I’m feeling more confident in my abilities. The portal is staying open. It’s no longer even visible. I’m immersed in this scene of 2009. Getting up from my position, I attempt to explore.
The show on the television is some sort of home improvement program. Not my usual taste. I make an attempt at grabbing the remote off the coffee table, but my hand goes right through it. It’s a disturbing but exhilarating sight. I can pass through stuff? I forget about the television and move to the bathroom, curious to see what I look like in a mirror here. The door is cracked, but mostly shut. My swipes at the doorknob are ineffective. I steel my nerves and then plunge my arm through the door up the shoulder. It doesn’t feel like anything. Encouraged, I inch myself forward. My leg goes through without difficulty, then my hip and part of my stomach. My face is a fraction of an inch away now. I let my nose touch the door. With eyes crossed I can see the tip of my own nose breach the painted wood. My vision gets a little blurry close to the door, but suddenly I’m stopped. The impact isn’t with my face exactly. It feels like my mind has just hit a wall. Frightened, I jump back, retrieving my lost appendages from the door.
What was that? I check my limbs for any sign of damage before staring at the doorway. Cautiously, I ease myself back into the door again. I’m bracing myself for the impact again and I shut my eyes as I anticipate the collision.
It doesn’t come.
I’ve traversed the door and am now inside the bathroom. I look at the bath towel hanging benignly on the back of the door. Huh. I slide back through it, but as soon as the fibers reach my eyes I’m stopped again. The blurry strands of the towel refuse to yield. Frustrated, I close my eyes and head-butt it.
I go right through.
Seriously? It’s that easy? I test out my new skill a few more times, attempting to cross the door with my eyes open versus eyes closed. Sure enough, when I don’t try to see my way through, it comes easily. Anytime I try to look inside the object with my eyes open it won’t let me. I guess if I’ve never seen through a door alive, I can’t do it dead? I’ve certainly never put the rest of myself through a door either, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I puzzle over this odd rule of ghostdom for only a moment, then shrug it off.
I’m still a pretty decent looking specter. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror hasn’t started shedding skin or rotting away. That’s good to know. I look like I always have. At least in recent memory. I could use a haircut and the week’s worth of stubble on my face isn’t any surprise. For a dead guy I’m still pretty suntanned. It’s my eyes that make me pause. They still look so very alive. Is that it? The trick to this? Am I even seeing my reflection, or am I just remembering my reflection?
The man in the mirror doesn’t look melancholy or lost. He’s still ready to tackle the world and its problems—overcome them with the confidence of his youth and the promise of many long years in which to achieve his dreams. That guy in the mirror still loves someone and has all the reason in the world to believe she’ll love him back.
That’s not me.
For the time I’ve been here, however long that has been, I’ve tried to avoid the thought of what I’ve lost. It’s rushing back to me now. The decision to let myself go. The hope of stopping the men who wanted to turn the chronothon into a way of wiping out time travelers. I sacrificed myself for a reason, for the hope that if I did it, Mym would live.
I try to wrestle with the emotion. It’s not that I regret dying to save her. I just never expected to have to keep living with that decision. I don’t know what I expected to find on the other side of that jump into the ether. No. That’s not it. I expected to find nothing. But instead of some restful eternal slumber, I’m still lingering around. Does everyone deal with this? Is this the real reason people fear death, because we have to keep wallowing around in our decisions after? I might be okay with it if I knew what actually happened.
Did I really achieve anything? Where is she now? Was any of this actually worth it?
As if on cue, I hear a woman laugh. The sound jolts me out of my reverie. A key turns in the lock of the front door, followed by the sticky sucking sound of the wood breaking free of its weather stripping.
Oh my God, Mym? I close my eyes and plunge straight through the wall toward the living room.
The girl who walks into the apartment is dressed in a tight skirt and a sparkly, low-cut top. Her bare legs end in equally glittery heels that elevate her an extra couple of inches. Her hair is tied up in a sort of tousled orb atop her head with loose strands that dangle down her temples. She’s made up and smiling and absolutely gorgeous.
