PARADOX

Ethan Fleisher

ONE

The wait was surprisingly short; a few minutes in the bleak, pale walled waiting room and Tye Malakie was called in by a short, attractive blonde nurse. She smiled politely to him, leading him down the hallway with annoyingly long strides. Malakie was not especially in a hurry. He was scheduled for a routine surgery on a thin chip of bone floating around in his knee he’d noticed two months ago. He’d called the clinic, wondering if this was threatening or a danger to his health. He was positive it wasn’t, but of course the hospital wanted it’s money and had suggested a surgery.

The nurse took his height, and smiled at him as she messed with the dials on the scale. “You smell nice,” she commented.

“Thanks,” He said. He felt slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t exactly a people person, and he had always preferred brunettes over blondes.

“Yeah, a lot like…” She hesitated, apparently smelling him, which added to the awkwardness of the situation. “Fresh laundry?”

He smiled, and nodded politely.

“Six foot, and a good one hundred sixty five,” the nurse said, allowing him to step down off the scale. She eyed him, and he realized she was becoming less and less attractive by the moment. “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Malakie replied. He was built slim, but muscular. He had dark hair and blue eyes that almost looked black. He wore all black, mostly, (except for his jeans, of course) because he hated colors.

The nurse then led him to another smaller waiting room, and he checked in and sat down and began mulling through some monotonous do-it-yourself magazines. This lasted only for a few minutes because the door next to him opened, and a surgeon in light blue scrubs with a clipboard said, “Tye Malakie?”

He was given anesthesia by a tall balding man, who told him to count backwards from twenty. He was at about seven when he drifted off, into a dull sort of dreaminess. A tiredness filled his body and head, and he liked it. He felt like he was floating, and he suddenly realized he was still slightly conscious… wait. Malakie remembered his previous surgeries, the way he’d fallen asleep and seemed to wake up instantaneously without any recollection of anything. Why was this different? He began to panic, but there was no longer any sense of body. He felt completely…. Detached.

“Tye Malakie, right?” The voice suddenly burned through the fog and sludge that was his consciousness. It was deep, distinct, with a sort of anti- accent that felt unnatural.

Malakie sat for a few seconds, trying to make himself talk. He felt no mouth, no way to form his words, so he thought instead. Yeah, I’m Tye Malakie. He thought nothing else, or tried to think nothing else.

“Good… Mr. Malakie, you are dead.”

Oh, Malakie thought. That doesn’t make sense. The surgery was just routine…

I’m…. dead?

“Yes, Mr. Malakie, you are dead. You died today, March 31st, 2007. You died of an allergic reaction to the anesthesia used in your surgery, and though the whole medical team tried to save you, they just couldn’t pull you through. You were officially found deceased at one twenty seven p.m.”

That’s a bummer. If I’m dead, who are you?

“I’m getting to that, Mr. Malakie.”

Call me Tye, thanks.

“No, Mr. Malakie, I will not call you by your first name. I will address you properly, just as you will address me properly.”

How can I? I don’t know your name.

“That’s because, Mr. Malakie, I haven’t told you yet. My name is Dresden. I’m dead just as you are, Mr. Malakie. Do you understand me?”

No, Mr. Dresden, I don’t.

“Then I’ll make this simpler for you. I died, Mr. Malakie, on September fourth, 1989, of a gunshot wound to my temple.”

Yes, I know you died, but I don’t know where I am, what I am, or what I’m doing. I’m suspecting you know.

“Yes, Mr. Malakie, I do know. You will know as well, I’m sure, or they wouldn’t have picked you.”

Whose ‘they’? God? Some angels?

“No, Mr. Malakie. God has not picked you- which is exactly why you are here.”

What? Where the hell is here

“I can’t answer that now, Mr. Malakie. And I’d appreciate it if you would not curse at me. I could be anywhere else right now besides here, which I assure you, I would like nothing more than just that.”

Sorry, Mr. Dresden, my mistake. Where am I? He figured he best listen to the voice, since it was the only thing besides his own mind that he could… sense.

“I’ve answered you once, Mr. Malakie, and I will not acknowledge that question again. Are we clear?”

Clear as mud, Mr. Dresden.

“Very well. Now that you know you’ve died, Mr. Malakie, I think it’s safe to tell you that you’re death wasn’t an accident.”

