I think I can.

I think I can.

But then you died.

I thought I could.

But now, I just can't.

I won't.

I won't.

But...I did.

"This is not a negotiation."

Ira reclined at the head of the massive boardroom table, light glaring off the polished oak. His gaze penetrated the man seated before him: Tom Kennewick, the recently-elected Canadian Prime Minister. Kennewick squirmed and sweated under the intensity.

Ira inwardly grinned. "Tom, I repeat, this is not a negotiation – do you hear me?"

Ira smirked as Kennewick glanced nervously around the room. The support for the man was pathetic; less than a dozen members of Parliament had even bothered to make the trip with him.

"Quite a boardroom," Kennewick grumbled, "for The Neuromancer Group and its CEO."

Ira snorted. "Tom, you're stalling." He straightened in his huge, calfskin chair. "I've repeated myself once. Do not make me do so again."

Kennewick mopped his forehead, glaring. "Yes, Mr. Steinbeck," Kennewick spat through clenched teeth. "Now, what do you want?"

Ira leaned forward. The veins in Kennewick's temples bulged as he writhed in his seat, powerless against the psychokinetic attack on his brain. In his peripheral vision, Ira saw the members of Parliament squirming in their seats. He let a full minute pass. Kennewick's struggle began to lessen as Ira felt the fat, ridiculous, little man teeter on the verge of unconsciousness. Ira relented, and Kennewick slumped backwards in his chair.

"What do I want? Canada, Tom. I'm taking Canada."

Kennewick was covered in sweat, his eyes glazed over in evident confusion. "Canada? What do you mean 'I'm taking Canada'?"

Ira leaned back again, the high-backed chair creaking in protest. His grin broadened, revealing conspicuously white teeth, perfectly ordered. Ira enjoyed the man's expression of panic: Ira was a shark, circling his prey, and this fool knew it was his blood that was in the water.

"What I mean, Tom, is that I'm repurposing Canada for TNG's new global headquarters. The transition will take place in six months, so you'll need to familiarize yourself with our plan of acquisition. We've sent your office the briefing."

Kennewick's face contorted in rage. "Are you insane? You can't 'acquire'...what are you about?" Kennewick eyed his meager contingent of supporters. "I think you'll find," he insisted, "that Canada doesn't want you there!" There were murmurs around the table, voicing - quietly, impotently - their agreement.

"Then," Ira stated icily, “the Canadians will have to go."

The room erupted. The sparse number of Canadians jumped to their feet, pounding the table and shouting defiantly.

Their opposition was laughable. A mass of Neuromancers, looking virtually identical in their expensive suits and trademark expressions of apathy, converged on the insubordinates and employed the tools of their terror. With a simple touch from the Neuromancers to the neck or temples, the Canadians collapsed. Some slumped into their chairs, others fell to the thickly-carpeted floor. In less than thirty seconds, the boardroom was enveloped in silence.

Ira stood and walked to a podium in the corner of the room. "It appears you're right, Tom. Canada does not seem to want us." He shrugged. "So, you're going to have to go. All of you."

Kennewick looked at him, horrified. "What? You can't...What do you mean go? Where do you expect 35 million people to go, exactly? There's no room anywhere else in the world for that many people. This is madness! You've lost your mind!" He began to laugh, a harsh barking noise somewhere between desperation and lunacy. "This is ludicrous. You can't be serious!" His entourage was beginning to stir. "Get up!" he yelled at them. "Say something!"

They struggled to their seats in cowardly silence.

Kennewick finally put steel in his voice. "You overstep yourself this time, Steinbeck. Even you don't have that much power!"

Ira didn't bother to hide his amusement. "Tom, you know, you're right - there is nowhere on this planet for your people to go. So, we're not keeping you on this planet. We're putting Canada in the Cloud."

Kennewick deflated, tension replaced by stark bewilderment. "Wh-what? What are you saying?" Kennewick stuttered.

Ira pointed at one of the TNG clones a few chairs away. "Daniel?"

