Dark static a novel, p.38
Dark Static: A Novel, page 38
Paul huffed. "But why such bad things? Why not open a card and see you have a choice between winning the lottery or meeting a beautiful woman?"
"Speak for yourself, Brother," Kate said.
"Simple," Ethan said. "Humans fear the worst. And Lock finds the ones who fear the worst. We're terrified of losing our friends, our loved ones, our money, our jobs, our houses and health. We've been conditioned to cling to the material. Our news cycle is designed to provoke fear and paranoia and disunity. Social media breeds jealousy, unhappiness and depression. We're ripe for Lock's taking. All he has to do is stick a mirror under our noses, and we'll see exactly what he wants us to see. All this time, I thought Lock was a monster to overcome, to defeat. I was wrong. The monster we have to overcome is ourselves."
The cab fell silent for a long time. The four of them looked out the windows.
"It is pretty," Kate said at last. "I could stay here for a long time. Maybe, Brother, we don't ever have to go back. Oh, would it be so bad if we stayed a while?"
Paul scoffed at the idea. Then he relaxed. "It is a rather lovely shade of copper out there. And those violet clouds… Remarkable, quite remarkable."
Mina said, "I hate to put a dampener on the high spirits, Ethan. You might have come to this lofty realization in time to find a personal happy ending, but there are still billions of people out there who will never see the world the way you do now. They will cling to their fear with everything they've got."
"Then perhaps we need to spread a new narrative," Ethan said. "Remember what you said about modern stories, Mina? How they're all false narratives filled with empty egoism. That we've lost our way, replacing archetypes with ego and sentiment. You're right. And we've let that happen. I let that happen. I realize it now. My video games won me awards, but they were empty. I provided only a space for the player to fill with their ego, their hopes and fears, their sentimentalism. I was doing the very same thing Lock does. Books, movies, games, they've all become vessels for Lock's power."
"So we counter the culture?" Paul asked, somewhat dubious.
"No," Ethan said. "That never works. You can't stuff meaning into meaningless works of art and blind narrative. You have to build it on a foundation of truth and intrinsic meaning, on archetypes that are the pillars of human experience. You have to create something real and authentic."
"Nihilism, egoism, materialism… That's one hell of a narrative to replace," Mina said.
"We've done it before," Ethan said. "It starts with me. My next work will have meaning. It will have substance. It will contain a narrative that's integrated and whole."
"And Lock?" Paul asked.
"He'll continue to interfere, he'll make many believe life is hopeless, that the only way to survive is to grab power through merciless action, that it's game over for everyone else. But we don't have to listen to him. We can choose to overcome the lie."
"Is Lock real?" Mina asked. "All these centuries… is he just our creation?"
Ethan looked her in the eyes again. "Undoubtedly, Judea Lock is real. But it doesn't matter. It's not his existence that should concern us, it's his power. And that power does come from us. We can feed it or we can cut it off, right now."
"Simple as that, eh?" Paul scoffed.
"Why not?" Ethan asked. "If human will really does shape reality on the quantum level, then why not shape it into one of joy and love? It will never be perfect, because we are imperfect, but it doesn't have to be continuously and overwhelmingly dark."
"All very good, Mr. Dusk, but what do we do exactly?" Paul asked. "Pretend Lock doesn't exist and hope enough people catch on that we can all live happily ever after, the end?"
"No," Ethan said, "not quite. Doing nothing allows evil to grow, to fester. If I can find Lock, I can bind Lock."
"Nuts!" Kate exclaimed.
"Believing is seeing," Ethan said. "If Judea Lock exists in a superpositional state, like you say, then all I have to do is observe him, and he'll collapse to a normal state. He'll be one of us."
"Then what?" Mina asked. "We've tried to find him for centuries, he always gets away. All we can do is limit his effect."
"Because you expect him to get away," Ethan said. "We collapse a superposition into on or off, ones and zeros. Until then, the object or data is in a dream state, neither on nor off. My will is to collapse Judea Lock to our realm, and my will is to collapse him into the state I dictate."
