Entanglement, or the Ghost Field - Part Seven: Long Road out of Eden
Title: Long Road Out of Eden, Part Seven of Entanglement
Author: dracox-serdriel
Acknowledgement: A special thanks to my awesome beta reader, rince1wind
Status: Completed as part of horrorbigbang 2013
One year ago in London, England. The Doctor wondered if his thinking speed had been reduced because this body only had one heart. Technically, oxygenated blood was required to facilitate healthy brain activity and therefore thought. He felt comforted by the idea that his present state could be explained by the physiological.
He had only been in this world for two days, and they had been easily the most complex and thorny hours of his life. And that was saying something. The changes flooded this life: a new body, shorter life span, a new universe sans-TARDIS. Moreover, The Doctor had grown accustomed to travel, specifically running off whenever he liked.
Pete and Jackie lived in the Southern Wing of the Tyler Mansion with Tony, age four. Rose set The Doctor up in a room across the hall from hers in the Northern Wing. He hadn't slept well that first night, too much thinking on his mind and blood on his hands.
The next day was all signatures and formal business. No more running off to other worlds. He needed a proper identity on Earth, one that would pass muster. Luckily, the Tylers had resources.
The Doctor wandered back to his room that night. He hesitated at his door, wondering if he should try to talk to Rose. He stared at her door for several minutes, wondering what he would say. No, he'd leave it for tomorrow.
He opened his room's door and found Rose sitting by the window, waiting.
"Rose," he said.
"Doctor. I just wanted to see if everything was okay. Heard you and Dad talking."
"A formal name," The Doctor said. "For paperwork. Isn't that brilliant? I have paperwork now. A proper identity. Me!"
"You've already got that," Rose replied.
"I suppose."
"So, you're now John Smith?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I was gonna do, but Pete pointed out that I've used that as an alias. I needed something new."
"What did you pick, then?"
"John Donald Martin Jones. Or, JD," he replied. "That sounds odd."
"Donald is for Donna?" Rose asked.
"She's part of me," he replied. "Seemed right."
"And Jones? For Harriet?"
"And Martha."
Rose smiled. "As long as it's not Harkness."
They laughed.
"So, you're okay?" she asked. "I mean, you're basically stuck here. I don't mean this universe. I mean here. Takes you twelve hours to get around to the other side of the planet if you've got the right jet. Not quite the same as it was before."
"Well, stuck here with you?" he replied. "That's not so bad."
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied immediately. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"
"I think we have, actually," she said.
They were suddenly very close together. The Doctor wrapped his arms around Rose, and she reached up to his face, her fingers gently touching his cheek.
"I missed you," she whispered.
"I missed you," he replied.
The Old Parkman School. The Doctor opened his eyes. That hadn't been a dream; it was a very distinct memory, exact in detail. Whatever put him out must've triggered it, but the only way that could happen -
His head hurt. And his mind was winding up, forcing him to consider his surroundings, especially the smell.
There was another Time Lord nearby. Not a full Time Lord, by the smell of it, but someone else with Time Lord DNA. He forgot his pain and memory and sat up straight.
He was in an antechamber for a command center, assuming that this was of Time Lord design. A stasis chamber was built into the wall, labeled in old Gallifreyan: DECEMBER.
Why would a Time Lord have a name like December? Maybe the Time Lords in this universe chose their titles differently. He approached the chamber and saw the suspended body of a woman, unconscious. Time Lords hadn't used stasis chambers in centuries, but maybe her non-Time Lord heritage required her to use it. But why was she still asleep? Clearly her ship had landed.
The Doctor investigated the panel opposite the chamber. The system should've woken her up, but for some reason the ship had gone into emergency lock down.
"Well, this explains the mauve alert," he said to himself. "You'd've been stuck here forever if no one came," he said to December.
The panel had an adjacent pad for an override command. It required a handprint. The screen flashed a message: TIME LORD DNA REQUIRED TO ACTIVATE OVERRIDE.
He glanced at December, suspended in time. Why would she require another Time Lord, or part-Time Lord, to override the lockdown, unless other Time Lords existed in this universe somewhere? He hadn't sensed any blip of his heritage here before, though. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she had been locked away here for a thousand years, blasted out of the Time War or exiled for not being a full-blooded Time Lord. She could be insane. Or a criminal.
