Dark Company

by Natale Ghent

  “Are you the One-Armed Bandit?”

  The man looked at her as though she was an idiot. “What did you come here for?” he asked.

  His question confused her. What did he plan to do? She needed to act quickly, to find something—anything she could use to defend herself. The room was empty except for the candle guttering on the floor. The only way out was the door behind him. She was trapped. And then she remembered her phone. Pulling it from her jacket, Caddy pressed the key for emergency speed-dial.

  The man reached her in one step, knocked the phone from her hand and shattered it with the heel of his boot.

  “No phones.”

  “Please, let me go,” Caddy begged.

  “Why did you come here?”

  She thought to lie but found herself telling the truth. “I was looking for my father.”

  “Your father isn’t here.”

  Caddy felt a sharp pain in her hands. She held them up in the candlelight, saw blood and started to cry. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want from me.”

  The man was unmoved. “We have to go.”

  Caddy broke down. “Please … I haven’t done anything. I just want to go home.”

  A scuffling sound outside the door set the man in action. He pushed her aside and brushed some dirt from the ground, uncovering a hatch. Grabbing the handle, he tugged it open. “Come on.”

  Caddy made a break for the door, fumbling with the hasp as she tried to unlock it. “Help!” she shouted, pounding on the door with her fists. “Someone help me, please!”

  The man picked her up and stuffed her through the hatch into a tunnel. He jumped in after her, pulling the lid shut.

  “Get away from me!” Caddy yelled, hitting his face and chest until he snatched her up and carried her on his hip again.

  She fought him the entire length of the passageway, the man cursing and muttering under his breath. At a bend in the tunnel, he dropped her to her feet. There was another hole. This one had a ladder leading down. The man pointed at the ladder.

  “Climb,” he said.

  Caddy started to object but he looked at her with such malice that she lowered herself onto the rungs. She clung to the ladder, peering between her feet at the water running along a massive concrete culvert below. Was he going to kill her down there? She glanced at him and he scowled, forcing her to move. The rungs were damp. Her sneakers slipped and squeaked as she went.

  The man descended after her, a menacing bear. At the bottom of the ladder, Caddy stopped. The culvert smelled of worms and muck and rotting tree roots. And it was dark. Her stomach tightened. No one would ever find her body there.

  “Move,” the man said.

  The water gushed cold over her shoes. There was no time to care because the man nearly landed on top of her when he splashed down. Opening his satchel, he retrieved a thin, tightly bound bundle of sticks wrapped at the top with a piece of cloth. A torch, Caddy thought. Whoever he was, he’d come prepared. The man lit a match and the torch jumped to life, the flame snapping like a sheet on a windy clothesline. Black smoke rolled up the ladder. The man motioned with his head.

  “Go.”

  They sloshed through the water, the torch casting eerie shadows on the walls. Caddy walked in front, clutching her necklace and wondering if she could outrun him. The man was practically on her heels. She squinted through the dark. The torchlight caught something in the distance. It flashed and disappeared, then flashed again. The water solidified, spreading in a wave up the walls and growing in speed and size, rolling toward her.

  “Rats!” Caddy yelled.

  The wave crashed over her feet and surged up her legs in a frenzy of teeth and nails and glinting eyes. The man caught her as she fell back. One arm around her, he stabbed wildly with the torch, the rats squealing and leaping away from the flame. The wave broke, streaming past in two grey torrents. Caddy didn’t resist when he lifted her off her feet, clinging to him like a frightened child until the rats were gone.

  By the time he set her down, her whole body was shaking. She looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. He’d protected her. Why would he do that if he wanted to kill her? Maybe she could appeal to him—even convince him to let her go. “Thank you,” she said.

  He glowered. “Go.”

  Caddy’s heart pounded. “You’re very brave.”

  He shoved her shoulder. “Go,” he repeated, this time more forcefully.

  She walked, looking back periodically to discern the man’s intention. His face was hard as a shovel blade. She had to think of a way to change his mind before her chances ran out.

  At the end of the tunnel was another ladder, this one leading up. The man threw the torch down, extinguishing it in the water. Caddy thought to sprint up the ladder to get ahead of him and slam the door shut at the top. If there was a door. Or maybe kick him in the face from the top of the ladder and run. Anything was better than going quietly. Did she have the guts to actually do it? She would never find out. As soon as she gripped the rungs the man flopped a cloth bag over her head, cinching it around her neck.

  “Hey! You don’t have to do this!” she cried, clawing at the hood. He jerked her hands away and placed them on the ladder.

  “Climb,” he ordered.

  Caddy probed for the ladder with her feet, her breath heavy and moist inside the bag, her mind flattened with fear. “I can’t breathe …”

  He nudged her harder. She moved in stops and starts, mouthing the words of her shining song. At the top, she felt around and pulled herself up. Squatting on her heels, she frantically worked the cord on the bag. It was tied tight. She could hear the muffled sounds of the city over her breathing as her fingers deciphered the knot. The smell of gas filtered through the hood. Were they in a garage? Her heart leapt when the cord began to loosen, but the man got to her first. He yanked her to her feet by one arm and dragged her behind him. She heard a car door open and he forced her in, pushing her head down so she wouldn’t hit it getting into the vehicle. She realized now that he would never let her go. He was going to drive her to the middle of nowhere to kill her, and no one would ever know or care.

