"Dreams Within Dreams"
May. 27th, 2022 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Dreams Within Dreams"
12/11-12/12/1987
I.
The troubling thoughts had been building up for weeks and nothing he could do dispelled them for long. As he punched the clock at the Valley Auto Works and scrubbed his hands with steaming hot water and liquid soap, Bane wondered again if he was simply losing his mind. Maybe he needed to be on some medication but he was afraid the doctors would put him away. Tom and Joel waved goodbye and he called over to the grease pit that he'd see them on Monday. But would he? He had a sinking feeling of impending doom and no clear idea why. Sticking his head in the office, he said bye to Gloria, and she smiled up from her desk without getting off the phone.
In the ceiling of the office was a round white light in a frosted glass bowl. As he glanced up at it, Bane suddenly got extreme vertigo. He almost fell, caught himself with a hand on the door behind him and fought to be steady. Everything seemed unreal and distant, as if he was just watching the office from a far distance. A moment later, the feeling passed and he felt normal but he was careful not to look at the ceiling light again as he walked over to his truck.
Turning left, he went away from town and toward Rt 32. Traffic was heavy at 5 PM, and he tried to be patient. The old Dodge was running a little rough, he thought, he figured it needed some dry gas after being nearly empty on a cold night. Bane rolled past a few gas stations, the Harley-Davidson shop, the strip club with its next door neighbor the motel, and then a lumber yard. The next side road was his. Bane turned right and pulled up a low hill to the familiar one-story white frame house. They had bought it from Cindy's parents when they retired and moved to Florida. With only one kid, it was plenty big enough and the separate garage was his own domain when he wanted to be alone. The yard was still covered with a thin crust of snow, but patches of brown dirt were starting to snow.
Cindy's car was not there yet. She might have gone shopping for groceries, the refrigerator had been looking picked clean that morning. Bane got out of his truck, shuddered once as a cold wind cut through his stained blue overalls, and hopped up onto the porch and in through the front door. The interior was warm and snug and smelled fresh. The front door opened into the kitchen, and from there he passed into the living room.
There was Kenneth, curled up on the couch with his nose in a book. At eleven, he read more than anyone Bane had ever met. The kid took after him physically, a thin brunette with a narrow face and pale grey eyes but Kenneth did not have his personality. Bane seldom read except to find information he needed. Now, seeing his son glance up, Bane asked, "Whatcha got there, Ken?"
"FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE," the boy answered without enthusiasm. "It's okay. Not as good as the first book in the series." He frowned and thumbed through a few more pages. "Any idea what's for supper, dad?"
"It's a secret between God and your mother," Bane. "You can make a PBJ if you don't want to wait, I won't say anything. Me for a shower." He headed past the couch. To his right was the door to the bedroom he and Cindy shared, and he went in there to get a change of clothes. When he emerged, Kenneth was lost again in that crazy science-fiction novel. What on Earth did the boy see in that stuff?
( Collapse )
The short hall beyond the living room ended in the back door, flanked by Kenneth's room and the bathroom. Bane stripped down and threw his coveralls in the hamper, then took a furiously hot shower. Toweling himself dry, Bane caught his reflection in the steamy mirror. At six feet tall and one hundred seventy pounds, he was gaunt but muscular. He never put on weight, no matter how much he ate or how little he ever exercised. Why was that? Who knew. He put on jeans and a red flannel shirt and combed his short hair with his fingers.
An hour later, Cindy arrived with the groceries and Bane helped her haul them in. Every time he saw her, he still felt that same leap at how beautiful she was without her trying to be. Cynthia Lee Brunner was a little over a year younger than he was, just five feet tall and a hundred pounds. Her dark blonde hair hung down her back like a flame, and her inquisitive freckled face smiled as she watched him started to put the food away.
"I was just gonna cut up some potatoes and fry some hamburgers and maybe chop a few onion slices into the mix," she told him. "You okay with that?"
"Sure," Bane said, sliding a hand across her narrow shoulders as he went by. "Kenneth went in his room. I bet he finishes that book before dinner."
"It keeps him out of trouble," she told him as she began to get the frying pan ready. "I ran into Steve and Josie, they asked how every one is. Hand me that knife, okay?"
