by Jacob Whaler
Ryzaard takes a step back to the table and spins the slate around so Alexa can see it.
“The company is making more money than anyone imagined. An unlimited supply of wealth for our shareholders to feast on.” Ryzaard looks down at her with lips curling in a grimace. His hands curl into fists. “But you know what I see when I look at this?” He points at the slate.
“Tell me.” Alexa tries her best to speak in a calming voice.
Ryzaard drops back into his leather chair. “I see my father taken away by the Gestapo, the look of helplessness and terror on his face. I see my mother lying on a bed, arms and legs like pretzels, her backbone sticking out like a string of pearls. Her eyes are dark little pools of water at the bottom of a deep well. Reduced to nothing by starvation.”
He closes his eyes and brings the Stone close to his forehead. His body trembles as he breathes in and out.
“I was there when she spoke her last words.” A tear traces a line down his cheek. “She said she had a vision while in a delirium. An angel came to her and told her things. That I would survive the war. That I would have power over evil. That I would be the one to bring Paradise. She made me promise that I would do it.”
“She loved you very much.” Alexa speaks the words softly, gently as Ryzaard sits still with his eyes closed.
“I have carried those words with me ever since. It’s what got me through Auschwitz.” Ryzaard speaks in a low voice. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the profits. I don’t care about the corporation.” He opens his eyes and gazes at Alexa. “All of that is nothing more than a vehicle, a means to an end.”
“What end?” Alexa leans forward and puts her hand on top of Ryzaard’s.
“The end of chaos. The end of suffering. The end of freedom. The beginning of order.”
CHAPTER 50
Matt watches as the fingertips release the dagger. He can see the strain in the muscles of the forearms, the hatred mixed with fear in the man’s film-covered eyes.
A cry of terror rises in Matt’s throat. His body goes taut and his eyes close, bracing for the impact, unable to move. He waits. Nothing.
The birds and cicadas, everything around him, goes strangely quiet. But not quite silent. He hears the sound of the ocean, remembered from his happiest memory. A day on the beach with his mom and dad on his seventh birthday. He opens his eyes slowly and carefully, half expecting to find her standing there beside him and feel the sand warm under his feet. He no longer feels an intense need for food and water. He’s engulfed in peace and calm.
The naked man stands a few yards down the hill in exactly the same position as when he threw the dagger. At first, Matt thinks the man is playing a trick, standing as still as a statue, but then Matt can see a dark object suspended in mid-air between them.
The dagger.
Matt cocks his head from side to side and examines the weeds, the flowers, the bushes. Nothing moves, as if the world is cast in glass. Off to his right, a butterfly poses silently in mid-air, its wings open and frozen in graceful flight.
Matt walks forward through silence to the man, passing a swarm of mosquitoes as still as stars in the night sky. On impulse, he pulls the jax out of his side pocket and checks the time, recorded in hours, minutes and seconds on its blue screen. To his amazement, the seconds stand still.
Matt realizes he is frozen in time. Or more correctly, everything but him is frozen in time.
Heart still beating, he breathes and swallows and sweats. The whole world looks stuck, motionless. He moves back to the dagger, still hanging in mid-air at chest level. Reaching out, he touches it with trembling fingers. At the moment of contact, it falls to the ground. He picks it up and takes a closer look at the custom-carved jade handle and titanium blade, both attesting to the owner’s affection for weapons. It’s a prize piece.
With a shallow bow to the Yakuza thug, he grips it like a dagger and brings it close to the man’s naked chest. The thug’s eyes stare forward. Matt reads the intent behind the eyes and sees what he already knew. The thug means to murder him. He’s a professional killer. If Matt lets him live, the consequences will almost certainly be catastrophic. It isn’t much better if he kills him. After quickly parsing his options, Matt decides it’s too complicated. He slides the blade back into the sheath hanging from the man’s ankle, and then, raising an eyebrow, removes the sheath and drops it into a side pocket on his pants.
