Fathom by Mikel Parry

CH-TORA TORA

“Mr. Ward, Mr. Ward, can you hear me?”

The words echoed through his head, the world around him a hazy jungle of sound and motion. Demo tried to shake it off but found his body as unmovable as a corpse. Was he the newest edition to Roslin’s vegetable garden? He tried to remember what had happened, but was struggling. His mind was stuck in warm-up mode, still trying to get its engine properly revved up.

“I’ll kill you right now if you’ve hurt him!”

Demo’s ears perked up at the tone and influx of a mad Irish American he knew very well. His eyes wandered the room blankly, trying to find something of interest to lock on to. What happened to me?

“Back off, Mr. Briar; I’m warning you!”

Slowly but surely he came to. He was piecing his fragmented mind back together and what he remembered infuriated him to no end. What had he seen and so narrowly escaped; a thunderous wall of churning death that had nearly ripped his soul from his body? And who was the man in the shadows? Was it Spencer? Was some part of Spencer toying with him? Had he really been discovered so easily? He had questions that needed to be answered.

Feeling the blood return to his limbs, he weakly sat up.

“Hey! He’s back online!”

Demo glanced over to see an ecstatic Jo bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box.

“Mr. Ward, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

Demo winced. The new inquiry was from Roslin who was standing a few feet away. Looking over at the chiseled statue of human discipline that he was, Demo frowned. He didn’t know why, but a part of him wanted to choke the life out of Roslin, regardless of the consequences.

“Course he can hear you, you blooming idiot! He just had his brains sucked out, and you want to pillow talk?”

Demo smiled. Bob Cat had a way with words that mimicked an nubby piece of silk fabric rubbing against you; both pleasant and painful at the same time.

“I told you once, Mr. Briar, to watch your tone with me. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Demo’s smile faded. It was his turn to assume the spotlight. None of these men had any idea what he had just gone through.

“What was that?” probed Demo.

His comment shook the other members of the group. It was Jo who jumped in to explain.

“You’re home! You’re back in the lab!”

The simplicity of the answer aggravated an already wound up Demo.

“I know that! I’m talking about in there! One second I’m tailing a guy and then suddenly the world turns all Mount Vesuvius on me and blows up!”

Roslin immediately looked away, mumbling a literal word puzzle of profanities. He looked at Jo menacingly, who cowered like a misbehaved dog.

“Whoops! My little bad! I might have left out one teeny tiny little detail.”

With inhuman speed, Demo sprang up and grabbed him by the neck.

“You’re little bad almost tore me into a million pieces! You need to start explaining now!”

Jo was taken aback, as was everyone else, by Demo’s sudden burst of aggression. It wasn’t like him to behave that way. Even Bob Cat swallowed a massive lump in his throat brought on by the electrifying display Demo had just put on. What was even stranger was Demo’s upper hand. Jo’s lack of interpersonal skills affected him physically; he was squirming like a worm.

“Look, I forgot, okay? I’m sorry there’s like a million things we aren’t sure of! So don’t go all nuts on me! Besides, you came out just fine!”

Demo’s head pulsed at Jo’s obvious lack of concern for human life. Was he really just an experiment to them?

“Both of you calm down; we don’t have time for this!” Roslin’s voice thundered with power reminding everyone in the room just who carried the bigger stick.

“He’s got a right to know, you moron! Because of your little toy, he was almost left a permanent couch potato!”

The tension in the room was palpable. Something needed to happen. It was Roslin who took the first steps towards a more civilized approach.

“Our apology for that small oversight but what is done is done. When attempting things of this nature there’s always an inherent risk. There’s a lot we still don’t know.”

Roslin glanced at Jo compelling him to divulge what he knew.

“The fade . . . you probably saw what I call the fade.”

As he spoke, Demo slowly eased his grip on this epitome to poor hygiene.

“What do you mean the fade? You can’t just throw that out there assuming we’ll understand.”

Jo nodded at Demo’s response as if expecting it.

“I know, I know, it’s just that it’s still a crazy theory. You see, the mind creates these worlds, populates them, and fills them with life, but it also tends to take them down, the further away from the epicenter one gets.”

