by B K Brain
Distant voices overlapped in frenetic waves. A hum, like a low droning of machinery. A scream.
And a dog, barking.
Where were they? For that matter, where was she?
Rachel, please…
Eddie wasn’t alone. He was here too, the nothingman. She couldn’t see him –couldn’t see anything in the terrible void, the sunless inkwell – but he was here. Breathing. Close. Too fucking close.
Please let me go. Out loud? No, not this time. Out did not apply here.
Power, like heat, rising. And real heat as well, seeking to explode.
Tell me, little girl.
She felt him. His touch. And his intent, swallowing. All she ever was, or would be. She was his purpose. His reason. His meaning.
This man of nothing, frightening as he was, was not her nightmare. He was only a warning. The true nightmare wasn’t here. Not yet.
Find your purpose or suffer.
19
Hard stop at the quantum interface.
Sam’s monster vanished like an imaginary friend.
20
And then everything, including the nothing, disappeared, leaving behind only a path of irrational numbers. Eddie followed them back to a bedroom. A closed door. Her sister’s muffled voice.
And for some reason, a big slobbery dog.
CHAPTER THREE: AS LUCK WÖULD HAVE IT
1
Rachel wasn’t just knocking anymore. Now she was pounding, each slam hard enough to rattle hanging pictures and shake the door in its frame. It was locked and Eddie still refused to answer. Worry had given way to serious concern, and concern to panic. Something was very wrong.
“Open the door, Ed. Right now.”
Not a peep.
The chaos had been in full swing when Rachel arrived after work.
Mom, freaking out in the kitchen about a fork Eddie stabbed into her previously unblemished wall, and something about romance books and mashed potatoes.
Even Dad had a few choice things to say about his unstable daughter and her awful behavior, which, peculiar as his rant was, quickly devolved into more familiar territory, the lack of a job and some much-needed responsibility.
After a bit of forceful questioning, Rachel finally pried loose the only thing that mattered. Where was Eddie? The bedroom. Thank you.
The next pound, big enough to shake the entire house, did not come from her fist. It came from inside the bedroom. For a few heart-stopping moments Rachel thought it was an earthquake. When it didn’t continue, she thought-
Enough of this shit. She kicked the door in.
The bedroom was dark. Rachel groped for a light switch.
Loose white papers covered the floor, hundreds of them. A broken desk chair lay on its side, black vinyl with casters for feet. One of the legs had been snapped in half close to the thick base. The loose appendage was nowhere in sight.
And a Labrador Retriever wagging a long blonde tail.
None of it belonged there, especially the dog. Where did you come from? Her sister hated dogs, a fact that was currently on display. Eddie stood on the middle of the bed with sheets twisted around her ankles, keeping a watchful eye on the animal.
“It wants to eat me,” she said backing away.
“What’s going on, Ed? Where’d the dog come from?”
“I don’t know.” The intruder gave up on attention from Eddie and turned to Rachel. “You need to get rid of it.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “It does not want to eat you. Settle down.” She kneeled and held out a hand. “Hey boy. What are you doing here?”
A wet nose sniffed. His fur was hot, like he’d been too close to a fireplace. His tongue was quick.
“Tell me what happened.”
Eddie looked to the window, the dresser, the framed pictures, yet her focus seemed to stretch far beyond anything in the bedroom. “I don’t really remember.”
“I need you to try.”
Little Sis kicked at the blankets, trying to work her feet free. “Mom’s pretty pissed about the fork, huh?”
Rachel smirked. “Yes. Mom’s pissed.”
Eddie stabbed an angry look. “She said I like romances.”
“I’ve got the dog. You can come down now.”
“Dogs are all noses and tongues.”
“I know, Ed. I know.”
2
Sam learned a few things in Chicago.
He already knew that particles close to the anomaly would fall through the event horizon at nearly the speed of light, but he hadn’t expected the rate of localized energy conversion and the accompanying heat radiation.
Also, once the black hole was created, detector shutdown had no effect. A hard stop at the quantum interface was the only way to end the experiment. Good to know.
The combination might’ve been disastrous. But, whether by luck or providence, he’d lived to defy logic another day.
Sam grinned as he imagined the Nobel Physics Committee tripping over one another to give him his prize. Yes, his work was about science, of course it was. The betterment of mankind and all that, sure. But the acknowledgement, the respect and everything that followed, was sounding better and better. It was as good a time as any to dream, right? And why not? With the government on his ass it might very well be the only time he had.
He’d discovered another important tidbit as well.
After the experiment every clock in the building, including computers and wristwatches, had lost six minutes. Time slowed to a crawl for everything in close proximity to the extreme gravitational field. Even General Mitchell’s Rolex, yet he didn’t seem to mind. He was probably too busy trying to think how he was going to explain this in Washington.
Sam, knowing what he knew now, wished the general had remained speechless.
3
Nobody believed her. Not Mom, not Dad, not even Big Sis. Oh sure, Rachel gave up on the interrogation once she decided Eddie wasn’t going to admit where the dog had come from, but she didn’t believe. How could she? Yellow Labs don’t appear out of thin air. Reams of printer paper do not spontaneously explode in bedrooms. Broken desk chairs don’t materialize like rabbits from hats.