"Which is what?" Mina demanded.
Ethan smiled. "I guess the one that's going to bring us the best outcome."
"Nonsense," she said. "You're talking crap."
Ethan pulled out the guitar pick and held it before Mina's face.
She narrowed her eyes.
"The cards are blank for the first time. Which means the data is in flux. Nothing has been written yet. The cat isn't dead or alive, it's just sleeping. We make our own narrative now."
"Lock has his own will," Kate said quietly.
"A battle of the wills," Paul said, rubbing his chin. "Are you strong enough for that, Mr. Dusk?"
Ethan looked at the alien sky. "Kate, Paul, bring us back home. I have an ending to write."
53
The Slater Twins closed their eyes, relaxed, breathed as one. Ethan felt a familiar chill run through him as the red sands and white skies of the alien world faded in darkness.
He expected the water to rush in, fill the cab. He was prepared for the water's icy embrace, prepared to feel the air pushed out of the car and into the lake.
The car rolled gently.
"We're...on dry ground," Mina said, staring directly ahead.
She was right. The cop car's headlights regained their brightness. The way ahead was dark, murky. But Ethan saw the sand and rock of the lake bottom. Above was only dappled darkness flecked with silver moonlight. The car rolled slowly along the ground. Reflexively, Mina tramped the brake. They skidded to a stop in the silt.
"Ooooh, I always wanted to go to Sea World," Kate said.
"What do we do?" Paul asked.
"Paul, Kate. Are we sure we're back home?" Mina asked.
"Of course," Paul snapped.
"I had to ask," Mina said.
Ethan unlocked his door.
"Not again!" Paul cried.
Ethan didn't wait. He shoved the door open and got out of the car. He stood there for a moment, breathing, looking, watching for any sign that the suspended waters were rushing in to crush him. The sand beneath his feet was damp but stable. High above he saw the liquid dome of Jawbone Lake suspended by nothing, moving in slow glassy waves through dappled moonlight.
"Get back in!" Paul cried from the backseat. "Mr. Dusk, you really are a first-class liability!"
Ethan ducked his head back into the cab. "Weather's nice out here."
"This isn't funny," Kate said. "You could die!"
"Sure," Ethan said. "Stay here."
"While you do what, exactly?" Mina demanded.
"Lock's down here, somewhere," Ethan said. "I can find him."
"And what about us?" Paul asked. "We'll be packed like pilchards when the water rushes back!"
"I want you to Push again, go to a safe place," Ethan said.
"And how will we know when to come back?" Kate asked. "What if you get killed?"
"It doesn't matter," Ethan said, holding up the artifact's case. "Just Push. I'll find you when this is over. And if I don't, then come back and swim to the surface." He held up a hand. "Hold on a moment… Mina, pop the trunk."
"It's gone, unless you forgot," she said dryly.
Ethan went to the rear of the police car. Sure enough, the trunk and rear fender was a ruin from the semi's impact. Still, there was just enough space for him to dig his hands into the crushed compartment. After a few minutes of wrangling, he managed to free two type II life jackets from the compartment. He opened the rear door and handed one to the Slaters, who inspected the device with dubious looks.
"I know it's not perfect, but it is buoyant," Ethan said. He handed the other life jacket to Mina.
"I don't die, remember?" she said. "You keep it."
"Maybe you don't die, but do you want to experience drowning?" he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Remarkable that American police carry these," Paul said, examining the jacket more closely.
"All the local and county cops carry life jackets," Ethan said. "The Lake is a big deal around here, and there's no shortage of stupid people doing stupid things on it."
"Like right now," Paul said. "I don't suppose there's a two-headed version back there?"
"Afraid not," Ethan said. "Sorry, friends, you'll have to make do. But it will beat swimming to the surface."
"Right," Kate said, glancing skyward.
Ethan closed the back door. He went to the front and leaned in. Mina was offering him her oversized pistol, the sci-fi gun that had killed Steve with one round.
"No," Ethan said, ignoring it and reaching for the flashlight. "It's not true to who I am."
