Otherworld (38 page)

 

Soon enough, the four men sat in the professor's dining room, each guarding his cup of coffee. Graham and Mike exchanged looks several times, trying to place each other.

“You two know each other?” Steve asked.

“Kinda.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Naturally,” Sutzkever interjected. “It's providence. The four of us have been called into this.”

Mike and Steve shifted nervously—Mike, because the whole thing still seemed so unreal, and Steve, because he was still uncomfortable with the concept of a “calling.” Graham, who could only remember being nervous in the last two days, sat unmoved. Sutzkever unloaded the whole story, most to Mike's embarrassment and some to his astonishment. He recounted from the beginning to the very moment the four entered his dining room.

“This is
way
Peretti,” Steve quipped.

Sutzkever winced. “When we go in, we go in confidently. Greater is He that is in us, right? The Lord has not given us a spirit of fear, right?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “What exactly are we doing?”

“We pay a visit to Dr. Bering. We insist upon entering. We begin praying.”

“And what then?” Steve asked. “His head starts spinning and pea soup shoots out of his mouth?”

“Bah! This isn't a joke. You have to get this right, get yourselves right. And forget all that Hollywood nonsense. The man is afflicted for real, and without divine intervention he will be lost.”

“But what do we do?”

“Mr. Lattimer here will pray nonstop. You will stay with Mike, tending to his spiritual needs, praying also. I will confront Samuel, and, if God wills, the spirit of his oppression.”

Malcam
, Mike thought, and he shuddered.

“If a spirit manifests itself, be prepared for an onslaught of tricks. It may move from threatening you to tempting you to begging you to grant it mercy. Never assume you can trust it. It comes from the father of lies, and that's all it knows. It will harass you, shame you, taunt you. Call on the name of Jesus, rebuke the spirit in Jesus's name, and claim victory with the power of the blood of the Lamb.”

Steve asked, “You're serious?”

Mike, the only irreligious man in the room, said, “I can't believe none of this sounds weird to me.”

It didn't sound weird to Graham either. In fact, it made perfect sense. The UFO hysteria, the killings, even his headaches. A man of prayer knows the world of the spiritual more intimately than others. This just made sense.
Be assured.

“So, yes? We begin tomorrow night. Sixish?” Sutzkever asked.

“What about Mike?” Steve asked. “He's not, you know, a Christian.”

The professor turned to Mike, who was not at all offended by the remark and suddenly felt oddly at ease. “Mike?” Sutzkever said.

“I just want my life back.”

“Would you settle for a new one?”

“That's been promised before, if you remember.”

“Yes, but this one is life, and life abundant.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

 

Later, as the midnight moon hovered high in the Houston sky, still and watchful, Mike lay in bed, thinking of Molly and of the mess he'd gotten them both in. Forget the dead body, forget Gary Newsome, the pains of his childhood. He'd been a self-victimized moron. He'd been an inattentive husband, a jerk. Selfish, stupid. That's where these problems started. He ran her off and looked for her everywhere but where she was.

I'm so stupid.

He pulled the covers to his chin. Had the room gotten colder?

Now all of this demon stuff. It makes sense, but it is just so … out there
.

Why can't my life be normal? If God's there, why does He make everything so hard? It's like He's trying to scare me off. Did I leave that window open? Am I too old to run away?

A dog barked next door.

Man, it's cold in here.

Mike rolled out of bed and moved to the window. He slid it down slowly, afraid of his own incidental noise. Turning back—

What's that?

He squinted. Something on the other side of the bed. He squinted. Dirty clothes? His jacket? Yeah, his jacket.

Mike climbed back into bed, seeking warmth within the quilts.

Molly made this one.
He smiled.

What was that? The dog again?

The jacket was gone.
Just a shadow, then.

No.

Something was at the foot of the bed.

Who's there?

Did I say that out loud?

“Who's there?”

“Tsk, tsk, chum.”

Mike felt his bowels rumble. Feeling drained from his flesh. “M-Malcam?”

The thing laughed. It moved over him.

“Malcam?”

“You've ruined everything, Mike.”

Bering?

“You've messed it all up.”

“Dr. Bering?”

“Righty-oh,” the professor said, and he pounced on Mike with a ravenous fury.

Mike saw the blackness of Bering's eyes before feeling the blow to his temple. Then, all was black.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Under the veil of night, a murky lunar eye as witness, two dark figures crouching in the bushes watched a car pull into the driveway and an old man moving with unnatural strength to pull a sleeping figure from the backseat into the house.

“What was that?”

“Them, stupid.”

“Them? What
them
? What are we doing here?”

“This is the place.”

“The place?”

“That's what I said, so shut up.”

“Who was that?”

“The ones we want.”

“What?”