Ira relinquished the room's attention as Daniel came forward, a tall young man with dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

"The science of it will be quite complicated for you," Daniel began. "For the sake of your understanding, imagine a three-dimensional scanner. Using a complex neuro-mapping interface, TNG Neuromancers have developed the ability to create a digital reproduction of the human brain, enhanced for optimum efficiency. It will exist in a dedicated server known as the Global Consciousness Collective, which is powered autonomously by solar fusion and set on a low quanta expulsion algorithm."

Daniel spread his hands, casting his eyes about for effect. "Basically, your brains will exist on a server - independent of your bodies - that will never run out of power and is completely self-sustaining." He opened a briefcase on the table in front of him and produced a small metal cylinder roughly the size of soda can, made of a smooth steel alloy. He held it up, slowly turning it as the light reflected off the perfectly-lathed surface. "The entire Canadian population," he continued, "will reside in this one unit." He clanged the cylinder down on the table beside the briefcase, and Ira chuckled as Kennewick nearly jumped out of his skin.

"My God," Kennewick breathed. "You're a monster, Steinbeck."

Ira rose from his chair. "No, Tom, I'm an opportunist." He circled slowly around the table, talking as he went. "Tom, are you familiar with the idea of neurogenesis?"

Kennewick opened and closed his mouth several times but said nothing.

"No, I didn't think so," Ira derided. "Neurogenesis is the brain's ability to continuously generate new neurons. This means that, while the brain continues to grow older, it also continues to adapt. To learn. To grow." He shuddered, and his voice became reverent. "Thanks to the miracle of neuroplasticity, your brains – while in the Global Consciousness Collective – will continue to grow, unhindered by the restrictions of old age." He stopped where Daniel was seated and picked up the cylinder. Circling back to stand before Kennewick, he held the unit in front of the man's face.

"This is the most advanced development in neuroscience ever recorded, Tom." He shook the cylinder slightly, practically under Kennewick's nose. "It's the first device of its kind. You and your countrymen will be making history. You should be flattered." Ira narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice. "No...you should be honored."

Kennewick practically whispered. "You're going to...scan our brains. Put us in a machine. Make an entire country...disappear?" The words drifted in the air like a kite spooling on a very long string. "You're...insane."

"Sanity is a matter of perspective, Tom."

Kennewick sat in stunned silence for several moments, and Ira could see him trembling. Then, Kennewick lowered his face into his hands, and began to weep.

Ira watched this with great delight.

#

Back in the Overlook, Ira was enjoying himself.

Only three hours had passed, but so far, everything was on schedule. About three quarters of the transfer stations were in operation, with the last group launching in about fifteen minutes. Ira's eyes roved over the screens, taking in the repetitive sequence. Prince George, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg - it was the same, everywhere.

Ira knew exactly how the process worked - he'd designed it. Armed Neuromancers stood in front of the EVAP units - short for Enhanced Virtual Ascendancy Processor. The machines stood about seven feet tall and were rectangular steel boxes with a single, opaque glass window set into a retractable door on the front. The guard would punch a button on his digipad, and a family name and serial number combination popped up on a display built into the EVAP. The guard verified their registration information, the retractable door opened up, and the family stepped in. (Those who were single were placed in pairs.)

The guard would then punch a series of buttons on the EVAP, the door would close, and about 45 seconds later, a bright flash of light emanated from behind the door. Every hour or so, a small vent on the top of the machine would pop open, dispelling any lingering ashes - though there were rarely any. Then, the cycle would repeat itself.

Ira looked at Kennewick slumped in his chair. His eyes were open, but he appeared to be in a daze, transfixed by the scene before him.

Ira's voice dripped. "Tom, what you are witnessing is the birth of new scientific breakthroughs. We're making history, and you're falling asleep?"

Kennewick didn't budge. Ira leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. "Let me tell you how it works."

Kennewick strained to get away, but couldn't move. Ira wheeled his chair around from behind his desk, sliding over next to Tom like they were the best of friends.

"The transfer process...well, now this is something." Ira adopted a confidential tone. "Inside each EVAP unit are ten headset harnesses. Each family member slips one on - and it's a little tricky, because the neuro-scanners have to be more or less aligned - and the brain scan is initiated. It only takes about fifteen seconds, and we've got it - a three-dimensional, fully-functioning brain image.

