Squaring the Circle

by B K Brain

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  Garret gritted teeth, grabbed for his weapon, growled. He didn’t get to be director by pushing pencils in some stupid office. He’d always been hands on, everyone knew that. Just like his father used to say—If you want someone dead, pull the goddamn trigger yourself.

  Damn straight.

  10

  Eddie, on her knees and facing the rear glass, her back pressed uncomfortably against the glove box, watched the dog for any indications of shenanigans. There were a few at first, as he stood with wet nose sniffing and prodding between front seats, his nasty tongue desperate to laminate something. She watched and waited.

  He eventually calmed down after twenty miles or so, as the Welcome to Indiana! sign shrank in the distance.

  Rachel said, “Are you gonna sit like that the whole trip? You heard me when I said ten hours, right?”

  “I’m waiting for it to go to sleep. I don’t want spit in my ear.”

  Big Sis laughed. “Use the pillow.”

  “Oh yeah.” Eddie grabbed a pillow next to her leg, the one from Rachel’s bed, and stuffed it between the seats. The dog licked her hand and she yanked out of reach.

  “No licking!” she said. Maurice’s tongue snapped into his mouth. He sat quietly, cocked his head, raised his ears as if awaiting further instructions.

  “Lay down,” she said pointing. He laid down.

  What the hell?

  “Um, turn around and face the back.”

  He turned his head toward the back window.

  “Are you kidding me?” Rachel blurted. “Is he doing what you told him?”

  Eddie turned around groping for a seatbelt. “Apparently.” An exhale of relief. “Maybe I can watch my show now.”

  Rachel, her eyes growing, slapped Eddie on the knee. “Tell him to do something else.”

  Eddie said, “Bark one time. Just once, I mean it.”

  Maurice barked once, then got quiet.

  Rachel went pale. “Dogs don’t do that, Ed.”

  “Well, this one does. Maybe he’s not so stupid after all.”

  “They don’t do that,” she said again. “Holy crap.” She glanced to Eddie, then back to the dog. “Maurice, bark once for me.”

  Nothing.

  Eddie grinned.

  She plugged the player into the cigarette lighter and then popped in the first disc. She used a thumb to wipe dust off the little screen. After a moment the menu came up, presenting three choices. It was going to be a long trip; she figured she might as well start at the beginning. She selected play all, glanced back to check the makeshift barrier, and then settled in for the pilot episode of her favorite show, the one titled Are We All Psychic?

  Popcorn would’ve been nice.

  “Maurice, bark,” Rachel said.

  Silence.

  “Bark,” Eddie said.

  A single bark. Eddie chuckled, then looked back to her show.

  Fade in. The host stood center stage among a random placement of red neon columns, over sterile white tile. His posture, rigid. His expression, serious. Thin, wire-framed glasses. An expensive suit and tie.

  This initial shot had been Eddie’s first introduction to Randal Brickman six years ago. She hadn’t seen any of his movies; didn’t even realize he was British until he began the opening monologue. In fact, she remembered being surprised when he spoke. He didn’t look British, not that she could say how an English guy was supposed to look.

  Still, she liked the sound of his voice. The accent made him seem intelligent, more sophisticated. She could’ve listened to him talk about anything. Growing grass, drying paint, math - whatever. His voice was just…pleasant, calming. Good thing it was a science program. She hated math.

  “In 1952 scientists conducted a study of macaque monkeys on the Japanese island of Koshima. Some of the animals had taken to washing sweet potatoes. This new behavior spread to younger members of the group in the usual way, by repetition and observation.”

  Camera switch, placing the audience to his left. He turned to face the new viewpoint, appearing at first thoughtful, then poised to strike. He paused for dramatic effect as his gaze narrowed.

  “Once a critical number was reached, the hundredth monkey, the behavior spread across the water to monkeys on nearby islands. Contact between the two groups would’ve been impossible, they claimed.”

  And that was it, the moment when Eddie fell in love with the show. Squaring the Circle wasn’t about science as much as it was about possibilities. Wonder. Things that couldn’t be real, yet maybe they were.

  What if? Mr. Brickman dared to ask in that first episode. Eddie had been watching - and dreaming - ever since.

  “Was this proof of some kind of telepathy?” The host raised an eyebrow. “Some call it mind coalescence. Others, collective consciousness. The stuff of urban legend to be sure, but could it be something more?”

  Hive mind, Eddie thought. Damn right it’s real.

  The host walked across the glowing floor, stopped, turned back. “Is it possible we’re all connected? Could we be psychic and not even know it?” A wicked grin inflated his cheeks, a look that told the audience he knew things they didn’t.

  This was Eddie’s show. She was the audience. His words were for her.

  He said, “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

  Snap to black. Theme music. Opening credits.

  A collage of imagery. Laboratories, laser experiments, giant telescopes, the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva.

  A close-up of the host, Randal Brickman.

  A shot of deep space, a sea of twinkling stars, a spiraling galaxy. Slow at first, then faster. And faster still, until it became nothing more than a blurred jet trail around the outer edge. A circle. Then a fiery box, a square, blasting to life, overlapping the ring of gasses and stars.

