Nephele

By Monty St John

When he sleeps, Brets slips into other worlds, experiencing the broken pieces of an ethereal tech.

Working for Inverse Voices, a tech company, Bret had escaped the murders that had killed everyone else, chasing a paranormal link that revealed the company was far more than they appeared. So, once again, he falls into the Eschat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sultrani LLC
• Release date: Mar 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985651232

Book preview

1

If I had a definition of Hell, this was it. Blurry, mind-numbing nothing, with so little to it that even nothingness barely registered on my senses. Experiencing this nothingness would have cracked my mind like an egg if I weren't already mentally tough.

The fugue came, and I jumped into its maw as fast as possible. I did everything I could to call forth its foggy embrace, get the fugue to manifest, to bring it into being so I could escape into its loving arms and break free. Flee this endless struggle of nothing. I can handle many things, but not this endless ache — I would much prefer darkness or blindness to this. I could deal with the dark or even an unending quiet — just not a non-sensation of damn all.

Waking up was a little better. Struggling out of the fugue and back into reality meant I could sense things, even if sensations were at an arm's reach. The drugs were carpeting my nerves, and no part of me was responding like I felt it should. All I could hear was an offbeat hissing in the background and a blurry sensation of light past my partially open eyes. Realizing it was another bout of sleep paralysis, I punched down the obligatory fear that rose. I had read online that most people only suffer a few minutes of sleep paralysis. Me? I go the extra mile, and it lasts forever. Unless I got the biometric monitor to go off, I would be here for a while in a half state. Waiting. Wondering if this time the sleep paralysis wasn't going to go away. That thought I shied away from savagely. It was too close to the deadly tangle of thoughts in the past. The ones that tore at my mind when I was lying on a bed, tied down and drugged in the asylum.

Speaking of drugs, I blame the medication for the damn sleep paralysis. I had come down with a fungal infection, and the drugs to treat it were playing merry hell with my system. Combined with this Flash being another horrible experience, it was abominable. After the boar, I had hoped that when I slept and jumped worlds, it would be into something just as fantastic. Or, at least interesting.

So far, I had gotten a constant pool of nothingness. I could sense nothing, nada, zilch. Whatever I had Flashed into was either so foreign to me that I could not comprehend it, or I couldn't connect to it.

Numbness crept up my limbs. It started at my feet and rose higher and higher. Sensation, even crappy sensation, was welcome but also disturbing. I started going through my process to wake up. Having gone through this enough times, I had eventually evolved a way to wake up. It didn't always work, but it was better than waiting; waiting for the right twist of events to take shape and pull me out of it.

About halfway through my process of trying to wake up, the light streaming through my half-closed eyes flickered. That shocked me, not that my body listened and woke up. Instead, it seemed to fly out of bed, in a blink traversing some vast gulf to float among the stars. Even if the situation was eerie, the starry landscape was beautiful. After all, who wouldn't want to fly among the stars? None of the typical vertigo or disorientation affected me. On the contrary, it was pleasant, comforting after the sheer lack of input earlier. After the sudden wonder of flying among stars wore off, I turned to observe them. Many of the stars were bright, though rarely close together. Many of the others were dim, and a few winked out of existence as I watched.

One dimly flickering star drew me towards it. I felt some resonance with it as if an intangible connection existed between the dim star and me. Then, when it faded out and died, something in me perished with it, leaving behind a heart-rending agony almost impossible to describe.

The ache stung, piercing deep into my soul, and something gigantic threw a shadow over the stars.

ZZZZZZZzzzzzz

A dull, off-key buzzing rolled through the starry landscape — and it was all gone, though the ache still pierced me deeply, prickling something intangibly in my chest. Tears leaked from my eyes as I sat up and smashed the alarm button, one hand pressing on my chest, trying to keep the sorrow from bursting out.

