The Dark at the End (Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

Glaeken smiled again. “I’m aware of that. And I’ve been aware of you for a long time. I knew this day would come, so, maybe a dozen years ago I had someone create an alter ego for you. You, as you are now, have a corporeal life but no legal existence. This other entity has a legal existence but no life. He draws a salary from me and pays all proper taxes on it. He has your face and your fingerprints. He is named in my will and you will assume that identity whenever you need to access the assets I will leave to you.”

  “But I don’t need—”

  “A few billion dollars? Of course you don’t. No one does. But it’s got to go somewhere.”

  Jack swallowed. “Billions?”

  Glaeken shrugged. “Give or take. I’m not sure of the exact figure. I’ve had a long time to accrue treasures and property, and they all tend to increase in value over time.”

  Billions … the responsibility was daunting. But then …

  “This is all working under the assumption that there’ll be anything to inherit. People who’ve had a peek at the future say it all goes dark sometime in the spring. That’s not far off.”

  Glaeken nodded gravely. “Yes. If Rasalom gets his way, if he succeeds in bringing about the Change, this conversation becomes moot. Ironic in a way. He’s wanted me dead for all these millennia. But now that he has the upper hand, now that he’s so close to succeeding, he wants me to live—so he can rub my nose in the Change before he destroys me. And in a way, I will deserve that.”

  That startled Jack. “Deserve? How?”

  “Because I could have ended the One back in the fifteenth century when I trapped him in the Keep. But I didn’t. I thought our existences were linked, and if I destroyed him, the Ally would have no further use for me, and would destroy me in turn. So I locked him away for what I thought was forever. Well, not forever, just until I tired of the world. I wanted the decision to make my exit to be my own, and to choose the time of that exit. When I was ready I would return to the Keep and end him. But the German Army ruined that plan.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  He shook his head. “Pure selfishness on my part. I’d lived for thousands of years. I could have risked it. So now, if we lose, I deserve whatever happens to me.”

  Jack found the thought intolerable.

  “Not if I find him first.”

  “But should I die before anything happens, promise me you’ll use some of the inheritance to keep Magda comfortable.”

  “Of course. Absolutely. Anything and everything she needs.”

  He clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Good. Good.”

  Glaeken headed for the hall and the elevator, leaving Jack alone with the Lady.

  “I have sensed you undergoing a change for a while,” she said.

  She hadn’t moved from her place at the table. Her gaze was serene, her voice low.

  “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I know you do not want it. The realization has caused you only pain. What purpose would telling you serve?”

  Good point. He was glad he hadn’t known. He cocked his head toward the door where Glaeken had exited.

  “And him? Any idea how long he’s got?”

  “Not long. His heart is failing—not his will to live on and fight. Those will never fail in that one. But the pump itself is old and it is tired. He will not see midsummer’s eve.”

  “When’s that?”

  “In the latter half of June.”

  Shaken, Jack pulled out a chair and dropped into it. One thing to say he hasn’t got much time left, but to hear it narrowed down like that. Early March now … that meant …

  “Glaeken’s got less than four months to live?”

  The Lady nodded. “I cannot say the exact day, but the way his light is fading, it cannot last too long.”

  Jack felt his throat constrict. He’d bumped into Glaeken—as Mr. Foster—once as a kid, but had come to know him only last May, not even a year ago. Yet he felt as if he’d known him all his life.

  “I’m going to miss him.”

  “You’re going to miss him!” the Lady said. “He’s been my friend since the First Age. We’ve been the only constants in each other’s lives over these many millennia.” She pointed at Jack. “It rests in your hands to see that his few remaining days are not reduced to even fewer by the One.”

  Right. Eliminate Rasalom first.

  “Any sense of where he might be?”

  She shook her head. “I sense him most often to the east, but he seems ever on the move.”

  “To the east … Monroe?”

  “Where he was conceived … perhaps. Perhaps farther. Perhaps Europe.”

