The Blackwater Files (episode IV)
In which Jack meets a stranger and Sari awakens in black waters.
Episode IV: in which Jack meets a stranger and Sari awakens in black waters.
ABBA was replaced by a loud, clubbing beat that took over the theatre. A thousand lights flashed and smoke poured onto the stage.
With a flourish, a man stalked out into the light. He was dressed immaculately. Deep blue velvet wrapped his lean frame, gold earrings shone from his ears. The man smiled widely, black eyes glittering. “Welcome, Jack.”
Jack wasn’t quite sure what to make of the spectacle. His head began to painfully pound in time with the music. Shielding his eyes, Jack took a single step back. “Who are you?” he asked, forced to shout.
The man opened his mouth to answer, but then several things happened at once.
There was a loud crack of a gunshot. Out of habit, Jack hit the ground and scooted back into the wings.
Screams.
Then, nothing.
When Jack raised his head, he caught sight of a woman. She wore a white catsuit and was standing on the highest tier of the theater. Whoever she was, she didn’t seem to notice him.
All the better.
Her face was awash with irritation. She racked her firearm and stomped away without so much as a passing glance in their direction.
Jack pushed himself to his knees. “Who was that?”
The stranger was still standing in the middle of the floor. His forehead wrinkled, befuddled. “One second,” he said. “Stupid outsider ruined everything...” He clapped twice. The lights normalized and the music calmed. Other than him, there was no one. Not a single sign that another living soul had occupied the seats.
Jack chose to accept the oddity for what it was.
Though he would’ve preferred total silence, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He got to his feet. “Do you know her?” he asked.
“I… I actually have no idea who that was,” the man admitted. He scratched his head, bewildered. “Now, where were we?”
Jack continued to scan the space. Something told him he’d see that woman again and that he wouldn’t like it when he did.
“You were introducing yourself, I think,” he said.
The man waved Jack’s question away. “Name’s too difficult to pronounce, call me Money.”
Money looks at you and grins. “You all know me, don’t you?” He paused. Then, Money frowned. “What do you mean, you’ve never heard of me? I’m an easter egg, aren’t I?”
“What are you looking at?” Jack demanded.
“Oh, I get it,” said Money, ignoring Jack. “I’m an easter egg before my story is told.”
This was becoming silly. Jack threw his hands in the air. “Who are you talking to?”
Money winks at you conspiratorially. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. My story: coming summer 2024, baby.” He paused before mumbling, “if the author can swing it anyway.”
Jack shook his head. “What are you talking about? 2024 was 26 years ago.”
Money gasped. “It’s been nearly thirty years!?”
That was enough, Jack decided. He was wasting time. Rolling his eyes, Jack adjusted the shotgun strap on his shoulder and began to walk down the steps on the side of the stage. It all remained empty save a single abandoned birkenstock.
It’s all a dream, he reminded himself, don’t try to make sense of it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Money called after him.
Jack ignored Money. He passed the seats and pushed open the theatre door. He entered the lobby—
Wait.
“I’m on the first floor again?” Jack whispered.
Was he? It was changed. Lights were dimmed, the air was stale, and no merry fire crackled. The deer’s head was missing its eyes. The music was wrong too. Dean Martin’s voice was warped, the track was scratched. Even the chorus in the background felt off. Jack wished it would stop.
As he turned to take in the decayed state of the lobby, he found himself face-to-face with Money once more. He stood in the middle of the room as if he’d always been there. Jack started. “What the hell?”
“Ignoring people is rude,” quipped Money.
Jack sidestepped him. “You’re not a people, you’re a dream.”
Crossing his arms, Money kept step beside Jack. “I might not be a people but I’m certainly not a dream.”
“Whatever.”
They passed a popcorn machine. When did that get here?
Jack followed the green glowing exit sign and followed it down a darkened hall. His footsteps were cushioned by the red carpet. Apple and pomegranate motifs had faded.
Out of the corner of his eye, something white flashed. Jack spun to face it, shotgun at the ready.
A small white rabbit paused. It stood up on its hind legs and considered him. Its nose twitched. There was something ugly about it. Jack’s finger caressed the curved surface of his trigger, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to pull.
He didn’t need to make a decision. Seemingly satisfied, the animal continued its journey. Jack followed it with his gaze until it disappeared beneath a pile of overturned books.
“You’ve gone deeper,” said Money. He trailed a few feet behind, his hands in his pockets.
Jack scowled. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”
He pushed forward toward the exit sign again. When he came to the door, Jack shouldered it open. He sent Money a sidelong glance. How long would this guy tag along?
He returned to the lobby. Looped.
It was worse now. Here the lights flickered and the smell of mildew and rotted books filled the air. Jack tightened his grip on his gun. “Hell no.”
Picking up the pace, he once more followed the path of the exit sign.
“You won’t be able to leave,” said Money. “The elevator is gone.”
Jack didn’t answer. The exit was before him.
Money hesitated at the start of the final hall. “You might want to stop because it’s drawing you in, Jack.”
Jaw clenched, Jack grasped the handle. His boots squelched. He stopped and looked down to see water rushing from beneath the door.
