Yesterday's Gone (Season Four): Episodes 19-24

by Sean Platt

  “Protect from what?”

  Roman leaned closer to Luca and whispered his next words as if volume might invite nightmares. “The Darkness.”

  Luca’s mind flashed on something, dark and ropey, moving fast, and gaining speed as it spilled across the streets of his hometown. He couldn’t tell if it was another one of his growing number of unexplainable memories, a dream, or just his imagination working to unknot the old man’s whispered words.

  “How do I open it?” Luca asked.

  “Put your palms on the top and bottom. It will do the rest,” Roman said. His face was pinched with wonder, waiting for Luca to open the box.

  Luca placed his palms on what seemed to be the top and bottom, and felt the box vibrate, tickling his hands and wrist. Luca laughed. The box clicked and opened onto his palms like a book.

  Inside the box, Luca stared at six glass tubes on the right side, inserted into a sticky looking blue strip of what looked like wet plastic. Each of the vials was filled with glowing, bright-blue liquid. Its glow lit his skin and, to Luca’s shock, eased the blisters from burning to gone.

  “Wow,” Luca said, watching his knitting flesh repairing the sun damage. “What are these?”

  “Vials of The Light. Notice: Six are missing.”

  On the left side was a similar strip, but dried and gray. Luca saw spots for another six vials. “Where did they go?”

  “I realized early on that I could never keep them all to myself. It was too dangerous. So I gave them to people I could trust, people who promised to never open them unless something bad happened in the world.”

  “Bad?” Luca asked.

  “Just … something bad I’ve been dreaming for a long time.”

  Luca felt warm in a wave through his body, erasing the sun’s damage. He said, “This is amazing.”

  “Isn’t it?” Roman laughed. “We’ve been blessed.”

  Luca asked, “But why are you giving these to me?”

  “Because I can’t open them. I’m tainted, not pure. Will said if I open them, bad things will happen. Very bad things. So it has to be you, Luca. You have to save the world.”

  “Save the world? From what?”

  “The Darkness is here, Luca. It’s been spreading. People going crazy, murdering one another. War, famine, chaos, it’s about to get so much worse.”

  Luca was done with Roman’s crazy talk, and wanted to find a polite way to thank him, then find his way home.

  “How do I get back?” Luca asked. Direct was best, while the man was still in such a good mood.

  “You will … ” Roman stopped talking. He held a hand to his ear.

  “Wait … do you hear that?”

  “What?” Luca asked, hearing nothing but wind getting angry outside.

  Roman stood and moved with surprising speed toward the igloo’s exit. “Who are you?” he asked to something outside.

  A chill through Luca made him think that one of the things he had bumped into earlier had followed him. He closed the black box, clutching it tight as he stepped from the igloo. Dog Vader was outside, growling at Roman.

  Roman put his hands in front of Luca. “Be careful, he’s evil.”

  “No,” Luca explained, walking past Roman’s outstretched hand toward Dog Vader. “He’s my friend, Dog Vader. He’s a talking dog.”

  Dog Vader looked up at Luca, and stopped growling, as Luca stroked him between his ears.

  “You brought him here?” Roman yelled, angry. “You brought the evil here?”

  He ducked back inside the igloo.

  “Come on,” Dog Vader said to Luca, nodding toward a large, glowing, purple rectangle; a door of light sprouting from the ground just yards away. “It’s a portal, to get home.”

  Luca smiled, glad to see a way home, but feeling bad because Roman got scared off by Dog Vader. He called into the igloo, “Hey, Mister. You can come home with us. Dog Vader found a way back.”

  “Is that so?” Roman said, crawling back out of the igloo. His left hand was behind his back as he stared at Luca, crazy-eyed.

  Luca started to step back, nervous, wondering what Roman was hiding behind his back.

  The crazy, old man walked faster, quickly closing the distance between them. Dog Vader growled, stepping between Luca and Roman.

  Roman revealed his hand, holding a pistol, aiming it at Dog Vader and fired, twice. Bullets whistled past the dog and slapped the dirt.

