How long has it been? How long have they kept me trapped here?
The mirror was obscured by a film of vapor, displaying only his murky, distorted silhouette. He used the towel to wipe away the haze and gaze into the reflective surface. His breath caught short at the thin red gash which had opened down the side of his face from his temple to his chin. He slowly raised his trembling fingers.
When did this happen? Is it real? It can’t be real.
The shock barely registered when the cut opened at the slightest touch. Somehow he knew it would happen. His fingers dug in and pulled. The skin peeled back with ease, exposing the red-stained layer underneath. There was no real pain, only a slight sting, like pulling dry glue from damp flesh.
Red droplets spattered against the white surface of the sink in obscene patterns.
He couldn’t stop. He yanked and tore at the skin mask, shredding it to ribbons until he could see what lay beneath. Another face stared from behind the mirror’s surface, a crimson-spattered visage with eyes the color of coal and features completely devoid of expression. Michael exhaled a shuddering breath.
The face that stared at him was not his own.
His familiar features were replaced by the most ordinary face he had ever seen. It was a face made to blend into crowds, features which would arouse neither suspicion nor interest even if staring directly at them. Yet it was a face he knew well, a face he feared more than any other.
Because it only confirmed the nightmare was real.
The face of the man he knew only as Guy stared back at him, sentient only because of the arcane knowledge that shimmered from his inky eyes. His gaze penetrated, as though he knew all of Michael’s torments and understood each and every one. When his lips moved, the voice that spoke was a dead monotone.
“The Aberration is here, Michael.”
The Aberration is here…
Michael shrieked. The howl echoed in the empty bathroom as he raised his fists. Guy’s face shattered when Michael struck the mirror at the crescendo of his scream. The broken glass slashed his skin, but his attention was fixated on the glittering slivers which still displayed Guy’s knowing face on every single broken piece.
He was barely aware when the attendants rushed into the bathroom. Their reassuring voices quickly turned demanding when his disposition only grew more agitated. Burly arms shoved through and encircled him. His feet were lifted from the floor and he became weightless, afloat on the tide of passive aggression that radiated from his brawny captors.
“He’s hallucinating again.”
“Get him secured and medicated before he hurts himself. Quickly!”
He was unceremoniously dumped and strapped to a medical bed. The crowd of doctors who peered down at him was devoid of features. Only the barest shadows were visible, as though their faces were not fully formed and had just begun to push against the pale flesh.
Not real. Not real.
Incoherent voices babbled psychotherapeutic phrases, but Michael only heard the same statement, over and over. It drowned out the prattle of the doctors and aides, almost as if spoken by ghost mouths that shouted over their true ones. The words rang in his head.
“The Aberration is here, Michael. The Aberration is here.”
The Aberration is here…
A stainless steel hornet stung him in the neck, and the world quickly grew hazy. The indistinct shadows that hovered beside his bedside faded, replaced by the churning darkness of unexpected unconsciousness.
Chapter 2: Corybantic Neurosis
“Hello, Nathan. It’s been a while. Let’s talk.”
Alexander Blackwell arrived at Nathan Ryder’s hotel door with no fanfare, no security detail, no indication of being one of the wealthiest and most ruthless businessmen alive. His clothes were casual chic — jeans with a dark blazer over a button down shirt with no tie. He was young for a man of such influence, around the same age as Nathan at barely over thirty. His neatly trimmed sandy hair and the faint outline of stubble that shadowed his face gave him the appearance of an actor or model on his day off.
Nathan felt a surge of pure fury ripple from his toes and explode in his head like Fourth of July fireworks. His hands balled into fists. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t break your face right now.”
Blackwell laughed. “I’ll give you more than one.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Assault and battery, one. Jail time from said assault, two. Civil lawsuit to confiscate your meager earnings, three. And four: I’m not sure you’ll be able to even carry out your threat. Let’s face it — I’ve received extensive combat training from professional killers. You… not so much.”
Nathan fumed; surprised his glasses didn’t fog up from the heat rising from his shirt collar. “How did you find me?”
“I’m rich.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I have a proposition for you.” Blackwell took in the shabby hotel surroundings with an amused glance. “I think you might find it worth your while.”
“You know what I might find worth my while? Seeing you get back in your luxury ride, drive back to the airport, hop back on your private plane, and get back to swimming in your money and complaining about your hollow existence. We’ve got nothing to discuss.”
Blackwell’s face soured. “How about we forget the pleasantries, Nate? You know how thin the ice is you’re standing on. I’m here to throw you a lifeline before it splits apart right under you. So drop the tough guy act and let’s talk.”
Nathan’s hand trembled on the door, wanting desperately to shut it in Blackwell’s face. But he knew he couldn’t. Blackwell arriving in person meant he needed something. And though Nathan hated to admit it, he was dying to know what it was.
A few seconds later, they sat on the battered furniture inside the murky hotel room. Nathan felt particularly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t because of Blackwell. His eyes kept sliding over to where a large stain had darkened the faded carpet. It looked suspiciously like mold, which practically made his throat tighten in protest. His fingers drummed against the cheap pleather surface of the armchair, his left foot tapped rapidly against the ratty carpet as if trying to break off at the ankle.
Blackwell didn’t appear to notice the lackluster condition of his surroundings. “I understand you’re planning a jaunt to St. Augustine. Fascinating little pieces of history in that town. First and oldest city in America. It’s funny — you don’t learn that in your history class. They tell you the first city was Jamestown. But what’s true is it’s the oldest American city. Not the oldest city in America. Misinformation, Nathan. Entire histories are built on it.”
Nathan shifted in his thinly-cushioned seat. “Can you get to the point, Alex? I have things to do.”
Blackwell blinked as though his point was obvious. “Misinformation. You know a lot about it, don’t you? After all, the detailed findings in your Blurred Man reports managed to unearth some pretty damning evidence that several intelligence agencies are scrambling to deny. You’re the focus of several high-level investigations against your person, did you know that? If they can assassinate your character in the eyes of the media, they figure they can distract the fickle public to focus on other less disastrous subjects. You know, like reality television and the next innovative cell phone. Misinformation, fake news, propaganda — whatever you want to call it, it’s been the tool of choice for those seeking to mislead and control the populace for literal centuries.”