  The second her legs touched the seat, Caddy exploded, kicking and yelling and swinging her fists. The man swore when she struck his face. He grabbed her arms. She threw her body to one side, feet flailing. Wrenching her upright, he pulled her hands behind her back and wrapped her wrists together with a piece of rope, pulling it taut. She lurched forward. He held her against the seat and fastened the belt.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  The car door slammed. Another opened and the vehicle rocked as the man got in. Keys jangled. The engine turned over. Caddy screamed louder, thrashing and bucking against the seatbelt. A damp rag covered her nose and mouth, the cold rush of solvent filling her lungs. It numbed her lips and made her neck loose. The car rolled forward, her head lolling from side to side, the movement of the vehicle sloshing her brain back and forth. Back and forth. Sounds blared and receded around her. The dark rose up and she surrendered, drifting into the void.

  THE FREQUENCIES

  Meg glided alongside the silver being. The cloudy walls of the white room dissolved, revealing a great and magical city that stretched uninterrupted as far as the eye could see.

  “The City of Light,” the being announced.

  Meg had never seen or dreamed of anything like it. Had the city been here the whole time she’d felt so alone? She hardly knew what to explore first. Every building gleamed with the brilliance of white marble, crystal and glass. The skyline was studded with domes of gold. There were rivers that gushed with no traceable source into ornate fountains, and pools of water so still it was nearly impossible to determine where the water stopped and the sky began. Meg wanted to see everything. She trailed her fingers in the spray of a huge fountain, and marvelled at the majestic trees lining the streets, and wondered at the impossible flower baskets that hung by magic, their blossoms tumbling in a riot of colour to the gro
und. Everywhere there were other beings—countless numbers—moving through the streets, their collective voices a roar in her ears. It was all so blindingly beautiful and strange and … completely overwhelming.

  “Where’s everyone going?” she asked.

  “To the Great Hall for the initiation ceremony,” the silver being said. “It is a very important day. These events don’t happen often.”

  Meg gawked at the crowd. “These are all recruits?”

  “Yes.”

  Now she understood why the being had been so confused by her appearance. The recruits were entirely white and genderless, as the being had said they should be. And they were tall. She was suddenly self-conscious. All the other recruits were gliding purposefully along, chatting telepathically with their silver beings. They all seemed to know who they were and what they were doing and where they were going. She thought about her bad arm and her female form. She’d fought so hard to retain her past, to prevent her transformation from happening. Now she felt horribly out of place. She couldn’t fit in if she tried. The city and all its glittering wonders—they weren’t meant for her. They were meant for everyone else. Her soul sank. This wasn’t home. She couldn’t say exactly what home was like, but she was confident it was nothing like this. She tried to catch bits of conversation, to feel like part of the action. The voices rushed in a garbled stream through her head. She held her hands over her ears.

  “It’s too much. I can’t hear myself think.”

  “Tune it out,” the being said. “Adjust the dials in your mind.”

  Meg winced. “It’s like standing under a waterfall.”

  “Concentrate. Diminish the sound.”

  Meg focused on the noise. It was a fluid rainbow of colour. She imagined two strong hands pushing the rainbow of sound into a narrow band of white light. The voices crackled and receded like a distant radio transmission.

  “Good,” the being encouraged her. “Now, see if you can control the input.”

  The voices flared and withdrew. Meg found herself looking at a tapestry of light, a multidimensional fabric of colourful threads, all woven and intermingling. She reached to touch a single sparkling strand and discovered that she could hear the owner speaking quite distinctly. What’s more, if she concentrated harder, the face of the being talking emerged from the ether of her mind as though it were standing right in front of her. “This is incredible,” she said, and despite how low she felt, she began plucking strings, as lively as a harp player, skipping from one conversation to another. Until the silver being intercepted.

  “It is forbidden to eavesdrop. There are strict communication protocols.”

  Meg dropped the string she was holding and the conversation slipped away.

  “Shall we continue?” the being said.

  They glided through the city, the being playing tour guide. Meg wanted to pay attention, but she just felt more and more sorry for herself the farther they went. She couldn’t appreciate the gilded domes of the Hall of Records where The Book of Events was kept, or feel excited by the soaring pillars of the Tower of Knowledge where the Pools of Knowing held the vast expanse of intelligence in the universe. She smiled politely at the river that bubbled and snaked through the streets, and the green pastures that strolled for miles beyond the city to rest comfortably at the feet of snow-capped mountains. And she only pretended to care when the silver being stopped in front of the crystal-walled conservatory of the Auditorium to listen to “the most exquisite music” rising above the murmurings of the crowd.

  “It’s nice,” Meg said, feigning interest. The closer they got to the Great Hall where the initiation ceremony was to take place, the worse she felt. What was waiting for her there?

