by Taylor Kole
She stepped back and lifted her hands, palms out. “You get it out of here, or I will.”
A snake slithered into the base of his spine and wormed its way through his organs, around his heart, and squeezed. For two seconds, he feared the oncoming of a stroke. “Honey, will you calm down? Let’s talk.” The entire house could crumble. His legs could break—he could accidentally chug hydrochloric acid, but as long as his access room remained, he would feel content.
“I am calm,” she said, and marched into her closet. A minute later she returned in jeans, tying her hair with a scrunchie. “I’m going to see Father Michael.”
He stepped into her path; a dozen feet separated them. “Rosa, I seriously think it’s best if we limit the people who know about this.”
“He’s a priest, Alex.”
A priest who drives an Audi A8, thought Alex. As distasteful as it was to admit, he celebrated Father Michael’s expensive tastes—they boosted his confidence that Tara could stifle that avenue before it became a problem.
“Alright, alright,” Alex said as he stepped out of her way.
Before Rosa reached the point where their room door would automatically open, she faced him. “Get your people. Do whatever you have to, but…” She shook her head and composed her thoughts. “That is no longer some big video game, Alex. It’s sinister. I’ll keep your secret for now, for the good of the world, but I want it out of my house.” She rushed out of the room.
From near the closet, he stared at the access room walls. They were camouflaged to blend into the main wall, making them difficult to distinguish. The entire western wall resembled a calm woodland, where animals darted and birds fluttered around a gently flowing creek.
“Victor, remove the west wall tint.” The wall turned to clear glass. He looked out over the rear of the property.
The guest house was a hundred and fifty feet to the northwest, partially shaded by a trio of thirty-foot spruces. It shared none of the modern style of Alex’s home, but Roy and Charles living there made life easiest for all parties.
He couldn’t help but remember how fragile Roy had been when he and Charles first moved on the premises. Him surviving all these years was impressive. Despite the madness, in some sense, Roy Guillen remained very much alive.
Staring at the dark cedar home, he wondered what Charles was doing at that moment. Sleeping? Reading The New Yorker?
Opening the back door, he met a wave of summer heat.
Before heading to the stairs, he trudged over to the rail, where a gust of wind ruffled his hair and rippled his T-shirt. The guest house had been modeled after the mid-century design of Jay Van Andel’s residence. Van Andel was a man with unscrupulous moral convictions and a deep belief in the Bible. In some ways, he found the two-home dichotomy fitting—the ancient versus the modern; the constant versus the uncertain.
Turning, he walked toward the steps and steeled himself for the conversation ahead—one about life after death, proof of concept, and the strategy needed to maintain the fabric of society.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex filled his loofa with soap and lathered heavily. This morning, he would smuggle Charles into the Lobby to visit their dead friend. So many pitfalls lay ahead. Surprisingly, his thoughts clung to Rosa, and the previous day. Though rare, he and Rosa had argued before. When subtracting the time he spent in the Lobby, perhaps their spats aligned with the national average? But they had never elevated a disagreement to words of cruelty or vindictive actions.
Last night he’d called Rosa naive! He was he such a fool?
Rosa had returned home in a dark mood. Her ninety-minute bath with the door locked and the radio blaring gospel music made it clear she wanted to be left alone, but he’d waited for her to come out so he could ask what taking the access chair out would solve.
How stupid. He should have stuck to his original plan and left the subject alone.
After the blowout, he spent the evening in the library. Watching the news helped him forget the argument, and the life quandary that awaited him. This time, when he listened to outlandish claims about the Lobby, he thought, If they only knew.
When fatigue finally overcame him, he trudged upstairs and approached the bed. Seeing Rosa’s inert form, yet knowing because she was a deep thinker, that she was still awake, he waited for her to give him some sign it was okay to sleep in their bed.
She didn’t. He slept on the couch.
When he woke, she was gone.
