A woman sat by herself in front of a desk in a large office. The clothes she was wearing were as disheveled as her hair. She sat slumped on a desk chair, her eyes staring at the ground deep in thought.
Above her on the walls was a collage of photos all strung together with an intricate web of string. Some of the photos were of people’s faces and others were of blurry landscapes. Among the pictures were an assortment of sticky notes with tiny notes scrawled across them. In fact, there was little empty space on any of the papers.
In the center of it all, above the desk was the picture of a young boy. Where other photos were covered in pins, notes, and string, his was untouched. The women raised her head to look at the picture and tears came to her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Moving slowly, she opened the drawer in the center of the desk in front of her and pulled out a bottle of red wine. She uncorked the bottle and her eyes fluttered shut as the scent of cherries hit her nostrils. Her lips trembled as she brought the bottle to her lips.
With a sudden burst of anger, she flung the bottle away from herself and it smashed against the wall. Several photos were doused in red wine and broken glass tinkled to the laminated floor.
Screaming she swept a hand across the desk, knocking notebooks, photos, and other objects to the ground. With a few fumbling starts she managed to upend the desk and send it careening off to one side, one of the legs breaking off as it fell.
Panting in rage she stared at the desk a moment before closing her eyes. Chin trembling, she marched over and yanked the drawer of the desk open. A small metal box clattered out onto the floor and she picked it up with trembling hands.
Cradling the box even as her body shook, she walked back over to the desk chair and slumped into it. For several seconds she stared down at the dull black metal box before she flicked the clasp and opened it.
Nestled in the padding was a small revolver with two bullets next to it. Still trembling she pulled the gun out and slowly opened the cylinder.
“Remember that Christmas we went to your grandmother’s,” she asked aloud as she spun the empty cylinder, “that last Christmas before she died?”
Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and massaged the barrel of the empty gun against her temple.
“You were five years old. Your father and I had spent the entire night driving to her house in the worst snowstorm. We nearly slid off the road several times and I prayed that whole night that we would make it safely.”
She smiled.
“You slept the entire time, completely oblivious to what was going on.”
“When we finally arrived, having made the two hour drive in four hours, your grandma was waiting for us by the door. We hadn’t told her we were coming, but somehow she knew.”
Tears streamed down the woman’s face as she opened her eyes again and tapped the gun against the metal case.
“She knew that we would come when the hospital released her. When she lied and said the doctor told her she had many more years to live, she knew we’d know the truth.”
With a shaking hand she picked up one of the bullets and slid it into the cylinder.
“For that one Christmas everything was perfect, no one was dying, no one was leaving, everything was as it should be.”
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the other bullet and inspected it.
“But it was a lie, a lie everyone knew except you.”
She loaded the bullet into the gun, wondering why she was bothering with the second bullet but not wanting to stop either.
“I dedicated my life to lying to you. Keeping you safe from the horrors I knew were out there and making sure you would never know about them until you were ready.”
Her hand started shaking violently and she nearly jostled the bullets out of the cylinder. She snapped it shut and took several deep breaths as her body shook.
“But even I couldn’t protect you from what I didn’t know was out there. The hell that lies underneath everything, the lie that is reality.”
Looking up from the gun she stared at the photo of the small boy, the tears drying on her eyes as coldness entered her body.
“I couldn’t find you, but maybe I wasn’t looking in the right place.”
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the gun and held it against her head. Her hand trembled as she held it there, her eyes locked onto the round blue eyes of the little boy on the wall.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a sob before closing her eyes and pulling the trigger.
She was met with a loud click and her eyes flashed open with a gasp. Heart thudding in her chest she stared at the gun in bewilderment. A thought occurred to her and she quickly opened the cylinder and looked inside.
Shaking her head, she sighed and spun the cylinder so one of the two bullets was aligned with the barrel.
“Come on Nel,” she chided herself as she raised the gun to her head again, “you know better.”
This time her hand didn’t seem to tremble as bad and somehow the impact of what she was doing seemed lessened. Staring at her son’s eyes this time she felt shame and somewhat embarrassed.
Closing her eyes against these thoughts she massaged the trigger with her finger, willing herself to pull it.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself, “come on.”
With a cry she flung the gun away where it clattered against the wall. Her eyes drifted longingly to the small puddle of wine that had formed at the base of the wall. A flickering thought crossed her mind to try and drink it, but she waved it away in disgust.
Instead she leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling.
“Well now what,” she asked herself with a sigh.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head sadly wondering how long it would be before she worked up the courage to retrieve the gun and try again or if she’d give up and come back another day.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud from behind her. Eyes flashing open with a frown she whirled in the chair to stare at the metal door leading to a storage closet. It was a space of shelves and inanimate objects, nothing mechanical or living was inside that space.
Yet sure enough, something thudded four times against the metal door in quick succession.