As Bane pulled a slim, narrow-bladed knife from the butcher block that held seven blades, he stopped and stared at it. It felt so natural in his hand. But there should be TWO of them...
"Hey! Earth to Jeremy, hand me that knife any day now." She took him from him. "You get lost in thought and you might as well be in another world."
"Sorry," he said absently, still thinking that there should be two knives, both identical, and he would wear them under his shirtsleeves for some reason...
"Ex-CUSE me," Cindy chuckled as she grabbed the cutting board off the wall. "Sometimes I wish I could read your mind."
Bane flinched. What would make her say that? What sounded familiar about her being able to read his mind? He watched her small dextrous hands chopping up a white onion and he was still trouble. But all he said was, "You'd be disapppointed, not much going on in there."
Cindy snorted and looked up at him. "Aw, I know you better than that. You're deep. Your brain is always working on something." She scooped all the bits of onion up. "Now for potato peeling time!"
That night he had one of the wild dreams that were becoming more common. Sometimes they involved him fighting monsters like werewolves or men with rattlesnake fangs. Sometimes he was hiking through steaming swamps or over desert sand. A few times he was flying some sort of stealth helicopter through the night. The memory of these dreams stayed with him most of the next day, clear and vivid. A few times he dreamed of a giant man made of living silver or a black man with a beard and a sad face. A young Asian man with an invisible tiger swirling around his shoulders. None of this made any sense. That particular night he had a dream he would remember clearly. There was a man dressed all in white, with a shimmering gold cloak. He wore a golden helmet which covered his face completely and which had no eyeholes. As Bane stared, the man with the eyeless helmet pointed a gloved finger at him and said in a sepulchral voice, "You can free yourself, Jeremy! Just remember what is real. The truth is within you." With that, the man vanished and Bane woke in a panic, breathing hard and covered with cold sweat.
II.
The next day was Saturday. Cindy had to take Kenneth to band practice, although neither of them really wanted to go. While he was practicing the bugle, she intended to find a new pair of boots and maybe get prices on some furniture. The couch had a spring coming up through it. As Kenneth wrestled into his down-filled jacket, Cindy pulled on her own long cloth coat and bundled her hair up under a black knit cap. "What about you, hon?" she asked.
Bane surprised himself. "I think I'm going into town. The library or a book store."
"You? Well, no reason why you can't. I think the last book you read was about the history of the Hudson Valley." She grinned happily. "Maybe Kenneth is rubbing off on you."
"Could be," Bane answered. "Maybe his old man can still learn something new habits. Call me if you have any problems."
"Sure. But you know, bugle practice and shopping, what could go wrong?" She stood up on toes to kiss him.
"You never know," Bane said in completely serious tones. "It's a dangerous world out there."
At the door, Cindy tilted her head and looked back at him. "Really. Boy, sometimes I wish I could read your mind, Jeremy."
As she stepped outside and was gone, Bane felt a strange twinge. Why had she said that? What did it mean? "I wish you could too," he said out loud. He went to plop down on the couch and picked up the newspaper off the coffee table. Leaning over, he clicked on the endtable lamp and as he glanced up at the light, that attack of dizziness roared over him again. The room receded into dim shadows, everything seemed unreal and distant. Bane buried his face in his hands and waited for the attack to end. He took deep breaths and eventually calmed down enough to grab his checked coat and head outside. The wind chill was vicious and his breath was visible, but that cold air made him feel better. By the time his truck warmed up and he pulled out onto 32, Bane's hands were steady again.
As he went by the Thruway entrance, he suddenly hit his turn signal and headed for the toll booths. At the last second, he swung over onto a parking area and brought his truck to the stop. This was the third time he had started to head south on the Thruway. Why? He had no reason to do that. Why did he keep starting to go south toward the city? There was nothing in Manhattan for him. He had lived up here in Ulster County all his life. Or had he? Somehow... With his head spinning, Jeremy Bane swung around and made an illegal U-Turn to get back on Rt 32, driving back toward New Paltz with single-minded determination. Something was very wrong with him, he knew it.
