FOUR WORLDS INC
This supernatural fantasy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places,
events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All
non-living entities described in this story are wholly imaginary, and purposely ambiguous.
EPHAIDRIA - Chapters 1-5
eBook and Paperback available @ Amazon
© 2016 by James Grieco - All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Four Worlds Inc.
Character illustrations by “PEARL”.
Explore EPHAIDRIA @ www.jimgrieco.com
[email protected]
For Suzi, Liz & Nata
Josh Jaylee is an incredible gamer.
An eternity of hours battling digital enemies has honed his hand-eye coordination to
an unbeatable balance of speed and agility. At the age of sixteen, he's taken first place at
the Kansacon Gamer Fest for the third consecutive year. His dominance at computergenerated combat has once again decimated his envious competitors.
Joshua's strategic mind is unmatched.
Growing up on the outskirts of Kansas City, escaping the boredom of suburbia has been
an ongoing challenge for him. Recreational drug use is the remedy of choice for many of
his teenage companions, which “just isn’t his thing” as he often proclaims. Instead, he
satisfies his addiction parked in front of the TV in his den, conquering whichever first
person shooter game happens to be the flavor of the day.
On this particular afternoon, he's hacking his way through a melee of medieval warriors.
His Golden Retriever Aijalon jumps on top of him, playfully licking at his face. “Down,
Aija, you're killing me, buddy,” Josh commands, leaning clear of his lovable dog’s extralarge head.
Aija’s sloppy attack is interrupted by several loud knocks, rebounding off the front
door. Josh ignores the persistent pounding, hammering his blistered thumb on his
overworked game controller.
“Hey, Double-J,” shouts fellow gamer Roy Bielbee, pressing his ear to the door. “I can
hear you in there. Pause for a cause, dude!”
Saving his game, Josh takes a moment to clear his burnt-orange hair from his emeraldgreen eyes. Jolting to his feet, he stretches his arms and heads for the entryway. “This
better be good, Bielbee,” he hollers through the wall as he approaches. “You just broke up
an epic battle.”
Swinging open the front door, he reveals his petitioning friend, hoisting up the box to
Deadly Underground II: Maze of Blood. Roy’s lanky body, pimple-peppered face, and
disheveled brown hair leave little wonder as to why he hasn't kissed a girl yet. Josh leads
him inside, unhindered by Roy’s socially prohibitive traits. His misfit friend happens to
be the only kid in the neighborhood who's remotely capable of competing with his
unrivaled virtual combat skills. Due to this unavoidable fact, Josh willingly endures daily
badgering from his cocky schoolyard buddies, often razzed for his unashamed association
with the gamer crowd.
Roy shrugs at Joshua’s shoulder, rousing his attention.
“You want to grind on some zoms or what?”
“I told you, I'm not big on survival horror,” Josh replies, throwing his arms in the air.
“I rock war games, dude.”
“Come on, Double-J, you'll totally shred at this!” Roy pleads, catching his oversized
foot on the rug as he enters the living room. “Super high hackfactor!”
Josh snatches the box from his fondly pathetic friend’s hand, admiring the artwork.
“Gritty graphics?”
“Totally gritty,” answers Roy, adopting a confident smile. “Besides, there's a crazy
tough labyrinth even you can't crack on your first shot.”
Baited by the challenge, Josh relents. “You sold me, dude. Fire it up.”
Roy scrambles to the console and loads the game.
“I'm stoked you're checking this out, it's one of my fav—”
“So, where's your pal Spencer lately?” Josh rudely interrupts, flopping down on the
sofa. “I thought you two were best buds?”
“Later for Spencer. He's got a girlfriend now and a serious case of gamer shame.”
“No way. Who did that tool hook up with?”
“You don't want to know.”
“Yeah, I do … who?”
A drawn-out moment of angst slips by before Roy delivers his eye-popping punch line.
“Marcy McElray.”
“Marcy McElray?” Josh barks back, simultaneously surprised and disgusted. “Are you
serious? That girl is way too snooty for words. She’s a total know it all.”
Roy's newly adopted smirk twists with contempt.
“I know, right? She's constantly correcting everyone. And she acts like she's the hottest
thing on two legs, which she's not even.”
“I hear you, Bielbee,” Josh replies with a confirming nod of his cleft chin. “She’s
borderline hot, but she thinks she's like, supermodel material.” Following a confident
snicker, he places his belittling hand on Roy's shoulder. “Let's face it—your buddy
Spencer's not the best-looking dude around. The kids got a unibrow for God's sake, but
Marcy McElray? That stuck-up little brat isn’t worth the hassle.”
Bobbing his head in agreement, Roy gazes into the screen as the game animatic begins.
Josh crosses his arms, carefully dissecting the opening sequence. His excited disciple
turns to him, yearning for approval.
“What do you think?”
“Maybe a little too fluffy?” Josh criticizes, still formulating an opinion while vigilantly
watching the life-like introduction play out. As it draws to a close, he bobs his head. “I
must say, pretty cool, Bielbee.” Roy's zealous fist pump punctuates his veneration for
Joshua's weighty endorsement. Their oddly coupled friendship has recently elevated
Roy's social status from avoided to accepted. The reason for this change is solely due to
the respect their schoolmates have in Joshua's opinion.
An opinion Roy constantly yearns to invoke in a positive light.
Staring across at his magnetic companion, Roy covets his engaging persona. His
charismatic associate's projected facade of self-confidence saturates the hallways of
Harmonvale High School. Joshua's rising social status consistently reinforces Roy's
incapacitating self-doubt. Last year, Double-J's popularity was elevated to new heights
due to his undefeated season pitching for the JV baseball team. His timely selection of
pitches consistently outwitted his frustrated opponents.
Roy's wandering thoughts are captured by his favorite game's opening screen.
Refocusing his attention, he and Josh manipulate their characters down a dimly lit tunnel,
leading them into an underground hallway. Several walking corpses appear from around
the corner, ushering in an onslaught of zombie slaying. Josh blows away every ghoul in
their path before Roy can squeeze off a single shot. “Damn, Double-J, you were born with
mad Ninja skills. Leave a few for me!”
Josh continues to obliterate all zombies who approach, his exuberance causing the
controller to slip from his fingers, leaving one bullet-ridden corpse barely on its feet.
Roy blows its head off with a final kill shot.
“Yo, total frag steal!” Josh bellows, playfully bumping Roy with his shoulder.
“I've got to take whatever kills I can when I’m playing with you!” Roy yells back,
humorously returning the nudge.
To the boy's surprise, the zombies stop appearing.
“What's the deal?” Roy questions, searching the empty virtual hall. “Where's the
zoms?” His blank stare reinforces his sense of puzzlement.
A wasted instant of time marches past before the confused gamers move their
characters ahead. As they continue forward, the hall transforms into a narrowing ramp,
sloping awkwardly downward. The descending incline leads them into an expansive black
cave. A beam of golden light shines down from above. “What's this?” asks Roy. “I've never
seen this screen before?”