Quickly rising to her feet, she walked over and retrieved the gun she had thrown. She aimed it at the door and walked forward steadily.
The thuds came again, and she thought she could hear something else, a muffled voice perhaps.
Her hand drifted to the door handle and she held it there for a moment. A brief thought that she might have gone insane crossed her mind or some danger lurked behind the door, but in either case she’d have to open it eventually.
Taking a breath she flung the handle down, kicked the door open, and backed up several feet with the gun leveled.
“Whoa, don’t shoot!”
Nel frowned as a middle aged man in a hospital gown held his hands up. His hair was as disheveled as hers and his hospital gown was stained with red, black, and oily smears. The man stank of body odor and oddly fish.
“Who the hell are you,” she asked with equal parts confusion and fear.
The man’s eyes searched hers a moment before he licked his lips to respond.
“My name’s John.”
#
The woman’s hands were shaking, and John didn’t like how unhinged she seemed. His eyes flickered to the wall behind her and he saw a large collection of photos on the wall connected with string. He briefly wondered if she was some kind of serial killer, but for whatever reason he wasn’t getting that impression from her.
“How did you get in there?”
John frowned, telling her the truth didn’t seem like a good idea but what else could he say?
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
John shook his head still trying to process what was going on. A second ago he had stepped into the purple orb in a dark place and the next he was in a dark storage room full of shelves. Glancing around he saw the shelves were lined with labelled boxes.
“Start talking,” she said interrupting his thoughts, “how the hell did you get in there?”
“I’m worried you’ll think I’m crazy and shoot me if I tell you.”
“You’re about to be shot anyway, so you might as well take the risk.”
Taking a deep breath John tried piecing together different ways to explain what happened. Yet it seemed the more he thought about how to say it the worse it got.
“Ah hell,” he said rolling his head around, “I was teleported here.”
She blinked but remained silent.
“I stepped into a purple orb of energy or something and it brought me here.”
The woman shook her head slowly.
“You’re lying.”
“Look,’’ said John in exasperation, “I know how it sounds but it’s the truth. It was a purple orb about the size of a soccer ball. When I stepped into it… whatever it was, I was instantly transported into this room. I don’t know why it brought me here, what it is, or how it works but-.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“It’s true, the orb…consumes…the space around itself until it comes into contact with someone. When it came into contact with me I was taken from where I was-.”
“Stop,” she said in annoyance, “I’m familiar with the orb.”
John blinked.
“You are?”
“Of course, I’m aware that it is capable of transporting sentient organic matter of any size from one point in space time to another in an entirely different dimension.”
John wasn’t sure how to respond so he remained silent.
“But the reason I don’t believe you is that it’s a rift designed to be a one-way ticket to the Shelf. It wouldn’t have even appeared in the Shelf dimension, let alone transport you to another point outside of the Shelf, it doesn’t work that way.”
“The Shelf?”
She smirked.
“See I knew you were lying. The Shelf is a dark dimension with a flat rocky exterior that extends infinitely in either direction, hence the name Shelf.”
John frowned.
“I know,” she said with a head shake, “I wasn’t the genius who named it. Point is I know you’re lying because the purple orb would have taken you there.”
“But I was taken there.”
She raised her eyebrow.
“Ok look, I take it you’re familiar with Darkshield?”
“I’m an employee.”
“Ok, well I assumed you were somebody normal and wouldn’t believe my story. The whole story is that I was in a large garden in Darkshield when a purple orb there took me to the Shelf. Once in the Shelf I found another purple orb that brought me here.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Without proper head gear? The Memory Fishers would have overwhelmed you almost immediately.”
“Memory Fishers?”
“The sole inhabitants of the Shelf.”
“Large blob creatures that can sprout new limbs?”
Her gun lowered slightly.
“I ran into one.”
“Impossible,” she said, though not as confidently he noticed, “they utilize the memories of their prey to keep them occupied in a hallucination. While the prey is distracted, they move in and consume them.”
“But I was able to realize the memories weren’t real.”
Now the gun was aimed at the floor and a look of genuine curiosity was on her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“I was able to find things that were wrong with the hallucinations. For instance, in one of them I was bald. As you can see, I’m not bald, never have been.”
A dark look came across her face and she raised the gun again.
“That’s not how it works. The Memory Fishers only utilize memories found within their prey’s mind. They aren’t capable of crafting new memories.”
“I wasn’t alone, maybe that’s why it didn’t work.”
“Who was with you?”
“A young man,” a sudden burst of emotion came out of nowhere and John found it hard to continue speaking, “his name…his name was Mathew.”
A strange look came over the woman’s face and the gun lowered again.
“Mathew? Mathew Castle by any chance?”
“I don’t know,” said John slowly, “he never told me his last name.”
Her gaze drifted to the floor in thought.
