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He closed one eye and tried to make out what that offensively ostentatious object on the couch might be, and then he felt his energy-balloon pop and his downhill train run out of track and that starlight get sucked down into a black hole of warning.
It was the phone.
John fucking Benson.
Ice froze mid-undress, every muscle tensing up as if the entire universe had frozen along with him, like every moment of every possible past and probable future hinged on the choice staring him in the face, screaming up at him from that phone which was vibrating and throbbing and pulsing like a living breathing seething searching creature of the dark.
The moment stretched out for eternity, and Ice could feel those distant fingers of sanity clawing at him to come back to that place where a candle of common sense still flickered in the storm winds of chaos.
Ice gritted his teeth, tightened his jaw, took a heavy step towards the phone, straining against some unseen force like he was climbing a mountain in the driving snow, the wind trying to push him back down before he got swallowed up by the storm, passed the point of no return, was committed to finding the cloud-obscured summit or be lost forever.
And now Ice had made it to the couch, was staring down at the phone, knew that this wasn’t a divine sign but Benson’s deliberate attempt to seize control of Ice’s runaway train, put things back on track, take over the wheel from that mad clown giggling in Ice’s head.
Perhaps Benson had heard all that stuff about dosing and danger, NOC and LSD. Perhaps Benson was doing the right thing by stepping in and taking charge. Perhaps Ice needed to do the right thing by clawing his way towards that flickering candle of common sense, using every last bit of his training to clutch that remnant of reason, to answer that phone and give up control to someone else, someone sober, someone sane.
Ice picked up the ringing phone now, turning it over in his hand as the choice turned over in his mind. He was fully feeling it now, no doubt it was the same pattern which had played out that Thanksgiving Day all those years ago, when Jack was away on his first deployment with the Army, when Ice had come home for a week after his first Delta mission.
After his first kill.
Now a sharp pain splintered through the space behind Ice’s left eye. He winced and shook his head to get the memories out of it. But they were all bubbling up now, storming through his head like soldiers in formation, their bootsteps marching out the images of that awful time in Ice’s life, their war-drums thundering out the emotions of what Ice had to endure that day because his parents had crossed a line, done something he could never forget, never forgive.
Change direction, he told himself as he felt his energy start to spiral downwards. That fateful Thanksgiving had forced Ice to learn first-hand how this dangerously unpredictable drug worked.
It worked with whatever energy you fed it.
Feed it light and you get angels.
Feed it darkness and you get demons.
And right now Ice could feel the monster gorging itself on darkness, swallowing those angels, fueling those demons.
He stared at the phone in his hand as the dread-beast surged in his heart, those dark memories of being forced to confront his own soul on that Thanksgiving Day when a young Ice Wagner had returned home after taking a human life for the first time, doing something that was profoundly difficult even though it was duty, was deeply unsettling even though it was orders, was tremendously traumatic even though it was absolutely the right thing to do.
Ice was losing it now. He had no idea how long he’d been standing here staring at the ringing screaming vibrating angry phone. He tried to swallow but his tongue was thick like a potato in his desperately dry mouth. His eyes burned like he’d forgotten how to blink.
But those burning unblinking eyes still had true vision, and Ice realized he was staring at the bedroom door now, that door which was pulsing with energy, glowing with potential, shining with salvation.
That’s where you need to be right now, Ice told himself as he felt the angels and demons meet in a deadly embrace on the battleground of his psyche. That’s where you’ll find the light that powers your angels and destroys your demons.
The certainty blazed through him, electric energy streaking through Ice’s body and lighting up the entire grid, sending explosions of color through his consciousness. He had to step through that door, make the choice to follow his heart because it seemed to be pointing the way with breathtaking clarity.
So with that clarity burning through his brain Ice grabbed his heavy knife from where he’d tossed it earlier. He placed the vibrating phone down on the wooden sideboard, holding the squirming thing in place as he took a breath.
Then Ice raised the knife and brought it down hilt-first, striking the metal-knobbed base of the weapon hard into the phone’s screen, shattering it into a million pieces.
The phone went silent. The screen a black hole with spiderweb tentacles, like Alice’s looking-glass gaping its dark maw and beckoning Ice to step inside, crawl down that rabbithole, tumble all the way down.
Ice turned the shattered phone over, cracked the dented back cover, pulled out the battery and tossed it across the room. Satisfied that it was dead enough, he turned his attention to that glowing pulsing shimmering bedroom door.
He took a breath, was about to barrel himself shoulder-first into the door and shatter his way through that looking glass.
But then he heard something strange from behind that door.
Ice cocked his head, then strode to the door and listened.
“Shit,” he muttered when he remembered that although he’d been through this once and at least had a vague idea of what to expect, Indy clearly hadn’t been so lucky. Or unlucky. “Shit. Shit.Shit.”
LSD was a highly psychoactive drug, opening up parts of the brain and dredging up memories and emotions that might have been repressed for years, decades.