Worlds Collide!

First, allow me the annual dusting-off of cobwebs on this here blog...

Now with the housework out of the way--Welcome! The leaves are changing, the wind is turning crisper, and my favorite season is upon us. Halloween is here, and I have returned to the interwebs with a treat to offer you.

Over the course of the last year and a half--among the other projects I've been tinkering on--my friend and fellow author Bob Freeman and I have been putting together our first storytelling collaboration. As you may or may not recall, Bob has already lent his incredible artistic talents to my HITMEN novel, providing the cover. But, this time, we agreed to tackle a novella together, trading off writing chores on rotating chapters, and making it a point to surprise the other. It was a lot of fun and, today, we present to you the fruits of our labors...Hallowe'en House!

This tale was especially thrilling for me as it involves the character Bob named after me, and it also marks the first time I've ever written in Bob's sprawling occult detective mythology. I've been a huge fan of his mega-myth for a number of years now, but actually contributing to it filled me with equal parts eagerness and caution. I think we've crafted a wile ride through the darkest corners of the cosmos and we hope you agree.

Also of note, readers of my own mythology (particularly my Rift Jump duology) might find some interesting connections inside the Hallowe'en House...

The book is available now in print and Kindle. Get your copy today--just in time for Halloween! A perfect little story to read by the soft flicker of Jack O'Lantern light.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Demonologist Greg Mitchell has discovered a secret from his father's past, a secret that not only sheds light on their strained relationship but on the path he has found himself upon, caught between Heaven, Hell, and all points between.

Turning to his former mentor, Dr. Landon Connors, Mitchell and the infamous occult detective seek out Hallowe'en House, a legendary transdimensional nexus that bristles with unfathomable eldritch energies.

But they're not the only ones who have come seeking out Hallowe'en House.

Everything You Need to Know About The "In-Between Trilogy"

During the years of 2011-2013, I released what would become the foundation of my magnum opus, The Coming Evil Trilogy.

The series that started it all...

Set in the small town of Greensboro, the Trilogy deals with an already beleaguered community that comes under siege by a demonic presence known only as "The Strange Man". To combat him, a group of heroes from various walks of life have to overcome their own personal demons to discover a faith strong enough to push back the Strange Man and his legion of devils. The Coming Evil was conceived back in 1999, and it was my way of combining 1980s Saturday matinee creature features with a story about faith, doubt, and ultimately, redemption.

But there is a heated speech that the Strange Man utters in Chapter 9 of Dark Hour, the third and final installment of that trilogy:

"Oh, you never mean to. You just pose your questions and make your debates and you think you have such a grasp of the world around you, but you have no idea. You can’t even begin to understand the places in between, the unknowable depths of eternity, the mind-shattering realizations that wait just beyond your rather limited peripheral understanding of space and time. What are you, huh? You people! You’re just dust! Dirt thrown together and given breath and yet you think you are owed explanations? You think you deserve to be in charge?" 

Since the final book in  The Coming Evil Trilogy was published in 2013, I have been writing the story of that space "in between" the worlds, and with the recent release of my new supernatural thriller Infernal City, a new thematic trilogy is finished.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

The unofficially labeled "In-Between Trilogy" derives its name from the fact that all books involved deal with that dark space "in between" the worlds of the multiverse, as first mentioned in Dark Hour. It is also labeled thus as it fits nicely "in between" The Coming Evil...and my NEXT Trilogy, which I am currently writing.

The installments of this thematic trilogy--that is, Rift Jump (Volumes 1 & 2), Infernal City, and HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick, Monsters, and Murder--represent my creative journey to writing The Coming Evil. Rift Jump (or a version thereof) was begun when I was in high school and was the first story that I claimed. Later, in 1996-1998, when I realized I wanted to be a horror screenwriter, Infernal City (or "Soul Decision", as it was known before some boy band came out and stole my blasted title--I mean, seriously, what were the odds of that?) was the first script I wrote--with hopes of producing it myself at the age of 19 or 20 (I was pretty naive). I hung my hat on that script for a long time before I realized I did not have the proper connections, the money, or the equipment to produce a professional film on my own. So I found another outlet for moviemaking--home movies. As has been stated elsewhere, I set out to create a no-budget horror epic, just for me and my friends. From that simple mission statement, HITMEN was born. The novel bearing the same name is, really, just an elaborated adaptation of those original home movies.

