by Taylor Kole
Rosa sat next to him and touched his leg. “Are you ready?”
They stood in unison.
Seeing the happiness on her face increased his own. Today would be a good day. Unless it ended with him in jail, or fueled the campaign to extend the ban, or something... far worse.
Chapter Twenty-One
Douglas, Nebraska, 1871 was always sunny and cloudless with temperatures in the high seventies. Clients started off with clothes from the era—heavy corduroy and cotton for men, long dresses for women, each with multiple layers of undergarments. Per her norm upon entering Douglas, Rosa went straight to the tailor shop and modified her clothing.
For unknown reasons, Alex often stayed in whatever outfit they gave him. He liked staying in character while inside each of the worlds he visited. He, and Charles and Roy for that matter, even adopted the dialect when possible.
He had this strange notion that if he enveloped himself in a certain era, the AIs wouldn’t be able to detect him as an outsider, and he could briefly experience the thrill of living a different life, in a totally different reality.
“How do?” an older gentleman said as he strolled by, a lady friend entwined in his arm. The man wore a corduroy suit and top hat, the latter he pinched in time with his greeting. The lady’s bluebonnet dress ballooned out at the bottom, ruffles bedecked the hem.
Alex nodded a greeting, and the artificial couple returned to their prior conversation.
Folks mulled about the dusty town. A horse-drawn cart wheeled hay in one direction. A farmer guided a pair of sows in another.
“How do I look?” Rosa said.
He turned toward the sound of her voice and smiled at her choice of clothing: a two-piece bathing suit, white with pink dots, flips-flops, and a pair of low-cut jean shorts.
“Real fitting,” he said with mostly joy, and a sprinkle of annoyance. It was hard to lose himself with Rosa draped in modern clothing.
But them being here was her doing, and he was willing to adopt her preference. He removed his overcoat and tossed it on the ground. Once he was out of range, it would vanish and even return if he came back. He offered Rosa his arm.
She accepted it. A half-mile of comfortable, hand-holding silence brought them to the countryside—far out of earshot of town activity.
Rosa had discovered Douglas in one of the many blogs distributed by Broumgard—probably as the “world where you’re least likely to meet another person.” They first visited it as a semi-joke.
On that day, he followed Rosa while she explored. She appreciated the low attendance at the saloon, the full house of chapel mass, and the friendly business methods at the trading post.
Finally seeing Rosa wowed by the Lobby helped make Douglas, Nebraska, 1871 an easy place to like. Life passed in a simple manner. People stayed pleasant, respectful, and pious—a contrast to the world they came from.
After diverting from the dirt road, they navigated a game trail through a field of knee-high grass, picked their way along a patch of dense woods, and arrived at their destination.
Miss Bashful was an enormous willow tree, whose uniform branches seemed to shade a full acre of cool earth. A tire swing hung over a clear pond the size and shape of a skating rink.
Once they selected a spot of flat earth, half in the sun, Rosa used a voice command to call forth a picnic basket loaded with wine, bread, cheese, blankets, and a pair of towels.
A gaggle of geese swam toward the couple.
Alex removed his shoes and socks, and hiked up his pant legs. He retrieved a loaf of homemade bread from their wicker lunch basket. Tearing off bite-size chunks, he tossed them to the birds. Unseen fish tugged at the first offerings, while geese hurried and gobbled pieces, to their mates’ protests.
With the picnic area situated, Rosa took her own loaf of bread, waded into the water up to her calves, and attempted to throw pieces to the less aggressive birds near the back of the gathering.
Done with his bread, Alex sidled behind her, and kissed her shoulder. “You were right.”
“What this time?” Rosa said playfully, then flung the remaining half of her loaf, which hit the water and floated like a Viking warship. She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“About coming here, about me needing a break, about how stressed I was.”
“We’ll get through this, hon.” She kissed him, then again for a greater length of time, parting her mouth. Their tongues blended, and almost instantly, his loins burned with desire.