"Is being dead true to who you are?" she said.
"If that's how this goes, then sure. But I don't think it's how this goes."
She hesitated a moment before holstering the weapon.
"Go now," Ethan said, nodding at the Slaters.
"Goodbye, Mr. Dusk," Paul said, nodding back. "And...good luck."
"Bye-bye, Ethan," Kate said, smiling her broad smile. Her eyes filled with tears.
Ethan smiled back. He caught Mina's concerned gaze, and said, "It'll be okay. Trust me, I'm a video game designer."
It looked like she would say more but he slammed the door shut. For a moment he saw her behind the wheel, her white face reddening. Then the interior of the car faded away, until only a hazy grey nothingness remained, and his own face, reflecting back from the window glass.
Ethan turned away from the car and trekked along the lake bottom. He walked until the lights from the cop car were far behind him and only the filtered moonlight showed him the way ahead. He switched on the police flashlight, which was wide-beamed and powerful. Still, the feeling of being in an air dome beneath Jawbone Lake, surrounded on all sides by a wall and ceiling of water held up by some unknown power, unnerved him. He kept the artifact, tucked in its case, in his left hand, ready to transfer into a higher dimension if the miraculously receding water collapsed from its stasis to crush him in the darkness.
He shivered.
Then he paused.
The impossible house loomed ahead of him in the darkness. Even in shadow he recognized the structure immediately. The cottage's grassy yard and gravel driveway were replaced by grey sand, craggy rocks, and dozens of freshwater pearl mussel shells. But it was still unmistakably his house. The windows were dark. Only one light shone in the murk of the depths, and it was coming from within the detached workshop.
Ethan's throat was dry. The flashlight in his hand trembled. Was he doing this, somehow? He fought the desire to run back to the car, to flee town and never look back. He didn't want to face this, not now. He wasn't ready. He would never be ready to go back in there.
But his legs betrayed him. He had not stopped walking after all, only slowed to a shuffle. In fact, he was already coming up the short walk to his foyer, his hand reaching for the front door. The front door was safe. The house was safe. Anywhere was better than the workshop and its terrible secret.
His hand reached out to open the door. He turned the handle and then pushed against it. It didn't budge. He shouldered it. Water began to leak out around the strike plate. It slammed shut, knocking him down the step. He got up and peered through the window and saw a fish staring back at him. A huge catfish. He couldn't go inside. The house was inverted, the lake inside. He was outside. But he had to get in.
Slowly he turned around and looked at the workshop. The windows were yellow with light. Steve had killed Jennifer there. Murdered her while he was away being selfish. Maybe he could correct that mistake? He took a breath and forced himself to move toward the workshop. With a trembling hand he turned the old brass knob and pushed the door inward. No water rushed out to wash him away, although he half wished that it would. The air inside the workshop was dead still. He took a step inside, trying not to look at the spot where he had found her. His feet were kicking something soft and powdery. He glanced down and saw sand. This wasn't the sand like the bottom of the lake, mushy and grey. This sand was pure and gold, almost orange. And warm. He had reached down and scooped up a handful in his palm. He let it fall in a fine spray to the floor again. That's when he saw it.
In the middle of the workshop was a rectangular stone plinth that looked utterly out of place. At first his mind couldn't make sense of the object, until he came closer and inspected it.
It was stone, as his eyes had guessed. Unlike the rest of the workshop, the material felt icy to his fingertips. He caressed the stonework, tracing the intricate designs around the top edge. The flat top was dusted with sand. He wiped at it with his hand. As he did he saw that there were inscriptions carved into the stone, intricate writing he had no hope of deciphering.
Brushing the sand from the stone revealed a lip. The top of this rectangular box was a lid, two-inches thick. His fingers found the edge and slipped along it, looking for purchase. It was remarkably smooth. He pushed. It didn't give.
Placing the flashlight on a bench to illuminate his work, Ethan set about prying at the lid. After a few minutes he knew he wasn't going to shift the heavy stone without a lever. It took only a moment to find a large pry bar amongst the workshop's immaculate tools. He wedged the flat end of the bar under the stone and worked.
