. The Jared from this morning would have fallen, despite our help.

How could he change so quickly though? Despite being through the trial of today, nobody became a different person in twelve hours. Something else was at play. He was changed from mind to heart to guts.

And as though an answer, we caught another smell coming from the east. This smell converged on the beach as well.

The banshee drew near.

Fortuitous. We’d figured she had found a corridor shadow and slipped away to a safer place once the Disturbance Paradigm ended. This was welcome. It almost brought us equal joy taking our gift as it did with dealing with the likes of her. Yes, we would disintegrate the bitchwhore in the ocean, and laugh with mirth as we at last, deservedly, took our gift home.

When the stretches of sand appeared, Jared got numb. Staring. Staring. Staring. His trembling hand still gripped the door handle.

“Where do you want me to go?” asked Carol, his driver.

He shook his head to regain his thoughts. Had to focus. The drive had been expertly performed but had twisted his already queasy stomach into several thousand new knots.

“I can get us closer,” she added.

“No, Carol,” he said. “Thank you, and I think you probably could race NASCAR.”

She waved him off and leaned over the steering wheel, squinting at something in the distance. “Are those guys painted red?”

Jared swallowed and his eyes slowly scanned the beach. “What guys?”

“Over there by the lifeguard station. Is that paint or… blood all over them?”

“Pull to the curb.”

“Sure, but—”

“Please!” he insisted.

Carol jerked the car quickly to the right and cranked up the parking brake. She was still looking intensely ahead. Jared couldn’t locate who she saw, but he had a horrible hunch.

“Suspenders? They’re wearing suspenders and no shirts? Where are you looking? Point, Carol!”

She pointed and Jared followed the direction of her finger. He saw them then, probably less than half a mile away. His eyes weren’t as good as Carol’s apparently, but he saw the ten men slowly treading through the dense brown sand. Jared took a quivering breath into his lungs, and looked out past the long pier to the water and back to the approaching monsters.

He would run. It didn’t seem like they could catch him before the water, but he couldn’t sit around debating that theory; it was time to move.

“Thank you so much, Carol.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“I’ll drive right to the water if you want,” she said, brown eyes sparkling with failing sunlight.

Jared judged the distance of the Assembly again. The sand looked wet enough. They’d had to go over the curb and take out a small blue picket fence. He considered it a moment more and shook his head. Too many factors. No way would he get this woman closer. Even if they weren’t inclined to change the death schedule, it was too risky, and he couldn’t be responsible for another life.