"The data is automatically updated to the GCC server and stored for activation." Ira paused for a moment, watching the flicker in Kennewick's eyes. He continued. "So the EVAP science is nothing new, you know that. Once the scans are complete, we initiate the actual vaporizing process, and...well, you know the rest."

The phone on Ira's desk buzzed, and a voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Steinbeck? You were asked to be notified when..."

"Excellent, thank you." He turned to Kennewick once more. "Tom, let me show you something." He pulled a device from his pocket, punched a series of buttons, and a video feed appeared on the rear wall, for all to see.

#

"Mommy! Mommy!" A little boy tugged on the woman's hand, trying to stop her. She skidded to a halt, clasping his little fingers tightly.

"Yes, baby? What is it?" She knelt close to him, and the camera zoomed in to capture the moment.

"S'that it? Is those the brain machines?" He pointed a chubby finger at the EVAP unit, just a few feet away. They were next in line. She nodded, though she didn't speak.

"Oohhh," he breathed, innocence spreading across his face. The woman looked at her son, bright blue eyes filled with wonder. A spasm of pain crossed her face, and she looked like she was biting back tears.

"Mommy...can I try one?"

His face was flushed with obvious excitement. She turned his shoulders and cupped his face in her hands. He smiled widely.

"Yes, Ian, you can try it," she responded quietly. "You, me, and Daddy. We all will, ok?"

He beamed at her. "Ok, Mommy!" He kissed her on the cheek and flung his arms around her neck. She wrapped him tightly in her arms, sobbing.

#

Ira punched a button, and his voice went over the intercom. "Cut the feed. Notify me when the family enters the unit."

Black shot a thumbs-up that Ira could see, and the video was gone, replaced by the previous feeds.

Ira looked at Kennewick, whose eyes were glazed over.

"Oh, Tom, it gets better. Believe me." Ira took a heavy pull on his cigar and blew the smoke down into Kennewick's face.

The intercom buzzed again. "Mr. Steinbeck, the Tremblays have entered the EVAP."

"Excellent. Bring the video feed up, and put me on speaker." He cast a sideways glance at Kennewick, who looked distraught. "Oh, and set the vape sequence to manual. I have something special in mind."

The image of a young family appeared on the monitors. The woman and the child they had just seen were seated with another man, presumably the boy's father. The mother and son, sitting next to each other, shared the same short, curly dark hair, with a small divot in their chins. Ira stared hard at them, noting the similarity.

It was a family resemblance.

The three of them had finished fitting their headsets on when Ira spoke. "Becky Tremblay?"

The woman on screen practically jumped in fright, then spoke. "Yes? Who...who are you? Where are you?"

"You are speaking with Ira Steinbeck, directly from TNG headquarters in New York."

The woman's face went livid, and she started yelling. "Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt us? What-"

"Becky," Ira's voice cut in, "tell me - where did you grow up?"

"Where did I?...Vancouver. What the hell does that-"

"Who raised you?"

"My mother," she fumed.

"And what about your father? Where was he?"

Becky looked to her husband, who had taken their son onto his lap. He stroked the boy's hair, looking perplexed. "He left when I was young," Becky replied. "He left us, me and mom. It was just the two of us."

"He left when you were seven, Becky. Right after your brother Ian died."

Becky's eyes went wide. She nodded.

"Last question, Becky - what was your mother's name?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why - why do you need to know?"

"Her name," Ira repeated.

"Lilly Williams," Becky snapped.

"Her full married name," Ira pushed.

Becky looked at her husband again, who just shrugged.

"Lilith Anne Steinbeck," she said.

Fifty sets of eyes swiveled from the monitors on the wall to the glass window of the Overlook.

"And your father?"

"James Steinbeck, may he rot in hell forever."

"On that point, Becky, I think we can agree. Thank you for your time."

Ira pulled another device from his pocket and punched a series of keys. The video feed stayed open, but the audio was gone. Becky and her family looked alarmed, then angry. Becky was yelling to the open air. Their young son started to cry.

