The Eidolon (28 page)

“Are you saying he’s been around for...”

“He’s far older than you can imagine, and he’s growing more powerful with each passing age. The energies are changing, just like before.”

Where have I heard that before? I pause for a minute, thinking, before it comes to me. “When I was in Tibet, I met a monk who said something about that. Some old legend about water flowing from one lake into another, the wrong way; ‘energy was shifting between worlds’ is what he said.”

“Truth, not legend. You see, there are points on the planet which act like conduits for energy from all worlds. The exact locations of most have been lost over time, but we know that Lake Manasarovar and Lake Rakshastal – the Lake of Consciousness and the Lake of Demons – are one of those points. Gateways to other realities.”

I remember being at the lakeside – the flash of grey, the black sphere, the sound of whispering. The dread.

“You sensed it, didn’t you? At the Lake of Demons?” Sattva says.

“I felt... something...”

“That is the world Amos is trying to create.”

“So why is he so desperate to sabotage the experiments?”

“Amos knows that men fear what they don’t understand, and he wants to keep it that way. He sees the experiments as a threat, because through them we will begin to decipher the nature of consciousness. And that may well unravel his existence.”

“But if Amos is what you say he is, why didn’t he just destroy the Collider himself?”

“That’s not how he works,” says Arcos. “He can’t change mankind’s reality of his own accord; only man can do that. But he can influence the choices men make. CERN is a fortress of united minds, all intent on the same goal, and collective purpose is powerful. That’s why he needs someone like you and your father. He needs to break it from the inside.”

Sattva is staring at the flames in the fireplace. “I can’t help but feel this is part of something bigger. He’s on the move again. All the signs point to it: the economy destabilising, climate change, the rise in fear. He’s planning something.”

“What?” I breathe.

“I don’t know. But the experiments are a threat to his endeavours. And you are our only link to Amos.” He turns to me. “What else is ORB involved in?”

“I only had access to the CERN project, and they wouldn’t tell me about the others. But there was something in a restricted area...”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure what – I only glimpsed it. But there was this huge tank of what looked like a pillar of mist, spinning like a tornado.”

Crowley glances at Sattva. “Maybe it’s something to do with why we can’t sense them.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“We should have some sense of Cora and your father; a signature of their consciousness in the Field,” Crowley says. “But there’s nothing from them.”

“Does that mean they’re dead?”

“No,” Sattva says. “Their imprint would still be there. It’s as if something is shielding or blocking it.”

Crowley turns from the fire towards me, the irritation and disdain softened in the light of the flames. “So, do you still want to call the police?”

I get up and walk to the window. The rain has stopped, the cloud has cleared the moon and a shaft of silver light illuminates the rooftops.

“As soon as Amos finds out I’ve reneged, it’s over for them.”

“We’ll keep searching, Robert,” says Sattva. “But if you do as Amos asks, you could be assisting him in something far worse.”

“Even if I do nothing, Amos could still disable CERN. If they crack the admin access in time, they’ll initiate the attack from ORB.”

Balaquai joins me at the window. “Can you remember the layout of ORB? Picture it in your head?”

I remember the tunnels, the white fluorescent panels, the Hub...

There’s a subtle change in the light. I turn to see the stones around each of their necks glowing like low-watt light bulbs.

Crowley shakes his head and growls. “Ach. It’s not enough, I’m not getting a sense of it.”

“Robert,” says Sattva. “Did you bring anything back from ORB? Anything at all that connects it to you?”

“No. Amos gave me the notebook later. The only things I brought back were the clothes I had on. Why?”

“Objects carry imprints of events that happen around them in their subatomic structure. That extra focus can make the difference, when it comes to accessing your memories.”

Crowley glances at Sattva. “It might be enough.”

B
ALAQUAI AND
C
ASIMIR
, two dead men, accompany me back to my apartment. To say I feel self-conscious is an understatement, but the few people around don’t seem to notice.

“Doesn’t this bother you?” I say, turning to Casimir.

“What?”

“This? The way things have turned out. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Bother me?” He snorts. “Why would it bother me?”