But no matter what, she was part-Time Lord. And this was her ship, or what was left of it. And if her ship was wrapped up in the time echoes, then he'd need her help to figure out what was going on.
So he placed his right hand on the override.
Immediately his vision blurred, and he felt his mind rushing into overdrive. Everything came in stops and starts; the words and images didn't match up. Flashes of Gallifrey, his own childhood, The Master as Harold Saxon, the Time Lords in their final days of the Time War.
And all the while, he heard words as if they came from his own lips, "Something is returning... not someone, something. Gallifrey... Everything's coming through... The horde of travesties, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been King and his army of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres... Hell is descending! You weren't there, in the final days of the War. You never saw what was born."
Then the voice of Rassilon, "The End of Time will come at my hands. The rupture will continue until it rips the time vortex apart...ascend to become creatures of consciousness alone, free of time and cause and effect while creation itself ceases to be."
"That's what they were planning," The Doctor said. "I had to stop them."
His body ached as he remembered the Medusa Cascade. He took the Moment and sealed the rift in the Medusa Cascade, his title abandoned and his name, his true name, burned into the stars till it was a forgotten nothing on the solar wind. That was a memory. Everything else was nonsense. He had burned The Master's remains -
As if the thought of his name were enough, additional moments suddenly engulfed him. His own voice, "Get out of the way." Then it was echoed back to him by the Master, "Get out of the way." In the end, the Master saved him -
And then the flood surged. Memories of Barbara and Ian to Donna Noble intertwined. Every companion, every traveler who had joined him, every person he ever loved and lost.
"Does it need saying?" he said to Rose.
But he hadn't said that to her.
"It would be my honor," he said to Wilf. Then to someone else, "Two thousand five? Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year."
"I don't want to go..."
No, these weren't his memories. At least, not all of them were. Somehow, The Doctor - The Other Doctor - his memories from the other universe were leaking through, cascading around him like they were drawn to him.
He became aware of someone repeating, "Are you okay?" He didn't recognize the voice.
The last thing he heard, and he supposed it must have been his own voice, though it didn't feel like it, was one word: "GERONIMO!"
Slade paged the com again. "So, JD is checking out a room, and the door's stuck. He's fine, I'm sure. I'm labeling the door now."
It took everything Slade had not to scream into the com, to warn all of them that a horrible death awaited them upstairs, but he held his peace. All he had to do was ensure that none of the others came to the second floor. They couldn't die in a place they'd never been.
Rose replied, "Why isn't he answering his com?"
"His was on the fritz," Slade lied.
"All right, I'm coming up," she said.
Slade bit his lip. If she came up alone, that would be all right. It would have to be. "I've drawn a giraffe on the door," he said calmly.
"Sorry, can you say that again?" Dean asked.
"A giraffe on the door. That's how I labeled it."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Because it sticks out and it's not something people usually draw. No matter what kind of weird time ghost things are here, I doubt they'll be scribbling giraffes anywhere."
"With that kind of logic, how could he be wrong?" Dean said over the com.
Slade didn't respond. He heard something from across the way, the room adjacent. It was like a feverish scrapping, like someone trying to scratch up a floor or dig through a door. Slade peeked in, wondering if he had somehow mixed up the doors and forgotten where JD was.
But he hadn't.
Inside, he saw himself with a knife and what looked like a slender, wooden table leg. Its edge looked like it had once been a member of a rather ornate piece of furniture. He was sharpening it into a stake. Maybe he did have a doppelganger, like the others -
But in the next instant, he was gone. And apart from where he was before, someone stood, hunched over. He couldn't make out who it was because a long sheet was wrapped around his body and face.
It was definitely his own voice that spoke from under that sheet. "You need to finish the story."
"Me?" Slade asked. "Are you me? Or a copy of me? Who are you?"
The stranger ignored Slade's question and continued, overlapping. "You're the only one who can finish the story. You're the writer after all. That's why you're here."
"I hate endings," Slade replied tritely.
The stranger replied, "You hate endings, but this one you're born to."
"That's it," Slade snapped, moving to the stranger. "Enough with the cryptic remarks, okay? That's bad writing, and I know it!"
His hands passed through the sheet like it wasn't even there. Slade stepped back, confused. If this wasn't another Slade, then what was it?
The stranger's hands reached out from under the sheet, revealing the scars from third degree burns.
"Don't be afraid, even when it hurts," the stranger said. He pointed to another door, two over from the one marked with his giraffe. "Go."
