Chapter Text
"We like to smoke pot
We like it a lot
Our small eyes are tearing for what we have not
The nice pipe is here
A lighter is near
I won't become freaked out, fear not, sister dear
We miss the blue sky
It is cold, we will cry
Our being mind is waning and we now know why
We want to feel warm
Yet outside the norm
We want to be a cradle: held and then to be reborn"
—Sister Sleep by Rasputina on Thanks for the Ether, 1996.
"I dreamt I was a beautiful boy
Sleeping in a womb of an animal
Clutching the umbilical cord
My body was the map of America
They blessed me with these beautiful hands and fingers
But my belly was a bag full of chemicals
So they decorated all of the walls with mirrors
Now everybody waits for the miracle"
—Jonah by Major Parkinson on A Night at the Library, 2020.
I. The forest that will eventually be known as Woe's Hollow, 1864
He emerged next to a pool that was fed by the medium-sized waterfall that Jacob had mentioned. The East wind roared and pelted specks of ice and snow onto his face. Leaving his hands exposed to the elements, he did his best to shield his eyes. This forest might have been beautiful if he could properly see it. The sunset cast what little he could see in golden light.
It would seem that he had arrived.
He walked as softly through the forest as possible. Although the snow crunched beneath his feet, it could barely be heard through the cacophony of the wind. He concentrated on his every movement, trying not to slip on icy patches, as walking on ice and snow was something he had never experienced before. At first, he had not even been positive that it was snow, but he'd read about snow in books and had some idea of what to expect. However, he hadn't anticipated that it would have a texture or that it would be so dazzling. The experience would have been exhilarating under any other circumstance. But as his feet began to tire and his muscles ached from trying to keep him upright, the novelty wore off and the forest that had once seemed (probably) beautiful began to look unending. When would he come across Eagan? Biting cold burned his face and he began to shiver uncontrollably, despite wearing a rabbit fur coat that Jacob had given him (and perhaps made himself).
Now that the sun was down and twilight was upon him, Ricardo could see the light of a fire peeking through the trees. As he came closer, he noticed a pale man in his early twenties who was sitting on a long log overgrown with moss. He had something around his neck and shoulders, a scarf perhaps, and he was roasting a small animal, possibly a hare. Beyond him was the entrance to a cave with a narrow opening that beckoned Ricardo towards its endless void.
Before entering the clearing, he called out, "Hello?"
The man looked up. He could see now that the brown scarf was actually a mustache and magnificent beard, which was heavily styled with wax to stretch almost to his shoulders. He had a sharp nose and piercing icy eyes. Despite Ricardo calling out in advance, he seemed startled by Ricardo's approach, and he drew a hunting knife that had been stabbed into the log beside him and stood.
Artistic rendering of Kier, later hung by Optics & Design.
"Who are you?"
Later, when Richard tried to remember the man's voice, he visualized crinkled paper and felt chalky residue on his hands. There was something about it that was as menacingly ancient as the waking rumble of an old god that was better left sleeping.
Ricardo held up his hands, "My name is Ricardo. I am a traveler in these parts, and I seem to be lost. Would you tell me your name, sir?"
"Dieter Eagan. Did my father send you? Do you work for one of the ether mills?"
Upon hearing the man's family name, Ricardo tried to hide the flicker of recognition that he knew wanted to grace his face. "I'm afraid not."
Nonetheless, Dieter looked at him a long while before asking, "Would you do me the honor of joining me, Ricardo?"
"Yes, of course. The honor is mine." Ricardo sat down on the log about a meter away from Dieter. The fire illuminated the lines of the other man's face, its shape appearing to shift ever so slightly with the flickering light.
"It is curious that you came across me in all of these woods."
"I was attracted by the light of your fire."
"Perhaps." It was clear that start of this conversation was tense. It was not ideal. Dieter asked, "Where did you hail from?"
