Veil

by George C. Chesbro

  "You behave as if you do."

  "No, I don't. That's your illusion, Jonathan. I leave people alone if they leave me—and the people I care for—alone, but I assure you that I will shoot Henry Ibber's ass dead if and when I find him. And I won't confuse his ass with mine."

  Pilgrim shrugs. "As I said, you're unique. It amazes me that you've been here so many times, and yet you still don't feel the oneness of human beings."

  "All my life I've felt alone, Jonathan. What I've discovered in the last few days is an intense friendship with you and Sharon, and with Perry Tompkins. But Ibber's not my friend, any more than his ass is my ass. You see every human as being a part of some single, great organism or entity; I see every human as being essentially alone. That's the difference in our viewpoints."

  "So be it," Pilgrim says with a sigh. "Anyway, speaking of Ibber, whatever he and the Russians may have thought we were up to, or were afraid we were up to, he sure as hell got an earful at that meeting you called. For the first time, he understood how important you were to me—in a way he'd never suspected. He saw that you were a catalyst, understood that you were the key to all sorts of mysteries the Russians were trying to solve. And he'd almost knocked you off."

  "I'm sorry about that meeting, Jonathan."

  "What's to be sorry about?"

  "It brought matters to a head, and it eventually got you shot."

  "Ah, but you're here and we're having this little musical chat as a result of that meeting. Who knows if I'd ever have gotten you to cooperate with me if Ibber hadn't reached the wrong conclusions, jumped the gun, and sent his man after you? Unexpected events and disrupted plans can often provide their own rich rewards."

  "Indeed," Veil says softly as he thinks of Sharon. Suddenly he feels sadness soaking into his ecstasy like a stain.

  "After that meeting, Ibber was probably tempted to shoot himself for screwing up my plans, which he could have monitored. But it was too late, Now you were trying to flush him out, and he may have known that I was suspicious of him. We had ourselves one very nervous KGB operative; if, with you, I was able to put something important together that he couldn't monitor, it would be his own damn fault."

  Veil nods. "So he became defensive; his attention shifted to making certain that you couldn't use me for whatever experiments you had in mind. The possibility of you making some kind of breakthrough that he didn't know about was an outcome he couldn't afford."

  "That sounds right."

  "It's why he was so anxious to have me die in the compound." Veil pauses and again feels his spine stiffen. "It's why he'll eventually come here, to the hospice, if he isn't on his way back to Moscow."

  "Let's hope your fifteen minutes are up soon," Pilgrim says easily. His eyes are half closed now, and he seems unconcerned. "I know you're anxious to get back and tend to all your illusions."

  "Yes."

  It is some time before Pilgrim speaks again. His eyes remain half closed, and he appears sleepy. "If you already knew that Henry was the bad guy, as you put it, why did you come here?"

  "To bring you back with me," Veil replies simply. "I thought you understood that."

  Pilgrim opens his eyes, dreamily shakes his head. "No, Veil."

  "Your wound is serious, but you'll live—if you want to."

  "I know. But why bother? There are too many illusions back there."

  "This is an illusion!" Veil snaps, his voice ringing out as deep chimes that echo in the gray, swirling mist of the walls. He takes a deep breath, continues more quietly. "It's just an instant before death, a moment you and I have managed to stretch out. Full of illusions or not, life is what being human is about, not this giddy bullshit. When your body dies, the lights here go out and you're gone. Then you'll be nothing, Jonathan; nada."

  "We don't know that," Pilgrim says in a somewhat defensive tone.

  "Know it, Jonathan. Believe it. Sharon's right; this experience is just a momentary painkiller to help some of us, and maybe all of us, along the way when the time comes to die. Your problem is that you got hooked. Don't throw your life away. Come back."

  Pilgrim again closes his eyes, says nothing.

  "You can fight it, Jonathan," Veil continues softly. "You did it once before; you fought like no human being had ever fought before. My God, nobody had ever been this deep into death, beyond that flash of light, and returned. You did, because at that time you understood that life is all there is. Now I want you to use the same will and guts you had then. I understand that you wanted me here. Okay, I came; I'm here. Now let's stop horsing around and both get back to where we belong. Sharon has to bring me back, because she had to fill me full of shit to get me here. All you have to do is will yourself to wake up. Do it."

