Ashes of Foreverland

by Bertauski, Tony

  But she did. Cyn came out of the Nowhere to find her body that they now shared already inhabited by Barb.

  “This is my body.”

  Not for long.

  “Get out.”

  Just sleep, darling. Shhhhhh.

  A cold rush of fear gushed through her. Her grip on this moment was slipping.

  “No!”

  She slammed her fist into the towel, felt the mirror spider beneath it, the satisfying crackle of shards across the sink.

  She ran into the front room, turned up the television and covered her ears, singing along to an infomercial that promised everlasting peace with one dose of biomites. She sang all her favorite songs.

  And realized she’d never heard them before.

  Shhhhhhh.

  An old woman was watching her.

  Wrinkles across her face, lips bright red. Jagged pieces missing from her torso.

  A chunk of time was missing. How did I get in the bathroom?

  The mirror was shattered; the fractured reflection of an old woman looked back, hypnotic eyes snaring Cyn, the truth swimming in their blue depths.

  Barb was in the mirror.

  A bottle rattled in Cyn’s hand. The lid was off. Thirty pills inside. She had the impulse to pour them in her hand, to tip her head back and swallow.

  “No.”

  Invisible strings tugged her hand. The jagged reflection watched her empty the bottle into her left hand and smiled. Cyn’s jaw felt pried open, her head pulled back. Pills danced on the floor.

  Most of them landed on her tongue.

  Close your eyes. It’ll all be over shortly.

  Her cell phone was on the sink. She had no memory of putting it there.

  You can’t kill me, Cyn thought, without killing yourself.

  Shhhhhhh.

  You can’t kill this body without killing yourself!

  The invisible strings pulled her arm, this time toward the phone. She felt herself reaching for it, sliding her thumb over the glass. She would call for help after she swallowed.

  And help would come. Help would come.

  No, please.

  Barb was close to the surface, her thoughts slipping into the light. Paramedics would pull her back from the brink of death; they would save the body. But Cyn would be unconscious. Barb would rise from the deep and snatch her up, would shove her into the dark subconscious where no one would hear her again. When the paramedics revived the body, Cyn wouldn’t open her eyes.

  Barb would.

  Please don’t throw me into the Nowhere, Cyn begged.

  She hated herself for giving up, hated herself for letting Barb win, but she was willing to trade places with Barb, to be a prisoner in the dark subconscious if she just promised. Not the Nowhere.

  Cyn swirled her tongue and managed to get three pills to fall out. A fourth stuck to her lip. The rest continued to melt.

  Why are you doing this?

  Barb didn’t answer, just watched her slide down the glass door of the shower—phone still in hand—meeting the cold tile floor.

  Danny, Cyn thought. It was Danny.

  The old woman remained quiet, feeling the saliva pool under Cyn’s tongue. It was in the diner, when Cyn was near Danny, that Barb went quiet. Somehow Danny’s presence pushed her deep into the dark subconscious. He was a threat.

  Barb knew it.

  Danny! Cyn thought.

  Her thumb slid across the phone. Numbers glowed beneath the glass. She attempted to throw the phone, but her elbow barely flinched.

  No, you don’t, Barb said.

  She pushed the pills against the roof of her mouth, chalky residue squeezing between her teeth, saliva dangling from her lower lip. Cyn squeezed her eyes until sparks danced, and focused on her arm.

  This time the phone bounced across the floor.

  It hit the door jamb and ricocheted into the front room. The screen cracked. The numbers cast an eerie glow on the back of the couch.

  She was kicked by an invisible boot. Her face slapped the floor. Half the pills were involuntarily spit out, but the rest were stuck inside her mouth. Her hand, moving on its own, scooped the slimy white mess back into her mouth.

  The slurry began to slide down her throat.

  She was forced to crawl into the front room. Her tongue swelled. She collapsed on one elbow. Her knees continued moving, sliding across the floor, hand extended, fingers stretching for the phone.

  Closer, she moved.

  Her legs lost feeling. Her hands tingled. Cyn willed herself to give into the numbing. She was quitting. Her body heard the white flag of surrender and answered.

  Her hip thumped the floor.

  The strings were cut. Barb pushed it, but she only squirmed like a poisoned animal. The phone was a mile away.

  Get up, Barb hissed. Get up, damn you.

  Half a smile curled on her lips. The pills would eventually go down. But without the phone, the paramedics wouldn’t arrive. Cyn would die.

  But so would Barb.

  18. Danny Boy

  Duluth, Minnesota

  The foliage was thick and dewy.

  The edges cut Danny. He ran blindly through the thicket. The tickle of hot breath was on his neck. Something crashed through the canopy. He didn’t look back.

  Nails dug into his back.

  Leaves and dust swirled in the air. Despite the pain, there were no talons piercing his flesh, no predator above him. Just an invisible force lifting him into the clouds. He knew what would come next, what always came next.

  Pelting sand.

  Voices.

  No sun above the clouds, no blue sky or stars. Just the endless gray of the Nowhere—

  Danny!

  He surged awake, jumped off the sweat-soaked bed, chest heaving, pulse thumping.