"I came from an island. It is a strange and lonely place, only inhabited by myself and two men, twins." And then he almost added, "One of them sent me here to find you" but decided that he would wait until he built rapport. Within moments of meeting Dieter, he had already shared much more information than he had planned on doing. But something about the man's gaze made him feel compelled to tell the truth in its entirety.
Dieter looked him over for a long time before asking, "Would you like some ether?" Ricardo had expected that the man would ask him follow-up questions about the Island; this was a strange non sequitur.
"In truth, I do not even know what ether is."
"It's a miracle."
As the wind started to let up, they talked long into the night. After awhile, Dieter returned to the subject of ether, which seemed to be his favorite topic of conversation. He told Ricardo all about the benefits of ether and about how it was best as a communal experience, how people held ether parties, in which one would sometimes imbibe or inhale ether. "But it could be used for so much more. I think we could use it to help people forget. It could help men who come back from war with irritable hearts.
"I was a doctor in the war. It was horrific. I saw the suffering that battle had wrought on an unimaginable scale, and it damaged my vigors to see such destruction and feel so powerless to do much more than staunch bleeding or amputate limbs. My father paid a commutation fee so that I could leave after the Battle of Cold Harbor, and since then I journeyed deep into the woods where you have somehow found me. My father was not pleased that I wanted to live like a pauper. But I needed to clear my head. I want to develop something that will help alleviate the suffering of the world, but I am just so tired. However, I think the ether has helped."
Ricardo nodded. The man was didactic and abstruse, but at its core, what he said made sense. Before Isabella had fallen ill and this nightmare had begun, he didn't know it was possible to be this exhausted on every level and still be alive. Granted, with his immortality he could push himself past the point of exhaustion. But he didn't want to. He desperately wanted to just give up. To go back to the bench and mourn. It was strange to think that the Island was somewhere he wanted to return to, but home was wherever Isabella was.
And yet, he had to continue on.
"And your father makes this ether?"
"Yes, it is manufactured for the purposes of anesthesia, and I used it during the war during surgeries. But I think my father's vision for its uses is too limited. During my time in the woods, I have had much time to think. And I have come to realize that we could use it to do work that is truly important without having to remember the pain. For all work that is important involves pain."
"I don't understand."
Dieter explained, "A few men could make ether to sell, and the other workers in the mill could inhale its sweet fumes while they work on things that are much more important. And when they leave the mill, they'll never remember the work that they did."
That sounded awful. He suppressed a shiver. "What kind of work would they do?"
Dieter waved off his question and provided a non-answer, "I believe that in every man's soul there are four components that I call the Four Tempers. They both reside within all of us and are real constructs walking around in the world. Few are lucky—or perhaps unlucky enough—to meet the Tempers' avatars. I am such an individual."
Ricardo didn't understand, nor did he want to.
The man contorted his face into a boyish grin—it looked unnatural on his face—and Ricardo realized that this was the first time he had seen the man smile. Dieter asked, "Would you like to meet Frolic?"
"What do you mean?"
"The parties I spoke of earlier are called "frolics". You are unlikely to actually meet the avatar of Frolic tonight. But you can partake of ether. And who knows, you may see Frolic yet. If you see a man in a jester's garb, Frolic will have judged you worthy."
He wanted to say "no", but he had to gain this man's trust.
He agreed.
"First, you must take cold water and use it to wash your mouth and then swallow more water—I have some cold water here in my canteen. It will prepare your mouth and stomach, for the ether will burn. After you consume the ether, you must drink yet more cold water. When you become experienced enough, you may be able to consume it without water, such as I." Ricardo didn't like the implication that he might do this more than once. "But for now, you must be very careful." Dieter's face grew stern again, "And you cannot get close to the fire or you may burn."
After that increasingly alarming description of the process and its risks, Ricardo really did not want to do it.
But he did anyway. Dieter did so as well.
At first it was like being drunk, but then he felt an intense euphoria beyond any he had ever felt. And before he knew it, the stars were sparkling brighter and the fire was mesmerizingly beautiful. And soon words were tumbling out of his mouth, mostly in English but sometimes in Spanish. Words even more outlandish than what he had said earlier about the occupants of the Island. Dieter was the first person he had ever spoken to about the Island, and his words sounded so absurd aloud, but he knew in his bones that this all was not just a terrible dream.
