by G Sauvé
“I see it.”
“It’s called Nibiru, and it passes by our planet every three thousand, six hundred and fifty years, give or take a few years.”
The name sounds familiar, though I can’t recall why.
“As you can see, the planets can’t handle being near each other,” continues Kidd. Sure enough, the two celestial bodies are now so close they nearly touch. But that’s not what draws the gasp from my lips.
The orbs are changing colour. Earth, once completely blue, is now half red. Likewise, the portion of Nibiru closest to Earth has turned blue.
“What’s happening?”
“Planets release vast amounts of energy,” explains Kidd. “Given enough time, this energy dissipates, becoming benign, but when two planets are in close proximity, it remains highly concentrated, affecting everything around it. Due to its massive size, Nibiru affects our planet much more drastically than Earth disturbs it.”
“What kind of disturbances?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer,” admits Kidd. “Some claim all major cataclysms going back millions of years can be linked to Nibiru’s passing, but such a theory has never been verified. However, there is one side effect that everyone agrees on. The red planet weakens the fabric of time whenever it nears Earth. It was first theorized—and later proven—that these weak points are linked, creating bridges through time. We call this the Nibiru Effect.”
That’s it. I’ve heard enough. I gave Kidd the benefit of the doubt, hoping he was some sort of eccentric child genius. As it turns out, he’s merely insane. I can’t believe I almost fell for his crazy story. Still, I can’t dispel the feeling of familiarity that’s associated with the name “Nibiru.” Perhaps I heard it mentioned at school. No, I’d remember. Maybe I saw it in a movie? That seems unlikely. Unless…
“Oh no,” I groan.
“What’s wrong?” asks Kidd.
“Nothing,” I lie. The truth is, I just remembered where I heard the word before. It was in my dream, the one that started this whole insane adventure. But if the dream was a mere delusion, then how does Kidd know about it?
There are two possible explanations. One: Everything that happened to me in the past few hours/days was nothing more than a delusion. Two: Everything I think happened did happen, which means that Kidd is real, and so is Nibiru. I honestly have no clue which of these two explanations I prefer, but I choose to once again give Kidd the benefit of the doubt on the off chance that he can shed some light on the mess that is my life.
“Tell me more about this Nibiru Effect,” I urge, though the mere mention of the name makes me cringe.
“Think of time as a line,” says Kidd. He shakes his hand, and the solar systems disappear. In their place now stands a straight line. It hovers in mid-air, mere centimetres above Kidd’s palm. “This is time,” he says, “and each one of these dots”—another handshake causes a dozen dots to appear along the length of the line—“represents a passing of Nibiru. As you can tell, all of the dots are linked.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, finally starting to get annoyed.
“I’m getting to that. For the longest time, we had no use for this information, but a while back, we discovered that, with the help of a special device, it was possible to open a portal between two weak points, allowing us to travel through time.”
It sounds insane, but I refuse to let logic get in the way of the answers I seek.
“What kind of device?” I ask.
“A ring. One that bears the same symbol that’s on your wrist.”
Kidd’s words hit me hard. Much harder than I could have anticipated. Up until now, Kidd’s insane theory regarding time travel was just that—an insane theory—but now that it’s been linked to the one thing that makes me doubt my insanity, it feels all too real.
What if it’s true? What if Kidd isn’t crazy and time travel is, in fact, possible? What if my supposed delusions are real? What if—
“I know this is confusing,” says Kidd, “but, in time, it will all make sense.”
“When?”
“Soon, but for now, I must leave you.”
Kidd may be insane—or a figment of my imagination—but he’s the only person capable of answering my questions.
“Wait!” I call out as he banishes the hologram with a flick of his wrist and turns to leave.
“I will return,” promises Kidd as he strolls toward the nearby wall. I expect him to stop when he nears it, but he keeps going. Moments before he slams into it, the wall disintegrates, forming an opening barely big enough for him to step through. As soon as he does, the wall seals itself, leaving no trace of the opening.
What the hell just happened?
I sit there for the longest time, too stunned to speak. It takes a while, but I eventually find the courage to investigate the impossible phenomenon I just witnessed. I tiptoe to the wall and press my hand to it.
Nothing happens.
The wall is as solid as logic dictates it should be. That makes no sense. How did Kidd walk through it? I struggle with this question for a while before retreating to the bed. I sit there and think, trying to make sense of things, but the more I reflect, the more confused I become. I can’t tell what’s real, and the more I try, the worse I feel. In the end, I give up and do the only thing that makes sense.
I cry.
Memory 16
I t takes a while, but the tears eventually stop flowing. Now that my thoughts are no longer muddled, I decide to review the situation.
Step one: Identify what I know.
I’m insane.
Step two: Identify what I don’t know.
I don’t know where I am—I think I’m in a mental hospital, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know what happened—was the insanity of the subway station real or a delusion? I don’t know who Kidd is, or if he’s even real, but I’m pretty sure he isn’t a doctor. I don’t know if time travel is possible, but I choose not to let it drive me even more insane than I already am. The final unknown takes the form of a question.
