by G Sauvé
This time is no different. I watch, frozen, as Salt ‘n’ Pepper—that’s what I decide to call the grey-haired soldier—drops to one knee and takes careful aim.
Time is running out. Within seconds, Scar Lady—that’s what I call the woman with the hourglass symbol on her wrist—and Angry Dude—her scowling partner—will be shot.
“Watch out!” someone yells.
It takes a moment before I realize the warning came from my lips. By then, it’s too late to swallow back the warning.
Scar Lady and Angry Dude dive behind a stone bench just as Salt ‘n’ Pepper pulls the trigger. The gun bucks, but no shot rings out. There’s a faint whistling, followed by an explosion. Stone fragments fill the air as the corner of the bench behind which Scar Lady and Angry Dude hide is blown to pieces.
I can’t believe it. I saved someone’s life. But the feeling of pride evaporates when Salt ‘n’ Pepper glares at me. His eyes are ablaze with hatred, and I immediately regret getting involved.
I expect the grey-haired soldier to aim his gun at me, but he merely glares at me. Moments later, he ducks behind a nearby bench, followed closely by his beautiful partner—I decide to refer to her as Barbie due to her blond hair and flawless figure.
I don’t understand their desire for protection until Scar Lady and Angry Dude emerge from cover, guns in hand. What happens next is so unexpected I just stand there, frozen in shock.
Scar Lady and Angry Dude start shooting, their odd-looking weapons bucking as whistling sounds fill the air. There are no bullets, yet the bench behind which Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Barbie have just taken cover comes alive with tiny explosions. Within seconds, the air is heavy with dust and shrapnel.
It’s not until one of the invisible bullets whistles past my ear that I realize I’m still standing. I drop, but that does little to increase my odds of survival. One stray bullet and I’m dead.
I scan my surroundings. The closest bench stands a few metres away. It may not sound like much, but given the fact that the air is alive with invisible bullets, it may as well be a kilometre. Not to mention the fact that approaching Salt ‘n’ Pepper is probably not the best move. That leaves two options.
Option one: The train track. Option two: The staircase.
Option one is closer but riskier. Option two is farther but safer. I’m debating which of the two to select when another bullet whizzes past my head.
I start crawling toward the staircase.
The journey takes forever. I put one arm in front of the other and drag myself along. Projectiles fly by overhead, their infernal whistling filling my ears. Every once in a while one of them slams into the ground next to me, lifting a cloud of dust. By the time I finally reach the staircase, I’m covered in dust and shrapnel.
Now comes the hardest part. In order to reach the cover of the stairwell, I must stand, which means that, for a brief moment, I will be an easy target for any stray bullets.
You can do this, I tell myself. I don’t believe it, but I don’t let that stop me. I take a deep breath and jump up. In the second it takes me to dive behind cover, I catch a glimpse of the firefight.
Scar Lady and Angry Dude are still shooting. Salt ‘n’ Pepper also sprays his invisible bullets. Only Barbie remains hidden, though I suspect she does it out of cautiousness, not cowardice. Then the wall obscures my vision, and I’m safe.
I land hard, but a few bruises are nothing compared to being hit by one of those whistling bullets. I glance around, looking for a way out. Unfortunately, escaping the subway station means crossing the overpass, and given the dozens of bullet holes that riddle it, I can tell crossing it would be tantamount to suicide.
It takes me a moment to grasp the implications of my discovery.
I’m trapped.
Memory 9
I ’m trapped. Cornered. Pinned down.
My heart races, my brow drenched in sweat. My clothes are riddled with holes, no doubt a result of the countless stone fragments that pummeled me during my crawl to safety.
My legs give out under the weight of my despair. I crumble onto the staircase and sit there, breathing heavily as the impossibility of all I experienced in the past hour overwhelms me. Symbolic dreams. Mysterious symbols. Ancient letters. Guns that shoot invisible bullets. Is any of this real? I’m tempted to step out of cover in the hopes that death will put an end to my nightmare, but I resist the urge on the off chance it’s real.