These were three important phases of my creative development, all leading me to 1999/2000, when I began writing the first draft of The Coming Evil. I am not a guy to let things go, so I knew that, once The Coming Evil was finished, I would return to those old ideas that I cut my teeth on, dust them off, give them a polish, and release them--but now as part of the mythology begun in The Coming Evil.

This "In-Between Trilogy" interconnects, asking questions in one episode, answering them in another. They intersect at multiple points, weaving an intricate story web, though they are standalone stories with their own unique casts of characters, as well as plots and resolutions. This trilogy-of-sorts can be read in any order--all leading to that strange storm that kicks off The Coming Evil. Having said that, here's my personally preferred order of reading, the one that I think offers the most bang for your buck in picking up the various threads, themes, characters, and locations. There are far too many Easter Eggs and connections for me to list here (and part of the fun is discovering it for yourself), but here's a handy guide to get you started.

ROMANCE AT THE EDGE OF FOREVER

Greensboro and its battle against the Strange Man is only a small conflict in a much larger war. In the Rift Jump duology (Volumes 1 & 2, respectively), we pull way back to reveal just how big a war that truly is. These stories take you to the very edge of the cosmos, where we learn that Greensboro belongs to a reality that is only one of many in an infinite multiverse of parallel realities. We are introduced to star-crossed lovers Michael and Sara, two teenage runaways who travel the multiverse together, trying to stay two steps ahead of some unfathomable evil that lurks in the dark spaces in between the worlds. This Evil is looking for something--namely the means of his escape, as the multiverse is his prison--and believes that Michael and Sara are the key.

Teen love and angst in the multiverse!

On the surface, this sci-fi series seems a far cry from the "small town horror" of The Coming Evil. Readers will be whisked away to many bizarre and alternate worlds in a constant barrage of adventure, meeting costumed superheroes, robots, aliens, and demons. I've often compared it to a dark Doctor Who meets Lovecraft kind of tale, with enough cosmic horrors to keep the reader's head spinning. While "weird", the themes and struggles of its love-drunk protagonists as they make war against an outside Evil--and the darkness in their own hearts--will be instantly recognizable to fans of The Coming Evil.

Over the course of these two volumes, we learn that one world, in particular, holds great meaning for this Cosmic Evil. A very familiar world to us, where there is a City where it never stops raining, and lost souls can see their dreams come true...for a terrible price.

FOOL FOR THE CITY

This narrative thread leads us to my brand new novel, Infernal City. The massive scope of Rift Jump comes into sharper focus here. Now, knowing what we do about that Thing in between the worlds, we find our way back to the Earth of The Coming Evil Trilogy. Lurking beneath the City is a sleeping beast that hungers for souls. We are introduced to Quinn Holbrook, a down-on-his-luck ex-boxer who is employed by the City's representative--known simply as "Mac"--to retrieve those who would sell their souls to the City for wealth and pleasure, and then try to run out once the bill comes due. When Quinn is tasked with hunting one of these "Runners" who's hiding in the idyllic community of Watcher's Grove (a close neighbor to Greensboro), he begins to learn the truth of that Thing Beneath the City.

The new release!

In Infernal City, we, too, begin to get a clearer picture of the greater threat that is posed to our heroes back in The Coming Evil. Aesthetically, Infernal City is the closest of my novels to The Coming Evil. We're in familiar territory, in a small town plagued by a demonic force--with quite a few twists and turns along the way. This is a noir detective story, a thriller, and a romance told in Quinn's own words. And as Quinn starts to question his place in the shadowy underbelly of our story world, we are going to plunge headlong into that darkness for the third and final installment of our thematic trilogy.

