Broken Angels (7 page)

A workshop of toys. That’s how the IAI’s chief engineer referred to his special room. Robert had a different opinion of it.

It was intimidating. It was a room that seemed to exist in a separate time and reality from the world outside, even more so than the rest of The Burrow. It was a room where futuristic instruments and devices were created, very few of which were intended for use by the masses.

True, Robert figured most people would be lost in a small world of happy wonder when they entered and spent time in Zel Bernard’s workshop of toys. But the objects inside were nothing to play with. And in spite of the casual way Zel referred to the products of his work—insisting on referring to them as if they were just amusements for children—the toymaker was careful to limit access to the room to only a privileged few. This Saturday afternoon, Robert was among the lucky ones.

But he didn’t enter the workshop to gawk and gander at the many shelves and display cases. Robert didn’t request the time to ask Zel about his latest gadgets. He didn’t care to see Zel demonstrate how his latest toy worked or hear how effective his specialized instruments would be in certain situations. Something else was riding his thoughts, and Robert wanted to discuss it with Zel, the IAI board member he trusted most.

Nevertheless, just after entering the toymaker’s workshop, while looking around for his host, without intending to, Robert picked up a silver object that resembled a deformed ball, a once-perfect sphere that had melted into the grotesque shape of a lump. He paid it little attention at first. But while continuing to look around the large, cluttered room for Zel, and turning the device around in his palm, Robert became more and more focused on the silver object. He soon realized it more accurately resembled the shape of a human heart. Captivated, Robert examined it, noticed the wire loop, and stuck his finger into it. While doing so, he accidentally dropped it—and he saw the heart extend on its string. He instinctively flicked his wrist to return the object to his palm. As the string extended, tiny points resembling metallic thorns had extended from the heart. When it rested safely in his hand again, the object no longer appeared to be a heart, but a smooth silver apple. He figured the device worked like a shape-shifting yo-yo. He released it again, saw little pointy worms appear on the object’s surface, then palmed it and observed its new appearance: a jack-o’-lantern. When he released the object once more, sharp metal flames jutted outward. When they retracted, the device appeared again as a silver heart.

“’Mazing, isn’t it?” Grinning, Zel emerged from behind a lead-lined screen. “Made one a couple of years ago, only to have it stolen. Just got around to making another one.”

As always, the toymaker was covered from head to toe in white, from the shoes to the gloves to the skullcap. The only uncovered area was his face, a face that had its eyes shielded by special wrap-around glasses. The black lenses were so beyond black they seemed just a bit creepy to Robert, but he fully trusted there was no malevolence behind them.

“What is it?” Robert asked as he held up the silver lump.

“A toy, of course.”

“It looks really, really dangerous.”

“Well, it’s obviously not for kids.”

Robert didn’t want to know for whom it was obviously intended, but having a toy heart in his hand helped remind him of the reason he was there.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Zel said as Robert went to put the toy back from where he’d plucked it. “I hear you two had quite the successful treasure hunt yesterday.”

“Not quite successful,” Robert said. “We found a girl, but not the one we were looking for.”

“Well, you made a live recovery, that’s what’s important.”

“I suppose.”

“Plus, working with Darryl, I’m sure you’ll find all the lost girls and boys you’re looking for sooner or later.”

“Not through any effort of his.” Robert took a seat at one of the least-cluttered tables. “He’s not acting like the lead on our team. More like a load.”

“Nice way to talk about your partner,” Zel said. “If I recall correctly, he was the one who found you not too long ago, wandering around naked in some woods just south of Sterling.”

“Yeah. Years ago. These days, Darryl has other priorities than searching for missing kids. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. His extracurricular activities are more than a distraction. They’re a serious problem.”

“What activities?”

“His so-called charity work,” Robert said.

Zel shrugged and shook his head.

“For a really perverse belief system that he’s adopted.”

“A belief system, huh?” Zel sat down at the stool opposite Robert’s. “Called what?”

“Bullshit, if you ask me.”

“Uhm…”

“Sorry,” Robert said. “I really don’t want to take up your time with a rant. I just need some advice on how to maybe fix this, help get Darryl back on track.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me about the charity work first,” Zel said.