Ira watched them comfort the boy, and his lip curled in derision. He turned to face Kennewick, who stared at Ira with abject horror.

Ira watched the recognition dawn fearfully in Kennewick's eyes. "Yes, we're related." Ira took a pull from his cigar with trembling hands, then pointed at Kennewick. "She's my half-sister, Tom, and you're going to send her to hell."

Ira waved a hand, and the shackles fell from Kennewick's plump wrists. Ira held the control in front of him. By now he was shaking all over, anger coursing through him as he fought to steady himself.

"Push the button, Tom."

Kennewick shook his head furiously, trying to lean as far back as his chair would allow.

Ira's gaze penetrated the man, pinning him down. His words dripped with acidity. "Tom, you have two choices: push the button, and put them out of their misery. Or, I push the button, and inflict unspeakable misery on you. Which will it be?" The force of Ira's will pounded mercilessly against the barricades of Kennewick's mind. The Prime Minister's face turned purple; veins popped from his neck as he struggled out labored breaths.

His resolve didn't last long.

His face a mask of shame, tears poured down Kennewick's cheeks as he reached for the control. He pressed the button that Ira pointed to, and the audio link was restored. A low roar filled the air as the EVAP interior glowed with a red light. It reached a painful crescendo, as the boy's voice filled their ears.

"Mommy, I'm scared! Mommy, Mommy, what..."

A dazzling flash of light. Silence.

The Tremblays were gone.

Silently she waited for a bus that had come once, long ago. This time, she would not miss it.

The bench of lacquered wood was hard beneath her gangly legs. She gazed intently at the canvas bag holding her meager possessions. She had purchased it from an Army surplus store and it was fraying at the seams. It had been all over the world, she imagined, held countless stories of adventure, romance, and intrigue. What a marvelous life.

Restless hands picked at a tattered sweatshirt hiding a lean frame, in search of imperfections long forgotten. Shadowy corridors housed her thoughts, and it was down these halls she now walked.

The daughter of a retired laborer, she was the youngest of seven children. Her mother had died when she was a child; time had all but erased every memory. Her voice, however, had haunted her over the years. The dream was always the same—she lay across her mother’s chest, the hum of a lullaby easing her to sleep. There was never any singing. It was a lullaby without words, a mirthless tune. The anthem of her life.

Approaching footsteps rang against the stones, jolting her back to reality. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, lowering her gaze to the thinning denim stretched across her legs.

This was a posture she knew so well; she’d spent countless hours in it, lectured about unending disappointment and the consummate failure that was her life.

You disappoint me.

You’re an embarrassment to this family.

You’re lucky your mother is dead - she’d hate you for this.

Those tears had dried up after just a few years. She learned to tune out, waiting for release. Later, she would lie awake dreaming of The Day. When it came, she would board a bus bound for Anywhere, leaving everything behind.

Anywhere was the perfect destination, particularly because it changed. Often.

Sometimes, it was the west coast, creating things of beauty that people would notice. Occasionally, it was the seductive whisper of the mountains that wooed her. Nature was beauty—even if she didn’t create it, she could experience it. On the darkest nights – when dreams could stave off much worse than bruises – she’d imagine herself in the bustle of some metropolis, lost in blissful anonymity. Most nights, though, it was the angry tears, the secret tears, that she longed to escape.

His damaging words eventually became damaging fists, and her misery could no longer be hidden from questioning glances and judgmental eyes. In reality, more than her face had been broken, though it had taken him years to do so. She had never been beautiful, but the battered reflection she saw was no longer her own. It was a stranger’s face, twisted and grotesque, and now echoed what her spirit had become: fragmented.

From the muddy fog, several yard away, emerged the silhouette of a man. Broad shoulders were draped in a heavy coat that hung to the street. It masked a body corded with wiry muscle, though time and hard labor had stooped his once-straight back. Her gaze fell with involuntary habit; in her peripheral vision, she could feel the tension, an impatience she knew so well. He wanted her to see him, and would wait until she did. A muted anxiety settled on her shoulders as she struggled to regain control.

