The Powers That Be
Copyright (c) 1994, L. Shawn Aiken
All rights reserved



The Powers That Be
by L. Shawn Aiken


I had a dream.
I wrote it down.
And here it is.

        Two glowing eyes stared at Arthur from the interstate.  His heart 
thumped.  The eyes raced by, showing a dark figure surrounded by a darker 
pool.  A cat.  A dead cat.
        The pain in Arthur's gut wavered, swaying back and forth from a 
dull, numb sensation to a jabbing, poking explosion waiting to happen.  
Should he pull over here?  No.  Too close to the cat.  He would find an 
exit.
        The darkened highway stretched out before him.  The feeble 
headlights showed little of what was up ahead except glowing white markers 
zipping under him.  The rear view mirror showed him the opposite view, 
smothered in a red haze.
        Then orange, luminous markers to the side of the road showed him the 
exit.  He took it.
        The conference in Little Rock had gone well.  For some, at least.  
How was Arthur to know that Mike Moorehead would be there?  Eleven years 
after graduation and Moorehead still remembered Arthur by the nickname 
"Table".  And Moorehead made sure that everyone at the conference called him 
that.
        Perhaps the name Arthur Roundtree lent itself to ridicule, but no 
more than "Moorehead."  Did Arthur even once call his high school 
acquaintance by his old nickname?  No.  It would have been rude.  They were 
professionals now.
        Arthur peered through the windshield.  He had hoped the road would 
lead him to a service station or a rest stop or something.  Some sign of 
civilization at least.  But no.  Nothing.  Just a dirt road and pine trees.  
A murky fog was rolling in from somewhere, probably the foothills nearby.  
Arthur sighed.  He would just have to relieve himself out in the open.
        Light poured from above as he pulled the handle on the door.  Arthur 
noticed all of the rubbish in the passenger side of the floorboard.  Bits of 
paper and countless little hypodermic needles with orange plungers.  He 
shook his head and smiled.  He would have to get onto Mary about that.  
Arthur needed his cigarettes as much as she needed her insulin, but he 
didn't make unholy messes all over the place.
        A glance at the over-stuffed ashtray caused him to smile and eat his 
words.  He then noticed that musty ash smell that permeated the car.  Arthur 
loosened his belt and stepped outside.
        A tingling void filled his gut as he slid back into his seat.  The 
night air was uncomfortably cold, but the relief he felt more than made up 
for it.  He started the car and drove on.
        "Damn Moorehead," he said to himself.  The more he thought of the 
ferret-like little man, the angrier he got.  It was like Moorehead was 
playing some game with him - a game Arthur had never seen the rules to.  And 
who would have guessed Moorehead would have gone into the newspaper 
industry?  He had always been interested in stupid things, like football.
        Most of the people at the convention talked about sports.  
Especially the baseball strike that was paralyzing the major leagues at the 
moment.  But Arthur didn't know much about it, nor did he care.  It did keep 
him out of quite a few conversations, though.
        Arthur mushed the cigarette dangling from his lips into the glowing 
lighter.  As he pulled it away, glowing flecks of tobacco stuck to the red 
hot swirls of metal. He took a puff and looked out into the gravely road lit 
poorly by his headlights.  He should have gotten back to the interstate by 
now.  Had he taken the wrong turn?
        The road abruptly ended in a barbed wire fence that initiated a 
sharp downhill slope.  He peered beyond it and thought he saw the sparkle of 
water.
        "Great,"  he yanked the gear shift into reverse.  The headlights 
died and the engine went silent.  He sat motionlessly in the dark for a few 
seconds, then tried the ignition.  Nothing.  No grinding.  Not even a failed 
turnover.  He tried again.  Still nothing.
        "Crap," he slammed the steering wheel and reached over to the glove 
compartment.  It snapped open and he felt around.  Just as he thought.  No 
flashlight.
        He grudgingly stepped out of the car into the cold night air.  At 
least this time he wouldn't have to expose his privates to it.  Darkness 
enveloped him.  He could not see his hands, much less the ground.  But there 
was some light.  The grey fog seemed to glow with a brilliance all its own.  
The moon, he surmised, but did not remember seeing it on the highway.
        Arthur had seen nothing the way he had come in.  The fence had to 
have been built by someone.  Most likely there was a house somewhere nearby.
        He grinned to himself, picturing the house's residents as clones of 
the little in-bred banjo player in Deliverance.  He stopped grinning, 
remembering the scene with Ned Beatty and the squealing.  Why had Mary drug 
him all the way up to the foothills of the Ozarks to live?  It was 
definitely not his element.  He preferred big cities, like New York or Los 
Angeles.  Places where you could get whatever you needed, any time you 
needed it.  Mary agreed with him, saying that you could get shot anytime you 
needed to as well.
        "Our kids will be safer back home," she had told him.  "They will be 
closer to Aunt Jacene and Uncle Roy.  They  will have kids to play with, and 
we won't have to worry about drugs or anything."  That was before her 
episodes that had made her barren.
        That argument had never affected his decision anyway.  Arthur always 
had felt that kids should be exposed to the real world so they know how to 
deal with it.  The real reason was perhaps a bit more selfish.
        "And daddy will give you any job you want at the paper," she had 
smiled at him with that mischievous, 'I win the argument' glint in her eye.  
"He will even make you editor, if that's what you want."
        That had settled it.  Of course, he had never planned to spend the 
rest of his life in Arkansas.  He saw the job as merely temporary.  A place 
to get experience at, then move on to bigger and better things.  But Mary's 
heart attacks had derailed everything.
        He didn't blame her.  He didn't blame anyone.  At least until now, 
stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a broken car and the cold air 
seeping into his flimsy windbreaker.  The obvious culprit was Moorehead.
        Arthur popped the hood on the Chevy.  He had left the Mercedes with 
Mary in case she needed reliable transport.  And it had the car phone in it, 
just in case she needed it.  He preferred the Nova anyway.  It was were he 
had lost his virginity to Mary.  She had lost hers somewhere else.  Mary 
would sometimes jokingly say that she had lost it on a trampoline.
        He dug the lighter from out of the pocket of the windbreaker as he 
lifted the hood.  There was a sharp smell of gasoline.  The lighter played 
nervously in his hands.  He better not.  The last thing he needed was an 
exploding car to warm the night air.
        The hood slammed down and he peered out at the fog.  It glowed all 
around, interrupted by the straight, dark trunks of the pine trees.  No 
signs of any habitation.  Arthur was sure that the fence meant something.  
Someone had to live nearby.  If he could follow it to a gate or something.
        Arthur reached out towards the fence, then remembered it was 
barbed.  He then knelt and felt the ground.  There.  Something rough.  A 
stick.  He gripped it.  Not too long.  He smiled and yawned at the same 
time, almost pulling a facial muscle he did not know he had.
        He tapped the stick against the gate.  A clanky - twang sound came 
from it.  Good.  This would help guide him in the dark.  Arthur took a step, 
then hit the fence.  He took another, and hit the fence again.  It was 
working.
        A yawn broke forth from his again.  It was late.  He was tired.  The 
conference would not officially end until the morning, but Arthur had felt a 
strange urge to come home.  Speaking with Mary on the phone to make sure she 
was all right had not quenched his urge.  Moorehead was probably the real 
reason, but he didn't want to think about it.
        He stumbled on a root, then decided he should walk with another 
stick tapping the ground.  No.  One hand had to be kept in his pocket or he 
would feel he was freezing to death.  The one stick could do both.  A 
clang - twang against the fence, a thump against the ground.
        The glowing mist seemed to be closing in on all sides.  Slowly, 
oozing about.  It had no real form, but Arthur imagined it as a giant bed 
sheet wrapped around him.  Or perhaps thousand of Ku Klux Klan members 
marching towards him.  That thought sent the small bit of Jewish blood in 
him racing through his veins, trying to go deeper and deeper in his body.  
Trying to run away.  He smiled as he shut his eyes and imagined himself 
machine-gunning people with pillows on their heads.  Their leader was a man 
named Moorehead, and he got more bullets that the rest.
        Several minutes seeped by and Arthur realized something was missing.  
He looked around.  The mist was still there.  The dark trees were still 
there.  But something was missing.  Something important.  He shrugged and 
continued on, thumping away at the ground.
        That was it!  His heart pounded louder than the thumping.  The 
clang - twang was gone.  He reached out with the stick.  Nothing.
        He stood motionless, trying to fight the urge to run.  The random 
roots would surely trip him, sending him headlong into a tree trunk.  But he 
couldn't hold back.  He ran.
        The stick waved quickly in front of him.  Nothing.  No noise.  The 
fence was gone!  He kept running.  Perhaps he was going the wrong way!  He 
turned and ran in another direction.  Then in another.  By the time the 
stitch in his side came, he had no idea where he was.
        But he saw something!  A light.  No.  Not a light.  It was a 
building.  Glowing.  It looked like it was lit by the fog.  Or maybe the fog 
was lit by the building.  He walked quickly towards it, ignoring the sharp 
pin in his abdomen.