"I thought... I thought I saw my wife when the ship wrecked. But there was a man, possibly El Diablo, who could take the form of ghosts. He tricked me. The other man on the Island, his twin, told me of the great malice in the heart of the Man in Black and how he cannot be trusted." He smiled a little sheepishly, "I know this must sound strange."
After what felt like an impossibly long silence, the other man shook his head. "It does sound strange and yet, I find that I am compelled to believe you. I too have a twin, and our relationship is... complicated. He thinks I am foolish, but I know he is too cruel. And when my twin is present, I too have seen the spirits of the dead—the spirit of Dread, a skeletal crone who haunts me. Of the Four Tempers, I have only seen Dread and Frolic, but I know that I will encounter Woe and Malice one day. I believe that this man you speak of who can turn into the dead, he must be the avatar of Malice."
Ricardo asked hopefully, "Does that mean you want to come to the Island? If you want to meet him, you must come back with me. He is not permitted to leave."
Dieter shook his head. "No." It left no room for discussion, and Ricardo decided he would approach the topic again in the morning when sober.
"Tell me more of this island. Where is it?"
"I know not where the Island is. It has a statue of an Egyptian god, and yet I do not think it lies anywhere near Egypt. And this is the strangest thing: the Island can move through space. Maybe even time."
He was revealing too much, far too much, but perhaps, he hoped, this explanation would make the man intrigued enough to come with him.
Another pause.
"I see."
"You must think me a liar. I know this is very strange indeed."
"No, I am merely contemplating your words."
They sat like that for a long time, just staring together at the embers fading like dying stars.
"You should go to bed," Dieter eventually said, looking at Ricardo's exhausted features. "It must have been a long day to get here, even if your island can move through space. You should rest. I have a spare bedroll. I will stay here and keep watch for now."
Ricardo uneasily lay down. The fog of sleep enveloped him immediately.
He woke up briefly. The full moon shone on the snow, and the sweet fragrance of ether permeated the air. He heard Dieter talking (to himself?) and chuckling.
His eyes were drawn to movement near him. He found that he could not move, which happened to him sometimes upon waking. It was always alarming, and yet, unfortunately he had grown familiar with the feeling. He saw a figure move behind the trees. The shadow resolved into a bedraggled man wearing a necktie and a white shirt.
Ricardo blinked and the man was gone.
He groggily went back to sleep, sure that he had seen the demon that plagued his waking dreams. It looked different this time, but he was sure it could assume many forms.
He woke up again to see that the vial was discarded, now completely devoid of ether, and Dieter was in the bushes. At first he thought the man was urinating, but then he realized he was touching himself.
Ricardo sat up immediately. "Stop! What are you doing?" He averted his eyes.
Dieter did not respond, he simply unsteadily walked deeper into the forest.
Heart pounding, Ricardo did not know what to do. Was the man sleepwalking? But after a moment, it became clear that Dieter was awake; he was screaming as though he had been attacked. He saw Dieter emerge from wherever he had been, one eye bleeding, twigs and leaves in his hair. He ran in the direction of the waterfall while loudly weeping.
It was then that Ricardo knew he would not be able to convince Dieter to come with him. Nor did he want to. He refused to be stuck on the Island with this man. He took Dieter's hunting knife and quietly started walking in the direction that the man had run, uncertain whether he could make himself do what Jacob required of him. His behavior had been unseemly, but in this moment of fragility, he did not seem like a person who could be the great evil that Jacob had said he would become.
When the man was finally in view again, Ricardo hid behind a tree. Seemingly out of nowhere, a girl walked up to Dieter. She was perhaps eight years old and looked half frozen. Her white cloak and dress seemed woefully inadequate for the weather. "Are you Doctor Kier Eagan?" she asked. The man nodded. Kier? Who was Kier? She continued, "Your father has told me that you must come back. It is not safe for you out here. He said that you must abandon this childish folly in the woods. You must return."