Malakie thought nothing for a few seconds, his mind, or whatever was left, completely blank. This Dresden’s last comment had taken him by surprise, which was strange because the entire conversation he’d had with Dresden was a shock. Than, slowly, like one gets when becoming nauseous, the words sunk in. He…. That meant….

Wait. I was… murdered?

“Yes, Mr. Malakie, you were a victim of foul play. Fortunately for you, you’re not actually dead.”

Slowly Malakie’s mind thickened and cracked again. Mr. Dresden, you just told me a few minutes ago that I was dead.

“For one, Mr. Malakie, you are dead- first your oxygen level decreased dangerously low, you stopped breathing, and seconds later your heart stopped beating. Your body died. Luckily, time and space do not exist for you, Mr. Malakie. Which brings me to two- that was not a few minutes ago I told you. It could have been a few years, a few seconds, or no time at all. In fact, it could have been negative three minutes. Mr. Malakie, we are no longer in a realm of time and space. We are in a place called Eternity, in which no other dimension applies.”

Malakie pondered this to himself in the deepest reaches of his existence, hoping that Dresden couldn’t hear this. Then he thought, I don’t exist?

“On the contrary, Mr. Malakie. You exist, just as much as everyone else does. You just exist on a completely different plane.”

Eternity. That means I don’t belong to time, space, height or width?

“Or any other dimension, Mr. Malakie. You are completely free of anything here, unless you choose to manipulate the dimensions accessible to you.”

You lost me, Mr. Dresden.

“I will get to all that later, Mr. Malakie. As of now, let’s concentrate on who it is that decided to end your life.”

I concur. Who killed me? Malakie had enemies, of course, just as everyone does. He was one of the top in his class at University of Oregon, but debated everything his professor’s told him about the capabilities of modern science. How would a professor (or anyone in his class) know about his surgery? He’d only told two people, and there was no way in hell they would ever do this-

“The specific entity that killed you, Mr. Malakie, is named Rosalind. It, or him if you prefer, to comprehend this better, is an assassin hired by a terrorist organization called Free Eternal. He killed you because you were chosen by my company to kill him. We’re not exactly sure how he found this out, but he did and during your operation he manipulated the anesthesia used, and killed you.”

I’m not grabbing this, Mr. Dresden. Malakie had never worked for anyone besides a small construction company called Johnson’s Construction. He’d never heard of Free Eternal, Dresden, or this bastard Rosalind that killed him.

“Patience, Mr. Malakie, we have an infinite amount of time.”

Sorry.

“My company, Mr. Malakie, is a counter organization to Free Eternal. You will know us only as C5. Our purpose, and your purpose, now, Mr. Malakie, is to disassemble Free Eternal, and destroy any evidence of Quantum related time and space travel. You will be given as little information as possible.”

That’s very kind of you, Mr. Dresden.

“Free Eternal was established two years ago by a corporate-funded organization that specialized in Quantum physics. Do you know what Quantum physics is, Mr. Malakie?”

Yes I do, Mr. Dresden.

“I know. That’s why C5 chose you. Now, Free Eternal itself specialized in a thing called quantum immortality. Do you know what this is, Mr. Malakie?”

The pieces were starting to fall together now. Malakie knew that quantum immortality was a fantasy, hardly even a theory. It states that if one dies in this dimension, lets say by a gunshot wound, that in another dimension, one might survive completely, or, in a worse case scenario, end up wounded and disfigured. There was an error, here, though: All universes or dimensions in quantum immortality are parallel. He shouldn’t be here- he should be in another hospital bed, and mortally wounded or just fine. Mr. Dresden, this is not quantum immortality… this isn’t an alternate universe. We’re in nothingness, I thought.

“Correct, Mr. Malakie. Through studying quantum immortality, which doesn’t take long, considering you really can’t die and then come back and tell someone what happened, they discovered something different. Free Eternal discovered how to use the conscious mind to manipulate our four dimensions. They used isolation tanks, or sensory depravation; you know, the salt water at body temperature… the complete blackness, sound proof walls…. This eliminates any sense, and so dimensions like height and width don’t matter. They studied the affects this had on the mind and body. They studied the thought processes, they studied the brain waves, everything… eventually, Mr. Malakie, they began playing with space-time diagrams… basic quantum physics- time on the x axis, space on the y axis.”

