Page 51 of Atlas of Unknowable Things

Lexi began to cry, and a general sense of doom descended on the space.

I could feel myself on the edge of giving in to it, too, my arms beginning to sag with the weight of the harpoon.

In another life, I might have given in to that urge, but that part of me was gone now.

I knew there was something I was missing, some possible solution hovering just beyond my perception. And then I saw it.

“We’ll have to repair it manually,” I said.

Silence snapped through the room like an electrical impulse.

Finn pointed at one of the disemboweled panels, wires splaying out from it, frenzied. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“This isn’t the only entrance,” I said quietly, and I could see the muscles in Dorian’s jaw briefly tighten. “There’s an old entrance. The one the ancestors used.”

“No,” said Aspen. “There isn’t. This is the only one.”

“That’s not true. There is another entrance. I’m the only one here with high enough security clearance to know about it. Although it looks like someone must have let Dorian in on the secret as well.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Finn. “What old entrance?”

“The trapdoor beneath my office on the island. It leads down to it. That’s why the office is out there. It’s not an office. It’s a guard post meant to stop people from knowing what’s beneath it.” I stared straight at Dorian, holding his gaze. “If we get down there, we could repair it manually.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s impassable, flooded ages ago. I told you that already.”

“You told me that when you thought I was Robin. I’m not Robin anymore, you dick, and I know that it wasn’t flooded.”

He squinted, roiled by some emotion I couldn’t quite grasp. “Even if you tried to access it from there, it’s basically useless. It was built hundreds of years ago.”

“It’s archaic, but I can still use it.”

“No,” Dorian said with a quick shake of his head. “You’d never survive.”

“What do you care if I survive?” I looked over at the others. “I can fix it.”

Panicking now, Dorian looked around at us. “It’s not too late. You all could come along with me. Think splendor and luxury beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Yeah, I think you can fuck right off there, Dorian,” I said.

“You’ve always been such a stubborn little bitch.”

Finn locked eyes with Dorian. “They’re going to be on the wrong side of history. You don’t want to be on it with them.”

“We won’t be on the wrong side of history,” he said, a slightly crazed look in his eye—the look I’d seen that day out in the woods. “We’ll be able to control them. We’ll be among the righteous, honoring the Mother like we’ve always done, just now much more actively.”

“You can’t believe what you’re saying,” pleaded Aspen.

Suddenly his face grew red with rage, and the veins in his temples looked twisted and engorged. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. They have the power now. We’re either with them or against them, and there’s no way I’m going against them.”

“He’s scared,” said Aspen, her own features contorting with fear at the prospect. “What are they threatening you with?”

“I told you once that I’ve seen evil before—true evil—and I have. You don’t know these people like I do,” he said through gritted teeth. “Like my dad and I do. One doesn’t want to disappoint them.”

Was that what they were holding over him? His family?

“But you can’t believe in what they’re trying to do,” said Finn.

“Don’t tell me what I believe!” he yelled.

“What the hell is he talking about?” said Lexi.

Dorian focused on me. “You’ve said it yourself. The world is filled with sin.”

“I never said that.”

“Violence, then. You see it everywhere you look. Vile obscenity, unholy depravity. It must be stopped. And these”—he gestured toward the water—“are our holy vessels, the Mother’s sword in the coming holy war.”

“Oh god.” Aspen shuddered.

Raising his hands, he stepped away from me, toward the creatures.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“The only thing I can do,” he said, smiling. “I had one task, and I needed to fulfill it. If I can’t complete the task, I need to make alternate plans.”

“Don’t act crazy,” Finn said. “We can help you, Dorian, protect you from them. You can tell them whatever you want. All we ask is that you don’t stop us.”

He laughed, low and bitter. “But that’s the only thing I’m supposed to do. If you succeed, I fail. If I fail…”

His eyes grew distant, and then he moved toward the flood lock and pulled hard on a lever. He was performing some kind of manual override, but it wasn’t quite working. The door was jerky, stuttering, and sparks issued from it in a juddery burst.

