Other Places: Just Because We Don't Know It Exists Doesn't Mean It Doesn't Exist

© Copyright 2014 A. Paul Dileski .

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ISBN: 978-1-4907-3685-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-3687-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-3686-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909160

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CONTENTS

Two Stories

A. Paul Dileski

I The Passion Plays Of Terrathane

II Upon Awakening

III The Ride Home

IV The Fishers

V Mapist

VI The Walk To Newman Hall

VII Newman Hall

VIII The Daily Log With Adiana

IX Adiana’s Dance

X Palace Of The Damned

Other Places

A. Paul Dileski

XI A Bridge From The Shadow

XII As It Will Be

XIII As It Was Then

XIV As It Is Now

XV They Are Among Us

XVI A Bridge From The Shadow Synopsis

XVII As It Would Come To Pass

TWO STORIES

A. PAUL DILESKI

I

The Passion Plays of Terrathane

A towering glass pyramid pierced the air near a rolling blue sea. Villas built of red granite lined blue canals, veining the entire landscape. A young woman curled like a cat upon a large white pillow at the edge of a pool fed by a canal. She had the face of an angel, but an upraised chin defiant. There was a capital E embroidered on her pillow. She slid a comb through her sunlit auburn hair, wet and shiny, and looked out to the red sky above.

Paul stared off into nothingness as he lay in a redwood chaise lounge at his pool’s edge in another world far from hers.

Paul, his wife called from the kitchen, eggs and potatoes for breakfast?

Sounds great, Trisha, he hollered back and then turned on his side and watched ants crawling around the pool’s edge. He heard in his head, Today is the day they come to get you.

The phone chimed. There were seconds of silence, and then Trisha shouted, You have a call. It’s Sabi.

Paul picked up the phone next to him on a small round table. Sabi was the officer in charge of flights. Meet me at the club, Sabi said. We need to talk.

Although it was Sunday, the Officer’s Club was musically alive with young officers and their pretty young dates. Paul looked around and spotted the OCF at the bar, looking in the mirror watching the door. Sabi turned and waved Paul over to him.

As Paul slumped onto the bar stool next to Sabi, Sabi called to the bartender, Couple of drafts.

No, I’ll have a red wine, Paul called to the bartender.

Sabi turned and fixed his eyes on Paul. Red wine? You always drink beer.

I just feel like having red wine.

Sabi glanced momentarily at Paul in the mirror. The bartender brought Paul a red wine and Sabi another draft beer.

The mission went off one-two, one-two, Sabi said. So how’s it going for you since you’ve been back? Paul had now been back about a week.

Why do you ask? Paul asked, taking a sip of his wine.

There was silence for a second, and then Sabi said, eyeing Paul in the mirror, Trisha says you’ve been distant since you came back. It was the OCF’s job to seek answers. And you seemed to have been dazed at times in your debriefing.

Paul swallowed down his wine in a gulp. Sabi watched.

I guess I saw something, experienced something, Paul said.

Again, there was a second of silence. What was it? Sabi asked.

Paul ordered another wine and then looked deep into it. A world. A woman. And an unknown past.

Sabi fixed his eyes on Paul. They both knew hallucinations were out of the equation. Space explorers were subjected to all the possible examinations and tests the towers of science could devise to rule out just such an occurrence.

I crossed a line, Paul said. A shadow world? He shrugged.

Can you tell me about it? Sabi asked.

It happened when I entered the planet’s gravitational grip, Paul said. He took a drink. It was supposed to be dead.

And?

It all happened in an instant.

What? Tell me.

. . .

Upon Awakening

Paul woke on his back on a black gritty beach near an inky-black sea looking up at an ebony sky. Not one star was visible. And all was still, no sound, not even the smallest wave sloshing ashore, nor even the slightest breath of wind in the chilling air. All was dark, silent, and cold. He had neither the faintest concept of where he was nor the faintest concept of how he arrived here. All was silent.