SHADES OF GREY

Moral ambiguity abounds as a complicated tale of forgiveness is told in HITMEN: Four Tales of Magick. Monsters, and Murder. This book, itself, is a collection of four novellas that build upon one another, telling the bloody saga of Eli Ross, a hitman who has a crisis of faith that is precipitated by the appearance of a mysterious, hulking figure that has begun a campaign of slaughter against the criminal underworld's biggest players. Along the way, we meet world-weary Vinnie Caponi: Urban Mythologist, his young idealistic apprentice, Flynn, and the untamed criminal heiress Marcie, who has her fair share of secrets--as well as a tight hold on Eli's heart. These four unlikely heroes find themselves in the malevolent path of the Blue Skull--a supernatural killing machine--and must uncover the shocking truth behind his rampage and put an end to his reign of terror before they fall victim to his brutality. Adding to their problems is a villain who escaped the final chapters of Infernal City to come make trouble for our heroes...

A world of shadows...

HITMEN could be considered "darker" than what most people are accustomed to reading from me. Heroes are sometimes harder to discern, and the lines between good and evil blur. It explores the occult connections of my mythology, and the violence is cranked up a few notches. It's an unabashedly gory novel, and to some of my faithful readers' chagrin, it also contains a rarity in my fiction: coarse language and sex. Even at that, the language and sensuality used is safely within a PG-13 rating, but I realize that for some, that's too much. Nevertheless, this is a story of killers and thieves in conflict with their baser natures. HITMEN is about breaking through the darkness of the world you know, escaping the traps of your past to find a new fate. The road to redemption is never easy, and rarely pretty. These are damaged people in dark places, and the language and subject matter of the book reflects that, but is meant to ultimately serve a redemptive purpose.

HITMEN leads us the nearest to The Coming Evil, taking place just a couple months before the start of that original trilogy, and sections of the action even take place in Greensboro, itself. Readers will recognize some familiar places and faces, setting the stage for The Coming Evil.

WHAT'S NEXT?

Ultimately, the "In-Between Trilogy" reveals a larger world and conflict than seen in the original trilogy, and points to the cosmic importance of the events of Greensboro. It also raises many questions--questions that I am in the process of addressing in my next sequence of novels. There are many exciting mysteries left to reveal in Greensboro's distant past and even, in my mind, a future, final climatic battle to bring this mythology to a close. But while we wait, this new thematic trilogy offers many new adventures, heroes to cheer, monsters to fear, and an enticing look at the larger mythology of The Coming Evil Trilogy.

All books are available in print and on Kindle.

An Update and a Release!

Been awhile since we've had an update around here because I've been knee-deep in the final phases of production for my new novel Rift Jump Volume 2: Sara's Song. I'm happy to report that we're almost there! The e-book will most likely be online this week, with the paperback soon to follow--if not released simultaneously. Ironing out all the kinks and getting it ready to unleash upon the world.

Sara's Song is meant to be the capper to my wild little ride through the multiverse and, believe me when I say, this is the biggest project I've ever done. There's some mind-bending, reality-warping, galaxy-shattering goodness going on in this thing. Think Lovecraft meets Star Wars with teen love thrown in the mix, all wrapped in a comic book package. This is a fantasy epic I've been working on since high school and I'm excited to share it with you all.

In the meantime, now is the perfect time to get caught up on the Rift Jump saga. The Revised and Expanded Edition is now available in print and e-book. Check it out and stay tuned for the big release of the epic finale!

Free Short Fiction--"Company Man: Finale"

Welcome to the final installment of an all-new Rift Jump short story, exclusive to this site. In "Company Man", we explore the origins of the villainous Hooded Man from the original Rift Jump novel--now on sale in the new Revised and Expanded Edition.

