The Narrative of Victor Chaldeon
The Third Notebook
I
I awoke hours later, instantly aware I was no longer in total darkness. There was enough light filling the basement from the open door at the top of the stairs to indicate it was at least late morning. My watch proved it was even later—half past noon. I had been out for hours. The second awareness was far more disturbing—I was alone. No Amanda, no Strather and, alarmingly, Rita’s corpse was gone also. Rising to my feet, it seemed that, generally speaking, I had survived the drug overdose, but my stomach was very unsettled. I felt dizzy and nauseous as I looked around, trying to get my bearings.
I went upstairs into the living room. The room was flooded in sunlight, and it took a couple minutes for my eyes to adjust, for they were still in their nocturnal mode from the previous night’s adventures. The first image I saw when normal vision returned was Strather, sitting on the couch, elbows on knees, head in hands, staring into oblivion. His shoes and trousers were covered in dirt. “Victor,” he said, in a monotone, without turning towards me. “I could tell you were alive and only sleeping. I did not want to move you in case you were injured. I thought you would agree also that this situation is best handled without the police or other authorities involved.”
“Don’t worry about any of that. Where’s Rita? I mean, you know, her body?”
“I came to a lot sooner than you, though I don’t remember anything after her trying to strangle me.” He turned towards me and I got a better look at him. There were dark purple bruises all along his neck and cuts where Rita’s nails had dug in deeply. “I assume thanks are in order.”
“Stop evading the question. I asked—“
“I am answering your question, Victor. As I said, I am running on the assumption you want to take care of this ourselves. Not bother trying to explain this to anyone.”
I nodded but said nothing so he would get on with it. He really was annoyingly long winded, no matter what the occasion.
“I didn’t know what else to do, and I have only begun so it is not too late to change the plan. I found a spot on your property and began to dig a hole.” He paused and swallowed deeply, then corrected himself. “A grave.”
I was silent a moment longer, breathing deeply, realizing what this would mean. We were breaking the law. The case file on Rita would remain unsolved, and if the evidence ever led the cops back here we would be in a lot of trouble, even more so because our explanation would seem to them either madness or complete bullshit. What was being suggested sounded sane enough, under the circumstances, and the least complicated option. If we went the police route now, we would have to tell them our story anyway. Was I shaking hands with the devil if I said “yes,” or was this uneasy alliance a necessary evil? I didn’t trust the doctor any further than I could throw him, but he could not turn me in without exposing himself either, so I decided this was the better of the two uncomfortable solutions.
“A grave” Strather had said, and those two words echoed in my head. I remembered that night Rita and Lance led me to the cemetery, the night I craved closure. Now, two words, “a grave,” led me toward that closure.
“Show me,” I answered him finally.
We walked out the back door in silence. The back lot of my house measured almost an acre and was completely fenced in, so I knew this plan was possible. As we walked in the fresh air of a spring day, my nausea and vertigo improved.
“What about Amanda, then?” I asked Strather, for he seemed to have this all figured out.
“The death was accidental, not murder,” he began. Of course there was a digression, but at least this one might answer many of the other questions I had anyway. “Earlier that night, we came here. To tell Rita we had married. The plan was to try the knowledge out on Amanda’s mother first, then move on to you. Well, things turned ugly quickly, with Rita not holding back her opinion of me, and then Amanda erupted. I had never seen her so angry. Rita ordered me out of the house and I obliged.”
We reached the huge oak tree on the far northwest corner of the lot, its limbs sprawling out several feet in all directions. Strather had dug a grave in the shade of those limbs. “She’s there,” he said, gesturing towards a lump rolled up in a tarp he must have found in the basement. I felt a chill run through me, partly from the eerie feeling that my wife was in that bundle of material, and also because Strather had handled the whole thing so efficiently I could not help but wonder if he had done this before.
“Strange you chose this place. She loved it here.”
He nodded vaguely. “Anyway,” he continued. “They argued. And I guess when Amanda pushed her, just hard enough so when she fell she hit the floor just the wrong way, and--well . . . “ His voice trailed off as though he could not come right out and say it. Amanda had killed her. Why was that still so hard to say now? “It should have ended there. She could have called me or waited for you to get home. Countless rational options were open to her.”