  The hotel. He was in the hotel room.

  Someone had shouted his name. There were people outside his room, but that’s not where it came from. Someone called for him in his sleep. But the dream was always the same, never interrupted, never changed.

  Someone needed him.

  ——————————————

  Heart still racing.

  The moon illuminated his faint exhalations. Danny hesitated in the driveway. Cyn’s house was nestled in the dark, the windows dark, a television splashing light from the corner.

  Danny didn’t believe in fate, didn’t believe destiny was predetermined. He didn’t believe in soul mates or the alignment of stars. Danny believed in free will.

  But she needs me.

  He cupped his hands to the window, risking looking like a complete creep. The porch was dark, the shadows hiding him from the street. The couch was empty. The microwave threw faint green light across the kitchen. If he rang the doorbell, how would he explain what he was doing there after midnight?

  It already seemed like he was stalking her. Because he was. This would make it all too obvious.

  He was about to turn around when something caught his eye. He pressed his face against the window. The microwave light revealed a sickly green arm from behind the couch.

  Danny burst through the front door.

  Cyn was curled up on the hardwood, convulsing, clutching an empty prescription bottle. A shiver shot through him.

  She’s laughing.

  It gurgled in her throat. A hoarse, gravelly laugh crawled out of her. Her cheek lay in a pool of saliva; a white pill stuck to her lip. He hooked his finger under her tongue and pulled out a lump of half-melted pills. There were more. He dug deeper and she gagged.

  Panic.

  Did she already swallow them? Should I make her puke? Call for help?

  She planked against the floor, vibrating like a bare wire pumping voltage through her legs. Something was grinding, like two stones under tremendous pressure. Her jaws were clenched.

  He had to call someone, but in the rush out of the hotel he’d forgotten his phone. He had to do something. Run outside, pound on the neighbor’s door, scream in the street...som
ething!

  A phone!

  He scrambled over Cyn and grabbed the cell phone. The glass was shattered, but it lit up. He didn’t need her code, just needed to press the Emergency icon.

  No!

  Her eyes snapped open, the whites on full display.

  Danny crawled over to her. He took her hand, a long scar bright and raised across the back of it. Her fingers were stiff, her arm a rigid bar. He slid his palm against hers and cupped her hand between both of his hands. That sweet feeling he experienced in the diner returned, melting through his arm, lighting him up with peaceful warmth.

  And something broke. Cyn fell limp.

  He felt it when he squeezed her hand, like he’d triggered something. He felt it flow through his arm. Her eyes closed; her head rolled to the side.

  “Cyn?” She stiffened when he started to let go. “Can you hear me?”

  She panted. Hair plastered to her forehead. He brushed it aside and noticed the small scar where a needle had long ago carried her into Foreverland.

  The phone began dimming. He debated. If she swallowed the pills, there was still time to pump her stomach. But when he took her hand, something stopped. He stroked her cheeks, flush and damp.

  She squeezed back.

  Her fingers tightened, just once. Like someone calling from the other shore, waving a flag. He squeezed again. Moments later, she squeezed back, a bit tighter, a little longer.

  He leaned against the couch and pulled her head on his lap. She was so limp, burning hot. He wanted to get a damp rag to cool her, but every time he loosened his grip she would go rigid.

  He couldn’t explain why he didn’t call for help. It was just a hunch. He didn’t believe in soul mates, didn’t believe in fate. But he believed—for now, right now—she needed him.

  ——————————————

  Sunlight cut the outline of the front door.

  A morning chill crept inside the house. The furnace kicked on, but the floor was cold. And hard.

  Danny woke with a start, pain stabbing his neck. He’d slept on his side without a pillow. His hip and shoulder were bruised; his fingers, still laced with Cyn’s, throbbed.

  She breathed easy.

  Her temperature was normal. They made it through the night. If she’d swallowed the pills, she wouldn’t look so normal. But if he was wrong...Why didn’t I call for help?

  Slowly, he slid his hand away from her, folded her hands over her stomach and waited. She rolled her head, moaning. He almost reached back when she fell back to sleep.

  Quickly, he went to the bathroom.

  Towels were piled on the floor, shards of the mirror lay across the sink. Pills were scattered around the bathroom. It looked like suicide.

  But why would the pills be everywhere?

  It looked more like someone poured the pills down her. And what magic did Danny possess? He held her hand and it stopped. Then he realized what had happened to him.

  No dreams!

  He had fallen asleep and didn’t dream. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t cast into the nightmare. Each and every night he ran for his life, sometimes across the sand, sometimes through the jungle.

  Always on the island.

  Danny brought pillows and blankets to make her more comfortable. He’d stay until she woke up, make her breakfast. They could talk, really talk about what was happening, what all this meant and what they were supposed to do. Reed sent him for a reason.

  He began picking up trash and cleared a place on the couch. If he could pick her up without disturbing her, she could sleep on the cushions. He noticed the envelopes. It was a stack of unwanted mail in a basket. It was mostly junk, and Danny wouldn’t have given it a second thought had he not seen the green ink.