He knew Jacob would be furious and might even revoke his immortality, but Ricardo could not live with the stain on his soul if he killed the man in front of a little girl.
"Yes. I will grow in the ways that Father requires." He looked up and made eye contact with Ricardo, who belatedly realized that he should have hid better. "And I know what I need to do it."
Ricardo ran.
Jacob did not talk to him for a year after he returned to the Island.
II. Lumon, 2004
And so, when Ben asked Richard to go to Kier, PE, it brought back the memories of the strange night so long ago.
Memory was a strange thing for Richard. When he really tried, he could access felt sense memories of times long passed, even though he couldn't remember the details. But, of all the strange things Jacob had asked him to do over the years, going to find Dieter—no, Kier?—was unforgettably the strangest. Over time, he had come to suspect that the man he had spoken to was indeed named Kier and not Dieter. But he could not figure out why the man would have lied about his name.
Jacob had told Richard never to tell another soul about his visit with Kier, and so he said nothing to Ben about his experience or knowledge of the man the place was named after.
He remembered Kier telling him about an ether mill that was roughly in the spot where he presently was. Now there was an absurdly huge parking lot, littered with a small fraction of cars given the number of spaces, next to an even more outrageously titanic office building. It was surprisingly beautiful. For a moment, he was, in a strange way, grateful to Ben for sending him here.
He entered the lobby. A giant front desk sat in a slightly recessed part of the floor, reminding him of the "conversation pits" that were a popular architectural feature in the 1960s and 1970s. He walked to the desk upon a beautiful green and yellow rug. A receptionist looked up when he approached, "Hello. Can I help you, sir?"
He shot her his most disarming smile. He knew what effect he could have on people, and he was not above using it to his advantage. Over the years he had become so very different from the broken man on the Black Rock. More jaded, yes, but also more confident.
He repeated the line that Ben had told him to say, "Yes, my name is Richard Alpert. I'm from Mittelos Bioscience. I believe Mr. Drummond is expecting me?"
Her eyes flickered to the calendar application pulled up on her computer. A few clicks. "Yes, I see you in his schedule. Please wait a moment while I call Mr. Drummond. He'll be down shortly."
While he waited, he continued to admire the decor. It was simple, but elegant. Mid-century.
Eventually, a bearded light-skinned man in an elegant dark suit greeted him. He was in his mid-thirties and tall, with a large frame. He immediately gave the impression that he was utterly humorless. And dangerous.
"Hello, Mr. Alpert," he said in a pleasant Icelandic accent. His voice was deep and sonorous.
"Please, call me Richard." They shook hands, his grip much more gentle than Richard had expected, given his impression of the man. He adjusted his to be the same.
The man did not offer his first name in exchange.
"Come, let us ascend."
Richard nodded and followed him to the stairs.
As they walked, he saw a giant stone relief of Kier. The man they had carved was much older than when Richard had met him and was portrayed with more conventionally styled facial hair, but he was still recognizable. He had never forgotten Kier's face. What did Kier mean to these people? What had happened after Richard ran from Kier in 1864?
They came to a conference room and sat down at a colossal table. There were floor to ceiling windows that gave a fantastic view of Kier, PE (which admittedly was not that exciting to look at, although the snow was beautiful. He noted that he could see that waterfall he had once visited off in the distance.) "Thank you so much for having me here. As you may know, Mittelos is interested in branching out into neuroscience, and we would like to partner with Lumon on—"
"Mr. Alpert, please." Mr. Drummond raised a hand. "We know why you are really here. And we've been waiting for this day for a long time, as we suspect you have as well. Please indulge us and wait a moment longer." Mr. Drummond got up and walked out of the room.
Lumon had been waiting for a long time? Richard had no idea what he was referring to. While he waited for Mr. Drummond to return, he racked his brain, trying to remember everything Kier had said to him. Around the time he was beginning to become slightly bored and started wondering if this was all an elaborate ruse, Mr. Drummond returned with a pallid man whose age Richard couldn't quite determine, but he was maybe in his early fifties. He carried himself like someone much older, someone dour and world-weary. However, when Richard stood up and offered his hand, the man shook it with surprising enthusiasm from someone with his countenance.