Heavy breathing echoes through the hollow surroundings, growing louder with each
stretched out second. As the haunting sound invades the boy’s ears, two shining purple
eyes pierce the darkness. The golden shaft of light from above soon reveals a huge winged
demon, razor sharp claws fully extended, serrated fangs overhanging its monstrous
mouth. Its lifelike appearance transcends traditional video game graphics, terrifying its
two engrossed opponents. Following a moment of silent awe, the beast flaps its leathery
wings, flying towards Josh and Roy's digital avatars. The approaching behemoth’s
unmatched speed overwhelms their attempt to mount a defense. Their unsuccessful effort
to fight it off leaves them both torn limb from limb.
Josh is stupefied.
The demon picks up his character's severed head by the eye sockets, breathing a
merciless blaze of fire onto it. Staring out of the television screen, it peers directly into
Joshua's captured eyes. A bellowing voice fills the room, its dark quality emanating a
ghastly wave of dread.
“Stay where you belong, Prin!”
After crushing the burned up skull in his hands, the demon lets out a horrific howl,
causing the game to crash abruptly. “Holy shit! What the hell was that?” Josh asks.
Roy looks over at him, his stunned tongue hanging from his mouth.
“This is crazy. That wasn't supposed to happen.”
“What do you mean that wasn't supposed to happen?”
“That extra screen,” says Roy, “and that c-character. They're not from this game.”
Joshua's skin turns ashen. “What are you trying to say?”
“I'm not sure, but that thing looked real, and that voice sounded like it was in the room
with us.”
“No way,” says Josh, trembling as he continues. “T-That had to be part of the game.”
Staring into Roy's telling eyes, unbridled terror reflects back at him.
“This is way too creepy,” says Josh, struggling to catch his breath. “Take your game out
of my machine, Bielbee.”
Roy's distress inspires a leap to his feet.
“I'm not touching that shit, dude!”
Josh summons his courage, leaning forward and ejecting the game from his console.
Its warped appearance urges him to grab hold of it. “Damn, it's stokin' hot!” he shouts,
dropping it to the floor.
The melted disk sticks to the pile carpet.
His stunned expression is ripped away from the frightening sight by a pleasingly
familiar voice. “I’m home, Joshua, fun time's over,” his mother hollers as she enters the
house. “You need to take Aija for his evening walk.” Entering the den, she pries off her
high heel shoes, releasing the pressure of a long day spent on her feet. As she reaches up
to unclasp her Dutch braids, Roy's lustful eyes sneak a peek at her exceptionally curvy
figure. The thirty-seven-year-old working mom keeps herself in tight shape. Her face has
gotten a bit careworn over the years, but she can still light up the room with her welldefined high cheekbones and her delightfully attractive smile. As she shakes her head, her
strawberry-blonde hair falls to her shoulders. Josh approaches, dazed from the bizarre
experience of a few minutes earlier. His maturing face inspires his reflective mother to
count the remaining days of his childhood, warmly recalling his extraordinary youth.
From Joshua's earliest days, abstract concepts and problem solving came to him far
easier than his intrigued mother had anticipated. As a three-year-old, he amazed her
when he completed his sister’s St. Louis Gateway Arch jigsaw puzzle in a single afternoon.
It was recommended for ages eight and up.
At the age of five, his razor-sharp cognitive skills were regarded by his bungling
Kindergarten teacher as hyperactive. So much so, that she sat down with his parents,
revealing her misinterpretation of his unusual behavior. She was convinced that their son
had issues with cheating. Her close-minded observation of his distinct gift blinded her to
the real reason why little Joshy always won at Red Light-Green Light and Tick Tack Toe.
Joshua can anticipate an imminent moment.
By eight, he had become unbeatable at strategy games. Back before his beloved
Grandpa Dan passed away, he could consistently defeat him at Chess. His perceptive
mother was astonished. While gaming, she'd often notice Josh getting lost in the
distracting tick of the long case clock in their den, or the pleasant smell of her fresh baked
Honey Cake, causing him to take his turn without applying much thought. Regardless, his
unmindful moves always seemed to work out for him in the end.
Josh looks into his mom's pondering eyes, curious as to where her distant thoughts
have strayed. His prideful mother continues to daydream, recalling the defining moment
of Joshua's youth, which occurred the day he turned ten. She and her son narrowly
avoided a potentially life ending collision while driving home from The Association for
Gifted Children's Convention. An overworked truck driver had let the long road get the
best of him, falling asleep and inadvertently drifting into their lane. Before Joshua’s mom
noticed the approaching danger, Josh grabbed the steering wheel and swerved clear. He
somehow knew the trucker was going to dose off … an instant before it occurred.
He interrupts his mother's reminiscent trance.
“Mom, you're not going to believe what just happened!”
“Now what?” she questions in a pointed manner.
His troubled mind attempts to provide her with an explanation.
“The game we were just playing, it got possessed or something!”
“Possessed?” she asks, tilting her curious head. “What do you mean?”
“It took on a life of its own. It was totally crazy!”
His crude description promptly inspires his mother's total disbelief.
“You should know better than anyone about what these new games are capable of. They
add extra stuff you don't know about, to make the game more interesting.”
“No, Mrs. Jaylee,” Roy passionately interjects, “I've played this game hundreds of—”
He stops himself in an unsuccessful attempt to side step sounding like a total geek. “Well,
maybe not hundreds, but a lot, and it's never done this before!”
“Well, that's what creates the extra excitement,” she exclaims, crossing her arms with
an authoritative twist. “You probably have to score a bunch of extra points before the
bonus screen gets triggered.”
“You know, come to think of it, Bielbee,” Josh considers, “I probably killed way more
zombies than you ever did in that short amount of time. Maybe I opened some kind of
Easter egg?”
“No way, Double-J,” Roy replies, “that wasn't normal, dude. There's no way you're
going to convince me that something freaky didn't just happen to us.”
“Okay guys, that's enough!” Joshua's mom interrupts. “I don't want to hear any more
about it! It's completely ridiculous!” She turns her irritated gaze to her awe-struck son.
“Listen up, Joshua!” she shouts, poking him in the shoulder with her dagger-like finger
nail. “I need you to round up Aija and take him out for his walk. It's getting dark out.”
Reluctantly corralling his dog, Josh snaps on his leash, guides him to the door and
heads out into the rapidly dissipating afternoon light.
Her musical aptitude is unparalleled.
Eighteen-year-old Nicole Rauveur is about to put that aptitude to the test, facing down
her senior year audition for the NYS Musical Youth Concert Series. If she makes the cut,
she'll be considered the best high school violinist in New York.
She sits alone in an empty classroom, her flowing chestnut hair bending around her
rosy cheeks, accentuating a stunning pair of sapphire eyes. Although her physical beauty
is undeniable, Nicki's enrapturing aura transcends the shallow surface of carnal
attraction, leaving an indelible mark on all who happen to make her acquaintance. As she
proceeds to tune her cherished Stradivarius, a melodic whine scrapes through the air. Her
expertly tuned mind momentarily reflects on the uncountable number of notes she's
processed to reach this moment.
