In All of Infinity

by H. R. Holt

  He was short of patience presently, so he walked towards the door, rested his ear against it while one hand held the knob. “Who’s there?” He didn’t hear a word, but he was pleased that the person had stopped knocking. Emmanuel pulled away but jumped when he heard a loud bang, almost as if a large rock had been thrown at his door.

  He threw open the door, rage consuming his calm. No one was there! He looked at the damage done to his door, saw a dark piece of wood nailed there, with a symbol painted red in the center of it. Emmanuel had never seen such a symbol. It was horseshoe shape, with the rounded end pointing up, and there were three dots: two inside the circle while one was outside. Since he wasn’t one for art, especially the kind illegally hammered on his door, he looked around his yard more and saw two dark cloaked figures staring at him.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he exclaimed and gestured at his door. “Answer me!”

  Emmanuel continued looking at them, his fury greater now that he could see them. He started across the porch, then went back to lock his door. He didn’t realize until he’d taken a step down that the people, whoever they were, were gone. Instead of feeling relieved, he became agitated, perturbed. He wanted to release his rage on someone before he exploded.

  He turned, saw them standing behind him, and nearly fell backwards. They caught him, steadied him, but didn’t release their hold. He attempted to see their faces but the hoods were large and covered them. He could feel a slight tremble in the hand of the individual on his right, the one dressed in blue; but the other, dressed in red, was firm.

  Almost as if they had one mouth, they began speaking, “Emmanuel Reagan, doctor and friend, we have placed this here for your protection. If you remove it, you will bring evil unimaginable into your home. Do you understand?”

  He felt as if they were trying to put him under a trance, and recalled a similar time in his childhood. It was the summer of his thirteenth year when Magnificent Amadeus, a magician who claimed he could hypnotize anyone, came to Somerville. He was able to hypnotize everyone he met, except for the teenager, but that was because Emmanuel couldn’t stay focused on being entranced. His mind was like a train that could switch tracks any second, but with more tracks because he could think in several different directions at once.

  “What evil?”

  They realized their lulling tones weren’t affecting him, so they released their grip. He realized they were both women now, but that was all he could fully understand. He didn’t know what they meant, who they were, and especially not why they were here. Why did he need protection?

  “You cannot bring her back,” the blue one said.

  Emmanuel looked at her, seeing only darkness when he tried looking at her face. He felt as if he knew her, but realized that wasn’t possible. In not knowing these women, he felt glad. He wasn’t planning on inviting them in for coffee and doughnuts, and especially not for conversation. Oftentimes, even though he didn’t entirely believe it, he’d been told he was a wonderful talker.

  “Evil unlike anything this world has ever seen,” the other answered, sliding one hand inside the sleeve of the other. “She would be pleased to know you would go to such a great length, but—” she took the other woman’s hand “—nothing you do will ever bring her back to you. She has ascended to a higher plane; she is at peace with herself.”

  “I don’t remember asking your advice…or your so-called protection,” he replied assuredly and walked between them, heading towards the door. “If I did, I must have been out of my mind.”

  “This is our final warning to you, doctor: do not remove the sign. If you remove the sign, we cannot help you. The evil will enter your house and affect your world in ways that are beyond what we can decipher. They will do anything and everything to take from you what is rightfully yours. They will tempt you to do wrong, rewrite what you think is right. They will destroy you first, and by your service they will have the opportunity to destroy all.”

  Emmanuel turned with spiteful words on his tongue, but realized they were gone. He started staring at the sign again. He was sure that he could remove it with a hammer, stuff the holes with putty, and paint the door again. It was simple work, unlike capturing life.

  ***

  Emmanuel delved into his work for months, managing to invent many mechanical devices throughout the first floor that he put to use. He created small toys and had them walking, saying certain words, doing certain things. Still, though, no matter how many functional beings he created, he continued to look for ways to bring life into them. At the end of the day, when he lay resting on the sofa, he knew he could do better.

  If Esme had seen him, she would feel pity for him because he was a sight. Emmanuel didn’t bathe except for washing himself off in the downstairs bathroom sink, and he only did this when he knew that he smelled horrible. He didn’t shave and slept close to four hours every night, dreaming of his work the entire time. As for doing anything recreational, he had given up on everything, everyone, and lived his life alone. He needed to be alone.

  The weather around the house changed, going from a windy autumn to a freezing winter. Although the other residents of York County tried to reach him, especially the friends he and Esme had been close to, he ignored them and put a sign on the door saying he didn’t want to be disturbed. The sign was simple in meaning, but it affected everyone in a negative way because they remembered how he used to be. He even shut Father Brevard out, but his wife continued coming by and leaving jarred preserves and vegetables she got from her garden at his door.

