I needed to find Kreios and make him tell me what was going on. He was something other than human, and if he was just in my head, was my life with K the dream? I could only think of one way to know for sure. I had to dream, and if I could dream, then it was real. I knew that I couldn’t glimpse inside of a glimpse.
One way or another, I was going to find out where and when I was… or end up in a straight jacket and a padded room.
CHAPTER 11
KREIOS STARED, AND HIS lips parted just a little as the words on the page moved, and in a way, wrote themselves. The letters appeared one at a time and made up words. The words were the exact story of Kreios’s life.
Kreios knew that, in the wrong hands, his life would be in danger. This was his book, the Book of Life for his soul, and it recorded in every detail who he was, all his thoughts and feelings down to the smallest little thing. This book kept notes and changed from moment to moment.
Shutting the book, he latched each buckle and made sure they were locked in place. He could feel his life force pulse in rhythm with the heart of the book. Everyone of his kind had a book like this, but for a human each book was stored in the third heaven under the guard. These things were beyond explanation.
This Book of Kreios was no longer safe behind tall, thick doors and guarded by inhuman beasts, but free to be taken and destroyed, which would condemn Kreios to hell along with his brothers. He was not of this world, and he knew that now that he had possession of the book—his book—once again, he would not let it out of his sight ever again.
Holding the thick book to his chest, he chanted something in another tongue, and the large, leather bound work shivered and began to shrink. It grew smaller and soon was the size of a saltine cracker. Kreios placed in a soft leather wrap and tucked it into his pocket.
He wanted to eat it, for that was the only way to keep it completely safe, but he feared what it might do to him if he turned against his Creator once again. His shame and guilt hounded him, and he vowed years ago never to betray again. It was an evil world, and there were people all around this land that would kill, rape, and deceive to get what they wanted, but Kreios was not one of them. He was true and righteous in every way.
Looking up at the sun, high in the sky, he marveled at the way these people built so high and strong. Buildings of metal and glass towered over the street, and yet the long, trash-littered streets were void of the normal crowds.
News of bombs, terrorists, and a virus kept most indoors. Now, as the country crumbled under its own fear, the forces Kreios knew of took flight, laughed, and mocked, as the once powerful human race began to destroy itself.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.” Kreios said under his breath. It was a sad thing, and even in this world, he hoped that he could prevent the end by killing one man.
Mark Appleton.
“Time to see what he thinks of his new life.”
***
I could feel something tug at my sleeping brain. A glimpse, a dream. I had one. How could I have one here in this world and still have one in the world with K and Sam? This made no sense, and yet, here I was.
It was dark in the house, and the only sounds of life came from Maria, who slept soundly, breathing in and out with deep sighs that on any other night would seem sweet. I could hear Samson down the hall, as he breathed a little louder and made a nice racket that his wife one day would appreciate.
The air was cool and the moon cast a soft blue and white light across the floor at the foot of the bed. I pulled off the covers, slipped to my feet, and left the bedroom without a sound.
In this world, I also worked for the WJA. After my wife and daughter were killed, I found the men who did the bombing and killed them all in a cabin just outside of the city. I remembered Isis following me and introducing me to Solomon and the rest of the team. Big B and Jamison, all of them were still alive, and no terrorist named Taras Karjanski or the Red Dog ever did anything. This was a different outcome to a life or a choice made. I chose to love Maria and to move on after my family’s death. I chose to be a killer and to fight for justice.
Now here in this place, I didn’t know what to think or what to do. This was real, but so was my other life. I couldn’t understand how that could be, but I was not just going off of feelings but the test. I couldn’t have a glimpse, or a dream within a dream. But here I was, dreaming inside what I thought was a dream.
The kitchen was bathed in the same calming light, and I looked out over the backyard. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.
“How is Maria?” The sound startled me, and that was not an easy thing to do. I was a trained assassin; I could hear the tiniest sound and could somehow feel if another person entered the room. Kreios looked at me with a nondescript expression.
My heart rattled in my chest, my palms were all of a sudden wet with perspiration. “Beautiful as ever.” I was not happy to see him because his presence meant that I was going back under or coming out of whatever I was in, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Why are you doing this to me? Do you like to mess with my head, to tear my heart out, making me choose between K and Maria?”
Kreios took a step toward the end of the counter and placed his hand on the cool, granite top. “I am not doing anything. This is your world, your mistake, and your mess. This is what you create every time you dream.” He stared at me with dark, almost black eyes. I wondered again what he was.
“What are you talking about? I am not doing anything. I can’t help dreaming, it just happens. You think I like this power or ability? You think I like to have these memories and these feelings toward two women, having children one of whom I have to watch die and knowing that the other will never see me again?” My blood began to boil. I was confused and not in the mood for games. I needed answers; I needed to know what this was—this place, and this time.
“Sit down, we need to talk. I was hoping you would figure this out on your own, but I see you are emotional and not in your right mind.” His voice was sharp, and I had to hold back from decking him. It would feel good to smash his face and see him bleed. Not that it would do any good, the guy healed amazingly fast. Too fast.