She’s a massive disappointment.
I frown as the other me follows the girl into the living room. It takes me a couple of seconds to piece the scene together and for my brain to even recognize the girl.
Kaylee.
What on earth is she doing here?
My confusion about Kaylee’s presence turns quickly to annoyance as she hangs on the other me and wraps her arms around him, clearly not for the first time in recent history.
“What the hell is this?” I step forward, gesturing angrily at them, completely forgetting that they can’t see me. The other me gives Kaylee a lingering kiss and then detaches himself from her.
“I’ll just be a second. Make yourself at home.” His shoulder passes right through me as he heads for the hallway.
“What do you mean, ‘make herself at home?’” I stammer. “What is she doing here? Where’s Mym?” I follow the older and clearly stupider me into the hallway. He proceeds to shut the bathroom door in my face. Undeterred, I close my eyes and follow him through.
“Dude, what is wrong with you?” You survive a chronothon, get the girl of your dreams and then somehow go back to Kaylee?” I’m yelling now, but the other me pays no attention. He raises the lid on the toilet and proceeds to relieve himself. Aggravated, I try to shove the back of his shoulder. “Hey!” My hand goes right through him. Damn it.
Fuming, I position myself against the wall of the bathroom in direct view of the mirror. Ghosts in movies are forever showing up in people’s mirrors. I’ve seen enough horror trailers to know that. I put on my most stern and angry expression, even raising my fists in a gesture that I hope looks menacing, and wait to terrify.
The other me flicks the toilet handle and moves to the sink to wash up. I growl audibly as soon as he looks up to check his face in the mirror. I shake my fists and shout at him. “Aaaaggghhhhhhh!”
He checks his teeth for any sign of contaminants, then, seemingly satisfied, turns around and reaches straight through me for the hand towel. He wipes his hands off through the center of my chest, then lets himself back into the hallway.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“God, you’re useless.”
There is feminine giggling from the living room. As I linger forlornly in the bathroom, the giggling quickly moves to the hallway and then the bedroom. By the time I rouse enough motivation to walk back through the door to the hallway, the house has gone mostly silent with the exception of a few moans and other mouthy noises emanating from the vicinity of my bed. I scowl at the bedroom door, not willing to expose myself to whatever is going on beyond it.
None of this makes any sense.
Relief comes in the form of a ringing phone on the coffee table. The flip phone lights up as it vibrates. I move toward it out of habit. The name on the caller ID gives me another pang of homesickness. Francesca.
“Yes. Call this impostor and straighten him out, Fresca. Tell him he is ruining my life.”
The bedroom door opens and the slightly irritated-looking other me comes out. I get out of the way unnecessarily as he reaches for the phone. Upon seeing the name on the caller ID, he pauses and his expression changes from irritation to . . . to what? Sadness? Hopefulness? I try to figure out the change as he accepts the call.
“Hello?”
I can only hear snippets of Francesca’s voice on the other end. I ease closer
to listen, as Other Ben seems to be making minimal contributions to the conversation.
“. . . if you want to go. I think it might be fun.”
“Tomorrow?” Other Me glances toward the bedroom wall. “Yeah. That’d be fine.”
“You want to come pick me up? Or, I could just meet you . . .”
There’s something off about Francesca’s voice. It takes me a few seconds to put my finger on it.
“I’ll come get you,” Other Me says.
“All right. Don’t be keeping a girl waiting. Your days of having an excuse for being late are over now that you’re a time traveler.” There is a smile in her voice.
Good God, she’s flirting! The realization hits me and I take a step back in shock.
“What the hell, Fresca. We’ve been friends for ten years and now all of a sudden you decide to put the moves on this guy?” My outburst is of course unheard by either of them. As Other Me says his goodbyes and hangs up, I’m left sputtering to myself in aggravation. Other Me holds the closed phone in his hand and his eyes linger on it until Kaylee’s voice comes from the bedroom.
