World Revolver

by Gina Ranalli

I wait, huddled by a big oak that’s miraculously still alive, though all its leaves have fallen and blown away a couple weeks ago now. More than half an hour passes by my count and stillness abides.

  Gathering up my courage, I move cautiously towards the buildings, aiming for one not too close to the street, but not too far away either.

  The parking lot is nearly empty but a few stray cars are still parked here and there, rusting hulks with smashed windows, their doors hanging open, their seats gone.

  There are both first and second floor apartments in this complex and second is almost always safer, so I choose one at random, climbing the stairs as quickly as my bad leg will allow.

  The door is only hanging from one hinge but at least it exists, which is more fortunate than some of the other apartments. Hell, a lot of the places don’t exist at all anymore, either being fully or partially collapsed or, in some cases, destroyed by fire.

  But the one I’ve chosen is relatively intact and for that reason I expect it to be already occupied. I slip out the bat I carry—it sticks out of my backpack for easy access—and hold it at the ready as I slowly push open the broken door and ease myself over the threshold.

  If there are people in here, I hope with all my might they’re sleeping and I can slip out again, with them never the wiser.

  It’s pitch-black inside and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. When they finally do, I waste no time, moving through the small apartment like a crippled soldier, examining the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room in less than two minutes. I also explore the closets.

  Nothing, though I do find evidence that someone, or maybe several someones, has camped out here before. There are blankets on the floor in the kitchen, which is smart because it’s in the center of the place, away from any windows.

  I decide it’s where I’ll spend the rest of the night as well. What little of it there is left.

  It’s regrettable that I have to stop at all during the hours of darkness, but my damn knee is insisting on it, as it does more and more lately.

  No matter.

  We do what we must.

  I use a mini-flashlight to kick around the stained and stinking blankets already here, ensure there’s nothing nesting in them, and take off my pack, place it nearby and slowly lower myself to the floor, leaning my back against the mostly cracked and crooked cabinets.

  Sighing, I realize just how exhausted I am. Only twenty-eight but my body, I think, is that of a seventy year old. And not a particularly spry one.

  I pray to a god I don’t believe in that I make it through the rest of the night and tomorrow. Please let me rest here, undisturbed and protected from any roamers that may happen by.

  It takes me a bit to be brave enough to close my eyes, but I eventually do, though my ears are still alert for as long as I can manage it.

  I think about the old days, so long ago, before war and disease ravaged our world and turned it into what it is today: rubble crawling with savages desperate to get you before you get them. There aren’t many of us left who remember what it used to be like before skylines fell and suburbs burned.

  Something prickles the back of my neck and my eyes open. Looking around, I see nothing has changed and only silence looms large.

  But still, there’s the feeling of being watched. Or…

  Growing nervous, I place my right hand on the bat lying beside me. My eyes tick around the kitchen, studying everything I can see with renewed interest, though in the dark there’s not much to see except shadows. I raise my left hand and examine it as though I’ve never seen it before. Why does it seem so old? So many scars? It clearly hasn’t been washed in days. Maybe weeks.

  I lift my arm higher and take a whiff of my own armpit, grimacing at the stench before dropping it again. I look down at what I’m wearing, little more than rags, and I’m overcome with fright but also an intense curiosity.

  My heart begins hammering in my chest. What’s going on here? Am I finally losing my mind? I feel like an alien in my own body.

  But, no. That’s not quite right. It’s more like I’m sharing my mind with a stranger…a latent being.

  I swallow what feels like a lemon lodged in my throat and then something even stranger happens. A sense of peace washes over me. My racing heart begins to slow down, my breathing, which had also begun to quicken, returns to normal.

  Closing my eyes once more, I feel relaxed in a way that hasn’t happened since I don’t remember when. Certainly since before the civil wars.

  It’s an epiphany, I realize. There is something inside me that’s been there all along. I was just too preoccupied to listen.

  It’s God after all.