  "You don't understand, Veil," Pilgrim says dreamily. "Here I'm a whole man. I have all my pieces, and I'm not half exhausted all the time. I'm happy here. Aren't you?"

  "Sure—but then, I tend to be a happy drunk. The difference between you and me is that I know when I'm drunk."

  "You were pretty damned impressed with this experience a short while ago," Pilgrim says. His voice, his music, is suddenly bitter. "Why are you belittling it now?"

  "I'm not belittling it, Jonathan. I haven't forgotten that the only reason I'm alive right now is because my cry for help somehow echoed through this place to you. I find the experience profoundly moving. I'm just trying to get you to see all that it is—and isn't. Sharon and I have a better fix on this geography than you do."

  "There's love here. And Peace." Pilgrim's voice has once again become distant and dreamy. His upper body sways back and forth, as if caught in a breeze only he can feel.

  "Maybe that's because you're a loving, peaceful man, my friend. It might be different for other people."

  "I'm so tired back there, Veil . . . I'm tired all the time."

  "I understand. But if you stay here, you're going to end up dead tired, in the most literal sense. This is one nap that's going to last forever. Your work isn't finished; in fact, it's just begun."

  "So . . . tired."

  "Well, you'll have plenty of time to sleep when you wake up, in a matter of speaking. You've found the Lazarus Gate, found a way to go through it and—I sincerely hope—survive. Together we haven't even begun to explore the implications for humanity. This is certainly no time for you to retire."

  "Your . . . work now."

  "No way, Jonathan. Don't try to lay off your responsibility on me. I'm a painter, remember? In fact, I don't think I'll ever do another dream-painting, because I understand now that they're about death. There are other things I want to do, subjects that are about living." Veil pauses and smiles gently at the other man. "If you'll pardon another atrocious pun, I've learned enough about death in the past few days to last me a lifetime. Please come back with me."

  Pilgrim does not return the smile. "Good-bye, Veil," he says softly, then abruptly turns and walks into the mist to Veil's left.

  Although Veil now suspects that the walls that he has always feared to look at may actually be death, boundaries around a last thread—corridor—of existence, he now unhesitatingly turns and peers directly at the spot where Pilgrim has disappeared. Then he steps through.

  Instantly he is assailed by chimes of every conceivable pitch and timbre, sounds that swirl within his head, chest, and stomach like the gray in the walls. This is not the music of speech; always, he thinks, these chimes have meant danger. He knows that he is in grave danger now, but it is impossible for him to make any emotional connection with the concept of danger; he can only sense and note it intellectually, for he is filled with ecstasy to the point where he is actually weeping with joy.

  Around him is nothing but solid gray—except for Jonathan Pilgrim, who stands before Veil with his body glistening like dew at sunrise.

  Both of them, Veil thinks, are but a glimpse out of the corner of the eye away from death.

  "It's an ocean," Pilgrim says in a hoarse whisper that is filled with awe. "Everything in the un
iverse exists in the ocean, but human beings are so heavy that we're powerless to do anything but spend our lives trudging along the bottom." He sobs with ecstasy. "Except in dreams and death."

  "Jonathan, there's nothing here. Nothing." He will not yield to it.

  "Only as we approach death do we begin to rise toward the surface. It's so sad, Veil. So sad."

  Danger. Danger.

  "Veil," Sharon whispers in his ear, "I love you."

  Veil turns and finds Sharon, naked and unutterably beautiful, standing at his side.

  Danger.

  "It's so easy to say that here," the woman continues. "I love you, I love you."

  Pilgrim begins to dance, whirl, and giggle. Veil will not yield to it. Sharon reaches for him, but Veil steps away a short distance.

  "What's happened, Sharon? Why are you here?"

  "What?" Sharon giggles. "Did you think I was going to let you two guys have all the fun? After all, you're walking around in my field; I'm a professional, and you two gentlemen are just dilettantes. I was back there watching the two of you with your matching grins and brain-wave patterns, and I just decided there was no way I was going to be left out."

  Danger.

  "How did you get here, Sharon?" He will not yield to the giddiness that pounds at his stomach, making him want to howl with laughter.

