Chapter 26

...And That Is The Truth

"Cemetary in my mind

Cemetary in my mind

This must be my time..."

"Cemetary In My Mind," Midnight Oil

(Redneck Wonderland)

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He is dead.

But he is not dead.

Is he dead? It's difficult to tell. The pain in his chest has subsided for the moment--signifying either that he has been saved by some miracle of God, or that he has finally passed beyond the reach of pain--but this can't be Hell. One thing's for sure--it certainly isn't Heaven. Not that he expected to wind up in Heaven, after all he's done in his lifetime.

He has opened his eyes, and what he sees is not as disturbing as it is just odd. He sees a long, dark hallway, with wooden floorboards and stucco walls. It's a familiar place, but he's never been here. The person he was ten minutes ago would've asked how that can be, but he is losing touch with that person. He is Changing.

"No!" he says, reaching out with his mind, trying to hold on to himself. "I'm not! I won't!" But it's too late; already, the fake memories are fading. He can hold on to the illusion no more. The Truth is invading his mind, filling him with a bottomless depression. This is what really happened. This is the way it really is.

There's a flash.

He's no longer standing in the hallway. He's been moved to the far end, standing in the threshold of some kind of gravesite. The ground is uneven and dirty, not the well-kept environment properly offered to those sleeping the eternal sleep. It's a makeshift graveyard. No, it's not. It's not a graveyard at all. It looks like a graveyard, but that's not what it is. Its real purpose is reflected from that, however, so perhaps it's close enough not to matter. Marked graves, unmarked graves, scratched-beyond-legibility graves, their owners long forgotten, dead in more ways than one, litter the room. And yet the room is walled in on four sides, with only one hallway leading out--the same way he's come in.

This is the hall of the dead, where the spiders spin and the great circuts fall quiet, one by one.

He hears a sound coming from the left; he looks, and sees a man, kneeling before one of the marked graves, off to the right and facing straight ahead. He is weeping. His hands clutch wads of his dense white hair, and he is muttering something over and over again: "I understand now, it all makes sense...I understand!" The sight disturbs Walter deeply--the man doesn't even seem to acknowledge Walter's presence.

He steps forward, passing by a gravestone he can't read--it's too scratched up. He continues to the far side of the room, where three gravestones are packed into the corner, separated from the others for more reasons than can be explored at this time. He reads the name off of one, and feels a chill run down his spine: Angela Orosco. It's familiar somehow, but he can't place it. Probably someone he met in passing, long ago. Or maybe he read about it in the paper. It's hard to tell with his memories fading as they are.

"You've come," a voice says from behind, and Walter turns to see who is speaking. It is none other than Walter--the Other Walter. The one who has brought him here, perhaps?

"What do you want from me?" Walter asks. "What have you done to me?" He tries to move forward, to attack the monster who looks like a man, but finds that he cannot move. He has been frozen in place by some power.

"I've done nothing to you," the Other Walter says. "I can't do anything to you, anyway. I have no power over you. You should know that. You're the one who has the power."

"What are you babbling?" Walter demands, looking himself in the eye. "I'm just a guy. Nothing special about me. You stole my name and exploited it, so now everyone thinks I'm a crazy child-killer. But other than that, I'm a normal guy."

"I didn't steal your name," the Other Walter says impatiently. "You don't remember yet, do you?"

"Remember what?" Walter says, growing irritable. "If you have something to say to me, just say it! Stop speaking in riddles!"

"Fine," the Other Walter says. "I'm you. You're me. 'Tu Fui, Ego Eris.' The ultimate Truth."

"I see you kept your promise," Walter spits. "Who are you, the fuckin' riddler?"

"You took latin, didn't you?" the Other Walter jeers. "You tell me what it means."

"Directly? 'I was you. You will become me.' But it doesn't mean anything. You were never me. And I won't ever become you."

"You're right," the Other Walter says. "Sort of. I was never you. I was never anyone, because I'm not real, not like you are."

"What? You're standing here, aren't you?"

"This place is thin," the Other Walter says. "Reality, unreality--none of that matters here. It's somewhere between. Originally, they thought that using a place between reality and unreality would help them get closer to the forces that bind the universe--God, if you will. But there's something they didn't expect."

"Who's 'they?'"