I pulled up a barstool and sat down, eyeing him. I wanted him to know that I was not happy, not glad to be here, and not glad to see him.
“I know you are not happy, not glad to see me.”
Oh, right, the mindreading thing.
“Mark, some of your abilities, you are still unaware of. One is your sixth sense, as you call it, the ability to feel danger, almost as if you know where it is coming from. It gives you an advantage in battle.”
I thought back over the many battles I had been in and knew that he was telling the truth. I could somehow predict what the other person was going to do before they did it. I was glad I could because it kept me alive.
“Your glimpses are not what you think they are. You think that they are looks into the future, a kind of time travel, or a way to see the future or the past. This idea is sort of right, but wrong in all the ways that are important.” Kreios sighed as if telling me something simple, and as if I were so stupid that he had to spell it out for me.
“They are not the future, they are not the past. They are a creation.” At this, I opened my mouth but nothing came out. He waited and looked at me, and I knew he was doing it again.
What do you mean, “a creation”? I am just looking into the future… I only did the past thing one time, and I had to try hard. It wasn’t easy.
“I know, but what you are doing every time you dream is creating a new world, an alternate universe, if you will. The things you see are the beginning of a new existence, and each world starts with you in that exact moment. You set in motion a chain of events, and just because they apply to you in your world does not mean they are not real.
You see, this world you are in right now is a creation, a new dimension. Maria and Samson and you are real now, but did not exist before you dreamed them. The famil
y and the memories, once you stepped over, are all just as real as your life with K and Sam.”
I felt lightheaded, and all at once, the room began to spin. How could this be, it was impossible. Kreios stepped forward, steadied me, and asked me if I was okay. I couldn’t speak, so he took a glass, filled it with water from the tap, and handed it to me. My life and what I believed was real now was something different altogether.
“Mark, I know that you did not know what you were doing, but now that you do, you must stop. You have created hundreds of worlds. Each version is now real, and all of them will converge and destroy the key world. There can only be twelve dimensions, or the whole thing falls apart.”
“Twelve! What are you talking about? There can’t be twelve.” I couldn’t wrap my brain around what Kreios was saying.
“Yes, but the Creator only made this universe to hold twelve, and we are now in the hundreds thanks to you. I am here to stop you and help you to fix this mess before He sends something much more evil to do it for you. There are beings you cannot imagine, creatures you never want to meet.”
I took a sip of the cold water and placed the glass on the counter. “What can I do? I don’t even know how or what I am doing, so how can I stop something I can’t even control?” I knew that this had to be true, but I still couldn’t keep from shaking. My hands trembled, and the memories of K and Maria fought inside my head. Now I knew why this felt real—both were real—but what did that mean?
“What do you mean, the ‘key world’? Is there one that is more real than the other?”
Kreios nodded. “Yes, but the problem is that the key world is moving. This is the main reason I am here.”
“What do you mean, ‘moving’? How can it move?”
Kreios took a hold of my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. His stare unnerved me to my core. “It is moving because the key world is the one you are in. When you move to another world, it moves with you.”
***
Bill Malone stood at his desk overlooking the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. He loved his job. The feeling and the action made him feel like God. The power of his position was intoxicating.
He scanned the bank of computer monitors in front of him and kept a watchful eye on the numbers at the lower right hand corner of the screens. These were the totals, the end numbers, the ones that mattered. Ten-thousand seemed to be the key, the number that made the people calm and kept them buying and spending to the limit on their credit cards.
Everything had taken a dip with the recent terrorist threat and the bombings of some oil refineries, but it was still holding steady. Bill didn’t have kids, so the school scare did nothing for him. The government caught the guy, and he was dead.
He watched again as the numbers fell with news of a virus on the loose in New York, but not as much as he expected. Things were good, business as usual.
A bell sounded, but in his soundproofed room, the main floor and all the noise that came along with it were silenced. The alarm that sounded in the room itself was a bell that Bill did not ever want to hear. It meant that the numbers took a sharp enough dip that it was worth worrying about, worth calling a few people that had a lot of investments and would pay him well to give them advanced warning.
The mug of scalding coffee—he liked it scalding—fell from his grip, clipped the edge of the counter that held the bank of monitors and spun end over end, throwing scalding coffee all over the front of Bill’s cream-colored slacks.
Bill felt the searing liquid soak through his pants, and he jumped back with a yelp. The mug hit the floor and shattered, sending a single piece of pottery into Bill’s shin. It cut through his slacks and dug in a half-inch into his flesh.
But Bill did not scream out because of the hot coffee burning his crotch or the piece of ceramic coffee mug sticking into his shin. He screamed out in pain because of the numbers at the bottom of the monitors.
The numbers were all at zero. Every last one of them. Bill regained his balance and looked down to the floor, and even though he couldn’t hear anything beyond his sealed office, he could feel the air, taste the tension.
