Unknown 9 by Layton Green (each kindness read aloud txt) 📕

rounded limestone karsts that rose from the manicured plain like giant thimbles. On the right side of the bus, a chocolate stream wound into the distance, carving through the rice fields and karsts, begging to be explored.

When he grew sick of standing, Cal ducked back down to his cramped quarters. This thing is a damn coffin. Feeling the need to do something productive, he grabbed Zawadi’s phone and was stunned to find he had a Wi-Fi signal.

How was there Wi-Fi on this bus and not on his back patio in LA.?

He decided to find out more about Hoi An. First, however, he checked the dark web onion address, and found a message from Dane.

Got something. Ping me.

After sending a quick message to let his friend know he was online and had nothing to do except pick his nose for the next fourteen hours, Cal got the skinny on Hoi An.

The town was located near the mouth of the Thu Bon River in the Quang Nam province in central Vietnam, just south of the city of Danang, which had served as the famous “China Beach” US base of operations in the Vietnam War. Though far removed from its glory days, Hoi An had gained UNESCO World Heritage status for the preservation of its old town.

In the latter half of the first millennium, the Cham people had controlled the spice trade in the area, and the town of Hoi An—known then as Lam Ap—was their commercial capital. Around 1595, the town was annexed by a Vietnamese feudal lord, who changed the name to Hoi An. The town became an important trading port, considered by Japanese and Chinese merchants of the day as the best port in all of Asia, specializing in silk and spice and ceramics. Hoi An’s trading links extended all the way to Europe, India, and Egypt.

After the local dynasty collapsed, and the city of Danang grew in importance, Hoi An languished for hundreds of years until tourism from its traditional crafts and architecture revived it.

Feeling he had a decent grasp on the town, and noting with pleasure that Anthony Bourdain had visited a banh mi joint there, Cal logged back onto the dark web onion address and saw that Dane had responded.

You still in the building, kemosabe?

Cal wrote back. Yep. U?

Right here in the cyberflesh.

What u got for me?

Remember our last convo? That creepy neuropsych Waylan Taylor in the Bay Area who specialized in rare conditions like Kleine Levin?

Of course.

He also saw people with Alice in Wonderland syndrome and alien hand syndrome. I’m not making those up. The common thread seems to be some sort of mind-body disconnect, or a distorted sense of space and time.

Cal felt a chill on the back of his neck.

I couldn’t access the records of his Berkeley clinic, and searching for the LYS or the Ascendants is too dangerous. They’ve got bots all over the place. So I shifted my attention to Waylan’s background, and things got interesting.

Like how?

The stuff I found was circa 1993, right at the start of the internet. Before that, you’re really only talking DARPA. Anyway, I had to go super old-school to track him. JavaScript, scrubbed FTP servers, Gopher, Mosaic. Most of the information had been scrubbed—but not everything.

I’m like a kid on Christmas morning here. What’s under the tree?

After Waylan left Berkeley, he went dark for a while, then opened a practice of sorts in Asheville, North Carolina.

What do you mean “of sorts”?

He called it the Human Limits Testing Facility. A one-of-a-kind psychiatric center for people around the world with extraordinary mental conditions, everything from self-proclaimed psychics to people with rare debilitative disorders. I’m talking demon possession, sleeping sickness, severe epileptics, astral travelers, metempsychosis, split personalities, NDEs, you name it.

Why Asheville?

I dunno. Maybe because it’s in the middle of nowhere, and from what I’ve seen online, the city attracts a strange crowd. Anyway, reading between the lines, Waylan was far more interested in using the facility to explore the limits of consciousness than curing the mentally ill.

Cal sucked in a breath. Human Limits Testing Facility? Was that some type of assessment site for new Ascendants? An attempt to explore the Fold? So what do we do with this? Did you find a direct connection?

I doubt that still exists. I found something, though. The facility was located in an old house that, according to my records, has been abandoned ever since Waylan left, rotting away on the edge of downtown. Some obscure holding company holds the deed. I bet if I can penetrate the corporate veil, we’ll find a link to the Ascendants, maybe even Waylan himself.

You think there might be something worth investigating in the house?

I went down that route. Most of the furniture was removed when it sold to the holding company. I even found a video an urban explorer had made.

So probably not worth the risk.

Not at first blush. But I used my wayback machine and mad skillz to dig deeper. I found another video from when the facility was still in operation, a promotional shot that included footage of Waylan’s office. Just for kicks, I compared the two videos, and found something freaky.

Feeling paranoid all of a sudden, Cal looked up and glanced around the bus to make sure no one was watching. Almost everyone except the driver seemed to be taking an afternoon nap.

Dane continued typing. In the old promotional video, there was a door, barely visible in the background, behind Waylan’s desk. I have no idea where it led, maybe it was just a closet, but get this: it wasn’t in the urban explorer’s video.

Cal gripped the phone as he typed. You’re sure about this? Same room? Same position?

100%. I’ll send you the images. I compared them over and over, thinking I must have made a mistake. Where once there was a door, now there is not. The wallpaper changed too. I think somebody, probably Waylan himself, hid something in whatever room or space that door conceals. And I think it might still