The car was packed again, guns, books and most importantly, whisky. Tom and Will had already climbed in, both looking like they had slept badly, Tom a little less, most likely smoking is favorite flower.
I walked back inside looking for Marcus and Frank, it was strange that they were the final two to get a move on. I called out to them but only Marcus grunted a reply from upstairs. I entered Frank’s room to see Marcus standing in the doorway to the bathroom, a piece of paper in his hand. He saw me coming in, his scar resembling the cracked smile of a madman for an instant as the red lightning briefly flashed through the window. He handed me the paper, as I read, I stepped into the bathroom. This was Frank’s letter, this was his goodbye. Carefully written and full of self-pity and loathing, I looked into the bathtub to see his body, his pistol in his hand, his brains on the wall. Marcus looked at me, he had read it too, Frank could not understand what we had done, he had finished his journey.
Danvers was a strange sight. It looked like there was a glow of pale blue all around the city from the hilltop rise we had driven over. Marcus wouldn’t stop looking at his book, so he was the only one of us who wasn’t lost for words. As we approached the town limits the car began to splutter and fail. As if on demand, as soon as we crossed the small sign stating ‘Welcome to Danvers’, that was it, we were walking.
Will and Marcus were the slowest, mainly because Will seemed to stop and look at everything, the slightly blank expression on his face giving me the feeling he was slowly slipping. Marcus was busy muttering to himself, I gave me a bad feeling in my stomach, he was muttering the same nonsense I had done in the belly of Mt Kailesh, he was up to something. Tom and I moved quickly, only coming to a halt when the sight of a lone policeman took our eye. I called to him, shocked at our apparent lack of crazy behaviour, he gave us directions to the Sanitorium, his words strained as he told us of the crazy behaviour of the regular people, let alone the occupants of the Asylum who were now freely roaming the grounds.
The policeman also explained the lightning strikes that had been falling thick and fast around Danvers since it all started, people disappearing, the Asylum inmates revelling in the strange happenings. His final words to us, ‘Watch out for sharp angles, they come from the angles.’
I guess everyone was losing their mind in Danvers in some way, maybe the policeman had a childhood accident with scissors, angles? Really?
We followed the directions given to us by the cop. Down the wide open, partially destroyed streets, the lightning crashing down everywhere. Tom, leading the way was the unlucky one, a bolt of bright orange and red crashing through him to the ground. Smoke rising off his frame as his only response was how much of a rush it was. He really is crazy.
We reached the grounds of the Asylum, the large iron gates open and half falling if the hinges. Evidence of being hit by the lightning everywhere. As we looked over the grounds, there were patients everywhere, all across the grass, dancing in the open space, lightning crashing all around them with more intensity that we had seen, Edgar was clearly still here, this was not right, nothing about this was right.
We had to get inside, we took it one by one, running from the gate to the main entrance, through crazy inmates and lightning together, it was clear to us that we were not welcome, this was not going to be a pleasant visit, not like the last visit to a sanitarium.
It took some time, Will and Marcus again dragging the chain. My bad leg still feeling terrible, yet I was still faster than these two. Tom and I got to work straight away, there was not a sol inside the building, dead silence, everyone was outside, no one here at all. We began pulling apart the main desk, looking for any reference to Edgar or his room number. Nothing, everything was destroyed or had been defaced by the now free patients.
Our search was simple, wing to wing, upstairs first. We all moved slowly, Tom in front, followed by Marcus, myself and Will on rear guard. Probably not the best decision given his constant distraction by anything he was looking at. The upstairs was empty, the only fascinating sight, looking out over the grounds of the Asylum, the ay the patients moved, almost as though swaying as one entity, one fluid motion, like being in a trance.
We continued our search downstairs, the ground floor clear, this enormous building not making it easier on us, its numerous wings and corridors taking what felt like an age to walk down.
The Basement was next, reminding me and Marcus of the basement at Trammell’s house, why does everything always have to be in a basement?
Tom again took the lead down the stairs, Marcus and I together, Will on the tail. As we descended the stairs, light began flashing from the stone corridor at the bottom, not flickering lights, more like flashing lightning. Everything down here was broken, doors were in jagged pieces across the narrow hallway, doorframes and gurneys strewn everywhere, this was a maze to navigate one single hallway. We moved quietly, watching the flashing light bounce around the corridor in all directions. Our flash lights flickering with every flash of light, on either side of the corridor, rooms, operating rooms, rooms that I’m glad me and Marcus never saw the inside of.
A scream in the darkness behind us, I turned on my heel, my pistol outstretched, Will, he was standing below a crooked doorframe, well, he was. Long, animal like arms taking hold of him from the darkness. He looked at me, right in the eyes, before he was ripped into a corner of the sharp angled doorframe, disappearing in a spurt of blood, like watching a chicken go into a grinder a full speed. He was gone, Will was gone. The soft sounds of blood dripping from the room to the tiled floor the only thing ringing in my ears.
Marcus was equally startled, his expression vacant, as if what he had seen had slapped him in the face with a cold fish. Tom on the other hand, hunched over and vomiting up the coffee we had for breakfast.
