While You Were Gone

by Amy K. Nichols

  I have to tell him.

  “I’m not Danny,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I look like him, but I’m not. I mean, I am, but not the Danny you know. Something happened and I jumped here from another world. Like this one, only not.”

  I sound like a crazy person.

  He stares at me for a long time, then smirks. “This is a joke, right?”

  I shake my head.

  “Come on, man,” he says. “It isn’t even a good one. At least say you’re an alien body snatcher or something.”

  I just look at him until he scoffs again. “So next you’re gonna tell me the Danny I know is…where? Sucked into a black hole?”

  “Maybe?”

  He holds up his hands. “Okay, enough. I get it. Ha ha.”

  “I’m not joking.” Even though Germ is freaking out, it actually feels good telling someone.

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” He crosses his arms. “Tell me about where you’re from. Tell me who I am there.”

  I swallow. “We aren’t friends…where I’m from.”

  “What?!” His mouth hangs open.

  “It’s totally different there. My, um…” I stare at the floor. The good feeling I had is gone, replaced by a mix of panic and grief. “My parents died when I was eleven. I live in a foster home with four other kids. The youngest is Benny. He’s five. The place is a shithole. Brent’s always drunk. Suzy does what she can to keep him off us, but he’s mean. The truth is, I don’t really have any friends there. Not like…this.”

  When I look at Germ again, he’s backed up almost to the door. “And this is why you don’t remember stuff?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty lost. I don’t get half the things you talk about.” I shrug. “It wasn’t me who experienced them. Listen, I’ll totally understand if you leave,” I lie.

  Neither of us moves. Silence swallows the room.

  After what feels like forever, he says, “Well, you’re doing a good job impersonating him. Almost.” He takes a step forward. “I can catch you up on what you should know.” He picks up the notebook. “But one thing you gotta work on is your confidence. Nothing rattles Danny.” He sits again in the same spot on the floor. “And don’t even ask me to help with that, because I sure as hell don’t know how.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “Confidence. Okay. Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Germ says, picking up the pencil. “Lighten up. I know the world’s gone to crap, but we still gotta have a good time.”

  We work into the night coming up with ideas and turning them into stencils. Empty chip bags and soda cans litter the floor. Germ sits surrounded by scraps cut from the poster board we found in Mom’s craft supplies. I practice drawing letters in a notebook. Now that he knows my secret, there’s no pressure to pretend I’m good at this. But I’m surprised—we both are, really—that I’m actually not bad. Kind of like the welding. Germ thinks it’s muscle memory.

  “No ocean?” He uses the X-acto to slice along the lines of an eye. “I can’t even wrap my brain around that. So you can drive straight to California?”

  “I haven’t, but yeah. Arizona ends and California begins.”

  “Is California the same? I mean, the cities and stuff?”

  I shrug. “No idea. Never been there. Mine or yours.”

  “You should go sometime. It’s cool. Danny’s been there a bunch of times with his dad.” He looks up at me. “I mean your dad.” He shakes his head again and looks down at his work. “Are you going to tell them?”

  “My parents? I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about what you said to me?” He pops a letter out of the poster board.

  “Yeah, and you just about walked out.”

  “But I didn’t. And they’re your parents. They can handle it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I set down my pencil and shake out my hand. “What changed your mind about leaving?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Finally, he says, “All that stuff you said about your life there? If he’s living in that—the Danny I know—what kind of asshole would I be to give up on him here?” He looks up. “And if he comes back, I don’t want him to think I abandoned him, you know?”

  I nod. There’s nothing more to say.

  Germ changes the subject. “So how do you think it happened? The jumping.”

  “No idea.” I pick up the pencil again and sketch a face, the mouth open and screaming.

  “Maybe it was a time tunnel.” Germ shifts the angle of his poster and leans over it.

  “What’s a time tunnel?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds cool. You said it was like a tunnel, right?”

  “Yeah.” I open my mouth like I’m screaming and realize the eyes in my sketch should be closed. “But it wasn’t really solid. More like just swirling.”

  “Like clouds?”

  “Kinda. It was dark, with different shades of black.”

  Germ looks at me through a hole he cut. “It’s like something from a science fiction movie. Danny and the Time Tunnel of Zangarthum.”

  I laugh, brushing eraser crumbs away. “Zangar—what?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded better than Phoenix.” He goes back to cutting. “Danny and the Time Vortex of Doom.”

  “Doom?”

  “Always sounds better if there’s doom.”

  I hold up the notebook for him to see.

  “Looks good.” Germ pops another hole out of the stencil.

  I set the notebook down. “Thing is, it’s not really like time travel, is it? The dates are the same. Left there on Friday, got here on Friday. It’s like I just…switched Phoenixes.”

  “Well, that’s gonna sound really lame as a movie title. Danny: The Guy Who Switched Phoenixes. Danny and the Phoenix Switch of Doom.”

  “Sure is a lot of doom.”

  “Doom sells, man. You want people to see your movie? You gotta use the word doom.” He holds up the finished stencil. “Speaking of, we should probably get going.”

  “What?” I look at the clock on the desk. It’s 9:30. “Where?”

