Bleak History Read online

  She looked at him. “Gabriel Bleak?”

  “Yes. That's why we've been pursuing him in particular. Oh, yes, we know you met with him today. We lost track of you once you got on the subway—but we weren't trying very hard to keep up. We don't want him to be too suspicious—too wary. We've been readying you for interaction with him, for some time now. For special work with Gabriel Bleak. We hoped to simply capture him, first. He's proven remarkably elusive. But a special sort of recruitment... that might work too. Might perhaps yield better results. We have people already preparing the ground.”

  “So—” She licked her lips. She really wanted a drink of water. “So you would be willing to work with the Shadow Community on its own terms? To let them work independently, in the field, under assignment? Bleak—Gabriel Bleak—was willing to consider it.”

  Sean chuckled; Helman's head bobbled with amusement. “Ha-ha, well, we would not allow that, no, no, not as such. But we want them to think we might do that, in the short term. In the long term, we'll need to have most of them in constant containment. Except for a very few special individuals. In time, Sean here, and Gabriel Bleak, selected others, may be allowed to work in the outside world. But we have to create certain control precedents first. You, Loraine—you are one of those precedents. You and Gabriel Bleak are, to use the old-fashioned term, soul mates.”

  “We're what?” She actually rocked back in her chair.

  “So that's what they mean by taken aback!” Sean said, amused. “Yeah, Loraine—you're fated to be mated with my brother.” He added sullenly, “Like he hasn't had all the luck already.”

  “It's not as if you're 'soul mates' in the sense of two people who merely feel comfortable together,” Helman said. “True soul mates are fairly rare. They are souls that were created at the same instant, a symmetrical cocreation, for a special kind of union. They're not created merely for romantic reasons, you know. It has something to do with creating a ripple effect from the symmetry of putting them together—soul mates send out a 'harmonic transmission,' when they unite. Helping, supposedly, to bring more harmony to the world.”

  “See, now you're getting all pompous and erudite and shit,” Sean said, rolling his eyes.

  Helman seemed to control his temper, then went on, “Now, with Gabriel Bleak—our profile suggests that deep down he's a very romantic man. He's lonely. And we believe he's already unconsciously enamored of you. As he's your soul mate, and you his—he really cannot help falling in love with you. At first it might be hard to get him to admit that—”

  “Have to get him hard before he admits it,” Sean said, grinning around clenched yellow teeth.

  Helman sighed and shot Sean a look of irritation. Which Loraine thought was ironic, considering Helman's own arrested-adolescent behavior. Could be that Helman was a kind of warped role model for Sean.

  Helman looked earnestly back at Loraine. “We don't believe Gabriel Bleak will work with us willingly without you on board. And we need him to be genuinely on our side. There's something very* specific we need him to do. And for you—though he may not know it yet—he would do anything. “

  “Bleak and I hardly know each other. I find it hard to believe that...that he and I are... 'soul mates.' Find it hard to believe in soul mates at all.”

  “Nevertheless, it is the case. Soul mates are just one of those oddities of metaphysics. But believe me, they are quite real. But we use the term in a higher sense than the usual sentimentality.”

  Soul mates. She'd thought the idea childish, improbable, before. But there was something beautiful, really, in this higher kind of soul mates, she decided. Souls “created at the same instant, a symmetrical cocreation, for a special kind of union.” And CCA had perverted that beauty—used it for their own sick little agenda.

  What had Zweig called it? The “lure concept.” That's what she was—a lure. To get Bleak here— to containment.

  Keeping impassive, she asked, “What is it you need Bleak to do for you...specifically?” “He's got to work with me,” Sean said. “Do a dual magicking with me.”

  “A...a what?” she asked numbly. Trying not to sit there with her mouth hanging open. Soul mates.

  “A certain ritual.”

  “There is great power,”' Helman put in, “when you put the Bleak brothers together. So we're told. They represent two ends of one metaphysical pole. Bring them together, in the same working, and we can bring under our control a certain entity who will, in turn, control all the ShadowComms we can locate. Gulcher was just a temporary expedient. This...other entity will make it possible for us to bring about a basic and much needed change in our society. We cannot go on like this, you know, with the world so dangerous, so unstable. For a start, the president is planning to suspend elections, a couple years from now.”