  This was no help.

  “Well, tonight I’m going to meet with someone who might know the One’s whereabouts.”

  “Someone who knows is not likely to tell you.”

  “Oh, if he knows, he’ll tell me.”

  6

  “Are you really going to eat that?” Weezy said, eyeing Eddie’s thick pastrami on rye. “All of it?”

  He smiled. “Every freakin’ bite.”

  Weezy shook her head. If the meat wasn’t stacked a full two inches, it was close. She looked around at the Lower East Side kosher deli Eddie had chosen—Moishe’s on Second Avenue.

  “How’d you find this place?” she said as he took a great-white bite. He had a sublet in the West Village, on the opposite side of the island.

  He chewed, swallowed, and sipped his Pepsi One.

  “I wander the city most of the day. I mean, nothing else to do. I wandered in here for breakfast once and liked it.”

  “Youse folks okay here?” said a high-pitched, cigarette-scorched voice with an aggressive Brooklyn accent.

  Weezy studied their waitress. She looked seventy and was built like Olive Oyl, but with a widow’s hump and hair the color of a caution light. She seemed to have a pot of coffee grafted to her hand. Her name tag read Sally and her eye makeup was a wonder—a rainbow of blue hues applied like spackle.

  “We’re doing great,” Weezy told her.

  “You ain’t touched your lox. Eat up. You never know when you’re gonna get to eat again.”

  As Sally wandered away in search of needy coffee cups, Weezy forked a piece of the salmon into her mouth. She wasn’t particularly hungry. Not after seeing the Lady pierce herself with that sword.

  She nodded at Eddie who’d just taken another huge bite. “I don’t think you’ll have to eat again for a week.”

  She noticed he’d gained some weight since she’d last seen him, though nothing like the Pugsley pudginess of his teen years. He was either letting his sandy hair grow longer or hadn’t bothered to get it cut.

  “Still working out?”

  He shrugged. “What’s the point?”

  “Same point as before, I guess.”

  “For what?” he said with some heat. “I played by all the rules, Weez. I slimmed down, I got in shape, I worked hard, gave good value to my clients. And where did it get me? I had to abandon my business, I’m afraid to go back to my house, I’m subletting a roach-infested apartment. What went wrong?”

  He’d never been the type to feel sorry for himself. Maybe he was simply bored and frustrated. Either way, she would let him answer his own question.

  “I think you know what went wrong.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I joined the Order.”

  Bull’s-eye.

  They’d discussed this before but she’d never gotten a satisfactory answer.

  “Why, Eddie?”

  He shrugged. “At the time it was, ‘Why not?’” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to reply. “I know, I know. You always categorized it as one of the sinister forces in the world, one of the powers guiding the Secret History. But do you know how that sounds to the average person?”

  “Yeah. Crazy. Plus I did have my emotional problems, and I was diagnosed as manic-depressive, so I don’t blame you one bit for dismissing what I said.”

  “It went beyond dismissing
, you know. I got to the point where if you said something was black, I’d assume it was white.”

  She felt her throat tighten and her eyes fill. She blinked back tears.

  Eddie reached across and covered her hand. “I’m sorry, Weez. I didn’t mean—”

  “No-no. It’s okay. It wasn’t just you. Mom and Dad were the same, and the kids in school. Every time I opened my mouth, eyes would roll. Finally I simply shut up. And now…”

  “Now you know you were right all along.”

  “And wish I weren’t. I wish this were all the product of a mind careening out of control due to a screwed-up soup of neurotransmitters.” She squeezed his hand. “But Eddie, it’s worse and more fantastic than I ever suspected.”

  He frowned. “More fantastic? How—?”

  “Trust me?” She squeezed his hand harder. “I’m saying it’s black.”

  He hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded. “Then black it is. How black?”

  Weezy closed her eyes and swallowed a sob of joy. Breakthrough. Her brother believed her … finally believed her.