        The building grew clearer as he approached it.  His first impression 
was that it looked like the Alamo in San Antonio.  Only build of grey rock.  
But that wasn't the right shape.  It seemed more like a Gothic cathedral 
without spires.  But that wasn't right either.  Perhaps some other type of 
structure.  A castle?  No.  I was a movie theater!  A grey stoned Gothic 
movie theater?  Was there such a thing?
        He crept toward it slowly, the stick clenched in his hand.  A golden 
glow was emanating from inside, shining out through glass doors.  Arthur 
took his stick and tapped the stone steps leading up to it.  They were real.
        Inside he could see a glass counter, filled with candy and popcorn.  
But he could not see anyone inside.  There was no ticket booth.  Arthur went 
up the steps and tapped the door.  It swung open.
        What was this?  Arthur's mind tried to pierce through the cold that 
had seeped into his mind and find some explanation.  He yawned.  There was 
no explanation there.  With a deep breath of the cold night air, he stepped 
inside.
        The warm glow of the overhead lights seemed to heat his skin.  It 
felt good.  The smell of fresh popped popcorn tickled his nose.  The popcorn 
machine was full to the brim of the fluffy stuff.
        "Hello?" he said.  Nothing.
        "Hello!" he said louder.  Still nothing.  The carpet was clean.  No 
little bits of wrapper.  No brown spots of spilled cola.  No popcorn 
shrapnel.
        "Hello?" he said again.  Double doors beyond the counter had a sign 
above them: "NORWAY."
        "I don't remember that movie," he muttered to himself.  Still no one 
had showed up.  He walked silently to the doors.  One was cracked open.  A 
big blue screen stared back at him from beyond the seats of the movie 
theater.  He looked back at the counter.  No one.
        Should he go in?  He had not even paid.  Would they be angry if they 
found him in the theater without paying?  He turned and looked through the 
glass doors to the darkness outside.  It certainly was much more comfortable 
in here.  Nice and warm.  And it smelled good too.  Should he get some 
popcorn?  No.  That would be stealing.  But sitting in an empty movie 
theater?  That would be okay.  He opened the doors.
        The seats were all clean and nice.  No tears.  No rips.  And that 
sickly smell of spilt cola was not present, even standing right next to the 
trash can.  He walked down the slopped isle.  He got to the middle and 
turned right.  Then he counted off six seats, then sat down.  His place.  
His place in any movie house.
        The seat was soft and comfortable.  It was good to get the weight 
off of his feet.  It would be nicer to put his feet up on back of the seat 
in front of him.  But no, that would scuff it up.  And maybe someone would 
come and tell him to put his feet down.
        Arthur closed his eyes and put his stick across the armrests.  There 
was no one to complain about that here now.  He smiled and leaned back.
        It got dark.  Much darker than if he had just closed his eyes.  He 
opened them again.  The lights were off and the screen was no longer 
blue - but the glowing kind of black that movie screen get when film is 
rolling.  He looked up.  Light was coming from the projection booth.  
Somebody must was in there.
        "Hello?" Arthur said toward the booth.  Nothing.  He did it again.  
Still nothing.  Perhaps it was automatic.  Arthur shrugged his shoulders and 
looked back at the screen.
        "NORWAY," is said in big capital letters.  The image was jumpy and 
there were audible clicks like in an audio-visual film at school.
        A majestic scene appeared.  The walls of a  glacier-plowed fjord 
towed over head.  The view rose slowly up over the cliffs, showing a 
tree-studded plain filled with snow and purple mountains looming in the 
distance.
        "The beauties of Norway are at an arm's length with a simple visit 
to your local travel agent," said a thickly accented voice.  Arthur blinked 
twice at the screen in amazement.  What the hell was this?
        The announcer continued, and an more panoramic views of the country 
were shown.  Huge, snow covered trees.  Simple villages made up to look like 
ancient Viking holdings. And the amazing shopping opportunities located at 
easy to access locales in urban areas.  Arthur shook his head, wondering 
what was going on.
        Then he saw it.  Some one was standing behind a bush.  Not a real 
bush, but a bush on the screen.  The person was crouched behind it as if he 
were hiding.
        Before Arthur could get a good look, the scene changed.  Pretend 
Vikings were on a pretend longboat, rowing away like mad.  All except one.  
One was not in Viking garb.  He was hiding behind the other Vikings.  But he 
was there, all right.  Arthur could see him.  What was he up to?
        The screen changed again.  Young blonde couples were skating on a 
frozen lake.  The announcer described what joy they were having.  But one 
was having no joy.  One of the people on the lake was just standing there.  
He did not even have skates.  He was looking.  Staring.  Staring at Arthur!
        The scene changed.  Arthur's heart was pounding and both hands 
gripped the stick.  He quickly scanned the scene.  Was the person there?  It 
was a zoo.  Bears.  There were lots of bears.  And people were looking at 
the bears.  All except one.  One was staring at Arthur.
        He had the countenance of a ferret - little black eyes and a long 
nose.  It almost twitched.  His back was bent and his shoulders stuck out.  
It made him almost look like a vulture.  Some strange genetic mutation of a 
ferret and a vulture.  No humanity anywhere in the equation.
        "Moorehead!" Arthur gasped and held the stick tighter.  What was 
going on here?
        Giggles erupted.  Not the maniacal giggles he had expected.  Girlish 
giggles.  The scene changed.  More girl giggles.  He looked down at the 
front row.
        Three silhouettes were outlined against the screen.  Arms were 
undulating from them, and hands that were making dogie shaped shadows.  
Suddenly one threw a handful of something at another.  It sailed lightly 
through the air and showered down.  It was popcorn.  The other returned the 
blast, and more giggles ensued.
        Arthur breathed deeply.  People.  Perhaps they could explain what 
was going on.  Just as he got up from his seat, on of the silhouettes stood 
up.  It was the one that had stayed out of the popcorn fight.  Arthur walked 
to the aisle and she met him there.
        Her skin was pale and her eyes were dark.  She was far shorter than 
he was, but somehow she looked at him eye to eye.
        "Can you tell me where we are?" he asked, still gripping the stick.
        She pointed a finger at herself.  "I am here," she said, then 
pointed at him.  "And you are there.  Duh!"
        Arthur breathed deeply.  This was not going to be easy.  "What is 
your name?"
        "Annakie, if it's all the same,"  she giggled.
        "Where is this place?"
        She sighed, "Norway.  It's awful dull, isn't it?"
        "Why was that man up on the screen?" he demanded.  She took a glance 
back.
        "I didn't see any man," she said.
        "But there was a man on the screen.  A man that shouldn't have been 
there!"
        She shrugged.  "You see what you want to see, don't you?"
        He stared at Annakie.
        "Come on.  Let's go.  I'm suppose to tell you something."
        "What?"
        "Not here," she shook here head.  "Outside.  Outside."
        What was the girl on about?  "Okay," Arthur said, and turned around 
toward the double doors.
        "No no," she tugged at his hand.  "Out the back way.  The exit.  Not 
the entrance.  Down at the bottom of the theater.  See?"
        Arthur looked to where Annakie was pointing.  A red neon sign over a 
door.  He nodded and they went down the aisle.  The past the two other girls 
on the way out.
        "Who are they?" Arthur asked.
        "They're my friends, but they don't know it yet," she smiled and 
pushed the door open.
        They came out into a courtyard.  Four building faced them on all 
sides.  Large, gray, stone buildings.  Gothic-like arches.  Streaked with 
acid rain.  Deteriorating.  Crumbling in chunks.  Beyond them were the 
silhouettes of slim pine trees and a gray mist coming from behind.
        The girl walked to the center of the courtyard.  There was a 
monument.  Or a obelisk.  Or something.  It was made of gray stone as well, 
and rectangular in shape.  Not a wall, though.  It was much too short.  
Perhaps only two feet high.  Arthur followed her to it.
        Annakie turned to him.  "There will be a meeting of the Powers 
soon."
        Arthur stared at her blankly.
        She pointed to her chest.  "I'm a Power.  See?"
        "Um . . . no," he shook his head slowly.
        "See!"  she knelt down and pointed to the stone.  There was a name 
on the wall.  "Dexter Geis."  It had a line drawn through it.  Underneath 
was the name "Annakie Webber."  There were other names on the stone, but 
Arthur could not read them.  They were not in a foreign tongue.  He just 
couldn't read them.
        "You are a power," Arthur looked at her.
        "No.  A Power."
        He nodded slowly, still not knowing what the hell was going on.  
"And who told you to tell me this?"
        "That's not what I'm supposed to tell you.  Hold your horses and 
I'll get to it," she stamped her foot.  "I don't really remember who it was.  
I was asleep and I'm kind of new here and don't know everything that's going 
on."  She looked up at him now, not eye to eye.
        "Okay," he smiled reassuringly.  For some reason he was feeling 
sorry for her.  He wanted to protect her.  "So what are you supposed to tell 
me?"
        She breathed deeply.  "The person that was the Power before me is an 
old man.  You should go meet him at a baseball game."
        He nodded, still not understanding.  "Okay.  Is that it?"
        "That's it a-rooney!" she laughed.  "So you will go see him?"
        "Uh . . . sure."
        "Good.  I have to go wake up and pee."