Epic Center? What is he talking about?

“Don’t give me any earthquake lessons; just tell me what you mean.”

Jo put one of his hands on his now tender neck. He had arrived at a new found respect towards Demo that even his scattered brilliance had to give caution to.

“The fade is when your consciousness drifts too far out of line with his. Your electrical patterns are dwelling in two different locations, and one of those is in the sleepy part of Mr. Vulcan’s brain. It’s like with any subconscious train of thought. You dwell on something only so long before moving on to something else. It’s just that in this case, the something else is located somewhere else, and thus the brain stops supporting the old status quo, resulting in your Mount Vesuvius experience.”

Demo blinked his eyes slowly. Taking in everything Jo had just said felt like trying to swallow a very large pill without water.

“Wait—so what you’re telling me, if I’m getting this right, is that the world I was in was suddenly being deconstructed? That Spencer had somehow moved on to something else?”

Jo snapped his fingers while continuing to rub his neck with the other hand.

“Not necessarily on to something else, but too far away from the memory of that specific location for it to remain solid. If you wander significantly away from the center of activity, the epicenter as I said before, you may hit the dormant parts of his brain. These areas would then become unsupported by his subconscious, and boom, game over.”

Demo wanted to dry heave. Had he really came so close to becoming a permanent residence of the bloody Vulcan neighborhood? That was definitely not his idea of a utopian existence.

“So how am I supposed to know when I’m getting close to this thing you call the fade? Just guess and hope for the best?”

Jo let out a small giggle, amused by Demo’s simple question.

“Details . . . it’s in the details, no doubt. Try conjuring up a room in your head. Try filling it in with everything a room usually has in it. You’ll find it’s quite difficult to hold on to. Now try imagining a whole world; your brain has to not only create it, but sustain it. It’s a freaking miracle that it works at all, but like all things, it has its limits. As the imagined world changes or the focal point moves, the details outside of the effective radius become more and more unstable until . . .”

Demo shook his head.

“. . . the fade.”

Jo practically gleamed at his accurate response.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!”

Demo glanced at Spencer who lay there as quiet as a sleeping baby. His mind still had other issues to resolve.

“And what about my abilities? While I was in there, I changed things as well.”

This comment made Jo put both hands in the air and wave them about frantically.

“No! No! You don’t want to do that! You’ll be conjuring up elements into a subconscious that’s creating them, controlling them!”

Bob Cat practically spat on the ground while giving immediate feedback.

“Conjuring? Elements? Are we playing some kind of dungeons and dragons shite now? Allow me to grab my staff.”

Demo smiled mischievously.

“But I did conjure up stuff. I changed my clothes and altered my appearance. Or at least I believed that I had, and it seemed to work.”

Hearing his own words made him bite into his cheek slightly. His definition of worked was slightly skewed. He’d been lucky not to have been flagged in the first five minutes. He was going to need some serious practice.

“You did? That’s amazing! The implications of that are mind boggling. I’ve got to go crunch some numbers and—”

Roslin stomped his foot in a very Jacky-like way.

“Jo! Focus! We need to understand every detail if we’re going to get anywhere.”

“Sorry, just a very exciting find. I never fathomed that something like this could occur; one person’s consciousness creating visuals inside another person’s consciousness. Talk about a brain teaser! My thoughts are as follows; what you did must have created a wave or rift in Mr. Vulcan’s plane of cognizance. But it must have been minor, since he didn’t perceive anything as out of the norm. Had it been, well, I doubt we’d be having this conversation.”

Bob Cat mumbled a line of profanities before attempting to clarify his inadequacy at understanding the language of Jo.

“And what’s that all supposed to mean? Could you repeat it for those of us who didn’t graduate from the intergalactic university?”

Jo grimaced as if he had just sucked on a lemon at Bob Cat’s remark.

“It’s like the ocean, okay? Now picture it filled with sharks swimming lazily around until something stirs the water just right. If you create too many waves, you’re as good as dinner.”

