A Messenger So Dark

Haze. Sounds are flanged and echoey. Where am I? How did I get here? Bright, fluorescent lights bathe the room. I’m lying on my back, but where? Above me, figures move back and forth as I struggle for focus. As lucidity returns, I become aware that I’m unable to move. My eyes slowly comprehend that I am strapped to the table, restrained—with my arms extended to the sides.

And like a lightning bolt, agony returns to my afflicted left arm. A cry escapes me, a mutant sound of physical anguish, helplessness, and fear that comes from a place within me I didn’t know exists, a primal region of pure instinct that could give birth to enough rage to kill everyone in this room, if only I weren’t tied down.

“He’s coming around,” a man says. “Tristan, it’s all right. I’m Doctor Trask. You’re safe.”

The courteous thing would be for me to let him talk, but I’m not capable of this at the moment, so the screaming continues. He persists in speaking, raising his voice to be heard over me. “It looks like you’re having some localized pain in your arm. What we’re going to do today is called sedation therapy. It’s a combination of an aerosol version of the pain reliever you’ve been taking for the study, combined with something to help you sleep.”

I am barely conscious of what he’s saying, but the words pain reliever and help you sleep sound pretty damn appealing right now, so I don’t fight him.

“Try to stay calm,” he continues, still talking over my shouts and sobs. “Soon we’re going to put a mask on your nose and mouth. When we do, I need you to breathe as normally as you can. In between each breath, I want you to start counting down, count backwards from one hundred. Okay, Tristan, you’re doing great. Here we go.”

A black mask quickly covers my nose and mouth, muffling the sounds I’m making. For a moment, I have a feeling of suffocating, but soon air flows into the mask—light and slightly sweet-tasting.

“Count down for me, Tristan.”

A memory stirs. Never count down. They’ll want you to count down. The words of Stanislaw Kolodziej on the telephone to me last week, before I even knew who he was. His warning to me. Stay in control. Always stay in control. Yet, here I am, surrendering my control to them in just the way he warned me against.

“One hundred …” breathe “… ninety-nine …” breathe “… ninety-eight …” breathe “… ninety-sev—”

Without warning, without ceremony, without explanation, the world slips away from me, and I find myself in a place where there is no pain, no screaming, no chaos or confusion. Only tranquility, quantities of gentle light, plenty of air, and a feeling of floating upon it. I’m alive—at least I’m pretty sure—as I’m aware of my breathing. Looking at my own body, I see that wherever I am, I have no restraints on me, no mask on my face. There is no table beneath me and I’m wearing comfortable clothing. I am alone, and I feel no anxiety; just a powerful sensation of pleasant warmth.

Relieved, I close my eyes, and my thoughts carry me to a place that feels like the dreams of early sleep—the kind that come during those moments when you’re conscious enough to remember them. I grab hold of those dream images and let them take me wherever they want to go. In some, I am flying just above the ground, arms outstretched as I look at the verdant landscape below me. I feel like I could stay here forever. If I am dead, then D.N. freakin’ R.

My mind next takes me to a cruise ship, which is odd because I’ve never been on a cruise. Yet, here I am, standing at the railing of a huge, elegant vessel, looking out at the wavelets of turquoise water. Dolphins swim alongside the ship, and I swear if one of them leaps out of the water and says, “Hi, Tristan!” I will find a way to stay here forever. Stepping away from the railing, I stroll around a deck lined with lifeboats. I soon come to the bow of the ship, high above the ocean below. I stand at the railing again, cognizant of my desire to do the whole king-of-the-world thing but not needing to do it.

I’m surprised but not startled to hear a voice behind me say, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I turn around to see an attractive woman in a white sundress standing behind me. She appears to be about my age, and she has a pleasant face. She’s lovely, but it’s curious—it’s not in a way that seems to be the sum of her features. With some women, I think they have beautiful hair or amazing eyes or a terrific smile; maybe a great figure. I look at this woman, and it’s like I’m programmed to think of her as generally attractive.

“It really is,” I reply.

She steps up to the rail next to me. “Did you do the king-of-the-world thing?”

I smile at her question. “Thought about it but thought better of it.”

“That’s probably for the best.” She looks out at the ocean as she speaks, rather than at me. “First time here?”

“It is. I’ve never been on a cruise before.”

“You’re not on one now,” she replies matter-of-factly. Before I can register my confusion, she continues, “Your thoughts put you here. You sought out a place of tranquility, and this is where you ended up. A luxury cruise in the Mediterranean.”

Freaky. “Does the place of tranquility come with a midnight buffet?”

She laughs a little at my joke. “It does if you want it to.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

Ordinarily, I would consider such a response strange and even rude, but she has a point. “No, I guess it really doesn’t.”

“Are you going to ask me next where we are?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. I ruled out heaven. I hope I’m right about that one.”

“You’re inside your own consciousness, and you have access to the very best parts of it, the parts where dreams live, where fantasies live, where things happen to you because you want them to.” As if to demonstrate, she turns to me, places her hands behind my head, and kisses me. Bizarre as this is, I make no effort resist, just as I wouldn’t in a sexual dream. The concept of time is uncertain here, so I can’t tell how long the kiss lasts. All I know is that it feels like no human interaction I’ve ever had. Her lips are soft and delicate, her tongue simultaneously forceful and gentle. When at last she pulls away, I have the strangest feeling of satisfaction, but several inches above where I expected to feel it. Amazed, I touch my midsection.

“You felt it in your stomach, didn’t you?” she asks, sounding pleased with herself.

“Yes. Why would …”

“It’s because you were a bit hungry. When I kissed you, it triggered pleasant sensations in two different ways. Now you feel like you just enjoyed a wonderful dinner, am I right?”

“Let me put it this way: if you’ll stay here with me, they can keep the midnight buffet.”

She smiles at me, and I get the strange sensation of attachment to her, like she’s been a trusted part of my life for years. “I can stay with you. Here or on a beach or in a rainforest or anywhere you’ve ever wanted to be. And anytime you want to be somewhere else, the simple act of wanting it is enough. Try it.”

I close my eyes, and when I open them seconds later, it is night, and the two of us are standing in a grassy field, under more stars than I’ve ever seen in my life. In the distance, mountains reach up to the sky. A gentle breeze blows, and the temperature is perfect. Though I have willed us here, I still have to ask, “Where are we?”

“New Zealand,” she says. “Wonderful choice. Look at the stars.”

I look up at constellations that are alien to me. “But I don’t understand. If I’m creating this in my mind, how can I know the stars? We’re in the Southern Hemisphere, and I’ve never seen these stars before.”