        Arthur looked at the popcorn nestled in the white paper bag.  It did 
not smell as good as the movie theater popcorn.  The hot dog in his other 
hand was not right either.  The hot dog itself was the wrong color and the 
wrong shape, the bun was all out of sorts, and the mustard failed to be 
yellow, but was a rather brown color.
        "Your inner light is quite radiant," said someone next to him.
        "Excuse me?" Arthur asked.
        "What's the hold up.  Pass me my popcorn and hot dog."  The man 
sitting next to him was an older man, greying hair, and was sporting the 
beginnings of a beer belly.
        Arthur passed him the food.  His hands were all greasy now and he 
wiped them on his pants.  He noticed the stick was in his lap.
        "GO CUBS!" the man next to him yelled.  Arthur realized then that he 
was in the bleachers of a baseball stadium.  People were out on the field 
standing around.
        "Do they ever move?" Arthur asked.
        "Why sure they do!" the old man laughed.  "Someone has to hit the 
ball first."
        "Oh."  Arthur looked around the stadium.  It was filled with 
people.  They were all screaming and making noise.  But the players on field 
just stood there.  "Are you Dexter?"
        "Dexter's the name, if it's all the same," he laughed.
        "Good.  I think I'm supposed to meet you.  I think.  Everything is 
really strange and I don't understand any of it."
        "You are right there.  Everything is really strange indeed," Dexter 
turned to Arthur.  "It all went wrong somewhere."
        "What went all wrong?  Where?"
        "Nothing has been the same since Roswell."
        "Roswell?"
        "Yeah.  Roswell.  But they weren't aliens.  They were something 
else."
        "Not aliens," Arthur nodded as if that actually meant something to 
him.  This was getting ridiculous.  He looked out at the field.  Someone was 
actually moving - running from one little white thing to another.
        "Wait a minute," Arthur glanced at Dexter.  "I don't know much about 
baseball, but isn't there a strike going on?  Isn't this the major leagues?  
This shouldn't be happening, should it?"
        Dexter looked at him with sad eyes and sighed.  "Oh dear.  I'm 
sorry."  And then Dexter shrugged.


        His eyes flashed open at the glowing white dots as they rushed by.  
Arthur growled at himself in the darkness.  He should not have fallen 
asleep.  Especially not when he was driving.
        The pain in his . . .  Arthur looked around.  He didn't need to go 
to the bathroom.  That was strange.  Just a few moments ago he . . .
        Arthur took a deep breath.  He passed another exit.  He did not 
need to go, but he felt like he should have turned down it.  Or, more 
correctly, he thought he already had.  Strange images of a girl and an old 
man drifted in his head.  They did not seem to fit anywhere.  He shrugged 
his shoulders.
        He glanced down at the passenger seat.  A stick lay in it.  His 
heart gave one loud pound that rattled his eardrums.  The stick.  If the 
stick was true . . .  Memories flooded back.  Strange things.  Things he 
could not explain, even though he spent the whole trip back home going over 
them in his mind.