The adrenaline of near-death soon starts fading, and an irresistible urge to peek overwhelms me.
Unseen projectiles still fill the air, yet few make it near my hiding spot. That’s probably because Salt ‘n’ Pepper sprays bullets like they are fireworks on Canada Day—they are everywhere. Every once in a while Scar Lady and Angry Dude peek out of cover and let off a few shots, but Salt ‘n’ Pepper dominates the confrontation. Barbie remains behind cover, waiting for a clear shot.
I watch until a stray bullet hits the wall mere centimetres from my face. I duck back behind cover, only barely avoiding the barrage of tile and concrete fragments.
I take a moment to think things through. Scar Lady and Angry Dude were running away, which seems to indicate they’re the victims. The fact that Salt ‘n’ Pepper shot first further solidifies this theory. The only detail that doesn’t fit is the fact that Barbie seemed genuinely sorry when she apologized for her partner’s insensitivity.
What if I’m wrong? What if Scar Lady and Angry Dude are the bad guys? What if they’re all bad guys? For all I know, they’re all good guys, though that seems unlikely. Good guys don’t go around shooting up subway stations with weird whistling guns. For now, I decide to hold off on passing judgment and focus instead on staying alive.
The shooting eventually stops, and I risk another glance. Barbie and her grey-haired partner have left the safety of their hiding spot and are now halfway to the next row of benches. Angry Dude lets off a shot. It misses its target but nearly takes my head off. I duck back behind cover.
The next time I look, Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Barbie are halfway across the boarding platform. A few shots ring out, and I retreat. When I look again, Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Scar Lady are fighting. I’m not sure what happened to their guns, but neither of them seems to need them. They punch and kick with the accuracy of black-belt martial artists. Salt ‘n’ Pepper’s hits pack quite a punch, but Scar Lady has the advantage of speed. She dances around her opponent, dodging his attacks and countering them with quick, but powerful strikes.
A few metres away, Barbie has her gun pointed at Angry Dude, whose hands are raised in surrender. I’m about to refocus on Scar Lady and Salt ‘n’ Pepper when Angry Dude makes a move for the gun. I instinctively dive for cover, but no shots ring out. When I look again, Barbie has Angry Dude pinned to the ground, the muzzle of her gun pressed to his back.
Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Scar Lady have also stopped fighting, but only because the grey-haired soldier somehow managed to overpower his opponent. He straddles her frail body, his powerful hands wrapped around her neck. Scar Lady struggles to break free, but she’s no match for the raw power of the hulking soldier.
I watch, powerless, as Salt ‘n’ Pepper squeezes the life out of the woman who may well be the only person—aside from my mother—capable of answering my many questions. Seeing the life drain from her face changes me. I overcome my fear—something that has only happened once before—and do something so stupid it might just work.
I step out of cover.
Memory 10
W hy am I doing this? The question repeats in an endless loop as I tiptoe across the field of debris, my limbs shaking like leaves in the wind. The hammering of my heart intensifies as I near my target. Scar Lady is so red from a lack of oxygen that her scar now looks like a gash, the whiteness of it giving the illusion of exposed bone.
Turn around, urges the voice of reason. I ignore it and press on. I don’t know what my plan is until I spot it.
The gun lies next to one of the chewed-up benches.
I crouch and pick it up. It weighs almost nothing. It’s empty.
It doesn’t matter. I can still use it.
I travel what remains of my journey in a crouch and take cover behind a bench. One glance is all it takes to reveal Barbie still has Angry Dude pinned. Salt ‘n’ Pepper stands less than a metre away, his hands tight around his opponent’s throat. Scar Lady is still struggling, but her movements are getting jerky, the lack of oxygen making it difficult for her brain to function properly. She has very little time left. I have to make my move. Now.
I consider my options. I can use the weapon to threaten Salt ‘n’ Pepper, but the second I step out of cover, Barbie will see me. Plus, the gun is out of ammo. That leaves only one option.
