Chapter One

A man stands on the edge of a writhing oblivion. The same thoughts loop through his mind. Always. A strong desire to not exist. Doubts that his friends are his friends. Between the loops another thought surfaces. Seemingly from Elsewhere.

 

"You have a choice," said the thought. "A choice to stay or go."

 

"It is an option," he answers the internal dialogue. "But where will I go?"

 

At the mention of this, the abyss before him takes the form of a grey plane and a winding a path. He can see a sign of some kind either a hundred or a thousand yards out. His feet take him toward it. A hard surface beneath him. The soles of his shoes click against it. After what seems like hours the sign grows larger and more legible.

 

It seems to be in a foreign inhuman language. His eye blur at the sight. The angles and curves of the lettering are wrong. Unnatural. His vision comes back into focus as the words seem to morph into English. The sign reads, 'Sorry for the inconvenience.'

 

The man shrugs and begins to walk past it. His arm brushes the sign, and at the touch it fractures. The sign still whole, but an endless row of them stretch off to the horizon, where the featureless sky meets the ground. Each sign has a different message. The words morph upon observation.

 

A blur of information that he can't understand and some he can. One says, 'this is what you wanted.' Another says, 'Nearly there.' Almost taunting him. He exhales, the sigh carries over the expanse. Finally, he stops to look behind him. The backs of the signs also have a message, but only a single word, 'Fire.'

 

 

 

In a soft voice the man inquires, "Where am I?" As soon as the words slip from his mouth the plane fades to nothingness. He loses track of his body. The thought from Elsewhere comes back.

 

"You are where you asked to be," it states. "You have opted out."

 

It could be minutes or years. Time is nothing in this place. Neither is he. His thoughts no longer work the same way. Flashes of images and then nothing. A constant loop. Remembering and forgetting.

 

For a brief moment he knows what he's lost. And the next he can't even be considered a consciousness. Slowly sensation comes back. First a tingling where his fingers and toes should be. It travels up his legs and arms like some kind of electricity.

 

Soon gravity slowly comes back. The loops spread out further. He remembers more and more. More sensations, now a pressure on his back, his head propped up by something. 'This is a pillow,' he thinks. He moves his hands out to his sides. A soft fabric beneath them, 'And this is a bed...'

 

His eyes finally open and focus. Some spinning contraption above him. A breeze meets his face, 'That must be a fan.'

 

With a great sigh, he moves his body. First one foot. Then the other. He throws his legs off the bed. As they connect with the floor, they seem to merge with it. He is the floor, and very disoriented.

 

Each step gives the same feeling. He reaches out a hand and grasps the doorknob. The hand becomes cool metal, one with the knob. He twists and lets go, severing the connection. His world is shaky at the edges, vibrating.

 

 

The phone rings. He almost glides in the direction of the sound. Sound waves seem to merge with him as they reverberate through him. As he makes contact with the device, a different yet similar sensation occurs. Information. He can hear a voice on the other side. He knows who it is before they speak. His mind stretches across a long distance through the network of telephone lines. A friend is on the other end, an old friend. A friend that may or may not be a real friend.

 

"Hey Zach, what's up?" asks the voice on the other side. Across town. It sounds both far away and near at the same time. A sense of bi location.

 

"Not much...," his voice is soft and distant. Almost like he forgot how to use his vocal cords. "What's up with you?"

 

"Just wondering when we'll hang out again," explains his friend. "It's been a week since you stopped by. To be honest I'm getting kind of worried over here..."

 

"How about today?" he can feel the expression on the other man's face like he's making it himself. A genuine concern. Maybe this person is a real friend.

 

"Sure thing man. I'm heading into work but I get off around five," the voice says.

 

"I'll see you then," without waiting for a reply he puts the phone back in its cradle and severs the connection.

 

Zach makes his way to the bathroom. A cursory glance in the mirror turns to a stare. His beard has grown out. Eyes are tired. Curious, he places a palm against the smooth surface. He can feel himself fracture. It reminds him of the signs. Like setting up two mirrors against each-other.