  We are, all of us, not alone.

  There are many hardships, yes, but the voice in my head is not mine and, as it is not threatening, it can’t be anything but a supreme being. In fact, it’s not even so much a voice as it is a…comforting layer of pure inner light.

  I wish the churches hadn’t been the first structures to burn. It would be nice to go inside one, sit in a pew and marvel at the wonder of the universe and the one who created it all with love and gentle kindness. But, if I can’t find a church, I will make one myself, somehow.

  I will find a way. I’ll show everyone the light burning in my chest and point out it’s in theirs as well. Everyone can find it—all they need is a moment to reflect and the peace and a safe space to do it in.

  Thank You so much for Your compassion and devotion, for the eternal, undying love. I will give it back in kind and it will never be forgotten again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN—The Junkie (7)

  I’m vaguely aware of a rumbling sound and at first assume it’s my stomach. When was the last time I ate? Then my body is jarred and I come fully awake, still in the backseat of the car, though it takes me a couple seconds to get my bearings.

  -He’s back.

  Turning my head, I see Luna leaning over her half of the back seat and into mine, peering into my face.

  I blink and begin to tremble slightly. The trip—did these people call it a spin before?—comes back to me and I’m immediately frightened.

  The guy in the front seat turns around to gaze at me. It takes me a long moment to place his name.

  Oh, yeah. Circe.

  -Nice to see you again, Eon.

  I grunt at him and attempt to sit up straighter while turning to Luna.

  -What the fuck was that? I didn’t even get dosed.

  After thinking about this for a moment, I wonder if it’s true.

  -Did I?

  She shook her head.

  -You don’t need to be dosed anymore. Almost without fail, six times seems to be the charm.

  -The charm?

  Ignoring the question, she continues.

  -From now on, you’ll be spinning with no help from any drug.

  -But…how?

  -The drug repeatedly sparked synapses in your brain, creating a pathway that’s not normally lit. Think of the drug as a flint stone against straw. It sparks repeatedly, but then, with enough strikes, the straw will burst into flame. Understand?

  I stare blankly for a moment.

  -If that’s true, what happens to the straw, which I assume in this analogy is my brain? It’ll burn up, right?

  The driver, Circe, is the one who replies.

  -Pretty much, yeah.

  Luna gives him a chilly glance before returning her attention to me.

  -For some spinners, yes. But not all. Some take a very long time to burn out.

  I really don’t like the sound of that.

  -Burn out?

  She clears her throat.

  -We’ll talk about it later. There’s plenty of time, and besides, we’ve arrived.

  Looking out the front of the car, I see we’ve pulled into a long, curving driveway bordered by thick trees on either side.

  -We’ve arrived where, exactly?

  -Atropos calls this place Olympia, which was a sacred place to the ancient Greeks.

>   This explanation tells me nothing but as we round the next and final curve, I see an extremely tall, extremely ornate wrought iron gate attached to equally tall stone pillars which are, in turn, attached to a huge stone wall surrounding what I assume to be acres of property.

  Beyond the gate, after another hundred yards of circular driveway, there’s a mansion, the likes of which I have never seen in real life.

  My jaw drops, not only at the sight of the gigantic property, but also at the two armed guards at the gate. They’re also gigantic, each wielding what appear to be AK-47’s and bandoliers of extra ammo.

  -Holy fucking Christ.

  Circe smirks.

  -Just about.

  One of the guards, a guy with a face like a bulldog, opens the gate manually and Circe drives us through, past a dead water fountain and up to the house.

  I keep thinking about how this can’t be real. I’m having another trip—or spin, as my companions call it—if they’re even real. I feel like I have to question everything now and it’s not a good feeling.

  Once we’re all out of the car, we walk the gravel drive up to the house and encounter two more armed guards, nearly identical to the first two. They make me nervous. I wonder if they’re cops or what.

  Luna touches my arm as we approach the front door.

  -Relax. It’ll be fine.

