The Python of Caspia Read online

  She continued, half rambling to herself. “How can I know that my crazy head didn’t invent you too?” She reached out and put a finger on his shoulder. “Seems real,” she said before pushing him out of his seat.

  He fell to the floor and nearly pulled the table, and its expensive equipment, down with him.

  “Yeah, at least you’re real,” she spoke through a few breaths of sad laughter.

  “You!” An attendant came back and spotted Andy getting back into his chair. “What are you doing? Never mind—you’re wanted in room two, Mr. Vanavarre. And you,” he spoke to Letty, “you still need to wait for your father. Please stay out of trouble.”

  Andy stood and endured the glare from the assistant as he headed for room two. He heard Letty repeating his last name over and over, trying to get a feel for it.

  Great, now she’ll make fun of my last name too—and why the hell did she knock me out of the chair?

  “This way, please.” The assistant glowered at him as they passed an office door that was slightly ajar.

  “Marvin?” a cold voice called out as they passed.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Would you come in here for a moment?”

  Marvin sat Andy down in a chair some distance from the door and walked into the office.

  “Is the girl’s father here?”

  “No sir, and you have another waiting. Symptoms sound like tetrachromacy—I think the two know each other. What should we do?”

  “First of all, close the door.”

  Marvin shut the door.

  What did I just hear? Tet—something—omacy?

  Andy stood and inched towards the door. He put his ear against it but could barely make out what they were saying.

  “There’s nothing to do about the boy. I’ll test him. If it’s drastic we’ll have them make two trips, if not—”

  “But Master, if the girl disappears—they know each other; I even saw the parents speaking. It won’t work.”

  There was a pause. Andy felt like backing away from the door. He forced himself to keep from shrinking away.

  “How long have I been doing this? Is this your first year? Are you forgetting your place?” the speaker left long pauses between each question.

  “Master, I—”

  “Who created you?”

  Andy only heard a dull mumble in reply.

  “What is your purpose?” The doctor continued.

  “To serve.”

  Silence.

  There was a quaver of desperation in Marvin’s voice, “My concern is only for you. Two of them so intertwined—please, this situation calls for immediate response, we need to remove them from the population.”

  Remove them from the population! Andy strained over the words, certain he must have misheard, but they echoed, in blank certainty, through his mind.

  Andy stumbled backwards in fear, and nearly crashed into the wall.

  Are they going to kill us? This is just an optometrist’s office—

  He heard a loud crackle coming from the doctor’s office and a purple light flashed under the door.

  Andy rushed back to his seat and tried to get his breathing under control.

  The door opened and out came an unfamiliar face.

  The doctor.

  He looked around and saw Andy sitting quietly.

  “Hello there, young man,” he said, approaching. “I hear you’ve been experiencing a little dizziness and head pain.”

  Andy wanted to scream and run, but he could only stare at the doctor’s face. He saw lines there that didn’t belong. There was a glow burning in the pits of his eyes. His teeth shone in the dull light as he smiled through his introduction.

  “I’m Doctor Ropt, and you are Andy, correct?” The doctor held out his hand.

  “Yes, sir.” Andy forced himself to shake the doctor’s hand. It felt cold and oddly smooth, like it was hairless.

  “I hear you know another one of my patients.”

  Andy nodded.

  “Are you friends?”

  Andy paused. “Not really, sir.”

  The doctor chuckled heartily. “No need for that, young man; doctor is fine. Come on then, let’s get a look at your eyes.”

  The doctor shone a light at his face and looked closely.

  “What color eyes would you say you have?”

  “Greenish blue, sir.”

  “Mhh—has anyone ever said you have violet eyes?”

  Andy stuttered, “N-no, sir.”

  The doctor tilted his head in thought. “There is a rare condition—easily treated—that your symptoms match. Curiously, the sufferers of this condition can experience a fluctuation or gradual change in eye color at about your age. Certain pharmaceuticals and foods can help treat this condition—carrots, for instance,” the doctor paused, expectantly.

