The Black Tower: The Complete Series

by David R. Beshears

  He saw two figures walking up ahead that he took at first to be the pair of guards walking the watch. But he knew they were much further ahead and were already beyond the next corner.

  He recognized the person on the right then as Major Connelly. She was dressed in a clean, crisp uniform. As always, she was unaffected by the weather.

  The one on the left took a bit longer to identify. He could tell that it was a woman, of average height. From the back it was impossible to judge her age. Her clothes were ragged and dirty. There was a beat up old backpack strapped to her back.

  The two were in quiet conversation and seemed to be oblivious to the world around them.

  Miller walked more quickly, and began to close the gap between himself and the two women.

  The woman with Major Connelly turned her head slightly, and her profile came into view.

  It was Dr. Owen.

  The women reached the corner and continued around it. Miller hurried, broke into a jog and then finally began to run. He rounded the corner.

  There was no sign of the women. Another dozen steps and Miller came to a noisy, stomping halt.

  Ahead a third of way along the base of the tower walked the two guards. One looked briefly back over his shoulder at Miller, turned forward then and continued.

  Miller wasn’t sure what to do. What was there to do? Nothing, really. What did it mean? Had Major Connelly been in the tower, or had Dr. Owen been here?

  Or had they both been somewhere else?

  More likely. They hadn’t disappeared, rather one of those weird windows Banister and Lake talked about had opened and closed.

  Yeah… take this to Dr. Banister…

  Episode Seven / Chapter Four

  Elizabeth Owen and Major Connelly were sitting opposite Banister and Lake at a corner table in the mess tent. While Banister knew that Connelly wasn’t who she appeared to be, he had no problem seeking her opinions on medical issues. After all, that was supposed to be the medical officer’s reason for being there. Connelly, for her part, played her role well, despite the fact that no one believed her to be the person she purported herself to be.

  At the moment they were discussing how long Major Connelly believed the team in the tower could survive without food and water under their current conditions, or rather the conditions they were believed to be in at the moment. They hadn’t heard from the team in many days, and at that time supplies were reported to be extremely low.

  “Okay, I get that they can’t see or hear me,” Owen said to Connelly. She leaned forward across the table and looked up into the face of Banister. He obviously couldn’t see her. She turned her head then and looked side-glance at Connelly “But I’m having a bit of a time grasping that you are having two conversations at once.”

  One instance of Connelly was speculating to Banister on the team’s probable current health. Another Connelly smiled and placed a hand on Owen’s arm.

  “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone, Elizabeth,” she said.

  “All alone where? And… just why am I here, wherever this is?”

  “Ah, yes… well… you might say there has been a change in, how do you folks say, a change in your job description.”

  §

  Sgt. Miller came into the mess tent. Seeing Banister and Lake at one of the tables, he hurried over and sat down opposite them.

  “Sorry to bother you, doctors,” he said quickly. “But I just saw something weird.”

  “Quite all right, Sergeant,” said Banister. “What is it?”

  “I just saw Doctor Owen taking a leisurely walk with Major Connelly.”

  Banister and Lake both looked quickly at Connelly, who was sitting placidly beside Miller, then back to Miller.

  “Excuse me?” asked Banister.

  Miller glanced curiously at the empty space next to him, looked again across the table.

  “They were taking a walk around the tower. Doctor Owen looked like hell, but the major looked the same as always.”

  “I see,” said Banister.

  “I don’t,” said Lake.

  §

  Owen was completely bewildered.

  “What the hell?”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Connelly proudly. “Enough to make your head spin clean off. Right now, I’ve got a bunch of different ‘me’ going on all at once, or in the sergeant’s case not going on, or both, or… and that’s just here at this table.”

  Owen shook her head in frustration. “But… there’s like… at least three different scenes going on here. All at the same time. And I can see all of them; how can I see all of them?”

  “Most interesting.” Connelly looked directly at Owen. “Don’t you think?”

  §

  Most of the team waited midway along a long, wide section of tunnel, with Quinn standing apart from the others a few yards further on. He had his back to the group, kept his attention focused forward, focused on the bend in the tunnel another dozen yards ahead.

  There was no sign of Elizabeth Owen. When they had first realized that Owen was no longer with them, no one had been able to pinpoint exactly when they had last seen her. All had just assumed she was there, until faced with the fact that she wasn’t.

  Had she dropped back to quietly take care of business? Had she turned left when everyone else had turned right? Had she just slowed and then finally stopped?

  However it had happened, how had they not seen it?

  Backtracking had revealed nothing. They had searched every side-tunnel, every cave and crevasse. Elizabeth Owen was gone.

  Please… let her be back at command.

  Please, let her be with Banister and Carmody.

  At this point, it was all they had to hang onto. And they needed it. They needed something. Physically, they were almost done. They were now just hours from being too spent to walk, and their mental faculties were almost as affected by the hunger and dehydration. And then with Owen’s disappearance… it weighed heavily on them. The thought that she might be thoroughly annoying Banister at this very moment was all they had left.