 

The connection breaks and the copies shatter

 

 

It's five, but time feels different. Like everything is happening at once. It's going to be hard to keep appointments. He's gotten used to the connections around the house, but  feels unsure of what might happen in the car.

 

The engine cranks. It feels like his heart and the tires his feet. Zach goes once around the block. He's learning to walk with new rubber feet. 

Slowly he gets a hold of it. The nose of the car is pointed east toward John's house.

 

The connection to the vehicle is broken as his shoes touch the driveway. He feels the cement beneath him before the sensation of growing downward happens again. John is smoking a menthol cigarette on the porch.

 

"Want one?" Asks John, the green pack out in front of him.

 

"You only live once," bracing for the new sensation. Each one is like a new flavor. He can feel the carcinogens and other additives in the cigarette. Immediately he drops it. "On second thought, I quit..."

 

John smirks, "Good man," as he puts the smoke behind his ear for later. "So, where have you been?" John's eyes searching his face.

 

Zach laughs, it feels good to laugh. He takes his index finger and presses it to his head, "In here." He drops his hand to his pocket to find the bag of weed. "I haven't quit this stuff though, let's go inside."

 

At a small pub table in the living room sits a smoking device. At the first hit, Zach goes back to where he was and wasn't. But instead of signs he sees people. Some he knew, and some were just vaguely familiar. All had a somber look about them. He waves, but they stay rigid as trees.

 

Zach comes to in a room. The walls are white and the lights are fluorescent. A beeping machine beside him.

 A nurse stands over him, she's pressing her hands against his stomach. He knows her name. "Hey, Laura."

 

She stops and pulls her hands back. The circuit closes as her eyes widen. "We've never met," she says slowly, "And you've been asleep for three days. How did you know my name?"

 

"You do have a name tag, you know," Zach responds with a quickness.

 

 

He knew what would happen if he told the truth. If he said what he woke up with those four days ago. And a psych ward is not his idea of a vacation.

 

"How much PCP did you do?" she asks. Judging by her face she's amazed he's still alive.

 

"I've never done PCP..." answers a perplexed Zach.

 

"That's not what this blood test says." Laura hands him a sheet showing THC and PCP in his system. "We've run two blood tests. One when you came in and one twelve hours ago. It says you're still on it."

 

The EKG beeps beside him as he stares through her. He thinks fast, the thought may have come from Elsewhere. "It's a genetic defect that runs in my family." he replies, with the best poker face he can muster.

 

"Uh huh...," Laura leaves him with the beeping machine and his painful catheter.

 

An hour later, a doctor comes in. "Do you want to die, son?" he asks. He tries to sound professional but a tinge of contempt bleeds through. Those damn druggies, how dare they?

 

Zach smiles and responds, "No sir." He knows the drill. Any other response would have resulted in a three day hold. The doctor leaves exasperated.

 

Three hours later Zach is released. John, his ride, is waiting in the parking garage. His face lights up when he sees Zach walking of his own volition, "I thought you were a goner, man."

 

"Nope," he grins back, "I'm a trooper. Let's get out of here before they decide to Baker Act me."

 

In the car is a different flavor.

It's different from when someone else is driving his car body. Relaxing in a way. "You said some strange stuff, man," John states offhandedly.

 

They're going about seventy on the interstate. Much different from making the block at twenty, "What all did I say?"

 

"I didn't really understand a lot of it," John starts, "But you said something about no way out. Stuck. Signs."

 

"Weird," Zach responds. They don't say anything until they get to John's house. Zach's car's right where he left it. "Did you see anything while you were twitching out?"

 

 

Zach holds a couple fingers to his eyes, trying to recall. "I saw everyone," he starts, "All along a path. Everyone I've ever known. but no one would talk to me. Weird, huh?"

 

"Very," John replies. The two shake hands and part ways. At the touch Zach knows more about his friend than he ever had. And John still only knows what's told to him.

A rather lonely feeling.

 

The seventy two hour day is finally over. An exhausted Zach crawls into his bed. He easily drifts to sleep, losing his body again. Soon, he's transported to the same plane. To his surprise there's no connection between himself and his surroundings.

 

He approaches the sign. This time it's larger, and without the disorienting text. It is fire. The words burn on the wood but don't consume. They read, 'Be advised, Scarlet Letterman.'

