Nightmare's Edge

by Bryan Davis

  Barker pulled out his cell phone and opened it. “What makes you think that?”

  “I watched a simulation at Interfinity Labs on Earth Yellow. It showed Blue and Yellow colliding and us skipping past them.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Barker said. “The paths shift all the time. There’s plenty of dissonance going on to bring Earth Red back into a collision course.”

  While Nathan helped Clara step off the helicopter, Barker punched in a few numbers and put the phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he shouted, “Any updates? . . . Good. I’ll go with the codes I have.”

  “Who’s providing the data?” Nathan asked. “And why doesn’t he just give you coordinates instead of musical codes?”

  “My source is an old friend of yours who refuses to provide the coordinates directly. He is suspicious of recording devices.”

  Nathan pointed at himself. “An old friend of mine? Who?”

  Barker kept his eyes on his phone. “Patar.”

  “He’s in league with you? I can’t believe it.”

  “Trust me. He’s no friend of ours.” Barker’s face turned grim. “Look, we can either talk about his morality while the worlds collide, or you can let me program this phone to get the data. But if I were you, I wouldn’t get up on a high horse about killing a few people to save a few billion others.”

  Nathan jerked the blanket off the violin. He said he couldn’t believe it, but he knew it was true. Patar wanted the supplicants killed and had said so multiple times. Yet, he seemed to have softened, especially after Abodah died. He went out of his way to help Jack, didn’t he? And his manner with Amber was tender as well. Still, it made sense that he would help Barker. They both displayed a weird sort of cold heroism in wanting to save all three worlds without regard to the sacrifices they made along the way.

  In a fresh blast of air, the helicopter lifted and rose into the gale. Kelly and Daryl pushed back their whipping hair, and Clara turned away from the gusts. Soon all was clear.

  While Barker punched numbers into his phone, Nathan turned slowly in place. Buckingham Palace sat at the far end of the pristine lawn, and a pond bordered the grass on the opposite side. A few trees stood about, all thrashing in the cold wind.

  In the distance, ropes spanned the streets, and bobbies stood guard every few yards. Hundreds of people bent over the lines, trying to catch a view of the happenings on the palace lawn, but they didn’t seem anxious to get any closer.

  Above, the two Earths continued to rise from each horizon, growing larger by the second. It seemed that if they kept the same heading, they would collide at the top of the sky. Not physically, of course, or the gravitational pull would have already forced all three worlds to zoom together at breakneck speed. No, this collision would be different . . . but how?

  A chill crawled across his body, the foreboding heaviness that signaled a stalker’s approach. Nathan searched the trees for Mictar. Seeing no sign of the stalker, he yanked the IWART from his belt and gestured for his three companions to come together. When they gathered, he lifted the device and showed Daryl the screen. “Check it out. Are those right?”

  Holding her hair back again, she squinted at the numbers. “North, fifty-one point five zero zero; west, zero point one four six.” She looked up at him. “Yep. He deposited us right on the money.”

  “So what happens now?” Nathan asked. “Am I supposed to play your codes and get Kelly to interpret?”

  Barker held up his phone. “I’m almost done. I’m programming it to use the musical stream as a ringtone, so you won’t have to play it for her.”

  “How have you interpreted the codes in the past?”

  “We used Kelly of the Blue world. Her father has always been lax on security, so it was easy to break in and play the tunes while she slept. She talked in her sleep, so she was an excellent resource before Mictar killed her. Since then, we haven’t been able to update the coordinates.”

  Nathan looked up again. The two Earths moved ever closer together. The distance separating them was now less than the diameter of either one. “Okay. Let’s get on with it.” His own words echoed hollow in his mind. This was like sitting for a test he hadn’t studied for. How could he possibly pull this off without healthy hands?

  Clara pulled a notepad and pen from her purse. “I’m ready. Fire away.”

  Extending the phone toward Kelly, Barker pressed a series of buttons. The speaker played a string of notes, starting with the codes from the plastic card, the musical key that had programmed her brain earlier.

  She bent closer to it, but after a few seconds she shook her head. “It’s too windy,” she shouted. “I’ll have to hold it up to my ear.

