Chapter 1: The Appointment
Mr. Dewitt sat a dusty bar with a scotch in one hand and cigarette in the other. He had been there for over an hour now, waiting. For what, he wasn't really sure. At any rate, his bar tab was piling up and he knew this would be his last drink for the evening. His trench coat was making him hot in the stale air that inhabited the bar. He began to grow impatient waiting on someone to come retrieve him.
He went over the instructions again in his head, "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt." He knew this would be his last chance to repay what he owed. The amount that he owed wasn't as damning as the people that he owed it to. Loan sharks on a large, corporate scale were relentless like hungry wolves. Being a lawyer, Mr. Dewitt had access to such contacts and used them when he wanted to up the stakes at the local casinos of New York. The hell am I going to do, Dewitt had thought. Being a lawyer, he had a hefty income; just not enough to repay this amount that he owed.
He remembered sitting at his desk in his office one day, head in hands, and seeing a piece of paper slip through crack of the door. Dewitt looked up and stared at it blankly. Confused, he walked over, picked up and dusted it off. Do this job and wipe away the debt, this is your last chance. Attached to the paper were instructions on where to go and how to get there. Dewitt believed what the paper said about this being his last chance. He had nowhere else to go to repay it himself. But who would send me this, who would offer this to me?
Dewitt had no time to answer this question; he would have to leave immediately. If just to get away from the loan sharks, he would have to leave now.
A day later, Dewitt was boarding possibly the smallest plane that he could fathom at a small abandoned air strip just outside of New York City. So small was this plane in fact that he would have to sit next the pile of luggage that accumulated in the back of the plane (who the luggage belonged to he could not say as he was obviously alone on the plane, other than the pilot). He was not even sure of his destination, never heard of it: Subtera. Sounded like a creepy theme park to him. Booker was well educated and thought he knew what most of what the world had in store. He remembered being a young law student and learning maritime trade agreements and regulations. He had covered every inch of the map of the world, learning it all. With every hour studying, he realized just how vast, yet small the world was. Apparently there is still more to learn about this sorry old planet, he thought.
The plane was airborne now and Dewitt could feel his nerves threatening to stop his heart. Bolts of lightning and raging thunder exploded around the plane as it seemed to just barely remain in flight. It seemed like days ago rather than hours that he had boarded with curiosity and determination on his mind.
"How in the hell are we going to land in this weather?" he yelled at the pilot. The pilot remained still, focused on what was ahead of the plane, seeming almost blind to the storm that raged on. "Uh, Sir?" The pilot remained a statue with his hands on the controls. His face seemed impossibly covered by shadow and smoke from the cigarette that was perched in his mouth. Come to think of it, Dewitt couldn't remember a time that the pilot didn't have a cigarette in his mouth, or a time that he lit a new one. Has this guy moved at all? he thought.
Dewitt got up from his tattered seat and began to approach the pilot, holding onto his surroundings as he went. He fell once on his back from the rocking of the plane, but quickly righted himself to move toward the pilot. As he approached him, Dewitt noticed that his hands had a glossy, almost finished look to him. The smoke seemed to be more of a vapor rising from the pilot's mouth then any cigarette smoke. He grabbed the pilot's soldier and was greeted with a stiff, metallic feel on his hand. With a sudden shock, Dewitt lurched forward to look at the pilot head on, and his mouth dropped in horror.
The pilot was no pilot at all, but instead some sort of mechanical dummy. His eyes lit up as if ignited by electricity, mouth frozen in a horrific metal smile with pearly white teeth, his clothing now looking more like it was painted and glued on rather than worn. Dewitt's eyes shot down to the machine's right breast, reading the name tag: "Hello, I'm Pilot Pete!"
Dewitt tried to mutter some sort of curse word to describe the situation, but something happened…
The arms of "pilot" shot forward and down on the controls and the plane angled into a nose dive through the clouds. Dewitt flew back and hit the pile of luggage at the back of the plane. The engines roared as if they were going to ignite and explode at any moment. Bags and small bits of trash began to fly around the cabin in wild fashion. Dewitt yelled out in fear as the realization of imminent death began to sweep across him. Why do I always find myself here?!, he thought helplessly.
The plane continued to dive out of control, that machine in front still brandishing the irritatingly large smile on its face. Dewitt tried to grab onto something, anything, to allow him some safety. He began to brace for impact, for surely the ground was coming up quickly to meet them.