Music has always come easily to her.
By the age of six, playing the violin became an effortless task. It came with such ease
that by Nicki’s seventh year, her technique surpassed the skill level of her forty-two-yearold expert instructor.
It was almost beyond belief.
Following a reflective sigh, she breaks into her usual warm up, Bach's Chaconne in D
minor. The judge enters, her imposing elegance flooding the large room. The attractive,
middle-aged woman is wrapped in a billowing black gown, shoulders draped by a lacy
wine-red shawl. Several noble streaks of gray invade her otherwise jet-black hair, its
marbled appearance bolstering her sophistication.
Her livid voice extinguishes the fervent notes.
“What are you doing in here?”
Turned to stone, Nicki holds her breath as the judge's scathing glare slashes at her
withering confidence. “I'm first today … and I thought, since I got here early, I'd come in
and get a feel for the acoustics,” she sheepishly replies, a distinctive hint of her French
heritage lingering on her tongue. A scowl consumes the judge's face, irritated by the
informality infused in her subordinate's explanation.
“Oh you did, did you? So, you decided it was okay to blatantly ignore our audition
protocol?” Her belittling question forces Nicki's humiliated face to the floor. The annoyed
judge continues to scold her with frigid consistency. “All participating students are to
remain in the hallway until their designated audition time. I assume you didn't take the
time to read our handbook? You realize I could have you disqualified for this?” Intent on
badgering her further, she looks down at her assignment sheet, confirming the name of
her first audition.
Nicki presses her eyes closed.
As she engages in deep thought, her tense face tightens.
Please consider overlooking this.
The judge raises her hand to her temple, momentarily losing her focus. Widening her
eyes, she gives her head a slight shake. As she scribbles several comments in her obsolete
notebook, her head lifts sharply, slicing through the uneasy tension. “So, Miss Rauveur,
you’ll be relieved to know, I've decided to let this unfortunate incident slip past us.
However, I insist you follow our guidelines going forward, understood?”
“Yes, Ma'am. I completely understand.”
Realization shines from the judge’s eyes as she looks Nicki over a bit more intimately.
“You grew your hair out,” she comments, peering above her horn-rimmed reading glasses.
Her observation confuses Nicki, causing the young protégé's slender fingers to rake
through her undulating waves of silky brown hair.
“Huh?” she questions. “Well, last year I wore it a lot shorter. How did you know that?”
“I saw your performance at the Academy for Gifted Youth last fall.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Your Paganini was flawless,” the judge answers, removing her glasses for a quick
massage across the reddened bridge of her nose. “I was enormously impressed.”
“I'm glad you liked it.”
“What piece will you be performing today?”
“Scherzo Op. 42 by Tchaikovsky.”
“Very ambitious of you. Please proceed.”
Deeply inhaling, Nicki lifts her treasured violin into place. Once upon her shoulder, it's
an extension of her very soul. Flesh, wood, and metal, inexplicably bound together in
harmonious union. The first notes flow from the depths of her mind, rushing through her
fingertips and exploding off the strings like a sudden flash of lighting. As they caress the
vibrating air, music fills the room; music so distinctively stunning, it's as if it has never
been played before. Passionately sawing away at her instrument, the heat of Nicki's bow
sizzles with perfection. The judge's awestruck eyes drift closed as she absorbs the
unparalleled performance. As the final chord reverberates through the classroom, its echo
fades into the past. Slowly opening her eyes, tears stream down the judge's face. “That
was magnificent! Your performance was like no other I've seen, and believe me … I've
seen quite a few in my day.” A fine looking young man hauling a bulky Bass Fiddle through
the doorway interrupts her rousing comment. His presence alerts the judge to the
unfortunate fact that Nicole Rauveur's time has expired.
Nicki makes her best effort to be humble.
“Thank you for your kind words,” she says, sneaking a glance at the handsome Bass
Fiddler. The judge issues a wink, graciously nodding in response. As Nicki packs up her
instrument, she submerges in the depths of contemplation, influencing a mournful tear
to stain her cheek.
She'd be proud of me.
Ten years to the day, a horrific fire stole away Nicole’s mother. The deadly blaze
consumed their cozy little country home in Saint-Julien, France. Nicki was only eightyears-old. On that sorrowful night, her mom had drifted off to sleep next to the crackling
fireplace, unaware of a stray cinder, which rose from the hearth and set itself down on a
pile of old newspapers. Young Nicki awoke amidst a cloud of smoke and climbed from her
bedroom window to safety, only to witness her beautiful home burn to the ground. If only
she had let her mother know.
She had seen it all in a dream the night before.
As fate would have it, her father, Dr. Stephan Rauveur, was away at a conference on
that terrible evening, a saving grace that prevented little Nicki from growing up an
orphan. A mere ten months after the tragic fire removed her mother from her life, a fateful
opportunity reached out to her dad from across the Atlantic. The Drexler Technical
Institute in Utica, New York needed an experienced Professor to head their Department
of Nanoscale Science. Dr. Rauveur's breakthrough research in the field of Nanomedicine
made him the perfect candidate for the position. The prospect of doubling his current
salary lured him to a new life in the United States. That new life is what brought Nicki to
her current upstate home of Kirkland, NY.
Dr. Rauveur currently sits in the long hallway outside Nicki's audition room. He
nervously taps his forty-four-year-old foot on the waxy tile floor while awaiting her
completion. Extending down the lengthy wall, several teenagers impatiently wait for their
turn to face the judge. Nibbled nails and vibrating knees dominate the adolescent row of
aspiring musicians. The amplified level of angst in the air is palpable. Nicki's father hops
to his feet as his daughter enters the echoing hallway. “So, do you think the judge enjoyed
your performance?” he asks, his French accent warping the edges of his vowels in its usual
exotic manner.
“Yes,” Nicki answers in a relieved tone, “she sure did.”
“Très bon!” he shouts, inviting her for a hug with his outstretched arms.
As Nicki obliges, her smile turns downward. Her father's affection has always been
conspicuously available to her. No matter how frequently exhibited, it never replaced the
unique compassion only her mom could provide.
She paints on a happier face as he releases her.
“Are you ready for the show this evening?” he asks.
“Only a few select soloists perform tonight,” she replies, patting her father on his broad
shoulder. “The big show is on Sunday.”
“Regardless, you should have a relatively large crowd,” he points out, his perpetual
optimism brightening her mood.
“Well, considering Syracuse is the closest thing we've got to a big city up here, it should
be a decent crowd.”
“We should head out soon. I suggest we get you to Syracuse early, so you have some
time to relax before your rehearsal.”
“I'm ready to go,” she replies with a yawn. “I was up all night with butterflies. I could
use a nap.”
Heading to the end of the hall, they disappear around the corner.
***
After almost an hour of driving, a four-floor ride up the elevator of the eclectic
Serendipity Hotel brings an end to Nicki and her father's morning trip. Upon entering
their ultra-modern room, Nicole makes a dash for the Queen size bed, flopping down on
the soft mattress. “Tu me fais chier!” her father shouts. “How many times must I tell you,
a Mademoiselle removes her dress before getting into bed!”
