“I don’t know,” said Benny. “We could get something to eat, maybe see a movie.”
“Oh no.” Calvin waved his arms emphatically. “Not after the last time.”
Individually, Calvin’s, Swoozie’s, and Benny’s presences were corrosive tumors on thin-skinned reality. When they were together, the effect was only increased. That was why they got together only once every few weeks, only for a few hours, and rarely in the same location. Predictability could go right out the window. Or the door. Or maybe up the chimney. Or screaming into the night while riding a chicken and dragging the mangled corpse of causality behind. Because even metaphors were fair game for their influence.
The last time the three had gone to the movies, a giant lizard had stepped off the screen and roasted the audience to cinders with its radioactive breath. Within hours the city had been reduced to a smoldering ruin. Reality’s way of fixing itself eventually erased most the damage, but that sort of thing could put an undue strain on the already fragile sanity of most human minds. A concession-stand girl was still in a mental ward, haunted by nightmares of rampaging mutant dinosaurs.
Calvin had sent her a few apology cards. Unsigned, no return address, with an inspirational quote and sorry about the dreams written in the corner. Eventually he realized this probably wasn’t helping her, so he stopped.
“We’ll go see something safe,” suggested Benny. “Maybe a chick flick.”
“I don’t think so.” Swoozie formed a fe. The eyes were misaligned, different colors, and the ears rotated like pinwheels. But the mouth grimaced just fine. “If it doesn’t have ninjas in it, I’m not interested.”
“And I promised Sharon no more movies,” added Calvin.
Benny clicked his teeth.
“What?” asked Calvin. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” said Benny. “If you’re happy being kept on a short leash, it’s none of my business.”
“So says the insurance adjustor.”
“Hey, a worm’s gotta eat.”
“Do you?” asked Swoozie.
“Actually, I’m not sure about that,” said Benny. “Never tested it.”
“Face it, guys,” said Calvin. “We’re neutered. Let’s not fool ourselves.”
Swoozie drifted off the couch and over to the window. “We don’t have to be. Why don’t we go out and show this world how insignificant it is?”
“And where would that get us?” asked Calvin.
“It’ll make us feel better.”
“For about ten minutes. Then everything will restore itself, and we’ll be reminded that this world isn’t the only thing that’s insignificant.”
The three ancient entities said nothing for a while. For a timeless being from beyond eternity, Calvin suddenly felt very old.
They carried on with the evening, tried to have a good time and forget their problems, but the damage was done. They were all trapped in circumstances beyond their control. Calvin figured that must be how humans felt, or would feel if they weren’t saddled with their limited perceptions. They were a remarkably dim-witted species, and he envied that.
They called it a night early. Benny offered a halfhearted excuse, saying he had to get up early. Swoozie mumbled something about having to eat a dying star.
She faded to a sparkling point of light. “See you in a few weeks then?”
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” replied Benny. “Think I might be cocooning.”
“And there’s this thing I have to do.” Calvin tried to downplay it, but there was guilt in his voice.
Swoozie rematerialized. “A thing? What kind of thing?”
“Just… a thing.”
Benny’s veins darkened. “Spit it out, Cal. What are you keeping from us?”
“I might be getting out,” said Calvin softly.
“No king? For real this time?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. There’s this stellar alignment thingamajig, and it might allow full reintegration. That’s what Greg says anyway.”
“I thought you said he was a dumbass,” said Benny.
“He is.” Calvin half-smiled. “But he usually knows what he’s talking about when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“So what do you think?” asked Swoozie. “Do you think he’s right?”
“He could be. I have been feeling a little different lately.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just different.”
Calvin gazed out the window, at the moon rising. Fenris pursued. Calvin felt the boiling ache in his gut. He couldn’t quantify it with inadequate human words built upon inadequate human concepts.
“Hell, buddy,” said Benny. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I guess I just didn’t want you guys feeling bad about it.”
“Are you kidding us? You’re in deeper than either of us.” Swoozie slapped Calvin on the back with a twisted tentacle. “If you get out, then there’s hope for everybody.”
“We have to celebrate,” said Benny.
“We don’t have to make a big deal about this,” said Calvin.
He’d been close to integration before. But in the end it was just chaos and madness and the collapse of a civilization or two, a lot of sound and fury signifying nothing. The real reason he had been reluctant to bring it up had nothing to do with Swoozie’s or Benny’s possible jealousy. They understood how important it was to him more than anyone. He just didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“It’s probably not going to pan out,” he mumbled. “It never does.”
“Can you believe this guy?” asked Benny. “He’s about to get what we all want and he’s moping.”
“Have you told your better half yet?” asked Swoozie.
“No, I’d rather not bother—”
Swoozie vanished so swiftly that she tore a hole in the space-time continuum. A hideous many-eyed thing tried to slip through the portal and into this reality. Benny unleashed a warning shriek that made his upstairs neighbors’ ears bleed. It was the cosmic horror equivalent of “Watch out. You’re about to step into an alien universe, and it’ll be hell to scrape off your shoe.”
With a thankful screech, the thing withdrew.
Swoozie returned through the same warp in reality she had left, plugging it. She formed a pair of disembodied shoulders and shrugged. “He didn’t seem excited to hear the news.”he
“I could’ve told you that,” said Calvin.
Fenris was blessed with a single-minded stupidity. The moon, his eternal prey, occupied what little sentience he had. And that sentience wasn’t even developed enough to catch a celestial body following a fixed orbit.
“This is great news,” said Benny. “We should celebrate.”
“I thought we were going to call it a night.”
“This could be our last chance to hang out. You can’t leave your friends behind without one last night. For old times’ sake. Back me up here, Swoozie.”
“Ah, what the hell?” Swoozie said. “I can always find another star to eat.”
Benny changed out of his baseball cap. He draped a sports jacket over his back, taping it on his absent shoulders.
They found a T.G.I. Friday’s just around the corner, where they spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about the many millennia they’d shared in this common cage. Then Swoozie had one too many beers and belched forth a yellow fog, and everyone in the restaurant began to shriek and claw at their own faces. It put a damper on the mood.
As they left the establishment, reality fixed itself. Like it almost always did. That was the real annoyance that the three eldritch faced. They didn’t belong here, and the universe reminded them of that every day.
“Look at the time,” said Swoozie. “There’s a binary system in collapse, and if I don’t make it, it’ll just go to waste.”
“And I’ve got a big meeting,” added Benny.