        Arthur stretched his arms and his legs as far as they would go.  The 
sheets were nice and soft and there was a large, warm mass next to him.  He 
opened his eyes to the white, spackled ceiling and smiled.
        "Good morning," his wife turned over next to him.  Her heart-shaped 
face gave him a sleepy smile.
        "Morning honey," he grinned and Mary kissed him.  "Sorry to come in 
so late last night."
        "It wasn't that late," she sat up and laid her head on his chest.
        "It must have been very late," he shook his head and began to stroke 
her hair
        "No.  I remember hearing you come in and I looked at the clock and 
it was 12:14 exactly."
        "Exactly," he chuckled.  "If you were up, why didn't you say hello 
to me?"
        "I went to sleep.  If I would have been awake when you got to bed we 
would have talked all night and you would have been late for work."
        "Don't be so sure that we would have just talked."  Mary moved her 
head to look at him.
        "Why is there a stick on the night table?" she asked.  Arthur's 
heart thumped.  He looked at the night table.  There was the stick.  It was 
all there again.  The movie house, the girl, the old man, and that creep 
Moorehead.  He took a deep breath.
        "Uh . . . the Nova broke down just outside of town and I was trying 
to fix it and . . ."
        "You tried to fix the car with a piece of wood?" she sat up.
        "Yeah.  Best thing to use.  And it worked didn't it?" he grinned and 
sat up.  "Can we play 'feel the pacemaker'?"
        She rolled her eyes and tried to hide a grin.  "I suppose so . . ."
        "Good." he said and grabbed her right breast.
        "The pacemaker, as well as the heart, are on the other side," she 
rolled her eyes again.
        "Oh, sorry!" he grabbed the right breast with his other hand.  
Needless to say, he was late for work.


        That day at work was terrible.  His father-in-law had not liked the 
idea of the conference from the start.  "It's a God damned complete waste of 
time.  Who in the hell cares what other God dammed editors do with their God 
damned rags.  I have a business to run here and that don't include you 
gallivanting off to the big city!"
        Big city!  Little Rock?  Arthur wanted to educate old James Jayston 
on a few of the realities of life, but he though better of it.  And Jayston 
ran the Searcy Gazetteer at a constant loss, anyway.  It was just a big tax 
write-off to him.  Why should he care about it?  He didn't want it to make 
money.  If it actually showed a profit he would loose money.
        The fifth screaming session of the morning sent Arthur stomping back 
into his cramped office.  Mrs. Oglesvie, his secretary who was far too large 
to share the office with, handed him a yellow piece of paper.  It had that 
sticky stuff on the back.  He hated that stick stuff.  It was of no use.  It 
held the note to a surface for two seconds.  After that it was just a mess 
that got your fingers nasty.  He glanced over it.  It read:
        "Arthur.  Meet me at the Searcy Zeppelinport.  Dex."
        Arthur reread the note.  It still said the same thing.
        "Mrs. Oglesvie.  What is this?" he asked.
        "A note," she said without looking at him.  "It was stuck to the 
phone when I got back from my coffee break.  Don't know who wrote it.  No 
time or number or nothing."
        "That's okay."  He sat down at his desk and stared at the note.  
Zeppelinport?  What in the hell was that?  An airport?  They don't make 
zep . . .  He cut himself off.  He was not sure why, but he did.  He stood 
up.
        "Mrs. Oglesvie, I'm going to the municipal airport."
        "Why?" she looked at him.  "Has there been a crash?  Should I tell 
Gary to go get his camera?"
        "Oh no.  Nothing like that.  I'm just . . . following a lead."
        "Oh." she turned away.  "Could you pick me up some bear claw's as 
Sue's Bakery while you're gone?"