“In a minute,” she replies, scrunching her rebellious eyebrows at him.
Throwing up his hands in defeat, her father turns to the desk mirror, carefully combing
his salt and pepper hair.
“J'abandonne! The USA has stolen away your manners!”
“Well, you better get used to it,” she says, her electrifying eyes steadily closing. “I'm an
American girl now.”
Dr. Rauveur looks to the ceiling, shaking his regretful head.
“Do you not think that I am already aware of this unfortunate fact? Perhaps we should
have stayed in France?” The uncomfortable silence following his statement urges him to
change the subject. “So, I assume there's a significant gymnastics event being held in town
this weekend?”
Expecting a reply, Dr. Rauveur receives none.
He straightens his sky-blue tie.
“The hotel lobby was filled with gymnasts. Did you notice?”
Spinning around, he discovers his daughter has drifted off to sleep.
***
As Nicki descends into a dream, a black emptiness covers her like a shroud, causing a
wave of fear to encroach. Following several lonesome moments, a face melts through the
gloom. It’s the face of a fifteen-year-old Japanese girl. A face Nicki doesn't recognize.
She is exposed by a neon-red radiance.
“I'll go first,” the girl calls out.
The crimson reflection illuminating her expression transforms into a brilliant yellow.
Stepping forward, she turns to face a bricked-up cave wall on the side of a rocky outcropping.
The dark night is penetrated by a sun-colored radiance, creating a misty envelope of light
in the shape of an archway. The iridescent shine hovers above the wall's rough surface,
drifting in a mesmerizing swirl. Turning to the facade, the Japanese teen raises her palms,
sinking them into the lemon haze.
Dissolving into the brick exterior, she vanishes from sight.
Paralyzed by a rush of fear, Nicki trembles. An instant later, she hears the sound of
heavy breathing permeating from behind her, followed by an indelible dark voice.
“You miss your mother?”
Twisting around in response, she calls out into the empty void.
“Of c-course I do.”
Cold hands grab at her ankles, intensifying her horror.
“Then join her!”
The hands pull her into the ground, causing her terror to grow beyond comprehension.
As she descends, her mouth widens in an unsuccessful effort to scream. Her final attempt
to shout is quickly extinguished as her face disappears beneath the dirt.
***
Following a bloodcurdling scream, she finds herself back in the safety of her hotel
room. “Are you all right?” her father asks, his stunned heart shuttering.
“I'm not sure,” she says, jolting upright. “I had a horrible nightmare.”
“Do not be troubled, mon ange. It was only a dream,” he reassures her, placing his hand
on her cheek. “No need to be frightened.”
She knows he's trying to help, and she's more than grateful.
There's only one problem with his otherwise rational suggestion.
Nicki's dreams come true.
Tens dominate the scoreboard.
At the US National Gymnastics Championships in Syracuse, New York, fifteen-year-
old Japanese-American Gymnast, Suki Odayaka has achieved near perfection. If she aces
her final event, she'll have the proud honor of becoming the United States All Around
National Champion. Phoebe Woodmere is not surprised. In her twenty-nine-year career,
she has never coached a more gifted athlete.
Phoebe first set her gaze on Suki nearly two years ago, at a regional meet in Bakersfield,
California. On that seminal day, she came to the resolute conclusion that it's simply a
matter of time before Suki Odayaka becomes the greatest female gymnast on planet Earth.
Tokiwa Odayaka anxiously calls out to her daughter from the edge of the seating area.
Suki bends her slender neck, her hopeful eyes tracing the unfamiliar faces, eventually
setting her attention on the comforting image of her mother. Reflecting on the
tremendous sacrifice she's recently made for her, Suki's heart warms. Tokiwa pulled up
her extremely deep roots, sold her cherished family business and relocated from
Independence, California to Colorado Springs. The exclusive reason for this agonizing
displacement was to keep Suki close to the National Olympic Training Center; the most
highly touted gymnastics facility in the country. Her daughter's need to prepare for the
National Gymnastics Championships had outweighed all else.
When the subject of selling her mother's coveted floral shop first came up, Suki was
infuriated. California Sweet Blossoms had been in their family for three generations. Her
great grandmother, Nyoko Shinrei originally started up the business. Long before Suki
spent most of her childhood surfing the web, Nyoko spent most of hers at the Manzanar
Japanese internment camp just outside of Lone Pine, California. In 1944, both of her
parents contracted typhoid and died due to the camp's inadequate medical care. Among
the many horrifying transgressions of World War II, America's abandoned pledge of
“liberty and justice for all” had stolen away Nyoko's mother and father. As a result, she
was fated to live out the rest of her youth at an orphanage.
After the war's end, desperate to make a better life for herself, she picked wild lilac,
mission bells, and yellow violets from a solemn field just outside her bedroom window.
Patiently, she wove the beautiful blossoms into sweet smelling bouquets, selling them to
passersby on the sidewalks of Lone Pine. By nineteen-years-old, she had saved enough
money to open a corner flower shop in the nearby district of Independence. She lived out
her life there, until her eighty-fourth birthday, the day she passed away.
California Sweet Blossoms was passed down to her daughter Miya, who expanded the
shop into a sizable florist and passed it on to her daughter Tokiwa, Suki's mother. There
was no way on earth that Suki was going to let her mother sell their family flower shop.
It was Nyoko herself who persuaded her.
Her great grandmother's spirit has been visiting her for years. Nyoko’s most recent
appearance urged Suki to allow her mother to sell the store. Suki was advised that this
upcoming championship would lead her to a destiny of unimaginable significance.
A destiny that would extend beyond the fame of her athletic success.
The importance of her qualifying for this meet outweighed all else.
Even California Sweet Blossoms.
Lost in thought, young Suki shakes her head to recover her focus. She scampers over
to her mom for a quick exchange. Premature tears streak down Tokiwa's prideful cheeks,
agitating Suki's growing angst. “Don’t jump the gun on me, Mom. I haven't won yet.”
“I'm sorry, sweetie, I can't control myself. You make me so proud,” her mother cries
out, joyfully wrapping her arms around her. “So, are you feeling confident?”
“I’m fantastic, Mom! I feel like I can't lose!”
“Well, don't get overconfident. Stay focused.”
Suki's attention is distracted as she catches a glimpse of one of her teammates, sitting
on the bench, wincing in pain. “I better get back,” Suki states in a sobering tone, kissing
her mother on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.” Twisting her flexible body towards the bench,
she trots over to check on her companion's condition. “Are you okay, Joanna?” she asks,
plopping down next to her.
“It's my Runner’s Knee acting up again,” she replies, rubbing her swollen knee in a
futile attempt to massage away the pain. “Please don't tell the coach. She'll pull me from
the competition.”
Joanna cringes, struggling desperately to fight off her anguish.
As Suki considers her friend's suffering, empathy penetrates her soul. Taking a
moment to contemplate, she looks over her shoulder. Assured that no one else is nearby,
she turns back to her comrade and places her right hand on her knee.