  Sharon shrugs and again grabs for Veil, who again steps out of the way. "Henry's maintaining us," Sharon says, cocking her head and smiling coyly at Veil as she cups her breasts. "He came in a few minutes after I put you under; he said that Jonathan had given him a key to the cable car after the meeting, and he'd come over to check on Jonathan's condition. Everything's all right. Really. It turns out that the procedure can be simplified. I explained to Henry what was happening, and what I wanted him to do. He's a physician, so he's as qualified to run that equipment as I am. The anesthesia and drugs are being automatically monitored. All Henry has to do is read dials and flip a switch in five minutes." She pauses, spreads her arms out to her sides, throws her head back, and utters a shrieking laugh. "Voila! Here I am, guys! What a trip!"

  Veil turns to Pilgrim, who shrugs and flashes a broad grin.

  "Uh-oh," Pilgrim says, and giggles.

  Definitely endomorphins, Veil thinks, painkilling chemicals a hundred times more powerful than morphine, naturally produced by the brain, coursing through their systems.

  "Come to me, Veil," Sharon whispers. "Make love to me."

  "You're a dead duck, buddy," Jonathan says, "so you may as well enjoy what's left of the ride and oblige the lady. Go for it."

  Pilgrim is right, of course, Veil thinks. Ibber does not have to bring him back to find out what is happening, for the KGB agent now has all the data he needs to enable the Russians to duplicate the experiment. He is indeed one dead duck, probably with only a few moments of life left to him while Ibber double-checks the dial readings and drug mixtures, and perhaps runs some simple blood tests.

  Then Ibber will take care of some other business. He will destroy all the files. He will destroy the hospice. He will destroy the people in the hospice.

  There will be a lot of dead ducks flying through the Lazarus Gate on this day. But Veil doesn't care. With nothing else left to do, he has finally yielded.

  Now Veil gives in to the laughter exploding through him, then steps toward, into, Sharon. Their minds and bodies meld into one entity that is sexual love; they writhe as one in a prolonged orgasm that Veil feels must go on forever, until Sharon begins to disintegrate

  "Veil"—Sharon sighs in an agonized whisper—"I hurt."

  Veil separates his mind from Sharon's, but continues to hold her in his arms as she sags. Her flesh is melting away, exposing bone that glows iridescent green, like something radioactive, sick.

  "It's because you don't belong here," Veil says. All ecstasy and laughter is gone now, but he must still fight for control against a giddiness that has suddenly turned nauseating. "It's the reason some end up Lazarus People, but most don't. You shouldn't have joined us, Sharon; you can't survive here."

  "Veil, I love you. The real reason I came was because I couldn't bear the thought of you dying without ... I hurt a lot, Veil."

  The disintegration of Sharon's flesh continues, and Veil knows that he will soon be holding nothing but a glowing skeleton. Then that, too, will disappear. Desperately, he looks around him, finds Jonathan standing close by, wide-eyed now with horror.

  "Jonathan! What can I do?!"

  Pilgrim shakes his head. "I don't know, Veil."

  "Veil," Sharon whispers, "it hurts too much. I think I'm . . . going to go away now."

  "No!" Instinctively, Veil holds Sharon even tighter to him, then wills energy to flow from him into her.

  Slowly, Sharon's body begins to form again, even as Veil begins to feel himself growing weary. And he is in pain.

  "Sharon, concentrate," Veil continues. "You have to hang on; hang on to me. Don't think about anything else but our love, and don't move. Stay just as you are."

  "Yes," Sharon answers dreamily. "I want to stay like this forever. With you, Veil, my darling. I don't hurt anymore. Do you?"

  "No," Veil lies.

  "Don't let go of me."

  "I won't." He must fight now to keep his eyes open, and he wonders if his own flesh is melting away as he feeds his life to Sharon. He turns to Pilgrim. "Jonathan, are you all right?"

  "Yes," Pilgrim answers in a hollow voice.

  "She can't survive here. Do you understand that?"

  "Yes."

  "Then help me."

  "I don't know how."

