The Portal - X

Part 1

“James, you can wake up now. James…James?” Cillian’s voice lilted in James’ ear. His eyes eased open and he saw once again the room where he had become a prisoner. An inhabitant of his own mind and no longer an entity in control. Light shone in from the windows, an analog for his eyes, and he knew it was early morning by the glare. A faint scent of damp streets and freshly baked bread seemed to be pumped into the room from his nose and James could tell without seeing the surroundings that he had travelled a great distance. Cillian knelt next to him in the corner where he made refuge since the shadow beings took ahold of him. Over his shoulder he could see a new person standing in the middle of the room moving its form from side to side as if testing the boundaries of its own existence. Cillian shared the glance then returned his gaze towards James.

                “Things have changed lad. We are almost through with this ordeal.”

                “What….is…”

                “What’s going on? Well they told me that they are hoping to be one again.”

                “Why…my…”

                “Why your body? They need a vessel to cart themselves around with. They can’t travel far on their own you see and they need you…us to meet up.”

                “What…will…”

                “What will happen to you…us? They haven’t said but I’m sure it’s nothing bad. We are simply a vehicle. You don’t discard a vehicle when you’re done with it. You take care of it. You treat it well. Like the auto we used to see across the street. Remember Mr. Harris’ auto? He used to rub it down nightly with a little cloth and practically kiss it goodnight. I can predict we will get the same treatment for being such a good vehicle for their journey…for it’s journey.”

                “What…are…”

                “What are they? They haven’t rightly told me beyond inklings. I’m not sure. And since you don’t know, then I don’t know. I like that arrangement we have, you and me. Share and share alike.”

                “Where…are…”

                “Where are we?” Cillian looked over his shoulder once again to address the shadow in the middle of the room. The question, overheard by the being was answered.

                “London.”

                “We are in London,” Cillian said with a smile, “we’ve never been to London, you and I. This will be a great trip. Once this journey is over we’ll get to see the sights. Start over, find a new path.”

                James didn’t attempt to speak again since Cillian knew what his thoughts were and he was sure that the creature knew them too. He was afraid, not of the creature, not of being locked in his head, but he couldn’t quite place the fear. It was deep, instinctual. The fear and anxiety that comes from a lie.

                “Allright. Here we are.” A new voice lilted into James’ head and he could tell it came from the outside. His attentions were drawn to the windows but he had not the strength to investigate them up close. He willed Cillian with a thought to peer out for him and relay what he saw.

                “A street, an alleyway, that man…Reginald. We have stopped somewhere.”

Reginald covered James with a cloth and pushed him back behind a large waste bin box and strolled away for a minute. So much had happened in the past weeks that he had no time to himself…well he had no time to “himself” since the pact was made but he wished to be free of human baggage such as the invalid he had carted from Westknell down to London. He knew that the devil inside him was a part of something bigger, the trials he had endured thus far had told him that. Killing his sister, escaping the sanitarium with the Pale King in tow, carting him to London and taking orders from the voice across leagues. All machinations to fulfill a greater purpose. The voice whispered to him as it did in his room and told him that the time would soon come when his trials would amount to their reward. The power he sought, the darkness he hoped to wield. Yet, Reginald was not wholly convinced the power was reserved for him.

                The first night he heard the man’s voice in his head, the first communion made while in his cell at the sanitarium he wasn’t sure who’s voice it was. After being captured the shadow devil had grown silent and seemed to abandon Reginald in his cell. Until one night the voice returned. A link was bridged from one man to another and Reginald heard the Doctor’s voice for the first time.

                “I’ve learned of your exploits. I know of your deeds.”
                “Who are you? I don’t recognize your voice. Are you the being?”

                “The being? You mean the shard? No, I am Matthew Darrows.”

                “Are you in my head? Are you real? Are you just a fragment of my sanity broken off from the whole?”

                “I am real. I am leagues away sitting in my office communion with you. It’s hard to explain but hear me that I am one to help you Reginald.”

                “Help me with what?”

                “To help you achieve the power you seek.”

                With those words Reginald felt elation and a nagging fear at the same moment. Finally, a response to sleepless nights wishing to hear from the shadow creature, with a new voice to obey yet the voice had a tinge of deceit.

                “I possess knowledge of many a great thing. One is knowledge of your pact. Another is who will soon be joining you in your hold. You must save him, you must protect him, you must serve him.”

                “Who? Who is this new entrant to my life?”

                “The Pale King.”

                Reginald decided from that night he would listen to the man’s plans but also form his own. After that first communion in the dark with Darrows the shadow creature returned to Reginald in dreams. There they spoke, there they weaved a plan. There they renewed their connection and remade their pact.

                Now in the streets of London, leaving his quarry behind, Reginald took a trip about the town in one instance soaking in what was one of the greatest cities of his time for he felt he would not see it for long, and two working out the stages of his formulations in secret. He felt that things were being kept from him by this man named Darrows, but he intended not to be caught off guard. While in the streets he felt a hollowness burrow into his heart a feeling that things would soon be very different for him, a longing that was always present would be fulfilled and that he would soon be gone from this life in one way or another. The anxiety was eclipsed by his elation for having finally found a purpose, a driving force to move his feet. A man can not live a life without purpose even if that purpose is dark and sinister. A man is not a man without purpose. A man is a shell without.

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