“This may hurt a little, but only for a minute.”
“What are you doing?”
“Do you want to finish this meet or what?”
“Of course, but—”
“Then quiet down and let me do this.”
Joanna turns over her trust with a nod of approval.
As Suki closes her eyes, a focused beam of concentration pierces Joanna's sore knee.
“Ow!” she shouts. “It burns!”
Suki places her free hand across her friend’s quivering lips.
An instant later, Joanna’s pain vanishes.
“Better now?” Suki asks, slowly opening her eyes.
Jo carefully extends and retracts her knee without a trace of discomfort.
“Oh my God! I can't believe it! It doesn't hurt anymore!”
A sudden rush of fear consumes her momentary elation.
“How did you do that?”
“Don't be afraid. It doesn't matter how I did it.”
Phoebe approaches, aggressively pointing her stretched out finger at Joanna. “Time to
get out there, kiddo. What do you say—are you ready?” A look of bewilderment washes
away Jo's fear as she focuses her eyes on Suki's trustful face.
“I am now,” Joanna answers with confidence.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Phoebe suspiciously inquires. “Are you two cooking
up a strategy behind my back?”
“Of course not,” Suki answers. “It's just some private girl stuff.”
“This isn't the time for private girl stuff. You should know better. Jo needs to stay in
the zone.”
“You're right, Coach, sorry for that.”
Phoebe shakes her head and sets off for the mat with Joanna.
Jo looks back over her shoulder, mouthing a silent message.
Thank you.
Joanna follows up with a stellar floor routine, reminding Suki of the exhilarating fact
that her final event is approaching. Phoebe sits down on the bench, confidently massaging
her young prodigy's shoulders. “You totally nailed your vault, your bars were spectacular,
and your beam was impeccable. All you need to do is seal the deal on the floor, kiddo.”
Turning Suki around, she looks intently into her confident eyes. “You're the best I've ever
seen.” Her glaring honesty boosts Suki's abundant confidence. “Now get out on that floor
and show these judges what I already know,” Phoebe demands, affectionately fluffing
Suki's silky hair. Underneath, the countless hours of preparation swirl through her racing
mind. After giving her coach a final thankful squeeze, she turns towards the mat and steps
onto the floor.
The announcer's voice echoes through the arena.
“Competing in her final event, please welcome Miss Suki Odayaka.”
Enthusiastic applause accompanies Suki onto the mat.
As the lights go down, the cheers softly fade into an ever-diminishing hush. Walking to
the center of the floor, Suki assumes her opening pose. Frozen in time, she waits patiently
for the first beat of the music to spark her reanimation. The only sound she is aware of is
that of her pounding heart, thumping away at her eardrums like a thoroughbred horse
pitching a fit at the starting gate. The music begins with a flash of action, sparking Suki's
still body to life. She lightly trots across the floor, waving her arms like a fluttering
butterfly, Chopin's Fantaisie Impromptu gracefully dancing along with her. Anticipating
her first pass, she pauses. A tick later, she dashes across the mat at a breakneck pace.
Effortlessly executing two double pikes, she urges the crowd's roar of approval. As she
drifts into a balletic series of spins, her elegance calms the audience. Several moments
later, a full speed run launches her into a triple flip, which she dances out of with
perfection.
The minutes seem to last for hours, ceaselessly leading to her final pass.
Sprinting headlong towards victory, Suki soars through the air, diving into a double
pike, followed by a spectacular quad twist. Meeting the floor, she rebounds into a final
triple back flip, sticking the landing with absolute perfection. The crowd jumps to their
feet, roaring with a fervor that shakes the arena to its foundation. Suki breathes heavily,
raising her exhausted arms in thanks to the exuberant cheers. Phoebe runs onto the floor,
lifting her up in celebration as the thunderous applause engulfs them in a reverberating
grip of appreciation.
Suki's heavy panting continues.
“Are you all right?” asks Phoebe, accompanied by a look of concern.
Following an awkward swoon, Suki collapses.
***
Lonely, unending blackness wraps its cold arms around her, enhancing her growing
state of terror. After several seemingly eternal moments, Suki senses a calming presence
among the dark surroundings.
A gentle female whisper comforts her.
“Try not to be frightened. He feeds on your fear.”
It is the voice of her great grandmother, Nyoko.
As Suki's apprehension begins to fade, blending colors merge into a discernible image.
A dimly lit green sign with yellow lettering comes into focus. It reads ROANOKE PARK.
A teenage girl's face moves into a hint of moonlight, revealing her flowing chestnut hair
and stunning blue eyes. “Are you frightened?” she asks, peering through the blackness.
“Yes,” Suki answers as if she already knows her. “What about you?”
An unnatural, low pitched hum grabs their attention, summoning them beyond the
darkness ahead. As they forge forward, an iridescent glow of blue, red, and yellow
suddenly appears, illuminating the end of a long path. The colors blend, one into the
other, in a dissolving sequence.
“There it is,” the mysterious young woman points out.
Suki and her companion make their way ahead, eventually coming upon a bricked-up
cave entrance on the side of a rocky outcropping. Lit up by a mesmerizing archway of
blending colors, a teenage boy with burnt-orange hair and a handsome young man of
African descent stand directly in front of it. The African man breaks the glow with his
open palms, transforming it to a brilliant white. Suki listens carefully as he addresses his
companion. “This is it,” he bravely bellows, a distinctive twang tagged to his words. As he
reaches forward, the glowing light consumes his dark-brown arms. “Follow me through!”
he adds with a final shout. The unearthly shine swallows him up, morphing into a
glimmering shade of ruby-red.
“I'm right behind you!” the other boy yells.
Mustering his courage, he steps into the scarlet glare and disappears.
Suki's fear returns, causing absolute blackness to surround her once again. She
suddenly finds herself utterly alone, as if buried in a tomb. Piercing purple eyes stare at
her through the nothingness, accompanied by a groaning dark voice.
“Your great grandmother's stubborn soul is much like yours.”
“I know what she’s like—we share a special bond.”
A bone chilling cold penetrates her.
“Now you can share a grave!”
Swarming insects cover Suki’s body, gnawing away at her flesh.
“Can you hear me?” another voice cries out.
Crippled by absolute terror, she fails to answer.
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
***
Suki opens her eyes to the site of her trainer, Tore Lynwood, hovering over her.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm not sure. I just had a crazy-bad dream!”
“Tell me your name?” Tore asks, shining his penlight into her pupils.
“It's Suki … Suki Odayaka.”
“You got it!” Tore shouts, helping Suki up as Phoebe approaches.
“Is it serious?” she asks, a wave of distress distorting her face.
“Probably not, she just fainted. Let's bring her down to the infirmary and get her
checked out.” Grabbing Suki by each arm, Phoebe and Tore escort their prized athlete off
the mat. As they make their way towards the exit, Suki's restless mind can't shake the
memory of that terrible dark voice.
And the fear of being trapped forever in the darkness.
Painfully boring.
