James in the Real World

by Owen Todhunter

  This is just like Labyrinth. I’m Jennifer Connolly. The Face is David Bowie. No worse, The Face is Chad Kroeger. Shit! I have to get him back. I have to break through the glass wall, find Hal and get back before the sand slips through the hourglass. Or risk a lifetime of purgatory listening to The Best of Nickelback Volume I on repeat. Why are you joking about this right now James? Your brother is gone. Focus James! Focus! Oh god this is bad. Really bad. This situation is positively screwed.

  CHAPTER 11: A Necessary Accident

  James does not know how or what to do to help his brother. So, he does the normal thing. He panics. He paces the room for several minutes in a sorry attempt to formulate a plan. He cannot tell his father. Even if he could, what would he say? Hal disappeared into a fog? He might be in an imaginary dream world? There is only one other person James can possibly turn to. It is unclear at this early stage exactly what Dale might be able to do to help. He may at least believe some of James’ story. His mind made up, James puts on pants. He then takes the off, deciding it is too hot for pants. He puts on shorts, still pacing all the while. James falls over. James gets back up. He walks to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face. He checks his pockets for his phone. Then he remembers Dale has it. James curses loudly.

  Finally dressed, James races out the door. He takes a deep breath and tries to slow down his thoughts. By the time he realises it will take too long on foot, he is halfway down Old Battleground. He turns back for home. Then he realises it will take too long to get back, get the bike, get the helmet, then head back the same way again. It is an emergency situation. Why would he be worried about a helmet at a time like this? There is no real need to rush. He does not have a clue where Hal is, or how to go about getting him back.

  Still, he chases his tail. He turns for home, back down Old Battleground, back to home, and back towards the deserted intersection. He slowly tries to calm himself. As he does, he hears a girl’s voice. She tells him to stop and wait, to breath, and listen to the sounds of the day. He inhales, closing his eyes to imagine the gentle curve of breasts. He exhales and opens up his eyes.

  His pulse is considerably slower now. He looks for a bird or a cloud or a street sign to point him in the right direction. Nothing stands out, but what he does notice is the faint scent of death hanging low in the air. It could be a raccoon or squirrel; something hidden but not too far off. The non-deciduous hedges are thick on the roadside. Their thorns provide an impenetrable screen for the terraces beyond them. A half mile down the road stands the overbearing pines of Forest Lawn Cemetery. A light breeze glides through his hair, and rattles the skeletons of still-bare trees above him. Spring has sprung but there’s still an eerie quietness. While the trees come to life, James stands rooted to the roadside. At least he thinks he is on the roadside. A truck’s horn startles him, and he quickly scampers off the double-lane road. He continues towards the cemetery and the parklands beyond.

  “Careful, you idiot,” the girl’s voice says.

  Three minutes earlier, several blocks away, Dale emerges from the shower. He rings James’ cell. It causes the pile of dirty clothes on his bedroom floor to vibrate. He ruffles through them and eventually retrieves the phone. He figures it might be early enough to swing by James’ house on his way to the mall. He might even convince him to tag along. He quickly dresses and is out the door in four minutes. Dale starts the car and backs out of the driveway onto a quiet New Garden Road. He reaches the end of New Garden and hits the 220, turning left and towards James’ house. The traffic builds up as he passes Brassfield Shopping Centre. Dale then realises he’s taken the long way around. He curses loudly.

  After quick consideration, he decides to take a U-turn at the next available option. His timing is poor. He manages to avoid a head-on collision by mere microseconds. He puts the pedal to the floor. He offers an apologetic wave as several angry horns pass him by.

  A little embarrassed and very much shaken, he pushes on nonetheless. One minute later he takes the left exit back onto New Garden. The traffic subsides considerably as he approaches the leafy surrounds of Country Park. He passes several neat cul-de-sacs, until stopping at the intersection at Old Battleground. Fifteen seconds later he makes the correct turn, this time much more carefully. Another seventy-five seconds later James’ should be in Dale’s field of vision as he waits on the kerb. Here he waits for a break in the traffic to cross Cotswold Avenue. The time elapses. The car comes into James’ view. The same cannot be said for Dale. At the precise moment Dale should spot his friend, James’ cell phone rings. As he reaches across to the passenger side of the dashboard, Dale reads the caller ID. It says dad.