All of the sudden, the plane pulled up and leveled out. The engines returned back to their normal hum and spun smoothly. The storm outside of the windows was now replaced with sunshine and brilliant blue water below. Dewitt dared to open his eyes and looked around to see that the cabin had items of all kinds strewn about. He quickly jumped to his chair and looked out the window at the view. Beautiful didn't even begin to describe what he saw. He reasoned, based on the time and direction that the plane had been airborne for, that they were somewhere near Fiji.
He tried to glance in near the front of the small plane and saw a bright light that stood out even in the day time. It was revolving in a 360 degree circle and seemed to light up the waters around it. It was made of a robust looking rock that stood out from its surroundings which consisted of green grass and jagged shore rock.
It was a lighthouse.
Dewitt felt a strange wave of nausea creep over him that he somehow knew wasn't from the plane. He felt a warm trickle on his upper lip and brought his index finger to meet it. Deep, dark red blood ran down his finger. "What the hell?"
He had little time to dwell on it as an abrupt thump announced the landing of the tiny plane. The landing strip was fit for the plane, maybe only half of what a typical strip might look like. He could see a small shed adjacent to the landing strip which appeared to have a figure in it. Hopefully not another damn robot, Dewitt thought.
He got out of the plane with his things in hand as soon as the plane met a stop. Not long after disembarking, the plane shot back down the runway and took off into the clouds once more. By far the craziest plane ride Dewitt had ever experienced. Dewitt looked over to the shed, seemingly now more like air traffic control shanty, and saw what appeared to be a man beginning to approach him in a gray fedora hat with a matching trench coat. Hard lines defined his face while his shoulders seemed to be too broad for comfort. He walked with his hands in pockets, no doubt fingering a small pistol or other weapon. Dewitt had seen jokers like these all the time. Policemen and undercover federal agents dressed like this on the streets of New York and stuck out like a sore thumb.
"Are you Mr. Booker Dewitt?" the man stated gruffly. He glared into Booker's eyes, almost as if he were trying to read his mind.
"Uh, yah. I need to get to Subtera, whatever that is."
"Follow me, sir." The man turned with a sweep of his coat and briskly walked off towards what lied beyond the shed. Booker hadn't had a chance to notice all the features of this island when landing (for obvious reasons), but now he could see that this island was relatively small, maybe the smallest he had actually ever seen. Probably no more than a mile in diameter, the island had very little to show other than the aircraft runway and this small shed. Behind the shed, lay a mountain that probably didn't rise more than 300 feet above sea level. Palm trees grew in small groups on the mountain and Booker could see birds circling the peak. It was really quite beautiful and simple, Booker thought. Seemed more of a private island than an actual destination for a vacation, however.
Booker continued to follow the man dressed in gray all the way past the front side of the mountain on a dirt path. The path took them to the lighthouse that Booker had seen flying in. It appeared majestic on the jagged shoreline of the island while it continued to shine its great, beaming light. Booker had always had an interest in well designed lighthouses. He used to call them guardians of the ocean, always watching and always at their post. Booker liked to muse that he was an architect in his past life which explained his interest in them.
Booker now began to notice that the dirt path was leading them to great big double doors at the base of the lighthouse. A deep dark oak, the doors stood in intimidating fashion which a big metal knocker on each door. The man in gray in front of Dewitt, having just reached the right door, began to bang the knocker. Bang, Bang, Bang. A moment passed and a voice now sounded over an intercom.
"Why does the donkey appear stubborn?" The man in gray leaned to the side of the door to press a button on a small panel.
"For man knows not the knowledge that the donkey possesses," the man in gray muttered into the microphone. Booker's eyebrows shot up to form a quizzical look on his face. What kind of weird cult shit is this? Booker was beginning to regret ever getting on that damned plane.
The doors slowly began to part outward, creaking and grinding as they went. They were graceful however they reflected the age that they most assuredly possessed. The man in gray turned to look at Booker and made a "follow me" motion with his arm and hand. Booker hesitantly followed the man into the dark inside of the lighthouse. As soon as both men were inside, the doors closed, leaving them in utter darkness. Booker's breathing began to quicken as he dreaded what might come next.
