[FFML] [orig] They Walk In Light 3.8

"Assume that you had a sick man who bore a certain quality of mercurius within his body and indeed live mercurius, then he would exhibit the following signs: the teeth would be almost black, the limbs lame, and the disease would wander from one place to another, first of all in the limbs and the joints. These are the signs of living mercurius and usually at the same time they are at a fixed place, as if a hard abscess lay hidden there. However, if mecurius is not alive then the disease corresponds to the moon, with hardening of the bones, the urine is discolored, and the breath stinks. Thus both mercurii are recognized and understood."

-Paracelsus, 'Four Treatises of Theophrastus Von Hohenheim Called Paracelsus'

I think I'm a reformed Agnostic. But maybe it's Confucianism or Zen or even Marxism, the faith whose martyr was crucified on an 'M' instead of a cross to prove his incontestable belief in heavenly change, bringing the god into your daily outlook, daily life.

Either way, I know I'm not a Jew, and yet in this secret, hidden, underground Christmas season where particularly close families risk ridiculous fines and possible jail time for giving each other presents worth more than eleven dollars a day from the beginning of December to waning January, I have menorahs on the brain. I usually bought small military-issue items from a guy I knew and gave them out with cards that read, Be Prepared. These days its everyone's motto. But this year I was not looking forward to getting anywhere near Major Mike and his warehouse full of crap that wasn't even stolen anymore. The season's cheer had swerved to miss me this year.

Besides, the 'goods' were now bought under the table, paid for with checks, and delivered to Magic Mike's office door by sanctioned laborers living in subsidized half way houses. The legal doubletalk was just disgusting.

I could no longer pay attention to lines, least of all painted yellow ones in the road. Zig had opened the throttle and was far ahead on the empty highway testing out the cyc I would eventually end up paying for. I cruised at around 110 down Guenevere's Way thinking of other things. Gradually my train of thought fell on how much pain I would probably endure in the next hour. I had no time to deal with anesthetics or anthanol which meant I would be awake during the merusion. The surgical lasers would be forced to work ten times as fast which usually meant a significant drop in accuracy. My skin was going to peel.

I finished the malt in another gulp and threw the bottle behind me. I was preoccupied enough by my thoughts that I didn't hear the glass shatter. Which wasn't surprising, given that had I merely raised my head forty-five degrees, I would have also seen a black dot slowly descending in the distant sky. I never saw him that night, but the dot was actually a man. He wore ragged red and black clothing that hung off of him in shreds. But he did not care, because he was watching a second man descend more quickly another mile to the north. The pair drifted down slowly, the first landing on a clock tower above a torn down church, the second landing on a familiar green trimmed structure that he had helped build. One watched the other, and that other climbed through an unlocked window, oblivious.

Unlike it's southern counterpart, the housing districts here actually had houses, with real grass lawns. All government officials had places out here, as well as corporate bigwigs and racing stars. My old house from two decades ago was north of here still, but the people who lived there now had torn it down and rebuilt it. It was a shame. I had done quite a bit with that place, putting in pools and hanging gardens with reckless abandon. It was supposed to make my old age worth its while. Would have been satisfying.

And then, up ahead, I saw the rosy red glow of the first Portal gazing back in my direction. I increased my speed, lowered my head, and heard my tires inflate outward to handle the forces. Soon the sound walls around Guenevere's Way rose up on either side to complete the tunnel and then there was only the red glow of enraged X-rays.

And BoomBoomHiss, I was through, and the hunched form of Zig far ahead of me was visible again.

That one almost hurt this time, maybe because of my new cyc's larger battery, or maybe it was something else. Like the thoughts in my head that weren't supposed to be affected. Actually, I wonder who they would really want to affect, the poor people going north or the rich people coming south?

Azure blue balls of light wrenched at me as I hit the second dam and passed through. It felt like the sphere had been waiting for me. And it was always the last dam that was the least forgiving.

Green, green, yellowish green. There had never been anything else in the history of the world other than that green.

Then I was through it, and Zig was slowing down, waving his arm at me to hurry up. For some reason I had never heard him complain about those terrible sensations I felt while passing through the Portals. He had always seemed to be immune to things like that.

