Solve the World Part Four

By Dante Stack

All your friends have become your enemies. All your beliefs are verified lies. How do you move forward now? How do you survive in a world that makes no sense?

Jennifer Dash isn't dead yet. There's still time to hope. There's still time to discover what this world is all about. Can she uncover the truth, or is every new door just another entrance to a mirrored room?

This is the end of all things. Can you dig it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stockade Amusement
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463259542

Dante Stack

Dante is a desperate believer.He has education in religion as well as cinema arts from Biola University. He's lived with his wife in Slovenia, Russia, and America. Sometimes he makes outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. No, wait, scratch that. That was Dr. Evil's father who made that outrageous claim. Not Dante. Mr. Stack would never say that. He's much too humble.Life is best lived with a dog and a wife.

Book preview

Solve the World Part Four

by Dante Stack

Published by Stockade Amusement at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Stockade Amusement

Thank you for purchasing this book! This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment and edification. The book may not be re-sold nor given away to other parties. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Enjoy!

This book is dedicated to the original listeners of Solve the World the podcast.

Without you, I'd be nothing more than a madman babbling in the dark.

Thank you for letting me share Jenn with you.

She's a great person; worth getting to know.

A sea of dread and resignation in his eyes.

He looked to Jenn. I failed you.

The World According to Jennifer Dash

Jenn has seen the end of all things.

Jennifer Dash has witnessed Leviathan.

Jenn has abandoned her hunt to solve the world.

This is why the chapters of this book begin at 81.

She has learned many things.

There appear to be two sides: that of the Pied Piper and that of a mysterious Shining One.

Pied Piper is the original man. The Shining One is his creation.

An ancient book calledThe Croatoancontains many secrets.

Lillith Babbit apparently usedThe Croatoanto ascend into space... but then she fell.

The Old Ones are Pied Piper's handiwork. They want to escape this world before it ends.

Roon Abdo is dead. So is Marshall Winston.

If you take every opportunity, you'll learn horrible things.

Knowing doesn't seem to help.

This book is not the beginning.

This book is the end of Jenn's journey.

This book is the end, but it doesn't have to be.

Chapter 81: Wedding Bells

What I hope to find is the meaning of the life that I have lost. By what was it taken away from me, and why? I want to know the answers to these questions with absolute certainty. And I would go so far as to say that if I could have those answers, I would not mind being even more profoundly lost than I am already.