  There were three large envelopes. Two more were under a pizza box, another one halfway beneath the couch. They were the same size, same thickness. The stiff outline of the disc was evident. All unopened.

  He looked at her sleeping soundly.

  She knew what was inside, knew that Foreverland was coming. And she wanted to forget.

  But Foreverland came calling. He didn’t know how or why, he was just glad he’d reached her in time.

  Danny ripped the flap open.

  The disc rolled out. The pattern of pinholes looked the same as the one he’d received. The only difference was the thick edge. His was blue, hers yellow.

  A folded sheet of lined paper fell out.

  Danny picked it up and held it to the light. There was nothing about building a bridge, just two lines written in green.

  43.58039085560786

  -107.24716186523438

  He recognized the numbers. They were coordinates.

  Raised letters had been pressed through the paper from the other side. He flipped it over to see the poem.

  He put it in his back pocket.

  Danny put her on the couch. He lay next to her, reciting the poem, dissecting and examining every word. He had to be sure.

  Half an hour later, he backed the SUV into the driveway, loaded it with blankets and winter clothing and all the food and bottled water in the house. It was still very early when he carried her to the SUV and laid her in the passenger seat. No one saw them drive away.

  Danny passed the hotel, but didn’t stop. There was nothing he needed. He was thinking about the poem.

  Where once there was light on a dusted rim,

  When day followed day, now a night-filled sin,

  Turn back your sight to where your steps begin,

  And return to the root and fall again.

  He programmed the coordinates into his GPS. That’s why Reed sent him, to take her back to where her steps began.

  To fall again.

  19. Alessandra

  New York City

  The trees were turning.

  It was still early September, but fall had begun showing its colors.

  The waiting room was filled with children. Most were there for physicals, a little biomite boost to maximize their ability, to make them better athletes. Better students.

  Just better.

  A trail of taillights lit up the street, another day in traffic hell. The Institute was down the street on the corner of Forty-Sixth and Seventh. Tourists walked past without a glance into the prestigious research center, no clue that the world was being changed inside those doors. She considered making a surprise visit, tapping the intercom and asking for Dr. Baronov.

  Today’s not a day I want to be escorted away by security.

  After her appointment, she’d call Kada. She used to be an editor for Penguin before becoming a freelancer. Kada took on a project here and there, even consulted with Alex, because she loved the business as much as she loved the city. And if she wasn’t working, she was on Broadway.

  And a show sounds good.

  Someone yanked on her pant leg. “I think she wants you.”

  A little girl pointed across the room. The receptionist stared at Alex, eyebrows pinched, waving her over. Alex took her time.

  “Anything wrong?” the receptionist asked.

  “Just a checkup.”

  “I called your name five times.”

  She’d been doing that more often, getting lost in thought, losing track of time. It was just a few minutes here and there, but when she’d blanked out for an hour, she decided to make an appointment.

  The receptionist tapped her computer screen with a long fingernail. “The doctor is waiting.”

  Alex went to the back room and stared at the inspirational poster of a grandmother watching children at play because biomites make life better.

  She checked her phone, sat back and stared at the poster again, remembering a time when she was younger, when her parents would take her to the park and she’d play on the equipment for hours. Summer smelled like cut grass and tasted like sweet tea.

  Ah, summer.

  “Hola.” Dr. Johnstone opened the door.

  Alex dropped her phone. She looked for
her bag, but she’d left it in the waiting room. There were no new messages, but another time lapse occurred. Twenty minutes gone.

  Damn it.

  He washed his hands. Long curls of brown hair hung over his eyebrows. “How’s the book going?”

  “It’s in a holding pattern.”

  “A little delay?”

  “Something like that.”

  Her interview requests with Dr. Tyler Ballard had been rebuffed. Interviews with his doctors, lawyers, investigators and grocery store clerks had been denied, too. The Institute not only denied her access but filed a restraining order, citing her prying had damaged their research and if she was caught on or near the premises she would be arrested. Samuel wanted to restart the lawsuit, but Alex held out hope. If they sued, she’d never see the inside again.

  “Well, you can’t work all the time.” The doctor checked his wristwatch. “Got to save some time to smell the flowers.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Just another day in paradise. Why would you ever want to leave?”

  “What?”

  “Mmm?”

  “What did you say?”

  He looked up. “Pardon me?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound defensive. You said something that sounded familiar.”

  “Another day in paradise?”

  “The other one.”

  “Why leave?”

  She nodded. It was something like that. When life is so perfect, why would you ever want to change it? Or leave it? Everything was perfect—perfect house, perfect marriage, perfect job. Perfect life.

  Why would she ever want to leave?

  Has it always been this way?

  She didn’t think so. Didn’t her marriage suffer? Didn’t Samuel have an affair or something? Those things sounded familiar, but what did any of that matter?

  And isn’t there something missing?

  She wondered that every day, like there was an enormous hole below her, covered by the thinnest of materials, a cap that creaked with each step. She didn’t want to know what was down there. If she did, she’d fall.

  And everything was perfect.

  “You having any problems?”

  “No.”

  “No more episodes like last time?”

  “No.”

  “Any unusual events, such as phantom car accidents?”