“And you probably wouldn’t recognize him based on sight given how dark that realm is.”
She looked up at him curiously.
“Think you could recognize his voice?”
“I guess.”
She sighed before stepping back further into the room with the gun still aimed at the floor.
“Move over to the computer.”
Hesitantly John stepped through the doorway and into the office. The photos across the wall were unnerving. The overturned desk and what looked to be a shattered bottle of wine in the corner made it worse.
Finding the computer she was referring to he frowned. It was a dinosaur of a machine with a boxy design that reminded him of an older model his parents owned when he was a kid.
“Turn it on.”
John saw a nearby desk chair and gently guided it over, keeping his other hand in the air. Sitting down in front of it he examined the bulky device.
“Well?”
“I’m having trouble finding the power button. Or should I be looking for a cranking handle of some kind?”
She let out a sigh of frustration, but something about it suggested she was fighting back a smile.
“It’s underneath the monitor, you have to hold it for a second.”
Finding the button he turned the device on. He was surprised to find up it booted up in a matter of seconds. A quick glance at the interface told him that not only was the operating system relatively modern, it was likely custom made.
“Ok, pull up the search bar and type in exactly what I say.”
Following her instructions he was able to generate a collection of audio files labeled with people’s names.
“Click on Mathew Castle’s.”
Finding the file he clicked it open. A new program appeared and a familiar young man started speaking.
“Of course I want the rehab to work. But it’s my seventh time in this program. I just don’t know if I’m capable of finally kicking the habit.”
John slumped back in the chair as memories of the young man’s final moments came to him. Unable to control his emotions he felt a tear roll down his cheek as he listened to the young man talk.
“That’s him isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” John said with difficulty, “it sounds just like him.”
There was a clattering of metal and John turned to see that the woman had opened the cylinder on the revolver and was dumping the bullets into one of her shaking hands. He noted that strangely there were only two that came out.
“Mathew went missing from a rehab in Oakland, California four months ago. The video feeds to his room cut out, but an eyewitness report says that a purple orb appeared in his room, ‘ate him’, and disappeared.”
Once the bullets were in her hand she made a fist and shook it a few times in thought.
“Darkshield suspected he was transported to the Shelf but given how dangerous that realm was they felt it was likely he died and his case was shelved permanently.”
She opened her fist again to stare at the bullets that rested in her palm.
“Judging by your reaction I’m guessing something bad happened to him.”
“One of the…Memory Fishers got to him.”
“Did it undergo instant putrefaction after consuming him?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but both he and the thing turned into a puddle of goop if that’s what you’re asking.”
Nodding she walked over to one of the walls and searched the faces in the photos. Spotting one she reached up and yanked a mug shot of a young man from the wall. She took a moment to stare down at him before she crumpled the photo up and tossed it into a corner. She then pulled down a number of strings that had been pinned to his portrait.
John watched her for a moment wondering who on earth she was. She had stated she was a Darkshield employee of some kind, but he couldn’t begin to guess what her job might be. He noticed a picture of a young boy by itself in the center of the web of photos.
He was tempted to ask her about it, but decided it was best to let her stay in control of their interactions for a moment.
“Thank you.”
“For what,” he asked.
“In this line of work we’re often asked to make judgment calls on whether a person is likely to survive a trip to another dimension. We also come across individuals who’ve been transported but are too far gone mentally and sometimes physically to identify themselves. Often times most missing person cases go unsolved.”
She gestured broadly to the photos on the wall.
“These are the ones that I felt had a possibility of being alive, but no real way to confirm it. Every now and then I’m able to take some of the photos down, but most remain up there…likely forever.”
Tapping a hand against the wall she gave him a funny look.
“I have the feeling you’re a decent guy, but I’d be a fool to trust you right away.”
“Why not,” asked John even as he mentally agreed with her.
“Well for one thing,” she said studying him, “you’re rather underdressed.”
John looked down at his filthy hospital gown and nodded. He was also aware that he was sitting on her desk chair and felt guilty about it.
“I’d guess you were transported at random from a hospital, much like Mathew was, but then you said it happened in a garden in the Darkshield facility.”
“Yeah, a large atrium or something.”
“Are you an employee?”
John was tempted to lie, but he waited too long and was forced to go with the truth.
“No, I’m not.”
“Anomalously affected or a test subject?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where were you before you woke up in the facility?”
Again the temptation to lie came up again, but this time John suppressed it. Besides, based on her tone he had the feeling she probably knew anyway.
“At my execution.”
She nodded, turning to stare at the photos.
“I’m not familiar with most of the operations of the corporation, but I know enough. People are brought in from time to time to assist with the maintenance of Anomalies or the testing of new ones.”
“I take it it’s not voluntary.”
She tilted her head side to side a few times.
“Some are, some aren’t. But those who volunteer are charged with maintenance, in your case I imagine you were destined for testing.”