Click here to read Part One of our tale.
Click here to read Part Two!
Click here for Part Three.
Click here for Part Four.

PART FIVE

Michael lined up his shot, looking through the rifle scope at the deer that nibbled at grass down range. Keeping perfectly still, hiding in the brush, Michael held in his breath and slowly exhaled, pulling the trigger. A loud clap split the countryside serenity and the deer bolted, only making four or five paces before it collapsed—a fresh hole just behind the shoulder.

Michael grinned and stood. The winter cold assaulted his senses and he pulled his dirty and tattered long coat closer, drawing the hood to shadow his eyes from the merciless sun. He slung the rifle over his shoulder by the strap and trudged through the icy river to his felled prey. It was a big one. The biggest one he’d caught all winter. Sara would have her hands full packing the meat, but it was sure to last them for months.

He bundled up the deer methodically, preparing to haul it back to his four-wheeler some yards away. Even as he did so, he snickered, remembering those first few months out in the Wilds, learning how to hunt. He’d been so green back then, fearful of his own shadow, only good for scribbling figures for those blasted machines. So long ago…

He hadn’t seen a machine since they’d escaped to the Wilds fifteen years ago.

His mind drifted back to that old life. Sometimes he felt that another person lived those years. At the time, he’d not been aware how angry he was, but now he saw how easily it had been for Rip to manipulate him—to control him, just as the monitors had done.

Michael wondered where Rip was now. What terrible things he was doing across the cosmos. That could have been my life. But it wasn’t. His life was here, in the peace and quiet, with Sara at his side.

Without regret, he journeyed over the plains on his old four-wheeler, finally spotting his and Sara’s cottage. He pulled the four-wheeler into the yard with his prize in tow. Blowing hot breath into his hands to warm them, he pushed his way through the front door. He slipped off his hood and called out, “Hey, I’m back.”

Sara’s usual reply did not meet him. He stepped into the kitchen, but did not find her. “Sara?”

Moved to the next room, their bedroom. Empty, too.

He stood still, his heart beginning to pound. “Sara? Where…?”

Then he heard whimpering. From above.

Jerking his head skyward, he saw Sara pinned to the ceiling by some invisible force. She wept, her long red tresses dangling down past her face.

“Sara!”

He reached for her, his mind whirring to figure out some way to get her down, when a wave of unseen energy slammed him, shot him across the room, and pinned him in place against the wall.

Michael grunted in pain and shock, struggling to move his arms—even his fingers—but he was frozen solid. “Sara!”

A voice spoke from somewhere within the shadows of the room, low and calm. “Michael.”

He twisted without success, tears building in his eyes. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

Michael’s panicked eyes darted every which way, trying to find the source of the voice. At last, the shadows parted and a tall, thin man in a black suit with coattails exited. The pale man’s hair was wild and white, as though styled by static electricity. His eyelids were half-closed, his nose upturned in a display of arrogance. He nearly floated along the hard wood floor, coming to a stop before Michael.

“Who are you?” Michael demanded.

“I believe you once knew an associate of mine. Rip?”

Michael swallowed hard. No…please, no. Suddenly, Rip’s words returned to him, after fifteen years: “You can’t run from us! You can’t run from what you are!”

“You’re Rip’s Boss,” Michael stuttered. “The one he talked about.”

The thin man considered, then shook his head. “I’m more of a…conductor of a symphony. Rip played for me, but we both make music at the behest of a greater muse. Something greater than anything you can imagine. And he is not pleased with you.” The man circled the room, casually eyeing Sara still sobbing on the ceiling.

I’ll get you down, Michael thought to her, meeting her terrified eyes. I’ll save you, just like I did before.

“You see,” the stranger said, “you’ve stolen from him.”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Michael blurted, tears spilling down his weathered face, and he suddenly felt so very old.

