Twenty

Judy's Narrow Escape

Darkness creeps up behind you
Like a whisper at the end of a dream
Darkness stands and looks into your eyes
Darkness holds you like the echo of a scream

Laugh in the dark
Laugh at the shadows
Laugh in the dark
And they can't hurt you
Laugh

--From "Laugh in the Dark" by The Shadow Barons

      Judy walked along the edge of the road. It was nearing midnight, and most of the traffic had trailed off. As it was she wasn't all that sure if she wanted to try her thumb in the first place... the way the night had been going it seemed as though the outskirts of Arkham teemed with unsettling motorists.
      But it was dark, it was late, and it was getting cold. The breeze, once exhilarating upon her bare legs, was growing teeth. Luck, which had served her in the woods, would certainly serve her now. After all, even though there were an awful lot of psychos in the world, they were far outnumbered by the good people. Even in Massachusetts.
      Initially she had been worried that John Symonds' green Chevy would be one of the cars that would come rumbling up behind her as she walked alone beneath the stars; rumbling up behind her, slowing to a stop, with its door opening and John's voice speaking in a nightmarish deja voodoo drawl, "Hey, honey, need a ride?" But those fears faded as the night drew on; whatever spirit had chosen to blanket her back there in the woods kept her under its protection still. St. Christopher? She had no idea. But she was grateful.
      She had been crafty, though. The path that led her out of the woods had redeposited her on the same road that she had been traversing when John had picked her up initially. To remain on that particular stretch of asphalt was inarguably unsafe. But, she reasoned, as they were on the outskirts of the city, it stood to reason that traveling off-road in any direction would bring one to a different stretch of road sooner or later... with the former being the most likely of the two possibilities. So she dashed across the road and set out across a field, at the far side of which she found a small stone wall, which she followed. The wall led into another patch of woods, but by following it she was able to keep her bearings, in among the shadowed trees.
      The wall disappeared about ten yards into the woods, but that was okay because from there Judy was able to see a change in the timbre of light that indicated "no trees ahead", meaning a clearing or another field just a few dozen feet from where she stood. She had to move slowly and carefully to avoid tripping or getting poked with a branch, but caution was second nature to her at this point and she made it through, scraped a bit but none the worse for wear.
      This was a cornfield, and it seemed to stretch for miles. Judy smiled, because there was nothing in the world safer for her at this very minute than a cornfield. No one could see her from the road, but there was enough light for her to make good time and nothing to trip or snag on. A shape in the field's center seemed to be a scarecrow, looking down at her with arms outstretched, which should have been creepy, given the night and the weird moonlight and all, but seemed somehow comforting instead. No telling how you 'll react to something until you're facing it.
      She strolled along at the edge of the cornfield, starting to enjoy herself now. She still had a mild buzz left, and now that things were cool again she could take her time and enjoy it. Enjoy the night, the stars, the scent of corn-husks, earth, and mellowed manure.
      Everything seemed so alive! She felt like humming, or whistling, or singing... like whirling around like Julie Andrews on a mountaintop. And why not? She whirled, humming. It was wonderful, being out here, alone in the night like this. She realized that what she was experiencing had to be a reaction to what she had just been through, her body's way of exhaling after holding its metaphorical breath for so long. But so what? It felt great.
      The spiritual exhalation had carried her for about an hour, through the cornfield and across a small brook, through a meadow and somebody's backyard, and down an obviously underutilized side street until she finally reached the road she was currently walking down, finally feeling the strain of the ordeal and the nip of the breeze.
      She looked at her thumb. Well, time to go to work, old friend.
      There is a rhythm to the pulse of the night, and an underlying web of connections that link us inextricably to our fate. Facing backward to scope out the terrain, Judy saw the car before she heard it. It made its presence known as a soft glow in the distance, a hazy circle of light without definition, like a traveling fairy in a Disney cartoon. Swiftly, though, its headlights outpaced the haze and began to gain definition within the glow; first as one bright golden fire, then breaking up into two distinct lamps, twin eyes of light staring out of the night.
      Before long it was almost upon her. She walked facing backward, thumb extended. The lights roared up, still seeming disembodied, unattached to any vehicle. Then she saw it, long and blue and resolutely metal, rushing toward her, flowing through the night air like a creature of the sea, a seal, a dolphin, a whale. And then it sluiced past her, and then it slowed, and then it stopped. With a chunking sound of metal releasing, the passenger door popped open.
      She ran forward at a slight jog, catching up to the car in moments. "Hey, you goin' to Arkham?" she asked.