But they do. And they did.
Too bad the only person that saw it was a paranoid schizophrenic who’d just attacked the sheetrock with a fork. Yup, Eddie had been described many ways over the years, but credible witness was not on the list.
It took a long time to decide what to do with the dog. Animal control and the local pound were discussed, along with a door-to-door walk around the neighborhood. Its name was Maurice, said so on the collar. Someone had to be missing the beast.
The final decision involved taking it back to Rachel’s house for the night and placing an ad in the paper tomorrow. According to Eddie, it was one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas, right next to tube tops and asbestos.
Like it or no, that’s what they did.
Eddie spent the ride home backwards in her seat and pinned against the dashboard, keeping a cautious eye on the creature in the back. A dog could not be trusted, not for one frivolous second.
It looked happy lying there with its mouth agape and its tongue dripping, almost like a big stupid smile, but that was the thing’s strategy. Look friendly, gain trust, then pounce. A tense car ride, to say the least. Fourteen minutes, a full two minutes longer than usual. Punishment, Eddie supposed, for the fork.
Once at home, Rachel led the animal into the house. She petted it, patted it on the head. She spoke a ridiculous baby talk at it, calling it by name. Maurice. Good boy. Woobie, googy-boogie. Or something like that. Disgusting. Eddie followed at a safe distance, wishing they had a garage.
Eddie waited at the front door while the animal was closed in Rachel’s bedroom. She then rushed for her own room, closed the door, tried to forget. Not just the dog, the whole damned night. It was no use.
The void, the old drunk guy, the nothingman’s awful voice. All of it played through her mind in a jumble of di
sconnected scenes, one to another and back again. Impossible, unbelievable, yet as real as the dog or the broken chair. Real as the door her sister kicked in. As real as her mother’s lies.
Who was that guy? David Sandoval? Never heard of him.
A Google search would remedy that. She went to the living room, sat on the couch, and booted up Rachel’s laptop.
The answer was in the very first hit at the top of the page. She clicked on it.
David Sandoval, creator and executive producer of the original TechNet science program, Squaring the Circle.
“No fucking way.”
Then she spotted a thick piece of black plastic next to the television. It had one of those roller-wheel casters at one end, like an office chair leg. Next to that, a clipboard holding a single sheet of paper. A closer inspection revealed a company logo and address for some kind of research center in Chicago.
This is getting out of control.
Eddie collected the new items and took them to her room, because she was tired of being asked things she knew nothing about. She slid the broken chair leg under the bed, out of sight, and put the clipboard on the dresser. Chicago. She’d never been to Chicago.
Maybe you have and you just don’t know it.
“Maybe you should shut the hell up,” she said.
4
Like a sadistic episode of Sesame Street, David’s morning was brought to him by the color red and the number three.
A bright spotlight of sun had taken to warming sheets and illuminating closed eyelids with an undeniable and somewhat painful ruby red. That was one.
Glowing numbers at the alarm clock blazed in a fluorescent annoyance of the Sith. Two.
Also, the clock screamed its audible rendition of the color, RED ALERT, as if to announce an incoming Bird of Prey. Three.
Awake enough to realize he was mixing children’s television and movie franchises in a way that could earn a nasty tongue-lashing in Klingon, but too comfortable to get out of bed just yet, David rolled toward darkness. He then reached out and gave the snooze button a healthy swat on the head.
Sweet, sweet silence.
The assistant director, Tim, would run things until David got to the studio, so there was no real motivation to get up. He planned to tell the crew about the cancellation this morning, but he figured that could be done anytime.
So far Cathleen was the only one who knew. He assumed she wouldn’t say anything, but he also knew the TechNet info bucket had a tendency to spring leaks. He hated the idea of everyone finding out from a gossip site online.
Oh well, he thought. I guess it’s time to make the doughnuts.
He peeled himself off the bed, yawned and stretched. Last night’s events came rolling in, at least part of them. There was a dead spot somewhere near the end, a span of time that wouldn’t come. Irritating, like a movie missing its third act.
I wasn’t that drunk. Why can’t I remember?
Okay, he was a little drunk. But six Jack and Cokes never made him blackout before. It was six, right? Pretty sure. Very nearly positive.
Can’t handle your alcohol anymore? You must be getting old, Dave.
Fifty-three wasn’t old. Hell no.
Tell that to the bifocals and the sore knee. You know, the one that shouts at you when rain is coming? Yeah. That one.
Fine. He’d admit he was getting older, okay. But he hadn’t arrived yet. There were still too many things to do. At this point he just didn’t know how much juice he had left. Or how much luck.
A person is only allotted so much, Dave. When it runs dry you go from doing what you want, to doing what you have to. That’s how it works and you know it.
Yeah. That was how it worked. He’d gotten lucky with the show, and the one before that. He’d met all the right people along the way, a way that was now a good way’s back.