-Haruki Marukami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

~~~

Jennifer Dash looks stunning in her long dress. She stares at Atticus from across the aisle. His eyes fill with tears of excitement, nervousness, and at long last, happiness.

Beside Jenn, to her right, stands Betty. She tries her best in the quaint church to beam out a broad, warm smile.

Jenn knows better. Betty's hurting inside. It's understandable. She loved Atticus too.

Scout Further looks all-grown up. She's happy for her brother, but just like Betty, she is losing something today. There's gotta be a tinge of hurt there too. Jenn can feel it radiating off the young girl's presence. Or maybe Scout is just nervous for her big brother.

Jenn tries not to take her eyes off Atticus.

He cleans up nice.

His eyes aren't on Jenn—they're stuck on his bride, who’s marching up the middle aisle in all white. Betsy. Not Betty. Not Jennifer. Betsy.

It's been one year since the horrors of ONMO. Today, Atticus Further is marrying local girl Betsy Morrow. It happened quickly, yet this moment was predictable enough. After living through hell, people look for security. They want to get a grip on happiness and wrestle that feeling into submission for the rest of their lives.

When they got back, Atticus tried to start back up with Betty, who was still diligently holding down the fort, hoping beyond hope. But her composure no longer fit with Atticus'. Betty started out as a common sense country girl. Now she was a get-er-done, no-fancy-business pragmatist through-and-through. That didn't jive Atticus' new temperament.

The boy found a light out of his own personal darkness by writing down all his thoughts, all his feelings. Back home in Louisiana, Atticus became a certifiable blogger. His unique entries became known for their short, staccato fragments. Just reading them without knowing the context of young Mr. Further's life and adventures, you really couldn't make any sense out of the words on the screen. Every post was a single puzzle piece to a puzzle missing all the other pieces. Since there was no story to follow, the allure of Atticus' scribblings was not the plot, but the emotion.

Every.

Single.

Idea he wrote started and ended with his reactions to his own feelings.

It was therapy. Self-help. That's all fine-and-dandy, and if it's what Atticus needs to live with himself, then God bless his soul... but Betty didn't live in that world. Life had pushed her to live hand-to-mouth. She was a survivor by choice. Every time Betty sat down to read Atticus' mind unspooled it felt like he was a survivor by accident; by lady luck, by the wheel of fortune, by fate, maybe by destiny. Whatever the reason, it wasn't because of Atticus. He had nothing to do with his own survival. It wasn't because of any sort of courageous will to triumph. Reading his blog, Betty found it harder and harder to connect to Atticus on any personal or intimate level. There was a disconnect. And it grew and grew with each passing week. Two months into Atticus and Scout's return, and Betty knew she had to move out. She chose then to move in with Jenn.

Jenn and Betty lived together in a two-bedroom apartment in Shreveport for just short of six months. As it happened, Jenn and Betty were much closer to soul-mates than Atticus ever was to either of them. Jenn's daredevil tactic to retrieve beef for Betty spoke volumes about the character of Jennifer Dash. Beyond that, Jenn's ability to endure despite half the world hunting her only made the teenager appear to Betty like a wise old sage. Betty wanted what Jenn had—or at least, Betty wanted those character traits to rub off on her. Even so, even knowing that Atticus and Betty should never be together, she still coveted him her heart. She held onto this deep conviction that he'd toughen up, learn to adapt more properly for the current age. He had to mature, Betty knew as much, but hopefully after the maturation process took its effect, he'd come back to her. They'd end up married. Hope beyond hope. She loved him, after all.

How many nights did Betty imagine Atticus knocking at their door in Shreveport? Repented. Wizened, finally. That's how he'd return. He would become the man Betty wanted and needed him to be. That's how you get the girl.

Of course, life doesn't work like that. Nine times out of ten. Betty held out hope she'd be the one time, that everything could be lovely for us all. She'd stay up with Jenn, maybe once a week, talking boys and hoping for a future that would never appear.

Thank God Jenn came. Without her here, Betty wouldn't have had the courage to show up to the wedding, let alone be a bridesmaid. Betsy, Atticus' new bride, had three brothers whom she just had to have in the wedding. So, Atticus had the three brothers as his groomsmen, and Betsy took on the three women closest to Atticus as her bridesmaids.

Atticus was so oblivious. All these girls. Each connected to him. He, unknowingly shrugging them off. Scout felt that. If it wasn't for his breakdown, she never would have been taken up by ONMO. Worse still, had Jenn not pushed him, pretty much forced him, he never would have searched her out in the great white north. She would have died up there like so many others.

Do you, Betsy Morrow, take Atticus Further to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love Atticus, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?

I do.

Do you, Atticus Further, take Betsy Morrow to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love Betsy, comfort her, honor and keep her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her so long as you both shall live?

Atticus shoots a glance at Jenn when the pastor says forsaking all others. Jenn wonders if Atticus was taking this marriage as a vow of rebellion? Was he forsaking the world, forsaking his supposed destiny?

I do.

Then by the power vested in me by the great state of Louisiana, you may kiss the bride!

Cheers.

Laughter.

Dancing.

Jenn and Betty stood with their backs on the rails of the wall in a large barnyard adjacent to the church.

You okay? Jenn asked.

Yeah. You?

Of course, Jenn replied.

How's Europe?

