Dead Man Walking

by Zach Adams

  A bar of blue pixels slid across the browser address bar. The window went white for a few seconds, then returned to Google. Once that process completed, it flashed a message for the user.

  “We’re sorry, your search for Átrí Nä’lún returned 0 results.”

  Isaac swore under his breath, erasing the word from the search bar. He tried more terms from the story.

  Ákhfräl’ürémír. Nothing. Märæsälúm. Nope. Æ’chäbömín. Nada. Isaac rubbed his temples, rapidly losing hope. He adjusted his laptop, so it was hidden by the much larger Mac and looked around the room nervously for Olivia or Beige.

  “Come on, there has to be something,” Isaac said quietly, hoping some encouragement would trick his brain into functioning. It didn’t.

  Donny’s comic collection would be more helpful, Rage growled. Come on, writer boy, think!

  Isaac stared at the page intently, keeping eye contact with the face painted above the text. He thought of one last thing he could try.

  “L’æon,” Isaac mouthed as he entered it into Google. He pressed the Enter key, and the window went white while the loading bar moved across. He could hear the second hand on Scooby Doo ticking away.

  The Google screen started to return gradually from the top down, lowering like a theater curtain. The blue bar finished its journey. The page loaded piece by piece, adding a single pixel every second just to torture its user.

  It finally loaded. Isaac stared at the glowing screen. His search for L’æon had returned a single result.

  Enter at your own risk. The title page read in bold, blue letters. Isaac clicked the link. It took him to a black background with large, white letters across the top.

  HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOOK? Flashed above a blurry photo of what appeared to have been a heavy, brown, leather-bound volume. It was difficult to make out, but the basic shape and color was all there.

  Underneath the photo was a jumbled mess of text labelled “Book of L’æsälum”. Almost none of it made sense to Isaac. A few lines said something about “unlimited knowledge” and “phenomenal cosmic power” but among the delirious gibberish, it was meaningless.

  There was a chat forum which caught Isaac’s attention. It had apparently been dead for two years, but a group of users flooded the room with theories and news. Each name was an obnoxious text translation of a major city’s name. Two of them, with profile icons of a falcon and a wolf, bore usernames which would have been Seattle and New York respectively, if they had any respect for proper spelling. The icons for the other users, all with similarly butchered placenames, simply read “no icon” over gray squares.

  They haven’t met Donny, have they? Isaac thought. Scroll, scroll.

  L0ND0N [mod]: Anyone heard from P@r1z?

  N3WY0RK [admin]: Negative. Last report, they were checking the Louvre for Pages.

  C@LL3: Damn it all, told them to wait. Meant to be there for backup.

  N3WY0RK [admin]: Why weren’t you?

  C@LL3: My flight was delayed.

  N3WY0RK [admin]: How convenient.

  C@LL3: Are you implying something?

  L0ND0N [mod]: NY, leave C@ alone. We’re short on leads and shorter on help.

  L0S@NG3L3Z: Hey all. Made it back from the mountains up north. It’s getting scary out there.

  L0ND0N [mod]: LA, thank gods. I thought we’d lost you, too. What happened?

  L0S@NG3L3Z: You nearly did. No Pages but, this girl, like a teary-eyed porcelain doll, popped up and led me on a chase. The smaller one in the gray dress you mentioned, C@.

  C@LL3: You actually SAW her? You should have run away. If I had known you were passing by WA I’d have helped!

  N3WY0RK [admin]: We’ve seen what your help is worth, C@.

  L0ND0N [mod]: Enough, NY! LA, what happened then?

  L0S@NG3L3Z: I… Gods, I must have been hallucinating. The memory is so fuzzy… Or maybe what she led me to was. I just recall it was so big and it growled, but like it was happy. I’m not sure how I got away. And then there were some suits that tried to follow on the way back, I think they were from the VDO.

  C@LL3: I thought we had determined that the D in VDO wasn’t accurate?