Booker heard what sounded like a lever being pulled down and lights began to appear in the room they were in. It wasn't a room at all, however. It appeared to be an elevator cage that one might see in a hotel or apartment building. After pulling that lever, the gate had closed in the front and some more red lights appeared around the cage. Chrome pipes and holes jutting out steam pretty much filled all of the space around the elevator cage in a weirdly organized fashion. The cage shuddered for a second and began to move downward, more smoothly than Booker would have guessed at first. The elevator continued down into the earth for a time then stopped.
Booker expected to see a door that would open to release them, but saw nothing. The man in gray didn't seem too worried about it as he stood like a royal guard, unmoving. The elevator then surprised Booker by moving laterally to the right. What kind of technology are these people dealing with down here? Booker had already seen more technological advancements than he even thought possible this early in the 20th century. The machine that flew the plane, the ghostly intercom system, and now this multi-directional elevator, what other things am I gonna see down here?
For what seemed like 10 minutes, the elevator continued to move and the man in gray was as taut and stiff as ever. Booker only heard a deep sigh or two out of him in their time on the elevator. The elevator suddenly shuddered intensely, and stopped dead. The lights shut off and Booker could hear steam begin to be let off from some the pipes above his head. The cage door in front of the two men pulled aside, and a door metal door appeared.
The man in gray walked forward, opened the door towards him, and looked back at Booker expectantly. Booker hesitated for just a second, then began to slowly move forward towards the opening. I am just glad that the damn thing didn't try to kill me like that plane did, he thought grimly.
They appeared to have emerged in a hallway that seemingly extended to the left and right infinitely. Office doors with people's names covered the stretch of the hallway from what Booker could tell. A bleak gray color that had no life was the theme of the hallway and the office doors. I guess I know where this guy shops for clothes, Booker chided to himself, looking over at the man in gray.
"This way Mr. Dewitt," the man in gray stated in his deep, rough voice. He probably had smoked for most of his life. What a strange character he was proving to be.
Booker followed him down the hallway until he suddenly stopped at a door marked "Waiting Room Bar."
"Please stay in this area until you are called for your appointment," said the man in gray, opening the door for Booker.
"Good, I could use a drink." Booker walked into the room without waiting too much longer. Smoke filled the hot air that inhabited the room as Booker looked around. There was a single couch with a coffee table on the left side of the room. On the right side of the room was a small bar with a young bartender behind it. Two black men in suits sat at the bar drinking and talking quietly. Booker went and grabbed a seat a couple feet away from them. "Can I get a scotch on the rocks?" he asked as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes with a shaking hand. The anxiety that came with his unique situation began to sink in.
"Can I get you another, sir?" the bartender asked as he polished off a freshly cleaned glass with a hand towel. He looked to be about 20 years old and well educated in the way he talked and acted. With brown hair and some freckles on his face, the boy looked like he was a little to innocent to somehow be here beneath the surface of this lonely island.
Booker knew that he didn't want to keep drinking as he had already taken some of the edge off with the previous drinks. Smoking was also helping him, making him feel at ease with something to do with his hands. This damned hot air in the bar, however, wasn't doing him any favors.
"No thanks, kid. Here," Booker handed him $5. The bartender looked at the bill with a puzzled look on his face. Booker noticed this and replicated the look on his own face. "What's wrong?"
"Are you paying me in scrap paper, mister?" asked the bartender curiously. He began to wave it around as if it would turn into solid gold any second. He then shook his head and handed it back to Booker. "That's okay anyways, sir. Mr. Reeb has already taken of your tab today."
Booker looked back at the door. "Mr. Reeb? Is that…," he jammed his thumb back where the man in gray had let him into the bar earlier. The kid nodded quickly and then continued to clean glasses. Booker pressed further, sounding distressed. "Who is he? What is this place? What is going on here, kid?" he asked. He was almost pleading with the boy, trying to learn anything he could about this strange new setting.
"Mr. Reeb should be back to get you shortly and take you to your appointment, Mr. Dewitt. I can't tell you anything other than that." The one person who had said more than just a sentence or two to Booker couldn't even tell him anything. He felt lost and irritated all at the same time.
Not a moment later the door behind Booker bolted open and Mr. Reeb appeared. "Madame Comstock will see you now, Mr. Dewitt."
Something inside of Booker's mind shifted, and he felt that strange wave of nausea once more. He ignored it for now and walked out the door Mr. Reeb was holding, not sure what would come next for him.