Triumph Over Tragedy: an anthology for the victims of Hurricane Sandy

by R. T. Kaelin

  “Asmodious. It’s a follower of a prince of Hell, who specializes in causing rage.” I looked over and found the other people, the ones who’d been beating up on Andrew. They lay on the ground in various states of consciousness. “Are they all okay?”

  Andrew nodded. “They don’t seem to remember why they’re here, or what happened to them. Maybe we can convince them of something they would accept as true, other than a rampaging demon.”

  He went over to check on them, and I had a moment to realize that my mission was over and I didn’t know how to go home.

  I hadn’t thought about it; I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I figured it would take longer than this to defeat Asmodious, but here I was. I didn’t know what to do next.

  I’d never see my friends again. That hadn’t been a concern when we’d been running to catch all the demons, but now it was sinking in. Of course, many of them had done the same thing I did. How many of us would be stranded? I shared my despair with Father Gregory, hoping he’d know a way to get me back.

  “I don’t know how to open a portal into another dimension. Unless you have some way of showing us how to do it, we’ve never heard of such a thing until you showed up here.”

  I described it for him.

  Andrew joined us, just as Father Gregory refused to go through the ritual. “Miss, I don’t have any magic. I’ve seen enough strange things that I know that magic exists, but I don’t have that talent. If I tried, and failed, you could be dead. I’m sorry. I won’t risk it if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  I was stuck in this dimension, until and unless I could figure out how to make it on my own. I didn’t have any way to support myself. I didn’t have any family or friends. And these people did not use magic. How would I feed myself? Put a roof over my head? I would also need supplies and equipment to try making a portal for myself, if I could ever figure out how. I swallowed a sudden rush of tears, but it wasn’t fast enough. Andrew saw it.

  “Look, this place really isn’t bad.” He put an arm around me.

  The emotional buildup of the battlefield and the jump and the recent fight with Asmodious was just too much; the tears leaked out. It was inappropriate for me, a single woman, to accept such intimate consolation from a man, but Father Gregory was there. I had a clerical chaperone. It made me feel less like I’d thrown my values down the river.

  Andrew was kind. I’d noticed his courage in facing down the people under Asmodious’ spell. Father Gregory was brave in the face of demonic power. If I was stuck in this world, at least I’d made friends that could be counted on. I took the handkerchief that Father Gregory offered me to wipe my eyes. “I guess the intelligent thing to do is to stay for now.”

  Father Gregory smiled. “When in doubt, stay put. You look like you’re overwhelmed. Why don’t we find you a safe place to get some sleep and get you a hot meal before you sort things out?”

  Andrew chimed in. “There are some really cool things in this city. I’ll show you. And who knows, if something like this happens again, you might be able to help us.”

  I didn’t have a choice, but I rather liked the idea of spending time with Andrew and getting to know the world that was going to be my new home. I’d better get used to it. And maybe he was right. Maybe I could be of help to others; it was exactly that urge that had sent me headlong through a portal after an unknown demon. I nodded. “As long as someone can teach me about this world, I will take you up on your offer.”

  “We’ll all help. Let’s get today sorted out, and we’ll the rest one step at a time.”

  He began listing things called museums and movies and subways and hot dog vendors and the Empire State Building as Father Gregory laughed and told him not to overwhelm me. As long as I learned how to deal with trucks and metal contraptions, I figured I’d be all right.

  “Welcome to New York,” Andrew said.

  *

  In the Glimpses

  by Matt Bone

  The doctor told Jake and me that keeping a journal will help with the progress of our treatments. I’m not sure how, but he hasn’t been wrong yet, and I’m willing to do anything to help the chances of success. Perhaps it’ll be of use to future patients. I don’t know. I hope Jake has sucked up his cynicism and started writing his, too. He knows how much this means to me. How important it is for both of us.

  The doctor suggested that I put down my feelings, my “apprehensions” about tomorrow. That’s going to be the first night of the treatment. I don’t know if I feel apprehensive exactly. They’re only dreams, so how dangerous can it be? And the operation isn’t anything unusual these days.

  I’m more scared of the failure. Jake keeps telling me not to build up my hopes, and he’s right, but I can’t help it. If this works, it might change everything: me, our relationship. It might save us.

  * *** *

  We’ve already had the operation, if you could call it that. No surgery, no white-walled clinic. We did it in our living room. The doctor gave us each an injection, a clear liquid, and then we had to lie flat for twenty minutes while the invisible machines found their way through our bodies and into our brains. We could have swallowed them, but this method is faster.

  In those twenty minutes the nanobots (the doctor calls them a “synthetic cognitive facilitation network”, but even his assistant calls them nanos when he’s not around) established themselves in the strategic parts of our brains: the cerebral cortex, the hippocampus, the thalamus, the pons. Alien terms, the doctor’s terms. It means they can access things like memory, perception, sensory impulses, and the on/off switch of our dreams. They’ll communicate with each other and the outside world via chemicals and short-wave radiation.