We spun again to face forwards as more screams came down the hall from a room on the right. Tom, Marcus and I all charged at it, there was a familiar tone to the voice. Marcus kicked the door open to reveal Edgar Job, sitting on the operating table in the middle of a large, white, tiled room, naked and rigid. He was wracked with spasms, seeming to coincide with the sound of the lightning crashing around us. at times he seemed his usual self, at other his skull and bones would be clearly visible in some blue and white mockery of an X-ray photograph.His flesh was not his own, the lightning we had seen glowed from him, was he its source? As we stood there struck by silence, another flash of red flowed straight through the building, striking Edgar and being dispersed from him in white streaks as he screamed in agony. But, for all the pain he was in, and all the damage he was being subjected to, he was intact, didn't seem to be wounded at all.
Marcus approached him, in between the screams and bolts of light, Marcus began to talk to him. Explaining that he was the source of everything, he was what the god was after. He was the key, he as everything. Edgar only looked at him, tears forming before being evaporated by the lightning that continued to strike him.
Marcus had begun pleading, save u, save our families, save our children. Edgar was not responding well, not seeming to care what words were being said. Marcus then changed his tone, desperate, he told Edgar that he will not be alone, Marcus was going to go with him. This made Edgar change, the conversation about where, how and when confused me. Marcus was going to open a gate, a gate to somewhere else, somewhere far from here. Was this what his constant muttering had been about?
After a few minutes of talking and more lightning strikes, Marcus began drawing and painting on the wall, using anything, oil from the gurney wheels, grease from the steel cans for cleaning the operating instruments, carving himself again to use his own blood.
I wanted to stop him, Tom wanted to stop him, we were frozen, before long, a section of the wall was covered, at least two meters high and three meters long, Edgar had begun also drawing, the symbols within symbols, an intricate web of something, was it the stars, was this the gazer’s perspective in written form? I was stuck, unable to move, unable to make sense of it.
As the two worked, the room became brighter, the intense glow of luminous blue filling the space, whatever was coming, was getting closer.
Marcus screamed and drove his palm into the centre of the newly created wall, sending one of the tiles back into the wall, instead of breaking, floating back into the wall, revealing a purple haze that began to appear slowly. The Purple swirling light began pulling everything into it, the wall falling into itself where the symbols had been drawn until all that was visible was a swirling vortex of purple and black. I could feel it, sucking everything towards it, the air from outside rattling down the corridors, through the windows, flying past me and being sucked into the void beyond. Standing in front of this void, my friend Marcus and Edgar. I called to Marcus, my words finally clear as the lightning hushed for a few moments. Marcus turned to face me, his eyes, white, his skin pale, his face gaunt, this was not Marcus, this was what was left of him.
Marcus grabbed Edgar by the arm and stepped in, the void taking them both instantly, disappearing from my view, within moments, blinding light flashed across my eyes, everything went white, a loud thunder clap ringing in my head.
All was quiet, I sat up, passing out from the event, looking around, everything was normal, the wall was whole, no symbols, no lightning, no Edgar, no Marcus. Only Tom sitting against a wall on the far side of the room. His eyes bloodshot and in shock. The lightning was gone, the glow remained, the clouds remained, the green lights remained, from the window, this was all visible.
We needed to get out of here.
It took some time. A month passed before Janet could book passage back to the US, Tom and I waiting patiently, watching the clouds slowly begin to part in the sky, the green lights fading slowly with every day that passed.
The country was slowly starting to find order again. The people returning from their crazed states back to somewhat regular, if there was such a thing anymore. The walls had begun, the walls of missing people, hundreds of thousands, all across the country, millions across the world, people had vanished, Chicago had been destroyed. This was worse than coming back from the war. Had we done this all?
While waiting for her to return, I slowly started to unpack my gear. Every item brought back memories. Some good, most bad. When I rummaged through a bag, I found some furs from our climb up Mount Kailash. I pulled them out to throw them in the thrash, when a note fell from one of the heavy wool jackets. I opened it, recognizing Marcus' handwriting. I read through it and put it in my pocket.
I don’t know what time it was that Janet finally arrived at the penthouse, Carl in tow, along with drivers and family members of all involved. Will’s wife, Janet had already given her the news. Tom’s dog, that fucking dog. Marcus’s family, all I could do was put my hand on her shoulder and offer my sympathies and support, I had been with him, I had survived, he had not. I owed him, we all did. Just before leaving I slipped Marcus' note in the pocket of her coat.
A year had passed, the sky was clear again, the days warm. Chicago was rebuilding itself, not as fast as New York would, but not bad. I haven’t heard from Tom in some time, last I saw him, he was taking his dog back to whatever state he came from, riding on his bike, a bike, of all things. I moved, Marcus’s wife moved, Indiana, not a bad spot. She and her daughter seemed to be well looked after, a big house, plenty of money, at least Janet was good for it. I couldn’t help it, I followed, moving to the other side of town so I was close. I needed to keep an eye on them, Carl seemed to have settled here, baseball still the main focus of his attention.
Life was getting quiet again, I didn’t like it.
Five years had passed, I read the paper as I always did. Obituaries, there she was, the beautiful face of Janet Winston-Rogers, threw herself from her penthouse balcony. She knew it. I knew it.
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