  Andy shook his head.

  The doctor smiled. “We’ll get you figured out in no time.” He led Andy back to the room where he last saw Letty. She was gone.

  “Take a seat, please—yes, there behind that machine.” Andy did as he was told.

  “Look here.” Andy obeyed and felt a sudden blast of air hit his eyes. He reeled back in shock and felt the doctor’s hand holding him in place. He felt the muscles around his eyes tense like they did at the museum.

  Andy felt his chest clench at what he saw. Sheets of bright light shed off the doctor’s body. The outline of his form had changed, his face looked bottom heavy and his skull and nose were smoother, but the light kept Andy from seeing more than a silhouette.

  “Okay, it’ll just be a few minutes wait,” the doctor said, as if nothing was wrong.

  He was about to walk away when something caught his attention and he leaned forward with his instrument to look into Andy’s eyes again. Andy saw more than he wanted.

  What is he?

  The doctor had purple flesh.

  Andy bit down on his cheeks to keep himself from screaming.

  “How does the world look?” The doctor asked in his cool voice.

  Andy felt his head start to spin and throb. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on the floor. “I’m a little dizzy sir, but everything looks fine.”

  “Hmm. You don’t see anything strange?”

  Andy stared into the two burning pits that were the doctor’s eyes. “No sir.”

  He nodded. “It’ll just be a minute. Wait here, please.”

  Andy suffered through the next few agonizing minutes by keeping his eyes closed. He wanted to find Letty. Holding onto the table barely helped him to stand. He knew that a step in any direction would be disaster. He sat back down and waited for the spinning to stop.

  “Andy, my boy. How are those eyes?” The doctor put a hand on his shoulder and had him look up. “You’re ready to come back and have a look at a few slides for me.” The doctor paused for a moment, “No one has ever told you that you have violet eyes?”

  Andy shook his head, and followed the doctor, grabbing at furniture or the walls for support.

  “Right.” The doctor carried a clipboard and was marking a page before he noticed Andy’s behavior. “Dizzy—hmm, take your time now, don’t rush. How long have you been unbalanced like this?”

  “It’s not all the time, sir, and it’s only been a few days.”

  They entered into a room crowded with an assemblage of curious machines, most featuring metallic view scopes and slides. Andy took his seat.

  “Did anything trigger the first dizzying event? Any strange colors or bright lights?”

  “No sir. I’m not sure what set it off, I just woke up dizzy one morning—it comes and goes.”

  The doctor paused and gave him an appraising look.

  Please believe me.

  “Have you been seeing things that aren’t there? Anything strange at all? Small creatures that shouldn’t be there, perhaps?”

  “I saw my dad pull me away from cleaning my room this morning. You might want to get him back here.”

  The doctor scow
led and leaned in closely. His voice crisp and constant. “None of that now. These are serious questions; I will not have my time wasted.” Andy felt a heavy hint of disapproval in the last few words, “Answer the question, son.”

  Andy met the doctor’s gaze.

  Andy wanted to tell the doctor everything, if it meant that he could leave. He wanted to tell about the mice, the paintings, the symbols, and the dark mist. Most of all, he wanted to tell the doctor what he saw inside those flaming eyes. He wanted to ask him what they planned on doing to Letty. But Andy knew, with a strange certainty, that it would mean the end for him and likely for his family too.

  He was afraid, but he shook his head no.

  “Look into that scope, please.”

  Grateful to look away, he stared into the scope and saw numbers and letters to the left and right.

  “Now we’ll go through a few of these,” he flipped one side to a different lens. “Which looks clearer?”

  Andy went through the tests, slide by slide pointing out which was clearer. He could tell that the doctor wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  “Enough—enough, young man.” The doctor switched the light in the machine off. “Look up here.”

  Andy stared as the doctor pointed to a chart of letters on the wall.

  “Read off the letters, top to bottom.”

  Andy sounded out the letters, one by one, all the way to the bottom line.

