Chapter 37: Steven King

Time/Space Anomaly Castle Discordia, Thunderclap, Mid-World

The dark man stood on the edge of the parapet wearing a jet black military uniform, the front of which was decorated with numerous medals, all for engagements he had never participated in, and a name that nobody in the UNSC had ever heard of until 2558. He was a man of many languages, many accents, many names, and many faces. Indeed he had once been a leading member of both the Black Panther Party and the Ku Klux Klan at the same time. Yet it was the face he now wore, his God given face as some might call it, that was by far his favorite. It was the face that even his subordinates seemed to fear. The dim torchlight lit up his back, but the glow seemed to stop just below his neck.

The man in black heard the footsteps of a nervous low man behind him and said, "Speak."

The low man, who remained in the darkness not wanting to share the same torchlight as the dark man, spoke, "News from Lovell Maine, 1977. The ambush failed sai."

"As I thought it would. Did John act as I expected him to?" the man in black asked, not bothering to turn around, for which the low man was eternally grateful for.

"Yes, Andolini…"

"He did not die well I take it."

"No sai."

"Please, call me Colonel. I rather like my new title," the dark man said. He clasped his hands behind his back, feet spread apart in a perfect parade rest. "Do you know the difference between a Spartan and a gunslinger?"

"Cry pardon…Colonel. I do not."

The dark man smiled, "Other than a few superficial differences, the answer is nothing at all. Do you know what made the Spartans so successful in their world?"

"No Colonel."

"I did not think so. The reason why they were so successful is what a colleague of mine would call sociopathic tendencies. A type of emotional armor and Cortana has been so happily dismantling that armor for me. This is the third time John has lost her," he turned around and the torchlight lit up his entire face, causing the low man to advert his eyes. He did not know which was worse, when the dark man was in a bad mood or when he was in a good one, but he had survived long enough around him to know that when Walter, as he sometimes called himself, was talking like this it was best to not interrupt. The man in black smiled, "Oh and how angry he must be." The man in black walked past the low man and patted him on the shoulder, causing him to shiver. "Terrance has just green lighted Operation Discordia. I destroyed the last gunslingers of Gilead on Jericho Hill, and now I shall destroy the last Spartans of the UNSC. Once John's Spartans are dead, there will be nothing left to prevent his world from burning."

…

12:30 P.M., June 10th 1977 (Gregorian Calendar) Lovell, Maine

All four tires of John Cullum's beat up army green Jeep left the ground as the Master Chief accelerated past eighty-five miles per hour over the crest of one of the many hills on the two lane back country road, and Eddie Dean felt momentarily weightless. He landed hard back onto the dirt covered black seat and Eddie clutched the door handle tighter. John switched into the oncoming lane to avoid a slower moving car and Eddie's eyes widened as he saw an eight-wheeler hauling a full load of timber driving towards them. John shifted gears and sped up to nearly one-hundred miles per hour. He merged back into the right lane a moment before the truck sped past them, the driver giving the Master Chief the middle finger. They approached a sharp turn and without slowing down John put the clutch into neutral and pulled on the emergency break while spinning the wheel, drifting the Jeep so violently that Eddie's head was thrown into the window. After several more heart racing minutes, the Master Chief step on the brakes for what seemed like the first time and pulled into the gravel driveway of the cabin that Calvin Tower was renting.

Roland, who was also griping the door handle so tightly that his knuckles were white, said in a surprisingly (but unsurprising to Eddie) calm voice, "Eddie, does everyone in your world drive like that?"

"No," Eddie said and turned to John, "Does everyone in your world drive like a psychotic maniac?"

"No," John said emotionlessly and opened the Jeep's door, his knee popping painfully as he stepped out. Eddie sighed and grabbed his gun belt and revolver from underneath the seat as he stepped out as well, Roland following behind him.

The gunslinger looked at the Spartan, and then back at Eddie, noting the expressions on both men's faces. "You two want to kill him don't you?"

"Yes," John said.