“Okay,” Robert said, “but I’ll warn you up front, it’s a really abstract philosophy. I’ll do my best to make it as coherent as possible.”

Zel nodded.

“Well,” Robert said, “after Darryl was forced to face the fact that he had the Virus by, you know, having a seizure and being raptured down into XynKroma against his will, he looked for a way to make up for his past lifestyle, erase the habits that caused him to get the Virus in the first place. While he was still in the hospital, or right after he got out—I’m not sure when—he somehow got hold of a book called
Death’s Heart
. A book of poetry by some anonymous writer. I mentioned it to some friends once; they did some research, and they’re pretty sure it’s by the same person who wrote
The Blackbook of Autumn Numbers
.”

“Who’s also anonymous.”

“Yeah,” Robert said, “and for a good reason. But my friends and I still tried to work our way through it. Them, for the challenge. Me, for the sake of the partnership. I wanted to get a bit inside of Darryl’s head.”

Zel chuckled. “Well, there’re better ways of doing that.”

“Better for whom?” Robert asked. “I’d just as well avoid that route.”

Zel said, “Going to XynKroma, under the supervision of Vince, is quite safe.”

Robert wondered how traveling to an extra-dimensional realm that could best be described as an unstable marriage of Heaven and Hell could ever be considered safe, regardless of whether or not the process was being monitored by an IAI board member. “Reading
Death’s Heart
seemed to me the wiser option,” he said.

“Maybe I should try my eyes at it.”

“You shouldn’t.
Death’s Heart
is a bad story, an allegory told by way of a connected series of convoluted poems. It’s about a character named ‘Vastion,’ or ‘Vast’ for short. And he…Listen, I’ll spare you all the ridiculous details. I can summarize the whole stupid thing by just telling you that Vastion is some kind of supernatural being, from another dimension, and he’s worried about the sick condition of
Love,
which is considered a god, or maybe The God, where he’s from. What’s more, Love is also Vastion’s father.”

Zel gave him a pained look.

“Yeah,” Robert said. “It’s kind of an abstract, metaphysical concept. As I said, Vastion’s a being from another dimension. So, just stay with me a sec.”

Zel nodded. Robert continued.

“Vastion is angry that human beings have been using the word ‘Love’ in vain and, worse, the perverse acts they carry out in the name of Love are directly to blame for the sick condition of Vastion’s God. Somehow, what humans say and do in their dimension has dire effects in Vastion’s. So Vastion somehow leaves his dimension and comes to Earth as a supercharged man in order to get people to change how they think about the concept of Love—not to regard it simply as the product of momentary crushes and one-night stands. But while living among humans, as a human, Vastion becomes convinced that Love is actually a false god; rather than misbehaving humans corrupting Love, Love is actually corrupting humans. So Vastion changes his tactics—and his mission.”

“That sounds…interesting,” Zel said.

“If so,” Robert said, “it’s only because I’m summarizing and you haven’t heard the worst of it. There are five chapters in the book. Five short chapters of convoluted, mind-numbing poetry. They’re not named by numbers, but colors, and in the last chapter, the Blue chapter, Vastion gets to the point where he sets out to destroy this false god Love by, in a sense, overloading it. He sets out on a mission to encourage select humans to engage in all sorts of despicable and perverse ‘acts of Love.’ You can imagine the details; just consider the idea of
sexual terrorists
. Rapes, violent crimes of passion, and so on. Vastion’s theory is that Love and its worshippers—lovers—can only take so much. After
too
much, they’ll self-destruct. Once the false god is dead, the real God—
Peace,
Love’s estranged wife and Vastion’s missing mother—will reclaim its rightful place.”

Zel thought for a moment then chuckled. “Sounds like a nice little bedtime storybook.”

“Maybe for insomniacs in an asylum,” Robert said.

Zel put a thumb and finger on his chin as he cocked his head. Robert pressed his lips together and gazed at Zel’s glasses, waiting for the older, wiser man to fully digest what he’d just heard.