“Old man, if you don't shut up—”

“What do we do now?”

“I think the house next door is empty. We crash there. Tomorrow's the big day.”

“I want to go home.”

“Shut up, I said. Tonight?”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Shut up. Tonight?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, one last favor.

“Tomorrow.”

“What's tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I do someone a favor. Then I'll take you home myself.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My head hurts where am I? Where am I ouch.

Ouch.

Are my eyes open?

Where am I? So dark in here and cold. So cold in here. My head's pounding. Something sticky there. Blood? No way blood NO WAY. Taste it? Is it blood? Taste it are you crazy? Hurts so bad.

This isn't home.

Am I dead? No way that's stupid no way.

Should I say something? Why not? Why not say something?

“Hello?”

That hurt. Mouth hurts. Jaw or something. Get this blood off my hand. It's not blood, don't be stupid. Yes it is, think about it.

Malcam! No, no. Dr. Bering. Smashed me. Man, it hurts. Can't remember anything. What am I supposed to do?

Wait, he smashed me. I'm not dead, don't think that. Head's cloudy. From the smashing. I'll kill him.

Gotta get up.

“Ahh!”

Not good. So sore. Bruises. He beat me up. I'm really gonna kill him, I mean. Kill him dead if I could just get up.

Listen. Can't hear anything. Am I outside? Feel the floor, Mike, touch it. Cold and hard. Not outside. It gives a little. Tile or something. Feel it, man, feel it. Oh, yeah. Tile. Feel those grooves, those squares. Inside I'm inside. Where am I? Bering's house. Yeah, Bering's house. What's the deal? What did I do? He said it yeah he said something. I've messed it up or something, ruined it.

Otherworld. Can't believe it. Flying saucers hyperspace Malcam the inner garden. No way can't believe it.

“Concentrate, Mike.”

Ahh! Stop talking, stupid.

Oh, yeah. Okay, it's coming. The inner garden. Man, he wanted me to kill myself. Malcam was gonna kill me. Or Bering. One of them, I know it.

Molly. Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man. She was hurt in the thorns.

I've ruined everything? You tried to kill me, you goon! Gotta get out of here.

I can't. I'm gonna die here. I think this is it. Yeah. Man I did it I screwed up I did it good. What's the dill, pickle? Heh.

Focus, Mike. Write it out. Here we go, man, a day in the life. Lost Molly, oh man. I'm so stupid. Ignored her and everything. So dumb. Let her walk out. Something was on TV what was it? Pay attention, dummy. She left and you let her. Write it out, stupid. All right, yeah, write it out.

I was too selfish, too self-concerned. I got too comfortable, too complacent. My marriage was falling apart right under my nose, and I let it. She packed up her stuff and left me. She told me why, though; at least she did that. Like an idiot, I let her go without a fight. Typical, Mike, typical. Must have been a heck of a game on.

Remember that time in St. Louis at the mall? We squeezed into one of those instant photo booths. Two silly photos, and then she kissed me on the third. She was wearing that blue sweater, and her hair fell onto her shoulders and kind of swooped up or something. Man, that was great. That smile she gave me after the kiss. Wow.

What is this, blood? No, not blood. What is—oh, tears. I'm crying, I guess. Can't even feel it.

Am I lying down? No, sitting. This is crazy.

Okay, so she left. How much time goes by, can't tell. A year, maybe? Robbie sends me to Trumbull to cover a cow's murder. Believe it or not, Ripley, it's true. UFO farmer man out there. Poppy? Pops, yeah, Pops. Robbie sends me to school. That's hilarious. Reading UFO junk in the library and my own stupid professor walks up. “Hey, dummy, how about you and I summon a demon?” Heh, heh. Not exactly like that, but you know. Okay, I listen to him. All scientific mumbo jumbo. Dimensions and whatnot, Kahlua something. Kaluza. Gesundheit. Man, I'm losing it. Kaluza-Klein, man. And here's the trippy part: I ask him how come he knows so much. “I talk to them.” Man, first clue right there. Bail out. Like an idiot: “Oh, yeah? Let me in on that.” So stupid.

Wait, something else. Got run over or something. Dr. Bering was there. Took me home. Classic. Like Florence Nightingale effect, I fell for him and his stupid otherworld. People are dying, a killer on the loose, Robbie wants to send me to watch movies in Utah, and I'm talking to that, that thing. Malcam.

Head hurts really bad.

That thing tried to kill me. Sucked me into his fake world, hypnotized me or something.

Write it out, Mike. This helps. Write it, yeah.

Dr. Sutzkever shows up. No, I go to him, right? I visit Sutzkever and express my concerns. He lays the whole demon trip on me. Like Steve did in the car. Wait. No, that's right. Man, I told that guy way too much stuff. So, last night—wait, is it tomorrow yet?—we're all together. Four men: me, Steve, Sutzkever, and the cop. Gil or something. Gil? No, it'll come to me.