“You have me outnumbered,” he continued. “And I’ve never been much of a fighter.”

“Stop that,” I demanded, moving toward him.

He looked at me straight on and in a matter-of-fact tone said, “They will sing my name. They will celebrate my righteousness as the blood of the sinners floods the streets.”

In an instant, he stepped into the chamber, threw a lever, and shoved the door shut behind him.

“No!” Aspen screamed. “What are you doing?”

He gave us a horrifying grin and then threw another lever, and without utilizing any of the safety straps or equipment, he let the chamber flood. Thick blue liquid rushed in, slamming him against the side of the lock before carrying him out into the indigo expanse beyond.

“We have to do something,” Finn yelled, moving to the door. “He’s going to drown.”

I dropped the harpoon and started to suit up, intent on going after him, my eyes on the nymphs, but they didn’t seem to even notice him.

“The outer door needs to close before we can do anything,” Aspen said, coming to Finn’s aid.

Together they were working on closing the door and clearing the water, and for an instant I thought we might be able to do something, but then they came.

Like a flood of darkness, they swept up.

Black scales and needle teeth, their eyes almost human but with a sickness to them that spoke of something primordial, something rotten.

The legion surged up, surrounded him, tearing his flesh, devouring him.

Our screams filled the room, echoing around that dank, funereal space, and time seemed to expand beyond the laws of physics, each moment bleeding into the next as we pounded against the glass, powerless to stop the bloodshed we were forced to witness.

And then like sated piranhas, they disappeared, undulating wisps of inky darkness, fluttering back down into the depths, leaving nothing but floating strands of marrow in their wake.

No one spoke. The nymphs never even woke up. Still half clad in the suit, I stumbled back, nearly fainting, but Finn caught me.

Lexi was close to hyperventilating, and Aspen wrapped an arm around her. “Deep breaths,” she said calmly.

“What are we going to do now?” Lexi gasped. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

Finn looked over at me. “Do you really think it’s possible to fix it manually?”

I looked out through the viewing window to the liquid, deep into that cerulean expanse beyond. “I do.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aspen said. “You saw what those things did to Dorian. We’ve never even seen those before. Who knows what the hell else is out there.”

“The actual repair will take me a matter of seconds. I’ll be in and out,” I said. “But we need to go now.”

We left the woods soon after that. Finn grabbed diving gear from his cabana, and the four of us headed out to the island.

No one spoke as we glided across those inky depths, and when we reached the shore, I was shaking with fear.

I knew exactly what I had to do, but no part of me actually wanted to do it.

The sun was just beginning to rise as we walked through the fields of silphium, and by the time we reached the office, the mountain bluebirds were trilling.

Inside, we removed the rug to reveal the trapdoor. Finn smashed the lock with a heavy stone and we pulled back the bolt. Opening the trapdoor, we saw an expanse of stone steps stretching down in front of us. Antiquated sconces lined the walls.

“Jesus Christ,” whispered Finn. “I had no idea this was here.”

He lit one of the sconces. We climbed down the long flight of stone steps, and soon we hit a lengthy corridor. It was colder down there, and the atmosphere felt odd, unstable. I almost thought for a moment that I could hear something on the other side of the wall, something undulating and massive.

“You know where we’re going?” Finn asked.

“I think so,” I said. “It should be at the end of this corridor, and then down another flight of steps.”

Soon the firelight no longer reached us, and we switched to phone flashlights. But when we descended the final steps to the old entrance, there were two more sconces. Finn lit them, and warm light blazed forth, flooding the area.

“Jesus,” whispered Aspen.

We were in an ancient space, all metal and stone. There was a rusting iron gate that led to a kind of cell half filled with water. On the other side of it, we could see heavy bars with spikes on them, and near the stone ceiling, a small, barred aperture with hinges like a cage door.

“There,” I said, pointing. “I need to go through that opening.”

The water there was three-quarters of the way up the gate. Beyond that, there was only darkness.