She shifted her hips, unbuttoned his breeches. Remembering the look of her naked breasts and the damp panties from earlier escalated his excitement to a level that had eluded him for months.
The crack of a breaking twig in the nearby woods slowed their hunger. Another, larger branch snapped, and they disentangled. They’d spent many afternoons with Miss Bashful, all involving sex, and never been interrupted by more than a pair of rambunctious squirrels or chirping blue jays. The disturbed branch sounded too thick for any common fauna to have broken it.
When considering the possibility of an AI deviating from its flexible loop, he immediately pushed that aside. No AI stalked them or followed out of curiosity; that anomaly was too improbable for this world.
Another twig snapped, this time closer. Alex remembered that his being here violated a court order.
Rosa edged out of the water and stared at the patch of forest.“What is that?”
“Some indigenous wildlife maybe?” He tried to remember if anything dangerous lived in Nebraska. Wolves? Bears?
Leaves rustled as if a branch were being forced aside and then snapped back. Alex heard the distinct sound of footsteps crunching dry earth, headed in their direction.
Protectively, he moved in front of Rosa.
Programmers installed backdoor slips—like the one Alex installed to give him supreme command in the lobby section—all the time. Douglas, Nebraska, 1871, would be an ideal world to alter something on the sly.
One programmer, unbeknownst to Broumgard, had inserted the ability to access thousands of genetics of marijuana into every world he worked on, which made him an underground celebrity. Maybe whoever designed this bore added spice in the form of a vampire or Frankenstein’s monster.
Alex wondered about the pain threshold here? In dangerous worlds, the modifier room forced clients to specify their desired discomfort level. Average worlds tended to mimic reality. Meaning, if a programming nut had tweaked this world, Alex might soon learn the pains of being ravaged by man-bear-pig.
What emerged from the woods was so much more frightening than any programmer’s ghastly creation.
Rosa gasped, and gripped Alex’s elbow so tight he knew the pain receptors were set to normal.
Alex’s knees trembled. He struggled to stay upright. His stomach convulsed, bringing him to the verge of gagging.
“My goodness, I’m glad I finally located you two,” a young and fit Roy Guillen said as he casually brushed prickers from his dingy one-piece long johns.
Rosa squeezed tighter.
Alex pulled his elbow free.
Pointing to Rosa’s shorts, Roy asked, “How do you change clothes in this world? There seems to be no command for that.”
Neither of them replied.
Roy scrunched his features, inspected Alex’s face, and stepped closer.
Alex retreated a step. His heart boomed. The idea of Roy—a dead man—touching him sparked a carnal desire to attack this abnormality, to grab Rosa by the hand and run, to gouge out his own eyes.
The differing thoughts paralyzed him.
When something unreal presented itself, the human mind evoked its own form of error message: muddy fogginess, constricted throat, sweaty palms. Having witnessed numerous dreamed fantasies in the Lobby, he’d exhibited these symptoms before, but never to such a degree.
“What are you gawking at?” Roy asked as he searched their faces. “Did I interrupt some hanky-panky?” Relaxing as if he’d solved the riddle, he walked over an
d pinched Alex’s exposed chest.
Alex jerked back, brought his hand to his touched flesh, and blurted, “You’re dead!”
Frowning, Roy cocked his head. “Dead?” To Rosa, “You’re white as a sheet, dear. No need to be embarrassed. I know what married couples do when alone in a beautiful setting.”
“Roy, you’re not alive,” Alex stressed his last word. “You died.”
“The F-1 wreck?” Roy asked. “Why is that such a problem? I popped into the Lobby, same as always.” He took a moment, and when he spoke again, he did so with more caution, as if joining Alex’s confusion with a previous curiosity of his own. “It was a bit different, mind you. Just before I lost control of the car, I felt a tingling, almost like I was loading out, and then BANG, the crash. After that, I was in the lobby. I went back to the race to watch you from the stands, but you’d left. I figured you’d gone searching for me, and checked the lobby again. Ten minutes had passed.” He shrugged. “I didn’t feel like playing tag all day, so I left a message at the post office and blazed my own trail.”
