Act Two Chapter Nine - Not Enough Time

Michael awoke in a living room. He did not recognize it, but somehow this place felt familiar, as if he had graced this location once before and yet no longer remembered it. The furnishings were dark, the carpet red. He was sitting upright, odd since his last coherent memory was of falling into sleep in the back of a large van. Was this a dream of some sort? It felt real, seemed real, and yet made no sense.

That unease continued as he became more aware of his surroundings. Behind him, he saw sunlight filter through the blinds to illumine the floor, yet he felt none of the monstrous fear that had nearly pinned him indoors just a few minutes earlier. He also heard voices, the sound of children playing nearby.

Michael stood up and went to the door nearest the voices. Curiosity drove him and he opened the door onto the scene of a child's birthday party. A group of children were laughing and playing, having a good time, with adults supervising nearby. One of the adults, a grandmotherly figure dressed so conservatively it seemed wildly out-of-place, summoned the children to her side. “We will play musical chairs.” She announced to the cheers of the children.

“How do you play?” asked one of the children, a blond boy of maybe 5 or 6. The other children laughed at his ignorance.

“You'll pick it up soon enough.” said the grandmother impatiently. “When you hear the music, run about the chairs. When it stops, sit down.”

The haze of forgetfulness began to fade. Michael remembered this. First grade, the birthday party for a classmate. What was his name again? Gregory? Grant? Something with a G, he knew. As the epiphany came upon him, his point of view suddenly shifted. He was no longer observing the scene from the background. He was once again within himself, within the child he had once been.

He remembered what happened next. The game began. The music started, some horrid pop song from the 70s. Olivia Newton-John, he suspected. But just as soon as it started, it ceased. Chaos erupted. In his memories, Michael had failed to win a seat, but now....

But the dream denied him any outcome but what had happened 15 years before. He landed on his rump to the laughter of his supposed friends. The first eliminated. Just like before.

Despite 15 years of maturity, Michael still felt the sting of wounded pride, the feeling that he'd been robbed, cheated of a fair chance. The dream brought him back to his feet, and he stormed out of the room in embarrassment and anger. Just like before.

Michael knew what had happened next, but no longer felt a need or a desire to resist where this vision was taking him. He came back into the previous room. It was the same as before, save for a pile of party favors on the one sofa. He did not see it before. Atop the pile was a sheet of Superman stickers, top prize to the game winner.

In a fit of spite, Michael tore the sheet down the middle. Just as he had as a child. Served them right for laughing at him.

The roar of anger from his host echoed into his ears. The birthday boy's best buddy had won the game and the stickers were his by right. But no longer. The next thing Michael remembered was being grabbed, spun about, and having a 6-year old fist land against his jaw.

It didn't hurt, not really. And the grandmother intervened immediately to break up whatever fight might have erupted. But from the ugly tone of her voice, along with that of her grandson, Michael knew he'd committed some unforgivable sin. Hands roughly shoved him out the door.

The vision changed.

Michael knew that he had moved not just in space, but also in time. He was in the corridor of a very familiar place, his church in Charleston. It was a clean-up day of some sort and people were busy about the building.

David was there. David had been one of Michael's closest friends. Had been, being the operative phrase. Michael recognized the setting. This was the day that changed.

Feelings rushed in along with the memories. Disappointment, for he remembered Rebecca had not been there that day. This was at least a year before they ever considered dating, but Michael's crush on her had already begun. That feeling was counterbalanced by excitement, excitement because David had promised Michael a bootleg copy of Ultima V.

This was 1988; four years ago. Michael was a sophomore in high school. And he was about to lose his best friend.

Michael noticed a weight on his hip. His old tape Walkman was clipped on his belt, a bootleg copy of The Choir's Diamonds and Rain album within. His parents had largely forbidden he listen to anything but Christian music (not that he didn't have a few Tears for Fears, Genesis, Rush, the Cure, and a few other secular bands tucked away in his collection.)

David and Michael shared everything. If one got a tape first, he immediately copied it for the other. Same with computer games. Hence, Michael's excitement over Ultima.

Michael pressed play and listened to the music as he wandered about looking for something to do, or more specifically, looking for his friend. He found David just a few yards down the corridor, helping his father move a large sofa out of the parlor.