The stranger flickered and disappeared.
Sam took out the digital camera, moving the stream marker back to the beginning.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Dean asked. "After what happened with Irwin? Not a good idea."
"What Slade said, that story about tears and Brownies, I think I've heard something similar before," he replied. "I think Dawn recorded something about it, at the very beginning before coming into the Trine. Hold on."
...is Dawn Redding. I'll be the main cameraperson for our excursion into the Trine. We're heading out tomorrow morning, but tonight we all shared our Trine stories. Since we didn't capture that on tape, I'm going to record mine now.
About twenty years ago, when I was seven, my parents and I camped out in the Trine. A storm came in, and we needed shelter, so we found a secure spot inside the school. Oh, uh, side note: This was before they renovated the building into a shelter. At that point it had been abandoned for, oh, I dunno, about ten years I guess. Maybe more, actually. Anyway, the abandoned Parkman School was left to rot, but it was still sturdy enough to withstand a storm. Better than a tent anyway. So we set up our tent inside one of the rooms. I remember it had two and a half walls...
Dawn gave a clever smile as she remembered. It made Sam's heart break a little, knowing she had been beaten to death the next day.
When my parents were arguing, I stepped out into the hall and saw someone. Not a ghost. A solid person. Mostly. It wasn't that he wasn't solid. It was more like he had too much shadow. If normal people are two-percent shadow, then he had twenty-percent shadow. That kind of thing. He saw me and smiled.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'Dawn,' I replied. 'Who are you?'
'I don't know anymore. I came here a long time ago and haven't ever left.'
I asked him what he'd do that for. Seemed very silly.
'Well,' he said. 'My father was not a good man, and I couldn't escape him. I tried, but he always found me. So one night, an angel appeared to me. Told me his name was Sampson and that he could grant me any wish I asked for.'
'An angel granted you a wish?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'I told him I wished to be safe from my father forever. To be free of his hatred and abuse. And he told me he could give me that, but that for all my life, the only friends I could ever hope to have would be but fleeting phantoms. Like the light at dawn and dusk, they would appear clearly for a little while, then disappear. I would be safe, but completely alone.'
'And you said yes?' I asked. 'You could've just asked him to kill your father, couldn't you?'
'Would you?' the boy asked me.
'I guess not.' Then I said, 'But you can see me, right? I'm not a ghost. I'm right here!'
'For now,' he said. I remember his face... it was like the sadness suspended him there for a few moments. 'But in a few moments, you'll be home, and I'll be alone.'
I told him I'd stay with him. No one should have to be alone like that. 'You would stay with me?' he asked. And I said, 'Of course I would. I don't mind phantoms one bit.'
'Take my hand,' he said. And he held out his hand... and it was like smoke or vapor, but I reached out to him anyway. My hand passed straight through him, like he wasn't even there, but I could feel him. I could feel his hand. For a moment, our hands were the same.
And then he was gone. I couldn't see him, or hear him, or anything. I waited. I whispered to him, 'Come back, I'll wait. I'll be here all night.' And I was, after all, we were camped. But I didn't see him again.
I'd go back there, of course, trying to find the same spot at the same time. When I was a teenager, I tried time of day, time of year, position of the sun, position and state of the moon. And every once in a while, I would see that same face, those eyes. I'd hear his voice in the abandoned parts of the building...
When they renovated it, I was afraid my phantom was gone forever. That somehow they destroyed him along with the inside of the building, but he was still there. I never got to speak to him like that again, but that lonely voice, those hollow eyes... I could feel him there, sometimes.
That's why I'm going into the Trine. There's a man in there who once was a boy so terrorized by his own father that an angel granted him a wish at a terrible price. And I'm going to find that man and set him free.
Navigation
Entanglement, or the Ghost Field <<< Previous Part:
Part Six: Microcosm Primary Post Next Part: >>>
Part Eight: Quantum Phantom
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Long Road Out of Eden (The Eagles)
Silent stars blinking in the blackness of an endless sky
Cold silver satellites,
Ghostly caravans passing by
Galaxies unfolding, new worlds being born
Pilgrims and prodigals creeping toward the dawn
But it's a long road out of Eden
We're riding to utopia road map says we'll be arriving soon
Captains of the old order clinging to the reins
Assuring us these aches inside are only growing pains
But it's a long road out of Eden
Behold the bitten apple, the power of the tools
But all the knowledge in the world is of no use to fools
And it's a long road out of Eden...
