Chapter 4: Fresh Wounds

Beep beep beep...

I thought it was only in my dreams, but as I sat up in the tent and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I realized that I could still hear it. It was a distant repeating high-pitched beep, much like the sound a digital alarm clock would make. It was very soft - barely discernible - but after two tours in Afghanistan, I couldn't even sleep through a rain pattering on the window.

I thought that I might be imagining it and nudged Dani to wake her, but she moaned and rolled away from me, revealing her smooth tanned backside and two bubbly butt cheeks peeking out from under the covers. The sight made me consider having another go at her, but she was likely still sore. Even I was a little sore.

We never did find much else to do, so we spent the evening doing each other instead. After our first bout, she attempted to get dressed, but the sight of her crawling around the tent on all fours had an invigorating effect on me and so I tackled her, and we had another go right there.

Two beers and a quick stroll exploring the house again found her bent over the hood of the Mercedes with me pumping her from behind again. Suffice it to say, I loved that car. Then, another hour after that, I was ramming her up against the weapon-room wall holding a dagger to her throat.

This was her idea, I swear. I told her it was stupid and dangerous but she simply smiled, kissed me, and sank to her knees. Her tongue was so persuasive that it was only a matter of minutes before I relented. It was irritating trying to be careful of cuts while simultaneously trying to get us off, but there was no denying how hard she came with the steel pressed against her throat. All four times.

I figured it was some "fifty shades of grey" thing. Everything was hotter when she felt like her life was in my hands. She squeezed her legs around my waist so tightly that I didn't even have to support her with my arms. I emptied a last load into her that way, driving her against the wall before finally returning the weapon to its place.

We returned to the tent at around midnight, very well-fucked and considerably wasted. We wrapped ourselves up in the blankets and happily settled in for a comfortable night's sleep. As Ice Cube would say, today was a good day. I drifted off into a peaceful slumber dreaming of tits, cars, and ... tits.

I would have been content to spend the rest of the night that way, but after only a few hours rest, I started to hear the bizarre beeping.

I pulled myself out of the blankets and wrapped them around Dani before stepping out of the tent. It was chilly, so I slipped my feet into my pink bunny slippers before I went exploring. I grabbed the flashlight radio I had tossed before and flipped the light on. It was dark in a spooky haunted-mansion kind of way, and I didn't want to trip over anything.

I followed the noise into the dining room but it was softer there so I walked down the hallway towards the worrisome insurance nightmare containing all of the weapons. I opened the door. It wasn't coming from there, either. It was from further down the hall, and the only room left in that direction was the Living Room.

I carefully crept down the hallway, irrationally attempting to be quiet, and upon approach found the door to be curiously open. I'm big on closing doors and turning off lights when I leave rooms, so this was peculiar. I hadn't remembered leaving it open, and hoped that Dani had done it and not the ghosts that obviously haunt these giant spooky mansions. Shut up. They're real.

I could hear the beeping but the room had no light source other than the sky. Despite the full moon, this room felt darker than any other. The foliage, ambience, and light from my flashlight made everything seem macabre and sinister. It was silly, of course, but as of yesterday, so was my life. I swung my flashlight around the room but couldn't identify the source. Nothing appeared to be amiss, other than the huge fucking tree growing out of the floor.

The massive trunk rose out of the center of the dark wooden floorboards, and the large gnarl near the base that had been shaped into a chair seemed to call to me. Three branches, each thicker than my waist, extended from the trunk in opposing directions.

The first two were low enough to touch from the ground, but the third branch was several feet over my head, and had to be reached via a wooden ladder leaning against its side. Predictably, the beeping seemed to emanate from up there.

The tops of each branch were sanded flat and lacquered, and there were several dozen impressive-looking tomes balanced upon each, bound in rich crimson leather and bookended by little metal knights on horses. Each limb ended in a thick copse of green leaves and the smaller branches higher up created a rustling canopy underneath the glass dome overhead. The tree was still very much alive, despite the considerable work done to it.

The ladder seemed solid, so I mounted the first rung and began to climb.

The top branch was laden with same types of books as its lower brethren, with the notable exception of a small digital alarm clock screaming at me. I hit the off button. 2:37? Seemed an odd time to set an alarm for, and what was it doing up here?

My eyes gravitated to the spines of the books shelved there but one at the far left caught my attention. Does that say what I think it says? I pulled off the first tome and blew the dust from its cover. The title read "The Legend of Sir Duncan Courtney." My eyes went wide as a shiver crept up my spine.

"What in the fuck," I said. I read the name again, thinking that I had to be mistaken. Was it simply a coincidence? That didn't seem likely. I suddenly felt exposed, and my pink bunny slippers no longer seemed funny. I scanned the room with the light to make sure no monsters had snuck up on me in the dark.

I flipped the book open to the middle but there was nothing there. I leafed through a few pages, but there was nothing, just page upon page of blank paper. My confusion mounted.