  Dale attempts to hit the green answer button, but drops the phone on the floor. He feels around under his seat, attempting to keep his eyes on the road. As his hand scampers in wide circles through the mess of empty chip packets and soda cans, he rocks back and forward to allow himself extra slack from the seatbelt. The extra slack does not work, so finally he looks down. He sees the phone tucked under the corner of the floor mat. He reaches down and picks it up. His eyes leave the road for three seconds. In the first second, the car creeps across and into the left lane. This time there is no angry horn to correct Dale’s path. Two seconds and he is completely onto the wrong side of the road. Three seconds later, he mounts the kerb. He drops the phone and looks up again. In a panic, he quickly steers right, overcorrects, and forces the car into a tailspin.

  He brakes hard, bringing the car to a manageable speed. As the left-rear side bounces off the sidewalk and back onto the road, he feels a thud. The tyres screech as the brakes lock up completely. Finally, the car comes to a stop, facing the wrong way back towards the cemetery. The smell of burnt rubber and smoke rises from the road’s black surface.

  James sees the car coming. Though with the short distance it needs to travel, it appears as barely a shadow. He cannot go right. He cannot go left. He cannot escape over the eight-feet-high hedge behind him. He can only hope and pray. Luckily, the car veers away and he is only clipped by the rear end. It is only a nudge. Still, a nudge from a car travelling thirty-five miles an hour does more damage than your average nudge. Especially with a landing as hard as concrete. The last thing James remember before he leaves this world is somersaulting.

  He twists over and under white lines, fluffy clouds and little specks of sunlight. He feels a sudden ecstasy of weightlessness, which overtakes the urge to brace for impact. He enjoys the sensation while it lasts. The clouds speed up rapidly, then slow until the trees frame the sky. It is the picture-perfect moment, a split second before gravity spits him back upon the pavement. Then, everything disappears. His vision is blurry, but the sound returns in a flash. His head explodes with violent bells, as his mouth fills with the taste of copper. He does not feel any pain. He does not feel anything. He is weightless. Breathless. Dying. Perhaps he is already dead. He feels himself floating away.

  Dale staggers out of the car. The first thing he sees are a pair of scuffed Chuck Taylor’s. The right shoe is tangled in the hedges, several feet from James’ body. The left is on the road, not too far from the driver side door. With shaky hands, he picks the shoe up. The faded white laces dangle lifelessly through his fingers. The colour drains from Dale’s face, he drops the shoe and only just holds his weight before he too, collapses to the ground. He tries to drag his feet towards James but he is shaking so violently he cannot maintain a straight path. A passing motorist pulls over, jumps out of the driver’s seat, and rushes to James’ aid.

  As Dale attempts to follow him, a female passenger from the same vehicle restrains him. She is a petite lady, barely out of her teens and stick thin. Such is the fragile state of Dale however, she inches him off the road and onto the sidewalk with ease. He starts inhaling quickly. Unable to control his quivering body, the only thing he can do is bury his head into his hands. Minutes go by. He starts to regain the feeling in his fingertips. His head also begins to throb as the incident re-runs over and over inside
his head. It happened less than a minute ago, but already he feels as though James has been lying on the road for an eternity. His reason collides with reality. He eyes well up as he stares across at James’ motionless body. He mumbles a broken apology, again and again. But James is not dead. Not yet. He does not quite know what he is right now. He just watched all this from outside of his body, somewhere above the hedges and trees. James is going to a better place.