        The blue Nova struggled its way up the road.  Arthur could see the 
control tower over the trees.  Not a very tall tower, but it did it's job.  
Various antennae and dishes poked out on top of it, mostly instruments for 
NOAA.
        He passed several small hangers.  Outside of them were various prop 
planes.  Cessnas, Pipers, and Beechcrafts.  Or Beechnut, as his wife called 
them.  Nobody was around.
        At the end of the runway was a small shack.  Something for 
utilities, perhaps.  The Nova pulled up outside of it and Arthur stopped the 
car.  He did not know why it was the shack.  Perhaps it was supposed to be 
the shack.  But he did not know for sure.  But he wanted it to be the shack, 
if that meant anything.
        He stepped out and opened the flimsy wood door.  There was Dexter 
with a pair of binoculars around his neck.
        "Ready to do some Zeppelin spotting today?"  Arthur's mind raced 
with questions.  But he forced them aside.
        "Sure."
        "I hear there is quite a crowd gathering to watch."  Dexter walked 
out of the shack.
        "Where?"
        "Right there," Dexter pointed down the runway.  Near the control 
tower a mass of people had gathered.  Just outside the huge metal hanger.  
It must have been several hundred yard long.  Arthur blinked several times, 
but it remained.
        "I . . ."
        "Here she comes!" he put the binoculars to his face.  Arthur looked, 
but could see nothing.  He glanced back at the crowd.  Women were holding up 
parasols.  Parasols?
        "Looky that!  Here, use the binoculars."  Dexter handed them to him.
        Arthur looked through them.  Sky.  Clouds.  Trees.  Zeppelin.  Sky.  
Zeppelin?
        It was huge.  It was very far away.  But he could see it's shadow on 
one of the hills.  A huge cigar shaped silver thing.  And a big swastika on 
the back.
        "Nazis?" he turned to Dexter.
        "Nah.  We don't call them that anymore," Dexter smiled.  "Democratic 
socialists.  You see, the Hindenburg was only a plot.  Hitler had it blown 
up."
        "A plot?  Hitler?"  The zeppelin was getting closer.  He could make 
it out with the naked eye now.
        "He saw that zeppelins could be a big threat to the Third Reich if 
other countries used them for troop and supply transport.  So he had it 
blown up right on American soil, right in front of reporters and cameras.  
Scared the shit out of the American people.  As soon as the war ended, 
Hitler started building them again."
        "War ended?  Hitler?"
        "Yeah.  After he won.  You know." Dexter looked at him strangely.
        "Yeah,"  Arthur nodded slowly.  "After he won."
        "Good," Dexter slapped him on the back.  "Come on.  This is a big 
day.  It's not every day that a zeppelin comes to Searcy.  We aren't on the 
main route.  Let's go get some beer and sauerkraut.  Das ist gut, ja?"
        Arthur's elementary German could handle that and he nodded.  They 
made there way to several tables laden with food and drink.  An oompah band 
was setting up outside of a hanger that housed commercial Messerschmidt prop 
planes.
        Dexter handed him a mug of beer.
        Arthur looked at him.  "What's going on?"
        "A celebration!  A party!" Dexter laughed, then his expression 
changed as he looked at Arthur.  "Sorry, sometimes I loose myself in these 
things."
        "What things?"
        "Things, you know," Dexter waved his hands around.
        "Dexter, there is a Nazi zeppelin bearing down on my home town right 
at this very instant.  I want to know what the hell is going on."
        Dexter smiled.  "You've entered my universe.  Just agree with me, 
and everything will go smoothly."
        "Universe?"
        Dexter took a swig of beer.  "Okay.  There are three universes.  My 
universe.  Your universe.  Then everybody else's universe.  You live in 
everybody else's universe.  You barely get to see your own universe.  But 
you are getting a chance to see mine.  Neat, huh?"
        Arthur looked at the beer mug in his hand.  It was still full.  He 
could not have possibly gotten drunk yet.  So why was he seeing zeppelins?
        "I see you don't understand.  Okay.  You have your universe.  That's 
totally different than anybody else's universe.  And everyone has their own 
universe.  But then there is everybody else's universe.  You see?  It's a 
mesh of everybody's universes all put together.  Kind of like a grand 
central station.  It's where everybody meets.  It's what people normally 
call reality."
        Somewhere inside of him it clicked, but not at any area near the 
surface of his consciousness.  It had something to do with philosophy and 
religion, but this was something else.  This was actually happening!
        "What has this got to do with anything?" Arthur cried.  "What does 
this have to do with the movie house and the girl and what you said about 
Roswell?"
        "Oh, Roswell," Dexter took a sip of his beer.  "That was my fault.  
Back when I was a kid I was living in the southwest.  I had read H. G. Wells 
and stuff and really wanted there to be aliens.  Martians.  I wanted them so 
bad that it bled over into the real universe and aliens crash landed.  Boy 
was the Council pissed."  He took another sip of beer.
        "What do you mean?  What council?"
        "The Council of Powers.  They did their best to clean it up.  Erased 
it from history and everything.  But people don't forget things like that - 
even when they have been erased."
        "What Council?  What are the Powers?"  Arthur was getting desperate.  
He took a sip of beer.
        "The Council.  Of Powers.  I was a Power.  Not back when Roswell 
happened, of course.  But they saw that I had the Power and so they let me 
be a Power.  I kind of messed up, though."
        Arthur scratched his head.  "Messed up how?"
        "That whole World War Two thing," she sighed.
        "You mean the Nazi zeppelin?"
        "No," he smiled.  "This is just for fun.  I mean the real World War 
Two.  The one you are familiar with.  The one I messed up."
        Arthur shook his head.  This was not getting anywhere.  But maybe if 
he played along.  "How did you mess it up?"
        "Well, your World War Two isn't the right one.  You see, my father 
died during the Invasion of Japan.  There was an Invasion of Japan, you 
know."
        "With the bombs?"
        "No.  The nukes came after.  No.  They came before.  Well, it depend 
on how you look at it.  You see, they didn't have nukes back then."
        "They had two, didn't they?"
        "No.  None.  And they wouldn't have had any for another two hundred 
years.
        "Huh?"
        Dexter gulped half of his beer down.  "You see, the Pacific theater 
was really nasty.  It took years to finally conquer Japan and millions of 
men died.  My father died in 1947 in the third wave.  It wasn't until 1953 
that Japan finally surrendered.  Actually, they didn't surrender.  There was 
just no one left to fight.  Then the Americans and Russians started fighting 
over China.  Then over Europe.  World War Two didn't really ever end.  Well, 
I guess it would have ended eventually."
        "You mean, in your universe,"  Arthur nodded.  He was sure he was 
understanding it all now.
        "No.  In the real universe.  The one you live in.  After I became a 
Power with the Seat of Time, I did a few things.  A few very powerful 
things.  Things that the Council wasn't even aware of.  I went back in time 
and gave a fellow named Einstein what he needed to build a nuclear weapon. 
Just the idea, really.  He figured it out for himself - and he never really 
knew that anyone had given him the information."
        "So wait a minute.  The bomb was built.  It didn't happen any other 
way."
        "Well, you see, my father died in the invasion.  I wanted him back, 
so I fixed it so he would still be alive.  The council didn't even catch on 
for a while.  But when they figured it out, boy were they mad.  That's why I 
got kicked out."
        Arthur looked at the Zeppelin.  It was much closer.  It was huge.  
The crowd was cheering.
        "I don't really understand."
        "I don't really either," Dexter finished his beer.  "I get banished 
from reality and get locked in my own universe.  I can only peek out under 
special circumstances."
        "Like what?"
        "Like with this deal with you.  It's very hush hush.  Only half the 
council is in on it."
        "What deal with me?"  Arthur was at his wits end.  But it had 
something to do with him.  So perhaps he could understand it.
        "What I did was so big that it screwed up everything.  Not even the 
Council could fix it without having to rework the fabric of the universe.  
Big.  I didn't realize how big.  And now everything is botched because of 
technology.  Half the council wants to throw it out."
        "Throw out technology?" Arthur shook his head.  Perhaps he would not 
understand this after all.
        "Yeah.  Go back to the way it was originally.  Magic.  You know.  
Hocus Pocus?  The Council is split fifty-fifty.  Except for the Seat of 
Time."
        "Your seat?"
        "Not any more.  The girl.  Annakie.  She has got it now.  The way it 
is set up, half the Council is pro-magic, and half the Council is 
pro-technology.  Annakie will make the deciding vote, and they already know 
she is a namby-pamby pro-magicer.  Giving a little girl a seat.  A little 
girl who loves unicorns and pegasi!  Pah!  Talk about tipping the scales of 
justice.  She is real young, though.  Real inexperienced.  You have already 
seen how easy she can be manipulated."
        "How?"
        "She delivered the message to you herself," he laughed.  "The 
message for her own demise."
        "Demise?  What do you mean?"
        "You are going to kill her and take her place on the Council as the 
Power on the Seat of Time."
        Arthur dropped his mug.  It crashed to the ground.  Suddenly, 
darkness enveloped him.  He looked up.  The zeppelin was overhead.  It was 
huge.  One of the largest structures he had even seen.  And it was floating 
above him.
        "What do you mean 'kill her?!'" he screamed over the oompah band's o
ompahing.
        "Kill.  A non-Power can kill a Power.  You just find their body and 
kill it.  And she has to be killed or technology will vanish.  Where would 
your wife be without technology?"
        Arthur squeezed his eyes shut.  The blood was pounding in his head.  
He refused to believe any of this was happening.


        The flimsy door to the shack swung open.  A few fire extinguishers, 
some rope, and a trash can.  Arthur peered inside.  No one.
        He looked around.  The sky was clear.  A few birds overhead.  High 
above the clouds there was a glint of metal.  A plane.  A military plane.  
He knew why it was here.  The hills were littered with nuclear missile 
silos.  The planes kept watch.  Exactly what for, Arthur never knew.
        But no zeppelin.  No oompah band.  No ladies with parasols.  No 
Dexter.  And no command to kill a fourteen year old girl.  He got into the 
Nova and drove away.
        His wife's sweet face came to his mind.  And the pacemaker that kept 
her heart beating rhythmically.  Without the unholy thing it would flutter 
and fail.  Like it had done before.  So many times before.  And the girl's 
face came to his mind as well.