Did my mother contact me? I honestly don’t know, but for the time being, nothing short of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and feeling something will convince me it’s real.
Now that I have taken a stand against my insanity, I feel better. Of course, that’s the very moment she chooses to appear.
Scar Lady.
She stands by the very same wall that swallowed Kidd, glaring at me.
She takes a step toward me.
“This isn’t real,” I mutter, but Scar Lady keeps coming.
I’m having an episode, I tell myself. It’s not real unless I can see, hear, taste, smell, and feel it. So far, I have only seen Scar Lady.
If I can’t see her, maybe she’ll go away. I close my eyes, but that only makes things worse.
I hear her.
The scraping of shoes against the padded floor reaches my ears. It’s all I can hear. It’s everywhere. I’m about to cover my ears when the noise stops.
Is she gone?
I open my eyes, only to find her standing before me.
“Give it back!” she growls. Her voice is powerful, far too powerful to be a figment of my imagination.
“You’re not real,” I say.
“Give it back!” she repeats. Her face is red, her eyes bulging.
I don’t react.
“Give back what you stole!” she yells.
Spittle peppers my face. A drop somehow makes it past my lips, and I taste the acrid flavour of Scar Lady.
“No,” I groan.
I close my eyes, desperate to escape the delusion, but it only makes things worse. Now that I no longer have my vision to distract me, I become aware of the rancid odour that permeates the air. It’s a mixture of sweat and perfume. Four of my five senses have now been activated. Only one remains. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine as long as—
Scar Lady grabs me, shattering the belief that she’s a figment of my imagination.<
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“Give it back!” she yells as she starts shaking me. When that fails, she releases me and begins pummeling me with her fists.
I scurry back.
“Give it back!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar!” she screams and leaps forward. She knocks me to the ground and grabs my neck. Her hands dig into my windpipe, cutting off my air supply. I struggle to free myself, but she’s too strong. I fight, but my strength fades quickly. And the more I struggle, the faster it evaporates. I grow still, but all it does is delay the inevitable.
The last thing I see is Scar Lady’s face. The last thing I hear is her voice, repeating the same words over and over again. The last thing I smell is her rancid body odour. It’s so overpowering I can taste it. The last thing I feel is her hands around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter until…
Darkness.
Memory 17
I come to with a yelp. I’m glad to be alive until I remember what happened, and fear grabs hold of me. I do a quick scan of my surroundings, but there’s no sign of Scar Lady.
I’m alone. And I feel great. No bruised ribs from my assault. No sore neck from nearly being choked to death. Not even a scratch. That can only mean one thing.
It wasn’t real.
I’m relieved but disappointed. I thought I had overcome whatever was making me insane. Clearly, I was wrong.
I spend the next few hours doing whatever I can to pass the time. I count the items in the room. I draw patterns in the foam with my finger. I even stare blankly ahead.
After a while, I discover I’m hungry. It’s been so long since my last meal I can’t remember when that was. I’m struggling to find a way to communicate my hunger to my captors when I notice a platter by the wall where my visitors appeared.
I don’t know how it got there, but I’m too hungry to care. I leap off the bed and grab the platter. My meal consists of a bowl of soup, a slice of bread, a plate of veggies, and a mysterious red dip. For dessert, there’s a slice of pie with orange filling. The lack of meat indicates my captors know I’m vegetarian.
I start with the soup. It’s delicious. The bread tastes odd, but it’s quite filling. The vegetable platter is also unusual, but each mouthful is a delight. The best part is the pie. It tastes sweet, yet somehow refreshing. I wash it down with a glass of water.
It’s not until I ingest every last morsel that I notice the note stuck to the bottom of the bowl. I pull it off and read it.
You’re not crazy. Help is on the way.
Memory 18
I read the note a dozen times before deciding to ignore it. It’s not that I don’t want to believe help is coming, it’s just that disregarding the message is the only way to cling to my sanity. And, right now, that’s the only thing I can count on.
I feel good; my stomach is full, I’m in a good mental place, and I’m safe. The only downside is that I have heartburn. At first, I think it’s a result of the odd meal I ate, but it soon becomes clear that’s not the case.
Pain blooms from my chest. Heat engulfs me like a roaring fire, luring beads of sweat from my pores. The sensation is familiar, but it’s not until the pain reaches an unbearable level that I understand why.
I’ve felt this before. The last time it happened, I was on the boarding platform at the subway station. Scar Lady had just slammed into me, and I was dealing with the aftermath of our collision. But how can this be? She isn’t real. Is she?
I forget all about Scar Lady and the subway station when the pain intensifies, overwhelming me completely. I try to scream, but my voice is gone. The fiery pain burns so brightly it feels as though my skin is melting. I fight it, but my muscles burn to a crisp and snap. My bones shatter and reform, only to shatter all over again. My hair burns away, and my eyes shrivel up like raisins. Just when I can’t take it anymore, the pain vanishes.
I lie there for a while, panting. I eventually open my eyes, only to find my skin untainted. My hair is intact. So are my muscles.
I’m completely unscathed. I don’t know how this is possible, but I don’t care. I’m about to rejoice when I notice it. It stands at the foot of the bed, so real it’s impossible to deny.