Most of the time, nineteen-year-old Tahani Jakande's duties at The NEO Cosmological
Observatory are as colorless as the class he just completed on The Measured Effects of
Dark Matter. Now that his freshman year at the esteemed Massachusetts Conservatory
of Astrophysics has come to an end, he’s spending his summer break volunteering at
NEO’s state of the art tracking center.
Cambridge, Massachusetts is a far cry from Margate, South Africa, where Tahani's top
rank at the South Sands Academy, (his prestigious private high school) along with his
unprecedented perfect scores on his national senior certificate exams, made him a local
celebrity. His African heritage has shackled him to a somewhat isolated existence amongst
the intellectual community he now calls home. Many of his white American classmates
mask a hidden air of superiority. They keep it concealed behind their otherwise polite smiles.
But Tahani can sense what they're thinking.
Most of the entitled young men on campus don't mind his presence but prefer to keep
him at arm's length. Their well to do female companions often entertain lustful thoughts
as they catch a glimpse of his handsome face and muscular physique. Tahani insists on
maintaining a dignified look. Consistently clean shaven, his exquisitely groomed shape
up Afro is trimmed to perfection on a weekly basis. He's frequently seen strolling across
campus in his shiny black and white shoes, often accompanied by a pair of neatly ironed
slacks. He prefers a button-down shirt, which he usually leaves open just enough to reveal
his cherished platinum necklace. The end of his glittering chain supports a figure-eight
charm, reinforcing his passion for the infinite wonders of the Cosmos.
Some of the less snooty student body are impressed that a young African man has
reached their elite level of academia. Their most common thought, he's so well spoken; as
if an African man should possess some type of inherent mental deficiency. Tahani sees it
as a form of sympathetic bigotry, but at least it's not hateful. Regardless of these awkward
facts, leaving his South African home was a worthy sacrifice in pursuit of his dream.
Discovering life beyond our world.
That's what makes Tahani Jakande tick. Ever since his first glance up into the night sky
on a warm summer evening so many summers ago, he's been captivated by the heavens.
Revealing the unknown is his personal obsession. Regardless of his dedication to the
reasoning of science, he can't shake the feeling that there's something more to it all than
just numbers and formulas. Not to mention the sense of fulfillment he gains from
protecting the entire planet from potential Armageddon. Tahani's summer assignment at
NEO is to uncover and track Near Earth Objects. He spends countless hours searching,
scanning, scraping away for that one fleeting moment of discovery. Searching the sky for
the occasional stray asteroid or comet that happens to wander into our little corner of the
solar system. None have wandered his way in over a week. The hours of boredom that
precede the delight of detection are burying him alive. He takes a final sip of what's left of
his previously cold sparkling mineral water, turns to NEO senior director Dr. Chandra
Hollendale and mutters in his distinctive South African accent. “Still nothing out there?”
“Not a peep,” she answers in her usual featureless tone. “It’s all quiet.”
Dr. Hollendale's unaffectionate character has been abundantly clear to Tahani ever
since his first hour at NEO. He assumes her lack of physical magnetism, combined with
her extraordinary intelligence, resulted in a lonely, thirty-six-year existence. An existence
dedicated to scientific research. Her one passion in life is an insistent drive to expand the
frontiers of human knowledge. That alone is reason enough for Tahani to share a bond of
kinship with her. Regardless of this fact, she consistently attempts to appear unimpressed
with his unique intellect.
But Tahani can sense her true feelings.
She is well aware of his exceptional mental powers, and more importantly, she's taken
a liking to his highly analytical personality.
Glancing down at his latest copy of Infinite Universe, Tahani attempts to alleviate his
boredom. Flipping through the magazine’s colorful pages for a topic of conversation, a
blue flag with six inter-connected rings invites his curiosity.
Interesting, he thinks to himself, staring down at the picture.
“Are you aware of the International Flag of Planet Earth?” he asks his disinclined director.
Temporarily ungluing her eyes from her computer screen, she pretends to be interested.
“If you ask me, step number one is to find a way to stop killing each other over our petty
differences. Once we get that resolved, then maybe we can consider an International Flag
of Planet Earth.”
Tahani shakes his head in agreement.
“I must say, I concur.”
A nerve piercing BEEP slices through the air.
The NEO system alarm is alerting him of a potential near earth object.
“How about that, Mr. Jakande?” Dr. Hollendale's moderately excited voice interrupts.
“Looks like it's finally showtime.” She spins her squeaky swivel chair in his direction,
asking a question in her usual authoritative tone. “Okay, so what have you got for me?”
Ambitiously working his keyboard, he stares up at the monitor mounted above him.
This can't be accurate.
His confused expression intrigues his supervisor.
“What's the problem? Is that telemetry glitch back?”
Seeking an answer, Tahani taps a few more keys. “No, everything appears to be
functioning properly, but, if I'm interpreting this data correctly, this object is t-traveling
at eighty-four thousand kilometers per second!”
Her eyes nearly burst from her skull.
Hurriedly leaning over him, she reads the data off his monitor. “This is incredible!” she
gasps. “This object is traveling at more than one-fourth the speed of light!” Tahani
swallows hard, gulping down the newly formed lump in his throat.
“How is that possible? The energy required to transport a physical object through space
at that extreme velocity would exceed—”
“Quiet please!” she shouts back at him, interrupting his hyper-intelligent analysis. The
wheels of her swivel chair race across the tile floor as she slides back to her workstation.
Her intensely focused eyes gather the scrolling data, each passing word feeding her
growing sense of urgency. “Run a trajectory analysis ASAP,” she shouts. “We need to find
out where it came from, and more importantly, where it's headed before we lose it. Get it
done, Mr. Jakande!” Tahani pivots to meet an imposing wall of metered panels.
Frantically tapping away at the numerical keypad mounted in his eye line, he takes a
moment to gain his composure. The intimidating machine clatters away, printing up the
requested data. He anxiously interprets the information as the perforated paper readout
folds into his waiting hands.
“It appears that this object is headed … d-directly for the Earth!” he points out, staring
keenly into Dr. Hollendale's shocked eyes. Shaking her head in disbelief, she snatches the
readout from Tahani's hand and intently reviews it. Upon her completion, it falls from her
grip, floating to the floor.
“Listen carefully,” she urgently requests, grabbing Tahani by his muscular bicep. “This
object’s speed is unprecedented, and I don't have the time to gather the rest of my staff to
assist me. By the time they get here, it will already have reached us. I need you to help me
calculate how much time we have until impact. Can you handle that?”
Tahani can sense that she already believes he's capable.
“Absolutely!”
Leaning over his shoulder, Dr. Hollendale carefully reviews the data on his monitor.
“The first thing we need to figure out is how far away it is,” she says, inhaling deeply.
“After that, see if you can calculate its mass.”
As she spins back around to his workstation, Tahani's fingers dash across his keyboard,
gathering both answers for her. “Okay, so, my initial conclusion is, its dimensions appear
to be relatively small. According to these numbers, it fails to exceed five meters in length,
and it's only about half that in width. The computer is unable to calculate its mass at its
current rate of speed, but apparently, it's no larger than an average automobile.”