They started playing with photons, didn’t they Mr. Dresden? Malakie had heard of theories in which one uses a magnet so strong that it causes photons, tiny subatomic particles that aren’t affected by time or space, to move rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, space stops existing, and the lines between space and time blur.

“Yes, Mr. Malakie. They crossed the two axis’. They distorted time and space. They played with photons and began sending simple objects into the future, which led them to believe that there truly are hundreds of different realities, since the objects never appeared after that.”

How does that allow us to be here?

“Good question, Mr. Malakie. They eventually connected all the split ends together, all the missing pieces in the equation, and found eternity. The state at which photons reach zero speed- you’re not moving forward of backward in time, or anywhere in space. Once you’ve been subjected to eternity, you literally have no boundaries on time or space. You can do whatever you want, Mr. Malakie. Eternity is complete freedom. All you have to do now, Mr. Malakie, is find you’re physical state and wake up- wherever, or whenever you want.”

Malakie slowly let this all sink in. If he understood correctly, reality in itself was at his fingers. He controlled reality. Am I immortal?

“No, Mr. Malakie. You got lucky once, but only because we were there. You’re body dies again, Mr. Malakie, and you have no vessel to get back into. Understand me, Mr. Malakie?”

Where’s my body, now, Mr. Dresden?

“At this point, Mr. Malakie, anywhere you want it to be. I’m giving you two weeks, Mr. Malakie, because that’s all C5 is allowing me. You have the freedom to go back farther, but at the risk of the mission I’ll be forced to impede and you don’t want that, Mr. Malakie. You will do everything in your power to destroy Free Eternal, including time and space travel if needed, as long as you don’t cross our two-week marker. You may not ‘fast forward’, Mr. Malakie, as this gives you no control over the mission and you may end up destroying the fabric of existence. That’s all you need to know.”

What do I do, Mr. Dresden?

“You’ll know, Mr. Malakie. You’ll know.”

When Malakie opened his eyes, he was right where he wanted to be. He was sitting on his couch in his shabby apartment in downtown Portland, with his cell phone on his stomach. He picked it up, and looked at the display panel. It was March 17th, 3:45 p.m.

He hadn’t dreamt a thing. He was actually two weeks into the past.

Suddenly, like a bucket of cold water, he felt nauseous. Everything that had just hit him soaked in, and he fought to vomit. I died. I have control over time and space. I could die again. I’m being stalked by people who control time and space. I’m owned by a company who can control time and space. He turned over and grabbed a tiny garbage can by the arm, and retched.

Ten minutes later, his cell phone rang. “Oh God…” he moaned, and checked the caller ID. It was Erin Hartley, one of his best friends. She’d been that way since middle school, and they’d dated occasionally, on and off, but always seemed to forget about it after awhile and pretended like they both liked being “just friends.” Neither one was ever sure about how the other felt about the other, but it didn’t really matter. It was just the way things had worked themselves out to be.

“Erin?” Malakie said, flipping open the phone. His voice was grovely and hoarse from vomiting.

“Hey Tye. Listen, I’m not doing anything tonight and…”

To Malakie’s horror, he remembered this exact conversation two weeks ago. He fought nausea again, and let her finish, although he already knew she was going to ask him if he wanted to stop over and watch a movie with her in her new apartment on 23rd street.

“…I was just wondering if you wanted to stop over and watch a movie, tonight? Something funny, I’ve had a piss poor day.”

He thought for a few seconds, trying to decide what he should say. He wanted to stay here and figure things out, but… His gaze suddenly fell to his kneecap, and then his mind was suddenly filled with more dread. The chip in my knee isn’t bone. It’s how Free Eternal found me. I never hit my knee on anything.

“Erin, how about you come over here tonight?”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Yeah… okay. I’ll be over in ten.”

“Thanks, Erin.”

“Yeah, any time.” She hung up.

Erin was studying to be doctor.

Malakie went to his kitchen and found a razor.

He pulled his pant leg up over his knee, and stuck his leg over his tub. His bathroom was small and cramped, and made him feel claustrophobic as he felt for the edge of the chip in his knee. He found it, and kept his finger on it. He took a deep breath, grabbed the razor off his toilet seat, and started doing his own surgery.