Author: dracox-serdriel
Acknowledgement: A special thanks to my awesome beta reader, rince1wind
Status: Completed as part of horrorbigbang 2013
One year ago in London, England. The Doctor wondered if his thinking speed had been reduced because this body only had one heart. Technically, oxygenated blood was required to facilitate healthy brain activity and therefore thought. He felt comforted by the idea that his present state could be explained by the physiological.
He had only been in this world for two days, and they had been easily the most complex and thorny hours of his life. And that was saying something. The changes flooded this life: a new body, shorter life span, a new universe sans-TARDIS. Moreover, The Doctor had grown accustomed to travel, specifically running off whenever he liked.
Pete and Jackie lived in the Southern Wing of the Tyler Mansion with Tony, age four. Rose set The Doctor up in a room across the hall from hers in the Northern Wing. He hadn't slept well that first night, too much thinking on his mind and blood on his hands.
The next day was all signatures and formal business. No more running off to other worlds. He needed a proper identity on Earth, one that would pass muster. Luckily, the Tylers had resources.
The Doctor wandered back to his room that night. He hesitated at his door, wondering if he should try to talk to Rose. He stared at her door for several minutes, wondering what he would say. No, he'd leave it for tomorrow.
He opened his room's door and found Rose sitting by the window, waiting.
"Rose," he said.
"Doctor. I just wanted to see if everything was okay. Heard you and Dad talking."
"A formal name," The Doctor said. "For paperwork. Isn't that brilliant? I have paperwork now. A proper identity. Me!"
"You've already got that," Rose replied.
"I suppose."
"So, you're now John Smith?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I was gonna do, but Pete pointed out that I've used that as an alias. I needed something new."
"What did you pick, then?"
"John Donald Martin Jones. Or, JD," he replied. "That sounds odd."
"Donald is for Donna?" Rose asked.
"She's part of me," he replied. "Seemed right."
"And Jones? For Harriet?"
"And Martha."
Rose smiled. "As long as it's not Harkness."
They laughed.
"So, you're okay?" she asked. "I mean, you're basically stuck here. I don't mean this universe. I mean here. Takes you twelve hours to get around to the other side of the planet if you've got the right jet. Not quite the same as it was before."
"Well, stuck here with you?" he replied. "That's not so bad."
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied immediately. "Haven't we had this conversation before?"
"I think we have, actually," she said.
They were suddenly very close together. The Doctor wrapped his arms around Rose, and she reached up to his face, her fingers gently touching his cheek.
"I missed you," she whispered.
"I missed you," he replied.
The Old Parkman School. The Doctor opened his eyes. That hadn't been a dream; it was a very distinct memory, exact in detail. Whatever put him out must've triggered it, but the only way that could happen -
His head hurt. And his mind was winding up, forcing him to consider his surroundings, especially the smell.
There was another Time Lord nearby. Not a full Time Lord, by the smell of it, but someone else with Time Lord DNA. He forgot his pain and memory and sat up straight.
He was in an antechamber for a command center, assuming that this was of Time Lord design. A stasis chamber was built into the wall, labeled in old Gallifreyan: DECEMBER.
Why would a Time Lord have a name like December? Maybe the Time Lords in this universe chose their titles differently. He approached the chamber and saw the suspended body of a woman, unconscious. Time Lords hadn't used stasis chambers in centuries, but maybe her non-Time Lord heritage required her to use it. But why was she still asleep? Clearly her ship had landed.
The Doctor investigated the panel opposite the chamber. The system should've woken her up, but for some reason the ship had gone into emergency lock down.
"Well, this explains the mauve alert," he said to himself. "You'd've been stuck here forever if no one came," he said to December.
The panel had an adjacent pad for an override command. It required a handprint. The screen flashed a message: TIME LORD DNA REQUIRED TO ACTIVATE OVERRIDE.
He glanced at December, suspended in time. Why would she require another Time Lord, or part-Time Lord, to override the lockdown, unless other Time Lords existed in this universe somewhere? He hadn't sensed any blip of his heritage here before, though. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she had been locked away here for a thousand years, blasted out of the Time War or exiled for not being a full-blooded Time Lord. She could be insane. Or a criminal.
But no matter what, she was part-Time Lord. And this was her ship, or what was left of it. And if her ship was wrapped up in the time echoes, then he'd need her help to figure out what was going on.