Convincing myself to take it like a man at least for now and not think about the pain, I blinked a few times in the high wind and scanned the reappearing road signs for my exit. Most civilians in the city have usually memorized all the major streets in the city by the time they can legally drive. It was surprising since many roads crisscrossed each other dozens of times and ran between the skyscrapers like blind rats. The arrows for University Ave., Rockford Arts, and finally Ferry Blvd passed overhead. I knew I was finally far enough north that I could ditch the turnpike and take residential roads the rest of the way. Patrol cars were rarely seen on duty this far north. I counted driveways as I passed them, looking for a particular opening in the sparse trees.

2005: the number had stuck in my head after my last visit. I had been here several other times in Rufius' employ but the details of that life were still dancing just out of reach. However I did remember the old door code. Pulling up to the key pad behind Zig, I punched in three numbers. The LED flashed red and I got an error tone. I kicked myself for having thought the locks hadn't been changed. I nodded to Zig and pointed to the gate. He wheeled his cyc forward and inspected the lock He smiled, and a second later so did I.

"Money," he mumbled and pressed a black pick-wedge into the key hole. Jerking it in and out twice preceded a distinct click and Zig swung the metal bars inward. I followed Zig through the gate until police caution tape wouldn't let it open any wider. The four-inch wide yellow plastic was difficult to cut, even with a knife, so we stretched it out of the way and ducked under.

"This wasn't really how I pictured it," Zig said as I pulled up next to him. The three buildings we could see were dark inside and only visible by the light from several street lamps out front. "Where are all the gardens?"

"On the other side of that," and I pointed to the central structure. "First we go back to the garage, it's in a separate building. Not far. We can park and see if the place is really empty before we go in."

"Is the house tight?"

"I didn't see any alarms the last time I was here so I'm inclined to say no. But even still, don't touch anything you don't have to."

"Alright, lead the way."

I pulled forward and the two of us rode silently down the faultlessly maintained driveway bisecting the flawlessly maintained yard. The gardeners had kept up their work even after it had become a crime scene. I could tell by the way Zig was looking all around that he also knew there was something wrong, though he didn't bring it up. I had sort of expected that the estate would return to normal after Wells' death but that evidently wasn't the case. The trees, the bushes, even the damn grass was permeated with that 'lack of life' that had struck me when I first came here. This was either some demonic Feng Shui or my subconscious was trying to tell me something.

We took a brick pathway that lead to the right and rode a winding course through the thicker trees which separated each building. Much smaller than the mansion sized house, the garage faced away from us and was had no decorative trim. It also turned out to be locked tight. More police tape suggested that it was not currently in use, but I motioned for Zig to try the lock anyway.

It opened shortly, though the door itself was harder as rust had accumulated around the metal track. Sliding it up so we could get through, I saw that there was only one car parked inside. It was under a thick gray dust cover which I immediately pulled off.

An old model yellow Cadillac Derbi in near perfect condition. The letters 'e' and 'v' in a serial number stenciled on the rear quarter panel implied that it had a diesel engine, one of a very few in the entire city. Probably worth upwards of a hundred thousand. I stepped back, purely out of respect.

Zig finished rooting through some shelves and walked up to me. "Ready to go?"

"Look at this car!"

Zig rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We'll get you one when we get home. Can we get started now?"

I took another long look at the machine and then nodded. "Until we meet again." I hoped the thing would get impounded as evidence. I could put in a bid if it ever hit the screen auction, banking on that I got paid sometime soon. Before we left the garage I took one last look and said a mental goodbye. A car like that doesn't deserve life under a dust cover.

Outside again, Zig checked his watch and I cocked my brand new Beretta. I had grown used to the feel of these guns over the last few weeks. They were clearly put together with higher standards of quality than most other gun manufacturers used. It was fully loaded and a thirteen millimeter round sat snugly in the chamber. I pointed toward the main building and we both broke into a jog. It was three minutes past midnight by the time we picked a third lock and were inside. As I made sure the door was shut behind us, Zig took off his jacket and looked around at the bare concrete floor and walls.

"Martha Stewart must be turning in her shallow grave."

"The shit's downstairs," I said. "We can't afford to turn any lights on, so use the infrared-visor on your helmet."

I flipped on mine as well and the room got significantly brighter. Against a dark red backdrop, Zig's body glowed yellow and orange in front of me. We padded over to the staircase on the other side of the room and went down after listening at the door.

The stairwell led us into the gymnasium-sized basement, the first large room of which was almost completely empty. In the center was that thick wooden column that had been painted with blood. It was cracked in half, and both ends were laying on the floor several feet from their original position. Taking a closer look, the wood did not seem at all burnt as it would after an explosion.