  The title graphic faded into view like eyes adjusting to darkness. Obscured, familiar, then recognizable. The song hit its crescendo just as the mystery became clear.

  Squaring the Circle.

  Goosebumps, even after six years. Eddie checked to see if Rachel was paying attention and then rubbed at her arms.

  Created by David Sandoval.

  Cut to commercial, only there was no commercial, not on the video. A second of dead screen and then back to Brickman.

  “Collective consciousness. The stuff of science fiction? Sure. But could it be a real phenomenon? One that binds every living thing on Earth? One researcher says yes. He says the proof is all around us.”

  A shot of the scientist, smiling and with arms crossed, standing at the front steps of a college, the University of Michigan. The introduction preceding the interview. Eddie gasped.

  Holy shit.

  She hit the pause button. The video froze on the man’s face. It was plain, unimpressive and a bit pale. He was nothing to her.

  But there was one they’d interviewed, one that matched a hazy memory she’d just received from David. The revelation hit like a bat to the stomach.

  The bad man has been on the damned show.

  Season two. Or was it three? She couldn’t remember the specifics but she definitely remembered him. Crazy, but nothing like her. Dangerous.

  Who was he? How did he fit into all of this? One way to find out.

  She screamed, “Wal Mart! I need a Wal Mart!”

  Rachel lurched and yanked the wheel. The car swerved halfway into oncoming traffic. A sound that resembled “Yeek!” escaped Big Sis, or perhaps just ‘Yee!’ It was hard to say with the semi horn blasting. Maurice lost his mind, barking and digging at the pillow.

  Rachel ripped the vehicle back to the proper side of the double yellow line. The eighteen-wheeler, riding the far shoulder, didn’t let up on the horn as it passed by. The dog let the truck know what he thought of that.

  “Shut up, Maurice.”

  The barking stopped.

  Rachel said, “What the fuck, Eddie? Jesus.”

  “I need a department store.”

  “You
don’t just start screaming Wal Mart. I’m driving. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “It doesn’t have to be Wal Mart. A Target would be okay, I guess.”

  “That truck almost ran us over.”

  “Or Best Buy. Whatever.”

  Rachel ground her teeth. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve seen him, Rachel. The bad man. He’s been on the show. Season two, I think.”

  “And?”

  “And I need that episode.”

  11

  Sam watched from a location unseen, the underplace below shadows. He was nowhere, and he was here, looking out at double-doors made of glass.

  A van.

  Three people. Two men and one woman, approaching the building. All with those strange glowing halos. Their souls?

  And a wall of condensed heat he’d carefully positioned in the entryway.

  Not souls, consciousness. The very essence of existence.

  This was going to be quite a show and the ticket he held read front row, center.

  He then heard frantic shoes slapping tile down an intersecting corridor, David’s shoes. Heaving breath. Grunts of pain. Desperation.

  You’re too late, my friend.

  He no longer required microphones or cameras. The necessity to go public had passed. The Gravitons were for him alone now, but-

  I can actually see consciousness. And if I can see it, perhaps I could… My God. I need these people.

  A simple twist of the imagination and the magic particles responded. Across the facility an algorithm paused long enough to allow his new guests entry.

  As expected, David looked quite surprised, but not as surprised as he would be.

  Sam had a new experiment in mind.

  One that required test subjects.

  CHAPTER NINE: PÖINT BLANK PÖINT

  1

  Eddie navigated the massive department store, Wal Mart, with her head down, eyes fixed on redundant squares of bright tile. She rushed to match Rachel’s pace, the only other person in the world who appreciated her need to get in, get what she’d come for, and get out.

  Voices from every direction. The familiar, unsettling rumble of thunder.

  An elderly couple stood at the jewelry counter, peering and pointing into a glass terrarium full of necklaces and bracelets. A man crouched below a display of ceiling fans, examining items on a lower shelf. A woman stretched to reach a package of light bulbs on the highest shelf. Employees in matching vests strode through racks of men’s clothing, wielding pricing guns like Star Trek phasors. And children. Flailing. Laughing. Racing down toy isles, drunk with amazement and screaming for their mothers.

  Fluorescent Hell.

  Electronics was all the way at the back of the store, standing its ground between the horrors of flip flops and ticklish Muppets. Sis hung a right at a counter lined with cell phones and battery chargers. Eddie followed.

  The lighting, the texture of the floor, and the temperature changed in that instant, in that simple turn of a corner, flipped from one thing to the next like a switch.

  Darker.

  Grittier.

  Colder.

  And silent.

  Voices. The clacks of shoes. The squeaks and squawks of shopping cart wheels and the accompanying metal on metal jangle of chrome baskets. Distant music from competing television displays and stereo speakers three isles down. All of it, gone.

  Eddie looked up into what remained, a large empty room.

  All white, two stories high, a hundred feet square. Powered-off halogens lined the far wall, three rows of dead headlights. Below that, across the ivory gymnasium, the black silhouette of a man. A long way from where she stood, distant.

  All but the voice. Breathy words whispered into her ear.

  Three point one four, he said. Don’t forget.

  “Eddie? Are you okay?” Rachel.