So he placed his right hand on the override.
Immediately his vision blurred, and he felt his mind rushing into overdrive. Everything came in stops and starts; the words and images didn't match up. Flashes of Gallifrey, his own childhood, The Master as Harold Saxon, the Time Lords in their final days of the Time War.
And all the while, he heard words as if they came from his own lips, "Something is returning... not someone, something. Gallifrey... Everything's coming through... The horde of travesties, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been King and his army of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres... Hell is descending! You weren't there, in the final days of the War. You never saw what was born."
Then the voice of Rassilon, "The End of Time will come at my hands. The rupture will continue until it rips the time vortex apart...ascend to become creatures of consciousness alone, free of time and cause and effect while creation itself ceases to be."
"That's what they were planning," The Doctor said. "I had to stop them."
His body ached as he remembered the Medusa Cascade. He took the Moment and sealed the rift in the Medusa Cascade, his title abandoned and his name, his true name, burned into the stars till it was a forgotten nothing on the solar wind. That was a memory. Everything else was nonsense. He had burned The Master's remains -
As if the thought of his name were enough, additional moments suddenly engulfed him. His own voice, "Get out of the way." Then it was echoed back to him by the Master, "Get out of the way." In the end, the Master saved him -
And then the flood surged. Memories of Barbara and Ian to Donna Noble intertwined. Every companion, every traveler who had joined him, every person he ever loved and lost.
"Does it need saying?" he said to Rose.
But he hadn't said that to her.
"It would be my honor," he said to Wilf. Then to someone else, "Two thousand five? Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year."
"I don't want to go..."
No, these weren't his memories. At least, not all of them were. Somehow, The Doctor - The Other Doctor - his memories from the other universe were leaking through, cascading around him like they were drawn to him.
He became aware of someone repeating, "Are you okay?" He didn't recognize the voice.
The last thing he heard, and he supposed it must have been his own voice, though it didn't feel like it, was one word: "GERONIMO!"
Slade paged the com again. "So, JD is checking out a room, and the door's stuck. He's fine, I'm sure. I'm labeling the door now."
It took everything Slade had not to scream into the com, to warn all of them that a horrible death awaited them upstairs, but he held his peace. All he had to do was ensure that none of the others came to the second floor. They couldn't die in a place they'd never been.
Rose replied, "Why isn't he answering his com?"
"His was on the fritz," Slade lied.
"All right, I'm coming up," she said.
Slade bit his lip. If she came up alone, that would be all right. It would have to be. "I've drawn a giraffe on the door," he said calmly.
"Sorry, can you say that again?" Dean asked.
"A giraffe on the door. That's how I labeled it."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Because it sticks out and it's not something people usually draw. No matter what kind of weird time ghost things are here, I doubt they'll be scribbling giraffes anywhere."
"With that kind of logic, how could he be wrong?" Dean said over the com.
Slade didn't respond. He heard something from across the way, the room adjacent. It was like a feverish scrapping, like someone trying to scratch up a floor or dig through a door. Slade peeked in, wondering if he had somehow mixed up the doors and forgotten where JD was.
But he hadn't.
Inside, he saw himself with a knife and what looked like a slender, wooden table leg. Its edge looked like it had once been a member of a rather ornate piece of furniture. He was sharpening it into a stake. Maybe he did have a doppelganger, like the others -
But in the next instant, he was gone. And apart from where he was before, someone stood, hunched over. He couldn't make out who it was because a long sheet was wrapped around his body and face.
It was definitely his own voice that spoke from under that sheet. "You need to finish the story."
"Me?" Slade asked. "Are you me? Or a copy of me? Who are you?"
The stranger ignored Slade's question and continued, overlapping. "You're the only one who can finish the story. You're the writer after all. That's why you're here."
"I hate endings," Slade replied tritely.
The stranger replied, "You hate endings, but this one you're born to."
"That's it," Slade snapped, moving to the stranger. "Enough with the cryptic remarks, okay? That's bad writing, and I know it!"
His hands passed through the sheet like it wasn't even there. Slade stepped back, confused. If this wasn't another Slade, then what was it?
The stranger's hands reached out from under the sheet, revealing the scars from third degree burns.
"Don't be afraid, even when it hurts," the stranger said. He pointed to another door, two over from the one marked with his giraffe. "Go."
The stranger flickered and disappeared.
