The Everborn (50 page)

The Watchers have been here. Twice they have....

As soon as Andrew found himself contemplating what Bari had said to him, he suddenly realized a new truth: yes, he
must
talk to Ralston. And, with a sense of urgency, he understood exactly
why
.

Spontaneous revelations were becoming to Andrew more and more common these days.

He killed his flashlight and carried on through the downstairs corridor past framed obscurities dotting the walls, square structures of what Andrew knew to be preserved front covers of each published Ralston Cooper novel.

He was no stranger to this house though he’d always felt himself one, especially now, and he easily navigated out of the corridor and into the shadowy vestibule of the main entranceway, a spiraling staircase uncoiling to his left.

He approached the first step of the staircase, set one hand upon the metal railing, and boldly made his ascent, all the while cautious and inquisitive of what was in store for him at the top.

He reached the upstairs corridor. The bathroom door he immediately faced yawned open into an abysmal rectangular hole. Tempted for the moment to pause for a quick flashlight scan, a soft light from a source all its own succeeded his impulse. It trailed until expiring into the dark just in front of him, out from the direction of a room down the hall to his right. The hemmed border of his costume’s black cape caught a snag along the foliage of a potted synthetic plant as he rounded the hall corner and he wrenched it free with a carelessly firm tug which could have given him away.

It was a dim illumination, as like from a shaded bedside lamp; Andrew could see where he was and where he was going more clearly now, could see that the light came from the opened doorway of Ralston and Jessica’s bedroom a few yards ahead. He went forward another step, and as if by the very act of taking that step there came the somber strum of acoustical six-string guitar chords, lazy chords. Andrew slowed as soon as he heard them before he found himself standing still in the bedroom’s doorway.

And then there came a voice singing in melancholy blues, almost as if in half-ass parody:

“
I don’t care if it rains or freezus

‘
long as I got my plastic geezus

glued onto the dashboard of my car....”

And then the music silenced.

***

“Andy-man,” Ralston said. “You secretly despised me calling you that. If I were you I would’ve hated me, ever since we first met at the school playground when I thought you were a pervert...quite frankly. Considering the changes lately in all those involved in this...this
saga
, you won’t ever have to worry about writing a single word beneath the guise of my name again. You see...that
last
book, the one you don’t remember typing, was about us. I sense Bari hasn’t fully let you in on it, but I doubt Bari’s been aware of no more than a few pieces of the total pie herself. The point is, anyway...well, I read most of the book. Until a band of Watchers paid me a visit and slapped my hand as they took it away.”

Andrew crept closer a pace or two, in silent disbelief of the sight displayed before him. He had an idea what to expect as the reality dawned on him, but then again he hadn’t a clue it would be like
this
.

Ralston had removed all furniture from the room and covered the section of carpet in the far corner with bed sheets, a section squared off in a corral of perhaps every damn pillow in the house. A sea shell statuette table lamp sat table-less upon a blanket in the corner, its light a ricocheted image off the room’s low-set windows, shades pulled up revealing Brea’s vast starry nighttime. Flickering globules of fire swelled from several candles dispersed on teacup saucers on the outskirts of the lamp, like a shrine.

Ralston was nestled facing the window, lounging propped against the pillowed border, legs crossed and a six-string in his lap.

It was apparent by his appearance that he was well on his way into that Ol’ Time Regression each Everborn’s life was supposed to amount to. His stature was stunted like one of the undead Jawa creatures out of the film
Phantasm
, and the London Fog black trenchcoat he wore was so disproportioned and oversized that it added to the effect of this not being Ralston at all, but a hairless and alien facsimile of Ralston. Andrew perceived that the start of Ralston’s regression may have preceded his own.

But how could that be?

“Ralston, have you gone mad?” Andrew took an assertive march toward the window and yanked the dangling string that released a succession of vinyl blinds downwards, ensuring their privacy.

“Hey, my view!”

“People might see us,” Andrew rebuked him.

“Indeed, if people were twice as tall and dwelt in exaggerated houses to accommodate their height,” Ralston replied. “Chill out and pull up a pillow. We’re safe here and there’s much to discuss.”

Andrew stood where he was. Ralston’s facial features were not unlike Andrew’s, exhibiting the same broadening of bone and structure and elasticity of skin, of eyes a cavernous black and teardrop-shaped, lips and nose tightened, plain, as if retreating into his face. His countenance echoed a greater percentage of all the attributes uniquely Ralston, relieved of most of the intolerable qualities such as the cockiness which always made him a bastard. Granted, a subtle sarcastic quality revealed he was still a
know-it-all
, but Andrew suspected that maybe this time Ralston practically did.

Ralston set his guitar to one side and resorted to clasping his hands and lazily twiddling his thumbs. He wore black Levi’s, legs rolled back high enough to oblige his shrunken stature, a droopy grey sweatshirt beneath the coat.

He sighed. “Jessica’s pregnant, but then we both know that. I gotta tell you, I nearly pissed my pants at your old pad when Bari came to your rescue. At the time, I felt I had every right to kick your ass. I thought you were selling me out. William Behn had me convinced and paranoid and I went off on a mission not entirely aware of the facts.”

“I understand that,” Andrew replied,

Ralston released his clasped hands and tapped a single finger to his cranium. “
Now
I’m aware of the facts. Hear me out. The Watchers have been...well,
watching
my agent for a long time. They knew he would be one of the recipients of a typewritten message from the future. They knew about the book, Andrew. This particular group of Watchers knew about the book because they’re
from
the future and they’re aware of what it takes to send messages back in time. Some of them had done it themselves and apparently in the future they taught me. They have a keen grasp of the ins and outs of linear time...sending messages, traveling themselves...yet I don’t believe anyone’s sent an entire
novel
before, and I don’t believe I was allowed to do it in the first place.”