A portal.
Memory 19
I stare at the portal, eyes wide and jaw dropped. It’s exactly as I remember it. But how can that be? It’s not real. Yet there it hovers, undeniable.
What if I was wrong? What if I’m not delusional? What if everything I experienced, from that prophetic dream to my current imprisonment, is real? A voice warns me against believing in what is, most likely, a hallucination, but what do I have to lose? If the portal truly is a figment of my imagination, what harm will it do to cross its threshold? On the other hand, ignoring it could well lead to me spending the rest of my life here. I recall the note and realize this must be what its expeditor meant by “help is on the way.”
I slide off the bed and approach the portal. The first few steps are hesitant, but I’m free of doubt by the time I reach the gateway. I stare into the Stygian darkness and think of my mother. If the portal is real, then so is the letter she left me.
I close my eyes and step into the portal.
Memory 20
A groan escapes me as I regain consciousness. My head throbs as though someone bashed me over the head with a rock. My eyes flutter open, and I catch glimpses of swaying branches. The sound of rustling leaves reaches my ears. I inhale deeply, cringing as the hot, humid air fills my lungs.
I wait until I’m strong enough then sit. My vision blurs for a moment, but then my eyes focus, and I’m staring at a familiar face.
Salt ‘n’ Pepper.
“I told you he wasn’t dead,” he mutters. It’s not until he pulls away that I see who he’s talking to.
Barbie.
The sight of her lures a smile to my lips.
“Hey,” she says, returning my grin.
“Where are we?” I ask as I stand. My legs feel like Jell-O, but I ignore the unsteadiness and focus on my surroundings.
I’m in a jungle. That explains the swaying branches and hot air I noted earlier. I also take into account the cacophony of caws, squawks and shrieks that fill the air.
“What are you doing here?” demands Salt ‘n’ Pepper.
What am I doing here?
“I asked you a question,” grunts the hulking soldier.
“Leave him alone,” says Barbie.
“What?” asks her father. “It’s a legitimate question.”
“Maybe,” agrees Barbie, “but you don’t have to be so insensitive. Can’t you see he’s overwhelmed?”
I stop listening when I realize Salt ‘n’ Pepper has changed since the last time I saw him. His hair is now so short I can’t make out the white hairs from the black ones. His beard stubble is gone, and he now wears cargo pants, capped boots, and a t-shirt that’s way too tight for him. Strapped to his right leg is a large hunting knife.
Barbie is just as beautiful as I recall. Her lustrous blond locks are pulled back into a ponytail, which helps show off the delicate curves of her face. Her eyes seem even bluer than before, though that may be my imagination. She wears a plain t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Both cling to her flawless form with surprising snugness.
It takes a while, but I eventually manage to tear my gaze from Barbie’s intoxicating attire. Desperate to distract myself, I go over my measly possessions. I wear a white t-shirt and matching cotton pants. That’s it. No shoes. No socks. I can’t tell if I’m wearing underwear, but I’m not about to check.
“What are you doing here?” asks Salt ‘n’ Pepper.
“What my father meant to say,” says Barbie, “is ‘would you mind telling us how you got here?’”
I can sense the grey-haired soldier glaring at me, but I ignore him. Focusing on Barbie, I explain everything that happened since I jumped through the portal to escape the train. I tell them about the white room and Kidd’s insane story. The only detail I leave ou
t is the odd encounter with Scar Lady.
It’s not until I’m done telling my story that I realize something.
I’m not insane.
I should be relieved, but the truth is I now feel worse than when I thought I was mentally ill. So much has happened I no longer know what’s real and what’s not. The only thing I know for sure is that my mother wants to meet me. Not that it matters now.
“What about you?” I ask, desperate for distraction. “How did you get here?”
“Our story is quite similar to yours,” says Barbie. “Only we weren’t given a choice. The portal appeared just as we were leaving our home. We had no way of avoiding it.”
“The next thing we knew,” concludes Salt ‘n’ Pepper, “we were in this drowned jungle.”
Right on cue, a massive mosquito—and by massive I mean as big as a tennis ball—flies out of the jungle and lands on his arm. He doesn’t even look at it. He merely crushes it with one powerful slap and wipes away the broken limbs and body fluid.
“The worst part is we don’t have any guns.” He taps his knife, indicating it’s our only weapon.
Being stranded in a jungle is bad; being stranded in an unfamiliar jungle with only a knife for protection is worse.
“Do either of you know where we are?” I ask, but Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Barbie are now deep in conversation.
“Excuse me,” I say, but neither the soldier nor his beautiful daughter acknowledges me. I try again, only to be ignored.
“That’s it!” I snap after nearly half a dozen failed attempts. “Someone better tell me what the hell is going on or… or…”
My voice trails off when I notice my companions are still ignoring me. I’m just about to give up when they raise their voices.
“He deserves to know,” says Barbie.
“We can’t trust him,” disagrees Salt ‘n’ Pepper. “He could be working for her.”
“I’m telling him,” says Barbie, putting an end to the discussion.