King of the Dark Mountain (23 page)

He thought of Melton’s remarks about the grounds and pressed some buttons. The wall in front of him showed the various sides of the estate in rapid succession. Nothing looked particularly amiss except for the overcast greenish sky. That was always apparent now, probably wouldn’t do much for real estate values. Reynolds might have to give discounts of his own when he unloaded it, but that wasn’t his concern. Right now he just wanted done with this whole mess. He took a long swig of the Brandy, got up and dimmed the lights. He planned to take a long bath and turn in early for a change.

*

During the night, Chapman awoke from a terrifying dream. In it, the offspring came flooding out of the vault in an ocean of blood. He jumped out of bed and ran to the study which contained the vault. At first he thought it looked the same, but as he approached it, with a sensation of sickening realization, he saw that it was open. He started to yell for a servant, but instead he forced himself to go ahead and check on the offspring. He bent over and peered into the glass container where his son was in his eighth gestational month. He checked the tube connecting the device to a ventilator, an addition that had proved necessary after the fourth month when the smaller ventilation unit proved inadequate.

There had been worry at the time that there may have been some oxygen deprivation, but the obstetrician flown over from Paris had assured him that it was no cause for alarm. He had recommended a larger ventilator, however. The doctor had offered to stay to deliver the “specimen” at the proper time. It was the use of that term which made Chapman certain he would not make use his services.

He had decided to keep all medical personnel out of the picture, after that. It really was a matter of simply freeing the child from the container at the proper time. It was an action he looked forward to performing himself without any interference. Now he almost wished he had kept them involved. It would be useful to have help deciding when the child was really viable.

He looked at him closely and thought it could be done immediately if necessary. The obstetric manuals that he used for reference said the last month was really just a time of putting on weight. The child looked a little scrawny perhaps and its color he had to admit was a bit unusual. Maybe it was time to allow him to have real food. He reached out his hand and touched the glass container. It looked so simple now that all the earlier levels had been removed. The glass felt warm to his touch. He turned away and walked out of the vault. 

There was no reason to deliver the child before his pre-selected birthday, he decided. He wandered out of the vault, wondering why he hadn’t shut the door earlier. Had he forgotten? Was that possible? And why had he dreamed of blood? He sank down into his chair and tried to push some buttons, but the things were jammed. What in the blazes was going on? He spoke into a microphone to call for the night watchman. There were several new men who had come onboard recently. No one answered, which was disturbing as well. They were supposed to respond immediately to any summons from him. He walked outside the study and down the hall to the security desk. No one was there. “What in the bloody hell!” He yelled.

The desk was supposed to be continuously occupied. He stormed back into his study and sat down in his chair and tried to push the buttons again. He wanted to examine the security cameras, but the buttons were still jammed. He could not see any sign of anyone. “This is crazy!” he said out loud.

He was about to reach for the phone to wake up Cecily. She had an apartment on the floor below. Suddenly there was a sound that caused him to sink back into his chair and grab the arms for support. It was a loud, cavernous booming sound as though a giant iron door had been slammed shut. He could not imagine what the source could be, but it terrified him beyond anything he had ever experienced.  This was followed by the sound of footsteps. He waited frozen in place, afraid to move. Momentarily, the study door was blown open. It actually seemed to be air that moved it on its hinges and a sight met his eyes that he could not take in immediately because he had never seen anything or anyone quite like it. 

There on the threshold of his study stood the figure of a man. It looked superficially at least to be a human, but he knew immediately that it wasn’t really a human being. For one thing, it was too tall to be that. The creature was at least eight feet tall. Its large yellowish eyes were like those of a bird of prey, and its gaze bore down on him as though he were a rabbit. Chapman expected to feel talons piercing him at any second, but instead the creature walked over to the sofa and spread out over it. His legs were crossed length wise and the rest of his body seemed strewn at the opposite end. He arranged the folds of his azure colored clothing, which reminded Chapman of some of the more extravagant costumes of royalty from the seventeenth century. He threw a glance at the portrait of the king and thought there really was a similarity. The sight of the picture restored his confidence enough for him to pull himself up and inquire, “Who?” His voice quavered, but he made himself stare boldly at the thing.

The fierce eyes which had been roaming around the room came back to rest on him. He forced himself not to shrink under the horrible, yellow gaze. “People of your generation were raised on television,” it began. The voice was surprisingly gentle and musical, completely at odds with the rest of him. Chapman nodded. “There was a television character in a generationally defining melodrama set in an arena off the planet,” it paused and seemed to ponder a moment. “A character in this televised drama, defined as an alien was said to have a name no human could pronounce.”

“So you are an alien?” Chapman asked, trying not to let the rising hysteria he was feeling show in his voice.