I had died in many Flashes. They were like dreams — except they were too real. Everything I had learned up to now showed I was jumping worlds. Crossing boundaries into new existences and realms I had no hope of imagining. Howie had once said it was like that movie series Sliders. Except it wasn't. Not even close. I joined something in the Flashes. In the other worlds. Sometimes I and whatever I touched merged and became one. Sometimes I rode along like I was at the back of the bus. Regardless, it was all too real, like memories of something I experienced or perhaps a flashback. That's why I called them Flashes. It felt more like remembering than dreaming.

This, though, this … was different. I'd never had this kind of vision or felt an entire world perish and cease to exist. It hurt in a way I had yet to experience, and the weight of that feeling was something I couldn't comprehend or deal with well.

I lurched up from the bed and staggered toward the other room, coming to a stop only when I heard a voice.

Immerlin's baritone broke into my thoughts. Incoming call from Howard Kearns.

I took it and told Howie, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just another bad one.

Howie said, I'm coming over. We are meeting that detective later today anyway.

He hung up before I could respond. Choosing not to listen to the dial tone, I went for a shower instead. The sour scent of fear and terror tore at my nose. I could barely stand it myself, but less forcing someone else to experience it. The water helped, washing away the stink and some of the worries with it. Normally, I would walk to feel better, but there wasn't time. Not and meet Howie before the policeman came over. Instead, I chanted one of the sutras I had experienced with the monk in another Flash so long ago. It helped. Peace settled into my bones as if it belonged there. I let the water run a bit longer and reluctantly turned it off. As much as I wanted to hide, the world wasn't interested in letting me.

2

I don't like your attitude, son.

The detective hadn't hidden his disdain from the first meeting when he had canvassed the area after the shooting a few weeks ago. It had only become more hostile when he arrived and I didn't let him go any farther than the foyer. Not to mention, I had legal counsel present. Howie and I both discussed and decided that he had to be present. We just hadn't told the not-so-nice policeman who had gruffly called and said he would be coming by.

Detective Hernandez. We have accommodated you in every aspect. Howie wasn't holding back at all. He bristled at the bullying, hostile attitude as much as I did. You asked for a meeting at the home of my client. My client has opened his door. You have asked for a retelling of the events on that evening. My client has done so. I might add that he is doing so over the wishes of his medical doctor to help comply with your request. His issues with new people, which exacerbates his medical condition, are not new or contrived to get out of meeting you.

It seems awfully convenient, the detective grunted. Neither Howie nor I bothered to respond. The only surprise in this situation was that the police had taken this long to get to me.

Perhaps from your viewpoint, that is so. However, my client's medical condition is factual. Howie was digging at the detective again. At the moment, everything was voluntary. We could turn him away at any point. However, it wasn't to our advantage to do so at the moment. Our objective was to prevent this from turning into a formal interview. Being asked to come to the police station would be a nightmare for me. One they would be sure to use against me in some fashion. Plus, being invited to an interview is one hundred percent a sign they believed I was suspicious enough to be linked to the mass shootings. It had dominated the news headlines for weeks now. A few new items had displaced it, but only recently. The task force assembled to investigate the shootings hadn't stopped, however. Howie had told me that investigations with a task force could go on for months or even years.

The detective squinted his eyes at his notebook. While he was in his mid-50's, I would suspect his eyesight was dandy. His eyes had combed over the foyer, what both of us were wearing, and dozens of other things when we first met. Then again. More than once. It would be impressive if I weren't on the receiving end.

What time was it when you heard the shots?

I took a breath and measured my words carefully. I had woken up and the power was out, so I don't know the time. While I did pick up a tablet to try and call 911, I did not note the time.

Detective Hernandez looked up, squinting at me with his eyes. So, you called 911 from your tablet?

Again, a measured breath. No. I tried to call 911 from my tablet. Unfortunately, I was not able to do so, especially after I dropped it and the tablet broke.

Dropped it, he echoed, noting it down. I kept calm. I had provided all of this information via video statement. Howie had told me this was a game the authorities played to shake up people. To find holes in what people say, so they can wedge in assumptions and find the means to pinpoint who might be responsible. Unfortunately, he also told me authorities used it more to find suspects and assign blame versus chasing down the truth. I tended to believe him.