      "Isn't everybody?" the driver answered in a cultured voice, to which the passenger responded with a friendly chuckle. She couldn't see the driver clearly, but the passenger seemed harmless enough, a little overwhelmed even; a college kid, he didn't seem like he'd had too much experience around women, though Judy reflected that she might be stereotyping based on his thick glasses and unkempt hair. Nothing demurring about his eyes, though; they stared right into hers.
      "Alex," the driver said, "Make room for the young lady." When Alex looked at him, quizzically, the driver hooked a thumb toward the back seat. Alex nodded, and got out of the car.
      "I guess you get to ride up front," he said, without resentment.
      "Thank you," she answered.
      As Alex moved around her toward the rear passenger's door, she looked in at the driver, his face half-lit by the dashboard light. He was in his thirties, possibly older but not by much, well- groomed and tastefully dressed, though with a hint of the bohemian about him. A professor, she guessed, probably with the University, and the younger man named Alex was doubtless a student, maybe a teaching assistant.
      "Come on in," he said. "We'll see you to your destination."
      She looked at him just a moment longer, enough time for her ESP to speak, if it was going to. It was silent. Good.
      "I'm Judy," she said, sliding onto the passenger seat.
      "Hello, Judy," the driver responded. "That's Alex in the back, and I'm Firth."
      "Last name or firth?" She laughed at the tongue-slip.
      Firth chuckled. "Last name."
      "The First Name would be 'Adam'," Alex said from the back seat.
      "Nice to meet you, Adam," Judy said to Firth, who laughed.
      "No, Adam is not my name," he said, "Alex is making a 'funny'. 'Adam' is not my first name, but is 'the' first name, if you trust Genesis. I am Stephen. Which, by the way, is another 'first' name, Alex... the first Martyr."
      "A real stoned cat, that Stephen," Alex said, smirking.
      Judy having closed her door, Firth accelerated the car into motion and they set out down the long dark road. "Saul, whom we know as 'Paul the Apostle'," he elaborated, "Was present at the stoning of Stephen, and held the cloaks of the executioners. What would that make him, Alex?"
      "A Paul-ished coat rack."
      "Clever. I was thinking of perhaps 'Shawl of Tarsus, accessorized accessory '."
      Judy felt a little dazed by the conversation but felt she should add something. "Is that the same as 'Saint Stephen'? I heard a song about him, by a band from San Francisco. The Grateful Dead. Have you heard of them?"
      "No, can't say I have. Like the name. Very literate. Alex?"
      "Hippie band. Worth looking into."
      "Psychedelic?" There was an odd look in Firth's eyes.
      "Oh yeah!" Judy said. "They played at the Acid Tests, and at the Be-In, and all those things. Woodstock."
      "Ahh, I thought I'd seen the name somewhere."
      "They used to be called 'The Warlocks'," Alex added, smiling.
      Firth laughed.
      "Are you with the college?" she asked Firth.
      "Yes," he answered conversationally. "I am a professor. Alex is one of my lecture assistants."
      "Cool!" Judy responded. "Let me guess... history."
      "No. Not a bad guess, though."
      "English, then."
      "Further afield. Philosophy. 'The love of knowledge'."
      "I don't know much about philosophy."
      "In my opinion, that puts you on a par with many actual 'philosophers'."
      Alex laughed. "Firth is the 'anti-Socrates'."
      Firth smiled. "Alex is calling me a 'know-it-all'; Socrates professed that he was the wisest of men simply because he was the only one who realized that he knew nothing at all."
      Judy shook her head as if to clear it. "Now I see why I never wanted to learn 'philosophy'."
      Firth chuckled again, backtracking. "Socrates was Greek and lived about a half a millennium before the Christian era. In a land where men took pride in the extent of their knowledge and their ability to reason, Socrates went around demolishing mens' self-images simply by asking them pointed questions. No matter what any learned citizen professed to 'know' or 'believe', within minutes Socrates could reduce them to a bitter state of hopeless uncertainty. I like that. Hail, Socrates, philosophy's first 'asshole'."
      "And another martyr," Alex added.
      "Not philosophy's first, but certainly its most notable. You can't walk around crumbling other people's facades and expect to get away with it forever."
      "A message for the hippies," Alex smirked.
      "What do you mean?" Judy asked.
      "He means," Firth answered, "That the dragon of society will only stand for so many prods before it snaps back with fang and fire. I think we all saw a hint of that in Chicago last summer."
      "But only a hint," Alex said. "The martyring comes later."
      "You sound as if you're looking forward to it!" Judy laughed.
      "No," Firth answered. "We're on the side of Socrates. It's what philosophy is all about, really. Knowledge comes through chaos. Upturnings bring about radical ideas, and vice versa. You don't learn about the nature of dragons by letting them sleep."
      "You make philosophy sound so dangerous. I never really thought of philosophers in the same breath as, like, 'astronauts' or 'firemen'."
      "The true philosopher is an 'adventurer of the mind'," Firth answered.
      "I wanna be a philosopher when I grow up," Alex said in a childish voice, prompting laughter from Judy and the Professor.
      "That would be a dangerous thing to say on the playground," Firth commented.
      
