The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “I just thought the darkness was the evil living in the soul of every person,” Richard muttered aloud to the kitchen. “But no … there have to be monsters too.”

  The oil was heating in the wok, the brown rice was in the steamer. Richard selected a CD of Schubert lieder and dropped it into the Bose. The first song began and he realized that unconsciously he had selected the song known as “Death and the Maiden.” He stood frozen in the kitchen listening to the words and the music with the growing sense that Naomi Parsons was dead. From there his thoughts went to another girl who had brushed death. He wondered how Rhiana was doing, and decided that after dinner he would call and check on her. It was while listening to the German lyrics that something suddenly clicked for Richard.

  Kenntnis means knowledge in German. The realization set the hairs on the back of his neck to pricking.

  The doorbell broke through his whirling thoughts. For an instant Richard hesitated. His holstered pistol was on the dresser in the bedroom, but it seemed absurd to answer the door holding a gun. The bell rang again. A glance through the peephole revealed Cross. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up, and he was shivering. Richard opened the door.

  “Thanks. Cold out there,” the homeless man said as he brushed past.

  “What happened to you?” Richard asked.

  “Kenntnis didn’t explain?” Richard shook his head. Cross smiled. “Hey, what’s for dinner?” he asked.

  “I don’t recall inviting you.”

  “Charity begins at home.” Cross was prowling around the living room. He threw back the lid on the piano and banged on the keys with a forefinger. Two strides had Richard across the room and shutting the lid. “Wow, touchy.”

  “It’s very hard to keep the piano in tune in this climate. It has to be handled carefully.” Richard returned to the kitchen. “If you need a ride back to Kenntnis I can call a cab.”

  “And here I thought you’d take me yourself.” Cross’s voice came from close behind him.

  “Look, I’ve had kind of a long day, and I’d like some time to myself … .” Richard popped open the door of the microwave. As the reflective surface swung past him Richard saw Cross, the cleaver upraised, moving rapidly up behind him.

  Reflexes honed in hours of gymnastic training kicked in. Richard flung himself to the side as the cleaver cut the air where his skull had been. The linoleum’s polished surface turned the lunge into a slip. Richard went with it, tucked and rolled. Using his hands he increased momentum and flipped back onto his feet. Cross grabbed a long butcher knife from the block. Cleaver and blade wove a deadly pattern before Richard’s eyes. The hood of the sweatshirt had fallen back, revealing long dark golden hair and blue eyes. The Cross in the car had had brown hair and brown eyes, but the features were essentially the same. What wasn’t the same was the murderous intent reflected in the blue eyes.

  Fear hammered in Richard’s throat, cutting off breath. A trembling in the pit of his stomach threatened to spread to his legs. He had always been terrible in his hand-to-hand combat training. He wanted to turn and run for the bedroom and his Firestar. He knew if he did he’d die.

  He looked frantically around the kitchen, searching for a weapon. The knife block was behind Cross. A few pots hung from a rack overhead and Richard needed the footstool to reach them. Cross lunged, Richard dodged and a burning brand seemed to have been laid across his ribs. Warm and sticky blood flowed down his side. His frantic dodge left him leaning against the stove. The flames on the gas burner licked at his sleeve.

  Richard grabbed the wok by its handles. The hot metal seared the soft skin of his palms. Teeth gritted against the pain, Richard tipped it forward until the oil just touched the open flames of the gas burner. The oil exploded, the flames shooting past Richard’s face. He whirled and flung the burning oil over Cross. The thick fair hair went up like a hay rick. The oil permeated the sweatshirt, setting it ablaze. Richard ran backwards as the burning figure came after him, swinging the cleaver and thrusting with the knife.

  They were in the living room now. Bits of burning material dropped onto the carpet, starting it smoldering. Richard was almost at the bedroom door. Just a few more steps and he’d have his gun. There was a stunning crash as a dark figure, surrounded by shards of glittering glass and dripping blood from a multitude of cuts, burst through the patio door.