"The thought has crossed my mind," Eddie agreed. "I want to be looking for my wife, but instead I'm stuck in 1977 babysitting an ungrateful asshole who has been doing everything in his power to get himself killed."

"We need him alive," Roland said.

"We need him to sign the contract," the Master Chief countered. He had disliked Calvin Tower when he had first met him, and John felt little remorse for wanting to kill him now, especially if the man needed further persuasion to hand over the vacant lot.

Roland furrowed his brow, "The first instinct I had when I met the both you and Eddie was to kill you."

"You would have tried to kill me," John said, not bothering to look at Roland as he scanned the cabin and front yard.

The gunslinger continued unperturbed, "If I could manage not to kill you then, then you can manage not to kill Tower now."

John grunted in response, and behind him Eddie gave a similar noise of disapproval. The Master Chief felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, "Somebody is watching us."

"Aye, I felt it too," Roland said, and drew his revolver. "Show yourself!" he shouted.

From inside the cabin behind the partially opened front door a voice answered, "Who are you?" The voice did not belong to Calvin Tower. It was a man most likely in his seventies or early eighties with a slight New York accent.

"Roland Deschain of Gilead, Eddie Dean of New York, and Sierra 117 of the UNSC," the gunslinger responded.

"And what is your trade?" the voice asked.

"We deal in lead."

The door opened fully and an old man with graying black hair, his hands in the air, "I am Aaron Deepneau, a friend of Calvin. I used to be a lawyer."

"And he wanted you to draw up the contract," Eddie said.

"Yes, he did," Deepneau said reluctantly. "But he has changed his mind."

John clenched his fists, "Why?"

"Because Calvin is not someone who likes to part with things easily. He spends thousands of dollars a year collecting rare books and could make a fortune off of reselling them, but instead he hordes them in the back room of his bookstore."

"Where is he now," Roland said.

Deepneau sighed, "Book shopping." He glanced at the revolvers both Eddie and Roland wore, and then at the bulge underneath John's black inside out shirt which highlighted his pistol. "You better come inside if you want to wait on him."

…

They sat at the kitchen table in the modest sized wooden cabin, John preferring to stand in the corner so as not to break one of the shoddily made chairs. There was a plate of sugar cookies on the table and Deepneau slid it towards Eddie. "Eat them," he said.

"Not really that hungry," Eddie said the cold voice that John recognized from when he was with him in the Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind returning.

Deepneau shook his head, "You are mad at Calvin, I can tell. Frankly I don't blame you, he should get rid of that lot and be done with it no matter what the price is, and from what I've heard you seem to have good intentions." He paused, "At least I hope. Eat these; they will make you feel better." Eddie stared at the cookies before taking one, popping it into his mouth with little enjoyment. Aaron Deepneau then offered the plate to John who shook his head. "Eat them," he said, sounding more like he was giving an order than making a request. John stared at the old man. There were few people in the UNSC, officers, enlisted, or civilians who could lock eyes with a Spartan and maintain a firm tone of voice. The Master Chief took one of the sugar cookies and popped it into his mouth, grimacing internally at the taste.

Too sweet, he thought. It did little to make him feel better.

There was the sound of rubber tires crunching gravel followed by the sound of footsteps heading towards the cabin's door. Calvin Tower walked into the cabin and placed a large bag of newly purchased books on the floor. "Couldn't find the book I was looking for, but I think I will head up to Turtle Back lane anyway and meet Stephen…" He stopped talking as he saw the gunslinger and Eddie sitting at the table with Aaron.

John's jaw became rigid. He either did not notice the Jeep, or did not care, he thought, and slipped backwards behind the second entrance to the kitchen which led to the bedroom, and into the hallway that connected the room back to the main entrance.

"You two," Calvin Tower said angrily and walked down the main hallway towards the kitchen. "Aaron call the police, these are two of the men who threatened me to sell the vacant lot."

Eddie bit on his tongue to try and calm his anger, but it did little to help. "Threaten you? Me and the Chief helped save your ass that day, and now we are trying to save your life."