After more than a full minute of silence, the toymaker said, “I’m sorry. I still don’t get it. What does this have to do with Darryl?”

“Vastion is Darryl’s prophet, his inspiration.”

“In what way?”

“Darryl doesn’t just think about peace, or talk about peace,” Robert said. “He
inflicts
peace. On every woman and man he can.”

Zel hummed and nodded. “I still don’t quite follow you.”

Robert sighed. “Think about it. The fundamentalist fanatics in this country preach that ‘God is Love.’ Every pop song you hear, every movie you see, every other insipid television show is telling us all constantly that love is the supreme feeling. Every other person you bump into on the street just can’t wait to tell you how happily in love they are, or how they’re looking for love, or how they’re so miserable because they’re not in love. And in spite of all these thoughts and feelings and sentiments of love everywhere, look at the state of our planet, look at the state of humanity. It’s shit going down a toilet.”

Zel bristled at the language. Normally Robert would have paused to apologize, but he was on a roll.

“That’s Darryl’s thinking,” Robert said, “and he’s not a stupid guy. But he read this dumb book when he was in the hospital recovering from his most severe seizure, recovering from the brand new idea that he had a bizarre new virus, an STD. He read those poetic words, thought about the world around us, saw through the metaphors, and he put two and two together, concluding Vastion was on to something. Love really is a false god, the ruler of this crappy world. Peace is what we all should be striving for. Reading that damn book over and over, Darryl came to the conclusion that, as penance for the acts that caused him to get the Virus in the first place, in order to gain some type of redemption, he’d devote as much time as possible to acts of charity, steering people away from love, convincing them to accept peace.”

There was a period of silence before Zel broke it by laughing. “Well, I guess everybody needs a hobby!”

Robert only stared at him, his expression unchanging.

Zel cleared his throat. “Okay, seriously, I see your point. Darryl is allowing his charms and good looks to attract women—”

“And men.”

“Okay, fine, both, and he uses his, uh, talents to convince them not to bother with trying to find love. Don’t even think about it. The pursuit of love is the wrong way to go.”

“Exactly.”

“So?”

“
So?”
Robert wanted to hit the table. “Look, ignore the fact this book he swears by has a flat-out ridiculous premise, ignore the fact this book he’s basing his entire life on is overwritten and terribly written, ignore the fact the philosophy is just bizarre and stupid, and—for the moment—just ignore the fact it’s interfering with the work we do for the Institution. People who are in our condition, who can do the things we can do, have a responsibility to either help humankind or stay out of the way. We do
not
have the right to screw with other people’s minds.”

“What’re you saying?” Zel asked.

“I’m saying that he’s not just reading them poetry or whispering sweet-nothings in their ears. Darryl’s using his talents, his real talents, to hypnotize these women, these men—anything he can attract—to come around to his way of thinking. From manipulating light—standing eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose—it’s not a far cry to manipulate another’s thoughts too. Maybe even permanently.”

“Aggressive hypnotism?” Zel finally looked concerned. “Is that what he’s doing?”

“I’m pretty confident.”

Robert had a suspicion the act Darryl was performing was closer to an actual lobotomy than mere hypnotism, but he wanted to be careful with his words until he knew for sure.

Zel clasped his hands on the desk and bent his head. It seemed he also wanted to carefully choose his words before he spoke.

“Listen, Robert, I don’t pretend to know all of what Darryl does and doesn’t do, what he believes and what he doesn’t, but he’s been with the IAI for longer than you have. I don’t know him as well, but I know his reputation. And whatever philosophy, ideology, or theology he believes in—well, actions count far more than beliefs. And Darryl has helped the Institution recover dozens of lost children and young adults, including you. If he is taking whatever messages he sees in this book to heart, I’m sure he’s taking to heart only what he sees as good and useful, and rejecting all the rest that’s bad.”

“
None
of it’s good.”

“Maybe he really is just talking about living a careful life of peace,” Zel said, “just clean living and meditation, and hypnotism never comes into play. I haven’t spent enough time with Darryl to feel as if I could get inside his mind, but I have spent considerable time with someone who has actually been there. You shouldn’t worry.”