There were many faces she wanted to remember, but only this one she needed to forget. She bowed her head again, the anxiety painfully birthing the dread she felt for this man, stealing the breath from her body. My mind is playing tricks on me. The fog…the fog is making me see things. But she wasn’t seeing things, and she knew it. She knew it with the same certainty a rape victim feels coming face-to-face with an attacker she has never really met, yet knows in an intimate way.

Grotesquely intimate.

The world began to swim around her, and she thrust out her arm to steady herself on the concrete wall beside her. The cold cement, rough-hewn and pockmarked from decades of exposure, was wet beneath her fingers. It was solid, unmoving, lending her support as she waited for the world to right itself.

She fought desperately to regain control of herself, determined not to crumble again. Not here, not now, she told herself. Not in front of him. Steeling herself against the torrent of emotions, she drew several deep breaths, letting the air course in and out of her body, the dampness washing away her feelings of desperation and strengthening her resolve.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her face to her father, who stood some fifteen feet away. His grizzled features looked ghastly in the pale neon light of the corner liquor store. Time came to a gasping halt, collapsing on the slick asphalt.

The silence that stood between them hung there, weathered by age but strengthened by time. Her father opened his mouth, as if to say something. Just then, the roar of an approaching engine encroached upon them, straining the tension like a kite on a very long string, threatening to drift away into oblivion.

The bus ground to a stop, idling on the corner. The soft whisk of the opening doors signaled a reprieve, long overdue. The lone traffic light, clinging to a steel cable stretched across the abandoned intersection, flickered from red to green. A seagull cried, circling high above, stifled in the damp gloom. An overhead lamp sputtered, leaving the intersection in intermittent darkness. She gazed at her father, searching his face for some clue, some reason to his presence here. Staring mutely back at her, he offered no explanation. His face was unreadable, a mask of angry stone.

Slowly she stood to her feet, slinging her duffel over her shoulder and turning her back to him. Her foot was on the first step of the bus when she heard him.

“You’ll be back.” She froze on the step, heart pounding.

Hot tears streamed down her misshapen cheeks, anger bubbling to surface. Its scalding breath filled her lungs, and she wanted to scream. A thousand jagged memories shattered on the surface of her heart, and in one terrifying moment, she almost believed him.

Almost.

The string finally snapped, and for the first time, she thought she could be free of him. No. She knew she could. She would be free.

“No,” she whispered. It didn’t matter if he could hear her, because she could hear her. Her frail body trembled, but her heart would not retreat. Gathering herself, she spoke more forcefully.

“I’ll never come back.” His legacy of silent torment was over, and she’d never again suffer in chains of shame.

Without another word, she boarded the waiting bus, the doors whisking shut behind her. Gradually it crawled away, leaving the intersection in complete silence once again.

“Ok, now I just want you to relax. Lay back, close your eyes...yeah, just like that.” Ira helped Kelsey position her head so it was straight on the pillow. “Are you comfortable?”

“Um, yeah.” Kelsey sounded nervous, but Ira did his best to soothe her.

“Look, before we get started, let me just reiterate a couple of things, OK?”

“Sure.” Her lower lip trembled, and Ira adopted a soothing tone.

“First off, this isn’t going to hurt a bit. I know these headaches have been brutal...” He waited for her to respond.

“Yeah. They’re pretty miserable.” A tear slid from behind the blindfold, staining her pale skin with running eyeliner. She reached a hand to wipe it away, but Ira beat her to it. He wiped the dark smudge away and watched Kelsey flinch under his touch. He frowned, wiping his hand on his jeans, but continued in a gentle tone.

“Hey – it’s OK! Nothing to worry about, I promise.” Ira felt tense, and had to remind himself that he was in control here.

“Now,” he continued, “the second thing is this: you’re going to be awake for the whole thing. And John is sitting right over there by the desk. Say hi, John.”

“Hi!” John’s voice held it constant cheerful tone. Kelsey gave a little smile at this, and Ira relaxed.

“Finally – and this is the most important thing – when I’m done, you will never, ever get another migraine. Sound alright to you?”

Kelsey broke into a huge grin, dazzling the two young men. God, she is beautiful. Ira was mesmerized. He shook his head, willing away the distraction.

