The 731 Legacy

by Lynn Sholes

The water cascaded over her, draining away. Cotten opened her eyes to find herself sitting in a vast room filled with mountains of gold and jewels, more than what could possibly fill all the vaults and treasuries of the world. She reached down and ran her hand through a mound of diamonds. They ran between her fingers like ice crystals, the brilliance of their facets sparkling more than the stars of the night sky.

  "You will never be in need of anything. All that you've seen will be yours by accepting who you are. Just say that you agree, Daughter of Furmiel, and you will have everything I have shown you."

  "It's not enough," Cotten said. "You know what I want."

  "And you shall have it. I give you my word. The priest will live."

  Suddenly Cotten was ripped from the vision back to the darkness of the hotel room. The gathering dawn silhouetted the Old Man's form against the window.

  With a frail voice, she whispered, "I agree."

  IN MY NAME

  Cotten felt a part of her melting away as she stood in the dark hotel room. She couldn't pinpoint what was happening, but sensed a cavity open within, a cold empty space inside her that had not been there moments before. The instant she agreed to the contract with the Old Man, some part of her evaporated into the darkness. It wasn't that the sensation was unpleasant or even objectionable, just different. The only word she could think to describe what she felt washollow.

  "So what happens now?" Cotten asked.

  "Nothing." The Old Man's voice seemed to come from far away.

  She wondered if he was still in the room with her or if he was speaking through her thoughts as he had during the strange visions.

  Cotten slowly turned in a circle, searching for him. She wanted a clear image of this... this being to whom she had just given her soul. But he took no form that she could fix upon. "I still need proof of life," she said. "I have done what you asked. I want to be assured that you will do as you promised."

  Almost imperceptibly, the voice whispered from behind her.

  "Understandable."

  Cotten spun in the direction of the voice. "What do I do next?" she asked.

  There was no reply.

  For an instant the air in the room turned icy as if a window opened and allowed in a winter draft. She glanced toward the windowpane and found it still closed. Just as quickly as it had come, the chill dissipated.

  Cotten looked out through the glass, laying her palms on the pane. The

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  pale golden blush of daybreak brought the first tracings of the city below.

  After a few moments, she returned to the bed and slid beneath the covers staring at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering how she would live her life now that she—

  She what? she thought. Nothing magical had stricken her when she said yes to the Old Man. Nothing seemed different other than that feeling of hollowness, but perhaps that was only the relief of knowing her mission was complete. Hadn't the Old Man realized before that it would not be the promise of riches that would influence her decision? The reason she had made the journey to Korea was to save John's life, and that was beyond any other promise he could possibly make.

  So what was this all about, this going into the Darkness? It wasn't what she anticipated, what she feared it might be. As a matter of fact, it felt good knowing she had the power to save the only man she had ever really loved... other than her father. She drifted off to sleep feeling a great contentment.

  But the contentment was quickly interrupted. Her dreams spiraled around her in short and terrifying vignettes.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Falling through a black tunnel.

  Demons' faces flashed and disappeared. Echoes of hideous laughter, screams of terror. Flares of unspeakable acts of murder and torture that satisfied some incommunicable hunger in her— shocking splashes of aberrant sexual acts and bestiality that unexpectedly excited her.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Suddenly a blinding light snatched her up out of the tunnel until she ascended to wakefulness. She squinted into the bright sunlight that poured through the window.

  "Bad dreams?" The voice came from near the window.

  Cotten sat up, clutching the bed linens.

  "Did I startle you?" the Old Man said, sitting in a chair by the window.

  The glare of the sun made it hard for Cotten to look at him. She shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted. "I didn't expect to wake up and have someone in my room. Have I given up my privacy as well as my soul?"

  He chuckled. "No. I was worried about you. So I stayed while you slept, to make sure you were all right. Your sleep did not seem restful. You tossed and even cried out once. But you see, nothing terrible has happened to you. You are safe."

  The dreams flooded back in a series of quick bursts, mental explosions of still images. Cotten pressed two fingers to the space between her eyebrows. "My dreams were nightmarish. Demons and—"

  "But as you see, they were only dreams. Just products of your

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  imagination. Unfortunately, that is the result of the misinformation passed down through millennia. You have been programmed to expect what was in your dreams. It is what all mankind has been led to believe. God and His churches have essentially brainwashed generation after generation. And why? Because they fear you will see the light, the truth."

  Cotten pushed up against the headboard, still trying to clearly see the Old Man's face. As in the night before, he appeared slightly luminescent and transparent.

  He finally shifted so that half his face was visible, the other half still obscured by the glare. It was creased with age, his skin pale, and his ashen hair was neatly parted to the side. As was often said of older men who had a pleasing appearance, he was distinguished looking—an elderly Cary Grantish-type countenance.