“And then what?” Alex asked. “Anything else unusual this past week?”
“Well, since you’re an inquiring mind,” Roy said. “I went to San Francisco 1968. Many of us original vacationers still gather there. It’s like our clubhouse. I met Prince Hassef and Dr. Finder. We scheduled a pinochle championship to end the squabble and crown a winner.” Again, he lost himself in thought, as if reliving exact details. Then he continued, “Hassef had planned to log out shortly after we began and swore he’d return three days later. So we postponed, but neither of them returned.” Placing a hand under one of Miss Bashful’s branches, he tugged off a leaf.
“The next day when I was in the lobby, the numbers looked thin, but who knows…?” He paused, as if sensing a pattern. Apparently unable to decipher its meaning, he said, “I spent four or five days with the Mayans, hiking up to see a high priest, intending to do that Smoke Serpent Ritual. Then I learned what the process entailed and got the bejesus out of there.” He looked to Alex as if about to elaborate, but then shook his head. “When I went to the Lobby that time, it was a ghost town. I checked my messages, found none, and I came here hoping to bump into you. I’ve been helping out on the Robinson farm over yonder.” He pointed. “After finishing with the lassies, the foreman told me he saw some strangers heading this way. I hoped it was you two, and here I am.”
Rosa eased around Alex and peered at Roy as if he’d sprouted a third eye.“He’s not joking with you. Roy, you passed. We attended your funeral.”
Roy smiled.“I don’t feel dead.”
“It’s true,” Alex said. His chest lightened. His mind was a helium balloon he continually had to pull back into his skull for it to function. “Major myocardial infarction. Tara and I tried to cover it up, say you died in the guest house, change the rules. Everything backfired, and now this…”
“What is this?” Rosa whispered. “Dear Lord in heaven, help us.”
“Hmm.” Roy paced two steps to his right, and after a full minute of brooding, he looked up. “So I’m dead out there, but I’m still in here?” A sly grin crossed his face. “You know, Alex, I’ve hoped for this. It’s why I panicked during the forty-eight hour breaks. I didn’t want to die out there.”
A lump formed in Alex’s throat. He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d anticipated from Roy, but expectancy bordering on exuberance inserted a knife twist.
“Your soul may be trapped here,” Rosa said. “Shackled in the chains of mortality. Unable to bask in the glory of the Almighty.”
“No offense, dear, but I’m fine with that. You trap me in an ever-expanding paradise, one that allows my loved ones to spend time with me after I’m dead—a place that lets me plan fishing trips with my unborn great-great-great-grandchildren—and I’m one happy man.”
“You don’t get it,” she said, a bit quieter.
“What do you mean, ‘with your loved ones’?” Alex asked. All of this hovered at a 9.9 for insanely problematic. If word leaked… His heart raced at the mere thought.
“You think I don’t have loved ones?” Roy said with a slight edge to his voice. “You think I don’t have the right to say goodbye to my granddaughter? My great-granddaughter? To Charles? You want me to let them continue thinking I just blinked out of existence, when I’m alive and well? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“You’re not alive and well,” Rosa insisted.
Alex breathed two deep breaths, searching for the right words. “I’m telling you, we’re dealing with a full-on LOC investigation. The Lobby is currently shut down. Protests are popping up everywhere. If this got out, they could close the Lobby forever.”
“They can’t shut this down,” Roy said flippantly. “You of all people know we have a hundred classified dump sites.”
“If they think it traps your consciousness,” Alex said, “they’ll find a way.”
“It needs to be shut down,” Rosa added.
Alex winced at the thought, and discarded her reaction as shock.
“Alex, I have a right to say goodbye to people. What if you could talk to your brother one last time, and know he was okay and happy?”