“OK Kelsey, I’m going to put my hands on your head now. Just relax – it’s all going to be over soon.”

Ira splayed his fingers wide, placing his fingertips across Kelsey’s head at various points. The whisper of her fine auburn hair sent a twinge of excitement up Ira’s arms. He muttered to himself, again reorienting his thoughts. Get it together, Ira. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and went to work.

Ira had tried to explain to his friends what he did, precisely, when he probed somebody’s mind. It was hard to explain, but he always attempted to walk them through the visual experience – much as it happened now.

When Ira first made contact with a person, he could feel the current of energy coursing through them. It was like a river of pure electrical power, humming beneath his fingertips. It came alive under his touch, like a static electricity ball that would follow the movements of your fingers as you traced them along the glass. Ira found that as he traced his fingers along the outside of a person’s skull, the current of electricity under his fingers would follow, drawn magnetically to his caress.

He would follow these mental power lines as they wove through the mind, becoming stronger as they neared the source of origination. It was their hub, the birthplace of their power.

The brain.

Ira was fascinated by the power of the mind. It was like a computer whose code could never be cracked. It held the power to light a million candles, a thousand worlds, and yet it sat encased beneath thick layers of tissue and bone, protected from outside harm. It could not be seen, could not be altered, and it could not be touched, by anyone.

Almost anyone.

What Ira saw before him now was another variation of stunning design, wrapped in pulsating light that sparked beneath his touch. The currents swirled and surged, ready to be harnessed to his will. It was a blanket of colors, masterfully woven strands layered one upon another in a tapestry of majestic design. It was, simply put, beautiful.

To his mind’s eye, the brain itself did not have much form, but the strands that represented aspects of the human existence did. They were bands, thick and colorful, wrapped around the mind. Each demonstrated various aspects of personality, temperament, thought, and many others.

Ira couldn’t specifically cure the headaches, per se. What he did do, however, was manipulate the existing strands, making adjustments that either stimulated certain expressions – fear, for example, which shone a dazzling emerald hue – or curtailed those feelings. Often times – such as with Kelsey now – there were tangles and overlaps that caused pressure or discomfort. It was Ira, and Ira alone, who could reach out, make certain modifications, and completely change the dynamic of the sensory construct.

In Kelsey’s case, he found the predominant strand – a deep crimson, for pain – and saw that it had been snarled near the stem of her brain. It was tangled somewhere near where the spine met the base of her skull, and Ira quickly located the cause of her pain. With a practiced touch, Ira gently wove pulsating threads – mental extension of his fingers – through the thick knots. He felt Kelsey’s body shudder beneath his touch, but not from pain. It was relief, and it was palpable. Ira’s touch was deft, and in just a few minutes, the thick red cords that had generated the massive pain in Kelsey’s skull were diminished to thin, pulsing strands of pink, roughly the thickness of shoelaces. Admiring the tapestry of energy for a final moment time, Ira removed his hands from her head, and the link was broken.

Kelsey gasped and sat up. She ripped the blindfold from her head, cautiously rolling her neck from side to side. Tears ran freely down her face now, and she beamed with excitement.

“Ira – you did it. It’s gone...my head doesn’t...oh my god!” She threw her arms around Ira’s neck, and he stiffened with embarrassment. John shot him a thumbs-up from the corner, but Ira gave his head a slight shake. He gently disentangled himself from Kelsey’s embrace, grabbing her by the shoulders. He peered intently into her eyes, first one and then the other. Eyes that sparkled, Ira couldn’t help but notice.

“So you feel better then?” Her squeal affirmed this, and he once again had to pry himself from her hug. “OK, good. I’m glad.”

“How do you do that? Seriously, how does it work?”

“Yeah, Ira,” John piped in. “How does that work?” His grin was infectious, and Ira couldn’t help but smile too.

“It’s hard to explain, really.” He ran a hand absently through his hair as he talked. “It’s like...well, imagine trying to untangle a yo-yo, but this yo-yo has about a dozen strings, and they’re all different colors.”

“Um, well, OK.” Kelsey’s excitement was fading, and Ira couldn’t blame her. This kind of science wasn’t really her thing – or anyone’s really – and he wasn’t sure he really understood it either.