  Loraine was not as shocked as she thought she'd be. “So that rumor is true.” “It'll be necessary for a time. An...indefinite time. You see—”

  “Hey, Doc,” Sean said, looking at Helman suddenly with a sneering triumph. “You're gettin' way past 'need to know.'“

  Helman scowled, not liking to be brought up short by Sean. But he nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you're right. There'll be time for that later. The general will decide when.”

  Loraine took a long breath, trying to center herself. She couldn't let them know how all this made” her feel. Especially the part about the president's plans. I'm supposed to be loyal to the president— when loyalty is actually treason.

  But she nodded, locking eyes with Helman, trying to sound as if she believed what she was saying. As if she didn't privately believe that Dr. Helman was insane. “If the president thinks that this change is necessary for the safety and stability of the country then”—she shrugged—”I've taken an oath: I serve at the pleasure of the president.”

  “Must be good to be president,” Sean said. “With you serving at his pleasure.”

  Helman winced. Loraine simply stood up and said, “I've given you my answer, Doctor. I'm tired and it's a long trip back to Brooklyn Heights.”

  “Actually”—it was General Forsythe, standing in the doorway—”I reckon you won't be going back to Brooklyn Heights tonight.” Forsythe stood there with his hands casually in his pockets; smiling apologetically. And seemingjust as fundamentally insincere as Helman and Sean. “I'm sorry, by the way, that I missed the meeting, turning up at the last moment here like this. I had a kind of a set-to with Mr. Gulcher. Discipline issue.”

  “I...didn't come prepared to stay overnight. I need to clean up, get some rest—”

  “Oh, we have rooms for officers and government visitors here, you can use one of those. They're a bit dormlike but comfortable enough. I've already sent for your necessities. Your things will be here any minute.”

  She stared. “You sent someone to rifle through my apartment? That really wasn't necessary, General.”

  He shrugged. His vaguely apologetic look didn't waver. “We've got a state of national emergency coming up here, Agent Sarikosca.” The regret dropped from his face. She saw him, suddenly, as he really was. A cold-eyed slug of a man capable of doing anything to anyone. “This is no time to think like a suburban housewife.”

  That one felt like a slap in the face. But she had to ask: “My cats...?”

  He snorted impatiently. “We can have them put down for you. You'll be here for a long time, I expect. You'll want to cancel your lease.” “Cancel my...How long will I be here?”

  “Oh—you'll be here at Facility Twenty-three indefinitely, Agent Sarikosca. Unless we need you to bring Bleak to us—and then, perhaps, we'll cast that fishin' line in the water. But the bait will be firmly on the hook. You won't be going anywhere we don't want you to go. And now—I believe there is a debriefing we need to get ourselves to. There is a good deal, I reckon, you haven't told us about

  Gabriel Bleak.” The two black berets in the hall stepped into view, then, behind him, looking at her coolly, without pointing their weapons at her. But making their
purpose clear. And Forsythe told her, “Come right this way, please.”

  ***

  GULCHER SAT ON THE edge of the small bed, looking around at the tiny room they'd given him. Superficially, it was more comfortable than a jail cell. But it was still locked from the outside.

  “Fucking college dorm room,” he muttered. “But they don't lock those kids in.” He should be asleep. He was tired, and frustrated. The whisperer wouldn't say much to him. He could sense the ethereal familiars around, but they weren't responsive to him. Forsythe was interfering some way. Gulcher could sense a connection.

  A knock on the door. “Yeah, come in, as if I have a fucking choice!”

  The door unlocked, and Dr. Helman was there, carrying two tiny liquor bottles, as if from a minibar. Helman's head bobbled. “Mr. Gulcher? Can I have a word? And the use of a couple of glasses?”