  It brought a smile to one’s face.

  “Hey,” Susan said tiredly. She nodded in the direction of Lt. Quinn; beyond Quinn. “The sergeant’s back.”

  Asher leaned forward enough to see around the others. He saw Sgt. Costa coming around the corner. She approached Quinn. Reaching him, she stopped and nodded wearily.

  Whatever it was, she wasn’t all that pleased about it.

  “All right. Thank you,” said Quinn. He turned to face the group. “Everyone wait here.”

  “Lieutenant?” asked Ramos anxiously.

  Quinn ignored him, turned back to Costa. “Give me five.”

  “Understood,” Costa stated coolly.

  Quinn stepped around his sergeant and started forward.

  §

  Lieutenant Quinn moved out of the narrow tunnel and into a cavern quite different than any they had seen previously. Directly ahead of him, stone steps were set into the side of a wide stone tower that rose up some forty feet and dominated the center of the chamber.

  Quinn hesitated as he reached the top step. The top of the tower was flat, some thirty feet across. The creature was standing near the center of the dais, looking patiently in his direction.

  “Approach,” said the creature. The voice was deep and hollow.

  Quinn left the top step, moved a few yards from the edge and stopped, still some eight feet from the creature. It towered above him and he had to look up to look it in the eye. It wore no clothes. Its skin was leather the color of dark burgundy. Its feet were cloven hooves. Two massive horns curled forward and up from its forehead and its chin protruded out impossibly far.

  It lifted one of its hooves and took a single step forward.

  Quinn almost took an involuntary step back before catching himself. He held his ground.

  As the creature brought its other foot forward, it began to change shape. Its physical presence slowly morphed, growing increasingly les
s tangible, a dark, murky cloud. The cloud continued to push forward, and as it did so it continued to morph, slowly solidified into a form almost human.

  The being was about the same height as Quinn. His face was thin and pale, seemingly more so with the jet black hair and nearly black eyes; eyes that sparkled with life.

  He wore dark slacks, a black shirt, beneath a black jacket. They fit him well.

  He took another step forward; a smooth, easy glide.

  “Oh, that’s much better,” said the Devil. “Now perhaps we can have an intelligent conversation.”

  “Where is Doctor Owen,” demanded Quinn.

  The Devil smiled sympathetically, took another step forward and just a bit to one side. He studied Quinn; his facial expression, the way he stood, the defiant glare in his eyes.

  “You have come so very far, my friend.”

  Quinn started to respond, in the end stood silent.

  “Your journey through my realm, to be sure,” the Devil continued. “But the path that has brought you to this moment is so much more, is it not?”

  “We’ve managed.”

  “Yes. You have… managed.”

  “And now?”

  The Devil grew thoughtful. He looked about them, stepped further to one side. “These tunnels and chambers that you have traversed these many days, you did not recognize them?”

  “Should I have?”

  “It would have changed nothing.”

  “All right… then what’s the point?”

  “No point.” The Devil gave a casual shrug. “It would have been nice. There was much effort put into it.”

  Damn. Quinn couldn’t help himself. “Into what?”

  The Devil turned slowly about and grinned. “Ah… it was quite the accomplishment, my dear friend. For you see, the path that you and your comrades have trod through these tunnels and chambers, through the small caves and the grand caverns… it is the same journey as the twenty floors that came before.”

  “Yeah…” Quinn slowly drawled out. “I don’t get it.”

  The Devil held up a long, bony finger. “My friend… by your journey through the Underworld, you have retraced the very path that brought you here.”

  What a load of gibberish, thought Quinn. And yet, it had to mean something to the Acolyte, or the Adversary… whoever this was.

  “Let’s assume that makes sense,” said Quinn. “How does it get us out of here?”

  “Much the reverse, I’m afraid. Think, sir, on what I just said. You have retraced the path that brought you here.”

  “Yeah, I heard. And?”

  “You, my friend… are back at the beginning.” He raised an arm and lifted his hand in one smooth, easy movement. He pointed at a glowing portal that had appeared a dozen yards away. “There lay the way to the Underworld. Yes. The Ferryman awaits.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Of course it’s possible.” The Devil looked genuinely surprised. “I have made it so.”

  “We’ll never survive. You know the condition we’re in. Another day of this and we’ll die. You know that.”

  “So sorry. The rules of the floor, my friend. The floor is the floor.”

  “And every floor has a way out. There has to be a way out.”

  The Devil cocked his head to one side, then to the other. He looked curiously at Quinn. Washing across the Devil’s face was an ethereal shimmer of burgundy-colored leather and monstrous horns, and then he smiled.

  “You would make a deal with the Devil?”

  §

  Elizabeth Owen stood passively six steps from the open portal in the middle of a field of wildflowers. Sgt. Costa stepped through, passed to Owen’s left without seeming to notice her standing there. Owen was not surprised.