I grab the pistol by the barrel and stand up. Barbie glances in my direction, and our eyes lock. I see no anger, only surprise. She didn’t expect me to interfere again. To be honest, neither did I.
I fear the young woman will aim her gun at me, but she keeps it pointed at Angry Dude. She tries to voice a warning, but her incapacitated opponent takes advantage of her carelessness to knock the gun from her hand. Moments later, they’re struggling for dominance. I tear my gaze away and focus on Salt ‘n’ Pepper.
I raise the gun and bring it down hard. It makes contact with Salt ‘n’ Pepper’s skull with a dull thud, and the man goes limp. He crumbles onto Scar Lady, nearly crushing her in the process. I rush forward, gun still in hand. The man is heavy, but I manage to roll him off the near-dead woman.
She doesn’t move. For a brief moment, I fear I was too late, but then her eyes fly open, and she starts coughing. Relieved, I stumble backward into a seated position and take a few deep breaths.
I can’t believe it. This is the second time I risked my life for this woman, and I don’t even know her name. All I know is that she bears the same symbol as me and that perhaps—just perhaps—she can shed some light on whatever it is I have gotten myself into.
It takes a while, but Scar Lady eventually recovers from her near-death experience. I expect her to thank me for saving her, but she just sits there, staring at me with unwavering intensity. Her gaze is so intense I can’t bear it for more than a few seconds.
“What is it?” I ask.
That seems to snap her out of her odd trance. She shakes her head as if to clear it and smiles.
“Thanks for saving me,” she says. Her voice is soft and melodious. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
I chuckle.
“I think I’d remember meeting you.”
It’s her turn to chuckle.
“You’re probably right. I must be mistaken.”
Without another word, she crawls over to Salt ‘n’ Pepper’s unconscious body and removes the metallic bracelet I only now realize he’s wearing. She inspects it for a second, then throws it onto the train track.
“I think it would be safer if I held on to that,” she says, nodding to the gun I still clutch in my right hand.
“It’s out of ammo,” I say as I hand it over.
Scar Lady’s smile evaporates as soon as she takes possession of the weapon.
“Actually,” she says, “it’s not.”
I don’t understand what she means until she points the gun at me.
Memory 11
I saved the wrong person. Salt ‘n’ Pepper and Barbie aren’t the bad guys. Scar Lady and Angry Dude are. And I just gave one of them my only weapon.
I eye the gun nervously.
“I’m conflicted,” says Scar Lady. “Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, but you saved my life. Twice.”
The next few seconds are the longest of my life.
“You get to live,” she finally says.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Now that my life is no longer in immediate danger, I take a moment to study my surroundings.
Barbie and Angry Dude have stopped fighting. The man lies in the dirt, his arms pinned behind his back by his beautiful opponent. He struggles but remains incapacitated. That is until Scar Lady intervenes.
“Release him,” she commands. Her voice is so cold it sends a chill down my spine.
Barbie hesitates for a moment before stepping away from Angry Dude and raising her arms in surrender.
“Get it over with,” she says. It takes a moment before I understand what that means.
“You won’t shoot her, will you?” I ask.
Scar Lady chuckles.
“No,” she says. “I won’t shoot her. At least, not yet. In time, perhaps, but not here, not now.”
Barbie doesn’t react. She just stands there, impassive.
“Watch her,” says Scar Lady. She hands her gun to her partner and starts fidgeting with something on her finger. It looks like a ring, but I can’t be sure. All I know is that she seems engrossed in whatever it is she’s doing. But I forget all about that when something so shockingly impossible occurs that it puts all of my past impossibilities to shame.
The air before Scar Lady starts shimmering, then lights up with electricity. Arcs of white light crackle and pop, forming a small oval. The shape expands, the electricity now snapping with more intensity. Within seconds, it has reached maximum size. A two-metre tall oval of sizzling energy now hovers before Scar Lady. The centre of the portal is Stygian black but pales to a vibrant shade of purple at its perimeter. The entire thing seems impossible, yet there’s no denying its presence.