  It was Cross. The Cross Richard knew, or so he hoped. The burning man turned to face his doppelganger. They both let out bone-chilling shrieks and leaped at each other. Locked chest to chest they rocked back and forth. Flames licked at the fringes of Cross’s hair. Blood smeared against his opponent. The cleaver bit deep into the rescuer Cross’s shoulder. Richard cried out as blood fountained from the wound.

  He ran into the bedroom. It required only a few seconds to have the pistol out of its holster. He thumbed off the safety as he ran and yanked back the slide, chambering a round.

  The scene in the living room had changed. The flames were out. The cleaver lay discarded on the stained and burned carpet. The butcher knife quivered in the wall. The attacker held in the circle of Cross’s arms seemed to be smaller. Appreciably smaller. Richard swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. It wasn’t an illusion. The anti-Cross was shrinking not only in height but in girth. Within seconds he was a wraithlike figure. Cross bent and locked his mouth over the other’s. His throat worked and he swallowed the other Cross. Richard gasped, gagged and vomited. Cross, singed and smeared in gore, turned to face him.

  Richard’s knees were shaking, the muscles in his thighs shivering with strain and terror, but his hands were rock-steady as he squeezed the trigger and proceeded to empty the entire clip into Cross’s chest. Each of the nine bullets forced Cross back a step. The roar of the shots left Richard deafened, and the recoil sent agony lancing through his burned hands.

  “Well, that’s a hell of a thank you,” Cross said. The words were muffled and seemed distant because of the ringing in Richard’s ears. “Now we’re going to have the cops on us again. Get to Kenntnis as soon as you can. And if you see any more of me wandering around … well, try to keep them from killing you.”

  And he was gone, back through the shattered door. An icy wind sent the drapes billowing into the room. Richard sat down abruptly on the floor and shook.

  Chapter SEVEN

  Muffled in bandages, his hands felt paw-like on the steering wheel. The flare from approaching headlights burned in his eyes, and there was a throbbing point of pain at the hinges of his jaw. Richard forcibly parted his teeth and tried to relax as he once again drove toward Kenntnis’s building.

  “Missed again?” The memory of Weber’s dry question sent another stab of pain through Richard’s jaw as he ground his teeth together.

  Then there was the apartment manager’s blustering statement that this kind of thing wasn’t covered in the damage deposit, and Richard was going to have to pay to have the carpet replaced and the walls repainted to deal with the smoke damage. It was all he needed given the state of his credit cards.

  And finally there were the lies … lies upon lies. The tale he had spun tonight was about a man hopped up on PCPs breaking into the apartment and attacking him. Weber had just looked at him, but how could the lieutenant argue? There was the shattered sliding-glass door, the knife in the wall, the bloodstains on the carpet, Richard’s burned hands and the wound over his ribs.

  An ambulance had been called and he’d been driven to the St. Joseph’s emergency room just down the street from his apartment. A wounded cop never waits. Within moments of arriving he was seated in a curtained cubicle having the cut on his side stitched and his hands bandaged. They admitted him for “observation,” but after availing himself of the bathroom and eating the sandwich sent up from the cafeteria, Richard checked himself out and walked back to his apartment to get his car.

  As he drove up the winding road toward the foothills of the Sandias, Richard saw lights only in the top floor of Kenntnis’s building. He called directory
assistance and got the number for Lumina Enterprises. The phone rang five times before shunting him to voice mail, where a cultured voice gave him the office hours and suggested he call back during those hours. Richard didn’t know how he was going to get in, but he was going to get in, find Kenntnis and throttle him.

  He parked in the empty lot and walked to the front doors. He noted that they and the west-facing windows had been replaced. The doors were locked and there was neither buzzer nor intercom. Richard turned and looked out over the city’s lights. They ran down to the river, which formed a ribbon of darkness. The lights resumed on the other side, climbing high onto the sandy mesas. Far off to the west the setting moon struck white against the snowcapped peak of Mount Taylor some sixty miles away.