  “Didn’t you read the note?” He stands up and pulls on his skullcap.

  “You mean that paper you showed me when we were out digging? I have no idea what that said.”

  He laughs. “Well, this should be fun.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “Put on a hat.”

  I scowl at him and pull a baseball cap out of the closet.

  “Come on.”

  If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s climb out of windows. At the foster home, I used them more than I used the front door.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper once we’re outside. I start to walk across the yard toward the road, but Germ grabs my sleeve. He points at the streetlights and shakes his head. “This is going to be so much easier when you get a clue.”

  We creep along the front of my house, through the side gate and across the backyard to the alley. Keeping to the shadows, we slink from garbage can to garbage can. The air feels damp, heavy. At the end of the alley, Germ stops me with his hand. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and flashes a small light on the key chain once. Down the street, headlights flash twice and go dark. Germ looks both ways and we leave the shadows for the road.

  Parked in the darkness is the strangest vehicle I’ve ever seen. Tiny cab and a bed lined with slats, like a vegetable truck or something, painted black and rigged with oversize tires. Germ jumps into the back, and I follow. There are eight or so people sitting there. They say hi like they know me, shake my hand, bump my fist.

  Without a sound, the truck starts moving. No engine noise. Is it electric? Like a silent black ship, we sail through the streets, stopping now and again for others to join or to wait for a patrol car to pass. It’s after curfew and the streets are empty. No one in the back says a word.

  As the truck continues southeast, the city changes from co
okie-cutter houses to double-wides. Streetlights move farther apart. We pass a lonely and run-down taco stand: TWO FISH TACOS FOR $3.50. And then we leave the streets behind. Trade paved roads for dirt. Whispers kick up in the dark. Germ leans toward me and says in a low voice, “Wonder if anyone from RD will show.”

  “Where are you taking us?” I hiss.

  “Castle. You’ll see.” He rests his head back on a wooden slat. “If Neil’s there, I’m gonna…” He pounds his fist into his hand.

  The farther we drive, the bumpier the road gets. At one point we hit something big, a boulder or a downed tree maybe, and everyone in the back jostles. Laughter rises from the darkness.

  “That’s gonna hurt.”

  “Better not get stranded out here.”

  “We’ll make you push.”

  “Almost there now.”

  “Look.”

  The truck’s lights flash on for a second. A huge mountain stands before us, surrounded by a sea of cars. The truck comes to a stop.

  I turn to ask Germ where we are, but he’s already climbing out.

  Thumping bass drones through the night air. We walk with the others toward a strange building at the base of the mountain. Our feet raise dust that the breeze quickly carries away. Germ claps me on the back. “Tonight is going to be out of this world.”

  Jonas slows as he approaches the checkpoint, and reaches one hand back toward me. I give him my ID and credentials, just in case. We shouldn’t need them since the car has political plates, but you never know.

  He’d had no reaction when I told him where to take me. And I acted like it was no big deal. Now that we’re on our way, though, my heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest. There’s a chance he’ll tell Dad, but maybe he won’t, too. It’s not the first time he’s driven me to an event on my own. A date once, even. And if things go really badly, I can always rat out Warren.

  Jonas rolls down the window, but the military guys wave him on. Behold, the power of political status. The car accelerates and we’re on our way again, driving away from the city. I lean my head against the window to look at the sky. Too many clouds to see the stars tonight. Even if it were clear, Phoenix has so much light pollution, you can only see a couple of the brightest ones anyway. I roll down the window for a better look, but the wind does a number on my hair, so I roll it back up.

  Jonas looks at me in the rearview. “We aren’t going Outbound, are we?”

  I overlaugh at the question. “Don’t be silly. Outbound is on the other side of South Mountain.” I chew on my lip. He’s definitely going to tell Dad.

  The last business—a fish taco stand—gives way to ramshackle houses and trailers, then nothing. I’ve never been this far before. Never had reason to.

  The car bumps over the end of the road and the headlights fill with dust. Jonas slows to avoid boulders and dips. This is crazy. We’re going to blow a tire and get mugged out here. I shouldn’t have worn heels. Or maybe I can use one to stab out someone’s eye if I need to.

  Please don’t let me need to.

  He slows to a stop. The engine idles and dust swirls in the headlights. “Is that it?”

  I lean forward to look through the windshield. At the base of the mountain stands the same strange rock structure I saw in the book at the library.

  The Mystery Castle.

  “Yes.”

  Jonas’s face in the rearview is unimpressed. “I can’t get any closer than this.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll walk.”

  He turns off the engine and goes around to open my door. “I’ll see you to the entrance.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He holds out his hand and I take it. Thumping bass mingles with the dust. A rave? Disappointment washes over me.

  As we near the entrance, the music grows louder. Now and then a voice rises above the noise. Jonas clears his throat. Is it in judgment or because he’s choking on dust? I stumble over a rock and he grabs my hand to keep me from falling down.

  “Thanks.”

  He stops at the chain-link fence encircling the castle and waits for me to enter first.

  “I can manage from here.”