Go! Go! Go!

The first piece of ragged reasoning that slipped through Paul’s consciousness was an eerie whisper that said, You lie somewhere between a nightmare and an oblivion. Terror swept through him like a rolling wave of red fire. He was not in control of his surroundings: Paul’s greatest fear. Always, he had given himself a way out. But this was so sudden, right out of nothingness. There was no chance for prior thought, just there.

Silently, Paul screamed to himself, Where the hell am I? What the fuck’s happening? How can this be?

The last thing he could remember before waking here was falling asleep… Where? On a boat? Paul vaguely recalled. Yeah, a boat. But how the hell did I get here . . . and where the hell is here?

Coordinates?

North hill twelve by twenty.

Outwardly, Paul lay absolutely motionless, dead-like, but his muscles were gathered and taut like a switchblade knife ready to spring open and strike. To remain motionless is not to be seen. Movement attracts. But if seen, motionless is a sitting target. A moving target is hard to hit. Should he get up and try to find out where he was? Or should he stay motionless rooted to the spot? Which was the safer course?

Action, Paul decided, was the more important matter now. Take some action, something evasive and something that would add to my knowledge of my plight and help me come up with a plan, he thought. And anyway, it wasn’t in Paul’s nature not to take some kind of action.

Paul stared off into the blackness and waited. He barely breathed. Nothing happened. Not a motion, not a sound, nor even a feeling. But how long had he waited? Was it a moment, a minute, or an hour? He didn’t know, but he felt that this was the moment to act.

Following his ingrained training, nearly motionlessly, he met the sand under his palm. Nothing changed. Paul decided to venture forth slowly, feeling his way forward as when crossing a minefield—feel delicately with your knife, hope, feel, hope, softly, slowly.

Paul reached for the knife ever present on his belt. There was no knife. He found cloth instead. What? Where’s my knife? He let his eyes roll to his waist where his knife should be. What he saw stunned him. He was dressed in some kind of white wool tunic-like garment that reached to his knees. It had elbow-length sleeves. Under the tunic, he was wearing long, tight-fitting white wool pants. He was stunned. He’d never seen a garment such as this, let alone why he was wearing it. Something in my memory is missing.

Cautiously, he turned his head to look around. He saw nothing, only the edge of the water quietly lapping at the sand where he lay. After another quick glance around, Paul decided to follow the edge of the water. He knew it was not the wisest thing to have the sea on his flank. It limited the directions he could turn to escape, but somehow it felt right, a hunch. And long ago, he learned to trust his hunches. It was the reason he survived in combat while others perished. From his commando days in the sweltering Amazon jungle to the dry sand-blasted streets of Khartoum, his hunches saw him through. His hunches were kin to premonitions.

He rolled over and began inching his way forward, on hands and knees, testing the way in front by touching it lightly to see if any hidden harm lay in his path. He crept onward, slowly.

After what seemed like many hours, but in reality was probably not even an hour, Paul looked around to see what he could see and to see if he could see where his progress had taken him. It was then he realized the inky blackness that had engulfed him was now a deep, dark blue. The sky was above, and the atmosphere around him was evolving lighter. He was now able to make out a horizon away from the water.

He could see further out across the dark, still sea on his left and dark shapes that were probably hills in the distance on his right.

Paul sat there quietly for a while, just looking around as the sky imperceptibly shaded lighter and lighter, and with every lighter moment, he could make out more things. The sea still stretched as far as he could see, but now there was a definite line between sea and sky.

In the opposite direction from the sea, inland the dark shapes he’d made out earlier were indeed hills. But now in the light, he could see they were much bigger than they appeared earlier. With the light, the temperature became more pleasant, Mediterranean-like.

Then on the horizon, against the backdrop of the hills, Paul saw a tall figure dressed in white, dressed in the same attire as was Paul. He had long silver hair and a silver beard that dropped to his chest. He was standing on the top of a sand dune some fifty yards away, looking down at him.