  Luca was confused, his heart pounding in his chest, fear coursing through him, telling him to run.

  Dog Vader turned and growled, “Run, Luca!”

  Roman raised his gun and aimed it at Luca. “Stop!”

  Dog Vader barked louder, viciously snapping at the man, and rising his rear as if he was about to jump Roman at any moment.

  Roman laughed, ignoring Dog Vader. He said, “You’re not real,” then stepped through the dog and fired a shot past Luca.

  “Give it back, Kid!”

  “Run, Luca!” Dog Vader yelled.

  It was impossible for Luca to reach the portal, unless Roman was a horrible shot. He had to return the box. As Luca turned, about to hand the box to Roman, Dog Vader yelled, “Don’t give it to him. He’s evil. Run, Luca!”

  “Shut up!” Roman screamed back, firing a shot at the ghost dog.

  Dog Vader rattled his body, like he was trying shaking water from a soaking coat. Luca stared, confused, watching as his fur darkened, then sloughed off in fluffs, floating at first, then gathering around the dog in a tiny tornado of fur. The fur multiplied, spreading upward, spinning a 12 foot by 12 foot wall between Luca and Roman.

  Dog Vader, whom Luca could no longer see through the black tufts of swirling fur, called out, “Run, Luca!”

  Luca ran to the portal, clutching the box tight in his fingers as Roman screamed, “Come back!” firing shots.

  Luca reached the portal and was about to step through when he felt an eruption of agony, starting in his left shoulder and shooting through his entire back.

  I’m shot!

  He tumbled forward, inches from the portal’s shimmer. The pain was so intense, Luca couldn’t move. He wanted only to fall. But he dared not stop. Roman would keep shooting until he finished the job.

  “Go!” Dog Vader screamed.

  Luca forced himself to focus on moving forward, despite the pain. He fell to his knees, and heard more gunshots erupting behind him.

  “Go! Go! He’s coming!” Dog Vader screamed.

  Luca somehow pushed himself in a crawl toward the purple light. As it bathed his skin, Luca’s flesh began to ripple.

  Keep moving! Into the light!

  Luca continued crawling until the purple consumed him.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 2 — Edward Keenan

  Ed was preparing to leave Manhattan in a stolen Camry when he saw the black vans barreling toward Brent Foster’s street. He tried telling himself they were heading to Stan’s, following up on what happened with their fallen agents, but even if that was true, they’d still hit Brent’s next.

  And if they got to Brent, there was no way they’d let him, or his family live.

  Screw it. Brent made his bed when he started talking.

  Ed kept driving, dialing Jade’s cell repeatedly, hoping she’d answer, and that she, Teagan, and Becca were safe. If Sullivan was compromised, and it seemed he was if he’d given the order to kill them, Ed had to assume his family was in danger. Sullivan said that he had been affected by the vials, that his abilities allowed him to track Ed to his Florida safe house. Ed wasn’t sure how Sullivan had managed, if it was some sort of psychic connection they all shared that he could track, or if Sullivan was lent some supernatural ability to home in on them. Ed would assume the worst unless Jade picked up the phone.

  But she didn’t answer.

  He hung up, cursing again.

  As Ed drove faster, away from the city, he couldn’t push Brent from his mind.

  He had no way to know if Jade was in danger. He guessed
she was, based on shit and the fans it was likely to hit, but he didn’t know. Maybe Jade’s phone was dead, or they were out of the house. Maybe she left the phone’s ringer off while sleeping. Plenty of scenarios saw Jade, Teagan, and Becca all still safe.

  However, there was only one possibility for Brent Foster and his family if Ed didn’t go back. While Brent might have been stupid, talking to too many people, his wife and child had done nothing wrong. And though Brent was being selfish in his pursuit of a family reunion, Ed understood. The man had lost everything; it was difficult to expect someone like him to embrace sacrifice when it was shoved down his throat.

  Ed had made a choice to work for the government. He knew what he was signing up for, even if he could never have known the depths of what he was getting into or what he’d be forced to surrender.

  Brent was thrust into hell without any choice.