  What was this all about? “Sure. Glasses over by that dinky-ass little sink there.” Helman closed the door behind him, busied himself at the sink, pouring the drinks. “Water in yours?”

  “Hell no, I want to taste it. That all you've brought?”

  “It is, I'm afraid, all I could scrounge. I thought—bourbon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I'll have the brandy. Here you go.” He handed Gulcher the glass with a little more than a finger of amber fluid in it and actually clinked it with his own. “Chin-chin!” Helman said, taking the merest sip.

  Gulcher snorted. “Whatever. Sit down.” He nodded toward a small chair at the small desk.

  Helman sat, cradling the glass in both hands. Sipping the bourbon, Gulcher noticed that despite the hour, Helman still wore his suit jacket and the tie with the flowers painted on it.

  Helman sighed. “I am a man of the world. I'm sure it's evident. Yet when it comes to the ladies, I find myself tongue-tied. Loraine Sarikosca is here. I don't know as you've met her. A handsome woman. Perhaps a tad young for me. She's not happy with her current situation—she's under restrictions.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Ah, yes. Oh, you'll be given much more latitude when we have what the general calls 'full control.' And when your loyalty has been tested. But until then...at any rate, I, ah...well, you seem a vigorous sort of man, who doubtless has had women in his time. I mean—the ones you had, who...that is, I don't mean to imply—”

  “The ones I didn't pay for, or force?”

  “As I said, I meant no offense—”

  “It's all right. I'm a con, you rack up a lot of run-ins with the heat, you get to expect people to have, you know, assumptions and shit. I prefer my women voluntary. And I've had plenty of girlfriends.”

  “So...with a woman who's a professional—”

  “She's a whore?”

  “Not that kind of professional, Mr. Gulcher. Troy...1 mean, she's a member of a profession, she's a federal agent, she's...not someone to be trifled with. How would one...Well, I was thinking of knocking on her door this very evening. She might be lonely, here.”

  “She give you any indication she thinks of you that way?”

  “Ah—not as such. No.”

  “Then she probably doesn't. Figures you for too old for her. And she's not going to be in the mood, when she's already feeling trapped, for Christ's sake. Hey, Doc?” Gulcher paused to drink off

  half his bourbon. Too bad there was only this one baby bottle. “I'm a little, what you might say, skeptical that advice about women is the only reason you're here.”

  Helman chewed his lower lip, glanced nervously at the door. “Very perceptive. Yes, there is something else. I hesitate to discuss it. What—yes, let's put it this way—what was your impression of the event in the courtyard? With Billy Blunt, the others. Forsythe supervising.”

  Gulcher didn't enjoy thinking about it. He didn't like anyone else having the ability to take control of people. What if it happened to him next? He shrugged. “Gave me a feeling you people could lose control of this thing. What do I know, I'm no expert. But for one thing—that Forsythe's got something else going on. He's got his own agenda. Only it's not his. That thing that's in him— something ain't human, in there.”

  Helman looked pale. Drank a little more brandy. “What do you mean, he ain't...isn't human?”

  “With that mind reading of his. You notice that? And it's not like he's...you know, got a talent, like I do. It's something else. It's like it's not him reading the minds.”

  “Ah. Yes. I have been wondering about that myself.” Helman made his brandy swirl in the glass. “Forsythe was the first one in our research department to do what he called 'direct outreach' to the... the After. Specifically—to entities in what the Shadow Community likes to call the Wilderness. The part of the Hidden that's kept back from close interaction with our world, in normal conditions. The general bridged that gap—and he says he was rewarded with a certain 'extraordinary sensitivity.' Which we perceive as mind reading. But...I'm not sure that's the whole story.”

  “That what he calls it? 'Sensitivity'?” It occurred to Gulcher that the more he knew about what was going on, the more options he had. Just like in jail. Know when they trucked out the laundry—and you might be able to go with it. “So what was this 'outreach' of his?”

  “Ritual magic. He was the first to do it, that I'm aware of, in CCA. He has a special room that he performed it in.”

  “And he sorta changed, after he did that ritual stuff—right?”