Using his index finger, he pressed the button next to the water temperature gauge and ended the hundred-degree stream. He stepped out to a message from Victor telling him breakfast would be ready in nine minutes, and Charles waited downstairs. Feeling anything but casual, he dressed that way and met Charles in the breakfast nook.
The sun had yet to rise, but the animated sun from his back wall shined brightly over his re-created property. Something about knowing a cold black lay behind his false creation kicked his nerves up a few notches.
Alex had once read that brain function didn’t peak until the sun had risen, so Victor greeted him with sunshine, regardless of the time or actual elements. Normally, it made him feel more optimistic about the day. Today, the ploy made him feel like a pretentious fool.
Charles waited for him at the far end of the iron table, reading the LA Times.
Alex sat, thanked Glen for the vegetable, egg-white omelet, and tried to calm his nerves as the pair ate in silence.
Charles had never been much of a conversationalist. This morning, along with being reticent, he looked under the weather. Alex’s guest wiped sweat from his brow on more than one occasion, bags underlined his eyes, and each time he spooned a wedge from his half of grapefruit, he looked pained by the idea of swallowing.
Alex imagined that everything he’d explained to Charles the previous afternoon had shocked him, but Alex needed the elderly man’s granite-like strength and cooperation to stop an expanding catastrophe.
“How are you feeling?” Alex said.
“Confused mostly.”
“I mean, healthwise.”
Charles leaned back.
Alex could tell by the slightly bent brows and tight lips that he’d offended Charles. Perhaps he thought Alex feared he was so unhealthy, he’d die during the short visit.
“There’s no need to worry about my health,” Charles said. “After Roy’s passing, I had a full physical, blood work, the whole nine. Doctor Goldstein rated my health pristine for my age. I do think I ate too much last night. Lots of greasy food. I never eat that. I felt a little sick this morning, but I’m at the end of it.”
“That’s good to hear, because I’m counting on you in this. I’m not the best guy to handle this problem.”
“No, you’re not, but accepting that shows your wisdom. Abraham Lincoln wasn’t a brilliant mind, but he knew his weaknesses like few men do, and he delegated them to others. That wisdom will help you through this. No matter what happens, remember that. We’ll put together a plan with Roy, Tara will step in, and a year from now you’ll wonder if this was all some dream you cooked up.”
Somewhere in the abyss of his subconscious, Alex believed those words. Still, he’d feel better at the end of this day, when they had a viable plan. Alone, he continually pictured doomsday scenarios.
They rode the elevator to the second level. Reaching the door to the access room, Charles paused with his grip on the handle. Again, Alex worried about his health. He looked like a man in the middle of sickness, rather than near its end. As if to prove his thought, Charles pivoted with his hand on his stomach, hurried to the master bath, and slammed the door behind him.
Alex wouldn’t say he envied someone with food poisoning, but entering the Lobby sick doubled the trip’s value. Allowing people to escape their ailments was arguably the Lobby’s original purpose. Thinking about the Lobby’s beginning led to thoughts of Adisah. Staring at the closed bathroom door, Alex longed for Adisah’s help with the Lobby’s current mutation.
The toilet flushed, and Charles staggered out. He forced a smile as he wiped his mouth. He remained pale but looked relieved.
“I’ll ask Glen to keep an eye on us while we are inside.”
“No, I’m fine, Alex. I’m certain the worst is behind me. I just needed one final purge.” He wiped moisture from his brow and from around his neck, and preceded Alex into the access room.
As Alex inputted their vacation parameters, he thought Charles’s ailments were more proof that life kicked us when we’re down. If there was a God, why would He do that? To force us to give thanks and prove faith despite its unlikeliness.
Charles had lost a lifelong friend, learned that friend had defeated mortality, and now faced the task of containing a secret with immense complexity. And, Alex couldn’t forget that with the new Health and Wellness rules, this would be Charles’ final vacation.
Alex found his ability to keep the Health and Wellness information from his friend troubling, but not troubling enough to bring it up.