Once in town, he found a spot in the municipal parking lot and headed down the street. New Paltz was a college town, so there were a lot of bars and pizza joints, two laundromats next to each other, used clothing stores and so forth. The streets were narrow and traffic was always slow. Bane stood on the curb and waited for an opening, he was about to cross when he saw the big bald man again. The third time! Driving by in a black Mercedes, the man turned his head and grinned at Bane. Instant blood-boiling rage shot through Bane and he stepped off the curb before catching himself. What was he about to do, try to yank the car door open and pull the bald man out? And then what? Start a fist fight over nothing? He didn't even know that man. As the Mercedes vanished around the corner, Bane was still trembling with anger he didn't understand. Who was that guy? Why had he smiled that smug patronizing smile like that?
Going across the main street, he entered MARTINSON'S, the local book store where he had taken Kenneth many times. He didn't want to admit it, but he had decided to find something about mental illness and delusions to see what was going wrong with him. The store only had one other customer browsing and a disinterested college girl behind the register who was absorbed in texting on her phone. Bane began to look around. Just the idea that he was trying to identify his problem made him feel a little better. There was the self-help section, but he found himself stepping over to a section on the occult and the supernatural. One hefty hardcover seemed to jump out at him. A blue cover with pale golden lettering that read BLIND ILLUSIONS- SEEING BEYOND THE FACADE. The author was someone named Garrison Nebel. Bane turned the book over and gave a start when he saw the photo on the back cover. Nebel was a thin, long-faced man with greying brown hair and tinted glasses, smiling slightly in front of a bookcase. But it was what sat casually on top of the bookcase that made Bane's heart speed up. A golden helmet without eyeholes, just lines etched where those openings would be. The same helmet the man had been wearing in his dream....
Buying the book without even noticing its price, he left the store in a slight daze and managed to get back to his truck without starting to read. As if in some urgent rush, Bane drove back home and dropped down on the worn couch and started on the introduction. Two hours sped by in which he would not have noticed the phone ringing or anyone knocking on the door. The book told of something called the Midnight War, of an ancient Order of Tel Shai, of ideas he had never even speculated about. It was written in a dry, matter-of-fact style that was easy to digest. As he got deeper into the book, a strange excitement came over him and he read faster. Then he turned the end of a chapter and saw a page that only had three words in huge black letters. WAKE UP, JEREMY. What the hell! He stared in disbelief. That had to be the most unlikely coincidence in history, his name being in the book.
He turned that page and found the next one to be worse. DIRE WOLF. YOU CAN FREE YOURSELF. WAKE UP.
Dire Wolf? Where had he heard that before? It sounded so familiar. Bane put the book down slowly, reached over and clicked on the lamp next to him. When he saw the 75-watt bulb shine, that feeling rushed through him again that everything in the room was shadowy and unsubtantial. What was going on? What was the book telling him... no, what was his own mind telling him? It was all coming from himself.
Suddenly calm, Bane turned and stretched out on the couch and gazed up directly at the lamp. It seemed the only solid object in a room that receded back into shadows. He felt like he was at the bottom of a deep pit, staring up at the sun far out of reach but somehow he knew there was more to it. He could start to climb.
From what sounded like miles away, a door closed and he heard Cindy's voice calling, "Jeremy? I'm home." Immense sorrow welled up but it was too late to turn back. He had to escape while he could. "I'm sorry, Cindy," he whispered as the light abruptly swelled up and blinded him.
III.
The light dimmed and resolved itself to a single naked bulb dangling on a cord from a ceiling. Everything sharpened into a real word of hard surfaces and sharp angles for the first time in weeks.
Bane took a deep gasping breath and sat up, glaring wildly around him. He was in some cellar, with wet stone for walls and a few wooden beams overhead. The Dire Wolf glanced down. He was lying on a medical examination table with a single white sheet, completely naked. He had been fitted with a catheter for urine and some sort of bedpan attachment beneath him. But he was not tied down. Bane touched his face and felt stubble, not a full beard. So he had not been trappd in fantasy too long.
