by Spencer Baum
The resemblance was undeniable. The girl was a young Cassandra D’Antonia.
“I assume you recognize the girl in this picture,” Lou said.
Recognize the girl…the girl in this picture…Lou’s voice came to Kevin as if in another dream, and Kevin realized he had fallen into his own world. He had become mesmerized with this picture, not because it showed Cassandra as a teenager, but because of the object she held in her hands. The framed document was covered in the same spiral shapes that Gerrard drew in his manuscript, the hum…
Kevin turned the picture away from his eyes. Jackie took it from his hands.
“Are you okay?” she whispered to Kevin.
Kevin nodded. He felt like he had just returned from outer space. He felt shaken, disturbed even. Inside those spiral drawings, Kevin had seen Turquoise Mountain.
“We have much to tell each other,” Lou said, “but not here. We go inside.”
“We go inside,” Amy and Tom echoed.
“Excuse me,” Jackie said, “but I’m not going anywhere until you tell us what’s going on.”
“What’s going on, my dear guests, is the end game,” said Lou. “Like it or not, I fear you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. There is only one place in the world that is safe for you now, and it is my headquarters. I cannot make you follow, but I strongly encourage you to do so. Time is short, and certain death awaits you if you don’t do exactly as I say.”
With that, Lou turned and went back through the steel door under the stairs. Tom and Amy followed him, leaving Jackie, Joseph, and Kevin alone.
“I want to go,” said Joseph.
“Of course you do,” said Jackie. “You’ve been waiting for this day your whole life. Are we going too, Kevin?”
Kevin glanced at the photograph in Jackie’s hand. The hum swelled in volume.
“We need to find out what’s going on,” Kevin said.
“Excellent. I’ll go first,” said Joseph.
As soon as they stepped through, Kevin wondered if they’d made a mistake. On the other side of the door was a pathetic, dirty bedroom, with an air mattress, a ratty blanket, and an ancient television mashed into a corner. A shower stall and toilet occupied the back wall, without even a curtain to separate them from the rest of the room.
“Welcome,” said Lou. “And relax, this isn’t Headquarters. This is Tom’s room.”
“To get to Lou, you have to go through me,” Tom said with pride.
Kevin looked for a door in the back of the room, a way “to get to Lou,” but saw no way out. All six of them were piled into the small room, pushing towards the dead-end back wall.
The wall is a dead end, the room is a dead end, maybe this entire visit with Lou Sweeney and his oddball friends is a dead end, Kevin thought.
Then, as if to prove that this was a waste of time and these people were indeed nutcases, Lou stepped into the shower stall and began turning the knobs. The squeaks and clangs of underground plumbing echoed behind the mildewed shower tiles. Apparently, Lou was going to take a quick bath with his clothes on.
Kevin nearly turned to Jackie to make a sarcastic remark, but a spectacular sight interrupted him. The wall behind Lou separated at the seams between the tiles, opening like elevator doors. Bright light filled the gaps, and music, the most lovely classical music, broke through from the other side. Kevin had the sensation that they were looking into another world, some strange alternate dimension of paradise on the other side of a grimy shower stall two stories underneath The Global Mug coffee shop. By the time the shower tiles stopped moving, a wide door had opened, exposing a brightly lit hallway on the other side.
“Follow me,” said Lou.
Three crystal chandeliers hung in a straight line across the hallway’s ceiling. A red carpet stretched the length of the floor. Tiny speakers hung just beneath the ceiling, filling the hall with classical music.
“I can’t believe it’s time,” said Amy. “I knew the day would come when I would return to Headquarters. I haven’t been down here since we finished construction.”
“Amy is our face in the outside world,” Lou said. “It was vital that we kept her clean.”
“They can smell you,” Tom hissed at Kevin, as if answering some question Kevin should have asked.
“No turning back now,” Lou said.
“No turning back,” Amy and Tom agreed.
A steel door marked the hallway’s end. It sounded like fifty people were quietly chattering on the other side of the doors. A part of Kevin wondered if they were walking into an elaborate trap, if an army was waiting on the other side to capture them.