  He looks up at the castle, the rising rock pillars and mountain beyond. “Text me a half hour before you want to leave. I’ll meet you back here.”

  I check my pocket to make sure my phone is there. “Thank you.”

  He disappears into the dust and darkness. I turn to face the noise and unknown.

  The Mystery Castle grows out of the ground, walls and arches made of stone from the surrounding foothills. Movements from the shadows catch my eye. I’m not alone in the courtyard between the fence and the castle. I walk toward the lights, and the music grows louder. Shallow steps lead past a high wall of stacked and mortared stones. I slide my hand along the smooth and jagged surfaces. This place is like something from my dreams. If only I had my drawing pad and charcoals. The wall curves, wrapping around to the right. Music thumps through me, a constant percussion in my bones. I step through the gap where the wall ends, and stop. An inner courtyard opens before me, carved out of the mountain. Hundreds of bodies move with the beat, strobes and lasers skating across skin and stone. The hair on my arms stands on end. Who are they? Where did they all come from?

  A woman slides through the gap behind me and melts into the movement. Through the laser lights and raised-up hands I see the source of the music: a makeshift DJ table loaded with equipment. Two guys, one with headphones draped around his neck, stand behind the table talking, their shadows cast against the walls.

  I do a double take.

  The one with the headphones is Warren.

  I ease myself along, dodging dancers and trying not to step on toes. The place is huge. And old. I’m sure officials know it’s here, but do they know it’s being used for this? I look back toward the entrance, imagining military personnel charging through, and a shiver runs down my neck. I shake the thought away and focus on the ravers instead. The music shifts, transitions, and a new beat, faster, takes over. Everyone follows. The music presses into me. I can’t keep my body from moving in time.

  Finally, I make it to the DJ stand. Warren sways as his hands turn dials, push buttons. He holds one side of the headphones against his ear, then lets them fall to his neck again. Gone is my oddball study partner. This Warren’s jeans are skinny, his shirt striped like a cat. Perched on his head is a pair of goggles. Now and again the lenses catch the lights. This Warren is…cool. The guy he’s talking to is thin as a pole and decked out head to toe in black. Even his hair, which is long and slicked back. If it weren’t for the lasers and strobes, he’d blend right into the night.

  The thin guy nods toward me. Warren turns and smiles wide. He shouts, “You figured it out.”

  “Why am I here?” My own voice doesn’t even dent the noise. I can tell he didn’t hear me. He says something to the thin guy, who then glares at me. He gives Warren a nod and walks off the stage. I try again, shouting, “Why am I here?” but Warren holds up a finger, pulls the headphones onto his head and goes to work. He loses himself in the music, eyes closed, body jerking in a dance that is both erratic and infectious. Then he focuses again, pressing buttons and moving levers. The music morphs and a hundred arms go into the air. He’s running the show, watching the crowd with a smile on his face. He presses a button and steps away from the table. At the front of the stage, a single column of laser light fans out into fifteen. Each one a different color, they shoot up into the sky.

  He stands behind them, holding his hands out flat at his waist. His head bobs with the music as he slides his left hand into a beam of light, cutting it off midstream. His palm lights up yellow and an eerie undercurrent rises in the music. He pulls his left hand back and slides the right forward. His hand glows blue and the music shifts again. Ghostly voices emerge. He holds his right hand there, his body one with the beat, then slides it out and places the left one in. I watch him, mesmerized. He’s creating music with ligh
t.

  Without looking, he reaches out to me, takes my hand and stretches it into the light. My palm glows purple and the music shifts. He picks up my other hand, moves it forward into blue. Then he holds out both of his own hands at me like, Here you go, and steps back with a bow. The show is mine. Panic flickers inside me, but I close my eyes and let the music overwhelm me until my whole body buzzes. I open my eyes again and look at the beams of light. Move my hand to the green before switching back to the purple. The lasers are programmed with chords, pedal tones. I know this stuff like, well, like the back of my hand. I move through a progression of chords, creating a new composition. Each time the music shifts, the crowd follows. It’s like magic. My skin rises in gooseflesh as an old flame awakens in me. This is how music should feel. This music is alive.

  I’m alive.

  Warren taps me on the shoulder and rolls his hand like, Keep going, and walks back to the table. He transitions to a faster beat and I follow. Shouts go up from the crowd. Hundreds of bodies move in sync. I sway in time, creating a new chord progression, and look out over the faces appearing and disappearing in the crowd. I move my hand through the purple beam, and a single face catches my eye. My hands drop.

  It’s him.

  The boy from the museum.

  I watch the lights play across his face and remember the feeling of his lips on mine. Three times? Three random meetings? How is that possible?

  Maybe they’re not random.

  I have to get over there. I have to see him. Between us churns a sea of people and no easy path. The way to reach him will have to be through.

  Strobe lights flash across the castle walls. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve been to parties back home, but they were lame compared to this. Someone’s parents go out of town and you hang out on their couch, listening to metal and getting high, wishing there were some girls around but too stoned to move. This place is alive. The music—stuff I’d never think of listening to—pulses through my body. It’s like a whirlpool, pulling me in. I don’t dance, but I can’t keep still either.