It’s not every day that you acquire a Yakuza dagger.
On a hunch, Matt lifts the Stone out of his pocket and cradles it in his fingers. It’s light blue, matching the color of the sky.
The sound of the ocean plays again in his ears, and he retraces his steps back the way he came, passing the man’s discarded clothing on the way.
As he reaches the trail, exhaustion overtakes him. The muscles in his chest tighten and he struggles to breathe. He drops down to rest, making a conscious effort to relax his body and mind, and the ocean fades away. As his mind lets go of the scene with the Yakuza, there is a moment of utter silence. And then an onslaught of sound and motion hits him with the intensity of a hurricane.
It knocks him off his feet, and he drops to his knees. After a quick moment of adjustment, he’s back on his feet, back in real time and moving quickly down the trail.
As he pulls away, a voice yells off in the trees.
“You can’t run forever. Someday we’ll find you. Then we’ll kill you very slowly, carefully, little by little. You’ll beg us in the end.”
Matt thinks again about the dagger in the backpack. Maybe he was wrong to leave the Yakuza alive. It would be easy to sneak back and end his miserable life. Just stop time, walk up to him and slip the blade into his heart. Matt wouldn’t even have to look him in the eyes.
It’s a simple matter of self-defense. A neat solution.
He reaches around to the side pocket and carefully pulls out the sheath with the knife.
Turning back up the trail, Matt takes a deep breath and braces himself. He’s never killed a man before, not even in his dreams. The fragrance of decaying wood mixed with pine floats past him on a cool breeze. A tiny black bird with a flaming red beak perches above and emits a high-pitched cry that reminds him of a certain female singer that’s popular on the Mesh. As he listens, the chattering goes up an octave.
His eyes drop down, and he searches his mind for the image of that day on the beach with his mom. The sound of birds fades away, replaced by a gentle surf on a beach. He can feel his mom’s warm hand wrapped around his. Sand between his toes.
When he opens his eyes again, the world has stopped. He makes his way through the bushes to the Yakuza thug, gripping the dagger, forcing his mind to discard any thoughts of turning back.
When he gets back to the spot, the naked man is sitting in a ball, burnt and red, still as a rock, arms wrapped around his knees. A single drop of moisture glistens from the corner of his blind eye. He seems to be staring down. A massive vein bulges along the side of his neck. One swift cut, and the man will bleed out in seconds.
He tried to kill me, Matt thinks. He won’t stop until I’m dead.
Self defense.
Nodding to himself, Matt pushes back the doubts that rise in his mind. He holds the dagger, bends down and brings the blade close to the man’s charred skin.
And then he sees his reflection in the hot steel. Two dark eyes stare back at him. His pulse quickens until it’s pounding in his ears, drowning out the sound of the surf. His hands begin to tremble, so he grips the handle tighter, draining the blood from his fingers. Sweat drips from his forehead, but he feels cold. A shiver runs through his body. As his eyelids drop down, he sees his mother’s face, a gentle smile on her lips. And it all becomes clear.
He can’t kill the man.
His minds screams back at him. Killing the man is the logical thing to do. He’s crazy not to.
But Matt can’t do it. Not like this.
Quickly standing, he sprints away from the scene ba
ck to the trail and jogs down the slope, never stopping until he gets to the park at the bottom.
Out of habit, he scans the street and sidewalk. Cars are lined up and standing still. People on the sidewalk are frozen in mid-stride. For an instant, Matt thinks he’s in some kind of dream, but then he remembers that he’s still holding onto time. He slips behind one of the big cedar trees and lets go of everything, relaxing back into the present. Sound and motion rain down upon him, but this time he’s ready.
The burning thirst and hunger come back, more intense than before. He pushes it away. Before he eats, before he drinks, he needs to think, to wrap his mind around the last few hours. So much has happened. There’s a bench in the park. He moves through the torii gate, mentally crossing from the world of the sacred to the world of the profane, walks across the grass and sits down.