  In a blink she was standing at a rack of videos, Big Sis leaning close, looking worried. Music. Conversation. Bright lights.

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine.” A necessary lie, to keep things moving. She closed her eyes, took in a breath. Squeezed the tremble out of her fingers.

  She saw the most recent season of Squaring the Circle, number five, occupying a space next to Carl Sagan’s Cosmos. There were two Through the Wormhole’s, three seasons of Bill Nye the Science Guy. And all nine Big Bang Theory’s.

  That was it. Everything that had any connection to science, no matter how vague.

  It’s not here. Shit.

  After racking her brain for the last thirty miles she had no doubt season two was the right one. She’d even zeroed in on the episode. It was early in the year - number four maybe, or five. The man’s face was so clear now. I need that damned interview. Better ask the cashier.

  She tugged at a sleeve. “Rachel, go ask the cashier.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes, huffed. “Fine.” She approached the counter, leaving Eddie behind to scan more videos.

  What you need is here, a voice said, as if from inside a tin can. Keep looking.

  Rachel came back. “He said to check the rack over there.” She pointed to a wide isle, the pathway separating Electronics from Girl’s Clothing.

  A display of discounted movies and television shows, older releases mostly, stood tall. An elderly woman leaned over a full cart, picking through the cheap videos. A big blue sign above read $8.00.

  Beyond the display, standing in the next department, a man made of nothing at all. His black edges shifted, slithered, vipers made of soot and bad dreams. He wouldn’t need to chase Eddie, not this time.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel said.

  Eddie’s vision sank to her feet. “Nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “No.”

  Rachel stepped in front, took hold of her arms. “Do you see something?”

  Eyes locked. “We’re not leaving without that video, Rachel.”

  Understanding flooded her sister’s face. The nothingman was here. Didn’t matter though, because they were getting what they’d come for.

  A whisper. “Where is he?”

  “Next to the Hello Kitty tee shirts.”

  She turned to see. “What’s he doing?”

  “Just standing there.”

  “Shit. You stay here. I’ll get the video.”

  “Okay.”

  Big Sis walked out to the rack, started rummaging.

  Eddie stayed where she was, watching, waiting. The nothingman took not a single step. He stood rigid, a black mirror image of Eddie, a dark reflection of illusive purpose. She imagined theme music rising, announcing the arrival of clarity, signaling the end of the mystery.

  But no such luck. He wasn’t giving up anything yet. Perhaps he never would.

  Will I ever know who you are?

  Black edges stirred. That is not the question.

  What is?

  Rachel waved a hand to get Eddie to look. In an exaggerated motion she pointed down into the old lady’s cart. She mouthed two words in silence.

  Last copy.

  Eddie grimaced. That woman had her video. “Take it,” she said.

  Rachel shrugged. Didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. What a wuss.

  Eddie balled her fists. “Do it.”

  Sis waited for the woman to look away, then reached over and slid the DVD out of the cart. Way. Too. Slow. Damn, she’d make a terrible criminal.

  Naturally the lady saw her do it, how could she not? It was like a slow motion replay after an actual event.

  The woman turned back and screamed, “Thief!”

  “I’m sorry. We really need this. I could pay you-”

  “Security! This bitch stole my movie!”

  The cashier left his station to see what the commotion was about. Another employee emerged from a toy aisle. The nothingman did nothing.

  Rachel backed away from the woman, a tight grip on the video, her gaze widening. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  Shoppers gathered,
whispered, stared. This was going south fast. Rachel was useless. It would be up to Eddie now.

  Crap.

  She leapt into action. She ran up, snatched the video out of her sister’s hand, and raced for the front of the store. No slowing down, no looking back. Rachel would catch up. Hopefully.

  Bright, blurred tile, one after another.

  White, white, white.

  Heaving for oxygen she glanced down to be sure it was the right season. Yup. Number two.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  Distant voices, shouting from behind. Eddie grinned. They couldn’t catch her. She was outa there. Home free. Gone.

  She looked up into…

  A massive room. Two stories high and a hundred feet across. She stopped and stared.

  Empty? Not this time.

  There was a young woman at the far wall, bound between I-beams with rope at wrists and ankles. Struggling, crying.

  A transparent hologram hung in the air, glowing brilliant blue, stretched across the entire space. Within it, an infinite sea of interweaved pathways, pale veins of electricity firing at random intersections in blinding red and yellow explosions.

  A man stood at the center of the floor gazing upward. He reached out into the glow. Turned to Eddie.

  It was him. Crazy, but nothing like her. A dark smile crawled across his face. There were things about him that didn’t look right, didn’t feel right, although just what those things were she couldn’t say. He looked human the way a snap-together model looks like a car, the way plastic flowers look when inspected too close.

  Like skin stretched over a cold, dead framework.

  Even so, this was his moment. His show. He knew things the audience didn’t.

  “Let’s begin with pain, shall we?”

  A quick motion, hand into fist.

  The woman’s body seized.

  2

  On the roof, Garret had a look around. Three tall satellite dishes stood one after another, creating a large area of overlapped, circular shadows. To the right, a doorway that led to a stairwell. Red Pawn, down on one knee, held position at the door.