The Man From Taured: A thrilling suspense novel by the new master of horror (World's Scariest Legends Book 3)

by Jeremy Bates

  Years later, when Carol Chase McElheney’s father died, he was to be buried in the same cemetery as her grandparents. When she arrived for the funeral, the empty lot she had expected to find was in fact a cemetery filled with graves dating back more than a century.

  “That’s creepy,” Okubo said. “An ill-fated version of her hometown.”

  “What is the next article?” I asked, intrigued.

  It concerned another woman, Lerina Garcia, who upon waking one morning noticed that her sheets were unfamiliar, and the pajamas she wore were not the ones she’d gone to bed in. Later that morning, when she arrived at her office building, she learned she worked in a different department under a boss she’d never met. And when she returned home that afternoon, her ex-boyfriend was in the living room—only he wasn’t her ex but her current boyfriend. She was unable to reach the man she’d been dating for the last few months.

  “Mon Dieu,” I said.

  “There are many more stories online,” Akira said. “One website called Mysterious Universe is particularly good…” He began typing.

  “No, it is okay,” I said. “We do not need to read any more about these people. The important thing is that their stories exist. Can you explain the interdimensional portals you mentioned?”

  Akira nodded. “Traditional thinking used to be that if there were parallel universes, they were vast distances apart, so vast we could never know of them let alone visit them.”

  “But…?” I said, expecting one coming.

  “String theorists suggest something entirely different, namely that our—or my—universe might be located on a brane embedded in a higher-dimensional bulk.”

  “You’re geek-talking again, oniisan,” Okubo said.

  “Their model of space,” he explained, “has more than the usual four dimensions—three of space, one of time. It has extra dimensions. They are called the bulk.”

  “A kind of super-space,” I suggested.

  “Yes. Another name for it, in fact, is hyperspace. In any event, our visible universe is called a brane, short for membrane, because it’s a kind of four-dimensional sheet. This brane is embedded in the extra dimensions of the bulk.”

  “I still don’t get it…” Okubo complained.

  “It might be easier to think of everything in two and three dimensions then,” Akira said. “Imagine you are a two-dimensional being. You’re flat, like a square. You live in a flat, two-dimensional universe.”

  “Like a piece of paper?”

  Akira nodded. “This piece of paper is the brane. And it, along with many other branes, exist in three-dimensional space called the bulk.”

  “Why can’t we detect the bulk?” I asked.

  “Because physics as we know it is trapped on the two-dimensional brane. All the particles we know of—protons, neutrons, neutrinos, photons, electrons—are trapped on the brane. If light rays can only travel along the surface of the brane, they cannot illuminate any of the particles in the bulk—those off the surface of the piece of paper—and thus it is invisible to our eyes.” Akira held up a finger. “Now here’s where it gets interesting. It seems gravity, carried by gravitons, can escape into the bulk. This theory not only accounts for why gravity is so weak compared to other forces of nature like magnetism—its strength along the brane gets diluted by leaking away into the extra dimensions—but it also accounts for dark matter, that mysterious ‘stuff’ in our universe that nobody can seem to explain. String theorists suggest dark matter could be the gravitational shadow of matter in other branes like ours lying extremely close together in the bulk. Although we could never see the matter in these other branes, their gravitational pull would affect our visible matter, just as dark matter does.”

  “You’re saying there are other universes right on top of ours?” Okubo said in disbelief.

  Akira nodded again. “Stacked like pages in a book. Perhaps an infinite number.”

  “But we are not aware of them?” I said.

  “Not stuck as we are in our three dimensions.”

  “How close are they to ours?” I asked.

  “A distance vastly smaller than the size of an atomic nucleus.”

  “Impossible!” Okubo said.

  “Not in a fifth dimension,” Akira said. “Now this is my point with portals. Given how microscopic the distance is between branes, if our brane were to come into contact with another brane, an interdimensional portal could be a consequence of that interaction.”

  “Through which matter could be transferred,” I said, understanding. “Matter like me…”

  “Theoretically,” Akira said, “it’s a possibility.”

  “And how would one go about opening up another portal to get back to their brane?”

  “They would most likely need to create a black hole—a very large black hole.”

  “Why not a small one?” Okubo asked.

  “Because the intense gravity of a small black hole creates tidal forces at its event horizon that would squish you into something far finer than jelly. But if the black hole is large enough, and spinning quickly enough, you might barely notice passing through the event horizon.”

  “Got any super big black holes laying around?” I remarked.

  “It is not very encouraging, I admit.”

  I sighed, which came out part groan. I had never expected Akira to have some magical deus ex machina to send me home, but the fact the only solution he could offer was a near impossibility was more than a little depressing.

  Okubo rubbed my shoulder affectionately.

  “Guess I will not be leaving anytime soon,” I told her.

  “I could think of worse things,” she said, snuggling against me.

  “Before you two start making out,” Akira said, “let me tell you there remains one feasible option.”