Kelsey grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door, and was getting ready to leave. Ira softly cleared his throat, glancing at her purse hanging from a chair at the table.

“Oh! Right, sorry.” She retrieved her billfold from her wallet, opened it, and proceeded to count out five hundred dollars in twenties. Ira pocketed the cash, and thanked her.

“Are you kidding me? Money well spent! I just can’t believe they’re gone. I’ve had the most terrible neck pain for years, and headaches. But now it’s gone!” She leaned in close, kissed Ira on the cheek, and walked out of the apartment. The door clicked shut behind her, and Ira turned to John.

“Tell your friends!” John called after her. Ira burst into laughter, and John joined in.

Ira pulled the cash from his pocket and peeled off five twenty dollar bills, handing them to John. “Finder’s fee,” he explained.

John took the money, crumpling the bills in his hand. He stared at the door for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he spoke. “What do you think would happen, Ira? If they ever found out what actually caused the headaches?”

Ira pursed his lips, choosing his words. Eventually, he shook his head. 

Some secrets are best kept forever.

“I don’t know,” Ira finally responded. “But let’s hope that never happens.”

John nodded. “What now?”

Ira held up the rest of the cash. “Time for these guys to make some friends.”

John cracked a huge smile. “Excellent.”

Sammy Gordon watched the glittering diamonds in the evening sky, twinkling as they crawled forward to meet him. He could smell the burnt rubber of failing tires, and his mind registered, somewhere far away, the rending of metal as his VW Beetle tore through the guardrail overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He reached out in a drug-addled stupor, tried to grasp the iridescent jewels painted on the midnight canvas, but the car's nose dipped as it began its plunge.

The old Volkswagen crumpled as it slammed into the water, and Sammy felt his ribs snap under the seatbelt. Windows shattered, and arctic water engulfed his broken body. He screamed, and a viscous death filled his lungs. He slipped into January darkness, frigid and unyielding.  

A flash of green light, and then silence.

Where am I…?

A library? What the hell?

Tall shelves filled a shadowed room, disorderly rows lurching into the shadows beyond the meager light at his feet. The musk of old pages filled his nostrils, and he breathed deep in the stagnant air. He doubled over in a fit of coughing, and then straightened. He yelped in surprise.

He was not alone.

Standing before him was the strangest man he had ever seen. He was tall, but not thin. He had jet-black hair that was parted straight down the middle of his scalp, folding over the sides of his head in perfect symmetry. He was older than Sammy, and dressed in black – shirt, tie, slacks, and coat.

The stranger smiled, a dazzling look that drew Sammy with an animal magnetism. But it was the eyes froze time…brilliant emerald orbs that glittered in the dim. The stranger offered his hand, and Sammy took it.

Sammy was transfixed in the stranger’s grasp; it was pale, but strong. Perfectly-manicured nails were perched atop lean, supple fingers. It was a strange thing to consider, but the man really had good hands. Firm hands.

The world lurched, and suddenly the two men sat across an old table.

“Hello Samuel,” the stranger spoke.

“He-hello,” Sammy stuttered. “What…uh, what is all this?”

“You’re in transition.”

“Transition?”

“Yes. Which means, Samuel, that you are dying. You’re not dead yet – but you will be soon.”

Sammy’s mind spiraled as jerked back in his chair. “Dying? What? Where the hell am I?”

The stranger leaned forward, face was suffused with intensity.

“You’re in a place that’s very special to me. A place where I can help people. Where I can help you.” He reached across the table again, once more grasping Sammy’s hand. “Would you like me to help you, Samuel?”

Sammy’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could hear a low rush of wind in his ears. He had an immediate sensation of falling, then the jolt of terrible impact. An icy wind ripped the breath from his body, and he was suddenly cold – so damn cold. The roar in his ears grew, and spots danced in his vision. He shivered with terrible convulsions, and finally knew the stranger was telling the truth.

Help me.

His lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear the words tumble from his mouth. He was fading, slipping into oblivion, but the stranger’s grip never faltered.

There was a brilliant flash of green, and the world went black.