Alex would do it. He would do anything for that meeting, but Roy was asking him to possibly destroy the entire world for a final goodbye between loved ones. Alex hoped he wouldn’t be that selfish, though the eagerness in his chest at the prospect of seeing Simon argued he’d burn the entire planet for one more day with his brother.
With this scenario it was Roy’s loved ones versus burning the planet, that made it easier to do the right thing.
“No,” Alex said. “I can’t bring in people who would spread this?” Alex shook his head. “Did you hear what I just said? Do you still care about us? About Broumgard? About the Lobby itself? Are you so consumed by your own wants you won’t consider what this could do to the world?”
Roy held his gaze.
During all of this, Alex marveled at Roy’s youth. He wondered if these handsome features were now permanent?
Roy meandered a few yards away.
Rosa moved in the opposite direction.
Deep thoughts accompanied the silence.
“Look,” Roy said, “my funeral just passed, which means my granddaughter and her daughter are probably still in town. Charles lives with you. Come back tomorrow, same time—let me say goodbye, just to them, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“How is this happening?” Rosa said, more to herself. She searched both of their faces. Finding no interest, she wandered around the tree, and out of sight.
Roy came closer to Alex and lowered his voice. “Do you realize the significance of what’s happened here?”
Alex feared he might be the only one who did.
“Bring them to me, and that’ll be it. I guarantee you they’ll never say a peep. I get it. You have to do all you can to keep this a secret. I’m with you. I agree.” Another pause. “What you do is contact Tara and Adisah, tell them to bottle this up, because if one whisper leaks, it’s all over.” He chuckled. “The whole world, all over.”
Thoughts jammed in Alex’s nerve superhighway. He squinted. “I can’t contact them. I’m under house arrest. My phones are probably tapped.”
Roy stepped even closer. “You could bring Charles. We can figure this out together. Use him to deliver the messages to Adisah and Tara. We can trust him.”
Alex’s chest wound tighter. He didn’t want to tell anyone, but he also understood that to contain this secret, he’d first need to share it with others. “I won’t bring people I don’t know,” he said. “Plus, your family left the city days ago.”
“What about…?” Roy tilted his head toward where Rosa had moved behind the tree.
“She’ll be fine,” Alex lied. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning with Charles. We’ll make a plan and stick to it.” Not knowing what else to do, he inspected his friend, and surprised them both by pulling Roy close and hugging the daylights out of him
.
One emotion rose above the rest: gratitude. Alex appreciated his friend’s return. He felt blessed to be gifted one more hug, to hear his voice, to possibly share more laughs. As morbid as it all might be, their relationship could continue.
He felt so amazing and happy, but also resolute. He would keep this from the rest of the world. A revelation of this magnitude could destroy everything he’d come to love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sound of Rosa crying nearby welcomed Alex back to the real world. Rising to his feet, he pulled back his privacy curtain, intending to comfort her, and saw her exit their private access room. He considered giving chase, but what would he say, sorry I’m super happy my best friend is alive, or, at least available.
They just didn’t see things the same. Besides his feelings of extreme paranoia over the Lobby’s future, and knowing they’d need a pinch of magic to keep this quiet, he found the entire turn of events too surreal to be upset. The hardest part, when dealing with Rosa, would be hiding how happy he was. He’d just have to avoid talking about it with her. She’d sense his inner wonder, and that would light the wick to an explosive difference of opinions.
She held onto a hope that their faith in a higher power aligned. If she knew the depth of his doubt, that one separate belief could erode their marriage. That was the last thing he wanted.
Listlessly, he pushed the curtain all the way open until it compressed on the rack.
He surveyed the room with a heavy heart. Landing on the open space beneath the control panel—the two missing server boards—reminded him his life lay in others’ hands.
This additional complication of a dead man living posed an imminent threat to everything.
Opening the door required extra effort, as if strength had left him. Before he stepped over its threshold, he found Rosa ten feet away, arms crossed, eyes puffy but sharp, and focused on him.
“I want that machine out of my house.”
The last thing he needed was another frontal assault.
Moving toward her, he raised his hands in a placating manner.