This comment resonated with Bob Cat, who suddenly exchanged his agitated state for one of genuine concern.

“You’re telling me that Demo could have been torn to bits by that mangy animal?”

Jo shrugged.

“Who knows what could have happened? It would ultimately be up to Spencer. Hate to see what he’d do if he wasn’t in the mood for company.

Suddenly Demo’s mind lit up. So many things were suddenly coming back to him in high definition and clarity. His horribly conjured-up disguise had brought him a lot of unwanted attention. But those changes had been minor. So the question is, just how far could he go?

“And what about weapons or anything else I might fathom?”

Jo closed his eyes and let out a cat like purr. Just hearing the project and machine’s name pleased him greatly.

“I don’t know. This is entirely new to me. Conjuring things too dramatic could drop a boulder in the pond. But I could be wrong. Maybe the proper isolation of those synapses would in negate the effect as long as it’s properly done and managed. Oh, wow! So many possibilities! Exciting, right?”

Demo stared blankly at this truly mad scientist. It was no wonder he’d ended up in the no-longer-so-secret secret building as Roslin’s babbling sidekick. Roslin frowned at them both as he brought his phone to his ear. After spouting off a few grumbles of understanding, he alerted the rest of the crew.

“We’ve got a problem. Intelligence has found something and we need to get on it immediately.”

Every man in the room took a deep breath. The nightmare would continue. There would be no respite.

“What is it? What’s going on?” asked Bob Cat intensely..

Roslin responded swiftly.

“Bodies we believe to be linked to the case have been found. Apparently, it’s something we have got to see to believe.”

Demo’s eyes watered. He remembered the deranged man’s last words: Now I believe. That’s what he’d said before he died. It was a statement that was religious and intimate; it pointed to a belief that would have taken time to harden into the malevolence that had manifested on the courthouse doorsteps that day. But just what, exactly, had that man believed in?

“Then let the blues take it on and pass the information. We can’t be playing errand boy on top of everything else.”

Roslin frowned. Something he’d heard in the stream of information had put a dagger in him.

“We’ve got to go now. We’ve got ground to cover.”

Demo knew what that meant. In his head he was screaming, More death! More innocent lives being lost to a sick, twisted game! Roslin ushered them out of the room, leaving a still twinkle-eyed Jo behind to crunch numbers and fine-tune his assumptions. As they left, Bob Cat began to tear into the fabric of Roslin’s demeanor. The two were truly a pair of immovable objects. Neither would back down from their stance. Demo, meanwhile, was lost in a sea of thoughts that swirled around him. Even the glaring white walls of the facility seemed fuzzy and out of focus. He was trying to find something to grasp on to, some needle in a haystack to pull him free from his gut-wrenching doubt. He’d always found some thought process he could use to understand what he needed to. But this was pure chaos. The targets were all over the place, but the murders themselves were impeccably executed. The symbolism was there, but the meanings still foggy. Why be obvious when you can hide the more sinister? This darkness was dragging up memories he’d worked very hard to forget.

As Roslin practically pushed him into an unmarked car, one memory stuck out above the rest: it was of the cold, dead body of an old friend; a friend who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Demo’s pain felt like a noose tightening around his neck. With each passing second it became harder and harder to breathe. What is this case doing to me?

“Mr. Ward, are you listening to me?”

Demo shook his head sharply chasing the blustery clouds of thought away.

“Sorry. I was just remembering something.”

It was Roslin’s voice that had beckoned him back from the darkness, which was odd since Roslin was rarely the bringer of anything light.

“That’s exactly what I was asking you to do! For crying out loud! Have I been talking to a wall?”

“Lay off him. He’s been through more than you know about, and a ’ell a lot more than some suit and tie could handle.”

Roslin smacked the dashboard of the car that they were sitting in. His prolonged exposure to Bob Cat affected him like radiation poisoning.

“I don’t care what’s happened in the past; none of us should! I need to know what’s happening now. We’re on our way to a new crime scene, when neither of you have given me any real direction from the last one!”