  Lisa Powell came through next and passed to Owen’s right. As with Costa, Lisa said nothing, saw nothing, her half-dead eyes staring dully ahead. The others came through then, one at a time, walked silently past Owen and continued on.

  Lt. Quinn was the last to step through the portal. Owen sensed immediately that there was something different about him. Different from the others, but more than that… there was something not right. Owen couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was definitely something different, something wrong.

  There was an air of resoluteness about him. His gait was different. His step was slow and paced, but also steady, certain. It shouldn’t be. Owen just knew that it shouldn’t be.

  It was wrong. It was all wrong.

  And the eyes… the eyes didn’t have the look that Owen just knew she should see. That gaze… saw too much.

  And then, just as he reached her, passing on her left… Owen felt a bitter cold chill.

  Quinn’s eyes turned to her, looked directly at her; saw her. Those cool, clear eyes…

  And then he was past.

  §

  Elizabeth Owen and Major Connelly stood outside the command center, Owen gazing up at the tower.

  If the floors were actually floors, then the team would be just about… there.

  “They’re on the next floor,” she said, her focus never leaving the tower.

  “That is good,” Connelly stated. “I’ll let the General know.”

  “Yeah,” Owen said softly, almost a whisper. “Yeah, you do that.”

  ~ end of episode seven

  Episode Eight

  The Neighborhood

  Prolog

  Peter Asher stepped out onto the front porch of the comfortable two bedroom house, closed the door behind him and started down the front walk to the sidewalk. He was clean-shaven, his hair recently trimmed. He was dressed in clean clothes, nothing too heavy as this was clearly going to be another very pleasant day.

  Walking up the street, he only occasionally glanced at the homes that he passed. It was by now all warmly familiar to him. This was a nice, middle-class neighborhood; nice homes, green lawns and shrubs, and healthy trees that provided shade wherever shade was needed. There were a few light, wispy clouds drifting slowly overhead, set against a sky that was a very nice shade of blue. The morning sun was still low on the horizon, would be hidden from view for another hour or so.

  Reaching the corner, Asher had to step around the little boy on the tricycle.

  The tricycle wasn’t moving. The little boy wasn’t moving. His eyes never wavered, never blinked.

  Asher moved around and passed by the little boy, giving him a casual, disinterested glance before continuing up the side street.

  He had places to go; there were things to do on this fine day…

  Episode Eight / Chapter One

  Ramos stood in the middle of the small parking lot, frowning at the little strip mall before them.

  “Not much to offer,” he said. The building held a Laundromat, a nail salon, a pet groomer and a dollar store. They would have to check them all, of course, on the off-chance that one of them held the portal to the next floor. But Cpl. Ramos continued to hope he would find the materials that he needed in order to put together a new radio, and so regain communication with command.

  They would not be finding those materials here.

  “Not much,” agreed Lisa, though to be honest she thought they might find a few useful odds and ends in a couple of those shops.

  “So, start with the Laundromat?” Ramos started across the lot without waiting for an answer. Lisa followed beside him.

  They had been teamed together for the last several days. It had been awkward at first, for though they had been living and working side-by-side for months, they had until now never been paired together.

  Just the way it sorted itself out, she supposed.

  The parking lot was empty. But then, every parking lot was empty; as was every road, every driveway and every garage.

  There were no cars. The Adversary wanted the team on foot.

  The lieutenant had the teams searching the floor in a circular grid, working out from the street they had settled into and were using as their home base. They had
named the block “the neighborhood”.

  They had been on the twenty-seventh floor for eleven days. They had yet to find any real threats, and the environment was pleasant enough. They had quickly found food and water, clean clothes and comfortable beds. It had been their first real opportunity at genuine rest and recovery since their escape from Hades, some half a dozen floors back. While the intervening floors had provided some food and water, between the unrelenting meteor storms on twenty three and the insect-infested jungle on twenty six, there had been little time to recuperate from the horrors of the twenty-first floor.

  Lisa Powell was more than happy to take advantage of what peace this floor offered for just as long as it was offered. She was certain the dangers of this floor would make themselves known soon enough.

  The Laundromat smelled of oft-used washing machines and dryers; of wet, soapy clothes and of hot, drying clothes. They found a young woman sitting on a wooden bench before a front-loading dryer. She appeared quite bored.

  Lisa stood in front of the woman, looked dispassionately down at her. The woman didn’t move, didn’t raise her gaze to look up at her. She didn’t acknowledge the fact that Lisa now stood between her and the dryer she was absently watching.

  Ramos searched the Laundromat while Lisa studied the unmoving woman. Once he was certain that the portal wasn’t hiding in one of the washing machines, he came up beside Lisa. He gave the young woman only a passing glance.

  “Come on, Lisa,” he urged calmly. “Let’s have a look in the nail salon.”

  “Yeah… okay.” Lisa sighed and looked up from the motionless figure. “Nail salon it is…”

  §

  Quinn sat at the picnic table in the small park, fastidiously updating his maps. With each passing day his picture of the floor grew more accurate, more complete, expanded further.