“Well, there’s never been any evidence for anything like this.”

“Evidence? You still needevidence? How about what your eyes are telling you?”

“But doesn’t that unsettle you? I mean you’re
here,
you’re talking to me. You shouldn’t
be
. You’re...” – I pause as a couple pass then whisper the next word – “... dead.”

“Robert, I was an old man. Everything I looked at was blurred. My bones ached every time I stood up. I had to go for a piss every two hours at night, and then I’d lie awake and wonder if that was all there was to life now. This makes more sense to me than all that, so does it bother me that it wasn’t what I expected? That technically, by the book, most people would consider me dead? No. The point is, I’m here. Look at me now. Why would it bother me?”

He has a point. “Can other people see you?”

“Let’s see,” says Balaquai. He winks at a brunette walking towards us, dressed for an evening out. “Hi,” he says, giving her a sultry smile. She smiles back, coy and a little flustered. “Apparently so.”

“But to answer your question, it depends on whether or not we want to be seen.” Casimir says.

“What about Aiyana?” I ask.

“What about her?”

“It seems to be getting to her.”

Balaquai glances at Casimir. “She’s not adjusting all that well. She only transitioned last week. She’s a quick learner, but she’s still clinging to her life before. She keeps disappearing to do ‘normal things’.”

“Like cleaning tables in a cafe?”

“Exactly. It’s not uncommon, particularly when you have a violent transition.”

“Why? What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“Yeah,” says Balaquai. “Just as she left work one night last week, and all for a flash drive. I found her wandering around Los Angeles, not long after that, in a bit of a state.”

“What was on the drive?”

“I didn’t ask. She’s desperate to find the guy who killed her, but she’s never going to settle if she doesn’t let it go. If she finds him, she’ll want revenge, and that just makes things complicated. She’s developing the abilities of an Eidolon, but being stuck in the past is holding her back.”

We pass the boulangerie on the corner, where the plump woman with the blue paper cap will be opening up in a few hours’ time. And I thought life was complicated before I bought that croissant from her.

“Nice place,” says Casimir when we reach the apartment block. “Is this where you’ve been staying?” He cranes his neck up at the whitewashed stone walls and iron window boxes.

“Courtesy of Victor Amos.” I fumble with the keypad until the door clicks open.

“I’ll wait here,” says Balaquai. “Remember – anything that you brought back from ORB. Be quick.”

When we reach the door to the apartment, Casimir puts his hand on my shoulder. “Wait here,” he says. He walks through the door. He doesn’t open it; he walks
through
the door, like it’s made of mist. Another rule broken. Another segment of sanity down the toilet.

The door opens from the inside and Casimir steps back. He scans the corridor again before closing it. “How did you...” I begin, but he shakes his head.

“Not here. Get your stuff.”

The apartment is as I left it. No signs of any disruption. Moonlight floods in through the windows. I keep the lights off and go to the bedroom, into the dressing room, and pick up the plastic orange hospital bag at the back of a shelf, the notebook and the rucksack, and place them on the bed. Opening the orange bag slowly, holding it up to the moonlight, I see my old jeans, boots and T-shirt, and suddenly I feel uncomfortable wearing the clothes I’m in. Like they’re someone else’s. A shiver slithers down my spine.
He dressed you. Dressed you ready for the stage.

“Robert?” Casimir’s voice comes from the next room.

“Alright.”

I turn to walk out and see the small foil goblet sitting on the bedside table, glinting in the pallid light. I pick it up gently, seeing her wrap it round her finger, forming it carefully, lovingly. I pick up a box of cufflinks, empty them out and place the goblet inside. It goes into the rucksack along with the notebook and the bag of clothes. I stand for a moment, picturing her in our bed, in our flat in Middlesbrough, her dark red hair loose on the pillow.
What has he done to you, Cora?

Casimir appears at the door. “Robert, we need to go.”

W
HEN WE GET
back to La Caverne, the bar is empty. Rosinda is stacking the chairs on top of the tables, and smiles at us. It’s not her usual wide, flirtatious smile; it is tinged with concern, like she knows what’s coming.