  Dale has done the greatest service a friend could ever do. He does not know it and neither does James. This is the crack in the glass window. Every story is full of unknowns. The only assurance in this instance is that James’ is no longer in control of his journey. A volatile hand has dragged him into the path of a necessary accident. He knows this because he feels the soft touch of fingers against his own. She is right here with him, somewhere in the atmosphere sweeping up the pieces of his soul like dust upon floorboards. Her hand is warm, but trembling ever so slightly. It fills James with hope as it eagerly takes him away. Thank you, Dale. Thank you for hitting James with your car. Now it is time for James to go make good use of an unfortunate situation. He is off to find his brother. If he is lucky he may even get to see her face again. She who does not exist. What a wonderfully messed up world.

  CHAPTER 12: All the Colours of the World

  James’ eyes are open, but he immediately notices a certain soreness as he bats his eyelids. As they adjust to his dark surroundings, he sees a pin prick of light in the distance. He stares at where his hands should be. Relieved to feel them despite having little to no vision, he rubs his palms together. They feel smooth and un-callused; almost girlish to the touch. Thankfully enough, the lack of light at least conceals his naked body. His legs are impossibly weak. He curls his toes several times before the nerves twitch in each extremity.

  The ground below him is damp and cold. There are a few faint sounds, but he knows he is alone. The stillness is broken by a gentle wind as it whistles through the narrow walls. James looks above to see a constellation of stunning yellow stars. They are thousands in number, and almost within his reach. With his hands now visible, he balls them both into fists before stretching them into open palms. He uses his opposite hand to stroke each of his fingers, before cracking each of his knuckles.

  One of the stars falls gently to his shoulder. He flinches a little as he feels its warmth on his skin. To his astonishment, the fallen star sprouts several tiny legs. He is typically squeamish with such things, but he can sense it bears him no harm. It glides across his face, down his neck and arm, and finally comes to rest on the palm of his hand. It then unfolds a set of magnificent blue wings. They flutter to and fro, revealing a criss-crossing pattern of red and orange swirls. As its movements increase, a fine powdery substance releases from its body. The dust floats up and showers the constellations. This sets off a kinetic chain as every single star unfurls its own set of dazzling wings.

  The darkness comes alive, dancing with colour and poise. There are crimsons, teals, fluorescent pinks, and subtler shades his eyes have never seen. The scene is awe inspiring, albeit confronting. This is not some earthly moment. Where did the stars come from? Where are they going? Why is he here? He asks himself these questions as the empty space around him is filled with light. He watches in wonder, knowing full well and caring even less that the answers to these questions may never come.

  With pale precision, the creatures glide towards the light. It does not take them long, and once again James finds himself alone and naked in the dark. After some time, James finds his strength and rises to his feet. The first step forward is unsteady. The second is a little easier. The third startles him as he feels an icy trickle of water between his toes. Gripping a dry spot on the wall, he slowly inches forward. His head is light and heavy at the same time, swollen and fresh with virgin thoughts. More and more sounds begin to present themselves, clearer and more distinct as he approaches the distant source of light. Beyond it he hears a harsh and constant screech, like a set of crows on a power line. The trickle of water becomes a steady stream. Before long, James finds himself thigh-high in a deepening black pool.

  A few more footsteps and he meets with a thundering wall of water. Through gaps in the misty edges he catches his first sight of the creature. It is some sort of bird, but definitely not a crow. It is much too big and much too bright. Against the sky, its feathers blaze in burning light. An enormous set of wings refracts through the cascading sheets of water, creating a fiery kaleidoscope. James’ stares down at his body and hardly recognises himself. The necessary pieces remain, but something about him is different. Something has changed. He has hijacked a new body, and left the old one to rot at the site of the accident.

  He takes a nervous step towards the edge. Judging from the roar of the water, he must be standing at a fair height. He takes a nervous step towards the edge. He looks from every angle for a clearer vantage point, but can only catch a blurry glimpse of what lies beyond. He is stuck. Then he hears her voice. Her words aren’t spoken out loud. They echo in his head.

  Jump flames, jump.

  Who said that? He says in silent speak.

  Nothing bad will happen, I promise you. Jump.

  But I can’t see anything. Where are you?

  You’ll see me at the bottom, flames. Just jump.

  What flames? There are no flames, it’s just water.