  L0S@NG3L3Z: I still say you don’t get Seth Darcey’s money without some kind of help. The V Organization is global. I even heard their boss is back from overseas.

  N3WY0RK [admin]: I will be making a trip west soon. I would be most grateful for an invitation to speak with you in person, LA. I shall e-mail you.

  L0S@NG3L3Z: Sure thing.

  C@LL3: In other news, I heard back from my contact about his theory regarding magical hotspots and indiginous cultures. I will be flying north to investigate as soon as I can, he thinks there may be a lead near Denali.

  L0ND0N [mod]: Right, the teacher in Alaska. This bloody Book really is everywhere. Godspeed, C@.

  Denali is only a few hours out of town, Rage piped up excitedly.

  Yeah, and the museum is about ten minutes up the road, you dope, Panic retorted.

  Below the chat window were several outlandish theories about a young New York Senator named Seth Darcey, being some sort of secret Satanic wizard. Most of the information was either typed in stream-of-consciousness by someone in the midst of a psychotic meltdown, or they were speaking in some sort of code. Isaac scrolled past the lengthy blocks of text to find more flashing letters.

  THE SILVER-HAIRED BEING

  Below this message was another photograph. It was also slightly out of focus, but this one was in the shape of a tall, slender man. Isaac could make out a few details; Silver hair, pale skin, long fingers, and a white suit under a silver and gold cape. The website, though clearly assembled by a lunatic, had stumbled onto something real among its mad conspiracies.

  They didn’t have his name, but Isaac recognized L’æon.

  What followed was another incomprehensible deluge of text explaining the author’s theories on the man, most of which sounded like bad Doctor Who fanfiction. There were several paragraphs full of citations taken from even more deranged, obsessed investigators claiming to have evidence of L’æon rubbing shoulders with the likes of George Washington, Albert Einstein, and the Beatles.

  He did mention the Beatles, didn’t he? He must be really old, looked about forty though, Isaac thought.

  The author assured the reader that the man was an alien from another galaxy, the same one where the Book came from. It followed with a list of civilians who had come in direct contact with L’æon, who had since either been committed, vanished, or turned up dead.

  Sweat ran down Isaac’s forehead as he realized this being, whatever they were, knew his name, workplace, and address. However, the idea of a connection between the glowing stranger and the missing pages made his mouth water. Curiosity overtook self-preservation. Isaac scrolled on.

  The following section, which ended the home page of the site, was slightly different. It began with the customary flashing white headliner, but under this one rested a video. A small sidenote told him that it was posted over two years after the last message in the chat room, on New Year’s Eve 2018.

  “That can’t be right, that’s not for another four days…” Isaac mumbled to no one. He returned his attention to the video. A title appeared in bold, white letters as he passed over it with the cursor.

  BEWARE THOSE WHO SEEK THE BOOK!

  The embedded clip had no preview thumbnail, just a black square with a red “play” button in the center. Isaac plugged his earbuds in, jamming one into his right ear, and clicked on the player.

  The black box remained unchanged for three seconds until it was replaced with the face of a middle aged, bespectacled man. He was overweight and sweaty. He had beady brown eyes, wispy patches of stubble, and thin, greasy gray hair. The man’s eyes were so puffy and red that Isaac felt an urge to go to sleep on his behalf. He spoke with a shaky British accent, which came through with distortion from his cheap recording setup.

  “Hello. London here. At time of recording, it is New Year�
��s Eve 2018, 11:34 PM. None of us can give our real names, I hope you understand, who or wherever you are. I’m only appearing in this video because I know it’s over for me. This webpage, the quest, all of it… Over. If you’ve found this site, it means you’ve encountered something we discussed on it. The Book, or the VDO, the alien, anything.”

  London took a pause to compose himself. Even through the poor-quality video, Isaac could tell he was tearing up.