I really like it, Jenn said almost solemnly.

Making any friends?

A few. How about you? Getting by in Shreveport?

Yeah.

The lights faded, the DJ blathered, and Scout took the dance floor with her big brother. Betsy meanwhile, took part and parcel with her eldest brother. This sibling slow-dance took the place of a Father-of-the-Bride, Mother-of-the-Groom dance. Both Atticus and Betsy's parents were dead. With this match, they'd be orphans no more.

Can I ask you a question? Betty said uneasily to Jenn.

Shoot.

Do you think any of our decisions matter?

How do you mean?

Well, I'm watching Atticus, and you know how I feel about him. I know that it was never going to be a good fit with him. You know that.

Okay... Jenn said, unsure.

But I can't help thinking... if there's no point to our lives... if we just exist and then we die, why aren't I with him?

Because you wouldn't be happy.

Sure, eventually, but I'd be happy today, wouldn't I?

We can't live like that Betty.

Why not?

Jenn let the question sit there, hovering above the dumb wedding mix-tape, floating like an evil specter above everyone.

Alright, now it's time for the Money Dance! Grab your purses and help these two love birds out!

The reception was small, maybe fifty people, but just about everyone stood up and readied their wallets.

You getting in line? Jenn asked Betty.

Why? What would be the point in that?

Jenn shrugged and moseyed over to the line. She'd come all this way, got all dressed up. She might as well, right?

Jenn, now going by the name Jenna, waited near the back of the line. She wasn't dead last when she got in line to dance with the now married Mr. Atticus Further, but for some reason she felt obliged to let two old ladies surpass her in the queue. Something about things like this in the new, normalizing post-apocalypse world brought out not only the best in people, but the most generous. Weddings were important not just to the newlyweds, but for the whole community. It represented a continuity. The old, nostalgic world still had veins reaching into this new era.

The plague had died out. People had abandoned their loved ones, refused to touch the damned. In return, the plague had puckered out. Sure, there were still thousands of weird societies cropping up, new theories abounding here and there and everywhere, but the common person just wanted things to be calm, to be normal. So, despite the manifold nuclear blasts, despite all the death, anger, and evil, ordinariness won the day. Governments somehow didn't collapse; not by any virtue, but, in most cases, by rote memory. Take for instance, Louisiana, which had no standing governor. The last had died six months ago. Senators likewise were dead. Most of the state senate were similarly deceased or in eternal hiding. But one day, one unsinkable mayor made up a ballot with all his friends on it. For governor, senator, whoever. And then he drove around the state passing out the ballots. A month later, the mayor and his friends collected the ballots, personally tallied the results, and elected a new governor. Nobody resisted. Everyone accepted the outcome. After all, there had been an election, there had been winners and losers. That's how it'd always been. That's how life was supposed to go. And so Louisiana rose from the ashes. People went back to work. For this reason, and many others, everyone at the reception felt inclined to give to the Money Dance. They did so with joy in their hearts. There would be another generation. That was good. And these good Samaritans were making sure this new couple had the financial stability to ring in the next generation with love and financial stability.

Finally, at the front of the line.

Hello... Jenna.

Hello Mr. Further. Can I take this dance?

But of course!

Jenn gracefully slipped forty dollars into Atticus' pocket. She was doing fine financially these days. Parting with a few bucks was no big deal. Her job in Slovenia paid well enough. She wasn't a big spender, so most of the revenue she brought in just sat in a bank.

Thank you so much for coming, Atticus said, two arms around Jenn's waist. I think you win the prize for traveling the farthest.

You think? There was no doubt that Jenn had come the farthest. The rest of this happy mob were all clearly Louisianans, born-and-bred.

Well, I'm not sure where he came from? Atticus motioned with a nod towards Betsy and the man she was dancing with.

Jenn did a comical double-take. It couldn't be. IT. COULDN'T BE.

But it was. Dressed in an all black, three piece tuxedo, looking to Jenn like the Dread Pirate Roberts. Sporting black gloves and a wry smile—there he was—Miles Faa.

How?— Jenn trailed off. Did you invite him?

Sure didn't.

Jenn wanted to hate Miles. Maybe she did. Usually, choosing to hate him came naturally. But the mystery man was a paradox. After the end went down, it was Miles that took them to safety. It was Miles that got Jenn her nose job to conceal her identity, the impeccable fake I.D., complete with driver's license, passport, social security card, even a birth certificate. In the eyes of the law, she was now Jenna Fin. He'd done all that right when they got back to Louisiana. Then he vanished. He said then that he was going to find the Shining One.

After playing for the other side so long, he had to see the darkness for himself. That was that. Since then, radio silence.

Until now.

Alright boys and girls, let's gather up over to your left. Bride, groom, come on up because it's time to CUT THE CAKKKKE!!!

The music faded to a far, distant background. The world around became foggy. Jenn couldn't believe it. She rubbed her eyes like a cartoon figure. Surely she was imagining things. After all this time….

She floated to the dark knight.

Miles? Jenn said to his backside.

Miles turned.

Jenn had to catch herself, her astonishment so overwhelming. From across the dance floor Miles looked his usual suave self. But up close Jenn could see. He had changed. He had aged horribly.

Ah, Ms...?

Fin, Jenn said.

Yes, that's right. Ms. Fin. Would you mind speaking to me outside? I have a proposition for you.

A proposition... Jenn pondered. What sort of proposition?

