House of Cabal Volume One: Eden (17 page)

I’ve forgotten why we need to wake. You’re
pulling me back under.

You’ll decide for yourself what is worth your
time. You investigate. That’s your job.

While you feel empowered, I fade away. You’ve
hijacked my story somehow. Above and below, everywhere and
everything becomes a gray void, just like when you entered
regression.

The first time was a locker room. The second
time was Dana’s car. Where are you now?

Dread weighs down the center of your being.
You try to reach out but don’t have hands or arms. You are just
thought surrounded by gray. You have that strange feeling again,
like you’re being watched. Something alien lives out in that
nothingness. Maybe it
is
the nothingness. You try to regain
your bearings and the feeling of violation intensifies, like you’re
part of some horrible scientific experiment run by a vast
unknowable intelligence.

A red light wavers above you, an Aurora
Borealis. With the light as context, below is a vast abyss.

You’ve changed your mind. You don’t want to
investigate; you want to wake. You want the real world back
again.

You hear a woman giving birth, but you don’t
see her anywhere. There is a wavering red light in front of you, as
well as red marker flags sticking out of desert sand. She shouts
Slavic words and the name Boris. The sand gets into your shoes. You
have your body back.

A man calls out, and a sandstorm makes it
hard to hear what he says. The female still grunts and cries from
labor.

This isn’t my story. This isn’t your story.
This is something else.

A shaft of light grows in the distance,
barley visible through the blowing sand. Flashes punctuate distant,
agonized screams. You drop to the ground and shield yourself with
your arms.

Even with your face down you are aware of
more flashes and gun fire and screaming. Men are screaming in
horror and pain.

Something bumps into you.

Not something. Someone.

Dana gropes forward, her head down, making
her way through the blowing sand toward the shaft of light in the
distance. A four-foot-high motorized vehicle rolls behind her,
Thomas’s wheelchair.

“Wait,” you say, but not at all loud enough
for them to hear you. The sandstorm parts and reveals the distant
light to be a golden gate. You can’t make out the details of the
metalwork from this far away, but near the top the shape curves up
and out, like an urn releasing the red Aurora Borealis out into the
dark universe above.

It all fades as Dana and her husband enter
the light.

Was it a vision? Have you lost your mind?

A shifting form coalesces in the void. Maybe
it’s a tree. Or a wall, because of its size. And then it looks back
at you, and you recoil. Its eyes are too complicated to be human.
It wears a robe that resembles a straitjacket that stretches down
into the abyss below.

The creature watches and tilts its head a
fraction. You are insignificant under its gaze, like an ant under a
magnifying glass. The thing knows you. It sees you in a way that
you could never see it. All this time, it has been watching. It
wants you to know this, and so you do. It has seen your connections
webbing out into the timeline, your wife and your son, your work,
and even your death. The creature is the true witness. You are only
a means to an end.

It speaks.

“This is new.”

Its voice is surprisingly human and
reminiscent of a forgotten mentor. You assume it’s a manipulation
to gain your sympathy, to calm you, and it works, but only a
little.

“You can see me,” it says.

Despite its voice, its alien gaze still
chills you to the core. You are afraid to speak, afraid the
towering thing might be real. You have nowhere to run, nothing else
to see or hear, only you and it.

“What are you?”

“I’m an observer, like you. Don’t be
frightened. My name is Pinsleep.”

“Pinsleep?”

“Yes, Chuck Pointer. Pinsleep.” It sounds
vaguely annoyed. It crouches as if speaking to a child. “Everett is
special. I need you to find out all you can about him. Do you
understand?”

“Why?”

“I observe. You can ask questions. You can
follow him to the House of Cabal. Somehow his destiny is obscured
from me. The House of Cabal is hidden from God, as if removed from
the timeline. Would it help if I told you I was an angel?”

Its eyes change patterns, reconfiguring like
a Rubik’s Cube, until the creature has four pupils instead of
two.