Cold rage such as he seldom felt raced through him like ice water. This was the worst yet. Of all the heartless traps he had been placed in, all the hideous ways his enemies had tried to kill him with, this was the worst. Something was holding his head in. Bane fumbled, found some latches and undid a heavy metallic helmet studded with glass discs. He stared at the dark coppery metal, hot enough that it burned his fingers to touch it, and he understood. Zhunite relics! This was an artifact from the lost science of the Ancients, a relic of ancient Zhune whose wise men knew secrets still not rediscovered today. The relics were powered by primal atomic energy created by converting matter into energy. And only one living man knew that secret.
Eldritch. He was dealing with Karl Eldritch again.
With his mind no longer clouded by the helmet's induced fantasy, Bane moved decisively. The helmet was off. He carefully removed the catheter, not without discomfort, and unfastened the strap holding him over the bedpan. Swinging off the bed, he found his legs had not been weakened yet by disuse so he could not have been entranced for long. Those weeks in never-never land could not have been more than a day or two in the real world. The Dire Wolf stretched and flexed, feeling he was up to par and could act normally.
He spun to take in the cell. No window. A single wood panel door with a brass knob. In one corner was a sink and toilet. Bane wished heartily that it had been Eldritch saddled with emptying the urine baf and dumping the bedpan, but he knew that some flunky had been given those chores. In the corner was a single wooden stool, presumably where Eldritch sat to gloat over the humiliating fate of his greatest enemy.
Bane held the seething metal helmet and turned it over in his hands. It felt fully charged. If he put it back on, he would into that soothing fantasy landscape but he felt not the slightest temptation to do so. He needed now to escape, get some clothing and weapons and tackle Karl Eldritch headlong. Bane scowled and juggled the helmet slightly, too aware that Eldritch was essentially unkillable. The warlock's body converted energy into matter and matter into energy, so any attack on his was quickly absorbed. Eldritch kept coming back from seemingly hopeless destruction, good as new. For the moment, Bane could not even remember what he had done in their previous encounter to the warlock that should have rid the world of him. Maybe it'd didn't matter. All they ever got was a respite.
Standing there, all the details of that dreamworld made sense. The vertigo he felt when staring at a bright light came from seeing that bare bulb overhead, even through his closed eyes. Being married to Cindy... well, they already were married in everything but ceremony. And a son, Kenneth. Named after Kenneth Dred, Bane's father figure and the man he respected most in the world. That had been a diabolical touch. It all fit. Garrison Nebel, the Sorceror of Truth with the Eyeless Helmet had been a perfect symbol for his subconscious mind to use as a way to break free of the trance. Bane's anger slipped a bit as he realized the depths from which he had escaped.
The doorknob turned. Instantly, he leaped over to stand behind the door as it opened, raising the helmet in both hands. He saw the back of a giant, seven inches over six feet tall and wide enough to fill the doorway. The back of the head was shaven. As he entered, the huge warlock grunted, "What's THIS?" just as Bane jammed the Zhunite helmet down over his head. Eldritch spasmed and fell to the ground, clawing to get the helmet off, but Bane knelt on him and forced that helmet to stay on. Then, with a deep sigh, the warlock went limp.
Getting to his feet, the Dire Wolf watched his enemy suspiciously. Long minutes passed. As Eldritch showed no signs of stirring, Bane quickly went through his pockets to retrieve a ring with a dozen keys, a wallet jammed with credit cards and cash, and a Walther PPK with a blue finish. Still naked, he had no way to carry any of these except in his hands and Eldritch's clothing would be ridiculously too huge on him. After a second, he ripped up the sheet from the examining table and rigged a crude loincloth which would hold the wallet and keys. The pistol remained in his hand.
The Dire Wolf glanced through the open door to see narrow wooden steps leading up. Most likely Eldritch had a few henchmen up there. No matter. They wouldn't stop him. He needed to retrieve his clothing and equipment. Eldritch would not have destroyed the silver daggers, they were ensalir and very valuable. Once he was himself again, he'd call his teammates and get the KDF over here. Eldritch would have to be kept somewhere safe, perhaps Hawk Island under constant video watch. The charge in that Zhunite helmet would be good for years.
Bane rolled the hulking warlock over onto his back, taking pulse and checking the breathing. Normal. The Dire Wolf sat that, lost in whatever perfect fantasy the helmet fashioned, Karl Eldritch was blissfully smiling.