Mystified, I flipped to the front. Upon the first page was written one line in red cursive: "In the beginning was naught but darkness and death. As in all such times of peril, the people cried out for a savior." As I gazed at the words, new ones began to suddenly appear, as if they were being written by an invisible pen. "As the twin moons aligned, a broken young man was summoned to Gerald's Rest to begin his trials. He was the stuff of legends, a descendant of heroes, but he was gripped by uncertainty, and running from the past."

My hands started to shake and the book along with them. I quickly scrambled down the ladder, never taking my eyes off the book. The words continued.

"He was no stranger to death, and pain had long been his mistress. He wanted no more of either. On this day, he was afforded a chance to live in peace and wrestle with his demons no longer..."

As much as the book frightened me, I couldn't stop reading.

" ... but in a time of such need, could he do nothing? Could he look upon such horrors with indifference? Could he shut his ears to the lamentations of the people? Or was he hero enough to do what was needed? Hero enough to do what was right?"

The words paused and I quickly turned the book over and back. Was this some crazy technology? I had never seen anything like it before. E-book readers were one thing, but this book was actual paper, and the words seemed to be scrawled upon them.

What the fuck was happening? I tried pinching myself. Was this some sort of dream? Was I hallucinating?

" ... he had to make a choice, and he had to make it quickly, before even more lives were lost."

I tried to make sense of things. Maybe it was some new sort of e-book. The story it told was not unfamiliar. There are plenty of people with fucked up lives that have to make difficult decisions. And I was certainly not the only one to have dealt with pain and death. All of my comrades had their share as well.

But the similarities unnerved me. Gerald's Rest? A chance to live in peace? Why was my name on the cover? The questions mounted, but as the moment passed, terror devolved into curiosity, and I couldn't deny that I wanted to know what was going to happen next.

I sat in the tree-chair and noticed a folded-up scrap of paper tucked neatly between the first and second pages. I unfolded the note and read it. "Press 1, 2, and 3 at the same time, genius." It was written by pen and in sloppy print, unlike any of the handwriting I'd seen, but the meaning was clear. It was referring to the poem I'd found with the watch:

This watch, he must wear it

This cross, he must bear it

This throne, he must claim it

Then press 1, 2, 3

Of course. I had sat in the chair earlier and pressed the buttons on the watch in various orders but I had not tried pressing them all at once. Without further consideration, I reached for my watch and pressed all three buttons.

The watch grew warm against my wrist and I was seized by a curious sensation. First, my fingers tingled and the hairs on my neck and arms stood on end. I clung to the arms of the chair, the book sliding off my lap. My stomach heaved as if I was falling. Then, my entire body lit up with exquisite pain in a sensation that I can only describe as being pulled inside out. I screamed, or at least I tried to, and then everything disappeared.

I don't always read, but when I do, I like to read fantasy.

I'd always loved the genre, even if it was always the same story. Boy grows up amidst hardship; boy turns into troubled man; troubled man undertakes a quest to save the princess, fight the bad guys, right the wrongs, etcetera etcetera. Everyone goes home happy in the end. It was always the same. There was something reassuring in that.

The one thing I couldn't stand though, was the genre's reliance on the fade-to-black technique. Whenever the action got heated or the story became dramatic, the main character would always get knocked out, or otherwise fall unconscious, and the chapter would just suddenly stop.

Then the hero would undoubtedly wake up in some strange locale with someone bandaging his wounds and narrating to him what he missed. I'd always felt like it was a cheap authorial trick. It just seemed to me like bad writing. It was with this thought in mind that I began to regain consciousness in a strange locale...

"So this guy is the next in Gerald's line? Where are his clothes? Do they always come through without clothes?" The voice was feminine and young. I struggled to open my eyes but my body seemed stiff and unresponsive. I was lying on my back upon a firm mattress. Where was I? What was going on?

"Usually not," another feminine voice replied. "But everyone is different the first time." I felt warm fingers lightly pressing my neck and wrist. "He seems to have made it through the worst of it." I tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. I wasn't panicking though. For some reason, I felt calm and serene, as if this sort of thing happened every day.

"Those slippers are adorable," the other replied. They both laughed softly. They sounded cute. I tried to move and managed to wiggle my fingers slightly. I also could feel my eyelids start to flutter.

"Shhh, look. He's coming out of it. Hand me the visor." One of the girls lifted my head and slid something over my eyes just before I forced them open. It felt like a pair of swimming goggles. Then I felt ear buds being pushed into my ears. Then a muffled voice.

"Start the program."

"Greetings hero!" A loud male voice boomed into my ears, "And welcome to Harmony." I finally managed to open my eyes, and I saw a revolving picture of planet Earth as seen from space. Or at least it appeared to be Earth. My head swam and I felt nauseous.

"We know that you're full of questions, hero," the recording continued, "and they will soon be answered, but before we can begin, we must first select your guide for the rest of the integration process." Words appeared above the rotating Earth that read "Caretaker Selection."

