The dissonance, p.33
The Dissonance, page 33
He joined Marsh and the others inside a newly drawn protective circle, where Marsh was fixing Erin’s arm with a Dissonant command. She screamed as the bones reknitted, but then it was over and she could move again.
Next, the professor tended to Athena, who was still unconscious. He drew a few commands in the air, then used bottled water and a rag to wash away the blood. When he’d finished, Athena’s face looked as though it had suffered no injuries whatsoever.
Finally, Marsh crouched beside Peter. He drew a command line in the air, but Peter remained unconscious. Marsh drew another, with similar results. He tried two others—visibly different to Hal, although he couldn’t have explained how—and Peter responded to neither. Marsh’s gestures grew sharper, his face tauter. Hal settled onto his knees beside Marsh, and took Peter’s hand in his own. Marsh murmured several words in a tongue Hal didn’t recognize, drew in the air, then clapped his hands, collapsing the green light between them.
Peter’s eyes flew open and he rolled onto his side, coughing.
“Peter!” Erin cried.
Peter blinked at her, confused, as Erin held his face in her hands. Hal let go of Peter’s hand and stepped back. He knew he was still in the doghouse for what had happened in the faux-temple. He didn’t want Peter to think that he, Hal, thought all was forgotten and forgiven.
And anyway, the ruckus had woken Athena as well. She sat up on one elbow and scowled as she looked around. “When did we leave the boat?”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Marsh said, as he hauled Peter to his feet. “Can you walk?”
Athena let Hal help her up, but stepped away as soon as she gained her feet. She swayed like a drunk person. Hal reached out to steady her, and she swatted his hand away.
“I’ve got this,” she said.
“I want to go home,” Peter said.
“Yes, I think that would be best,” Marsh said. He touched the boy’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. “Athena, are you strong enough to open a doorway for us?”
“Don’t we have to return to our point of entry?” Hal said. “Like sixty miles back?”
“I designed the doorway to take you where you want to go,” Athena said. “We didn’t know exactly where we wanted to go when we came here, but we know exactly where we’re going now. It should be easy.”
“Then please,” Peter said. “Take us home.” For once he didn’t look calm, or Zen. He looked like someone who’s woken from one bad dream into an even worse one.
Erin
The coven emerged onto the back lawn of Marsh House and staggered inside, out of the stultifying afternoon humidity. They gathered in the kitchen and ate a lunch of sandwiches, chopped carrots, and canned sodas. They inhaled the food without conversation. After days of chips and Pop-Tarts, the carrots were the best thing Erin had ever tasted.
They demolished a loaf of white bread, two bags of deli meats and cheese, and made a sizable dent in the house’s peanut butter and jelly stores. Then, stuffed, they lay around the living room with the A/C on blast, while the professor disappeared into his study. The sweat on Erin’s body turned cold and she shivered happily before drifting into a doze.
She woke later in the day. The sun had almost set, and without the lights on, the living room was dim. The others were already awake, sitting far apart from one another on couches and chairs, alone with their own troubled thoughts. Erin wanted to say something. To break the tension, start to heal the gap. But she could think of nothing, and the silence persisted, and the sun set, and then they sat together in the dark.
Hal spoke first. “What do you think the statue was supposed to be?”
“I had a dream about it,” Peter said. “While we were napping.”
“Me too,” Athena said.
Outside the living room, the hallway light snapped on, and a moment later, Professor Marsh appeared in the entryway, backlit, mostly silhouette. Erin experienced a flash of panic as she was reminded of the statue.
The professor had changed back into his usual sweater-vest over a button-down and pressed khakis. He held a book in one hand. Erin recognized it as the one Athena had found on the ship on Deoth. Marsh must’ve grabbed it before they left.
“How do you feel?” Marsh asked.
“Lousy,” Hal said.
“We went all that way, and the trip was a total bust,” Erin said.
“A bust?” Marsh said.
“Sure,” Erin said. “All our cameras destroyed. No photos, no video. No evidence or answers about what that place is or what it means.”
“True,” Marsh said. “But we walked on the surface of another world. We know that, despite the orthodoxy’s claims, the Many Worlds theory is fact, even if we can’t prove it yet. We found this book.” He brandished the book at them. “And yes, there was an explosion and people were hurt, and that was unpleasant, but it also provided us an invaluable bit of information.” He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “We suffered some setbacks, but you’ve done well. Be proud of yourselves.”
Erin didn’t feel proud, and none of the others looked happy either. Marsh lingered in the doorway for a moment, then moved on to the kitchen.
Athena got up off the couch. “I should get home,” she said.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Hal said.
“I’ll walk,” Athena said.
“But your leg,” Hal said.
She waved to Peter. “See you guys around.”
Peter walked Athena to the front door, where they spoke in voices too soft to make out.
Erin looked at Hal, who stared at his lap, frowning.
“It’s been a rough trip,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t meet her eye. “We could all use a break from each other.” He stood and walked out, toward his own bedroom.