He cut deep into the skin, and cringed. It burned immediately, sending red-hot pangs down his entire leg. Blood gushed over the fingers holding the chip in place as he worked the razor the entire width of the piece. It was quick; he gave the chip a push and it slid out of the wound and onto the linoleum, spattering blood all over the toilet seat. He groaned in pain, and turned on the faucet, watching the water turn pink as it flowed down the drain. He flushed the bloody chip immediately, wanting it to be as far from him as possible.

There was a knock on his door. He had hoped she would come right about now.

“Come on in, Erin,” He called through gritted teeth.

Erin entered the apartment, and said, “Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom. Erin, do know how to give stitches?”

Erin poked her head in, and saw the gash immediately. “Oh, damn, Tye, what the hell did you do?”

He smiled feebly, and said, “shaving accident.”

Fifteen minutes later, Malakie was sitting on his sofa, his forehead drenched in sweat. His knee burned like hell, but at least it had stopped bleeding. Those stitches hurt, though, damn they hurt.

Erin entered the living room, also looking quite shaken up. Her curly brown hair fell wildly around her shoulders, and dripped sweat onto her shirt. Malakie smiled at her. He owed her. Not many friends would give stitches to another friend who refused to be taken to the hospital, especially when they just got off work after a “piss-poor day.” He also found it funny that even at this time, she was still beautiful. She was lean and thin, about five seven, with a face like a model. She had high cheekbones, piercing gray eyes, and a smile no one could resist. Right now, though, she just looked beat.

“Thanks, Erin, I owe you,” He said.

She collapsed beside him, closing her eyes. “Not to be a nag, but what in the hell were you thinking?”

“Erin, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” He replied. Only, he knew, she probably would. She was trusting; and even gullible at times. “Let’s just, uh, watch a movie, eh?”

She eyed him closely. “You’re scaring me, Tye.” She looked at the island in the middle of the kitchen, and said, “Are you smoking again?”

Malakie groaned. It was the one thing she was always worried about. He had once been consumed by heavy marijuana use, and eventually heroin, but had gave it all up after Erin and his other best friend, Danny, had convinced him he would die if he didn’t. He realized now they were right.

“No, no, no….” He shook his head, and looked her directly in the eyes. “I promised you guys I wouldn’t do that again. You know that.”

She started to say something, but her eyes darted behind him, in the kitchen.

“What?” He said, and then a bullet tore through his abdomen and into the arm of the couch, spraying blood all over Erin’s face. She began screaming madly, and Malakie just closed his eyes and died.

Only Malakie didn’t die.

He was back in Eternity, into the same foggy nothing he’d been in just minutes ago. Only this time was different. He felt more of a presence, more… being. He felt weight, he felt mass. He could move. He could function.

He began pushing all that he had backward, and he felt a strange sense of moving. He told himself thirty seconds. That was all he needed. Just thirty seconds.

And then he ripped apart the Universe.

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in by Erin on his sofa, looking at her in the eyes. She was saying, “What in the hell were you thinking?” He looked at the television set behind her, staring at the reflection of the kitchen. “Erin, go to my bedroom right now, and look under my mattress. There’s a pistol there, and I need you to bring it to me NOW, understand me?” He’d hid the .357 there during his darker days, for fear of a “conflict.” He’d never needed it, until now.

Erin stared hopelessly. “Wait, what? Why?”

“GO, ERIN.” He said. “Now!”

Erin looked at him strangely, but got up and ran to the bedroom. It was in the hall next to the kitchen, and he watched her go in the reflection of the TV. Hurry up, Erin, hurry up…

Erin came out of the room holding the gun in her hand a few seconds later. She rushed over the sofa and said, “Tye, you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

And then he saw them, there in the reflection of the TV, both in black sweats and dark glasses, in the kitchen. He ripped the gun from her hands, swung around, and screamed, “GET DOWN!” He fired three times, rapidly, the man on the left jerking awkwardly, being thrown against the wall. The other shot twice, the percussion of all five shots deafening. The bullets ripped holes in the side of the couch, and he felt a hot searing sensation in his calf. Malakie fired again, and the man’s head cocked awkwardly, and he fell over in heap next to his friend. The wall behind them was now sprayed with blood, making a crimson, funny looking and ironic smile.