“Hey!” Michael called out.

David set down his end of the soda as his father did likewise. He turned and waved.

“Did you bring it?” Michael asked impatiently. No need to specify what “it” was.

“We need to talk.” replied David. No good ever came of those words in any circumstance.

“What's going on?”

“I was talking with Mr. Kelly on Friday.” David began. David lived in one of the suburbs of Charleston and as such, went to a different school from Michael and Rebecca. Mr. Kelly was his computer teacher. “Talking about how I figured out the crack on the game.”

“Was he impressed?” said Michael absent-mindedly. Michael certainly had been. Figuring out how to get past copy protection had been one of their latest pet projects, and David had proven really good at it. The Matthew Broderick character in War Games could have been written about David. Hacking and cracking came naturally to him.

“Not really. He just shook his head and told me I was the most dishonest Christian he'd ever met.” David looked grave.

“So?” said Michael.

“So, I'm done.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm done, Michael. No more hacking. No more pirating. I'm done with all of it.”

“And my copy of Ultima V?”

“You don't get it, do you?” said David, getting angry. “This is about you as much as it is me.”

“Don't drag me into this attack of conscience, David. All I know is what you promised to me.”

“I won't give it to you. And you should think about what we've been doing.”

Michael scowled. Now he was getting angry. “So this is what a friend's word is worth then? Valid only if its bearer doesn't have an attack of self-righteousness.”

David's nostrils flared. “That's all that matters to you. Where you can cut corners. When and where to ignore the rules when it suits you. If your faith means anything to you, you'll not go down this road.”

“Go down it? I'm already down it. And so are you.”

“Not anymore.”

“I want my copy of Ultima V.” repeated Michael. “You owe me that much.”

“And what part of you're not getting it didn't you understand?”

Present day Michael wanted to take a swing at him, but past Michael had long since had the impulse to physical violence literally beaten out of him by Todd and other bullies at school. So he stood there and stewed, walking away after a long moment. It was the last time the two of them had spoken. Five months later, David's father got transferred and they moved away. Michael thought it for the better in more ways than one. Not only was David the more talented of their pair, but he was also the one the girls always swooned over. Among them was Rebecca, who not-surprisingly began to finally notice Michael after his “cooler” friend was gone.

Suddenly, Michael's eyes snapped open. He shook his head clear of the visions. Now, he found himself within an underground chamber. Brick walls, stone floor, a newsstand a few yards away: A subway station, in which city, he knew not, but somehow he felt as if he were in New York City.

Michael stepped away from the wall upon which he found himself leaning and headed over to the stand. Offered there were a variety of magazines and newspapers: New York Times, Washington Post, Cosmo, Playboy, Time, Newsweek, etc. The purveyor was an older man, perhaps mid-50s, who stared bored at the potential customer before him.

“I wonder what's down here.” came another voice. A familiar one: Rebecca.

Michael turned and his eyes fell upon her. Vague memories of a violent scene in a church sanctuary intruded, but seemed a dubious fantasy, as though this was real and that remembrance myth. But the feeling was full of doubt and uncertainty. Michael could not tell. Was he awake at last in this strange place and his memories of Mathias' court a mere nightmare? Or was it the other way around?

Becca was regarding the service corridor with some curiosity. “Probably just where the staff...” Michael began to explain, as she darted through the door and disappeared. Michael let out his brreath in frustration, heading to the door and following her through.

The hallway beyond was of hellish unreality, a firmer clue that he was within yet another hallucination. The floor was brown stone bricks, lined with iron grates. Spurting forth from the grates at semi-regular intervals were bursts of flame. And Rebecca was here...somewhere.

“Becca!” he called out, and made to step forward. A gust of flame shot before him and he staggered back from the heat. An arm grabbed him and pulled him back onto the platform.

“What are you doing in there, silly?” teased Becca. “Our train is about to arrive.”

There had been no way she could have gotten behind him and yet there she was. Michael shook his head in confusion. This seemed so real, yet reality made no sense.

“Sorry.” Michael muttered weakly. A train pulled up to the platform and Rebecca gave Michael a playful nudge toward it. He went as she directed, boarding the train and finding a seat.