“And the bad news?” she asks, feeling a bit relieved.
“It's currently between Mercury and Venus,” he replies, taking a moment to formulate
an estimate. “That’s around sixty-four million kilometers if my memory serves me right.”
Dr. Hollendale nods her impressed head in agreement.
“If we factor in the object’s unprecedented speed,” she adds, rising to her feet, “it's
closing in on us extremely fast.” Her eyes wander upward as her incredibly sharp mind
crunches the numbers. “That means we've only got about fifteen minutes.” Seemingly
defeated, she plops back down in her chair. “It must have approached from the inner solar
system—which leads me to assume that the sun's glare prevented us from detecting it.”
Tahani's unnerved expression begs Dr. Hollendale for guidance.
“What do you recommend we do?”
“There's nothing we can do,” she says, reaching up to massage her throbbing temples,
“except wait out the next fifteen minutes.”
“And if it hits?”
“At its current velocity, if it comes in over an urban center, this object could cause a
massive airburst, capable of taking out a city—depending on how dense it is,” she answers,
her strained voice growing wearier by the syllable. “And if it enters the atmosphere over
an ocean, the resulting shock wave could generate an enormous tsunami.”
Pausing briefly, she considers the disastrous consequences.
“Millions of lives are at stake.”
Dr. Chandra Hollendale, one of the most logical women in the world, can't escape her
illogical sense of failure. Over the next painfully swift ten minutes, she executes the futile
task of notifying her esteemed colleagues at The Lagrange Science Center in the nation’s
capital. Tahani's attention is eagerly focused on the object’s velocity and trajectory as it
continues its distressing approach … eighty-four thousand kilometers per second and
holding, planet Earth still in its crosshairs. As it darts past the Moon, he locks his attention
on the green velocity meter displayed on his monitor. To his utter surprise, it begins to
reduce rapidly.
What's happening?
He closes and re-opens his eyes. They must be deceiving him to ease his anxiety. The
value still falling, Tahani nearly falls from his chair as he twists towards his superior.
“Dr. Hollendale, I suggest you have a look at this.”
She stumbles over in a clumsy rush, her hungry eyes swallowing up the object’s current
velocity. It's decreased to twenty-eight thousand kilometers per hour, the optimal speed
required to achieve Earth orbit. Her heart pounds at her breast. This reduction in speed
can only mean one thing.
Intelligent design.
Tahani looks up at her in wonder.
“There's only one logical explanation for—”
“Someone or something is controlling it,” she interrupts.
“This may end up being the greatest moment in the history of scientific discovery!” he
shouts, expressing his sense of overwhelming excitement. “Or the history of humanity!”
His director is not so sure, and she has no problem with letting her intern know it.
“Or it could be our worst moment. We don't know what this object’s purpose is. An
alien invasion could be far more dangerous than an impact event.”
Tahani vehemently disagrees.
He cherishes the concept that intelligent extraterrestrial explorers are certain to be
members of a knowledge-based civilization. In his opinion, it's likely they'll respect other
advanced life forms. His passion for the topic sets up a conflict. After a moment of
consideration, he daringly responds. “An invasion … from a single three-meter-long
object? I consider that doubtful, don't you? Besides, a culture sophisticated enough for
interstellar travel must also have an evolved code of ethics, don't you agree?”
She's unimpressed with his youthful optimism.
“No, Mr. Jakande, I don't agree. If this object was sent by an advanced alien race, and
that race evolved from a predatory species, like ours did, we could be facing
extermination. Nature's rule of law is survival of the fittest. They are obviously more fit
than we are if they can transport physical objects through outer space at eighty-four
thousand kilometers per second. A planet such as ours, teeming with complex life, liquid
water, and abundant mineral resources is most likely an extremely rare find. The object
we're tracking could be a probe of some kind, sent out in advance of colonization.” Her
heated rant is followed by a moment of reflection. She stares coldly at her young colleague,
patiently awaiting his response.
Tahani can sense her contempt for his naivety.
Regardless, he refuses to surrender his hopefulness.
“Perhaps sharing this planet with an advanced alien culture would be beneficial to us?”
“I find your indiscriminate hypotheses of extremely low probability,” she coldly states,
taking an instant of their time to recall the pointlessness of assumptions. “We shouldn't
jump to conclusions with no empirical evidence. The fact is, we just don't know.”
The new data scrolling across Tahani's screen invites his concern.
“I'd venture to guess, we're about to find out,” he states, pointing at the trajectory meter
on his monitor. “It's currently entering the exosphere at a forty-degree angle.”
Dr. Hollendale knows exactly what that means.
The object is invading our world.
Tahani's eyes fix themselves on the tracking data scrolling across his screen. To his
sudden surprise, the meters abruptly recalibrate to zero. “What’s happening? I think I
may have lost it!” Sliding next to him, Dr. Hollendale clatters away at Tahani’s keyboard.
Her failure to re-establish a connection squashes his desperate desire. “What's going on?”
he asks, prodding her for an explanation. “It was there just a moment ago!”
“The object has either vaporized in the atmosphere without a trace, which I find
unlikely, or it deployed some type of stealth technology. Either way, it's beyond our
reach.” Flopping back into her seat, she completely deflates. Hanging her head in defeat,
she and Tahani reluctantly accept the troubling predicament they now find themselves in.
The mysterious object has vanished.
The moonless night has fallen.
Josh looks ahead as the final slither of daylight disappears behind the side of a large,
rocky outcropping, its stony face scarred by a bricked-up cave entrance. His faithful dog
Aijalon pulls him closer as they make their way through Roanoke Park, just as they have
dozens of times before. Only a short walk from home, Josh feels anything but comfortable.
His recent video game scare has left him uneasy. As the bricked-up cave grows closer, he
can't help but recall how several years ago, his childhood friend Denny slipped off his
longboard and broke his arm on this very spot. Even before that odd mishap, this place
and its mythology have always held a daunting mystique. The site he now advances on
sparked the local legend known as The Roanoke Park Cave Mystery. Not a soul in all of
Kansas City knows the exact history of the cave or why it was sealed. Local lore tells that
the cave was walled up in the late nineteen fifties when several children disappeared
inside, never to be heard from again. Whenever Josh draws near, he's lured by a haunting
fascination, as if something inside is calling out to him.
Something just beyond his reach.
As Josh looks up, a glowing red oval captures his attention.
Just a passing plane?
An unavoidable angst inflates his swelling curiosity.
His eager eyes follow the eerie red patch as it grows closer. Within seconds, it's directly
above his head, hidden by the silvery low-pressure system floating above him. He stares
up in wonder as a torpedo-shaped craft, surrounded by a dazzling scarlet glow, penetrates
the clouds. Its deathly silence reinforces its ominous presence. The slate gray, coffin-sized
object comes to a halt, suspended in the air directly in front of the bricked-up cave. A
high-frequency hum causes Aija to cower at Joshua's feet. At first barely discernible, it
steadily grows, relentlessly penetrating Aijalon's hyper-sensitive ears. He alerts his
master by use of his disquieting whine. Unaware of the sound, Josh feels no pain. The
object drifts forward, dissolving into the wall, swiftly disappearing without a trace.