“Ah, but you have. All that power, churning inside. It doesn’t belong to you, though you’ve certainly profited from it, haven’t you? Leaving your mechanical oppressors, building a life out here for you and your…woman. All made possible by the Rage. And now it’s time to pay up.”

Michael gnashed his teeth, trying to will himself to move. “Please, I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Michael, no,” Sara sobbed.

He winced, and continued, “Rip said I was supposed to help make Chaos or something, right? I’ll—I’ll do it. Just, please, don’t hurt Sara.”

The thin man faced Michael, tapping his chin. The man’s long face was impassive, devoid of all emotion. Just dead, staring eyes, and a put-upon air about him, as though he had more pressing matters to attend to. “It’s too late for that, Michael,” he stated without mirth.

Michael whimpered. “No, please…”

“We have a new part for you to play. You see, we have another stray, running rampant across the multiverse, causing us a lot of trouble. Another Michael Morrison, as a matter of fact.”

Michael blinked in surprise.

The thin man continued, “He, like you, thinks he can escape us, but he’s wrong.” Leveling a disdainful glare on Michael, he finished, “You both are.” He paced again, glancing to Sara on the ceiling. “You will help us find and convince him that to flee from us is futile. We are your fate—the very reason you were created. But to share that truth with him, you must share it from a place of conviction.”

The man fixed a cold, unflinching stare on Sara, then lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. Sara screamed, her body making terrible crunching noises. Bones breaking. Michael grunted, trying to pull himself free. “What are you doing? Stop!”

The thin man spoke over Sara’s shouts, “You are an instrument, Michael, but one that is out of tune. We have to refine you, to prepare you for my symphony.”

Sara continued to scream, her body breaking at the demonic man’s command. Michael wailed and raged against his invisible restraints. “I’ll kill you!”

The man only shook his head. “Still out of tune. Come on, Michael. You are a company man. You remember how this game works, or have you forgotten, living out here in the Wilds? You have to be taught your place. You. Will. Heel.”

“Sara!” he cried, his heart breaking, a thousand memories of their life together passing before his eyes.

But Sara’s screams finally trailed off. Her head hung limp, her body still. The man gave a wave of his hand and Sara collapsed to the bed, lifeless.

Dead.

Michael wept deep ragged gasps that pained his chest.

At last, the man—this sick Maestro of misery—regarded him. “Ah, much better. The song of your pain is beautiful—don’t ever try to hide that. Now you will be able to sing with passion, to spread my music.”

Michael bowed his head, weeping, his hood slipping over his features. At once, he was released from his imprisonment and collapsed to all fours.

The Maestro moved to him, his polished shoes clicking on the hard wood floor. “Will you submit now?”

Michael thought to rebel, to punch and kick and die fighting. He’d been ready to die when he left The Company, to be with Sara. He’d had fire back then, desperate to be away—determined that his life would belong only to him.

But, in the end, maybe his father was right. Better to blend in. To obey.

If he had, Sara would still be alive.

He stood, his hood draping over his eyes, bathing his sight in shadow. “Yes.”

EPILOGUE

The Hooded Man arranged Sara’s body on their bed and softly kissed her forehead.

Then he set the house on fire.

He stood now, wrapped in his tattered coat and hood, watching the last remnants of his independence burn away. It’d been a good life, the last fifteen years. A good distraction, but a distraction all the same. Rip had tried to tell him that he was meant for more, but he’d refused. Resistance was useless. He understood that now, here at the end, and he would teach it to this other Michael Morrison.

You can’t run from who you are.

He was a company man, through and through.

“Are you ready to leave?” the voice spoke from the shadows behind him.

He nodded, not facing the Maestro. “I’m ready.”

“Then let us begin the concerto.”

To Be Continued In

RIFT JUMP: Revised and Expanded Edition 

Now on sale from Genre Experience

Copyright 2015 Greg Mitchell

Thanks for reading, everyone. Go out and get your copy of Rift Jump: Revised and Expanded Edition, and stay tuned for the release of this summer's stunning sequel--Sara's Song!