“Ah, I can't wait.” she said with delight. The train began to move.

Michael was almost afraid to ask his next question. “Where are we going?”

“To swim camp, silly.”

Now, Michael knew this was another dream. He'd gone to camp with Rebecca before, specifically to the Creation festival in central Pennsylvania. But never to any “swim camp.”

The train emerged from the dark underground into the blazing sunlight. Then, Michael saw they were above water. The train rode a trestle above the waves, heading out to sea.

“I can't wait.” repeated Becca.

A slow recognition came upon Michael. This was no memory, but it was familiar in one sense. It was what Michael called a “travel dream.” He had these periodically throughout his life. An imagining of a journey to someplace unknown. He would visit cities, towns, shopping malls, parks, even universities, all within the confines of his own mind. Frequently, the dreams would fuse known qualities of places he'd been with the fantastic conjurations of his subconscious. Also, at times, Michael could not discern the dream from reality, even upon waking. And even when the truth would not be denied, Michael always felt a profound sense of loss. He always wanted to go back to those places, shop in those malls, visit those universities, walk the streets of those cities, even though none of what he remembered was real. For years, he would hold onto the memory of those places in his head, long after most other dreams would be forgotten. But a specific dream would never return. He never traveled to the same place twice.

This was another such dream. He was going to swim camp with Rebecca, via a train traveling across the ocean.

Best to enjoy the experience. It would never come again. And in that thought, for the first time, Michael did not want to awaken from his reverie. He wanted to experience this one to the fullest.

An island appeared on the horizon and almost as quickly as it appeared, the train was pulling into a station upon it. Rebecca gathered up her bags (from whence they came, Michael did not know), and headed outside. Michael followed.

Instantly, he found himself poolside. No train station, no platform, no hotel or bunkhouse even. Instant transport to the next “episode” of the travel dream. Michael accepted it manifestly, especially since it gave him a chance to ogle Rebecca in a swimsuit.

Her suit was not overly revealing or sexy. Just a simple black one-piece. Michael found his own behavior in this moment a little odd; after all, he'd seen her in far less clothing quite recently.

“You there! Allens!” barked a voice. A giant ogre of a man marched over to him. “You didn't hear a word that I said.”

The coach, Michael presumed. “Sorry.” Michael replied quietly.

“You'll learn the price for disrespect.” The coach slammed a fist hard into Michael's gut, doubling him over with pain.

“What the hell?” Michael screamed astonished in his mind.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you!” barked the coach. “Dismissed.”

Michael felt graceful hands take him and bring him back to his feet.

Presuming them to be Rebecca's, he was surprised to look into Deborah's eyes as he stood. “He's a nasty one.” she said. “Best do everything that he tells you.”

She walked away, letting her fingers linger on his arm a bit longer than was polite. Michael didn't mind.

He turned back to find Rebecca only to find the episode changing again. They were gathered in a line, Rebecca at his side. Across the pool, maybe 15 yards away, was Deborah. The coach was sitting at a desk nearby also. Michael felt a sense of imminent danger. He looked about for a weapon and his eyes fell upon a Philips head screwdriver in a nearby tool box. He fetched it up and slipped it into his pocket.

“Allens! Front and center.” barked the coach. Michael stepped forward timidly towards the desk.

“You don't seem to be taking this seriously enough.” The coach continued. “It seems I'm going to have to find new ways to motivate you.”

Hearing the words of Darth Vader echoed back at him did not make Michael feel any better. Four athletic young men emerged from behind the coach. Todd, Shawn, David, and a fourth that he did not recognize yet somehow knew was Grant or Greg or whatever his name was from 1st grade.

“Let's see how you fare against these. I'll give you a 5 minute head start.” The murderous glare in the eyes of the four made no secret of their intent.

Michael bolted from the pool and headed off into the jungle.

He dashed down the wooded path, not entirely sure why his dream had taken this turn, but all he knew was that his life was in danger. To let those four or the coach himself catch him now would be deadly.

Now he wanted to wake up. His travel dream had turned swiftly nightmarish, and yet no awakening was forthcoming.