  “Black-hole black.”

  He shook his head. “That book of yours—”

  “The Compendium of Srem.”

  “Yeah, that. There’s nothing else in the world like it. That was a clue. And then the Order turning against me.”

  “They were never for you.”

  “Pretty obvious now, but they come on so benign, with such a seductive line. All the movers and shakers belong, and you can belong too—if you qualify.”

  Weezy nodded. “That’s the grabber.”

  “Damn right it is. Appeals to the elitism in all of us. And it’s not a marketing tool. You really do have to qualify. They put you through a rigorous vetting that lots of people don’t pass.”

  “‘Many are called but few are chosen.’”

  “You’re quoting Jesus now?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever fits.”

  “Well, whatever their criteria, I was chosen. I look back and can’t believe I let them brand me. That’s how seductive it is. I spent six years in blissful ignorance until…”

  “Until I upset the apple cart.”

  “Turned on the light is more like it.” He shook his head again. “The Order was going to kill me.”

  Right … bad enough Eddie had learned something he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d mentioned it to the wrong person.

  He added, “They would have if Jack hadn’t interfered.”

  Weezy had to smile. “He’s very good at interfering.”

  Had it been only two weeks?

  “You should have seen him, Weez. He beat the crap out of some guy named Szeto, then killed the guy who was driving me on my one-way trip. I mean, killed him like you or I would swat a fly.”

  “Well, the driver was trying to shoot you.”

  “I know that.” He barked a brittle laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being the least bit critical. You’d told me he’d killed to protect you, but the image wouldn’t stick. Then I saw him in action and he was … the best way I can put it is coldly efficient. It was like someone else had taken over.”

  Weezy nodded. “He’s able to do that. It’s like he has a switch that can turn off every emotion and allow him to do what has to be done without hesitation.”

  “Well, I don’t have that, but I do want to get involved.”

  “In what?”

  “In getting in the Order’s way. They’ve made a mess of my life, so I’d like to return the favor.”

  A part of Weezy immediately disliked this. The last time he’d been proactive hadn’t turned out so well.

  “I don’t know, Eddie…”

  He leaned forward. “Why not? You don’t think I can be useful?”

  “You’re maybe a little too emotionally involved.”

  “I’m an actuary, Weez.” He tapped a temple. “A numbers guy. I can be dispassionate, especially about probabilities.”

  “But you have no idea of the scope of what we’re up against. The Order is just the tip of the tip of an unimaginable iceberg. Meanwhile, humanity, existence as we know it, is sunning itself on the decks of the Titanic.”

  He frowned. “‘Humanity’ … ‘existence as we know it’?”

  She sensed a reflexive doubt.

  “Listen to me, Eddie: It’s black.”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Black. I accept that it’s black because I trust you. But you never take things simply on faith, so don’t expect me to. You need to educate me.”

  She wished he could have been at the Lady’s just a little while ago. Seeing that flap of skin melt into her back … that would have been a combination education and big-time doubt eraser.

  She tapped her backpack. “I’ve got the Compendium. I’m going to give you a crash course in the Conflict.”

  “The Conflict?”

  “With an uppercase C.” She looked around. “But not here. Eat up and we’ll go to your apartment. We’ll start with the First Age.”

  He frowned. “That little black pyramid you found as a kid … you said it was from some First Age.”

  “It was, Eddie. It’s all connected. Everything is connected.”

  Wait till she told him about the Otherness and the Ally and the Lady—he’d grown up knowing her as Mrs. Clevenger—and all the rest. The big question: Would he be able to handle the fact that he and the rest of humanity were property?

  7

  Hank Thompson popped into Drexler’s office to see if he’d calmed down from yesterday. And to see if maybe he’d explain his “you might be the most surprised of all” remark. It had bothered him yesterday, but after last night’s dream …

  The Kicker Man in trouble again, worse this time. Just like the past few nights, he’d been under attack by a flock of birds or things that looked like birds—like in that movie where the birds turned on people. Just like before, they swarmed him, but this time they knocked him down and wouldn’t let him get up. And at the end he’d just lain there as they pecked at him.