Sam took out the digital camera, moving the stream marker back to the beginning.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Dean asked. "After what happened with Irwin? Not a good idea."
"What Slade said, that story about tears and Brownies, I think I've heard something similar before," he replied. "I think Dawn recorded something about it, at the very beginning before coming into the Trine. Hold on."
...is Dawn Redding. I'll be the main cameraperson for our excursion into the Trine. We're heading out tomorrow morning, but tonight we all shared our Trine stories. Since we didn't capture that on tape, I'm going to record mine now.
About twenty years ago, when I was seven, my parents and I camped out in the Trine. A storm came in, and we needed shelter, so we found a secure spot inside the school. Oh, uh, side note: This was before they renovated the building into a shelter. At that point it had been abandoned for, oh, I dunno, about ten years I guess. Maybe more, actually. Anyway, the abandoned Parkman School was left to rot, but it was still sturdy enough to withstand a storm. Better than a tent anyway. So we set up our tent inside one of the rooms. I remember it had two and a half walls...
Dawn gave a clever smile as she remembered. It made Sam's heart break a little, knowing she had been beaten to death the next day.
When my parents were arguing, I stepped out into the hall and saw someone. Not a ghost. A solid person. Mostly. It wasn't that he wasn't solid. It was more like he had too much shadow. If normal people are two-percent shadow, then he had twenty-percent shadow. That kind of thing. He saw me and smiled.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'Dawn,' I replied. 'Who are you?'
'I don't know anymore. I came here a long time ago and haven't ever left.'
I asked him what he'd do that for. Seemed very silly.
'Well,' he said. 'My father was not a good man, and I couldn't escape him. I tried, but he always found me. So one night, an angel appeared to me. Told me his name was Sampson and that he could grant me any wish I asked for.'
'An angel granted you a wish?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'I told him I wished to be safe from my father forever. To be free of his hatred and abuse. And he told me he could give me that, but that for all my life, the only friends I could ever hope to have would be but fleeting phantoms. Like the light at dawn and dusk, they would appear clearly for a little while, then disappear. I would be safe, but completely alone.'
'And you said yes?' I asked. 'You could've just asked him to kill your father, couldn't you?'
'Would you?' the boy asked me.
'I guess not.' Then I said, 'But you can see me, right? I'm not a ghost. I'm right here!'
'For now,' he said. I remember his face... it was like the sadness suspended him there for a few moments. 'But in a few moments, you'll be home, and I'll be alone.'
I told him I'd stay with him. No one should have to be alone like that. 'You would stay with me?' he asked. And I said, 'Of course I would. I don't mind phantoms one bit.'
'Take my hand,' he said. And he held out his hand... and it was like smoke or vapor, but I reached out to him anyway. My hand passed straight through him, like he wasn't even there, but I could feel him. I could feel his hand. For a moment, our hands were the same.
And then he was gone. I couldn't see him, or hear him, or anything. I waited. I whispered to him, 'Come back, I'll wait. I'll be here all night.' And I was, after all, we were camped. But I didn't see him again.
I'd go back there, of course, trying to find the same spot at the same time. When I was a teenager, I tried time of day, time of year, position of the sun, position and state of the moon. And every once in a while, I would see that same face, those eyes. I'd hear his voice in the abandoned parts of the building...
When they renovated it, I was afraid my phantom was gone forever. That somehow they destroyed him along with the inside of the building, but he was still there. I never got to speak to him like that again, but that lonely voice, those hollow eyes... I could feel him there, sometimes.
That's why I'm going into the Trine. There's a man in there who once was a boy so terrorized by his own father that an angel granted him a wish at a terrible price. And I'm going to find that man and set him free.
Navigation
Entanglement, or the Ghost Field <<< Previous Part:
Part Six: Microcosm Primary Post Next Part: >>>
Part Eight: Quantum Phantom
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Long Road Out of Eden (The Eagles)
Silent stars blinking in the blackness of an endless sky
Cold silver satellites,
Ghostly caravans passing by
Galaxies unfolding, new worlds being born
Pilgrims and prodigals creeping toward the dawn
But it's a long road out of Eden
We're riding to utopia road map says we'll be arriving soon
Captains of the old order clinging to the reins
Assuring us these aches inside are only growing pains
But it's a long road out of Eden
Behold the bitten apple, the power of the tools
But all the knowledge in the world is of no use to fools
And it's a long road out of Eden...