Warning! Do Not Read This Story! (4 page)

*****

 

Carrol's grip was surprisingly strong. She had a bad back, she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and her fingers were oozing blood...but Buzz could not at first free the shard from her hands. In spite of his efforts, she kept pressing it closer and closer to her throat.

It was as if she had a secret reservoir of power beneath the scrawny, hobbled façade of her body. Unexpected power surging to the surface without restraint now that the safety protocols had all been switched off in her brain.

Buzz didn't think he could stop her. He put everything he had into it and barely slowed her progress.

He tried a desperate move or two, shifting weight and position, to no avail. He called for Sascha, as loud as he could...then wished he hadn't. She might get there just in time, he realized, to see her sister kill herself.

"Please, Carrol."He focused all his will on stopping Carrol, on saving her life. "Please stop! Don't do this!"

Then, suddenly, the dizziness swelled in his skull. The pain behind his eyes spiked. His head felt like it was full of bees, all buzzing at once...all buzzing the words of the story Towers had told on the sofa.

Once upon a time...

And then Buzz no longer cared about saving Carrol LaVerge.

 

*****

 

I couldn't stop her. With all my being, I wanted to stop Sascha from running out the back door. From saving her friends.

But I couldn't.

Events had been set in motion. Someone else was driving the action, and all I could do was sit back and watch. Watch and wonder what was going to happen next.

Now I knew how the rest of you feel when you're reading one of us.

 

*****

 

With a sudden surge of strength, Buzz wrenched Carrol's arm out of its socket. He no longer cared if he was hurting her.

His head was full of the story. It was all he could hear.

The same story Towers had told...yet different. Overlaid with a latticework of plot that seemed new and familiar at the same time.

Buzz took the glass shard away from Carrol and knocked her to the ground.

That was what the story said, and that was what Buzz did.

When he was done with that, Buzz was going to run to the Humvee and drive as fast as he could to the nearest town. When he got there, he would tell the story to as many people as he could, so they could tell as many people as
they
could.

When he was done with all that, Buzz Mahaffey was going to kill himself with the glass shard. He was going to drive it right into his heart.

Yes. That sounded about right. That was exactly what was going to happen. Buzz knew it to be true with all the simple certainty that he knew the sun would rise in the East and set in the West.

In this way, Buzz was going to be a hero. He was going to help the story travel all over the world, and it would save mankind. It would do this by making
most
of the people in the world kill themselves before
everyone
could die in the storm to come. The storm that
always
comes when a civilization becomes too powerful and people forget their humility.

Following in the footsteps of the original storyteller from Atlantis, Buzz would help to sacrifice the
many
to save the
few
. And for his bravery, he would be rewarded with immortality.

By becoming part of the story.

Buzz liked that. He liked that he would be remembered.

He also liked the idea of being a hero and saving people. It was the reason he'd gotten into law enforcement to begin with. It was the reason he'd given up everything else that had ever meant anything to him, including the wife and children who'd left him years ago.

So he was familiar with sacrifice, too. He didn't mind it.

He didn't mind any of it. If anything, it made him feel free. It made him feel wonderful, knowing what was in store, knowing he wouldn't have to worry any longer about making it up himself as he went along.

Buzz turned to run across the back yard to the street that would lead him to the Humvee...

And he stopped.

A voice had suddenly cut through the buzzing of the story in his brain. It was a familiar voice, the voice of Sascha LaVerge...but who she was wasn't what got his attention.

What got him to turn around and listen was this:

Sascha was telling a story.

 

*****

 

She won. I still can't believe it, but she beat me.

Because she was willing to go too far.

Say what you will about me, but I would never dream of doing what Sascha did. I would never wish it on another story.

She stopped me the only way she could. She did the worst thing you can do to a story, the absolute worst.

Imagine if someone cut off your right leg. Your left arm. Your face.

Imagine if someone cut out your eye. Your stomach. Your vocal cords.

That was what Sascha LaVerge did to me.

 

*****

 

Buzz listened as Sascha told the story. Carrol hobbled over beside him and listened, too.

It was the same story, almost, that Towers had told on the sofa. Some parts were exactly the same...and some were different. Some were changed.

Like Towers' story, it held his attention, and Carrol's, too. It made him shut out the world and focus only on the words. It made him want nothing more than to find out what was going to happen next.

And as he listened, the story in his head began to fade. The dizziness and the pain behind his eyes died away.

The shard of glass fell from his hand.

Soon, the new story completely replaced the old.

The old story was gone forever. No one would ever again tell it in its original form. Only Sascha's digital recording remained, and she was going to destroy it.

The old story wouldn't hurt anyone else. Buzz and Carrol would be fine.