Free Short Fiction--"Company Man: Part Four"

Welcome to the fourth installment of an all-new Rift Jump short story, exclusive to this site. In "Company Man", we explore the origins of the villainous Hooded Man from the original Rift Jump novel--now on sale in the new Revised and Expanded Edition.

Click here to read Part One of our tale.
Click here to read Part Two!
Click here for Part Three.

PART FOUR

Michael and Sara raced down the hall, pushing workers out of the way. More robots joined in the pursuit, their metal feet clanking on the floor as they gave chase, all the while shouting their commands to halt. Even some of Michael’s co-workers hollered after him, telling him to give up, to give in, to blend in. One man even reached out, anger marring his features.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”

Scowling, he wrapped strong arms around Michael, to pin him in place, but Michael jerked wildly, slipping from the grip. In one fluid move he curled his fingers into a fist and punched. He’d never hit a man before, and was struck by how painful it was. Nevertheless, it did the trick. Surprised, the co-worker sprawled to the ground, his nose busted.

Michael stood over him, then regarded his shaking hand, exhilaration pumping through his veins. He laughed, elated, until Sara tugged on his arm, grinning as well. “Hurry!”

They did. Michael saw a side door up ahead that would take them down the fire escape to the floors below, but as they were about to reach it, anther monitor emerged. It pointed at Michael, its feminine voice deeper and agitated, “STOP!”

Michael and Sara slid to a halt as the robots closed in, blocking off every avenue of escape. Sara clung to him, trembling, and Michael worried what their fate would be. At the very least, they would be forever separated from each other, re-stationed in two cities on opposite ends of the country.

But the likeliest outcome was that they both would be liquidated for their rebellion.

“I’m sorry, Sara,” he shouted over the increasingly loud commands to get on the ground and submit.

“Don’t be,” she said, looking into his eyes. “For a moment, we were free. Truly free.”

He smiled and realized that, if these were his last moments on Earth, there was only one thing left to do.

He leaned down and kissed her. She cupped the back of his hair, pulling him closer, melting into him. Michael wrapped his arms around her, determined to never let her go.

A loud crash shattered their kiss. Michael parted from Sara and turned to the glass wall at the far end of the hallway, looking out over the city. Presently, a hovercar sat parked in the hallway, broken glass littering the carpet, and one robot pinned underneath the heavy vehicle. In the cockpit—

“Rip!”

Rip undid the hatch on the vehicle and stood, crowing. “C’mon, little brother, get a move on, will ya!”

Michael laughed out loud, clutched Sara, and made a run for the hovercar. Monitors reached out for him, their cold metal fingers clamping the air around him, missing him by inches.

A phalanx of androids swarmed them, but Michael helped Sara into the cockpit as carefully as he could. One droid secured his arm and Michael kicked at it, roaring in rage and adrenaline. He wouldn’t go back! He would be free!

He stamped with his foot until the robot let go, its neck spurting sparks where Michael had broken it. He scrambled into the hovercar as Rip pulled away. One of the droids leapt through the broken window, sailing through the air and landing squarely on the hovercar’s hood.

Rip floored the engine—somehow he must have rewired the controls and shut off the automatic pilot—and swerved, trying to dislodge their unwanted occupant. “Thing won’t budge!” Rip grunted, jerking the yoke, but unable to lose the mechanical parasite. “You’re gonna have to go out there, dude!”

Michael gulped and looked to Rip. “What?”

“Go on! You were born for this!” Rip guffawed, then reached up and jettisoned the canopy lid. Hard winds pummeled them and Sara screamed, strapping herself in, clinging to Rip’s tattooed arm as he drove. His long, braided hair whipped in the gusts, and he just howled in laughter.

Michael felt like he would vomit, but steeled himself. Ahead, the robot’s fingers punched holes in the hood as the thing pulled itself up slowly. Straining, the mechanical beast reached out with a clawed hand, relentless in its pursuit.

