The Spinetinglers Anthology 2009

by Неизвестный

  “I love taking you home,” he replies. His smile is lopsided, his eyes half closed as the Jack Daniels that courses through his blood stream pulls down on the lids.

  ***

  Now the Nathan that is part of Carla begins to whimper because he knows what will happen next. And, as the whimpering flows from his tight throat, Carla uses the liquid substance of her probing digits to drink deeply from the guilt that is drowning her host. She has become a parasite, feeding off the emotions of Nathan, taking all she can get from the broken being whose mind she is using like an old video player. Pleasure rises inside her, mounting like the mother of all orgasms, threatening to rock her very soul with an earthquake climax.

  ***

  The Peugeot races down High Street, heading for the bypass. Nathan is anxious to get home, to climb into bed with Catherine, to feel her warmth against his skin. His intoxicated mind is promising pleasures his body will not be able to keep. His vision is alternatively clear and blurred; his head droops and then shocks upward. Languidly he glances over at Catherine. Her eyes are closed and she looks stunningly beautiful. How could someone like him ever dream of being loved by a creature as wonderful as Catherine?

  And yet he is. Catherine loves him with all her heart. He knows this and his breath is taken away every time he thinks about it. He slowly turns his head to the front and looks out of the windscreen just in time to see the dog that is crossing the road right in front of them.

  ***

  Carla braces herself. Her exploring fingers grip Nathan’s brain in anticipation of the surge of emotion that is about to hit. The dog will be saved, but Catherine will not and now neither will Nathan.

  As Nathan visualises the speeding car careening into the wall of the house, throwing Catherine’s body around the interior of the Peugeot like a rag doll, eventually to be crushed simultaneously from the side and front, Carla eagerly embraces the colossal flood of released guilt. She greedily sucks at the deluge of emotion pouring from Nathan’s prone body, shuddering with the climax of pleasure that plunders through her body, leaving her victim a dried and guiltless husk.

  Sated and gorged from the feast, Carla lies by the side of Nathan and slips into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

  ***

  Florence is sliding into dusk as the setting sun lowers itself behind the Duomo Santa Maria del Fiore, causing the rusty dome to shimmer with russet reflection. Paolo sits at a small table outside the Tira Baralla restaurant, looking across the square at the people, mostly tourists, enjoying the early evening air. He sighs, picks up his glass and drains the last of his wine.

  Since the death of his mother Paolo has changed. Although born and raised in a strict, Catholic family, the night his mother passed away was the first time in his thirty-three years that he had truly sought God’s forgiveness.

  While alone in the hospital room, with his beloved mother lying quiet and still beneath stiff white sheet, he had confessed all. That was the exact moment when Paolo changed; the exact moment when he had asked God to forgive his sins.

  To have told another human being of the depravity and madness that surged through him was a deliverance from the dark to the light; from a secular existence to a true belief in God. It did not matter to him one iota that the person he had finally confessed to had only the lightest of grips on life and would, within minutes of hearing her sons horrific admission, willingly release that grip and slip away.

  Paolo’s relief was in the fact that he had unloaded some of burden that had weighed him down for all of his life and by unloading that weight he had seen the light of God’s love, a love that he had been constantly told about throughout his childhood, but had never once felt.

  However, with the revelation of his sins to his mother came something that Paolo had never experienced before, a feeling of utter wretchedness. He truly regretted his past life. He felt overwhelming guilt for the lives he had snuffed out so easily and for the acts he had performed on those women to satisfy his depraved desires. But much more than that, he was overcome with self pity.

  ***

  How could he expect God’s forgiveness after the atrocities he had performed? Why had God abandoned him so early in life? What was he now to do, to try and repair the damage that he had done in God’s eyes? These questions, and a hundred more, flash through Paolo’s mind while he watches the blood red sun disappear as if being swallowed by the distant hills.

  “Posso sedermi qui?”

  Paolo is broken from his thoughts and turns to see a beautiful brunette standing by the empty chair at his table. There are many tables outside the restaurant and, as would be expected at such an early hour of the evening, most of them are empty, so it is puzzling to him as to why this woman would want to sit at his. But he does not question her choice.

  “Please.”

  He smiles, stands up and pulls the empty chair away from the table inviting her to sit down. As he returns to his own seat the woman holds up a cigarette.

  “Do you have a light?”

  Paolo removes his Zippo from his pocket and flicks the wheel. Bright yellow flames ignite as he holds his arm out towards the woman. Cigarette clamped between her lips, she smiles as she leans forward towards the flame.

  For one brief moment Paolo sees his mother in the features of the woman. Her eyes are bloodshot and full of hate, exactly as they had been when he had confessed to her in the hospital room. His heart skips two beats before slamming back to a quickened, irregular rhythm. All the self pity and guilt flood through Paolo in a wave of abhorrent emotion and he whispers through dry lips, “Mama?”

  The woman smiles as the flame of the lighter highlights her pretty features. She draws deep and long on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long stream, her head tilted back.