Paul froze. Maybe he hasn’t seen me, Paul hoped and remained motionless. But just as Paul thought it, the man began walking slowly toward him.

Paul held his breath. Instinctively, Paul reached for the knife on his hip. It wasn’t there. Then instantly he remembered: no knife.

Paul glanced up. The man was nearly in front of him now. He was tall and lean. He was an older man. His face was soft with a light reddish-tan complexion; a glow of health that said for his age, he was in very good condition. He moved easily, quickening his pace in Paul’s direction.

Paul’s muscles tightened. He rose to a fighting crouch. But to Paul’s surprise, a smile spread across the man’s face as he called out, Destin! Destin! Paul straightened up as the man came closer. The man’s voice was soft and pleasant when he asked, Destin, did you spend the night here? Into the man’s smile, there came a look of concern. The man’s gentle manner dispelled some of Paul’s feeling of apprehension, but still he remained on guard.

Paul was now more confused than ever; he’d never seen this man before, ever. Yet, this man seemed to know him and called him by a name he didn’t know. Paul was at a total loss as to what to say or do. And when Paul didn’t answer, concern gathered in the man’s face. Is something wrong, Destin? The man paused for a moment looking over Paul’s blank stare.

He thinks I am someone named Destin.

The man took a step toward Paul and extended his hand. Paul stepped back. The man let his arm drop, and his smile began to lag.

I didn’t see you at services today, he said, and when I went to your chamber, you weren’t there. Adiana said when you left her last night, you were going for a walk on the beach. Did you spend the night on the beach? He paused a moment staring hard at Paul and then continued, What’s wrong, Destin? There was another pause. You act like you don’t recognize me. He laughed. It’s me, Olin, he said, spreading his arms in a lighthearted manner as he peered deep into Paul’s eyes.

Paul studied the man’s face. He saw sincerity in the man’s eyes; there was something about him that made Paul want to trust him. But this whole situation was surreal. Paul’s mind was utterly confused and without the scrap of an explanation of where he was or how he got there.

I’d better get you to your chamber, Destin. Again, the silver-bearded man reached out to Paul, and again Paul stepped back. I am not Destin, Paul thought. This is all very wrong. I’ve never seen this place before. I don’t understand any of this. What the hell is going on?

Let’s go, Destin, Olin said pleasantly.

Where? Paul’s throat was tight, and his voice was strained.

Back, Destin, he said.

Back to where?

I’ll take you back to your chamber, Olin said. Then his body slumped a little. It’s happened before, he said quietly. It’s the Passion Play.

Passion Play? Paul mused. Chamber?

The Ride Home

Paul stared at Olin reaching out to him; his first impulse was to run. It’s a trap. But somehow that just didn’t add up. This Olin guy is sincere, Paul thought. But something is wrong, very wrong. It was more than a hunch. It was obvious.

Olin, his hand still extended, now waved in the direction away from the beach. We’ll get the shuttle coach, and I’ll take you back.

I need to know what’s happening, Paul thought. I’ll go with him and see what I can learn. I’ll keep a safe distance and keep everything at arm’s length and in front of me. But I must be very careful. Just because this old man thinks I’m Destin doesn’t mean anyone else will.

The silver-haired man led Paul away from the beach to a deserted road above the beach, bordered on each side by lush, dark green ferns of hip high. Paul looked all around. I don’t remember any of this.

After a short wait, a silent, silver, bullet-shaped bus pulled up next to them. The doors opened. Apprehension fluttered through Paul’s bowels as he glanced at the open doors.

I would rather walk, he said. Olin looked at Paul in surprise and said, Walk? Destin, it’s at least four sections away.

Sections? Paul wondered.

Let’s go home, Destin, he said and motioned with his head toward the bus.