Lou pulled a miniature flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. He aimed the beam of light at a small, diamond-shaped glass panel next to the steel door and held it there for a few seconds.
“Photo reception sensors,” Lou said. “Amy, Turquoise’s favorite coffee barista, is also the most talented electronics and radio engineer in the world.”
“You’re too kind,” Amy said.
“And you’re too humble,” said Lou. “Our enemies will come with many weapons, but they won’t come with flashlights.”
Cued by the flashlight hitting the photo reception sensors, the steel door slid open, revealing a black and white tiled floor, a towering ceiling, a winding staircase against a far back wall – Lou led them out of the hallway, and into an underground palace.
“Welcome to the headquarters of our global operation,” Lou said.
Kevin was stunned at the grandeur of the place, but also weirded out. The chattering people he’d heard from the other side were not real, but were the sounds of at least twenty televisions, all playing at once. The décor of the huge room was a mix of artwork and TV monitors. A pattern lined the walls. Oil painting, TV, sculpture, TV, marble water fountain, TV -- the TV’s showed 24-hour cable news and nature shows and stock tickers and strange low-budget videos of wide-eyed people talking directly to the camera. The sounds of multiple talking televisions buzzed on top of the light classical music, the whole panorama blending into its own hum upon the hum already in Kevin’s head.
Kevin was reminded of another underground house. Like Cassandra’s home, the nicest part of Lou’s place was hidden from the rest of the world. An antique sofa and chairs set formed a conversation circle at the center of the room, and inside that circle, on a stone coffee table, stood a Tingley 2000 espresso machine, the words “Lean Mean Caffeine Bean Machine” scrolling across its digital display. Kevin imagined Lou sitting on the sofa, by himself, watching one of these TV’s and sipping espresso.
A half wall on their left separated the main room from a full kitchen. Inside the kitchen was an old, beat up avocado green refrigerator. Even Kevin, who cared nothing about fashion or decorating, couldn’t help notice how out of place the ugly refrigerator was in this underground palace.
“Is that a Pitcher Plant?” Jackie asked, pointing toward the back corner of the room. On an end table, inside a glass case, was a plant that matched the description Jackie just gave it. It was shaped like a lemonade pitcher without a handle.
“Good eye,” said Lou. “What do you know about Pitcher Plants?”
“I know that it’s odd for someone to keep it in his home,” Jackie said.
“Right you are,” said Lou. “Many housekeepers might find the Pitcher Plant’s ways of feeding…”
“Distasteful?” said Jackie.
“I like this girl already,” said Lou. “Come take a look.”
Jackie, Kevin, and Joseph approached the glass case. The bright green leaves of the plant formed a pitcher that was more than a foot deep. At the bottom of the pitcher was a pool of murky water, and a dead ant.
“In nature, the pitcher plant uses colors and smells to attract insects into its trap. My Pitcher Plant is domesticated, so I have to feed it. Once a week, Tom meets me at the front door, and gives me a lovely specimen he has collected on the job. You can see that yesterday’s meal is still bei
ng digested.”
“Caught that little fire ant in your living room yesterday,” Tom said to Joseph.
“The water in the bottom contains enzymes that digest the bug,” Jackie said.
“More importantly,” said Lou, “the inner walls of the plant are shaped and coated just right so that once a bug falls in, it can’t get out.”
“So why do you have this?” Jackie asked.
“Like everything in my headquarters, this plant has a story, and believe me, I’d love to tell them all, but today it’s important that I tell one story in particular. We don’t have much time, so please, have a seat and I will explain everything the best way I know how, over espresso prepared with the Tingley 2000.”
Chapter 13
“The young woman in the photograph is Gretchen Brinkley,” said Lou, gesturing at the black and white picture that Jackie still held in her fingertips. “We knew she was in Turquoise. It’s why we’re here as well.”