10/30/2014
12/11-12/12/1987
I.
The troubling thoughts had been building up for weeks and nothing he could do dispelled them for long. As he punched the clock at the Valley Auto Works and scrubbed his hands with steaming hot water and liquid soap, Bane wondered again if he was simply losing his mind. Maybe he needed to be on some medication but he was afraid the doctors would put him away. Tom and Joel waved goodbye and he called over to the grease pit that he'd see them on Monday. But would he? He had a sinking feeling of impending doom and no clear idea why. Sticking his head in the office, he said bye to Gloria, and she smiled up from her desk without getting off the phone.
In the ceiling of the office was a round white light in a frosted glass bowl. As he glanced up at it, Bane suddenly got extreme vertigo. He almost fell, caught himself with a hand on the door behind him and fought to be steady. Everything seemed unreal and distant, as if he was just watching the office from a far distance. A moment later, the feeling passed and he felt normal but he was careful not to look at the ceiling light again as he walked over to his truck.
Turning left, he went away from town and toward Rt 32. Traffic was heavy at 5 PM, and he tried to be patient. The old Dodge was running a little rough, he thought, he figured it needed some dry gas after being nearly empty on a cold night. Bane rolled past a few gas stations, the Harley-Davidson shop, the strip club with its next door neighbor the motel, and then a lumber yard. The next side road was his. Bane turned right and pulled up a low hill to the familiar one-story white frame house. They had bought it from Cindy's parents when they retired and moved to Florida. With only one kid, it was plenty big enough and the separate garage was his own domain when he wanted to be alone. The yard was still covered with a thin crust of snow, but patches of brown dirt were starting to snow.
Cindy's car was not there yet. She might have gone shopping for groceries, the refrigerator had been looking picked clean that morning. Bane got out of his truck, shuddered once as a cold wind cut through his stained blue overalls, and hopped up onto the porch and in through the front door. The interior was warm and snug and smelled fresh. The front door opened into the kitchen, and from there he passed into the living room.
There was Kenneth, curled up on the couch with his nose in a book. At eleven, he read more than anyone Bane had ever met. The kid took after him physically, a thin brunette with a narrow face and pale grey eyes but Kenneth did not have his personality. Bane seldom read except to find information he needed. Now, seeing his son glance up, Bane asked, "Whatcha got there, Ken?"
"FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE," the boy answered without enthusiasm. "It's okay. Not as good as the first book in the series." He frowned and thumbed through a few more pages. "Any idea what's for supper, dad?"
"It's a secret between God and your mother," Bane. "You can make a PBJ if you don't want to wait, I won't say anything. Me for a shower." He headed past the couch. To his right was the door to the bedroom he and Cindy shared, and he went in there to get a change of clothes. When he emerged, Kenneth was lost again in that crazy science-fiction novel. What on Earth did the boy see in that stuff?
( Collapse )
The short hall beyond the living room ended in the back door, flanked by Kenneth's room and the bathroom. Bane stripped down and threw his coveralls in the hamper, then took a furiously hot shower. Toweling himself dry, Bane caught his reflection in the steamy mirror. At six feet tall and one hundred seventy pounds, he was gaunt but muscular. He never put on weight, no matter how much he ate or how little he ever exercised. Why was that? Who knew. He put on jeans and a red flannel shirt and combed his short hair with his fingers.
An hour later, Cindy arrived with the groceries and Bane helped her haul them in. Every time he saw her, he still felt that same leap at how beautiful she was without her trying to be. Cynthia Lee Brunner was a little over a year younger than he was, just five feet tall and a hundred pounds. Her dark blonde hair hung down her back like a flame, and her inquisitive freckled face smiled as she watched him started to put the food away.
"I was just gonna cut up some potatoes and fry some hamburgers and maybe chop a few onion slices into the mix," she told him. "You okay with that?"
"Sure," Bane said, sliding a hand across her narrow shoulders as he went by. "Kenneth went in his room. I bet he finishes that book before dinner."
"It keeps him out of trouble," she told him as she began to get the frying pan ready. "I ran into Steve and Josie, they asked how every one is. Hand me that knife, okay?"