        Mrs. Oglesvie was upset that he had not returned with the bear claws 
so she left without notice.  It would be just as well.  Arthur would have 
time to think alone.  He pulled a cigarette from his drawer and lit it.
        He loaded up his communications software into the  computer.  A 
mouse click here and a mouse click there connected him with the on-line 
service.  The headlines stared back at him on the opening screen.  It was 
the anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and a large protest had been 
held there.  North Korea was ranting about nuclear inspections.  And another 
sizable chunk of nuclear material had been seized in Germany.  Destination 
unknown, but the source was Russia.
        Was all of it real?  Really real?  Or was it Dexter's dream imposed 
on everyone else to save his father.  Or was Arthur going insane?
        He checked his mail box.  It was crammed with electronic 
advertisements, a few of the newsletters that he subscribed to, and a 
rejection from an electronic magazine that he had sent a short story to.  
Arthur sighed and began flipping randomly through the system out of boredom 
while taking puffs on his cigarette.
        The on-line Omni had several interesting articles about Ufos.  One 
was about the cover-up at Roswell.  The dead alien bodies were stored 
somewhere in Northern California, and the surviving alien was teaching 
astrophysics at Berkeley.  Normally he would have smiled at reading such a 
thing, but he could not find the motivation.
        He continued to randomly flip through menus and ended up at the 
User's Directory.  He absent-mindedly typed in "Annakie Webber."  The system 
sputtered a bit and shot the name back.  There was an Annakie Webber.  She 
lived in Sherman, Texas.  And she liked horses and fantasy books and her 
favorite author was Marion Zimmer Bradley.
        The screen stared back at him for some time.  She was real.  And she 
liked fantasy.
        The chair seemed to swirl about, making him dizzy.  Was it true?  Or 
was he just in some alternate universe where he wanted it to be true?  He 
stared at the name.  He disagreed with it.  He squinted his eyes and 
disagreed with it harder.  But it was still there.  It wasn't Dexter's 
doing.
        What if it was true?  What if all technology would cease?  What if 
the pacemaker in his wife's chest stopped?  Perhaps he could talk to the 
girl.  Change her mind.
        He glanced over her dossier and shook his head.  It was firmly 
entrenched in fantasy.  She seemed to spend all her time on the system doing 
something fantasy related.  She even belong to some medieval group called 
the Society for Creative Anachronisms.  He had heard of it.  Strange people 
that dressed up in strange costumes who would go off and live in the woods 
in pavilions over the weekend.  Not a good sign.
        But what happened if magic suddenly ruled the land.  Perhaps magic 
could save his wife.  But could it?  Would Dexter would know?
        The computer beeped.  A line was flashing.  Someone on the network 
was requesting a chat.  He accepted it.
        A window opened up.  He looked at it.  Nothing was being written on 
the other side.  Several seconds later text began to show up.
        "Sorry about the delay," the screen said.  "The moon is pretty far.  
Speed of light and all that."
        "Hello?" Arthur typed.  "Who are you?"
        More delay.  Then, "Dexter, of course.<G>"
        "Where are you?" he typed.
        "<LOL>  I told you.  On the moon.  Tranquility Facility, actually."
        "What?"
        "There you go again.  Everything progressed quickly after the 
Russians landed at Mare Fecunditatus in 68'.  We had to bust our asses to 
set up a base of our own.  Luckily Grissom, Borman, and McDivitt made it 
there safely and set up the missile emplacements.  God knows what would have 
happened if we had let it go unchallenged."
        Arthur stared at the screen.  Somehow it appeared different.  It was 
rounder - not square.  And the label said "Atari", not "IBM" like it was 
supposed to.
        "Oh," he typed.  "I want to ask you about . . . the magic."  He took 
a puff on the cigarette.  Something was wrong with it.  It wasn't tobacco.  
It tasted like burning wood.  And there was no nicotine in it.
        "What about the nasty stuff?" Dexeter's type appeared.
        "If the magic comes, can't the magic be used to fix the problems 
that happen when technology disappears?"  He felt stupid for asking the 
question.  The whole thing seemed stupid.  Insane.
        "The Council of Powers already has the plan.  Technology will cease 
to function.  All computers will die.  Radio won't work.  Nothing above a 
simple pulley mechanism will survive.  And then the magic will come in.  
Gradually,  over a period of time, people will learn how to use it.  Only 
those who know how to use it will gain any benefit.  And since no one 
expects what will happen, no one can prepare.  At midnight tonight, the 
world will end."
        Arthur blinked.  Midnight.  Not enough time.
        "Why can't you do something about it?  You can control time," he 
typed.
        "Time may be an important factor to you, but it is only a minor 
concern to the Council.  There are far more powerful things.  I have no 
power in this matter.  It is up to you."
        A tear welled up in his eye.  Arthur refused to believe in it.  It 
could not be.  He banished Dexter.


        The computer beeped.  A message flashed that someone on the computer 
network wanted to chat with him.  He accepted.
        "Table man!  I didn't know you were one this network," the screen 
blurted.  Arthur's eyes widened.
        "Moorehead?" he typed slowly.
        "Yeah, it's wonderful me!  We had a wonderful time without you at 
the conference.  You were dragging everybody down."
        "Fuck off, Moorehead," he typed and yanked the plug out of the wall.  
His blood has boiling.  His head was hot.  A fever.  He was sick.  That 
would explain it.  Something was in his lap.  He looked down.  There was the 
stick.
        Mrs. Oglesvie walked in the office holding a coffee mug and a white 
paper bag filled with bear claw's.  They were warm and they filled the 
office with their sweet scent.  Arthur breathed deeply and swiveled his 
chair toward her.
        "I need to find an address of someone living in Sherman, Texas," he 
said.  She sat down and did not look at him.
        "The library has phone books from all over.  Why not check there."  
She pulled out a bear claw and took a big bite.
        He swiveled his chair back to his desk.  Like the screen of an old 
ATM monitor, fuzzy text appeared on the computer screen:
        "Table, Mary will die."  It faded slowly away.


        The sun was setting right into his eyes.  Arthur pulled down the sun 
shade but it did not help.  Finally the interstate curved positioned the sun 
behind an eighteen wheeler.
        The address had taken an hour to find.  His father-in-law had 
tracked him down to the library.  Veins were bulging in his neck.  Before 
the man could speak a work, Arthur told him to fuck off.  That had shut him 
up.  And perhaps it had cost Arthur his job as well.
        The address was on a little piece of paper on the dashboard in front 
of him.  One of those nasty yellow things with the sticky crap on the back.  
It was the only thing he could find.
        He still could not think about it.  He was going to some one horse 
town in Texas.  For no real reason.  Perhaps he would just look around.  
Then leave.  Or maybe he would drive by the Webber house.  The only Webbers 
who lived in Sherman.
        That was what he would do.  Arthur glanced down at the passenger 
seat.  There lay a hypodermic needle and a bottle of insulin.  An overdose 
of insulin would kill a person dead.  And it was very hard to trace.  He had 
snuck the bottle from his wife's supply.  She had enough for several months, 
at least.
        No, he was not going to Sherman for any reason.  Just to drive 
around.  Look at the sights.  Then he would go home.  He would do nothing.
        The needle was not one of those small kinds that Mary used.  It had 
a big, wide chamber that could suck up the entire contents of the insulin 
bottle.  The little ones wouldn't do the job.
        What was in Sherman, anyway?  It was probably just like Searcy.  
Nothing.  Nobody.  Just people that time had left behind somewhere.  But 
Dallas was nearby.  Perhaps he could stop off at the Book Depository 
Building and look at the grassy knoll.  Kennedy had been assassinated, 
hadn't he?  Or course he had.  This was the real world.
        Her mouth would be soft and warm when he clamped his hand over it 
and jabbed the needle into her neck.  Would it take long?  Would she scream?  
She would look into his eyes.  Most definitely.  She would look into his 
eyes.
        He pulled the car over onto the shoulder and jumped out of the car.  
He ran.  He ran across the access road, jumped a fence, and ran out into a 
pasture.  The land was flat.  As far as the eye could see.  A few clumps of 
trees dotted here and there, but that was about it.  He stopped running and 
bent over, heaving.
        "Dexter!" he straightened up.  "Dexter!  I refuse to do this.  Do 
you hear me!  I refuse."
        A rabbit ran by him.  Well, not quite a rabbit.  Something like a 
rabbit.
        "Damn."  Arthur hear something behind him.  It was Arthur.  In a 
loin cloth.  Carrying a spear with a flint head.
        "I won't do it,"  Arthur crossed his arms.
        "My dinner just got away," Dexter panted and leaned on his spear.  
"The tribe will go hungry tonight."
        Arthur did not have time for this.  "I don't have time for this."
        "Things haven't been the same since Kulet killed Og," Dexter looked 
at him and smiled.
        "Listen, I don't want to talk about this.  I refuse to kill her.  
I'm not going to do it.  Do you understand?"
        "Og was the one who thought of planting seeds.  But Kulet killed him 
before he could tell anyone.  Things just haven't gone smoothly for humanity 
since.  Have they?"
        "Are you listening to me?" Arthur barked.
        "Without that one spark of brilliance, we never could get organized 
enough to even wipe out the mammoths," Dexter pointed to the horizon.  
Arthur saw large, dark shapes moving against it.  Low, distant noises 
flittered through the wind to his ear.
        "What happens if I kill her?  She will be dead.  I will go to 
prison - and rightly so.  I don't have even have a good excuse.  Son of Sam 
had the dog tell him to do it.  What do I have?  Some old man with a beer 
belly dressed up in a loin cloth.  And what will change if I don't?  
Nothing.  Can you tell me of anything that will change if she lives?"
        "Do you really want to see?" Dexter eyed him.  Dexter's blood 
chilled and he shivered.
        "Yes.  Show me."