  He lost his job, wife, and son. Sure, Brent could have — should have — handled things better, but Ed didn’t know many people who would’ve played their cards differently.

  If Ed didn’t intervene, Brent would pay the ultimate price.

  Fuck!

  Ed pulled into the left lane and spun the car, heading back into the city.

  **

  Ed arrived at Brent’s apartment as the sound of gunshots echoed through the broken door and into the hallway.

  Too late!

  Ed rushed through the door, scanning the room. Two Black Island Guardsmen stood over Brent, cowered on the floor and begging for life, arms around his son.

  Brent’s wife was sprawled on the floor, motionless, blood spilling from a gunshot wound to the head.

  The Guardsmen whirled, guns raised. The taller of the two had an M-16, the second a Glock-17, like Ed. Neither was Ed’s match for speed or the element of surprise. He already had the larger man in his sights. Ed fired two shots to his helmet and one to his groin, dropping the man in an instant. He rolled to the ground, avoiding the second guardsman’s shots, then sprang to his feet and fired into the man’s crotch, gut, and face in three successive shots.

  Ed stood steel bar straight, tensed as he made sure the men were dead. Once certain, he kicked their weapons away, and reloaded his Glock.

  He turned to Brent and his son, both huddled over Gina’s dead body.

  “Mommy! Get up, Mommy. Please,” Ben cried, hugging her.

  Ed couldn’t stand to look. If he allowed their grief to overwhelm him, he wouldn’t be ready. He’d seen two vans, not one. There were more Guardsmen nearby — maybe across the street at Stan’s. If so, it was only a matter of minutes before they came to Brent’s, called in reinforcements, or both.

  “We have to go,” Ed said, leaning down. “There’s more on the way.”

  Brent was crying, holding his son, rocking him in his arms, ignoring, or not hearing, Ed.

  “Come on; it’s not safe here!” Ed yelled, his eyes back on the doorway.

  “She’s dead,” Brent said, staring at his wife, still in shock, unable to see the situation’s urgency.

  Ed didn’t have time to earn Brent’s attention. He leaned over, grabbed Ben, and started to pull him from his father.

  Brent jerked his son back, looked up, eyes angry, “Hey!”

  Ed had his attention. He let Ben go, and met Brent’s eyes. “Grab some ammo for your gun, we need to get out of here! Now! Or they’ll come back, and they will kill us — all of us.”

  Brent swallowed, looked down at Ben, who was back on the floor beside his mother, begging her to “wake up,” then looked down and picked up the M-16.

  Brent pulled Ben from his mom. The boy screamed, “No, Daddy!”

  “We’ve gotta go,” Brent said, his voice more soothing than he could have possibly felt.

  “No!!” Ben screamed, his face red and swollen as he tried to push free from his father. Pushing turned to hitting and scratching, desperate to stay with his mom. “We can’t leave Mommy!”

  “Mommy’s dead,” Brent said, hugging his son closer. “She’s gone to heaven, buddy. We need to get out of here before more bad men come.”

  Ben collapsed against his father, crying into surrender.

  “Come on,” Ed said, fighting back the tears in his welling eyes. He couldn’t allow the boy’s pain to dull his senses. If he didn’t stay sharp, the boy, and his father, would die.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 3 — Steven Warner

  IT tightened ITS grip around Marina’s neck, digging long digits deeper into her flesh, allowing ITSELF to enjoy the fear pouring from her shell’s sweating skin.

  IT enjoyed her confusion, and her desperation to try and make sense of the situation. Wondering why IT was killing her.

  Just as IT was about to crush her throat, IT felt a scream somewhere out there.

  Something was wrong with Rose — the human woman IT somehow couldn’t see with the same indifference IT felt for the rest of the planet. Her love once belonged to Bishop, and love made ridiculous trade: He owned a piece of her, and she of him. Owning a piece of Bishop, therefore meant she owned a piece of IT.

  Rose was in trouble, maybe near death.

  IT homed in on the vision: Rose being held by a stranger at gunpoint. IT could feel her fear and confusion, her racing heart as she worked to absorb her surroundings, flitting terrified eyes from the stranger to her man, the other Boricio, the hunter, incapacitated and tied to the bed.