They sat in Lou’s antique furniture surrounding the Tingley 2000 espresso machine, which Lou had programmed to make six cups. Kevin had removed his backpack, and placed it on the floor between his legs. He held onto the shoulder straps with both hands.
“Her name isn’t Gretchen,” said Kevin, “it’s Cassandra D’Antonia. She’s a friend of my dad.”
“An alias, yes,” said Lou. “Her real name would only bring trouble for her, and she has no patience for trouble. This I know firsthand. It’s curious to me that she took a friend. How does your father know her?”
“My dad and Cassandra are both Hearers,” said Kevin.
Tom and Amy sat forward in their chairs. Amy whispered, “Of course.”
“We’ve long suspected the Turquoise Hum had something to do with her presence here,” said Lou. “I don’t fully understand the connection of the hum to Turquoise Mountain, but I know one exists. Gretchen, or Cassandra as you know her, clearly has an interest in the mountain. We have proof that yesterday’s explosion was her doing. I’ll show you that in a minute.”
“We have proof too,” said Joseph.
Jackie sent a stern look her brother’s way. Lou caught it and apparently understood.
“No, please – it’s important that we be honest with each other,” Lou said. “I would like to hear everything you know. I’m curious why you were at Turquoise Mountain at all yesterday.”
“It’s a complete coincidence that we happened to be at the mountain when the explosion happened,” said Jackie, “that’s all. You tell us your story first, then we’ll tell you ours.”
“Fair enough,” said Lou. “I suppose I should start my story with a question. Do you believe in demons?”
“Demons?” said Jackie. “Like little devils.”
“Or big ones,” said Lou. “Let me try it this way. If I told you that there were giant, viscous, bloodthirsty monsters in this world, the stuff of your worst nightmares, unlike anything you’d ever expect to see in this warm blanket we call reality, would you believe me?”
“I might,” said Jackie. “Lately, I’ve found myself believing in some unbelievable things.”
“Really?” said Lou. “I’m eager to hear more on that. But you have asked for our story first.”
Lou reached inside his chair, between the cushion and the armrest, and pulled out a comically over-sized remote control. Using two hands, he pointed the remote at a television across the room, which turned on to show a close-up picture of an animal’s footprint in the sand. The footprint was a large, deep oval with a triangular indentation at the bottom.
“Have any of you ever seen tracks like these?” Lou asked.
“Yes,” said Jackie, “just yesterday we saw them. More than once. What are they?”
Lou took a deep breath through his nose. The Tingley 2000 beeped. The display screen read, “Done. Please enjoy your espresso,” in large green letters. Six streams of thick, black liquid poured from the machine into tiny porcelain cups on the serving tray.
“Ah, time for espresso,” said Lou. “You’ll indulge me, I hope, as I will insist that everyone in this room drinks a cup.”
“I’ll skip, thank you,” said Jackie.
“Me too,” said Kevin, looking at the steaming black liquid and wondering what his dad was doing right now.
“Sadly, that isn’t an option,” said Lou, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a sip.
“There are only two smells that throw them off track,” said Tom. He held his cup out in display. “This is one of them. Insecticide is the other.”
“Are we talking about these demons again?” asked Jackie. Her voice was laced with sarcasm, but inside the hum, Kevin heard something different. He heard the sounds of fear resonating on the edges of her words. He felt it too. The events of the past twenty-four hours had blown up their notions of what was real and what was fantasy. They now lived in a universe where superhuman powers existed, the pages of books triggered sounds in the mind, and Joseph’s crazy radio announcer might have been the only sane person all along.
“We are indeed speaking of demons,” said Lou. “The same demons who left mysterious tracks in the dirt at Turquoise Mountain. The same demons who have chased me all over this earth, and who I fear are now on your trail, and won’t stop until you are dead. Now please take an espresso. I insist.”
The room sat in silence for a moment. Joseph reached under the Tingley 2000 and took a cup. Kevin and Jackie did the same.
“Good,” said Lou. “Kevin, your dad’s friend, Cassandra…does she happen to like espresso?”
“No, she calls it Turquoise’s Disgusting Habit.”