  I perked up. “I am all ears,” I said.

  “You can wait,” he said simply.

  “Wait?” Okubo said.

  Akira shrugged. “Nature has a way of righting her mistakes. And from what I’ve read, these people who find themselves trapped in a different reality often end up back in their own in due time.”

  “Like the woman with the rundown hometown,” Okubo said. “At some point it returned back to normal. Or she returned back to where she was supposed to be.”

  “Yes, but how long was she in the other reality for?” I asked. “One hour? One year? Ten years? How long would I have to…wait?”

  “I have no idea,” Akira said. “But it seems most interdimensional travelers only make brief layovers in other realities rather than becoming permanent residents of them. Another example is a young American girl who vanished from her bedroom in 1960. Her parents thought she’d been kidnapped, but the police found no signs of forced entry or a struggle. A massive search party was organized but zero leads were found. Then hours later, in the middle of the night, the girl’s parents discovered their daughter sleeping peacefully in her bed.”

  “Where did she say she had been?” I asked.

  “She insisted she hadn’t gone anywhere. Nobody took her. She’d been sleeping in her bed the entire time.”

  “Maybe she was lying,” Okubo said. “Maybe she ran away?”

  “And eluded the search party before slipping back into bed with no signs of being outside, no signs of exertion or distress?”

  I said, “I guess I can only cross my fingers and hope I wake up in my own bed tomorrow morning.”

  Okubo folded her arms across her chest. “You wouldn’t miss me at all?”

  “Of course I would. But my life is not here, ma choupette. It is there.”

  “And if you don’t wake up in your own bed tomorrow morning? If you end up stuck in this reality forever?”

  “I am not ready to start contemplating that quite yet.”

  Chapter 38

  Walking back to Tama Center Station, I said, “Your brother really knows his stuff.”

  “What else is there to do but read when you never leave your house?”r />
  “An infinite number of universes…” I mused.

  “An infinite number of Okubos…” she said.

  “What do you think about that?”

  “I guess it would improve my odds of meeting a nice guy for once.” She missed a step. “Oh—I didn’t mean it like that. You’re great. I wasn’t talking about you.”

  I smiled. “Do not worry, ma choupette. I understand. I have not made the best first impression. I should have kept the Mork from Ork story until at least the third date.”

  “You’ve made a first impression I will never forget.” Her tone turned solemn. “And I do believe you, Gaston. Everything you’ve told me.”

  I kept the smile in place, but it had become forced, because once again I was questioning whether she did believe me. Maybe she had last night. But everything seems a little more possible when you’re stoned. In the cold light of sobriety—that’s another story. Because having to reassure someone you believe them is a little like insisting the weather’s fine while in the eye of a hurricane.

  “What has been the problem with the men you have dated?” I asked her.

  “They’ve just been…bad. Take the last one, for example.” She shuddered. “Total creep. He was a lot older than me. I don’t usually date older men, but he was very charming—at first.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “Manila. During a layover there. A flight attendant I work with heard about a new casino/resort that had just opened. A bunch of flight attendants went. We got into the VIP section. One thing led to another and we ended up at a penthouse party. That’s where I met Shigeharu.”

  “He was Japanese?”

  She nodded. “And apparently a big investor in the casino. Anyway, like I said, he was charming at first. And, you know…things happened…”

  “You stayed the night?” I asked.

  “I’m not a virgin, Gaston,” she said.

  “I know that from firsthand experience…”

  “And I don’t usually do…that…on first dates. You and Shigeharu were exceptions.”

  “So when did Prince Charming lose his luster?”

  “After a couple of weeks. He was so mysterious, and not in a good way. He would never talk about himself, never open up. I actually think he might have been married.”

  “There is a winner.”

  “You’re married.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “Anyway, I don’t know whether he was married for certain, but he was always excusing himself to make phone calls. And he was living out of the Ritz-Carlton in Akasaka. He told me he lived outside Tokyo. When he was in the city for business he stayed at the hotel.”

  “Not unreasonable.”

  “Maybe no. But then after three or so weeks of dating he began to get really strange. Buying me clothes and jewelry and insisting I wear them when we went out. Instructing me how to do my hair and makeup. Calling me all the time while I was in a different country for work, asking who I was with and what I was doing.”

  “Sounds like Single White Female but in gender reverse.”

  “Yeah, he became totally obsessive.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ended it.”

  “I cannot imagine he took that well?”

  “He never replied to my message. I guess I didn’t really mean as much to him as I thought I did.”

  “You broke up with him via text message?”

  “It’s not like I knew him that well.”

  “And you never heard from him again?”

  “No, thank God. But now you can see just what kind of guys I seem to attract.”

  “I can assure you, chérie,” I said, “that although I might appear to have some issues right now, I am not a creep.”

  “I know you’re not a creep, Gaston,” she said affectionately, taking my hand in hers and kissing me on the cheek. “Which, by the way, is why I think I’m falling for you.”