The stone gave a quarter inch.
He put his foot against the bar and tried again.
The stone gave more. An inch, two inches.
He pushed with his whole weight.
Then, all at once, the stone lid slid away with a sucking hiss that shook the shop and rattled the tools from their pegboards. A rumbling shook him off his feet as the stone hit the floor and crumbled into sand, disintegrating into dust before his eyes.
A light within the sarcophagus filled the workshop, blinding him. Then it faded.
Ethan rubbed his eyes to clear the spots that danced before his vision. He climbed to his feet and peered in the now open tomb. A man lay there, a beautiful young man with straight black hair and golden skin. He wore a white kilt, fine sandals, and a broad collar made from gold and silver flecked with turquoise and glass. It was beautiful.
Ethan reached in and touched the man's bare chest. It rose with sudden breath.
The eyes flew open.
The placid face grew dark with a rage so deep that Ethan physically recoiled. The mouth opened and a hissssss escaped.
Ethan stood his ground. "You killed my wife, you bastard! It was your fault she had to die!"
In response, a hand shot out and grabbed Ethan by the throat, crushing his windpipe. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, behind his eyes. The edge of his vision turned grey. The man's strength was supernatural. Ethan slapped uselessly at his hand, tried to wrench the fingers from his neck, but it was like trying to bend pure steel.
Ethan's lungs burned. He couldn't get a breath.
He felt his knees weakening.
The man in the sarcophagus gazed at him with liquid black eyes as he slowly rose to a sitting position. "Querent, how have you done this? How has one so weak found me?"
Ethan thought his eyes would pop right out of his skull. The grey around his vision was turning black. Night was rushing in. Or maybe it was the lake coming to reclaim the void. He felt himself slipping away. His hands held lightly to the edge of the stone sarcophagus before dropping to his sides. Then he felt the vice grip loosen. The fingers around his neck weakened. He watched as the body of the beautiful young man turned as white as the stone encasing him, then pallid, then green. The black eyes shriveled as the face contorted into a death rigor. The vision in his own eyes came back to see the flesh of the man's chest and torso sink, the organs beneath liquifying before turning to dust. The jaw twisted as the muscles and skin of the mouth receded, exposing teeth. White bone emerged beneath leathery skin. Then even the bones were crumbling. And in a moment all that remained in the sarcophagus was dust and bony fragments.
Ethan leaned over the ancient coffin, clutching his throat, gasping in relief. His relief was short lived. He felt something, a presence behind him. He spun and saw nothing. But then he realized what he must do next.
Staggering to his feet he opened the black case and snatched the artifact from within. He grasped the shard in his left hand until it became a staff, extending into that extra space, that higher plane.
Ethan glanced around the workshop. He sensed something moving behind him and turned. He caught a glimpse of a shape moving out the door to the yard and followed.
"There's nowhere to go!" Ethan called.
The figure, a tall, bronze man with straight black hair, stopped and turned. His face was drawn in a snarl. When he spoke, Ethan recognized the voice immediately. It was the same that had spoken to him on the phone. That empty voice, the voice filled with rust and blood and the dark static void of endless time. The red voice.
Judea Lock's voice.
"I am! Can not be. Shift not. Be not. If not. DIE NOT!"
Ethan ignored the voice. He raised the staff, and said, "Whatever hate has sustained you all these centuries, Lock, it's of no use to you now. I've seen it. You'll fade out. And my guess is that you won't be going anywhere filled with light and love."
Lock's face was a picture of rage. "Querent, you are but a grain of sand in the hour glass of Creation. My time will come again. I will spread my kingdom over the face of the deep. The stars will tremble in my right hand. My kingdom will know no end. I will return. I will be once more!" His eyes turned up, and he cried, "Send me not to the desolate places! My time has not yet come!"
"Your time never even began," Ethan said.
Lock's eyes focused on Ethan. They began to glow a deep red. "Querent, become my new vessel, so I may live again!"