        They were outside of his house.  The houses were scattered out at 
this distance from Searcy's center.  Each house had a lot the size of an 
acre.  And all filled with trees.  Lots of thin, dark trunked, pine trees.  
The lights on the house were on and the Mercedes sat outside.  Long ago the 
garage had been converted into a children's bedroom.  A bedroom that they 
had never needed.
        "Look at your watch," Dexter told him.  Arthur looked down and 
squeezed the light button.
        "Eleven fifty-nine.  No.  Twelve."  The house went dark.  A scream 
echoed throughout the house.  Then silence.
        Bam-bam.  His heart almost blasted out from his chest.  He started 
running he couldn't think.  He ran to the house.  This couldn't be 
happening.  It couldn't.  It couldn't.


        He leapt over the fence and ran.  Something caught his foot and he 
stumbled.  Arthur looked back.  It was the stick.  It came into his hands 
and he walked back to the car.


        Sherman was different than he imagined.  It was more spread out.  It 
was filled with large plants.  Big companies.  He wondered if it was cheaper 
for them out here, away from the big city and less taxes.
        It was dark.  He turned down a farm road.  It was called a farm 
road, but he could not see any farms.  Housing developments.  A pasture of 
two.  Then he drove by a large factory.  It stank.  It stank just like 
burned coffee.  It was a coffee plant.
        He turned down a street.  It could have been any street.  In any 
suburb.  Anywhere in America.  Except maybe for the wagon wheel decorations 
on the lawn and the high flying Texas flags that flapped from every other 
house.
        There it was.  He could not breath.  The Webber house.  Green with 
little wooden duckies on the lawn.  And a curved driveway.  He parked his 
car across the street from it grabbed for the insulin.  The stick came to 
his hand instead.
        Arthur looked at it and closed his eyes.  None of this is happening, 
the thought, and opened his eyes.  He was still in Sherman.  It was still 
night.  He was still across the street from the Webber house.
        He snatched up the insulin and the needle and exited the car.  The 
door he left open.  No reason to make noise shutting it.
        The flicker of the street lamp gave him enough light to safely make 
it up to the house.  The grass was wet on his shoes.  He walked up to the 
front door.
        Stupid.  Just knock on the door and ask for Annakie.  Right.  He 
shook his head and looked at the side of the house.  It was dark.  Everyone 
must be asleep.
        His legs began to tremble as he made his way around the windows.  
What was he doing?  Perhaps he was here just to talk.  He rolled the insulin 
bottle around in his hand.
        None of the window curtains were fully closed.  He peered in one.  W
as that a couch he saw?  A living room?
        The next was a small window.  A dim light came from it.  The 
kitchen.  He could see the sink just below him and the counters.  A light 
was coming from the refrigerator.  It was one of those kinds that had a 
water and ice nook in the door.  Papers were stuck on the front, but he 
could not see what was on them.  But he could imagine.  Cute little crayon 
drawings.  A tear came and he wiped it on his sleeve.
        Between the side of the house and the side of the next door 
neighbor's house was another window.  He peered in.  It was dark.  But he 
could see a sparkle on the wall.  Was it glitter?
        It was paper.  Paper and glitter.  Rainbow glitter.  In the shape of 
a unicorn.  His chest tightened.  He was just here to talk.  The needle fell 
from his hand and he stooped to pick it up.
        The screen.  It needed to be removed.  He nervously stuck the 
insulin and needle into his windbreaker pocket and pulled out his keys.  
They jingled loudly.
        He stiffened so tight he thought he heard his spine crack.  Still.  
Arthur stood motionless.  Did she hear?  Nothing happened.  She must be 
still asleep.  A cigarette would have calmed his nerves, but this was not 
the time.
        He took one of the keys and pried at the screen.  It came off 
easily.  Too easily.  He had to catch it as it fell toward him.  Then he 
carefully set it on the ground and looked at the window.  Was it locked?
        A fourteen year old girl in a small town knows no fear.  No real 
fear, at least to his mind.  Annakie would not lock it.  She had never had a 
reason to.  She was a Power, after all.
        He stuck his fingernails at the bottom of the window and pulled up.  
It slid freely.  Cool, air-conditioned air blew in his face.
        He closed his eyes.  It was not happening.  He opened them.  The 
window was still there.  He could hear breathing.  Soft breathing.
        The window was difficult to climb through.  He scraped his leg on 
the sill as his slid in and dragged himself down to the floor.  The room 
slowly brightened as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
        There was a smell of perfume.  Not a woman's perfume, but girl's.  
Cherry or strawberry.  A fruity smell.  Perhaps lip gloss.  He stood up.
        The wall were coved with posters.  Unicorns.  Dragons.  Pegasi.  All 
manner of magical beasts.  There was a mirror dresser with little bottles on 
it.  And pictures stuck to the mirror.  People.  Girls.  He could not make 
them out, though.
        Then he turned to the bed.  It was a canopied bed.  Some light 
color.  Perhaps pink, although he was not sure.  And there she was.  
Sleeping on her back.  An elaborate quilt over her.  A huge pillow under her 
head.
        He almost dropped the insulin bottle as he fumbled with it, removing 
it from his pocket.  He withdrew the hypo.  She was breathing gently.  
Completely unaware.
        Stop!  He screamed to himself.  The cap came off the needle 
smoothly.  Arthur inched closer to her.  His heart has pounding, 
reverberating through his body.
        Mary had asked him to help with her insulin occasionally.  Arthur 
always refused.  He could never bear to poke her with a needle.  He could 
not even bear to watch Mary inject herself.  But she would do it in front of 
him anyway, despite his protests.
        He thrust the needle at the cap of the insulin bottle and missed, 
jabbing his thumb.  Bone.  He yanked it out and crammed his thumb in his 
mouth to keep from yelling.
        Blood.  The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.  His legs began 
to shake and he stopped inching toward her.  What would her parents say in 
the morning when they found her body?  Was her life worth Mary's?
        He ripped the question from his mind and yanked his thumb out of his 
mouth.  The needle went into the cap easily, and in the gloom he could sense 
the hypo filling up with the fluid.  The needle slid easily out of the 
bottle.  He crept up to the side of the bed.
        She moved slightly and Arthur froze.  The dark hair framed her white 
face, and the ruffles of the pillow gave the appearance that she was lying 
on a bed of flowers.  How beautiful she was.  How innocent.  Could she 
possibly be the source of all his problems?
        His hand reached out toward her, but he yanked it back.  Arthur 
could not touch her.  He just couldn't.  He would have to quickly jab her 
and inject her and run away.
        Her neck.  It was so smooth.  The vein leapt out at him.  Was that 
the best place for it?  Mary always put it in her belly.  But he could not 
bring himself to even thinking of doing that to Annakie.  The neck.  It had 
to be the neck.
        The needle slowly moved toward the vein.  Arthur closed his eyes and 
told himself none of this was happening.  When he opened them it still was.  
His heart began to pound.  His mind began to scream.
        "Stop me!" he screamed in his mind.  "Wake up and stop me!  Scream 
and call for your parents!  Stop me!"
        She didn't move.  The needle hovered over her skin.  Then he dropped 
the bottle of insulin.
        It hit her on the arm.  Her eyes flashed open and stared at him.  
But not in terror.  A smile came over her face and she shook her head.
        Annakie waggled her finger at him.  "I don't think so!"