      
      "'Philosopher' doesn't have quite the same cachet as 'shortstop' or 'cowboy'," Alex said.
      "I wouldn't say 'cachet' on the playground, either," Judy laughed.
      "My approach to philosophy," Firth said, "Is to see it as a 'science' rather than an 'humanity'; as something that lives, breathes and defecates rather than as 'literature'. Something that can be studied and manipulated."
      "It's pretty radical," Alex commented, getting excited. "When I was a freshman a different philosophy prof, teaching 'Introductory Philosophy 101', said that 'Philosophy is the History of Philosophy'. He meant that the student must know and understand past thought before one can forge ahead..."
      "Just as 'basic physics' was a prerequisite for Einstein," Firth elaborated.
      "But what it also meant was that in a very real sense 'philosophy', 'the love of knowledge', had become 'the love of what is already known'... a self-congratulatory, narcissistic wallow in the writings of great minds long dead. Fresh thought has become anathema. Stasis is the disease, but Firth is working on the cure, can you believe it?"
      "Don't overload the girl with concepts, Alex," Firth chastised. "She doesn't know the first thing about the subject... not to derogate you at all, Judy, but that is the case, isn't it?"
      Judy nodded, somewhat sheepishly. "I mean, I know what 'a' philosophy is, but I couldn't even guess what you people study..."
      "Fair enough," Firth said. "It covers a lot of ground, Judy. We study big issues and small ones. Why is everything? Is God a necessary component in the makeup of the universe? How can we know? What defines 'man'? Is there a soul? What is it? Why?"
      "Sounds like the sort of thing that keeps people awake nights," Judy mused.
      "Philosophy is the art of remaining awake," Alex said.
      "He means, 'awake' in the sense that your mind is always thinking, alert, aware," Firth explained, "Though philosophers as a rule sleep fitfully at best. But as I was saying, there are smaller issues as well. What is a good life? How can it be lived? What, in fact, is 'good'?"
      "That seems like the sort of thing that you just 'know'," Judy said, thoughtfully. "My grandmother said that 'good people always know the right thing to do. Bad people do, too, but do the opposite'. I think that's a pretty sound philosophy."
      Firth smiled, and his tone showed that he was becoming more animated by the conversation. "It could be. But is there such a thing as a 'good' person? How would you know? Can a 'good' person make a 'bad' choice? By your grandma's thesis, no, they couldn't... and I think you'd be hard pressed to find a purely 'good' person using that criterion. And that's without even looking at issues such as moral 'gray areas' - capital punishment, for example, or, better still, assume a doctor with a terminally ill patient in what the medical profession, with a sort of sick irony, calls 'exquisite pain'..."
      "I love that term," Alex chuckled.
      "Does that doctor end the pain by administering a lethal dose of, say, morphine? Is that murder? Is murder the right choice in this case? What is the right answer?"
      "Well, I know what I'd do," Judy said, emphatically. "You put a sick pet 'out of its misery' and that's the right thing to do."