 

He stares at the text, confused. Who is this Scarlet Letterman? At the moment the thought crosses his mind the text changes to the number three. He walks past. As he does the sign turns to a pile of ash behind him. 

This is a strange place.

 

2: He wakes the next day groggily. The place he goes at night seems to drain him. He can't remember what the signs said this time. Like he was hit by a book, connected with it, understood it, and immediately forgot all but a sliver. The sensation of connectedness is still there. Not as intense, but still there.

 

His door bell rings. At that moment he realizes just how long he's been out. The clock says it's five in the afternoon.

 Zach traverses the clutter and empty bottles of liquor. Through the peep hole he can see a man in his late forties with graying hair and lines in his face.

 

"Who's there?" he asks nervously. The last time anyone knocked on his door it was the debt collector from his time in the hospital.

 

 

"I'm Joshua Smith," replies the man outside. "I'd like to have a word with you," he seemed to have a sense of authority. And maybe a false sense of superiority. Slowly, the door creeks open. The stranger is clad in a suit. He Immediately he flashes a badge that reads in red letters P.A.A.

 

Zach makes a sigh, "What does an alphabet soup agency want with me?" His eyes are red from sleep, his robe in tatters.

 

Joshua makes a smile that seems so fake and plastic. Like it was made in China and shipped to Walmart only to break three days after purchase. "I'd just like to ask a few questions," he begins, "May I come in?"

 

"Do you have a warrant?" Zach shoots back. He has never had a single good experience with authority figures.

 

"I'm not with a law enforcement agency..." Josh states, "We're more interested in research and documentation."

 

Zach holds the door wider and steps aside, "I just need to clear a place to sit." With a sweeping motion he pushes the dirty clothes, trash, and bottles off the couch and onto the floor. The agent looks uncomfortable in this environment. He's probably used to sterile rooms and ergonomic chairs.

 

A longish pause as the two men look at each other. Joshua is searches his face, looking for some kind of tell. "Why are you here," asks Zach, "I'm nobody."

 

The government agent chuckles. "Interesting that you would say you're nobody," he starts, "Somebodies normally say that. Odysseus for one." He pauses, waiting for a response but Zach only gives him a glare. "Moving on from Greek mythology..." Josh continues, "My agency was alerted about you two days ago. Your blood work was very interesting."

 

 

Zach's heart begins to race. What do they know? Am I going to be locked away? He tries to cover his terror, "Interesting how?"

 

The agent pulls out a piece of paper. The name of the hospital can easily be read. "It says here," his eyes focus on the small print, "That you had two drugs in your system. A stimulant and a dissociative. The interesting part is that the blood test should have come back clean, at least from the dissociative after the first two days. But it didn't."

 

"Am I being detained?," his eyes could bore holes in steel.

 

The agent smiles, "No, you aren't. But your system is different; for some reason. How do you feel?"

 

Zach stretches out a hand and the other man takes it. They shake, and as they do his eyes glaze over for a split second. The circuit closed briefly. Information comes flooding into him. He pulls his hand back, "I don't know, but I can tell you how you feel."

 

Joshua has obviously trained himself over the years to keep a straight face, but even so he can't hide a small widening of the eyes, "Is that right?"

 

Zach feels his own false sense of superiority. For once in his life he has the upper hand on a suit, "Yes, it's a combination of intrigue and duty."

 

The interview draws to a close eventually. Joshua takes down notes. He's slowly building a psychological profile around his subject. The government man pays special attention to what he sees as natural leadership qualities. He can see them, even if Zachary can't.

 

 Around two in the morning that night, Zachary is fast asleep in some dreamless place in his mind. It's a much welcome change from the confusion of Elsewhere.

 

But he does dream of one thing. A bee lazily drifts toward him. It lands on his neck. For one reason or another, he's unable to swat the thing away.

Its stinger penetrates his skin, and its real life counterpart injects something into his blood stream. Not venom, but some fast acting sleep aid. The vague dream of bees buzzing fades to blackness.

2. Small droplets of dried blood cake two way glass. It's slightly more opaque than it ought to be. Three sedated patients slumber on the fully opaque side. 

