Veil

Chapter 22

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Veil dreams.

Out of control in mind and body, he speeds down the endless corridor between the swirling gray walls in which figures move and occasionally beckon. He does not try to roll out of the dream, or even slow himself, for there is less agony here.

There is no agony here.

In the corridor, speeding toward the electric-blue horizon, there is no thirst or fever-heat or pain. He will not go back, he thinks. Never. He will suffer no more. He will fly along this corridor until he dies, if he is not dead already.

We're looking for heaven.

Familiar, disembodied voices call out from the mist on either side of him.

"He can guess all he wants to. By the time I let him in here again, you'll either be dead and buried in the riverbank or on your way to Washington for more detailed interrogation about your bosses and your network."

"Ah, but you blew it, dummy," Veil replies in a casual tone that issues from his chest, throat, and mouth as a series of soft chiming notes. "If you're still interested in the truth, give my buddy Orville a little ding-a-ling. But you call him. Don't let anyone else do it for you."

"You're a dead man, Kendry. I'm going to shoot your ass on the day when you're happy."

For a few moments, Veil considers remaining silent; he no longer cares about anything but remaining in the state he is in.

"Good luck, Orville," Veil says at last. "I am at peace here, and I am happy; and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. Even you can't reach into heaven. Shoot away."

Chimes suddenly sound. They are outside himself, very loud, and reverberate in the corridor.

"Madison! Tell Parker the truth! Kill me with a bullet, not a lie!"

He does care.

His speed increases. If he is not dead, Veil thinks, he is certainly now very close to it. He is sorry he has never found the courage to look directly into the walls. He would look now, but he is going too fast; he is at once paralyzed and elongated; he feels as if his body is stretched out for miles behind him, and he cannot turn his head.

"Stop it! Kendry, I don't want you to die!"

Chimes. Bong! Bong! Bong!

"Parker! Hey, dummy, pick up the phone and make the call! Call Madison!"

His speed increases even more. The moaning, chiming walls flash past in a blur. Veil feels as if his body is coming apart, stretched so thin that there is nothing left but spinning atoms that somehow still carry the electrical charges of emotion and thought.

Then, suddenly, pain pierces heaven.

Something sharp, like a snake's fangs, sink into the floating atoms where his right shoulder had been. He wants to grab the wound, but he is stretched too thin. He cannot find his hand.

"Interesting," Raskolnikov says. "One really has to view your paintings out of the corner of the eye."

"He can guess all he wants to."

"You're a dead man, Kendry."

"Sharon! I love you!"

"By the time I let him in here again—"

"Sharon, I'm sorry we didn't have time!"

We're looking for heaven.

Venom spurts into the wound, into and around the atoms. There is more pain. His atoms sting, swell, and throb. He can feel the venom, as hot and corrosive as acid, searing his atoms as it moves, seeps through the spaces where his limbs used to be. It is soaking into his space-body, inexorably heading for his brain. His atoms suddenly begin to vibrate in unison, producing low, booming chime sounds that steadily rise in pitch and volume until at last they are beyond hearing.

Then the venom fills his skull, soaking his brain, and he explodes soundlessly in a cloud of electric blue.