  Barker’s brow furrowed. After looking all around, he drew his gun and lowered the phone as if making ready to toss it underhand, but a black streak splashed against his chest, and a second struck his face.

  Nathan spun. Mictar stalked toward them, one hand carrying his black violin and bow and the other poised to strike again.

  19

  RETURN TO THE WOMB

  Barker fired his gun — once, twice, a third time. With each bullet, Mictar halted for a moment, grimacing. Dark blood dampened one sleeve and a pant leg, and a red streak across his cheek gave evidence of a graze wound. Still, he marched on.

  Now half blinded by the spreading blackness, Barker emptied his clip into the stalker’s body. Mictar doubled over and thrust out his arm, but no new bolts came out.

  Collapsing to his hands and knees, Barker sputtered, “Shepherd! Take the phone. Push star seven seven seven to get the ringtone.”

  Nathan ran to him and pried the phone from underneath his hand. Barker dropped to his belly, panting through his words. “Save the world, Shepherd. I . . .” He let out a long breath and said no more.

  “Star seven seven seven,” Nathan said as he shoved the phone into Kelly’s hands. “I’ll try to keep Mictar away.”

  While Kelly pushed the buttons and lifted the phone to her ear, Nathan stood between her and Mictar. The stalker, now on his knees, glared at him but stayed silent.

  Nathan grabbed the IWART and shouted into it. “Dad! Mom! Are you there?”

  A stream of static buzzed through the speaker along with a garbled voice. “I’m here, son. Your mother is at the spot and is ready to play.”

  Pressing the button, Nathan shouted again, still competing with the roaring wind. “We’re waiting for new numbers. Hang on.”

  “Understood. I’ll stand by for your instructions.”

  Nathan switched to Earth Yellow. “Francesca! Can you hear me?” He waited, looking up at the converging planets. His mother stood on one of the spinning spheres, her twin on the other, both with violin and bow at the ready. Would anyone on those worlds ever believe that two women with violins were their only hope for survival?

  He looked back at Mictar. Did he dare attack? How long before the stalker’s throwing hand was back in business? With his eyes riveted on Kelly, Mictar seemed content to wait through his rapid healing process while she interpreted the new codes.

  “Nathan?” A voice spurted through the IWART’s speaker, interrupting Nathan’s thoughts. “Nathan, I’m sorry I couldn’t answer right away. Solomon is hurt. He had to fight off some local guards, and one of them shot him.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a chest wound. The bleeding’s pretty bad, but he’s conscious and talking. When the guards saw the Earths in the sky, they panicked and ran, so they won’t bother us, but we have no way to call for help.”

  “We don’t have any choice,” Nathan said. “Give him the IWART. You have to play, and I’ll give him the new coordinates when we get them.”

  “That’s exactly what Solomon said.” Francesca’s voice faltered. “He’s ready to die to protect me.”

  “He is?” Nathan’s throat pinched his voice into a squeak. “That’s cool, Francesca. That’s very cool.”

  “Nathan?” The new voice was definit
ely male — strained and shaky. “Francesca’s playing the key now. I’ll await your instructions.”

  He looked up again. The two Earths drew closer together, but now a dark form materialized, a cylinder that hovered about two hundred feet above the ground, like a black pipe lying on its side. It sprouted three cylindrical branches, one of which lengthened and snaked slowly toward them. Yet, it wasn’t really moving at all. Air molecules seemed to burn in place and blacken, becoming part of the cylinder as it stretched downward.

  It stopped at least a hundred feet in the air, and the end stretched wide, like a mouth ready to swallow anything lying below. The wind suddenly calmed. The air felt eerily alive, as if every particle carried an electrostatic charge.

  “We have the coordinates!” Daryl yelled. “It can’t be more than a hundred yards away!”

  “Find the spot, tell the others their numbers, and make sure they’re playing. I’ll be right with you.” Nathan tossed her the IWART. It sizzled as it passed through the supercharged atmosphere.

  She snatched it out of the air with one hand. “Gotcha, boss.”

  Still holding the cell phone, Kelly ran to his side. “Did Mictar hear the coordinates?”