  He began a circuit of the building. In the back, nestled against a Dumpster, was a large cardboard box. Light leaked around the edges of a piece of cloth that served as a door and Richard heard the low hiss of a propane lantern. Suddenly footsteps rushed him and an arm was thrown across his throat. Gasping, clawing at the arm, Richard kicked back trying to connect with his assailant’s shin. A violent shove from behind sent him sprawling onto the pavement. He caught himself on his hands. Even with the cushion of the bandages it hurt like hell. The fall also ripped the knees out of his slacks and skinned his other knee. He somersaulted back onto his feet and drew his pistol.

  “Not cautious. Not cautious at all,” said Cross. “Don’t assume you’re safe here. You’re not safe anywhere.”

  “Why? Because of you? Because of Kenntnis?”

  “Because of what you are, and because we found you.” Cross started toward a door set in the back wall of the building. “Come on, we’ve been expecting you.”

  Pique and humiliation almost drove Richard back to his car, but he needed answers. Logic prevailed and he followed Cross into the building.

  The private elevator deposited them in a marble foyer. Through an archway Richard saw flames dancing in a glass fireplace. He marched into the living room, leaving Cross to hurry after him. Kenntnis sat on the leather sofa, sipping brandy and watching the fire.

  “Get the man a drink,” he ordered Cross.

  “I don’t drink,” said Richard, biting off the words.

  “You don’t? Why not?” Cross asked.

  “No head for it.”

  Kenntnis cranked himself around to look at Richard over the back of the sofa. “And your mother spent time in rehab,” said Kenntnis.

  The statement was made matter-of-factly, but it unleashed a torrent of memory and emotion. His mother, tiny and fragile, kneeling in front of him with a suitcase at her side. The perfect bow of her lips curved in a smile, and her voice was light and caressing.

  “You be a good boy, and do what Ellen tells you, and don’t worry. Your papa is here to care for you. I’ll be home so soon you won’t even know I’ve been gone.”

  But even at seven he recognized fear and shame, and he saw them glistening in her gray eyes and felt them echoed in his chest. He raised his eyes to his father waiting at the front door. His father’s gaze raked across him and he knew it was somehow his fault that Mama was going away.

  With a snap Richard was back in Kenntnis’s palatial living room. Anger clogged his throat and left a rank taste on the back of his tongue. “You son-of-a-bitch. How dare you! How dare you dig at me!”

  Kenntnis stood up and bore down on Richard. “Oh, stop it! Of course I investigated you. I couldn’t risk letting you close without knowing what you were. And by the way, it’s nice to see that something can penetrate those perfect manners of yours. I need you to be angry. It’s the only way you can stand up to the fear. Now sit down and let’s get your questions answered.”

  Richard wasn’t sure why he took the indicated chair. Maybe because he wasn’t certain he’d survive another day without guidance and understanding in a world gone mad. Cross bent solicitously over the arm of the big chair and said, with a jerk of the head toward Kenntnis, “He’s got almost anything you’d want. Fruit juice? Milk? Tea?”

  “Milk,” said Richard.

  Cross left. Kenntnis stood, hands clasped behind his back, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, and stared down at Richard. Richard looked away and around the room. He recognized a Caravaggio on one wall and a Picasso on the other. He sensed the other works of art were equally rare and valuable, but he didn’t have time for a thorough look because Cross returned carrying a tray with a glass of milk and a gigantic slice of chocolate cake and chocolate milk for himself.

  “That going to hold you for awhile?” Kenntnis asked the homeless man with some exasperation, and then Richard realized that Cross wasn’t exactly homeless. He referred to Kenntnis as his boss and lived in a box behind Kenntnis’s building.

  “So, why doesn’t he live in the building?” The question emerged almost without volition. Cross and Kenntnis looked at him.

  “Because of his episodes. I don’t really need all those fractals caroming around the building. And some of them aren’t terribly well disposed toward people … and you in particular … as you discovered tonight,” said Kenntnis.

  The milk was cold and thick across his tongue and laid down a soothing wash over Richard’s burning gut. “Does everything in your universe want to kill me?”

  “In a word … yes. Well, strictly speaking, it’s not my universe, it’s his.” Kenntnis inclined his head toward Cross.

  “Yeah, but you’re not exactly innocent in all this,” Cross mumbled around an enormous mouthful of cake. “Because once you found Richard he became a target.” Crumbs blew between his lips, littering his lap.