  The stranger had come for the hunter: Bishop’s love was in the way, and therefore in danger. If IT did nothing, her death was imminent.

  Suddenly, IT realized that IT had let go of Marina’s throat.

  She squirmed, wiggling away as she whimpered. IT grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back harder, dragging Marina toward him as she cried out.

  IT had to go. IT could take Rose and rid ITSELF of the hunter, whom IT somehow knew was more than a threat: maybe the threat, growing stronger through every unattended minute.

  IT looked down at Marina, who stared up at her lover, defiantly, unwilling to surrender because she was stupid. Marina saw IT as a monster, rather than humanity’s hope: a promise a species as putrescent as man was lucky to get.

  IT looked into her mind, seeing Marina remembering her father’s warning that, “The Darkness was coming.”

  IT wanted to laugh.

  IT wasn’t used to — or comfortable with — indecision.

  IT should kill her.

  IT should leave her to nothing.

  IT should punish her for wasting ITS time, for never revealing the vials’ location, or the machine’s truth, despite months in her presence.

  But IT suddenly couldn’t. It felt … wrong.

  Marina had not yet finished serving her purpose. IT had been drawn to her bed for a reason. She had been touched by the vials, and would lead IT to them if IT waited long enough. But even if she never found the vials, Marina gave IT unprecedented access to a potential army of millions of hosts.

  She might be ITS best tool, after the next phase.

  Her heart beat faster, as Marina grew more desperate to escape.

  “What are you?” she asked, her voice full of disgust.

  “I am the true All Seeing,” IT said, mocking her faith. “You and I have so much work to do. But first, I have a matter to tend to, I hope you don’t mind.”

  IT tightened ITS grip on Marina’s hair, pulling harder as it reached down, slipped ITS hand under her skirt. She screamed as IT yanked her panties down over her knees and past her ankles, then balled them up, and shoved them into her open mouth to muffle the screaming.

  IT threw Marina over ITS shoulders and marched from the room and to the elevator, not caring who saw IT. If anyone got in ITS way, IT would kill them.

  Marina screamed, punched, kicked, and tried breaking free, but she was no match for ITS strength. IT brought her to the basement, then pressed two buttons together, the first and third floor buttons, which brought the elevator one more floor down, to the secret room that Marina didn’t kno
w IT knew about — the crypt where her father’s body was. Where she came to pray for advice from a dead man.

  A panel slide open on the elevator showing a digital screen with blue digits. IT punched in the code, 5115, and the elevator doors opened.

  Marina, realizing where they were going — a room nobody would hear them in — kicked and screamed louder until she coughed and gagged on her panties.

  IT walked into the room, which lit at their entrance, and dropped her hard to the ground.

  She jumped up and took a swing.

  IT swung ITS fist hard into where her neck met her head, dropping her to the ground in an instant, cold.

  IT left the room and sealed the crypt, leaving the acting head of The Church of Original Design locked inside a room where only two knew the combination: one bound inside it.

  Now IT had to go save Rose, and finally finish the other Boricio.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 4 — Mary Olson

  Mary stared at Paola, thinking about the storms inside her comatose daughter, lying in the hospital bed. Paola was hooked up to more machines, as if the one she’d been in hadn’t done enough damage. Tubes going into her, electronics monitoring her vitals, and God-only-knew what sorts of medications (and how many) pumping through her system.

  The doctors and nurses had asked Mary a battery of questions, both about Paola’s medical history and what happened prior to her arrival. Mary felt like her head was about to explode. She couldn’t keep lying, especially if her lie might mean the difference between Paola living and dying.

  She finally told them about Marina, about the machine, and what happened. She told them everything except why Paola had gone into the machine. Mary lied, saying the girl had been having headaches lately. Nothing horrible, but their friend had claimed the machine cured her migraines, so Mary didn’t see the harm.

  She was surprised that Dr. Thomasson didn’t look at her like an idiot for turning to a cult for medical help. Perhaps The Church was well known in these parts and actually seen as semi-legitimate.