“Scribbler Morrison, Michael A,” the woman’s voice remained calm, even as the robot struggled to hold its grip. “Return to your designated station immediately. Failure to comply will result in your liquidation.”

“Michael!” Sara squealed.

Michael grit his teeth and wobbled to a stand in the cockpit, slammed by winds. “I’m done taking orders!” he roared, the ferocious gale stealing his words, but not his passion. Letting loose a roar, he dove forward onto the speeding car, grappling with the robot. The monitor used its free hand to swat at Michael, and he took a hard slap to the face, but he would not let go.

He rose up on the monster, yanking at it, trying to dislodge it, to save Sara. A wild, uncontrollable rage coiled in his gut, swelling to consume every nerve. It powered his fingers as he tightened his hold on the robot’s neck. Wires popped loose, sparks shot out, and Michael grimaced, snarling now. “Die!” he spat, cold inside. So wonderfully cold and numb to pain and fear and worry and doubt.

Rip was right. He was a killer. An animal, caged for far too long.

He savagely ripped the monitor’s head off and heaved it over the side of the car. Sparks spurted from the neck stump, and the robot’s body twitched, loosened its fingers, and slid off the hovercar like so much useless junk.

Michael held onto the car as it sped on, breathing heavy, but cooling. He faced Rip who offered him a hearty thumbs-up. “Always knew you had it in you, Mike!”

Michael sneered, feeling powerful—indomitable. Godlike.

Then he saw Sara watching him, apprehensive. His rakish grin softened and faded to a frown.

* * *

They rode in silence for the rest of the trip once Michael pulled himself back into the cockpit. At last they left behind the city, finally reaching a lush landscape of green, teeming with real, organic life.

The Wilds.

Michael and Sara held hands as they soared over the mysterious forest, quietly savoring the sight. Michael only spotted a few homes out here, small cabins hewed from stone and straw, with pleasant smelling aromas wafting from their chimneys. At once he was struck with terror. Where would they live? How would they eat? Surely they’d have to eat animals. The monitors forbade meat, keeping their human drones on a strict vegetarian diet. Michael realized he would have to hunt, to kill. Learn to cook, to clean. Everything.

But he would, he was sure of it. With Sara at his side, he could face any obstacle. He’d scared her when he lost control against the monitor, but he wouldn’t lose control again. He would protect her, clothe her, feed her.

“You’re safe now,” he told her, patting her knuckles.

She warmed, snuggling close.

Rip announced, “I think this is far enough,” and settled the hovercar in a soft grassy field. Michael and Sara hopped out of the cockpit and knelt down on their hands and knees, feeling the grass. Sara laughed and tore a handful of it out, holding it under her nose. “Smell it!” she said. “It smells wonderful!”

Michael did and agreed. Next, he unstrapped his boots and dug his toes in the grass and soft dirt, finding it cool and refreshing. Rip, meanwhile, just leaned on the car, crossing his arms, a bemused smirk on his whiskered face.

With his merriment finished, Michael stood, dusting off his pants, sheepishly.

“Got that all out of our system, did we?” Rip asked with a mocking smirk.

“Sorry.”

Rip shrugged, then looked back to the horizon, shielding his eyes against the light as though he were searching for something. “No problem. Don’t worry—there’s plenty more to see.” He sighed. “Yep, there we go.”

Sara stood now, moving closer to Michael, interlocking her fingers with his. They held close, joining Rip in watching as the sheet of paper from yesterday came into view, rustling on the light breeze. At length, the paper touched down on the ground and stilled. Rip presented the paper to Michael with an accomplished bow. “Your chariot awaits.”

Michael snickered, then looked to Sara. “What?”

Rip rolled his eyes. “You think I busted you out of that joint just so you and Red, here, could go live in some cave out here in the boonies? Ha, you got bigger things ahead of you, Mike.”