  “Your vision is perfect. What’s more, I think you know that your vision is perfect. Why have you put your parents through all of this?”

  The doctor stood up and found a metal tube, he pulled the end off and slid out what looked like a scroll.

  Andy barely registered this as he was surprised by the question. “What do you mean? I’m dizzy, you saw—”

  The doctor stopped Andy dead in his tracks by unfurling the scroll. “What do you see here?”

  Andy’s eyes shot to the center of the scroll and saw the symbol. The doctor stared hungrily as Andy’s face bent with horror.

  Before Andy could claim that nothing was there, the doctor spoke, “Don’t lie!”

  Andy’s head throbbed at the sight of the Infiniteye, he felt his eyes flexing, and then he saw the doctor clearly.

  His flesh was purple, and the light from his burning eyes shone across the room and washed everything in a violet red that pulsed like flames. Cords of muscled flesh, each tipped with a barbed claw, hung from the sides of his face. He stood there, inhumanly rigid, holding out the scroll, his muscles tense, and all of his focus directed at Andy’s eyes, at what they saw.

  There was a bang on the door and Andy felt himself blacking out. His vision lost focus and the last thing he recalled were the voices of his parents. They were screaming.

  Chapter 5

  Doctor Ropt

  The week passed simply, if slowly for Andy, who wanted Saturday to arrive. He served his lunch detention. Emma and her friends continued their hostility, but he wasn’t bothered anymore. Dean, following Andy’s lead, lost some of his sheepishness. Letty, however, refused to talk to him, or even meet his glances, which was a continual frustration.

  Dean’s parents made a fuss about Saturday’s trip to the museum. After a few minutes on the phone with Andy’s father, they were convinced that it actually was a museum trip, and not some trick concocted by their son, and his troublesome new friend, Andy.

  Finally, Saturday came. Andy and Dean piled into the car.

  “Here we go. Off hunting for some culture and maybe a little class,” his father said.

  Andy rolled his eyes.

  “If you find any class, be sure to save some for me,” he continued.

  Dean laughed, and Andy stared at him, annoyed.

  “Don’t encourage him, or it’ll be bad jokes and puns the whole way.”

  Andy’s dad grinned at the jab, while turning on the radio to placate his son.

  There was only the usual traffic across town, and after half an hour, they pulled into the lot and parked.

  Dean immediately complained, “Hey Andy, let’s go to the Emporium first. I’ll get a few new packs of Cultural Capitol cards,” Andy sighed, but knew he shouldn’t be surprised. “What? It’ll keep me distracted so you can enjoy the art. Just don’t go chasing any mice.”

  Andy’s dad gave them a knowing glance. “Chasing mice, eh? That’s what you call it these days. We used to say chasing birds.”

  Instead of getting more annoyed, Andy simply added, “Hey dad, why don’t you take Dean to the card shop? I’ll get a head start in the gallery.”

  His dad almost complained, but Andy gave him a knowing wink.

  Andy shuddered internally at the act.

  “Ah, say no more.” His dad motioned Dean to the card shop. “Don’t get in the way of a man chasing mice, Dean. We’ll come in as wingmen—if he gives us the signal.”

  The two walked off to the Emporium.

  Well, that worked anyway. Now that I’ve got a few quiet minutes, I’ll hunt for Rembrandt.

  He pulled out the museum map he had printed at home. He was surprised a minute later when someone handed him a much nicer map for free. “Thanks,” he said to a little old lady minding the door into the Baroque wing.

  “Of course. Now don’t get into trouble, young man,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I won’t,” he said and then added, “I’m here to see the Rembrandts.”

  “Oh splendid—mind you, there might be a crowd around his works. He’s very famous, you know. Here, let me mark them on your map.” She took her pen and circled a few places on the floor plan.

  Andy thanked her and went on his way. He’d brought his backpack along, despite the protests of his father and Dean, who both agreed that the backpack reminded them of weekdays.

  “It’s indecent to carry it on a weekend, son,” his father joked.