      "But you assume that you are, in fact, a 'good' person and hence able to 'know' the 'right' course. But is that true?"
      "I just know it."
      "But don't you imagine that a 'bad' person must feel the same way? That, in his heart, he knows that his choice is 'right'? How do you know that you are 'good' and not 'bad'?"
      "I just do. But I see why this would be the sort of thing that could eat up class time."
      "And a hell of a lot of paper," Alex said.
      "I'm glad this is the example that came up," Firth said, "Because, in a way, that's my field. I study 'evil'."
      "What?" Judy was mildly shocked at the concept, as well as its uneasy echoes of her experiences earlier that evening.
      "It makes sense. Philosophy is, by its nature, inexact. Debates on minor issues have continued for literally millennia. Almost no subject, no theory can ever be considered 'final'... to use a famous example, Descartes wondered how he could know that he was actually existing, and not simply being convinced that he existed by, say, a malicious demon. He reasoned that he knew he existed because he was able to think, and considered that the end to the issue. But, of course, that same omnipotent demon could just as simply convince him that he was thinking in the same manner it convinced him he was existing. So his answer was no answer at all."
      "I don't understand a word of that."
      "Trust me," Alex said, "It was profound."
       "A philosopher works in thought, a philosopher thinks. But, as it was for Descartes, nothing can be 'known'; it's all in the mind, and if the mind is deluded..."
      "History is a road cobbled with delusions," Alex said.
      "Well put," Firth said. "Did you steal that? No? Well, I may have to pilfer it from you for my next paper." He grinned. "Now, as opposed to a philosopher, a scientist theorizes, then experiments. If the experiment succeeds, the theory is validated; if it fails, a new theory is proffered. Eventually empirical knowledge is the result... knowledge that exists outside of the mind. Real-world knowledge. Deluding demons aside, we can feel safe in assuming that there is such a thing as 'gravity' and that it does exist... experiments have confirmed its existence, and measured its properties. That's knowledge you can put in the bank."
      "A Bank of Knowledge is a Library," Alex said.
      "Now, just stop that, will you?" Firth said, testily. Judy got a sense that this sort of interplay went on constantly between pupil and professor. "And besides, unlike banks, uncirculated knowledge, in the form of unread library books, represents a decrease in 'interest', ha ha. But we were talking about science. What I've been doing is applying the scientific principal to philosophy."
      "Meaning," Judy said, "That you come up with a theory and then experiment to prove or disprove it."
      "Basically."
      "But you study 'evil'..."
      There was a moment when the inside of the car began to feel heavy, a moment when Judy felt as though some strange revelation was about to pour itself across her mind, a revelation that was vast and liquid and filled the car, pressing on her from all directions. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn't dare to open her mouth or the revelation would flow in. She knew without thinking that the revelation would drown her.
      