“Tell me, Mr. Ward, what did you see? Did you get anything from Spencer? I need to hear everything, and you better not hold anything back!”

Demo thought over the event carefully, like an artist proofing a painting before calling it finished. It was the inherent lack of details that bothered him most. Besides the ambience and obvious time difference, he had found nothing of any real relevance. His Spencer bounty hunting skills needed some polishing.

“The Godfather . . . I found The Godfather.”

Roslin relaxed his pose, befuddled by such an acute singularity.

“The Godfather? Who or what is the Godfather?”

Demo put his head into his hands resisting the urge to punch something.

“A movie. It’s a dirty, stickin’, rotten movie. I chased a lead, scrummed down a guy with a bag of weed, all to end up at the opening night of the damn Godfather.”

Roslin sat back in his seat, releasing the gust of air he’d been unconsciously holding. It appeared his rage had peaked and now he was lost in a sea of it. Things seemed to be turning for the worst.

“Demo, are you telling me that all you found was an old movie? Am I hearing you right?”

Demo nodded at Bob Cat’s question—he had heard him right—but there were a few more details that might salvage a scrap of usefulness from this situation.

“I was in the city; our city, but in another time. I saw a lot of things that I need to research, things that I believe to have historical importance. I doubt I found Spencer, but with some time I think I can take apart the world and time he created. That’ll help me understand his mindset, and hopefully lead me to his trail.”

Roslin took a deep breath. Trying to contain himself was an obvious struggle for him. Demo watched him closely. What happens when Roslin snaps?

“Fine, fine, that’s fine. So you know for a fact it was the same city? Beyond a shadow of a doubt?”

“I walked the very streets I’ve walked a hundred times. Things looked different but they felt the same. It was the same city; my city.”

Roslin looked at the driver then at the odometer. He whispered something across the seat before turning back around.

“Well, let’s hope you get another opportunity. I fear things will become much, much worse every second this goes on.”

Demo did what he always did best; he ignored everyone else. He was deep in meditation trying to connect the dots from Fathom to the real world. Roslin was correct that things would continue to escalate until resolved. He needed to accelerate the process.

Hours that seemed more like days passed before the unmarked car arrived at its intended location. It looked like an old, abandoned homestead. The buildings were all beautifully aged, creating feelings of nostalgia. But one building stuck out more than the rest; an old barn. It was a deep, rustic color and was comprised of antiquated wood boards fastened together by old rusty nails, which appeared to be the only thing holding it together. On the near wall was a flimsy, double door that had been shut tight for years; at least until now. It was the door that had drawn attention to the barn. It had been moved, the oxidized lock broken. Special Agents were scattered around the property, scrapping for evidence. But the once quiet barn held something dark inside—something that wanted to get out, to be heard—the silence had come to an end.

As he exited the car any attempt to converse with Demo was deflected and ignored. He was honing in on the barn. As he paced forward, Roslin intercepted everyone in Demo path, waving them off forcefully. It was amazing how much of Jacky’s attitude seemed to dwell in this man. But that was a history to revel in another time. As he entered the rickety building, he saw a board resting by the door bearing the words, Tora Tora. Tora Tora . . . that doesn’t ring any bells. Another interesting but subtle detail was the condition of the wood; it was obviously much newer than the rest.

The inside of the barn was much like the outside. Old pieces of farm equipment sat deteriorating into the ground like plastic toys slowly melting in the sun. But at the back of the barn was something truly maniacal in every regard. It was fashioned from the same aged steel that dotted the interior. Its execution was meticulous wrought. Long, rusty poles were carefully connected to a circular center piece. Wires, cables, and other odds and end were used to construct an evil effigy of the scales of justice. But the weight plates held the real horror. On one end was a pile of ashes and bones; on the other, a decaying body dressed ceremoniously in judicial garb. The scale sat in perfect balance. The scene compelled Demo to purge his insides out. It was truly deranged.

“This is sick. What a sick freak!” grumbled Bob Cat, turning away.

