“Very informing, in fact.” Stein flipped across pages on the screen of his tablet. “It appears the residue from the pulse is quite similar to energy signatures already on record.”
“That’s impossible. We would have recognized it.”
“Well, the records indicate a barely registerable signature, much weaker than what the Gorgon recorded. And these records weren’t hidden in some government archive as one might expect. But the findings are near exact when compared side by side.”
“Who’s responsible for the findings?”
“An old friend of yours, actually. Nathan Ryder. Recently published a blistering report on global intelligence agencies covering up the existence of an entity he calls the ‘Blurred Man.’ But what’s even more interesting is the most recent example of the energy disturbance was found at the site of the mill explosion a few months back in Birmingham, Alabama. I believe your biohazard teams were dispatched there when it happened.”
“They were. Very strange circumstances with that incident. My team was sent in to investigate an outbreak of insanity nearby. It was believed some new chemical weapon was dispersed. Our findings didn’t unearth any proof of that. It completely baffled my team and the authorities.”
“Ryder had an entirely different take on the incident. This might be hard to swallow, but he claims an interdimensional breach of some sort occurred there. He called it an Aberration. Says it directly links to the Blurred Man incidents he compiled.”
“I remember scanning his report a while back. I thought it a desperate attempt to garner media attention and possible funding for his work.” Blackwell shook his head. “Nathan Ryder. It’s been a long time. I’ll have to make a point of paying a visit.”
“And the anomaly?”
Blackwell’s face sobered quickly. “We have to get on top of this immediately before the media or investigative agencies catch wind of it. The Tantalus mission is a go, Dr. Stein. You’re to leave right now.”
“I can gather my team and be ready to depart for the Triangle in twenty-four hours.”
“Good. I have some recruiting to do on my end before I join you. The Tantalus facility we’re shipping you to is self-sustainable for months without resupplying. You’ll be able to get a head start on collecting pertinent data on the anomaly from the source. All you have to do is stay alive until we get there.”
Chapter 1: Psychasthenia
It was the perfect day for Michael’s world to end. The temperature had dropped to below normal temperatures, and the previous night’s storm had temporarily shoved some of the Alabama humidity aside. Sunbeams streamed from the window, painting Cynthia’s face in golden light as she stared at the television with widened eyes. On the screen, a reporter in a revealing blouse related the suicide in an offhand manner, her mannequin expression detached as though she wished to move on to more trendy topics.
Cynthia turned, fear etched on her face. A hand unconsciously drifted to her protruding belly, as if to protect their unborn child from the dire news.
“Agent Lee was one of the first responders at the mill explosion, Michael. He’s the one who interviewed you, remember?”
Michael held up his hands. “Don’t get carried away. It could be just—”
“Coincidence?” Her hysterical laugh was practically a sob. “He’s dead, Michael. Self-inflicted, after losing his mind. Just like all the others. Everyone within a few miles of that explosion has gone insane. They’re trying to cover it up, but I’ve been looking online—”
He gave her a wry grin. “The internet. Yeah, it has to be true, then.”
“This isn’t a joke, Michael. Everyone’s gone crazy out there. This blogger, Nathan Ryder — he’s been following up on everything that’s happened since they pulled you out of that explosion. It’s like some insanity outbreak infected the entire area.”
Her fingers flew across the screen of her phone. “There’s the woman that threw herself into a wood chipper. Her husband killed himself right afterward by setting the house on fire with him still in it.”
“Probably from grief. His wife had just died…”
Her upraised hand cut off his protest. “His neighbor’s wife overdosed on sleeping pills. Her husband never noticed. He lived with her corpse for a full week before authorities arrived. And Captain Forrester — dear God. He took an axe and killed three of his grandchildren at a family gathering before being subdued. He died later by throwing himself out of a ten-story hospital window. There’s more. Do you need me to go on?”
He shook his head. “No. But Cynthia—”
She seized his arm. “You were there, Michael. You were in the middle of it. The only one who survived it. And the things you say happened…” She stared at him helplessly.
“It’s the truth. The truth, Cynthia.” He took a deep breath, placed his hands on her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. “Look at me. I’m not crazy. No hallucinations, no outbreaks of insanity. It’s been months since the explosion. I’m fine.”
The muffled sounds of squealing tires and slamming doors were instantly ominous. Michael felt a prophetic sense of dread when he strode to the window and peered through the blinds.
“No.”
The sky was a vivid shade of blue, peppered by tiny scraps of cotton candy clouds that left wispy trails in their wake. But Michael’s attention was focused on the vans and SUVs which had curtailed the street in front of his house with military precision. Chimera Global was emblazoned on the vehicles in sinister red letters. Masked and heavily armed troopers leaped out, gesturing and shouting orders. They were followed by a train of figures in orange hazmat suits and reflective bubble helmets, who approached the driveway like menacing astronauts. The scene was so surreal that for a moment he could only stare as they marched toward his tiny slice of suburban comfort.
His attention refocused when his door crumpled inward off the hinges. His Roll Tide banner fluttered slowly through the air as an armored avalanche stormed into the house.
Everything blurred from that moment. He recalled Cynthia’s screams, piercing cries which fell on deaf ears as he was roughly slammed to the floor and shackled like a most-wanted terrorist. Brusque hands lifted him without regard; he was literally dragged out of his home despite his frantic protests. More than anything else he remembered trying to remain calm, telling Cynthia everything was going to be all right. It was just a mistake. It had to be.
It had to be.
The world was a foggy haze and he was a pale, lonely stone beaded with condensation. The rain hissed as it fell — liquid sinners cast down from a spiteful heaven. The light from the setting sun was muted, but cast an angry red hue that transformed each raindrop into sparkling crimson gems. In the distance, a faceless figure staggered toward him, painted in streams of red.
Not real. Not real.
Michael opened his eyes. The hissing sound was the chrome showerhead; the fog was merely the surrounding steam. Warm water flowed down his face and neck; the droplets that fell from his eyelids took all the time in the world to hit the ceramic surface of the shower base.
He cut the water off and slowly emerged from the shower. Cold air struck him, raising goosebumps across his skin. The tiled floor was clammy against the soles of his feet as he toweled himself dry. He shook his head. No more nightmares. It was important he not lose himself in the delusions, no matter how real they seemed. The doctors said he was getting better. He couldn’t afford to be seen relapsing. If he relapsed, he would never see Cynthia again.