  Mrs. Brevard, who spent her time between the church and the local library, was one (if not the) perfect citizen. She talked several other women she knew into helping her take care of Emmanuel, from feeding him to making clothes for him. He did come out and get everything, eventually, and that was why they continued doing the deed. Although he wasn’t much for the clothes, he took them in because he didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

  With the tools that he had, and the experience that he’d acquired, he was able to put the jars into more use than the women could possibly think. He began molding them together until they formed into a figure. Although he knew this was as creative as he got without wanting scientific results, he was proud of his artwork because he managed to become quite skilled.

  The first time he created a figure, without bursting the glass, it was in late November. He was standing in the living room, near the window behind the couch, sitting at his desk with his materials around him. The room had become something of his laboratory for the twenty hours out of the day he was awake, and it was littered with all sorts of inventions.

  This particular day, almost an hour before he rested, he wore his glasses and held tools in both hands, working dexterously on his current project. He had been working since he got up, taking only a minute here and there to drink bitter cups of coffee and relieve himself in the downstairs bathroom. At long last, he pulled away from his desk, took off his glasses to rub his eyes, ran a hand through his beard, and looked at his progress with a sigh.

  The figure was that of a plump baby with outstretched hands. He wanted to hold it but realized the glass would still be hot, so he pulled back from doing so. The baby symbolized the one that would belong to him and Esme, had Fate decided to treat them differently.

  He found tears forming in his eyes, and looked around the room, taking in each dark corner, each article of furniture, each invention that lay here or there, clamoring inaudibly about something. This was his life now, this form of chaos that he’d created, and it smelled like him. The room hadn’t been aired out for months, and it smelled like his sweat from restless nights, from working diligently from one project to the next.

  Further, he knew he was the one to blame for his loneliness. There were several people who would be willing to speak with him, take him into their hearts and console him. Emmanuel’s pride was preventing him from doing anything about his solitude, even though there were times when he could do for a companio
n. At night, even with the firelight casting itself on the walls, he didn’t feel warm. He needed someone, anyone. He merely wasn’t going to risk his dignity to find anyone.

  He stood and stretched, then walked over to one of his inventions that was squawking about whom they were ‘Hello, I’m Anna’ and another that was lying on its side but still trying to walk. He laughed at them good naturedly, assisted them with a gentle touch, and watched them get on with their lives. For a moment, he wished he could get on with his.

  He stood again and yawned, then looked at the clock hanging beside the fireplace behind him, and realized how hungry he was. He sat on the couch and picked up one of the jars on the coffee table. Although he wasn’t a fan of pickles, these were rather good and had him often wondering if he could get fat off them. Emmanuel hadn’t weighed himself in a while, and he had a feeling he’d lost more weight than he’d gained. He didn’t care about appearance. He didn’t care much about anything except his work.

  He sat back, looking at the fire before watching the light on the chair across from him. The chair was used only when he didn’t want to sleep or work, just sit there and think, but he wasn’t wondering about that presently. Emmanuel was considering when he’d last had a conversation. He hadn’t spoken with anyone since he’d been visited by the women in the cloaks, but he hadn’t had a decent conversation in a much longer time.

  He yawned and looked towards the clock again, realizing it was only five minutes until midnight, until December of the bleakest year in his life. Turning towards the fire, he thought about Christmas last year, when he was with Esme. As tears began blurring his vision, he found himself wanting a drink, but he didn’t move. Emmanuel finished chewing his pickle and rested his hands in his lap, thinking about how terrible his life was turning out. He would never be able to get over Esme, not without ending his own life.

  Emmanuel found his eyes growing heavy so he closed them and drifted to sleep, thinking about her face and the way her eyes consumed every ounce of light.

  ***

  “Manny…” a woman whispered into his ear. “I need you to wake up. I need you to look at me. See me. Feel me.”

  He opened his eyes and realized he was still seated on the couch, but he realized someone was looking at him. His eyes drifted to the chair beside the fire, where he saw a woman dressed in a black lace housecoat staring at him.

  “Who are you?” he asked and sat up with a start. “How did you get in my house?”

  “I am Nadia. I know this house; I know you. We have met before, in a quaint world filled with chances. I am sure you won’t remember me, but that is no matter, so don’t strain that pretty little brain of yours. I care not for your knowing me. It is better that way, so you won’t be able to acquaint yourself with what is about to happen,” she said and stood, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. She looked at him with a smile and he saw mischief alight in her eyes. “I know how to please you, if you can give me a chance. I know you want to be pleased, after being without someone for so long. I know you want love.”