  Circe gives an amused snort and I’m forced to wonder just what the fuck his problem is.

  The guards let us by without a word. A quick nod from Luna is all it takes to gain access to this mansion apparently.

  Magically, the oak door swings open without so much as a knock, and sure enough, it’s another guy with a gun. I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping Alfred Pennyworth would be the one greeting us.

  We enter into a wide foyer, stepping onto what I think is a real marble floor, a vast staircase directly in front of us.

  Descending the staircase is a girl dressed all in white, maybe seventeen or so, blonde dreadlocks standing out in sharp contrast to her coffee-no-cream skin. Even from a distance of fifty feet, she has the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  Her expression is blank and, despite this, when her gaze lands on me, I feel utterly intimidated.

  As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, Luna steps forward.

  -This is the man.

  The girl regards Luna with mild indifference.

  -I see.

  Once more, her eyes find mine and it takes everything I have not to shrink back, so powerful is her presence.

  She holds out a hand for shaking.

  -Welcome, Mr. Eon. I am Atropos.

  I take her hand, feeling more shy than I ever have before.

  -Hi. Thank you.

  Holding her gaze is impossible and I want to kick myself. She’s little more than a child. Why am I so intimidated by her?

  -I trust your journey was uneventful?

  She shifts her attention to Luna.

  -Nothing I couldn’t handle. Though I should mention he spun in the car.

  Atropos nods.

  -That’s unfortunate. How much time before he goes again?

  -The times are getting shorter, so…another two hours, at most.

  I balk at this new information.

  -Two hours! How is this even possible? What’s going on?

  Atropos is unfazed by my outburst.

  -We need you to be calm, Mr. Eon. Circe will show you to your room and I’ll be along shortly for a discussion. I’ll try to answer all your questions then.

  She gives myself and the others another nod and walks off past the stairs and towards two closed doors large enough for giants to fit through.

  A guard opens the doors for her and closes them behind her.

  Circe whacks my arm with his fist.

  -Need to change your panties, Princess?

  -What the fuck?

  -Come on.

  He begins climbing the grand staircase and after a look from Luna, I reluctantly follow.

  We pass room after room as we walk a seemingly endless hallway decorated with oil portraits of unknown women though the ages. Wall sconces burn golden and I feel like I’ve been teleported back to colonial times.

  Circe finally stops at a door and gestures.

  -This is you.

  -What am I supposed to do in here?

  -Nothing. Wait for Atropos to come talk to you.

  With that, he walks off, going back the way we’d just come.

  I want to argue, but the truth is I’m just not feeling quite up to it. I’m exhausted and shaken up by my last trip. Or spin. Whatever.

  Opening the door, I enter a room which could easily have fit four of my rooms back home within it.

  There’s a four-poster bed, king size by the look of it, a large mahogany chest of drawers, a small writing desk in the corner, a crushed red velvet loveseat that matches both the bedspread and the curtains and two bedside tables, each with what appear to be matching Tiffany lamps on top of them.

  On the opposite side of the room, across from the bed, is a small stone fireplace with an ornate maple mantel, an old-fashioned oil burning lamp atop it.

  In other words, the nicest fucking digs I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

  If this is where I get to stay, hell, I’ll happily spin my life away.

  Crossing the room to the window, I look out on a vast expanse of green lawn bordered by deepest forest. More of a field than a lawn really.

  I’m thinking about how we could play a pretty awesome game of baseball out there when there’s a gentle rap on the door.

  Surprised, my voice squeaks as I turn away from the window.

  -Uh…come in?

  Atropos enters, arriving much sooner than I had anticipated. She closes the door behind her, but not before I get a glimpse of a guard out there. This teenager must be very important indeed.

  -I trust the accommodations are to your liking?

  I can feel color darkening my cheeks and I clear my throat awkwardly.

  -Yeah, uh…it’s a nice place you have here.