Settling into his chair, Alex nodded with confidence at Charles and wondered when he’d become so callous, so selfish.
As the timer struck ten seconds, he assured himself there were many out-of-bounds things he wouldn’t do to protect the Lobby’s existence. But as the counter reached zero, he still couldn’t think of a single one.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alex and Charles found Roy pacing in the empty white of the Lobby. He hurried over to the new arrivals and announced, “World select, Life after People, United States of America.” A portal appeared a few feet down from the trio, and Roy moved to its entrance.
“Come on. People have been popping in and out all morning,” Roy said. “Asians mostly. We don’t want anyone to recognize me.” Looking at Alex, he frowned. “And everyone in the Far East will flock to Alex.”
Alex was well aware of the fame he generated in the Eastern Hemisphere. Japan’s populace embraced celebrities on a scale that dwarfed American idolization. Many Japanese considered Alex a living deity. His endorsement practically guaranteed a product’s success in Japan. Multitudes of packaged foods, clothes, cosmetics, and even toiletries bore his name. Signing licensing agreements often consumed an entire day. He also dominated Japanese entertainment, owning partial rights to a dozen animated series, a new video game every couple of months, action figures, his name in a hundred lyrics—to try and envision every marketing angle would cause his head to spin off.
Roy dipped into the portal without waiting. After a nervous glance around, Alex followed.
Life after People, United States of America, planted a client in one of six major cities with a random amount of time having lapsed since people suddenly vanished: one minute, one year, ten years, or a century. They modeled the world after a popular 2011 show, and to Alex’s surprise, this was a very popular world.
The trio stood at the famous crossroad junction in the center of Times Square in New York City. Judging from the stellar conditions of the roads, buildings, abandoned vehicles, and the still-functioning electronic billboards, he figured they’d be inserted into an earth where people had vanished one minute ago.
Goosebumps prickled Alex’s arms. This intersection held fame for its activity. Human activity. Lacking people, with crosswalks functioning and billboards selling junk, it felt like a massive tomb.
Alex had only visited this world once. Same as then, the eeriness of the place creeped him out. Nothing in science could make all humans vanish instantly. Last time, he’d arrived a hundred years after people had vanished, and spent much of his time wondering what caused the extinction? A corneal mass ejection was the most probable scenario, followed by a global pandemic, or the onslaught of hyperinflation. Alex felt like the pond scum theory was by far the most likely. Our stupidity was sad, ironic, and unavoidable.
He felt confident Roy chose this world deliberately. With no AI’s anyone they ran into would be a real person, and therefore, someone to avoid. Looking over the barren landscape, he flinched as a flock of sparrows took flight and receded down the street. Alex appreciated that they hadn’t been thrust into this world a hundred years from now, like last time. The vehicles had been covered by moss, the roads overgrown with grass, buildings in disarray, and animals had reclaimed control of the city. That would add more strangeness to the already morbid environment and upcoming subject matter.
Theirs was to be a conversation about death, the soul, and a machine that harnessed one from the other.
“There,” Roy said. Without awaiting a reply, he marched toward a glass door with a green logo stenciled on it.
Alex supposed an abandoned Starbucks might be the perfect place to discuss humankind’s downfall.
The interior smelled of freshly brewed coffee. An fourteen-dollar menu option steamed by the register. Loose bills littered the floor, as if the recently enacted rapture had arrived at the moment a customer went to pay for their morning boost.
Moving behind the counter, Alex selected a cinnamon scone, and his mouth watered. Strangely enough, glutton eating generated much interest in the Lobby. Around a hundred highly visited worlds catered to that stigmatized desire.
“We have one hour,” Roy reminded them.
Alex motioned to the display rack as he bit into the warm scone, asking if either man wanted something. Charles asked for black coffee. Alex obliged, then joined them at the small table.
“Well, Alex,” Charles said as he blew on his steaming cup of joe. “We’re here to help you. Let’s start with you filling us in?”