Roslin’s pace slowed until he came to a complete stop, his eyes fixated on the corpse dressed like a judge. It sat motionless, eyes stuck wide open. The odor of acrid air pelted against him. He averted his eyes in anger and disgust. Demo observed Roslin’s reaction carefully. One thing was obvious now—this particular scene of well-crafted brutality had come too close to home—for Roslin, this was personal.

“Tora, tora; what does that mean? Is that some sort of historical saying? I seem to remember it in possible reference to a war or conflict,” Demo mumbled.

Roslin kept his gaze locked on the corpse in front of him. He obviously couldn’t yet muster up the will to converse.

Bob Cat jumped in to soften Roslin’s silence, “What are you saying, Demo? You need to speak English.”

“It’s written on a board outside. I find it oddly out of place. Why would something like that be at the entrance to this nightmare? When was it put there?”

Roslin slowly turned. His demeanor showed the great signs of wear and tear that had ripped a gaping hole in his ever-resolute disposition.

“We’ve got a room full of dead bodies, and you want to know what a damn piece of wood on the door means?”

Demo shook his head.

“It’s not a want. I need to know. It’s the little things that matter the most.”

Roslin clenched his fist tightly turning it almost bone white. He began to speak but was abruptly cut off.

“I’m sorry for your loss. No doubt the one up there dressed like the man of justice is a friend of yours. Based on the symbolism we’ve been left so far, I’ll guess he was an actual judge and has been missing for quite some time. I’d also assume that this, this sickness, has a direct connection to the other murders. My only question is how? How did this come to light and how did you find this place?”

Roslin turned away, his eyes falling back on what was once his friend.

“He told us.”

“What do you mean, “He told us?” You’re telling me that you knew about this, and you still let it happen?” Bob Cat spit angrily.

“We didn’t know . . . at least not until now. All we had to go off of was a misdirected piece of mail that ended up at one of our buildings. How were we supposed to know it actually meant something?”

Bob Cat threw a bare knuckled punch into a flimsy piece of wood that collapsed under the force. The commotion shook the room to a standstill. All eyes now rested on him.

“It’s your blooming job to follow up on anthing that might stop something like this before it happens!”

Roslin shook his head.

“It had no relevance until now; in light of all our other cases, of which you have no idea, we thought it was pretty minor. Once we realized this was escalating, we rechecked everything—and I do mean everything. That’s how we ended up here. Don’t you think I regret not acting sooner? That man up there was one of my old friends and now he’s dead. The only consolation is that his missing person’s case has finally been solved.”

Demo closed his eyes, still feeling sick to his stomach from his initial scan of this macabre scene.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. They were already dead. The killer wouldn’t have clued you in until their work was complete.”

Roslin stared down each idle officer, sending them scurrying back to work. Demo approached the grotesque tableau gingerly. He didn’t want to accidentally miss anything or disturb the scene. Before him was hell incarnate; a pile of burned human remains on one side, and a slain judge on the other. He needed space to think . . . he needed space to become what he needed to be.

“I need some time alone in here.”

Bob Cat looked sternly at Roslin expecting another fight for power. But it never came. To everyone’s surprise, he bowed out and gave Demo exactly what he had asked for. Bob Cat assumed his usual position in a shadowy corner of the room and waited for the magic to happen.

Demo went back to the door. He already knew what was outside but wanted to see if any bread crumbs had been idly left behind. But inside, he knew better. The killer had been scrupulous. As he walked into the room, he could feel the same darkness he had felt in the walk-in freezer at the warehouse. It slowly began to ooze over him like putrid tar.

“I’m so proud of this . . . and yet . . . something needs to be balanced.”

Demo continued mumbling his thoughts as he went. The fact that this had been a forced entry begged the answer to a few questions.

“Why here? And why would you go through all this trouble?”

He moved closer to the remnants of what had undoubtedly been a horrific murder. The smell of burnt flesh was overwhelmingly acrid. That mixed with the smell of decay emanating from the other body were almost too much to bear. But he knew he had to continue, to fight through it. Looking up at the expertly put together pieces of metal that comprised the large scale, he was taken aback by the craftsmanship. How such crude elements could be reworked with such artistry spoke of real talent. He moved on to the piles of ash and bone. He was sure the ash had been created earlier and at some other location that had yet to be found. Why bother burning them? What made them so special? The thought raced through his head like a speeding car. This was personal. Sucking in a large gulp of air, he did the next thing that made sense.