        His eyes flashed open at the glowing white dots as they rushed by.  
Arthur growled at himself in the darkness.  He should not have fallen 
asleep.  Especially not when he was driving.
        But he had not been asleep.  And why was he looking for an exit?  
Arthur did not need to do anything.  He turned on the radio and smiled.  And 
he sang.
        I've been from Phoenix, Arizona,
        All the way to Tacoma,
        Philadelphia, Atlanta, L. A.,
        Northern California,
        Where the girls are warm,
        So I can here my sweet baby say . . .
        But where was he?  Where had he been?  Arthur recognized the area.  
He was on his way back home.  But where had he been?
        Perhaps he had went out driving.  But at night?  You can't see 
anything at night.  Where, then?  Phoenix, Arizona?
        He shrugged his shoulders.  Maybe he went nowhere.  Maybe he was 
picked up by aliens and had some anal probing done.  He smiled, but for some 
reason the smile faded.  Arthur looked down at the passenger seat.
        The stick.  His eyes screamed at it.  The stick.  And next to it, an 
empty insulin bottle.  His heart pounded.  Then he saw the hypo.  It was 
sitting there.  Full.
        He slammed the gas pedal and was pushed back in the seat.  The clock 
glued to the dashboard read 11:55.  His heart stopped, then blasted him, 
reverberating in his bones.


        The tires squealed as he turned off the main road, down his street.  
Then the car died.  He slammed on the brakes. And jumped out of the car.
        There was a hill just before the houses on his street.  An empty 
hill, full of trees.  He ran up it, gasping for air.  Stumbling, he reached 
the crest.  The houses came to view.  The lights were on.
        He ran.  He ran past the Baker's house.  The ran past the 
McCandley's two story place.  He panted up the road and jumped the ditch 
that lay between the road and his lawn.
        The light were still on.  He smiled.  It must be past midnight.  
Nothing had happened.  Then the lights went out.  A scream cracked the still 
night air.
        The blood in his temples screamed in unison.  He raced up the walk 
to the door.  It wouldn't open.  It was locked.  The keys were in the car.  
He banged on the door.  And again.  Nothing.
        The window.  He picked up a rock from the garden and threw it.  The 
glass smashed.  he ripped through the screen and flung himself inside.
        There she was.  In her blue housecoat.  Crumpled on the floor.  A 
broken coffee mug lay near a dark stain on the carpet.  He ran to her and 
gathered her up in his arms.
        Warm.  She was still warm.  Nose.  Her nose.  He held his hand in 
front of it.  Nothing.  He put his head to her chest.  Nothing.  He beat on 
her chest.  Nothing.
        Arthur laid her back on the floor.  Tilted her head back.  Blow.  
Pump.  Blow.  Pump.  He had studied CPR so much that it was a part of his 
being.  But nothing was happening.  Nothing at all.
        A minute passed.  Pump.  Blow.
        More minutes.  Pump.  Blow.
        Half and hour.  Pump. Blow.
        He was exhausted.  She was still dead.  He stopped and screamed.
        "Bastards!"
        A swirling motion began in the room.  It slowly took form in front 
of him.  A face.  A body.  Crooked shoulders.  The long nose.
        "Moorehead?"
        "The Power of the Seat of Death, if it's all the same," his eyes 
rolled upward into the back of his head and he let out the gurgle that had 
passed as a laugh for so many years.  "Since college, in fact.  Since then 
I've had my eye on you - and her."
        "No . . ." Arthur's jaw dropped.  The beady little eyes brightened.
        "Let go of her.  She's in my domain now.  There is nothing you can 
do," he gurgled. 
        Arthur refused to agree.  He refused to agree.  Never.  Never would 
he agree.  She was alive.  In his reality, she was alive.  She would always 
be alive.  What did the psychiatrists call that.  Denial?  They said it was 
wrong.  But it was the only right thing to do.  She would not die.  Never.  
Not now.
        Other universes.  The Real Universe.  Grand Central Station.  His 
mind spun about.  It had changed.  They had changed it.  Sweat poured from 
him and he leaned back on his heels.  Moorehead stopped gurgling and cocked 
his head.
        Deep inside him.  He felt it.  It had always been there.  But 
Council had forbidden it for so long.  He demanded it to come out.  It 
refused.  He coaxed it.  It was shiny and warm.  It was himself.
        Power filled him.  He looked down at his wife.  He could see inside 
her body.  The scared heart that had exploded.  The faulty glands.  The 
broken womb that had witnessed the death of a child.  And deeper.  Smaller 
but bigger.  The blueprints.  The errors.
        He took the Power.  He took the Power and fixed her.  Smoothed out 
the rough edges.  Mended the broken bits.  Then he called her.  Coaxed her 
out from hiding.  Out from whatever dark place she had retreated to.  Back 
to where he needed her.
        She opened her eyes.
        Tears streamed down his cheeks.
        "Are you okay?" she asked.  He reached down and hugged her.  With an 
angry hiss, Moorehead vanished, leaving a void filled with fullness.


        The walked out of the darkened house hand in hand.  The sky was 
brightening in the north.  She looked at him but he had no answers for her.  
Something rose from the tree tops.
        It was not the sun.  It was a great golden ball on fire.  The 
tendrils of flames coated it and shot forth from it, lighting the entire 
sky.  It did not seem to care that all the clocks said it was midnight.
        Arthur heard hoofs tromping through the pine needle littered ground.  
He turned to look.  It was Annakie, upon a unicorn with a glowing golden 
horn.
        "You see?" she tilted her head from side to side.  "It all turned 
out all right.  And you are the first."
        She then rode out of sight.  Not behind something, but into 
something.  Mary looked at him, but he still had no answers.
        They hugged each other and looked out at the horizon.  But there was 
none.  The land just kept on going.  The earth's curve no longer hid the 
land beyond.  The earth was now flat.
        A presence filled his mind.  It was Dexter, and Arthur smiled.  "It 
all turned out all right," Dexter's voice huffed.  "Yeah, sure.  Wait till 
you see what happens after this."
        He kissed Mary and they turned their eyes towards the stars.  But 
they were not stars any more.  They were silver fish swimming in a giant 
velvet ocean.  And nearby, sitting on a rock, was a cat.  A cat with golden 
glowing eyes, pawing at them.