We're supposed to intervene, deliver Bering from evil or something. Steve says, “Mike's stupid; he's not a Christian.” Words to that effect. Wish I was, preacher man. Woulda solved all of this. Right?

 

“Anyone talked to Mike today?” Steve asked.

He and Graham, perched atop bar stools at Prissy's Diner counter, shoveled eggs and hash browns into their mouths between conversation.

“Not me.”

“He's our link to the professor. I wonder if we're still on for tonight.”

“Why wouldn't we be?” Graham asked.

“Just hoping.” Steve smiled guiltily.

“Yeah. How was work this morning?”

“I just holed up in my office, locked the door, unplugged the phone. You?”

“I'm exhausted, Steve. This Horn kid is out there, probably with Lucas Dickey, doing God-knows-what. I can't sleep because of the headaches. I was almost killed by some booby-trapped shotgun. I finally got the UFO freaks to crawl back into their holes. Even got that vet Driscoll to write up some piece for the paper, talkin' about how the cows were had by coyotes and the lights in the sky were gaseous somesuch. Petrie's dead.”

“Yeah, I heard. Sorry. If you don't want to do tonight, I'm sure everyone will understand.” Steve feared his face evidenced his hope.

“Nah. They's connected, Steve. All this mess is bigger than we realize. This is a spiritual oppression thing. I feel like, we jump tonight's hurdle, and the rest is waitin' on the other side to be fixed.”

“Yeah, I hope you're right.”

 

How long have I been in here? Don't count sleep. Or passing out. Or the pain that blurs the time. Can kind of see now. The tile is gray, I think. With white squiggles or whatever you call 'em.

Supposed to meet those guys. Save Bering. He needs a kidney. Man, I'm a riot. No, save me. Who's gonna save me? I need a brain, I guess. Oh, Bering needs a heart, that idiot violent freak-of-a-jerk guy.

Relax.

It goes way back, this thing does. Way back. Saw that body in the river. What's the big deal? Happens to lots of people. If I wasn't such a wimp, it wouldn't matter. If I didn't overanalyze every little stupid thing. And that kid shooting me in the back. Just BBs. Whatever. They hurt, man. I could've been a normal kid. My parents, man, they were cool. Got a cool wife, cool job. What's my problem?

This all got messed up.

Ugh, saw Vickie's body. Her face looked okay to have been through a wreck with a truck, though. No scratches or nothin', I don't think. Weird. Oh, yeah, passed out then, too. I'm just programmed for weakness.

Is that a light?

No, don't think so. Can kinda see, though. Gray tile, yeah. Squiggles. Can sorta see my hands. Light gotta be coming from somewhere. Try to move? Why not?

From “Possession: Fact or Fiction?”
by Dr. Leopold Sutzkever in
Theophilus Quarterly
:

Evidence remains to be seen as to whether believers in Jesus Christ can be physically possessed by unclean spirits, but against the majority opinion, I am inclined to believe they cannot. Nevertheless, demonic possession as physical reality is no light subject for the believer. If it is suspected in anyone, prayer and fasting should become first order. Human beings have done extraordinary (and extraordinarily horrible) things under demonic control.

 

“There's nothing to eat here, Black.”

The old man and the teenager had been waiting for hours—all night and most of the day, in fact—hidden from the outside world in a vacant house yards from the home of their appointed target. The duo surmised that the family had fled Houston for warmer climates (how odd that sounded). Two o'clock crawled into being. Pops, hungry and irritable, watched television. Every now and then, the news would break in with an update on the search for him and Jimmy.

“Won't find us, I guess,” Pops muttered every time. He was gradually regaining some sense, had even cried when he remembered what he'd done to Gertie. But he was still afraid of the kid, mainly because the kid never let the shotgun leave arm's reach. The idealized encounter with extraterrestrials was long gone. Pops couldn't believe the grays would talk to such a lunatic. He figured they wanted peace, like in that
Encounters
movie. Pops had just gotten out of hand, got wrapped up in the fame and attention. That alien visited him, he still believed, but this couldn't be what he wanted. Could it?
Somewhere along the way, things got plum crazy. That stupid show-stopping cop didn't help things much either.

He could feel the kid staring at the back of his head. He figured the kid would walk up and slit his throat if he wanted to. “I'm hungry,” Pops said without turning around.

“So?” came the reply a good distance away.

Boy, Stewadell would laugh it up, I'm sure. Taking guff from some whippersnapper. This is what it's come to, Pops.

The kid looked at him dumbly, staring through him with glassy, unblinking eyes.