A voice, muffled, called:
You hold the rope and I’ll jump.
I’ll jump
I’ll jump
Benji’s words tapered off into an echo.
Jack squeezed his eyes closed. “It was an accident,” he whispered.
“Don’t engage,” warned Money. He stepped forward, his weight not making a sound on the soggy floor. “It’s playing with you.”
The strong smell of the ocean filled Jack’s senses. It was not pleasing. This was like a salty marsh after its tide recoiled. It was suffocating, muggy, hot.
Benji: the stronger, faster, more adventurous twin. It was his fault, not Jack’s.
Money snapped his ringed fingers in Jack’s face. “Hey! Focus, here. Don’t let it mess with you.”
Blinking rapidly, Jack opened his eyes. The briney scent receded.
He cleared his throat. “What do I do?”
“It won’t let you leave through the usual routes, you’ll have to improvise.”
Jack squinted. A migraine was brewing. He wanted to sleep, needed everything to slow down. “It? Are you talking about the Riptide?”
Money nodded. “The elevator doesn’t work anymore.”
“What does it want from me?”
“It wants out.”
“But I’m locked in.”
“Until you go crazy and give into this place. Don’t you feel it plucking at your mind? Memory and dream have fused together into something terrible and useful to the Riptide. I’m sure you’ve made it very, very angry with that. Makes it personal, I guess.” Money pointed to the shotgun by Jack’s side.
Jack glanced down at his weapon. “Well, if the Riptide has the power to stop me from getting to the surface, why can I shoot it?”
“Powerful memory? Damned if I know… If I weren’t already.”
What?
Money continued. “The Riptide has whatever power you give it.” He paused. “You’ve trained with Deep C before?”
His eyebrows raised. It had been a while since Jack heard that term, like a lifetime. “No, just A and B,” he answered.
“That’ll be enough. Anyone who survives this long in the Undertow is a prime candidate for the Riptide. You’re probably clocking in more hours than most, more than a VR addict, more than a drug user. That’ll be a rather unlucky tell that you aren’t the average volunteer.”
“How do you know all this?”
Money smiled, each tooth revealing itself like a cheshire cat. “Things that are hidden, dear Jack… that’s my game.”
Jack took another careful look at the man. “Right.”
“I should make you nervous, Jack,” said Money. “I’ll help you, but I’m not your friend. Remember that.”
Jack suppressed a shudder. “Why help at all?”
Turning on his heel, Money began a brisk walk back down the hall. “Because I owe someone a favor—several, actually—and I don’t particularly like the feeling.” He gestured for Jack to follow. “Come on, Jack! Not much time to lose. Something’s going on topside. The hammers of Babel are waking us up like nothing I’ve ever seen. If you make it out, you’ll need to shut the door behind you.”
Jack hung back, unsure. He glanced at the door again and contemplated entering. Money was weird, too weird.
“Hurry up!” Money called.
What choice did he have? Jack groaned internally and jogged over to Money’s side. “And how do I get out?” he asked.
“Right. You’ll need to find a fissure, a split seam into your world. The closer Riptide comes to the surface, the bigger the fissure. I’m sure yours is massive.”
Money breaks the fourth wall and looks at you with a small smile. “One must break the tension with a comedic moment every so often, even if it’s as sophomoric as a subtle joke about—.”
“Money, stop talking to the air,” interjected Jack. “I need you to tell me how I find a fissure.”
Money shrugged. “I’ll show you the way down, but I can’t go beyond the next level.”
They rounded a corner and headed to a set of stairs. Money bounced down each step, almost like he was dancing.
Everything darkened. For a moment, Jack could only see the glitter of Money’s jewellery and the shine of his shoes. “It’s down here somewhere…” Money muttered to himself.
Then they entered a new hallway. They were basked in a hellish red glow of a “RECORDING IN SESSION” sign.
“Why can’t you go leave this whole place?” asked Jack.
“This is where I belong.”
They came to a service door, Money hesitated. When Jack met his eye, he could see the man had sobered. “This is a way forward, but you need to stick close and be silent.” His eyes flicked to Jack’s gun. “Keep that at the ready, but don’t get trigger-happy. The goal is to get through here unnoticed.”
Jack felt his stomach do a sick flip. “Okay.”
The air was chilly and damp. The back of her throat burned. Sari was standing somewhere dark. Her chin was tucked against her chest. Although she remained on her feet, as Sari raised her head, it felt like she was waking from a deep sleep.
Thirsty, she was so thirsty. When she licked her upper lip, she tasted sand and sea water.
The muscles in her neck ached. Sari moved to touch it, but her hands were already occupied. She looked. An M4511 light machine gun was cradled between her forearms and torso. These had gone out of use toward the end of the Sino-American war; replaced with something different, something more accurate, something lighter. How did she get it?
Her clothes had changed too: cargo pants and a bulletproof vest over the white undershirt she’d worn beneath the scrubs. Black hair was plastered to her neck and forehead. Sweat? Water? She didn’t know.
Her awareness grew. Sari wasn’t in a confined space. Lights were behind her. They were dim and fickle; their strength ebbed and flowed. A fire, then?
Yes.