As Bane pulled a slim, narrow-bladed knife from the butcher block that held seven blades, he stopped and stared at it. It felt so natural in his hand. But there should be TWO of them...
"Hey! Earth to Jeremy, hand me that knife any day now." She took him from him. "You get lost in thought and you might as well be in another world."
"Sorry," he said absently, still thinking that there should be two knives, both identical, and he would wear them under his shirtsleeves for some reason...
"Ex-CUSE me," Cindy chuckled as she grabbed the cutting board off the wall. "Sometimes I wish I could read your mind."
Bane flinched. What would make her say that? What sounded familiar about her being able to read his mind? He watched her small dextrous hands chopping up a white onion and he was still trouble. But all he said was, "You'd be disapppointed, not much going on in there."
Cindy snorted and looked up at him. "Aw, I know you better than that. You're deep. Your brain is always working on something." She scooped all the bits of onion up. "Now for potato peeling time!"
That night he had one of the wild dreams that were becoming more common. Sometimes they involved him fighting monsters like werewolves or men with rattlesnake fangs. Sometimes he was hiking through steaming swamps or over desert sand. A few times he was flying some sort of stealth helicopter through the night. The memory of these dreams stayed with him most of the next day, clear and vivid. A few times he dreamed of a giant man made of living silver or a black man with a beard and a sad face. A young Asian man with an invisible tiger swirling around his shoulders. None of this made any sense. That particular night he had a dream he would remember clearly. There was a man dressed all in white, with a shimmering gold cloak. He wore a golden helmet which covered his face completely and which had no eyeholes. As Bane stared, the man with the eyeless helmet pointed a gloved finger at him and said in a sepulchral voice, "You can free yourself, Jeremy! Just remember what is real. The truth is within you." With that, the man vanished and Bane woke in a panic, breathing hard and covered with cold sweat.
II.
The next day was Saturday. Cindy had to take Kenneth to band practice, although neither of them really wanted to go. While he was practicing the bugle, she intended to find a new pair of boots and maybe get prices on some furniture. The couch had a spring coming up through it. As Kenneth wrestled into his down-filled jacket, Cindy pulled on her own long cloth coat and bundled her hair up under a black knit cap. "What about you, hon?" she asked.
Bane surprised himself. "I think I'm going into town. The library or a book store."
"You? Well, no reason why you can't. I think the last book you read was about the history of the Hudson Valley." She grinned happily. "Maybe Kenneth is rubbing off on you."
"Could be," Bane answered. "Maybe his old man can still learn something new habits. Call me if you have any problems."
"Sure. But you know, bugle practice and shopping, what could go wrong?" She stood up on toes to kiss him.
"You never know," Bane said in completely serious tones. "It's a dangerous world out there."
At the door, Cindy tilted her head and looked back at him. "Really. Boy, sometimes I wish I could read your mind, Jeremy."
As she stepped outside and was gone, Bane felt a strange twinge. Why had she said that? What did it mean? "I wish you could too," he said out loud. He went to plop down on the couch and picked up the newspaper off the coffee table. Leaning over, he clicked on the endtable lamp and as he glanced up at the light, that attack of dizziness roared over him again. The room receded into dim shadows, everything seemed unreal and distant. Bane buried his face in his hands and waited for the attack to end. He took deep breaths and eventually calmed down enough to grab his checked coat and head outside. The wind chill was vicious and his breath was visible, but that cold air made him feel better. By the time his truck warmed up and he pulled out onto 32, Bane's hands were steady again.
As he went by the Thruway entrance, he suddenly hit his turn signal and headed for the toll booths. At the last second, he swung over onto a parking area and brought his truck to the stop. This was the third time he had started to head south on the Thruway. Why? He had no reason to do that. Why did he keep starting to go south toward the city? There was nothing in Manhattan for him. He had lived up here in Ulster County all his life. Or had he? Somehow... With his head spinning, Jeremy Bane swung around and made an illegal U-Turn to get back on Rt 32, driving back toward New Paltz with single-minded determination. Something was very wrong with him, he knew it.