Michael released Sara’s hand, inching closer to the paper, captivated by it; by the colors that danced on its surface: The rainbow from his dreams. In his heart, he heard the whispers, the call, urging him to step into the paper, to join the light and find his destiny. “What is it?” he whispered, tempted to run and dive right into the paper, if such a ridiculous notion were possible.

In a suddenly reverent tone, Rip said, “Just the door, Mike. To take you to all the worlds in the multiverse. See, this dimension of yours—as crappy as it is—is only one in a billion. You think the Wilds is impressive? Wait ‘til you visit the underside of the Mountain of Or! You just touch the cave walls, and they sing.”

Michael took a step back, holding Sara’s hand again. “B-But, I’m not ready. I can’t.”

Rip rubbed his eyes, and groaned. “I was afraid of this. Look, dude, this life ain’t for you. I told you that. My Boss has chosen you. We’ve got things to do, little brother. You think those robots were bad? That’s just the tip of the iceberg! The whole multiverse is nothing but order and rigidity, instituted by a God whose only desire is to bend you to his way of thinkin’.” Rip spread his hands wide, clenching them into fists. “You and me, we were made to rebel, brother. To tear down the rules—the walls keeping the worlds separated. Chaos, little brother! We gotta make some beautiful Chaos! Set the captives free!”

Michael frowned. In his soul, Rip’s words made perfect sense, as though he’d always been waiting for this day, secretly desiring someone to say these terrible things to him. But he feared their meaning and the reality of what he was being called to do.

He shook his head, feeling dizzy. “No, I can’t. I’m not… It’s too much. I want to stay here.” He held Sara closer. “With her. We’re just getting started. We’ve been dreaming of this our whole lives.”

Rip quieted, his eyes narrowing. Darkening. “Don’t do this, Mike,” he said, his voice like gravel. “You’ll regret it. See, my Boss? He don’t take too kindly to rejection. He’s got a lot invested in you. You felt it, dangling on that car up above the city, wrasslin’ with that robot. That’s Rage, little brother. It’s a gift; makes you strong. But it comes with obligations. You take off like a stray, he’s gonna tighten the leash. Make you heel. And it won’t be pretty.”

Michael swallowed hard, his throat dry. Shaking, he extended a hand for Rip to shake. “I-I appreciate everything you’ve done, but my answer’s ‘no’.”

Rip eyed the offered hand, then snarled, touching the tip of his tongue to a canine in concentration. He grumbled and reached behind his jeans, retrieving a crude, homemade knife with a lion’s head carved in the handle. “I didn’t wanna have to do this, Mike. You Morrisons were always my favorite.”

Michael’s eyes widened as Rip lunged with the blade. Cold hate bloomed in his stomach, injecting into every muscle, every nerve. Instantly, Michael danced out of the way of the knife, catching Rip’s blade hand and turning it up. Rip loosed an anguished grunt, and dropped the knife.

Michael glanced to Sara. “Get in! Quick!”

Sara nodded and scurried to the hovercar, climbing into the cockpit.

“We’ll find you!” Rip hollered. “We’ll find her!”

Rip twirled with his free hand, slugging Michael hard in the stomach. Michael doubled over in a cough as Rip groped through the tall grass, grabbing his knife. As soon as he retrieved it, Michael hurried and swung a leg, catching Rip in the side. The older man cried out and toppled over onto the soft earth.

Michael hurried to the car and got in. He powered the engines to life, the thrust motors pressing down on the grass as the hovercar lifted off the ground. Rip stood, out of breath, holding his side with a pained expression. “You can’t run from us!” he shouted over the roar of the wind, waving the blade at the air. “You can’t run from what you are!”

Michael grimaced at the man. “Watch me.”

They left Rip behind, ascending into the sky. Sara looked to Michael, small and fearful. “Where will we go now?”

He smiled at her. “Wherever we want.”

Copyright 2015 Greg Mitchell

Tune in on Monday, March 16 for the conclusion to the Hooded Man's tale!