Before her was a large stone fireplace. Sari took it in with a sea-sick sense of unease. She was in a hotel lobby—what was once a lobby, anyway. Music crackled through the speakers. It came to its end before petering off like water on coals.
“Again—”
“Again—”
“Again—”
The voice looped before the music picked up from the beginning.
Sari blinked. Where am I?
She’d been here before.
Sari squeezed her eyes shut and wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand.
Before this… before this… what happened?
It was difficult to discern. Memories came in strobing flashes; painful.
The ballpoint pen sank into the side of Dr. Karasevda’s neck, his unyielding fist remained in her hair. Black eyes bored into hers. She could see herself, her terror, in their reflection. There was no blood—or maybe there wasn’t time for it to spill. She was yanked from her feet, lifted like a rag doll. He drove her beneath the surface.
Cold, it was cold!
Her body reacted despite itself; wanted to gasp. Training was forgotten. Sari thrashed. Silver bubbles from her lips. The tips of her fingers dug into his sleeves, into his skin. Sari found no purchase. She saw his perfect face disappear as something took hold of her and dragged her
down,
down,
down.
Sari fell into swirling rapids, it sucked her under and tossed her like she was nothing. For a moment, her head broke free. Sari gasped for air, reaching for something, anything.
She was pulled into the dark.
When at last her eyes opened, Sari found herself on a beach. Her eyes stung. Palms bloodied on sand as she resisted the waves.
A gap. A gap in her memory.
Still near the shore. Black water lapped at her feet. Overhead, the sky was a rolling grey. The green locker was empty. The touchstone wouldn’t work. Why wouldn’t the touchstone work? Because she wasn’t in her own head? Because she was in Jack’s?
“Get down!” someone screamed.
Ah, the battle for Guam. Not her memory. If this was Jack’s head, he must’ve been stationed here thirteen years ago.
Sari peered down at a body; someone young. With a soft sigh, she began to pry the vest from his shoulders. Then, it wasn’t a young man, it was an older one. She was fifteen.
Gasoline and smoke pricked her eyes.
She was plundering from his pockets with bloodied fingertips. Her school uniform skirt was torn, her tie was missing, her violin bow was snapped.
In the lobby, Sari forced herself to exhale. “A dream within a dream,” she whispered.
Her head hurt. Sari forced herself to unclench her jaw, hoping it would help. It didn’t. She wanted to be angry. Anger was useful, clear, purposeful.
All Sari could think of was that she was frightened.
She did a 180 degree turn. There were no doors, but she somehow already knew that. Instead, there were books on the shelves, abandoned martini glasses on the bar counter, and a stag’s head on the fireplace’s mantle. Its antlers cast strange, arboreal shadows.
Am I dead? she wondered.
No where to go but forward, Sari passed beneath the deer’s gaze and approached the far side of the room. An elevator rang out. The sound carried, though dull and tired. Its bronze doors slid open.
An invitation?
She stopped before the elevator’s gently smiling jaws. A chill ran up her spine. Sari averted her eyes, down at the sodden carpet as she repressed a sudden wave of nausea. In through the nose, out through the mouth, eyes up at the ceiling.
There was no ceiling.
Sari gaped upward into the darkness. It was nothing. A maddening void that just was.
Or maybe I’m having a little mental breakdown.
She released a high-pitched giggle. Sari was keenly aware of her own rising hysteria. “Not good,” she mumbled.
For the sake of her own sanity, Sari returned her focus to the elevator. This place was playing tricks on her mind.
“Get it together.”
She shook herself. It’s okay to be scared, Sari thought, fear opens your ears and eyes.
After a quick breath, she entered. There was no other way out. No other elevator, no other door, no other choice than to remain in a lobby with no ceiling.
The doors slid shut automatically. Lights flickered. Sari felt the space jolt before it started to descend. Her pupils blew wider, her heart rate rocketed, her breathing grew shallow.
With trembling fingers, Sari flicked the safety off her gun. The horrible sense of deja vu strengthened. She burrowed the stock into her shoulder.
Something comes next. I’m scared because something is coming.
From the author
I’d like to take a moment to tag and thank all the authors who have contributed to this project so far! It’s been so much fun reading your work and having a creative group (as it were) where we get to be excited about world-building.
If you have a moment, please go and check out their wonderful pages (Blackwater and beyond).
*I totally made this up (not sure how to fabricate US military gun designations), but it’s based off of the M249 light machine gun—which is just about to be phased out (I think?). I doubted it would still be in use by 2040-2050s. I also contemplated the newer XM250 but it’s a bit cumbersome for a slight woman to use (plus, I think the XM250 is belt-fed?). Although, I enjoy the idea of the video-game vibe; it’s not where I’m going with Sari’s half of the story—which does not enjoy the touch of humor of Jack’s subconscious. I’m not an expert by any means. Feedback is welcome on this point!
Very trippy, as the other comments said! I think you did a great job with the different tones of Jack and Sari’s portions; I could sense the shift in perspective immediately.
Deeper down, down you go, going to the fissure
blackwater calling for you, drawing you in, drowning you
in the past. Learn to swim, in VR, and that's all that due
to learn your past in rip and tide
there is no place to hide.