Zig walked around the two pieces and asked, "Was it like this the last time?"

I shook my head. "I don't like this at all. Mouth shut, eyes open." I squeezed the handle of my Beretta and continued to the next room.

The computers and machinery here were untouched. Wading through the junk, I came up behind the dentist chair that had held my dead ex-parole officer. It was empty of course, as the cops had searched the place many times by now. I didn't stop and found the door to the far stairwell on the other side of the lab. Going up the stairs it occurred to me that the police might have broken or confiscated parts of the merusion chamber, but was reassured by the blast of cold air from the single door on the top floor. Inside was my big granite coffin, lined with ice-covered pipes. It appeared to be in working condition.

"Oh not this thing again," Zig said after following me in. "I thought this is what killed you the last time?"

"Well as long as you don't start breaking things it won't happen again."

I crossed to a table piled with computer monitors. The previously unintelligible government operating system of blinking letters and numbers now ran with my fingertips. Touching the screen in the right places let me set up the merusion chamber's master control program and in five minutes the unit was online. Everywhere in the room, pipes emitted low groans and dripped as the ice began to melt. A few more touches to the screen and the heavy black lid slowly raised behind me. It came off the chamber six inches in the air and slid down to expose the cushioned interior. The sight instantly brought back slanted memories. Acute claustrophobia surfaced in my subconscious.

"You're climbing in there?" Zig asked.

"Yeah, that's the idea." I took of my jacket and threw it on a desk chair in the corner of the cramped room. I walked over and put a hand inside; it was getting warm. The liquid oxygen coolant would keep it below a hundred degrees during a normal merusion; under these conditions I didn't know what to expect. Zig turned a large dial and set the fry-time to 48 minutes. The lowest setting marked. I swallowed hard.

"I'm gonna make sure you're good in there and then take a walk around the grounds. Make sure we don't get interrupted or anything. I'll be back before you're out."

"Alright," I said. "Lock the door on your way just to be safe. Use the pick when you come back in."

"You gonna be alright in there? I don't want you spooking any of that 'near death' shit on me again."

I laughed. "You're the only person I know who could have handled it."

"Just be cool. Seriously. I'll be back."

"Thanks."

I took a deep breath and wiped my now sweating palms on my jeans. I stepped over the granite rim and slid down in the chamber's interior. The slick vinyl sides were already uncomfortable against bare skin and were getting hotter. I nodded to Zig and he touched the computer screen where I had told him. The room's bluish fluorescent lights were blotted out from my sight as the solid rock slid closed over my head. It was dead silent inside.

Through the tiny square of glass a little above my eyes, Zig gave me the thumbs up, signaling that the merusion had started. I couldn't move my arms so I just nodded again. He moved away from the window and I did not see him after that. I probably wouldn't have noticed because the six red dots had appeared on my lower abdomen and were starting to hurt. I gritted my teeth. As the familiar acoustic hum increased in intensity, I realized I was almost straining out a sort of music from its harmonic disarray.

The next three quarters of an hour were bad. I had long since been able to disassociate pain with muscle clenching, and I knew I would need my strength. As the lasers worked their way up my body, irradiating my nervous system with combinations of e.m. waves not normally found in the spectrum, I closed my eyes and thought about Alethea. Would she be pleased to see me when I came? Or would she look away and change the subject, as if my effort had been more of the macho bullshit she seemed to hate. I didn't know. Days ago the thought wouldn't even have occurred to me, but that and a lot more had begun to change in my mind. There was something about her I realized, and it was rooted deeper than just her contempt for my fighting. Was she as preoccupied as she let on, or was it just that inability to deal with situations she wasn't in control of? I certainly knew the feeling. One way or another, we had been apart too long and I was losing the memory of her touch.

In the pain and delirium that always accompanies merusion, I must have dozed off because I remember suddenly noticing that the lasers had stopped and the chamber was getting cool. I slid my arms up across my stomach and could tell much of the hair had been singed off. There was a line of red, tender skin that extended from my waist straight to my neck. It skipped over my face and then reappeared for two inches on my forehead. Shifting my head around, I could also feel that none of my other hair had been burned. But I still looked like I had stepped on a rake.

I blinked a few times and looked through the window above me. The room was dim and I didn't see Zig anywhere. I lay still for a minute waiting for him to open the chamber.