Once in town, he found a spot in the municipal parking lot and headed down the street. New Paltz was a college town, so there were a lot of bars and pizza joints, two laundromats next to each other, used clothing stores and so forth. The streets were narrow and traffic was always slow. Bane stood on the curb and waited for an opening, he was about to cross when he saw the big bald man again. The third time! Driving by in a black Mercedes, the man turned his head and grinned at Bane. Instant blood-boiling rage shot through Bane and he stepped off the curb before catching himself. What was he about to do, try to yank the car door open and pull the bald man out? And then what? Start a fist fight over nothing? He didn't even know that man. As the Mercedes vanished around the corner, Bane was still trembling with anger he didn't understand. Who was that guy? Why had he smiled that smug patronizing smile like that?
Going across the main street, he entered MARTINSON'S, the local book store where he had taken Kenneth many times. He didn't want to admit it, but he had decided to find something about mental illness and delusions to see what was going wrong with him. The store only had one other customer browsing and a disinterested college girl behind the register who was absorbed in texting on her phone. Bane began to look around. Just the idea that he was trying to identify his problem made him feel a little better. There was the self-help section, but he found himself stepping over to a section on the occult and the supernatural. One hefty hardcover seemed to jump out at him. A blue cover with pale golden lettering that read BLIND ILLUSIONS- SEEING BEYOND THE FACADE. The author was someone named Garrison Nebel. Bane turned the book over and gave a start when he saw the photo on the back cover. Nebel was a thin, long-faced man with greying brown hair and tinted glasses, smiling slightly in front of a bookcase. But it was what sat casually on top of the bookcase that made Bane's heart speed up. A golden helmet without eyeholes, just lines etched where those openings would be. The same helmet the man had been wearing in his dream....
Buying the book without even noticing its price, he left the store in a slight daze and managed to get back to his truck without starting to read. As if in some urgent rush, Bane drove back home and dropped down on the worn couch and started on the introduction. Two hours sped by in which he would not have noticed the phone ringing or anyone knocking on the door. The book told of something called the Midnight War, of an ancient Order of Tel Shai, of ideas he had never even speculated about. It was written in a dry, matter-of-fact style that was easy to digest. As he got deeper into the book, a strange excitement came over him and he read faster. Then he turned the end of a chapter and saw a page that only had three words in huge black letters. WAKE UP, JEREMY. What the hell! He stared in disbelief. That had to be the most unlikely coincidence in history, his name being in the book.
He turned that page and found the next one to be worse. DIRE WOLF. YOU CAN FREE YOURSELF. WAKE UP.
Dire Wolf? Where had he heard that before? It sounded so familiar. Bane put the book down slowly, reached over and clicked on the lamp next to him. When he saw the 75-watt bulb shine, that feeling rushed through him again that everything in the room was shadowy and unsubtantial. What was going on? What was the book telling him... no, what was his own mind telling him? It was all coming from himself.
Suddenly calm, Bane turned and stretched out on the couch and gazed up directly at the lamp. It seemed the only solid object in a room that receded back into shadows. He felt like he was at the bottom of a deep pit, staring up at the sun far out of reach but somehow he knew there was more to it. He could start to climb.
From what sounded like miles away, a door closed and he heard Cindy's voice calling, "Jeremy? I'm home." Immense sorrow welled up but it was too late to turn back. He had to escape while he could. "I'm sorry, Cindy," he whispered as the light abruptly swelled up and blinded him.
III.
The light dimmed and resolved itself to a single naked bulb dangling on a cord from a ceiling. Everything sharpened into a real word of hard surfaces and sharp angles for the first time in weeks.
Bane took a deep gasping breath and sat up, glaring wildly around him. He was in some cellar, with wet stone for walls and a few wooden beams overhead. The Dire Wolf glanced down. He was lying on a medical examination table with a single white sheet, completely naked. He had been fitted with a catheter for urine and some sort of bedpan attachment beneath him. But he was not tied down. Bane touched his face and felt stubble, not a full beard. So he had not been trappd in fantasy too long.