The creature threw back its head and raised very long fingers and swept its brow. The gesture seemed strangely melodramatic. Chapman waited, then the creature said, “No, Mr. Chapman I am merely a much older denizen of this realm than art thou.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always difficult at the end for people such as yourself, unschooled in any cosmology except a narrow rationalistic mythos to understand. I blame the decline of the churches for this. Never mind that I expended a great deal of effort in bringing about that decline. I almost regret it now because at the end so much must be made clear to people like yourself all at once. In a normal case, one of my underlings would take care of the matter, but you, Mr. Chapman require special handling.”

“What do you mean ‘at the end?’” Chapman demanded.

“Oh you know exactly what I mean. It happened this evening. You should’ve had that nasty cough looked into. It really did harbinger bad news for you,” and here the creature almost lost his ferocious gaze and seemed to look somewhat regretful.

“But I’m sitting here! That makes no sense.”

“You can go look in your bed to confirm, if you like, but I don’t recommend it.”

“I dreamed of blood,” he said in a disconcerted manner and realized suddenly what the creature really represented. He felt a strange sense of relief.

“Yes and so I have come for you to add you to one of my special collections.”

“What do you mean? I’m no specimen to be added to …” he paused.

“What else would you be?”

“Why I’m a human being.”

The creature smiled broadly, showing many bright, sharp teeth. “Made in the image of God?”

“That humbug?”

The creature’s expression changed to one of boredom. “Unfortunately not, but that’s beside the point. He/She/It is no concern of yours. You have made arrangements for a different destiny.”

“I most certainly have not. You’re a humbug as well. This must be some stupid foolishness created by my dying brain. Soon you’ll be vanished, poof and so will I.”

The creature said, “No, you’ll get to spend a very long time with me. Your brain, that old puttering engine died hours ago. It’s your soul that is having the present conversation. Your miserable useless excuse for a soul is all that interests me. It’s all that matters in the human game, but most of you never realize it until it’s too late. It’s getting almost tedious how I get to collect all this useless dross.”

“But if you feel that way about it, then why bother?” the old man demanded.

“Because it’s what I signed on for ages ago, I almost forget why. Oh yes, I thought that You Know Who had made a huge blunder in creating the likes of you. I’m sure you will sympathize completely with that assessment; you hate the human race almost as much as I do. That’s one of the reasons I decided you deserved to get special attention at this critical juncture and not get discarded immediately into the pit.”

“What pit?”

“The pit that leads to the fiery depths, surely you have some rudimentary knowledge of the cosmos beyond your little earthly sphere.” Chapman shook his head. He glanced again at the portrait.

“It’s all still here. I can see it, there’s the portrait that the king gave my father.” The old man exclaimed, trying to overcome a sensation of rising dread.

“Yes they remain, but you do not. Remember how you couldn’t find a living soul around?” He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “They’re all there, but you’ve moved on. Remember how they call it moving on euphemistically? Now you understand what that means.” The creature said this all in a mocking but overly patient tone, as though the person in front of him were of very low intelligence.

“I want you out of my house, get out, none of this is real!” the old man shouted, rising up from the chair. Suddenly the cavernous thundering sound came again and he fell back startled onto his chair. There were the sounds of footsteps and the old man waited for whoever would appear. He hoped with all his heart that it would be a human being, but he knew that was not very likely. Only a fierce, customary self-possession allowed him to wait without screaming.

*

Melton was sitting in the over-stuffed chair belonging to his recently departed boss. He was smoking a cigar, relishing it mostly for the thought of how much affront it would have caused the old man. He stubbed it out, as Cecily entered the room. “I’ve taken care of everything. I checked my account balance and see that you kept up your end of the bargain.” He nodded. “I’m leaving for Geneva tonight. Is there anything else?” He shook his head. She regarded him a moment then asked. “What are you going to do with that?” She motioned with her head towards the vault.

“Of course I intend to act as caregiver for Mr. Chapman’s heir until he is of an age to come into his inheritance, what else?”

She gave him a dubious look. “It’s not normal. Have you taken a really good look at it?”

“You’re right, it’s not normal, it’s much better than merely normal.”

“There are reports of great sinkholes opening on this property. If you intend to save it and yourself I suggest you get out.” She turned around and started to leave.

“No, we’re staying. Sink holes are nothing new around here. I will stay in this magnificent mountain paradise and raise the child to become more than his father’s wildest dreams of glory.”

She turned back and looked at him suspiciously. “You have managed to acquire all his father’s other assets, I suppose it’s fitting you get that thing too.”

“Good-bye Cecily,” he said and motioned her out of the room. She turned and left. He went to the vault and pressed his cheek to the front of it. He had made a pact with himself not to go inside until the child’s delivery date. It made it seem more like a real birth somehow. “Your domain is waiting for you,” he said in a high pitched whisper. To his amazement, he thought he heard a rumbling sound coming from within in reply. It was a sound like loud, hollow thunder. Da Da. Da.