Paul did not like this at all. And when the driver called out to him: Destin, how long have you been here? All night? Paul froze. Automatically, he began to back away. Olin gently took his arm and said, It’s OK, Destin. I’m right here with you. He felt the sincerity in Olin’s voice and followed him into the coach.

As they boarded, Olin said to the driver, We’ll go Terra-Square. The vehicle moved away, silently and smoothly.

The silent coach slipped up the road to the top of a steep hill. From the top of the hill, Paul saw snowcapped mountains. What mountain range could that be? He couldn’t place it. But he estimated that the mountains were very high—Unreal high! They were not like any he was familiar with.

They crossed over the top of the hill and began to descend. Paul gazed down on what appeared to be an expansive village in the distance. There were three towering structures that appeared to be jutting out of a valley surrounded by innumerable smaller buildings above. Beyond it was a river or channel flocked with sailboats. It struck Paul that it reminded him of a college campus he had driven by on a sleepy, frosty fall morning. It was on a Sunday on the way home from Fort Benning to Florida, Paul remembered. There was a bit of a twinge in his stomach as he thought of Florida—Florida. A cabin cruiser? His stomach twinged again, but he didn’t know why.

Paul gazed out the window, trying to take in as much as he could. But as hard as he tried to recall, he couldn’t locate this place in any part of the world he had seen. And he’d seen pretty much the whole world. How strange? Someplace I haven’t seen? But how could that be?

Upon entering the village, Paul could see that the numerous buildings he’d seen from above surrounding the valley were a series of villas. Each was either two—or three-stories high, constructed of red granite blocks, and each trimmed in either white or pastel colors of light blue, mint green, or soft yellow. Some were laid out in the shape of a V and others like a horseshoe. Each enclosed a park or a kind of large courtyard. The distance between each building was about that of a city block and filled with trees so that it looked like a small forest that separated the buildings. Around the entire circumference of each building, on every floor, were garden balconies. It gave the impression of a town consumed in ivy and all sorts of vegetation.

Everywhere, sheep as big as horses grazed on the lush lawns, so they appeared almost blue instead of dark green. Fat black squirrels scampered about the trees. Rainbow hewed birds of every feather swooped through the sky, cavorted in the trees, and pecked at the ground. They looked to be almost domesticated. The entire milieu evoked a pastoral feeling so peaceful.

A sawdust pit at Fort Benning flashed in Paul’s mind, and the words whispered in his ear from a very lean invisible guy who held a bayonet to his throat: Don’t trust what you think your eyes see. Then guy disappeared like a ghost. Was it an illusion? Paul’s fingers had found blood on his neck.

Driving through the village, Paul saw that it was much, much bigger than a college campus, rather like a place in Russia he’d been with its miles and miles upon miles of apartment buildings. Though, this was in contrast to those shabby and depressing ones in Russia. These villas were neat and tidy like apartments he’d seen in the Netherlands.

There was no commercial signage of any kind and no cars. There were two-wheeled bikes with boxy electric motors and four-wheeled vehicles that looked like a cross between a golf cart and a jeep neatly parked up and down the streets. Paul didn’t recognize anything. This is no place I’ve ever seen.

Paul’s army training in maps, geography, and societies and his many assignments all over the world had made him familiar with a sampling of all the societies of the world. He should be able to deduce where this was, but it was totally unfamiliar.

Paul eyed everything with intense interest, wondering where the hell it could possibly be. And then it struck him that for all the villas and vehicles, there were no people around. It was deserted like a ghost town.

Not many people, Paul said.

They’re all at the faire, Olin said. He glanced at Paul, a questioning look in his eyes. It’s Envital day, Olin said. The dark days are coming.

Paul looked quickly at Olin and nodded, not that he remembered it was Envital day. Whatever that is? And what the hell are the dark days?

Olin looked at Paul. I’m sure you haven’t taken breakfast yet. You must be hungry?

Paul hadn’t even thought about it, but then he realized he was very hungry and thirsty. He nodded his head.