"The originals," the Other Walter continues. "The first men and women to come here. The ones who originated the faith of which you're a part, whether you like it or not. They discovered that this place was thin--was close to the borderlines of reality and unreality. They believed that the border was like a seam in the fabric of the universe, and that the lines of power that tie everything together--like the threads in a fabric--were just beneath that seam. But they dared not break it or dissect it; they only wanted to get close to it. Study it, explore its true nature. It was all part of their quest for enlightenment. If they could discover their purpose, then perhaps they could learn to live better, more efficiently. To do what needed to be done."

Walter listens, enthralled, but wonders how this bears on the issues at hand. He gives voice to this inquiry.

"Simple," the Other Walter says. "It's your story. Your message."

Walter doesn't understand.

"So listen, and you will." The Other Walter continues. "Over time, the religion was changed. The White Man, as some called him, came along and effectively destroyed the original faith. Over time, as the religion began to resurface, the White Man tried to assimilate parts of it, to both destroy the original faith and to convince followers of that faith to convert to the 'acceptable tradition' of Christianity. However, while the true faith had been destroyed, there were those who were dedicated to ressurecting it. To following it even when faced with threats of death, charges of witchcraft. The faith was demonized by the White Man, who called the faith's Gods by the names of Devils, Devils commonly associated with their Christian faith. All of this, of course, in the name of assimilation. Removal of the enemy faction. But the other faith wasn't an enemy faction--wasn't a faction at all. Just a group of peaceful people, dedicated to the truth. People who were loyal to no particular religious doctrine--they were scientists, in the truest sense. They wanted to know the meaning of the universe, but they did not limit themselves solely to physical or spiritual explanation. They did not have a bias to operate on. That's what I--what you--never understood about the White Man's original actions against the faith. You didn't understand why the White Man had tried to remove the faith. To you, it seemed almost as if the White Man was more concerned about being right--about perpetrating their own views about how the universe worked--than with finding the truth. You theorized that the White Man may have actually experienced something close to the "truth," something both affiliated with the agnostic faith and conflicting with the White Man's religious doctrines, that caused them to fear the faith. To fear the truth. Because, as you of all people certainly know, the truth is not always pretty. Sometimes, it can be frightening...even disturbing."

Walter could only stand, mesmerized. Something in his mind, something that had been sealed away for a long, long time, was being uncovered. He imagined he could feel this thing, sliding loose and revealing a whole new world of comprehension, a whole new person, beneath.

"When Frank Sunderland found you, and brought you to the hospital, Jimmy Stone saw his chance. He swept you up, took you under his wing. Told you you were special. But you could see through him. You knew he only saw you as a tool, a tool to perpetrate his faith. The faith of the Order, who claimed to be loyal to the original faith, the one destroyed by the White Man. But you knew, you knew, that the original faith had been about the truth. You became obsessed with their doctrines, you read about the origins. You researched religious doctrine from a very young age, refined your knowledge of the subject to the extent at which you could have professed in it as a science by the time you were no older than fifteen, had you so desired, had your reach been that far. You came to the conclusion that the Wish House, and the religion they were using the Wish House to accustom you to, was all a lie. The events that took place in that hell hole were not in the interest of truth, not at all--they were in the interest of perpetrating their faith, the high priests' preconceived beliefs about life, the universe, and everything. At first you rebelled--you were too young to know otherwise--but once you realized that they intended to break you, you decided to play along. You actually became a fanatic of the faith. But what you disguised from others was that your true loyalties lay not with the Order, not with the Organization, but with the original faith--with the Truth."

"My love for God," Walter said, "wasn't actually for God at all. It was for the truth. The fire I felt in my heart when I preached about God was not a passion for God, not at all--it was a passion for Truth. It was a passion for the free-thinking desire to explore the universe's true nature. A passion for a world without bias."

The Other Walter smiled, nodding in approval.

"That's when Jimmy Stone decided to use me to complete the 21 Sacraments, to summon God," Walter continued. He found that he was able to move again. "He wanted to bring the God to earth, not because he believed in it but because he didn't believe in it, not the way he was leading everyone to believe--not in the way everyone in the Order thought they believed. He thought that, by bringing God to earth, he could reaffirm his faith, prove it to himself. Because faith denies proof; he required proof, so he had no faith. I resented him for this, I called him a blasphemer. He beat me for it, but I still stood by my decision. He was afraid of me, because I knew his secret. He wanted me to perform the ritual because I so openly displayed true faith, something with which he was unfamiliar. He was just a stupid fanatic, nothing more.