Cold rage such as he seldom felt raced through him like ice water. This was the worst yet. Of all the heartless traps he had been placed in, all the hideous ways his enemies had tried to kill him with, this was the worst. Something was holding his head in. Bane fumbled, found some latches and undid a heavy metallic helmet studded with glass discs. He stared at the dark coppery metal, hot enough that it burned his fingers to touch it, and he understood. Zhunite relics! This was an artifact from the lost science of the Ancients, a relic of ancient Zhune whose wise men knew secrets still not rediscovered today. The relics were powered by primal atomic energy created by converting matter into energy. And only one living man knew that secret.
Eldritch. He was dealing with Karl Eldritch again.
With his mind no longer clouded by the helmet's induced fantasy, Bane moved decisively. The helmet was off. He carefully removed the catheter, not without discomfort, and unfastened the strap holding him over the bedpan. Swinging off the bed, he found his legs had not been weakened yet by disuse so he could not have been entranced for long. Those weeks in never-never land could not have been more than a day or two in the real world. The Dire Wolf stretched and flexed, feeling he was up to par and could act normally.
He spun to take in the cell. No window. A single wood panel door with a brass knob. In one corner was a sink and toilet. Bane wished heartily that it had been Eldritch saddled with emptying the urine baf and dumping the bedpan, but he knew that some flunky had been given those chores. In the corner was a single wooden stool, presumably where Eldritch sat to gloat over the humiliating fate of his greatest enemy.
Bane held the seething metal helmet and turned it over in his hands. It felt fully charged. If he put it back on, he would into that soothing fantasy landscape but he felt not the slightest temptation to do so. He needed now to escape, get some clothing and weapons and tackle Karl Eldritch headlong. Bane scowled and juggled the helmet slightly, too aware that Eldritch was essentially unkillable. The warlock's body converted energy into matter and matter into energy, so any attack on his was quickly absorbed. Eldritch kept coming back from seemingly hopeless destruction, good as new. For the moment, Bane could not even remember what he had done in their previous encounter to the warlock that should have rid the world of him. Maybe it'd didn't matter. All they ever got was a respite.
Standing there, all the details of that dreamworld made sense. The vertigo he felt when staring at a bright light came from seeing that bare bulb overhead, even through his closed eyes. Being married to Cindy... well, they already were married in everything but ceremony. And a son, Kenneth. Named after Kenneth Dred, Bane's father figure and the man he respected most in the world. That had been a diabolical touch. It all fit. Garrison Nebel, the Sorceror of Truth with the Eyeless Helmet had been a perfect symbol for his subconscious mind to use as a way to break free of the trance. Bane's anger slipped a bit as he realized the depths from which he had escaped.
The doorknob turned. Instantly, he leaped over to stand behind the door as it opened, raising the helmet in both hands. He saw the back of a giant, seven inches over six feet tall and wide enough to fill the doorway. The back of the head was shaven. As he entered, the huge warlock grunted, "What's THIS?" just as Bane jammed the Zhunite helmet down over his head. Eldritch spasmed and fell to the ground, clawing to get the helmet off, but Bane knelt on him and forced that helmet to stay on. Then, with a deep sigh, the warlock went limp.
Getting to his feet, the Dire Wolf watched his enemy suspiciously. Long minutes passed. As Eldritch showed no signs of stirring, Bane quickly went through his pockets to retrieve a ring with a dozen keys, a wallet jammed with credit cards and cash, and a Walther PPK with a blue finish. Still naked, he had no way to carry any of these except in his hands and Eldritch's clothing would be ridiculously too huge on him. After a second, he ripped up the sheet from the examining table and rigged a crude loincloth which would hold the wallet and keys. The pistol remained in his hand.
The Dire Wolf glanced through the open door to see narrow wooden steps leading up. Most likely Eldritch had a few henchmen up there. No matter. They wouldn't stop him. He needed to retrieve his clothing and equipment. Eldritch would not have destroyed the silver daggers, they were ensalir and very valuable. Once he was himself again, he'd call his teammates and get the KDF over here. Eldritch would have to be kept somewhere safe, perhaps Hawk Island under constant video watch. The charge in that Zhunite helmet would be good for years.
Bane rolled the hulking warlock over onto his back, taking pulse and checking the breathing. Normal. The Dire Wolf sat that, lost in whatever perfect fantasy the helmet fashioned, Karl Eldritch was blissfully smiling.
10/30/2014