It’s time to take stock.
The inside of his mind is a sea of swirling fog. With a deep inhale, he lets his shoulders relax down. The tension drains out of his muscles. After a few more breaths, he’s ready to go over what he knows.
He starts with the Woman, and the fog begins to lift.
She came to him, not just in a dream, but in the real world. Fire descended with her and burnt the Yakuza man, but left Matt and his surroundings unscathed. There was a vision of travel through the universe, moving faster than light. He saw the birth of a star and its planets. Life filled one of the worlds, one that looked like Earth. Perhaps he saw the Creation.
He has the power to see into objects.
And he can stop time.
All of it is connected to the Stone. The Woman had one in her hand just like Matt. The conclusion is inescapable.
The Stones are a source of great power.
And then he moves on to the rest. The Yakuza are tracking him with the intent to kill. They’ve been on his tail since he arrived in Tokyo. According to the man up on the mountain, they won’t stop until he’s dead.
Dad was right. Matt should have been more careful.
With that thought, his pulse rises in his ears until he can no longer hear the birds and passing traffic. Tightness spreads through his chest, and his breath comes in short gasps. The fog begins to swirl again inside his mind. A sudden dizziness settles into the space behind his eyes. Both hands go down to the side of the bench and grab on as his world rocks like a tiny ship caught in a typhoon.
Taking in a deep breath, he tries to steady his mind so he can work it all out. What’s the worst case scenario? And then it hits. If the Yakuza have been following all his movements, then they’ll know he’s been to Professor Yamamoto’s office.
A frantic hand drops into a side pocket and fishes out the jax. He does a rare thing and makes a voice call.
“Professor Yamamoto? This is Matt.”
There’s a short pause on the other end. “Yes, Matt. Is there something I can help you with?”
The Professor is alive. A bit of the tension loosens.
“Is everything all right?” Matt says.
There’s an awkward silence. “What do you mean?”
“Just wondering if you’re OK.” Matt winces as he hears the sound of his own voice.
“I’m fine.” The Professor clears his throat. “But I didn’t see you in class this morning. Are you feeling well?”
Matt looks for a quick escape. “The jet lag. Still trying to get over it. I’ll come by your office this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
“Get some rest. Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll look for you tomorrow in class.” The Professor terminates the call.
The heaviness lifts from Matt’s chest. He takes in another deep inhale and forces his arms and legs to relax with the exhale. The Yakuza haven’t found Professor Yamamoto. They probably don’t even know about him. Maybe the thug up on the mountain was the only one tracking Matt. With the severe burns the Yakuza suffered, there’s a good chance he’ll die. Matt has time to go back to the University, take a rest and speak with the Professor in the afternoon. Together, they’ll figure something out.
Everything will be alright.
As his pulse settles down, his hunger and thirst come back. After a quick visit to the convenience store across the street, he sits down on the bench. In a few minutes, a half dozen onigiri rice ball wrappers lay at his feet next to three empty bottles of water. Trying not to think about the man up on the mountain, he relaxes on the bench and pulls out his jax.
It’s got repelware on it, so the Yakuza won’t be able to trace the call.
Jess, what are you doing this exact moment?
He smiles and waits for the reply that always comes a few seconds later. It has always been a mystery how she can reply so quickly, so he asked her once what her secret was. Jessica told him there was an invisible link between them, and she always knew when he was thinking of her. A few seconds before he jaxed a message, she would get a peculiar feeling. When the message came, she already knew what to say and could reply with lightning speed. Sometimes she already had a reply ready to go.
A full minute passes, and there is still no reply.
Hey Jessica, are you there?
He sits back, dips his head first to the right shoulder and then to the left shoulder, enjoying the popping sounds at the base of his neck, and waits for the reply. Another full minute passes.
I’m here. Just listening to some random Meshtones.
Matt hesitates. That sounds like something he would do, but Jess never wasted her time like that. Unless she was really tired. His fingers fly on the side of the jax.