      At that moment John Symonds' car passed them, going the other way.
      "I know that car," Judy said, dreamily, not even meaning it to be spoken out loud. Whether it was the act of speaking or the arrival of John's car, the pressure dissipated, the air cleared. She even had a not-quite-conscious thought that the bubble of unwanted knowledge that had so recently oppressed her had been drawn out of the professor's car by the passage of John Symonds', that the Revelation Bubble was now following John Symonds' car as it raced away from Arkham, its headlights searching off into the darkness, searching for her, for Judy Mondavi.
      Firth's eyes sought Alex's in the rear-view mirror, found them, and exchanged a glance beneath the reflection of departing headlights. "My initial theory was that a scientific approach to philosophy would require an area of study that leant itself to measurement, to quantification. For several years I had engaged in experiments designed to prove the validity of various philosophic principals, largely in regards to human nature. One of my areas of interest was 'evil', which I assumed to be a human trait, a survival skill developed in our prehistoric past. Alex fueled my interest in the subject..."
      "Some of my relatives dies in the ovens," Alex explained.
      
      "I'm sorry," Judy said, but Alex merely shrugged.
      "Yes. Alex's family's experience raised all sorts of questions, and we set about conducting a series of experiments in that area. Initially our study was largely psychological in its basis, but events occurred that pushed the study into the field of 'metaphysics', which deals with the subjects of a supernatural basis, such as the existence of God..."
      "I thought that was 'theology'" Judy said.
      "'Theology' presupposes God's existence. I don't take that as a 'given'. But the new direction opened an exciting area of study, and with Alex's assistance I launched into a series of experiments that aim to prove empirically that God, or more precisely a 'God-figure' or 'over-consciousness', exists. Now, I quickly realized that numerous barriers had to be passed before I could approach that ultimate experiment; I had to first prove the existence of, for example, 'supernatural events'."
      "Did you?"
      "To my satisfaction. But the existence of supernatural, unexplained phenomena does not speak to its nature... that it exists is in no way proof that God exists."
      "I don't see why not?"
      "Humans exist," Alex piped in, "That doesn't prove anything. Same goes for 'ghosts', or even, like, demons' or 'angels'. Just 'cause you can show that a supernatural intelligence exists that fits the description of 'angel' it has no bearing on the existence or non-existence of God."
      "You've seen angels?" Judy's jaw dropped.
      "Like Alex said," Firth corrected, "Supernatural intelligences that fit the description of angels. Yes, they're difficult to summon but they do exist."
      "Listen," Judy said, as calmly as she could, "This is beginning to weird me out a little..."
      Firth raised a calming hand. "Sorry, sorry. I realize that this seems a bit, um, for want of a better word, 'insane'. But look at us; wouldn't you agree that we're rational adults?"
      "Well, I thought so at first..." Judy managed a slight smile.
      "Let me put it another way: haven't you had experiences you couldn't quite explain. Maybe even a supernatural event or two?"
      "Yes," Judy answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. She was still thinking about the night's events, and was quickly beginning to think that those events weren't quite over.
      "Well, there you go. We have, too. And the fact that we initiated our own events whereas yours doubtless came to you unbidden doesn't really change the nature of the events. We don't think you're insane; grant us the same leeway." Firth smiled.
      Judy smiled back, but she was still a trifle uneasy. "But I believe in God."
      
      "Well, from a scientific standpoint, belief shouldn't enter into the question. 'God exists' is a theory. My quest is for experimental proof. Which brings us to 'evil'."
      "As a quest for God is wont to do," Alex said, grinning.
      "Shut up. Okay, we've proved that supernatural events occur. To our satisfaction. What, then, is the next step?"
      "I don't know. Proving the Bible?"
      "Hardly. The next step, as I saw it, hinges on the specific nature of God, as we understand Him/it/the concept... God is described as 'the sum of all Good'."
      "Bear in mind," Alex said, "That the professor is simplifying radically. There are many competing concepts of God... some cultures include Evil in God, others do not. For the sake of experiment, Professor Firth assumed that God and Satan are separate entities, with God containing all Good and the Devil all Evil. Later experiments could study the nature of each, and whether or not they were in fact separate."
      "Thank you, Alex."
      "So have you?" Judy asked.
      "Have I what?"
      "Have you proved it? The existence of Evil?"
      "No. Not yet."
      "But you think you can do it?"
      "Oh, yes. I think we're quite close."
      "How will you prove it?"
      The Professor smiled. "Trade secret."
      Judy looked out at the night, and the lights of Arkham, so near, so ready to engulf them. She thought about the strange series of events that had led her to this particular place, this particular time. She wondered where events would take her next.
      They rode on in silence for a few moments. Judy didn't like the quiet. It was an odd sort of silence, and the pressure that she had felt earlier seemed to hang nearby, unrealized, ready to reassert itself. She decided to change the subject.
      "Do you enjoy being a philosopher?"
      Firth smiled. The neon of a gas-station's sign, exhaustingly bright, illuminated his face with a pale glow. "It's a living." He laughed. "I am, of course, being facetious. It's more than that. It's a calling, really."
      "Really?"
      "Yes. I can't see doing anything else. But it's not always easy."
      "It sounds like it can get hard on the mind."
      "Yes. And you have to be prepared to make sacrifices."
      Judy noticed Firth looking into the rear view mirror at Alex, who was grinning. Firth grinned back. They had a lot of teeth.