My legs had grown cramped and numb. Instead of the painful tightness that usually causes, more sensation was coming from my heart which was beating very fast. Since I had not undergone any great exertion for the past hour, it was partially confusing. I say partially because if there had ever been an experience to cruelly play with ones internals, the chamber would be it. Sometimes people even came out dead. And not from the radiation.

Continuing to look out at the small square of ceiling I could see, it occurred to me that my cohort might not have returned. Fear tightened my stomach and the thought of spending another minute in here was nauseous. It felt like my blood was boiling. I had to get out and make sure I wasn't bleeding. Still too numb to tell.

For an instant I even considered breaking the glass window with my forehead. The way I was healing the scar would be gone before the weekend. But something else was quietly nagging at my mind. I listened for it.

Where the hell are you?

Which voice was that, you ask?

Well, one that's always been there.

My stomach settled reluctantly. My tired arms straightened out and lay at my sides. I lowered my eyebrows and peered through the shadow at the granite slab three inches from my face.

Was it there.?

Yes! After a spurt of static, the ambient reticence rose in pitch to an high whine that made my eyes water as I focused my concentration. The flat rock lurched slightly before splintering with hairline cracks. Then it bowed upward and broke, and did not fall in. I stared more intently causing the lid to split all the way down the middle and then it fell to either side with a terrific crash, the halves sliding across the floor. I sat up and the ringing faded from notice.

The room was empty, silent, and dark. Fluorescent light tubes overheard had all gone out, save one which sat above the door. But it was flickering and looked like it might die at any moment. I climbed out of the chamber and stretched. My body was deeply tired, but I forced it forward. Grabbing my jacket off the chair where I had left it hanging, I shuddered. The air had also gotten cold again. I sat down and rubbed my eyes.

Damn.

Fifteen minutes passed very slowly as I waited. I took most of the time to clear my head and make sure the merusion hadn't left any gaps in my memory. It was hard to tell all alone in the dark, but I think I managed to nail everything down. Alethea, Chris, Rufius. Everything but the motives. My usual air-tight patience was wearing thin. I got up and paced the floor.

Another ten minutes and I had to leave. The cold was getting more unpleasant by the second. Checking the time on the nearest screen for the hundredth time, I drew my gun and went to the door.

It was unlocked. I didn't know whether Zig had gotten careless or just absent, but this wasn't a good sign. All I had to do was find him and we could go.

Unsurprisingly, the stairwell was equally dark. The lights which had been on when I came up were now completely out. Using the handrail, I descended the narrow steps while listening very intently. There was no sound that I could hear except wind rustling through tree boughs outside. On the first landing there was a small window which looked out on the rear grounds. The street lamps were out too. I imagined that all the power to the building had been cut, which possibly meant someone knew we were here. But of course it was also possible that the power had been routinely disconnected by the electric company since there were no legal residents remaining. It would have to be a strange coincidence.

I found my way to the bottom of the stairs and exited into the lab room. It was pitch black in here too and piled high with junk. Wells hadn't been the most organized man. But I had cleared a small path on my way in which I started to follow out.

I approached the illuminated center circle of dentist chairs when I heard a piercing metallic scraping noise from upstairs. It must have been half-way deafening to make it down here through the concrete floors. I froze still until it stopped, after a little less than a minute. Then the house was silent again. I breathed out slowly.

There were no footsteps. After another minute I kept walking, gun in hand and heart in my throat. If it hadn't been so black and otherwise quiet the noise wouldn't have sounded so threatening. But as it was my hands were sweating and I nervously glanced in every direction.

Finally stepping over the last broken computer, I went through a door to the larger empty room. It seemed like the world dropped away into a bottomless pit before me, but I knew that not to be the case. Afraid I would trip over the broken column in the center, I walked into the darkness with my hand trailing on the wall and circumvented it. Finally climbing the other flight of stairs, I came up on the ground level.

Empty couches and vacant doorways. The cold living room was also empty and I crossed into the kitchen to see out the back windows. No one was in direct sight though there were large trees that blocked my view of the garage. No lights shone anywhere so the shadows could have concealed any number of things. I swore mentally. Where the hell was Zig?

The metallic shriek pierced my thought once more. It was coming from the top floor now and only lasted for a second. I dropped to my knees and looked at the stairs which lead to this part of the top floor. The only noise continued to be from the wind outside. I could see the dim outline of what looked like a crack in the concrete steps. Creeping closer, I saw that it was a deep scratch that lead up the stairs.