“Hold it together. I need you sane.” It
stands and its robes shift, like a loosening knot. “If angels
couldn’t possibly exist, how about this then? I’m your
subconscious.”

You nod as if this is better, even though you
don’t understand.

“Through these regressions, you connect with
the infinite. That’s a big ask for a human brain. To cope, you’ve
personified the part of you that is a part of everything. I’m that
part of you personified. You want to know the real Everett. And so
I’m telling you, Don’t turn back. Not when you’re so close.”

“I’m lost. I don’t know how to do this.”

“You know virtually everything, because
everything is connected to everything.”

“I don’t know everything!”

“I said virtually. Calm down.”

“I don’t even understand what you’re
saying.”

Pinsleep fades. Thomas’s car materializes
around you. It’s like waking from a dream. I’m here and so is
Thomas. You remember sand and screaming. And there was some kind of
alien presence. It’s all vague now. Except the creature’s eyes.
They were like twin pocket watches opened up, the inner workings
complex and turning. The creature told you to keep going, to find
the real me.

But I’ve always been the real me, Chuck. I
can’t hide anything from you.

Thomas drives using hand controls for the gas
and brakes. He must be driving to Rod’s apartment. You ask me what
you missed, thinking you must have fallen asleep.

What a strange thing to dream! An angel
observer.

You weren’t gone long. I offered to help
Thomas get in his car. He was perfectly capable. He hauled himself
inside, removed the wheels of his chair and put them in the
passenger seat, pulled the core of his wheelchair over his shoulder
(there was just enough room) and to the back, and then moved the
wheels to the back too, so I could get in.

Dana said she was tired and stayed behind,
though I think she just didn’t want to be alone with me after I
rejected her.

On the drive, we’ve been talking about their
upcoming trip to Egypt.

“Hopefully from Egypt we’ll be able to get
into Iraq.”

Maybe our conversation caused you to dream
about the desert.

“I have some connections in Blackwater,” he
adds.

“Blackwater?”

“It’s an independent military contractor.
Iraq is in upheaval right now. It would be great to have some
security. I have to be realistic. I’m a white American in a
wheelchair. The Middle East isn’t the easiest or safest place for
us to travel.”

“Then why go?”

“It’s an adventure. My wife and I don’t let
anything hold us back. If we want to go to Iraq, we go to Iraq. If
we want to invite another man into our bed, that’s what we do. I
have a blessed life. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t.”

“I can’t live like that.”

“Why not?”

“Afraid, I guess. I don’t deal well with
uncertainty.” We are getting close. “It’s up here. On the
left.”

He turns into Rod’s apartment complex on the
outskirts of Burnside.

“It’s there near the end.”

“I know it’s been a little awkward, but it’s
been a pleasure. After this is over, we can get together and
recount our adventures. I have a feeling your life is about to get
a whole lot bigger.” He offers his hand.

I shake it.

Despite everything, I’m happy he likes
me.

I should go, but instead I say, “When are you
leaving for Egypt?”

“At least not for another month.”

“I’ll give you a call once I get back.”

“Maybe you’ll want to come with us and see
the Middle East. One adventure is never enough.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

“Good luck.” He raises a hand to say goodbye.
“And make friends with uncertainty. I don’t think you’ll have much
of a choice.”

“Bye.” I close the door.

I feel surprisingly positive about the night.
And then I remember everything that happened in the alley and my
fight with Carrie. At least I can depend on Rod to never
change.

Thomas drives away. I’m still wearing his
clothes. He’s never getting them back. The chance I would ever call
him is zero.

I lumber up to Rod’s apartment, distracted by
the butcher paper and the box in my hand with the key inside. At
the end of the week, I’m going to this address, and I’m going to
have an adventure. But I have to make it to Friday first. It’s all
too much right now. I’ll deal with it after I get some sleep and
can think clearly.

Rod answers the door dressed in a t-shirt
that hugs his chest and biceps. I’m not the same person a was a few
hours ago, but Rod doesn’t know that yet.