  He shook his head and pointed at the stalker, who was now struggling to his feet. “It doesn’t make any difference. The creep will just follow us.”

  The cylinder’s branch drew closer, now no more than fifty feet high, but the center point hovered over another part of the lawn, a section closer to the palace. Kelly blinked at it. “What’s that dark thing?”

  “I’m guessing Sarah’s Womb is searching for the foundation point, too. It’s almost like she can’t quite stretch that far.”

  Holding a hand over his bleeding stomach, Mictar sneered. “Pitiful! Sarah calls for healing from a quack who doesn’t even know her illness.” He straightened and pointed his bow at Nathan. “Go ahead and try, fiddle boy. Play the magic song and see if your bloody hands can heal Sarah’s wounds.”

  Nathan looked at his palms again. They seemed more raw and blistered than ever, completely incapable of playing even a simple tune, much less a world-saving symphony.

  “And don’t forget,” Mictar continued as he waved his black violin, “I will be right behind you to corrupt every note you play.”

  The sky darkened again. Screams echoed all around. The crowd broke through the police blockade, some running toward them and others just scattering. A cacophony of screams, police whistles, and car horns filled the air.

  Squeezing the neck of his violin, Nathan backed away. For some reason, the stalker seemed more malevolent than ever. This was the monster who killed Nathan and Kelly Blue, consuming their eyes along with their vital energy and leaving them limp, lifeless, and staring into the endless void through empty sockets.

  As a familiar lump grew in his throat, he reached for Kelly’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s catch up with Daryl and Clara.” They turned and ran. With the air still electrically charged, popping sounds rushed past his ears. The sounds of panic magnified. Screams pierced his brain, raising images of Felicity, blind and alone, still clutching her walking stick while leaning against her morbidly etched tombstone. The ugly girl no one cared about still awaited her hero.

  Nathan swallowed the lump. He couldn’t be everyone’s hero. It was all he could do just to stumble along on this crazy path, this impossible task that called him to play in concert with two virtuosos in different dimensions. At the moment, he felt more like Nero than a hero. Would he be playing a fiddle while Rome burned to the ground?

  Across the field, Daryl walked slowly, her gaze locked on the IWART. Clara stayed at her side, looking on and apparently checking the numbers on her notepad.

  Above, the cylinder branch still hovered, crackling, sizzling. Now the size of the palace itself, its mouth undulated as if buffeted by an unfelt wind.

  When they arrived, Daryl stopped and pointed at the ground.

  “I think this is the spot. Earth Blue’s numbers didn’t change, so your mother is playing at the right location, but Earth Yellow’s did change by a little bit, and I couldn’t get hold of Solomon Yellow to let him know.”

  Nathan looked up. They stood right under the center of the dark mouth. Within the tube, all was blackness. “Keep trying.”

  He lifted the violin and bow into playing position, but even curling his hand around the bow sent horrific pain up his arm, and pressing his fingers against the strings did the same. He couldn’t play this thing. It was impossible.

  After turning the switch to the Earth Yellow position, Daryl raised the IWART to her lips. “Yo! Solomon! Are you there?”

  Kelly pointed at the unit. “Call the observatory and see if anyone’s heard from them.”

  “Gordon Red can’t talk to the Yellows.”

  “Just do it,” Kelly said. “It’s a hunch.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Interpreter.” Daryl set the switch to Earth Red. “Dr. Gordon. Can you hear me?”

  After a few seconds, a breathless voice replied. “Yes, Daryl. I’m glad you called. Tony of Earth Yellow has been in contact with Solomon Yellow by cell phone. Solomon’s IWART stopped transmitting and receiving. He says a dark cylinder appeared in the sky and blocked out all light. The only thing they can see is the glow from the IWART’s screen. Francesca is already playing ‘Foundation’s Key,’ but it appears to be making no difference.”

  “So do their GPS functions still work?”

  “They do. Solomon mentioned that specifically. The satellite signals are coming through.”

  “Are you still in contact with Tony?” Daryl asked.

  “Yes. The transmitter you and he put together is still operational.”