  But Andy knew he might need his sketch pad, so he brought it along despite the complaints.

  He readied his sketchpad, hoping to spot a few more anomalous letters. As he walked through the carpeted halls, he found himself distracted by the paintings. He tried to make his way to the Rembrandts, but every few steps something would catch his eye: a portrait here, a battle scene there. They all made him want to stop for a closer look, but he had to pull himself away. Andy smirked at himself. He had never been interested in art.

  A few minutes later, Andy found that his feet had stopped still, and his focus was stuck to a painting of a tall ship. The water was vivid and sharp, he almost had to shade his eyes, as if the sun were actually reflecting off the waves. Stepping away he realized that no one else was squinting at this canvas.

  Feeling nervous, Andy continued. He found himself continually drawn to certain pieces, and he couldn’t understand why. The ones that drew his eye filled him with the impression that there was something wrong, something to do with the colors. He stared and stared, certain that he must be mistaken, but after a dozen interruptions, he felt a growing surety that some of the paintings were filled with colors he’d never seen before. The new colors were silvery luminescent and glittered like an oil slick in the sunlight, but more than that, they also had an opacity, like mercury. Andy began to think that something might be wrong with him; he had never seen colors like these.

  He suddenly felt dizzy, nauseous, and found that his head was pounding. Worse than that, he realized that he had been hurting for some time, but he was so fascinated that he had ignored the pain until it nearly overwhelmed them.

  I guess it wasn’t a joke after all, they really should put a warning up, he thought, rubbing his eyes. He found a water fountain, drank, and splashed cold water on his face, before drying it with a sleeve.

  The water helped, but only for a few minutes. Turning into a new wing, he felt a sudden need to sit down. He nearly stumbled onto a bench, bumping into a seated woman.

  “Hey, watch out, kid.” The annoyed voice was familiar.

  “Sorry—all this art is ge
tting to my head.”

  She huffed at him skeptically.

  “Seriously. I’m seeing things I can’t believe. My head is spinning,” Andy admitted.

  “Yeah, tell me about it—I thought I was going to be a psych major, then I took my first art class.” Her pencil arced across the sketchpad, swift but true, drawing the long lines of buildings. Many lines led to a single spot in the distance. “That was a year ago, and I haven’t looked back,” she glanced up from her sketch pad and her eyes widened in recognition, “Hey, it’s you! The mouse kid—the middle schoolers who got thrown out of the gallery the other day.”

  “Yeah—sorry about that, too.”

  “Not here on another field trip, are you? Are there more of you?”

  “No, well maybe one, but he’s more into the card shop next door.”

  She chuckled as she picked up her pencil. “Yeah, I’ve got a little brother too. But you’re really here to see the collection?” She sounded surprised, “You’re a little young to have an appreciation for the sublime.”

  Sub—what?

  Andy wasn’t sure what to say, but she kept on talking despite his silence.

  “Who are you into?”

  “Oh, I… Something strange happened. I can’t describe it. That windmill, the Rembrandt, do you remember it?”

  “You sound like me. I had the same experience. A few years ago, I saw—” she paused, “Well, the same thing happened to me. So, Rembrandt was the one for you.”

  Andy wanted to speak plainly, but he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. Finally, he decided to just say it. “I saw something there—in the painting—something that other people weren’t seeing.”

  “Totally, look at these drones.” She cast an imperious glance at the casual museum goers. “They’re too oblivious to suffer. I’m sorry, kid. It’s never the same after you wake up. There’s no going back for us.”

  Andy gawked, unsure of what to say, but she continued.

  “The crowning achievements of human history seem pathetic next to all this apathy. The vapid, walking past centuries, and all they want to see is the Water Lilies, because someone told them, ‘Oh my goodness you must see it, it’s simply tops.’”

  Andy was startled by her sudden change to a blue-blood accent, but more than that, he had no idea what the woman was talking about. He laughed a genuine laugh, but felt a twinge of sadness too.