The apartment was filled with smoke and the hot smell of gunpowder, and Erin crying, “Oh God, oh God, oh God….”

After a few minutes of just staring at the two bodies on his kitchen floor, he turned to her and said, “Are you okay?”

She looked at him with terrified eyes, and nodded. Then she began crying, sobbing uncontrollably. Her shoulders rocked, her head in her hands. Her sobs finally became less harsh after a few minutes, and eventually died down.

“Well,” Malakie said, “in that case, we need to talk.”

Call him now, Mr. Dresden, before both of them get shot.

“I thought his apartment was a secure location, Mr. Abaddon. That was the purpose of the chip. We needed to track him outside of the apartment.”

The chip was to track him, Mr. Dresden. But his apartment isn’t a secure location. Call his damned cell phone right now and tell him to keep his eyes open until we secure that location. Are we clear Mr. Dresden?

Dresden smiled to himself, which was a trick he’d picked up from Abaddon. Most couldn’t control their facial movements in Eternity, but after so long he was finding Eternity was more like the earth and than anyone had figured. “As clear as mud, Mr. Abaddon.”

Abaddon’s voice was unamused. Call him now, Mr. Dresden.

In a white explosion, Dresden found himself sitting quietly on a subway seat in downtown New York City, next to a perspiring overweight Asian woman. He smiled at her politely, and pulled his own cell phone from the inside pocket of his tan trendy new brown trench coat, and pushed three and talk. Malakie was on speed dial.

When Malakie answered, he sounded surprisingly calm. “hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Malakie,” Dresden said cheerfully. “Fine evening, isn’t it?”

“Who the hell is this?”

“Mr. Malakie, it’s me,” Dresden piped. “Bailey Dresden!” He’d made his first name up, of course, but it didn’t matter because Malakie only knew him as Mr. Dresden anyway.

There was a long pause, and Dresden could hear the quiet sobs of that girl Malakie was always wasting his time with. Dresden had observed them together before, and he found it funny how Malakie was constantly making a fool of himself for her. That would come to an end, now, Dresden knew, and it depressed him slightly. It was like some sort of sappy romantic comedy, an escape from the reality that Malakie probably would never see her again after today.

Finally, Malakie said, “Alright Dresden, what the hell did I die of?”

“The wrong anesthesia, Mr. Malakie.”

“How did I survive?”

“C5, Mr. Malakie.”

“How can I trust you? Two guys in my kitchen just tried”- and there was a short snap, the pop of a gunshot, and Malakie was suddenly screaming again, yelling obscenities and firing rapidly. The girl was screaming again, too, saying something like, “They were just dead, they died.”

Dresden would get in trouble for this, he knew. He should have secured everything an hour ago, before the surgery had even taken place.

The commotion in the apartment had become hysterical, gunshots and shattering so loud the sound through his cell phone became distorted and crackling. The woman next to Dresden looked over with an accusing expression. He smiled, and shrugged, and the woman turned away with a snuff.

Suddenly the sound stopped, and Malakie was yelling into the phone, “I shot the bastards four times, Dresden! FOUR TIMES, AND ERIN STUCK GLASS IN HIS CHEST, AFTER I SHOT HIM FOUR TIMES!”

Dresden sighed. “Listen, Malakie, are you and the girl okay?”

Malakie was staring into the phone, waiting for his next answer. “C5, Mr. Malakie.”

Malakie looked over at Erin, who still looked terrible, tears streaming down her face. “How can I trust you?” He said. “Two guys in my kitchen just tried to”-

And then they were in the hall, alive, guns raised. Malakie saw them out of the corner of his eye, and began screaming for Erin to get behind the couch, and he began shooting rapidly, just as they did. The air again was filled with whistling bullets and debris, and the window above them shattered, raining glass onto his head as he ducked behind the couch. One of them had pulled a second gun, and was running, jumping over a fallen chair-

Malakie’s last bullet sent him spiraling face down, the gun flying towards him. It was the sort of luck that only happens in the movies, he thought, grabbing at it, sprawled flat across the floor. The second man was wounded, his ribs sprayed with blood, but he too was reaching for a second gun- Malakie watched as Erin jumped gracefully, yet rather psychotically, over him and sunk something shiny into the man’s chest. The man fell forward, and Malakie noticed another bullet hole in his shoulder. It was the same guy he’d shot twice before, just minutes ago, once in the face.