~~~

Uklub: Nejc's Story

A group of people meet every Thursday night at a certain community center. One particular evening, a young, broken man named Nejc (pronounced: Nayts) stood in the spotlight. His story is as follows.

You grew up happy... at least for awhile. You, your little sister, your mother, your father. When you're old enough, you realize that what you have is rare. Most families aren't happy. Most people don't like spending time with each other. You'd play games. All four of you. Your sister played handball. Mom, Dad, and you treated her games like the World Cup. We'd scream and holler. We'd yell at parents from the other team. It was great. We were a team.

At some point, you can't remember exactly when it began, Dad started changing. He was grumpy. All the time. Not mean. Not even enough for you to say something. Just irritable, quick to the trigger. He works in insurance. Part of the sales team, but he's not a salesman, per se. His work revolves around retention—getting people to stay in the boat. That was the way he always described it.

Gotta keep people in the boat. He'd say it so much you and Mom would get in the habit of asking him, Anyone jump ship today? You didn't think about it then, but, uh, now that you're older, you wonder about that. He'd come home from a long day at work, or week, if he happened to be traveling, which he did often. He walks in the door and the first thing you ask him is, Anyone jump ship today? That's such a negative question. It's like saying, Did you suck at your job today?

Long pause.

He was always a good sport about it. You have memories of him chuckling, responding usually with something like, They're not just staying in the boat, they're rowing the whole damn thing! You don't really understand what that means, but you catch the playfulness in his tone and laugh with him. After all, if they're in the boat, that's all that matters, right?

But he's irritable. He's drinking when he comes home. Mom starts prying, trying to ask what's wrong. He says he can't sleep. That's the only answer you and Mom ever get.

Can't sleep, he says. You believe him because it shows. His eyelids sag. The rings around them are growing wider and darker everyday. His flesh is a pasty white with darkening blue-tint circles spreading on his cheeks. He's losing weight. Fifteen, twenty pounds.

One day he goes on a trip. For work, he says. But it bothers you. Feels like a lie. His insurance work had plenty of travel involved, but it was always pre-planned. You have a family calendar taped to the refrigerator. Everyone adds to it. Your sister's handball games. Who's week it is to do laundry. You would write down the days that your favorite movies were coming to the cineplex. This trip wasn't on the calendar. He told you in the morning he was leaving, then was gone a full week.

It keeps happening. At first it was happening maybe once every couple of months. But it started becoming more frequent. Every month. Then hyper-quick, four-, even three-day trips.

Dad's story was paper thin. Clients, he'd always say. Gotta go see the clients. A new policy that I have to go out and physically meet with every problem client, he'd say.

You know what this is. You've watched enough TV, read enough reddit posts, known enough friends who have similar family stories. Dad is having an affair. That's the only explanation. Nothing else fits.

Your suspicions appear to be confirmed. You come home from school one day to find your mother sobbing, throwing clothes at your Dad. He's blank-faced. She's in hysterics. The big revelation of the day is that you're broke. Dad had been siphoning off every last cent of the family's security blanket. Mom had gone to the store to buy groceries that afternoon. Her credit card was declined. Your family is broke. Beyond broke, actually. Dad had maxed out all lines of credit. His business trips to see clients apparently weren't paid for by his company.

