Stein-The Early Days

Chapter Three

            I can’t move my head to see who is speaking.  His voice isn’t familiar either.  I shut my eyes then reach out with my soul awareness.  Behind me, located near the door, is a new no space.  This just keeps getting more and more interesting. 

This no space is different than the no space of being underground.  Earth and stone have an essence, weak in the spectrum of “soul” but among the most dense in the “life” spectrum.  The no space of this voice is literally nothing.  A void.  Clearly this cannot be the case, for whomever it is can speak.

My exquisite brain catalogs the possibilities for me, bringing top of mind the most probable explanations.  Masking, or camouflage, is number one, that somehow this soul is able to make itself disappear, kind of like how in a video game you can change the texture on walls to make them look like a house, the inside of a cave, or the pitch black of nothingness.  Deflection is number two.  For this to work, he would need to be able to deflect my soul perception, kind of like a mirror and the way you can’t see behind one.  Both possibilities are tantalizingly intriguing.  I am not aware of anyone who can do either.

“Frankie…”

“Hold on,” I say.  I’m not done considering his essence.  Or hers.  Or its.  Fascinating, this sense of nothing.  The least likely explanation is that there is actually nothing there at all.  Completely unthinkable.  And clearly the most intriguing possibility of all.

“Frankie…”

“I’m going to be very upset if I lose this train of thought,” I growl back.

            Nothing there at all.  Could it be that this being has shifted all of its soul essence to another spectrum?  Hm.  Imagine looking straight on at a piece of piece with a picture of a person drawn on it.  Then turn the paper so that it faces another direction.  The person completely disappears.  That is, unless you know to look for the very thin line visible in this dimension…

            “Frank!”

            I snap both eyes open.  “Are you my mother?”  Then without waiting, “No, I don’t think you are.  Then why are you calling me Frank!”

            Silence.  And it is as if I am alone in the room.

            I can’t wait to dissect this guy and see what makes him tick.  I wonder.  Will I be able to sense him as I cut him open?

            There’s a loud sigh behind me.  “We are going to have to do this the hard way, aren’t we?  No chance of the easy way?”

            “What are you hoping for?” I ask.

            “I need information from you,” says the voice.  “You could just tell it to me.”

            I can feel my body tremble “Or you’ll do what?” in excitement.

            “Or I’ll have to drill into your head and take it out by force!”

            “What kind of choice is that?” I say.

            The voice breathes out in relief.  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

            “What sized bit are you planning on using?”

            “What?”

            “There are so many options.  You could enter through my frontal lobe.  For that I’d use a ¾” wood bit.  The steel bits generate more bone dust since they scrape more than they cut in.  There’s also the parietal lobe.  Maybe a ½” bit for that area, or perhaps you could get away with 3/8.  Personally, I’d target the medulla oblongata.  You have to use a finer bit, like 1/16, and you have to keep a steady hand so you don’t drift off course and accidentally penetrate the spinal column.  But you get much more intimate access.”

            Silence.  I can’t tell if he’s still in the room. 

            “I hope you’ve left to go get the drill.”  Quiet.  “Okay.  I’ll just wait here.”