But now there was no trace of the first two bullets.

Erin turned towards him, bright red blood spattered on her pale blue T-shirt, her face ashen with horror. Malakie reached for the phone again, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d just killed the same two men…

Twice.

“Yeah, Dresden, we’re fine.”

Dresden sighed in relief. “Okay, listen, Mr. Malakie,” he continued to keep his tone upbeat. “We’re securing your apartment right now. Don’t worry about the two in your kitchen, they aren’t gonna play Jesus anymore.”

“How the hell did they do that, Mr. Dresden? They were dead, not unconscious, they were stone dead.”

“The same way we saved you, Mr. Malakie. Only they’ve modified a few things, isolated the photon movement more… it’s really not important right now, Mr. Malakie. But what is important is that you and Erin get to the following address immediately: find a piece of paper and a pen, and write this down, Mr. Malakie…”

Dresden waited for a few seconds, nodding to a young man taking a seat across from him. “Okay, what is it?”

“875, 23rd street, Northwest. Got it?”

“Portland, I’m assuming?”

“You bet, Mr. Malakie.” And Dresden hung up, smiling politely to the cranky and rather nosy Asian woman sitting next to him.

“Erin, you told me you were okay.”

Malakie was sitting in the drivers seat of his ’99 Acura RS, staring at the deep gash in Erin Hartley’s shoulder. It was apparently from the window that had shattered above them during the gunfight in his apartment.

Erin stared at him, expressionless. “Tye, I am fine.”

“No,” he said, “you’re not. Your bleeding bad, and you need to go to a hospital.”

Erin pointed dully to Malakie’s knee and calf. His stitches had come loose, and he was bleeding again, and the grazing from the bullet was bleeding down his calf now as well. “So are you.”

Malakie stared at her for a few more seconds, and then put the car in drive and took off.

There was a few seconds of silence as he drove briskly to the set location. Then Erin said, “What are you gonna do, Tye?”

Malakie had been pondering the same question. He hadn’t found an answer. “I… don’t know. I’m hoping they’re gonna tell me.”

There was even more silence. “Malakie, that’s crazy. This is crazy. You don’t even know who they are.”

He continued to drive, not taking his eyes off the road. He knew that if he looked her in the eye, he’d crack.

“You’re right, Erin,” He said. “You’re always right.”

The remaining fifteen minutes of the drive was quiet and subdued, but both were expecting two more seemingly invincible thugs in black sweats and sunglasses to jump onto the hood of the car and began shooting madly.

Only no one ever did.

875 23rd street Northwest Portland was a rather normal looking office building, with a rather normal looking parking lot in front, and a rather normal looking sign above the main entrance with the words, “Portland Physics Research Centers” posted on it.

They stepped out of the car awkwardly, Malakie sliding the keys into his pocket. He glanced at Erin, who seemed very calm, an unnatural calm that worried him. Her brown hair blew gently past her shoulders; her eyes stared dully straight ahead. Her light blue T was drenched in blood, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was hers and how much of it was… theirs.

“Are you sure your okay, Erin?” Malakie said, slowly and cautiously, like she was some sort of wild animal that was temporarily subdued.

She looked over at him, her gaze steely and cold. “I’m fine, Tye.”

And he left it at that.

Malakie absently opened the door for Erin, though she often told him how much she disliked chivalry. (“It’s just a sexist custom showing how woman are so much more frail then men. But you know what, Tye? I can open my own friggin’ door.”) She walked inside, not saying a word. He followed her, and stepped into the cool, drab building.

The main room was circular, and had a pale white tile floor and equally pale walls that curved up to a dome shaped roof with a single window at the apex. The evening sunlight washed in, casting a sort of halo over a desk directly below. The desk was littered with papers and manila envelopes, and a new, sleek-looking laptop sat in the center. Besides this, the room was basically empty, except for a single door across the room from the entrance.

“There’s no one here, Tye,” Erin said flatly.

“I noticed,” Malakie stepped up to the desk, and looked up into the window. “Nice day.”

Erin said, “Where the hell is everybody? We both need stitches.”