He hastened up a tree, hearing the scramblings in the brush of his pursuers just a few short yards behind him. Five minute head start indeed, of course, time flowing somewhat randomly within the dreamscape didn't help.

He kept his perch and made no sound as his four enemies paused beneath him. “Split up!” barked David, and each headed off into the brush in a different direction. All save Todd, who stood below him as if waiting.

Opportunity! Michael dropped down right on top of him. The impact of his feet upon Todd's head and shoulders stunned his foe. He rolled off onto the trail and grabbed the first thing he could find, a large tree branch. One swing and he felt it connect, sending Todd sprawling.

“One down.” thought Michael. “Three to go.” Now the hunted would become the hunter.

Michael kept hold of his crude club and headed off into the wood . He hadn't actually paid all that much attention to which direction his foes had gone, but he knew without knowing that this was the direction Shawn had taken. He would be next.

He came out into a clearing, seeing Shawn before him. His opponent turned to face him, brandishing a set of nun-chucks.

“You know how to use those?” taunted Michael, wielding his club.

“You just don't get it, do you Michael?” replied Shawn. A curious comment. “This is all your doing.” He continued.

Michael charged forward and felt the ground give way beneath him. He stumbled down a set of rough stone steps and landed in a puddle of mud. He quickly came to his feet to stare into the lifeless eyes of Kris Keller.

Michael screamed at the shock and backed away. But there she was, as he last saw her, dead by his hand.

“All your doing.” repeated Shawn. He had followed him down the stairs.

Michael lashed out with his club blindly and felt the wood connect. There was a dull crunch of bone and Shawn went down. Now his eyes stared at him just the same.

The floor of this macabre tomb gave way and Michael dropped down some 50 feet to a catwalk suspended over the ocean. To his side, a mighty waterfall cast its waters down into the sea below, its roar near deafening and its mists so thick as to blind.

Michael took back to his feet, uninjured despite the fall. Despite the din, he could hear a voice faintly, calling his name. “Michael! Michael!”

A shadowy form emerged in the mists ahead. As it closed, Michael could make out the form of his old friend David. But he was not alone.

“Careful, Michael, you might slip.” he warned. Before him, wrapped in the chain David brandished as his weapon, was Rebecca.

“Let her go.” Michael demanded.

“You never could keep your balance.” said David, as if he hadn't heard. “Neither could she.” With a shove, he pushed Rebecca over the side. Michael dashed forward, but the rain-slicked platform betrayed him. His feet slipped out from under him and down he went.

Rebecca fell and fell and came to the end of the chain with a sickening crunch.

“Too bad.” said David, looking down. “There's always others. Ones far more worthy.”

Michael came to his feet in a rage, charging down the catwalk. This time, he kept his feet and slammed his body hard into his former friend. David was hurled back by the tackle and vanished into the mists.

Michael grabbed the chain and pulled it up. There was no Rebecca on the other end. No body to recover. It was as if she had simply vanished into thin air.

“Todd.” came another voice. “Then Kris, then Shawn, then Rebecca.” Michael began to twirl the chain expectantly. “Where does it end? Who gets justice for them? Dead by your hand.”

“Not you.” He knew it was the last of his pursuers. And he remembered his name at last: Gideon.

“But I'm the one you've feared the most. The one you've hated the most. I'm the one with the most power over you. The one you've never beaten.”

“You were a child last I saw you. And even now, you're just a figment of my demented imagination.”

“I'm real enough to best you.”

Then all went black.

Michael's eyes snapped open again. He desperately hoped this vision had come to its end and that he was off on another. But that was not to be. As swiftly as his visions and remembrances had come and gone, he was surprised and dismayed that this “swim camp” nightmare lingered.

He was back at the pool. Only now, all was dark. All he could see was the coach, lit dimly in the twilight, and a bench upon which was tied and bound the form of Deborah. Michael tried to move, but found that he himself was bound by his wrists and suspended above the floor.

“Useless.” said the coach. “Still doesn't get it.”

“Let me go.” said Michael feebly.

“You have much yet to answer for, Michael.” said the coach. “For instance...”

The bruised and battered body of Todd tumbled before him. He was not as Michael left him in the forest. The wounds, the bruises, were as they had been on the floor of another forest.