Only the black of night remains.
Standing in the dark puzzling, Josh stares up at the enigmatic brick wall. After a
moment of deafening quiet, the red glow slowly reappears on its face. Its inviting shape
(that of a gateway arch) beckons him to come within reach. Hypnotized by its allure, he
drops Aijalon's leash to the floor and approaches. The red illumination floats inches above
the coarse brick beneath. Unable to resist, Josh raises his palms and touches the radiance.
Upon a burst of bright red, he finds himself in a blinding white room.
As his eyes adjust to the glare, he discovers a dark-skinned young man standing directly
across from him. A platinum figure-eight charm dangles from the chain around his neck,
lying on the outside of his imposing suit of battle armor. In his arms, he holds a crossbow
composed of glowing green energy. Smiling defiantly, he draws a radiant holographic
arrow from the translucent quill strapped across his back.
He loads it up.
“Now it's my turn!” he yells out, his South African accent ringing in Joshua's ears. For
reasons unknown, Josh fails to feel afraid. Somehow, he's aware that this young man is
not his enemy. Regardless of this baffling fact, his opponent fires his simulated weapon
directly at him. Distracted by his wandering thoughts, Josh is struck in his neck by the
phantom arrow, lighting up his entire body with a lime illumination. A sharp sting
penetrates his throat. As the sparkling charge diminishes, the impaled projectile of
shimmering energy flickers out with a crackle—along with Joshua's temporary pain.
Reaching for his neck to check for a non-existent wound, he finds two half-moon shaped
holographic objects embedded in his palms. They glow with an electric-green haze similar
in texture to his opponent's effervescing crossbow.
The South African man loads another radiant arrow.
“Don't shoot!” Josh pleads. “I'm unarmed!”
“Unarmed?” His adversary shouts back, shaking his disenchanted head at him. “You
just fired two shots directly at me!” Confused by his rival's hauntingly familiar comment,
Joshua examines the glowing holographic hemispheres at the center of his open hands.
His challenger shouts across to him.
“Time is of the essence here, Joshua, I suggest we keep things moving.”
An instant later, the room melts away.
Joshua's nostrils fill with a familiar childhood aroma. The unmistakable pleasant blend
of aged books, wool upholstery, and fresh baked berry crumble pie leaves no doubt of his
location. He finds himself sitting in front of a pewter chess set amidst the comforts of his
grandparent's den, a place he currently only visits in his memory. To his astonishment,
his Grandpa Dan (who passed away four years earlier) sits directly across from him.
Pondering his next move, the old soul looks up, crinkling his nose at Josh with an
endearing wink.
“Bubbee?” Josh calls out, completely astonished. “Am I dreaming, or is this—is this
actually happening?”
“Yes, Joshy,” Grandpa Dan assures, his smile straightening. “You know how you can
remember things when you hear or see them just once?”
“What does that matter? This is unbelievable! How are you—?”
“I've got something to tell you, and I need you to tuck it away for safe keeping in that
steel trap of a mind you've got,” he requests, pointing at Joshua's forehead with his ghostly
index finger. “You understand?”
“I get it, but why are you—?”
“There's a reason why you remember things so well,” Grandpa Dan interrupts, taking
Joshua's right palm in his wrinkled hands and patting it soulfully. “You just listen real
closely, now.”
“Okay,” Josh confirms, confused by his grandfather's odd request. “I guess I'm ready
whenever you are?”
Grandpa Dan's glassy eyes peer into Joshua's sharply focused mind.
“Drinking from the crying sky, devours light from ever high. Below its base, the water's
edge, its hollow leads beneath the ledge. The narrow ledge will guide you under, churning
walls of rolling thunder.”
Grandpa Dan pats Joshua's hand once again.
“Did you get all that? It's really important.”
“Yeah, Bubbee, I did, but why did you—?”
“I've gotta go now, Joshy. You just remember that riddle.”
Without warning, the den smears into a wavy blur of surreal yellow, morphing into the
unfamiliar face of a petite Japanese girl in her mid-teens. She and Josh now stand in front
of a shining red archway of ethereal light, surrounded by a bright white chamber. Placing
her dainty hands on Joshua's shoulders, several tears streak down her cheeks. “It's okay,
Double-J, it was worth it,” she sobs in a familiar tone. “You've got to go back now.” Her
face morphs into yet another, which Josh has never seen before. It's that of a beautiful
young woman with flowing chestnut hair and stunning blue eyes. Surrounded by the
night, she and Josh stand in front of the bricked-up cave wall. He senses something out
of place about the world around them, as if they're occupying the right space, but at the
wrong time. Smiling pleasantly, the teary-eyed, young lady kisses him on the cheek.
“It's not goodbye forever, Josh. We'll see each other again. I promise.”
The image of her face evaporates like a fading puff of smoke.
Roanoke Park suddenly shifts, as if the timeline he exists in is being bent inside out.
Joshua's mind fills with fear. As his unsettling feeling grows, clammy hands grab his neck
from behind, abruptly cutting off his air supply. The same voice that invaded his video
game fills his ears.
“Reveal the Cipher, Prin!”
Josh gasps as the foul creature loosens his grip just enough to allow his cough-ridden
reply. “The what?” he questions, utterly confused. “I swear, I d-don't know any cipher.” A
deafening roar pains his ears as the demon's hands re-tighten in a throat-crushing crunch.
“Then suffer the horror of living death!”
Joshua's skin begins to rot off his body. Worms wriggle through his molting flesh,
causing his overwhelming terror to grow stronger. Dropping to his knees, he desperately
grabs at the ever-tightening hands around his throat. His teeth fall from his rapidly
decaying mouth, rattling off the rocky ground below. Just before his burning eyes melt
from his skull, a final face takes shape directly in front of him.
A face unlike any he has ever seen.
Human-like, yet not human. Pale-white with silver eyes, and a lipless slit for a mouth,
which fails to move as his tranquil voice fills Joshua's bewildered mind. “Let go of your
fear. Your terror makes him stronger. Calm yourself, and his influence will weaken,” the
voice whispers, reducing his fright. “You have the power within you to resist him.”
Joshua's horror dissipates, causing the hands to release their grip.
“You possess an exceptional gift,” says the voice, echoing through his swirling thoughts.
“You and your kind can bring hope to the hopeless. The others will come. When they do,
return with them and enter the archway.” As the voice fades into the past, Josh finds
himself alone on his knees in front of the cave wall, catching his breath amidst the cool
evening air. To his great relief, he's completely unscathed.
The glowing archway has vanished from sight.
Regaining his composure, he cautiously rises to his feet. As he fixes his green eyes on
the velvety night sky, the twinkling stars wink down at him from high overhead. A
nocturnal chorus of chirps and whistles ricochet through the surrounding black woods,
adding to the solemn mood. After absorbing the unnerving ambiance for several isolated
moments, he spins around and sprints for home.
-I hope you enjoyed chapters 1-5 of EPHAIDRIA-