Erin was alone in the dark when Peter returned, and the sight appeared to surprise him. He rocked on his feet, as though caught between approach and flight.
“Hey,” she said. “You don’t have to run.”
He remained at the edge of the room. She crossed to him and wrapped him in her arms. Even after days in the desert he smelled good to her. He stank the right way. He did hug her back, eventually, but the hug was cold. Perfunctory.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For what happened at the temple.”
“Me too,” he said.
His embrace remained distant, but she pressed on. She had to make him understand. “After the other night, I freaked out. I lost control. I didn’t know how to stop it, how to calm down, how to talk to you, and I did something stupid.” What my mom would’ve done, she didn’t add.
“Okay,” he said. He let her go and stepped away, leaving her a clear path to the front door.
What did okay mean? Okay, she was forgiven? Okay, he’d heard her and would consider it? But she lacked the courage to ask.
“I guess I’ll head home,” she said.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
She saw herself out. The sun had set, and despite the relatively straight road ahead, Athena was already out of view. Probably for the best. What the fuck would they talk about tonight?
Erin walked home alone, to the trailer where she lived with her father, where she had a room of her own, a door to shut, a place to hide until she was ready to face the world again. As she walked, she thought about the illustration from the book they’d found on the ship. It had almost looked like a “how-to” diagram. But what was it trying to show them how to do?
2019
The Last Adventure,
Part One
Athena
Athena struggles back toward consciousness, but it’s like swimming with weights tied to her ankles. Each time she nears the surface, she takes in a little more information: her bad leg aflame with pain; the comforting rumble of a car engine; the gritty sound of rocks and dirt spanging off the underside of the car; the angry patter of rain on windows and roof.
When she comes fully awake, she finds herself in the hatchback of a station wagon, her cheek pressed into the carpet. Philip lies beside her, unconscious, mouth open and snoring softly. He could be catching an afternoon nap.
The fabric under Athena’s cheek smells faintly of marijuana but it’s drowned by a more powerful stench, sickly sweet like a Christmas ham left out of the fridge too long.
She sits up and looks into the front seat. A white teenage boy sits in the driver’s seat, his posture stiff, his dark hair greasy. Kid needs a shower. In profile, he doesn’t look any older than seventeen or eighteen.
The source of the stench rides shotgun: a rotting corpse (which had probably also been a white person, at some point in the past) in a dirt-caked black T-shirt. Its head hangs forward, chin to chest, long hair in its face. Its hands move through the air and leave yellow-green tracers of light behind, casting a heavy-duty concealment command.
Athena sits all the way up and rubs her face. Her mind is fuzzy, her thoughts vague, misty shapes.
The boy at the wheel glances at her in the rearview, then away again. The gesture is enough to tell her he’s nervous, doesn’t want to be here.
“Who are you?” she says.
Again that nervous look, at and away. “Owen,” he says.
“Who’s your friend, Owen?”
“He’s not my friend,” Owen says. He blinks a few times, as though trying to clear something from his eyes. “He killed my friends and took me hostage.”
“Where are we going?” she says.
“Some house,” the boy says. “Outside of town.”
She looks out the closest window. Even through the heavy rain she recognizes the tree-lined road to Marsh House. When they come to the chained gate that stopped Athena’s car yesterday, the corpse in the passenger seat flicks its wrist. The chain breaks and the gate swings open. Owen drives over the fallen chain, the metal barely making a sound beneath the tires.
The road ends at the circular driveway of the rambling single-story home that seems, from the front, to extend on into the dark woods behind it forever. The place where Athena discovered the Dissonance. The gateway to all her happiest, best memories, and most of her worst. What could her abductor want with the place?
“The house is empty,” she says. “I looked yesterday.”
The passenger stops moving its hands and turns to look at her. Its eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses and the muscles in its neck groan and creak, and the bones click. How can this thing be alive? It stinks, looks, and sounds like something dead, a meat puppet being used by some animating force.
“Are you sure you saw what you think you saw?” it says.
It unbuckles its seatbelt and gets out of the car. “Owen, open the door for our passengers.”
Owen comes around to open the hatchback door.
When Athena stays put, the corpse says, “Get out of the car.”
“No,” Athena says. Not because she likes it in the car, but because she wants to see what will happen if she refuses.
“I won’t ask again,” it says.
“You didn’t ask the first time,” she says. “But do me a favor and leave me the keys while you’re inside. I want to listen to the radio.”
The corpse’s mouth stretches open in a toothsome grin. It lunges forward and grips her bad leg. She grabs the headrest behind her and kicks with her good leg. She lands a blow on the corpse’s chest and hears something crack inside as it stumbles back, trips, and lands on its ass with a grunt and another audible crack. Its grin is gone, its face blank. Did she kill it?
No such luck. The thing blinks and looks to Owen. “Help me up.”
Until now, Owen has been holding the tailgate open like a wet, filthy chauffeur. He lets go of the door and offers the corpse a hand up. It reapproaches the car, freshly soaked and dirtied.