“Vengeance.” said Michael firmly.

“Does my crime merit this?” coughed the body beneath him. Blood spouted from his lips.

“And what of her?” said the coach.

Kris appeared beneath him as Todd vanished. The bullet wound on her chest gushed blood. “I loved you.” she whispered. “You killed me.”

“Stop it!” demanded Michael.

“And him?”

Frat boy made his appearance next.

“Her?”

The girl at 7-11.

“Stop it.” Michael demanded again, feebly.

“And this one?”

Shawn appeared, his skin pale and grey. He said nothing, but stared blindly upward.

“Enough.” Michael half sobbed. He knew who would come next.

“No, not enough. Not yet.”

Rebecca. Unlike the others, she appeared before him uninjured, unharmed, perfect. She looked upward at him, then her eyes filled with fear. She screamed and Michael watched as she burst into flames and vanished into ash and smoke.

“NO!!!!” he cried. “No! No more.”

“We're not done.” said the coach. “We've only touched the surface of your crimes.”

“Please.” he pleaded.

“And what of this one?” the coach motioned towards Deborah. “How you've betrayed her. Left her to a fate worse than these others.”

With a fluid motion, the coach went over to her bound form and mounted her. With each thrust of his pelvis, Deborah cried out, sobs of pain and regret.

“No more.” said Michael.

“Not yet.” repeated the coach. “I think she's starting to enjoy it.”

Michael grabbed hold of his own chains. With a quick tug, he pulled himself upward and felt them slacken. He could get loose.

He dropped to the floor. The coach, enthralled with his ravishing of Deborah, made no notice. Within his pocket, he felt the bulge of the screwdriver. It was still there.

Michael yanked it free and struck. He aimed for the base of the neck, right where the brain stem lay hidden. It was a killing blow and he knew it.

The screwdriver glanced off harmlessly.

“Did you think me so easy to destroy?” said the coach turning towards him. His voice had changed. He recognized it, the same grandfatherly tones as Prince Mathias. “Now comes your reckoning, Michael.”

Michael screamed.

He bolted to his feet and stumbled upon the floor. Darkness was all around him. Was he awake at last? His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked about. His surroundings were unfamiliar once again. Another vision, another dream, another nightmare.

“No more.” said Michael aloud. “Enough.” He half sobbed.

Terrible pain tore through his belly, all-consuming agony ate at his flesh. He tried to stand but the room spun and he crashed to the floor. Then, a scent, a sound. People nearby.

“No, not again.” his mind screamed as the beast within him took over. He tore to his feet and out the door. He vaguely registered the sand beneath his feet or the waves crashing beyond. All he knew was that blood was near.

A couple were laughing and playing on the beach. Young lovers oblivious to the danger at hand. Michael roared like an animal and the two stopped short. The woman screamed. Then the man.

Michael tasted sweet release.

----

“There you are.” said a voice.

“Solomon?” queried Michael. His voice seemed off, distant, alien. “Where...” He tried to sit up and saw the blood. It was everywhere, all over him. “What...”

Around him were the bodies of two people, or at least, that's what he thought they were. They looked as though a wild animal had mauled them.

“Not a vision. Not a dream.” said Michael.

"Few of us can maintain control after awakening from torpor." said Solomon.

"More death."  sobbed Michael. "And at my hands again."

“No time to fret about that now.” Solomon picked up the man and tossed him into the waves. "They drowned. The sharks got them. Whatever." He mused aloud, tossing the woman in next. "At least this way, we can cover our tracks. The tide'll wash away the bloody sands and even if the corpses wash back up, the authorities will write it off as sharks chewing on the carrion of two drowning victims."

"You should throw me in next. Let them eat me." said Michael with grim humor. "Up to ten dead now."

"You keep a more accurate count and you'll drive yourself mad with guilt." warned Solomon.

"And what should I do?" snarled Michael in frustration. "Forget about them? I've spent my torpor haunted by each one of their faces. I dreamed of every one of them. Deborah and Rebecca and Kris and the girl at 7-11. Dreamed of Shawn and Todd. Of that damn frat boy and even people I hadn't seen in years. And now I've got two more faces to add to the list. Ten lives destroyed because of me. I've done better than Jack the Ripper. Not quite up to Ted Bundy, but I'm getting there."