“But she freaked out instead,” I finished the thought for him. I walked over and grabbed one of the two shovels he had brought here, apparently pretty certain I was going to agree with his idea. I looked at him, clutching the shovel in my anxiety over what the answer might be to my next, most crucial question. “And how long have you known?”
He watched me holding the shovel tightly. Nothing was going to get past him. He made a living watching upset people. I knew I was just releasing nervous energy, and had no plans to use the shovel as a weapon no matter what his answer was, but the fact that it made him squirm did amuse me. If we were going to literally bury this whole mess, he should at least have to squirm a little bit. Feel some discomfort over the situation.
“Not until last night.” He looked at me cautiously as he answered. Sensing my disbelief, he went on, slowly and deliberately, like a shrink. “I swear that’s the truth. Why lie now, with everything else out in the open?”
I said nothing, but thought, “because you’re afraid I’m gonna use this thing, dumbass. That’s why.” And the look on his face indicated he was reading my mind. The coward actually took a couple paces back.
“Not until just last night, when I gave her the truth serum.”
“It never occurred to you a little coincidental that Rita disappeared the same night you left them there that way?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m no fool. Of course I suspected. I even asked her about it, in roundabout ways, but she only got angry, which was natural enough if she were innocent. And it seemed impossible she could have done it and covered it up so quickly. I still don’t understand how she asserted that kind of will. She must have snapped, and adrenaline did the rest.”
“So you’re saying she repressed it? Is that the right word?”
“So it seems. I had to give her a hell of a dose of the serum to get it out of her. It was buried deeply.”
I looked at the open grave below. “So we bury my wife here and never say a word to anyone. What about Amanda?”
“I have already called someone and they took her to the hospital, where I will commit her. She is still catatonic. I will take care of her. If that is okay.”
I knew what he was getting at, and let him off the hook this time. “I see no need to press charges. It was an accident. Jail isn’t going to fix her, and if I turned her in we’d be back to what we’re trying to avoid in the first place. Talking to cops.”
Then, in silence, we lowered Rita’s body into the grave, sealing our bargain. I did not want to see her body again, for I knew how defiled it was. I would rather remember the living Rita, or the one I had been visiting in Shinneh-Sirrah.
As we began filling the grave, I turned to Strather and said: “And yes, I am fine with you taking charge of her. If all you say is true, then I may be wrong about you. You’re coming down here last night proved two things. You’re braver than I gave you credit for, and you love my daughter.”
He just nodded and we finished the work at hand.
II
After we finished and Strather left me behind, I stood alone in the shade of the oak tree for a very long time, pondering all the fantastic events of the last few months leading up to the answers I had longed for. Here in the earth below was my wife’s body, a validation that, regardless of all I had experienced in ShinnehSirrah, she had been “dead,” in the traditional sense of the word, this whole time. How long? I did a quick mental calculation—Rita had been entombed in the basement for nine months, two weeks and a day.
I realized that one consequence of the pact I made with Strather was that Rita would never have any sort of formal funeral, so I knelt there at the grave, closed my eyes, and spoke aloud, softly, to my departed wife. I told her I loved her and hoped she had found some peace finally. And even though I had been an adamant atheist less than a year earlier, I found myself praying that she heard me.
The prayers were answered by silence, which frustrated me after the many contacts I had experienced with Rita after her death. Then, it struck me that the silence was not disturbing after all. In that moment I was resolved that, God or no God, whether this meant Heaven, Hell or Nirvana were real, none of that mattered; I just knew that silence was better than being haunted and it meant Rita was in a better place than she had inhabited those nine months. Shinneh-Sirrah was an ephemeral place, and wherever her spirit or soul was now was the correct place. I did not have a spiritual breakthrough in that moment, no conversion of faith, but for the first time in my life I believed there had to be some kind of afterlife that was better than that realm I had visited, and certainly better than the one I was stuck with for the time being. The silence was the answer because Rita could no longer visit me, and I let that offer me some comfort as I stood at her grave.