"Your associate killed a man in my store right in front of me," Calvin said, his own anger not faltering. "Both of you were wearing guns, I would have agreed to anything." He looked around the kitchen, "Where is the other thug anyway?"

Eddie pointed, "Right behind you."

Calvin Tower spun around and John's forearm caught his throat, pinning him against the wall and lifting his body a few inches off the ground. Aaron Deepneau made to stand up but Eddie shot him a look. Roland watched the incident unfold and his hand went to grip his revolver.

John glared at Calvin Tower, his light blue eyes burning. Tower's face was turning a bright shade of purple as the Master Chief spoke, "I have lost someone very important to me, and instead of finding her I am here with you." He pressed harder on the man's throat, "You will sign the lot over to us or I will…" A voice then cut though his mind, Cortana's voice.

(John, me and Susannah are with Mia in June 1st 1999 at the Plaza Park Hyatt in New York, room 1919. I just want to tell you that we are okay and that I…) Her voice trailed off and John lifted the pressure off of Calvin Tower's throat slightly, the cold fire in his eyes fading. (Just be careful) John released Tower who collapsed onto his knees coughing, and looked down at the floor. Without a word the Spartan moved into the kitchen and pulled out one of the chairs. He risked putting his full weight on it as he sat down and although the chair creaked significantly it did not collapse. John stared at his hands which still had the specks of Jack Andolini's blood imbedded underneath his fingernails.

The gunslinger looked at the Spartan and then at Deepneau, "Me and sai Tower need to palaver alone."

"That would be best," Deepneau said, never taking his eyes off John. Roland sat up and moved towards Calvin, helping the man up and supporting him as they both walked out of the cabin.

"You heard it too," Eddie said, his eyes also having lost the cold fire that burned beneath.

"Yes," John replied, not bothering to look at the young man. He had been ready to interrogate Calvin Tower much in the same way he had Andolini, and kill him once he had signed over the vacant lot. Aaron Deepneau too, and Roland if he had gotten in the way. How can I look at her now, he thought.

"By the way Susannah says Cortana looks good in blue,"

"I know," John said, still not looking at him.

"You better start writing that contract," Eddie said to Deepneau.

"You think your friend is going to be able to convince Calvin to sell the lot after this?" Aaron said, still no taking his eyes off of John. The Spartan did not blame him.

Eddie nodded, "As my brother use to say, Roland could convince the devil himself to set his pants on fire."

Aaron sighed and fished for a blank sheet of paper and a pencil from one of the drawers underneath the kitchen counter. Finding them he began to write up the contract, "Who should I make it out to?"

Eddie thought for a moment, "The Tet Corporation."

"And how much is Calvin selling the lot for?"

Eddie fished in his pocket and his hand landed on a crumpled up dollar bill. Must have forgotten to give it to Jake before we went through the door. Ka at work again. He held the bill up to Deepneau who looked at it critically.

"Very well," he said and finished writing the contract. "This is a bit shaky but it should hold up in court."

"Good," Eddie said. He glanced over at John who was still staring off into space. "By the way who was the guy Calvin wanted to meet at Turtle Back Lane?"

"Some young author named Stephen King." John looked up at this as Deepneau continued, "He has only published two books so far, and one of them I think was named 'Salem's Lot. A book about vampires or something, never been much into horror myself. Calvin seems to think he might be big one day, wanted to get a signed copy of one of his books from him."

"Think you could give us the guy's address?" Eddie asked and Deepneau looked at him skeptically. Eddie held up his hand, "It's an errand we have to run for a friend. We won't be this rough with him."

Aaron still seemed hesitant, glancing back at John one more time, but fished out another blank piece of paper and wrote the address down on it. He made to hand it over to Eddie but John took it instead.

"Eddie," John said. "What are you thinking?"

"That this Stephen King might be the cause of what John Cullum said was happening on Turtle Back Lane, and talking to him might help us get back to the others."

"Agreed," John said.