  “I’ll be whoever you want, honey.” Her voice is teasing. She licks her lips, leaving them glossy and wet. “But my name is Catherine.”

  She has come a long way and she is very hungry.

  Genesis

  by Richard Smith

  “This truth within thy mind rehearse,

  That in a boundless universe

  Is boundless better, boundless worse.”

  — Tennyson

  “Do you want me to drive?” Evelyn asked her colleague as they approached the car park.

  “No, allow me,” Peyne replied. “After all, you should be drinking Champagne this evening.”

  Evelyn laughed. “You know I don’t drink. Besides, that Champagne is as much yours as it is mine. That was quite a speech you made in there.”

  “It was easy. You had already done the groundwork.”

  They arrived at their hire car, a brand new 1988 model Volvo. Evelyn touched her hand against Peyne’s arm. “It was a team effort, and you know it. I’m just so pleased we’ve secured the funding.”

  He smiled, and placed his hand on hers. “I should drive. Look, I’ve got the keys.”

  “Yes... but you could so easily hand them over to me. Everybody else will be having a drink. I want you enjoy to yourself.” Evelyn moved towards the driver’s side of the vehicle, but Peyne held onto the keys.

  “I know...” he said with a gleam in his eye. He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a coin and held it in his fingers. “A quantum decision: heads I drive – tails you drive.”

  Peyne flipped the coin.

  ***

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the speaker began, waiting at the microphone for the buzz of conversation to recede. Doctor Peyne Stevens, tall and imposing, nodded briefly to the gathered men and women, smiling patiently as cameras flashed.

  “Good morning,” he said. “It gives me great pleasure to be here, because this is a very exciting day for the Institute. Today marks the day when our Compact Hadron Collider will be fully activated, something we have been working towards for over twenty years.”

  Seated before him were journalists from the national and international newspapers and television channels. He was pleased to see there was a good
turnout.

  Keep it simple, nothing too technical, he reminded himself. “Some of you will no doubt have heard the term atom smashers,” he looked about the faces in the room. “What we have managed to accomplish here is an atom smasher more than twice as powerful, and yet only one-tenth of the size of anything the world has seen before.”

  He made eye contact with the front row. “This machine will allow us to accelerate sub-atomic particles at fantastic speeds. By causing these particles to collide, and studying the patterns of those collisions, we hope to unlock the secrets of the quantum world.”

  Peyne went on to describe the history of the Institute, how the thick granite rocks in this part of Cornwall made a perfect natural shield to protect their experiments from harmful background electromagnetic radiation. He spoke of the complex network of tunnels and chambers, one of which they currently gathered in.

  He concluded on the subject which always caught the attention of the popular press. “As you know, one result of these particle collisions is the creation of mini-black holes – something we hope to see with far greater frequency and clarity than ever before.”

  Having laid out the aims of the project, and stirred their interest, Peyne concluded by inviting the audience to pose their questions.

  There was a show of hands and he pointed to a stocky man in the front row. “The Globe,” the man announced the newspaper he worked for. “Isn’t it dangerous to try and create black holes in a lab?” he asked. “Couldn’t it go out of control?”

  The physicist smiled. “That would make a good headline, no doubt. But the truth is, we are working on the sub-atomic scale. The amounts of energy we are talking about here are tiny. These phenomena occur at the quantum scale and can only be detected with the most sensitive of instruments.”

  “But couldn’t you trigger of some kind of chain reaction?” the journalist pressed.

  “It would be impossible. The energy is just not there. The odds of any kind of dangerous event are astronomical.”

  “So, theoretically, something could happen, even if there was only a tiny chance?”

  “Anything can happen. There is a statistical probability for any event. But you have to consider the likelihood. And the likelihood here is very remote indeed, you have far more chance of being a lottery winner every day this week.”

  “If something did go wrong – what would happen?”

  Peyne shook his head. This was the problem with the mass media, always trying to sensationalise. “It is perfectly safe, I assure you.” He nodded to another raised hand, moving the conference on.

  “Making these black holes – it sounds impressive but what will it achieve?” asked a female journalist from one of the tabloids.

  “We hope to prove for the first time ever the existence of other dimensions. We should see new particles. And unravel the secrets of the formation of the Universe – the Big Bang itself.” He shrugged. “Is that not enough?”

  ***

  Doctor Joyce, do you have a moment? I wondered if you might be able to expand on a few of the concepts you mentioned.”

  Evelyn had concluded the press conference and she was making her way to the Control Room. She limped noticeably on her right side as she walked, as her artificial leg needed adjusting. She had simply been too busy this last month to make an appointment.

  Evelyn looked at the reporter who stood in her way, then smiled and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I see that only the most dedicated journalists have stayed around to ask extra questions.” The Science and Technology Journal reporter was the only one remaining in the large hall. “Miss Stanley, isn’t it? Would you like to come in and take a look around our nerve centre?”

  The reporter smiled back. “That’s very kind of you, Dr. Joyce,” she said. “And please, call me Juliette.”