Randal’s awards may have been years ago but so were his. A new younger batch of producers was in the mix now. Ones with fresh ideas and current connections. Most of his connections retired years ago.
He hated to admit it, but Squaring the Circle might’ve been his final hurrah. If so, was it enough? Could he break out those fishing poles with a smile, feeling satisfied with his accomplishments?
Hell no.
He grumbled, heading for the shower. Just as he was about to close the bathroom door the phone rang. Better answer it. Might be Tim.
“Hello?”
“David? David Sandoval?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if you’ll remember me. My name is Dr. Samuel Jacobson. You interviewed me for your program about four years ago.”
“Oh yes. Dr. Jacobson. I remember.”
“Good. I’ll get right to the point. I have a new project underway that I think you should see. It’s cutting edge stuff. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”
“The rest of the season is set, I’m afraid. We aren’t really looking for any-”
“If you want the highest ratings you’ve ever had, you’re looking for this. Who knows? You might end up with the most viewers in the history of television.”
David remembered Sam. He was smart. Personable. The camera liked him. This whole salesman act was new, though. He was pushing hard. He must’ve really had something. Intriguing.
Why not? Let’s see where this goes.
“Okay. You’ve got my attention. Tell me about the project.”
A pause, then, “I have the ability to create a black hole. Not a microscopic one that disappears instantly. And not one created in a particle accelerator, one you need a readout so you can verify a dot on a screen. No. I’m talking about a real, stable anomaly, large enough to be seen with the naked eye. Or a video camera, naturally.”
“Am I hearing you right? You’re saying you think you can create a black hole?”
“I already did. I’d love to do it again for you. If you think people would be interested in such a thing.”
“Are you kidding? Everyone in the world would be watching. Everyone.”
“Yes. So the question is, would you like to be a part of history? Would you like Squaring the Circle to actually live up to its namesake by witnessing the impossible?”
David smirked. Don’t leave out the heaping pile of money we’d make. We could charge anything we wanted for the re-broadcast rights. Anything at all.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for having trouble believing you. How-”
Jacobson said, “I’m only asking you to come see for yourself. But I’m on a tight deadline. I need you to come today. The exclusive I’m offering ends at midnight. Otherwise, I go to another network.”
“What? That’s not possible. I can’t just leave at the drop of a hat.”
The scientist’s voice turned to a whisper. “There are some bad people after this technology, David. If this doesn’t happen quickly I’m afraid it never will. I swear to you, what I have will change the world. But we need to act now.”
Could it be true? Could a black hole really be created in a laboratory? If so, how dangerous would it be? And not just the experiment, but the bad people Jacobson was referring to. Who were they? Just how bad was bad? Was he talking jail here, or something worse?
“Who are these people, Sam?”
“The government. They see this project as a threat to national security. They also want the tech for themselves. Going public is my only option at this point. I really need your help, Dave. Will you at least come have a look?”
Jacobson didn’t sound like a salesman anymore. He sounded desperate, scared. If everything he said was true, all the cloak and dagger bullshit, he should be scared. The government? National security? This guy was looking at life in prison.
Any sane person would’ve hung up the phone right then and there. They would’ve done their best to forget this conversation ever took place. But David was not feeling especially sane today. Perhaps it was the idea of spending the rest of his days fishing in some smelly boat, bored out of his mind.
You’d be stir crazy in a month.
Yes, he would.
“Tell me where you are,” he said.
5
Consciousness came back to Eddie in a slow rising of volume and texture. It began with sunlight through a window. Cool, slick sheets. An ache in her back. And sounds so distant she couldn’t decide if they were real or imagined. The chirp of a bird. A television. A whimpering dog.
She growled, covering her head with a pillow. The dog was real, no matter how much she wished it wasn’t.
Rachel knocked at the door. “Time for your meds.”
Eddie got up and walked across the room, listening. She turned the knob, pulled the door open a crack. A wide, solitary eye peeked out, scanning for drooling beasts and all manner of unwelcome spots on the carpet. All she saw was Rachel.
“Where is it?” Eddie whispered.
“You can come out. Maurice is in my bedroom.”
“Are you sure?”
Rachel grinned. “It’s safe, I promise.”
Eddie slipped out of the room and followed her sister to the kitchen.
“I know you don’t like dogs,” Rachel said, as if acknowledgement somehow equaled an apology. They both knew it didn’t. “It’s just until we find his owner. I swear.”
The thing named Maurice scratched talons over wood, begging for freedom. The tactic would eventually work on her gullible sister. It could already be seen in her face.
Eddie said, “Obvious manipulation.”
Rachel ignored the comment. “I placed an ad in the paper this morning and called the pound to let’m know we have him. He’ll be gone by dinnertime. So relax, okay?”
“Can’t we tie it to a post outside or something?”
“No. He’s lost and scared. That would be cruel.”
“He’s probably eating your pillows.”
“He is not eating my pillows.”
“Or crapping on the bed.”
Rachel huffed with frustration. She went to her bedroom and peeked inside. Closed the door. “He’s not crapping on the bed.”
