Christa Faust: Fringe The Zodiac Paradox

The killer let out a contemptuous bark of laughter.

“I’m nobody’s lab rat,” he said, gun aimed between Latimer’s eyes.

“Shoot me if you like,” Latimer said. “There are a dozen more just like me right outside that door. You’re coming with us today. It’s up to you if you want come willingly, or...”

“Or what?”

Walter still couldn’t trust what he was seeing, or what he thought he was seeing, but he was pretty sure that the other two agents had begun a slow creep around either side of the killer.

He knew it was real when the killer shot them both, first left, then right, with blinding speed and precision.

They dropped almost in tandem, uncapped syringes falling from their twitching hands. One rolled across the floor and bumped against the killer’s muddy boot. He looked down at it with a smirk, then lifted his foot and crushed it under his heel.

“Plan B?” he asked Latimer.

Latimer started backing away.

“I didn’t think so.” The killer started to strip the gloves off his hands, revealing the swarming sparks flowing over the surface of his skin. “You want to study me? Learn about me? Find out what makes me tick? Take a good long look, Agent Latimer.”

He stepped in with the smooth, fearless grace of a boxer, but instead of throwing a jab, he reached out and grabbed Latimer’s face.

The agent let out a horrible, muffled scream as the killer’s fingers sank into the burning flesh. The skin bubbled and split around his fingertips, peeling back in charred flaps. Latimer’s exposed skull started to effervesce into the air around him, emitting a sparkling cloud of atomic particles.

48

Walter was staring at this hideous display with his jaw hanging open when Nina grabbed him and shoved him toward the open door—the one that led to the stairwell. She pushed so hard that he nearly fell, dropping his bag. It slid across the floor and landed in a large puddle.

“What the...”

“Get into the basement now ,” she said. “Or we’re all cooked!”

“But the chloroform!” Walter cried, taking a step toward his soaked bag.

Over her shoulder, the sickly green glow from Latimer’s melting face was spreading outward like ripples in a pond, until it was just inches away from the back of Nina’s head.

“It’s too late,” she said. “Just GO!”

Walter didn’t need to be told twice. He could feel the burning heat on the back of his neck as he dove for the basement stairs. In mere seconds, the upper level of the building would be awash in deadly gamma radiation. They had to get to the relative safety of the solid stone basement.

Bell went pounding down the stairs ahead of him as Walter half-fell and half-ran right behind him. Nina was reaching out to pull the heavy old door shut behind them when a powerful blast of energy slammed it, knocking her down the stairs and into Walter’s arms.

The two of them nearly smashed into Bell, who was standing awestruck at the bottom of the stairs.

The gate had opened.

It was to the left of the stairs. Still just a glittering slit, but bigger than ever before. Nearly eight feet tall and bulging in several places along its length, like a gecko’s pupil. As Walter watched, the bulges dilated and joined together to form one larger opening, swirling and pulsing at its heart.

“How long do you suppose the gate has been open?” Nina asked, looking at her watch.

“There’s no way of knowing,” Walter said. “Just watch for the formation of tendrils around the outer perimeter. That’s your signal to call the teams and tell them to end the trip.”

“But what if we haven’t had enough time to get him through?” Bell asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Walter said. “I won’t risk any more innocent lives.”

Flickering images of carousel horses seemed to be careening through the air around Walter’s head. He waved at them, as if they were pesky insects, and struggled to keep himself focused.

“Look,” Nina said, pointing to the gate.

Sure enough, tiny threads were appearing around the top, growing and stretching.

Nina pulled out the walkie-talkie.

“Talk to me, team leaders,” she said. “How’s everyone doing?”

“Rocky.” May’s response was immediate. “Both of my guys have been really agitated. I’m doing my best to keep them calm, but I don’t think they can take much more.”

Another voice.

“This is Leslie. My trippers are... well, they aren’t moving at all. They seem almost comatose. I hope they’re okay. Also...” She paused. “I’m starting to get this weird headache, almost like I’m getting sucked into the psychic link.”

“Me, too,” May said. “But I get a lot of headaches, so I figured it was just me.”

“We have to stop this,” Walter said. “Stop it now.”

“One more minute,” Bell insisted. “We need to try and lure the killer into the basement.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to do that,” Walter snapped. “Stop it now , Nina!”

“Kenneth?” Nina said into the walkie-talkie. “Kenneth, do you copy? Are you and your team all right?”

“Can I play, too?”

The Zodiac stood at the top of the stairs, head cocked and curious. His hands were slick with half-cooked gore, but otherwise normal.

He started down the stairs, gun in hand but pointed at the floor.

“You think you can get rid of me like this?” he sneered. “That I’ll just stroll right out of this world like a good little boy. Idiots.”

He reached the bottom of the stairs. Walter backed away, while Bell put out an arm to push Nina behind him.

“I have a better idea,” the killer said. “How about you three go through that gate? See how well you can do in my world.”

He raised the gun and pointed it at Walter.

“You first,” he said.

At that moment something unexpected happened. Walter felt like he’d been hit by a psychic truck as the remote teams suddenly linked minds with him and Bell. The strength and power of that connection started to pull the killer in, revealing that ugly soulless void that was the mind of the Zodiac, struggling against their influence.

Walter could feel Bell close by, and the other minds— all intimately connected, sharing a kaleidoscopic cascade of personal memories and images.

A chubby dark-haired woman with a black eye and a sad smile.

An illicit kiss from a fellow student in the stairway of an all-boys high school.

A music box with a twirling ballerina.

An old woman in a casket, dressed in a frilly, dated frock.

A turquoise parakeet, perched on a child’s finger.

A man turning away, utterly uninterested in a drawing of two smiling stick figures, holding hands.

A backlit silhouette standing in a bedroom door.

All these memories, each one so deeply personal and fraught with significance, felt overwhelming. They distracted Walter from the task at hand. He struggled to shut out all the psychic noise, and hone in on the mind of the killer.

But at the same time as the killer’s dark consciousness was being drawn into the circle, like a snared and panicking bird, Walter could feel Bell’s mind slipping away, lured by the lone bright flame of Nina.

“Belly,” he thought he said. “Stay with us!”

But then, Bell was gone—and in his place, the dark, ferocious psyche of the killer.

Just like that night at Reiden Lake, the world dropped out from under him. Walter felt as if he was plunging through cracked ice, and into the arctic water below.

Then the hallucination changed. The room around him ceased to exist as he plummeted down through a spinning tunnel of images, dragging the linked group of minds behind him like tin cans on a string.