Bob Cat turned away, contorting his face in disgust, as Demo plunged one of his hands deep into the ash. The sensation of charred bone fragments slipping through his fingers was absolutely appalling. Gritty remains of a once vibrant life tumbled over his hand like sand on the beach. His mind was giving orders driven by questions he wanted answers to. He was coming to his wit’s end when suddenly he felt a smooth stone rub against his hand. With all the caution he could muster, he slowly brought it into the light; a diamond. A diamond had been intentionally placed in the ash. Demo nearly fainted. The monster that had done this was becoming more complex in his thinking. A numb feeling was dragging Demo’s soul down to the very depths of what he thought was humanly possible. But he still had one more body to inspect. An older man was curled up in the fetal position, his attire reeking of rotting carcass. A white wig completed the satire of the outfit, with a gavel to boot. Demo couldn’t take any more. The smell and visuals were too much.

“Okay, I have to get out of here. I need—I just need to leave.”

Bob Cat nodded his head before opening the door. He cleared a path for Demo, who ran past a sea of onlookers to a nearby bush, where he heaved up what little he had left inside. The pain brought him back to the stark reality of what had happened here. But at least he had gained some ground. In fact, he was now positive of at least one thing; the killer wasn’t alone. The clues swirled around him like a carousel out of control. What does it all mean? What are you trying to tell me?

“Mr. Ward, what did you find?” demanded Roslin, coming into view.

Demo paused, still feeling the nausea pulsing in his gut. He produced the diamond. Roslin took a few steps forward allowing the diamond to fall into his outstretched hand.

“What’s this?”

Demo shook his head to clear it. He needed to be Demo again.

“Purity, innocence, perfection . . . many adjectives apply, but those are the ones that come to my mind.”

Roslin stared deeply into the sparkling rock.

“I need more than that. I need something I can use.”

Demo’s ears began to ring. He didn’t want to explain what he thought about what he’d just seen. He didn’t want the rot to enter him. But he knew he had a job to do, and do it he would.

“This location is relevant. The pile of ash with the diamond represents fire and pressure creating perfection. What’s a diamond but ash under pressure? The scale is an obvious reference to justice. The meticulous design made with elements found here, points to the intimate connection the murdered man dressed as a judge has to this place; we can assume he’s the owner. It also divulges the killer’s intent. He wanted this to matter to his victim. But making that happen would take time and careful planning. The symbolism would need to be preserved. The pile of ash was left for a far more sinister reason. Burning that victim, whoever it is, freed the killer’s deranged mind from their tainted image. What better cleanser than fire? This was almost an act of love—twisted, sadistic love—the kind of love one would only share with someone he loved the most. A family, a family ripped apart by sin, brought back together by the purity of fire. I have no doubt in my mind that the man decaying inside shared a connection with them. His death was deserved in the killer’s mind. The scales of justice had finally been balanced.”

Roslin stared at the ground in disgust. He, too, was connected to this case on more than just a professional level. Demo pressed on.

“There’s more to this that I’m starting to see. This isn’t someone that’s doing things on his own. This has the ring of a teacher and pupil partnership. It’s more complicated than I originally foresaw. We’re dealing with two perpetrators.”

Bob Cat’s head sunk deeply into his chest. The darkness was beginning to break them all down.

“I know this is a horrible time to bring this back up, but I have to. I just remembered what the words on the board that hung on the door meant. But first, before I tell you, I need to know something else.”

Demo locked onto Roslin.

“The letter; what did it say when you opened it?”

Suddenly, Roslin looked as if he’d just seen death itself. His eyes darted nervously back and forth.

“Tora, Tora” . . .

Demo closed his eyes. The killer had again proven his worth as a talented adversary of the most despicable kind.

“Surprise, Surprise . . .” Demo said quietly.