Sounds like you’re wiped out from a hard day at work.
She always pushes herself too hard.
Dad had me going all day on an impossible project. I’m bushed. Ready to call it a day.
Matt has a picture of her in his mind, slouched over a slate, crunching numbers, reviewing mountains of data, talking to people.
What about that new job?
There is a long pause. Matt feels tension on Jessica’s end of the conversation.
I don’t think it worked out. Bummer. What are you doing this very moment?
That sounds like Jess. Shake off everything negative and just move on. If it were Matt, he’d be brooding for days after a setback like that. Not Jessica.
I’m sitting on a park bench eating lunch and soaking up the sun.
Her reply is swift.
Sounds so relaxing.
Matt’s fingers are itching to tap the jax. He wants to tell her about the Woman with the glowing bronze skin and the vision of creation and how the Stone can stop time. That’s a lot of stuff, and he’s not sure where to start. He shrugs his shoulders and lets his fingers handle it as they think best. They slide and tap over the jax.
Jess, I’ve had some of the craziest stuff happen last night and today.
Matt knows that will hook her. It seems to work, and she displays her jaw-dropping intuition.
More dreams with the magic rock?
He takes in a deep breath and lets it leak out through his nostrils.
Jessica, don’t get too excited, but I think I had a vision, like Moses up on the mountain. Seriously. I saw something incredible. An angel. Maybe it was God. She showed me the whole universe and the creation of a world. It’s hard to explain. Still trying to wrap my head around it all.
There is another long pause. He already regrets pulling Jessica into the middle of it all without any warning, and he knows he’ll have a lot of explaining to do. And the worst part is that she believes in all that stuff already, and he doesn’t. At least he didn’t a few days ago. Now he’s not so sure. But the more he thinks about it, the reality of what he saw, what he thinks he saw, may be already starting to slip away.
Her reaction is non-ecstatic.
Matt, you feeling OK? Eat anything strange? Still a little jet lagged? You should go back to your dorm and get some rest. Then we can talk about it.
It catches him off-balance. It’s not what he expected from her. Almost like someone else
is using her jax. He looks again at the message he sent and the one he got back. For an instant, he sees it from her point of view, and it’s no wonder she’s less than effusive. He wonders what she’s really thinking. It’s hard to tell from the bare words, but it’s either mild skepticism, amusement or complete lack of interest. He doesn’t sense any empathy. Heat rushes into his ears and cheeks. Maybe she thinks he’s going crazy.
Maybe she’s right.
Without thinking, his right hand finds the Stone in his pocket and wraps around it. The fingers of his left hand grip the jax and play out a message on their own.
Think I’ll take your advice and head back to the dorm now. Jax me later when you have time for a long conversation. I’ll tell you all about it after you’ve had time to rest. For now, just sleep.
She’ll have one more reply before dropping off the line. It’s the way Jessica always signs off.
But her final reply never comes. Just one more strange event in a series of strange events.
He thinks about the dream and the events of the night on the mountain. No matter how real the vision felt, he can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s all a creation of his mind, a product of sleep deprivation, excitement and fear. It’s harder to dismiss the reality of the Yakuza thug naked on the mountain with a burnt body and blinded eyes.
But if he needs tangible, physical proof of it all, perhaps it’s in his backpack.
He bends down and slips his hand into one of the pockets, half-expecting to find nothing, but coming out with the Yakuza dagger and sheath. He turns it over in his hand. Isn’t it proof that time really stopped, at least for a few minutes? The man would never have given up such a prized possession willingly. As much as he tries, he finds it hard to escape the conclusion that the events on the mountain were real.
The irony of it all doesn’t escape him. He came to Japan to simplify a life that had become too restricted, too complicated. Now, after only three days, he’s on the brink of losing any chance at being normal.
And then there is a brief flash of clarity.
His whole life since losing his mom, he’s really only wanted one thing. To be normal, happy, free. Like everyone else.