Explain to me, where were you when the shooting took place on your street?

I can't say, exactly. I can say that I heard shots fired when I opened the door to the roof.

Detective Hernandez jotted down some notes. Nice vantage point from the roof to look across the whole neighborhood, I suppose. Why would you go to the roof?

Howie and I had covered this several times, so I pressed down the nervousness and said, It was dark and hot. I went to the roof so I would not be stuck in the room.

More scribbling of notes. Then, the detective flipped back a couple of pages. So, you dropped the tablet from the roof?

No, sir. I dropped it on the stairs.

So, how did you call 911 if the tablet was broken?

I did not end up calling emergency services by the time I could make a call.

Seems strange you didn't have a cell phone handy. He eyed me up and down. Your generation seems to have one pressed against their face all the time. So how is it you don't have one handy?

My client doesn't travel, Detective Hernandez. So that reduces the need to have a cell phone in many ways. Howie interjected.

I don't leave the house much. I echoed.

Detective Hernandez squinted at me again. It made me nervous, which I suspect was the point. He flipped to another page, tapping it with his pen. Fine, you are a homebody. It makes sense, I guess, if you get sick when you meet people. But you still made a call, right? Let me answer for you. Yes, you did. You called the lawyer next to you instead. Why is that?

At that point, I could hear sirens, and other emergency and law enforcement vehicles seemed to be present. I had not seen or heard anything beyond the gunfire, so it didn't seem necessary.

He noted that down. Is that so? In my experience, people who call their lawyer first have something to hide.

Howie cautioned him. Detective Hernandez, I object to your insinuation. Also, saying that is edging very close to slander.

That got him a snort. Doesn't make it any less true. So. You and the lawyer get on the phone right after a gun battle takes place around your house. Surely you won't object if I find that suspicious, now, will you?

Howie answered him. Not at all. Understandably, the police have to pursue leads to determine the truth. My client has provided the facts he knows to support that intent. Unfounded speculation, however, isn't something that needs a response. Is there something factual, a fact, such as a time, place, or something similar that my client can provide you to assist in your investigation?

Detective Hernandez leaned back in the chair we provided. Then, after tapping his notebook a few times, he put the chair back on the floor. Did you perform computer security work for Inverse Voices?

Yes. I kept my response simple, just like Howie had coached me to when this topic came up.

Be specific, came the request.

I would have to check my notes to give you the exact dates, but several months before the … shootings at Inverse Voices, I worked as a consultant for them. Part of that work was to help secure their platform against cyberattacks, as well as determine areas where the company could improve their computer security posture.

Were you successful?

I was puzzled by the question. I'm not sure what you mean?

More squinting from the detective. How did you stop a cyberattack?

I smiled. It took a bit of force since I was trembling inside. Not quite. My work is to review their infrastructure, determine where issues lie, and report that information to Inverse Voices. At no point would I or could I use their hardware and software to stop a cyberattack. It's my job to provide a roadmap of fixes and preventative steps, versus actually performing those steps.

More notes. So, would you describe yourself as an expert on their computers and network?

I shook my head. No, not quite. Informed, yes. Expert, no. I know some about it, of course, but not to that extent.

Is that so? Even though you spent a few weeks looking at their network and pointing out security flaws, you wouldn't consider yourself an expert on their network?

That's correct.

I see. More notes, again. I didn't need Howie's shuffling movement to remind me that the detective was baiting me. He was trying to get me to say something incriminating or open up a position for them to dig.

Howie spoke to reorient the conversation and give a warning. Detective Hernandez, I think it is a good time to note that my client delivered the requested information to his client, Inverse Voices. That included a report and supporting documentation. Any work product or information gleaned from that exercise on the client's behalf was disposed of or turned over, as outlined in the contract between my client and Inverse Voices. My client provided this information in his video statement to your office.

The detective nodded but continued doggedly. Mr. Byrne, you recently had a crash — a car wreck, is that correct?

I looked at Howie, who nodded, so I responded. Yes.