"Your voice will return shortly, as well as your fine motor control. And the nausea will soon pass. These are all normal side effects of the traveling process, so you needn't worry." For some reason, I trusted the voice, despite him sounding like a car salesman.

"For now, simply read the following queries so we can tailor a caretaker to your particular tastes. You needn't speak. The computer will record your responses." A question appeared on the screen.

"What is your sexual orientation?"

Three green boxes appeared below the question, one labeled "hetero," one labeled "homo," and a third labeled "other." What the hell is "other?" I couldn't respond but the hetero box lit up as if selected and the question disappeared, replaced by a picture of a nude female standing on a pedestal. She was bald, and seemingly average in every respect, from height to weight to cup size. Then, more text appeared to the side.

"You will be presented with three qualities or characteristics that will vary according to your responses. Choose the most desirable." Three green boxes appeared:

"Tall"

"Average"

"Petite"

Just as I finished reading, the "petite" selection lit up as if chosen, and the lifelike model on the pedestal shrunk down a few inches to match. Then three more words.

"Blonde"

"Brunette"

"Redhead"

"Blonde" lit up. I had no apparent control over which selection was chosen but the computer seemed to know what I liked. I was fascinated, albeit somewhat frightened. I think I was drugged as well because I was very amused by the pretty visuals. My awareness was returning but I was still woozy and confused.

"Slim"

"Athletic"

"Voluptuous"

"Voluptuous" registered, and the model changed again. Her tits became larger and her hips swelled slightly, her waist narrowing to form a perfect hourglass shape. The model winked at me and spun around on the pedestal flashing me her round and bubbly butt. I like this program.

"Cautious"

"Confident"

"Wild"

"Wild" lit up, surprising me. I would have considered it a tie between that and confident but I was in no shape to argue. The model changed again, becoming a bit slimmer, a bit taller, and somewhat leaner. I had no idea how those choices manifested into physical characteristics but the program sure did.

Having a childhood obsession with RPG video games, I couldn't shake the idea that this "caretaker selection" was very similar to a character creation screen. I wondered what kind of programming went into this thing.

"Sophisticated"

"Casual"

"Sleazy"

"Sleazy" was chosen, and I'm sure if I'd been able, I would have blushed. What can I say? Dirty girls inspire the best in me. The model changed ever so slightly, her legs lengthening, and her face becoming more predatory. Then the questions became more difficult.

"Practical, idealistic, or ambitious?"

"Epicurean, utilitarian, or frugal?"

"Moralistic, nihilistic, or open-minded?"

Some of the answers that I "chose" surprised me, but the model became more and more lovely to me as it adjusted to my answers. I had no conception of what the physical difference between "moralistic" or "open-minded" was, but sure enough, the model kept changing, to less and less of a degree.

After about 20 additional queries, the choices started to become ludicrous. What the hell is the difference between "fun-loving" and "playful?" After that last one, though – playful, if you're wondering – the questions finally ended. The view-screen zoomed in onto the model's face, who had become disarmingly beautifully. She smiled naughtily before blowing me a kiss and then was replaced by flashing words. "You have chosen Lila. Your caretaker is now being prepared." Lila. What a pretty name.

The mattress underneath me shifted and top folded me into a seated position. Nausea swept over me in a wave. I tried to move and found that I could finally raise my arms, although they felt as heavy and clumsy as cinder blocks. No longer occupied with the questioning, I tried to recall what had happened, but my memory was foggy.

I remembered the house. And then I remembered the tent set up underneath the statue. Shit, Dani! I tried to yell out her name but my voice was gone. I could breathe, but couldn't make a sound. With a herculean effort, I brought one hand to my face and pulled the goggles down to around my neck. My vision went blurry and then began to adjust. I was in a dimly-lit room of cube'ish proportions.

There was no furniture except the hospital mattress on which I found myself, and the walls and ceiling were rounded and white. I couldn't identify where the ambient light was coming from. There was nothing else in the room. It felt like I was inside a giant iPod.

I was naked, and began to recall my search of the mansion for the mysterious sound. I looked down the mattress to my pink bunny slippers, still on my feet and smiling up at me like little fluffy assholes. There was a white plastic bucket on the mattress between my legs. Before I could begin to ascertain its purpose, I leaned forward and vomited heavily into it.

What the fuck was happening? Where was I? I still didn't have the strength to rise, and felt so dizzy that I didn't even want to try. After my stomach finished purging, I fell back and focused on my breathing. My memories returned.

I remembered entering the library, and climbing the ladder. I remembered the odd book that I found, The Legend of ... well ... me. I still was a bit hazy on the part after that. How I got from the book to here was anyone's guess. Had I fallen from the ladder and hit my head? Was this some sort of hospital? A dream? What was that survey about? And what about "caretakers?"

A previously unseen door opened in the wall in front of me, and two young girls – they appeared to be teenagers, about 15 or 16 - entered wearing some form of white hospital scrubs. They were very cute, one blonde, the other brunette, but they seemed to be about business, neither making eye-contact with me.