“Right on,” said Amy, as Lou and Tom laughed.
“Forgive us,” said Lou, “you have no idea how gratifying it is to hear that your work is appreciated. Turquoise indeed has an espresso habit, and the architects of that habit are sitting in front of you. The Tingley 2000 Espresso Machine, a staple in the households of Turquoise, is my idea, and Amy’s design, and the financial backbone of our operation. It’s no accident that The Global Mug serves the best espresso in the world, and sells the world’s best espresso machine. We’re turning the entire town into an unfriendly place for Gretchen Brinkley, one cup at a time.”
Kevin didn’t know whether to feel insulted or gratified that these strange people disliked Cassandra so much. “So…are you saying Cassandra--”
“They’re saying she’s a demon, Kevin,” said Jackie.
“No, not quite,” said Lou. “She’s not a demon. She’s their queen.”
Lou took another sip from his cup. He looked from Joseph to Jackie to Kevin, the
way a parent might look at a child after explaining the truth about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
“Wild,” Joseph said.
“Too true. Reality is wild,” said Lou. “I’m so glad you made it here safely, and have had some espresso to protect yourself. I hope you each will finish your cups. Sadly, I expect we’ll need the protection this drink affords sooner than we’d like. We’ll now begin at the beginning. This story asks of the listener to believe the unbelievable, but not without proof. I have prepared a video and we’ll show it to you now.”
Lou stood up and gave his mammoth remote control to Amy. Lou and Amy exchanged a knowing glance before Amy went back to her chair with the remote. Amy began pressing buttons on the remote, too many buttons, as if she were dialing a phone call to China. Her hands shook. The color drained from her face. Tom reached from his chair and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Does anyone need to use the restroom?” Lou asked.
No one said anything. Amy closed her eyes and took two deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She hesitated, then pushed a final button with her thumb. All the televisions on the walls turned off at once.
“We begin,” said Lou.
“We begin,” echoed Tom and Amy.
The Tingley 2000 started beeping, even though there were no espresso cups to fill. The beeps grew louder, until they were down
right obnoxious. The display screen on the unit lit up, and turned bright red.
“What’s wrong with your coffeemaker?” asked Jackie.
“Nothing,” said Lou. “It’s just grabbing your attention. All throughout Turquoise, in most every home and office, thousands of Tingley 2000’s are sounding this alarm. People are gathering ‘round their espresso machines, wondering what’s going on. Some will try to unplug the units, and will be frightened to find that each machine has a secret battery backup and cannot be turned off. The machines will alarm for just a few more seconds before commencing their routines.”
As predicted, the machine stopped beeping. The display screen went from red to black to gray. A man in a dark suit stepped into the picture. The Tingley 2000 display screen, which Kevin had always thought was too big and too fancy to deliver its silly jokes about coffee, had become a miniature television, and it showed a man in a black suit, standing in front of a blank gray wall. The man in the suit was Lou. His white hair was nicely combed but otherwise he looked no different than the person sitting with them. The TV version of Lou spoke to the room like the president addressing the nation from the White House.
“Hello, I’m Lou Sweeney,” the man on the screen said. “Please pardon this interruption to your day. I have a message you must hear.”
The Demon Queen of Shuberville
The power came to fruition seconds after Ms. Stephenson showed her Peter Gerrard’s letter to Julius Adams. Gerrard had the power as well, and somehow he had captured it on paper in a series of spiraling shapes. To the untrained eye, they were no more than nonsense doodles, strange adornments on a strange letter.
Gretchen saw more. She saw how the spiral shapes represented something innate but unseen in the world. In those spirals, she saw years of Peter Gerrard’s research, recorded for posterity in a more dynamic and enduring way than written words could ever accomplish. She saw that Peter Gerrard had once unlocked secrets of the natural world beyond the simple ambitions of science, and she felt inspired to do the same. In those spirals, Gerrard had given her the tools to understand her purpose in this life. They cued her brain to the part of the hum that was hers. Once aware of that part, the rest was easy.