“Goodbye, my love. I am glad I could help. I will fulfill my valedictions. I will make sure this is all over,” I whispered, then opened my eyes, rose, and walked away.
Later that afternoon I returned to the center and learned it was being shut down. There were several large moving trucks parked in front and men were loading them with all the bizarre machinery and supplies from within. I walked inside and found Dot and Peggy in the kitchen drinking coffee. Peggy rushed to my side and embraced me tightly.
“Sorry for the smell,” I said to her. I was covered in dirt and sweat and God knew what else. I felt slimy.
“I was so worried. Strather showed up and told us the whole thing was over. He’s giving us all as much time as we need to move out, but, as you see, he’s wasting no time himself.”
“Let me clean all this mess off of me and throw away, Hell, maybe even burn these clothes. Then we can talk. For now, just trust me that I’m okay.”
“I can feel your solid flesh and bone. That’s enough for now.” Then she kissed me. We had exchanged some kisses before, held each other in bed at night, but this was different. This was a long, passionate kiss that held some deeper meaning. In that moment I knew, at some level, we would be together for a long time. It was a kiss that indicated relief, and that it really mattered, deep down in her soul, that I was safe, and I exchanged the kiss with all the same passion that told her this was true for me as well.
The three of us were up late into the night, catching each other up on the previous night’s events. Everything had happened at once the night before, so it was impossible to know how much of Rita’s resurrection, and subsequent relenting of her revenge, was attributed to the work of my two psychic friends, Lance, myself, or Rita’s own will, but I thanked them again for their help.
III
Dot left the center and moved to New York to live with one of her grandchildren, returning to her humble existence as occasional psychic consultant to police precincts all over the country. Tom and Alice’s whereabouts were still unknown. All the staff had deserted the place. Only Peggy and I were left in that big Victorian house. We packed our belongings the same day Dot left and went to my house. I knew I needed a new place to live, but I had to stay in town long enough to know what Strather was up to. There was my promise to Lance and Rita to keep, and the simple fact that the center was shut down was not enough. The machines were intact and the drug was still out there. Even if Tom and Alice had taken it all, which I doubted, I did not trust the doctor or his colleagues not to begin the experiments anew if the opportunity arose.
On our way to my house, I had filled out the necessary paperwork and paid the exorbitant costs required to get my power restored the same day. We also bought some food and Peggy began cooking as I scouted around, inspecting the house for the first time in broad daylight and without a million things on my mind. It was dwindled down to only about a thousand now.
When I returned to the kitchen, it was filled with the scents of a tasty Italian dinner. As I opened some wine, Peggy spoke the first words either of us had in hours. “Where do we go from here, Victor? Are you staying here?”
“I need to move,” I answered, pouring the wine. “Probably far away. I won’t be anywhere near my daughter, if she is ever truly my daughter again, but that is the only downside. There is one more thing to do. Then, I will leave. I’ll sell this place and—well, pray that Strather and I dug that grave deeply enough.”
I offered her a glass of wine and took a long draw from my own. Then she asked me: “And the one more thing?”
“I have to know this is over. I owe to all of us, the living and the dead. I don’t know what Lance’s fate will be, but he sacrificed a lot to help me and send me back. I need to know Strather’s intentions. Limit his choices.”
She looked at me and smiled. “This is all crazy and moving very fast. But I need to add one more thing to the mix. I’m not sure how to say this.”
“I think I know what that is. If I’m right, let me just say I would really like it if we stayed together.” She was smiling wider now. “I wasn’t sure how to say it either. On one hand, it’s way too soon. But if we can still take it slowly, well . . . I can’t say I love you, not yet. I have to mean that when I say it. But life would be a lot better if you were around.”
She had walked over to me, looking into my eyes as I spoke, and when she reached me we kissed again.
“I have nobody else and I have all the time in the world,” she said softly and then we embraced. “I really didn’t want to leave. It is weird that this is your house.”