  On the stairs of the Hall, she paused and stood beneath its marble archway. It was carved with an elaborate series of mysterious symbols. Was she supposed to know what they meant? She panicked, thinking she’d missed something important she was supposed to have learned during her transformation. She was tempted to turn around and leave, go anywhere but here. And then she was struck by the most unsettling feeling. She was being watched.

  Lowering her gaze, Meg met the questioning eyes of hundreds of recruits and their silver beings. They were staring at her bound arm and the impossibility of her shape. The heat rose in her face for the second time that day. She pressed her arm against her body to conceal it. Now she really wanted to run and hide.

  The silver being placed a hand on her shoulder. “You must learn to rise above such things,” it said. But then it gave the spectators a look so scathing they quickly retreated into the Hall.

  Meg shadowed her silver being up the stairs, practically gliding over its robe in the process.

  “There’s no need to travel so closely,” it admonished her.

  She apologized, and kept tailing it all the same, she felt so exposed.

  Inside the building, a fountain flowed. Meg hardly glanced at it, or the armoured sentries that stood on either side of the Hall. She was so nervous about the initiation ceremony she didn’t acknowledge the ethereal singing floating through the corridor, ushering the seemingly endless number of recruits inside. The silver being led her into a cavernous room, blithering on about the wonders of the city. It pointed out the massive marble pillars and alabaster walls, and the ceiling, all gilded and glistening. It noted the brilliant warm light illuminating the space, “like the composite flame of a million candles,” even though there were no candles to be seen—as if the room were generating light on its own. “And look how the walls seem to breathe and expand to accommodate the multitudes,” the silver being went on.

  “Yeah,” Meg said, distracted by a large stage behind a heavy marble table at the back of the hall. There were sixteen golden beings sitting there. They looked very important—even more important than the silver ones. “Who are they?” she asked.

  “The Council,” the being said. “Two for each Frequency represented.”

  The Council members sat side by side, their golden energy radiating around them. Meg counted eight additional silver beings at the foot of the stage, each carrying a tall pole bearing a coloured flag. There were eight flags in all: violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red and white. Meg didn’t like the look of this. What were they expecting her to do?

  The silver being happily explained. “When you feel the call, you must go to the flag-bearer who carries the colour of your vibration. Then you will know for certain what Frequency you belong to.” It held its hand up, anticipating her next question. “Each colour has a unique vibratory Frequency. The colours you see here belong to the order of Spectrals—or single wavelength beings. They are the core Frequencies that make up the spectrum of Light.”

  “Are you a Spectral?” Meg asked.

  “Of course not,” the being said. “I am a Metallic—something entirely different.”

  “But how can all these recruits fit into so few categories? And how will I know when I’m called?”

  “They fit,” the being assured her. “And you will know. You will feel the call inside you and join your rightful Frequency among the Spectrals.”

  A trumpet sounded, and a profound hush fell over the crowd. From the wings of the great room, a magnificent being appeared. It looked similar to the silver and gold beings in features, but was taller and possessed an iridescence unlike any other. It was every colour, and none, like mother-of-pearl, or some kind of lustrous fabric.

  “The Prism,” the silver being said. “This being has the ability to vibrate at every frequency. It is unique in its purpose. There is only one.”

  “Is he the guy in charge?” Meg asked.

  The being gave her a look. “In charge? No one being is in charge here. We are a collective.”

  “Oh,” Meg said. She didn’t really care anyway. She was just being polite.

  The Prism glided to the stage. Drafting behind it were two silver beings carrying an instrument that looked like a series of tuning forks stuck together, eight in all. The
y positioned the instrument on the podium. Without further ado, the Prism raised a delicate silver mallet and tapped the smallest fork. A clear, high note, like the song of a bird, filled the room. Meg felt nothing. The Prism’s colour changed to a deep shade of violet. The corresponding flag began to flap and within the crowd, thousands of recruits responded to the sound. They glided toward the stage and changed colour, glowing with a violet light. Meg watched with nervous fascination as a shower of glittering stars appeared from nowhere and twinkled over the recruits. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “The Light of Corometh,” the silver being said. It joins the members of a Frequency together. This group of recruits is now bound to one another, as the members of other frequencies are bound to their own kind. It helps them in their work.”

  “What do the purple ones do?”

  “They are Chroniclers, Keepers of the Charts.”

  “What charts?”

  “Blueprints—maps of every individual life that ever lived and ever will live.”

  This caught Meg’s attention. Could she search the charts for memories of her life before this time? Would she be able to find the boy? She promised herself, the first chance she got, she would search the charts for him. If only she could do it right now and forget this initiation stuff altogether. The silver being sensed her agitation, though it mistook the source.

  “Rest your mind,” it said. “In time you will not have to think. You will simply know.”

  The tuning fork finished sounding and the Prism returned to its original colour. The room fell silent and the next fork was struck. A ringing filled the air, lower than the first, yet no less pure. The Prism turned indigo and the corresponding flag waved. Thousands more recruits vibrated to this sound and moved toward the stage. Their robes turned indigo and the Light of Corometh sparkled over them.

  “Messengers,” the silver being said. “They help shape collective consciousness by delivering ideas and inspiration through the universal energy field.”