  The doctor assured us it’s perfectly safe. Think of it as an artificial extension of your brain, he said. They mimic and influence, rather than dominate or alter. Jake says he doesn’t like the idea of all that radiation bouncing around inside his head. He’s just being difficult. I don’t think he really believes they’re dangerous – we would’ve heard something if they were. There would be stories.

  I don’t care how it works, as long as it does.

  * *** *

  Two hours to go. I write this not knowing what else to do with myself. The doctor will give us both sedatives to begin with. It’ll calm our nerves, help us to fall asleep. He says eventually it won’t be necessary, but I’m glad to have them for tonight.

  I can tell Jake is excited too, despite his act of indifference. He still says this is a load of mumbo-jumbo, yet he’s been asking the doctor more questions recently. He was even the one who came up with our “dreamscape” – the shared environment we will use in the dreams. We worked on it this morning with the doctor. It had to be a place that we both knew well, where we felt comfortable, and that had left a strong emotional impression. Jake suggested the cabin where we had spent a spring ten years ago.

  We were in our early twenties then, and not yet married. The cabin was out in the wilderness, as far from our city lives as possible. An escape from technology, Jake had said, a return to the essentials. It would show us that having each other was always enough. He was intense and idealistic back then, and I loved him for it.

  The memory I first latched on to was of one of our countless late mornings: Jake standing with his back to me at the open window while I watched from the bed. He was shirtless and leaning on the frame, cigarette in his hand, the sun igniting his outline.

  But the doctor said it was no good. I had to avoid memories that included Jake or anyone else. What we needed was a vacant setting. So instead I focused on a day when Jake had gone fishing with Ted, our closest neighbour five miles away. I’d faked a stomach cramp to avoid being lumbered with Ted’s wife. Jake suspected as much, but I had the upper hand: it was the early days of my pregnancy, and he was considerate and overprotective. Putty in my hands. I was happy to have the day to myself. Things had been going so fast, it felt like I needed to stop time for a while so I could put it all into
focus. I sat on the wooden porch and let the afternoon heat wash over me, thinking about everything that was to come.

  Jake’s right. The cabin is the perfect choice for a dreamscape.

  Still, I was worried that I couldn’t remember it well enough. It was a decade ago, after all. Were there three or four windows? What did the fireplace look like? Jake said he couldn’t remember the pictures on the walls. But the doctor told us that this was fine, the machines would fill in the gaps. They would smooth the “retention variance” and ensure the two versions of the cabin held within our minds were compatible. We would provide the platform and the nanobots would create the fine details.

  Not long to go now. I can hear the doctor’s assistant setting up equipment in our bedroom. The doctor will be here himself for the first few times, taking measurements, monitoring our brain activity. I hope Jake doesn’t snore.

  I can’t write anymore. If this works, how different things could be.

  * *** *

  It’s the morning after. It failed. A night of failure, no other way to put it. I know the doctor warned me it isn’t always an immediate process, that we have to be patient. But even if it didn’t work properly, I expected something. A confused jumble of dreams perhaps, flitting or distorted or incomprehensible. Just something. I didn’t expect the nothingness of last night. A blank void for eight hours. I couldn’t look at Jake this morning as he helped me out of bed.

  * *** *

  I had a long talk with the doctor. He’s usually reluctant to speak of the other couples that have undergone this treatment, but he told me he’d seen similar problems in the past. He said an overemotional state can become a barrier. It can alter the chemicals of the brain sufficiently to confuse the network. He said it’s understandable and I shouldn’t blame myself. I snapped that I bet Jake didn’t have such problems, and he replied that might be true, but not unexpected given our circumstances. And he’s right. I have to admit to myself that this is more important to me than it is to Jake.

  No, that’s not fair. I know Jake wants this to work, he knows what it could mean for us. He longs for the past as much as I do. But if this whole thing fails, he can walk away from it. I can’t.

  * *** *

  The doctor wants to stop the treatments until next week. He said he doesn’t wish to amplify the problem. That we need some time to relax. By we, he means me, of course. He suggested bringing in a psychiatrist colleague to help, but we’ve had enough of those. Jake says there’s already enough poking around inside his head.

  I will try to follow the doctor’s advice and concentrate on something other than the treatments, impossible as that seems. I already ache for next week.

  * *** *

  My hand shakes as I write this. Last night we had our first success. It was brief, so brief, but it was wonderful. As soon as I woke this morning, I saw the look in Jake’s eyes, which must have been a reflection of mine.

  I can barely describe the experience. At first it was like any other dream, in feeling, I mean. It had that same unawareness, murky and surreal. Then I realised where I was. The cabin. At that moment it was as if my mind clicked into wakeful alertness. I could smell the mustiness of the wood; I could hear the wind gushing through the trees outside. It was the dreamscape.

  I was sitting at a table as physical as the desk at which I sit now. On it was a bright blue tennis ball. This was our “reality tag”, an object designed to reinforce the fact that this was no ordinary dream. The doctor told us that upon seeing it we were to run through a series of simple deductions: the ball was here because we had decided it would be; it was blue because we had chosen that colour; I was in the cabin because that was the dreamscape.