“Why’s that?”
“More expendable.”
John could see she was trying to gauge his reaction, as if testing him. He watched her remove the bullets from the gun and her calm and relaxed demeanor suggested she wasn’t worried about him attacking her. Not that she had any reason in the first place, but it was unsettling nonetheless.
“I’m not trying to cause trouble and I didn’t mean to…break into your office,” he said standing up, “but I’m not interested in being a guinea pig for this company given the insanity I’ve seen, so I intend to leave.”’
“You’re welcome to leave, but it won’t do you any good.”
“Because you’re going to stop me?”
She smiled and slumped to sit on the floor. She popped open the cylinder of the gun and started spinning it slowly, distractedly.
“Go ahead and leave, I won’t stop you.”
John watched her for a moment and wondered if she was going to reload the gun and shoot him if he tried to leave. Deciding he was going to chance it he started looking around the office for the door leading out. In a matter of seconds he realized why she wasn’t worried about him leaving.
Apart from the storage room, there weren’t any other doors.
“Now you see why I was confused about how you got in here.”
“If you got in here there must be a way out.”
She nodded.
“I have my ways.”
Growling in frustration he pushed himself up out of the seat. She was startled by his sudden outburst and stopped spinning the cylinder, her gaze narrowed as she watched him.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing or if you’re drunk or something,” he said motioning to the broken bottle of wine, “but I’m not staying here and waiting for some new horror to come pouring through the walls or another purple orb to pop out of nowhere and take me to some god forsaken dimension.”
He brought himself under control a little bit by taking a few deep breaths. Once he felt more calm he spoke slowly and clearly.
“Can you please help me get out of here and somewhere safe?”
She studied him for a moment before spinning the cylinder of her gun again. When she remained silent for several seconds John let out a breath and nodded.
“Ok fine, then let’s just sit here and wait for a horde of mannequins or something to show up and take us out. Can I claim one of those bullets of yours?”
“Horde of mannequins?”
“Yeah, they look and act like us until you put a bullet in their head and their skin slops off.”
She frowned and looked over at him, her finger resting on the cylinder.
“I’m aware of the type of mannequin you’re talking about, but to my knowledge it’s under containment, has been for twenty some odd years or so.”
“Well it isn’t and it’s currently causing chaos. Nearly killed me and…”
His voice trailed off when he remembered Conrad and Avarlon. With everything that happened he realized he wasn’t sure what their fate was.
“The mannequin broke containment?”
“You keep saying it like there’s only one, but I’ve seen at least a dozen or so. And yeah I’d say they broke containment.”
She met his gaze a moment before scoffing and returned to spinning her cylinder.
“Not possible.”
“Well it is possible, and I’m guessing some other things have broken containment as well.”
“Such as?”
“A fidget spinner of death, the purple orb, some weird man who can tear himself apart.”
The woman was suddenly on her feet and snapped the cylinder shut.
“What man?”
“I don’t know,” said John confused by her sudden interest, “he looked like one of the researchers, but it wasn’t him. A…friend of mine tried to hurt him, but he seemed impervious to the damage. He’d get impaled and rip his body apart to free himself, open holes in his body to avoid bullets, that kind of thing.”
Her eyes flickered back and forth between his for a while before she shook her head.
“It’s not possible, that would mean a massive containment breach. We’re talking a code red level of breach, possibly even code black.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I would say that’s what’s going on.”
She shook her head again and pointed to something in the corner. John looked and simply saw a filing cabinet with a blue lava lamp on top.
“That’s not possible, if a massive breach occurred like the one you’re talking about happened I’d have been notified.”
“Maybe whoever is meant to warn you couldn’t.”
“Not possible.”
“Well then check in with them,” said John, feeling a little frustrated, “because that’s happening right now and I’m not sure why you’re in the dark about it.”
Again, her eyes darted between his before she stormed past him to the filing cabinet. To his surprise she grabbed the lava lamp and quickly turned it upside down. The wax globules inside were jostled a bit but soon resumed their steady rise and fall.
The woman stood there for quite some time before she turned to face him. John was shocked at the horrified expression on her face.
“I need you to tell me everything you know about what’s going on.”
Author’s Note:
I hope you’re enjoying Darkshield: John’s Arc 2. A new chapter comes out free every week and next week’s chapter will be available on November 9, 2020.
If you enjoy receiving it in serial fashion than feel free to support the project through Patreon. You can find a community of readers like you who enjoy this world I’m creating and want to see it grow by providing whatever support they can. My Patreon page can be found by clicking here.
Finally, if your finances are tight right now or you have mixed feelings about the book and aren’t sure you want to support a weirdo, then keep reading for free as the chapters come out every week. I’m doing this for fun and I’m appreciative of anyone who’s coming along for the ride.