  “We tried to shut the webpage down and go underground b-but… They wouldn’t let us. You may have even found one of the missing Pages from the Book. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  Isaac scanned once again for anyone heading his way. Two people attempting to check out books approached. He grumbled his well-rehearsed checkout counter dialogue and avoided all eye contact, not even noticing which books they were. The customers left, and Isaac returned to the video.

  “Whatever you’ve seen, try to erase it. It’s the best thing you can do for yourself at this point. Abandon all of it. If you find anything else, then run. Start a new life. Protect yourself. Anyone who sees this Book, or the silver-haired alien turns up dead or vanishes. Either he, or someone acting on his behalf, is hunting anyone connected to them. There used to be dozens of us searching, sharing our findings, but one by one everyone fell.”

  Another pair of customers arrived, and Isaac dutifully assisted them. As politely as he could manage, he killed all attempts at small talk to expedite the process. Once they were gone, he continued watching.

  “We found out long after the fact that Dallas and Paris were each accused of undergoing a massive psychotic break and got locked away. Three days ago, we received news that Los Angeles jumped - we believe she was thrown - from her high-rise office window. There are three of us left – Seattle, New York, and me - and we likely won’t make it much longer. I’m out of time. We don’t know what the alien wants, but if you’ve seen them -”

  The terrified man’s voice cut out mid-sentence. The video distorted manically, and great blotches of multicolored pixels appeared all over Isaac’s laptop screen.

  Underneath the static he could make out what sounded like a distant, fractured voice saying, “Remember me,” before the entire screen went black.

  Isaac took a deep breath, closed the laptop, and slipped it delicately into his backpack with his folder.

  As a mercy to whatever was left of Isaac’s sanity, the time from then until his nightly journey home was completely normal. He went on to endure the remainder of his day, paying as little mind as he could to the conspiracy webpage, or the very real subjects discussed on it.

  Isaac aided people in their quests for books which most likely wouldn’t get them killed. A part of him was jealous. Shortly after lunchtime, he prevented Donny from getting what he swore would have been hilarious vengeance on Beige for his earlier harassment. As everyone left the building for the evening, Isaac tried his hardest not to blush as Olivia wished him a pleasant evening.

  It was a short vacation to the world of logic and normalcy which Isaac was rapidly slipping away from. That night, after jotting down the events of the day in his notebook, he slept on the couch with a harmless sitcom streaming on the TV to keep himself distracted.

  Chapter Ten: A Day at the Museum

  ?2018?

  For the first time in almost two years, Isaac called in sick from work. He woke up twenty minutes before the deadline to get a shift covered and sent a text message to Donny asking for his help.

  Isaac told both Donny and Olivia that his head had been feeling worse, and he was going to get it looked at. Donny whined about working on his day off but ultimately agreed, and Olivia approved the deal.

  Chloe saw Isaac was on his laptop instead of engaging in his normal morning routine.

  “Morning, Ivy. Don’t you have to work?” She asked over her cup of coffee as she entered the living room. She had already changed from pajamas to a Captain Picard shirt and black jeans for class.

  “Do you know what time the museum opens?” Isaac asked, briefly looking up from the screen. Chloe shrugged and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch as she eyed her brother curiously, her right eyebrow raised, and mouth curled up at the left corner. It was a look that reminded Isaac how much she resembled their mom. He still hadn’t told her anything about the past few days and felt guilty for it.

  You should probably tell her you were attacked by zombies, Panic squeaked.

  She’ll think I’ve flipped, Isaac thought back at him.

  Show her the Pages, Rage suggested.

  That won’t prove anything, Isaac argued.

  Mom would have believed you, Panic said. Isaac took a deep breath, preparing to tell his sister the truth.

  “I, uh…” Isaac stumbled over his thoughts. Chloe noticed the scar on his cheek and was waiting for an explanation. He felt several beads of sweat near his scalp hold a vote for relocating further down his forehead.

  Isaac picked his thoughts back up and quickly concluded “Fell while fixing a clock on Monday. I feel fine but Olivia insisted I get my head looked at, so Donny’s covering me today. I thought I might go to the museum after.”