  Then there was a sound behind me, and I turned to see Jake standing in the middle of the room. “Is it you?” he asked. “Are we really here?” I threw him the tennis ball, smiling. He came over, kissed me softly on the forehead, and took my hands. He urged me up. And I was able. I stood in front of him.

  I must’ve lost my concentration then, or the emotions were too overwhelming, because I woke up. But it didn’t matter. It worked. For the first time in over nine years, I used my legs.

  * *** *

  It’s late afternoon. Time has slowed to an unbearable degree. I’ve been driving Jake mad. I can’t stop talking and can’t keep my attention on one thing for more than a minute. I can’t wait for the evening to come.

  I know Jake feels the same. Even the doctor has been all smiles. It makes them both cringe when I say it, but I don’t care: last night was a dream come true.

  I can’t wait for tonight!

  * *** *

  All of yesterday’s excitement was justified. Last night was even better.

  It started in the same way, with me sitting at the table in the cabin, a bright white day gusting through the window. This time the realisation of where I was came much more swiftly, the snap of consciousness less abrupt. The dreamscape again: the tennis ball was on the table. Everything was as tangible, as real, as the night before.

  I was determined to keep control of my emotions. I took some slow breaths, as the doctor suggested. I ran my hand over the table, traced the contours with my fingers, pushed my nails into the cracks. The table was there, at least in the way that matters. It’s like your brain recognises the experience as a dream, but at the same time attaches to it a substance, a consequence – and the two sides are somehow not incompatible. The cabin doesn’t feel less important than reality, just different. Better.

  This time I stood on my own.

  Jake arrived soon after, and we went outside. Walked outside. We stood gazing at the trees. The cold wind on our faces, a few spots of rain. Jake even shivered.

  Yesterday, during the day, we had listed a hundred things we would do in the dreamscape: we would walk down to the stream, hop between the rocks like we used to, swim in the lake, climb a tree, take the mountain bikes behind the cabin for a ride – and lots of other things we couldn’t mention in front of the doctor. But we spent most of the time simply standing there, watching the forest, watching each other. Jake looked younger, brighter than I’ve seen him in years. I felt a similar change in myself. It wasn’t just being able to walk again.

  We took a lazy circle around the cabin. Some things weren’t perfect – there was a slight problem with movement. It felt real enough, but sometimes sluggish, actions and reactions a little out of sync. Like the delayed snap of a twig underfoot, or when Jake pinched my leg and I jumped a second late. I thought it might be me, a result of nerves and muscles out of practice, I don’t know. But Jake had it too.

  The doctor explained it today, speaking of such things as communication pathways, latency, signal degradation, feedback loops that needed to be optimised. He went on for minutes before realising he’d left us far behind. Then he reassured us in simpler terms: the nanobots were still settling in, and the more time they spent doing their jobs, the better at it they would become.

  Jake asked the doctor if he could do something about the weather, too. He replied, sober as ever, that that was up to us. That eventually, given time and practice, we could do anything we set our minds to.

  It’s easy to believe. The nanos already simulate every sense with incredible clarity. Or stimulate them I suppose, as there can’t be much difference between a false signal and a real one when it results in the same reaction, the same feeling. It’s more than the obvious senses too – the nanos go deeper, stirring up the undefined parts, the sensations below the surface. The cabin has an atmosphere, a feel, as if they’ve tapped into the emotions we’ve associated with it, then refined and amplified them. Like reliving a memory.

  No, that’s not quite right. It makes it sound less significant. What I feel isn’t simply a reproduction of our time at the cabin all those years ago. It’s created afresh, it’s happening in the present.

  In the dreamscape, I am truly happy.

  * *** *

  It’s close to three weeks since those first successfu
l nights. The doctor has chastised me for not keeping this journal up to date, but it’s impossible to concentrate during the day when such bliss awaits at night. It’s like wading (or wheeling) through glue to get through the hours. The doctor says I should work harder to “recognise the necessity of a healthy and productive real life alongside the dreamscape excursions”. Jake agrees, if not in the same words.

  They both fuss too much. The doctor should be pleased that his technology is such a success. And Jake cannot dispute how alive we are in the dreams, how right everything is. In the dreamscape I am me, and we are us again. We’re re-ignited.

  And how much we’ve advanced! There’s no problem with movement now. No latency. Everything is communicated instantly to our senses, to each other and the surroundings, as fluent as reality, and more intense. By now I know immediately I’m in the dreamscape, it’s almost a conscious decision to arrive there. I barely look at the tennis ball.

  We have the control that the doctor promised. We can bend the dreamscape to our wishes. Jake has a real talent for it. Once he created a grizzly bear and made it wave, much to the doctor’s disapproval when we told him (though I think secretly he was proud of his little machines). Jake teases me that I should be more imaginative like him, but I don’t need anything else in the dreamscape. It’s perfect as it is.

  An unusual thing did happen last night, however. I’m not sure whether it’s worth writing about. I was in the forest, Jake had left the dreamscape a little earlier. I was looking up at the sky, which we had made a brilliant turquoise, when there was a flicker in my vision, like a malfunctioning neon light, and for a split second I was somewhere else. A cold, colourless place. Then it was gone, and I woke.