Another note. You also are involved in a lawsuit with Dereck Eisenrohr over control of the finances and assets belonging to your sister's estate and your mother's finances?

Another look at Howie, who answered in my stead. Detective Hernandez, is this relevant? I don't see how this correlates to the shooting you are here to inquire about with my client.

No notes, just tapping on the notebook and squinting at me again. Part of me hoped his eyes stayed that way permanently. Childish of me, but I found this song and dance very tiresome.

Mr. Byrne, why did Dr. Escarra come to your house?

I don't know what you mean? While Howie had cautioned me about investigators asking this question, and what I said wasn't something we rehearsed, it was indeed my honest response to the question.

I said, why did Dr. Escarra come to see you on that night?

I shook my head. I did not know Dr. Escarra was here, much less meet her.

What would you say if I told you she had no other reason to be in this neighborhood except to meet you?

I just shook my head again. Nothing. Now, that was an answer that Howie and I had rehearsed about Dr. Escarra. Not as if I could tell the detective that I think she was someone here to kill me, and some fantasy creature stopped her. I like staying on this side of the asylum — the view from the inside sucks.

Howie slid his chair back, signaling with his body that he was about to get up and end the interview. Detective Hernandez, do you have questions about the gunfire on that evening that we can answer? While I'm sure we could speculate about Dr. Escarra's intentions on that night, my client has said repeatedly that he does not know her beyond a brief professional interaction. And, outside of video conferences, has not seen her.

That got Howie a grunt, but the detective closed his notebook and stood up. We joined him. Detective Hernandez looked around the foyer one more time before looking at me to ask another question. You have a security system in the house?

I nodded, hoping this would wrap up soon.

Howie spoke before the detective could ask. All video camera recordings are sent to an external service. My client keeps nothing on-premises from the video recordings. My client will have any recordings for that night sent to your agency. Please leave a contact for me to arrange the transfer.

The detective squinted at Howie this time. Glad it wasn't me. I still wished his face would get stuck that way. It would serve him right. I'm sure he was doing his job, but wow, was he cantankerous.

Howie stepped forward, using his bulk to pressure the detective. The detective did not appreciate the move, that's for sure. Under a deluge of legalese coming out of Howie's mouth, the detective finally relented and ended the interview. But not before noting that he had more questions and would return in the future to ask them. That kind of bummed me out.

Howie came back after seeing the detective out, loosening his tie. We retreated from the foyer and into my house. After the last couple of weeks, Howie had been at my home almost constantly. Surprisingly, having him here hadn't bothered me as much as I worried it would. Hesitantly, I could even say that the jitters from seeing new people had gotten better. Not gone, but definitely not as strident or as overwhelming. Not sure how to attribute that, other than it was very welcome.

You doing okay, buddy? Howie asked me from the kitchen where he had turned on the electric kettle. He also held up a cup. I nodded to both questions. It was a kukicha day for me — coffee for Howie.

Immerlin, how about you?

While I had coded Immerlin to respond to Howie — one of the many changes I had made to security and access over the last couple of weeks — that kind of question and response was not something in his programming.

I shook my head. You know he isn't going to answer that.

Howie cocked his head and said, Can't fault a guy for asking, right? After all, it's what intelligent creatures do when they meet.

Ha, ha. Immerlin is a lot of things, but a full-blown A.I., Immerlin is not. Not that I don't wish for it as much as you do. I could use another friend.

Howie pretended to look hurt. What? Am I not enough for you?

I just laughed and looked at the wall of pictures while I waited for the kettle. Then, finally, Howie joined me with a cup of coffee. I could smell the hickory. He had brought over one of those coffee makers that takes the little cups and amazingly found hickory flavored coffee that worked in it.

Howie started talking first. Before we touch on the latest about the artwork, what are your thoughts on the detective?

Huh. Pain in the ass? Irritating? That I wish his eyes would get stuck in that squinting position he keeps making with them?

Howie chuckled. Not quite what I had in mind, but I have some of the same thoughts. He does squinting really well.