All three men sat down. In a slightly reedy voice, the new man said, "My name is Jame Eagan. I am the eighth CEO of this company." Everything about this man's affect was just a little off-putting in a way that Richard couldn't quite articulate to himself.
From the way that Mr. Drummond looked at Jame, he almost felt he was in the presence of a god. Or a man revered as one, to the point that he might as well be one. He reminded Richard a little of Jacob.
"I'll get down to business. After my sister Lenora died last year, I became CEO."
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," Richard said.
Jame nodded slightly in thanks. "Before she died, she gave me access to all of Lumon's secrets, the things we don't put in our handbooks."
Richard had a sinking feeling.
Jame continued, "In the Fourth Appendix, the Grandfather wrote of a man with piercing dark eyes and lashes so thick he seemed preternaturally beautiful. He drew a picture of the man because he so wanted to commemorate their connection." Jame motioned for Mr. Drummond to take an old drawing out of a folder. He pushed it across the table towards Richard, his eyes never leaving Richard's face. "He looked just like you."
Kier's drawing of Richard.
It was undeniably a charcoal drawing of Richard in profile. It was a gorgeous drawing, and Jame was right, it did highlight his eyes and lashes. Kier was, it seemed, an accomplished artist in addition to a successful businessman. It was amazing that he had created this drawing after only meeting Richard briefly. "I concede that it does look like me, Mr. Eagan. It's a strange coincidence, yes, but I don't know anyth—"
Jame cut him off. "His name was Ricardo. Perhaps you are related. Or perhaps..." Jame trailed off, his intense gaze burrowing into Richard.
Richard tried not to panic. He had to get out of here. Something wasn't right with these people, with this meeting. He stood up, "I don't know if this is some kind of corporate mind game that you're playing, but I'm sorry, Mr. Eagan—it seems there was a misunderstanding about the purpose of this meeting. I apologize for wasting your time." He quickly gathered his notebook and printouts that were sitting on the table and placed them back in his briefcase. He started for the door, turning his back to the two men.
He paused once Jame spoke.
"Before you leave, Ricardo, you must tell us what you know of The Doorway." It was not a suggestion.
Somehow he could hear the capitalization in the man's question. "The Doorway?" He turned back slightly.
It almost sounded like the name of a station, but there was none by that name. And yet, he had heard rumors of a secret station that even he did not know the name of. Was it where the message to the Swan had come from? But if that was true, what had they been doing all of these years with The Doorway? What was its function?
Jame was clearly expecting some specific response, but Richard couldn't tell what it might be. As the moment stretched on, Jame's face grew red. When he didn't get whatever he was expecting, Jame snarled, "Insolent charlatan." Spittle hit Richard, and he resisted the urge to flinch.
He briefly considered explaining that "The Doorway" was a terribly vague phrase and he had no way of telling what Jame had been talking about. He resisted the impulse. Showing anger would do no good in this situation.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I won't just stand here and be insulted. We are done here," Richard said with more confidence than he actually felt. He resumed walking towards the door, quicker this time, but not so quickly that he would appear afraid. The room was so very long—why had they made the room so damn long?
From behind him, he heard Mr. Drummond whispering to Jame, although he could not make out the words.
Even though Mr. Drummond had been speaking quietly, Jame spoke at a regular volume, possibly for Richard's benefit or possibly because he just didn't care if Richard overheard, "It's alright, Mr. Drummond. There is no harm in him knowing. He'll see soon enough. And perhaps he'll stay awhile."
He heard a chair move and Mr. Drummond's footsteps behind him, and Richard quickened his pace again. The Man in Black's warning from so long ago rose unbidden to the surface of his mind: "You are not safe. If you're captured, you'll be a prisoner forever."
And for the second time in his long life, Richard began to run from an Eagan.