“I don’t know,” Malakie had explained everything in a hurry, and was interrupted by Dresden’s phone call halfway through his story. He knew Erin was annoyed with how little he knew. “I’m hoping we’ll get help here.” His entire right leg was throbbing now, and he limped when he walked. He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost.

“From who? There’s no one here!” Erin ran a bloody hand through her hair and slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. “How do we know we can trust this Dresden guy?”

“We don’t,” Malakie replied. “But he’s not trying to kill us right now, so I think we’re better off listening to him than the other guys.”

Erin sighed deeply, then said, “I feel nauseous.”

“Then puke. I don’t care.”

“No.” Erin leaned over and laid down on the tile floor, next to the entrance. “I don’t have the energy… God, we just killed two guys twice….”

Malakie stared at her, and felt disgustingly guilty. “I’m so sorry, Erin… I didn’t think- I didn’t know…”

She shook her, and waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it… You needed me anyway. You’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for me.” She managed a weak smile. It was times like this, when even though he knew she wanted nothing more than to strangle him to death but she just smiled and accepted his fault, that he knew she was the best friend he’d ever have.

“Is there a bell or something?” She asked after a few seconds.

Malakie had already scanned the desk for something like that, and had seen nothing. “No.”

And then the door in front of them opened.

“Well hello, Mr. Malakie.”

A tall, athletically built man in a fine black suit and red tie walked into the room, reaching a hand out. He was dark skinned; had short hair, and kind, yet somehow hardened eyes. “I’m Bailey Dresden.”

Erin was up in a flash, her eyes wild. “You bastard, how could you do this to us? You almost killed us, YOU DID KILL HIM ONCE! You could have killed him again…”

She trailed off, turning and walking away from him back towards the door, her hands over her head.

Malakie didn’t shake Dresden’s hand. “Make this stop, Mr. Dresden.”

And then Dresden did something that made the hair on Malakie’s neck stand straight up. He laughed. He actually leaned back and began laughing. A real, chortling, laugh. Then he just smiled and said, “Sorry, Malakie, but I can’t just make this stop. You were chosen for this job long before I had any say in this. You’re stuck with us for now, Mr. Malakie.”

Erin turned back. “What about me? What the hell do I do? I just killed a guy.”

Dresden shrugged. “Don’t worry about him, Ms. Hartley. He died a long time ago. You just reminded him.”

Erin said, “This is unbelievable…”

Malakie said, “We need help. She’s hurt bad.”

Dresden held open the door, and said, “Come with me, and we’ll fix you right up.”

They were led down a long, drab hall with numbered doors on side, some saying “Lab” or “Q-Pro”. Malakie noticed that Erin was wobbling as she walked, and was swaying dizzily.

“Erin,” he said, “Are you alright?”

And she fell backwards, her eyes rolling back into her head. Dresden turned sharply, and Malakie watched him literally appear by Erin, cradling her in his arms. “Poor girl,” He said, acting as if nothing had just happened.

“How did you do that?” Malakie said. “You just… were there.” He nodded to the spot five feet in head where Dresden had previously been standing.

Dresden smiled. “Old Indian trick. I’ll teach you later.”

Rather briskly, the two men hurried down another hall, turning to the right. Finally, they came to a door that said “Q-Pro C5 MD3”. Dresden opened the door, and turned to Malakie and said, “Wait for a moment out here, Mr. Malakie, while we brief poor Ms. Hartley here. She’ll be just fine, I promise.” Then he winked and closed the door behind him.

Malakie slumped down against the door, wanting nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare, to smile at Erin Hartley and not feel guilty, and to not know what it felt like to kill two men in his kitchen two times.

“Wake up, Mr. Malakie, it’s your turn.”

Malakie opened his eyes slowly, seeing the smiling face of Bailey Dresden beaming back at him. “How’s Erin?” He asked flatly. He was surprised by his own lack of tone.

“She’s fine. A few stitches…. A headache…. She’s just fine. She’s in the cafeteria getting something to eat right now.”

Malakie thought about how much a vanilla shake would hit the spot right about now. “Can I get something to eat?”

“No, Mr. Malakie. You can’t, not right now.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Nobody cares, Mr. Malakie.”

This sounds like my job, Malakie thought. “Alright, let’s go. Is this gonna hurt?”