  The voice says no more. He grows impatient and turns back towards his cave. After a single footstep, something grabs him by the wrist, and pulls him backwards through the waterfall. James feels the sensation of weightlessness once more. He smashes through the wall of water and freefalls hundreds of metres. He sees the land and sky in flashes of ashen grey and technicolour. Adrenaline surges from his toes to his fingertips. His arms thrash about with pure terror, but his mind feels free. He knows he should be scared, but he isn’t. It doesn’t feel a thing like falling. He grazes the cliff, but the hand pulls him out again. He floats down. The waterfall spits him in and out, before it swallows him up in a thunderous splash.

  At first his eyes are closed to brace for impact. When he looks again, he finds himself in an underwater wonderland. Glowing flowers blanket velvet rocks. Blades of sun pierce the glassy water. Countless luminous fish and squid and tiny crabs clamber to the reef for safety. James’ abrupt entrance sends a purplish hue of ink towards the surface. The smokescreen clears, and as the water settles the creatures soon forget James’ presence. Two serpent-like creatures wriggle their way through an opening of a rock. Their spots and stripes speckle silver in the light. In a second, they are encircled by a school of green-winged plankton. They look unlike any creature bound by the rules of nature. James finds himself mesmerised as he sinks to the bottom. Already he has been submerged several minutes. Still, his lungs do not plead for air. It somehow feels a comfortable place to be. He is at once both inert and effervescent.

  The depths are endless but James can clearly see the bottom. Giant whales, pale in complexion, comb the golden sands. Eager to reach the surface now, a simple kick of his legs is enough to breach the surface. Not too far away, he is able to distinguish the shoreline. But before he swims for safety, he is drawn back down. He takes the plunge once more. This time he is met by a cloud of hanging lanterns, rainbow tentacles and strobe-lit membranes. Thousands of elastic bodies drape their deadly appendages to within inches of the seabed. In the distance, there are several winged fish. The brave little soldiers break from their school as they are drawn towards the light. Instantly they become electrified and swallowed up by the slow-moving predators. This jelly barrier lies between where James is and where James need to be. He tries to edge around them but soon discovers that their reach is just too far. The only way is through. Just as he takes his first stroke, a voice tells him to wait. Suddenly a path clears between the tentacles, presenting a window just big enough to squeeze through.

  It soon becomes apparent why the path was there in the first place. A far greater menace is about to crash headlong th
rough the transparent barrier. Coloured ghostly white, a beast approaches from the deep, seeking to devour James. He feels it lunge for him before its jaws are even open. He feels his own anger in its blackened eyes. He feels his own rage lashing out in violent swipes of the beast’s tail. James is not collateral damage. He is the prey. Raw aggression bleeds through the water and like a bubble it surrounds him. It is hatred from the farthest reaches of the ocean. He is moments from ending his life in this world, after it only just began. He is a tiny fish, barely hatched from a glowing egg. Now he is about to be consumed as nothing more than plankton. He has barely enough time to scream internally before the glassy surface above him turns to fire.

  The crystal-clear water becomes a spin-cycled blur. Then he hears the screech. His whole body is jolted up. The whiplash is almost unbearable until he looks down at the alternative. A set of talons rips him away from the jaws of death. His head flops back and he catches sight of his bright red saviour. She screams through the water and lifts him up, turning the whale’s anger to ashes. A few powerful kicks, a tremendous whip of its tail, and James is skyward with the eagle. Salty water rushes through its wings. James, still naked, has never felt so helpless. As the pain in his neck wears off, he can finally turn his head to look at the ocean he was plucked from.

  The whale lets loose a set of anguished cries. Its white tail thrashes the water in anger of a lost meal. Soon enough its cries subside and it returns to stalk the edges of the bay. The whale will have its fill, but today it goes hungry. James smiles with pride and relief. He is not yet ready to enter the belly of the beast. The eagle is equally fearsome, but it chose to be a saviour. It could have left James to be swallowed up with the other hopeless creatures. James is the glorious victor, held aloft like a king of the skies. He savours the moment. It might be just a dream, but this sure feels like flying.