  "Did you expect red horns? A pointed tail and pitchfork?" He laughed.

  "I don't know what I expected. Maybe."

  "And a ritual with goat's blood and a pentagram." He leaned into the glare. "I let my legions play that game for their amusement. To be honest, I think it is so cliché."

  "I suppose." Cotten found herself smiling, becoming more at ease.

  "Do you realize that I am the one who single-handedly keeps God's churches, temples, and mosques in business? I am the best friend the religions of the world have. Without fear of me, they would collapse. Even though their notion of me is false. You see, I come to this world only by invitation—the proverbial Eve and the apple story. All that Eve and her children wanted was knowledge, then and now. Does that make someone evil? I think not."

  "What kind of knowledge?"

  "Simple truths. God wants you to be self-sacrificing, to believe it is better to give than to receive, to love your enemy, to turn the other cheek, to always be begging for Him to save you from despair. It pleases Him to always have you on your knees. In this way you remain subservient. I speak the truth. There is nothing evil about being productive, finding happiness, achieving success. Why should you not be self-loving and seek those things that bring you happiness?

  There is no need for groveling or believing yourself unworthy to eat the crumbs that fall from my table. That is how God wants you to be—helpless without him. I say be strong. Be efficient. Explore all the pleasures in life. Why spend a lifetime of self-imposed isolation from pure joy, depending on God for even the smallest fleck of happiness? That makes no sense." Again he revealed a portion of his face. "Even after all this time it remains astounding to me that mankind accepts such rubbish and continues to prefer self-inflicted suffering."

  So this was all it meant? Cotten thought. Her heritage was simply the permission to allow herself to be happy? That didn't seem so frightful or evil.

  "I do not expect you to accept all this instantly. You have spent a lifetime being programmed by God's religions. You do not even have to go to church for this to happen. It permeates and infiltrates your life every day. I realize it is ar />
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  tremendous paradigm shift in your thinking."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Hear what is right and what is truth. It wasyour loving, forgiving Jehovah who sent his Angel of Death to murder all the innocent firstborns of Egypt on the night known as Passover. The wrath of a vengeful, spiteful, hateful God. That was done by your God's hand. Not mine. And let me leave you with something else to contemplate. Think of how many thousands have suffered and died in wars, all fought in the name of God. Never has there been a war fought in my name."

  OUTBREAK

  "And in medical news," the SNN Headline News anchor said, "county health officials in Denver have reported over a dozen cases of extreme flu-like symptoms showing up in the emergency rooms of three major area hospitals. Those stricken with the yet-unidentified illness are complaining of high fever, vomiting, diarrhea, and some bleeding. Doctors are applying the usual antiviral drugs including neuraminidase inhibitors, but are reporting no success with the treatment so far. The mysterious outbreak has claimed the life of a five-year-old girl in Aurora, Colorado, and local health departments are investigating."

  ***

  The roll-in voiceover said, "From Satellite News Network in New York, this is the Evening News with Charles Ross."

  "Good evening," Ross said into camera one as he sat behind the anchor desk. "We start the broadcast tonight with reports of a suspicious flu-like outbreak showing up at clinics and emergency rooms throughout the country. What we first told you about yesterday as a number of cases in the Denver area is now spreading to other cities and communities. For the latest, we go to our chief medical correspondent, Robert Terrance, reporting from CDC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia."

  "Good evening, Charles," said Terrance as he held a microphone and stood with the sprawling CDC complex in the background. "In a news conference that ended just moments ago, Dr. Charlotte Swan, director of the Centers for Disease Control, stated that they are investigating a number of reported instances of advanced symptoms of a flu-like sickness in Baltimore, Los Angeles, Chicago, Birmingham, Denver, and Houston."

  The image switched to a briefing room inside the CDC. Swan stood at a podium. "We are working with local and state medical authorities to isolate and identify this new strain of influenza. Most important is to gauge how many

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  people are affected and determine the source of the virus. Because we are in the earliest stages of the investigation there is nothing concrete to report yet."

  In a video clip, Terrance asked, "Dr. Swan, there are rumors that the flulike symptoms you describe are actually more like those of Ebola or some other hemorrhagic virus. Is the CDC trying to downplay this in order to prevent panic?

  Doesn't the public have a right to know?"

  Swan shuffled the papers on the podium, but didn't look down at them.

  "At this point, there is no confirmation that this outbreak is a hemorrhagic virus. The CDC operates on facts, not rumor, and until we have evidence that this is anything other than what I have described, we will continue to proceed according to protocol.

  That's all the questions I'll take for now." Swan stepped away from the podium.