“Benji, what are you doing out there? I need you.”
He snaps out of his mental tangent and puts the phone back down. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
I can only watch and fume as he disappears back into the bedroom. “What is going on around here? Has everybody lost their minds? Benji? Who in the hell let this guy into my—” I cut myself off and try to concentrate instead, putting my hands to my head and letting the scene around me fade back into the timelessness of the Neverwhere. When I feel like I’m back, I double-check by walking around the corner and kicking open the door to the bedroom. The door moves this time and the bedroom is empty and silent. Good riddance.
I tromp back out to the front porch. The moon is still lingering in the twilight sky. I need answers again. I need the other other me. Benny.
I descend the stairs and walk to the corner where I last saw my scruffy-looking counterpart. Where does he go when he’s not hiding in bushes or jumping out of trees? I’m still learning the rules of this place, but I’m somewhat relieved to be back somewhere where I can actually affect change. As much as I want to see the real world, being powerless and immaterial there is incredibly frustrating. Here at least I have someone else dead to talk to. If I can find him.
Benny has already taught me one thing about this place. I don’t need to walk everywhere through the glittery fog. I ought to be able to skip to destinations the way he did. Concentrating on merely the location, not the time, I work to open up another memory portal. This one takes me to the street near Kaylee’s old apartment. I step through and find myself back there. There are no signs of floodwaters or storm clouds. Unfortunately there is no sign of Benny either. Kaylee’s apartment is how I remembered it from my past. No frantic scribbles from Benny anywhere or signs of his recent presence. He must not be nearby. Back out in the street I work out where to search next. What memories would he and I have in common?
I make multiple more attempts, opening memories of favorite restaurants, downtown hangouts, and even the marina, and searching each location for signs of Benny, but all without luck. Expanding the search to include houses of friends, I run through a dozen more locations, but am left with no leads. I have just gotten through a silent tour of one of my buddy’s homes on Fifty-fourth Avenue, and have just about given up, when I spot a slight movement beyond the backyard fence. The motion stands out in this otherwise static landscape.
My friend Diego’s house had been the home of many backyard barbecues. The house wasn’t especially spacious, and there was no pool or hot tub to attract us there, but it had one particularly beneficial feature for our late night partying: extremely tolerant neighbors.
I open the sliding glass door and walk out onto the deck, climbing onto the wooden planter box near the back of the yard to look out over the expansive cemetery beyond. Out there among the tombstones, a man is swaying back and forth, arms crossed and doing what? Talking to himself? Singing? I can tell even from this distance that it’s Benny. My excitement about having found him is tempered by the sight of his odd behavior.
What’s he doing out there?
I hop down from the planter and make my way around the side yard to the gate. I skirt the house and vault a waist-high chain link fence to get into the cemetery. Benny doesn’t seem to be aware of my presence. I’m not necessarily trying to sneak up on him, but my approach through the grass is nearly silent and he has his back to me. I consider calling to him, but I’m curious to see what he’s up to. I get within twenty yards of him and stop because I can hear him speaking and realize he’s addressing the headstone at his feet.
“No one understands what it’s like in this place. After all we went through. You would have known what to do. But I wouldn’t have wanted you to see this. You’re safe now and you don’t have to worry. I know that this is all just a dream. It can’t touch you.” He shuffles his feet. “They won’t get to me either now. I just have to hide. I won’t let anything happen to your memory.”
Benny lifts his head and looks to the sky. He’s quiet for the better part of thirty seconds before speaking again. “You shouldn’t be here.” Something about his tone makes me realize he’s not talking to the headstone anymore. “Why did you come?” He cocks his head this time, appraising me out of the corner of his eye.
“Uh, sorry. I was just looking for you. I have more questions. Wasn’t trying to intrude or anything.”
“Well, you have intruded.”