  ***

  Peyne was aware he was over-running as he answered another question. “Quantum theory suggests there are an almost infinite number of alternative realities to our own – parallel dimensions if you will – constantly branching from ours and from each other. Until now, we have only been able to speculate, but with these experiments we may be able to put the theory to the test.”

  He nodded politely. “One last question?”

  “Juliette Stanley, Cornwall Herald,” a young woman began. “Do you think this research – black holes, big bangs – aren’t you in danger of playing God?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We are practising science here, in a safe and controlled manner.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Well, who is God?” Peyne countered. “I believe in science. Mathematics. Atoms and particles – you can measure, you can study them. But there is no evidence for a god. If I were able to look him in the eye – only then could I believe in him.”

  Peyne brought the conference to a close. He thanked the journalists for attending, then carefully walked down from the microphone. His right leg, in fact his whole right side, had been badly damaged in the accident, and he still had trouble manoeuvring.

  Juliette Stanley turned to the journalist sitting next to her. “I was only asking,” she said. “And who’s to say God’s a man, anyway?”

  The man laughed. “He didn’t answer my question either – I still don’t know what happens when it all goes wrong.”

  ***

  “If you would like to follow me, I’ll take you down to the Control Room.” Evelyn entered the lift carefully, Juliette following closely behind.

  Deep underground, they crossed a corridor and entered an inconspicuous doorway, which opened into a large room filled with computer terminals and displays. “This is where we monitor the results of the collisions and analyse the raw data as it comes through in real-time,” Evelyn explained.

  “It’s not busy here yet,” the reporter noted. “Do you work office hours, shifts?”

  “When we are running a series of collisions, we will stay here for as long as it takes, up to twelve, maybe fourteen hours a day. Between tests, we may still have one or two technicians working on the data, but it will be much less busy.”

  “And how long until you start running today’s sequences, Doctor Joyce?” the journalist asked.

  “Please, call me Evelyn. It’s just a little over two hours now.” She sighed deeply. “I’m sure Doctor Stevens would have been so very proud if he could see how far we have come.”

  “You must be pleased that you were able to carry on his legacy.”

  “Yes,” Evelyn said wistfully. “He really was a genius, ahead of his time. Such a tragedy that he was taken from us.”

  ***

  Peyne descended the stairs that led to the Control Room, his mind now focused on the work ahead. It had taken so many years of research to get this far. Countless millions had been spent, and over one thousand technicians and scientists were dedicated to the project.

  After the disappointments and failures at the Swiss CERN laboratories, people had been sceptical. Even he had experienced moments of doubt. But he had proved them wrong. He had been determined to find a way, not just for himself, but for Evelyn. As long as the project lived on, then so did she.

  “Good luck today,” Doctor Stevens, a colleague called.

  “Yes... thank you,” he replied, stirring from his thoughts. Luck. That was not something he liked to rely on. Success should never be a matter of chance, he thought to himself.

  ***

  Juliette stood quietly to one side, watching and making notes as the Control Room came to life. Technicians now worked at consoles and assistants moved back and forth, relaying messages and running errands. Evelyn spotted her in the corner and walked over. “Well, that’s it. We’re up and running.”

  “It was kind of you to let me sit in and observe.”

  “Nonsense. We need the publicity,” Evelyn said with a smile. “You must be fairly new at the Sci-Tech,” she said. I know most of their journalists.”

  “This is my first big assignment. It’s really e
xciting, actually. It’s only a few years ago that I was writing for the church magazine and the Cornwall Herald.”

  “You were obviously destined for greater things.”

  “Well, it’s funny. I met someone and they really turned my life around. They inspired me to go into science journalism. We met on a blind date. I picked him at random. Funny how your whole life can change because of one small decision.”

  “That’s very true,” Evelyn agreed. She saw an image of the car, hurtling around the bend, hitting their Volvo hard on the driver’s side. Peyne, sitting at the wheel, had not stood a chance. If only she had been driving that day, perhaps things might have turned out differently.

  ***

  Peyne sat at his computer terminal, watching the streams of raw data.

  Deep within the complex, the Compact Hadron Collider was firing atoms at tremendously high velocities, the collisions creating a whole range of sub-atomic particles and quantum curiosities. Miniscule black holes popped into existence and vanished in bursts of Hawking radiation in less than a millionth of a second, their occurrence only deduced by the signatures they left behind.

  ***

  Evelyn watched the constantly changing graphs and charts at her computer screen.

  “This is interesting,” she said to the technician sitting next to her. “The residual energy here is much lower than expected. I’d like to run some further analysis on this, it looks promising.”

  “Energy leaks?” the technician asked, intrigued.

  “Could be,” Evelyn smiled. “This could be the final piece of the puzzle. Proof that a black hole leaks energy into other dimensions.”

  ***

  The likelihood of the particles in Peyne’s experiment interacting with other extra-dimensional particles was infinitesimally small. But even so, there were nearly an infinite number of alternate realities within the universe. Regardless, the odds were still extremely remote. But cosmic events are born out of improbabilities. And, within the infinite possibilities of an eternity of universes, where time has no beginning and no end, improbabilities become eventual certainties.