  The video switched back to a live shot of Terrance. "Despite the downplaying of the threat by the CDC, we've learned that over six hundred cases have been reported so far, with at least thirty deaths occurring over the last twenty-four hours. All are attributed to the outbreak. The victims range in age from four years old to sixty-two. So far, conventional treatments have had no effect on stopping or slowing down the deadly epidemic."

  A graphic showing the names of states and the number of fatalities appeared.

  Terrance said, "Earlier today, I spoke with Dr. Richard Minor, Director of Infectious Diseases at the Broward Memorial Medical Center in Fort Lauderdale, Florida." The image changed to a man wearing a white physician's jacket with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. "Dr. Minor, your facility was one of the first to report a case of this virus outbreak we're seeing across the country. Now that you know there are others being stricken with it, what are your concerns?"

  There was a slight delay before the physician spoke. "We are definitely concerned by the speed at which this event is taking place. Two days ago it was non-existent. Now we're admitting an average of one new patient every hour. We're working around the clock to isolate and treat what we believe is a deadly new strain of viral infection. We hope to have some progress made soon."

  Terrance asked, "These rumors of it being a hemorrhagic virus—is there any truth to that? Can you tell us more about what you are seeing in the emergency room?"

  "Patients are exhibiting numerous ailments from general malaise and fever to more specific flu-like symptoms, and yes, we have seen signs of hemorrhagic viruses, including bleeding and limited kidney and liver function. It's too early to tell if the hemorrhagic symptoms are a late phase in the illness or something entirely different."

  "We've all had the flu at some point in our lives, and we know what that's like. Can you be more specific regarding the symptoms of a hemorrhagic virus?"

  "Sure. Hemorrhagic comes, of course, fromhemorrhage, which means bleeding. Generally, the bleeding occurs both internally, leaking through blood

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  vessels, and externally, from orifices of the body. It is rare, however, for victims to die from blood loss."

  A double screen of Dr. Minor and Robert Terrance appeared. "Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate your time."

  Minor nodded, and the screen became devoted to Terrance. "As the number of reports of infections mount, experts like Doctor Minor and Director Swan seem increasingly perplexed. For now, we can only hope they find a quick solution to this deadly medical mystery. From Atlanta, this is Robert Terrance reporting for SNN."

  "Rob?" Charles Ross said. "Before we let you go, it occurred to me that the symptoms of some of these victims in your report bear a striking resemblance to the unfortunate gentleman who died after collapsing here in our Manhattan studio lobby a few weeks ago. If you'll recall, he came into our building very ill and asking to see Cotten Stone."

  "I thought of the same thing, Charles," Terrace said. "Perhaps there is a connection. We'll watch it closely."

  "Thanks again, Rob." Ross turned to camera two. "And speaking of Cotten Stone—a programming note. As tension continues to mount over the threat of nuclear weapons development in North Korea, our senior investigative correspondent, Cotten Stone, will be conducting an exclusive interview with the head of the Communist government of North Korea on her primetime special,Inside the Darkness, airing next Tuesday at eight, seven central right here on SNN. You don't want to miss that one."

  PROOF OF LIFE

  Each morning at 7:00 am, rousing, patriotic music blared from loudspeakers throughout Pyongyang. Cotten awoke to the tinny sound of a marching band and quickly rose, showered and dressed. Today was the day—

  she would be allowed to confirm that John was not only still alive but recovering from the Black Needles. She would receive proof of life.

  By 7:30, she was waiting in the cavernous Sungyong Hotel lobby.

  In the four days since arriving in North Korea, Cotten had only observed a handful of other hotel guests. When she was allowed to leave her room and go downstairs to eat, the restaurant was virtually empty, with only a spotting of Eastern European visitors and tourists. She saw few smiles from the hotel staff. They seemed to be obsessed with looking busy.

  On the second day after her arrival, a guide had escorted her to a number of state museums and monuments around the city. The woman, a short, slim officer in the Korean army, never missed an opportunity to point out how wonderful it was living in North Korea and how her country had overcome the

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  hardships of war crimes brought on by the imperialist aggressors.

  In addition to the army guide, Cotten was always shadowed by a handful of security officers. It was hard for them to hide their presence. There was a sm
all amount of foot traffic as she and her guide walked the immaculate streets and manicured parks. They would pass policewomen who directed a trickle of traffic and stores whose display windows were decorated with as many pictures of the General Secretary as merchandise.

  Cotten learned that it was against the law for citizens to look foreigners in the eye or to speak to them, so she didn't bother to acknowledge or look at anyone on the street or in the museums they visited. The only eye contact was with those calledthe selected, trusted individuals who spoke multiple languages and often served as the guides and escorts.

  Today, Cotten was met in the hotel lobby by her guide and four-man security detail.

  "This way, please," the guide said, pointing to the front entrance. Outside, it was bitter cold under a cloudless blue sky. Cotten's eyes watered and stung at the bite of the icy air.