“I am in this body, but this body is not me,” it says. “I don’t feel its pain, and it doesn’t matter how many of its ribs you just broke. What does matter is that you defied me.”
It draws a command in the air, and Athena tenses, braces for pain. None comes. Instead, Owen sprints away from the car and runs full speed, face-first, into the closest tree. He bounces off the trunk and falls onto his back, blood arcing through the air behind him. His hands fly to his face as he screams.
“What the fuck?” Athena says.
“You aren’t afraid for yourself,” the corpse says. “And I need your help, Athena. I don’t need Owen anymore, strictly speaking. I will do worse to him if you test me again.” Something about the coldness and the practical nature of the cruelty in the corpse’s speech. It rings a bell of recognition deep in Athena, but she doesn’t look too closely at it. She doesn’t want to.
Athena scoots out of the car until she stands in the driveway. She turns back and shakes Philip’s leg. His snore turns into a startled snort as he wakes, blinking.
“Time to get out of the car,” Athena says. “Come on.”
As Philip climbs from the car, he spots Owen bleeding on the ground. He doesn’t ask permission, but goes to the boy and helps him up. The tulpa says something Athena can’t hear, and strokes the boy’s back.
“Fix the kid’s face and I’ll do what you want,” she says to the corpse.
The corpse whips one hand in Owen’s direction. The air cracks as though with thunder, and Owen falls back in the grass with a sound of pure agony that gives way to a gasp of relief. He sits up, face, hands, and chest still a bloody mess, but his expression implies more bewilderment than pain.
“Are you okay?” Athena asks him.
Owen touches his nose. “I think so?”
Philip helps Owen to his feet and touches the boy’s face. Owen startles, but doesn’t recoil.
“I’m disappointed,” the corpse says. “All these years later and you still haven’t absorbed my first lesson: there are some people you can help—”
She can no longer refuse to acknowledge the truth. It’s looking her in the eye, and demanding she finish its sentence.
“And some people who will drag you down with them,” Athena finishes. She feels sick to her stomach, and there’s a burning sensation behind her eyes. Why would she cry at a time like this? It makes no sense.
“Professor Marsh,” she says. It’s not a question.
That terrible smile widens. “You always were my favorite, Athena.”
Erin
Erin wakes from an awful dream to the feeling of rain on her face. When she opens her eyes and comes all the way awake, she finds herself strapped to a stretcher being carried down the church steps by EMTs. The people of Clegg, Texas, stand in clumped groups, eyeing her curiously.
“What happened?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy, her throat dry. The last thing she remembers, she was sitting in the church, and there were loud noises, and then she entered a dream that felt so very real. A dream about the worst day of her life. Now she’s here, outside in the rain, surrounded by onlookers and the flashing lights of Sheriff’s Department cars and ambulances.
“You’re okay, ma’am,” one of the EMTs says. “We just need to get you to the hospital.”
“No,” she says. Unless something has changed, the nearest hospital is a twenty-mile drive from Clegg. They’ll keep her for hours. She knows somehow that she can’t afford to lose that time. Something awful has happened. She can’t feel Philip or Athena anymore. Hal’s presence is faint and small.
“Stop,” she says. “Let me off.”
“Ma’am,” the EMT says, with practiced calm.
“I’m not hurt,” she says. Aside from a headache and a dry throat, she feels fine. “And I don’t want a $1,200 ambulance ride or ER visit. I. Want. Off.”
The EMT looks over Erin at his partner, a woman with curly dark hair. The woman shrugs. They stop the stretcher at the bottom of the stairs and lower the side rails. Erin hops onto the pavement. Her head swims, but only a little.
She looks around. The townspeople eye her curiously, as though silently begging her to make this make sense. A second ambulance finishes loading its own passenger and speeds down the street, siren blaring.
She walks back into the church, which has mostly cleared out. She finds her purse on the floor where she left it and fishes out her keys. She’s halfway back to her car when her phone rings. It’s Hal. She accepts the call as she climbs into her car.
“Erin?” he says.
“I’m here,” she says. “At the church. Where are you?”
“I went on some sort of Doctor Strange trip,” he says. “But I’m back now. Athena’s not answering her phone. Can you see her where you are?”
Erin scans the crowd. She can’t see Athena or Philip, and tells Hal so.
“That can’t be good,” Hal says.
“Agreed,” Erin says.
“Will you come get me? I’m at Kinney’s and I could use some help.”
She could make the drive blindfolded. She leaves at once, and when she pulls into the parking lot, she finds Hal outside next to the ice freezers, brown paper bag in hand. He hurries over to get in the car, and tucks the bottle between his legs, hand covering the cap so she can’t tell if he’s broken the seal or not.
“I could go for a drink,” she says.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blue chip. She’s watched enough movies and TV shows to recognize AA paraphernalia when she sees it. She wonders why he didn’t say anything about his sobriety at dinner the other night.