I take a few steps closer. “Look. I just have to figure some things out about how this place works. I saw another me. Other us, I guess. Living my life. You know anything about that?”
Benny wipes an arm across his nose. “It doesn’t really matter. The real world can’t see us. Nothing we can do about it.”
“Yeah, but who is he? Where did he come from? And what happened to Mym?”
Benny twitches at the last question and he spins toward me. “You just have to forget about what we were, okay? Forget what we had back then. It doesn’t really matter what goes on there. Remembering the way things used to be? It just eats you up in the end. This—” He waves his arms to encompass the whole of the cemetery. “This is where we belong now. Live with it.” He practically spits the last of the words. He brushes past me and walks away down the hill. I watch him go before turning back to the grave he’d been talking to. My eyes fall on the headstone and the carved words that answer my question.
In loving memory of Mym Juniper Quickly.
My heart plummets into my stomach as I comprehend the words.
I didn’t save her then. This was all for nothing. I drop to my knees in the grass.
Unlike the headstones around it, Mym’s has no date of birth or date of death. The smooth granite has been flecked with dirt and grass clippings. Whatever memory of Benny’s I’m in, it’s sometime well after the burial.
“When?” I choke out the words. “When did she—” I turn to address Benny, but he is already out of earshot. As he continues to stride away, the view of the headstone changes. It’s fading. Even now I see blades of grass sticking up through it, more and more as Benny gets farther away. I’m transitioning out of his memory and back into mine. I reach out to touch the name on the headstone one last time, but grasp only earth as the granite disappears. My memory can’t hold onto it. It was never a part of my lifetime.
The bare grass is a relief. The disappearance of the headstone buoys my spirits, reminding me that Mym was alive in my timeline when I left her. Maybe she still is. Whatever suffering Benny endured may not have to be repeated. This memory of her is just a bad dream for me. Perhaps there is still some way to help her avoid this fate. My mind races, trying to comprehend the mystery.
Then where was she in 2009? Why was another me cavorting around with Kaylee? Where did that version of me even come from?
More frustration is my only answer for now. Staring at the empty grass plot, I
realize I need more answers, and I need to send a warning to myself—the me that’s still alive. If the other me living in my apartment in 2009 is the wrong one, I need to search elsewhere. Earlier perhaps. Can I stop this chain of events from happening? Alter it somehow? I’ll get the message across any way I can to any version of me who can make a difference—save Mym from this fate she has in store and save my living self from whatever Benny has encountered. I also need to save him from turning into whatever screwed up exchange I just saw in my apartment. I need to change something.
I stand up and search my memories—wading through my life so far as a time traveler. Somewhere there must be a moment that will bring me a clue. I just need to find it.
<><><>
Valencia-2017
The fires are out in Quickly’s lab, thanks to the overhead sprinklers. There are sirens in the distance. We only have a few minutes to fan out and scour the place for anything Mym might have missed in the security footage. We watch the camera feed from the building next door and wait till we’re sure the would-be kidnappers have left before making the jump over. Even so, we move cautiously through the lab. The place is a mess.
The young vandals we saw must have been fast workers. Either that or they had help. That is the theory we are working with since the defacing of the lab has been so complete. Mym accesses an electronic inventory of the lab and determines that there are indeed items missing. One of Doctor Quickly’s smaller gravitizers and multiple vials of gravitites. In addition to the fires and the general trashing of the equipment, the spray painted symbol of the flaming, winged circle appears at least six times on various walls.
“Could it be some kind of gang sign?” I run a finger through the still-wet paint on one of the markings, trying to find a connection to what I saw in my vision from Kaylee’s apartment.
“No gang I’ve ever heard of. But I suppose it could be,” Mym says. “I scanned through all the historical data I could find and it doesn’t come up.” Noticing that the first aid kit on the wall hasn’t been tampered with, Mym pulls it open and gestures for me to stand next to her. I gingerly pull off my T-shirt and she plasters a wide bandage on the cut on my shoulder.
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 117