"I agreed to perform the ritual. Jimmy Stone explained the texts to me, said that I was to take the role of the Angel Valtiel--to become him, in a sense. His purpose would be my purpose. I would be charged with the task of watching over the God, ensuring its descent. I read the texts on my own, later, to get a better grasp of my task. My rationalization for accepting the task was that I was studying the faith, seeking the truth. Nobody had ever actually tried to complete the Ritual of the 21 Sacraments, not in the way I had planned. I knew that the truth was not always pretty--knew that there was something underneath those lines, those seams, on the border--so I thought that the ugly, ugly truth must lie somewhere in those texts, the texts that were derived from the original faith, whose purpose was to find the truth. It was only a matter of interpretation--something the priests at Wish House did not condone. Their belief was in a One True Interpretation, and they persecuted anyone who felt otherwise. That was why the sects were always fighting one another. That is why the sect of Valtiel had stepped in, to mediate between them.

"But I knew the truth was in free thinking, the ability to interpret things differently. So I researched the ritual, and at long last, I found a way--once and for all, I found a way to see for myself, to reach the boundary of reality and unreality. After months of research, I finally..."

Walter's face contorts, and he seems to have difficulty remembering.

"Something wondrous happened," the Other Walter says, filling in the blanks. "You killed eight people--Jimmy Stone among them--carved numbers into their backs, and your name, as well. But you had never killed anyone before. The weight of what society deemed your 'crime' was far too much to bear. You became depressed, and came close to attempting suicide out of sheer guilt on several occasions. You were torn between the morals you were raised upon--mainly, your lament over the death of the innocent, especially by your own hand--and your desire to seek the truth. This guilt was amplified by a long novel you had read shortly before the murders, called The Dark Tower, about a man who lives a life of sacrifice in the name of his Center, his Only. The man must learn to overcome this sacrificial lifestyle--must learn to be human--in order to reach his center. The idea had stuck in your mind, causing you to wonder if you would be denied the Truth for acting in such a selfish way--sacrificing the innocent, committing the ultimate sin, for what you thought of as the 'greater good.'"

"On top of that," Walter resumes, his memory clearing, "I was called back to town. I don't remember why, exactly, or how...but I was called back to town. That was during my depression. I came back, and I fell into the abyss."

The Other Walter smiles once again, clasping his hands together. The act would seem sinister, even maniacal, if not for the genuine positive joy in his eyes.

"I came...here," he says, looking around. "To this room. This graveyard. It's not really a graveyard at all, not the kind where you bury bodies. It's the kind where you bury emotions, convictions. Parts of yourself. So it is a place of death...but it's also a place of new life. The new life that begins when you leave your old self behind. I came here, and I buried my guilt. I came to face with what was going to happen to me when I left--the cops had found me, and were staking out my house, among other locations. I knew my life was over, but it was here that I learned not to regret that. Maybe it was a reward from a higher power, or maybe it was the opposite--a means by which to get me to accomplish something--but somehow, part of me stayed here. My regret--the part of me that was weak, that was negatively affected by my parents' abandonment, and that showed signs of interfering with my task--came back to the surface world, to confront the life I had left behind. That part of me died. Killed himself. The rest of me stayed here--my determination. My passion. My desire for truth, and for the truest form of enlightenment.

"Of course, part of my weakness survived, because that part of me was essential to my humanity--my desire to see my mother once again. The things the abyss showed me...horrible, horrible things. My father, an abusive bastard, forcing my mother to leave me behind. Blaming it on her. Leaving me behind without looking back. Showing no remorse. All of these things, memories I never knew I had. It was this part of me that was necessary to motivate me, to fill my heart with resentment--the only emotion strong enough to push me far enough to do what I needed to do. My father became the object of my hatred because of what I saw there, and my mother became the object of my sympathy. In seeking enlightenment, I now also sought salvation for my broken mother. An end to her suffering. I knew she was still alive, and that there was something I could do to help her."

The Other Walter claps slowly. "You have learned well," he says. "Do you remember what happened next?"