More seriously, I said, He will be back. Or some of the feds from the task force will stop by. Frankly, I can deal with ten more interviews as long as they are not at the police station in some little room. I'm not going to do well under those tactics, Howie.

Dropping the smirk he had, Howie said, I know. I'm already working on that. Every engagement, I provide medical documentation and paperwork to support that interviews outside of safe situations are hazardous to your health. That can work for and against us, but I think it's the best move we can make at the moment. Your past mental health issues help us here, somewhat, as well as hurt, too.

Oh boy, I said. I couldn't help the eye roll.

Don't knock it, Howie said. Until they charge you or make a formal move equivalent to it, we can control the way they interview or interact with you by doing this. It allows us to insist that I be present at all times, not only as your counsel but as an acknowledged person who is critical to your mental health. That's good for us.

I know. I just hate it.

Howie said, Me too, buddy, me too. I agree that we have more interviews and conversations with the task force on the way. However, I don't think we are high on their list, or it would have been different. Still, once they finish processing their initial list of people they suspect, we are likely to hit their radar.

And then? I asked.

Then we take it one step at a time, Howie said.

I'm moving forward with the 'Dorsai Project'. But, I'm not going to let them step all over everything with their fucking jackboots.

Howie shook his head. You and your cringeworthy naming sense.

What? You didn't like 'To the Stars' any better.

I know, I know, Howie begged, waving his hands in surrender. Just expect if they get a warrant, they will bag up a ton of things. Pretty much anything they think is important. Like all these computers and your million gadgets.

Yeah, I said bitterly, looking at all the things I had worked hard to find and make into my home. Do you think they will take the artwork?

No. Howie shook his head firmly to that question. Unless they have an angle that makes it necessary to collect it, I don't think they will take the artwork any more than they will pack up your beanbag. No reason to. Immerlin? Computers? Yeah, all of those. But the artwork? We just have to make sure we don't give the cops a reason to gather it into their evidence room.

Yeah, I said, staring at the wall. It had grown a lot of new pictures recently. I went to get some kukicha. I got it poured when Immerlin's alarm reminding me to take the antifungal medication went off.

Medication time?

Yeah, the new antifungal. Still not certain how I got a fungal infection. I can't connect it to anything at all.

Howie just looked at me. You going to play it that way? You know my theory. It's a side effect of touching those invisible flowers, in my opinion.

The tablets tasted like shit, but I washed them down with some kukicha. Unfortunately, it made the tea taste very bitter. Yeah, it's possible. I guess a magical flower could give me a fungal infection. Still, if that's the worst of it, then I'll take it.

Howie asked, Any other side effects?

I shook my head. None. Other than how tired this shit makes me in combination with the other meds I have to take. They say no interactions exist, or any that do are minor, but it wipes me out. A drugged sleep is horrible. I don't sleep well, have sleep paralysis when I wake, don't Flash at all or Flash into something plain horrible.

Howie patted me sympathetically on the shoulder. Just deal with it for a bit more. Your last tests indicated that you only have a tad longer on this stuff.

I put the kukicha down and sighed. Yeah. You staying while I take a nap?

Howie nodded. Yes. Last time you came up screaming. I think I'll stay until I'm sure you are good.

I gritted my teeth in anger. Fucking sleep paralysis. I laid there for more than an hour before I could get Immerlin to call you.

Howie nodded and said, That's a big reason why I'm staying. So we can talk more about the artwork and what you found after you take a nap. I'm going to make some calls to keep my practice moving in the right direction while you do so. But, don't worry, I'll keep an eye out.

I inclined my head up to stare at the ceiling. Partly to stretch my sore neck and partly out of irritation. Finally, after a bit of grumbling, I flopped into the giant beanbag. Howie gave me a thumbs up before the eye mask made him disappear.

Immerlin, set alarm, 45 minutes. Normal wakeup music.

Acknowledged.

Howie got on the phone and tapped on his laptop keyboard. Hearing Howie's voice and the click of the keys not too far