“Isabelle,” said Aspen. “No.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said. “We’ll break this lock. I’ll suit up and swim through to the second gate over there. I’ll get that aperture open—someone will have to go with me and close it behind me right away—and then I’ll start the swim down to the breach.”

I looked at their disbelieving faces and then at the ancient gates before me, at the gray-black water sloshing against the stone walls, out to the horrors that awaited me beyond.

As I suited up, I thought about Charles, about how he would have laughed to see how ridiculous I looked in flippers.

I thought about Robin, about the secret self I’d had the chance to become.

And I thought about you, sitting there reading my final words.

I wonder what you will make of them. Will you think me mad?

Will you think this all an extravagant fiction?

If so, that means I succeeded. And if not, if I’ve failed, then you will know that every word I’ve written here is the truth.

I hope with my very soul that’s not the case.

When I said goodbye to Aspen and Lexi, I had hope in my heart, but as soon as my eyes met Finn’s, the reality of my situation came into clear focus.

He put his hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.”

“We could organize a team.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Given the time constraint, given the damage to the observatory, do you really think we have time for that?”

He hesitated. “You know we don’t.”

“And how many lives would be lost? Finn, you need to let me do this. No one else is going to die because of me.”

“You don’t have to be a martyr.”

“I promise I’m not trying to martyr myself,” I said. “I don’t want to die, but I don’t want anyone else to, either. It’s better to live nobly than long, isn’t that right, Finn?”

He gave me a weak smile. “I was drunk when I said that.”

“And you never know,” I said, smiling, wiping a tear that had sprung to my eyes. “Sometimes people have extraordinary luck, don’t they? People survive things they shouldn’t.”

It was more than a question. It was a plea, a plea for him to lie to me.

He looked away and then nodded.

“Finn,” I said, my voice suddenly commanding, “if I don’t come back, you know what to do?”

He looked at me again, his eyes filled with authority, with absolute certainty. “You can trust me,” he said, and then he took my hand in his. “Safe passage, my dear friend.”

I’ve switched to voice recording now. I’m out here in the water that is not water. I’ve done it now, successfully capped the well, repaired the breach. We’re safe, at least for now. At least until mankind’s hubris takes us right to the edge of our own destruction yet again.

I’m on my way back now. I can see hints of sunlight coming from somewhere, but glancing behind me, I can also see something else, something emerging from the darkness, swimming toward me with the fury of a thousand leviathans.

I don’t know if it’s the mother or the father.

I don’t even know if it’s related to the nymphs.

All I know is that it’s coming for me. I see something like scales, something like fire.

I see a rush of indigo bubbles.

I see what I think might be an eye. It’s too large and too close to tell.

I hear myself scream.

In an instant, I’m no longer in the water. I’m deep in the woods, in almost complete darkness. I know this place from its scent, from the cedar and pine.

“Hello?” I call, and my voice echoes back to me.

Somewhere far in the distance, I think I hear a voice cry out, inconsolable sobs.

“Hello?” I call, but again my words are hollow and tinny, and they return only an echo.

Instinctively I start moving toward the sea of darkness, toward a legion of wavering trees and a ceaseless howling wind. I walk with certainty, and any fear that lingers in my chest is dissolving.

Just before I reach the tree line, I hear something coming through. A rustling of leaves, a body in motion. Soon I can make out a figure. Tall and brawny, a smile and a burgundy knit cap.

“Charles?” I whisper.

“Bugbear,” he says with a smile.

He walks toward me, and as he closes his eyes, I see that his lids still hold the ferryman’s coins. “I told you we’d meet here again,” he says. “In the dark. Amongst the trees.”

He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, the familiar scent of him enveloping me, the breath of forgiveness. “It’s time to go,” he whispers.

“But the others.” I try to turn around but find that I can’t. There is only one way to go now.

“They’ll be fine. At least for now. And we will keep watch. It doesn’t end just because it ends.”

I look up at him through the prism of my tears, and I believe him.

He slips his hand into mine, and together, finally home, we step into the void.