His vision blurred as stars blinked across his eyes. He fainted and fell backward. He hit the floor hard, his head crushing what was left of the coffee mug, and another sharp piece of ceramic dug into the back of his skull.
Bill would not be waking up. He didn’t die from the shin wound or the wound to the back of his head. He died from the heart attack.
CHAPTER 12
KIRK STOMPED HIS FEET and muttered a string of curses. The floor made a hollow sound as the empty space underneath echoed. He stood up and walked to the wall of monitors. He found a keyboard and began hitting random keys, not sure what he expected but just frustrated that he felt all but worthless.
“Stupid computers, they’re all the same…” The screen didn’t change, and he picked up the keyboard and threw it down. The plastic shattered when it hit the floor and black plastic pieces flew in all directions.
Kirk could feel the heat in his face and neck as rage filled his blood stream. Shaking, he gripped the edge of the nearest monitor and tore it from the wall. With a mighty heave, he tossed it against the far wall, and it burst into pieces and exploded.
Breathing heavily, Kirk balled his fists, and with a right hook, he drove his fist into the wall. Drywall and paint chips flew, and he yanked his hand free, not caring that he could have broken it.
“It’s not fair!” He screamed.
Sitting on the floor, he saw a computer tower. It was black with a few red lights flashing, and just the sight of it enraged Kirk even more. He took hold of the devil box and pulled. The thing was heavy, much too heavy to be a computer. Tugging and working his back muscles, he managed to drag it out from under the countertop.
Turning it over, he ripped the cords from the back and one of the monitors went black. This made him feel better almost immediately.
Something was not right with this box. It was smooth and felt cold. Most towers were hot or warm—not cold. He worked his fingers under the thin plastic shell—pulled and strained to break the casing from tiny screws that held it in place.
The box was not giving Kirk what he wanted. Kirk took out his service weapon and fired three times at the edge of the box. Plastic splintered and broke away. This made Kirk half smile. The sound of the gun and the smell of gunpowder also lowered his rage level.
“You will not win. This is my house—” Kirk got down on his hands and knees and ripped the broken shell from the tower. Under the husk of black plastic was a silver box. Not a computer at all but some sort of safe—or a cooler.
Excitement filled Kirk with hope as he turned the box on end so the front looked up at him. There was a small, electronic key pad. The small screen was lit up in green even though all known power was no longer attached to the device.
Looking at the key pad for a moment Kirk thought of all the possible combinations. There were endless possibilities. Too many to try to guess. He was going to have to bypass the door, maybe by force. Only problem was, this box seemed to have no seams or joints. As if it were made of a single, solid piece of metal.
Only one thing to do. Take it with me and try to figure out how to get inside. Maybe Mark could help, if only Mark were around.
The thought made Kirk angry again. Here he was trying to save Isis’s life, and Mark was out doing whatever he was doing. Whatever it was, he wasn’t saving Isis. He was MIA.
***
Mooch allowed a grin to cross his face as he watched the stock market crash. Not that it mattered, money was worthless, of no value now. The only thing that would be worth anything by this time next week would be food and guns.
Money would hold no value if all the people wanted was a meal. Trading and working to keep what you had were soon to be a thing of the past. Gold, silver, who cared? It was just a piece of metal—worthless trinkets compared to water, food, heat, and a gun to defend what you had.
Tanks of fuel and b
ackup generators stood in a line fifty feet behind Mooch’s office. This next phase would be the killer. Without power, the world would fall in 24 hours. He didn’t care about all the people that were going to die. Couldn’t care less about the hospitals whose backup generators would soon run low on fuel, and whatever and whoever they were keeping alive died off like so many cattle.
Mooch would find a willing woman, maybe two, and start over. He would run things, and he alone would be the god of this world. Take that!
***
The pop of breakers made Kirk jump. He had the box in his arms and was about to lug it back to the Merc building when he heard the sound and all the lights went off. Leaning and setting the box down, he looked back into the silent room. The absence of noise made his skin crawl.
No hum of machines, no grind of air conditioners. He could hear faint screams coming from the other rooms. Kirk listened and waited for the backup generators to kick on, but none did. His mind went to the three large coolers. To the bodies that soon would begin to thaw out, and with them, the smell of dead flesh. He then thought of the vials of who-knows-what began to thaw as well. The thought made Kirk swallow hard. His mouth and throat went dry, and it felt like he just ate a handful of cotton balls.
He remembered what Mark told him: how the virus became lethal when it was above 32 degrees. He took one last look at the room and listened to the popping sound as the coolers began to warm up. It was the sound of death, the sound of the end.
Kirk grunted, picked up the box, and pushed the elevator button. He wondered how long they had. No thought of trying to keep the stockpile cold, no misguided ideas of saving the world. All Kirk wanted was to save Isis, to save the woman he loved.
CHAPTER 13
IN YOUR DREAMS (Mark Appleton #3) Page 8