  “Perfect! Get these new changes to them, pronto. Add point zero zero one to the north coordinates and subtract point zero zero two from the west coordinates.”

  “Hold on.”

  While they waited, Clara nudged Nathan. “Better start playing, or Mictar will beat you to the punch.”

  Nathan looked into the field. Mictar shuffled toward them, now stronger, his violin in one hand and his bow in the other. Grimacing, Nathan took a deep breath. He had no choice. It was time to dig deep and go for it.

  He pushed the bow against the strings. The note wasn’t quite right, but it was close. It hurt like crazy, but maybe he could go on. Just as he pulled the bow back, the IWART interrupted, making him stop.

  “Tony is passing the information along,” Dr. Gordon said. “And the Earths seem perfectly in sync with time passage now, almost as if they’ve been tied together.”

  “Yeah,” Daryl said. “It looks like Sarah has sent branches out to the three Earths. It’s almost like she’s making a last ditch effort to get them to dance together.”

  The sky grew darker. The black cylinder drew closer, hovering now maybe thirty feet above the ground. As if gagged by the stifling air, the sounds of fear subsided. Mictar, now almost veiled by darkness, stopped and lifted the black silhouette of a violin. With his bow held high, he looked like a ghost, the revenge-seeking phantom of the orchestral opera awaiting the conductor’s first wave of his baton.

  Clara stood behind Nathan and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this,” she said as she massaged his muscles. “It’s time to be the hero I know you can be. Release these people from their prisons. Give Sarah the melody she needs to heal the wounds and call the worlds into their dance.”

  Nodding, he tried again. This time the first three notes sounded fine. As they rose from the strings, they seemed to pop like tiny firecrackers ignited by the supercharged air. An electric shock surged up his arms, stiffening them. Pain seared across his palms, but he had to go on. The fourth note spewed out flat, and the fifth died out before he could finish the stroke. His heart thumping, he looked back at Clara. “It’s just not right. I have to start over.”

  Mictar’s shadowed arms flew into action. The sound of his violin pierced the calm — angry, dissonant, hate-filled. As if set on fire by the my
sterious air, strings of sparks flew out from the black violin. Like a vacuum, the black cylinder slurped them upward into its void.

  Daryl swallowed hard. “Better go now, Doc. We have a ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia’ fiddle duel about to take place, and the Devil’s getting warmed up.”

  The cylinder lowered farther, now within reach just over their heads. Daryl tossed the IWART into her bag and withdrew candles and a book of matches.

  As she lit one of the candles, Mictar eased closer, now only ten feet away. He sawed his violin. Screeching notes flew out, like discordant demons with wings of fire. Again, the cylinder sucked them into its dark grasp.

  Joining Clara at Nathan’s back, Kelly massaged his other shoulder, whispering, “Nathan, God has given you your talent. You can do this. You can play through pain.” She paused for a second, then added in a quavering voice, “Even if you don’t believe in me, I will always believe in you.”

  Like a lightning bolt, her words shot straight to his heart. Heat boiled from within and surged through his limbs — pain, sheer pain. Lifting his head, he let out a guttural cry. Then, bending toward his violin, he played. Again the first three notes sounded perfect. Sparks flew, red and sizzling. The cylinder swept them upward as it continued to descend.

  Nathan played the fourth note, then the fifth. Each wracked his hands with pain, but Kelly continued to massage both body and heart. “Roll the stone away, Nathan. Reach down deep and call forth the passion, the breath of God that heals the wounds.”

  He played on. Kelly’s words were like magic, so profound, so penetrating. Was she interpreting his music? Was she reading his mind, plunging deeper into his thoughts than he could himself?

  Finally, the cylinder lowered to the ground, enveloping everyone in the field, including Mictar. Darkness shrouded Nathan’s vision. Even his violin disappeared. A single candle interrupted the void, illuminating Daryl’s face, now taut and wide-eyed.

  But where was Mictar? His foul music played somewhere to Nathan’s left, but how far away? What might he do to win this new battle?

  As he continued playing, the aroma of roses filled his senses, and the bite of cinnamon and vanilla laced his tongue. His sparkling notes cast an intermittent red glow over his hands before being lifted into the empty sky.