  In a swift movement, the housecoat fell to the floor and she stood there, naked, smiling at him. The firelight covering her revealed that she was tanned and well proportioned with small feet, powerful legs, slender waist, large breasts, and a long neck. She was the most beautiful brunette Emmanuel had ever seen, but he found his mouth gaping and a blush rising to his cheeks.

  How could a stranger come here and undress herself in front of him? Had she not decency?! Why was he suddenly contemplating something else, some hidden desire? He wanted to slap himself for thinking so inappropriately, yet he knew why he was thinking in such a way. He had been alone for months, trying to let work fill the place Esme had left empty. It could not and now, with a yearning in his manhood, he realized it never would.

  “I think you should leave,” he said and gulped. “It would be best if you take your housecoat with you.”

  Nadia threw back her head, laughing at him, and then looked at him again. “Do you really think that?” She walked towards him on tiptoe, her movement like wind through trees: silent and calming to watch. She placed herself at his feet, between his legs. “I am your servant. All that you need to do is ask…”

  Emmanuel looked at her and found his body fighting his brain and heart. He yearned for her, wanting her hands to stroke his head, her body to meet his in utmost ecstasy. Staring at her mouth, he came close to salivating, and then found his eyes roving across her flesh. She was beautiful. He wondered if she were more so than Esme, but then found his eyes on hers and realized such was not the case. She was darkness, absolute evil. He saw in her the greatest of all sins, least of all wanton desire.

  She moved her hand across the cushion near his crotch, and he stared at it as if it were a snake. She rose up, still on her knees, and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. He caught her hands in his.

  “Please…leave my house…” he managed at last, gulping as he looked at her breasts. He hadn’t touched Esme in so long that he wondered if Nadia’s nipples felt as rough, if her breasts were soft and succulent all at once. “Please…”

  Nadia’s response was to put one knee between his crotch and the other over his leg and hoisting herself upon the couch. She finished working on the buttons and looked into his eyes, then at his well-toned stomach.

  “Are you sure you want me to leave?” she asked plaintively, running her hands across his chest. She pressed her mouth to his and he found himself yearning for her even more. At the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but imagine that Nadia was Esme, that her mouth, body, and presence were that of his departed wife. His increased heartbeat was brought on by her being near, but then he found something missing: she wasn’t wearing the jasmine perfume.

  “Leave!” he exclaimed and slung her to the floor. He stood and looked down at her, seeing the surprised expression on her face. Instead of continuing to scream at her, he offered his hand. “I’m sorry. May I help you up?”

  “I should have known you would always be a gentleman. I didn’t know you’d still be faithful to your wife even when she’s dead,” she said with a serpentine spat while she gathered her housecoat and stood. “I also see you still want a child. Oh, you are pathetic. I have never met a more dismal man than you. You haven’t bathed properly in months! You haven’t even brushed your teeth! To think I was willing to give myself to you, you ungrateful bastard.”

  He stared at her, blinking, then put his hand in his pocket. “What?”

  Nadia raised her hands and two glass balls appeared in them, floating. He stared at them, confused and amazed all at once. In her right hand, the glass ball was bright white; in the other, it was empty, transparent.

  “Do you wish for a child? Do you wish to live forever? Do you wish for riches beyond your wildest dream?” she asked and glared at him. “Or do you wish for something else? What do you wish for, Emmanuel? What is it that you desire?”

  “Who are you?” he stammered, wondering when he was going to awaken from his dream. “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Must I bring her here?” she barked, irritated by his perplexity. “Or can you figure it out by yourself? Must you mortals always be so damned stupid? I thought you were a man of science!”

  “Figure what out? Bring who here? And, yes, I am a man of science,” he said with a smile. He was enjoying this dream, even though it was becoming crazier by the second. He smiled brighter as he considered this dream was perhaps the wildest he’d ever had, but he didn’t say so aloud.

  Nadia smiled and he found all the darkness in the room shy away from it as all wickedness found its way there, in the dimples of her expression. He heard screaming and looked towards the doors leading out of the living room, his brow furrowed. The doors opened suddenly and two burly men in coats of armor dragged a blue cloaked figure into the room.

  “Alright, so you brought more people into my house?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow, shaking his head at Nadia.

  She threw her
head back and laughed. “Reveal her face!”

  Emmanuel turned to his attention back to them, watching as one of the men tossed off the captive’s hood. When he saw who was hidden beneath the hood, he felt as if his heart had surged out of his chest, run across the room, and leapt into the fire. She stood there, staring at him, her blonde hair cut boyishly short and her blue eyes filled with fright.