  Gave Hank the creeps.

  Annoying Drexler would take the edge off.

  But instead of Drexler he found his enforcer, Szeto, in the office. Not just in the office, but seated behind Drexler’s desk. The Kickers had their fair share—some said more than their fair share—of scary guys, but Hank had always found Szeto even scarier. Everything about the guy was black, from his eyes to his hair—Hank had always wanted to ask if he dyed it—to his clothes. He looked better than he had a couple of weeks ago when someone worked him over real good. Anyone who could put that kind of hurt on Szeto had to be one tough mother.

  “Where’s the boss?”

  “Mister Drexler not in today,” he said in English warped by an Eastern European accent. Russian? Romanian? Hungarian? They all sounded the same to Hank.

  Then he raised his black-booted feet and plopped them on the desk.

  “Don’t know if the boss would like that.”

  “Do I look worried?”

  Hank noted the smug tone. What was going down here? A little palace revolt in the works?

  Szeto smiled. “Is something I can help you with?”

  Hank was about to say no, then remembered a little research Szeto had been assigned last month.

  “Remember those guys you were supposed to look into? The one who’d been a kid when Drexler met him—the friend of the brother and sister you were hunting—and John Tyleski, the one who stole something from me?”

  Stole the Compendium of Srem … Hank couldn’t believe he’d allowed that to happen. He still lay awake some nights dreaming of strangling that son of a bitch.

  Szeto shook his head. “Both are dead ends. The boy disappears during college. No record, not of taxes or even Social Security number. Your man, Tyleski, he lives only on paper. Has credit card and Social Security but address is mailbox.”

  Hank wandered around the office. The news was hardly a surprise. About a year ago—in fact, next month would make it exactly a y
ear—this asshole Tyleski had presented himself as a reporter from the Trenton Times who wanted to interview him about his book and the growing Kicker movement. Back then, Hank would ramble on to anyone who’d listen. The guy had asked all the wrong questions—hell, they almost got into a fight. Hank ran a check and found out the Trenton Times had never heard of John Tyleski. And then he went and robbed Hank of what was unquestionably the most valuable book on Earth—mugged him and snatched it in broad daylight.

  Hank couldn’t report the theft, of course, because the book had been stolen from the Museum of Natural History by one of his Kickers.

  But wait …

  Certain tidbits began to circulate in his head, bouncing off each other, looking for ways to fit together.

  “Check this out: We’ve got a real person—personally known to our good buddy Drexler—who grows up and disappears. Later on there’s a person who uses the name of a man who exists only on paper.” He turned to Szeto. “Could the first guy have become the second?”

  Szeto looked mildly interested. “Possible. But not probable.”

  “Tyleski knew more about me and other things than anybody should know.” That had become apparent to Hank during the interview. “And then last summer up pops this guy who Tasers your boss and me while we’re trailing the Fhinntmanchca. Only Drexler got a look at him.”

  Szeto smirked. “No. You must have seen him as well. I understand he was posing as Kicker and was in and out of here many times.”

  Hank had been down with a zillion Taser volts in him and not noticing a whole lot of what was going on in his immediate vicinity. The guy had been wearing a beard so it was hard to sync up memories of Tyleski with Drexler’s description of the Taser guy. No point in getting sidetracked into the possibility that Tyleski could have grown a beard and been right under Hank’s nose for who the hell knew how long.

  “According to Drexler, the Taser guy had brown hair and brown eyes, just like Tyleski, and he also knew all sorts of stuff no one outside the Order should know. So, couldn’t he and Tyleski be the same person?”

  Szeto looked a little more interested. “Possible.”

  “But still not probable?”

  “I do not know.”