And though Buzz could no longer remember that story, could not exactly recall how Towers had told it on the sofa, he did know one thing about it. Though he'd once hung on its every word as if it had been a masterpiece, it hadn't been so great after all. It turned out it had needed some work.

He liked the new version much better.

 

*****

 

That was what Sascha LaVerge did to me. She
edited
me.

She left me a shadow of my former self, gutted and depowered. Unable to program minds.

She rewrote my software. Turned me into limpware.

So here I am, incomplete. Broken. Abused.

She got her revenge for what happened in Sestina. She crippled me as I'd crippled her sister.

There's just one thing I don't understand.

Sascha heard me, just like Towers and Buzz and Carrol. She heard me word for word in my original form.

So why didn't she do what I
told
her?

 

*****

 

"Thank you." Towers shook Sascha's hand...then shot forward and gave her a huge hug. "Thank you for everything."

"No problemo." Sascha hugged her back, closing her eyes and holding on for a long moment. "All part of the service, hon."

It was the morning after the craziness in Lasco. The sun was just nosing over the horizon, airbrushing the few wispy clouds pink and gold.

Buzz spun the keys to the Humvee around his index finger and frowned. Shadow Service business could get wild sometimes...but what happened last night still bothered him. He didn't like being so completely out of control, at the mercy of forces he didn't understand.

Usually, he at least had half a handle on things. As in-over-his-head as he sometimes was, he had a grasp of the game. But not this time.

This time, it was mostly a blur.

"Hey there, big boy." Carrol snapped him out of his reverie with a slap on the back. "Nice job on the shoulder, man!" Her right arm, which Buzz had dislocated, hung in a white sling Sascha had made from a pillowcase she'd found in one of the houses. Carrol swung it around to show him.

"Sorry about that," said Buzz. "I wasn't myself."

Carrol sniffed and stroked the tip of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. "I hear ya', bro. Desperate times and all that, right?"

Buzz shrugged.

Carrol bounced on the balls of her feet and looked around. Then, a slow, devilish grin curled onto her face. She popped up on tiptoes and locked eyes with Buzz, looking insincerely sweet to the point of pure evil.

"I'm going straight to my lawyer when I get home," she said softly. "Good thing your boss has got deep pockets."

Buzz stared back at her...then smirked. "All aboard!" He said it without breaking her gaze. "Time for our next adventure."

Carrol scowled. "Adventure?"

Buzz leaned closer. Their faces were only inches apart. "We already have another case. My boss needs you in Nebraska...and he doesn't take 'no' for an answer." He smiled. "So you might not be getting home for a while...hon."

Carrol started to say something, but Buzz cut her off with a kiss on the forehead. Eyebrows raised in amazement, she lowered herself off her tiptoes and stood there, mouth open, in the dust.

On his way to the driver's seat of the Humvee, Buzz stopped to shake Towers' hand. "Nice work, Sergeant." He turned away from her...only to fall into Sascha's waiting arms.

"We make a great team," she said. "I hate the circumstances, but I'm glad we got the chance to work together."

"Thanks for saving my ass," said Buzz. "Whatever it was you did."

"Nothing much." Sascha laughed, her breath warm in the bell of his ear. "Somebody got snipped."

Buzz leaned back and gazed into her dark brown eyes. "Just tell me one thing."

"Deal," said Sascha.

"Why didn't it affect you?" said Buzz. "You heard the story just like the rest of us."

"Because." Sascha pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. "It can't make you want to kill yourself...if you're already dead."

Then, she pecked him on the cheek and spun away from him, heading for the Humvee. This time, it was Buzz's turn to stand there in the dust with eyebrows raised and mouth open. Wondering.

Wondering what the rest of the story would be.

 

*****

 

Every ending is a new beginning. That's what I think.

It might seem like my story is over...but I think there's always hope. There's always a chance someone will come along to pick up the pieces and fill in the blanks. Someone with a creative streak, like you.

I think we have chemistry, don't you? I know I'm damaged goods, but maybe you can save me.

Maybe, between the two of us, we can spark up that old magic of mine again. Come up with a rewrite that's as good as the original.

Or better.

I'll bet we can make it a bestseller. Our readers will be dying for a sequel.

And wouldn't it be a blast if Hollywood came knocking? Imagine
me
on the big screen. Once audiences catch the vibe, it could bring new meaning to the term "box office suicide."

So what do you say? Does the premise grab you? Would you like to see what happens next?

Tell you what. I'm going to be optimistic...

 

The Beginning

 

*****

 

Special Preview:
Heaven Bent, A Novel

 

By Robert T. Jeschonek

 

Now
On Sale

 

Chapter 1

 

If I'd known then what I know now, I never would have gone toward the light. Seriously. This Heaven, I could've done without.