  Helman blinked, opening his mouth to reply. Then he shut it. Seemed to think for a moment. “I suppose that's true. Not too obviously. But it shows, at times. He's changed. As I said—if it is merely enhanced psychic sensitivity—”

  Gulcher made eye contact with Helman and shook his head. “No. And I don't think I'm telling you anything you're not already guessing. You're asking me because I help that kind of takeover happen. So you figure I'd know for sure. I don't. But I can make a good guess. And I'd guess your Forsythe ain't Forsythe anymore. He's only General Forsythe on the outside.”

  “You're saying—he's a victim of neurological redirection by an Unconventionally Bodied Predatory Entity?”

  “And what the hell's that mean?”

  “The conventional term is...possessed.” Helman looked nervously at the door.

  “Possessed?! wouldn't use that term. That's like you're talking demons. I've seen some things, “1 since I got this power. You know what it's more like? When I was a kid, I lived in a shitty part of Philadelphia. Then they started building a shopping center in there. We figured that'd make things better. My old man opened a car-supplies store in this shopping center—and then some wise-guys came around, the whole operation got taken over. Pretty soon they were asking twice the rents, and protection too. They were from the Florida mob, these guys. That's what you got here in your CCA now. These aren't, what you call them, devils. Oh, people took 'em for gods and devils once. But these are—just things that ain't human. They're from outside. They're—what's that term you use, UB something?”

  “Ah. Unconventionally Bodied Entities. UBEs. Or UBPE in the case of some of the more aggressive individuals.”

  “Well, you got that right, seems to me. That's what they are. They've got an agenda, that's all. Like any other hustler. They're moving into your operation, pretending it's still what you say it is—but just like that shopping center, pal, it ain't what it seems. Not no more. They got their chance when your

  General Forsythe stuck his nose too far into their world, and I figure they used him to come partway over here. And they're gonna use your operation to make things safe for them once they're here. Because there's cops, over here, too. I mean, you know, spirit cops. And these hustlers that are pushing the general around, they need to protect themselves from that. And you guys, you're providing their, what you call it—their camouflage. The mob from the other side is moving in, and the general, now— he's one of them.”

  Helman looked at Gulcher blankly. “Oh, no. I don't believe it could be quite so...so dire. That we're being use
d so...” Helman shook his head, drained his glass, set it down on the desk, and stood up. Seeming hostile to Gulcher, now, in a passive-aggressive way. “Well. I'll take your...your opinion under consideration.... And thank you for the advice on the fairer sex. Good evening.”

  Just like that, boom, he walked out. Locking the door behind him. Gulcher chuckled, thinking, He's been wondering the same thing. Wanted we to tell hiw it wasn 't so. Doesn't like hearing that what he's scared of Just might be real.

  “I know the feeling,” Gulcher said aloud. He drank the last piddly little drops of bourbon, adding, “I sure know that feeling.”

  ***

  AT ABOUT THE SAME TIME. Embedded in the sticky New Jersey night.

  “Greg? You there?” Bleak called—both in his mind and out loud. He was sitting at the kitchen table in Shoella's house, waiting for her. She'd been closeted with the loas in her summoning room for two hours. Bleak had got tired of puzzling over the Scribbler document.

  He had reached out to Greg the Ghost through the Hidden; had felt him responding, hearing his name called from the shadows within shadows. But the voice was faint, the ghost seeming distant, unable to get through.

  Bleak tried again, his eyes focused on a blank spot in the wall. “Greg Berne...it's Bleak...come to me.” The off-white wall seemed to ripple, becoming a blizzard—all one color but with depth, something you could walk into. A tiny little dark figure was there, in the apparent blizzard—at first Bleak thought it might be a housefly walking down the wall. Then it came into focus, growing, as if someone were walking toward him in a snowfall. Closer...

  And he stepped out of the rippling wall, to stand before Bleak in the kitchen, floating there, really, about a foot off the floor. Greg the Ghost.

  “You got something needs fixing here?” Greg asked, looking around vaguely. “Somebody call me?”