  Isaac felt nauseous lying to Chloe but decided being committed would be worse. She believed his story.

  Chloe cycled through channels while she sipped her coffee, and Isaac looked down to see his computer had finally finished loading. It informed him that the Anchorage Museum opened at 10:00 AM, which was only half an hour away. Accounting for possible traffic, he could make it there almost as soon as the place opened.

  Before Chloe could ask him any more questions, Isaac slipped down the hall to get ready to leave, taking a detour in his bedroom. He pulled one of his spiral notebooks from his backpack and furiously scribbled down a series of notes, ignoring the bare summaries he had glanced at in the library.

  “…Having discovered the secrets of magic, the brave and devilishly handsome scribe embarked on a heroic journey across the land. Facing a great horde of undead beasts, blood dripping from their savagely snapping jaws, he defeated all who opposed him and his new powers. In his victory he marched forward, to find the book which he had accidentally lost when he first learned magic…”

  Isaac stopped his pen and stared at what he had written. He found the half-assed note disappointing, as he had every attempt since high school.

  “Maybe I can just change that last bit later,” Isaac said to himself. “That middle bit too…And the beginning. Oh, screw it. It’s crap.”

  Isaac drew an X across the paragraph and shoved the notebook into his backpack. After a moment’s consideration he removed the notebook again, tore the page with the note out, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the void of his living quarters. Isaac returned the notebook to his backpack, and his laptop soon followed. He then exchanged his purple sweater for a similar blue one, slung the bag over his shoulder, took two of his pills and headed for the front door.

  Isaac said a quick goodbye to his sister and raced to his car. He got the unreliable machine to start on the first try and drove downtown. In his rush he didn’t even notice what was wrong with his vehicle’s behavior.

  Once he reached his destination, Isaac paid too much for a twelve-hour parking pass in a crowded lot directly across the street from the museum. He ran ahead of oncoming traffic, nearly fell on his back, and narrowly avoided a handshake with a snow-capped Durango. He managed to reach the Anchorage museum with all of his bits and pieces intact.

  Isaac reached the front door after a short jog past the disorienting reflective wall of the building. There was a short line in the lobby, but he finally got a ticket from a tired-looking brunette seated behind the counter who couldn’t have been much older than him. He gave her a polite nod and tried not to run upstairs.

  Isaac hadn’t visited this museum in years. He had gone once on a class trip, with his mom as a chaperone. Back then he thought it was too big, too dark, and too stuffy. He hardly paid any attention to the exhibit
s and spent the whole time daydreaming. After walking with the horde of eight-year-olds for a while, the teachers and parents would periodically find a place to sit down and focus on one area. Second-grade Isaac would then immediately crack open the thick fantasy novel attached to his hand at the time, at every stop.

  Isaac’s mom and his teacher told him with each attempt to put it away, so he would return to daydreaming that he was one of the characters in the books he read.

  In the fourteen years since that class trip, the museum had been heavily renovated. Now the exhibits had been augmented with interactive computer screens displaying in-depth examinations of their exhibits.

  Isaac found it all significantly more interesting now than he did when he was eight but didn’t have time to read every word while there was a mission to be accomplished. The creepy chat site had mentioned Denali, in the Alaska Range, in the south-central region of the state, so he wandered around the second floor until he saw something relevant.

  Do you think you’re going to find an exhibit that explains how the indigenous people guarded some magical secret in the mountains? Panic and Rage scoffed. Isaac had no argument to counter with, but that didn’t stop him searching. There had to be something.

  Dozens of people stumbled around him in every direction, chattering among themselves about the exhibits, their newest medication, politics, or whatever other bland subject people felt a need to fill the perfectly good silence with. Isaac found it all extremely distracting and upsetting.

  “My doctor put me on this new thing…”

  “Did you read what they said about…”

  “And that’s why she had to…”

  Isaac struggled to tune out the endless torrent of meaningless chit-chat. This was a part of human life he could never understand; the need to bullshit.