“Yeah, for sure. We’ll stay here until all is settled. In separate rooms. I think that’s best. Then, we will go somewhere else, together.”
It would be a lie to say I felt completely comfortable then, making that commitment to Peggy. This was the first day I had spent in “my” house, which had been “our” house—Rita’s and mine—for years. I still felt like a bit of an adulterer even though I was a widower, and Peggy and I had not made love. But there was still a slight “ick” factor to my growing relationship with Peggy, and the feeling I was casting Rita aside too easily. But as I said at the start, this is a tale of grey areas and matters of the heart, and that has not changed, even now, as I come closer to the end.
IV
Though I tried to contact Strather, follow him, did all in my power to uncover his intentions, he proved as elusive as ever. My house has sold for a ridiculously large profit and Peggy and I moved into an Extended Stay place and put the things we wanted to take with us in storage. Though all the other loose ends were being tied, the future of Strather and his work was still a mystery. But then, just like at other crucial points along this surreal journey, it was when I grew most discouraged that help came from the most fantastic of sources.
Peggy had gone to the store, and I was sitting in the living/dining area of our hotel room, on a typical day about three months after the night in the basement, not having experienced a single paranormal event since, when Lance suddenly appeared before me. At first, he was only there for a flicker of an instant, and I thought his image was the product of a drug flashback. Then, moments later, he appeared again, flickering in and out of phase and engulfed in the all too familiar amber light. His mouth moved but I could not hear anything. Then he looked like he was screaming again and he vanished.
Still assuming I was hallucinating, I got up and drank a glass of water. Then, Lance appeared again, this time as though he was there in the flesh, yet still surrounded by the light.
“Can’t . . . hold it . . . for long, Victor,” he said, straining out the words. “Very difficult to fight them and . . . make it over.”
I walked back into the living room and asked him: “why are you here?”
He winced in pain and then blurted out, this time with no pauses: “I am here to take you to where the machines are.”
“No shit. Is Strather using them?”
“Not sure.” Still every word was a struggle. “Saw other men there. We must destroy them. Can’t . . .” More screams. “Take any chances.”
“Of course.”
“You have taken so much of the drug.” Long pause again and more wincing. “You have more power than you know. Suppressing it.”
“I’m suppressing it?”
“Yes.” Then he cried out, doubled over in pain as though punched in the gut. “Must go back . . . trust me . . . drink once more.”
And then he was gone.
I sat at the dining room table for a long time, staring at the jar in front of me. It still contained many times more of the drug than even what I ingested that fateful night I had fully crossed over. I had made a pact with Peggy that I would keep it but only use it if we mutually agreed. But this was Lance asking for my help, and he was in so much pain, and had done so much to help me. I took a huge gulp and an instant later I was gone.
In Shinneh-Sirrah, Lance was right there waiting for me. “I’m glad you trusted me,” he said. On this side of the portal, he was free. It seemed he was only being tortured by the others when he tried to cross over.
He took my hand and told me to close my eyes. I sensed we were floating freely in space, and when he commanded me to open my eyes again I felt my feet on solid ground. We were in a large warehouse filled with all the items taken from the center. There were four men working there, testing the machines and measuring out the drug from large barrels into syringes.
“They cannot see or hear us right now, Victor. We don’t have much time before our enemies in Shinneh-Sirrah know what we’re up to. You must figure out where this place is, so you can return.”
I walked over to a window and looked outside. “Yes, I know these streets. I can find it again.”
“Then it’s all up to you,” he said. “I will try to stay in touch, but I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Please don’t fail.”
He let go of my hand and I was instantly back at the table in the motel as though the previous encounter had never happened. I stashed the drug away before Peggy returned. “Great,” I thought. “We’re not even technically a couple, and I already have my first secret to keep from her.”
The second secret came late the following night, and that night I also added arson to my list of necessary sins. I found the warehouse and made sure it was empty. I was able to break in without setting off any alarms. I guess the new owners of all this crap didn’t think it looked like anything worth stealing. I had no idea how to do this, so I just spread gasoline all over the place and lit a match.