The suave-looking Charles, whose image would fit perfect on any cigarette billboard from the 1950s, had no resemblance to the elderly man hampered by the virus he entered with. Shaking those thoughts aside, Alex brought them up to speed. He started with the petty arrogance Agent Andrews displayed at their first meeting in Eridu and the many rumors he’d heard over the years about the man’s obsessions with him. Then he told them about Roy’s death, the raid, Rosa’s internal struggles, and Tara’s plans to limit future recurrences with a screening procedure.
During the lengthy apprising, Roy poured himself a coffee and refilled Charles’s cup.
Finished with the past, they outlined a cursory plan to best contain the situation—Health and Wellness, give Tara control. With all in agreement, Alex checked the clock. They’d consumed the entire hour. He should have scheduled two, maybe three hours, so they could have ended with some recreation.
With minutes left, Alex trudged behind the counter, found the hazelnut-flavored coffee, and filled his cup, wondering what he’d like to say as a farewell. As the scented drink drizzled out, he noticed Roy and Charles leaning in close, whispering. Though childish for him to feel jealous, their rare private moments always stung. He understood the two men had known each other much longer than they’d known Alex; they were entitled to their privacy.
Furthermore, Alex knew their conferences rarely involved him.
As Alex reached for a blueberry muffin, Roy laughed. The normally uplifting sound froze his hand. What could Roy find humorous about all he had heard? While recounting the events, Alex had endured bouts of feeling sick. He had continually wiped his palms and breathed deeply to steady his anxiety.
Even with the anticipated success of their initial plan, they would always fear that phone call from somewhere in the world, saying someone had died in an access chair. Roy had dismissed all of Alex’s concern. His confidence in Broumgard’s ability to screen everyone had reassured Alex, but not to the point where humor was appropriate.
Lifting the muffin and sipping his hazelnut coffee, he observed his friend’s unabashed grin with growing discomfort.
Rejoining them, Alex asked, “What’s so funny?”
Roy dropped his smile and sipped his coffee.
Charles cleared his throat as he stared at the clock behind Alex.
They had covered the pressing issues, yet none of the grand questions. Again, Alex wished he would have given them more time, but he’d
been nervous about even one more hour inside.
“I get it,” Alex said. “You guys are making future plans to meet?”
Roy wouldn’t look up from his coffee.
Charles crumpled his features.
Alex’s stomach clinched. He eased onto the nearest stool. The two men making plans without him hurt, but he didn’t think being excluded from a vacation is why his subconscious was screaming they had a problem. “Are you guys scheduling an adventure for next week or something?”
Neither man replied.
“That’s cool. Just don’t forget I want to be in on the one after that.” His body flushed when he remembered that because of the Health and Wellness standards, this would be Charles’s final trip. Perhaps Alex could pull some strings…
Roy set down his cup, sounding a tiny bang. “Look, Alex—”
“No, no,” Charles interrupted. “It’s my mess—I’ll try and clean it up.” Clearing his throat, he addressed Alex. “You sprang this entire conundrum on me yesterday afternoon.” He shook his head. “The stress put me to sleep minutes after you left, then kept me awake all night. With more time, I promise you I would have arranged something better.” He paused, then said, “I care about you.”
“We both do,” Roy added.
Charles shared a look with Roy and then squared his shoulders to Alex. “We are your friends and would never do anything to cause you problems.”
Alex bit into the top of his muffin, thinking people only said things like that to soften a blow.
“I feel foolish,” Charles continued. “I didn’t think things through.”
“What things?” Alex asked. A full mouth helped hide the crack in his voice.
Charles shook his head. “Alex, back at your place, when I went into the restroom, it wasn’t because I had food poisoning—I was a nervous wreck.” He glanced at Roy, who, with a serious look, nodded for Charles to continue.
“When I went into the bathroom, I ingested an entire bottle of Nembutal, about twenty Oxycodone, and a handful of amphetamines.”