  "Think, goddam it! I don't know what that fuck Ibber is up to right now, but Sharon is going to die unless he pulls her back!" "The three of us are going to die, anyway, Veil. You know it. Ibber isn't going to pull anybody back."

  "But he hasn't killed us yet! I'm losing it, Jonathan. I'm going to die soon, no matter what Ibber does or doesn't do. When I die, Sharon's going to die—and she's going to be in a great deal of pain. You have to go back. I know you have a chest wound; I know that you're going to be in a great deal of pain. But if you'll just wake up and reach for that switch, you can—"

  "No, I can't," Pilgrim replies woodenly. "I already thought of that and I tried. Ibber understands; he has me hooked up with the two of you, and he controls me just as much as he controls you. I'm sorry."

  As Veil has been speaking to Jonathan, Sharon's flesh has again begun to melt. "Sharon, I love you," Veil says, squeezing her. "You're letting go. Don't. I can't hang on to you if you don't want me to."

  "You're . . . dying because of me; you're taking my pain. I feel it. I'm going away now."

  "Sharon!"

  "Call Perry," Pilgrim says abruptly.

  Veil, exhausted as he channels more energy into Sharon's life, can only shake his head and mumble, "Can't hear . . . don't understand."

  Pilgrim moves closer and shouts in Veil's ear. "Call Tompkins!"

  "What? Call him?"

  "Whatever you did when you were in the cage and got through to me, do that with Perry. The two of you have an affinity."

  "Jonathan, I don't know what I did!"

  "Well, do something! Think at him; focus your thoughts on him. Get him to come to the hospital."

  "Ibber will kill him."

  "Ibber's distracted right now. Besides, you forget; Tompkins is dying, anyway. He would consider it an honor and privilege to sacrifice his life for you and Sharon." "He'll just get himself killed. Ibber's not the kind of man you sneak up on."

  "All Perry has to do is get to that switch and send the recovery shocks through the two of you. Then it will be up to you, Veil."

  "Veil, I have to go," Sharon whispers. "You're hurting so much ... I feel your pain."

  Veil shakes his head, torn by conflicting needs and desires. "Jonathan, God knows what kind of shape I'll be in when I come out of this!"

  "I don't care what kind of shape you're in, my friend; I'll still put my money on you. It's th
e only way I can think of to save the two of you."

  "But I can't ask—!"

  Suddenly a light as bright as the Lazarus Gate appears to their left. It throbs like a breathing thing at its white-hot center, burning a hole through the death-gray.

  "Veil—!"

  "I see it!"

  "Take Sharon and go!"

  Holding Sharon tightly to him, Veil focuses all his will and energy on moving toward the light. Then Sharon's flesh begins to melt. He channels energy into her, but then feels himself slowing. For a fleeting moment, battered by desperation and exhaustion, he wants only to close his eyes and sleep. Die.

  "Veil?" Sharon is smiling up at him. "Let me go."

  "No! We're all going through. Hang on, Sharon. Concentrate!" He struggles toward the throbbing light, but his legs will barely support him. He feels as if he is sinking into a mire as deep as eternity. All of his strength is being drained by Sharon. "Jonathan! Help me!"

  But Pilgrim has already come up behind him. He wraps his arms around both Veil and Sharon, and pushes them forward.

  As they approach the gate, Veil hears the high-pitched hum of electricity. Now he sucks in a deep breath, tenses, leaps headfirst toward the blinding core of the light.

  Pilgrim's hands release their grip on him.

  "Jonathan!"

  "Good-bye, Veil." Pilgrim's voice sounds as if it is echoing across a great distance. "Good luck. You don't need a half man with one eye, a hook for a hand, and a bullet hole in his chest."

  Holding Sharon to his chest, Veil slowly tumbles through the gray toward the light. "Jonathan! We need you!"

  "Good-bye, my friend."

  Veil enters the light. Electricity crackles and dances over his flesh, pierces his brain and shakes his bones; the current becomes a knife slicing across his soul, tugging at Sharon, separating them.

  He cannot hold on. Sharon is slipping away from him, being taken.

  Veil twists through his pain, reaches back, and desperately gropes in the electric-white. But Sharon is gone. He throws back his head and screams with rage, frustration, and loss. He claws at the place in his heart where Sharon had been only a moment before.