Solomon turned and grabbed Michael by the shirt collar, yanking him up into the air and putting them face-to-face. "I did not drag you out of the sunlight a week ago so you could mope around in self-pity. You are a vampire. You have been a vampire for over a year. You have seen our world and it is not a world where the weak last long. The Michael I know is not weak. Foolish, impulsive, but not weak. You're feeling guilty and depressed will not bring the dead back." Solomon tossed Michael back onto the sand. "The choice is yours, Michael.”

Michael picked himself up and followed Solomon back towards the strange house. As if divining Michael's next question, Solomon began to speak.

"When I was first embraced, I traveled all over.” His anger appeared to be gone. “I set up a series of these little bungalows, little safehouses, places I could stay." Solomon noticed Michael's distraction. "Hey, you here?"

“I don't know.” said Michael. He felt strange, still sick from what he had done on the beach and still confused and bewildered.

Solomon chuckled. "You were in torpor for about a week. Now you know its effects. Muddles the mind. You don't remember me quite right. Something seems different. Well, nothing's really changed, just the way you perceive the world around you. It'll pass soon enough. You weren't down long enough to really get your brain scrambled."

"So, this is your place? You were saying..."

"Yeah, we're outside Williamsburg and Yorktown. On the coast. Obviously, I haven't been back to this place in a while. So it'll take some work. Make this place a little more homey.”

“This is real?” Michael said. He still wasn't certain.

“Yes, you're back.”

Michael looked as if he was about to say something else, but the words did not come.

“It'll pass in time.”

“Was it like this for you?”

Solomon nodded. “I've not been in torpor much, but yeah. Strange dreams, visions of past events, guilty consciences, all mixed together with vivid imagery so real you can't tell it's all happening in your mind. You had only a week of it. Imagine decades of it and you can see why elders like Mathias and Ernie are not all there.”

“Why? Why did I go into torpor sleep?”

“The shock of it all, I would guess.”

“What happened?”

“Mathias knew. He knew about Rebecca and he struck first. We didn't see it coming.”

“How did he know?”

Solomon shrugged as they headed inside. “He did not penetrate my mind, if that's what you're thinking. I would have known.”

"We were betrayed." said Michael flatly. "Ernie."

"You think so?"

"He was screaming something to Mathias at my trial. Something about a broken deal or some such. He sold us out. Sold us out so he could have me."

"And when Mathias condemned you, he broke the deal." Solomon paused, as if thinking. "Would explain why he wanted to rescue you so badly."

"So why did you help him?"

Solomon stopped and turned to Michael. His posture indicated hostility. He began to speak, but Michael cut him off.

"You heard what Ernie said just as clearly as I did. You knew it was him. I know you did."

"I don't like your tone." said Solomon angrily.

"Deborah said she wanted you by her side in a fight more than anyone. Said I could trust you. Well, can I?"

Solomon threw the question back at him. "Can you?"

The two vampires stared at one another for a long time, neither moving nor speaking. Then Michael nodded.

"Yes, I can trust you."

"And why do you believe that?"

"From what you and her have said, you've been allies for years, decades even. But I'm willing to bet you used to be more than that. I've the seen the way you look at her from time to time. Why else aid her in this crazy coup when she offers you nothing that you want? You offer loyalty for your remembered affections. The same loyalty that now drives you to salvage what remains of Deborah's plan. It wasn't by Ernie's request that you saved me. You did it because you need me to save her."

Solomon was as stone, but then he spoke. "Now the question remains for me, can I trust you? Your folly gave Ernie his opportunity."

"Rebecca is dead. I have no more vendettas, save Mathias."

Solomon nodded. "And Ernie?"

"We need him. And if he's desperate enough to double cross all of us to claim me as a prize, then I think we've been given a powerful tool in controlling him."

Solomon nodded again, a devilish smile crossing his lips. “So it begins.” He offered his hand. Michael took it. “Our retribution and Deborah's deliverance. Glad to have you on board.”

Act Two Chapter Ten