Even then, I was not overly concerned for my physical safety. After all, they could have killed me a long time ago had they so desired. Yet they had gone to extreme lengths to provide an alternative, damaging only my ability to recall some things.
The plane came to a stop outside and the passengers disembarked. A few minutes more passed, during which some luggage and freight was unloaded. Then the plane’s interior was being cleaned and the tanks filled.
Shortly thereafter, an attendant entered the area and announced that passengers could begin boarding.
I rubbed my eyes. There was something wrong about the attendant.
I looked again. The man had visible, protruding fangs, and there was a greenish cast to his complexion. Was it some sort of gag? The other passengers took no heed of it and were beginning to move in that direction. I raised my bag and did the same. If it didn’t bother them—
I must have been staring, though, as I passed, for he grinned at me as he inspected my boarding pass—a truly ghastly sight. I went on past, shaking my head. My times were definitely out of joint.
I froze as soon as I stepped out of the building. The plane had vanished. In its place stood a giant, old-fashioned hearse, with dark wooden coachwork and black curtains. It was hitched to a team of huge black horses adorned with sable plumes. I uttered some incoherent noise.
People elbowed past me and proceeded on to board. The horses snorted and tapped at the runway with their hoofs. I turned away. I couldn’t board that thing. I knew that I would die—
Ticketderick?
I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight. I opened my mind. Sanity and consistency prevailed within the electric city of lights which surrounded me. These were defenses against evil visions.
A moment, another pulsebeat or two for it to restore me…
I lowered my head and opened my eyes again. Good, solid concrete, yellow lines painted upon it…
Follow the yellow concrete path…
I began walking.
I bumped into a lady and apologized. I had to look up as I did it.
We were at the foot of the ramp, but the vision had remained constant.
The vehicle was unchanged. I was about to board a glossy death-wagon. I had begun to discover the truth about myself, and now I was being warned against continuing.
I think that I turned away again, ready to examine alternatives to this trip. But then I thought of Cora, the reason I had to make it, the reason I had to board here, no matter what the thing looked like.
I reached out and put my hand on the rail, my eyes clenched shut. One step at a time, I mounted.
When I reached the top, I heard a surprised female voice say, “Is something the matter?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I have a terrible fear of flying. Would you please help me to a seat?”
“Sure. Here.”
I felt my arm taken. She guided me. I blinked my eyes open twice, for quick orientation.
The interior was filled with leering ghouls and monsters; it was illuminated by a flickering and baleful candlelight. I dared not look at the woman who guided me for fear of seeing the triple goddess and knowing I was gone, passed over, taken.
I found a place for my bag beneath the seat before me. Everything felt normal. Whatever the situation, it did not seem to apply to tactile sensations. I located the ends of my seat belt and clasped it about my middle without looking. I knew what I would see if I were to look—namely, that it had become a serpent. Knowing this and seeing it were two different things, however. I had known what the interior here would look like before I’d blinked myself a pair of glimpses moments ago. But the knowledge in itself was several degrees less gut-wrenching than the primary experience. I realized that I was far from rational at the moment, and this knowledge in itself was somehow comforting. After all, I had undergone a psychiatric treatment which had stirred the depths of my being. It had produced results on a rational, practical level. What I was undergoing now, I told myself, was doubtless some sort of reaction by all the forces of unreason in my subconscious. Yes, cling to that, I decided; it puts it all onto the plane of mental health as a kind of balancing of the books. When it’s all over—Plane? Plane. We were moving. On one level, I knew that we were turning, taxiing. On another, I heard a mighty neighing sound and a clatter of hoofs. The wagon jolted from side to side, the coach wheels creaked and clattered.
Ticketderick.
Yes, again. Dive into the smooth flowing operations of the systems all about. Here they were simpler than in the terminal, but a few tiny lights of rational structuring. Yet I held them and flowed with them, entering a kind of trance-like state, circuiting through each functioning level over and over and over again.
I held with it, moving in my own small world of light through a sea of darkness. I was able completely to ignore everything about me for a timeless span until the address system came on and the captain announced that we were about to land at Miami. I knew that that was what he said, but on that other level I heard the chimes as a brazen gong, followed by the voice of Orson Welles, announcing that Donald BelPatri was about to be dropped into a boiling pit where he would remain until the flesh was flensed from his bones. I almost screamed then, but I bit my lip and clenched my hands till the knuckles cracked.
We landed and finally came to a stop. The pressure suddenly vanished. Had my id taken a coffee break, given up now that I was safely arrived? I opened my eyes and saw normal people unfastening belts and picking up bags. I did the same quickly. Everyone near me made a point of avoiding my gaze. I thanked the stewardess again on the way out and made my way into the terminal, unflensed.
Inside, I located my gate, got another boarding pass, visited the Men’s Room, found a drink machine and gulped two icy Cokes in rapid succession. I returned to the boarding area then and took the seat nearest to the entrance tunnel. I wanted to have everything possible in my favor in case of a recurrence of my hallucinations. I performed all of these acts on as basic a motor level as possible, keeping my mind from everything but what my body was doing. But once I sat down the thoughts began to ooze again, at a higher level.
Had what might have been a mere anxiety reaction to my mental readjustments and Cora’s disappearance been forced to such graphic, paranoid levels by virtue of the fact that an actual menace had been made apparent? I had not studied that much psychology in college, but it seemed possible, given the extreme stresses to which I had been subjected.
College? I suddenly realized that I had attended a university. Where? Denver…? That seemed right. I hadn’t finished, though, hadn’t taken my degree… Why not?
Blocked again, but left with a feeling that Ann had had something to do with it, with my leaving school. I had known her that long ago.
Ann… What was her weakness? What was her strength? She had both, in unusual proportions. It seemed important that I should recall what they were, but I was blocked here, also.
I pushed hard. Harder. If my memories of Ann were closed to me, what about Angra? Angra Energy, my erstwhile employer… Computers. Me and computers. I wasn’t an ordinary programmer or systems analyst or anything like that, though. I worked with them in a special capacity—very special, very valuable to Angra—using, yes, my unique sensitivity to the machinery itself, to the machinery and its functioning. I was too valuable for them to waste, even when I was no longer of immediate use. There was always the possibility that they might need me again one day. And so—