"What are you…" Aaron began but Eddie stopped him with a hand.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

The door of the cabin opened, Calvin Tower and Roland walking back inside. Tower went straight to the table, avoiding the Spartan's gaze, and read over the contract. He took the pencil from Deepneau's hands and after moments of hesitation signed the paper on the crooked dotted line. "I'm ruined," he said quietly. "That vacant lot was the last piece of real property I owned. They burned my book store down and I don't have the insurance to cover the damages. I don't suppose I'll being getting my book collection back either." He swallowed hard and handed the pencil over to Roland who quickly signed the contract. He folded the piece of paper up and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"You had money troubles long before these men came along," Deepneau said. "You always had trouble selling things, and you sunk more money than you could afford into your collection." Tower shook his head, not responding, his eyes having grown a deep shade of red. There was a dark bruise forming on his neck where John's forearm had been pressed minutes before.

"Microsoft," Eddie said. "Invest in Microsoft and do it early. I guarantee you will make all of your money back."

"I don't know anything about that company, or the stock market," Calvin Tower said, his expression still bleak.

"What if I said that in the future they will start having books published?" Eddie asked.

Tower looked at him disbelievingly, "Microsoft? That sounds like a computer company. Why would they start writing books?"

"We don't know," John said and Calvin jumped at his voice. "Just do it and you will have your money."

…

The Master Chief spun the wheel hard and the skidded to a stop in Stephen King's driveway on Turtle Back Lane, house number nineteen.

"Eddie," Roland said from the back seat. "Can you hear that?"

"Yeah. Its singing, the same singing we heard when we went to go see the rose. Does everything seem more," he paused, thinking. "Solid to you?" Roland nodded and motioned for Eddie to get out of the Jeep so that he could exit. Both John and Eddie hopped out and the young man turned to him, "Chief can you hear it too?"

"No," John said. He heard no singing, nothing but the rustling of leavings and the sound of cars traveling several miles away. He also did not notice anything different about the house or yard that now stood in front of them. It seemed no more solid than the rest of Lovell Maine.

The gunslinger stepped out of the Jeep, wincing at the pain in his right knee and hip. Eddie looked at him and Roland thought, Not a word Eddie, not a word. The dry twist had grown worse since leaving the Calla. He hid the pain as well as John did, and the idea that both he and the Spartan had the same affliction never crossed either of their minds.

"Tabby is that you?" came a voice from somewhere behind the house. There were various toys scattered throughout the front yard, and Stephen King stepped over one of them as he walked unknowingly towards the two gunslingers and the Spartan. The man stopped as he caught sight of the three men, the color draining from his face until he looked as if he had spent most of his life in MIJOLNIR armor as John had. The Master Chief, who now had a light tan thanks to the time he spent without his armor in the Calla, for once was not the palest person in the group. Stephen King's eyes locked with Roland's, "You. You're not real."

The gunslinger stepped forward and put a closed fist to his forehead, "Hile Stephen King, tale spinner."

Stephen King stared at Roland, his light blue eyes almost completely overtaken by his black pupils as they widened. Slowly he put his hand into a fist and put it up against his own forehead, "Hile gunslinger."

Roland blinked, as did John and Eddie. "Many days and pleasant nights," he said.

"And may you have twice the number," Stephen King responded. His eyes then rolled back into his head and he fainted.

…

Stephen King lit up another cigarette as he continued to dig through the old cardboard box, Eddie, Roland and John standing behind him. "I know I put it here somewhere. I haven't thought about you in ages, started writing the story when I was nineteen in college," he said and the three men behind him looked at each other. Stephen King continued, opening another box, "And now you're here causing me to question my own sanity. Maybe I'll just wake up and this will be a nightmare." His voice sounded less than convincing and he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to take a long gulp out of the can of beer that had been sitting on the floor of the dank basement. Stephen King turned back to look at Eddie and John, "I don't think I have written about you guys." He pointed at John, "Especially you. What did you say your name was again?"

"Sierra 117. Call me Chief."

Stephen King nodded and went back to searching through the box, "Chief is easier to remember. 117…Are you a spaceman or something, maybe a cyborg? Definitely don't see myself writing about that."