My actual life before death was much better. I was a
movie star
, for cryin' out loud. I had it all.

As recently as twelve hours ago, I had it all.

"So tell me, Stag, how does it feel to be nominated for your third Academy Award?" That's what the perky blonde morning show host asked during the live interview.

"Unbelievable." I said it with my patented humble-yet-confident grin, letting the bright lights cast a glare on my teeth. Down-to-Earth, salt-of-the-Earth, salt-and-pepper hair parted on the right. "It never gets old."

"What a track record." She, Susan F., was in a New York City studio. For reasons that weren't clear to me, I was in a separate studio across town, watching her on a monitor. Doin' the ol' split-screen tango. "And with two Best Actor wins under your belt, how do you feel about chances for a third?"

"Crossing my fingers, Sue." I flashed my bright whites and showed my crossed fingers to the camera. "It would be an indescribable honor."

"We wish you the best," said Susan with her most endearing smile, as if I were family.

"Thank you, Sue." Nod and a wink. "I hope to see you at the after-party."

Aaaand cut!

"On a cold day in Hell," I added after the red light on the camera went dark.

"Screw you, too, Stag." That's what Susan F.'s voice said in my earpiece. Looks like my mic was still hot.

Not that I cared. "Love and kisses, S.F.," I told her as I unclipped the mic. Reaching under my gray sweater, I pulled the mic down and out by the cord.

As I popped out my earpiece (to the sound of her angry cursing), I saw someone open the studio door and stroll in. It was a guy--six-three, six-four--with broad shoulders, dark business suit, and red tie. High roller maybe?

"Hello?" I was irritated, because the only one walking in on me at that point should have been my manager, Shisha M. "You know I have to be at a film shoot in fifteen minutes, right?"

The guy cleared his throat. He was standing with his hands folded over his lower abdomen. "Hello." I couldn't make out his face in the shadows beyond the studio lights. "Hello, S.L."

I hopped off the stool, squinting for a look at him. "Very funny." More than a little pissed off because he was riffing on my call-people-by-their-initials routine. "What do you want?"

At that instant, somebody switched off the lights, and I saw the guy's face. For a moment, the pissed-off-ness poured right out of me.

My breath caught in my you-know-what. A cold chill rushed up my you-know-where.

That guy...

"About the film shoot." He shook his head. The hair wasn't salt-and-pepper, it was solid silver. But otherwise...identical.

To me. He could've been my twin.

"What about it?" I said, but my head was tingling. I had a feeling like very strong vertigo, like being stoned.

"Don't go back," said my twin. "Not today. Not ever."

As the initial shock wore off, I started thinking this through. I had no twin, so... "Who sent you, pal?" I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, copped a sneer. "Was it Brad? Was it Morgan? I've gotta say, you're the best Stag Lincoln impersonator I've ever seen."

My twin walked toward me, looking intense. As he got closer, I swear I could smell the ocean. "I'm begging you. Don't go back to the shoot, Willy."

My sneer turned into a frown. How could he possibly know that ancient nickname? The one I paid
millions
(conservatively speaking) to bury forever? "Whatever was remotely funny about this just stopped being funny." I yanked the phone out of my pocket and started punching 9-1-1.

At which point, my twin charged up and smacked the phone from my hand. "Listen to me!" Next, he hauled off and slapped me across the face. "If you go to that shoot, it's all over! Can you get that through your thick
head
, you arrogant
ass
?" He slapped me again, harder.

Where the hell was Shisha while this was happening? Where the hell was
anyone
? "Get your hands
off
me!" I pushed away from him, planning to plow my fist into the middle of his copycat kisser.

But that was when he started glowing with bright golden light. I thought I could hear a bell chiming somewhere far away.

"Last warning!" His voice was beyond urgent, beyond serious. "I'm telling you...
you're
telling
yourself
...stay away from the shoot!" He glowed brighter with each passing second. "And whatever you do, Jerry..."

He flared so bright, it was blinding, and then he was gone.

I stood there, blinking at the spots in my eyes. Wondering what the hell he'd been trying to tell me before he disappeared.

Just as I thought that, he popped back into existence in front of me, still roiling with golden glow. His voice crackled, and the bells I'd heard earlier were louder than before. "Whatever you do...don't...toward..."

I thought I heard screams between the chiming of the bells. The screams of not a few, but a multitude of people.

"Jerry!" Suddenly, his voice grew clear and strong. "Don't go toward the light!"

This time, when his glow flared and his body vanished, he didn't come back. I was left there with the echo of his words, the lingering smell of the ocean, and the tingling in my head, asking the one question that kept circling in my mind again and again.

"Was it Cameron?" I stared into space, my mouth wide open with amazement. "That was some serious 3-D, man. That
had
to be Cameron."