I was astounded by how quickly the whole place was engulfed in flames, and suddenly realized I was in trouble if I didn’t get the hell out of there. I ran toward an exit but lost my footing and fell to the ground. I rose quickly to my feet, but an instant later the flames reached something highly flammable and an explosion rocked the whole warehouse. The force of the explosion sent me airborne, crashing into one of the machines they used to strap us into. The flames grew more intense and I was in very deep trouble.
Then I remembered Lance’s words—“You have more power than you know. You’re suppressing it.” This gave me a thought, a highly irrational thought, but I entertained it nonetheless, hoping only to save my ass. I willed myself, with all my might, into Shinneh-Sirrah . . . . . . and it worked. I was safe and sound, drifting again in the world of dreams and nightmares, and then I used the same amount of will to transport myself outside the warehouse, no, I thought, more specifically, into my car . . . . . . and that worked also.
In mere seconds, I had been to three distinctly different places in two realms of existence.
As I sat at the wheel of my rental car, slightly burned and smelling of smoke, but safe from harm, I realized that, like Lance before he died, I had undergone the transformation. I was a bona fide tripper who no longer needed the drug for assistance. But my transformation went one step further; my body could make the trip with me. This is the phenomenon I call going in and out of phase.
As I drove away, I heard sirens in the distance, but I knew they were too late. All in that warehouse would be lost and I had kept my promise to Lance and Rita to shut Strather down.
I did not tell Peggy the details of my whereabouts that night, but she knew that something significant had gone down since we left town the very next day. We would not come back for our things in storage for several days. She didn’t ask any questions. We were both just glad to be gone.
V
The story of that year or so, from Rita’s death to my torching the warehouse, ends there. I was never contacted by any authorities, and now, two years later, it seems as though I will never be convicted of any crime. I have to resolve to the belief that my actions were justified and live with any guilt or paranoid thoughts I may have as I try to get back to some sense of “normal” life.
Peggy and I live together about a hundred miles from the city where all the craziness occurred. We slowly but passionately became lovers and are happy together. I often grieve for Rita and hope she will understand that I have found someone else who makes me happy. Neither of us desire to marry again, so Peggy doesn’t mind that I wear my wedding band in remembrance of Rita.
I never intended to tell Peggy about the night of the fire, or that I had become a tripper. I knew that somewhere Tom and Alice, or most likely Tom alone at this point since he didn’t seem like the type to share, might have made some deal with the drug. That was the main loose end, but over time I let this all fade from my memory. I had done all I could to make sure this nightmare was over.
There had been plenty of money from the sale of my house, and life was simpler in the smaller town we moved to, so we were able to survive just fine with Peggy working as a temp and me working from home.
We were on our way to normalcy.
Then, I started seeing Them again.
Of course, They were in my thoughts and nightmares often enough.
Occasionally, I imagined I saw them out of the corner of my eye, but assumed that was some kind of side-effect of the drug. But after almost a year of normal life with Peggy, the visions of the creatures from the other side increased. I would see them often, especially at night, in alleys and abandoned lots, rarely among many other people. It is as though they are trying to slowly, insidiously, infiltrate our world.
There is no way to know, of course, if these are the same creatures that came through when Lance died, or when the portal in my basement opened, or if there are other portals opening in the world, or if Tom has peddled his supply and that is the cause of their sudden reappearance in my life. Or, there is the one final possibility that is easiest for you, the reader, to entertain, though I will not—that They are not there at all, and I am crazy.
I only know that it has come to light that this is far from over. I have waged a battle and won, but there is still a war, one that was unknown to me until this all played out, and one in which I have no choice but to remain a participant.
My life is forever entangled with this other realm and its inhabitants who want to degrade our existence over here on this side of the portals they open from time to time. One might say I have done my part, and I am allowing this to become an obsession, but that brief period of time I allowed Legion to possess me taught me that, no matter what their actual intentions are, they are indeed evil. We cannot coexist with Them peacefully.
Peace is a luxury I no longer have.
They are all about me, even as I write tonight.
In the darkness I see them.
In the silence I hear them.
In my dreams I fear them.