Dresden opened the door smiling, and said, “Unimaginably.”

Malakie decided he hated Bailey Dresden.

The room he stepped into was something like how he imagined a European nightclub.

It was about the size of a tennis court, only so dark he could barely see. There were dozens of different neon led lights all over the walls, and a huge circular object in the center that seemed to be connected to a hundred different outputs throughout the room. There was a bed under it, and it looked much like the machine he’d went in to get his CAT scan.

“I hate this place,” He said.

Dresden nodded. “Everyone does.” He walked toward the big circle thing, and motioned to the bed. “Take a seat, Mr. Malakie.”

“Why?”

“Do want to sit there and bleed all over yourself, or do you want some stitches?”

Malakie sat down on the bed, and found it oddly comfortable. It was firm, but the material felt cool and gentle, almost refreshing. He said, “what is this?”

“It’s designed by NASA. Silicon based. Billions of tiny, separated cells… like those Temper beds, only it won’t give way.”

Malakie nodded. He really hadn’t listened to what Dresden had said, but for some reason he wanted to make conversation.

“Mr. Malakie, this might hurt a little.”

It didn’t hurt.

The process was quick and nearly painless. Dresden had rubbed some ointment on the wounds, and then with amazing speed stitched them tightly and perfectly, bandaging them with another strange, nearly weightless material, that smelled like rubber but felt like a sheet. Malakie didn’t ask about it.

“That was impressive,” he said afterward.

Dresden was putting the supplies back in a small black case. He looked over his shoulder, and said, “I have to say, I’m impressed with you, Mr. Malakie.”

“Why? What did I do?”

Dresden smiled. His teeth were unnaturally white. “You survived. You had two assassins in you apartment who had the upper hand on you twice, and you were only shot once. In the stomach, you said?”

Malakie nodded. “You weren’t watching?”

Dresden laughed. “If we’d been watching, you wouldn’t have got shot at all.”

That makes sense, Malakie thought. “They tracked me with that thing in my knee. It was a chip.”

Dresden’s smile passed. “No, Mr. Malakie, they didn’t put a chip in your knee. We did. We’ve been using it to track your movement for the last two months.”

Malakie stared. “What? Why?”

“I just told you. We needed to see where you were at all times so we could make sure you weren’t killed before you were even needed. That happens a lot, Mr. Malakie. We’re still not positive how they managed to track you to the hospital, or anywhere for that matter. We’ve checked you for any more bugs, or tracking devices, and you’re clean.”

“When did you do that?”

“When you walked through that second door.”

Malakie felt dizzy. “I cut that chip out of my knee for no reason?”

“No, not quite. It’s probably best, I’m sure, because after so long they probably would have picked up a signal from it, and used it against us…”

“Why didn’t you remove it?”

“We were, remember? That’s why you were in the hospital in the first place.”

Malakie sighed. None of this made any sense to him. It was like he’d been tossed a bunch of non-related stories and told to make them all into novel, or something like that. His head hurt. “Alright,” he said after awhile. “What do I do?”

“I was about to tell you that.”

“Right….”

“First though, Malakie, I have to ask you… did you hear about the experiments held in Champaign this year?”

Malakie said he hadn’t.

“How fast do you think scientists have produced photons to this date, Mr. Malakie?”

Malakie shrugged. “I don’t know….” All he really knew that photons were only useful in what was called “entanglement pairs”, in which the photon particles could “harmonize,” and be sent through tiny, subatomic crystals, even if both photons existed on opposite sides of the universe.

“Well, this year, in Illinois, they managed to get the production rate to over a million per second. That’s quite a bit, Mr. Malakie.”

Malakie nodded, though he truthfully wasn’t sure what was fast and what wasn’t.

“Do you know how fast our production rate was ten years ago today, Mr. Malakie?”

Malakie shook his head.

“Over three million,” Dresden said. “Does that give you an idea on how advanced this lab is, Mr. Malakie?”

“Who funds this place?”

“That’s none of your business, Mr. Malakie,” Dresden said flatly.

“I see.”

“My point is, Mr. Malakie, that you’re in the hands of the most advanced technologically advanced organization in the world.”

Malakie nodded. “I figured that…”

Dresden stared intensely into his eyes. “So don’t try anything stupid.”