Physically, he is bulkier than me and two to
three inches shorter. He rarely smiles. When he does, his handsome
face lights up.

You recognize him. You’re shocked by this and
grope to understand. He is the younger version of the man you are
interviewing in 2015, the man you thought was me. You try to focus
on our conversation.

“Everett?” Rod looks surprised.

“I got locked out of my house.”

“I’ll get your key.”

I speak up before he goes to retrieve it.
“Mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Sure. Come in.”

I’m guarded with Carrie. I now realize I
might be even more guarded with Rod. We have spent countless hours
working out together and we barely talk. I like him, but what do I
actually know about him? He never misses a workout and treats other
people at the gym with generosity and consideration. He is even
more reserved than I am, without much of a social life as far as I
can tell.

I sit on the couch and set the box on the
coffee table. He goes to get a beer. His apartment is clean for a
bachelor pad.

“You want something?” he says from the
kitchen.

“A beer?” I say, unsure.

He comes back with two craft beers and
doesn’t say anything. He knows I normally never drink alcohol, and
for some reason this time him not saying anything makes me
nervous.

The beer is cold against my palm. After the
rain and the street, I never want to be cold again. The beer tastes
okay though, better than I remember beer tasting. Still bitter.
“It’s good.”

He sits beside me on the couch. I take
another swig. Why don’t I feel relaxed like normal? Maybe the beer
will help.

“I think me and Carrie are over.”

“Sorry. That sucks.”

We each take another drink.

He grabs the remote and turns on the TV:
ESPN. I’m not a huge sports fan. I catch a game every now and then.
He sits back. I remain leaning forward. I want to tell him about
what happened, to tell him about the key and the address, about my
fight with Carrie, about almost having sex with a couple. I want to
tell him that my life has changed and that I don’t think it will
ever be the same again.

I’m no longer okay with us never talking
about anything important.

I down the rest of my beer, too nervous to
sit back.

“We can share my bed if you want,” he
says.

I freeze, my heart pounding, my face already
getting numb from the beer. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Right.”

I keep watching the TV and pretend that I
don’t notice the implication in his passive aggressive tone. I
count on Rod being simple and dependable. I don’t want it
complicated. He is the last person I ever thought might be gay.

That’s not true. I’ve noticed him checking
out guys before and ignored it.

We can still be friends. I don’t judge him
for being queer. How do I just say that to him? This does change
things though. What kind of friendship was it to begin with? How
long have I ignored this tension between us? I must have known, on
some level, that I was taking advantage. I’ve treated him coldly,
because he liked me without reason.

But there was a reason. He wanted in my
pants.

There are condoms in my pocket. I cover my
pocket with my hand, afraid he might see the square outline.

The longer I pretend to watch the game, the
harder it is for me to speak.

“I’m not going to wait forever,” he says.

What does that mean?

“I never asked you to,” I say.

Does he think I have feelings for him? Have I
been leading him on?

He’s good looking. He could have his pick.
Can’t he see I’m some homophobic asshole? Doesn’t he know I’m
incapable of loving anyone?

Rod goes to his room. I just sit, wishing I
could fix this somehow, wishing I hadn’t hurt Carrie, wishing I
wanted something besides escape.

The TV swirls into gray.

I lay on the couch, curl up into a ball, and
try not to think. The drone of the TV lulls me to sleep.

Chapter 9

I

On September 2
^nd
, 2015, Chuck and
Rod, both dehydrated, woke from the regression and gulped
water.

“You’re not Everett,” Chuck said from the
other side of the table. “You’re Roger Edger. Where is
Everett?”

Surprise animated the old man’s haggard
features.

“It is complicated.”

Chuck leaned over the table and got in Rod’s
face. “You can’t talk around this. Not this time. What’s going on!
Where is the real Everett?”

Rod took another drink.

The door in the hallway opened.

“No, don’t!” Rod said, half choked.