  Chapter 39

  From Shibuya station, we walked to a nearby Western Union. I wasn’t sure whether Blessica would have sent the money after I’d hung up on her, but it turned out she did, and once I answered the security question with the passphrase, I received a whopping 500,000 yen. Having experienced the vulnerability and desperation that came with not having a penny to one’s name, having cash in my pocket made me feel privileged and empowered and, most importantly, in control of my destiny once more.

  Back in Okubo’s apartment, she told me she was a member at a gym a few blocks away, was overdue for a workout, and asked if I wanted to accompany her. I declined, pointing out that I didn’t have adequate attire.

  “Why don’t we go shopping then?” she suggested. “You have plenty of money now.”

  “I think I should save it for necessities, chérie,” I replied. “Would you mind if I use your computer again while you are gone?”

  “It’s all yours.”

  While she disappeared into her room to change, I booted up her Macbook at the kitchen table. She returned in black tights, a fluorescent pink top, and white Nike runners. She filled a plastic drink bottle with water at the sink, then kissed me.

  “Are you staying the night?” she asked.

  “If you would like me to,” I said.

  “Maybe we could do something fun like order pizza and watch a movie?”

  “No sci-fi multiverse stuff.”

  “What about a romantic comedy? Or are you too manly for that?”

  “I am perfectly in touch with my feminine side.”

  “Think of a funny one then. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Once she left, I logged into my new Facebook account and discovered I had two new messages, one from Blessica, demanding to know why I’d hung up on her, and one from my older brother, Paul, who told me to call him.

  I did just that.

  “Gaston!” he said, answering the video call promptly. “Long time, mon pote. A moment.”

  I caught a glimpse of an intimidating knife, a hunk of meat, white walls. I heard the clank of a door, then saw bright light, which resolved into a nearly empty parking lot. The phone’s camera refocused on my brother’s bearded face. Thick eyebrows shaded steely gray eyes that belied his avuncular nature. He lit up a cigarette and blew smoke. “Beautiful morning.”

  “What time is it there?” I asked. “I did not mean to disturb you at the shop.”

  “Almost eight,” he said. “Shit, look at that eye, mon pote! Don’t bullshit me. You were in a fight, weren’t you?”

  “A minor one,” I said.

  “Remember that time I gave you a black eye? We were kids at the cabin. We were fighting and you got me on my back and I kicked you right in the eye. I’ve never heard someone howl so loud. Didn’t sound human.”

  “It hurt.”

  “Whole thing swelled shut. I felt real bad.” He took another drag. “Anyway, mom says you’re in Japan?”

  “Yes. How is…Andorra?”

  Paul laughed. “You sound like you don’t even remember what the place is called! You know about mom’s cancer, right?”

  “Skin cancer?”

  “She had to go back to get it all out. They say she should be good now.”

  “And…dad?”

  “Grumpy as ever. Still treating everyone like shit. But I think he’s finally going to take mom around Europe. Think her cancer made him start thinking about their mortality. Mom’s not going to be around forever, and he isn’t either. It will be good for them, traveling.”

  I wanted to ask whether my father was still a police officer, whether he had ever shot a man, whether he had served time in prison or had been acquitted in court. But I couldn’t ask any of these questions, I realized, not without sounding like a mental patient.

  Besides, I suppose none of it mattered to me. Not right then anyway.

  “When was the last time you were back?” Paul asked, taking another drag. “You should visit again.”

  “I would like to,” I said. “You are well?”

/>   “Well? Sure. Thinking about selling the business…”

  “Selling it! But you have put so much work into it. I thought you liked—”

  “Being a butcher? It’s honest work, and it pays the bills. But, you know, being a butcher isn’t like being a painter. You don’t have a passion for it. At least, I hope you don’t have a passion for chopping up animals all day long.” Another drag. “I’m ready for something new, that’s all.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “No idea. Take some time off first. Do some traveling. Might finally come to Manila to see you and Blessica. About time I meet her.”

  I frowned. Paul had been at our wedding in Boracay. He’d gotten that godawful rubber duck tattoo on his back! “You have never met her…?”

  “You’ve never brought her home, mon pote.”

  “I know… But the wedding…?”

  “What wedding?”

  “My wedding!”

  “What?” Paul blurted. “You eloped, you bastard! When?”

  “I—” I was tongue-tied. I’d never married Blessica here? “I’m kidding,” I added lamely.

  “Kidding?” Paul chuffed. “You gotta work on your delivery. You think you’re ever going to marry her?”

  “Get back to work, Paul,” I said, wanting to end the call.

  He flicked away his smoke. “Back to dismembering Porky Pigs and Daffy Ducks. Will be nice to meet Blessica in person. Take it easy, mon pote. Take care of that eye.”

  ∆∆∆

  I’d never married Blessica.

  Unlike Damien’s non-birth, which remained a fatal wound to my heart—and which I was only dealing with by not dealing with it—this revelation barely fazed me.