The old stairs creak as we climb and raised voices reach us from above.

“Why not? Is it really asking too much?” It’s Aiyana; she sounds angry.

“I’ve told you, it won’t help anyone.” Crowley just as angry. “And we’ve got other things we have to be dealing with right now.”

“Other things? Well, I’m sorry if this doesn’t rank in your priorities, but it’s pretty damned important to me. I was murdered. Did you get that? Murdered.”

“So what? I was murdered once, myself. Get over it.”

“Arcos is not one for dwelling on misfortunes,” Sattva says, ever the mediator.

Crowley grumbles before he answers. “No is my final word on the subject.”

“What does she want him to do?” I whisper.

Balaquai turns to me, his voice low. “She can respond to the unconscious signals from people – like yours at the lights – but she’s not strong enough yet to tunnel unbidden, without the help of one of us.”

“Tunnel?”

“It’s when your focus on someone or something is strong enough to take you to them, instantaneously, regardless of where they are in space. She wants to find her murderer.”

I turn to Casimir. “Can you do this? Tunnel, I mean?”

“Yeah, it was easier for me – I had no resistance to death. It was easier than I thought – I got your attention when you passed my house the day I died. After our conversations about the Big Secret, I felt I owed it to you to at least get you thinking.”

“How did you do it?”

“You’d be surprised how quickly you pick things up after you die.”

Balaquai coughs as he reaches the top of the stairs and when I get there I see Aiyana standing with her arms folded, glowering. Crowley shares his look of distaste.

“Success?” Sattva smiles broadly.

I place the rucksack on the table, ignoring Aiyana’s stare, which I can feel like a hot thorn in my temple. The contents of the orange bag tumble out as I hold it upside down, along with the cufflink box. I open it and take out the goblet, and when my fingers make contact, I get the flash. The same vision – Cora, gagged and bound, being pushed into a van. When it goes, I’m left gripping the edge of the table.

Sattva’s eyes narrow. “Are you alright?”

“I saw her... her abduction. It’s the second time.”

“She’s trying to communicate with you.” Sattva leans forward and takes the goblet gently from my hand. “Is this hers?”

“She made this last night.”

Carefully, he hands it to Crowley, who holds it by its thin stem, twirling it round. “She’s still alive and she’s unharmed.” He frowns. “But I can’t see beyond it.
Ach!
” He returns the goblet to me with more gentility that I would have expected of him. “I don’t know how he’s doing it. Get changed into your clothes, Robert. You’ll get the best connection when you’re wearing them.”

I put the goblet back in its box and the box into the pocket of my jeans. “You didn’t say anything about wearing them.” I hold up the shirt, sliced roughly up the middle in large jagged cuts.

“Ah,” says Sattva.

“What the hell have you been doing with those?” Crowley’s face folds into a frown. I wonder if it’s ever even tried to smile.

“It’s a long story.”

I lift up the jeans which are no better – two flapping strips of denim loosely attached to a few pockets. Something flitters from the back pocket to the floor, landing white side up, as Balaquai lifts the clothes out of my hands and lays them on the table. I reach down to pick up what’s fallen and see him out of the corner of my eye, running his finger up the cut seam of my jeans. I freeze, half crouched. The material of the clothes is folding over and meeting, joining under his open palms as if his will is a sewing needle. A bubble of nausea swells in my stomach and my eyes linger on the jeans as I fumble with one hand to pick up whatever it was that fell to the floor. A piece of card with something scribbled on it. I flip it over. It’s the photograph that Banks dropped at the ORB entrance. The faces of three women dusted in snowflakes – the one in the middle with the dangerous eyes, just like...

I stare at her.

“What are you looking at?” she snaps.

I hand the photograph to her without speaking.

She whips it out of my hand and looks down. “Where did you get this?” her voice is no more than a whisper.

“Is there something you want to share with us?” says Sattva, glancing between Aiyana and me.

Her eyes are fixed on me as she steps forward, brandishing the photograph like a knife. “
Where
did you get this?” There’s something untamed in her eyes, like she’s hanging on by a thread. A thread that’s beginning to fray. But then, she was murdered.