Unmoved by the freaky occurrence, Scar Lady glances at me and smiles. She then steps into the portal and vanishes.
I wait for her to emerge from the other side, but she never does. Whatever that thing is, it just disintegrated her. At least that’s the only explanation that makes sense. But then why isn’t her partner freaking out? Why is he taking the time to retrieve his dropped gun before joining Scar Lady inside the portal?
Barbie doesn’t seem surprised. She merely waits until the last of Angry Dude’s body gets swallowed up by the mysterious portal, then hurries over to her downed partner.
“What happened?” she asks, acknowledging my presence for the first time since the appearance of the portal.
I suddenly feel guilty. I was the one who incapacitated her partner, the one responsible for tipping the balance of power in favour of Scar Lady and Angry Dude.
“I knocked him out,” I say, and I immediately feel the urge to justify myself. “I thought he was the bad guy. He was choking her. I-I was just trying to do the right thing. I… I…”
“It’s all right,” says Barbie, her voice surprisingly steady for a girl who just survived a firefight. “You did nothing wrong.”
Somehow, knowing she doesn’t blame me makes me feel even worse.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s not much, but it’s all I have to offer.
Barbie is about to respond when she notices something that drains every last drop of blood from her beautiful face.
“Where’s his bracelet?”
Another wave of guilt washes over me.
“The woman threw it onto the tracks,” I say as I notice the bracelet that encircles the girl’s wrist. It’s identical to the one Scar Lady disposed of.
Barbie jumps up and rushes to the edge of the boarding platform. She scans the tracks but fails to locate the object of her desires.
“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “It’s just a bracelet.”
Barbie ignores me and glances at the portal.
It’s starting to weaken.
Terror spreads across the young woman’s face like wildfire.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Barbie doesn’t respond. She rushes back to her unconscious partner and slaps him.
No reaction.
Barbie grabs Salt ‘n’ Pepper’s arms and starts dragging him toward the portal. She may be strong, but her partner is heavy, and the portal is far. She gives up after less than a metre and glances at the gateway.
It’s flickering, like an old light bulb reaching the end of its life.
“Drowned!” snaps Barbi
e, speaking the word as though it were a curse. She yanks the bracelet off her wrist and chucks it aside.
She glances at the portal. It flickers one last time then goes out with a final crackle of electricity.
Memory 12
T he subway station is deathly quiet. No whistling from invisible bullets. No crackling of electricity from mysterious portals. Not even the faint buzz of neon lights. It’s as if the entire world was muted. But then a strangled sob reaches my ears and I realize not all is silent.
Barbie is crying. Tears fill her beautiful blue eyes, but not a single one escapes the shimmering pools of sapphire.
“What’s the big deal?” I ask, hoping to put an end to her misery—and my guilt along with it. “Can’t you just open another portal?”
Barbie shakes her head.
“I don’t have a ring,” she says.
I think of the ring Scar Lady fidgeted with before the portal opened. Apparently, the two are linked.
“What about those fancy bracelets?” I ask, nodding to the silver bracelet that lies among the rubble.
Barbie hesitates.
“You can trust me,” I say, though I can’t blame her if she chooses not to believe me. After all, it’s my fault Scar Lady and Angry Dude got away.
“The bracelets lock on to the ring’s signal,” explains Barbie. “As long as we’re wearing them when the portal closes, we will be transported to wherever it leads.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it seems to indicate portals are some sort of advanced mode of transportation.
“So, you’re trapped here?”
She nods.
“Can’t you take a cab?” I ask, desperate to assuage my guilt. “Or a bus? Or a plane. Or a ship. Or—”
Barbie cuts me off with a chuckle. The outburst of joy is so unexpected I lose track of what I’m saying.
“You’re kind,” says Barbie. For some reason, she doesn’t seem to blame me for her current predicament. I don’t know who she is, she’s unlike any girl I have ever met.