Two men in business attire sit with legs crossed on the clear side. This is their day job. This is what they drink to get away from after the end of their shift. One says to the other, "Is this even ethical?"  He stares at the three men held captive, "I know we have all the paper work for it. I know this is legal. But should we be doing this? They haven't even caused a stir yet."

 

The older suited man turns to the younger, "It's not our problem." He makes a sweeping gesture toward the three, "All we need to do is baby sit them. And try to look away when the doctors come in." Almost like he was summoned, a doctor walks through the door to the patient area. The electrodes in his hands are all hooked to a central unit with a few LCD displays.

 

On the patient's side of the glass, Dr. Troy speaks his notes into a small microphone. "Trial one," as he hooks the electrodes the patient's temples, "Commencing. Observations, constant state of REM sleep. Shouldn't be possible this far under" His eyes turn to the readings on the screen. The brain waves are registering at the same frequencies. Same everything. "Not enough data to make a conclusion at this time. Will monitor their activity." The recorder clicks and disappears back into a sterile lab coat pocket.

 

 

3: Three minds share one expanse. Three strangers that know all there is to know about each other simply from a mental hand shake. Language doesn't take place at this point. They merely think the same thing. 

Zach stands between two figures. The one to his right is shorter than he his and looks like a kid in his mid teens. Of course he knows exactly how old he is. And his name. The name just seems very far away and unimportant.

 

To his right is something taller. A creature that doesn't look entirely human. Vague features that Zach can't quite put his finger on. A swirling mass of texture where the creature's face should be. Arms out of proportion to the length of its legs. Zach makes note of it, but it doesn't seem threatening.

 

The connection to these two people seems to be more permanent in this place. They convene at super luminal speeds. Time is relative to perception, and at this speed time seems to slow down. Why are we here? Who sent us here? Where are our bodies? Between the three of them they remembered an authority figure followed by darkness.

 

Zach turns what he understands to be his head in the direction the path and the signs are normally in. The path is still there. And signs still dot the sides. But for the first time the it seems to lead to something. Three breathing mountains in the distance. 'What is that,' The trio simultaneously asks. As one they move toward their new objective. Either the foothills of the huge rocks were closer than expected, or the Three move faster here. They grip hand holds, their bodies merge as they ascend the mountain. Before they reach the summit, a rush of hot air blows past them. Followed by a low rumbling. Darkness creeps in at the edge of their vision and their eyes grow heavy. Hands lose their grip. As they fall they can see an angry red eye opening, and the pupil trained on them.

 

 

The three in one hit the ground, shattering.

 Three patients behind two way glass shoot up in tandem as they're forced back into their bodies. Blood curdling screams. They seem to not be able to move asynchronously. The first nurse with the syringe approaches the youngest. He struggles, and as he does the other two fight with an invisible force. "The eye!" They shout, "It's open! Wake them up!" As the burning caustic chemicals work through one's arm, they all feel the affect. Eye roll back in their physical heads and forward into the metaphysical.

 

Semi disconnected, and very disoriented, the Three look up at the monolithic creature. Its eye is half open. A mouth open as well. large enough to eat a small jet. The Three pull themselves together again. 

They can't imagine dealing with this place any other way but in unison. Three pairs of eyes look up to the gigantic scarlet one, 'Who are you?'

 

A great heavy sigh from the direction of the mountain. The eye looks more sad than angry. 'I am what's left over,' it gazes at the plane stretched out behind the Three, 'I came before. From me consciousness was ripped.' The Trio can see evidence of excavation in the side of the thing. Many man shaped, and some not so man shaped, holes. Maybe trillions of them. Air is sucked through the opening. Maybe the creature had to breath. Maybe it was for dramatic effect. 'And to me it all returns,' the creature makes eye contact with the travelers, 'Are you ready to come home?'

 

Two thirds of them shake their heads, while the last third breaks away. A lanky entity with a vague featureless face rushes toward the gaping maw of the mountain. It dives in, consumed. 

The great red eye closes all the way. Fluttering as countless ages of information course through its system. 'Very old...,' breathes the mountain.