"The last part," Walter says, clearly exhausted, both spiritually and emotionally. "Yes, I remember that, as well. I finished the ritual. I murdered William Gregory and Eric Walsh, marked them as 9 and 10. I put my name on them. The police were bewildered. They couldn't understand. They thought I was a copycat murderer, that the real deal was dead. But it was the other way around--the false part, the me that wasn't really me, was the one who had died. I was here all along. I traveled to Room 302 with the hearts of my ten victims, plus a couple of other items I had some difficulty gathering, and performed the ritual, which culminated in my own messy crucifixion--I had never done it before, so it was a cheap job at best, but it worked. The ritual worked. I saw things...beautiful, wonderful things. I saw the borderline, I saw traces of the lines of power beneath...I saw the Truth. The One, Objective Truth. It filled me with a desire to go there, to revel in the light of the Truth. I did it--I saw the Truth!

"The ritual allowed me to become one with those seams, to exist within them. I knew then why they had called this 'receiving the power of Heaven.' I could use the lines of power, the seams of the universe, to travel anywhere I so desired. I could see things I would never have seen otherwise, to create worlds in the empty space between this one and the next, bend and shape them to my will...it was then that I began pondering: what is at the center? All rivers must have a delta, somewhere. Where would these lines, these worlds, converge? Is there really a God, after all? Is there more?

"I remembered the 21 Sacraments, and the notion of bringing God to earth...perhaps there really was a God, waiting in the wings, waiting to be summoned by one dedicated and true-hearted enough to complete the task, with only the most noble of intentions. By that point, of course, my desire for enlightenment was not for myself but for my mother. I sought only to end her suffering, and by any means necessary. I had to remain human, to remain thoughtful, in order to proceed with a true heart...but I had to commit murders. I had to kill people.

"This was my chance, then. A chance to do the world a justice. To wipe out some rodents. To get revenge. It was not a pure-hearted thing to do, but as long as I rationlized it as a service to others, and not as a whim of my own, I hoped that God would understand. And in a way, I did believe it was a service to others--I wanted to expose the Wish House for what it was. How could they keep quiet, stay in the shadows as they were, with their key members dropping dead left and right? I would expose them from the shadows, and they would never know what hit them."

Walter smiles as he remembers this part. The Other Walter meets his eyes, expressing a similar sentiment, and Walter takes notice that the Other Walter is growing thin, almost transparent.

"I did, too. I killed the Order. I dismantled them completely, and they never saw it coming. My other side--my sensitive side, my emotional side--tried to interfere, but it didn't work. It only slowed me down, which, ironically, was its purpose in the first place--the reason I'd gotten rid of it. It manifested as a child, and tried to appeal to me using emotions I no longer completely understood."

He looks up at the Other Walter. "The Order was gone. No more would they travesty the beliefs of the original faith. No more would they use their resources to promulgate their heinous religious doctrines, their teachings of hate, rage, wrath, intolerance.

"Now, the religion itself is gone, disappeared forever. But the spirit...the spirit is still alive."

"That it is, my friend," the Other Walter says, now as transparent as a ghost in a 50's horror movie. He can be seen through as though he is a projection on a wall. "That it is. The spirit of the Truth will always be alive. Always. It lives in the hearts and minds of the True, all over the world."

Walter nods, smiling. And with that, the Other Walter is no more; he has vanished like the image he is, his purpose fulfilled.

Walter turns around and kneels before a gravestone he hasn't seen yet, one that reads Walter Sullivan. This is the place; the place where he has buried his negative emotions, his weaknesses.

"The memories were fake," he says, "because the life I created was fake. I understand it all, now. When Henry killed me...somehow, a part of me was saved. A part of me was moved, and my false life began. The memories...they were tainted, a shaky foundation at best. It didn't matter, though, because they were only temporary."

He touches the gravestone, runs his fingers over his own name. "And you...you were never real. The Other Walter...hah! I created you myself, to remind me who I was. How could I ever forget that?"

A voice speaks to him now, from the back of his mind: You know what you have to do now, right?
"Yes," he answers. "I know what I came here to do. What I was trying to tell myself. What the illusions mean."

Let's do it, then. Shall we?

Gladly, Walter thinks. "It's time to leave here. It's time to go."

Bingo!

"It's time, Galvin. It's time, Townshend. I will kill the both of you, and I will discover God.

"And that is the Truth."

END OF CHAPTER 26