We’ll stop at the faire. We can get your favorite seafood. Then he shrugged and said, And who knows, Destin, maybe something there will jog your memory.

Seafood? How did he know seafood is my favorite? Paul was hungry and thirsty and needed something to eat and drink, and at a faire, he was sure to glean info that would place him in time and space.

Paul’s mind jogged back to when Olin had found him. They had walked down the beach past a white boat that reminded him of a Boston Whaler but shaped more like a wide canoe. Paul had never seen a boat like that before, and he’d seen many different types of boats all over the world. It was probably a fishing boat that had crossed his mind. But it was strange that he’d never seen a boat like that before. Is that a fishing boat? Paul had asked. Olin had just looked at Paul blankly and nodded his head yes.

We’ll get you something to eat, and afterward, we’ll get you to your chamber, he said and motioned for the driver to pull over.

Paul and Olin departed the coach and began walking down a gentle slope. In the distance, maybe a mile or less away, there were three giant buildings: a square, a dome, and a gleaming, glass pyramid in between towering over them.

. . .

Paul looked at his nearly empty glass and then to the bartender. Sabi called out to the bartender, We’ll have two more over here.

Paul turned back to Sabi. It was a whole different someplace else, a whole different world I’ve never seen, and a whole different Paul with a history I’d never known. But at the time it was me. It’s like there were three different Pauls: Paul that is here with you now, a Paul from a past time on earth with a whole different past life, and then someone named Destin from a different time and space who was somehow also a Paul. And it was all real. I was really this other Paul in a strange world in a different universe.

Sabi was silent, just staring at Paul. Paul began staring back. Sabi finally said, Genetic memory. Sabi sipped his wine again and said, Shifting.

Genetic memory? Shifting? Paul asked.

Yes, Sabi said. Genetic memory is memories passed down to you from your ancestors through the same blood flowing through your veins that flowed through theirs. Experiences that happened to your ancestors, that you now remember, are a part of your genetic makeup. That might account for the other Paul with a different past. He sipped his wine.

As for Destin and a different universe, well, there is a notion that some physicists and philosophers are toying with. They have a hunch that it’s possible to occupy the same place at the same time. The universe that we are not aware of consists of countless dimensions in an infinite number of parallel universes all interconnected, all existing in the same place at the same time. And it’s possible to slip from one to another or at least as the theory goes. It’s called dimension shifting.

. . .

The Fishers

Paul and Olin walked down the slope to the edge of a bowl-shaped valley and looked down. In the center of the valley was a large square, the size of numerous New York City blocks. It was bound on three sides by a wall about the size of a tavern bar and constructed of red blocks with an arched entrance on three sides. On the fourth side was a river about as wide as the Mississippi River lined with sailboats, powerboats, and towering power poles. The river rolled in from the massive mountains beyond.

In the middle of the square was a gigantic glass pyramid that Paul estimated to be as tall as the Empire State Building, jutting up and rising over the structures beside it. On one side of it was an immense blue oval dome that could cover a football field and on the other side a huge square, silver building that reminded Paul of a wing of the US capitol, only much larger. There were many people walking about.

Olin motioned with his shoulder and a nod of his head for Paul to follow him down the slope into the valley toward the square. Paul instinctively felt his hip for the knife. Nothing was there.

In the square, among the buildings, was a sea of giant umbrella-like tents surrounded by hundreds, no thousands of people. All the women were tall, curvy, and amply breasted with the exception of the young women. The young girls were mostly slim.

All the men were tall and lean yet muscular with wide shoulders and narrow hips, even the young men. Both the men and women were all athletic looking. All of them were of a rich reddish-tan complexion: skin color ranged from light olive of the children to the dark reddish olive of the adults. They were all clad in the same kind of loose-fitting tunic and tight fitting pants that he and Olin wore, but many of the outfits worn by the women were of pastel shades of light blue, mint green, and soft yellow. Some of the women wore tie belts around their waists.

