"I remember, and I'm getting to it. Just listen. These two forces I mentioned… whatever names we might call them are human invention, because we humans like to name and classify things. It's the way our brains work. So through the millennia, the people who've had a peek at the doings of these forces, their intrusions into human affairs, have given them names. They call the Not-So-Bad force 'the Ally,' and the—"
"See?" Jamie said, exasperated. "That's where all these situations fall apart. Why should this 'vast, unimaginable, unknowable force' want to take our side? It's just plain—"
"It's not on our side. I didn't say it was. It's indifferent to our well-being. We're just a card in the game, remember? It keeps us safe simply because it doesn't want to lose us to the other side."
"To the 'Truly Awful' force."
"Right. And through the ages the Truly Awful force has been designated 'the Otherness.'"
"Ah. Lightning strikes. That's why you were so upset when I told you that Hokano means 'other.' But Jack, lots of words mean 'other.' It's in every language on Earth."
"I know that." He sounded a bit testy. "But here's what I've been told about the Otherness: When a world or a reality—a playing card, if you will—falls into its hands, the Otherness changes it to something more like itself. And that change will not be human friendly. If it happens here, it will be the end of everything."
Jamie's mouth felt dry. She'd just flashed on something… pieces had clicked together into an unsettling shape.
"The Dementedist Holy Grail—the Great Fusion—it's… it's all about this world commingling with the Hokano world…"
"Yeah. The 'other' world." He jerked a thumb toward the back seat. "The lady who used to wear that piece of skin knew all about the Ally and the Otherness. She told me she was involved in the war too, but was connected to a third player, one that wanted no part of either of them. The pattern on her back matches the pattern on Brady's globe, and since the goal of Brady's cult is the fusion of this world with the 'other'… can you see why I got a little shaky back there in the bar?"
Jamie's first mental impulse was to deny it all as a fever dream, a world-view even loonier than Dementedism; but a primitive part of her, a voice from the prehistoric regions of her hindbrain, seemed to know something her forebrain didn't. It whispered that it was all true.
Feeling as if she were drowning, Jamie grasped at straws.
"But… but you can't be buying into all their nonsense about split xel-tons and such. Please tell me you're not."
"No, of course not. But maybe there's a grain of truth at the heart of their mythos. What if—now, I'm just making this up as I go—but what if Dormentalism was somehow inspired by the Otherness? For what specific reason, I don't know, but I know it can't be good. What if there's a little bit of Otherness in all of us? Maybe that's what the xelton concept represents, and the purpose of the Fusion Ladder is to identify those who carry more Otherness than most and band them into a group."
"To do what?"
Jack shrugged. "Light all the bulbs on Brady's globe? I don't know. I'm counting on Cooper Blascoe to clear that up."
"Tjf he's really Blascoe."
"Yeah. If."
15
Jamie had been praying that the man in the cabin was Blascoe, revving her interview motor for when she finally faced him. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.
Jack slowed the car to a crawl along the rutted country road.
"Where did you park when you went up to the house that first time?"
"Somewhere along here, I think. I'd know better if you had the headlights on."
"Just playing it safe."
Out of necessity he'd kept the parking lights on. If there'd been a moon out, or even stars, he could have turned off everything. But the sky had put up a low roof of clouds, leaving the woods around them as dark as Kurtz's heart.
"Why don't we just turn and roll up the driveway?" She sounded impatient.
"Like you said before, we don't know what kind of security they've got here."
"Right, and I'd rather be inside a car when we find out. And I do not feel like pushing my way through two or three hundred yards of woods again."
"We'll compromise. We'll hide the car down here and walk up the driveway."
"How about you walk up the driveway and signal me when it's all clear."
"I don't mind going up there alone," he told her. "But you can forget about the all-clear signal. I'll talk to him myself and tell you what he said."
"Like hell you will!"
Jack smiled in the dark. He'd been pretty sure that would get to her.
He stashed the Crown Vic behind a stand of bushes. If it were earlier in the year, they'd be in full leaf. Now their bare branches didn't give much cover. A casual passerby probably wouldn't notice, but anyone on the lookout for a car couldn't miss it.
As they stepped out it began to rain. Nothing serious, little more than a light drizzle, but it made the chill night chillier.
They walked up a long driveway that was little more than two dusty ruts—steadily turning to muddy ruts—divided by a grassy hump. Jack took the lead, with Jamie staying close behind.
He was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He could scope out the security setup—if there was one—better in daylight. Right now he felt as if he were flying blind. But he couldn't turn back. He was here and if the guy in the house was Cooper Blascoe, Jack was going to learn the connection between the designs on Anya's skin and Brady's globe. Tonight.
"So far, so good, right?" Jamie said.
"We could be walking past infrared sensors, motion detectors, you name it, and we wouldn't know."
"Let's go back."
Jack kept moving. "On the plus side, we're in the middle of nowhere. If we set off anything, it'll take time to get here. We do a quick in and out."
"But if it's Blascoe, it's going to take some time to get what we want out of him."
"We'll talk fast. Or take him with us."
Lighted windows from a typical woodland A-frame shone between the trees, and still no sound of an alarm, no blaze of light from security spots.
Jack and Jamie reached the front porch without incident. He made a quick perimeter check, looking in all the windows he passed, hunting for alarm tell-tales. He wasn't concerned with motion and infrared detectors; lie was looking for surveillance cameras. He didn't see any, but noticed odd-looking metal brackets on a couple of the walls.
The TV was on and someone was splayed supine on the couch, watching. All Jack could see of him were his legs and shoeless feet resting on a coffee table.
"What's the situation?" Jamie whispered when he returned to the front porch.
"We go in."
"Shouldn't we knock?"
"Don't know about you, but my plan is to go inside whether he answers the door or not, so why waste time knocking."
He pulled his Glock from the small of his back. He'd only seen one occupant, but you never knew…
He pressed the pistol against his outer thigh as he grabbed the knob. If it was locked, he'd kick the door open or break through a window.
Not necessary. The knob turned and the door swung inward.
He peeked into the room, giving the walls a good once-over. Not a surveillance camera in sight. That didn't mean there weren't any, but it was the best he could do at the moment.
He stepped inside, entering a high-ceilinged great room done up in standard Hollywood hunting lodge. Moose and deer heads stared down at him; antlers were framed here and there on the tongue-and-groove knotty pine walls; faux Indian throw rugs on the floor under rustic, rough-hewn furniture. Looked like a B-movie set. All it needed to complete the picture was John Agar entering stage right.