  “So, all I have to do is get away from you,” Richard said to Kenntnis. “And I’ll be fine?”

  “No, you’re too valuable a piece. Now you either have to play or be eliminated.”

  Richard’s stomach twisted and the milk suddenly tasted sour. He set aside the glass on the Italian inlaid wood table at his elbow. Kenntnis rested his hand on the back of the armchair and leaned in over Richard. The smell of the older man’s aftershave was bright and sharp. “Tonight you get answers, as many as you want.”

  Richard sat in silence gazing at the unwieldy mass of confusion and questions. He couldn’t get his arms around it, much less frame a coherent question.

  Cross leaned forward from his seat on the couch and laid a hand on Richard’s knee. He left a chocolate thumb print on the fabric just above the rip. “You probably want to start with me,” he said. Richard didn’t answer. He just stared down at the ruin of his pants. His lips tightened in annoyance.

  Kenntnis laughed. “I’ll buy you a new pair. And I’ll take care of the repairs at your apartment.”

  “Fine.”

  “Why did you shoot me?” Cross suddenly asked.

  The fear and horror returned, only slightly dulled by the passage of a few hours. “You swallowed somebody … thing.”

  “Just stickin’ the parts back together,” said Cross.

  “You’re confusing him,” Kenntnis interrupted. Kenntnis sat down on the coffee table directly in front of Richard and looked him in the eye. “The forces we’re opposing aren’t native to this world.”

  “Now we’re going to talk about aliens?” said Richard faintly.

  “Good move,” said Cross sarcastically to Kenntnis.

  Kenntnis waved his hands back and forth as if scattering the earlier words. “Erase that. Let’s start with physics. There’s a theory that there are twenty-seven folded multiverses. The theory’s correct—partly—there are actually twenty-three. Anyway, they’re densely compacted, touching at multiple points. We’re native to this universe.” Kenntnis pointed at Cross. “He’s not.”

  “So, why are you here?” Richard asked Cross, deciding to just go along with the craziness.

  “Because a few million years ago one of your distant ancestors left the trees, stood upright, and began the evolutionary scrabble toward intelligence. It doesn’t happen very often and when it does it attracts us; like
sharks to blood, or bees to flowers.” Cross smacked his lips, and Richard didn’t think he was tasting chocolate any longer.

  “Add to that that humans are relatively unique,” Kenntnis broke in. “You have this wild, almost chaotic, creativity and deeply rooted and very powerful emotions. You represent a source of sustenance to these creatures in the other multiverses.”

  “And you eat emotions, that’s what Kenntnis said.” Richard looked over at Cross.

  “Well, not exactly. It’s more complex than that. We feed off your life energy, force, however you want to say it. Emotions are the easiest way to feed, and dark emotions are the easiest of all. Early man was a scared little sucker. I was one of the watchers and every time some chimp got spooked by lightning, or lost a kid, the fear just poured out. We would suck it in, and soon we were tearing open the peep holes. A few of us wriggled through and helped you establish religion. The bloodier the better. We noticed you had a tendency to distrust anything different. We worked to promote that, and got some tasty wars rolling. With that much power we were able to turn the rips in the fabric of space-time into full-blown gates, and more and more of us arrived.” Cross jerked a thumb at Kenntnis. “Then he came along and spoiled the party.”

  “How? By doing what?” Richard asked.

  Kenntnis smoothed a hand across his hair, tugged at his upper lip. He frowned, then finally said, “By promoting rational and scientific thought, and trying to wean you off religion and superstition.”

  “Eating of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” Richard said almost to himself.

  “He had an effect—humans began to question, and Kenntnis and his paladins—” There was a throat clearing from Kenntnis. “The Lumina.” Cross stressed the word, and nodded at Kenntnis in some kind of private exchange that Richard didn’t understand. “Killed some of us. We were weakened and we couldn’t keep the true gates open. But we could encourage you monkeys to keep the superstition train rolling, and we could keep opening tears into this dimension and those of us already here could keep feeding as long as you kept killing and hating.”