  It takes all the willpower in my being not to punch myself in the face. How fucking lame can a person be?

  Atropos doesn’t waste any time getting to the nitty-gritty, folding her hands in front of her.

  -Do you understand what’s happening to you, Mr. Eon?

  -Umm…not really. I mean, Luna told me a little about how I…uh…don’t need Satellite to…umm…spin anymore. It will just happen whenever now, right?

  She raises her chin slightly and narrows those pale, almost-white eyes.

  -Do you have any questions for me?

  I shift my weight uncomfortably.

  -About…?

  -About your spins. I imagine you’ve already noticed you can sense yourself sometimes.

  -Excuse me?

  -When you hi-jack yourself in other dimensions. The alternate Mr. Eon senses your presence, yes? But not always.

  I stare at her, baffled.

  -How did you…how did you know that?

  She ignores the question.

  -The reason for that is…

  Eyeing me briefly, she seems to come to some conclusion about me. Probably my intelligence level, if I had to guess.

  -Think of alternate dimensions as towns or cities. Some are miles apart. Others are side by side. When you spin into a dimension close to our own, the more likely it is that the alternate you will sense something is amiss.

  -Like a glitch in the matrix?

  I laugh at my own joke, but her face doesn’t change. It occurs to me that she might be too young to have ever seen the sci-fi classic.

  She takes a step towards me, tilting her head slightly.

  -How are you feeling Mr. Eon?

  Puzzled, I nervously scratch my head.

  -Fine. A little tired maybe. Why do you—

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN—The Slacker

  Shit work for shit pay. Story of my life. But now it’s even worse. Mopping the floor in ‘th
e dining area’ of an ancient Scrummy Burger in a bright green paper hat with a matching vest and that’s it—I have reached the lowest of the low.

  -Excuse me!

  An overweight woman is snapping her fingers to get my attention.

  -I’d like some ketchup!

  I try to pretend I don’t hear her and keep mopping but her voice is so shrill I have to look up after only a few seconds of averting my gaze. When she makes her demand this time I point at one of the little counters near the front on the restaurant.

  -Ketchup is over there.

  She gives me a look like I just slapped her baby and tried to feed it a steaming spoonful of shit fresh out of my ass.

  I go back to mopping and ignoring her.

  It doesn’t take long before John, the manager, comes out and asks to have a word with me in the back.

  Sighing, I put the mop in the bucket and follow him off the floor and into a breakroom the size of a broom closet, where he reams me out for being ‘rude to a customer.’

  John is about twenty years old. Could almost be my son. Or at least my much younger brother.

  -I’m not a fucking waiter. This isn’t Elaine’s.

  His pimpled face turns sour. Well, more sour.

  -I already told you not to use that language in here. And it doesn’t matter if you’re not a waiter. They ask for something, you get it. End of story. Understood?

  I rub the bristles on my cheek and remember I didn’t shave that morning. I’m surprised John hasn’t mentioned it.

  -And what did I tell you about coming in looking like a bum? Don’t you own a razor?

  Damn.

  -Maybe if I wasn’t making minimum wage, I could afford a goddamn razor.

  John flushes bright pink, which I have to admit, gives me a certain amount of satisfaction. He’ll probably go home and take his anger out on his teddy bear.

  -This is your last warning.

  His voice has venom in it but I can’t say his threats cause me much concern.

  -Okay, then. Are we done here?

  -We’re done.

  I get out of the break room fast and leave him sitting there at the shitty Formica-topped table, glaring after me.

  Back with my mop, I have to keep from groaning aloud at all the people in Scrummy Burger today. There’s a parade going on outside and as a result, we’re swamped and there’s barely enough room to walk around, never mind mop. It’s one of those days I almost wish I was working the counter or making the fries or something. But, too bad for me, I tried that once and it didn’t work out so well. Accidentally gave a customer a root beer when he wanted an orange soda and apparently that was the most devastating thing that’s ever happened to him.