"That you, Zig?" I whispered loudly.

No answer. I called his name a few more times without luck. Something incredibly heavy and sharp had been dragged up there but yet had made no sound entering the house. I could either see what was up on the top floor or get the hell out. Parts of my mind were pleading with me either way. But curiosity had eaten away at my precaution again and I wanted to know whether I was alone or not. At the top of the flight was another door which I crept up to before opening. There were no sounds.

I turned the knob and pushed it open. The inch deep gouge in the concrete continued across the empty hallway and through the only of the three doors that stood open. The scratch curved haphazardly a few feet past the door and I could see nothing else inside the shadows. I inched toward it and tested the other two handles first. They were both locked from within. I had only one choice left. Remembering from the last time I had seen it, I knew that this was a bedroom. There had only been a cot and a window which looked out toward the front.

I poked my head in and saw that the room was the same now, but that the window was open and swinging in the breeze. Sure enough, the scratch lead right up to it and stopped. I backed against the door and waited, tense and still. No movement was apparent outside on the lawn. The faint sound of sirens very far away reached me for a second and then was drowned out by a gust of wind.

I took a tentative step toward the window and then three more before I was looking out into the night. There was a flicker of light out there for an instant, but it was probably just a shrouded star. Nowhere could I see anymore of the scratch; it ended completely at the sill. Nothing inside even looked heavy or hard enough to make a dent. I waited. Who ever had been up here had probably gone out the window and could be a mile away. Dead end.

The second the thought started to leave my mind, I heard a click behind me. Before I even finished jerking my head around, I had concluded that it was the sound of a door shutting quietly. In the same motion my right hand swung straight out at shoulder level, pushing the mouth of my piece at the face of anyone blocking me in the room. But that door was still wide open.

It was the smaller door fifteen feet further, the door from the hallway to the stairs. Creeping further and looking back the way I had come, it was difficult to see through the dark space without back light from the lower floor. But even though I could not see a face or hear a breath, I believed that it was he who had come and that he watched me as clearly as though I was a foot away in sunshine. With the slight movement of my jaw I switched the infrared visor in my crash helmet.

Hmm. There was nothing there. No body heat sigs or anything else against the almost violet tone of the wooden door. I paused, almost reassuring myself. Nothing except.

".?"

Except the trail of warm vapor in that cold air that had filled the upper floor through the open window at my back. Breath that seemed to appear from the crack above the door and trickle up against the ceiling. This I could see as a faint pinkish glow, barely visible, but I knew of only one person who created such an effect.

Why hadn't I felt his presence from the basement? My ears should be ringing so loudly I'd be afraid they'd pop, and yet my hair wasn't even standing on end. Completely distinctive from my other encounters with him, the tension was only rising on one side.

More by subconscious shock than actual intent, my forearm hesitated, hesitated, hesitated, tightened and the gun finally fired. The earsplitting sound shattered the silence in the house like glass. Exhaust trails that came out of the back of the gyrojet round left a streak of yellow-tinged white in my infrared vision that flared painfully when I blinked. But the bullet didn't pierce the door; instead it vanished two inches before.

With my left arm I pushed the crash helmet off my head and let it fall. He obviously wasn't showing vital signs so the visor was useless. I stared intently without moving my gun.

The thin glint of metal flashed and pierced the shadow. I gasped reflexively. He stepped forward. In his dead white hands was a nine foot long pole of twisted pig iron that stood only a head higher than he did. At the top end was another three feet of slender blade that extended perpendicular to the shaft and curved slightly downward. It was his Rain Scythe, a wicked combination of death and artistry. The arms that held it were clothed in pure white unreflective sleeves. He was clothed completely in white like I had seen him before. The only thing I couldn't see was his face, obscured by lengths of dirty white hair. I froze once again.

The scythe swayed slightly toward me. It was a calculated action, the tip of the blade pointing in my direction. Unaware, my knees weakened, causing me to stumble back against through the bedroom door and to the window sill. He took followed me forward and lifted his head. His mouth was in a bare smile which contorted suddenly as he audibly swallowed something. He was looking right at my face.

".not now." I breathed.

"Yes," he replied in a deep voice that felt far too familiar. Rufius' smile turned into a frown as he gripped the scythe tighter. There was masked emotion present that I could tell he did not wish betrayed. "You didn't forget about me did you?"

---------------

www.geocities.com/aescension