“So what of your agent William Behn?” Andrew asked. “He did receive a manuscript?”

“I suppose the Watchers are having their way with him,” was Ralston’s response. He leaned forward, with a serious look about him. “Andrew, if I knew what I know now and was still completely human, I would tell all the world about it. I mean, the thing is, I’m not the human I once was. I can’t tell the world
now
....being the state that I’m in, they’ll
crucify
me. I have a feeling that somewhere in the near future, I get my chance, for writing about all of this the way I did...well, at least the way I’m
going
to...is the only way to get away with it. Besides, writing all about it and sending it back in time is crucial to everything that’s happened so far, don’tcha think? And furthermore, it gives
our
side the advantage against Salvatia, even if your twin brother
did
accidentally receive portions of the book.”

Andrew walked towards him until he met with the pillowed border on the carpet, and he was clearly perplexed. “Wait. This is indeed news to me. This is the book I awoke to after falling asleep before my typewriter. I gave it to you that night, the night your band had the debut at the
Crowjob....
the night I met Melony....”

“Yeah, the wife of Maxwell J. Polito himself. Strange character. I can’t wait to see him
now
.”

“This turned out to be a completely different book than what I thought I was writing for you.”

“Yeah, wasn’t it, though,” Ralston said indifferently. “Before I knew any better, I thought it was a completely different book, too. When I was at my soberest, I always insisted you’d let me in on what my next big novel was going to be about. I kinda flaked on asking you questions about
this
one. You know, when I fled from your apartment that final climactic day, the first thing I did was race home and straight up to this room, capsized my end table drawer and smoked its contents...torched a glass pipe with a few hundred bucks worth of crystal and inhaled some purple-haired green bud and a fifth of Hot Damn. Odd, because people usually indulge in these kinds of things to
escape
reality. At
that
time, all I wanted to do was to
find
reality. And Jessica was out shopping or something, so I couldn’t very well take it out on
her
....

“And then, after what seemed like a long-ass time while I just sat there and tweaked, my thoughts led to the thoughts I never before could bring myself to face, such as what happened between us at the playground where you and I met, then those thoughts led to the
book
. Jessica had read it before she could put two-and-two together and set it aside, and long after she arrived home and fell asleep that evening I had found the copy, read as much as I could while this time paying attention to it, until the Watchers showed up just as I was getting to the juicy parts. The most important parts, the parts pertaining to the recent events which have led us into what’s happening now, and a few chapters
before
....”

“How convenient,” was Andrew’s response, curious to the technicalities of Ralston’s new insight yet restless regarding the matters at hand. “So these Watchers took the book away just in time to prevent you from reading what was to occur after they found you reading it.”

“The Master Magicians, as Polito preferred to call them, had probably known everything about the book long before the rest of us, being that these particular Watchers are
from
the future and what happens now affects them. As best as they can, they’re protecting the interests of the outcome of all this. God forbid they allow any of us involved in this opera to read ahead of themselves. That would be cheating. They’re simply protecting the interests of the outcome. They have to, because the outcome of this book is
their
future, too. Funny, because I apparently started all of this in the future
myself.”

“So,” Andrew reasoned, “if all you say is true, then...?”

“Then you must trust me, even though I’ve never given you reason to completely trust me ever before....”

“It’s happening again now, isn’t it?” Andrew pressed. “Like before, when we first met, when Salvatia got the better of your Watchmaid Camelia, only now Jessica is out and about with you inside her and dear Melony is my mom-to-be, and Salvatia is once again behind all of this, because of a goddamn book that
you’ve
actually
written yourself????”

“First of all,” Ralston said, in an attempt to set the matter as clear as day to a kindred being who otherwise should understand far more rapidly, “Salvatia will not harm her captive Melony without the honor of your presence. It’s you she wants, although
my
life would do just as well to suit her cause. She’s using your Dreg twin brother to take your life, with Mel forced into the dual roles of victim and bait. Another thing: Salvatia herself is powerful enough to revive any one human at a time who is killed at the hands of a Dreg, and this time the resurrected human is the UFO expert Max Polito himself, not a small unthreatening little lad like the boy Nigel. This racks up more odds in her favor....

“...you see, as you well put it...yes, it’s happening again, now, just like before at the playground where our paths first crossed, only
this
time Salvatia would surely succeed...if it wasn’t for the book. The Watchers who stole my copy of the book away from me and whom I went on to spend some quality time with were never able to come to terms with that. They insisted
the future was not ours to use as a tool to foil the past....

“Well...yes, there
were
drawbacks to my little scheme, such as the very nature of your being split into two entities in this current life, which rendered it impossible for just
Andrew Erlandson
to retrieve it alone, yes sir. Your Dreg twin brother Simon intercepted portions of the book, which eventually brought it to Salvatia’s knowledge. Damn it all, why couldn’t your mother just stick to one child at a time? But even though this phenomena is a rarity to our kind, the risk was inevitable. I knew of it when I wrote it. Because of it, overall, we have the advantage....

“Think of it: both our lives have been directed around it. Why had you been writing for me all this time? It was Bari’s idea. To protect you. To protect me. To protect the interests of
the book....”

At once there came upon them a voice familiar and female and from everywhere, “It’s truly good to see you in your full potential, Ralston, and not as the obnoxious twerp you’ve lived your passing life as....”

Bari emerged into a dimension of space between them, and the genie-like torrents below the transparency of her waistline whisked out the candlelight, leaving only the light of the table lamp to illuminate the room; the light cast jousting shadows around the doorway from what was now the three of them as they conversed.