It was a hurly-burly carnival crowd, yelling and bellowing, laughing and cheering, that swallowed up Paul and Olin as they merged with the merrymakers flooding the square. There were choirs singing high and singing low; there were stage acts and dancing too, as children’s shrieks of delight wafted to the top of the din. Swirls of white and pastel colors like an electric rainbow were whipped into a dynamic dance folding in an out upon itself, an animated impressionistic painting set on a canvas of red concrete. It’s a rush, Paul thought. A striking contrast to the silence and stillness he first experienced when he woke on the beach.

A combination swap meet and pleasure faire, Paul thought. And at the same time, it reminded him of a bazaar he’d seen in Turkey and a garden market in Guatemala, where Indians gathered to display their wares. It was on assignment there for… What? Doing what?

Just then, Paul saw a man, taller and more muscular and more shabbily dressed than the other men, walking in their direction. His attire was not white like the other men, but gray and worn. His face was ruddy and glowed of health. His smile was big and warm.

Near Paul, someone yelled, How was the fishing, Volton?

Not bad, he yelled back.

That means it was good.

Fishing is never good enough if you’re a fisher.

That means you brought in a boatload.

Volton opened his mouth to answer, but then he spotted Paul and Olin and began walking quickly toward them. Destin, he hollered to Paul. You promised Eria you’d bring Olin to meet us. I wondered if you really would, he said looking to Olin. But you did.

Paul turned his back to Volton and whispered to Olin, Who is Eria? Olin was taken aback by Paul’s question. Although probably no one else knew, Olin knew that Eria and Destin had been secret lovers nearly from childhood.

When Volton reached Paul and Olin, he said, looking around, I love the faire. It’s all about having fun, exchanging new ideas, new innovations, and new handicrafts, trading goods, and savoring the pleasures of great food. Paul thought that he looked like someone who enjoyed his meals.

We were just on our way to get something to eat, Olin said to Volton. Want to join us?

Oh yeah, Volton said. Let’s go to the fishers, the Fish Shack. And why don’t we have the meeting there, too? All the fishers will already be nearby.

Olin nodded. Good idea. And he, Paul, and Volton set off amongst the tents. There were tents for everything: clothing, woodcrafts, metal crafts, glass crafts, floral arrangements, books, paintings, and all sorts of ornaments and objects. The biggest displays faced the plaza in the first line.

They made their way through the festive crowd to the plaza reserved for the food displays and preparations. There were food tents for baked goods, fresh fruits and vegetables, and cooked fruits and vegetables prepared in a multitude of ways from soups to casseroles. Paul was voracious, and the various aromas that mixed in the air were torturing him.

The first food tent in line displayed a big sign that read: Chef Marlan’s meats. The Best Blood Soup for You! And, below, in smaller print Paul read: Thick muscle steaks and blood sausage. The man behind the bar was a burly, ruddy-colored guy with dark burgundy hair. He looked at Paul and nodded with a smile. There seemed to be something ominous in his eyes, Paul thought.

Finally, they reached the fishers’ area. There must have been many more than a dozen fisher tents, each advertising different cuts of various types of fish, shellfish, crabs, shrimp, roe, and so on. As they passed by the open-sided tents, Paul saw that each was like a small diner with only a horseshoe-shaped bar where people sat to eat. Eating was handled with tongs and a skiff, as Paul learned listening to Olin and Volton. Tongs were a fork, and a skiff was a spoon with one sharp edge like a knife.

The abundant seafood was being prepared in numerous ways: baked, fried, boiled, and raw. Most of the fish offerings were smothered or basted in various fruit and vegetable sauces. The portions were generous, filling a shallow, bowl-like platter.

Paul cocked his head. What is wrong? What is different? Something is missing.

The fishers’ Fish Shack was near the river, in the very back, and farthest from the other food tents they passed; it was just beyond the food-court area and by the river where the fishers