Here's what happens next. Mom and Dad drive together away from the house. They say they have to talk these things through away from you kids. They didn't want to bother you, they say. You have homework to do anyway, they chide. You and your sis get nothing done that evening. You snuggle up with her, pop some popcorn, and watch Bruce Willis save the world in Armageddon. This, of course, is several years before the plague and the bombs. Armageddons were still light escapism back then.

When they return, you notice immediately Mom and Dad are holding hands. Smiling, even. You don't get it.

Dad pulls a chair up next to the couch. He leans in. You hold your breath. You're old enough to know that moments like these are life-defining. Here it comes. Dad says he's been laid off. He didn't want to tell us—and apparently he’s been trying to work out small business deals in the country of Belize. A business deal, he says, that's worth all the marbles. You don't know what that means. Whose marbles? What do the marbles stand for? Money? You don't say much. You don't question Dad because you want your sister to feel comfortable. You don't want your doubt to rub off on her. She's had enough fear for one day. You still can't wrap your mind around the fact that your mother acted like a blithering idiot earlier in the day, but now she seems calm as a dove. Why is everyone peaceful? Did Dad fully explain this Belize deal to Mom? Why isn't he giving us more details?

Questions remain. We sell the house. Move into a flat of a family friend. Just for a while, both Mom and Dad say.

Just for a while.

Things are okay.

But not for long. By the end of the week, Dad's leaving again for Belize. This time he's gone for three weeks. When he comes back, he only stays three days. Then he's gone again.

After that trip Mom and Dad take a car ride together. This time you watch The Day After Tomorrow with the sis. When you hear them drive up, you know in your heart. Something's different. This time there's nowhere else to fall together. Falling together can't keep happening. The only thing left to do is fall apart.

Instead of pulling up a chair, Dad asks you to take a walk with him. You oblige.

This is how it happens. Divide and conquer. Mom with your sister. Dad with you. This is how we fall apart.

On the walk he tells you everything. The truth, this time. There was never any business deal in Belize. But there was also never any woman. At least, not in the conventional sense. He couldn't sleep, he tells you. Behind his eyelids, death was hunting him. His words. He'd lay in bed completely empty, dreaming of sleep, but the sandman would never come. Apparently, he tried everything. Counseling, pills, drugs; you name it, he tried it. But sleep would never come. He asked a doctor why he wasn't dead—it'd been literally months he'd gone without sleep—he thought you had to sleep or you'd eventually die. The doctor said that he was, in fact, sleeping in micro-bursts. One to five seconds at a time. Supposedly, this is enough to keep him going on perpetually. Dad wouldn't believe it. He felt death's presence. Already, he was the walking dead.

Then, your Dad tells you, it all changed. His work sent him to Belize. Just one time. It was some kind of insurance conference retreat in Central America. They did ropes-course team training in the rain-forest. Lots of cool stuff. Then they had a day off. One day in Belize. Most people took a ferry out to Belize's Caribbean islands. Drink rum on the sandy beach. Maybe go snorkeling in the clear blue shallows. Chow down on lobster caught that morning. Dad felt a different calling. He tells you Mother Earth called him. Called him to the freshwater. Called him to the caves.

He took a seven hour cave-tubing tour. Jumped into an inner-tube and floated down a slow moving river that weaved in and out of a system of caves. All the tubers were given head-lamps. Common people use the lamps to scope out the cave walls, the stalactites and stalagmites. Not Dad. He floated. And he slept. Seven hours. When it was over, he said he was a new man. Fully rested for the first time in months and months.

There was something about the caves. Something about that place that gave him an inner peace unlike anything else. Portions of the cave are pitch black if you have your head-lamp turned off. Dad thought maybe that was the cause. So he found a cave here, locally, just a couple kilometers away. Tried to sleep in it. Didn't take. Nothing.

Only in the bowels of the abandoned Mayan heritage caves could Dad get some honest-to-goodness rest. Only there. Belize. Only Belize. Desperate, he went back. Every time. It works. He can sleep there. Only there. He drifts, he floats, he closes his eyes.

You wonder: is there something to this? Is there something in those caves?

You're fourteen years old. You can sleep fine. You don't need the caves. But right now your father is