"I am from a book by Eric Nylund," John said, his monotone voice becoming sharp at the mention of the other writer's name.

"Never heard of him," King said. "Found it," he said and pulled out a molding manuscript of green notebook paper out of the box. He handed it to Roland who looked at it upside down.

The gunslinger handed it to John and said, "Read it for me." The Master Chief took the story, reading the title and first line.

The Gunslinger

By: Stephen King

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Roland held up a hand and John stopped reading, "Why did you stop writing?" he asked.

Stephen King stood up holding his can of beer. He chugged the rest of its contents, lighting up another cigarette before speaking. "That was supposed to be my magnum opus. A cross between Lord of the Rings, Robert Browning, and Sergio Leone's 'The Good the Bad and the Ugly' but it got too big for me." He gestured towards Roland, "And frankly you started to scare me. First when you killed all the people in Tull, and then when you dropped Jake under the mountains."

Roland clenched his jaw, "You were the one that wrote about me doing it."

Stephen King shook his head and looked at the concrete floor, "Did I? Sometimes it felt like I was not the one writing the story, especially when things were flowing really well. It was like you were making your own decisions and I was just along for the ride."

"You did write the story," John said, his arms crossed. "You caused those things to happen."

"I guess," Stephen King said. He reached down and picked up the second can of beer that he brought down to the basement with him. He cracked it open and drained the can within seconds.

Roland pulled a bullet out of his gun belt, "Sai King, I am going to try to hypnotize you. See what else you know."

Stephen King laughed, the noise from his throat sounding forced and uncomfortable, "You can try, but that trick has never worked on me. A magician tried it on me once at…" His voice trailed off as Roland held the bullet in front of him.

The gunslinger began to run the bullet through the fingers of his left hand and Stephen King's eyes became unfocused. Roland stopped and snapped his fingers, "Sleep." He said, and Stephen King did, his head dropping below his chin and a long trail of saliva running from his mouth. "I want you to start with the lobstrosities I found on the Western Sea. Can you see them?"

"Yar," Stephen King said, the word being let out in a sigh. Eddie and Roland seemed to stiffen at the word, although John could only guess as to why. "I see them. I see them biting off two of Roland's fingers, that is why you shoot left handed now. I see Eddie and Susannah being pulled through the doorways. I see Jake coming back." He smiled. "Good, I always liked Jake. I see the city of Lud, Blaine the Mono. Blaine is a pain and that is the truth. I see Topeka. The dark man has been there. He destroyed it. That is what he does. That is what he enjoys doing. I see Oz, and the forest. I see the Calla." He stopped and his brow furrowed, his hands clenching into fists so violently that Eddie was sure he would see blood dripping out of his palms, the nails having bit through the skin. Stephen King started shaking his head, "John and Cortana are not there. They are not supposed to be in the Calla, somebody put them there. It is not part of my story." It was John's turn to stiffen and he waited for the writer to say more but Roland snapped his fingers again and Stephen King drifted once more into deep sleep.

"There is another writer," Roland said. "There is somebody else."

Eddie shook his head, "That doesn't make sense. Who would take a bunch of characters that this guy wrote about and what? Cross their stories with a bunch of characters that this guy Eric Nylund wrote about. Sorry but I just don't see the sense or the money in that."

"Another reality," John said. "That has to be the explanation." Because nobody would do this in a world where both Eric Nylund's characters and Stephen King's characters exist, he thought.

"Mayhap," Roland said. He snapped his fingers and Stephen King returned to a state of semi consciousness. "You will continue to write tale spinner. When you grow tired of writing you will stop until the wind of ka starts blowing again. But always you will think of The Dark Tower, do you understand."

Stephen King shook his head, "Yar." Both Eddie and Roland stiffened again.

"You will wake up in ten minutes, and you will have no memory of this visit," the gunslinger continued.

Stephen King shook his head, "I need to have one memory. I need to send Jake a letter. I can only do it once. Deus Ex Machina."

Roland sighed, "Very well." He snapped his finger one last time.